Author's note: This fic is set in that wonderful universe of mine where Sam is nowhere to be seen and human!Cas is following Dean in his life of monster hunting and angsting but also fluff. The chapters are mostly unrelated and they each feature a different food from a prompt table. So yeah, mindless Dean/Cas fluff ahoy.

"Dean", says Castiel's voice from some point above him.

Dean's eyes slowly blink open and he struggles to get himself into a sitting position, flailing over the three pillows that Cas insisted on putting under his head last night. "Is it morning already?" he asks, his voice still scratchy.

"Yes," Castiel says. "How are you feeling?"

The answer is that Dean feels like crap. "Fine," he says instead, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Castiel sits down on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight. "You don't look fine at all," he says, frowning. (Sometimes it bothers Dean, how good Castiel is getting at reading humans, but then again today Dean probably looks just as bad as he feels, sore and feverish and still shivering. He's getting too old to spend hours buried under a snowdrift in a frozen wasteland. Damn Bigfoots.) "You should rest," Cas says. "I brought you breakfast."

Dean looks at the greasy bag in Castiel's hands. It smells like sugary heaven, and Dean hasn't eaten in what feels like ages. When Castiel takes out a box of donuts, Dean feels as if he's witnessing a small miracle. He feels as if Castiel should glow with angelic grace, irradiating the small motel with magic and light and sparkles, but mostly donuts. Dean loves donuts

"Thanks," Dean says, taking a large paper cup from Castiel's hands. It's warm and feels wonderful against his skin. Coffee is just what he needs. However, when he takes a sip he almost gags.

"Dean, are you all right?" Castiel says, his voice dripping with concern as he leans forward to pat him on the back.

The coffee is thick, too sweet and chocolatey. Dean holds it at arm's length and peers suspiciously at it. "What's wrong with this coffee?" he says.

Castiel's face falls a bit. "It's not coffee, it's hot chocolate," he replies. "The girl in the coffee shop said that they were doing a promotion for Valentine's Day. She said it was delicious. Is it not delicious?"

He's got that look in his eyes, like he's afraid that he screwed up again. Dean can't stand to have Castiel looking like this, forever double-guessing himself, even though he's more than proved that he can fend for himself in the past few months. It was Cas that got him out of that snowdrift in the first place, damn it, he carried him back and nursed him like a (trenchcoat-wearing, rather scruffy) mother hen and brought him donuts in bed, and somehow he's still acting as if it's not enough, it's never enough, and it's never enough because he doesn't have the angel powers to heal Dean in a split second, even though it's not his fault and there's nothing he can do about it, even though the donuts alone are more than enough, and Dean doesn't know how to get him to understand.

Dean takes another sip. Now that he's not expecting coffee, the hot chocolate is actually good. Still a bit too sweet for his tastes, but it's not bad and it warms him up from the inside. "It is delicious," he says, and that gets him a smile from Castiel.

"I'm glad," Castiel says, handing him a donut. Dean eats it in three bites, getting chocolate glaze and sprinkles all over his fingers, and watches Castiel drink his own cup of hot chocolate in one long gulp. It leaves a thick brown mustache on his upper lip. "I was afraid that..."

"Cas," Dean cuts him off, "it's perfect."

It's almost worth getting buried under that snowdrift, just to see Castiel beaming like that at his words.