Chapter Text
It was the first and most obvious change, Castiel’s interest in food. Sure, Dean and Sam had seen him eat before when he was angel-ed up, sometimes trying food for the sake of appearances, sipping coffee to do something with his hands while occupying a diner seat, choking down burgers in the low hundreds when Famine ensnared him.
This was different. Castiel was equally fascinated and irked by his now entirely human body’s demands for sustenance.
“I never realized just how time consuming eating and drinking was,” he complained around a mouthful of cereal.
“Cas,” Sam said gently, “It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”
“Dean does it,” the former angel pointed out, using his spoon to gesture at the elder Winchester’s position by the coffee maker in the bunker kitchen.
Dean’s gave his floppy haired brother smug grin until Sam said, “Yeah, well, Dean does a lot of gross shit. He’s hardly the standard you should measure your own humanity against.”
“Hey!” Dean snapped. “Cas, don’t listen to him or you’ll wind up running out of room for all your beauty products.” Sam’s bitchface bounced right off him because he was right. No one needed that much shampoo, no matter how hard they tried to be Rapunzel.
Castiel’s eyes slid between the two brothers, looking a bit conflicted. “So…I should listen to you on hygiene.” His spoon wagged in Dean’s direction. “And Sam about food.”
“Yes,” Sam said immediately.
“Hell no!” Dean protested. “He’ll make you eat rabbit food. You’re not a rabbit, you’re a GUY. And guys eat red meat.”
Castiel chewed his next mouthful slowly, keeping Sam’s admonition about table manners in mind while also considering if he preferred these Honey Nut Cheerios to the plain Cheerios he had yesterday. Definitely the Honey Nut.
Once he swallowed he felt free to respond, “I’m not really a guy.” The baffled looks the Winchesters exchanged let him know he needed to clarify. “Alright, physically I suppose I am now, but does perception of my gender really have any impact on my food preferences?”
The expression on Sam’s face was familiar; it was the one that usually preceded the man correcting Castiel while trying not to look too amused at the fallen angel’s ineptitude. “Dean’s a sexist pig, ignore him, Cas. Eat whatever tastes good to you.”
“Honey Nut Cheerios,” the dark haired man intoned gravely before scooping more into his mouth.
Dean rolled his eyes and plunked down coffee for the three of them then watched, curious, as Castiel drew his mug towards himself and cocked his head to one side. For the last 3 mornings, since he’d arrived at the bunker post-fall, Castiel had been experimenting with how he liked his coffee
The weeks of homelessness he’d endured on his way back to the Winchesters had forced him to eat and drink whatever was available. Mostly water and things pilfered from the trash, sometimes when he found change chips from a vending machine. Now that Castiel had the security of the brothers and the stability of their home and food supply at his disposal, the fallen angel applied himself to learning how to be human with single minded determination, as though he were studying for an exam.
His first morning in the Men of Letters bunker he automatically took his coffee black, like the brothers. After two swallows he shocked them by rejecting it out of hand as too bitter despite taking it that way for years as an angel.
“I did it because you two did. I couldn’t really taste it. Not in a manner you’d understand,” he tried to explain when both Sam and Dean protested that black was the best way to take it. They were surprisingly passionate about the subject.
“So break it down it in a way we will understand, Cas,” Dean demanded. Sam had his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive manner, the brothers for once united in solidarity against Castiel’s clearly incorrect stance on caffeinated beverages.
The ex-angel’s face clouded over as he considered how best to relate the experience. “When I smelled it I couldn’t separate the actual odor my vessel’s nose took in from the chemical compounds that composed it. When drinking coffee the chlorogenic acid lactones and their molecular structure superseded any perception of taste.”
The Winchesters had shared a look that spoke silent volumes, the height of raised eyebrows and the depth of the furrows between them a language in which the Winchesters were fluent.
“Parts got in the way of the sum,” Sam finally managed to translate.
Dean’s mouth popped in an “O” of understanding before he shook his head and muttered “angels” under his breath, as though that summed up everything inexplicable about Castiel.
Thus began Castiel playing with his food at every meal.
This morning the elder Winchester watched as the ex-angel carefully measured a level spoonful of sugar into his coffee before adding Half and Half slowly. Plain milk was unsatisfactory and full cream was too rich, according to the apparently picky new human. Castiel took a sip then rolled the brew in his mouth, a pensive look on his face as he analyzed the taste and carefully weighed it again his currently small store of personal opinions on food and drink.
Sam took the bait. “Verdict?”
“I think I’ve found a ratio of coffee to creamer to sweetener I like.” He sipped and nodded again in confirmation.
“Look at him, Sammy, growing up so fast.” Dean pretended to wipe away a tear.
Castiel didn’t have to wait to be human to grasp that Dean often mocked him. Back then it didn’t rankle him quite the way it did these days.
“You’ve had a lifetime to learn your tastes and preferences, Dean. I’m trying to be thoughtful about developing mine,” he grumbled, one arm circling his bowl of cereal again as if to prevent anyone from taking it. A habit he’d picked up in his several weeks half starving and on the move that he’d yet to shake.
