Cooking made him feel like he was earning his keep. Not that, you know, he wasn't already compensating the Coast Guard or whoever monetarily, but Castiel worked so hard; Dean felt lazy sitting down writing while Cas buzzed about mending the chicken wire fences so the rabbits didn't get into his rhubarb or taking a wrench to a stubborn lug nut throwing the lighthouse's diffuse, eerie glow off by fractions of degrees (though Cas assured him it made a difference at sea). So when the reserved man complimented the simple meals Dean insisted on preparing, Dean couldn't help but preen.