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Chinese food consisted of a rather large portion of Dean's personal food pyramid, sitting somewhere between burgers and foot-long subs dripping in sauce. He would always eat his entire meal, then come back thirty minutes later for Sam's leftover rice and devour that too.
The only part of a Chinese meal that Dean did not like were the fortune cookies.
Ever since they were little, Dean had given Sam his fortune cookies. John had too, when he was around. Sam had loved to break them open and devour the little bits of crispy-sweet cookie as he read out their fortunes. That hadn't changed over the years, despite Sam's preferences for more adult foodstuffs.
So it was with a faint grin on his face that Sam snatched the little plastic-wrapped cookie out of the air as Dean tossed it toward him; Dean was intent only upon swallowing the styrofoam container of General Tso's whole.
"You may have mine too, Sam," said Castiel, politely handing Sam his own fortune cookie. "I don't understand why people have these fortune cookies. The fortunes are not true."
The half-fallen angel picked up the little wooden sticks next to his own container of General Tso's (Dean had ordered for him). Sam watched him for a moment, hiding a smirk behind his hand as he lifted his own laden chopsticks to his mouth. Castiel was peering at Dean with plaintive blue eyes, as if asking how to operate such an intricate human contraption.
Dean finally rolled his eyes and reached over to help Castiel. Sam, still grinning to himself, tore into Dean's fortune cookie with his teeth and broke it open, picking the slip of paper out of the bits of cookie so that he could read it.
"Every exit is an entrance to new experiences," Sam read, then snorted laughter as he glanced up at Dean and Cas. Dean had his hands over Castiel's trying to teach him to operate the chopsticks.
"Dude, that's such bullshit," Dean mumbled. "Fortune cookies are bullshit."
"But funny bullshit," Sam said with a grin as he tore the plastic wrap of Castiel's. He broke the cookie and read, "Life is not a mystery to be solved, but a reality to be experienced."
"What does that even mean?" Dean asked, as he settled back down to his own food. "Hippy-dippy crap...no, Cas, your thumb goes there..."
Sam munched a bit of cookie as he broke open his own. He pulled out the little slip of paper, read it, and then read it again.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
"What, did Confucius say you're gonna get mauled by a Wendigo or something?" Dean asked, mouth full of rice.
"No," Sam said, setting the peculiar fortune to the side as he resumed his meal. "It said...it said 'Hello, sexy! You will meet someone short, blond, and handsome!' With a winky face."
Castiel choked on his rice; Dean pounded him on the back, then said, "Well hell, why couldn't I get a fortune like that?"
Sam only rolled his eyes. "Because you've already got someone dark and handsome. Jerk."
"Bitch," Dean responded, out of reflex. He fixed Cas's hands on his chopsticks again, then paused and said, "Wait, what?"
"Nothing," Sam said. "Nothing at all."
What kind of fortune was that? he thought.
A couple of days later, it became evident that the Mystery of the Peculiar Cookies was not quite over. Sam was digging in his bag for a change of clothes--his were covered in the guts of some creature he'd rather not think about--when his hand bumped something made of plastic. There should be nothing but clothes in here, he thought, as he pulled the object out of his bag.
It was a plastic container of cookies, the kind you could buy at Wal-Mart that were covered in frosting and sprinkles and were guaranteed to make you vomit if you ate too many of them. The only difference was that these cookies had been cut out in the shape of some creature with big antlers, with frosting slathered on to designate fur and eyes. Across the top of the plastic box was a note that read, "YOU'RE CUTE AS A MOOSE. ;]"
"What?" Sam mumbled. He picked the note up off the top of the box, examining it closely, trying to determine if the handwriting belonged to anyone he knew. It didn't, as far as he could tell, and Sam was not about to eat mysterious moose cookies that had magically appeared inside his bag. He hid the cookies under one of the hotel beds, hoping the maid would throw them out before they went too bad.
The next evening, Sam was alone. Dean had taken Castiel out to a bar, out of boredom and on the pretense of "loosening him up a bit." Sam had declined to accompany them, trying to keep the knowing smile off his face. He was propped up on one of the beds with a book in his hand--something he had picked up in a convenience store somewhere, a terrible Western--when he felt the end of the bed give in slightly.
He was up like a shot, reaching for the salt gun under his pillow, but there was no need. The culprit was a cookie. A giant cookie, sitting in something that looked like a pizza box but wasn't.
Emblazoned across the chocolate-chip surface in bright green frosting were the words, "THE COOKIES ARE NOT POISON. YOU'RE HOT."
Sam stared down at the cookie cake. It did look delicious...and suspicious.
Suddenly, the frosted letters began to rearrange themselves. Sam took a step backward, but the situation was so utterly bizarre that he couldn't resist watching.
"HIGHLY DELICIOUS. DON'T BE SO SUSPICIOUS."
"Yeah, right," Sam actually laughed out loud, "I'm being haunted by magic cookies. Hell, I'm having a conversation with a magic cookie. I call that pretty suspicious."
"Point taken," said a voice behind him, and this time Sam did react; the salt gun was in his hands and pointed at Gabriel's face before Sam even registered who it was in front of him.
"Easy there, kiddo," Gabriel said, grinning broadly as he raised his hands into the air. "Just me. The cookie fairy."
"You..." Sam's eyes narrowed, then he closed them as he realized what he should have realized immediately. "You. Of course. Smart mouth and sweets."
"That's me," said the archangel. "Now, why don't you put that gun away, kiddo? Not like it'll hurt me, but it's pretty impolite to point a gun at your secret admirer."
"Not so secret anymore," Sam mumbled, but he set the gun down on the bed. "Very funny, by the way. Did you get bored and decide to come mess with me some more?"
"Well...yes, I did get bored," Gabriel answered, rocking up on his tiptoes--he still came barely up to Sam's collarbone. "But no, I'm not messing with you, Sammy."
"Don't call me Sammy," Sam said automatically. He looked down at Gabriel, feeling intrigued and apprehensive at the same time."What do you want?" he asked, deciding that his best bet was to be straightforward...something Gabriel was not. At all. "You remember every other time you've tried to communicate with me? I get that you were, uh...trying to help me in some weird backhanded way, but yeah. That didn't work out so hot. This isn't any different."
"Yes it is," said Gabriel, tilting his head back to smile up into Sam's skeptical face. "No tricks this time, Sam. Just cookies. Don't you humans give each other sweets when you're attracted to each other?"
"Well, yeah," Sam said, feeling his mouth begin to twist up into a smirk despite himself. Gabriel's grin was kind of infectious. "But we usually do it, you know...less magically."
"Ah, but I'm not human, kiddo," said Gabriel. "Not at all."
"I think I get that," Sam glanced back at the giant cookie cake, then gnawed on his lip for a moment before looking back down at Gabriel and asking, "So...were you seriously trying to like...woo me?"
"I don't know," said Gabriel, "Did it work?"
"I don't know," said Sam. "Want to go out somewhere and see?"
Gabriel batted his lashes, exaggerating the movement until Sam began to snicker. "Why Sam, are you asking me out on a date?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, still giggling to himself. "Yeah, sure. Idiot."
"I'm not sure I like your choice of pet names, Samuel," Gabriel said, hooking bold fingers into the belt loops of Sam's jeans. "Pretty rude if you ask me."
Sam rolled his eyes, grabbing one of Gabriel's hands and pulling him toward the door. "Dude, you called me a moose," he reminded Gabriel as they walked outside.
Sam felt Gabriel bump his shoulder--a playful excuse to walk closer to him. "But a cute moose," the archangel said, looking up at him with that eternal grin. "Don't forget that."
"And you're a cute idiot. Idiot."