Dean woke up with the fabric pattern of his sofa cushions pressed into the side of his face, a thin line of drool dried along his cheek. Rubbing his eyes, he experimentally tightened his lips along his gums and ran his tongue along his teeth, then winced. It wasn't terrible, but it didn't feel great. Thankfully, it was Saturday, and he didn't have to worry about going to work at the auto shop this morning, so he had the whole day to wallow and feel sorry for himself, if he wanted.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, however, it was met with the argument that this was precisely what he shouldn't do. He had a plan! There was no way he was going to let his plan fall to the wayside because of one shitty day. Besides, as awful as the appointment had turned out, the fact remained that he had been successful. He'd made the appointment, kept the appointment, and made it through the whole thing.
With a sudden flash of memory, Dean recalled how it had ended, with him looking like a literal drooling moron in front of Castiel. He would have clapped his hands over his burning face if his cheeks hadn't felt so sore. No matter what Dr. Bradbury said, it was really hard to believe sometimes that the universe was not out to destroy him.
Twisting sideways along the sofa, he pulled his phone from his back pocket to check the time, noticing that he'd somehow missed an evening call from his brother. Wondering what Sam needed, he punched the button to call him back, closing his eyes and trying to muster some energy for the day.
"Hey, Dean!" said Sam, sounding cheerful. "How you feeling this morning?"
"Like crap," Dean said flatly. He didn't see any point in sugar-coating things for Sam; his brother knew him well enough to know when he was pretending, anyway.
"Ouch, sore mouth?"
"Gee, I don't know," Dean grumbled. "How do you think I feel after about twenty elephant needles in jammed into my gums and hours of drilling into my teeth?"
"Yikes. Sorry. I guess...I mean, I'm sorry about yesterday, too. Like, if I was, you know…"
Dean frowned, shaking his head and feeling too tired to parse whatever the hell Sam was trying to say. "Spit it out, dude."
"Just, I…" Sam sighed. "Upon reflection, I might have been maybe a little...inconsiderate? Uncaring?"
"What?" Dean felt baffled by the conversation. "The hell are you talking about?"
"I don't know! I just...It came to my attention that I was being...rough?" Sam sounded as uncomfortable as Dean had ever heard him.
Latching on to the weirdest part of the weird apology, Dean said, "It 'came to your attention'?"
"I mean, I realized. I, um, thought about it and decided. Like, in hindsight?"
There was awkward silence for a moment. Finally, Dean broke it. "You know, if this is how you 'lawyer,' I may have to rethink my plan to have you defend my ass if I ever wind up arrested."
"Shut up, jerk."
"Whatever, bitch."
"Anyway," Sam exhaled heavily and went on, the familiar exchange of insults having done the job of lightening the mood, "you need anything? I can bring you some soup or something, if you're not up to chewing anything."
"Hey, I can cook!" Dean protested. "Don't need you taking care of me."
"I never said you did, Dean. Just wanted to make the offer." Sam still sounded a little guilty, for some reason, which was freaking Dean out a bit. He had no idea what had gotten into his brother; as far as he could remember, nothing that had passed between them yesterday had been different from their usual teasing.
After they said their goodbyes, Dean sat up, groaning, and pushed himself to a standing position. Immediately, he wished he hadn't. Apparently, even though he'd felt ridiculously weak and out of shape with the short distance he'd been able to run the day before, it had been far enough to make his thighs and butt ache as though they'd been punched repeatedly. He groaned again, trying to stretch his leg muscles, which helped only a little.
Now he really felt like wallowing in self-pity. The only problem with that strategy was that Sam's mention of food had made his stomach start to complain, reminding him that he'd skipped dinner the night before. Soup sounded like a damn fine idea, since using his teeth would be painful at the moment. He could even kill two birds with one stone! One part of his plan was to "eat more vegetables," after all; Dean pictured a large pot of simmering vegetable soup, filling his entire apartment with delicious, savory aromas. His mouth watered.
