AU in which Bobby isn't dead, because I felt like writing Bobby, but I love the bunker setting, especially for Thanksgiving.
"He-hey, Bobby!" Dean exclaimed, clutching his grizzly father-figure in a tight bear hug.
"Get off me, ya idjit," the elder man grumbled, though he embraced Dean with equal enthusiasm.
The two men pulled apart and Dean led the way into the bunker, listening to the clunk of Bobby's weathered old boots on the hardwood floors as they walked into the main room of the bunker.
Past rows of books shelves holding books older than the boys themselves, lay two wooden tables laden down with plates and cutlery. Sam and Cas were seated at the foremost table. Sam sat with his feet propped on the table, and his arms slung over the back of his chair. Cas, on the other hand, was sitting at a complete right angle, hands clasped and placed in his lap, crinkling the fabric of his beige trench coat.
"Get your feet off the table, boy. We're gonna eat on that," barked Bobby.
Sam smiled at the hunter's gruff rebuke, but obliged Bobby by retracting his legs and placing them under the table, where his knees sat barely an inch from grazing the bottom of the wood. Sam made an exaggerated effort to scoot himself closer to the table, creating a grating noise against the wood. Dean, who was circling the table to sit down, batted his younger brother in the back of the head as he walked by. This earned him a swipe at his face from Sam, who missed, nearly toppling himself out of the chair in his effort. Dean cackled as Sammy righted himself.
Bobby rolled his eyes and turned to Cas, who had been quiet throughout the siblings' exchange.
"Didn't expect to see you here, Feathers."
"Sam and Dean insisted I join you all for dinner tonight. Apparently Thanksgiving is a time for family," replied Cas.
"Damn right. Family don't end with blood, Feathers. Glad you're here. Now, where's the grub, huh?"
"Well, Bobby, Sammy here was supposed to be setting the table, but-"
"Dean, it's not going to be ready for another fifteen minutes," said Sam.
"I don't care. When that poor turkey bastard is done, I wanna dig in, not wait around for you to put plates out!"
Cas pushed back his chair and stood up. "I can set the table, Dean," he offered.
"Great, I got to check on the food anyway, I'll go with you," said Dean. "See, Sammy? That's what we call being helpful," Dean added in an aside to his brother as he stood up from his chair.
Sam retaliated with a curled, sneering lip and squinted eyes; the most displeasing face he could make at his older brother.
Dean turned his back and followed Cas down the hallway, into the kitchen. Bobby watched Dean go as he plopped himself in the chair Dean had just vacated, exhaling a satisfied sigh as he did.
"So, Bobby, how'd that case last week go?" asked Sam.
Bobby snorted. "That?" he said, and launched into a caustic narrative of his experiences.
Out in the kitchen, Cas was retrieving bowls from a cupboard as Dean opened the oven to survey the bird he had spent twenty minutes picking out at the grocery store. Glancing over his shoulder, Cas traced the curve of Dean's body as he leaned over the oven. He set the bowls he had been holding down on the counter, next to the pots of food that would go into the bowls. With silent footsteps that only an angel could manage, Cas snuck up behind Dean, wrapping his arms around the other man.
"Cas, wha-"
"Sssh," whispered Cas, nuzzling his face into Dean's red shirt, letting the heat of the open oven wash over his face.
Dean backed up, forcing the angel to release his tender hold on him. The oven door clanged shut, and Dean turned to face Cas.
"Cas, be careful! What if Bobby had just walked in here?" hissed Dean.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I just can't help myself. And I still don't understand why Sam can know about us, but Bobby can't."
Dean's verdant eyes softened. He knew Cas wanted to be out in the open, but he just wasn't ready to tell Bobby. Bobby had always been so . . . well, not macho, but Dean wasn't sure how Bobby would react to the news that Dean and Cas were together. He wasn't even going to tell Sam, but Sam had figured it out on his own.
Can't hide a damn thing from that kid, thought Dean.
Dean saw Cas's crystal blue eyes searching his face for an answer. "I'm just not sure how Bobby will react. I mean, even admitting it to Sam was hard, and he figured it out on his own, somehow. And besides, it's Thanksgiving, I don't want to spoil anything in case Bobby bugs out. It's a day to be thankful," he finished, somewhat lamely.
