"Come on, Dean. You're moping around like someone stole your puppy. You're really so upset about not going to work?"
"For the last time, Sam, drop it." An exasperated huff of breath accompanied the reply.
It had only been two days and over those two days Dean had not had one single sliver of anything from his experiment. Tomorrow evening he would be returning to that building. He wondered if his job was going to be the same. Disinfect. Sanitize. Organize. It was disconcerting, even more so to him for he was not one to get pissy over little things like that. He was starting to wonder when his balls turned into ovaries.
"Dean, I understand that something happened that's bothering you, but you can't just hold it all in and sulk around the house. Are you sure that you don't want to talk about it?" Sam continued to press. He was pretty concerned about Dean but honestly he wasn't supposed to know anything. Dean wasn't permitted to say and even if he did feel like breaking that part of his contract, he didn't feel like dealing with Sam's shrink mode.
"For the last time, fuck off. Since when did your degree change from law to psychology?" Dean set his jaw and squared his shoulders as he turned to face his brother. "I'm fucking fine. Got it? One more word out of your mouth about my job and I'm staying in a motel tonight."
Sam pressed his lips together, clearly unhappy with his reluctance to talk but not wanting to cross any more lines and piss Dean off. He nodded a few times before saying he was headed to bed and thanks for dinner. A slight pang of guilt hit Dean in the chest.
Dean slid back into his chair and pressed his fingertips to his temples. He wasn't as worried as he was in the beginning of his three-day "vacation" but there was definitely anger growing in his chest. He could feel the heat spreading up his neck and pooling in his cheeks, burning up any ounce of worry he may have been feeling.
How in the seven hells was Castiel going to wake him up every night for over a week then go ahead and open his eyes talking about some stupid ass connection, that was obviously totally bogus because he hadn't heard shit, and then not give Dean even a hint that he was okay?
He was pissed and getting more pissed with every passing hour. Castiel had better have a good fucking reason for this shit.
He picked up his plate, half uneaten, and dumped the remainder of his food in the trash bin before placing it in the sink. He got some ziploc containers out and scooped the rest of their dinner out from the pots and pan they were cooked in and sealed the plastic bowls with their respective lids. He set them in the fridge and got to work washing the dishes.
Normally he would leave the dishes for Sam but the past couple days he was cooking and cleaning. Their place had never been cleaner.
He spent his spare hours methodically scrubbing every nook and cranny, sweeping and wiping down every surface. He even wiped the doorknobs. Maybe it was because he was so used to cleaning from his job, but he was pretty sure the only reason he was doing it at all was to keep himself busy and not replaying every word Castiel had said to him.
He was freaking pathetic. Yeah, he got a little attached to his little experiment. Spending every night with only the little guy for company would do that to a person. His fondness could be easily explained.
Although, he would never admit to anyone that he enjoyed talking to Cas. Never admit that when he learned the quirks of the experiment's personality that he felt as if he had solved some great puzzle. He liked the fact that everything was either a good feeling or a bad feeling, heavy air or light air and it was as simple as that.
So yeah, maybe he did have a little bond with the guy. So what?
Maybe he was totally thrilled that he had finally woken up and admitted that it was mutual. Maybe he was totally psyched that they would finally have a real conversation. Maybe, in another circumstance, him and Castiel could have been great friends. You know, if he wasn't some crazy science experiment that grew up in a fish tank and all.
But it wasn't any other circumstance. His first real conversation with Cas had been very confusing and somewhat disappointed. Of course, what had come immediately after had thrown him for such a loop that he was sure he was still trying to get his bearings back together.
He was supposed to go back to work tomorrow night and he found himself, once eager and impatient to get there, slowly reluctant for not knowing what will happen.
Would he see Samandriel? He's not sure if he would be able to stop himself from saying anything or doing something that could possibly result in sore knuckles and a lack of employment.
Would he see Chuck? The little shit completely ignored him. Acted like he wasn't even there... Although Dean supposed he couldn't get too angry at the lack of response. Chuck had mentioned many times to him that he not tell anyone they spoke. Maybe he'd get shit for it, who knows. Or maybe he knew that he wouldn't be able to answer Dean's questions. In that case, a little recognition would have been fine. A shrug. A funny face. Anything would have sufficed.
