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pickledpascal · 8 months ago

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Meat & Candy

Chapter Three

Warnings: innuendos, sibling teasing, dean being nervous, swearing.

Word Count: 3.6k

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Before Castiel left the restaurant, he and Dean exchanged numbers to work out a time for Dean’s “lesson.” Castiel couldn’t help but feel excited about it.

Not only because Dean was an attractive man but because he loved food and he loved seeing the process of a professional chef. The way they moved around in a busy kitchen, how they prepared for the upcoming day, the precise hand of how they plated a dish—it all interested him. And told Castiel a lot about a chef. Would Dean be one of those hot-headed chefs who screamed at his staff when a plate came to the pass raw and ultimately pushed his chefs to be better? Or was Dean more calm, collected, and gently pushed until he’d talk with one of his chefs about their performance?

Castiel hoped it was the latter.

As Dean’s eyes followed Castiel through the windows, Sam snickered behind him. Dean turned, rolling his eyes. “Spit it out, Sammy.”

“‘Would you like to come back tomorrow?’ So we can kiss on the mouth?” Sammy mocked in a deeper voice, imitating Dean. “You’re so obvious sometimes, Dean. I’m surprised Castiel didn’t just kiss you goodbye.”

Dean titled his head. “What?” He felt dizzy. Did Castiel like him? Well, Dean knew he could be charming and he knew his looks were enough to make anyone fall for him but he’s had…. Issues. Enough issues where he still got surprised that people found him attractive and liked him for who he was. Yeah, that still got him.

“You’re so fucking oblivious sometimes, I can’t believe you.” Sam let out a sigh, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Or maybe you’re just seeing things.” Dean pointed out, trying to push away the fluttering feeling in his chest.

The last time Dean had a relationship was nearly sixteen years ago when Emma was born. He had this on-and-off thing with Benny but Dean wouldn’t call that a relationship. More like friends with benefits. Plus, he cut that off a while ago. Now, they were just friends. Benny met a girl named Andrea and they were engaged. Dean was happy for him.

And Dean, for a while, was completely fine with being alone.

Lately, Emma hasn't been fine with it.

Did she want Dean to go home with just anyone? Absolutely not. But she wanted him to get out there. And Sam couldn't help but agree. Hell, everyone in Dean's life agreed.

And Dean…. Well, he didn't know what to do with that.

“What're you gonna do tomorrow anyway?” Sam asked, leaning up against the table he was working at.

Dean pursed his lips. “The classics? Maybe something else. I've been cooking up some stuff in my head.” He joked, snapping his finger and winking at Sam.

“You suck.” Sam wasn't impressed.

He had to deal with Dean's coping mechanisms for most of his life. Sam knew he was still affected by everything that happened to them when they were kids. Dean remembered most, if not all, of what happened to them. Sam, not so much, simply because he was younger and his early years were a little fuzzy.

“And you swallow.” Dean countered.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his forehead. “Get the fuck outta here and get the shit for our tasting session.”

Dean laughed and nodded. “Gotcha. See in a few.” He went to the front door. “And by a few, I mean hours.” He waved as he exited.

One of Dean's favorite things to do as a chef is to walk around the alleyway markets, checking out the produce, talking to a few vendors, and simply taking the time to slow down. He knew a lot of chefs thrived on adrenaline and the heat of the kitchen. Not Dean. He thrived for these moments. Quiet ones. Calm ones. Don't get him wrong, he loved being in the kitchen and he loved the feeling of camaraderie among his cooks when they completed a service but he cherished his time off just as much.

“Hey, Donna!” Dean greeted her with a wide smile. He'd known Donna for a while.

She returned the smile. “Heya, Dean. What can I do ya for?”

“I’ll take five bunches of parsley, five pounds of tomatoes, two of apricots, and,” Dean grabbed one of the granny smith apples that sat in Donna's crates and tossed it into the air. “Three pounds of apples.”

Donna nodded and began to bag everything for Dean. She'd get one of her workers to deliver it to the restaurant. “You seen Jody yet today?”

“No, why?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. Jody was Dean's butcher of choice and she usually came in the afternoons to drop off whatever order he made in the morning.

