Tea connoisseur, fangirl, film student. Marvel enthusiast with Supernatural origins. Occasional illustrator.
Dean woke to an empty bed and a loud clatter and clank of pans from downstairs. He fumbled out a hand, feeling cool sheets as a sneeze that sounded like a gunshot shook the glass in the window panes.
Theres a beat of silence, and Dean blinks up at the ceiling he needs to sand down and repaint soon; as someone starts cursing.
He drags himself outta bed, gingerly putting weight on his foot as he hoists himself up, shrugging on Cas’s bath robe and ignoring the cane cas must have put beside the door. Casue he damn well didn’t put it there.
Yes the stairs are a bitch without it, but he couldn’t let Sammy have the master bedroom, it was his god given Big Brother right to get the biggest damn room.
Sam was going to give it to him anyway, with the whole Cas Defacto whatever they wanted to call it, but Dean liked to think it was the big brother thing first and foremost.
The kitchen is open and airy, all old yellow walls and wooden counters and currently covered in flour.
He tracks footprints from the door to the coffee pot, and the two idiots stand frozen, stairing at him from their places by the sink. Sam has the guilty packet of flour in his hands, and they look like they’ve been battling a bakers ghost.
Theres a recipe on the table, Angel Foodcake says the bold font, and its already covered in egg goo and doughy fingerprints. Someones cut it out of a magazine. He moves the paper out of his way as he reaches and pours himself a mug of luke warm coffee from the pot.
Dean yawns and scratches his belly, and neither of them have moved yet.
They’re just watching him with matching expressions of ‘oh shit we’ve been caught’ on their faces.
Sam looks kinda like dad, all salt and pepper and flour haired, stubble on his cheeks, not that he’ll tell him that.
Cas is still clutching a bag of sugar to his chest. his glasses sitting crooked at the very end of his nose.
Dean pushes them back into place with one finger.
"Make me pancakes instead" he tells them, nursing the cup in his hands, bringing it close to his nose and inhaling.
"And bacon" he adds before limping to the porch and lowering himself onto the little bench seat he’d put there yesterday.
As soon as the fly mesh door snaps closed behind him, he hears them bickering through the wall. Quick rapid fire words and annoyed muttering.
Dean smiles, eyes closed, bright morning light creeping across the porch, grass still damp and a edge of night time chill clinging to the shadows.
"Now you’ve ruined the surprise!"
"Me? you were too loud!"
"You were the one who sneezed! we were fine until you sneezed!"
"Then you shouldn’t have asked me if it smelt off, can flour even smell off?"
Dean just sits there, coffee black and bitter as he likes it, and thinks about how much he loves his family.