I know, I know, bacon is not to be insulted, but I already established that Cas doesn't like salty food and bacon is like 90% salt and I am a stickler for continuity OK?!
This chapter is blatant filler and maaaaaybe the next one is too but I'm uploading quicker than all the fics I'm currently following so I don't really feel that bad tbh.
Is anyone else reeling with shocked hope and trying to cling to cynical safety after 11x19?! I can't fathom what purpose that ep served except to say 'look, we are capable of writing a queer character and relationship without sacrificing manliness, toughness, badassery, angst, the hunting thing or the obsessive brother thing... or plaid'. Oh, and to really drive home that Dean's attitude towards Cas at this point is cliched pining. Interesting. I want to scream and laugh hysterically every time I think about it. Where is this shit going? OH MY CHUCK I CANNOT HANDLE THIS

Dean is gone by the time I return to the kitchen but Sam is in there, rummaging in the fridge. I swallow down my disappointment, irritated with myself. I should be glad to see Sam, especially as he almost died. I watch him from the doorway for a moment, wondering uneasily if he's annoyed with me for asking him personal questions about Dean. Sam is kind, though, and has always treated me with understanding and patience.

As I watch him, he seems to sense my presence. He stiffens, straightens up and turns to face me. I step back, startled. It's not Sam. I know that instantly, even with limited human senses.

"Castiel," says Ezekiel guardedly, his eyes cold. I tilt my head at him, troubled. He just feels so wrong, so different, but perhaps we all do after the fall. I take another step towards him, determined to start trying to fix this mess.

"Ezekiel. I'm glad to see you. I have been meaning to speak with you." He only tilts his head at me, waiting for me to continue, so I take a deep breath and do so. "What happened to you, brother? I know I'm to blame for a lot of things, but we used to be friends. Can you not find it within yourself to treat me as such?"

Ezekiel gives me long, blank look before he replies. "We may have been friends once. But that time is gone now, and I have to think of my own safety in this new era. I understand you doing the same, but do not expect me to look past the fact that your presence here could be the downfall of us both, as well as the two other humans."

I give a little start as I realise that in this statement he is referring to me as human. I forgot for a moment, thinking that in speaking to Ezekiel I was speaking to my kin, that we understood each other as fellow angels. But those days are gone, and apparently so is the Ezekiel I knew and admired in centuries past. A wave of sadness washes over me as Ezekiel turns away in silence and I watch the strong, broad back relax as Sam resumes control of his body. He hums in consideration, pulling out a box of eggs and a pack of bacon. Turning, he jumps a little to find me standing a few feet behind him, staring up at his face.

"Shit, Cas! How'd you sneak up so fast? Your wings haven't grown back, have they?"

Laughter thrums in his voice as he says the last words but his smile fades as he takes in my glum expression. He shifts uncomfortably on the spot.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to be insensitive. You OK?" His eyes suddenly widen in alarm. "Wait. Did you go ask Dean that question from earlier?"

I shake my head hastily. "No, and I was wrong to approach you about it. I hope that it hasn't affected our friendship at all. I didn't really mean to say anything to you on the subject. My impulse control is quite terrible nowadays."

Sam grins and claps me on the shoulder as he moves towards the stove top. "Nah, don't feel bad. I actually think it's great that you're finally addressing it, I just don't think that I should get involved."

I frown. "Finally? What does that-"

"Oh-ho, is someone gonna be cooking something?"

I swing around as Dean enters the kitchen, his eyes lit up with interest as he watches Sam heat oil in a pan. He throws me an easy smile as he moves past but his eyes flicker away very quickly and I wonder if, like me, he's still thinking about earlier on. My mind keeps replaying the image of Dean kneeling before me and it tugs low in my stomach every time, the picture refusing to leave me alone. Now that he's in front of me I can't keep my eyes off of him.

"Cas still hasn't tried bacon," Sam is telling his brother. I focus on the conversation with difficulty. Dean makes a jokingly shocked noise and makes some hyperbolic remark about sacrilege, at which I roll my eyes. Sam continues. "Besides, I said yesterday that we'd do a cooked breakfast today. Although it's gone ten, so I guess it's brunch instead. Think you could heat up some beans? And maybe do some mushrooms... you know, the garlic ones you put on burgers?"

Dean nods and I watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, wielding saucepans and utensils as casually as he does weapons. I sit back on the edge of the table, not really thinking about anything, just enjoying all three of us being together. The encounter with Ezekiel is shoved firmly into the back of my mind, as is the obvious and unsettling knowledge that it's actually four of us. Dean starts chopping mushrooms and I walk across to the counter to stand beside him, close by his elbow.

"May I help?" I ask softly. Dean doesn't look at me but pauses what he's doing, eyes flicking sideways. He nods, laying down the knife and walking quickly away. I sigh and begin to slice the mushrooms thinly, being careful and slow with my movements. My mind wanders as I work and I think about the odd, cryptic instructions Dean gave me about not going 'off the rails', which I'm fairly sure is an expression and not actually to do with trains. He seemed worried that I would not cope with being human. He told me that he would help me. But if he's so concerned and eager to support my wellbeing, why is he avoiding me now? I finish chopping the mushrooms and stare blankly at them. It seems that being human does not provide one with a complete, or even halfway complete, understanding of human behaviour.

