"I'm home!" Dean called, the door handle slamming against the wall as he threw it open. "Shit!" he muttered.

"You're late," Castiel observed.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, examining the new dent in the wall with a frown.

"I made us sandwiches, but I got hungry and ate without you. I put yours in the fridge."

Dean turned his attention away from the dent, clutching his chest dramatically with a sigh. "Cas, man, you're breaking my heart here!" he declared, heading towards the bathroom. "Just let me shower and eat, then I'm all yours."

Castiel's own heart fluttered at the thought, so he quickly began to clear up the kitchen to distract his mind from thoughts of his naked flatmate.

. * * * .

Dean's eyes widened as his gaze swept over the table full of ingredients. It hadn't seemed that much when he'd bought it, but then he hadn't really been paying that much attention after Jess's phone call. "You do realise we're not feeding an army tonight, right?"

"I hope not. I don't think this will feed them and you."

"Hey!" Dean pouted as he pretended to take offence.

"The bird is already in the oven," Castiel said, then proceeded to instruct Dean on how to prepare the vegetables.

"And what are you going while I'm doing all this?" Dean asked as he stood by the sink, washing his hands.

"I'll be making pie."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Pie?"

"Pie."

Dean grinned. "I knew I liked you."

Castiel could feel his cheeks growing warm, and he had to remind himself that Dean meant nothing by it.

Their Hallowe'en pumpkins were long gone - thrown out after they'd started to go soft - but Cas had kept the carved out flesh to make soup and, when it had become apparent that there was more than necessary for that, pie.

So, while Dean scraped and peeled and sliced and diced, Castiel began preparing the filling. He'd found a recipe in one of Dean's mother's old books, with neatly written annotations in the margins, amending quantities and cooking times. The page had stains from where it had been splashed in the past. He consulted every printed and handwritten instruction carefully, thankful that Mrs Winchester had had such legible handwriting.

"Fuck!"

Startled by Dean's sudden outburst, Castiel looked up from the book to find Dean bleeding over the potatoes. Quickly stepping around the counter, he dragged his friend over to the sink and forced his hand under the cold tap. "Keep it there," he instructed. He rushed into the bathroom, making a mental note to keep some first aid supplies in the kitchen from now on. When he came back Dean was sucking on his finger like a child.

"I told you to keep it under the tap."

"It's fine. It stopped bleeding."

"That's not the point. You're handling fresh food. Give me your hand."

With a loud sigh of protest, Dean allowed Cas to wrap the plaster around his finger.

"Please be more careful," Castiel said softly, holding Dean's hand for a second too long before letting go. Dean said nothing as he returned to his vegetables.

Dean's back was to him, so for a long moment Castiel watched him as he got back to work. His usual layers of flannel and plaid had been reduced to a single grey fitted t-shirt that hugged his body in all the right places.

The longer he stared, the hotter it felt in the already warm kitchen. Cas exhaled softly, working open another button of his shirt before getting back to the pie. The recipe didn't require a pastry topping, but said you could decorate it with a lattice pattern if you wished. The picture in the book had maple leaves across it, however Castiel had his own design in mind.

. * * * .

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked as Cas pulled the roast out of the oven to rest some time later.

"Turducken."

Dean paused, staring at Cas blankly. "I say again, what the hell is that?"

Castiel sighed and pulled the cardboard box out of the trash. "Turducken. Chicken stuffed in duck stuffed in turkey. See?"

Dean took the box and read the front. "Whatever happened to good old-fashioned turkey and stuffing? This looks and sounds like shit. It's even got 'turd' in the name - turducken."

"Don't like it, don't eat it," Cas told him sharply, snatching the box back. "There are plenty of vegetables."

"I just don't get why we couldn't have a regular turkey and—"

"Because we couldn't afford it!" Cas snapped angrily.

Dean was stunned into silence by Cas's outburst, and as Castiel turned his back on him he wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light or if he'd seen tears in his friend's eyes.

