Disclaimer: Characters are not mine! All characters belong to Supernatural.

Warning: Explicit language, Angst. [Un-beta'd]

"Did you get the flour?"

Dean glanced up when he heard the rough voice from over his shoulder, eyes shooting up at his friend before turning to face him, toting the package almost delicately in his grasp.

"Yeah," He cleared his throat, "But I got the um, the cheap brand though." Dean looked over the heavy package in his hands, reading over the labels before setting it in the cart. "The other stuff cost more than my yearly wage." The mechanic grimaced, receiving a thoughtful if not amused glance from his flatmate. Castiel looked it over a moment before turning to stare at the contents on the shelves once more.

"We still need the apple's," He commented idly, "And the cherries."

"And we're all out of sugar too," Dean scratched the back of his neck, going over his mental list. "If you're doing the homemade crust, then I don't have to worry about getting the pans." The mechanic glanced inside of the cart, making sure everything was accounted for.

Castiel was going to this week-late New Years party his medical class was holding. They would have done so on the actual New Year, but evidently his teacher was out of town on business and couldn't hold it then, so it was rescheduled. It wasn't so bad to be completely honest; him and Cas' ended up celebrating the national holiday in their own little way. They watched old 60's and 70's movies, stuffing up on popcorn and debated on who was a better musician of that time. Dean stood by The Who, but Cas' thought Jimi Hendrix was the best. They stayed up late, drinking and shooting the breeze; they ended up falling asleep on the couch to late night television, mumbling softly on Castiel's classic TV set.

Dean found it to be one of his favourite memories; it's been a long time since he's just laid around and enjoyed himself, and Cas really brought out the best in him when things seemed to get rough. He hadn't really thought about celebrating the holiday; him and Lisa barely did. But Cas was so excited for it, talking about all the things he wanted to do for the following year, all his plans and resolutions, and even made Dean promise to make his own. Cas had gotten Dean so excited for the count down, it was honestly refreshing to feel excited about something so small but significant. Dean honestly felt like a kid again when the ball began to drop, and this small home felt full of life when the screen lit up and they could hear the fireworks booming off in the distance.

Cas had cheered, holding a certain excitement that Dean hadn't really seen on him before. He was always so literal, confused, and rather cynical when it came to a lot of different things, and simple emotions such as excitement weren't very common when it came to the angel of a man. However, Cas' had cheered, literally cheered, and pulled Dean into a hug. It was a simple thing, and Dean found himself hugging back almost instinctively, embracing for what felt like eternity before they finally let go.

They talked about their resolutions, and what they wanted to do to fix things up, need it be with family, friends, or in Dean's case ex's; It was then Dean found out how much of a dreamer Castiel was. They've talked before, on plenty occasions; over dinner, or just laying around and watching TV, but this time it felt different. This time it really felt like they were opening up, and it could be because of the high spirits that night, or maybe it was the booze, but Cas had never spoken more words to Dean ever, than he did that night.

He spoke about how much he wanted to help people, about what it feels like to be able to save a life and the kinds of changes he wanted to make. All the things he wanted to do to improve the whole of the world, and how he wanted to make an impact on the human race. It was things Dean remembers hearing from movies, and he didn't think those kinds of dreamers, those kinds of hope's even existed; but here he was, his mouth running a million miles per hour, and it wasn't just with what he was saying, but with how he was saying it that was what truly got to Dean.

Like he really believed he was going to make a difference, and for once, Dean didn't doubt it.

Anyways, Cas' medical professor came back from Eachléim, which by the way, Dean vaguely thinks is a small community in Ireland or some other European area, and informed his students that he was going to hold a bit of a proper get-together at his home, and assigned each of his students to do at least one thing and bring one thing for the party. Cas was instructed to bring some baked goods, such as cookies and cupcakes, and ended up settling on pie; much to Dean's satisfaction.

