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Somethin' Sweet

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Dean clicks his pocket watch close, aims a curse towards no one in particular except maybe himself, pockets his watch back into his waistcoat and starts to speed up his already harried jog.   

He spies the smock flying high out of the red-brick chimney and he hurries in his steps a little more.

He’s running late. 

He’s running late and Cas most likely going to struggle him to death and then he’s going to ignore the mere idea of him ever existing on this earth for the rest of the evening and then he’s gonna wake up next morning to make him his coffee the way he likes it, fix whatever random piece of metal he’d deem worth of a little tweaking, take his motorbike to work instead of waiting for dean to go there together in baby like they do for almost every single day since even before they got married five years ago. 

Then he’s going to start with the prep work of the day. also without waiting for Dean to start together ــــ and yeah dean is well aware that they actually work separately in the early-mornings  prep, with Dean working on the day’s pastry menu and Cas manning the food one, but he likes that they usually work in either side of the kitchen in an easy practiced harmony at the same time, every day, thank you very much ــــ offer him a second cup of coffee when he gets in and then he’ll continue ignoring his presence on earth. 

Dean curses himself again, all the while he’s thinking about how that you usually don’t run late for your own family version of getting together once a month dinner ـــ that you are the host for this month ـــ but he was going on what was supposed to be a little errand to get so extra supplies; some of his “special and secret and totally innocent” herbs stash from their house and ended up breaking and baking the family's dinner night's two pies in their home kitchen instead of the bistro’s. 

Needless to say that when their landline rang with a concerned Cas on the other end wondering what the hell was taking this long… well ,  his husband was not impressed. 

Cas did remind him though that when they decided to host tonight’s dinner at the Bistro, which they closed and completely booked for the entire  evening, for just that one purpose, instead of their own house like they almost always do, they were supposed to actually use the bistro’s everything for the rare occasion, but alas…

You can’t really ask Dean to stop being “pure chaos” Dean even if you tried and Cas never bothered. 

So there they were.

Cas’s pissed and Dean’s late. 

But not for long though, because now he was inching in the bistro’s one-story building after having to park ‘baby’ on the other side of the road because some asshole blocked the alleyway’s opening, which was always reserved for ‘baby’, with his truck. and dean’s late enough he didn’t even stop long enough  to curse the driver’s existence probably because no one ever wants to get Cas double pissed at him. 

And by the he reaches the front door and manages to throw a quick look of general air surrounding his husband with an aura of pure irritation, that he only had to ـــ just about took a glance off of the glass window before he pushes the door with a curved-in-metal wooden “closed” sign on it. 

And he’s taking a tentative step in, closing the door behind him and then exploding with loud colorful, wannabe glee-metallized tone: 

“I brought the pie!”
And well… 

Cas, with the look he’s still directing at the dark teal tablecloth he appears to be fixing depicts the fact it doesn’t really look like it needs a fix, just shakes his head in pure exasperation, sighs loudly then hums. 

Dean, who’s still standing by the closed door after he placed the pie tins, which  he was placing on top of each other, on the narrow countertop right next to him then shedding off his heavy-wool, grey overcoat, closes his eyes asking for help and then he slowly walks to stand right behind Cas.

“You’re late.” Cas deadpans, and he’s so matter-of-fact about that it makes Dean want to roll his eyes fondly at it but he won’t do that because he pissed Cas off enough as is and really there’s no need to poke the bear anymore or  ever drag it longer than it’s advisable no matter how fun it is. 

So Dean goes for the only logical thing to do here...

“Hey there, sweetheart!” he said leaning to the side and forward to kiss the frown away from Cas’ forehead all the while still very much panting his lungs out.

But Cas, naturally,  is having none of that:

“And he dares throwing ‘sweetheart’  to my face!”

Dean tries again, he really does try:

“Aww c’mon, honey don’t be like that!”

And Castiel just huffs:

“I’m too pissed at you to be your “honey” right now, Dean Winchester”

He can hear the goddamn air quotes seeping through Cas’ tone but he won’t bring that up right this second because he really wants to live to tease him with it after they make up. The family dinner…  that’s a thing he wants to attend in one piece too, mind. But dean is a man of priorities ــــ

“Really Cas! You know damn well that we can’t just have ‘family’s dinner’ night without the family’s dinner night pie. It’s the one rule, Cas!”

And he huffs: “That you made…”

“Damn right I did!” Dean beams, always too very much proud with the whole thing.

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, Dean.”, and now that’s just mean! And the bastard is too gummy simple with matching smug eyes and he removes the kitchen towel from his shoulder and aims it at Dean’s right asscheek.

Dean yelps: “hey! Not cool, sweetheart!”, while rubbing soothing  not-really-needed small circles on it. 

And he would swear to anybody, whether they’re willing to listen to him ranting about it or not, that the smug bastard smirked loud enough for Dean to hear it. 

“Anyway, while you were busy being late, your mom called to check if we needed her and Ellen to bring anything with, I thanked her then told her everything was covered.” 

Coming behind him, in another peace offering he brings an arm to swing Cas’ shoulders, lands another kiss to his temple and says: “Damn right it is.” 

“Donna’s still pretty out of it with the fever and all, it’s breaking down a bit so that’s such a good news ــــ so Jody called to apologize… again, told her to stop being silly and take care of her wife and tell her we’ll visit as soon as she gets better.” 

Dean nods and hums a quite: “sure we will.” right at his temple and waits for Cas to finish:

“She told me that all four girls are gonna make it tho so that’s a blessing.”

Dean nods in agreement: “Yeah, good choice letting  them have a night outta the house for a few hours, must’ve been pretty rough on ‘em with  Donna's fever for the last couple of days.” 

Cas hums for a second, fingers still busy folding the table’s napkins, then he adds: “and I called Sam an hour ago, checked on Jack. poor thing  was taking his nap so I couldn’t talk to him, but Sam said he wasn’t being fuzzy at all, he was playing okay with  him and Eileen, only turned all and every droid off and then on again by himself” he stops for a second examines his finished work  then continues: “and only asked a few times about us.” 

At the mention of Jack’s day-so-far rundown, Dean’s smile gains extra soft edge to it, he didn’t get to see their three-year-old son since he dropped him at Sam’s this morning and he’s been  missing him since. 

He hums: “that’s my boy.”, drops one last kiss to Cas’ forehead and moves back to collect the pie tins and heads to the kitchen’s door: “gonna go put these two beauties into the oven to keep ‘em warm and gooey. Be right back to help with whatever you need, handsome.”

He kicks the light wooden door with his foot and it swings right back after he goes inside, then he hears Cas’s voice slightly coming on the heavy side of sarcasm: “...‘has a built-in professional, specially-made oven in here but has to make the “family’s night” dinner’s pies at home!... oh can’t wait till Ellen hears of this, she’ll have your ears as dessert tonight ــــ”

Just walking in from the back door and into the open office’s space next to the kitchen’s door, Bobby says: 

“Quit being idjits, you idjits! and finish with the meal already! ـــ they’re all gonna rush in here in half an hour!”, loud enough for them to hear it. 

They both yell in tandem: “Sorry Bobby!”, “Cool your jets, old man!” and then it’s all kind of quiet. 

For now a humming inpatient silent covers the bistro’s air, waiting for the rest of the family to come and fill it.