"Would you like to know what I am thankful for, Dean?"
Dean smiled broadly in reply.
Cas checked carefully that neither of the other hunters were around before stepping close to Dean, his coat brushing against Dean's red button-down. "I am thankful that I can count your freckles," he said, kissing one of Dean's cheeks. "I am thankful that we have survived everything that we have," he said, kissing the other cheek. "And I am thankful that I can do this," he finished in a whisper, kissing Dean tenderly on the lips.
A smile touched the curves of Dean's lips as Cas pulled away from him. He reached up and brushed the back of his hand across the angel's cheek, enjoying the soft brush of skin on skin.
"Hey! What are you two doing back there?" yelled Sam from the other room.
"Shit," whispered the couple in unison.
Cas hastened to pile food into the bowls, and Dean made a show of opening and closing the oven with a loud bang.
"Nope, not done yet!" he said loudly, grabbing a few of the scorching bowls of food Cas had just dished out.
In the dining room, Sam shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes. It was cute when Dean and Cas thought they were being sneaky.
Cas emerged on the threshold.
"I-uh got the peas," he said with an uneasy smile, quickly ducking his head to hide his blush, and began distributing his dishes onto the table.
Dean swaggered in a moment later, smiling a little too broadly over the bowls in his arms.
"Boy, that sucker just don't want to cook," he said, beaming smile still plastered on his face as he set down an overflowing bowl of creamy gravy. Dean rubbed his hands together, gazing around, but avidly avoiding looking at Cas. Finally, his gaze alighted on Bobby, who raised an eyebrow in confusion at the strange behavior.
"Hey, who wants a beer?" said Dean, brightly. He turned around without waiting for an answer and hurried back into the kitchen.
Eyebrows knitted together, Bobby scrutinized Cas, who had returned to his previous seat at the table, hands folded back in his lap, determinedly not looking at either of the other men. Baffled, Bobby turned to Sam, who hid his smirk a moment too late. He quickly adopted an innocent face, looking back at Bobby as if nothing were amiss. Sam had promised to keep Dean and Cas's secret for them.
"What the hell is wrong with you boys? You got some kind of gas leak in here making you go all funny?" demanded Bobby.
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Sam, hiding his smirk behind his hand.
Bobby cocked his head to the side, fixing Sam with the stare that parents have just before they wring the truth out of their children. Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Dean emerging out of the kitchen, three bottles of beer cradled in one arm, and a fifth of whiskey in the other.
All eyes in the room were now on Dean. Noticing this, Dean smiled nervously. "Uh-cheers?"
"All that whiskey, Dean?" asked Sam, teasing.
"It's not for me, assface. It's for Cas," he replied.
Bobby looked across the table to regard Cas, his grizzled face betraying how impressed he was.
Cas saw Bobby staring and explained, "Alcohol has little effect on me."
"Well, here's to it, then," said Bobby, raising the bottle Dean had handed him. Before anyone could stop him, Bobby angled the bottle against the edge of the table, and used a swift bump of his closed fist to pop the cap off of his beer.
"Hey, hey, hey!" shouted Dean, thrusting the remaining bottles into Sam's arms.
Sam's eyebrows flew up, and his lips pursed in a shocked 'O' as his brother snatched the beer out of Bobby's hand.
"That is mahogany, Bobby! Don't scratch it!" Dean yelled, putting the bottle aside and bending close over the table, trying to buff out the scratch with his sleeve.
Bobby's face seemed as if it were permanently bewildered. Cas, on the other hand, was smiling sweetly to himself while he thought no one was looking. He loved when Dean got all domestic; it was cute. Cas adored the fighter in Dean, but he treasured the moments when Dean let his guard down.
As if sensing Cas's thoughts, Dean looked up from his scrubbing, winked at Cas, and quickly looked down again. Dean's flirtation drew heated blood into Cas's face, dyeing his cheeks a soft pink.
The two men had been too intent on each other in that moment that they failed to notice Bobby studying them carefully.
Not wanting to alert the boys to his suspicions, Bobby composed his face and swiftly changed track.
"I'm sorry about the table, Dean. I didn't realize you were becoming such a housewife."