When Castiel began roughly chopping some walnuts Dean didn't know what to do, so he just stood and watched him. Cas was stiff with irritation as he attacked nut after nut, and every time the knife sliced through to the chopping board the noise cut into Dean's head.

He licked his lips. "Cas," he said softly, moving up behind him and putting his hands over Castiel's. "Stop." For a moment, it felt like Cas was leaning into him. Dean let him go. "I'm sorry."

"I just want Thanksgiving to be perfect," Castiel sighed.

"It doesn't have to be perfect," Dean told him. "So long as there's you and me, we don't need anything else. Any of this," he emphasised, sweeping an arm around the kitchen.

"But I have a lot to be thankful for this year."

"Yeah?" Dean breathed.

Castiel dropped the knife and turned to face him. "Yes. I have my life, I have a job, I have good friends," he said, taking Dean's hand, "and, for the first time in a long time, I think that perhaps God does love me."

"'Course he does, Cas," Dean smiled, squeezing Castiel's hand. He took a deep breath. "And d'you know what I'm thankful for?"

Castiel gave a minute shake of his head.

"You."

"Me?" Castiel echoed in surprise.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. You don't know what I was like, before I met you."

There was an unexpected intimacy in the way Dean spoke, and there was a long pause as neither spoke; they seemed to get lost in each other's eyes. After a moment, Cas licked his dry lips before speaking. "Bobby said... that I was good for you. Whatever that means."

"He said what?" A slight flush crept onto Dean's cheeks and mild irritation prickled under his skin.

"That I was..." Castiel dropped his gaze and self-consciously wiped his hands on his apron. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's... It's fine, Cas," Dean told him, unconvincingly. When Castiel didn't look up at him, he ducked his head, searching for his eyes until they locked together. "Really," he said, more sincerely this time. He rested a warm hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Now what can I do to help 'round here?"

Finally Castiel looked up at him. "I'm almost ready for the pancetta."

"The what?"

"Pancetta cubes. They're in the fridge."

Dean went to search the fridge, eventually grabbing the packet of meat. "Is pancetta just a fancy name for bacon?" he asked, eyeing the contents of the packet.

"I have no idea. Maybe?"

Dean laughed, and Cas smiled because that was for him.

In a matter of minutes, Cas had the pancetta and walnuts cooking in a saucepan.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen anyone use so many pans," Dean joked.

"You may add the sprouts when the pancetta is crispy," Cas instructed, passing him the wooden spoon.

"Oh may I?"

But Cas didn't respond to his teasing; he was too busy pulling trays of roasted vegetables out of the oven and adjusting temperature dials on the cooker.

Dean poked at a pancetta cube with a spoon, wondering if it was crispy enough yet. "Eh," he shrugged, tossing the sprouts into the pan. "You're like a little kitchen wizard," he told Cas once he started putting food on the table. "Like a domestic Gandalf or something."

"A domestic who?" Cas asked, brows furrowed in confusion which made Dean smile.

"Never mind," he said dismissively, mentally adding The Lord of the Rings onto Castiel's list of must-see movies - a list that was getting longer by the day no matter how many they watched - as he moved the contents of the pan around. Dean found his gaze travelling over to watch Cas's silent dance around the kitchen as he hurried to get everything ready. "You sure I can't do anything else?"

"Just don't let the sprouts burn."

Dean mock saluted him. "Yes, sir!"

Less than ten minutes later, they were both sitting down to a feast that had Cas reluctantly admitting he may have gotten 'a little carried away'.

Dean just grinned at him as he scooped spoonfuls of vegetables onto his plate beside three thick slices of turducken - which he still wasn't convinced about - and poured a generous amount of gravy over everything. He stabbed at several things and had them halfway to his mouth when Castiel spoke.

"Bless us, oh Lord, as we thank You..."

Dean's fork hovered in the air for a moment before he decided that, even if he didn't believe, it would be polite to wait for Cas.

