Cas and Dean have a little time to chitchat.
Mostly because Michael doesn't seem to like associating with the angel.
But also because he's still refusing to eat.
After a several day trial period wherein they took turns visiting both Michael and Dean, bringing in chairs to sit on which they then took back out with them, it was decided that Michael's seating 'weapon of choice' would be a new permanent installation. So long as he proved he deserved it, of course.
And so far, over a week since, there had been no indication of aggression nor any reports of violence from any visitor, nor did Michael's chair show any signs of having been tampered with. So everyone was hopeful that the temperamental archangel was going to keep to his word and continue his time in the Room with aplomb and dignity.
Or, as much dignity as could be afforded him.
As it was, Cas'd liked the bean bags enough that when they'd finally respected Michael's wishes and removed them both from his quarters —so they would 'offend his eyes no longer'—, he'd relocated them to his room. And, though rather saddened by his heavenly relation's staunch rejection of them, Castiel was at least pleased to say the things weren't going to waste.
It also helped to know that the new chairs weren't going to waste either, Michael having been seen sitting in them quite a few times over the past week. Smug look on his face anytime he caught someone staring.
Looking forward to catching said smug look for himself, Cas had been sure to be stood before that Ma'lak door with lunch tray in hands earlier than Michael was used to. Hoping to catch the archangel unawares.
"Ready?" Asked a Sam standing just to one side, holding a necklace of enchanted keys and waiting for his signal to use them.
The angel nodded his readiness and Sam opened the metal port, offering a reassuring nod of his own as he did.
Then, with not a hint of misgivings, the angel slipped through the sparingly opened space. Eyes quick to find the figure who looked as if he might have just been pacing the perimeter of his Room, stopping on the far side only for the interruption of the lunchtime intrusion.
"Hello, Michael," Cas greeted, tone genial as the door was locked and barred behind him. "I have brought with me a meal favored by your-"
"Save your breath, Castiel," the archangel cut in, spitting the name as if it were as tasteless as an over-chewed piece of gum, "I grow weary of your incessant nagging."
"But... those were the first words we've exchanged in-"
"Yes, and it was far too soon for either of our liking, I'm sure," Michael said with an obvious terse overtone.
"I can come back later if you'd-"
"It is no matter," the prisoner said with a raise of one hand, "you are already here and my vessel requires nourishment. Good day."
Then Michael was gone and with no more warning than that, Dean was standing along the rear wall of the Room, expression ever so slightly lost until he picked out the visitor depositing a platter on the softest piece of his dining set.
How Sam's Apocalypse World 'crew' had found such a soft table, Cas still wasn't sure. Though, he had a feeling that 'table' wasn't part of the cushioned surface's original intended purpose. Though he was sure that the piece wasn't some strange, oversized ottoman. Seeing as Michael had only allowed that particular piece of furniture until a suitable replacement could be located.
Though, as Mary had pointed out to him, 'allowed' was an overly generous way of putting it.
"Hello, Dean," Cas restarted, more warmth in the greeting the second time. "I have brought you one of your favorite meals: a cheeseburger, hold nothing; an order of fries, ketchup on the side; and a chocolate milkshake, malted."
It took Dean a moment to respond, enraptured as he was by the sight before him, and when he did, his eyes were wide with wonder.
"But the nearest burger joint's-"
"I felt like a drive," Cas informed, small smile forming when he caught his friend's unconscious lick of the lips. Glad to see the man's appetite was right on time.
"Are those fries steaming?" Dean asked, squinting to better perceive the waft of heat against the low light of his recently 'installed' reading candles.
"Yes, but I can't keep it fresh any longer," Cas informed with a regretful nod. "The Room bars me from exerting my heavenly-"
"Say no more," Dean insisted as he took eager, unrestrained steps forward. Perhaps realizing that mid-meal was potentially the most unlikely time Michael might take back control. Perhaps simply forgetting, in his excitement, that he was not yet bound by enchanted iron.
Either way, Cas's smile widened at the sight as it allowed him to fool himself, just for a moment, that his best friend wasn't living a life trapped between two cages: his own body, and the Room he'd helped build to contain the second soul inhabiting it.
The way Dean plopped down into his chair and immediately started on his perfectly preserved burger... the angel could only watch and wish that the man looked that contented and passionate all the time.
Alas, such was an untenable dream when one lived their every waking hour in confinement.
"This is a damn good burger," the words that broke Cas from his somber reflections.
"You're nearly finished?" The food bearer asked with an incredulous blink.
"Like I said, damn good burger."
"Well, 'damn good'-ness aside, I don't think I've ever seen you eat anything that quickly," Cas observed. Brows raised in concern for the hunter's windpipe, if not stomach.
"You try going months without a decent artery clogger," Dean challenged, directly before going for another hearty mouthful.
"Fair point," Cas allowed. Brows lowering to more of an impressed position. Then resuming their previous perch when his friend didn't pause to swallow before attacking his milkshake.
Feeling that his friend was sufficiently distracted by his meal, Castiel sneaked his way to a silent sit in the visitor's chair across from him. Close enough that any sudden move would no doubt remind Dean that the angel was blissfully remiss in his duty as guard.
Thankfully, Dean finished off the burger and fries and slurped down every last creamy drop of his milkshake without even one look spared the angel smiling at him from the other side of the table.
Setting the waxed paper drink cup down with an appreciative sigh, the hunter leaned back in his chair and patted his middle.
"Now that was good eatin'."
"I'm glad you liked it," Cas said with just a hint of marvel.
"You kidding? After that 'Cobb salad' Sam tried to murder me with?"
"Ah. Yes," Cas said, suddenly fully understanding how Dean had managed to polish off his meal with such gusto. "I advised against that myself, but the argument that 'greens are good for you' won the popular vote in the end."