Sam let out a bark of laughter that was silenced by a scathing stare from Dean.
Satisfied that Sam would stay quiet, Dean turned back to Bobby. "I'm nesting, sue me. And sorry doesn't get the marks out of my table. Civilized humans use these," he said, extracting a bottle opener from his pocket, which he used to snap the cap off of the beer Sam had placed into his outstretched hand. Dean took a sip, still glaring at Bobby over the neck of the bottle. He swallowed and continued, "But it's Thanksgiving, so . . . I forgive you."
'Oh, well thank god for that," muttered Sam sarcastically, earning himself another slap to the back of the head.
By the time Sam had turned to hit Dean back, Dean had already slid behind his brother, and plucked the bottle of whiskey from Sam's arms.
Sam settled instead for making a rude hand gesture that Dean didn't see because he was too busy making eyes at Cas as the fifth of whiskey passed between them.
Cas's fingertips brushed Dean's as he handed the bottle over, and Dean was overcome by the memory of those same fingertips trailing across the skin of his back as they lay in bed together that morning.
Dean mentally shook himself, not wanting to space out in front of everyone.
"Well, that bird should be done by now," he said cheerily, rubbing his hands together. "Cas, you wanna-"
"No, no, please," interrupted Bobby. "I'll help you, Dean."
Cas, who had already gotten halfway out of his chair, slowly lowered himself back down, looking quizzically between Dean and Bobby.
The two hunters stared at each other unblinkingly. Dean knew Bobby was up to something, but he wasn't completely sure what. Bobby gestured for Dean to lead the way into the kitchen. Dean did so, wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out what Bobby was thinking.
"So, Dean, how's the love life going? Been bedding all the locals yet or what?" joked Bobby as they entered the kitchen.
"Wha-?" Dean started. "No- I mean- yeah, yeah I'll bed anything! Ladies, man," he finished lamely.
Bobby smirked at his adoptive son's oblique attempt at hiding the truth, but chose to let the matter rest for the moment; he had a better plan.
Bobby gathered the last few dishes of food while Dean pulled on a pair of oven mitts and drew a mouthwatering turkey from the oven. He grinned down at his creation in ecstasy, ready to fill his mouth with as much of it as possible. Momentarily forgetting Bobby, Dean made his way back into the dining room, his face clouded by the steam pouring off of the turkey.
In the center of the table lay a puffy white towel just large enough to accommodate the turkey in its tinfoil pan. Dean gingerly lowered the pan onto its rightful place in the center of the table, inhaling deeply.
Bobby soon followed into the dining room holding a massive tureen of soup and an equally large ladle. These he placed to the side of the turkey, where they added to the rising cloud of steam wafting from bowls of hot vegetables and piping hot gravy.
As Bobby retired to his original seat at the table, Dean retrieved the large carving knife that lay beside his masterpiece and set the point of it against the delicate skin of the turkey, breaking through it, eliciting a tiny geyser of juice. The knife sliced through the turkey as if it were butter.
"Oh ho yes," Dean smiled. "Alright, who's first?" he demanded brightly.
"Right here," answered Sam, holding out his plate.
Dean dished out slices of turkey to his companions and merriment ensued. For once, laughter was the prevailing theme of the men's lives. An hour later, bellies were full, and heads were fuzzy from the consumption of too much alcohol. The four men gazed at each other with heavy lids.
"You know what sucks?" asked Sam. "We're gonna have to clean this up," he continued without waiting for an answer.
"I'll do it," volunteered Bobby. "You boys look dead beat."
"Hey, thanks, Bobby, but we can help you," offered Sam.
"Yes, I understand that it is customary for humans to assist each other with the cleanup following a communal meal," added Castiel.
Bobby dismissed their protests with a wave of his hand, rising from his chair. He began to gather dirty plates and silverware as the boys started in reminiscing about a Thanksgiving Day hunt from a few years back. Glancing up from his armful of plates, Bobby noted that Cas's piercing blue eyes never strayed from Dean's face, even when Sam was the one speaking.
