Castiel glanced up, completely unsurprised to see the barely controlled loss of patience fighting it's way onto Dean's face. He knew, at any moment, the tense lines around his green eyes would give way and slacken in exasperation.

He preemptively pictured the hunter running a hand down his face and looked back down at the bit of steak on the end of his fork, feeling his stomach flip unpleasantly when he caught sight of a drop of meat juice as it rolled down the handle of the utensil and dripped onto the plate.

He swallowed reflexively, looking down at the already rather small portion of meat – the only thing on the plate – that he had cut the bit on his fork from, and tried not to think about how it had once been frolicking in a field and now a fraction of it's corpse sat, burnt, in a slab on his plate.

He felt the prickly tendrils of annoyance tickle his insides for the millionth time that week and struggled, again, to understand why so much about him had changed once he'd become human. He remembered, not fondly, how when they'd been trying to fight famine, he'd gladly shoved hamburgers into his mouth by the hundreds. Not to mention, when the hamburgers had run out and he'd been presented with a tray of raw beef, he'd devoured it like a starving hyena.

But with his newly human...situation, Cas was finding more and more things were not as they had seemed. Now when the beef touched the tip of his tongue the taste was bitter with faint undertones of something coppery; like blood. Castiel couldn't help but think that if he were to slice his arm open and lick inside it might taste the same way.

And with that visual image his fork slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly against the plate.

"Cas!" Dean groaned, his face going slack just like Castiel knew it would and then crumpling again in frustration before it was hidden away behind a large and calloused hand.

"I'm sorry." He muttered uselessly, wondering why he was finding such a chore in eating. Most humans enjoyed eating, to the point where they gorged themselves to death even without the influence of famine around to encourage them.

He sighed, pushing the plate away and crossing his arms on top of the table as Dean continued to rub at his face.

He had been a defective angel and now, apparently, he was a defective human as well.

"Really, though?" Dean suddenly asked, hooking a finger over the edge of the plate and pulling the pitiful morsel of food over to his side of the table. "It's literally cooked to perfection. I mean look!" He picked up the fork and pressed down on the slab of meat, forcing what was left of the animal's...juices to gush out onto the white porcelain.

Castiel swallowed the sudden rise of bile in his throat.

The hunter stabbed the little chunk of meat Cas had held in front of his mouth for the better part of ten minutes and held it out to him.

"Come on, Cas. Please. You gotta eat, man."

He felt guilt tugging at the space behind his ribs. For the last two weeks, Dean had been making an incredible effort to find the fallen angel things he might like to eat. Cooking everything to his famous burgers to chicken casidillas, hot dogs and pork chops, chilli and roast beef...but Castiel was never able to swallow more than a few bites before his stomach rebelled and he either threw up whatever he managed to eat or was left feeling nauseous for hours.

The evidence of his difficulty eating was starting to show, as Dean had so frequently started pointing out. But behind the elder hunter's light quips about needing to get him a belt to keep his borrowed jeans up or to 'get his skinny ass in gear' when they had research to do, Castiel could see the concern hidden there behind his lingering gaze.

Whenever he walked into the room, Dean's eyes, like those of a hawk, would zero in on the bit of his collar bone visible or would linger on his wrist when he reached to grab something, tracking the movement of delicate bones that were now starting to be visible just under his skin.

The hunk of cow being waved in front of his face brought his attention circling right back to his current problem.

"Just one bite, Cas." Dean pleaded, either not noticing the slight desperation in his voice or just not bothering to hide it.

Castiel shook his head but reached up to snag the fork anyway and shoved the food into his mouth before he had time to let his brain talk him out of it.

It tasted just as he knew it would, bland but bitter and with the always present overtone of warm copper. He managed to swallow it, though what he wanted to do was spit it right back onto the plate and shove away from the table.

Dean's face was a mixture of relief and disappointment – a strange combination – and he took the fork from Castiel's hand with a sigh, eyes falling to stare at the other man's hand and it was only then that the ex-angel realized he was gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles were white, skin pulled much too tight over the bones.