"Alright, Mr. Medical-Student, what else is there?" Dean queried, counting out their items. They had the flour, vegetable oil, sugar and salt. Dean pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, clenching them slightly, shaking his head softly from side to side in a vague thought induced dance, counting each of the items off one by one. They also had the Nutmeg, cinnamon, eggs and brown sugar; as far as the rest of the ingredients they were going to need, they already had them at home besides the apples and the cherries they were going to have to snag off the shelves. Dean glanced up, eyeing the shelves a moment.

Castiel turned to look at him before his eyes dropped evenly into the cart, scanning through the items much like Dean had been.

"Whipped cream." He finally said after a moment, "And ice cream."

"Now you're talkin', Doc." Dean grinned patting the man's shoulder before grabbing the bar of the cart, pushing it forward with Cas' sauntering beside him. "What kind of flavors are we talking? Neapolitan or plain?"

Castiel shrugged, eyes dancing over the miles of shelves and aisles before he seemed to finally spot the one he was looking for. "Whatever suits our need's, I suppose." He responded, stepping in front of the cart and leading the way past a few aisles, before seeming to spot the one he was looking for. Dean didn't say a word and just allowed the man to take him wherever he needed to be, and assumed that they'd just figure it out when they got there.

They got a hell of a lot more ice cream than what was strictly necessary; Dean stuffing the cart with as much Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough as he could, which Cas' wasn't be any more responsible by getting at least several flavors of ice cream he had never even heard of. Two buckets of whipped cream and a variety of fruits later, and they were finally good to go, splitting the cost amongst themselves and heading back home to get baking as soon as possible.

The whole party was going on tomorrow night, so if they could get finished the day before, then Cas' could spend the day worrying over how he looked rather than if he was truly prepared.

Once they were home and fully satisfied with the amount of groceries they ended up buying, Cas began pulling things from bags, opening containers and snatching his laptop. Cas scanned through a few of his files in utter concentration before finally seeming to find whatever it was he was looking for, his fingers tapping rather insistently on the touch pad before something popped up. He hummed a moment, setting up the device on the counter beside their oven, deft hands reaching for the cabinet doors.

"Dean, could you pull out the flour?" Cas commented over his shoulder, looking through drawers as though he was looking for the secrets of mankind. He scanned each one until he finally found his largest bowl. Dean vaguely nodded, scanning through the plastic bags until he came across it, emptying the bags before crumbling them up and tossing them on their kitchen table to worry about later. Setting things up and out, grabbing the package and setting it beside the laptop, snatching up a few bowls and silverware on his way back to the table.

Cas sauntered over once he seemed to find what he was looking for, toting a rather large bowl in his grasp and a wooden spoon, setting them both down gingerly, the heavy glass of the bowl clattering thickly against the wooden table surface. Cas' slid his trench coat off of his shoulders, setting it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs before rolling up his sleeves, Dean mimicking his movements before finally getting down to business.

"That's not how you stir," Castiel muttered after a good while, eyebrows knitting together while his eyes seemed to trace Dean's hand movements.

The pans were all set out, the cherries washed and the stems pulled. Cas held a knife tightly in his hands, a smaller kitchen knife as he skinned the apples, chopping them into nearly even lengths and setting them in a bowl to rinse and wash once he finished, glancing at the strange way Dean seemed to hold the whisk as if he was stabbing the batter, rather than smoothing it out.

Setting down his knife, Cas' whipped the apple juice on the front of his already flour peppered jeans, stepping up behind the mechanic and taking control of his arms when Dean made a motion to just quit. Cas slid his hands down the man's arms from behind, his hands wrapping along the mechanics wrists.

Dean jerked, nearly pulling away until Cas began switching his hands, making him hold the whisk more firmly before guiding his wrists in firm slow circles. Castiel's other hand was resting on the back of Dean's, which was holding the bowl firmly down on the table and preventing it from steering off. His palms were cold, most likely because of cutting the apples, but it didn't make much of a difference as the texture and temperature sent shivers down the mechanics spine. They were soft, patient in a way an angel would be with an awestruck human, in a way that someone would be to a child, and just how he went around doing so made Dean feel as if he was a puppet, letting his limbs be controlled for the moment until the muscles in his arms began to mimic the others.

