To try and keep busy, Castiel had taken to cooking for Sam. He wasn’t particularly good at it, even though he had watched humanity for centuries perfect the ritual, but it gave him something to do, however small. Using his fists to knead, his hands to grip the knife and chop away somehow seemed to take out some of his frustration. It took his mind away from all the problems for just a moment. Cooking had become Cas’ few flashes of the day where he could try and forget everything else and focus all of his mind and effort on something minutely small and unthreatening.
The chore had also become essential as Sam seemed hell bent on not taking care of himself. Even though Castiel’s meals often looked pale in comparison to the ones that Dean used to make, Sam always took the food with a mumbled thank you and a forced smile, taking small bites of it as he read yet another book from the library about demon lore.
With his depleting grace, perhaps Castiel himself should start to eat alongside Sam, but he never had the urge to. Just the concept of eating made his stomach churn. He knew it was less to do with the food but more to do with the situation; the feeling of sickness never went away and only thickened as the days went on. It hadn’t past his mind that he was being rather hypocritical for forcing Sam to eat while he abandoned the idea of taking care of himself along the way.