Author: Kat Lee
Character/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Challenge/Prompt: fffc: Little Special: Countries (Italy, France, China, America)
Word Count: 1,161
Date Written: 16 September 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.
Sam stepped into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. His eyebrows lifted as he gazed slowly around the kitchen. “Dean,” he asked his brother just as slowly, gesturing to the mess that seemed to cover every inch of the room, “what is all this?”
Dean spun around, a large bowl in his arms as he mixed together spaghetti noodles and tomato sauce. Before he could answer, Castiel appeared beside him in the bunker. “Here are the meatballs you requested, Dean,” the Angel said with a look of uncertainty. “I still do not know how these are going to help us beat Michael -- “
“They’re not,” Dean said quickly. “I never said they would. Toss them in here, Cas.”
Castiel frowned deeply, and Sam could swear he heard the fluttering of his wings. Nonetheless, the Angel did as the hunter requested, tossing the meatballs into the mixture he was stirring. “What is the meaning of all this?” he inquired.
“That’s what I would like to know,” Sam muttered in agreement.
“Why should I have had to go all the way to Italy for meatballs?”
“You say that like it’s not a hop, skip, and a jump for you.”
“That’s beside the point, Dean. We should be concentrating -- “
“We’re waiting,” Dean reminded them, “for Gabriel and Rowena to finish getting together what they need to open the portal again.” He shrugged and continued to explain, “While we wait, I thought it might be nice to have a . . . a meal together.”
“A last meal,” Sam put in knowingly, watching his brother.
“Well, yeah, a damn last meal! Okay? Are you happy now? I said it out loud!”
“Dean -- “
“Don’t, Cas. Okay?! Just don’t!” Dean whirled around, turning his back to his two dearest friends.
Sam held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “If a last meal is what you want, we -- we’ll join you for it. Won’t we, Cas?” He started to look toward the Angel, but Castiel had left without a sound. Left alone with Dean in the kitchen, he stepped closer to his brother. “Dean, it doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Yes, Sam. Yeah, it does. We know what we’re going into. There’s no use lying about it. But we also know nobody else can do it. Hell, we’ll be lucky if we manage to do it.”
Sam held his tongue, because he knew his brother had a point. His gaze fell to the floured floor between them. He looked up a second later as he heard music. The chiming sounded Oriental. Castiel appeared a second later carrying a large, white container. Sam frowned at him.
“Here’s the soup you requested,” Cas said, placing it on the table between pastries Sam was beginning to think probably actually had come from France and a large pizza covered with meat and cheese from which three slices were already missing.
“Let me guess,” Sam observed, “wonton soup from China?”
Dean nodded, his back still toward him. “Only the best for my brothers.”
Castiel and Sam both looked up quickly at that. “Dean -- “ Cas spoke, emotion thick in his voice.
“Don’t,” Dean warned them both. He shook his head quickly and firmly and repeated in his sternest, don’t-piss-me-off warning voice, “Don’t.”
“Okay,” Castiel submitted, catching on quickly for once. “We won’t.” The Angel moved around the kitchen, retrieving the good plates that the Men of Letters had left behind them, napkins, and silverware.
As Cas set the table, Sam moved to the fridge. He opened the doors, half expecting, despite his brother’s preference for the domestic, to find Angel-imported beers. There were two twelve packs of Dean’s favorite adult beverage. It was totally American. Sam wondered if Dean had sent Cas to retrieve it from the manufacturer in Texas or had just picked it up at the grocery store or the corner market himself. He didn’t ask, however; he just grabbed three longnecks and shut the door.
Dean finished mixing the spaghetti and put it on to finish cooking before finally turning and facing Sam and Cas again. His eyes met theirs. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Castiel nodded. Again, Sam heard the fluttering of wings. Wordlessly he passed out the bottles of beer. He held his up for a toast. Dean and Cas clinked their bottles against his own. Castiel tried not to make a face as he took the first sip.
Dean looked between the other two men and nodded toward the table. Sam spied a copy of his most recent issue of Busty Asian Beauties at the front of the table. It was sprinkled with flour, salt, pepper, and other seasonings. Thankfully the issue wasn’t open, but he forgot all about it as Dean remarked, “It’s going to be a good night. I’ve got all my favorite things.” He sipped his beer. “And people.”
Sam looked at his brother. Unshed tears sparkled in Dean’s eyes, but he didn’t let them fall and Sam didn’t comment on them. He choked his own tears down instead, lifted his bottle, and drank. They would make tonight be a good night, even, and especially, if it was their last one on Earth. He threw his head back with another quick swallow of the burning alcohol before reaching for a pastry. They were his favorite kind, and the moment he bit into the sweet dough, he knew all the ingredients were real. He glanced at Cas and Dean, watched his brother spin around and take two pies out of the oven, and smiled. Tonight may be their last night, but they were still together. That’s all that really mattered; the pastries were just a really sweet bonus.
“Thank you, Dean,” he mumbled through a mouth filled with deliciousness.
Dean glanced up at him, and their eyes locked again. Sam stood frozen for a moment as he considered all that he really did owe his brother. He’d kept him alive -- or at least, mostly alive -- throughout all these years. They’d been through so much together, and Dean had always been there for him when he’d let him be. He really was the best big brother ever. He didn’t say it aloud, but his big, moist eyes spoke volumes. Thank you for everything.
Dean nodded, picked up his beer after setting the pies out, and clinked it again against Sammy’s. “That’s what brothers are for,” he said, looking around them. Castiel had become almost as much of a brother to him as Sammy had always been. He’d gladly give up his life for these two men. What he’d told Sammy before was still true, if not truer now than ever before. What happened to him didn’t matter; he was only living for these two anyway. If he could somehow keep them alive through what was coming, he would, but if not . . . Well, at least they had this last night and last meal together.