Author's Notes: As much as I loooooove Supernatural, I never ever ever write in this fandom. That said, this is my very first attempt (outside of one 100-word drabble I wrote last year sometime, but that doesn't count), so be gentle. And please, kindly point out anything I got wrong so I can fix it in the future.

Welcome to television!

"Welcome to tonight's special edition of Chopped. I'm your host, Ted Allen. And our judges are…"

The camera panned to a table with three judges seated behind it, smiling. A handsome Hispanic man, a pretty brunette woman, and a third gentleman, older than the other two, but equally attractive. Pausing a moment on each judge's serious and yet smiling face, the camera zoomed back to give the audience another group shot.

"Aarón Sánchez, restaurateur and regular judge here on Chopped. Good evening, Aarón."

Again, the camera focused on his pleasant face. "Evening, Ted," the handsome, dark-eyed man replied, smiling. The viewers are treated to a brief glimpse of his heavily tattooed arms poking out of his shirtsleeves.

"A favorite here on the Food Network, Alex Guanaschelli," Ted announced to the crowd, the camera swiveling to the lady with the round cheeks and dazzling smile situated between the two men.

"Happy to be here again, Ted." Alex grinned at the television audience, the look conveying both fear and excitement.

"And lastly, our newest Iron Chef, Geoffrey Zakarian."

Geoffrey didn't speak, just nodded and frowned out at the cameras, giving the home viewers a look at his patented Iron Chef face.

"Our rules here are simple. Each chef will be presented with a basket of items of which all must be used in their final dish. At the end of each round, the chef with the least favorite dish will be chopped."

"Sammy," Dean growled, "what are we doing here?"

"I saw the casting call and couldn't pass it up. Everyday heroes, it said. If they only knew." Sam turned to his brother, smirking. "Oh, and we're also here to prove that you aren't the best at everything like you think you are."

"What the hell, Sam? I never said – "

"You don't have to. You – "

"Quiet, you idjits, they're looking this way," Bobby hissed.

"Cas man, help me out here," Dean begged, ignoring Bobby's warning.

Castiel tilted his head and looked at Dean. "Your brother has a point, Dean. You often do – "

"Et tu, Cas?"

"Shut your cake holes, they're looking at us." This time, they heeded Bobby's ire and shut their yaps.

"Tonight we have a group of everyday heroes in our Chopped kitchens. First, we have Bobby Singer. Bobby? Tell us about yourself."

Bobby glared at the greying man, taking notice of his well-tailored suit, grunting as he did so. Making a mental note to stay away from that one, he shrugged and looked at the host. "Not much to tell. I own a junk yard. I kill things and try and keep these three from getting killed. Not as easy as it might sound."

"Very uh, interesting," Ted stammered, moving on to the excessively tall one with all the hair. "Sam Winchester, what about you?"

Sam's face lit up with the smile that crossed it. "Well, Ted, since you asked, I'm Sam Winchester, second son of John Winchester. Although I had applied to law school, once this bozo here next to me showed up, all of that kind of went to hell in a hand basket. Since then, I've been traipsing across the country with my brother and assorted companions trying to keep the world safe from the King of Hell and various other denizens of the night. We're mostly successful."

"Gimme a break," Dean muttered, giving Sammy serious side-eye. "Kiss ass."

"Er, okay. And next we have Dean Winchester, whom I am guessing is Sam's brother. Am I correct?"

"That you are, Teddy my boy," Dean said, green eyes making love to the camera. "My life is simple. I save people, hunt things, you know – the family business." He turned his Disney princess face to the camera, instilling fits of the vapors in women throughout the country as he did so.

"The family… business," Ted repeated, wary. "Right. And lastly, we have Castiel. Castiel, do you have a last name?"

Cas looked at the man, studying his face intently before answering. "No, I do not have a last name. As for my occupation, I am an angel of the Lord. Also, I am the one who raised Dean from Perdition."

"His claim to fame, apparently," Dean mumbled, aggravated with the entire situation.

Ted had no response to that. "So, chefs – ," he began, before being interrupted.

"Hunters," Dean corrected. "And an angel."

"Hunters," Ted repeated, confused, "and angel, prepare to begin cooking. This first round is an appetizer round and you have fifteen minutes. Please open your baskets."

Appetizer round.

"What the hell," Dean grumbled, pulling what looked like an overly large pear out of the basket.

"You're kidding me," Bobby exclaimed, looking inside. Retrieving his flask from his hidden pocket, he took a swig.

"Ooh," Sam cooed. "Chayote, tortillas, canned duck meat and… what's that?"

"That, Sam, is tamarind paste. Chefs, your time starts now."

Sam's eyes lit up, the possibilities flitting through his cavernous skull. "I've got it," he exclaimed, shooting off towards the pantry for a few extra, essential items.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" Dean turned the chayote over in his hands, wondering why he couldn't get beef and cheese and a bun to work with. He made a killer burger.

"Do like I am," Bobby said, tipping up his flask again. "Screw 'em."

Castiel stood, back erect, eyes closed.

