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It was early afternoon before Cas eventually woke up in the Men of Letters den. He was drifting on the peculiar edge of consciousness when he heard a gentle creak from the direction of the door and blearily opened his eyes to see Dean’s head peeking round the door with a private smile. “Evening,” he teased.
Cas’ voice was hoarse when he tried to make some rational response, the air rasping in his throat and drying his mouth. So far, the experience of waking up was not very pleasant.
Dean stepped into the room and handed him a glass of water. The ex-angel gulped it down as though his life depended on it, the sweet hydration refreshing and blissful. When he had finished he was breathing hard and his chin was dripping, and Dean was looking at him with a mixture of amazement and amusement.
The hunter cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from Cas, taking the glass from him and fussing about with the lamp on the bedside table to distract himself. “So I know you’ve had a rough time since you fell, and I figured I’d, ya know, give you something to do, something to take your mind off things, have a little fun.” Cas cocked his head. Dean’ smile widened. “So this morning I’ve been setting up the kitchen, because today you are going to be taking part in a once in a lifetime experience – a Winchester Culinary Masterclass, today’s special: burgers.”
The ex-angel’s expression softened considerably and Dean even got a hint of a smile. He produced a white apron from beside him, handing it to Cas, who smiled at it with a mix of confusion and anticipation. His eyes met his friend’s. “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean’s smile broadened. “Any time.”
Cas took the time to fully appreciate the magnificent Men of Letters den as the pair made their way downstairs; the building truly was beautiful, and supplied with everything they could ever need.
As Dean clapped the kitchen lights on (a feature he’d worked extremely hard to install just for moments like these) Cas gazed in wonder at the setup illuminated before him: dishes of ingredients decorated the large central table in a colourful array. A huge multi-purpose over took up half the wall behind it, and another wall was a bookshelf of row upon row of cookbooks – most were chunky, leather-bound volumes left by the Men of Letters, but there was a single high-up shelf filled with modern books which Dean must have filled. Most looked brand new and had presumably been bought for the home – now that the brothers really had one. Cas liked the idea of Dean spending a weekend rifling through the pages, trying out new recipes and running every outcome by Sam for evaluation.
He noticed Dean smile up at the books as they entered, before picking up a pink spotted apron from the counter and tying it expertly around himself. He moved behind the table than began rolling up his sleeves with careful precision and looking to Cas expectantly, pausing mid-motion when he saw the angel was still stood on the other side of the room giving him a curious look.
“What?” Dean said shortly, before following Cas’ eyeline to the apron. The hunter looked at his feet and mumbled something about thinking Cas would want the plain one, before finishing rolling his sleeves. Cas had to admit the exposed forearms made him look more manly.
He joined his friend behind the table and slipped on the apron he’d been selflessly allocated and looked to Dean for instruction. Dean looked back at the angel, apparently expecting him to do something. When he only blinked, Dean sighed heavily and motioned to Cas’ arms. “You’re gonna need to roll up your sleeves too, Cas.”
Cas looked confused. “Why would I need to do that?”
“Well, either that or take off the coat altogether…”
Cas looked at him as though this was the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard of.
Dean shrugged. “Worth a shot.”
“What is the purpose of rolling my sleeves, Dean?”
“So you don’t get them caked in food.” Cas sensed Dean’s unspoken ‘obviously’, as well as the silent approval of his own pun.
“Dean, I am a celestial being, I can clean my sleeves in a second.”
The hunter huffed frustratedly. “Not anymore. And anyway, it just helps if you get into it.”
“How?”
“They – they taste better if you get into it.”
“I don’t see how that could affect–”
“Just–!” Dean’s arms flew up, tense, fingers clawed ready to rip his hair out. He exhaled slowly and lowered his arms, taking Cas’ wrist and pushing up his sleeve. “Go with it,” he finished calmly.
Cas made no more objections as Dean pressed a button on a remote, sending background music floating towards them, and presented Cas with a large plastic bowl identical to the one he placed before himself.
“Alright, first off,” Dean began, attempting and failing to supress his rhythmic head-bobbing as he reached for the first, most crucial ingredient. “Meat.”
Dean enunciated the word carefully, savouring the sound of it, before taking half the mince and dumping it into his bowl, handing the rest to Cas. The angel let the meat fall heavily into the bowl.