Bobby returned to the kitchen and deposited the sullied dishes into the sink, and resolved to follow through with the plan he had formulated earlier in the evening. For his plan to work, the most important thing to do was to act as if nothing were happening. So, he continued his back and forth trek from kitchen to dining room, finally finishing by removing the pot of soup and ladle from the table. Once the dishes were all gathered in the sink, Bobby set to work washing, drying and putting them away, smiling to himself every time he heard a member of his adoptive family laugh.
In fact, the boys were enjoying themselves so much and laughing so loudly that no one noticed Bobby sneak away to one of the bedrooms, ladle in hand, and sneak back just as quietly. When his work was done, Bobby emerged back into the dining room.
"Time for me to go, boys. Too late for an old man like me to be out," he announced.
"Aw c'mon, Bobby!" shouted Dean, his voice elevated by the alcohol he had imbibed.
"Yeah, Bobby, you can stay if you want. We've got plenty of rooms now," offered Sam.
Once again, Bobby waved away their offers and bade them goodbye.
A few hours later, Dean lay sprawled across Cas's bed in the bunker.
"So what'd you think of your first Thanksgiving, Cas?" asked Dean as Cas stepped back into the room after a long shower.
"I enjoyed it. I can see why humans take part in it. And you know I love watching you be happy, and you seemed so . . . content today," said Cas as he walked toward Dean.
Dean sat forward and raked his eyes over the angel's for clad only in a white tee shirt and blue boxer. Reaching forward, Dean grabbed the front of Cas's tee shirt and pulled him forward for a quick kiss.
"I was- I am content," replied Dean as his body found its place in Cas's arms.
"Good," Cas smiled, offering another kiss, this one deeper and slower than the one before. "Are you sleeping in here tonight?" asked Cas slyly.
"Well, seeing as I have been sleeping in here for a month I'd say we should keep the streak alive," smirked Dean.
"Your room must look abandoned," laughed Cas.
Dean giggled back, tracing the curve of the angel's hand with a tender finger. "Yeah, it probably does. There's probably an army of dust bunnies," he joked.
"Why would there be bunnies?" asked Cas, confusion coloring his voice.
Rather than reply, Dean pressed a kiss to the angel's lips. The pair climbed under the covers, enjoying the heat of each other's bodies as they fell asleep.
The satisfied feeling and the mountain of leftovers that Thanksgiving had left the group with were still around by the rest of the week. Dean aimed to lessen the surplus of food by downing the last of the pot of soup he had made. He pulled the covered pot out of the refrigerator and rummaged in the drawer for the ladle.
"Where the hell is it?" he asked himself. Thinking back, Dean could not recall anyone seeing the ladle since Bobby took it to the kitchen on Thanksgiving.
"Old bastard probably put it in the wrong drawer," mumbled Dean, withdrawing his cellphone from his pocket. He punched Bobby's number into the phone and waited for Bobby to answer.
"Hello?" came Bobby's gruff voice.
"Hey, you gonna tell me where you left my ladle? I'm trying to have some soup here and I can't even put it in a bowl because my ladle is gone!"
"Are you saying I stole your ladle, boy?" demanded Bobby, barely able to contain his amusement at his plan succeeding.
"I'm not saying you stole my ladle, Bobby. I'm just saying I had a ladle, then you cleaned the dishes, and now I have no ladle!" exclaimed Dean.
"I'll make you a deal, boy; you tell me what's going on with you and Feathers and I'll tell you where your ladle is."
Heat rushed to Dean's face. "Wha-huh? There's nothing go-going on with me and- and Cas," stammered Dean.
"Then why aren't you sleeping in your own bed?" countered Bobby.
"What-how do you-?" spluttered Dean.
"Well, Dean, if you were sleeping in your own bed you would've found the ladle by now," explained Bobby.
The realization that he had been had flooded Dean's body. "I-I . . ."
"Congrats, boy. You two are a match made in Heaven . . . literally," said Bobby and hung up with a click.
Dean stared at his phone in stunned silence, before making his way to his bedroom where he found a lump in his bed that was, in fact the ladle he had been looking for. He left his room, ladle in hand. Dean passed Sam outside his bedroom as he made his way back to the kitchen.
"Why did you have a ladle in your bedroom?" inquired Sam.
"Don't ask," answered Dean sulkily.