A/N: Once again, I am here to give the disclaimer that I respect everyone's religious beliefs and that the beliefs and actions of my characters (or CW's characters) do not reflect my own beliefs or actions. Thanks. Also, I hope you guys like this chapter because I feel like I forgot how to write Cass… His "voice" seems weird in this chapter. IDK. Maybe I don't know how to write him when he's not in mortal peril LOL.

Ten

It was November now and Brooke had decided to go all-out with Christmasy stuff. She'd never had any real opportunities to celebrate the season before now and she was extremely excited to do everything possible. Even more excited than she'd been to do autumn-y stuff. Christmastime was such a wonderful time of year, or so everyone had been telling her for her entire life, and she just wanted to experience the same warmth and coziness that everyone else had been experiencing since their childhoods. And getting to do all of it with her husband would only make it better.

Except that Castiel had a strange and rather negative view of Christmas. A lot of that had to do with the fact that he had known Jesus, who had simply been a Prophet, and not the literal son of God. And a lot of it had to do with the fact that Christmas, as a modern holiday, had been helped along by several angels as propaganda towards Christianity—towards Chuck. The whole thing put a bad taste in Castiel's mouth.

"But if we let the association with Chuck ruin Christmas, then Chuck wins," Brooke said one day, as they were discussing all of this. "Besides, Jack is God now. If you want to worship anyone during Christmas, worship him."

Castiel gave her an indulgent smile. "Jack wouldn't want us to worship him. You know that."

Brooke sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine, so on Christmas Day we… send up a prayer like… 'Hey Jack. What's up? We love you.' And that'll be the extent of our worship."

Castiel stared at her for a moment, and then laughed.

###

Before Christmas, of course, there was Thanksgiving, another holiday that Brooke had missed out on her entire life. She had no idea what she and Cass would be doing on the actual day, but she wanted to try cooking lots of things before then, just in case. She could cook some things, and no one had ever complained about her food before, but that didn't mean she couldn't expand her culinary knowledge.

She picked a day she had off from work and Castiel didn't. This happened a lot—one of them being off while the other wasn't. Unless they specifically requested time off on certain days, their schedules didn't often align. And every time Castiel had to go to work or watch Brooke leave for work, and know that he would be separated from her, he was sad. They both still suffered from separation anxiety, a side-effect of having been practically joined at the hip for the last fifteen years.

But, the good thing about this day was that, since Cass would be at work all day, she'd be able to surprise him with lots of (hopefully) delicious food when he came home.

"Can I please have the car tomorrow?" she'd asked the night before. It would mean Cass would have to take a bus to work, which means he'd have to leave earlier than normal, and she felt bad asking, but she'd have to go grocery shopping, and having her own car would be easier than calling an Uber or trying to walk all the way home lugging bags.

"Of course," he'd said, immediately. Because he'd give her the moon if he could. Because he'd give her anything she asked for.

She tried to remember how much he would give her were it possible, and tried not to abuse the power it gave her. But making him take the bus to and from work for a day would be worth it if he got a home-cooked meal afterwards.

…

She spent the morning looking up a myriad of recipes on the Internet, most of which she discarded, but she did find a few that looked promising. She came home and put away groceries, then scrubbed the kitchen counters. For ambience, she put on Christmas music jazz (no singing) and blasted it from her laptop. Then she got to work.

She was always very careful with the kitchen knives. Being back in Daphne's house (her house now) always reminded her of the time Daphne had accidentally cut off the tip of her finger while making dinner with Brooke. Castiel had come and healed her, of course, but he couldn't do that to Brooke now if she cut herself. So, she was very careful.

She made the dessert first because that could be eaten cold and it would still be good. Then she started on the main courses: a hearty vegetable soup with a creamy base made from puréed pumpkin; a pasta bake that was something like a vegetarian take on beef stroganoff, with big chunks of mushrooms to replace the meat; and a sheet pan of roasted vegetables, drizzled in oil to make them crispy, and seasoned with salt and pepper. Brooke and Castiel were not vegetarians, but Brooke had found that, after years of eating a lot of greasy diner food, she was eating less and less meat. Plus, Castiel had been talking about wanting to start a garden for months, but it was too cold now. And the thought of him out there in the front lawn, working on his tomato plants or whatever, was so adorable to Brooke that she'd immediately decided that this entire meal had to be vegetarian.

