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Weeks went by and Dean was losing his grip on things. He knew that he needed to talk to Castiel but he did not want Castiel to make him leave. It was not that he did not love Castiel, because he did. He was also, without a doubt, certain that Castiel loved him as well. And then there was Jimmy; Dean loved Jimmy more than he could put into words. Life was amazing but at the same time, it wasn’t.
Most of the time, Dean spent his days with Jimmy, which was great. Then they would spend their evenings like a family, which was also amazing. But every other week, Jimmy was at his mother’s. That meant that Dean was alone during the day, which only gave him time to think about his life and everything that he wanted out of it.
Dean wanted Castiel and Jimmy. Dean wanted to finish school and … then what? He had always planned on working at his father’s shop and even owning it one day. He knew that was what would have happened, but now … now he had to come up with a new plan for his future and he had no idea how to do that.
[Dean] Can you come over? I could really use someone to talk to.
[Charlie] Yeah, of course. I will be over in about a half hour. Does that work?
[Dean] Sounds great. I will make us some lunch.
[Charlie] And I will bring sweets.
[Dean] Pie. BRING PIE.
[Charlie] That is what I said.
Dean got up from the couch and took a quick shower, before making his way into the kitchen to get lunch started. That was his favorite part of this summer. He had gotten to cook so much food. He never really told anyone before, but he loved to cook. People tended to think that he was some dumb jock and so he couldn’t do a whole lot. People came to him for practice help or to look at their cars, no one ever asked him to cook them food. Except for Castiel, once Castiel and Jimmy learned he could cook, they stopped doing it themselves. He complained while he cooked but secretly, he loved that he could cook for them.
[Charlie] Is this like old times?
[Dean] What exactly does that mean?
[Charlie] Am I allowed to just walk in? Do I knock?
[Charlie] Should I climb in through a window?
[Dean] You can just walk in.
[Charlie] Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to walk in on anything, ever.
[Dean] We don’t just fuck on the entry way table.
[Charlie] You have an entryway table? Who are you?
[Dean] Just walk in.
[Charlie] So no window?
[Dean] I am locking the windows and I won’t answer if you knock.
[Charlie] Did I ever mention that I hate you to infinity and beyond?
[Dean] Toys don’t feel emotions.
[Charlie] I hate you. Walking in now.
Dean set down his phone and laughed to himself, turning back to the chicken that he was cooking. He had decided to try out a new pasta recipe that he had looked up earlier. If he was going to wow Charlie with his cooking, he was going to go all out.
“Margo,” Charlie called throughout the house and Dean laughed.
“Pamela,” He cried back.
When they were younger, Charlie always ended up saying Margo instead of Marco. Dean had corrected her forever but it soon became a thing. Dean, not wanting to be left out of the fun, randomly responded one day with Pamela. Ever since then, their version of Marco/Polo had become Margo/Pamela. Just seeing the faces of people when they played was enough to make them keep doing it. It was nice having a thing.
“Hey you,” Charlie entered the kitchen and set a few bags down on the counter. “What the heck smells so good?”
“Creamy Braised Chicken with Pappardelle,” Dean answered, not bothering to look at her, even though he was dying to see her face.
“Who what, Chicken, how come?” Charlie turned to Dean and he finally allowed himself to look at her.
“It’s like Chicken alfredo with egg noodles,” Dean tried to break it down for her, though it was not the most accurate representation.
“Okay,” she placed her hands on her hips and squinted at him, trying to see through him. “Who are you and what have you done with my Dean Winchester?”
“Still Dean,” he shrugged, turning back to the meal he was almost finished cooking. “Learned I love to cook. What of it?”
“Uh,” Charlie lowered her arms and relaxed her face. “Nothing. It um … it sounds wonderful. I brought pie and ice cream and Mt. Dew.”
“Awesome,” Dean made his way over to the bag and took out the items. He put the pie and the soda in the fridge and then put the ice cream in the freezer, all before turning back to his food.
“Wow,” Charlie leaned against the counter and gave Dean a smile.
“What?”
“House husband looks good on you.”
“Excuse me?”
“This domesticated thing you have going on. I kind of dig it. You look … happy.”
“I wish I…” Dean trailed off, moving the food off of the burner and getting down two plates. “I wish I felt happy.”
“You aren’t?” Charlie seemed shocked by his response.
“How about we sit down and talk about it?” Dean dished up their plates and took them over to the table. He then went and grabbed two glasses and poured them both some Mt. Dew.
