Archive of Our Own ^beta

Oat Cookies

Dean wakes up in his stuffy, hot bedroom. Despite sleeping in only his underwear and without a blanket, Dean is covered in a sheen of sweat. He hates summers. Hates the scorching sun. Hates the dryness in his eyes he gets when he oversleeps on his days off. And hates his days off when he doesn’t know what do with himself and ends up hating himself for doing nothing.

What a life, right? Dean’s tired of telling himself that he knew what he was signing up for becoming a nurse. That not all patients will be grateful and friendly towards him. And not all doctors will appreciate and praise him. And that his previously uneventful love life will become non-existent. And that he’ll see his brother and nephew only once a month if he’s lucky.

But the smiles Dean gets sometimes upon telling a patient that they are cured and can go home are worth it. And the drawings from kids that have covered all of his fridge are more precious than his monthly pay check. Pity, drawings don’t pay the bills or buy food.

Speaking of food. Dean failed to have anything to eat upon coming home in the early hours after two night shifts in a row, so now he’s pretty starving and his stomach rumbles unhappily. Wonder, what time it is. Dean reaches for his phone and is surprised to find out that he’s only slept for a couple of hours before waking up. There goes his dream to catch up on sleeping after those shifts. But what has woken him up?

Then Dean hears it again. Thudding and grunting from the staircase. With a displeased groan of his own, Dean gets out of bed, throws on a pair of joggers and a tee and heads to the door, yawning. He cracks it open to spy on whatever is going on on his floor.

Someone’s moving in. There are several boxes cluttering the hall and two people are trying to get a couch into the door of an apartment next to Dean’s. Great, new neighbours. The apartment’s been empty since the previous tenants, a young mother named Lisa and her son Ben, moved out last month. Dean liked them, eagerly babysat the boy when the mom took extra shifts at work or had dates. Dean’s a believer in community spirit and feels obliged to offer his help to the new neighbours despite them waking him up after a night shift.

“Hey there, I’m Dean, your neighbour.” He greets the couple and gestures at the couch. “You need help with that?”

The couple seem startled when they look at him and their hesitation gives Dean a chance to study them closer. The woman, or rather, girl must be in her early twenties at most. Blond, pretty, of average height and quite fit, her hair is done in a messy bun, makeup is moderate and clothes casual. The kind of girl Dean usually becomes great friends with.

The man on the other hand… Dean feels something off. For starters, he’s at least twice the girl’s age. Sure, love don’t judge and all, Dean just hopes there’s no power imbalance in the relationship. The man’s dark hair is a mess too, and he has a squint in his ocean-blue eyes that makes him look like a barely awake owl. He’s of Dean’s height, sturdy-looking, and wears a tan trench-coat that looks so old, might as well be the very one of Lieutenant Columbo. And a suit, too. Who wears a frigging suit for moving?

“Gee, man, thanks, that’s be great.” The girl replies Dean’s proposition and moves to the side a bit so Dean can grab on the couch as well. “I’m Claire, that’s Cas.” She points at the man with a tilt of her head, and the man gives Dean an acknowledging nod.

By joint efforts, they get the couch into the apartment and Claire navigates its further placing. Once it’s safely on the floor, Claire flops onto it with a triumphant phew and pats the spot next to her for Cas. He sits down awkwardly, like he’s got a stick in his ass.

“That’s swell. Imagine all the movie nights we’re gonna have here.” She tells him then addresses Dean with a smile. “Thanks again, Dean, care to drop by later for a proper meet and greet?”

“Yeah, sure. See you later.” Dean starts retreating from the apartment and just as he realizes that he hasn’t heard that Cas dude speak, the man’s voice catches up on him in the doorway.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

All hairs on Dean’s arms stand up and he shivers. That’s some voice. Deep and raspy. Suddenly Dean’s retreat becomes hastier.

Once back in the safety of his own apartment, Dean shucks off his clothes, throws open a window, which only brings in more dry, hot air, and gets back in bed hoping to get some more sleep. Luckily, his new neighbours make the rest of their moving quiet enough.

However, after tossing and turning for good twenty minutes, Dean gives up. It’s too hot and humid to sleep. So, he hits the shower, then lazily puts together a couple of sandwiches while his coffee brews. After the never-ending noise of the hospital, Dean’s lonely apartment is too quiet, so he puts on a true crime podcast. He gets through breakfast, does the dishes, cleans the entire kitchen, does the laundry and by afternoon is left with nothing to do. Dean thinks about calling Sam, but doesn’t really know what to talk to him about, so Dean goes for a long walk, buys some groceries on his way back, has lunch and after some more thorough dishwashing, he pulls up one of the recipes he’s got saved on his phone and starts preparing the battlefield.

Dean isn’t much of a cook, but he has a soft spot for baking. It’s one of the few things he and his mom used to do in their short time together. Dad could never appreciate Dean’s culinary inclinations, but a homemade pie or biscuits were a nice change for Sammy after days of takeout and instant noodles. Additionally, bringing pastry to work is a good way to bond with colleagues. Finally, it’s a cheap and effective way to keep Dean occupied on his days off. Also, it could be a nice excuse to drop on his new neighbours again since Dean’s pretty sure that Claire’s invitation was just a polite formality. Dean always bakes too much anyways.

An hour or so later, a batch of oat cookies is ready. Dean decorates them with walnuts hoping that none of his neighbours is allergic, lays the cookies out nicely on a big plate and heads out.

The boxes from the hall are gone by now. Dean hesitates at the door for a bit wondering if his neighbours could have gone out, but resolves that the only way to find out is to go along with his plan. He knocks and at first, nothing happens. Dean almost decides to leave, when the door finally opens. He’s met by Cas who, thank god, has lost his coat and jacket, so Dean has a good look at his forearms with the way Cas’s shirtsleeves are rolled up. The man seems surprised to see Dean.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean greets with a smile. “I made some cookies, would you take them as a welcome treat? Hope you and Claire aren’t allergic to nuts?”

“No, we’re not. Thank you.” Cas accepts the plate from Dean. “Would you like to come in? Claire’s left, but I can make some tea or coffee.”

Dean contemplates. His social skills with strangers and tiredness after the shifts have to be taken into consideration. He’s not sure he’ll be able to maintain a conversation past the ‘where are you from’ and ‘what do you do for a living’ phase. And Dean could really do without any awkward silent scenes with his handsome but very straight and very taken new neighbour, thank you very much.

“Thanks, man, but, no, I’m pretty tired and didn’t sleep well.” Dean excuses himself.

“I see…” Cas drawls and sounds sincerely disappointed. “Well, you’re welcome if you change your mind.”

With a nod, Dean retreats to his apartment to spend the rest of the evening with the remains of the cookies, some beer and a binge-watch of some series. As he crunches through his cookies, he can’t get rid of the image of Cas and Claire lounging on their ill-fated couch, watching a show of their own, cuddling… Dean feels jealous at once.

Those were the choices he made. His priorities have always been off. Sammy over himself, work over relationships. Live with it, Dean tells himself and prays that the walls in the building are strong enough to spare him the sounds of his new neighbours’ more… private activities.

Banana Bread

Dean doesn’t hear or see much of either Cas or Claire over the course of the following days, but spots an unfamiliar car in the building’s parking which Dean assumes must be theirs. It’s quite an eye-candy, if he’s honest, a ’78 Lincoln Continental, a nice match to Dean’s ’67 Chevrolet Impala. When they’re side by side, golden against black, they resemble a bumblebee. Dean wonders what Cas does for a living to afford such a ride. Or, perhaps, it was passed down on him by some relative. Otherwise, might have been Claire’s gift from her parents on her sweet sixteen; she seems quite a vintage car type of girl.

With Dean’s schedule, it’s no wonder he fails to run into his neighbours on regular basis. He leaves for his day shifts while most people are still asleep and with extra hours he takes to avoid being sad and lonely in the emptiness of his apartment, he comes back when everyone else is already home. That is to say nothing about his night shifts.

Then once again he’s awaken too early on his long-awaited day off. Only this time it’s not some noise but the most beautiful singing he’s ever heard.

