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The door creaks open; Castiel strides inside carefully, avoiding the two tripwires in the entryway. "Sam?" He inches into the living room.
"Hi, Cass," a rough voice greets. Even hunched over, hands braced on the desk, Sam stands a significant amount over Castiel. A real moose of a man, Crowley would say. "Did Dean send you?"
"He requested I check on you, yes."
"I don't need a babysitter," Sam groans, shaking his head.
"He was very specific about this not being babysitting," Castiel responds. He watches Sam sway dangerously, tilting his head. "Perhaps you should sit down."
"I'm okay," Sam mumbles lowly, "Just dizzy."
Castiel guides Sam back to the couch with a steady hand; the human complains under his breath, but doesn't pull away. Cass sits him back down gently. "It feels unwise to be spinning in your condition."
Sam's eyes unfocus, considering. "I wasn't spinning."
"You said you were dizzy," Castiel hums. He's not great at the whole comforting-people thing, and without his abilities he can't heal Sam, but he can... supply a blanket. And perhaps heat a can of soup, as Dean had done for him once. "Is that not what happens when humans spin around too much?"
"I mean, yeah," Sam mumbles. He blinks languidly, pursing his lips. "But sometimes when we're sick it just... happens." He tilts his head back against the couch. "Probably a reason. Couldn't tell you what it was."
"Your bodies are so fascinating," Castiel huffs, almost laughing. He pulls a comforter around Sam's shoulders and watches him melt into the warmth. "You make mucus and you overheat. Those are your defense mechanisms."
"Alright, tough guy," Sam mumbles. He's already dozing, words blurring together. "What do Angels do when they get sick?"
"We don't."
He drawls out a hum, brows furrowing. "That's not fair."
Castiel, doing his best human sympathy impression, pats Sam on the head.
...
He is an Angel of the Lord. He has commanded armies, withstood the harshest of tortures, stood in the way of Archangels. He can do anything! He is Castiel!
He will not be thwarted by... by a micro-wave!
Foolish human hot-box. If he had his powers, he could heat the soup with his Grace. It would be faster and probably safer. Instead he is stuck trying to figure out why the micro-wave seems to be quite desperate to explode.
He'd attempted to microwave the whole can (seemed like the logical solution) and had immediately stopped it when it'd begun to spit sparks. He'd spooned it into a bowl and put the bowl in the microwave and it had sparked again. He'd tried one of the bowls Bobby put on the stove. He'd tried taking out the spoon. He'd tried the can again, in case the soup was somehow territorial.
Sam's groggy voice interrupts his latest attempt (also resulting in sparks). "What are you even doing in there?"
"This machine is sentient," Castiel calls back in response, "and it is determined to end its own existence."
"The microwave?" Damningly, frustratedly, Castiel doesn't respond. Sam snorts. "Dude, you're gonna blow up Bobby's house."
"I don't have my abilities." Castiel nudges the machine closed and just brings Sam the soup as-is. "How would I blow up the house?"
"Microwaves. You microwave metal, and they..." Sam gestures. "Kabloom."
Oh.
"Looks like you figured it out?"
Castiel doesn't respond. Sam stares at the bowl for a few long moments before his eyes flick back up to Cass.
"Castiel," he says lowly, pressing his lips tight to supress a smile, "is this cold soup?"
"It is not cold," Castiel responds sharply, "it is... room temperature."
Sam laughs, and takes the damn soup.