“Screw that, sometimes you just have to go with your gut,” Dean insisted. “Literally in this case, Cas. You just like what you like; it doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“I actually agree with Dean on this,” Sam chimed in, his tone making it sound like he rarely agreed with his brother when Castiel knew the opposite to be true.
Well mostly true. Half the time, at least. Okay, 37% if he had to be precise.
“You just need to try a lot of stuff and roll with it. It’s not the Last Supper…or breakfast. Don’t take it so seriously.” Dean nodded vigorously in agreement with Sam. Although the brothers were often at odds, on the topic of Castiel learning to be human they were in the same book if not on the same page.
Dean’s hand slapped the table in front of him, as though delivering judgment from the bench. “Exactly. Enough of this cold cereal and take out. Cas, I’m going to make dinner, and you’ll understand what we’re talking about. Once you have one of my burgers you’ll-“
“Hey,” Sam protested, “Don’t think you’re going to drag him over to the Dark Side of the food pyramid.” He gave Castiel an appraising look. “I’ll make something not smothered in cheese and grease. Unlike my caveman brother, you’ll figure out eating right tastes damn good too.”
“My burgers are NOT greasy, Bitchsquatch!” Dean blustered. “You take that back!” The finger he stuck in his brother’s face was slapped away.
Castiel picked up his bowl and mug as he moved from the table. No point in his perfect cup of coffee getting knocked over as the brothers practically tackled each other in a fight for meal dominance.
Banished from the kitchen by the Winchesters that evening, Castiel seated himself at a table in the library, two tomes open in front of him as he continued the translation he’d started the day before. He couldn’t smite, heal, or fly but he was determined to prove he was still useful to the brothers. The books in the Men of Letters' archives were fascinating; and their value to the hunters would be incomparable once they were in English. Thankfully, although his grace was gone, his eidetic memory was still flawless as was his grasp of every language, currently used and long dead.
They couldn’t possibly turn him out if he proved how valuable a resource he could be, even if it was just as a researcher. He'd never be Bobby Singer, but if he managed to be even fractionally as helpful as their departed father figure Castiel thought it would be a worthwhile endeavor.
His scratched out a line of transcribed Aramaic and rewrote it in a less flowery way, less metaphorical and more direct. A gryphon summoning should focus on precise ritualistic actions, sigils, and ingredients, not wax philosophical between instructions. However, there may be some value in the prose, so he’d make a footnote with instructions to turn to the new appendix he’d create for such information.
He reached for another piece of paper to start said appendix when a loud “Damnit!” burst from the kitchen. “Dean, that’s really childish!”
Castiel raised his head as the younger Winchester strode into the library with a bowl above his head, clearly trying to keep it out of his brother's reach. The new human couldn’t help the upward tug of one side of his mouth as Dean hopped a bit to try to smack Sam’s arm, presumably to knock the bowl to the ground and spoil Sam’s contribution to dinner. He stopped once he realized his “little” brother was tall as a redwood and the endeavor was hopeless, especially when Sam put his giant hand on his brother’s face and pushed him out of the way.
“Alright, Cas, time to educate you on healthy eating,” the younger Winchester stated with a definite air of satisfaction.
“You’re going to ruin his appetite!” Dean groused, his expression petulant.
“You lost rock, paper scissors, jerk, so shut up!” Sam shot back before he returned his attention to Castiel. “Anyway, salad precedes the main course, so dig in.” He thumped a bowl of leafy greens and other things in front of Castiel.
He, in turn, tilted his head one way then the other in inspection before squinting.
“What’s in this?” It was question they’d come to expect nearly every time the ex-warrior of God put something new in his mouth. He wanted to know everything, even if the tangled words on the side of the cereal box caused him more consternation than enlightenment.
Sam stood a bit straighter as he spoke, “Candied walnuts, mixed greens, dried cranberries, Gorgonzola cheese and some vinaigrette dressing. Trust me, you’ll like it.” His tone turned cajoling, “Lot of different textures and flavors, and they complement each other.” When Dean let out a derisive snort Sam shot an elbow into his brother’s side that sent him staggering back, a hand over his ribs.
“If he’s too full for REAL FOOD I will shave your eyebrows in your sleep,” Dean threatened as he stalked back into the kitchen.
Castiel opened his mouth to vow he would happily eat whatever Dean deigned to make for him, but the man was already gone, disappeared behind the swinging door of the kitchen to continuing cursing and banging things together, a seemingly crucial component of tonight’s meal.
Sighing, Castiel returned his attention to the food in front of him. The few greens he’d consumed previously he'd salvaged from dumpsters behind grocery stores. There were unappetizing, to say the least. He knew Sam would not give him garbage, but he still approached his first bite with caution, picking through the bowl to spear just a few leaves of greens with his fork before sliding the tines between his teeth with great deliberation and letting the mouthful sit on his tongue a few moments before chewing.