After jolting awake with severe tachycardia, Dean stays in bed for a while trying to regain normal heartbeat and realise whether he’s awake, or still dreaming, or has died and gone to heaven. Humans don’t sound like this. The voice is high-pitched and mellow. The song must be some classic piece, Dean’s not keen on such type of music, but can appreciate the beauty nonetheless. Pity, Dean can’t make out the words either, the song is probably in a foreign language. What were operas written in? Italian? German?

The person singing must be a professional. Dean doesn’t know all his neighbours but he’s pretty sure none of the old-timers are opera singers. Which only leaves…

Dean gets dressed and goes out into the common hall. Singing is louder here and there’s no doubt left anymore that it’s coming from Cas and Claire’s apartment. Well, at least now Dean knows what Claire does. Only he would appreciate it if she did it some other time than Dean’s fucking day off after two night shifts!

But she couldn’t have known, Dean reasons with himself as he goes back into his apartment and heads into the shower with no hope of going back to sleep. They should negotiate singing hours. Only Dean doesn’t want to come off too harsh. In fact, he’d like if Claire kept practicing at home, Dean should clearly express that he finds her singing beautiful but be assertive about boundaries at the same time. The only way he knows how to sweeten the pill is with some actual sugar.

Dean enjoys this impromptu soundtrack to his life throughout his breakfast and another baking session. He’s not sure how much longer Claire will be home, so Dean needs to hurry up and a perfect solution is banana bread. It’s sweet, nutritious and quick. Dean stuffs it with some more walnuts as well as dried fruits.

The bread is ready just in time when singing stops and Dean hurries to his neighbours’ door. Dean’s a bit disappointed when Cas rather than Claire opens the door. Dean’s hoped to express his praise and raise the issue of singing schedule with Claire personally. But Cas will have to do.

To Dean’s surprise, Cas’s eyes don’t at once dart to the plate in Dean’s hands. Dean’s brought his pastries as peace offerings to neighbours enough times to expect such a reaction. However, Cas instead stares right at Dean’s face with a curious tilt of his head.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas greets in that raspy voice of his. Dean wonders, how Claire even manages to do anything with Cas being right there sounding like this. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem at all, man.” Dean starts mumbling and just hands Cas the plate. “Here, I made this for you as prove that I in fact appreciate the singing, but could you, please, tell your girlfriend for me to not do it on Friday mornings?”

“My who?” Cas asks blinking owlishly, and Dean guesses it’s too early to be processing stuff for Cas as well, but he keeps going.

“You see, I’m a nurse, my shifts are day-day, night-night, then three days off, and Friday mornings are when I try to get some sleep after spending two nights in a row on my feet, so if it’s not too much of an inconvenience…”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I’m terribly sorry.” Cas interrupts and nods. “Noted, keep it down Friday mornings. Any other quiet time preferences we should be aware of?”

“Sunday and Monday nights, perhaps? I get up at five for my day shifts.”

“Of course, Dean, thanks for letting us know.” Suddenly Cas smiles, and his eyes honest to god shine with kindness. “And thank you for your service.”

Dean can’t hold back a laugh. “That’s not what you say to medical staff, but thanks anyways, it’s nice to be appreciated. Say hi to Claire.”

Cas’s smile vanishes. Gee, he can’t be that type of boyfriend who becomes jealous simply over someone sending regards to their partner. Dean’s tired of being disappointed in people.

“I will, take care, Dean.” Cas says and reaches for the doorknob. Dean takes it as his cue to leave.

A couple of hours later, there’s a knock on Dean’s door. Dean finds Cas on his doorstep, back in his obnoxious suit and coat.

“I’ve got you a little something.” Cas hands Dean a sealed box of earplugs. “I stick by my promise to observe your quiet hours, these are in case the singing becomes too much anyway. I can’t keep it out of the apartment all together.”

“And I’m not asking to, like I’ve said, it’s beautiful.” Dean explains himself again. “Thanks for being considerate, though. Have a nice day, I guess?”

“You too.” Cas smiles and heads downstairs. Dean tries the plugs. Somehow, they fit perfectly, which is a bit creepy, and when Dean gives them a test drive by putting on a random song on his phone, almost at top volume, he can barely hear a thing. He wishes all neighbours were like this!

Depression Cake

Dean’s used to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s not one to shy away from difficulties and be made allowances for. So when on a particularly scorching day patients with heatstroke start pouring into ER, Dean overlooks his lunch break and stays long after his dayshift ends to look after his assigned patients, help other day nurses practically collapsing from exhaustion and brief the arriving night shift on the state of matters. It’s almost eleven at night when activity finally dies down a bit. Dean thinks about driving home but finds his hands too shaky to control the wheel. So he gets some leftover sandwiches from the cafeteria and goes to sleep on a couch in the staff break room.

It rains in the morning, washing away the dust, and the cooling earth practically sizzles. Influx of patients somewhat subsides. Dean mostly supervises checkouts and tries to cheer up long-term the patients with a smile and a joke. He’s happy to be here, to be useful, to be giving people hope. A couple of times he’s called to assist in ER. He’s thankful that obligatory masks conceal his yawns. At one point, he drops a vial of some expandable medicine, but it happens even to the best of them, doesn’t it?

Dean’s a bit confused when he’s approached by the hospital’s president Dr Ketch during his overdue lunch.

“Is it true? Did you sleep here?”

Dean stares at the president, frozen mid-chewing his sandwich, and makes an effort to swallow the bite to reply.

“There were many patients yesterday.”

“We’ve talked about it. You can’t be taking unsanctioned, unpaid overtime. The union will eat me alive.” Ketch rubs his face, exasperated.

Dean chooses not to mention how he really has nothing better to do and goes on preaching how he loves his job, saving people, and stuff. Ketch cuts him off with a categorical ‘go home, now’ and heads off.

Dean’s good at following orders, to a degree. He manages to attend to a couple more patients before Ketch walks in on him again and practically drags Dean out by his collar like a naughty puppy. It’s still several hours until the end of Dean’s regular day shift.

He stands in front of the hospital, breathing in sweet petrichor and allowing the rustling of rain to muffle out the cacophony of thoughts in his brain. Thick grey clouds conceal the sun well, but its light still underlines their bellies, swell with months’ worth of precipitation. It’s depressing, but peaceful. Dean heads to the parking lot and gets in the car. Anxiety of falling asleep on the road grips him for a second, but Dean shakes it off. Then starts the engine. Its purring is soothing and encouraging. Dean makes it home safely.

He hears it as soon as he starts climbing the stairs. That heavenly singing. It envelops him like a blanket and practically makes him float upstairs. Dean leans on the wall and listens a bit. He can’t tell where one song ends and another begins. Dean thinks he could stay there forever but his stomach starts to rumble and his legs feel weak. Right, a couple of sandwiches in 36 hours is barely sustaining for a grown man. Dean makes a hard decision to have something to eat before crashing.

He finds some leftovers in his fridge and microwaves them while enjoying the singing behind the wall. He wonders what Claire looks like when she sings. Does she close her eyes and throw her head back, enraptured with the magic of iridescent notes? Dean pulls out his phone and shazams the song. Lascia ch'io pianga by Handel, the app says. Who would think that classic music could be catchy? Dean even starts humming to the tune until the beeping of the microwave distracts him.

The song changes to another opera piece, this one more dynamic and upbeat. At one particularly high note Dean’s own vocal chords constrict involuntary. How can anyone produce sounds like this? He tries not to think what this voice should sound like in a moment of pleasure…

The singing goes on. If Dean were completely honest, he’d rather it stopped so he could go to bed early. But it’s not his ‘quiet time’ and he realizes that a pro singer needs to practice. He would have been listening to some music anyway, and opera isn’t the worst alternative, so he has nothing to complain about.

To kill the time Dean decides to bake something else. He wants to try something new and starts googling recipes. His mouth waters at each of them, but he doesn’t have many ingredients at hand and he’s too tired to head out for groceries. Finally, a simple enough recipe catches his eye. ‘Depression cake’, Dean reads and chuckles. Quite fitting. And simple too. He can let it cool overnight and add icing in the morning.

