Bobby hadn't truly grasped the intensity of John's description – "eyes like every blue you've ever seen" – until he witnessed it himself. It wasn't just blue; it was electric, like the air crackling before a lightning strike. The boy, Not-Castiel, had stood there, seemingly normal, and then… boom. Those eyes ignited, an otherworldly glow that sent shivers down Bobby’s spine.
Then, the boy was gone, replaced by… something else. Taller, somehow, the presence heavier. “Hello,” the voice rumbled, deep and resonant, a stark contrast to the softer tones of Not-Castiel.
“Who was that?” Bobby asked, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband.
The being turned, face blank, eyes now a normal, albeit intense, blue. “My vessel, James Novak,” he stated.
“You’re possessing some poor son of a bitch!” Bobby’s gun was cocked and ready.
“With his permission,” the being, Castiel, replied, a slight nod confirming his claim.
“You aren’t a demon, but you need a body,” John observed, his gaze sharp. “What are you?”
Castiel shifted, taking on a defensive posture. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why are you here?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Bobby’s frustration mounted. “Well, what can you tell us?!” He stepped closer, gun raised.
“I mean you no harm.”
“I figured as much,” Bobby retorted dryly.
“That gun can’t hurt me.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Bobby snapped.
“Bobby!” John intervened, holding up a hand. He lowered Bobby’s gun, a silent command passing between them. He turned back to Castiel. “Like he asked, what can you tell us?”
Castiel gestured towards the discarded groceries. “I’ve bought eggs, bacon, and pancake mix. My vessel, James Novak, has graciously agreed to cook.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “This… vessel of yours, he an Alpha?”
“Yes,” Castiel replied simply.
“Huh.” John scratched his beard. “Get out.” He pointed towards the door. “I want you gone, and I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Bobby braced himself for a confrontation, expecting Castiel to resist. Instead, the being simply nodded. “Very well,” he said, and then… he was gone. Just like that. Vanished.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. Bobby exchanged a look with John, both of them trying to make sense of what they’d just witnessed. A creature? Possessing a teenage Alpha? Cooking breakfast? It was all so bizarre.
Life, as it often did with the Winchesters, returned to its own brand of chaos soon enough. After the “glowing, magical teenager incident,” as Dean had dubbed it, John had stayed close for a while, his protectiveness towards his sons heightened. But the life of a hunter called, and eventually, he’d caught wind of a case and roared off in the Impala, leaving Dean and Sam in a dingy motel room with twenty bucks to their name.
Life with John Winchester was a whirlwind of motel rooms, questionable food choices, and the constant threat of something monstrous lurking just around the corner. Dean was used to it. He’d learned to scavenge for scraps when his dad was away, to stretch twenty bucks further than anyone thought possible, and to accept soggy cereal as a breakfast staple.
So, when John took off after a lead, leaving Dean with Sam and the usual meager funds, Dean didn't bat an eye.
But then, things started to get… weird.
The first morning Dean had stumbled to thr nearby gas station, expecting the usual stale coffee and maybe a leftover Pop-Tart if he was lucky. But when he came came back, he found a plate of waffles, golden brown and glistening with syrup, alongside a bowl of fresh blueberries. He’d eyed it suspiciously, checking the salt lines just to be sure, but hunger won out.
It happened again the next day. And the day after that. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner – hot, freshly cooked meals materialized as if by magic. BLT sandwiches appeared at noon, perfectly assembled. Hamburger Helper, a childhood favorite, filled their plates in the evenings. Dean nearly lost it when he found tea cakes one night, a dessert his mom used to make.
Suddenly, they had more food than they knew what to do with. The twenty dollars in Dean’s pocket felt like a lead weight, utterly useless. He knew, deep down, that this wasn’t normal.This was something supernatural.
Dean’s mind kept circling back to the “glowing, magical teenager incident.” His dad had said Castiel had simply disappeared, but Dean wasn’t convinced. He had a gut feeling that this mysterious food delivery service was connected to the whatever it was, that had inhabited that strange kid. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew. He just knew. He needed to figure out what was going on, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy.
Dean wasn't stupid. He knew something was up. The magically appearing meals were too consistent, too perfect. Soggy cereal and questionable gas station snacks were Dean's reality, not gourmet breakfasts and home-cooked dinners. He'd initially enjoyed the unexpected culinary windfall, but the nagging feeling in his gut wouldn't go away. It had to be connected to Castiel, the weird kid with the glowing eyes who had vanished as quickly as he'd appeared.
So, Dean decided to test his theory. He left Sam engrossed in cartoons back at the motel room and headed out to a nearby park, finding a secluded bench. He looked up at the overcast February sky, the air biting cold. "Um, Castiel," he began, feeling a little ridiculous talking to thin air. "Sammy needs a, uh, new coat. So if you could manage that, that'd be great."
He half-expected nothing to happen. Maybe a stray dog would wander by, or a gust of wind would rustle the bare branches of a nearby tree. But then, a sudden rush of cold air swept over him, raising goosebumps on his arms. He turned to see Castiel sitting beside him, as if he'd been there all along.
He was wearing the same long tan coat and denim jeans Dean had seen him in before.
Castiel didn't say a word. He simply held out a paper bag. Dean took it, his heart pounding a little faster.
He peered inside. Two puffer jackets. One Sam's size, one Dean's. He looked up to thank him, or maybe ask a few questions, but Castiel was gone. Just like that. Poof.
Dean stared at the bag in his hands, a mix of awe and unease swirling within him. He had his answer. Castiel was behind the food. But why? What was his angle? Dean knew creatures like him weren't exactly known for their altruism. There had to be more to it.