"I'm sorry." He said again, hoping it would at least do something to alleviate the defeated look on the hunter's face.

"It's ok, Cas." Despite the words, Dean didn't lift his gaze from the table but instead stood and took the plate away. When he reached the counter, and his back was to the ex-angel, he muttered. "I'll make you some soup."

Tomato soup. One corner of Castiel's mouth twisted down in displeasure but he kept his mouth shut. Tomato soup had been the only thing he'd been able to eat without wanting to gag with every mouthful and at first he'd really liked the taste, but after the tenth bowl in a week his desire to ever have it again had begun to wane.

Tentatively, he cleared his throat and quietly said, "It's fine, Dean, I'm not really hungry anyway."

The hunter spun around and jabbed a wooden spoon in his direction, a stern expression on his face. "You stay right there. I'm making you soup and you're going to eat it all."

"But-"

"This is not open for debate, Cas." Dean's voice rose slightly and he enunciated each of his next words forcefully. "You. Have. To. Eat."

He nodded quickly, dismayed that he seemed to have upset Dean even more and wishing that Sam were here to perhaps deflect some of his brother's attention off of him and his issues. Sadly, the younger Winchester had gone off on a hunt on the other side of the country and was not due back for another few days.

Which left him to bear the full brunt of Dean's concern for him.

He tugged at the hem of one of the shirt's Dean had given him to wear, noticing how thin his fingers had gotten and he sighed, knowing he'd eat every last drop of that soup both for his benefit and Dean's peace of mind; though he doubted that Dean was going to be placated for long, given the complete lack of nutritional value or calories in tomato soup.

"Here."

A bowl of the now all too familiar red soup was set before him, some of it sloshing over the side when Dean set it down a little too hard. He took the spoon from the other man's hand and jerked back when the hunter's index finger was suddenly in his face. "When I come back that bowl better been licked clean."

It sounded like an honest to god threat and Castiel blinked up at the man with wide eyes and gave a short nod, staring at his muscular back as he left the kitchen.

He made short work of the soup, even brought the rim of the bowl to his lips to tip the last few drops into his mouth so that Dean would have no reason to chastise him. Thankfully, once the bowl was empty, his stomach was full and warmth was spreading through him, chasing away the empty feeling of hunger that had been gnawing at his insides for most of the day.

He stood from the table but left the bowl sitting where it was, knowing well enough by now that Dean would want to see evidence that he'd eaten.

He left the kitchen, the soft sound of his bare feet on the floor the only noise that reached his ears as he walked. When he heard Dean's hushed tones nearby, he followed the sound of his voice to the large room at the base of the stairs leading up to the door of the bunker.

The man was sitting with his back to the hallway in which Cas stood, legs dangling over the edge of the table and his cell phone pressed to his ear.

"He won't eat anything." The hunter grumbled, though it was obvious that Dean was keeping his voice low on purpose. "I'm running out of ideas here, man, and he's practically wasting away before my eyes!...I am not overreacting. Hey, can you hear me?...Sam?"

Dean pulled the phone from his ear with a disgruntled sound and tossed it on to the table with a clatter, rubbing at his face, again, with one rough hand.

Castiel ducked back into the hallway before Dean could turn around and spot him. As he made his way back down the hall and past the kitchen, the warm feeling from finally having something in his stomach was already gone, replaced with something heavy and unpleasant, like there was a rock in his stomach instead of soup.

Dejectedly, he retreated to his room and curled himself into a ball under the blankets. It likely wasn't the most mature response he'd had to a situation, but he just felt like being cocooned away from the world then. To be alone to stew in his feelings of inadequacy for a little while.

His eyes felt heavy and, despite the tingle of guilt under his skin for being such a terrible human, his full stomach and the warmth of his own body heat trapped under the blankets easily pulled him down into the depths of sleep.

When he woke next his room was dark, Dean must have turned out the light, but he untangled himself from the mass of blankets and rolled out of bed without bothering to check what time it was.

