Chapter Text
Cas is tired, when they get back from Mother and Father's. He feels somewhat foolish for this, and rather selfish. On the one hand, he's been through the ringer, emotionally speaking, and so his present state is justified. But on the other, Dean did all the driving. To Hell and home again, all the way through without ever stopping for the night. Fourteen hours both ways because Cas was tired then, like he is now, and Dean didn't trust Anna behind Baby's wheel over something to do with her tendency toward road rage.
Which strikes Cas as hypocritical of his boyfriend, considering how often in the past few days he's thrown out phrases like, "fuck you," and, "son of a bitch," and, "hey, douchebag, who the Hell taught you how to drive, Helen Keller or a goddamned Snorlax?"
By Sunday and despite all his expectations that this might clear up on its own, Cas finds himself still slouching back on the sofa, with a heating pad over his abdomen and his knees curled up because feeling smaller makes him feel slightly better. It's mildly disconcerting, he guesses. Even Dean's recovered by now.
But not Cas, though. Cas is still tired, and worse still, he's saddled with nausea and aching muscles and a sudden craving for peppermint mochas and triple-chocolate cheesecake (among all kinds of other things Cas doesn't usually allow himself)—and, as Dean reminds him, calling out from the kitchen, this really, really, really isn't fair.
Because not that Dean doesn't love taking care of Cas because he does, but Cas still didn't drive. "And cheesecake's a freaking devil food, y'know," he goes on, though he keeps dishing some up out of the container he brought home from work. "And not that it isn't tasty, because Ellen makes some damn fine cheesecake for what it is. Just, what it is? Is still cheesecake."
"What it is," Cas drawls and shakes his head ever so slightly, "is taking too long to get over here so I can eat it."
"No, see, it's stalling over there because somebody I could mention named Cas Milton can't get dessert before dinner just because he's an adult." Dean's smirk is audible. For all Cas tries to resist, he smiles a bit himself.
Whining more than he likes to take credit for, Cas sits and pouts at Dean over the back of the sofa. He drags himself up and points at the sink, at the empty can of chicken noodle soup and the plastic container he made it in. As though proof that he ate something earlier makes all the difference. Which, in his mind? It does.
Dean shrugs, scoffs ever-so-gently, and sends a smile in Cas's direction. "Yeah, well," he says, "that doesn't change the part where cheesecake sucks."
"How fortunate," says Cas. "You don't enjoy it, and I do. There's more of the delicious dessert for me to enjoy. Provided my boyfriend will actually bring it to me instead of being cruel and hoarding something that he doesn't even want."
"Well, excuse me, Princeling! I beg Your Worshipfulness's pardon. I'm so sorry for caring to make sure you ate dinner without me here. Sorry for caring about whether or not you're eating something good for you."
Cas flinches and tries to shrink into the sofa. Has to stop himself from outright burrowing into the cushions and trying to hide in them like a grave because Dean didn't mean it like that. Dean wouldn't say anything about good and bad food like that, much less do it so callously and so casually—he knows about how Cas has those internal lists he still can't entirely bring himself to shake, the ones of foods that are good and ones that aren't—and Dean wouldn't make a comment like that with any malicious intent.
Cas heaves a sigh of relief when Dean goes on: "I just mean, cheesecake's a dishonest food. It's like a liar, and lying just breeds dishonesty. It's not like pie. Pie's honest with you. The crust doesn't go around hiding the flavor, like cheesecake. Cheesecake's indecisive, too. It can't decide if it's sweet or sour, and it tries to hide one in the other, and—"
"And if you really loved me as much as you like to say, you'd just bring it to me and stop having a sermon like this," Cas says through a heavy sigh. "I am exhausted, I'm having cramps and some of the worst cravings I've had in my life, and considering how late it is? This period is probably going to put me through the wringer more so than usual, and I would appreciate you cooperating and giving me my cheesecake already. Please, Dean?"
Cas looks up from the cushions and sees that Dean's already there, smiling down at him and holding a plate. On it, Cas finds two slices of cheesecake, each topped off with enormous dollops of homemade whipped cream. To spite the obnoxious voice screaming in the back of his head—the urges that Cas recognizes as the remnants of his eating disorder—Cas eats both of them. He doesn't even struggle to get them both down.
Which strikes him as rather odd, but on the other hand, he's barely eaten anything today. And anyway, it's impossible for him to stay frustrated with his boyfriend when Dean puts on "Mirror, Mirror"—Cas's favorite episode of Star Trek—and gives Cas a neck massage without being asked to do either.