Crowley had always gravitated towards disasters like Americans do to burger joints. He had seen all the big ones - Antietam, Normandy, Chernobyl, the day after a Saint Patrick's Day party at the Playboy mansion - and they were his favorite work topic. He and the other demons would gather around the torture rack and Crowley would regale them with the most beautiful tales of blood and despair. He had seen and admired the worst destruction the world could offer.
But nothing could possibly prepare to the sight he was looking at right now.
"Castiel." spoke a stunned Crowley. "Is there a reason that the turkey is on fire?"
Castiel turned around from the stove at Crowley's question. The angel was covered in soot from head to toe, and the only way that Crowley knew that it was his husband was because of the piercing blue eyes staring back at him.
"This did not go as I thought it would Crowley."
"I gathered that," Crowley stated, bemused. It took him a second to gather his senses, but once he got his wits about him he realized that Castiel was too flummoxed to deal with this mess. Crowley would need to take care of things on his own. "One moment," Crowley said, "let's zap this wanker into the ocean so it doesn't set the rest of the house on fire." And with a snap of Crowley's fingers, the turkey disappeared into the depths of the Pacific. He doubted that even a Great White would be willing to eat the overcooked bird, and he'd heard of a shark that ate a whole suit of armor once.
After dealing with the fire, Crowley finally took a good, hard look at the state of his kitchen. He loved the kitchen, with its smooth, gray granite countertops and the finest stainless steel appliances. Currently all of that loveliness was covered up by the baby of a Jackson Pollock painting and a food fight. Mashed potatoes were on the cabinets, the ceiling, the floor. What was once something close to gravy dripped down the front of the oven and pooled on the ceramic tiles. A bag of steam-fresh vegetables had exploded in the microwave from the looks of it, and what was probably a pecan pie sat charred on the countertop. Ash was on every surface he looked at, and by his best guess this was due to Castiel catching a dish towel on fire while trying to fan out the flames of the turkey.
Crowley tried to figure out what to say, but he had no idea where to start. "Cas..." he breathed.
Castiel looked up a the demon, tears welling up his eyes, and his face scrunched up in an attempt to not cry. "Crowley, please don't say anything. I can't even make a proper dinner," Castiel said with a sigh. "I'm a failure." Castiel's breath hitched, and then he began to weep, tears leaving streaks in the soot on his face.
Crowley rushed over to hold the angel as he wept, pulling him in close and ignoring the fact that the ash and food bits was certain to ruin his Armani suit. "Now stop it feathers. There's no need to cry."
"But...there...is." Castiel said between sobs. "When I asked Dean what he was doing for Thanksgiving, he said he just planned to order Chinese food and watch a movie. He said that was his tradition, since his dad was almost always out hunting during the holiday and Dean didn't know how to cook more then soup as a kid. So I invited him and Sam here to 'order Chinese' and was going to surprise them with a good dinner, but I ruined it! Now I've destroyed Thanksgiving because I'm such a mess."
Crowley turned Castiel around so that he was facing him, his fingers gently wiping the tears from Castiel's eyes. "Cas, no person that spends all day cooking in an effort to give his friends their first Thanksgiving is a failure. They are someone that anyone would be lucky to have in their life."
"You don't mean that. I ruined your kitchen. You love the kitchen."
"You ruined our kitchen." Crowley corrected. "And I like the kitchen, but I love you."
Castiel smiled. "I think the brothers told me that moments like these are referred to as 'boy melodrama'"
"Shut it Cas. This is all the sentimentality you'll get from me today. Well, after I go save Thanksgiving."
Cas turned his head to the side quizically. "And how will you do that? It's not like you can just have a fully-cooked Thanksgiving dinner appear out of thin air."
"Watch me." Crowley kissed Castiel's hair gently, then disappeared, leaving the angel feeling both very loved and very confused.
About five minutes after disappearing, Crowley returned to find Castiel attempting to clean the kitchen. The place looked slightly less like a chimney, which was good news.
"The kitchen is a lost cause for now Cas. Just shut the door and don't let the Wonder Twins in here. The food is all on the table anyways. If we put the beer out there the flannel shirts won't even get up from their chairs."
"Wait...food?" Curious, Castiel walked into the dining room. Out on their ten-seat mahogany table stood a feast so plentiful Cas wasn't sure if the table could support the weight. A twenty-pound turkey sat in the middle, golden-brown and succulent. There was a bowl of mashed potatoes and a boat of gravy, a tray of stuffing, more rolls then Castiel could count, and so many vegetables it looked like a farmer's market. Five types of pies lined the table next to the wall, although Cas was doubtful that anyone but Dean would get to have some.