"...for food when others are hungry; for drink when others are thirsty; for friends when others are lonely. We humbly ask You to bless those whom we love, now absent from us, and watch over them; protect them in all anxiety, danger, and temptation. Amen."

"Amen," Dean echoed automatically.

Castiel jerked his head up in surprise.

"What?" Dean shrugged. He was grateful for what he had, and the bit about guarding loved ones from temptation? He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he could see that that was for Sam.

Cas stared at Dean with his head cocked to the side for a short moment. "Nothing, I guess," he said, but a small smile crept onto his lips as he reached for his knife and fork.

When Castiel started eating, Dean raised the fork to his mouth again and concentrated on chewing.

"Oh my God this is incredible!"

Across from him, Castiel narrowed his eyes. "So it doesn't taste like shit, then..." he commented dryly.

An embarrassed chuckle burst past Dean's lips. "Yeah. Um, about that..."

"Just eat it before it goes cold," Cas smiled, Dean's unspoken apology already accepted.

. * * * .

Thanksgiving dinner was better than anything Dean had ever eaten, he decided as he tucked in. Castiel had made plenty, so he helped himself to seconds. And, okay, maybe thirds as well.

"So how are things going with Pamela?" he asked.

"Fine," Cas replied.

"Just 'fine'?" Dean asked, studying Cas from across the table.

Castiel put his cutlery down and clasped his hands together. "She wants me to un-forgive my father," he said after a moment.

Dean's brow furrowed as he chewed and, once he'd swallowed, asked, "What does that mean?"

"From what I understand, she thinks I am blaming myself for my father's actions."

Dean bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Do you think you are?"

"I don't know," Castiel sighed heavily. "I really don't know."

"That's okay."

"I think—" He paused. "Perhaps I should not be so quick to defend him."

"Usually people defend someone they think is innocent," Dean commented, putting a whole brussel sprout in his mouth.

"Yes."

Dean moved the food to the side of his mouth to speak. "Are you saying that you think he's not so innocent any more?"

"I don't know, Dean. It's so confusing. I know what he believes, because I used to believe the same. But the way Father Reynold's speaks of God creates doubt in my mind."

"You know, I don't think I could ever have forgiven your father if I was you."

Castiel picked up his fork again and poked at a mushroom, sliding it around in his gravy.

"Forget what Pamela thinks," Dean told him, putting his cutlery down to give Cas his undivided attention. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"You forgave me for the way I spoke to Balthazar," he pointed out.

"Did I?" he asked. "Or was I just afraid of further confrontation?"

"Cas, I was wrong to treat Balthazar the way I did, okay? And I'm sorry. I will apologise the next time I see him."

"I believe you."

"Do you think your father would apologise?"

Castiel shook his head straight away. "Absolutely not." He put his fork down and rested his arms on the table. "He thought he was doing the right thing," Cas said quietly, almost to himself.

"Doesn't mean it was the right thing." Dean scooped pancetta cubes onto his fork and shoved them greedily in his mouth. "What kind of stuff do you say to her? I mean I'm not asking for details, 'cause I figure it's private stuff - just generally speaking? I've never really gotten the whole counselling thing."

Castiel shrugged. "I'm not sure I get it either. So far we've only spoken about my childhood and my father's liking of corporal punishment."

Dean's expression darkened, and his grip on his fork tightened. "How often did your father hit you when you were a kid?"

"Whenever I was bad," he replied matter-of-factly. "Didn't your father ever hit you?"

"No. Never."

"Not even when you'd done something wrong?

"Never. Not even when he was drunk, because even then he knew that you don't ever hit your kid."

"When I told him I didn't feel... that way... about women..." Castiel licked his lips. "It was supposed to be punishment. I think it just got out of control when I wouldn't agree to get married off."

"He abused you, Cas. Don't defend him like that," Dean argued, bewildered that Cas was still defending the man who had made his life miserable for so long.

Castiel looked uncomfortable. "Can we talk about something else, pease?"