"Yeah, well don't let it go to a vote next time," the very satisfied hunter said as he arranged the evidence of his meal back onto the tray. Scraps of paper crumpled exactly the way he'd always left them.
"I'll do my best," Cas promised. "Though, I hold only about a thirty percent sway among the kitchen staff."
"Play dirty."
"You mean, sabotage the greens?"
"All's fair in Kitchen Wars," Dean said with a shrug, followed by a conspiratorial raise of one eyebrow.
"I've no intention of starting a war," Cas admonished, conspiratorial look springing to his face against his better judgement.
"All the best wars are fought with good intentions," said as the man with obvious designs to incite civil unrest pushed the food tray across to his new recruit. Still seeming not to notice the way that his hands weren't shackled together.
"I don't think that's how the saying goes," the angel offered after a thoughtful moment.
"Eh, tomaytoe; tomahtoe," Dean insisted with a shrug.
"In fact, I don't think that resembled any sayings regarding wars that I've ever heard. Nor good intentions, for that matter," Cas informed, pensiveness no doubt reaching his face.
"Still true," Dean said in a rather 'you're no fun' tone.
"Perhaps," came the rather unsure response.
"Sounds like you've been hangin' out with Sam too long," Dean said with a disappointed shake of his head.
"I should think that the presence of your mother would negate any 'wet blanket' influence your brother might have on me," the angel argued, enjoying the chuckle it won him.
"Good ol' Mom," Dean agreed easily. "She keepin' you two out of trouble?"
"I'm not sure what kind of trouble we could possibly find in the bunker," Cas pointed out, brow scrunched as he tried to think it through.
"Figure of speech, Cas. And there's plenty trouble to get up to around here. I'd know," the hunter who'd just filled up on a meal worthy of his large frame intoned. Eyebrows hiking in something resembling... knowledge.
At which, Cas gave a start and reached into his coat pocket. "Speaking of trouble, I almost forgot," he said as he retrieved a small paper box from within. Lifting it above the table with just a hint of dramatic flourish. "They also had rhubarb."
For a moment, it seemed that Dean was stunned speechless. Eyes stuck scouring the proffered paper shrouded pastry as if afraid it might be some sort of illusion.
The moment passed though and when the hunter turned wide eyes back to his angel's, it was without any indication of joking nor hint of artifice that he spoke the words that surprised a laugh from the soon-to-be culinary saboteur.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Dean," the angel reciprocated easily. A warm chuckle caught pleasantly somewhere deep in his chest as he passed the package over to hands that practically vibrated as the man who belonged to them forgot his own rule regarding being handed things.
Cas had to hide his smile when he felt the brush of familiar, though perhaps somewhat softer than they had been, callouses against the back of his hand. A moment before Dean was popping open the little package and giving the contents a reverent sniff. And only a moment before the sniff was cut short and far more critical eyes were set upon the delicacy. Then turned to bore into Cas's when the angel made an unconscious noise of realization.
"You spoil him, Castiel," the intruding archangel accused, expression as guarded as it was... searching.
"It's no more than he deserves," Cas found himself saying, tone far closer to defensive than he'd have thought. "And, were you amenable, I wouldn't mind explaining some of the reasons why-"
"Don't," Michael demanded, face suddenly all harsh lines with a voice to match. "Your flirtations with this simplistic, food motivated human do not concern me, milksop."
"Milksop?" Cas whispered to himself, unsure what he'd done to deserve such a strange designation.
"My vessel has eaten, so make haste," the archangel tacked on, not softening from his near bristling carriage one degree. "I grow weary of your pitying presence."
And before Castiel could attempt to reason with the embittered archangel, Michael had once again retreated from the Room and Dean was back to enjoying the apparently intoxicating aroma of his plant derived dessert. Oblivious of the conversation that had left his visitor feeling both rejected and vaguely threatened.
"Health freaks put up a fight over this?" Dean asked with another one of his conspiratorial expressions, even as he raised the sumptuous dessert out of the paper container and up to his eager lips.
"They don't know about it. It was in my pocket the entire time," Cas admitted feeling absolutely no guilt nor remorse for his secretive ways. "Besides, no matter what Sam says, I think you're still a little underweight. The extra calories will help you maintain your physique."
"I like the sound of that," said the man with nearly half a slice of rhubarb in his mouth. Somehow managing to sound barely less intelligible than usual.
"I hoped you might," the angel admitted as he pushed all other matters from his mind, doing his best to commit to memory the look of sheer bliss that overtook his best friend's face as a second bite was added to his mouthful.
When Dean noticed the angel's attentive gaze though, his carefree expression morphed to one of light self-consciousness.
"You want some?" The hunter with the overfull mouth asked. Tellingly not moving to bring the remainder of his pie closer to the guest seated on the other side of the table.
"Thank you, but I don't want to 'spoil my dinner', as your mother puts it." The look of utter relief at his declination made Cas's private smile all the fonder.
But, as his friend finished the last of his pie, Cas remembered the warning Michael had issued and so excused himself as quickly as he could. Saying something about Sam needing him on coordination for the day as he stood from his chair. Sure to hide the paper pie container back in his pocket before gathering up the food tray and wishing Dean a good afternoon.
Resisting the strong urge to retake his seat when the man he was leaving behind bade him an ever so slightly forlorn, "See ya 'round, Cas. Thanks for the food."
As the door made its unlocking noises, Cas turned back to the picture of a seemingly cheery lone hunter sitting at a table for two and somehow dredged up a genuine smile .
"It was my pleasure."
And the angel's smile solidified when a slight, candlelit blush proved that his best friend believed him.
Michael really doesn't understand the concept of 'manners', does he? Too bad poor Cas had to suffer through his bad mood! At least his visit was a good one otherwise!