“Now,” Dean continued, getting his hands into the bowl and breaking up the meat. “Just get stuck in and get it to a workable consistency – you don’t want it to turn to mush,” he added, pointing at Cas, accidentally flicking a stray strand of mince across the counter, “’cause it’s really satisfying when you get that occasional chunk in the middle of a mouthful, you know, but if it’s all really textured you end up missing that processed feel all the fast food branches serve and it won’t even be worth making them…”
Cas watched affectionately as Dean made elaborate hand motions to animate his speech, smiling all the while as he knew exactly what the hunter was talking about.
“Next!” Dean boomed enthusiastically, flicking the meat stuck to his hands back into the bowl then turning to Cas with a grin. “Onions. Ever chopped one?”
“I’ve never done any form of cooking; I thought that was the point of all this?”
“…Just checking.” Dean pushed back the bowls and produced chopping boards and two red onions accompanied by huge knives. “Two rules with chopping onions – bridge and claw. At least that’s how Home Ec. taught it.” He expertly sliced the stalk off and halved it then took one half and gripped the sides, hand arched over it. “Bridge,” he told Cas, waiting for him to catch up. He then began slowly slicing down the length of the onion and just as he got into his flow, he heard a loud crunch beside him.
Cas had managed to penetrate the onion, but at a rather odd angle, and he looked all to stressed about the whole thing. He had expected chopping to be as simple as stabbing with an angel blade, but here it appeared accuracy was required.
Dean set down his own knife and quickly moved over to help, slipping one hand under Cas’ to hold the onion still and wrapping the other over Cas’ right and the knife. He peered over the ex-angel’s shoulder guiding the point of the knife to the knot and gently slicing through. As they chopped further along, Dean heard Cas’ heartbeat relax and felt him grow more confident, taking more control until they had finished. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas smile to himself, satisfied with his job, and Dean couldn’t resist his own little smile.
He continued to guide Cas in the second chopping method, hooking his fingers to grip the bulb perpendicular to the cuts. Without a word, Cas chopped away, dicing finely. They took a moment to admire their handiwork before Dean reluctantly withdrew his hands and stepped away. “Perfect.”
They finished chopping the other half together, finally scraping the cubes of onion into their bowls and stirring the mixture together.
Dean reached for more of the dishes and laid the colourful array of powders between them. “Seasoning,” he announced. “This is what really makes it delicious.” He was tempted to leave Cas to his own devices here, but he had a feeling it would all end horribly if he did. Instead, as if on cue, the music changed to – in Dean’s opinion – the perfect montage song and he grinned as he began taking pinches of this and that in time with the music, dashing them into the bowls, sprinkling them from on high, free-styling as the music demanded. By the time he was finished, the air was filled with spice dust and its wonderful aroma and their burger mixes certainly looked more colourful. Cas was supressing an amused smile at Dean’s rhythmic enthusiasm, but didn’t comment.
The hunter pushed everything towards the back of the counter and brought forward a bag of flower. A cloud of flour joined the spice dust as he scattered it across the surface and tipped his burger mix out of the bowl. Cas copied and together they kneaded out their mix, shaping several burgers each. Dean grabbed a grill tray from behind them and they lined them up side by side then put them under the heat.
While the burgers sizzled away, the pair prepped rolls – Cas was pleased to see Dean had provided all his favourite burger fillings and some gorgeous freshly baked rolls with soft light centres, which they set about cutting and filling with a nest of salad and sauce ready for the burgers which were now sizzling fiercely and filling the room with a smell that made Cas’ mouth water.
Soon they were cooked and in their buns, arranged neatly on a platter and picturesque, so much so that they could easily have a spot in a cookery book. As the two of them stood admiring their careful crafting, the food looked almost too good to eat – like a piece of artwork that you want to keep forever just as it is. Cas felt an overwhelming pride in what they had produced and a grin sat on his lips as he looked at them.
That spell of awe was broken when Sam staggered out of his bedroom, hair mussed and eyes squinted against the light, inhaling the wondrous smell of the hot burgers. When he spotted them, he suddenly seemed more awake and sidled towards them, tripping slightly on the step up to the kitchen which was easy to forget about in semi-consciousness. Sam steadied himself on the worktop and grabbed the burger closest to him before either Dean or Cas could say anything, sinking his teeth through the soft bread, flavoursome meat and crisp salad with an appreciative moan.
“That’s really good,” he said around his mouthful, apparently oblivious to the shocked and protesting looks from his friend and his brother, before shuffling off into the main room, chomping as he went.
After his footfalls had receded, Dean turned slowly to Cas, that expression of wonder at his brother’s ineptitude still in place. Words seemed to have failed him; he only shook his head with a sigh and grabbed a burger for himself roughly, the magic of that moment well and truly ruined.