Canned soup, of course, would be the easiest and quickest solution, but it also felt a little like cheating. If the idea was to eat better foods, then fresh vegetables were the way to go, right? Then again, Dean definitely hadn't stocked up on fresh produce during his last trip to the grocery store, which meant that he was going to have to go shopping again. His legs protested as he made his way to the shower, but he forced them onward.
Maybe I'll grab some stuff to make a pie, too, he bargained with himself. Pie-making was a skill he definitely had locked down already, and making that addition to the day's list served well as a bribe to get him out the door.
Standing over the bins of vegetables, Dean found himself at a slight loss. The basics were simple: carrots, potatoes, corn. Did he need to buy fresh beans, or were dried okay? If he bought dried beans, would he have to soak them? Should he put some kind of greens in, too? He couldn't remember ever actually having kale in vegetable soup, but it seemed like kale was something that healthy people threw into everything, so maybe he should consider it.
He was just pulling up some vegetable soup recipes on his phone when he suddenly smelled something that was definitely not produce. The aroma of nutmeg and cloves that filled his senses made him want to drop everything and seek the source right then. He felt almost giddy with it, to the point where he didn't immediately process the voice behind him saying his name. "Hello, Dean! I see you're feeling better?"
Dean slowly turned around, almost bowled over by the overwhelming want that hit his brain. Castiel was standing there smiling at him - a wide, gummy smile that lit his entire face. Instead of the suit and trench coat he'd been wearing when Dean had seen him during their previous encounters, he now wore a grey tee-shirt and running shorts, both damp with perspiration; the earbuds draped around his neck added to the evidence that he had been out running before entering the store. Any scent blockers that Cas might have applied that morning had been long sweated away, leaving him positively swimming in every delicious scent that Dean had struggled to detect before now.
"Um," Dean said, trying desperately to recall the question he had been asked. "Yes! I'm feeling much better! Thanks!" He cursed himself mentally for the blush he couldn't quite suppress, remembering once again the condition in which Cas had last seen him.
"Well, I'm glad. Sam and I were discussing some work issues yesterday evening, and when he told me how intensive your appointment had been, I was highly sympathetic. Dental appointments are rarely enjoyable, and yours looked as though it was particularly difficult."
"Yeah, I guess," Dean said awkwardly. "I mean, it's just something you do, right? Like paying taxes, and, uh...other things." He lifted his hand, self-consciously reaching to grab the back of his neck, but found himself still gripping a bag of beans he'd forgotten he was holding.
Castiel nodded, chuckling. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean. The not-so-fun parts of life. Inevitable, but annoying." He gestured at his clothing with a grimace. "I remember exercise wasn't something I had to fit into a schedule, and certainly not something that required being out of bed before eight o'clock on a weekend morning."
"I run, too," Dean blurted impulsively. Wow, eloquent.
"Really?" Cas said, grinning even more widely than before. "That's excellent, Dean! You know, I belong to a running group that meets at the park over on Eleventh Street. We run together every Saturday at seven AM. I'd—we'd love to have you join us sometime."
Well, now he'd stepped in it. Dean imagined a repeat of yesterday's running fiasco, only with an audience of "real" runners judging him instead of children. That would be horrible enough; having Castiel watch him run sounded too mortifying for words. "Well, y'know," he hedged, "I usually work Saturday mornings. It can get pretty busy. Lots of folks like to get their car work done on weekends, so…"
"I completely understand," Cas said, nodding seriously. "I'm glad you didn't have to work this morning, then. Even if you weren't too sore, being gentle with yourself is important."
"Yeah, sure," Dean said. "I mean, it's fine now, but I did figure I'd take the day off from running, too." He congratulated himself for the plausible lie.
"Of course!" Castiel agreed. "But I see you're cooking something?" He looked at the beans questioningly.
"Uh, just some soup," Dean said. "Seemed simple enough."
"And all the way from scratch? That's impressive."
Dean's ears burned; he wondered if Cas was being sincere or patronizing. He seemed too friendly to be teasing. "Is it?"