Dean is halfway through making the batter when singing stops. Dean feels let down. He waits a bit for a continuation, maybe Claire’s just taking a break, but everything is silent. With a sigh, Dean puts on some music he’s more familiar with. He wonders, whether Claire does household chores or cooking while singing or if it requires undivided concentration. Perhaps Cas runs the house allowing Claire to dedicate herself to art undividedly?

When Dean finally crashes, he hears music in his dreams. They’re unclear, all abstract images. Dean’s pretty sure they feature some biblically accurate angels. He wakes up surprisingly refreshed. The rain and clouds are gone, but the sun is still veiled by a thin layer of mist.

Dean goes on to make icing for the cake. He must have mixed up some of the measurements as it turns out too liquid and there’s too much of it even for the two cakes Dean’s made. He tries spreading it evenly and gradually, but it drips everywhere and soon all of the kitchen counters are covered in brown sticky smudges. With a sigh, Dean pours the extra icing in a jar and stores it in the fridge for later use. He waits for the icing on the cakes to dry up a bit and performs the familiar ritual of delivering one to his neighbours’ door.

Dean’s pleased that it’s Claire herself that meets him this time. Dean triumphantly presents her with the cake.

“It’s called Depression Cake and may it be the only depression you ever have.” Dean says.

“My, I hope it’s not as sweet as you are, or my teeth will rot.” Claire jokes back. “Would you like to share it over some tea? Or coffee? Or cocoa?”

Dean’s not sure if it’s appropriate to be having tea or anything alone with someone’s girlfriend especially when she’s this young. Also, Dean doubts they’ll have anything to talk about.

“Thanks, but I’m kinda busy today.” Dean replies and it’s not even a total lie. He needs to buy groceries and cook some food if he wants to have anything to eat when he’s back tomorrow morning after his night shift.

Claire bites her lip pretending to believe him. “Could I help out, maybe? We kinda still owe you for helping with the couch. To say nothing of all the goodies.” She nods at the cake.

Dean opens his mouth to politely brush off the offer but then it hits him. “Actually, how about a quid pro quo? I know you’re not a jukebox, but is just opera that you sing? I mean, it’s really beautiful, I enjoy it a lot, but perhaps some diversity couldn’t hurt? Sorry, I’m being arrogant…”

Claire squints at him for a while, a perfect mimic of Cas’s trademark squint, and Dean figures, it’s natural to start copying your partner when you live together. For a second Claire looks like she has no clue what Dean is talking about, but then she draws an understanding ‘oh’ and grins.

“Sure, dude, place your orders.”

“Some good ol’ rock, maybe?”

“One good ol’ rock coming up.” Claire winks. “Thanks for the cake, man. And if you change your mind, Cas and I will be delighted to have you over!”

Dean can’t explain a flutter in his heart upon hearing Cas’s name. They exchange goodbyes and Dean returns to his apartment to change into something more presentable than flour-stained joggers to go to the store. He spends the rest of the day cooking for the week. He waits to hear Claire acting on her promise of repertoire change, but time goes by, and no singing comes in. Dean can’t help feeling disappointed, although he knows that Claire doesn’t owe him anything.

Around the time he’s starting to prepare to leave for his night shift, he hears his neighbours’ door open and close. That must be Cas coming home. Dean wonders whether Claire has tried the cake already or has been waiting for Cas to share the experience. Or perhaps she’s been the unruly young adult that she is and has finished most of it already only leaving Cas a slice to taste.

Dean’s almost out of the door when he hears it. The singing. He petrifies and listens with his breath held. It’s one of his favourite songs, We Were Born to Fly by Scorpions. It sounds a bit weird in that high-pitched classically trained voice, like a completely different song, but it’s nonetheless beautiful and Dean risks being late for his shift opting to stay and listen till the end. It doesn’t help that the next song Claire chooses is Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters. Dean feels a bit annoyed. Couldn’t she have practiced even ten minutes earlier? Well, she couldn’t have known what time Dean was going to leave and she’s definitely not a jukebox. Or, perhaps, she only sings at home when she’s in the mood. When Cas is around to listen, encourage and praise. Dean could use someone like that in his life.

Dean stays through two more songs until his phone goes off. Shit, he’s late. Dean runs down the stairs risking spraining his ankles, whipped by Kansas’s Wayward Son.

Lasagne

What Dean does like about summer, is fresh fruit and berries. On his day off he deliberately drives to a market outside the city to buy locally grown ones and brings home a whole basket of strawberry, blueberry, cherry and raspberry. He’s practically beaming thinking of all the wonderful things he can bake with them.

Dean almost drops his precious possession when he stumbles upon Cas sitting on the floor by his door. The man looks devastated and humiliated and Dean suddenly feels guilty for his good spirits. Losing the smile, he approaches his neighbour and opens up with a joke.

“Hey, man, sup? Trouble in paradise?” Dean nods at the closed door of Cas’s apartment.

Cas gives Dean that misunderstanding owlish blink and shakes his head. “What? No. Hello, Dean. It’s stupid, actually. Locked myself out. And of course, my phone, wallet and car keys are inside so I can’t even reach Claire.” Cas chuckles sarcastically, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pour my troubles on you like this, I feel so stupid.”

Dean can practically feel his imaginary superhero cape flying behind his back. He just can’t pass a chance to help someone out, can he?

“Your feelings are valid, man, but don’t beat yourself up too harshly. You’re just a human.” Dean assures. “Here’s what we can do. Option numero uno, I give you my phone, you call Claire and ask her to come, or I drive you to her. Option numero dos, you wait for her at my place. We have a couple of beers, you help me make lunch that we share, we kill the time watching some nostalgic shit…”

Dean heart clenches at the way Cas looks at him with utmost hope and reverence in his blue eyes. Dean could swear they were glowing on their own and it wasn’t the lamp light reflecting in them.

“I don’t know what to say, Dean, how do I ever repay your kindness? Whichever works for you is fine by me.” Cas mumbles.

Well, Dean’s too tired to play this game of who’s a bigger gentleman. He gave Cas his chance to pick. So Dean makes the decision for both of them. “Come on in, then.” Dean says and opens his door.

Cas gets up and walks in apprehensively taking in his surroundings. Dean’s terribly glad he cleaned and tidied the apartment just the other day so he’s not embarrassed by heaps of laundry and layers of dust everywhere. Kicking off his sneakers, Dean heads into the kitchen to unload his groceries and gives Cas directions to the bathroom as he goes.

Dean opens a beer and starts on lunch. He hasn’t had lasagne in a while and now seems as good a time as any. He’s halfway through chopping vegetables when Cas comes into the kitchen. Dean once again catches himself drinking in the glorious view of Cas’s forearms showing from under his rolled up sleeves. Cas looks a bit bashful and a shy smile never leaves his face.

“Can I help?” He asks.

“Well, if you really want to you can start making white sauce.” Dean hands Cas a pot and the necessary ingredients. “Wanna drink?”

“Sure.” Cas agrees and Dean opens another beer for him. They share a drink in comfortable silence and then go on cooking. Dean has a million questions swarming in his head and he doesn’t know where to start. Besides, he hasn’t met new people in a while and has all but forgotten what questions are acceptable at this point of acquaintance.

“So, where are you and Claire from?” Dean asks the most generic question.

“Chicago. We moved here for her school.” Cas replies.

Dean tries to remember any music schools in Lawrence but fails. He’s a bit ashamed to know so little about his hometown.

“Was it difficult finding a job here?” Dean goes on.

“No, I’ve been poring over one offer for a while, so things added up nicely for us.” Cas explains. “Have you always lived here?”

Dean contemplates whether it would be acceptable to relate his entire tale of woe but decides against it for now. “My brother and I were born here, but then we travelled a lot. I came back after he went to college, which was… Ten, eleven years ago? I’m bad at maths. I still think 2017 was three years ago.”

“Me too.” Cas chuckles and hands Dean a spoonful of sauce to try. It’s acceptable, but Dean still adds some salt and spices. “How old is your brother?” Cas asks next.

