A/N: This was inspired by a Tumblr post I came across yesterday. I decided to write a fic about it.
It was seven in the morning, and the winter sun wasn't even fully above the horizon yet. Cas knew the Winchesters would be coming down to the kitchen any moment now. Sam first, obviously. He'd be awake, fully dressed, and ready to begin researching or cleaning or whatever was on the agenda for today. He'd brew himself a cup of either tea or coffee, then leave another sitting on the counter for Dean. A few minutes later, Dean would come stumbling in with sleep-blurred eyes, wearing a robe and slippers ("Because the floors here are cold, dammit!"). He'd reach blindly for his coffee or tea, whichever Sam had made earlier. After consuming the hot beverage, he'd be awake enough to start preparing breakfast.
Dean, they had all discovered, was an excellent cook. He rarely followed recipes, preferring to go by taste and instinct. Most of the time, it paid off. His pancakes were especially delicious. (He'd once tried to make blueberry pancakes, bu that definitely didn't end well-they were still trying to get the burnt fruit smell out of that pan). But unless he or Sam (or occasionally Cas) made a request, he'd usually make something quick and easy, like eggs.
He'd once taught Cas how to make scrambled eggs. It was fairly simple, and he was so happy when he poured them from the pan to a bowl. They were a bit gooey on the inside, but Dean said he just needed to cook them longer.
As it was, Cas was very peased with himself this morning. Earlier, he'd flown out to one of the local farms and taken some eggs. (The hens hadn't been very happy, but they'd calmed down when he told them what he was doing.) The farmer was a kind old man. His farm was entirely organic, and his animals loved him because he treated them well. Castiel knew that kindness showed in his product. His food was some of the best in the world, even if no one but Cas knew. He left some money on the farmer's counter and continued on his mission.
He flew to California. The boys had once gone there on a hunt, and Sam had mentioned that he thought the navel oranges from Riverside were some of the best he'd ever had. Cas carefully picked the citrus he thought looked best. Fortunately, navels ripened in the winter, and this was the best time of year to pick them. He chose the largest, best-smelling fruits he could find. Once finished, he took off again.
This time he went to a small town in Missouri. There were a number of amish settlements throughout the state, but this one in particular had amazing bacon. The amish usually sold it either at the local farmer's market or in one of their stores. Cas went to the shed where they stored the meat that had been cooked, but not packaged. He meticulously selected each strip. Dean liked a lot of fat on his bacon, but Sam absolutely hated it. He'd actually go through and peel the fatty strips off. Dean would make fun of him as he picked up Sam's discarded fat and pop it into his own mouth. Cas chose the fattiest strips he could find for Dean, and the leanest for Sam. While he was there, he picked up some butter, a loaf of bread, and a cup of shredded cheese. Finally, satisfied, Cas flew back to the bunker. He had just enough time to make the brothers breakfast before they came downstairs.
He began with the eggs. He buttered the pan and carefully cracked the eggs into it, whipping them until they were scrambled. Cas let the eggs cook. He turned and grabbed the oranges, neatly slicing them in half with his seraph blade. (He couldn't find anything other than a butter knife, and he needed a clean cut.) He searched through the cabinets until he found the juicer. He stirred the eggs a bit before squeezing the oranges. The fresh juice ran from the oranges' innards and into the container. Cas threw the used oranges in the trash and placed the juice container in the fridge to cool down. He turned back to the eggs a stirred them again. Then he grabbed the bacon and stuck it in the oven to heat up. (He wasn't going to try cook it himself. That would end badly.) He let it sit for a few minutes. In that time, the eggs finished. Picking up the pan, the angel poured them out onto the plate and sprinkled some cheese on top of them. Then he pulled the bacon out of the oven and put it on the plates. He retrieved the orange juice from the fridge and poured it into two glasses.
Castiel stepped back, observing his work with satisfaction. The food looked great, and he still had a little time to spare. Then he frowned. Something was missing.
He looked around, and then it hit him. The toast! He hurriedly (but precisely) sliced the bread, giving the boys two pieces each. Cas moved over to the toaster, popping the slices in and pushing the lever down. He moved the dial to the spot marked 'toast.' (One of the brothers had marked it, probably Sam.) The angel knew how to make toast in theory, but he'd never actually done it.
Cas settled in to wait, staring at the toaster.
Sam was ripped from sleep by an inhuman screech. He jumped up, grabbing his gun and shoving the knife under his pillow into his waistband. Running out the door, he nearly bowled Dean over. His shirtless older brother was also holding a gun, and by an unspoken command, they split up. Dean continued on his previous path, and Sam went the other way, taking the other route to the kitchen. He held his gun at the ready, then jumped out from behind the doorway, ready to shoot anything that didn't belong.
He froze in confusion, as did Dean when he appeared mere moments later.
Castiel, angel of the lord, was curled on the floor, surrounded by toast. His wings were out, and one of them had knocked over a nearby lamp, the other wrapped around his body protectively. He peeked over the edge of his wing, staring at Dean desperately. Finally, he spoke.
"You didn't tell me they flew out."