"Definitely. Soup does sound simple, but the art of seasoning it correctly...I'm afraid I never quite mastered it. Always a little too much or not enough."
Feeling uncertain now, Dean stared at the vegetables again. This was beginning to seem more difficult than he'd imagined, and the canned soup aisle sounded more attractive by the moment. While he was debating, Castiel glanced down into his cart.
"That's not for soup, though," he said. "Flour, butter...are you baking, too? You really must be feeling better, then."
"Oh, that's just for a pie," Dean said, distracted.
"You bake pies? Also from scratch?"
"Well, sure." No way am I gonna put kale in this soup, Dean decided. If all the rest is going to be tricky, I better at least make the vegetable part as simple as I can. Maybe it'll be okay to use canned beans, too.
"What kind of pie will you make?"
"Hmmm?" Dean pulled his mind back from the soup. "Oh, maybe apple. That's my go-to pie, and I don't even really have to think about it anymore."
"Really," Cas said, an odd tone in his voice. "That's...I am most impressed."
Dean looked back at Cas when his voice dropped. His first thought was that maybe he was coming off as a sugar junkie, and that Cas was judging him for his weird food priorities. That wasn't what he saw in his eyes, though, and his scent...it was darker and richer now, almost ravenous. Cas must really like pie, Dean thought. I'm not even sure I feel that strongly about it. Maybe it was a running thing, though; he remembered Sam, back when they shared a home, coming home from some of his longer runs starving and ready to eat everything in the kitchen.
"There'll probably be plenty left over. I sometimes take some over to my brother; If you want, I can bring some for you, too." Sam might tease him about his diet, but somehow the teasing always evaporated in the face of Dean's pie. He supposed that Sam might be justifying it because of the fruit content; it tempted him to experiment with a marathon run of chocolate and cream-based pies, just to test the theory.
Castiel was beaming. "That's very generous of you, Dean. I look forward to tasting your work. I'm sure it will be marvelous."
"Well, I don't know about all that. I've just been doing it a while, and I enjoy it. I'm no professional chef or anything."
"Perhaps you don't bake for money, but that doesn't mean that the product will be any less pleasant. A person's enjoyment is often reflected in the results of their work. Perhaps you should let your pie stand for itself?" He was frowning a little, but he didn't seem angry. Dean hated the thought that he might be disappointing him, though.
"Sam seems to like it, anyway," he compromised, still not comfortable with the open praise. "Of course, he could just be saying that because we're family, so take that for whatever it's worth."
"Sam is an honest man, and a discerning one. I just hope he leaves some behind for me, if he enjoys it so much." Castiel winked, and Dean decided he wanted more than anything to see him do that again. It was beyond adorable.
"Hey, if he doesn't, you let me know, and I'll just have to make you one all of your own, so you can refuse to share with him." Was that flirting? Was it too obvious? He didn't have time to feel nervous before Cas laughed and nodded his head.
"It's a plan. Now I almost hope he keeps it all for himself." The warmth of his laughter made Dean flush again, but this time it was with pleasure. He wished he could stand there basking in the sensation all day.
Later that afternoon, gazing down into his soup pot, he once again felt gladness about running into Castiel at the store. Not only had it hopefully made up for his negative impression after the dentist, but Cas had probably saved him from an awful soup-making tragedy. He'd grabbed the canned beans after all, and he'd even been able to find a "soup seasoning" packet that had allowed him to avoid problems on that side.
Now his kitchen smelled like bay leaves and wholesomeness. He grinned happily, sniffing at the steam rising from the pot. Today hadn't turned out nearly as bad as yesterday, he thought. Maybe this whole "grown-up choices" plan would work out, after all!
With the soup simmering, and with one pie baking and a second ready to go into the oven (he'd definitely wanted to make sure there were leftovers, even if the soup had been terrible and he'd needed extra "consolation pie" for himself), Dean sat down at his table to examine his list again. He was riding the high of success, and he found himself actually looking forward to the next challenge.