She left the pasta bake and roasted vegetables in the oven on a low temperature to keep them warm (the soup could be microwaved and it probably wouldn't change the flavor much) and glanced over at the dessert sitting on the counter. It was a honey cake, with sour cream added to it to keep it moist. When she brought it out for Cass, she'd dust it with powdered sugar for effect.

Staring at the cake, she realized she'd been cooking for several hours, and she was tired and sweaty and starving. She couldn't very well eat everything she'd just made, so she made herself a quick sandwich and then took a shower. And by the time she was thinking of crawling into bed for a nap, she heard:

"Honey, I'm ho-ome!"

She laughed and went to meet Castiel at the door. She'd started saying this to him as a joke some months ago, thinking of I Love Lucy as she did it, and, at some point, he'd also begun to do it. But when he did it, it wasn't a joke. It was the only time he ever called her "Honey."

"Hi," she said, and they shared a small kiss. "How tired are you?"

Castiel blinked. "A little, but I'm all right," he said, looking at her curiously. "Did you want to have sex?"

Brooke choked on her spit and leaned over, laughing and coughing in equal measure. "Do I want sex that often?"

Castiel, who was patting her back helpfully, said, "Well…"

"Anyway, no. That's not…" She stood up again. "I… have a surprise for you."

His eyes lit up. "A surprise?" he asked.

"It… It's not ready yet, though," Brooke went on. "I need you to… walk past the kitchen with your eyes closed, okay? I have to set everything up."

He tilted his head, giving her the classic confused look, brows drawn together.

"Just do it for me," she said, cupping his face in her hands.

He placed his hands over the top of hers. "Of course I will." His brows scrunched together again. "Did you… cook something?"

"Shut up and close your eyes, and hold my hand so I can make sure you don't trip over stuff."

He smiled a little and obediently closed his eyes, and she took a moment to admire those long, pretty lashes. Then, she took his hand and led him past the kitchen and living room, and into the bedroom. "Okay," she said.

He opened his eyes.

"Stay here until I come get you. Please."

"I will," he assured her, and nodded so seriously that she couldn't help but laugh.

She scurried off to the kitchen and began pulling things out of the oven and reheating the soup. Then she plated everything and—and realized that they didn't have a dining table. All day, she'd been imagining settings things out on this long wooden dining table, like a Thanksgiving postcard. Somehow, it had never occurred to her in all these imaginings that they didn't have a dining table. "Fuck," she said, and set the plates down on the kitchen counter. The coffee table certainly wasn't big enough…

She closed her eyes, scrubbing her face with her hands. Welp. I guess we'll just have to eat in the kitchen… standing up. She thought about lighting a candle to set somewhere on the kitchen counter, but the idea of it just made her laugh, so she trudged to the bedroom and looked in, rather dejectedly.

"Brooke?" Castiel, who had been sitting on the bed, stood up, concern flashing across his face at her expression.

"We don't have a dining table," she muttered.

"What?"

She sighed heavily. "I made all this food and we don't have a dining table. There's nowhere nice to put it. I mean… this whole house is nice, but… but we don't have a dining table."

He came toward her and wrapped her in a hug. "You made food?" he asked.

"A lot."

He rested his cheek on the top of her head. "We can eat it in the kitchen."

"It's not good to eat standing up. It fucks with your digestion… or something."

He released a small laugh, an exhalation of air from his nose. "Then… we can bring out the dishes one by one and eat it on the couch. In front of the fire? That could be nice, couldn't it? A fire going while we eat?"

Brooke smiled against his chest. "You're doing a very good job making me feel better."

"Good," he murmured.

"We should eat the soup first. I'll have to reheat it. I was thinking of the microwave earlier, but I don't know why." She laughed. "I can just reheat it on the stove—that'll be so much better."

Castiel pulled away from her. "W-Why don't you show me everything you made," he said, gesturing to the door.

"Come on," Brooke said, and held his hand and led him into the kitchen.

When they stepped into the kitchen and Castiel saw all the food, plated, on the counters, he simply stood there for a long time. He was smiling. And then he sniffled.

Brooke blinked in surprise. "Are you crying?"

He released a short laugh and wiped at his eyes hastily. "Sorry."

