"Mornin’ sleepyhead," Dean croaks in a still half-asleep voice the second Castiel starts to stir.
Castiel yawns against the back of Dean’s shoulder and rubs his eyes before wriggling as close as possible and wrapping his arms a little more tightly around his bedmate. Dean puts his hand over Castiel’s where it rests on his stomach and laces their fingers together.
"What time is it?" Castiel has to stifle another yawn to get the words out. It feels early, but in the perpetual darkness that comes with the lack of windows in their bunker bedroom, it’s hard to tell.
"Dunno," Dean answers. He gives something resembling a half-hearted shrug and turns his head as though to look over his shoulder at Castiel. "I think the clock is on the floor.”
"Mm," Cas answers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck and whispers, "You were enthusiastic last night.”
I’m so fucking pissed off I just realized they’re called pancakes because they’re cakes you make in a frying pan fuck english.
Oh my fucking god I’m furious.