The boys spent the day thoroughly cleaning out the kitchen. It went without a hitch. Mostly.
Cas was handling the brush, sweeping the water out of the kitchen into a bucket that Dean was holding. Sam was using a smaller dustpan and brush, sweeping up the ash and any burned food. The radio was on one of the undamaged shelves, playing classic rock. Cas yawned, then pushed the brush forwards again, the bristles making a strangely satisfying noise on the tile floor. He looked over to Dean, and met his emerald green eyes. Cas tilted his head slightly as Dean quickly looked back down. Had Dean been staring at him? Cas focussed on sweeping, pondering as to what it could mean, if anything. Swish, lift, swish, lift, swish, lift. He yawned again. God, he was so tired.
•••••
*Dean*
God, he was so tired. He hadn't felt this tired since... Since when? He could live off of 2 hours normally, but now he was struggling after 10. What the hell? Maybe it was the nature of the task; boring, repetitive, had he mentioned boring? Dean looked up to Cas, who looked equally tired, if not more so. Dean couldn't help but stare at Cas. He looked so hot in Dean's shirt. Hotter without a shirt- wait. What was he thinking? Cas was his friend, nothing more. Cas looked up, meeting Dean's eyes, and Dean looked away, staring fixedly at the super-interesting bucket. Even with the rock music in the background, this felt pretty awkward. Smiling, Dean started to formulate a plan.
Cas worked tirelessly for the next 10 minutes, and the two of them filled the bucket in no time. Sighing with relief, Cas leaned onto the brush, eyes closed. Dean held a laugh back, and picked up the bucket. Sam was just behind Cas, facing the worktop and wiping down the hob. Perfect. He positioned the bucket, swung back, and launched the water at the two of them.
Cas jumped out of his skin, jerking backwards and sending the brush skidding across the room. Sam's back straightened with shock, and he cursed, turning around to face Dean.
"Dean...." Sam said menacingly, fire in his eyes.
Dean grinned, and shot out of the kitchen. Sam followed, swinging around the doorway, Cas close on his heels, their rapid footsteps thundering down the bunker corridors. Dean laughed, sliding round a corner leading to a locked door. Crap. He swivelled, just as Sam and Cas launched themselves on him.
Dean didn't regret his actions for a second, even if it meant the three of them had twice as much work to do in the kitchen, and had to deal with the after effects of their mini wrestling match. Dean was now covered in black smudges, thanks to Cas getting his own back, and throwing the dustpan of ash at Dean. Cas was actually pretty strong, despite his humanity. Dean shouldn't have underestimated him. The three of them got back to cleaning, and they finally finished sorting the kitchen towards the end of the day, slumping into the library chairs. It had been strangely liberating. Not hunting for once, just doing something that anyone would do (aside from setting fire to the kitchen). Feeling normal. Dean strolled over to the fridge, admiring their work, and grabbed three beers by the bottle necks. He threw one to Sam, who caught it and popped it open. Not trusting Cas' reaction times, Dean simply passed the beer to him. Their hands touched momentarily, and Dean smiled, feeling butterflies in his stomach. What was wrong with him? 'Cas was a friend, nothing more!' He repeated to himself. Confused, and slightly frustrated at himself, he popped open his own beer. He glanced over to Cas, and looked on, amused, as Cas struggled with his bottle. Dean was content to sit and let Cas wrestle with the lid, but after a while, Sam reached over and opened it.
"Thank you, Sam." Cas said, looking over to Sam, before taking a large gulp of the alcohol.
"Whoa there, buddy! Take it easy! You don't have holy alcohol tolerance any more!" Dean cautioned Cas, laughing.