Dean quickly realizes that Cas prefers talking about Dean or anything impersonal rather than himself. Although disappointed, Dean respects this boundary and starts chattering about Sam and his family and sharing funny work-related stories. That gets them through lunch. Then they somehow end up watching a bee documentary sharing a bowl of blueberries in lieu of popcorn. Dean discovers that he enjoys this domesticity. Could spend the rest of his life like this. Or however long it would take his partner to freak out about Dean’s unsocial shifts and leave.

Their evening is interrupted when Claire comes to collect Cas. Well, she rather comes to check whether Dean has seen him, for she was worried to discover all Cas’s personal effects but no Cas upon coming home, and Cas at once makes his presence known. At first Claire’s pissed that Cas didn’t find a way to warn her that he’d be at Dean’s, but then her demeanour changes to gratitude towards Dean for taking care of Cas. Dean gives them half of the remaining lasagne to go. Claire practically gives Dean heart eyes at the sight of it and jokes that Cas isn’t having any since he’s already eaten his share with Dean. Dean’s sure, there’s enough for both of them for at least two days.

That night, Dean falls asleep to Claire’s angelic performance of Behind Blue Eyes, Silent Lucidity and About Today.

Donuts

Dean flops onto his couch with a content sigh. He’s just finished his weekly Friday cleaning and is taking a break while donut dough is rising on the stove. Dean’s just about to dive into a Men in Black marathon (the fourth part doesn’t exist in his universe) with a beer and a bowl of his favourite cheese nachos when the doorbell goes off. Dean groans in frustration. What now? He’s not expecting any deliveries, he’s paid his rent, and he sure as hell can’t be flooding his downstairs neighbours. Unless it’s Cas having locked himself out again… Well, in that case Dean will happily share his snack and movie with Cas.

As soon as Dean opens the door he almost topples over from an unexpected clutch around his ankles and deafened by an exalted yelp. There’s only one person in the world who delivers such a greeting. Looking down Dean can’t help a smile meeting mischievous green eyes of his two-year-old nephew Dean Junior. Then Dean has to look up to meet his brother’s eyes. Damn, how can Dean be standing 6”1 and still be the short one?

“Hey, Sam.” Dean says and scoops up his little namesake before hugging Sam with his free arm. “A heads-up could be nice. Come in.”

Once inside, Dean sets the toddler down, and the kid at once runs into Dean’s bedroom where he knows toys are stashed in a closet. Dean gets another beer for Sam and pushes the bowl of crisps closer to him as they stand opposite each other at the kitchen island.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, Sammy, but why are you here? Everything fine at home?” Dean asks anxiously. He knows there’s been a rough patch between Sam and his wife Eileen several months ago. Dean even took time off work to stay with Sam for a couple of days for moral support, but as far as Dean remembers, the matter has been long resolved.

“So I had to drive all the way from Lebanon for you to ask that?” Sam cocks his eyebrow sardonically. “There’s this thing called cell phone, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam shouldn’t know that Dean thinks about texting or calling his little brother almost every day. Just this morning after leaving his night shift Dean sat in the car for good ten minutes, his finger hovering over ‘send’ button when he finally decided that 8 am isn’t the best time for a catch-up chat. Dean never knows how to start a conversation. Should he ask Sam how he’s been? Or just drop some funny story that’s happened to him? When sending memes as means of maintaining a relationship will be normalized?

Instead of voicing his true feelings, Dean, as always, resorts to sarcasm.

“Well, I’m sorry, not all of us are unemployed househusbands with all the time in the world on their hands.” Dean shrugs and goes to check the dough. Still not puffy enough. Another half hour to go at least.

“I do have a job, Dean.” Sam reminds him judgementally.

“A YouTube channel on parenting isn’t a job, bitch.” Dean huffs. Damn, he wishes he could make the figures Sam does just filming himself baking or something.

“Oh, please, Dean, I know when you don’t mean shit and only say it because you’re pissed.” Sam rolls his eyes.

Hell, yeah, Dean’s pissed. Since he’s finally settled with a steady job and started having time to process the shit he’s been through, Dean is not just pissed, he’s livid. He kissed his childhood goodbye raising Sammy instead of their alcoholic father. He enlisted and went to fucking war to pay for Sam’s college so his little brother can have a proper education, a job and a shot in life. He juggled two jobs and all the household chores so Sam could concentrate on his studies. Dean remembers how proud he was when he saw Sam in his graduate cloak, a new shiny diploma in his hands, off to start a job with one of the biggest law firms in Lawrence. And then there’s Eileen, and happily ever after, and the next thing Dean knows Sam quits his job to be a full-time dad while Eileen goes on with her career. And Dean still has to work his butt off to make a living.

With a sigh, Sam hugs his big brother. Sam’s always been the perceptive and empathic one. He knows when someone needs practical advice or a simple token of support.

“Oh, Dean, when will you ever stop shutting me out?” Sam sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you, you can tell me anything, call me anytime? You’re gonna make me move back in with you one of these days.”

Dean chuckles and lets go of Sam. Just then, Dean Jr runs in, grabs Dean’s hand and drags him into the living room to play together.

God, Dean loves this peanut. Years ago, when he and Sam were still young adults, Dean always portrayed a happy life for Sam, with a steady partner (check); a bubbly kid (check); a fulfilling job (well, youtubing isn’t what Dean had in mind, but Sam likes it, so, check); and a house with a clichéd white picket fence (almost check, Sam and Eileen’s fence is burgundy). But when Dean tried to imagine his own future it was always blurry.

Dean plays with his nephew for a while listening to Sam catching him up on recent events in his and Eileen’s life. Then they have lunch and Dean does the honours of feeding the kids. Dean knows he’s treated his nephew like a pet or a toy since he was born, but he can’t help it. Dean knows that kids is something he most likely will never have, so he gets most he can from spending time with Dean Jr.

The kid is one of those Covid babies. Eileen got pregnant during lockdown, and with Dean on the frontline, Sam spent the entire pandemic worried sick for his wife and brother. That’s why he decided to name his son after Dean, scared that he might lose him any day now. Dean was touched but also embarrassed, and a bit surprised how eagerly Eileen went with it.

After lunch, Dean Jr gets whiny and awkward silence falls between the adults. The brothers have gone over all possible topics and don’t know what to do with themselves anymore.

“Hey, Dean, you mind taking the little one for a walk while I catch up on some editing? I’m a bit overdue with my next video.” Sam prompts and Dean, although teasing Sam about his ‘job’, willingly agrees. Dean doesn’t want to come off too eager, though, but, man, he loves walking with his nephew. Likes the looks women and some men give him, obviously perceiving him as the baby’s father. He likes feeling like a father. Sure, he was Sam’s father figure throughout his childhood, but it’s one thing when you’re forced into it, and a completely different one when you want it.

Dean helps Sam put wiggling Dean Junior back into his tiny shoes. Then they wait for the baby to pick the toys he wants to take on the walk, and off they go leaving Sam in the peace and quiet of Dean’s empty apartment.

There’s a playground two houses down the street, and Dean watches his nephew awkwardly run there. The kid doesn’t visit him too often but already knows his way to the playground since it’s the only one in the neighbourhood. Dean regrets he wasn’t there for Dean Jr’s first steps. But he was there for Sam’s, instead of their father. Maybe Sam and Eileen will have a second child. There haven’t been a Winchester girl for a while…

Dean Jr is mostly self-sufficient on the playground. Dean only needs to catch him when the kid glides down slides or climbs too high on the playset. To Dean’s relief, his namesake isn’t much into communicating with other kids, because Dean would have to communicate with their parents and he’s bad at socializing.

“Dean?” Dean turns around to the sound of his name and is as surprised to see Claire and Cas standing not far from the playground as the couple must be seeing Dean here. Just then Dean Jr runs to him, laughing, and hugs his legs once again. Claire’s face transforms into a perfect mimic of cuteness overload and she comes closer.

“And who this handsome young man could be?” Claire coos, crouching in front of Dean Jr who coquettishly hides behind his uncle’s legs. Claire looks up at Dean. “Is this your son?”

“Nephew. My brother dropped by.” Dean explains petting the kid’s hair and smiles at Cas who approaches them as well. He also seems enthralled with the toddler.

“He’s got your eyes, though.” Claire comments. “Will you introduce us?”