He would, at some point, need to make an effort to adopt a normal sleep schedule, as he was sure wandering around the bunker at all hours of the night would eventually wear on Dean's nerves. For now though, he enjoyed the solitude of the dark. At last able to walk around freely without the weight of Dean's concerned gaze on his back.

When he passed through the round table room on his way to the living room, he noticed Sam's boots, caked in drying mud, sitting on the little mat at the bottom of the stairs and he smiled; just a slight pull at the corners of his lips in gratitude of Sam's safe return home.

He reached the living room and turned on the TV, using the remote just how Dean had shown him to navigate the menu and find something of at least mild interest to him. It was difficult this time of night, to find anything worth watching, but he eventually settled on a documentary about flamingos.

Before the TV show had even ended the sound of a door opening and closing softly from the general direction of the bedrooms alerted him to the fact that one of the brothers had already woken and, not for the first time, Castiel wished there were windows in the bunker so he could at least know if it was day or night. Though he supposed he could have just checked his alarm clock like a normal person.

The soft pad of footsteps could be heard across the floor, growing closer and closer to the living room until

"Cas?"

He sat up and threw a tentative smile over his shoulder. "Good morning, Sam." He frowned. "Is it morning?"

The other man huffed, long hair dishevelled from sleep. "Yeah. What are you doing up so early?"

He stood and reached his arms high over his head, smothering the groan that was fighting to punch out of his throat as his muscles stretched and loosened.

When he looked back at Sam, he noticed the smile had dropped from his face and his large brown eyes were raking up and down his body, mouth open slightly and eyes a little wider than they normally would be.

He folded his arms across his chest, feeling uncomfortable. "I fell asleep earlier." He offered by way of explanation, knowing full well that this was the first time Sam had seen him in a week and a half. Had he really lost that much weight in so little time? Did he look so different that it had shocked Sam?

The younger brother seemed to suddenly realize he'd yet to acknowledge his answer and blinked a few times, carefully schooling his features into something a little more friendly. "Right. Uh, I was gonna make some breakfast. You want some?"

Ice cascaded into his stomach. He felt like he'd just had to sit through this with Dean not too long ago. Was Sam going to be the same way? Was he now going to have to endure both men sitting across the table with a worried look while he tried to choke down food they'd cooked for him?

"N-no." He stuttered out too quickly, silently cursing when he tripped over the word. He tried again, forcing his voice to be calm. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

Deep creases had long since formed between Sam's eyebrows and his lips were pressed firmly together in the way that told the ex-angel that the taller man was already worried about him and his shoulders slumped a little in defeat.

"That's ok." Sam reassured, sounding falsely cheerful. "Why don't you just come to the kitchen with me and we can catch up."

He nodded and trailed after Sam, sitting quietly at the table while Sam puttered about the kitchen, pulling out utensils, bowls and a frying pan and setting it all up on the counter.

"Sorry I had to take off so soon after you got here." The young Winchester said suddenly, turning with a bowl in his hand and a spoon in the other, stirring the contents. "Luckily I finished the job up a few days early."

"It's alright, Sam. I am glad you came home safe." He said softly, the smell of butter melting in the pan on the stove tickling his nose. "What are you making?"

He mentally kicked himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Of all the topics of conversation he had to choose from, he'd gone with the one thing that would inevitably draw the conversation towards his inability to hold down food.

"Pancakes!" Was the bright reply. "You ever had 'em?"

He answered with a miserable shake of his head.

"Well I'm making a bunch, since Dean will eat enough for all of us. You should try one."

His nod was incredibly uncommitted but seemed enough to satisfy Sam and the man turned back to the stove, carefully measuring out the batter he'd been mixing into the frying pan.

Twenty minutes later and there was a pile of pancakes on a plate beside the stove and Dean was sitting across from him at the table with his just-woke-up scowl and his hair sticking up in every possible direction. A steaming cup of coffee was clutched tightly in one hand but he wasn't drinking it, instead his eyes were fixed on the table, green eyes glossed over with the fog of sleep that had not quite lifted from his brain.

Castiel had to admit, the sight was amusing.