"Cas, you in there, man? You'd better get chopping." Dean laughed at his own joke while hacking at the green fruit – or was it a vegetable? He had no clue.

Opening his eyes, he trained them on Dean, the heat of his stare burning into his companion. "I was communing with the angels to see if there were any suggestions."

"Cas, that's cheating," Dean scolded. "But I like how you think, buddy."

"And that's time," Ted called happily into the kitchen area several minutes later.

"Damnit," Dean shouted, throwing his towel to the table. "Well, I don't think it'll kill anyone."

He glanced around him, checking out his competition. Bobby had nothing before him, unless you counted his now empty flask. Sam's plate was… well, amazing. He'd fried the tortillas, topped them with the duck meat-like stuff, added what looked like a sour cream based topping and garnished with that funky ass green thing and the dark, pasty junk. Dean had to admit, he was impressed. Smirking, he looked to his other side and expected to see a mess on Castiel's station. Instead, there was a bowl full of something he wasn't sure he could identify, but the smell coming from it was heavenly. No pun intended.

Shaking his head, Dean figured he was safe for this round as Bobby hadn't produced anything besides a hangover in the making.

"Bobby Singer, bring your dish to the judges," Ted Allen stated seriously.

"I ain't got nuthin', ya idjit. Can't ya see that?" Bobby made a cuckoo motion near his temple.

"Ah, yes, I do see that your plate is empty," he said. "Sam Winchester, that brings us to you."

Sam brings the plate forward, describing the dish to the judges using flowery wording and long names for things. Dean rarely wondered what happened to his little brother while he was away at Stanford, but this was a surprise. When did he even learn how to cook real food?

The judges oohed and ahhed over Sammy's creation, sending him back into line with a grin plastered firmly across his mouth. "I've got this one in the bag," he bragged, passing by Dean's station.

Dean frowned down at his own plate as he was called to the judge's table. "I think it's edible," he offered.

"Well, it's chewy," Aarón said, grinding his back teeth against well, whatever it was Dean put into his dish.

"Chewy's good," Dean added. "Some of my favorite things are chewy. Jerky. Gum…" Sam's snort distracted him from his list of food items.

"Thank you, Dean," Ted Allen said, waving him back to his station. "And lastly, Castiel uh… Castiel."

"I am certain you will find my offering to be more than sufficient," Castiel said.

"I'm sure we… will?" Alex looked to her male companions for support and found none forthcoming. Hesitantly, she dipped her spoon into the soup-like concoction in the bowl before her. Tasting, her eyes widened in surprise. "This is…"

"…amazing," Geoffrey finished for her. "Simply amazing, Castiel. There's something in here that I can't identify, however."

"Pulverized angel feather," he supplied.

"Wait a minute," Dean interjected. "You can only use things from the pantry and last I checked the trunk of the Impala was not in the pantry!"

Castiel tilted his head to the side, studying the elder Winchester. "Dean, are you forgetting that I'm an angel of the Lord and I have my own feathers. I walked to the pantry making them in the pantry for my use."

"Whatever you added to this soup," Aarón interrupted the building argument, "it makes all the difference in this soup. Salty, sweet, slightly acidic, perfectly balanced."

"I couldn't agree more," Geoffrey added, taking another spoonful and sipping thoughtfully.

Alex simply continued to eat.

Ted Allen looked from judge to judge to judge before announcing, "I think it's obvious but just the same, Bobby Singer, you've been chopped."

"Took ya long enough," Bobby spat, exiting in a hurry.

Entrée round.

"In your baskets you will find the following: candied ginger, basil, grape jelly and geouck. You have thirty minutes starting… now!"

"What the fuck is a gooey –" Dean reached into his basket and removed a very large, beige looking piece of… something. Looking at Sam, he said, "How the hell am I supposed to cook this thing that looks like a giant clam penis, Sammy?"

That annoying, self-satisfied 'I-told-you-so' smirk crossed Sam's face then, pissing Dean off more than he ever imagined a simple facial expression could. "I guess you'll just have to figure it out, won't you, Dean? Let's see if you make fun of me for reading so much now."

Castiel pretended to ignore the fighting Winchester brothers. After all, at this point in their relationship, it was more awkward for them to not be fighting than it ever was when they were. Focusing his attention on the basket in front of him, he began to prepare an entrée the likes of which had never been seen.

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean said, lifting the geoduck by its clamshell. "I never make fun of you for reading so much. I make fun of you because you're always so damn sure you have the right answer."

"He has a valid point, Sam," Cas interjected, never looking up from the pan in front of him. "You are awfully sure of your intellect most days."

Sam glared at Castiel, still unable to figure out how the hell his silly soup had beaten out his perfection of an appetizer. "Cas, no one asked you. And Dean, you just don't know how to lose gracefully so you insult me to make yourself feel better."

"Oh, so I don't know how to lose gracefully, huh?" Dean shook the malformed looking clam and shook it in his brother's direction. "I think I took the humiliating loss of round one rather well, don't you?"