Dean's breath caught in his throat, feeling the other strong hand's steer his own so carefully and gentle, as if he were some patient with an incurable disease, as if Castiel was letting out the bad news slowly, so it didn't strike out and tear him apart, but in the same sense, try to get it over with. Feeling like a broken doll; Cas' had full measured strokes with Dean's wrist, the circles in the batter seemed to loosen, and the cinnamon-made mixture was almost complete. Dean swallowed thickly, trying to keep his mind on mixing and taking control of the movements, but Cas' didn't seem to think he'd finish it without his guidance.

It felt funny, having Castiel pressed against his back, breathing against his ear. His mind blank until his thoughts began to pick up, over wiring and nearly tangible until he felt those cool hands slip away, and the warm body pressed against his back drift off and move next to him like before. Never saying a word as he grabbed up his knife and apple and began cutting once again.

Dean was speechless for an abundance of moments before he caught himself, shaking his head ever so slightly before grabbing the bowl and stepping away.

They were silent for what felt like forever, working around one another as best as they could. Castiel was inherently doing most if not all of the work. Dean stirred things every now and again, but Cas was the one putting the ingredients together, he was the one making the art and putting up the finishing touches to everything, and every time he would try to get Dean to do something, he'd make some irreversible mistake and nearly have a fit until Cas' helped him brush it off, before making his way with the mishap and somehow used his doctor mojo to make it work.

Cas always seemed to make things work.

The entire incident with Cas' leading him to stir was the furthest thing from his mind when he sliced his hand trying to help Cas' finish off cutting the apples, dropping the knife and the slices onto the cutting board. Cursing under his breath, Dean unconsciously snagged his hand to look at the damage. His face was scrunched up in pain as his blood seeped up from his pierced skin, hearing Cas move from a little ways over to his side in moments.

"What happened?" He questioned, his delicate hand reaching for the mechanics palm to see the extent of the damage. Dean tried to pull away, brush it off like it was nothing but Cas persisted he see it, and to be honest, it felt nice to have someone fuss over him. Cas was asking silent permission to open up the curling palm of the mechanic hand; Dean winced, but carefully unraveled his fingers, spreading his hand out.

The cut wasn't too deep, but it hurt like a son of a bitch, hissing when the medical student held the wound open.

Both of their hands were covered in food product, and felt a bit sticky to the touch, so Cas lead him over to the sink, quickly setting up the temperature before placing their hand's under the spray.

The mechanic jerked in pain, but Castiel held his hand under, attempting to clean it out as best as he could with as much as he could; Dean chewed his lower lip roughly, trying desperately to keep his pained noises to a minimum.

"Fuck, Cas." He ground out, "That stings-"

"Hold still, Dean." Castiel muttered, grabbing some soap to clean off around the edges, careful not to get anything in the wound before finally shutting off the faucet. One hand reached behind him, feeling around until his fingers brushed against a towel, sliding it off of the counter and placing it on the mechanics hand, ordering him to keep pressure before darting off and out of the kitchen.

Dean watched him go, eyes glancing down at the cloth, using his thumb to hold the pressure down until Cas returned. The medical student was holding a simple first-aid kit in his hands when he finally darted back into the room, one that looked unsurprisingly familiar to the one that Bobby kept in his upstairs bathroom cabinet. It reminded him of those times him or Sam would skid up their knee's or elbows as a kid, and Bobby would bring them to the kitchen table, hoisting them up as little kids and making their "boo-boo's" all better. The memory almost made him smile, but the immense stinging in his hand prevented that from happening.

"Alright, don't move." Cas instructed, peeling away the towel that was already getting blood soaked. He held the back of the mechanics calloused hand, while Dean tried to keep it steady by clinging to his own wrist. Cas examined it a moment, popping open the kit before pulling out some anti-bacterial wipes.

It stung quite a bit, but Dean kept himself from bitching about it.

"You've got to be more careful, Dean." Castiel said quietly, eyes watching each stroke he made with the wipes, trying to see how deep it was, making small decisions in his head off of his findings. His eyes flickered up to the man's face and down to his injury and back again, shifting between them to see the small tremors in the mechanics face, with what hurt and what didn't.

