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"Cas, man, you're turning into Grizzly Adams," Dean says through a chuckle.
He doesn't mention the slightly overripe smell coming from the ex-angel, though.
He's learned Cas is kinda sensitive about his human-ness these days. And coaching Cas through the process of a shower, or maybe that they require regular occurrences, isn't gonna happen any time soon.
Mostly because he can't think of a way that doesn't involve some hands-on training. And he's honest enough with himself, for once, to admit that he's not quite ready to deal that just yet.
Maybe Sam will take one for the team; he doesn't get awkward boners around their friendly neighborhood ex-angel at random times. (Well, he hopes the fuck not.)
Castiel squints, trying (and failing, as usual) to understand Dean's words. He knows they're significant but not their significance; he's aware of who Grizzly Adams was, but not how it relates, contextually, to him.
His lips press together when Dean chuckles again, even though it's a warm sound and not mocking. He still doesn't like not knowing things, especially when coming from Dean. His 'education' in all things pop culture has been fixed but he's having trouble figuring out how it relates to himself at the moment.
Dean points at his own face, indicating the 2 weeks worth of facial hair on Cas' face. It just looks... wrong. He doesn't like it and he's not even going to bother asking himself why. It's just not Cas and the ZZ Top wanna-be look needs to go. Like, freakin' 2 weeks ago.
"Oh." Castiel rubs a hand over the wild, coarse hair on his face and grimaces. It rasps against his palm unpleasantly and he quickly drops his hand. He doesn't like it (probably less than Dean does, going by the other man's expression) but he doesn't quite know how to get rid of it.
He hadn't much use for such grooming tips up until now. He says as much, earning a strange reaction from Dean: Dean blinks at him; four times, rapidly. Then he laughs. It's a nice laugh; once again not mocking or cruel—just surprised amusement.
Even if it's at his expense, he doesn't mind so much when Dean laughs this time because his entire being is warm and happy at the sound.
For a few moments, anyway. His breaks from the reality of his mortality don't last long, unfortunately, and the warm bubbly feeling dissipates soon after Dean's laughter ebbs into soft chuckles and fond head shakes.
Dean claps Cas on the shoulder, laughter tapering off into soft chuckles and finally just a smile. Cas just stares at him (he's gonna have to work on that staring thing).
"Don't sweat it, man. I'll show you," he says proudly.
Shaving should be safe enough. Not like the shower thing. No chance of nudity, no thoughts of so much wet-slick-slippery naked skin and no chances of bad-touching involved with that.
Cas eagerly nods his agreement and he squeezes the hand he hasn't taken off Cas' shoulder and uses it to lead Cas towards the bathroom.
.
It's a tedious process, they both discover, to shave a beard versus only a few days growth.
Dean has to start with a pair of scissors, then some clippers he was lucky enough to find in the Bunker's well-stocked bathroom to get most of the hair off. It hadn't been easy, trying to ignore Cas' intense expression of concentration as he did so, blue eyes crossing a few times with the effort to see what Dean was doing.
It took longer than Dean expected, too; Cas is a hairy little bastard.
By the time he clicks the clippers off, Cas almost looks normal again with the slightly longer than usual stubble gracing most of the lower half of his face.
Like he'd had a dirty weekend and couldn't be bothered to shave. Dean's mind flashes him images of just what would happen during such a weekend and he has to shake his head to get those thoughts out.
Well, that's an awkward tangent.
Dean clears his throat and gathers all the shaving gear they'll need, trying to avoid Cas' intense gaze while not looking like he's avoiding it.
Cas watches with open curiosity as he squirts the shaving foam into his palm, the bright aqua gel turning into a thick, white foam soon after. He starts smearing it on his face, lifting his palm so Cas will take some and follow his example.
It's surprisingly difficult to teach a grown-ass man to shave when Dean doesn't even think about the task anymore. He just does it, mind going off to other things while his hands handle the mundane chore of slathering on shaving foam and taking the razor to his stubble.
But now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, the pair of them sporting foam beards and holding razors, he kinda wishes he hadn't offered.
It feels really weird to be doing this with Cas, mostly because they're standing really close together so they can both use the mirror.
He shakes the feeling of Cas' mirror-eyes staring intently at him and holds his razor aloft, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his fingers curling around the handle securely. Cas immediately mimics him, eyes rapidly flicking between the mirror, his hand and his face.
"Good," Dean murmurs. He bends at the waist, Cas mirroring him immediately. "Now, let's shave." Cas nods solemnly at him and pays close attention, following every move Dean does with his eyes instead of his hands first then slowly doing it himself.
It's slow going, but Cas is looking less Tarzan-y by the minute. He's making the usual faces as he gets all the awkward spots and he notices Cas is just standing there, gawking.
Dean's hands stop their movements and his brow furrows as he glances at Cas from the corner of his eye. "What?"
Castiel looks down at his razor before glancing back at his reflection. "Are the... expressions mandatory?" he finally asks.
Dean nearly laughs aloud. Because, yeah, the goofy faces are kinda necessary to get all the nooks and crannies.
He shrugs, the corners of his mouth pulling down briefly. "Yeah," he finally says and just goes back to shaving. He raises his eyebrows until Cas stops freakin' staring and finally turns back to the mirror.
He's glad he waited to put the razor to his face because Cas' nose scrunching up so the other man can get to the patch of skin under his nose is hilarious. And when Cas turns towards him, eyebrows pinched together and his face scrunched to the side still, he loses it completely.
Castiel watches Dean go into a full-blown laughing fit.