When Sam slid a plate piled high with pancakes into the middle of the table, followed by a bottle of maple syrup, Castiel suddenly didn't feel so amused. He swallowed around the dry clench of his throat and hesitantly picked up his fork after Sam slid a single pancake onto his plate.

He didn't miss the look the brothers shared and glanced up to see that Dean's was a hundred percent awake and focused, his eyes shamelessly fixed on the ex-angel across the table.

"Oh, here." Sam said lightly, grabbing the bottle of syrup and drizzling some on to Cas' pancake. "Tastes way better this way."

The young Winchester smiled gently at him and then dug into his own generous stack of pancakes, shooting Dean a stern look until the elder hunter pulled a few cakes onto his own plate and stopped staring at Castiel so intensely.

With both pairs of eyes averted to their own food, Castiel felt some of the pressure ease off his chest and he cut a piece of the pancake away and jabbed it with the fork. Syrup dripped from the utensil and back on to his plate, but just knowing that it wasn't the life juices from a once living, breathing creation of his father's was enough to quiet the usual roll of his stomach when food was about to pass his lips.

His tongue darted out to tentatively swipe at the fluffy chunk of pancake and he was both shocked and delighted at the sugary sweet flavour on the tip of his tongue. This tasted nothing like what he'd had so far and, feeling a little more confident, he took the whole bite into his mouth.

It was fluffy and warm and so, so sweet. Like honey!

He smiled around the mouthful and cut another piece away, biting it off the end of his fork before he'd even swallowed the first mouthful.

He remembered this taste of sweetness. When he'd been lost in his head for all that time and spent so much of it in rolling fields of heather and lavender and wild flowers, following pudgy bees, burdened and slow with pollen, back to their hives. His first taste of honey comb had been exquisite.

He looked up with the fork halfway to his mouth and did a double take when he locked eyes with Dean across the table. The hunter was sitting, back ramrod straight, arms held out wide and incomprehension visible in every line of his body.

He glanced over at Sam and saw a rather self satisfied little smirk on his lips and then looked back to Dean, who had at least lowered his arms.

"What the hell? I spent like a week and a half cooking you everything under the sun. Sam comes home and mixes some flour and water together and you scarf it down like I've been starving you?"

It was obvious from the sound of his voice that Dean was making a solid effort not to start yelling; likely a product of the conversation he'd overheard the brothers having the day after he'd found his way back to the bunker, wherein Sam had sternly told Dean to get his temper tantrums under control when it came to Cas. The last thing the newly human man needed was to be yelled at for something he'd didn't even understand.

The conversation had come about after Cas had gone for a walk in the woods and come back with a raccoon, which he had already named and fed the last of Dean's fried chicken to. When the hunter had come back in from fiddling with his car the yelling that had followed had scared both the raccoon and Castiel, who rather thought the man was over reacting.

Either way, he had been forced to release the raccoon back into the woods and Dean had not yelled at him since but had instead taken the time to explain things to him that he otherwise would not have thought of as being a problem.

He assumed that was what Dean was doing now, though the volume of his voice had risen, he was not yelling. Yet.

"I'm sorry." He said, realizing those two words were the only thing he'd said to the other man in the last two days. "It's just..." he glanced over at Sam, who's smirk had softened into an encouraging smile, "...it reminds me of honey."

"Honey." Dean echoed. He looked to his brother next, either for explanation or help, Castiel wasn't sure.

He took another bite of his pancake, letting the silence hang between them until Sam suddenly broke it, talking through a mouthful.

"So what kinds of things did you make for Cas?" He asked, directing the question to his brother.

Dean looked affronted, as if his brother had just accused him of giving Castiel sub-par options to chose from and immediately launched in to a list of the things he'd made, ticking them off on his fingers as he went.

"Excuse you, I made hot dogs and hamburgers and chilli! Bacon and eggs and a freaking roast, even!"

Sam cleared his throat and swabbed the syrup on his plate with his last chunk of pancake. "So pretty much just meat."

