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Dean was actually doing research for once. Sam didn’t want to discourage it by hovering so he had wandered off to the library in search of books the Men of Letters’ extensive collection didn’t already have. A mouthwatering combination of smells had been permeating the bunker, making Dean’s stomach rumble in protest of its current state. Breakfast had been hours ago and he was absolutely starving. When he finally decided he could no longer tolerate it - he was going to steal the food, no matter to whom it belonged - he shoved away from the table and stalked toward the kitchen, the very picture of focused determination. He stopped short when Castiel appeared in the doorway bearing a lunch platter as though it were manna from heaven.
“I understand you must be hungry, Dean. You have foregone lunch at noon so I prepared something I hope you will enjoy.” Castiel set the dish down, revealing its contents.
Dean’s eyes widened in surprise then crinkled at the corners, his face relaxing into a broad smile. “Mashed potatoes and gravy, chicken fried steak, collards, AND fried okra. Dude!” He plopped down on a chair and shoveled a generous helping of pure awesome homemade deliciousness before enthusiastically digging in.
“Is the meal satisfactory? I have lost the human ability to perceive flavor; I can only taste molecules now,” said Castiel, hopeful for a positive response.
“It tastes perfect. Why are you so good to me?”
A tinny ding was heard from the kitchen and Castiel stood. “The biscuits are done. I will return with them momentarily.”
Crowley watched from around the corner, seething with jealousy. Neither human nor angel heard him say in a voice straight out of Slingblade, “Biscuits and mustard, mmhmm.”