Crowley had expected elation, so when Castiel rounded on the demon with anger Crowley was absolutely stunned.
"You STOLE someone's Thanksgiving dinner? How could you?!" Castiel inflated his chest and extended his wings, his body indicating a fury as hot as the turkey flames that had just recently filled the kitchen.
"Calm it angel. I didn't steal anything."
Castiel rolled his eyes at the demon. "So you just happened to come across an entire Thanksgiving dinner that no one wanted?
"Happened upon, no. Alton Brown and I have an understanding is all."
Castiel's wings deflated a bit, his anger abating somewhat "Wait, Alton Brown? How have I heard of him?"
Crowley smiled. "He's a famous chef on the Food Network. Hosts a show called Cutthroat Kitchen."
"Didn't you show me that the other day? That's the show where chefs sabotage each other to try and win money?"
"The same," Crowley said with a smirk. "One of the producers made a deal with me a few years back, and he contacted me when he was pitched the show. I come up with most of the sabotages, though surprisingly Alton seems to come up with the cruelest ones. I keep trying to recruit him for hell, but he's a hard man to make a deal with. Anyways, he told me while filming last year that he makes two of each dish at Thanksgiving and serves the one that is the most perfect. Usually he donates the leftover food to a homeless shelter, but the hefty donation I made instead convinced him to part with dinner this once."
Castiel deflated entirely at Crowley's explanation. "You donated to charity...for me?"
Crowley grimaced. "Ugh, yes. I feel like I need to steal candy from a dozen babies before I will feel like myself again"
Castiel walked across the room to his husband, and placed a passionate kiss on the demon's lips. "Thank you."
"It was nothing. I was just looking forward to having pie."
Castiel's plan ended up succeeding, even though it got off to a rocky start. Dean and Sam were completely surprised by the dinner, and Castiel was beaming because the boys were happy. The only person who lost in this situation was Crowley, who was rewarded with the hell that is spending time with the Winchesters.
"...And then the burger came out and it was as big as a dinner plate! I friggin' love that diner!"
Crowley groaned. "How fascinating."
"Oh shut it Crowley." Dean said. "It's not like you're making great conversation right now,."
"That's because any subject I would talk about with you two dunderheads would go right over your thick skulls."
Dean's face became rigid with anger. "Oh, is that right? Cause I'm pretty sure that I'd have no trouble understanding how big of a prick you're being right now."
"Dean!" Sam yelled.
"Crowley!" screamed Castiel in an attempt to diffuse the situation. "There's no need for animosity at Thanksgiving." Castiel pondered for a moment. "Perhaps we should focus more on what we're thankful for right now. Maybe we can go around the table and say what we give thanks for. I'll go first - I'm thankful for my friends and my family."
Sam smiled and went next. "I'm thankful that I get to have a Thanksgiving dinner that doesn't come in to-go containers."
"I'm thankful for Baby," Dean said wistfully.
Castiel turned to look at Crowley. "And my dear husband, what are you thankful for?"
"Crowley..." Castiel growled.
"People who sell their soul to pay off large gambling debts?"
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Fine. I'm thankful for feathers."
Dean blinked at the demon. "Feathers? Like what about feathers?"
"I love the feel of them, how soft they are are when Castiel runs them up and down my back as I plow his angelic arse until I'm..."
"CROWLEY!!!!!!" yelled Cas. "That's enough."
"Okay, so we're done with this "thankful" nonsense? And I can just sit here and eat my pie in peace?"
Castiel sighed. "Yes, if it makes you happy" As Crowley looked looked at his angel, he noticed how disappointed Castiel looked. Dammit, being contrary was a reflex, and he sometimes forgot how much it hurt Cas.
"Good." Crowley said. "Because I'm thankful for the pie. And I'm thankful for my fantastic husband who put together this dinner."
Castiel smiled widely, his grin crinkling up his nose in what Crowley would never admit was the cutest things he had ever seen.
"Ugh, here we go with the boy melodrama," said Dean with a groan.
"Shove it up your arse you leather-jacketed baboon."
The bickering died down as everyone became drowsy after the meal had settled As they queued up "Thankskilling", a movie so awful Crowley contemplated using it as torture in hell, Castiel cuddled up against the demon with a contented sigh. Crowley had wanted to get up and try and salvage what was left of the kitchen, but as Castiel feel into a restful sleep beside him, he decided that task could wait until tomorrow.