“Sure, Claire, Cas, this is Dean Junior, Dean, these are Claire and Cas, my neighbours. It’s okay, you can play with them.”

Dean Jr at once develops fascination with all the jewellery Claire is wearing: her long earrings, a pendant, and numerous bracelets. He especially likes her rainbow-coloured friendship bracelet, so Claire eagerly presents it to the kid and ties it around his wrist. He chirrups, grabs Claire’s hand and leads her to the playset. Dean stands next to Cas watching the pair and realizes that Claire and Dean Junior can easily come off as siblings with Dean and Cas as loving fathers. Surprisingly, Dean likes the concept.

“Kids are fascinating, aren’t they?” Cas drops. “I remember watching Claire grow up.”

Dean feels an uncomfortable pang and stares at Cas. He watched her grow up? Was he a family friend? Did he groom her? Dean tries very hard to not start making shit up when he knows nothing about the relationship.

“Well, one day you’ll get to watch your own kids.” Dean says encouragingly and is rewarded with another quizzical squint.

“That’s… unlikely.” Cas drawls and then Claire comes running followed by giggling Dean Jr. Dean scoops the kid up.

 “Don’t even know if I like you or mini-you better.” Claire pants.

“Choose wisely, I’m making donuts today.” Dean says and Claire points finger guns at him.

“Sold!” She exclaims and then starts making funny faces at giggling Dean Jr. “He’s lovely. Do you think I would make a good mom, Cas?”

“It’s all up to you.” He replies surprisingly dryly for a man whose girlfriend has just hinted wanting kids. But given his previous reaction to Dean’s implication of having them, the topic is probably the couple’s sticking point.

Cas and Claire say their goodbyes leaving Dean to play with his nephew on his own, but soon enough Dean Jr starts stumbling and yawning, so Dean picks him and the toys up and walks homeward as well. The stairwell is once again filled with Claire’s singing when they arrive, and in the apartment, Dean sees perfectly enthralled Sam. Sam quietly points to the wall from behind which the singing is coming. It’s some opera piece once again. One of these days Dean’s going to shazam all of them and start memorizing the names.

“Yeah, that’s Claire, my new neighbour; she does it every once in a while. And when I give her pastry, she sings something of my choice.” Dean explains passing Dean Jr back to Sam.

“Do we like her?” Sam asks wiggling his eyebrows playfully and Dean rolls his eyes.

“A) She’s, like, nineteen. B) She has a boyfriend. C) I’m still very much gay, Sammy.”

“Did you know that you could like people platonically, Dean?” Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean puts the donuts to bake while Sam feeds Dean Junior second lunch before tucking him to bed. The singing continues and Dean thinks about asking Claire to take a break so the baby can sleep, but gets a better idea. When the donuts are ready, Dean takes a big portion to Claire.

The singing stops once Dean knocks on the door, only it’s not Claire but Cas who answers it. Dean smiles and hands him the plate.

“Sam’s putting the baby to sleep…” Dean starts and Cas’s face falls at once and he speaks before Dean has a chance to finish.

“Of, I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

“Actually, I was wondering if there are any lullabies on the repertoire.” Dean asks and Cas’s face softens. His sigh is almost relieved.

“I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for the treat.”

The singing renews before Dean even makes it to his door. His heart melts when he hears The Smith’s Asleep.

Pumpkin Pie

When Dean’s friend Benny asks him to exchange shifts so Benny can take care of his sick wife at home, Dean doesn’t agree to the exchange. He just takes Benny’s shifts to Ketch’s utmost dismay. Dean also keeps it unofficial so Benny can have these hours paid. It’s not like his family is struggling, but Dean knows a bit too well what it’s like to not have those few extra dollars when you need them.

So Dean works for 72 hours practically non-stop. He helps deliver a baby, assists on a couple of surgeries, fixes at least three dislocated limbs, spends a copious amount of time taking out vomit of a patient with a stomach bug, attends to a war vet relearning to walk and sits with a lonely 90-year-old lady through her final hours only to lose another patient, a cancer-stricken teenager, right away in a hopeless last minute surgery. Ketch practically kicks Dean out when he mentions staying couple more hours to watch over a recently operated burn victim.

Dean hadn’t realised how tired he was until his head hit the pillow on Friday night. He’s barely closed his eyes when he’s woken up by a knock. He doesn’t even have the energy to be angry. He stumbles to the door and sees Claire on his doorstep. She must have been about to go to bed too, for she’s wearing pyjamas with ponies reminding Dean once again how young she is.

“Hey, sorry to disturb, we need a favour and Cas would never ask.” She mumbles with a guilty smile. “It’s a kinda last minute thing, but my parents are coming to see us tomorrow, maybe you could bake us something simple? And you’re absolutely welcome to join us for dinner! And I’ll repay you anyway you want!”

“Nonsense. What time are they coming? Any food restrictions?” Dean asks and yawns.

Claire provides him with the necessary information, apologizes several more times, wishes Dean a good night and suddenly gives him a hug. Dean feels very awkward and shoots a cautious look at Claire’s door. What if Cas walks on them like this? Dean’s not sure what he’s afraid of more, that Cas would be jealous of his girlfriend or see Dean hugging someone, literally anyone.

Dean sets an alarm for eight. He’s going to bake his best pumpkin pie and to do that he first needs to buy pumpkin. When Dean’s back from the market with the ripest, smoothest and most perfectly shaped butternut, he’s greeted with more of Claire’s singing. Dean can’t hold back a smile. Spending his days off cooking to the sounds of opera sung in that angelic voice has become his favourite pastime. He already recognizes some of the songs. This one is Shubert’s Ave Maria. Dean has no objections to religious hymns either. Today, for instance, Claire goes for Silent Night and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, which gets Dean through chopping the pumpkin and then making dough while the pumpkin bakes. Then his personal little concerts finishes with a couple of Nightwish’s songs.

Dean’s just in time with his pie to hand it over to Claire at a quarter to one. She thanks him profusely and Dean’s ready to leave, when suddenly Cas appears on the doorstep and Claire retreats with a somewhat cheeky grin Dean can’t explain. But his attention is fully diverted to Cas. His hair is even messier than always, like he’s been ruffling it nervously for a while. And he looks terrified like he’s about to confess to a war crime or something.

“Hello, Dean.” He says and smiles shyly. “Listen, um, I’ll get it if you don’t want this, after all you must be exhausted by the end of the week with all your night shifts, but you’ve done so much for us, and since you seem to be enjoying the singing, I thought maybe I could thank you by doing something nice, or you can just refund them, you know…” Cas runs out of breath and his cheeks turn a nice shade of pink. Dean wonders if he blushed this furiously every time he proposed Claire to take a next step in their relationship.

“It would help if I had any clue what you are offering, man.” Dean hints with a smile of his own, and Cas immediately hands him two tickets. Dean reads the title and chuckles. It’s some opera he hasn’t heard of showing next Saturday. “Well, I’ll accept if they go with a red dress, a diamond necklace and a private jet.” Dean jokes and absolutely loves how Cas replies with another owlish blink of his. “Relax, I’m kidding, it’s just a movie reference. Can’t believe you haven’t seen Pretty Woman. Sure, man, I’ll be honoured to see an opera with you.”

“Oh.” Cas’s face falls. “I can’t come with you. I mean, I’ll be there, but… You’ll have to invite someone else.”

Pieces click. Claire’s an opera performer, and Cas is giving him tickets to an opera. Of course, Claire’s gonna be in it, and Cas as a performer’s partner is most likely getting some VIP seat. Pity. Dean would have loved to share the experience. And a chance to sit next to Cas in a dark hall. Dean sighs.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll have to. But I’ll be there, promise. See you during the break, maybe?”

Cas gives him his trademark squint and tilt of the head. “I don’t think so.” They’re interrupted by the buzzer going off inside the apartments. “Jimmy and Amelia are here. You’re sure you don’t want to have dinner with us?”

Dean can’t even start imagining how awkward it would be. He thanks Cas and retreats to his apartment, toying with the tickets in his hands. Who should he invite? Sam won’t go without Eileen and vice a versa. And apart from Benny Dean doesn’t even have close friends. He can’t invite Ketch, can he? Dean bets the president’s face would be priceless if Dean tried. Maybe he should just pass the tickets on to Sam and Eileen since he’s forgotten about their anniversary this year.

