"Oh my god" Dean knows he's making noises not fit for company (not fit for out of the bedroom) but this pie.
Cas sips his tea, "I'm glad you like it."
"Like it? That's an insult."
Cas smiles lightly and Dean's sure—this is the best pie ever.
Cas' called into work sick ("I'll never be able to get anything done if I go in"), was asked by three different nurses if he wanted a personal check-up ("No, really, I'm fine, it's just a twenty-four hour bug, I'll be in tomorrow"), and then proceeded to craft a masterpiece from scratch.
"I've had the ingredients forever, but never the time," Cas comments lightly, "I guess 'ass-o'clock' is a good a time as any."
Dean refuses to feel sheepish, having his own phrase thrust back at him—they are both adults, swearing is okay—even though Castiel seems above all that.
"Where did you learn to cook?" Dean asks, looking at his forkful reverently.
"My mother mostly," Cas smiles softly, "I was the youngest in a big family—Mom's little helper and all that. After she died, I just kind of took over." He shrugs awkwardly, a half-shouldered kind of thing.
"Why the hell didn't you go Johnson and Whales or open a bakery or something?"
Cas blushes from the praise, "being a hospital administrator may not be the most exciting thing, but I'm good at it, and it's what Father wanted. Most of the family works at the hospital."
"Hm," Dean tries his best to not show what he's thinking about that statement, because he has some choice words for a father who would shun a God-given talent—something that Dean is more than sure Cas really enjoyed from watching him bake—to force him into a job that clearly isn't what he loves.
"Enough about me," Cas gives another small smile, "tell me about yourself."
And so Dean does. He tells Cas about working two jobs to help put his baby brother through college and how insanely proud he is of him. He tells Cas about his father's rather recent death and the move, about his half conceptualized dreams of owning his own coffee shop like the one he works at (which wouldn't have a morning shift quite so early, unless, of course, Cas needs it), about his baby, the Impala.
By the end, Dean feels as though Cas must have been bored out of his mind, Dean can't remember talking that much in a long time, let alone about himself. Although he looks a bit tired around the edges, Cas still seems very much interested.
"Speaking of the coffee shop," Cas' mouth is blocked by the rim of his mug, but Dean can make out a taunting smirk, "isn't it time to go there?"
Dean's head whips around to the clock—5:25.
"Shit!" Dean jumps up, grabbing his jacket and racing to the door, "Thanks for the pie!"
"Dean?" Cas calls after him.
"Yeah?" Dean paused, door half open.
"We should do this again sometime," Cas says softly.
Dean grins, "Yeah."