Dean watched in a near mesmerization, his hands moving gracefully and swiftly, each motion was smooth and careful. Everything Cas ever seemed to do was smooth and careful, graceful in that clumsy sort of way at times. Dean glanced up at him, but Castiel wasn't looking at him anymore, but rather staring intensely at his palm, deep blue eyes that looked like the sky just after the sun had finally set; crisp like ice, but warm like a blanket.

"I told you, I'm not good with-" Dean gestured with his head to the ingredients still scattered about the counters and table, "-Cooking, baking, any of that Martha Stewart crap."

Castiel made an amused sound in the back of his throat, "You don't have to be good at something to enjoy it."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Then what's the point?"

"The point is, is that you enjoy it." Cas' looked up at him, watching him a moment before his eyes drifted back down to the palm, wrapping the wound up in gauze right after rubbing disinfectant on it, carefully spinning the white fabric tightly over the skin. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're talented or if what you do is 'any good' because if you enjoy yourself, that's all that matters." Dean watched him, hands moving skillfully in time. "Right?"

"I don't know, man." He muttered in response, "Even if you enjoy doing something, why do it if you're no good at it? How's that any fun?"

Dean thought about the car's he worked on regularly, how he enjoyed doing it, how he was good at it. He couldn't imagine having fun fixing car's if he had no idea what he was doing.

"You're missing the point," The medical student breathed, pulling out a bit of medical tape and wrapping it around the gauze. His hands paused, straightening his previously hunched back to look directly at the mechanic, his face thoughtful and contemplative. "You see, Dean-" He began, fumbling on his wording a moment before seeming to figure something out in his head.

"If you enjoyed drawing," Castiel started again, thumbs brushing over the tape, flattening it out and stroking it down. "You loved the feeling of a pencil in your hand, and how you can make it move. To feel the paper under your fingertips and against the side of your palm, and it just made you feel so good, even if you didn't think you were a good artist, even if you didn't think what you made ever turned out the way you wanted it to; but you continued to draw." Castiel was watching him with a steady and unwavering gaze. "Why would you stop drawing?"

Dean opened his mouth, but let it fall shut once again. He raised his brow and turned his head in mock recognition. "You got me there."

"Take me, for example." Castiel continued on his thought. "I've never baked before, my mother would when I was much younger, and when I lived with Lucifer, he would be the one to bake. I always enjoyed the smells and how it was done, but I had never done it before." His hands stopped moving, but he never let go of the mechanics wrist and palm. "I enjoy the idea of baking, even though I'm no good at it." He tilted his head towards his computer screen which was darkening from lack of use. "Unless of course I have guidance. I enjoy baking, and I enjoy baking with you." His lips pressed together, seeming to swallow before continuing. "Why would I give that up?"

Dean was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing several times until he felt his friend release his hand.

"C'mon, Dean. We need to get these pies done." And with that, he stepped away.

Dean felt as if he was gaping, but after a long moment, pulled his jaw up and closed his mouth, pressing his lips together until finally pushing his way over to cutting the apples again.

After that, time seemed to fly by in near silence, besides the sound of the knives hitting the cutting boards and the even sound of their breathing. They worked for a while like that, quiet until Cas finally put the pieces of the pies together, pre-heating the oven as he did so. Dean nearly cut himself on several occasions, but for the most part was relatively unharmed. He placed the covering on their last pie, pinching the edges and cutting a few slivers on top so the steam could release, and in a moment Cas had taken it and slid it into the oven.

"So how many is that?" Dean was the first to break the silence, and he could practically see Cas' ear's perking at the sound.

"Nine." He responded, closing the oven and pushing in the time. They had four in the oven, and the other five were still uncooked and sitting on the stove top. "Nine pies altogether."

"How many do you think we'll be able to keep?"