Dean didn't want to talk about something else; he wanted to keep talking until he made Cas see what a piece of shit his dad was because Cas deserved better than the way he'd been treated. Cas was nothing but kind, though considering the way he'd been treated for so long, it would have been understandable if Cas had been bitter and angry and hateful. Castiel's big heart was one of the things Dean admired about him. "What do you want to talk about?" Dean asked with his mouth full.

Castiel rolled his eyes in disgust. "Well not your lack of manners, certainly."

Dean grinned like the big kid he was, his cheeks bulging. Wanting to wipe that cheesy grin off Dean's face, Castiel launched a sprout at him.

Dean almost choked on his food, eyes wide with surprise at Cas's actions. "Did you just throw food at me?"

"No."

"You did! I watched you do it!"

In retaliation, Dean picked up a piece of roast potato and threw it at Cas. It bounced off his chest and landed on his plate, splashing gravy up his white shirt.

Dean snorted. "Looks like you might need a bib," he teased. "The little baby got food all down his front."

Castiel dug his hand into the bowl of mashed potatoes and leaned across the table, splatting it in Dean's face. His eyes widened as he realised what he'd done, and then he laughed.

"Oh, you are so on!" Dean declared, wiping potato off his face and flinging it back at Cas.

Laughing and shrieking like two-year-olds, they started pinging food at each other. The bowl of leftover mash was quickly emptied as they lobbed handfuls of it at each other until they were both covered in food.

"Okay, okay, time out!" Dean declared breathlessly a minute later. He surveyed the mess they'd made - his elbow had caught the gravy jug sending it across the table, Cas had ducked a couple of times so there was potato on the walls, and a couple of stray sprouts had flown past his head at one point. "What a mess."

Castiel seemed to withdraw into himself. "I'm sorry."

"Dude, it's cool."

But Castiel didn't look convinced.

Dean's chair scraped across the floor as he stood and leaned over the table. "Hey, look at me. It's cool, okay?"

"I started this. I should clean it up."

"We'll clean it up - together - because I gave as good as I got," Dean insisted, before a lump of potato in Cas' hair caught his gaze. "You've got food in your hair," he told him, reaching over to run his fingers through that strand of thick hair, picking the piece of potato out as their gazes locked. They were silent for a few seconds before Dean licked his lips nervously and pulled back a little, dropping the potato onto Cas's plate. "I hope you were finished with that."

A small smile tugged at Castiel's lips and he cleared his throat. "Yes. I was."

"Good."

As he turned around to retrieve Castiel's sprouts from the floor, Cas giggled.

"What?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder, thinking that perhaps he had something on his back.

"I've never been in a food fight before."

"No?"

"Or a pillow fight. Or any kind of fight, really."

"Probably for the best, really."

Castiel frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well you're kind of skinny. Whoever you were fighting would probably break you." Dean's teasing grin fell as he remembered sitting beside Cas's sedated form in the hospital.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I am not weak!"

"I never said you were weak!"

"You said I wasn't strong!"

"I— Stop twisting my words!"

"I'm strong," Castiel insisted, lips pursed a slight pout.

"Okay."

"I am!"

"I believe you!"

"No," Castiel said quietly. "You don't."

Dean took a breath. "Can we not do this?" he pleaded. The last thing he wanted was to ruin Cas's first real Thanksgiving.

"I'm strong," Castiel repeated softly, eyes on the ground.

"I know," Dean agreed. He stepped towards Cas and gripped his wrists loosely, rubbing his thumbs where Cas had once threatened to leave scars. "I know."

. * * * .

Surprisingly it took them less than an hour between the two of them to gather up the remnants of food, wipe down the floor and walls where food had hit, and wash the mountain of dishes. Castiel handwashed the tablecloth as best he could while Dean tidied up the counter. And they did it all in silence.

"What about that pie?" Dean asked after they were done.

"You can't still be hungry!" Cas exclaimed.

"But pie," Dean pleaded.

Castiel shook his head in bemusement. "It's still in the oven. Be careful."

