Destiel Oneshots

A Dusting of Flour

A/N: no prompt, again, but wanted to write some baking fluff. I'm not going to let it get angsty like the last one, promise...

     The autumn air is crisp- in the way that only autumn air can be- and blows a cool breeze past Dean's face. He's standing in the shade of one of the orchard's apple trees, and the sunlight filtering through its leaves isn't nearly enough to warm him. Though the air lacks the distinct wintry bite of the later months, in the shade it's cold enough to start settling into Dean's bones. He shivers, pulling his jacket a little tighter and shifting back into the sunlight. 

     He's got no idea why he agreed to go apple picking, but he can't argue that it hasn't been fun- just a little. The early November air is cold, but the sun is warm on Dean's face. He shivers at the warmth of it, watching the shadows it casts as it shines through the trees' branches. 

     It's a surprisingly bright day for the time of year, but Dean's not unhappy about it. The sun's not the only thing that's bright, after all- the leaves are a bright and shiny green, and the apples that dot their branches are a punchy red. 

     Dean sighs, shifting to inspect the nearest apple. It breaks from the branch easily, and he rubs a spot off of it absentmindedly with his sleeve. 

     There's a whoosh from behind him, and the smell of cinnamon mixes with the ever-present smell of apples in a way that makes Dean shiver. There's a rustle of feathers and trench coat, and he turns to face Cas with a small smile. 

     The angel shifts awkwardly, holding a basket- which Dean notes is nearly overflowing with bright and fragrant apples- and looks up. Dean stoops to pick up his own basket, and claps Cas on the shoulder. 

     "Ready to go, Cas?"

     "Yes, Dean," Cas says. Dean's not sure if he's imagining it- he can never tell with Cas- but the angel's voice sounds stiff- and a little shy. 

     Dean nods, shifting his grip on his own basket and moving to take Cas's. He grunts at the effort- damn, Cas's basket is heavy- but stands up without incident. 

     He looks up, smiling at Cas-

     -and his breath catches. 

     The slanting sunlight catches in Cas's eyes, his hair, and it sets him aglow in a way Dean's never noticed before. Dean knows he's an angel- he knows- but in that moment, in the falling rays of sun, Dean finally sees it. 

     He's shaken out of his stupor when Cas tilts his head curiously. He doesn't say a word, but his eyes are all too knowing. Dean stammers, red-faced, shifting the baskets with shaking hands and praying Cas won't notice the sudden change.

     Which is ridiculous, because Cas himself is the only one he's ever prayed to.

     --------------------

     Once they've made it back to the Impala, Dean's hands have stopped shaking and he's composed- finally. 

     It's normal, he tells himself. It's fine, it's apple picking, for heaven's sake. 

     It's still oddly intimate, though, and it warms Dean despite the chill in the air. He's still slightly shaken, looking over at Cas.

     It's just the two of them in the car, and the scent of apples washes over Dean as he watches Cas sing softly to Led Zeppelin. It makes his heart skitter, and hell, he feels fifteen again. 

     Dean turns back to the road, opting to stare at the open stretch of highway rather than Cas beside him. He can still smell apples- and cinnamon- but instead of focusing on the way it makes him feel warmed through, he concentrates on the song and the road.