He's not sure what's funny but he doesn't say anything to interrupt Dean's enjoyment of the moment.
Once Dean gets himself under control, laughter tapering off into sporadic chuckles and hiccups, he wiggles his foam and stubble covered razor.
"I believe I'm done, Dean."
Dean nods, reaching up and moving Cas' face around to check all the angles.
His thumb brushes against a spot Cas missed and he realizes then that he's holding Cas' face, the touch a little too gentle for what he's supposed to be doing. He drops his hand and eyes, coughing lightly.
Dean gestures towards Cas' face and goes back to finishing up, nearly slicing his neck open in his haste to get the fuck done already.
"Missed a spot, right by your jaw there," he says, swishing his razor in the sink and tapping it a few times to clear it.
He grabs a towel and pats his face off, hiding in the terrycloth softness for a bit longer than he needs to. He lowers the towel and Cas just gives him another look, silently asking if he's done.
He just nods; no way is he going to smooth his hands all over Cas' face to check.
Again.
Castiel nods and follows the steps Dean took to clear his razor out and takes the towel from Dean, scrubbing at his face with it.
It's snatched away and he blinks a few times. "Dean?"
"Not like that, man. You're gonna—" Dean stops and just shakes his head, reaching over and gently patting Cas' face dry.
It's already red in spots from the heavy scrub job Cas was doing to it. He almost wishes he had some of that lotion stuff Sam uses but he does not want to explain to his brother why he needs it. He knows Sam will lend it to Cas but he so doesn't want the snickering and doe-eyed look Sam would no-doubt give him.
Castiel stays still as he's patted dry, humming softly under his breath at the soft touches.
Much better than when he did it.
"Thank you, Dean." He smiles, pleased to feel the difference in the lack of facial hair as he does so.
"Like a baby's butt," Dean says brightly, patting one smooth cheek. Cas' brows wrinkle and he chuckles, holding up a hand before Cas can get pissed off at being compared to an infant or something. "It's just a saying, okay? I'm sure you can figure out why."
Castiel nods slowly, running a hand along his freshly shaven cheek. It is smooth. Soft.
He reaches out and does the same to Dean's, feeling for any differences. Dean's skin is surprisingly soft and smooth as well. And warm.
Castiel pulls his hand back, unsure if he should bring up the fact that Dean is now flushed, a tinge of pink to his face. He narrows his eyes a little and leans closer, hoping he hasn't irritated the skin unnecessarily.
"See?" Dean blurts out, leaning back and silently thanking who-the-fuck-ever his voice didn't come out in a squeak.
He nods once and practically runs from the bathroom, rushing to his room and shutting the door with a soft bang.
OK. So, Cas fondled his face. No biggie, right? Nope, totally just a thing buddies did in the moment and that's that.
When he finally slinks out of his room for dinner, Sam and Cas are both already in the kitchen. He snaps a quick wave and grunts something about food.
Sam snorts softly and points to the stove, indicating the pan of lasagna, as he shuffles past and heads to the table. Cas follows him, his own plate loaded with a large, steaming portion of lasagna. It's still kinda weird seeing Cas eat, but he looks interested in his plate, sniffing at the fragrant steam and nodding his approval.
They're still figuring out what kind of food Cas likes, but so far he's not been especially picky as long as they don't try to give him any sort of seafood or spiced condiment.
Sam points to his own face with his fork, leaning in a little. "Got rid of the face-fur huh, Cas?"
He puts his fork to use and tucks a large bite into his mouth before looking up at Cas, chewing as he waits for an answer.
"Yes," Castiel says, smiling a little.
He waits for Dean to sit down before starting in on his food, cutting into it carefully and blowing on it so it won't burn his tongue. He's already experienced that unpleasant side-effect of hot food and he has no desire of a repeat.
"Dean helped me."
Dean stares at his plate but he can still feel Sam looking at him, smiling that dorky ass smile he's been trotting out whenever he makes assumptions about him and Cas. Wrong assumptions, of course, but Sam just waves him off with that condescending 'yeah yeah' attitude like he's not buying what Dean's selling, so he's stopped trying to convince his brother he doesn't know a damn thing. It just doesn't work and it's so not worth the ulcer.
"Yup," he says shortly, shoving food into his mouth until his cheeks bulge so he won't have to say anything else.
"Aww," Sam coos, possibly being a little more obnoxious than usual just because Dean is staring a hole through his dinner and the back of his neck is all red. It seriously almost matches the red plaid of his collar. Which is... impressive. "That's nice of you, Dean."
Castiel nods, missing Sam's teasing tone, and cuts another piece of lasagna. "Yes, it was very helpful. I wouldn't have done near as good a job without Dean's assistance."
"Did he make sure you didn't miss any spots?" Sam asks, voice a little choked as he tries to speak around the laugh trying to bubble out.
Castiel nods as he carefully chews his food, wiping his mouth with his napkin and oblivious to Sam's amusement and Dean's increasing embarrassment (neither are new things, though, so it's rather normal as far as he's concerned).
"Yes," he agrees, turning his plate so he can cut another chunk of lasagna.
He doesn't add that Dean wasn't as thorough as he would've liked, his hands weren't on Castiel's skin long enough for his liking. He doesn't know why, but he's aware that saying things like that makes Dean pink up and avoid him (and Sam) for a while. He focuses on eating instead, oddly grateful Sam doesn't say anything else and they enjoy their dinner in comfortable silence for the most part.
Dean is the first one done eating but he stays at the table, finishing his beer and enjoying the company. Sam stopped being a brat, so the urge to hide in the kitchen with the dirty dishes is long gone.