Dean tossed his coat into the booth before sliding behind the table with a tired groan. Wearing a stuffy suit might get him privileged information from law enforcement but it sure wasn't his cup of tea. He loosened his tie and undid the button so he could breathe a bit easier. It was past ten at night and, by the time he got back to the motel, Sam had been passed out on the bed without even bothering to take his shoes off. He wasn't ready to sleep yet, so he had found a midnight diner just down the road. He was one of the three patrons there. Tinny music played from an old jukebox and the cranky old waitress wearing a stained apron had glared at him as he entered.

He plopped his father's journal on the sticky table and flipped it open. There was always something new to read in there – little notes he hadn't noticed before, cryptic drawings and the like. The djinns they were hunting were proving quite elusive, so he could use all the help he could get.

On cue, a flutter of cloth startled him out of his musing. He gripped his chest and glared at Castiel who had appeared on the vinyl seat across from him. "Dude."

"Hello."

He shook his head, blowing out an exasperated breath. "What?"

"Do you need help?" Castiel asked.

"Um." He looked down at the book, then back at the angel. "Sure?"

The cranky old waitress approached the table. If she noticed the sudden existence of yet another man in the establishment, she didn't bat an eye. "What can I get you?" she drawled.

"A cup of coffee," Dean said, "and a slice of apple pie."

"Alright." She directed her bored gaze at Castiel. "You?"

"I will have the same."

Dean arched a brow and waited until the waitress was out of earshot to ask, "Why did you order?"

Castiel was taken aback. He hesitated for a beat before murmuring, "She asked me, Dean."

"And am I supposed to pay?"

"… Yes."

Dean grumbled under his breath. "Anyway, here's the situation." He relayed the reason for their sudden trip down to Texas – a volley of djinn activity had to be stopped as soon as possible. Police were at a loss while the victim count grew to over ten, all poisoned with an unidentifiable venom. There were reports of sightings of strange suspects bearing tattoos and eyes that glowed blue. The Winchesters had never encountered a troupe of djinns. First order of business – find the warehouse these creatures were hiding out in. "We're following leads right now."

The waitress returned with mugs, a coffee pot, and two plates of apple pie slices drizzled with caramel. She poured out the coffee without comment, slid the plates across to her two customers, and walked away, leaving them to their own devices.

Dean tried the coffee. Burnt. He hadn't been expecting any better… He went for the pie next, sliding his fork down the soggy crust and pulling off a sticky piece, a few slices of apple hiding in there. He ate it cautiously. Not bad. Could be a bit warmer and maybe a little more tart, but it will do for a late night snack. He set his fork down. "So tomorrow Sam and me, we're going to the north part of the city," he said while flipping through his father's journal. "I'm just trying to find something in here about how to fight hordes of these things. Got any ideas?"

Castiel stopped poking at his slice of pie for long enough to look up and say, "No."

"Great. Thanks."

"Mhm." He shifted his hold on the fork and mimicked Dean's action, cutting through the crust and baked apple. Once he had managed to get some of the messy dessert on the prongs, he brought it up to his nose and sniffed it deliberately.

"Don't be weird," Dean told him off. "Just eat it." He sat back in the vinyl booth and read one of the journal entries, his pursed lips indicating his mounting irritation.

Castiel opened his mouth and plopped the piece in.

Only to promptly grab a napkin and spit it out.

Dean gawked at him in disgust. "What the hell, Cas?"

Castiel smacked his tongue to the roof of his mouth as his face twisted into a grimace. "Sweet."

"Of course it's sweet. It's pie."

"Pie is sweet?"

"Yeah. That's the point of pie."

"The point of pie is to be sweet?"

Dean closed his eyes in defeat and brought the journal up to his face, resting the pages against his forehead. "I can't believe you've never had pie before," he said, his words muffled behind the book.

Castiel picked up the plate to examine the pie up close. "Why not simply eat the apple?" he wondered. "Or why not simply eat cake? You can put apples in a cake."

"But then it's not a pie, is it?"

"No. It will be apple cake."

"And this is apple pie."

Castiel put the plate down after finishing his contemplation. "Very well." He picked up his fork and decided to try again. This time he was prepared for the overwhelming taste of sugar against his tongue. He rolled the small piece in his mouth, understanding the texture. Then he bit down.

Dean, who had pulled his book down a bit so he could peer at the antics before him, saw the exact moment when Castiel chewed on an apple slice. "Don't," he hissed, "even think about it."

Castiel had been reaching for the napkin to spit into again, but he stilled upon hearing that frustrated Winchester tone. He moved his hand back to his lap with an uncomfortable look on his face.

"It's not going to kill you," Dean huffed. "Stop fussing and just eat it."

Castiel thought about arguing. But he had food in his mouth. So he painstakingly chewed, cringing as sweet mixed with sour, soft mixed with crunch, and caramel mixed with even more caramel in a very unnatural manner. It took him a good while to actually get the mush down his throat. Once he had managed to do so, he set the fork down and said, "I don't like pie." He pushed the plate away.

"Fine by me." Dean reached forward to pull the discarded slice of pie towards him.