A delicious combination of scents hits my nose at that very moment and I'm immediately distracted, looking up to locate its source. Dean is stirring a pot on the stove, chuckling as Sam says something about Kevin. Sam himself is tending to eggs and bacon, which are cooking in a pan in front of him. I pick up the board full of sliced mushroom and drift towards them, the smell filling my nostrils and making me salivate in a way which annoys me, but the message from my body is clear: I want to eat whatever it is that's emitting that aroma.

Dean glances around Sam's back at me and he raises his eyebrows, amused. "You OK there, man? You look kinda dreamy."

Sam snorts and Dean snaps his mouth shut, scowling and turning abruptly back to the stove. "Not what I meant, douchebag."

Sam shakes his head, grinning as he flips the bacon. "Sure, sure."

I'm confused but I decide to ignore the parts of the exchange that I don't understand, as has been my strategy since meeting the Winchesters. I hand the chopping board to Sam and he scrapes the contents into the waiting pot in front of Dean, who's already placed a range of ingredients into it. I reply belatedly to Dean's question as I watch him stir the mushrooms around.

"I'm fine, Dean. I wasn't dreaming. I was wondering what that smell is. The very appealing one."

"Well, I don't know," Sam replies, but the mirth in his voice is obvious and I prepare myself for more humourous commentary that I won't comprehend. "Dean, anything in here that you find appealing?"

"Sure as hell ain't your smartass self," Dean snaps, eyes fixed on the bubbling pot of beans at the back of the stovetop. Sam sniggers and turns to me.

"The smell is probably the bacon," Sam explains. "It tastes pretty great too. Oh look! You're not the only one who's noticed. Hey, Kevin. How was your trip?"

I turn to see the young prophet hovering in the doorway, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. He flashes the ghost of a smile at Sam, shrugging. "It was alright. Good to get away. Glad to be back right now, though. I'm starving."

Sam asks me to grab some plates and cutlery so I do so, laying them neatly on the table like I've seen it done in restaurants. Kevin pours himself a glass of juice and sits down heavily in a chair, peering up at me as he takes a sip.

"So, Castiel. I see you got a clean shirt."

I nod, smiling as I sit down too. "Dean and Sam took me shopping yesterday."

"Cool," he says disinterestedly. I stare at him and wonder why people make statements or ask questions when they have zero interest in the response. It's an odd human trait. Sam and Dean serve out the finished food to everyone and lay the empty pots and pans in the sink before sitting down to eat. I pick up my knife and fork and carefully spear a piece of mushroom. I smile as I chew it, not surprised that it tastes amazing. Dean cooked it, after all.

Next I try bacon, but to my dismay I find it too salty to really enjoy. It smelled better than it tastes, to me at least. Sam and Dean both look flabbergasted when I relay this to them, although Dean appears mollified when I mention that I much preferred the mushrooms. I enjoy the egg and beans well enough and before long, all four of us at the table have cleared our plates and are leaning back with contented sighs. I thank Sam and Dean for the meal and Kevin murmurs agreement before taking his plate to the sink and beginning to wash it. I stare at Dean, who is ensconced in a lazy debate with Sam about how best to cook eggs. He's leaning forward on folded arms, sleeves rolled up and plate pushed away in front of him. He looks relaxed and soft-edged, nothing like the grim and harrowed man I've often stood beside in a fight or battled against in an argument.

Dean's eyes meet mine and he smiles at me before pushing back from the table and grabbing both his and Sam's plates and cutlery, giving one last parting statement about yolks being an integral part of the egg experience. Sam snorts as he too stands, telling me to join him in the library later so that we can start researching the after effects of Metatron's spell.

I agree, hiding my feelings of dismay and guilt. I've been so selfishly, obsessively focused on my new human emotions - mostly how they pertain to Dean - that I actually almost forgot about all of my brothers and sisters, stumbling around out there in this harsh world. I have a duty to help them, not to just sit in the bunker and mope over the same man who's been occupying my thoughts since I met him. But then again, it's not just Dean that's had me distracted from the bigger picture. Becoming human has been a whirlwind for me; surely I'm entitled to taking a few days to recover? Surely that's not so bad of me.

Leaving the table, I sigh as I carry my plate to the sink and wait for Dean to finish washing his own. I talk so much more inside my own head now that I'm human, a buzz of constant internal dialogue, observing and pondering and debating and apparently, reassuring myself that I'm always in the right. No wonder humans are often so morally unsure. They seem to have an innate need to emotionally manipulate themselves, as well as those around them.

Dean takes my plate and cutlery out of my hands and I jump, having been lost in thought. He smirks at me, raising one eyebrow, and I smile back apologetically, although the expression turns grateful as he proceeds to wash my dish for me.

"Thank you."

Dean places the cleaned items on the draining board rack and turns back to me, wiping his hands on his jeans. He winks and my stomach flutters.

"No problem, Dreamy."

With the kind of grin that always stopped me in my tracks even when we first met and I was supposedly immune to human charms, Dean sweeps past me and leaves the room. I stand stupidly for a minute or so, wondering at all the mysterious physical reactions Dean is able to trigger in me now, just by doing something as simple as smiling. One thing has never been clearer.

Dean Winchester is a dangerous man.