“She has something special for ya.” Donna winked.

Dean chuckled softly and finished up, paying for all the things he got. He went to a few other vendors, talking and laughing as he paid for stuff. Some things he thought Emma would like. For instance, he got a citrus and herbal candle—Emma had a nice candle collection going and some of her favorite smells were citrus and floral.

When Dean came back from the markets, Emma sat at one of the tables doing her homework. He ruffled her hair when he got close. She shot him an annoyed, but affectionate, look.

“Math still suck ass?” He asked with an easy smile.

Emma let out a sigh as she looked down at her notebook that had scribbles she didn’t understand even though she was the one that wrote them down. “Yeah.”

“Want a distraction?” Dean leaned in closer to Emma, a hand on the back of her chair.

Emma glanced at her father from her work and thought it over. Dean was usually good at distractions but also good at reminding her to finish her work afterward. She stood and motioned for Dean to enter the kitchen.

Dean’s smile widened as he opened the kitchen door for her and watched as she interacted with Sam, Benny, and the other chefs—Lee, Garth, Jack, and Charlie.

To be fair, they were family to Emma before they were Dean’s employees.

“What should we have her on?” Lee rubbed his chin, looking at the youngest in their brigade, Jack. “Think she can handle searing off the meats?” He teased.

Jack laughed nervously, not sure if he should answer at all. “Well, uh….”

Benny rolled his eyes and punched Jack’s shoulder gently. “Don’t answer that. Lee’s just messin’ with ya.” He glanced at Emma who was glaring at them. “She could probably get every station done on time and still have time to do homework.” He winked.

Dean put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Must run in the family.”

“No. Uncle Sammy sucks in the kitchen.” Emma shuddered. Sam rolled his eyes.

The room burst into laughter. “Well, it runs in my blood.” Dean rephrased. “Anyway, c’mon,” His voice shifted to the one he usually used when he had to work, yelling orders over to pass to make sure his cooks heard him. “We’re gonna do a quick spread of each dish we will be serving, the correct portioning, so take small bites to make sure it tastes how it’s supposed to. Sam,” He looked at his behemoth of a brother, “Do not take bigger bites than you’re supposed to. You’ll be leaving scraps for Jack.”

———

After the interview, Castiel got some good work done on the article at the office. Sure, he could just write down the questions and Dean’s responses but where’s the fun in that? He wanted to make it more of a “character study” than an interview. He always felt normal interview articles lacked a certain soul. They never treated the person they were interviewing as a person.

“Hey, Cassie!” Castiel heard the familiar voice of his brother as he entered his house. And he could sense the scent of cooking wine.

“Hello, Gabriel.” Castiel greeted, seeing Claire sitting at the kitchen island as she watched Gabriel in the kitchen. Something in his heart squeezed.

Gabriel was no Masterchef—like Castiel would assume Dean would be—but he was less helpless in the kitchen than Castiel and helped him out a lot when he worked long days and wanted to make sure Claire ate something for dinner other than Wendy’s or some other fast food restaurant.

“How was that interview with Mr. Winchester?” Gabe asked with a suggestive tone.

Castiel tilted his head, turning to Claire. “Did you tell him?”

Claire shrugged and shook her head. “No. I mean I told him you were interviewing someone but I didn’t remember his name.”

Castiel looked from Claire to Gabriel with curious eyes.

His brother shifted slightly, his smug smirk never left his lips. “I sold that spot to Mr. Winchester. His house too. And occasionally we just talk for fun.” He shrugged.

Castiel's eyebrows raised. He had a connection to Dean? “How long have you known him?” He couldn't help but ask.

Gabriel's eyes squinted a little at him. “A while. We met while he was still in New York for culinary school.”

Castiel noted the fact that Dean went to culinary school in New York in the back of his head. He became more intrigued. Gabriel lived in New York over a decade ago. Castiel was mostly surprised he'd never heard of Dean before now. But then again, Gabriel could be the type to forget to let people know things.

He and Castiel were different that way. It was a wonder how they were related. They were very different but seemed to work well together.

“What…. Was he like?” Castiel asked, his heart pounding faster.