Dean is closing his door when he catches a glimpse of a couple in their forties coming up the stairs. Dean freezes for a second and then shakes his head hard. This cannot be he must have hallucinated. Call him a weirdo, but he needs to look again. Dean opens his door, but the couple has already gone inside Cas and Claire’s apartment leaving Dean with a terrible nagging feeling of wrongness.

Dean shakes his head again to get rid of the image. The man looked just like Cas, maybe a couple years older, with eyes not so blue and more wrinkles on his face and grey strands in his shorter hair. Yes, it has to be Dean’s subconscious playing tricks on him after talking to Cas. He can’t believe Claire would have gone for a man looking so eerily similar to her father. Dean knows a thing or two about daddy issues, but this would be some next lever creepy. So Dean resolves to blame everything on his unruly imagination and calms his nerves with some extra pie he’s made.

Waffles

Dean ends up giving the tickets to Sam and Eileen after all. He guesses they need some alone time anyway. So he drives to Lebanon to babysit his nephew while Sam and Eileen enjoy their day (and night) off.

The couple comes home on Sunday morning bringing some pastries from a local coffee shop with them. Dean chooses not to comment that he could have baked the same things twice cheaper and tastier. If his family want to treat him, he’s all in.

Eileen takes off her hearing aid with a relieved sigh and goes on telling Dean about the opera in ASL. She seems to have liked it.

“The male lead was amazing.” She says. “Very handsome and most unusual voice. What’s it called, Sam?”

“Countertenor.” Sam replies. That doesn’t say anything to Dean, but he takes his brother and sister-in-law’s word for it that the performance was good.

Eileen insists that Dean spends the day with them. Dean feels like a third wheel throughout. Sam and Eileen might be telling him he’s family all they want, Dean just knows that he doesn’t belong anymore. He used to be Sammy’s family. Now Eileen and Dean Jr are. Dean’s a relic of the past, a memory that Sam sometimes likes to go back to.

Dean’s relieved when he finally drives home.

The sun begins to set by the time Dean makes it to Lawrence. He realizes he’s too tired to cook, besides he has a morning shift tomorrow, so he stops at his favourite pizza place to get a takeout. Dean wonders whether Claire will be practicing tonight. Maybe he should have gone to the opera after all if he’s so desperate to hear her sing.

Dean climbs up the stairs already fishing his keys from his pocket and when he reaches his floor, he just freezes and almost drops the keys.

He sees two girls kissing passionately just next to Cas and Claire’s door. One girl has her back towards Dean, she has thick, curly dark hair. The other girl’s face is half-visible and it’s unmistakably Claire. Dean’s jaw drops. He doesn’t know how to react and there are too many thoughts in his head all of a sudden. Is she cheating on Cas? Do they have a polyamorous relationship? Has Cas been her cover all this time?

The girls break the kiss off and both yelp when they catch sight of Dean.

“What are you staring at, perv?” The dark-haired girl snarls at Dean, but Claire placates her.

“Relax, Kaia, he’s fine. It’s the Dean I told you about.”

Kaia gives him a once over and doesn’t say anything else. Claire quickly ushers her inside the apartment and addresses Dean. “Well, this was awkward…”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Dean cuts her off and quickly retreats to his own apartment slamming the door. Claire knocks on his door timidly a couple of times, but as Dean ignores her, she’s gone. So is Dean’s appetite. He stores the pizza in the fridge for breakfast and goes to bed despite it being only eight in the evening.

So Claire brings a date to her and Cas’s apartment. Where is Cas spending the night then? And how is Dean supposed to look either of them in the eyes after this?

Answer is, he doesn’t. He runs away every time he comes across either of them in the hall and starts using the earplugs Cas gave him when he first moved in. Dean can’t listen to Claire sing anymore, it’s spoiled for him now. And it hurts him to see misunderstanding in Cas’s eyes every time Dean shies away from talking to him. Because how can he? He can’t be keeping such a devastating secret from him, but revealing it would break Cas’s heart just the same. Dean can’t do this to him.

This game of cat and mouse goes on for almost two weeks.

Dean’s once again voluntarily overworking until Dr Ketch catches him and makes Dean go home early after extra hours. Dean’s almost out of the building, when two ambulances pull in and the paramedics unload stretchers. Without thinking, Dean grabs a mask and a pair of gloves and joins a hoard of nurses and doctors rushing to help.

The first stretcher rolls in. The paramedic reports, “Nieves, Kaia, 19 years old, female, multiple lacerations and soft tissue bruises, suspected spinal fracture.”

Dean takes a look at the girl. The name rings a bell and then he recognizes her despite blood on her face and the cervical collar. She’s the one he saw with Claire the other day. For a second, Dean freezes, his heart pounding and ears ringing. He can already guess who the second victim is. Kaia’s stretcher is already rolled away, when the second is brought it.

“Novak, Claire, 19 years old, female, multiple lacerations and soft tissue bruises, suspected internal bleeding, severe throat haemorrhage.”

Dean watches stupidly and helplessly, as if it’s his first day on a battlefield with all the shooting and explosions around him. First thing Dean sees, is a huge bloody spot on the chest of Claire’s shirt. More untimely flashbacks flood Dean’s mind, he can practically feel the sticky blood drying on his hands. Dean blinks to will the vision away. Then he meets Claire’s terrified grey eyes. She must have recognized Dean, her bluish lips move silently, no sounds come out, she gurgles and more blood gushes from her mouth. Suddenly Dean remembers her singing; he can clearly hear her highest note erupting in his mind.

He snaps out of it. All of Dean’s personal thoughts are shut out at once. He follows the doctor’s orders and guides other nurses. He’s not a human right now. A machine with the sole purpose of saving another life. This world needs to keep hearing Claire sing.

Hours later, Claire is stable and out of the OR. Dean follows her to her room blindly, like a dog on a leash and sits there, watching her breathe, monitoring her vitals, listening to the steady beeping of the EKG monitor. Dean doesn’t know how long he’s sat there until Ketch comes to send him home.

Dean drags himself through reception zone. He spots Cas at once, pacing nervously. Dean has half a mind to approach him and tell him that Claire’s okay, but another nurse beats him to it. Dean overhears her addressing Cas, “Mr Novak? We have good news for you, Claire’s stable.”

Dean’s steps falter and then he runs out of the hospital, overwhelmed by sudden nausea.

Things just keep getting worse. It doesn’t take a genius to add two and two. They’re both Novaks which makes them not just a couple, but married. As if Claire’s cheating wasn’t bad enough… And to think that she might never sing again, too, with the damage her vocal chords have sustained!

It’s the dead of night when Dean arrives home. He’s exhausted mentally and physically, but he can’t sleep tossing and turning in his hot bed in his stuffy room. He spends unreasonable amount of time just breathing into an open window, taking in the glimmering scenery of the sleeping city. Far away, the horizon becomes greenish with the rising sun. It’s still a couple of hours before dawn.

Dean gives up hope to sleep. He sits in the quiet of his kitchen sipping coffee. He regrets he’s never recorded Claire’s singing. Maybe Cas has…

Dean thinks about Cas, sitting there in the hospital ward next to his unconscious wife. Probably waiting for her parents to arrive to support each other and make tough decisions on Claire’s follow-up treatment. And then there’s Kaia in the same hospital. Do she and Cas know about each other? What if they meet?

Dean’s ripped from his thoughts by a knock on the door. He opens automatically and suddenly has an armful of Cas hugging him.

“Thank you.” Cas sobs.

Dean can only guess he refers to Dean’s assistance in the OR during Claire’s surgery. He invites Cas in and starts on another pot of coffee for him. The sky outside the window has turned grey from the rising sun. Dean figures it’s the appropriate time to start on breakfast. They need some comfort food. Waffles. He turns on the oven to preheat, gets the baking mould from the top shelf, and starts preparing the batter. Dean barely senses Cas’s presence in the room. And the shared silence is suddenly comforting.