"If we have a few left over from the party, those will be ours." Cas turned away from the stove, the palms of his hands leaning against the bar-handle with his back pressed against it. Cas was covered in flour and several other things Dean couldn't even think to name, his hair had to have some eggs in it, and there were smudges dancing over his face; However, Dean didn't think his situation was any better.

"I think we should keep one," Dean said after a few fluttering seconds, "Just in case they all get eaten."

"Why would we do that?"

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing breathlessly. "Because that's what people do Cas', they eat their work." He took an idle step forward, "C'mon, just one. Nobody at your New Years party is going to miss one apple pie."

"You don't know that Dean-"

"Cas, just trust me on this." Dean cut him off, "One pie will not be the end of the world."

Cas looked unsure, almost as if he felt guilty taking one for himself. It made Dean wonder what kind of morals went on in his house growing up that'd make Cas not want to keep one selfishly. Although it wasn't really selfish, it was just one out of nine, it wouldn't make a huge difference.

"Just one, and we can have some ice cream and whipped cream." He grinned, "If it makes you feel better, just think of it as us making sure the pie's are all good. Nothing poisoned or whatever-"

"None of of the pies are poisoned-"

"You don't know that," Dean persisted lightly, "That's why we should test one, you know, just to make sure." He raised his hands in that universal reassuring gesture. However, Castiel just continued to look uncertain, "It'll just be one pie, man. Nobody will care, and if someone does, just tell them that I ate it all by myself and you didn't have time to make another."

Cas couldn't seem to stop the smile as it pressed against the sides of his lips, rolling his head in good nature to the side, the breath falling from his lips nearing a sigh that never happened. "I'll think about it."

"Strong maybe?" Cas waved him off but he persisted, "A very strong maybe?"

"It's about to be a very strong no." Cas teased, and Dean lifted his hands in mock defeat.

"Duly noted."

Later that night that 'strong maybe' happened to be a 'strong yes' because Cas sauntered into their shared living room with two plates of pie and some Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream slowly melting right beside it. The apples were still steaming, and the sound that Dean made when he saw it was nearly inhuman, scooting to his side to give Cas' room to sit beside him.

"So the Med-student caved, yeah?" Dean grinned, glancing at his friend and holding the plate delicately in his hand. He grabbed the metal fork between his fingers, making to cut the tip of the pie off, sticking it and pulling it up to his lips. He groaned when he took his first bite, nodding appreciatively.

"Taste like heaven." He said with a stuffed face, cheeks puffed out with hot apple slices stuffed in them. Castiel chuckled, taking his first bite; needless to say his reaction wasn't as strong as Dean's, but still equally as pleasant.

"Well," Dean began after swallowing, "It's not poisoned."

Castiel snorted, "Good, I can still go to the party."

Dean let out a laugh, taking another bite of his pie. "Who all is going to be there?"

"You," Cas said between bites, "If you want to."

"Really?" Dean raised his brows, swallowing before continuing. "They'd let that?"

"Of course," Castiel answered, scrunching up his face in perplexion. "There's no reason for you not to be allowed."

"I guess," The mechanic said after a moment, "It just seemed like a 'student only' kind of thing."

"People are bringing dates and friends," Castiel elaborated, looking back down at his plate to get a scoop of his ice cream, along with another bite of pie, the flavours mixing together almost flawlessly. "Anna is largely a people person, I doubt she'll mind the extra company."

"Anna?"

"My professor."

"What?" Dean shot him a confused look, "Wait, I thought your professor was a guy?"

"Why would you think that?" Cas furrowed his brows together, shooting the mechanic a look.

"I uh-" Dean paused, "I could have sworn you said your teacher was a dude."

Cas' muffled a near taunting chuckle, "I never said that." He took another bite.

"Yes you did," Dean mocked Cas' tone, who in response elbowed him, finishing off his food.

They were quiet for a while after that, watching whatever was on TV, which wasn't really much. Old shows they never had much care for, flickering across the medical students screen. They sat in a comfortable silence, their plates sitting on the glass coffee table in front of them, an unopened beer besides Castiel's plate, and a half empty one besides Deans.