Gabriel shrugged, a knowing look in his eyes. “Hot. That hasn't changed much. And a little skinnier.” He laughed softly. “Now that changed. He put on some muscle. The man became a proper dilf.”

Claire tilted her head, suddenly a lot more interested in the conversation. Maybe that was part of the reason why the rumors of the restaurant were circulating around her school.

A hot head chef with a kid? It didn't even matter if he was single or not. Say hello to daddy issues.

———

Dean couldn't keep Castiel out of his head. He was buzzing around up there like a gnat—no, more like a bee. Gnats were far more annoying than bees. Bees were more important, too. They contributed to pollen dispersal and made honey. Honey was good. As far as Dean knew, gnats simply existed to annoy the hell out of people.

He leaned up against one of the counters in the kitchen and rubbed at his temples. He hadn't felt this kind of nervousness since he and Cassie were a thing. That thought made his heart sink.

Cassie was the last person Dean had been in a relationship with. The last person that meant something to him. In more than just a familial or friendly way.

And, shit, he was cooking for Cas. Cooking like this was intimate for Dean. It wasn't as meaningful when he was behind a wall, cooking for tables of people but Cas would actually be able to see the work and care he put into everything.

Wait, when did he become Cas?

Dean shook his head and took a deep breath. He tried to remember what his therapist told him. Those breathing exercises.

In. One, two, three. Hold. Out. One, two, three. Repeat three more times to make it an even four.

His heart slowed. Dean ran a hand through his hair before he noticed Benny standing near the back of the kitchen. He stood straighter.

“Did you, uh, watch all that?” Dean asked nervously.

Benny nodded as he approached slowly. “No worries, man. I get it. You like him. And….” He paused to try and find the right words. “It's been a while since you felt like that. Like something real might happen.”

Dean didn't want to look Benny in the eyes because he was exactly right. Why did Dean have to surround himself with people who could see right through him? Oh, right, because he wanted to hire people who he could trust and anticipate his needs before he asked for something.

“I'm proud of you.” Benny eventually said, eyes softening as he looked at Dean. “You deserve something nice. Someone nice.”

Dean closed his eyes at the praise. He felt like he didn't deserve it. He still wasn't used to it, even with as much praise Ellen and Bobby had given him over the years, the feeling didn't change much from his younger years. Dads sucked like that.

Benny pulled Dean into a hug, surprising him. Dean simply let it happen, holding onto him.

“You're such a good dad, y'know that?” Benny pulled away slightly to look him in the eye. He just wanted to be there for his friend. “I see the way Emma looks at you. Like you hung the damn moon, just for her. You're doing good, don't forget that.”

Dean took in another deep breath and nodded. “Thanks, man.” He leaned back against the counters. “I, um, I needed that.” He admitted.

“I knew you did.” Benny said softly. “Just… Do something for yourself for once, hm?”

With that, Benny was gone. He had retreated through the back door to give Dean some privacy.

Cooking could be intimate with the right person after all.

Or it could be hell.

Dean has felt his fair share of both in his forty or so years of being alive.

“Hello?” Castiel poked his head through the door to the kitchen, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on Dean. He had a notebook in his hands with a pen clipped on the cover.

He looked like a nerd. With his trench coat and tie combo. It made Dean smile.

“Um, Sam just let me in. I know I'm early. Is that okay? Or do you need more time to prepare?” Castiel asked shyly, playing with the edges of his notebook.

Dean's smile widened a little, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He quickly wiped the look off his face as he took a breath, “No, you're fine. Don't worry.”

He clapped his hands together before he motioned for Castiel to come closer. “Take a look around. Feel free to ask me any questions while I'm cooking, I can multitask pretty well.” Dean smirked and winked at the other man, not missing the way Sam looked at him through the window between the kitchen and the dining room.

Castiel hummed a little as he eagerly looked at the pre-portioned ingredients. It seemed like he was trying to figure out what Dean was going to do with them before he started.

He had no idea.

Less than a few minutes passed before the two dishes Dean made were finished. And Castiel's mouth was watering just looking at them.

Dean slid the first dish to Castiel. “This is my version of a classic breakfast. At least, what I assume is a classic breakfast.” He flushed a little as he looked down at the dish. “Egg's benedict with bacon on top and diced roasted potatoes.”

