Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own. A.N. So, a word of warning: this chapter shouldn't be read on an empty stomach. Somehow, I think that won't be a problem for the Americans among you. ;D Seriously, Happy Thanksgiving to you lot. And in the spirit of the holiday, even if it isn't mine, let me say a few things I'm grateful for, First of all, my beta, Chrwythyn, Jack bless her, who follows me through all kinds of projects, even when the fandom isn't one of hers (yep, I'm perfectly aware I'm insanely lucky). Second, my friends, spread far and wide across the world. You know who you are, and I'll try to curb my ranting (keyword: try). Last, every single one of you, who decided to read this rather than literally anything else. Enjoy!
"What are we here for, by the way?" Balto asks. (Yep, he's stuck with the nickname for the foreseeable future. At least until after the bachelor party. Annoying him when he's on probation, as far as Dean's concerned, seems fair.)
"It's our venue. Well, it will be, a little cozied up," Cas explains.
"And we were going over the menu, so I assume you don't have any input to offer," Dean explains.
Balthazar quips, "Well, just because I don't have your same first-hand experience, it doesn't mean that I don't have a theoretical understanding...and probably know my way around way fancier recipes than you've ever tasted. So, I could always -" He's interrupted by Aziraphale 's surprisingly loud sigh (when did he get here?), as if such a tragedy still breaks the fluffiest angel's heart. "Sorry, you are?"
"Aziraphale. He's a friend. Well, a new one," Cas introduces him.
"He's been making new angels, huh? How many introductions will I have to go through once I go back home?"
"I expect Jack will have, yes, and I'm not actually sure. I much prefer staying here for, well, obvious reasons." Cas grins, brilliant and earnest, and as ever, Dean can barely believe his luck. "But Aziraphale and Crowley - not that Crowley, don't look at me like that! - come from a parallel universe."
"The multiverse is real, too? I really have a lot of catching up to do. And there needs to be alcohol for it. "
With this, Dean can empathize. It's a lot to have dumped on you all at once.
Hell, it was hard enough to wrap his mind around everything that happened when rugs kept being pulled from under him year after year.
Aziraphale smiles. "I'm sure Clara would provide. By the way, she said that there's something she would love to propose for your consideration, if you'd like to go back to the main room. A suggestion from a friend of hers, if I got it right."
"Ok, yes, sure." Dean's just about to go back to the main room, but the hall - which hadn't been there the first time he was here - disappears from around them, and they're all where they were supposed to go. He hopes to Jack that this doesn't come with the same drawbacks as angel teleportation, because really, there was no need to do that – it was just a few steps. He suspects the lady (the time travelling not quite ship, not Clara) is just in the mood to show off her abilities.
Clara is grinning at them, a spread of fried food on the table. "That last trip to Italy was delicious. I kind of mixed and matched different versions of a dish to get all I liked in, so...I'm hoping you'll like this. Or at least bits of it, let me know."
Well, Dean's all for giving a chance to anything fried. The first thing he tries is a tiny ball of mozzarella, melting into his mouth, and he moans around it. He goes for another one, or so he thinks, only to discover something he'd never had. There's minced meat under his teeth, but it's not held only by the golden batter.
"Olive all'ascolana," announces Clara, "filled with - you know. Nice, right?"
"Yeah, but you burned some. Not really sure you can pull them off." Next to them, a few look like carbon, as black as a demon's eye.
"Give one of these a chance, then you'll decide."
Dean does, because he never backs down from a dare. The flavor which hits his tongue is not of something irredeemably burned. Intense, sure, but - very much a yes in his book.
"With added truffle," Clara explains. "I thought we could fancy up the recipe a bit, if you wanted."
The rest of it is mostly vegetables, which he would object to in principle, but tiny morsels, and fried? He can kinda ignore what they are, and hopefully use it to keep Sam off his back about rabbit food for a while after the wedding. Artichokes, zucchini, and "Ok, what's that?"
"Zucchini flowers. Not exactly in season, but that's the beauty of having a TARDIS," Clara explains
Oh no. They're good, but surely - eating flowers is too far. It's gotta be some hipster shit he'll get teased for until *after* he dies, doesn't it?
But Sam has been tasting with him, and he says, "They're great," and that makes it okay. He can always blame Sam if anyone speaks up. So he's caving to his brother's requests, what else is new? This doesn't even mean going four hundred miles out of his way - not them, anyway.