Dean tapped his fingers against the side of his leg, making a soft tune to a song the doctor's assistant couldn't recognize. His lips were pressed in a hard line, pushed over to the right in contemplation, looking at the screen but not really watching it; Dean dragged his teeth over his lower lip, his tongue poking out a moment as he licked his lower lip.

"Hey, Cas." Dean began, his tone uplifted in query. Castiel turned his head slightly to look at him, humming in acknowledgement for him to continue. Dean chewed on his words, swishing them in his mouth and almost unwilling to spit them out. "Do you like spending time with me?"

"Dean?"

"No, like-" He hesitated, "Like- Do you just- y'know, enjoy spending time with me? Like you sit there and think, 'this isn't so bad.' y'know?"

Castiel's eyes scanned over the mechanics face who wouldn't look him in the eye, his attention glued to the screen he was barely watching. Cas sucked in a deep breath, vaguely nodding. "I suppose."

That didn't seem to be the answer Dean was aiming for, because his face fell- looking sort of troubled, doubtful, eyes glancing away from the screen and landing on Cas'. His face contorted in frustrated confusion, falling to his side. "Man, that's not good enough." His voice was breathed out, rough. He was shooting for something, and to be honest Cas' doesn't know if he's ever heard Dean sound so disappointed before.

"I don't know what you want to hear." Castiel said slowly, letting his hands that were resting by his sides lay on his lap, leaning forward in his seat. Dean's eyes were darting everywhere as if his thoughts were tangible and he was just trying to sort them out, read them and place them somewhere safe.

"Just, I don't know, man-" The tapping on his leg stopped, "Just-something Cas'." He shifted in his seat, "You like being around me, don't you?"

Castiel was silent a moment, something seeming to finally click. "This is about Lisa, isn't it?"

Dean was silent a long moment but that was all reassurance Cas needed to hear.

"Dean-"

"No-" His voice sounded harder, more urgent, "Just- just, forget it." Dean tried to wave it off, a soft flush hitting his cheeks. "Don't even know why I brought it up."

"Dean, if you need to talk about it-"

"No, I don't." The mechanic cut him off, "I'm fine, there's nothing to talk about, I don't know what I was even going to say, it's nothing so just drop it."

Castiel sighed, watching as Dean pushed himself to his feet abruptly, snagging both of their plates to presumably take them to the sink. He was stepping away when Cas finally spoke up.

"What you're feeling is valid, I hope you understand that."

"Cas', just drop it-"

"No, Dean." His eyebrows furrowed, "The whole situation with Lisa is a messed up one that you'd been thrown in the middle of. You can't control everything Dean, you can't fix everything, though you'll try." Dean's back was turned to him, shoulders tense and he couldn't see his face, but Cas didn't stop. His breath felt heavy in his throat, but Dean needed to hear it, and he needed to say it. "You're a good man, Dean. You raised a kid that didn't belong to you, you put together a family that was drifting, and you want your life back. I don't blame you."

Dean was silent, but it didn't put the medical student off. "Human's are flawed, Dean. You're flawed, Lisa's flawed, even I'm flawed, and that's what makes us human. It's how we handle it that make's us who we are, and you try to be better, I know you do; you try to make everything better and fix what's broken but you can only do it for so long."

"Lisa just was just another chapter to your story," Castiel's voice was growing softer the longer he spoke, "And one day it'll be someone else, you just need to find that person who'll stick out the rest of your's."

Dean didn't say a word, his head turning and when he didn't hear Cas say anything more he continued to walk. However, once he reached the doorway, he heard Cas' say one last thing.

"I do, by the way."

Dean paused, confused. "Do what?" Dean asked over his shoulder.

Castiel's reply was soft, but loud enough for the mechanic to just barely hear.

"Enjoy your company." He responded, "I always have."

Dean opened his mouth, to come up with some sort of reply but none came. He felt a vague warmth manifesting in his chest but he ignored it, stepping out of the room and into the kitchen; the smell of pies wafting in the air but he didn't pay the sweet warm smells much mind.

Placing the plates into the sink, he thought of Lisa.

Then he thought of Cas.