"I've been in love with love

And the idea of something, binding us together

You know that love is strong enough."

-San Francisco, The Mowgli's

The day had come. First Sunday of the month. It was finally here again. Dean had no godly clue where the tradition had begun, but he wasn't going to ruin the whole thing with a dumbass question like that. The day had come around again, and that was that.

Pie Day.

If Dean could have envisioned a perfect day, where all of his favorite things came together in a symbol of perfect harmony and light, this would have been it. Cas and him both cooked - Cas was actually getting damn good at the whole baking thing - and Sam generally stuck around in one corner or another in the kitchen reading. He liked how happy everyone was, Dean assumed. He would bolt, however, the minute Dean or Cas made a move on one another. Which, to be honest, happened a lot.

Hey, how was Dean supposed to resist when Cas smelled like apples and home and had dabs of flour on his nose? Dean wasn't usually down with the word 'cute' but there was no other word to describe him. Except perhaps absolutelyfuckingadorable.

Cas was even more difficult to resist if he got filling on his face. Strawberry, cherry, whatever. What other choice did Dean have than to clean him up? With a bit of tongue, usually…

Ok so maybe Cas got messy on purpose. Again, no way in hell Dean was going to ruin it now. No way.

And now the day, the most blessed of days, was here once again. Breakfast was perfect - Dean made it so he should know - and then everything was cleaned. Time for pie.

Cas gave Dean a barely there smile as he washed his hands. Dean glanced over at Sam, face down turned reading, and scooted in behind the angel, wrapping his arms around him so they were both washing their hands at once. Dean leaned down to put his chin on Cas's shoulder.

"You smell nice," he muttered. Cas smiled again, almost shutting down a grin. Sam cleared his throat.

"You two want to contaminate these pies in private?" he asked, a half smirk resting on his lips. Dean raised a smarmy eyebrow and kissed Cas's neck.

"Dean," Cas admonished. Sam stood up to leave.

"Alright, fine," Dean said. He backed off Cas and wiped his hands on his own jeans (a very different place than he had originally planned on) and held them up in surrender. "No need to act like a protective, high school dance chaperon there, Sammy." Sam rolled his eyes and went back to reading.

Cas laid out all the ingredients, which looked to involve 5 separate flavors of filling. Dean's knees felt a little weak. Had he mentioned this was the greatest tradition of all time? Dean skittered around the room preheating ovens, clicking the little dials over to 425° and feeling the heat increase in the kitchen before he was even done.

Cas placed saucepans out on the oven top and lit the burners, making flames flicker to life. Dean walked past adding chunks of butter to the pans as he went. The smell of melting butter was the greatest smell in the world. It never smelled quite like the cheap movie theater stuff, more like… It smelled like normalcy and sunshine and like Mrs. Carol Brady herself was working in the kitchen alongside them. It was a bone-achingly domestic smell and Dean Ate. It. Up.

Cas pulled the pie crust from the fridge where he had placed it the night before and went to his favorite spot in the kitchen to roll it out. Dean kept an eye on the butter while Cas put a thin layer of flour on the counter to prevent any sticking dough. He loved watching Cas roll dough. It was so thoroughly unerotic, and yet it wasn't.

He leaned on the roller heavily, using battle-hardened muscles to spread the dough all evenly flat. Sam had flicked on the radio at some point so music played softly. Dean was still watching Cas (totally not with a dreamlike, how-can-life-possibly-get-better face) when a handful of flour came out of nowhere and exploded across his nose and upper lip.

Dean shrieked (YELLED. Like a MAN.) and dropped his wooden spoon on the floor. He sneezed violently, shooting out flour from his nose, and leaned back up to look at Cas with a completely mystified expression. Cas looked smug as hell, hand still pure white from the fistful of flour.

"What the fuck?" Dean demanded. Sam glanced up from his book, caught sight of his brother, and promptly dropped the book as he burst into laughter.

"Dude," Sam got out, between gasping breaths. "He nailed you." Dean glared at him.

"Every night, sailor," Dean winked. Sam sobered up and coughed, instantly uncomfortable. "What the fuck was that for?" he addressed Cas instead.

"You were leering at me," he said. Sam put a hand to his mouth to stop the sputtering laughter from being too loud.

"Was not," Dean said, indignant.

"You were too," Cas said. The tips of his mouth were threatening to upturn.

"So you throw flour at me?!"

"It worked, didn't it?" Dean huffed an incredulous, high-pitched laugh.

"Alright then, Angel Boy. It's on," at the last word, Dean finally grabbed hold of the bowl of sugar he had been reaching for and tossed the contents Cas's way. The white sprinkles were a dead hit, smacking into Cas's forehead and sprinkling his hair to the point it looked like dandruff.

Sam's eyes were wide and cautious now, glancing between them like he knew all hell was about to break loose.

"Prepare for war, Winchester," Cas said solemnly. And lept forward to dump strawberry syrup down Dean's front. Dean shoved Cas back and, while being pelted by blueberries from behind, found the eggs. He whipped around, shoved Cas again, throwing off his balance, and smashed the eggs together over his head, drenching Cas in sticky yellow goo.

"Uh, guys?" Sam's voice was a distant, background noise as Cas dumped cocoa powder towards Dean, who responded with a heartfelt squirt of whipped cream.

"Guys, stop," Sam's voice, a little louder. Dean laughed loudly as he found a lukewarm cup of melted butter and got to knock Cas down, pouring it all over his shirt and neck.

"Dean," Cas grunted, pinned down, "get off." Dean leaned in close. Cas smelled gloriously like Pie Day.

"Does this mean I win?" he asked, voice low as he moved in on Cas. Sam cleared his throat again, sounding desperate. Cas raised an eyebrow and, never looking from Dean, lifted a finger and put it into his mouth, slowly drawing it out as he cleaned off the mix of butter and chocolate. Dean's breath shuddered to a stop. He cleared his throat - lots of that going around - and stood up shakily. Cas smiled, self-satisfied little shit, and stood next.

Then Dean turned to Sam, who was frozen with a horrified expression on his face.

"I. It wasn't. You. I." he stammered. He nearly took off running, but found enough self control to turn briskly and walk out at a normal pace. Dean grinned after him, shaking his head.

"Now, where were we?" he asked. He turned around and saw Cas holding a bag of flour, which was honestly terrifying. He held his hands out in front of him defensively.

"You know," Cas began, "Sam seems to have escaped without a single baking essential anywhere on himself." Dean processed this slowly, then dropped his hands, terrified face morphing into a grin. He grabbed a carton of eggs from the counter next to him.
"Oh, Saaaammmyyy," he called, sing-songy. "Where aaare you, Saaammy?" He turned his grin to Cas, who returned the look, then then both took off running down the hall where Sam had fled.

Yeah, Pie Day was the best.