Reborn: Therapy
Title: Reborn
Author: Aithilin
Rating: G - Subject to change later
Genre: General (subject to change), AU
Warnings: Spoilers for back-story as revealed in Season 5 (“Back to the Future II”/ “The Song Remains the Same”).
Pairing: Eventual Dean/Castiel
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters were created by, and belong to, Kripke and company. Likenesses belong to respective actors.
Summary: Discontent in Heaven, Castiel Falls and becomes reborn as a mortal.
Author’s Notes: The timeline is drawing heavily from what was set out in John Winchester’s Journal by Alex Irvine.
----
He had never been so nervous in his life. Sure, there were times when he thought he was-- mostly when he had a murderous creature in his iron sight, or when he was restraining a possession victim during an exorcism-- but those hadn't involved his son. His troubled son. Troubled enough to make the school notice. Enough to cause someone in a suit and position of power to decide that it wasn't healthy.
They said he was "acting out." Somehow having a good imagination equated to acting out in the school system. The boy barely made a peep when in public.
Now there was a short, fairly friendly man in business casual kicking him out of his own home so his boy can be assessed for therapy. Bobby wasn't sure if he should be terrified, or furious. Either option just led to the same place in reality: up to the elbows in grease and oil and digging through a scrap engine for some salvage. It was far more suitable than going in there and wringing the smarmy grin off the therapist's face.
At least it was something he could control. Not like his boy's dreams, or the bullies that made him jump through two schools in two years. By the time they settled on a third (some private Catholic school governed by an all-too concerned headmistress and resident priest), the town and county bullies had compared notes. His boy now had endless bad dreams and the nickname of "Casper" to torment him. All it had taken was one smart-mouthed six-year-old to notice how shy Jimmy was, and the nickname stuck for two years so far.
It was the noise of the engine that caused him to look up-- it wasn't a modern noise. It was the distinctive purr of a classic car that existed under the careful hands of a man who knew what he was doing. Winchester was the last person he wanted to see during all this.
Of course, it also happened to be one of the few times Winchester saw fit to bring his two boys with him. So there was no way to tell him to just buzz off and come back later.
Bobby saw the look of concern that passed John's face when he saw the modest car parked nearby (if Singer Salvage could boast anything other than quality service, it was the ample parking for scrap heaps and visitors alike-- even if it did cost him the front and side yards), followed by the instant wariness on the faces of two boys that followed John like pups attached to him by leads.
"Branching off from scrap, Bobby?"
It was the gruff invitation to either reassure John that everything was okay, or that they should be running the other way.
"Just a visitor, John." Bobby nodded his greeting, hoping his anxiety didn't show too much through the façade of seasoned mechanic. "Nice to see you, boys."
John's posture relaxed a bit-- they could stay without worrying. "What's going on."
A glance at the twelve-year-old Dean as the boy was already laser-focused on the open engine Bobby had been working on. It never escaped him how Dean kept his little brother from getting too close to the machine-- as harmless as it now was-- while still pointing out what was what. It was a good enough distraction for the boys that Bobby decided he could vent his frustrations to John. So long as the damned therapist didn't catch on to it.
"Child therapist. Recommended by Jimmy's school."
"What? Why? Your boy's never been a problem." John could associate to the anxiety. It was among his worse fears that Dean's own acting out would attract too much attention they couldn't handle.
Bobby shrugged, busying his hands with cleaning up his tools and putting them where small hands couldn't easily get to them. It was the waiting that was the hard part. "They say a good imagination is 'acting out' now. He only ever writes things down." He can't help the small shake of his head in disbelief that a child's stories would be bad. "Hardly says a word to anyone in the school."
"Bobby, what's been going on?" A distressed father could easily recognize another distressed father. John's been sensitive to these odd bouts of anxiety for eight years. "Introverted kids don't get a therapist knocking on the door."