Dean carefully pulled the dish out and let out an impressed whistle at the sight, for the golden-brown pastry topping had been cut out in a Jack O'Lantern-inspired face. "You, my friend, are amazing."

Castiel gave him a small, pleased smile. "I try."

"You succeed," Dean amended. "I almost don't want to cut into it."

Castiel placed two plates on the counter and Dean cut them each a generous slice of pie, topping them with a generous dollop of Cool Whip. Before Cas could get them forks, Dean swiped a finger through the filling and stuck it in his mouth.

A small noise akin to a whine rose in Castiel's throat. He stared at Dean's plump, pink lips suggestively sucking his finger clean, then it slid out with a wet pop. He held his breath, feeling a warm flush spreading across his face as Dean ran his tongue across his lower lip, catching a few stray flakes of pastry.

Dean swallowed. His expression bore none of the stress that prematurely aged his face; rather the years fell off him as his face lit up in a look of childish wonder.

"Cas," he choked.

"Dean? What is it?" Castiel asked, immediately concerned.

When Dean looked at him his eyes were wet. "How..?"

Lines creased Cas's forehead as he tried to decipher what Dean wasn't saying.

"My mom, she..."

Castiel sucked in a breath as understanding dawned on him. "It was a recipe from one of her books."

He wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised when Dean launched himself at Cas, nearly squeezing the life out of him. Cas grimaced and did his best to bear it, but eventually he needed to breathe.

"Um, Dean?" he croaked. Immediately the pressure around his ribcage eased as Dean stepped back.

"Sorry, I... Uh..."

Neither of them acknowledged the single tear that trickled down Dean's cheek.

"I understand."

They took their plates to the living room, sitting beside each other on the sofa. Castiel was halfway through his slice, suddenly hungry despite feeling full not that long ago, when he noticed that Dean hadn't touched his. He was simply staring at it.

He placed a hand on Dean's arm. "It's okay," he said, when Dean looked at him.

"It was my favourite," Dean told him. "When she died... I never thought I'd taste it again. I forgot what it was like, but as soon as I had this, I knew. Is that weird?"

"No," Castiel assured him. "Not at all."

Dean picked up his fork and broke off a small piece, placing it in his mouth in a way more careful than Cas had ever seen him eat before. He closed his eyes as he chewed, letting the flavour transport him back to his childhood.

"Promise me you'll make this again," Dean asked hoarsely when his plate was clean.

"Of course."

"You know, I don't really feel like watching anything tonight."

Cas nodded. Dean had probably picked out another movie in his head that he thought Cas should see.

"I think I'm probably gonna just like down for a bit," he said, moving to stand.

"You could lie down here," Castiel said, his words stopping Dean in his tracks.

"I kind of want some quiet."

"I can be quiet," Castiel promised. "Unless you'd rather be alone?"

Dean hesitated. "No," he answered eventually. "I don't want to be alone."

Castiel patted the sofa, still warm from where Dean had been sitting.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Dean lay down beside him, curled up with his head on Castiel's lap. He fidgeted, trying to get his comfortable on Cas's thigh, before placing a cushion between them.

"Comfortable?" Cas asked.

"I thought you said you could be quiet?"

"Sorry."

"'S okay. I was just teasing."

"I'll be quiet now."

They sat there in silence, their breathing falling into an easy rhythm as the minutes ticked past. After a while Castiel found himself brushing his fingers through Dean's hair, and Dean didn't protest. Eventually Dean's breathing became heavier, until gentle snores rumbled in his throat.

Castiel looked down at his sleeping friend, more peaceful than he'd ever seen him. Dean looked beautiful like this, and he found himself staring in a way he couldn't when Dean was awake. He'd noticed Dean's freckles - it was impossible not to - but now he could see the smaller, less obvious ones, and could appreciate just how many were scattered across his face. The desire to kiss each and every one surged up in him, and his heart filled with longing.

"I think I love you," he whispered.