“She’s been awake but gone back to sleep, they told me to go home and get some rest.” Cas starts talking bitterly. “He parents have been on vacation in Hawaii, they’re taking the first return flight they can. God, how do I even look them in the eyes?” Cas sobs again and covers his face. Dean sits next to him and after some inner struggle hugs Cas’s shoulders.

“You weren’t the one driving, were you? It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” Cas argues and glares at Dean. “She asked me to drive her to this party and I said I had this stupid run-through and she could just take the car. She’s driven it hundreds of times. What could go wrong? Well, apparently a lot of things!”

“Yes, a lot of things you can’t control.” Dean reminds him and stands up to put the waffles into the oven, then pours Cas a cup of coffee and sits back next to him. “When my father died fifteen years ago I blamed myself too. Although, why should I have? I didn’t get him drunk. I didn’t put him behind the wheel. The only thing I did was tell him go fuck himself after he made a mess of my life again. And it keeps haunting me: what if it was our fight that got him killed? My last words to him were those of hatred and spite. So I see how you blame yourself for Claire. You put your work before her. You didn’t take good enough care. But she’s an adult, isn’t she? And you treated her accordingly. You made your decision and allowed her to make hers, trusted her to make good ones. That has to be worth something. And the best part? She’s still here, Cas. You still have a life ahead of you to fix things. To say ‘sorry’, to say ‘I love you’, to work on things together. You’re gonna be fine.”

What a terrible lie! But Cas needs this lie right now to at least get him through the crisis. He’ll deal with the rest when the time comes.

With another sob and a sigh, Cas hugs Dean again. He’s so vulnerable and childlike now, Dean can’t help petting his hair comfortingly and kissing his forehead. Cas clutches at Dean’s T-shirt stronger, with despair. The air is filled with the sweet smell of baking waffles. Cas’s stomach rumbles ruining solemnity of the moment. Dean chuckles good-heartedly and untangles himself from Cas to check on the waffles.

“Why didn’t you come to the opera?” Cas asks suddenly.

How did he know? Dean wonders. He chooses to be honest.

“I had no one to go with and owed my brother and his wife an anniversary gift.” Dean explains.

The waffles are ready. Dean arranges them on two plates with an assortment of berries to go with and opens a jar of chocolate paste. Instead of calling Cas into the kitchen, Dean takes their breakfast to the coffee table in the living room. It strikes Dean that Cas is still wearing his coat, suit and tie, although wrinkled and askew. “Would you like to lose those?” Dean tugs at a lapel. “I can get you something to change into.”

Cas nods and starts automatically removing his clothes. Dean brings him a spare T-shirt and manages to catch a glimpse of Cas’s toned body before he pulls the tee on. They sit down again to eat in silence.

“You’ve got chocolate here…” Cas says at some point and without waiting for Dean to react wipes it off his upper lip with a thumb then licks it absent-mindedly. Dean’s heart races. This is the most inappropriate time to be thinking about Cas in that way. But maybe, just maybe, if he and Claire do have an open relationship…

And then Cas just falls asleep on Dean’s couch. Dean’s barely left the room to put the dishes in the washer and when he’s back, Cas is snoring away. This whole Claire situation must be taking its toll on him. Dean knows how terrible it is to feel helpless while someone you love is suffering. Takes him back to his father’s death. It wasn’t even instant. John was unconscious in a hospital, on life support, waiting for his soul to leave the body, with no way to save him. Despite their feud, Dean would have done anything to rescue him back then.

Well, maybe he can do something for Claire.

Muffins

Ketch is glaring at Dean, and Dean knows his boss isn’t buying it. Dean’s been pitching this experimental surgery for good half an hour now, even put together a power point presentation. Still Ketch is sceptical.

“I appreciate the effort, but we’ve already presented the family with all the options and they’ve made their choice.” Ketch says. “They’re going for electrolarynx, it will be sufficient for effective communication with no complications.”

“Yes, but it won’t be her voice!” Dean argues. “Arthur, try walking in her shoes. To say nothing about her ruined career, she’ll never laugh again, or tell her family ‘I love you’ in her own voice. She won’t call her husband’s name or sing a lullaby to her baby. How is this sufficient?”

Ketch sighs and leans back on his chair. “I can’t claim I understand your obsession with this case…”

“You would have if you’ve heard her sing!” Dean exclaims. “I wish I had a recording… Well, just imagine Maria Callas, Montserrat Caballe and Cecilia Bartoli all in one!”

“Look who’s done their homework.” Ketch smirks and Dean snaps his fingers in irritation.

“Arthur, focus! A talent of such magnitude is worth fighting for. You’ll be doing the entire world heritage a favour. Just run the option by the family. If they say no, it’s a no. But at least try!”

“Why don’t you do it? Since you’re obviously close with them.” Ketch fold his arms on his chest and cocks an eyebrow quizzically. Dean blushes and hangs his head.

“Well, I’m not a doctor, am I?”

Ketch snorts and promises that he’ll think about it. Dean takes great care not to walk past Claire’s room on his way out.

He hates summers and hates his days off. The sun is blinding and the temperature is scorching causing a terrible migraine. Dean pops a couple of pills as soon as he’s home, throws open all the windows and sheds all his clothes except for underwear. Still feels like he’s burning from the inside. Dean flops on the couch and starts flipping through TV channels absent-mindedly. It’s too quiet without Claire’s singing and it hurts to even think about turning the oven on, so stress baking is off the table. Dean needs a distraction but he can’t even have a drink because it’s too hot for that either.

Then his phone chimes with a text from Ketch. “Just letting you know the Novaks want the surgery. I’ll perform it.”

Dean’s heart flutters. He texts back, “Can I assist?”

The reply is uncompromising, “No.”

Dean still comes to the hospital on the day of the surgery and hangs at the OR door counting down the seconds. He wishes he could be there when Claire wakes up from anaesthesia and hear her speak her first words, but it’s going to be a family moment and Dean wouldn’t want to interrupt it. The Novaks probably wouldn’t even know that it was Dean who endorsed the surgery.

And then there’s still chance of complications…

Dean’s seized with anxiety at once. What if he ends up being the one who kills Claire rather than saving her? Dean slides onto the floor and clutches at his head. He can hear the explosions and the gunshots as clearly as if he were in the middle of a battlefield. And his father’s voice yelling at him drunkenly before storming away, jiggling his car keys. Dean hasn’t had flashbacks for so long…

The doors of the OR slide open and Dean leaps to his feet. Ketch is the first to emerge, taking off his gloves and mask. He spots Dean and rolls his eyes. Before Dean can speak, the stretcher carrying Claire’s sleeping form is rolled out. Dean sees Benny, and Benny gives him an encouraging wink. Dean sighs in relief.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been a success.” Ketch says. “Your shift’s not in another three hours, could you please get the fuck off the premises?”

Dean does just that, but not before he steals a glance at Claire in her room. She’s awake and her family is around her. Everyone is smiling and hugging each other. Claire’s radiant and the way she looks at Cas… Dean’s never seen her look at him this way. Maybe there’s a chance for them to put the whole Kaia incident behind them. And if they can do it, then Dean should too.

Pity, Claire won’t be able to eat solid food for a while now. Dean would love to bring her some pastry once again, as a peace offering. The only alternative he can think of is a stuffed toy. He hunts for one with Claire in mind, but in the end can’t resist an owl that reminds him heavily of Cas. It’s tan, like Cas’s favourite trench coat, has blue eyes and even bears the trademark squint. Dean’s pretty sure Claire will see the semblance as well.

Claire’s alone and seems to be sleeping when Dean’s back at the hospital for his shift. He tiptoes into the room quietly and puts the owl on Claire’s bedside table. He looks at Claire’s peaceful face and remembers Cas dozing on Dean’s couch. Suddenly, Dean can spot similarities between the two. Their wide foreheads, sharp jawlines… It strikes Dean, how sometimes couples are so lookalike. Maybe it’s a mark of being soulmates.

Dean turns to leave, when he feels a tug at the hem of his scrubs top. When he looks over his shoulder, he’s horrified to see Claire awake. Dean’s mouth runs dry and he swallows uncomfortably.

“Hey.” Claire rasps, but her voice is still recognizable, and Dean wants to cry. “You came up with the follow-up surgery, didn’t you?”

