Castiel looked down at the salad shaker being pushed into his chest and then lifted his gaze to look back at Dean's face. "I am not hungry," he said. He turned to watch Dean as he paced away, as unmoving and impassive as ever. He didn't laugh at the joke about Sam, but of course, Castiel never laughed. He just stood there, and if you were lucky, sometimes he would blink.
"I'm not familiar with a man that goes about without clothes. I'm told the custom has changed in the last few thousand years." Deadpan. He watched the chomping of the salad impassively, unconcerned about the werewolf problem. His eyebrows rose very slightly. "'God-type'?"