But more importantly, not that he'd ever admit, would he see Cas? He was pretty upset with the guy. It's not like it was honestly his fault that things went down the way they did, that rested on Samandriel's shoulders and his shoulders alone. Dean was positive that if the kid hadn't walked in when he did, that him and Castiel could have spoken all night with each other.
Groaning, Dean finished rinsing the dishes and put them in the rack to dry.
There was just too much going on in his head. Too many thoughts and possibilities that he had no solutions for. He should just go to sleep. He should crash for now and wake up tomorrow and make things right with Sam. He knew it was only concern for his wellbeing that fueled his little brother's worries and he was being such a douche about it. He needed to get his shit together.
Make up with Sam. Go into work, find out what the fuck happened and then do his job. Go home. Sleep. Then work again the next evening.
He could do this. He had this.
Easy.
It was going to be easy.
In retrospect, it was a lot easier to say he was going to wake up early compared to actually waking up early.
He rolled over groggily, squeezing his closed his eyes tighter together and reaching his arms up to stretch his stiff muscles. It felt amazing. He got out of bed and went immediately to the bathroom to splash cold water on his burning, sleepy eyes.
Part of the whole 'making up to Sammy plan' was waking up earlier than him and making him a good breakfast with some even better coffee. It would save him a stop at the nearest donut shop and a few bucks too.
He padded to the kitchen, sleep still trying to cast it's spell over him and pull him over to the unconscious side of life.
Yawning hugely, he scratched at the back of his neck before getting some eggs, a green pepper, a mushroom, two sausage patties and cheese out of the fridge and then a frying pan out of the cabinets. He sliced the pepper and mushroom and broke up the sausage, placing them in a bowl beside the stove. Then Dean cracked several eggs in the cool frying pan and mixed them with a spatula. He leaned over to the fridge to grab the milk to add about a tablespoon and put it back again. Under his breath he hummed For Whom the Bell Tolls by Metallica.
Mixing the eggs once again, he turned the burner beneath on and waited for the clear whites to turn, well, white. He sprinkled the contents of the bowl beside the stove over the raw parts of the omelet before grabbing a lid and placing it over the pan for a few minutes.
While he waited for that to cook for a bit, he began to fill the coffee maker. Fresh filter, check. Fresh water, check. Nice, heaping scoop of fresh ground beans, check. Beating of the drums with his fingers on the edge of the counter, double check.
He flipped the power on and went back to the stove to take the lid off and carefully flip half of the eggs over to make a half circle. Dean then slid over to the cabinet to grab a plate, halfway pulling it from the cupboard when he was startled with a quiet "Dean?"
He nearly dropped the plate, scrambling to catch it securely in his hands and placing it hurriedly on the counter.
"Mornin' Sammy!" Dean nearly shouted, bright smile stretching across his face.
"Uhh... What are you doing?" Confusion won over the taller male's face, sleep clearing away sluggishly.
"What? Can't make my baby brother some food anymore?" He countered, turning to turn the stove top off and sliding the omelet out of the pan and onto the plate.
"It's not that, it's just you're up so early? Don't you have work tonight?" Sam squinted at Dean, clearly not buying his innocent breakfast making. He knew his brother better than that; there had to be a catch.
Dean sheepishly moved to set the plate and a fork and a knife on the table by his brother, motioning for him to sit. He cleared his throat. He was doing this to make up for being a dick, he needed to see this through and try to make it as manly as he could, not making it a chick-flick moment.
"Just uhh," He licked his lips nervously. "Just wanna say sorry. You know, 'bout bein' a dick."
There. He said it. Quick and painless. Got it over and done with. Now he didn't have to say it again.
Sam, though, visibly started at the admission.
"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" He laughed out, plopping down in a chair and pulling the plate closer. "Smells good, Dean. Thanks man."
"Don't get used to it." Dean quipped, sliding a glass of orange juice in front of his brother and taking the opposite seat. He tapped his fingertips on the surface of the table idly while Sam cut off a corner of the omelet, spear it on his fork and pop it into his mouth.
"This is pretty good." His brother said around chewed food.
"That's because you're looking at a master chef." He lifted his chin arrogantly, pursing his lips together.
"Yeah, yeah. Or maybe assassin extraordinaire. You trying to poison me or something?" Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously before his mask broke and he chuckled.
"Guess the world will never know, man." Dean shrugged, putting on an over exaggerated innocent expression.
The two brothers chuckled together, the tense atmosphere from the previous days between them nonexistent.
Dean was definitely beginning to feel better himself.