Based on this ridiculous r/relationships post

For my beloved @deanismypatronass

“Not again, Dean.” It was too early for this nonsense and Sam tried to reason with him from the passenger seat. “There are a million places we could go for breakfast.”

Dean didn’t even take his eyes off the road. “Nope.”

Sam slumped against the seat. “Why? Why do we keep doing this?”

“You know why.”

Sam knew exactly why. The question was, did Dean?

For weeks now, Dean had been involved in a…Sam wasn’t even sure there was a word for it. Conflict? Standoff? Definitely not a battle of wits since Dean seemed to be using exactly zero of his. Whatever was happening between Dean and the cook at the diner, there was no doubt it was escalating.

It had never been a problem before. Cas was a great guy and an awesome cook and they’d frequented the place to the point of being regulars. That meant sometimes Cas would bring out their plates himself, stopping to chat for a few minutes when he did. Sam knew his brother better than he knew himself, and he’d watch Dean’s breakfast begin to cool while he talked with Cas, using his long lashes to every advantage as Cas stared with those intense blue eyes.

Sam was pretty sure there was more to it as well, even though he had no proof.

But then one day Dean had ordered his usual: two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, and rye toast. The server had brought out their food–nothing unusual there, the place was jammed–and Dean had glared at his plate.

“These are overcooked,” he announced. Sam looked up. The server started to reach for the plate again.

“I can take them back and have them redone,” she offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Dean said. “Just let the cook know.”

When she walked away, Sam looked at his brother. “Busy today.”

“Guess so.” Dean crammed a fork full of potatoes into his mouth, steadfastly ignoring his eggs.

Sam blinked at him. “I’m sure they can be remade.”

“Nope,” Dean said, aggressively biting a strip of bacon.

It had been over a month since that day and still Dean insisted they come back. Every time he ordered the same breakfast: two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, and rye toast. Every time his plate would come out exactly as he requested. Except for the eggs. Week one they were scrambled. Week two was an omelette. Week three the server nervously came out trying to keep two hard boiled eggs from rolling off the plate.

The entire diner seemed to hold its collective breath each time Dean entered, the bell on the door merrily chiming in direct opposition to the tension that filled the space. Cas stared impassively from the kitchen as Dean walked to their table, chin up in defiance. He ordered and then the wait began. Each week Dean glared at his plate, but refused to send it back, nothing changing until two weeks ago when he’d scrawled a note on the back of the bill as he paid it.

Then, last week, Cas had come out to deliver the plate himself.

“Your breakfast, sir,” he said with more sarcasm per syllable than Sam had ever heard.

Dean’s plate was dominated by six fried eggs, each cooked to varying stages of doneness. They were layered on top of the toast and potatoes and bacon. He set the plate down with a clatter. Dean took a deep breath and Sam knew he was counting to ten. He maybe got to six before turning to Cas. “You got something you want to say to me?”

Cas smiled. “Need some hot sauce?”

Dean tensed all over and made like he was going to get up, but Sam called his name and he stayed put. Cas calmly walked away.

Sam glanced over the menu without reading it, waiting to see what today would bring, idly wondering how hard it would be for Cas to acquire an ostrich egg. Through gritted teeth, Dean gave his usual order, and Sam could barely swallow his coffee as he waited. Dean sat like a statue, forearms leaning on the table as the minutes ticked away. When his plate arrived, it had all the components. Two eggs, four strips of bacon, hash browns and rye toast. The food was arranged on the perimeter of the plate, the bacon forming a diamond, inside of which Cas had cracked two raw eggs. The server set down the plate and nearly ran back to the safety of the counter.

“That’s it,” Dean said, with frightening stillness.

“Dean,” Sam said, but it was no use. He was on his feet striding toward the kitchen. Cas stormed out to meet him. The diner fell silent, all eyes on them. The two of them stood poised, every muscle tensed. Dean reached for Cas, who shoved his arm away, then shoved him with both hands. Dean staggered backwards, quickly regaining his balance and lunging toward Cas.

Becky, the tiny blonde manager, stepped between them. “Take it outside.”

Sam hurried to open the door, keeping his distance but making sure he could keep an eye on things. He watched as they argued, gesturing wildly at each other. He watched as Cas grabbed Dean by the shirt and pushed him up against the wall. Sam watched as Dean reached for Cas, both hands on his face as he pulled him in and kissed him.

Smiling, Sam went back to the table to finish his breakfast.