Dean nods and finally allows him to sit on the very edge of Claire’s bed. She looks at him apprehensively, like she doesn’t know what to expect of him.

“They tell me I’ll be able to sing?” She asks and Dean nods again. Claire huffs. “Cool, I couldn’t before.”

Dean rolls his eyes at this out of place joke. He blames it on Claire still being confused after the anaesthesia. He wouldn’t believe for a second that she has such low esteem for her vocal abilities. She’s sung in an opera, for God’s sake.

“You know, I’m a bit confused, why would you go into so much trouble on my behalf, given how you’ve treated me those past few weeks.” Claire mumbles fingering the hem of her blanket. Dean closes his eyes positively ashamed of himself.

“Could we maybe not talk about this?” He pleads.

“No, we talk,” Claire insists, “you owe me at least that much respect. You pretended to be my friend, but once you found out I’m gay, suddenly you can’t stand the sight of me. I couldn’t imagine you of all people to be homophobic! Well, at least have the decency to say it to my face that you don’t want to know me anymore.”

Her words are like a cold shower to Dean. He stares at Claire with wide-open eyes while she bores into him with a squint that is so unmistakably Cas.

“Jesus, Claire, is this how my behaviour came off?” Dean gasps. “For god’s sake, I’m anything but homophobic, in fact, I’m very much gay myself, but queer solidarity doesn’t mean I condone cheating! Try to imagine the position you put me in! How was I supposed to keep being friends with you and Cas when…”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa, hold your horses.” Claire blinks and tries to sit up higher, but she’s still too weak from the drugs and flops back onto the pillow catching her breath. “Who’s cheating on whom? What does Cas have to… Oh…” Claire’s mouth opens so wide, Dean can see the back of her throat where the surgery site is still a bit inflamed, and her eyes are practically popping out of their orbits. “Oh. My. God. You thought Cas and I were… Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dean, eww, yikes! How do I wash the image out of my brain now? Gross!”

Claire reaches for a glass of water on her bedside table and Dean hops up at once to give it to her. Claire drinks thirstily and then makes some more disgusted exclamations about Dean’s assumptions. At this point, he’s ready to combust with embarrassment. Finally, Claire seems to have exhausted her vocabulary and takes a deep breath before giving Dean a mischievous look.

“Cas is my uncle.”

Something snaps inside of Dean. He feels like he’s a stretched bow-string finally let go. The recoil goes straight into his head with a pang of migraine. This explains everything. The age-gap. The way they communicate. Claire’s dad looking just like Cas. The same last name. The way the parents seem to be too comfortable with the whole situation. It’s so obvious now that they sent an uncle to chaperone their kid when she went to college so far from home which so conveniently coincided with Cas’s job offer.

Dean full-heartedly facepalms and Claire chuckles good-naturedly.

“I am so sorry for making stupid-ass assumptions and hurting your feelings.” Dean says. “If you can ever forgive me, I’d like to keep being friends.”

Claire scoffs and squeezes Dean’s hand forgivingly. Then she finally notices the plushy on the bedside table and picks it up with a reserved ‘daww’. “You know, I’ll be able to eat solids in a week or so, and I expect some peace-making pastry.” Claire says with a smile.

Oh, will Dean oblige. He’ll bake her a whole bakery-worth of pastries if it gets him to hear her sing once again.

Dean arrives home next morning tired but happy and gets to baking some muffins without even taking off his scrubs. Cas is Claire’s uncle. And probably single. And from the way they’ve interacted thus far, Dean might have a chance.

The singing erupts so suddenly, Dean freezes like he’s been hit on the head. His knees go weak. It’s like the world is regaining colour after being black and white. Dean has to make an effort to start breathing again. How can this be? Cas must have kept some records of Claire’s singing after all but wasn’t in the mood to play them until now that he was sure she could go back to it. Dean closes his eyes and start swinging to the tune slightly.

Songs keep going. How many of them does Cas have? Would it be appropriate if Dean asked to borrow the recordings to copy them?

The singing stops abruptly when Dean knocks on Cas’s door, a plate of freshly baked muffins in his hand. Cas opens. Dean’s heart clenches. Cas’s wearing the T-shirt that Dean lent him and Cas forgot to return. A possessive feeling stirs deep in Dean’s head. Maybe this is more than just a crush on a cute guy next door. Dean hands him the muffins.

“I spoke to Claire yesterday. And I believe I owe you some explanation in case my swings in behaviour have seemed strange to you.” Dean confesses. “I’ve made some incorrect assumptions about the nature of your and Claire’s relationship, but she explained it to me, and although I’ve just made up with her, I’m willing to risk falling out with you because I can’t hold it back anymore. I would very much like to ask you out on a date, if you’re interested.”

Dean almost dies from cuteness overdose with the way Cas’s eyes fly open and he bats his lashes.

“I am very much interested.” Cas drawls punctuating every word. “For starters we could just share these muffins over coffee?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean grins back and follows Cas inside the apartment.

It’s the first time he’s been in here since the day he helped Cas and Claire bring in the couch. There’s coffee table in front of it now, and Cas sets the plate on it before heading into the kitchen to start on the coffee. Dean follows him there taking in the pristine cleanliness of the place. He takes a wild guess that cleaning is a coping mechanism for Cas, just like baking is for Dean.

Then something strange happens. Cas starts humming. Which would have been nothing out of the ordinary, Dean hums sometimes as well, everybody does! Only Cas isn’t humming some pop tune or a rock classic. Dean already knows this one. Lloyd Weber’s Angel of Music, Dean’s heard Claire sing it quite often, must be her favourite one, a dream role, perhaps. And now Dean hears Cas hum it. Not just hum, he in fact sings the words and his voice is getting louder and stronger with each line. His voice. It’s higher than Dean would have expected from the way Cas sounds when he speaks. In fact, it’s higher than any man’s singing voice Dean’s heard. And it’s beautiful. Mellow, enveloping, Dean feels like it fills his heart and makes him float. Cas isn’t holding back anymore. He sings at the full capacity of his lungs. Dean can predict every next note Cas is about to take and he does it perfectly every time. Like he’s done it a million times.

Because, he has. The realization hits Dean like freight train and he stares at Cas with his jaw dropped. He remembers what Eileen said about the opera she and Sam saw. Handsome lead singer with an unusual voice. Countertenor. That’s why Cas wanted Dean at the opera, why he said he wouldn’t have been able to go with him but knew Dean didn’t come. He had the best vantage point, from the stage.

Cas hits the final phrase, climbs to his highest note and dwells on it until he’s out of breath. Then it’s silent and Dean’s ears are ringing. He can hear his own heartbeat and wonders if he should applaud. Cas turns to him with two cups of coffee in his hands and smiles shyly.

“Sorry for that. I assumed you wouldn’t mind, given you’ve constantly asked for more.”

“It’s been you.” Dean gasps. “All this time it’s been you but let me give credit to Claire. Does she even sing?”

“Well, yes, to a degree. When it’s karaoke night and she’s had at least three shots of tequila. But you wouldn’t want to hear that. Only Kaia can withstand her banshee-ing, but it’s her duty as a girlfriend to be supportive.”

Cas sits next to Dean on the couch and places the cups on the table. Nonchalantly, like there hasn’t just been a big reveal, he reaches for a muffin and start munching it. Closing his eyes, Cas moans over a mouthful. “These are good.” He mumbles.

“Why did you never tell me it was you singing?” Dean wonders. “I can’t even imagine how painful it must be having your merits credited to someone else.”

“I was going to, but at some point I realized, it doesn’t matter.” Cas shrugs. “The singing made you happy and knowing that it was actually me who did this was enough.” Cas smiles shyly.

“How can I make you happy?” Dean asks out of breath and unconsciously moves closer to Cas.

“You already have.” Cas picks another muffin. “Your baking is heavenly. Also it would be nice if you actually showed up to the next show I invited you to.”

“I’ll be there.” Dean promises and can’t take his eyes off obnoxious crumbs all over Cas’s lips. “You have a little something…”

Without waiting for Cas to acknowledge him, Dean kissed the crumbs off.