Castiel almost didn't want to take a fork and bite into it. The hollandaise was so fluffy and perfect looking with the way it dripped down the sides of the eggs and English muffin. And those potatoes? Seasoned to perfection and so golden.

“Is the… Is the English muffin homemade?” Castiel shook his head to try and focus.

Dean shook his head. “Charlie's a good baker but no. We get them locally though. A friend, Cassie, owns a bakery down the street.”

Castiel took a quick note. Dean sources his ingredients locally. And then he cut into the dish. And, shit, the egg was poached to perfection. The yolk ran out elegantly. He wasn't sure how else to describe it. He wanted to drink it like water. When he finally put a piece of it in his mouth, he let out a small sigh.

Castiel has had the pleasure of eating at some of the most expensive restaurants in Chicago and across the US because of his job but this… this felt like he got transported to Heaven and was cooked a meal by God himself.

He wished the meal could last forever. Alas, he ate the dish in a mere minute or two.

Dean let out a small laugh. “Hungry?”

“I barely ate today.” Castiel admitted. Maybe that was why it tasted better than anything he'd ever tasted before. But, at the same time, perhaps Dean was just that good of a chef.

Dean's eyes softened with a glint of sadness, sliding over dish number two. “Well, I'm glad you could fill up.” He scratched his eyebrow for a second. “This is, uh, homemade spaghetti with garlic, parsley, bacon bits—because I gotta put bacon in nearly everything—red pepper flakes for some spice. And I tossed it in some tomato sauce.”

Castiel looked at this dish carefully. It had some nice color with some red, green, and yellow and it didn't hurt that the bottom of the bowl wasn't dripping in sauce. Which was nice. However, he wasn't the biggest fan of bacon in pasta dishes.

“Why lightly toss the pasta?” He asked, curious. Surely it wasn't just for aesthetic reasons.

Dean chuckled a little at the question before he leaned against the countertop. “Gives the dish a nice color plus I want to save most of the sauce for other dishes. And I didn't want to overpower the dish. The red sauce I make can be….” He tried to find the right words. “Very flavorful in large amounts.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that before he swirled his fork in the pasta and took a bite. Well, shit. Those bacon bits worked pretty well in this dish. And he could understand what Dean was saying about the sauce. It was wonderful in this small amount but he wondered what it'd taste like if he had a pitcher that he could drink from.

He scribbled down a few more notes in a frenzy. Mostly just flavors and the composition of the dish.

“And, uh, who do you staff here? Professional chefs like you? Or are you open to anyone?” Castiel asked after a few minutes of other questions.

Dean pursed his lips for a second before his lips broke out into a smile. “I hire friends, mostly. Formal education or not. If I know you're good enough to work for me, then you're good enough.” He explained softly. “Like my best friend Benny, he's my sous, he used to work in New Orleans making lobster rolls and shrimp at little hole-in-the-wall places. Or, uh, Charlie, my pastry chef. She'd always make cakes for my birthday and they were incredible.”

Castiel chuckled softly. That would be a dream, getting to hire all your friends to work for you… Half his coworkers sucked.

“I try to make a positive environment for my chefs. And my waiters. And my stage, Sam.” Dean smiled softly. “I know a lot of kitchens can get heated. I don't want that. My daughter comes into the kitchen a lot to help and I don't want her seeing me throwing a pan at someone.” He quickly added, “I mean, I wouldn't do that to begin with but… I've seen it happen.”

“Don't worry. I get it.” Castiel smiled at Dean, glancing up from the counters to his face. He tilted his head. “You mentioned you had a daughter twice. Once yesterday. Is that why you wanted to do this? Give her something… to have later on?”

Dean licked his lips and shook his head. “My daughter… she pushed me to do this. To have something I could call my own that I didn't have to share with anyone. Sam helped me a lot, sure, but this is my restaurant. I don't have a partner or co-owner. It's… it's mine.” He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand up his face for a second. “I haven't had something like that in a while.”

Castiel nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at Dean. He made Castiel think of his own daughter. Maybe he was being too selfish and tried to focus too hard on advancing his career instead of Claire.

