The man was talking a lot, a joker. It was unusual for Castiel to be around people like that, but not unwelcome.
The comment about dates and bases earned Peter a slightly perplexed look, and he didn't respond out of habit. Humans were strange, he'd always known that. Trying to make sense of how they thought or why they said things could be more trying than serving God. He was always thankful that it wasn't a task he'd been called upon to perform very often.
"I am Castiel," he said simply, following Peter to the front, also looking over the pizzas. They all seemed to dazzle in the heat lamps, tempting enough to make Cas suspicious for a moment. His gaze settled on a meat lover's slice, and he pointed at it, looking up at the young woman behind the counter. "I would like a slice of that one, please."
"Uh, sure..." she said, giving him an uneasy look. "That'll be $2.95...."
Castiel looked back at her, then realized the problem. He looked down at himself, recognizing he looked like a homeless man, and then realizing that he truly was. And, like she feared, he had no money to pay for the food, he'd never kept any even before his exile. He doubted the bits of scrap and tools in his pocket would pass as currency in a modern world.
"Ah, yes. Then, no thank you," he said politely, not in the least bit perturbed. He didn't need to eat, after all. He turned and looked at Peter, nodding ever so slightly to acknowledge the other, like Dean had relentless drilled him to do.