The crunch of the greens was very pleasant, the taste fresh and light. He tried a walnut next; the new texture terribly interesting in his fingers as he picked one out of the bowl and examined it before he popped it in his mouth. It was slightly soft; it didn’t crunch like the roasted peanuts he’d tried before, a little sweet but overly so.
A dried cranberry was also tested singly, and Castiel’ mouth pursed in a moue of disapproval.
Sam grinned as the man across from him at the table picked out all the cranberries and carefully deposited them on the napkin next to his bowl.
“Your loss, Cas,” he teased before he grabbed a few and popped them in his mouth. The ex-angel was sure the noises of enjoyment Sam made were exaggerated.
“They’re too…” Castiel’s mind searched for the appropriate adjective to give to the strange tightening in his jaw when he bit into the berries, the way his cheeks drew in and his lips puckered slightly. “…tart. They’re tart.” He nodded to himself, pleased he’d gained a new preference. He didn’t like things that were too tart.
The cheese was absolutely fascinating; it was crumbly when he squashed a bit with his fork, but in his mouth it melted in a creamy fashion. The taste was strong, pungent, but not unpleasant, and a bit salty. He liked it. Content he’d tried all the components individually and found most of them to his liking, he swirled his fork around, picking up a bit of everything and trying the whole together.
Sam leaned forward like he was awaiting judgment.
“It’s good. Very good,” Castiel pronounced after a few more bites. “Most of it. Not the cranberries.”
Sam’s face split into what Castiel had heard Dean describe as a “shit eating grin” just as his older brother walked in with his own meal contribution. Castiel was confident it was just an expression.
“He likes it, Dean. Score one for healthy eating,” Sam crowed, pointing at Castiel as the new human proceeded to demolish the salad in front of him. “Finally, someone around here is on my side.”
Castiel sat up, a look of consternation on his face that he directed at Sam.
“I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m…going with my gut, like you said I should. I like this salad. That’s all.” He gave Dean a heavy look that he hoped conveyed that Castiel’s developing taste was not a sign of favoritism towards Sam. Dean would always be his favorite Winchester.
The look on Dean’s face was the very definition of confidence. “Whatever, Sammy, once Cas gets a taste of this beauty it’ll be two for Team Carnivore.”
He set down his own offering in front of Castiel with a bit of unnecessary flair. He’d had burgers before, lots of them, but this one was quite a bit larger and certainly more aesthetically pleasing than the ones procured from fast food establishments and diners while traveling with the brothers.
Castiel’s fingers reached out and picked it up with due attention, mindful he was under intense scrutiny. The bun was warm, soft, but not mushy in his careful grip. He leaned forward, inhaled, and started slightly at the instant flood of saliva in his mouth. Rather than pick it apart to its component pieces and sample them individually, as he was prone to do, Castiel decided to go with his instinct and took a large bite, teeth sinking through bread, crisp lettuce, a juicy tomato that he knew immediately had the perfect balance of acidity and mild sweetness, and tender, hot, succulent meat cooked to what he could only determine was utter perfection.
He closed his eyes and sighed quietly as he focused on the entire experience, rather than trying to break it down to its singular attributes and determine which were better than others. He took another bite, then another, before a soft cough dragged his attention back to the other people in the room. He opened his eyes to see Dean leaning forward, his face split in a grin and his head nodding up and down, as though subconsciously willing Castiel to nod along with him.
“So?” he queried without a note of doubt in his voice.
Castiel didn’t bother to swallow the mouthful before he answered, “S’epic.”
“Ha HA!” Dean shouted and shoved a victorious finger in his brother’s face. “Told you, bitch!” Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t look all that put out, his own lips stretched in a smile.
“Whatever, he can like burgers and salads, jerk.”
Dean ignored him and leaned across the table, hand held up, palm towards Castiel, who took another bite of his burger and sighed happily again. It really was epic, way better than the burritos he had his first night here.
“Don’t leave me hanging, Cas! Up top!”
Castiel cocked his head to the side, raised his right hand and smacked his palm loudly against Dean’s. His first properly executed high five.
“Awesome.” He meant both the burger and the high five. He felt stupendously accomplished tonight, and both Dean and Sam seemed incredibly pleased with themselves and him. That was rare, and Castiel intended to enjoy it.
And he did.
Until he told Dean the blueberry pie was much too sweet for his taste, and Sam laughed so hard the beer he’d just taken a swig of sprayed across the table and into the former angel’s face. As he was wiping his cheek with his napkin he felt a twinge of regret at the look of utter devastation on Dean’s face.
Fortunately, Dean’s despondency was fleeting, as he shortly realized he could eat the entire pie without sharing.
“More for me then,” he grumbled around a mouthful of crumbly flaky crust and sticky syrup that would surely give him diabetes. He glared at Castiel until the ex-angel started to shift uncomfortably then the older Winchester winked. “Assbutt.”
That, Castiel realized, was an affectionate insult. Like jerk. Or bitch.
He felt very honored.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, humbled. “Can I have another burger...with Gorgonzola on it this time?”