"Only because Sam lost and I won," Castiel offered up.

"Shut up, Cas!" Dean turned back to his brother. "What he said isn't true."

"Hmph," Sam snorted the sarcasm plain in his wordless retort.

Fingers crushing against the geoduck's clamshell, Dean lifted it, fist moving behind his head before releasing forward, smashing the rather phallic-looking shellfish against his younger brother's head. "How's that for being a sore loser, Sammy!"

Dean threw the mangled piece of meat down onto his station and stomped off to find Bobby, praying he'd found a way to refill that flask of his.

"You do know that I wasn't being honest with you, right Sam?" Castiel glanced up at the clock, noting the time, before putting the finishing touches on his geoduck entrée for the judges. "I was participating in what's known sometimes as a psychological experiment."

"The hell, Cas. Why would you do something like that?" Sam shook his head, desperately trying to focus on his dish so that he could present it to the judges.

"Why wouldn't I, Sam? You were already engaging in a mind game with your brother, trying to prove yourself superior in an area neither of you actually excel at. It's evident I am the best cook in the group."

"Oooooh," Sam breathed. "No way. Cas, no way in hell are you a better cook than I am."

A slight smile creased the angel's face, a heavenly light burning behind those blue eyes. "I suppose we will have to let the judges decide that matter for us, won't we?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, shooting imaginary daggers at the fallen angel beside him. "I suppose we shall."

"It seems that Dean Winchester has dropped out of the competition," Ted announced to the judges. "He has been spotted in the stew room with Bobby Singer sharing a bottle of scotch. That ought to make the judges' decision a little easier here in the entrée round."

"Sam," Aarón began, taking another bite from the plate in front of him, "I wasn't sure you could improve on the appetizer you served in the first round, but clearly, I was wrong. This is delicious and I think I might eat it all."

Grinning, Sam gave a short bow. "Thank you, Chef Sánchez."

"I have to disagree with you, Aarón," Alex said, moving her fork around the plate. "I think it could have used a touch of salt."

"Or even a little heat," Geoffrey added, wiping his mouth. "It is a little one-dimensional for my tastes."

The smile fell from Sam's face, but he remained calm. "I respect your opinions, chefs."

"Castiel," Geoffrey started this time, "I've never had geoduck prepared quite like this before. It's quite tasty."

Cas gave a slight tip of his head in response. "Thank you, Geoffrey, I am pleased you are enjoying it."

Aarón watched Alex shovel another forkful into her mouth, amused. "I agree with Geoffrey. The way you incorporated the grape jelly was inspired. A touch of sweet with a little heat and it's perfect."

Again, Castiel acknowledged the judge's praise, giving a sideways glance to Sam's face. The usually handsome, welcoming countenance was slowly morphing into something more likely to be seen on the face of the King of Hell, not on a Winchester. Cas wasn't concerned, however. He knew Sam would appreciate the little lesson in humility later. Much, much later.

"Mmph," Alex agreed, lifting her fork in agreement.

"I think that, once again, our winner is clear. Sam Winchester, since your brother voluntarily chopped himself, this means that you, too, are chopped." Ted Allen looked around at the judges, each forking food into their mouths rapidly before venturing the question forming in everyone's minds. "Does this mean we don't have to do a dessert round?"

"Fine," Sam said, slamming one large ham hock of a fist onto the table before him. "Cas, you win. Are you happy now? You beat me and I concede that you, an angel of the Lord, are a better cook than I am. This damn show is rigged."

Castiel kept the grin threatening to break forth under control until Sam had stomped off in search of his brother and Bobby. When he was certain he was gone, the set surrounding them slowly disappeared, piece by piece. A stove here, a judge there. Turning, he saw Geoffrey Zakarian smirking at him.

"You can drop the façade now, Gabriel."

Geoffrey's figure shimmered and resolved itself into that of Gabriel's human vessel. Pulling a sucker out of a pocket, he calmly unwrapped it and shoved it into his mouth. "You're no fun, Castiel," he managed around the candy.

"We've had our fun and for that, I thank you."

"Do you think it helped?" He removed the lollypop from his mouth and used it to point in the direction Sam had exited.

"One can hope, Gabriel," he said. "But I doubt it will really change anything between them. The brothers are too hard on each other, and themselves. I was hoping that showing them they both were fallible would help but I might have been in error."

Gabriel cackled. "Oh, Cas, you are a soft-hearted bastard, aren't you?" He shook his head before disappearing into the ether. "You'll never learn."

"I am not a bastard," he shouted into the empty warehouse. "I was not birthed like a human!"

Laughter filled the warehouse, surrounding Castiel in his brother's mirth. Silently vowing to pay Gabriel back for the insult, Cas exited the warehouse and discovered the Impala wasn't where he'd expected it to be.

"Dean? Sam? Guys?" He looked up and down the deserted street but found nothing. A hint of a smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. "Well played, Winchesters," he said to no one. "It seems I was wrong yet again – you appear to have learned something from this little charade after all."

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, Castiel began walking.