Picky Eater
Author's Note: This is exceedingly silly. My apologies.
"How are we out of lighter fluid?" groans Dean. "Seriously, how is that even possible?"
"Maybe because we use it to burn things," suggests Sam.
"Yeah, exactly!" Dean says. "We need that stuff! Our lives kinda depend on it! Running out – it's dangerous!" He jerks a finger at Sam. "And you said grilling out was pointless. I might have just saved our lives! What if we had gone out on a hunt and needed it, only to find we're out?"
Sam scoffs.
"And I just got back from the store, too!" Dean continues to rant. He swipes his keys off the table. "Be back in a half hour," he sighs resignedly.
"Dean, I can –" offers Castiel, but the door has already banged shut behind him.
"Let him be, Cas," says Sam. "He makes a fuss, but he really loves driving, even if it's to the store. And anything he loves that doesn't set off the Mark, I say let him have it."
"That is sound thinking," agrees Castiel. He peers curiously at the pile of groceries Dean has left on the table.
"You wanna put those away?" asks Sam. "I need to head out for a run."
"Okay," says Castiel absently, reading the label on a package of a bread product. It's the kind of bread used to serve the ground beef patties his vessel was so fond of. Without the influence of Famine, Castiel feels no desire to consume any more ground beef, though Dean has brought some of that as well. Food, even that which he enjoyed while human, no longer holds any appeal for him. He wishes it did; he would like to repeat the experience of eating, of tasting, of sharing a meal with these two friends. But the complex molecules which make up food quickly overwhelm him, rendering it almost completely unpalatable to him. This bread, for example, contains a multitude of ingredients, many of which are mixtures of multiple substances, which are themselves compounds of myriad complex molecules. He sighs as he places the bread and the meat in the refrigerator, and turns back to the table to retrieve the other items in the grocery bags. Ketchup, mustard, cheese – even onions – all have such complex molecular structure.
He pauses when he comes across an unfamiliar food. It's in a large package made of heavy paper, and he is uncertain where it belongs, whether in the refrigerator or in the cupboard with the canned beans he's just put away.
'Charcoal briquettes', the package reads. He's not quite sure what a charcoal briquette is. He doesn't know if he's ever seen Sam or Dean eat this before. The picture on the package is less than informative: a round bowl on stilts, filled with flames crossed with black stripes.
Carefully, he unrolls the top of the package and tears it open to see what's inside. Mostly black, it seems. He reaches inside and pulls out a flattened black lump with two long indentations across side. It sits satisfyingly in the palm of his hand, though it leaves smudges of black dust across his fingers.
He sniffs it. Pure carbon.
It smells appetizing. So simple, a single element… perhaps…
He lifts it to his lips and takes a bite. It's very crunchy, and difficult to bite through, finally cleaving roughly with an explosion of black powdery grains. He chews thoughtfully. It crumbles between his teeth, granules forming a thick paste with the saliva in his mouth. The flavor is smooth, simple, clean. Refreshing.
He swallows, and takes another bite.
Charcoal briquettes are delicious.
Finally, something he can enjoy eating together with Sam and Dean. He rejoices within as he takes another piece. He wonders why he has never seen them eat this food before. Perhaps it is difficult to procure, or expensive. He looks at the package guiltily, realizing he's already eaten three pieces, but doesn't really look any less full than it did. Besides, he can find a way to procure more. He takes a fourth piece, reveling in the crisp flavor and intriguing texture.
Eleven pieces in, the door opens, and Dean comes down the stairs. Castiel tries frantically to hide the evidence of his pre-dinner snack, but it's futile; he realizes belatedly that his hands are covered in rich black powder, and the front of his coat is liberally sprinkled with charcoal crumbs.
Dean stops four steps above the floor and stares, agape.
"I can explain," begins Castiel sheepishly.
Dean finds his voice. "Cas? Have you… by any chance… been eating, um, charcoal?" He sounds upset. Charcoal must be very expensive.
"I'm sorry," says Castiel, shamefacedly. "I have never had it before, and I was curious. It is so delicious, I could not seem to help myself. I should have realized that it's a food only for special occasions. There is still some left, and I give you my word that I will replace what I have eaten."
"…delicious?" squawks Dean.
The door bangs shut again, and Sam appears, sweating from his run. "Hey, guys," he pants. "What's deli – Oh, my god, Cas, are you okay? What happened?"
"Oh, nothing, Sammy," says Dean in that choking voice. "Cas was a little hungry before dinner, apparently, and he got into that delicious charcoal I bought for our barbeque…"
"Charcoal?" Sam repeats, perplexed. Then comprehension flashes across his face. "Really?" Inexplicably, he starts to grin. "Oh, Cas. I think I get it. You don't like PB& J anymore –"
"PB&J?" asks Dean, looking even more confused than Sam did a few seconds ago. "How did we get to PB&J?"
"-you like charcoal. Molecules are too overwhelming, but elements – charcoal is carbon – " he dissolves into a fit of laughter, leaving Dean and Castiel staring at each other. Castiel doesn't understand why Sam is laughing, but Dean quickly enlightens him.
"Cas, I have no freakin' clue what's goin' on here, but you need to know one thing, and it is this: charcoal is not food."
This is distressing news. "It isn't?" he asks, just to make certain.
"No!" Dean howls. "Why would you think it was food?"
"It was with your other purchases from the grocery store. The rest of the items were food," says Castiel dismally. "It smelled so appetizing…"
He explains to Dean about his unfortunate experience with the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and that, while no longer needing to eat is no particular hardship in itself, it is an experience he would like to be able to share with the brothers.
By the time he finishes, Dean is showing signs of mirth, but also of sympathy.
"Normally, we set charcoal on fire, and use the fire to cook stuff that is actually food," he says. "But if you like charcoal, and you don't like food, I guess you can eat what you like. I won't judge you for it."
Sam has calmed down enough to speak intelligibly. "Yeah, Cas, that's fine. I mean, technically, food is just fuel for human bodies, so if you want to eat actual fuel, no problem. If you want, I guess, we can try some other fuels and see if you like those, too."
"Yeah, Cas, want a glass of lighter fluid to wash that down?" chortles Dean. "Maybe a side of wood chips? How about some gasoline – or maybe diesel? You a diesel kind of guy?"
"I don't think that will be necessary," says Castiel. He's known Dean long enough now to realize that the man is teasing him. "Are you certain that you don't mind? As I said, I will replace anything I eat…"
"Nah, don't worry about it," Dean says, waving his hand in the manner which indicates it is unimportant. "Charcoal actually isn't that expensive, and we can afford to treat you to a few briquettes here and there. And a toothbrush, too, cause you're gonna wanna brush before heading out in public after you eat that stuff."
Castiel recalls Sam and Dean using similar statements about onions and other malodorous foods in their banter. "Does it create an offensive odor?" he asks.
Dean grins. "No, but go take a look in the mirror. You'll figure it out."
Castiel does. His lips, tongue, and teeth are sooty black.
"I believe that's good advice," he says. "I will acquire a tootbrush."
"Not like that. You'll scare everyone half to death. They'll try to send you to the emergency room," points out Sam. "Dean'll get you one."
"After dinner," agrees Dean. "I'm starved."