She deserved more.

“How… How do you think you did? As a parent?” Castiel asked softly.

Dean let out a soft laugh. “I don't know. Emma would say I'm the best dad ever but I'm not sure. There were times I struggled to pay bills but… but we always ate dinner together.” He loved those times, as much as they sucked.

Emma was such a wonderful child that Dean wasn't sure if that was his nurture or her nature. She always wanted to help in the kitchen. Perhaps it's because he liked it so much and she wanted to know why.

With grease stains on his shirts, oil scars on his hands, and a towel on his shoulder to pick up hot things. All Dean remembered was her smiling face biting into one of his burgers, with one of her front teeth missing. It's like he could see the memory shifting before his eyes. To Emma just a few days ago doing the exact same thing.

Fuck, Dean loved her with all his heart.

———

taglist: @nexus-my-beloved

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pickledpascal · 8 months ago

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Meat & Candy

Chapter One

Warnings: none really, just cas being a simp already.

Word Count: 1.6k

Meat & Candy Masterlist

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Castiel typed at his desk. He was just finishing up one of his reviews on a recent restaurant that opened up a few weeks ago. It was good for a night out with friends, which wasn’t bad, but it was nothing to rave about.

“Novak,” Crowley. The head editor of the Chicago Tribune and the one who basically ran the place. “Walk with me.”

Castiel scrambled to stand as Crowley began to walk to his office. Quickly, he gathered his footing and made it to his office. “Yes?” He asked. Even after all the time he’s worked there and knew Crowley, there was still something unsettling about the man. Maybe it was the accent and all the dark-colored suits he wore to work each day.

“I have your new assignment.” He hummed with a wave of his hand. “He’s some up-and-coming, big-deal chef. I want you to interview him.”

Castiel faltered slightly. Sure, his entire thing at the Tribune was about food and this was great because it was related but he had never done an interview before. He was content simply writing reviews about new restaurants, he didn’t want there to be any bad blood between him and the owners in case he wrote something they didn’t like that was personal.

“Why can’t Anna or Zachariah take this?” Castiel asked, wringing his hands.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at Castiel. “They don’t write like you do.” While that was a compliment, Castiel couldn't help but feel off-put by it. “Plus, you’ve been wanting something more challenging for a while, haven’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then I want you to go home tonight, research Dean Winchester, and come up with a line of questions. The interview is tomorrow at one. The restaurant is called Crossroads.” Crowley’s tone held no room for argument.

Castiel let out a reluctant sigh. “Alright. Do I at least get a bonus for this?” He tried softly.

Crowley looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. Then he thought it over. “I could give you five percent.”

Five percent is better than nothing. Half his colleagues barely got any raises. But as Crowley said, no one wrote like Castiel. He gave Crowley a half-hearted smile in return.

Castiel loved his job, he really did, but even he had his moments. Moments where he hated it with a burning passion. Moments where he hated everyone he worked with. Well, besides a few people he liked but even they could get on his nerves if they really wanted or he had a particularly horrible day.

He started to get tired of it more often than not.

He barely had any time for his daughter and, when he did, it was after work and he didn't want to do anything. He loathed that even more. He felt like he was going a step in the wrong direction when it came to the parenting department.

Castiel came home to see Claire lounging on the couch as he set his keys on their designated holder. He had a townhouse just outside the city in Cicero. It was nice and cozy. He didn't need much more space, it was perfect for him. He wasn't so sure how Claire felt about it though.

“Hey, I'm gonna make some pasta real quick. That okay?” He called as he entered the kitchen. Claire let out an affirmative hum as a response.

For someone who wrote about food for a living, Castiel's home meals were nothing fancy. But they got the job done. And Claire didn't complain much.

“How was school?” Castiel asked as they sat down for dinner. This was some of the only time he was able to spend with her and he cherished it deeply.

Claire shrugged. “The same. Mrs. Butters sucks. Mrs. Mills is great. Kaia and I had lunch together.”

Castiel nodded, pursing his lips. As much as he loved and yearned for this time with Claire, sometimes he had no idea what to do with it once he got it.

