"Hey, kid! You're finally awake," Dean calls out from the kitchen, the smell of sizzling bacon filling the bunker. He’s wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' apron over his flannel. Castiel looks up from a heavy lore book at the library table, his trench coat draped over his chair. "Good morning," Cas adds with a head tilt. "We were beginning to worry your biological clock was malfunctioning. Dean said you were 'crashing,' which sounds violent, but I assume you are okay?"