Castiel laid face up at the edge of the bed, letting his feet dangle and brush against the floor silently. He hid his face in the crook of his arms, trying to sooth the spinning in his head which felt like on the verge of imploding. Every sensation swirled around him like fallen leaves on an autumn day, brushing past and tickling his senses before slipping away from his grasp. Feelings weren't something the angel was used to and even more so, he didn't know how to handle them. He was drowning in something he was so unsure of and it terrified him more than anything. There were so many times that he acknowledged Dean's arms pulling him in tight, but every time he was too unsure, too clumsy with his own thoughts to return the gesture. It wasn't as if he was unaccustomed affectionate embrace, but rather his body seemed to lock up when Dean overstepped the line he so frequently referred to as personal space. But it was the only thing that seemed to make sense– the feeling of having Dean so close to him. The warmth emanating from the hunter's body–the curve of their bodies melded to one another–it was the only feeling he genuinely understood and it only made him crave more, like kryptonite and Dean was his. He let his mind drift to images he had collected over the thousands of years he walked silently among the humans. The thought made him frown before it dissipated into a smirk. When people learn of angels their general consensus of them is innocence and obedience and yet Cas knew all too well how much angels desired love and lust and affection. It surprised him that Dean still held him to a lower standard than what he was really capable of.
His deep blue eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but it didn't stop his vessel's heart from feeling like it would beat out of his chest. The overwhelming amount of thoughts that snaked through his mind made his face hot his stomach twisted and kneaded in knots. A quiet whining noise slipped from his mouth as he pushed himself upright. Somewhere in the midst of his scattered thoughts, something clicked. Something that hadn't before. Resolve seemed to wash through his entire existence, seeming to cleanse him in a way. It was almost as if he could feel the long lost presence that was once occupied by his Father. He realized the feeling of resolve was having purpose. He knew then that everything he had to do, everything he felt obligated to try to do –he had to do to prove himself. To prove to Dean that he was worthy of his trust. His actions, his mistakes–they were everything he tried to run away from for so long and it seemed right now. If he couldn't do it for himself, he would certainly do it for Dean. With a feeble push he got to his feet and crept back to the room where he had pulled out so many books. He paused to grimace over the mess he had made before putting every book back where they came from. The walls lined with shelves filled once again with endless amounts of books on either side of the enormous study room. Completing the monotonous task, satisfying his own standards of organization, pressed a hand against his hip and exhaled with reprieve. He rolled his head, letting his neck crackle and pop under the pressure before wandering off to the kitchen.
There was one book he saved and carried with his person. It baffled him why a recipe book was in the study, so far away from where it should have been. In all the years he'd been around, he still never tried cooking, but really. How hard could it be for an Angel of the Lord? Besides, he watched Dean do it with ease countless times. He studied the cover of the red and white checkered book, furrowing his brow as he read Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook. As to why anyone would put new on anything was completely foreign to him. He thought it silly when new wasn't new anymore, but rather quite the contrary. It was not new. He scoffed and vehemently flipped it open to the breakfast section, scanning for anything he'd recognize. His eyes widened with amazement, quickly squinting with frustration. He didn't understand why humans needed ten different ways to cook a simple egg. He was finding this whole process of cooking to be tedious. He snorted and closed his eyes, pointing to somewhere on the page, his finger landing on poached eggs. He began reading the instructions, which flustered even more. Eating runny eggs with toast–how did they come up with this stuff? Cas blew out air on his face ruffling his hair away from his forehead. He tussled with one of the many pans from the cabinet, struggling to pry it loose from the others without making a racket and went to work. At least it was the thought that count.