"No, Cass," she said, touching his arm. "When have I ever been mad at you for crying?"

"Never," he replied, and sniffed again.

"Exactly." She left her hand on his arm.

And then he pulled her into a one-armed hug, still looking at all the food on the counters. "You made all of this…"

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired. I messed up the pasta bake at first and had to redo it, which was super annoying. I did taste stuff as I was going but I never actually… tasted the finished products, so… I have no idea if any of it's good or not."

"I'm sure it'll be delicious," Castiel said, squeezing her against his side.

"Don't be so sure," Brooke warned. "I've never made any of this stuff before. I don't imagine I could've messed up the roasted vegetables—those were easy. But the cake…"

"There's cake?"

"I hid it in the corner." She smiled. "It's honey cake. Because I was thinking about you and bees today."

Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Ah, yes. I remember my short-lived obsession with bees and… nature, in general."

"I think you still have some of that obsession. But if you walk into the house covered in bees, I'm taking you to a mental hospital."

He laughed. "That seems fair, though I don't foresee myself ever doing that."

They began dishing themselves smaller portions of everything onto individual plates, taking them from the big Thanksgiving-sized platters Brooke had put them on.

"Actually, everything I made is vegetarian," Brooke told him. "I thought you might like that, though, in retrospect, it kinda seems silly…"

"It's not silly," Castiel said, quietly. "I appreciate how much thought you put into this. And… I like vegetables."

Brooke couldn't help but laugh at that statement. "I know you like vegetables, Cass."

So, Brooke stood at the stove and reheated the soup and ladled it into bowls. And by the time she came into the living room, Castiel had started a fire in the fireplace and was sitting on the loveseat, waiting for her, with their plates of food on the coffee table. The Christmas jazz was still playing on the laptop, but quieter.

She carefully set the bowls of hot soup down on the table and then plopped down next to her husband, smiling contentedly. "You were right. We don't need a dining table if we can just eat like this. I mean, we have been eating like this. I guess I just wanted the dining table so it would feel… special."

Castiel smiled at her. "It feels special to me."

They ate the soup first, and Brooke did have to get up to go get the salt shaker, but once the salt was added it was perfect. Smooth and creamy from the pumpkin purée, but with multiple layers of flavor from the other chopped up vegetables she'd put in it. She'd been worried that the other vegetables might clash with the pumpkin flavor, but somehow it all worked. The roasted vegetables were delicious, crunchy and salty. The star of the show was the pasta bake, hearty and cheesy and gooey—perfect for a November night sitting by the fire.

When they had eaten as much as they could, they sat back on the couch, sighing and smiling. "That was amazing," Castiel said, resting a hand on his stomach.

"Really?" Brooke asked, staring at him hard, studying his face. "You're not just saying that because you're married to me?"

"When have you ever known me to have tact in situations where I had to lie?" Castiel replied, with a chuckle. "No, I'm not just saying that. It really was delicious."

"Okay," Brooke said, sitting back against the cushions again. "I believe you."

There was a pause, and then Castiel said, quietly, "I hope you always believe me."

Brooke tutted and touched his face. "I do. I was just joking." After a pause, she asked, "Do you have room for cake?"

Castiel took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks. "A small piece?"

She laughed. "Why don't we share a piece?"

"All right."

So, they shared a piece of the honey cake she had made. Brooke let him take the first bite, feeding it to him, and she watched his eyes slowly close, heard his intake of breath, saw the smile spread across his face.

"It's so good," he said, around his mouthful of cake.

"Is it?" Brooke cut herself a bite and ate it. She smiled, too. It was good.

Watching Castiel eat cake, feeding him the bites, ended up being Brooke's favorite part of the entire evening. Well—almost. She could understand, now, why he'd enjoyed feeding her in the past, studying her face, hearing the noises she made. When the food was good enough, it was a rather sensual experience.

When the last bite had been consumed, Castiel took the plate and fork from her and placed them on the coffee table with the rest of the dishes, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. And this wasn't his usual, new normal, human Castiel kiss. This was a kiss she'd experienced thousands of times over the past fifteen years: the kiss of an aroused angel, long and hard and involved. He tangled one hand into her hair and pulled just a little.

She couldn't help the small yelping moan that escaped her at that tug in her hair, his fist gripping tightly, at the base of her skull. She felt him smile against her mouth. He chuckled.

