The Year of Redemption

Chapter 47: Sleep

It was early in the morning. The bed was empty. Again. Dean swung his legs over the side and darted out of the room, so fast that he didn't even notice the trench coat and the tie that were hanging on the bedpost.

"Cas," he said under his breath upon entering the kitchen. Dean rushed up behind the angel and threw his arms around Castiel's waist, leaning his forehead on Cas's shoulder.

"Good morning," Castiel greeted, turning his head towards Dean, somewhat startled by the hunter's sudden presence. He put down the towel he was holding and slowly spun around in Dean's arms so he was facing the hunter.

Dean pulled his head away and stared at the angel's chest. Castiel's shirt was still unbuttoned and hanging slightly open. The hunter smiled and trailed his fingers up the exposed skin, following them with his eyes, all the way to Cas's neck. Dean's fingers remained in place, but his eyes ventured farther up, lingering on Castiel's mouth.

"How about that--" Cas started to ask, but Dean plunged his face forwards and grabbed the angel's lips, tenderly, longingly, before Cas had a chance to finish his question.

The hunter broke away and opened his eyes back into the angel's. "What were you saying?"

Cas sighed. "Nevermind," he whispered, pulling Dean closer.

The hunter rested against Cas for a minute, then pushed himself away. "Fried eggs," he stated decisively. "That's what we'll teach you today." He made his way to the refrigerator, extracting the carton of eggs and the tub of butter. Then he brought them to the stove, catching Castiel's hand on his way and dragging him along.

"Pan?" Dean asked, holding out one hand and opening the carton of eggs with the other. Cas grabbed a pan from one of the cabinets and handed it to Dean.

"Here," Dean said, sliding the tub of butter in front of Cas. The angel fetched a butter knife and plopped a dollop into the middle of the pan. Dean turned on the stove's burner, and the butter melted, running towards the sides. The hunter started to hand an egg to Cas, then hesitated, eyeing the angel. "Remember, not too hard," he warned.

Castiel glared at him and reached over, plucking the egg from his hands. He expertly cracked it on the side of the pan and let the insides fall out, all with one hand. Then he looked at Dean expectantly, an obvious expression of self-satisfaction plastered on his face.

"Yeah, I mean... it looks like you've got the hang of it..." the hunter mumbled, shrugging and making an effort to not give in to the angel's smug pride. Castiel smirked and threw the egg shells in the trash. "Spatula, Cas!" Dean said suddenly, almost forgetting that one necessity.

"Right." Castiel opened a drawer and handed Dean a spatula. The hunter slid it underneath the egg and quickly flipped it over in the pan.

"Basically, the only difference is you don't mix up the egg when you cook it," Dean explained, nudging the flipped egg to the middle of the pan again. "Depending on if you want the yolk all runny and gross or not, you can leave it right-side up or you can flip it and cook both sides."

"I see," Cas commented. "And does it taste any different this way?"

"Absolutely," Dean replied immediately, as if the answer was obvious. "Fixing up the perfect egg is an art."

"But it's still an egg," Cas observed, unimpressed.

"Ah," Dean said thoughtfully. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Castiel narrowed his eyes at the hunter, bewildered by his response. "An egg is only an egg by name, Cas," Dean attempted to explain further. The angel didn't even try to hide his confusion. He was sure Dean could read it on his face. "It's all in the texture," the hunter justified. "It's either scrambled and... fluffy," he said, "or fried and... fanciful."