Cas jumped unnoticeably at Sam who was the first to show up in the kitchen, his brain clearly still on autopilot outlined by weakened features that were much more noticeable in the morning. Cas knew the trials were treacherous for his health and the thought saddened him because there was nothing he could do to fix him. He halted at the doorway, his eyes skating around the room in disbelief. Cas grinned inwardly, so proud of what he had done before he couldn't contain the smile any longer. Sam eased himself in a chair at the breakfast table, unable to take his eyes off the food Cas had attempted to prepare. He was even more amazed by the fact that none of it was actually burnt and that there was still a kitchen in one piece. "Cas, man… this is incredible!" Sam turned his attention back to where Cas was, an earnest smile breaking through the pleasant shock. "Where did you learn to cook? It smells delicious." Castiel humbly waved it off, twitching at the sudden beeping noise from the oven. "Do you want some, umm, bacon? I read how to make it and–dammit!" He coughed and waved at his face as puffs of smoke escaped from the oven into his lungs. "It seems I have burned the bacon." Sam laughed. He reminisced at the times Dean had to cook when they were kids. Most of the food they ate was charred at first until he eventually got the hang of it. "Hey Cas, don't worry about it. Dean and I will clean up later. Come sit down," he reassured, patting part of the table adjacent to him.
Cas was about to sit when Dean sleepily lumbered his way into the kitchen. He fumbled with his hands waiting for the exhausted hunter to look up from his daze. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed as soon as he saw him, making Dean stumble back against the fridge, swearing under his breath. He was noticeably pissed but the swearing was short lived when he saw the mess of the kitchen and the smell of food. Cas had cooked eggs and toast and set the entire table for the three of them. The sight promptly coaxed him into a more pleasant mood. A beaming smile tugged at the faint dimples in his cheeks, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in unison. Cas stopped fidgeting and smiled back, anxiously urging Dean to sit so they could eat.
"So Cas, what's the special occasion?" Dean said, still chewing on a mouthful toast. Sam rolled his eyes. Dean never was one for table manners, no matter how much their dad and Bobby tried. Cas pushed his food around his plate, the familiarity of uncertainty of what to say setting in again. "Well I umm… I thought you would like to have breakfast for once." He held an uncomfortable stare before Dean had to look down at his plate, cheeks turning bright red. Sam cleared his throat, speaking for the both of them. "Well thanks, Cas. Means a lot." He pressed his mouth into a quick smile before shoveling another bite of food. Dean bobbed his head in agreement, stealing another glimpse at the angel who had fretfully gotten up to clean the mess. Finishing his food first, Dean jumped up to help the angel, bidding Sam away from the kitchen. He wanted his brother to rest when they weren't out hunting and he didn't think something as novel as washing dishes was necessary for him.
After cleaning up in silence for what seemed like an eternity, Dean finally broke. "Cas, did you even go back to bed?" He gently elbowed Cas over so he could grab the last of the cookware. "I appreciate you doing this, I really do but you just had a tablet ripped from your body, got shot and then killed twice by a shock happy angel… you really need to take it easy, man." Cas paused, staring blankly at the countertop. "Dean," he breathed slowly before shaking his head, dismissing what he was going to say. "It doesn't matter. Besides, you know I don't sleep anyway. But it's given me a lot of time to think about all of this–about us." He paused again, cringing at his contemplations before finally looking up to face solemn eyes examining him. "I don't want to hide anything from you, Dean. Not anymore. I want you to be able to trust me again." Dean sighed and softened his expression. "I'm going to try to reason with Naomi. I think what Barachiel had to say is the truth but either way she deserves to know. I don't want their blood on my hands. I couldn't bear it." Cas searched his face for any emotion, scared of what he would say, scared of rejection. Dean stewed on Cas' words before clasping a firm hand on his shoulder, stepping closer to thumb grease off his face. "You gotta do what you gotta do. And I can't stop you. Just please come to us this time if you need our help." Cas blushed and chewed on his lip, gently lowering Dean's busy hand from his face and timidly tangled their fingers together. "Actually, I do need your help." Dean swallowed nervously, his breath getting caught in his throat from the surprise and strangeness of the warm fingers that curled around his own. Everything that had been pounded into his brain by society told him to pull away because it was wrong, but the touch of the angel's fingers between his own–it felt right. More right than it should've. He never realized he'd been desperately searching for anything that could fill the cracks of all the loss he'd endured in his insignificant life and for the first time, he was starting to feel whole again. He felt foolish for wanting more than just squeezing Cas' hand within his own. He cleared his throat, decidedly pushing his desperations aside. "Anything you need, Cas."