“Feels like we should be drinking wine,” Charlie laughed at their drink choice along side Dean’s meal.
“We have wine,” Dean stopped mid pour. “Would you like wine instead?”
“No,” Charlie laughed, tipping the bottom of the soda bottle so he could fill her cup. “The Dew works just fine.”
“Okay,” Dean nodded, putting the bottle back in the fridge and then sitting down across from her.
“Dean,” Charlie looked at their food and then back at Dean. “What is going on? You seemed so happy. What happened?”
“I am happy,” Dean argued quickly. He did not want people to think that he was not happy here. This had nothing to do with his situation with Cas. “I just feel … lost.”
“Lost how?” Charlie took her first bite of Dean’s pasta, her face instantly lighting up. “Oh, my god. This is. You made this? Of course, you did, I watched you.”
“It’s good?” Dean asked, taking a hearty bite himself and moaning slightly into it. He really amazed himself.
“It’s amazing,” Charlie confirmed again. “Like, this is probably the best thing I have put in my mouth. Well, the second best, but that is a dirty story for another time.”
“Jesus,” Dean shook his head with a flush and a laugh. “TMI.”
“What?” Charlie wiggled her eyebrows. “You can’t tell me you haven’t had something better in your mouth?”
“And we are changing the subject.” Dean set his fork down.
“Right,” Charlie continued to eat but gave Dean her full attention. “You are lost. Why are you lost?”
“I guess it’s just,” Dean tried to think of the right words. “I used to know what I wanted to do with my life. Now I have no idea what the future holds or who I want to be.”
“Right,” Charlie set down her fork and leaned back in her chair. “So, you are sad about not getting to work at your dad’s shop.”
“Well, not exactly,” Dean shook his head. “I don’t actually care that I am not going to be a mechanic.”
“But you have always wanted to be a mechanic,” Charlie gapped at him.
“Did I?” Dean wondered aloud, asking both her and himself. “Or is that what John Winchester wanted me to be and I just accepted it?”
“So, what do you want to be?” Charlie asked, picking up her fork and digging back into her plate, a little on the animalistic side.”
“That is why I am lost,” Dean twirled his pasta on his fork but never brought it up to his mouth to eat. “I wish I knew.”
“Dean,” Charlie smiled up at him and for a moment, it made him nervous.
“What?”
_____
“Cas,” Dean nuzzled his nose into Castiel’s neck as Castiel continued to read some book.
“Yeah?” He lowered the book and looked at Dean over his glasses. Seeing him all nerdy and wrapped in his arms made Dean’s heart go all kinds of crazy.
“What are your opinions on culinary school?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrow and giving Castiel a smile.
“Culinary school huh?” Castiel questioned with a slight laugh. “It is funny that you mention that.”
“Funny?” Dean pulled himself away from Castiel and sat up. “Funny how?”
Castiel put a bookmark into his book and climbed out of bed. He disappeared out of their room but luckily, he was not gone for long. When he returned, he had a handful of papers in his hand. He sat down next to Dean and gave him a once over before handing them over.
“The Art Institute?” Dean looked at the University logo on top of the papers. “Isn’t that like an hour away?”
“Not quite,” Castiel shook his head. He reached over and pulled a few papers from the middle of the pile and set them on top. “They have a really good culinary arts program, as well as a really good culinary management program.”
“Why do you have these?” Dean asked, setting the papers down on his night stand. He was working to fight back his smile but he was failing.
“Because I had a feeling that I was going to be filling out a business loan in the future,” Castiel laughed, pulling Dean onto his lap.
“A business loan?” Dean questioned, leaning in and kissing Castiel softly. “What would you need a business loan for?”
“Well,” Castiel ran his finger’s up the inside of Dean’s shirt, tracing over his abdomen. “I figured that once you got a culinary degree, you might want something like … I don’t know … your own restaurant.”
“What?”
“Not something you are interested in?”
“You think I could have my own restaurant?”
“Yes. I think …” Dean cut Castiel off with a kiss so forceful, it was almost bruising.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“That is supposed to be my question.”
“Culinary school,” Dean said it allowed, this time with much more meaning than before. He finally had a plan again, a future that he could reach for and most importantly, he had someone to stand behind him the entire way. “I should probably learn how to cook.”
“Agreed,” Castiel laughed, kissing Dean again. “Your food is just awful.”