"Bad dreams, mostly." Bobby had tried looking into metaphysical ways to solve the problem, but nothing was dosed down for a child. He wouldn't trust magic in this way, either. But the writing had seemed to help-- Jimmy was a smart boy. Smart kids don't need to be told they're crazy. Bobby harrumphed as the last wrench clattered into the toolbox and the lock clicked into place. "He started writing them down and some teacher saw them. Kid was just writing stories, no harm to anyone."
"Must've been some stories." John had a shared fear on that matter, too. He'd confided in Bobby two years ago-- when the boys first met-- that Sam seemed smarter than he ought to; picked up on things and had strange dreams that had him screaming or waking with a headache. So, John knew the trouble these sorts of things drew, especially in schools when the boy was a perpetual "new kid."
"Angels and demons." No hunter believed in angels now, and almost none trusted that demons were out and about in the world. Creatures can lie and say they're whatever they want. Bobby, of course, had a different idea on the matter, but it wasn't something he ever told his boy about. "Don't know how he got the ideas in his head. He makes them out to be fighting, and the teachers said it wasn't good."
"I guess angels are supposed to fight demons. Isn't that the usual story?"
"He makes it so the angels are fighting each other."
There's a pause as John watches Dean pull a curious Sam away from the body of the scrap heap of a car. He speaks after a moment of considering his own children. "Dark stuff for a kid."
"He hasn't been near my books. I don't let him." Bobby didn't know where the stories came from, or even where Jimmy found his favourite angel character-- some low-level (according to some catalogues) creature named "Castiel." Sure, a Catholic school had some mention of these things, but it had taken Bobby weeks just to find a mention of the name anywhere. "He just makes it up."
John frowned, knowing full well that Sam had been sneaking looks at his books for roughly a year now. So it wasn't completely impossible for him to see Jimmy finding something to read in Bobby's own considerably larger collection. But before he could put his thoughts to words, the front door opened and there stood a short man who instantly rubbed John the wrong way. Sight alone was enough to make the hunter decide that he didn't like him.
Jimmy was on his heels, though, and didn't hesitate to hop off the porch to greet Sam and Dean. To John's eyes, the kid was just the same as ever: friendly, if quiet, and eager to ask Sam about his adventures.
The short man had a lopsided smile as he stood before both men, looking more than satisfied with himself. A brief introduction as "Mr.Gabe " to John, and the man gave Bobby his assessment.
"Kid's fine."
There was an incredulous pause from both men at that-- not because they didn't believe it, but because it seemed to be a completely unanimous decision. Bobby frowned. "That's it?"
"Yup." Gabe pulled what looked like a candy bar from his pocket (John reasoned that it was understandable-- a therapist could bribe a kid into talking to him, after all). "Kid's fine. Shouldn't be having nightmares, and even likes the nickname we sorted out for him."
"Nickname? You mean that 'Casper' one?"
"Kinda." Gabe's posture shifted, from the informal, playful friend of troubled children everywhere, to the self-assured man who could also talk to adults. "Names have power, and kids-- little brats that they are-- like to abuse it. Jimmy gets called one thing, so we associated it to something he likes. Name of an angel, for instance."
It was a test, Bobby could see it. The challenge in the man's eyes and way he held himself. He wanted to know if Bobby had been a good father and actually listened to his son. Bobby just had no idea what to make of it. "You turned "Casper" into "Castiel," right?"
"Got it in one. Should help the little guy get some confidence." Gabe paused, crumpling up the candy wrapper. "Just don't worry about the bully thing-- that'll sort itself out soon."
Bobby nodded and muttered a quick 'thanks' as the therapist promptly spun on his heel and sauntered back to the modest car waiting for him. Hunter instincts were telling him that he missed something important, but paternal relief that his boy wasn't in any sort of danger of being taken away was enough to take over. For now, he'd let it be. The boys were fine playing together, and he could see what the hell John Winchester drove all the way to South Dakota for.
"Sorry about that, John. What did you need?"
"I need some information, Bobby. I think there's some things I need to know about demons."
That brought the relief back full circle to anxiety. But Bobby nodded, knowing that it was better to help John out than it was to stand in his way. "Best go inside, and let the boys play."