“So…. Anything cool you get to write about?” Claire asked as she twirled some spaghetti on her fork.

Castiel pushed the noodles around in his bowl. “I have an interview with a chef tomorrow.”

Claire perked up. “Really? Who?”

“Not Gordon Ramsay.” Castiel chuckled. He knew of this generation’s love for the hot-headed chef. But Cas had to admit the guy's food was pretty good. Claire shrugged like she was half-expecting it to be him but looked at Cas expectantly anyway. “It's some new guy—he’s opening his first restaurant. Dean Winchester. It’s called Crossroads.”

Claire pursed her lips, “Some of my friends were talking about it. Well,” She let out a breathy laugh. “More like their parents were talking about it and they were talking to me about how their parents were talking about it.” Castiel nodded for her to continue, intrigued. “Kaia’s mom said she saw the sign being put up on Michigan Ave a few days ago. They were thinking about going when it opened.”

Thoughts spiraled inside Castiel's head. There was already this air about Crossroads in the public mind. Then again, this was Chicago . Sure, when most people talked about American cuisine, they mentioned New York or LA or maybe even Texas before Chicago but the city had its own, unique food identity—mainly described with deep dish pizza and perfected hot dogs but there was so much more than just that. Restaurants opened and closed every day in the city, but not all of them created a buzz around it.

No, Crossroads was different. Castiel could sense it. He just needed to figure out why.

He hoped his time with Dean would shed some light on that. However, he needed to research him first. Perhaps that would help.

That's how he found himself, sitting in the middle of his bed with his laptop in front of him and a notebook off to the side, a single lamp on in his room, as he scribbled down as many notes as possible to figure out what the hell he wanted to talk about with Head Chef Dean Winchester.

Castiel was only able to find so much. Dean Winchester wasn't mentioned nearly at all online. Nearly no social media presence at all except for the restaurant’s Instagram page and a few pictures Dean posted to his personal account except none of them showed his face, just a few pictures of the interior and exterior of the restaurant and, who Castiel assumed was, his daughter. But Castiel was a journalist for a reason so he searched harder.

He found out that he used to be a line cook for a nearby bar on Route 66. The Roadhouse. Owned by Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle. The reviews were good from what he saw but it wasn't the type of restaurant Dean was opening. Not from what he assumed. Crowley wouldn't be giving him this interview if it was just some run-of-the-mill bar and restaurant.

Castiel wanted to know why Dean wanted this change. The change from something more comfortable and homey to something more upscale and perhaps “snooty.”

Throughout his search, he found an old local newspaper article with Roadhouse on the face of it dated 1999. There was a picture of the cooks at work. Dean Winchester was framed to be in the center as he looked over the stove, caring for a steaming burger.

Castiel was stunned. His throat felt dry. He swallowed thickly and then took a sip from the water sitting on his nightstand.

Sure, the picture was old and he knew Dean would likely look different but, God, the man looked incredible. Dean wore a tight-fitting black T-shirt with an apron around his waist but it was his face that intrigued Cas more. The sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his eyes—the color of his eyes—the wisp of his eyelashes, the way his freckles contrasted against his light, sweaty skin. That bead of sweat on his cheek that looked like a tear needed a raise. Whoever took that photo needed a raise, wherever they were.

Thankfully, the article had more than just Castiel's first look at Dean Winchester.

Dean was not only Bobby and Ellen’s line cook but also their adoptive son. Castiel's eyebrow cocked at that. That didn't exactly answer his question but he'd tuck that information away for later. He scribbled the piece of information down.

After finding not much else, Castiel scratched at his stubble—noting it might be time for a shave. He had to go the generic route, which he loathed. Even if he didn't want to do the interview to begin with, something inside him wanted it to be different than the ones he'd usually read in the Times.

He wrote down a few quick questions and reordered them a few times to see how they flowed better. Would this one work better before or after this one? Which should be the last question? What about the first? He scratched out a few he didn't think would work. Too generic. So much so it made his skin crawl.

Castiel wanted his questions to open up conversation, not simply be yes or no questions. His journalist heart liked hearing stories, it was like peeking into a small window of someone's life at a particular moment. He hoped Dean had plenty to share with him.

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