One last morsel surprises him again. The little cube is sweet. "Custard?" Dean asks.
"Exactly. I know, the sweet and savoury mix might sound odd, but it's actually traditional - at least in the corner of Italy where my friend lives. If you'd prefer to not have them..." Clara shrugs.
"Me, refusing good food, that isn't even green. Who do you think you're talking to?" Dean mock glares at her.
"My bad." Clara grins, and Cas puts a possessive arm around Dean's shoulders. Nobody was flirting, but it's not like Dean would ever complain about it. Sappy as it is (hey, it's not like he'd ever come out and say it), his angel's claim feels like home.
That idea sparks a memory, and - the other dish they decided on was Cas-themed, and probably he shouldn't, but... "Don't take it the wrong way, but there's an idea I'd like to discuss with Clara in private. You're gonna be at the wedding, lemme surprise you a little."
Sam throws him a look to check there's no trouble - they can both be fretters - but then starts herding people out. Cas makes to go, even if he doesn't look happy with it, but Dean holds him back, an arm at his waist. "You're not going anywhere, sunshine. It's your wedding, too."
"I was thinking of adding another dish, and - tell me if it's a bad idea."
Clara's smile turns surprisingly gentle. "It's your wedding, Dean. You said you didn't want six-eight main courses, but up to now we've figured out one main and one side. Whatever it is you like, I'm not going to be the one to dissuade you."
"It's not fancy, though." Dean grimaces a little.
"People aren't coming for the food," his angel reminds him with a smile.
"That British asshole," he grumbles. He wants Cas' friends to come, he does. But the idea of Sherlock is stressing him out.
"Won't notice the food at all, no matter what you pick...Okay, he might notice if you decided to go cannibal, and even then it'd be a 50% chance. But given that you aren't going to. " His fiancé shrugs.
"50%? Seriously?" Dean laughs.
"Seriously," Cas assures him, nodding, as expressionless as he used to be when they'd just met. Which Dean only finds more hilarious.
But the others are going to want to come back soon, or at least wonder what they're up to, so Dean calms his breath and finally admits, "Meatloaf. I mean, I'm pretty sure the Winchester Surprise isn't even close to kosher, but - mom used to...buy it, actually, it turned out, long line of awful cooks in the family, but still. I don't think she'll take it badly if I go for it. Or if you show her up."
"Take it badly? Mary's going to be thrilled, I'm sure," Cas says.
"And if you want to, I'll do my best not to show her up. With the books, I should be able to find the exact one she liked, and I can always reverse engineer the recipe," Clara offers. "I'd still cook it myself, not going to skimp on your gift. Besides, I actually find it relaxing."
"It's not actually in the books," Dean says "and I wouldn't expect that much precision anyway." He knows the content of those volumes, and frankly, he'd rather she not get anywhere near them. It's probably too late, but Chuck's writing endeavors will never not be creepy, and he hates that they're already out and impossible to destroy. At least they're niche.
"But there will be a year and a place. How hard can it be to find where she shops?" Clara shrugs.
"Take it from someone who did - mom doesn't take well to being followed. She grew up a hunter, I bet she didn't lose her instincts."
"But she'd suggest the best shop to someone who just moved in, wouldn't she?" Clara looks at him, wide-eyed and innocent, and Dean wonders if Sam gave her puppy eyes lessons.
"Guess so." Would his mom get spooked if the new neighbor disappeared right after? Maybe, but probably not enough to move them.
Possibly that's why, as it turned out, she didn't entirely stop hunting, even after marrying. Something weird was going on, and mom would want to check out a few cases. Ensure they didn't come encroaching on her street anymore. It didn't exactly work out for her, not in the end, but she did save people. As shocked as Dean had been when he'd discovered that she never truly retired, he can't ever find fault with that.
"Did you have something else in mind for the menu?" Clara asks, with a soft smile.
"No. I mean, there'll be dessert, we agreed, but that doesn't need to be discussed in private." This didn't either, not really, but – he wasn't going to be sentimental around Cas' friends – or Benny. Sam would get it, maybe, but he's also the one who could use it most devastatingly as ammunition (possibly trying to talk him into some embarrassing chick-flicky shit). If people ask the point of secrecy over something as stupid as meatloaf...well, he'll just have to come up with a lie. He has enough time to. Speaking of... "Unless the recipe would be ruined by it – I mean, maybe it calls for it already, I can reverse engineer a few things myself, but not that – could you make sure there's a little thyme in the meatloaf? Or maybe something like a sprig as garnish?