It wasn't phrased as a question and Dean did not have an answer right away anyway. Castiel could plainly see him reflecting on all the things he'd cooked and it made the ex-angel feel terrible. He couldn't explain why his stomach churned with a chunk of beef in his mouth but he had no problem shovelling down Sam's sweet, fluffy pancakes.

"Did it ever occur to you," Sam continued, his tone light but with an undercurrent of annoyance and accusation, "that some people genuinely don't like the texture and taste of meat and animal products?" He swallowed his last bite of pancake and pushed his plate away roughly, hooking one arm over the back of his chair and fixing Dean with a piecing gaze. "Did it ever occur to you that Cas might be one of those people?"

At the proposal, Dean merely scoffed, as if he thought Sam were joking, but when his little brother's expression turned stoney, Dean tensed.

Castiel's head swivelled from one brother to the other, not liking how the air in the room seemed to grow more and more oppressive with every silent second that ticked by while the brothers continued their staring contest. The familiar feeling of his food rolling sickeningly in his stomach accompanied the sudden flare of nervousness.

He did not want to, once again, be the reason the brothers got into an argument...no matter how much Sam's words seemed to explain his inability to hold down most of what Dean had made over the last week and a half. He had not known that there were some people that did not like meat and his anxiety over the impending argument building in front of him clashed jarringly with his relief at knowing he wasn't a defective human.

Dean still had not said anything, but the effort was there – his mouth had opened and closed a few times – and he seemed unable to understand the concept Sam was putting forth.

Finally Sam just rolled his eyes and turned to face Castiel, who convulsively swallowed the last bit of his own pancake and stared back with wide eyes.

"Cas, despite what Dean may say, it's perfectly healthy and perfectly normal to be vegetarian." He silenced his brother with a look when a strangled noise escaped Dean's throat. "Thousands and thousands of people chose not to eat meat for lots of different reasons. So don't feel bad, ok? Everyone has preferences."

The knot in the pit of his stomach loosened and he grinned wide at the taller man, showing his teeth and licking a drop of syrup off his lip. Sam returned the smile, eyes dancing.

"I'll show you how to make some vegetarian meals, Cas." He said, pushing away from the table. "In fact, we'll go to the grocery today, since I know Dean won't have gone." He threw a look over his shoulder at his still silent brother and added in a mutter, "Even if he did he doesn't know where the produce section is."

Dean finally looked up at him and his lips pulled up in to a half smile. "Vegetarian, hey? Can't say I understand."

Castiel shrugged. Though he couldn't be sure, as he had yet to try any other foods, he felt confident that fruits and vegetables would be much more agreeable to his digestive system than dead animals. "I really am sorry, Dean -"

"Cas, man, you don't have to keep apologizing." The hunter interrupted. "I told you me and Sam were gonna help you through this. It's a learning process. I get that." His smile was easy. "I uh...I was starting to worry about you though." His expression turned stern. "Now we've got it figured out you gotta make sure you're eating right. You've already lost weight." His eyes flicked down to his wide necked shirt.

"I should have said something." He confessed, eyes darting around the kitchen. "But I was concerned that my reaction to the food was not normal and you already seemed so worried that I did not want to worry you further." He clamped his mouth shut around the flow of words, not sure why he was saying so much so fast.

But when Dean blinked at him but then smiled and shook his head fondly, something tight loosened in Castiel's chest.

"Cas, you can always come to me with stuff like that. Me and Sam are here to help you out with all this new human stuff."

Sam turned from where he'd been washing the plates in the sink, soap bubbles all the way up to his elbows. "Yeah Cas, don't ever feel like you can't talk to us."

A warm feeling was spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with his full stomach and he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his face. After the three of them chatted aimlessly over a cup of tea, Sam finally stood and told Cas to go get changed so that they could go to the grocery store.

To the shock of both Sam and Cas, Dean opted to come with them, claiming that maybe he could learn about 'vegetables and stuff' and had winked candidly at Cas, to which he responded with a very human blush as he ducked out the door after Sam, trying to ignore Dean's teasing cackled behind him.