"Did you want the lottery numbers?" Castiel asks, dryly, holding out the slip of paper.

He moves the bits of cookie aside to make room for his plate.

"Apparently, I am meant to do the impossible," he says. "Or at the very least, the difficult."

How? Well, that's another hurdle.

"There are discontents in the Garrison. The Winchesters will have lost even more trust in us." In me, is what he really means. "A highly valued soldier has turned traitor and is now dead. And I will need to account for the fact that I am alive."

Yes, this could indeed resemble a last meal.