"Sure. Dare I ask?" Clara grins.
"Just a random idea. It might end up in the trashcan like any garnish, we'll see."
"Cas, please, invite them back in."
His fiancé (Dean will never not be giddy about that) does, and Balto huffs, " Hope it'll be worth the plotting. I thought I'd get to hear everything anyway, I didn't feel any seals to dampen angelic senses."
"No need for seals. The lady likes Dean, she wouldn't let you be rude to him. And nope, I'm not talking in third person," Clara points out, waving her arms to embrace her TARDIS.
"Thank you very much," Dean says, patting the nearest table.
"Besides, Balthazar, maybe we need to cap your hedonism," Cas points out.
"After the party," the angel retorts, shrugging.
"Anyway, the menu is done, dessert aside, which even I know means cake." Dean doesn't pout. It's just a damn pity that people lack a discerning taste, and his brother would die laughing if he could read his mind right now. "So, anyone who wants to weigh in..."
Aziraphale says, "Unless you hate it - it certainly seems to be a hot point of contention - one covered in fondant, maybe? It makes for an easy canvas for...anything you like, really. You could have all the galaxies on it." His eyes fall on Crowley, and Dean suspects the angel's thinking of *their* wedding cake to be. "Or the car - dark chocolate, naturally. Or whatever else strikes your fancy."
"As for under the fondant...whatever you like, brother, of course. But if you're looking for suggestions, doberge cake isn't bad," Benny adds.
"Before you decide, though, Dean," Sam is showing his phone to Clara, "think you're up to this?"
"I like a challenge," she replies.
"Hey, shouldn't I get to see first?" Dean says.
"If she couldn't, no need to make you want it. Besides, isn't tasting a better way to decide?" Sam retorts, and - fine.
"On it," Clara promises, disappearing. Dean hopes she will use whatever timewarp oven she has again. He's too curious, and if he has to wait hours, he might end up wrestling Sam for the phone. Benny would help him, he's pretty sure, but being childish around Cas' friends, especially those from another dimension, isn't on his list. Teasing his brother, though, is acceptable. "So now you're the one with a wedding folder for me, Sammy?"
"Nope, and you won't believe I didn't even research. I just stumbled on it. Or maybe, low profile or not, Jack decided to manipulate my Pinterest."
"Your what?"
Sam sighs his sigh n. 23 - baby brother shocked at big brother not knowing the new internet fad, and promises to show him. Later. Which is completely unwarranted, thank you very much, and always has been. Dean's perfectly capable of finding anything he wants online. It's just that his interests are more selective.
"You're very sure of yourself," he retorts. "Maybe I'll go with Benny's option."
"Your wedding, Dean, whatever you like. But yes, I am. I'll bet you anything."
"Bet him? When he has to pick? You're not as smart as we'd been led to believe." It's the first sentence out of Crowley's mouth.
"I know my brother." Sam isn't even offended, just completely self-assured. Dean's tempted to prove him wrong on principle, but he needs to taste this marvel which is apparently coming.
"Anything's a lot to bet. What am I supposed to stake?" he asks.
"I'm not trying to rob you, Dean. What about I'll pick on the next movie night? I promise, no French movies." Sam chuckles.
"You're on."
Clara arrives a couple of minutes later, and the cake doesn't look impressive at all. It's tall, sure. Smothered in vanilla frosting - though Dean guesses he could change the flavor just by asking - and not even tiered like the prettiest ones (in Lisa's movies of choice, of course).
There is, though, a ring of tiny pies in various flavors sitting on top of it. Is that what makes Sam so sure? Just giving him a mouthful of pie to go with this vanilla tower? Dean appreciates the sentiment, sure. But he might appreciate winning even more.
Clara offers him a knife, and Dean cuts in. Hopefully this at least has a decent filling.
"What?" he blurts out, discovering the truth. This looks like a cake, but it's three pies in a frosting trenchcoat, stacked on top of each other. Mud, apple and cherry.
"If you want your pretty fondant work of art..." Sam teases him.
"Nope. No. We're having this. Absolutely." He doesn't care what anyone else thinks, he's not giving this beauty up. Sam does know him, and even knows best...on occasion.