"No, no, you're not just going to stand there and tell me you can't make the damn fruitcakes, you're going to march right back in and *make the damn -"*
"Sir, respectfully, um. Um. Um."
It's Lynyrd Skynyrd that interrupts us. I dig my phone out of my pocket and it only takes a few tries with my soaked fingers to unlock it. I turn off the sink with my other hand and lift the phone to my ear, all while glaring at Stuart, the idiot who can't make the damn fruitcakes.
"Boss? What is it?"
"Dean, I'm sorry to have to lay this on you, but I have a last minute wedding call on the line and I need catering for a hundred people. Again, sorry, call me back when you're done."
The line goes dead.
I take a moment to assess the situation, come to a ruling, and declare this shit.
*"Son. Of. A. Bitch."*
...
The first thing I do is call Sam.
Well.
The first thing I do is launch my phone somewhere in the vague direction of one of the cooks, and take a long swig of Jack Daniels. And then I call Sam.
He doesn't answer, and neither does Cas, and I am so screwed I start cooking anyway because that's all I can really do at this point.
...
It's an hour later when Sam calls back. I'm elbow deep in cake batter because I dropped my measuring cup in the huge bowl and now I have soggy arms and useless cake batter I'll have to toss. So understand if I'm a little pissed.
"I am so pissed."
I can hear Sam sigh on the other end. "How's it going?"
"Halfway there? I just need the cake and one hundred tiny decorative cupcakes. Main course and appetizers are done. I friggin hate baking, man, too much flour."
"Right. Call me when you're done, 'kay?"
"If I ever am," I say, and hang up, peering dejectedly at the cake batter dripping off the phone, my hands almost completely coating the case. I heave a sigh, and go to dump out the contaminated cake batter.
...
Four missed calls from Sam by the time I get around to cleaning my phone, once everything is finished and packed up for delivery.
"I'm done, what is it?"
He takes a breath like he's about to say something, and then pauses. "Really? That was fast."
"Called in a few favors."
"Well, good, because Cas just called and told us to meet him."
I groan. "I have *food* to deliver, I don't have time to deal with monsters-"
"Dude, that's just our life. Your baking-"
"Cooking."
"What? Whatever, *cooking* thing, it's just part time. Cas needs us. I'll text you the address."
"Sam-"
He hangs up.
...
After serious amounts of bitching and cursing, I finally hand the keys over to Bobby and he gets in the van.
"Thanks, Bobby."
"Yeah, well, you owe me one," he gripes, and tears off with all my hard work in the backseat.
I check the address Sam texted. It's pretty familiar; we've probably hunted there recently or something. I text Sam I'm on my way and take the Impala, peeling out of the parking lot without bothering to change out of my uniform. Might get blood on it, though. Damn.
...
It's the goddamn wedding place.
I double check Sam's text, but yep, it's the same fucking address as the wedding I spent all morning and noon cooking for.
He doesn't pick up when I call him. I look up at the church building from where I'm parked on the curb, and glare.
Sam calls back a few minutes later. "Sam, what the fuck."
"I know, but. Um. Dean?"
"Sam, the church? Are you sure? I don't hear any screaming, where are you? Is it demons, are there demons-"
"Dean."
"What?" I run a hand through my hair, exasperated. Tough wedding they're going to have, if there's demons.
"Just- come inside. Don't bring your gun."
"What the hell, Sam-"
"Trust me, Dean. Come inside, no weapons. You have to see this."
I hang up. Obviously I bring my gun, and the demon knife, and whatever else I can fit in the pockets of my goddamn chef uniform, and then I march into the church.
I meet Sam's eyes first, from where he's sitting on a pew next to Bobby. He's struggling to hold in laughter and next to him Bobby is smirking, and I think maybe I'm missing something here.
And then my eyes travel up, up, up, to the end of the aisle, where fucking Castiel is standing ramrod straight, dressed in a slightly more formal suit and his iron-pressed trenchcoat, staring at me.
Son of a bitch.
I look back at Sam. He inclines his head at Cas purposefully, still sporting that aggravating little smirk, and I kind of want to break his nose a little.
I walk up the aisle, jaw clenched. The pews are all empty, save Sam and Bobby, and vaguely I wonder why I had to make food for a hundred people if it was only going to be the four of us. Dammit, Cas.
"Dammit, Cas," I breathe once I get to him. He squints at me with those blue, blue eyes.
"Will you." He stops, looks down, away, and maybe that's a faint blush rising on his face. "This is a wedding."
I widen my eyes. "Yes, it is."
He furrows his brow, not meeting my eyes. "I don't. Dean, I-"
"Who's wedding is this, Cas?"
I already know, but I want to hear him say it.
"Mine. A-and yours?" He looks up at me, blue eyes wide. "Dean, I would like to have a marriage with you."
And, how, I ask you, am I supposed to say no?
I smile, big and wild and totally not at all dorky, and grip his face in my hands, drawing him closer. "Fucking yes, angel."
