"Dean!"
The cry came from Bobby's kitchen. There was a strange, almost frightened quality to Castiel's voice that terrified Dean to his very core.
It had been just under an hour since Cas had demanded complete privacy with the kitchen. He'd refused to tell any of them what he needed the room for, which was bad enough on it's own.
Immediately, Dean sprung from his place on the couch, in one motion pulling out his handgun and loading it, in full stride for the double doors with Sam hot on his heels.
A thousand images of equal horror flashed in Dean's mind in an instant. The past few weeks had been calm so far as the apocalypse goes, but Dean's paranoia was only ever stronger, especially for Castiel's sake, given his newly humanized state.
He threw open the kitchen door with his gun at the ready, prepared for upwards of a thousand different horrors.
But not a single one hit the mark.
Various pans, bowls, and other miscellaneous items that Dean wasn't even aware Bobby owned were scattered about the kitchen. Castiel was backed up against the left wall, pressing the sleeve of his trenchcoat up against his face. He looked at Dean, a mystified horror in his expression, as well as…
"What is—are you—are you crying? What's going on here?" Dean asked, flustered, looking about the room for some enemy or another.
"Cas, are you okay? What happened?" Sam asked, also lowering his gun.
Castiel shook his head. "I was trying to prepare a meal for you. But something is wrong with the food it—it attacked me."
Dean and Sam exchanged a look, and then stared at Castiel in concerned confusion.
"It…attacked you?"
"Yes. Something's wrong. I think I may have been poisoned."
Dean's eyes fell on a small cutting board resting on the counter beside the kitchen sink.
As he brought his hand to his forehead, the sound of Sam's laughter assured him his brother had also noted the freshly cut onions.
"Damn, Cas, way to give me a friggin' heart attack." Dean growled, but he was relieved.
"But I—"
"You're fine." Sam chuckled. "Trust us on this one."
Cas looked as though he was about to respond, but thought better of it and nodded. He straightened and wiped his eyes, as though the matter was finished, but he didn't take a step toward the onions, either.
"Wait a second." Dean stopped. "Why were you even cooking in the first place?"
Castiel shifted his weight on his feet uncomfortably. "You and Sam have done a great deal for me. It is customary to prepare a meal to show gratitude…isn't it?"
Dean and Sam shared a sideways glance. They knew how helpless Cas was now that all his Angel Juice was zapped, and more so they knew how helpless he felt. Cas didn't know the first thing about surviving as a human, and more importantly, he was their friend. They didn't have much choice other than to take care of them, though they hadn't realized how heavily that need weighed on him until this moment.
Sam dipped his head and slipped his gun down the back of his pants, and then bagan rolling up his sleeves. "Here, why don't we do this together?" He suggested.
Castiel's eyes shifted from Sam, to Dean, and back to Sam, almost nervously. "I don't want to make you do any more than you—"
"Shut up and let us help you." Dean said, humor dripping off his words. "It's been a long time since either of us has seen the business end of a meal anyway."
Cas smiled a little, in such a way that Dean detected thankfulness, but also a genuine spark of happiness that they were going to help him.
Despite his unadulterated hatred for the evil things, he went to work cutting up the rest of the onions in Castiel's place while Sam took a gander at the recipe.
For a split second, he thought he felt Castiel's gaze, gentle and warm, rest on him a moment longer, before flicking away.
Dean smiled despite himself.