One-shot. Enjoy!

''Everything used to be so very black and white. The world was halved by the evil and the righteousness. The wrong and the good. Those who would prevent devastation and those who would cause it. But it seems…''Castiel grimaced and stopped mid-sentence, his eyes averted from Dean's humorous glance, ''It seems I have made a mistake again, haven't I?''

The angel lifted the monstrosity from the toaster. A snort answered his question, and Dean raised the black charcoal piece of toast from his grip. The heat nipped at the human's fingers and he threw it towards the kitchen bin. Bouncing off the rim it landed onto the floor.

''Even I wouldn't eat that.''

Castiel stared solemnly at the sad excuse of bakery ingenious. Lying there on the floor, pitiful and out of place, malting its crumbs of uselessness onto the tiles. With a quick angry movement he had seized the bag of bread and was pulling the tie roughly off.

''Whoa man, don't take it out on the dough. I don't need it! Your concern is nice. But I'm fine.''

''I'm making toast Dean.''

''I'm not sure what your flying homies call it. But that isn't toast.''

''It will make you feel better. Food makes humans feel better.''

Castiel was getting so worked up that Dean leapt to his feet, despite the aches in his joints telling him the idea was no winner. In a couple of large steps he was by the stupid Angel's side and was unplugging the toaster from the wall. The obvious fact that it was no longer functioning did not seem to occur to Castiel, for he continued jamming more bread into the slots. So intent on his mission that he bent over the device and stared fixedly at it, waiting for the cooking process to take effect. Silence reigned. Dean laid a hand on the angel's shoulder, being careful not to upset his back in the process.

''I think you need a rest Cas.''

''Angel's don't need rest.''

''The world is more fractured then even you think buddy. Everyone needs a break once in a while. Even for the winged things.''

''You are hurt Dean. Food will make you better.''

''Will it?''

'' It's my fault you are injured, it's always my fault. You, Sam…everybody. Sometimes…sometimes it would just be better if my father had not made me. Maybe then, things wouldn't be so bad. I stuff up, it's what I do. I can't be an angel, I can't even make toast.''

''I'm sure heavenly toast isn't a gourmet delicacy up there! Can you imagine that, a bunch of feathery guys standing around waiting for their…''

Castiel was staring at Dean.

''What's the point Dean, of existing?''

The question startled him for a moment. Was he being asked this? By an angel? Him, Dean Winchester. Who spent his life drinking, eating, and hunting for the world's oddities? He wasn't someone who could answer this question, was he? But as he searched his friends face. His friend who blamed himself for the problems of the universe but who cared more now about making good toast then the shredded path of righteousness. He realised the words were much easier to say then he originally thought.

''To keep burning bread for the people who care about you,'' he said pulling him into a hug.

Thank you for being lovely and stopping by. There's still a few places I need to edit, but overall I'm glad to share this short one-shot, and I hope it wasn't too painful to read. Keep being your wonderful selves, and keep reading the stories you like until your hearts explode into random lovable fragments of weird hearty wordy perfection...Angelic Rat out!