"Castiel…" she whispered.

"Half an hour," he murmured, pulling away from the kiss, but pressing his forehead against hers, an action that meant Time to take some deep breaths and calm down.

"Half an hour what?" she asked, as she forced herself to take a deep breath.

"Half an hour," he said again, and stood up, reaching down to gather plates and water glasses.

Confused, but knowing she'd discover the answer in thirty minutes, Brooke also rose, and began to help him pick things up.

"No, no, no," he said. "You sit. Relax. I'll do the dishes."

"But—

"You made all this food. You spent all day in a hot kitchen. Sit. I'll clean up."

Brooke slowly sank back down onto the couch. "Okay…"

Castiel nodded once, apparently satisfied with her obedience, and turned away. At the last moment he stopped, turned, and said, in a serious, mysterious tone of voice: "Half an hour…" Then he disappeared into the kitchen.

Is he gonna be in the kitchen for half an hour? she wondered, staring at the space where he'd been a moment before. She shook her head. Whatever.

The answer was, in fact, no he was not going to be in the kitchen for thirty minutes. He came back fifteen minutes later and sat down beside her on the couch. "The dishes are washed and put away; the leftovers have been Tupperwared and put in the refrigerator."

"Thank you," Brooke said, smiling widely and kissing his cheek.

He ducked his head and smiled softly at the floor, which is what he did every time she kissed his cheek.

"So what's in half an hour? Or… fifteen minutes, now."

Castiel's eyes twinkled as he studied her in the glowing light of the fire. He slowly leaned toward her and bent his head and pressed his lips to her neck, trailing kisses up and down.

She gasped lightly, pressing her hands against his back, digging her fingernails in just slightly. Now completely aware of what was to come, she asked, "Why wait half an hour?"

Continuing to kiss her neck, he replied, "One is… supposed to wait… between thirty minutes to an hour… after eating… before any kind of vigorous exercise."

"Vigorous," she repeated, her eyes closed, head tilted back.

"It doesn't have to be vigorous," he said, pulling away from her neck and leaving her suddenly bare skin feeling very cold. "We can go slowly, if you'd like."

She smiled, but said, "Cass, you must be tired from work. Or… if anything, from eating all that food."

"I am a little tired," he conceded, and then one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "But I am also as young and virile as I am ever going to be, now that our ages have been reset."

She grinned at him.

"Besides," he went on, his voice gentler. "You made all this food to surprise me. I'm… honestly touched."

"It's just food, Cass."

"No." He placed a warm hand against her cheek. "No, it isn't. You worked hard on this, to present me with it when I came home. I… only wish to return the favor, somehow."

"It wasn't a favor. It was a gift."

He bowed his head in agreement, saying, "Then… allow me to give you a gift now."

She smiled. "All right."

Good." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Ten minutes."

She gave him a mischievous smile. "So, what do you want to do for ten minutes?"

He looked at her askance. "I don't know… but I have a feeling that you have an idea."

Still smiling, she stood up and faced him on the couch, and then carefully knelt on either side of his legs, straddling his lap. He took a deep breath as she settled her weight onto him, staring at her with half-lidded eyes. She felt his hands on her ass as she leaned forward, pressing her cheek against his so that her mouth was in his ear. And then she murmured to him everything she wanted him to do to her in ten minutes. "First, I want you to… and then…"

Castiel made soft sounds of acknowledgement, humming in his throat, his hands roaming her back and her hair and down to her ass again, squeezing. Sometimes he would chuckle, other times groan in anticipation. By the time ten minutes were up, she could feel him there between her legs, hot and hard.

She moved to get up off of him, but he pulled her back down for a kiss first, his tongue warm in her mouth. They dropped clothes on the ground as they went to the bedroom, pulling at each other, pushing. They tumbled into bed together and lost themselves in each other. The only thing missing was a thunderstorm, but their own noises were loud enough.

They dozed for a long time, afterwards, and then suddenly recalled the fire in the fireplace and the Christmas music still playing on the laptop, and they scrambled out of bed naked and stumbled about, dousing the fire, turning off the laptop. Plugging in the laptop. Then they stumbled off to bed again, blearily brushing their teeth, then tangling themselves up together in a mess of arms and legs on the bed, facing one another.