John followed, mind falling back to purpose and mission as he switched focus from family to business. It was an easy jump for him, though Bobby had often told him it wasn't healthy. He still paused to tell Dean;
"You keep an eye on them, Dean. Don't go wandering too far."
Father and drill sergeant, John Winchester knew that the order would be followed to the letter.
--------
He could understand looking out for Sammy--it was important, it kept his family together, and it was the sort of responsibility that his dad needed from him. But when it came to looking out for both Sammy and Jimmy… That just felt too much like babysitting. And he wasn't getting paid to babysit.
Sure, he'd keep an eye on them and make sure the kids didn't go get themselves killed under some scrap metal, but he didn't have to play with them. Besides, eight-year-olds were weird.
So he took a moment to rummage through the back of the impala while Jimmy collected the tiny green army men and things he had around. Triumphant with a stack of crumpled, colourful paper, Dean stretches out on the porch to read.
"Dean!" Sammy's voice had that distinct 'I'm telling' whine to it-- the tone that made Dean roll his eyes and wonder how they could possibly be related. "You're not supposed to read those."
"Just play with Jimmy, Sam."
"But Dad said--"
"Dad doesn't care if I read The Weekly World News or not. "
"He said you're not supposed to. It's full of crap."
"He reads it." Dean paused, adding as an afterthought. "And if you tell him I'm reading it, I'm telling him you're swearing."
"I'm not."
"Go play, Sammy."
"But-"
Dean had to look up when Sam's whine was cut off. Of all the possible scenarios that could make his little brother shut up when he dug his heels in over something, Dean hadn't expected this one. Still sitting in the dust and looking for all intents and purposes like he was ignoring the brothers, Jimmy had started to draw. It was enough to get Sam's attention, and get him to offer his help. From his angle, and clouded by his disinterest, Dean just thought it looked like the sort of rudimentary shapes kids doodled in kindergarten.
He would have paid more attention to what Jimmy meant when he said that "Mr. Gabe" taught him it to stay safe, but there was a great story about the capture of a vampire cat on page three.
Author: Aithilin
Rating: G - Subject to change later
Genre: General (subject to change), AU
Warnings: Spoilers for back-story as revealed in Season 5 (“Back to the Future II”/ “The Song Remains the Same”).
Pairing: Eventual Dean/Castiel
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters were created by, and belong to, Kripke and company. Likenesses belong to respective actors.
Summary: Discontent in Heaven, Castiel Falls and becomes reborn as a mortal.
Author’s Notes: The timeline is drawing heavily from what was set out in John Winchester’s Journal by Alex Irvine.
----
He had never been so nervous in his life. Sure, there were times when he thought he was-- mostly when he had a murderous creature in his iron sight, or when he was restraining a possession victim during an exorcism-- but those hadn't involved his son. His troubled son. Troubled enough to make the school notice. Enough to cause someone in a suit and position of power to decide that it wasn't healthy.
They said he was "acting out." Somehow having a good imagination equated to acting out in the school system. The boy barely made a peep when in public.
Now there was a short, fairly friendly man in business casual kicking him out of his own home so his boy can be assessed for therapy. Bobby wasn't sure if he should be terrified, or furious. Either option just led to the same place in reality: up to the elbows in grease and oil and digging through a scrap engine for some salvage. It was far more suitable than going in there and wringing the smarmy grin off the therapist's face.
At least it was something he could control. Not like his boy's dreams, or the bullies that made him jump through two schools in two years. By the time they settled on a third (some private Catholic school governed by an all-too concerned headmistress and resident priest), the town and county bullies had compared notes. His boy now had endless bad dreams and the nickname of "Casper" to torment him. All it had taken was one smart-mouthed six-year-old to notice how shy Jimmy was, and the nickname stuck for two years so far.
It was the noise of the engine that caused him to look up-- it wasn't a modern noise. It was the distinctive purr of a classic car that existed under the careful hands of a man who knew what he was doing. Winchester was the last person he wanted to see during all this.
Of course, it also happened to be one of the few times Winchester saw fit to bring his two boys with him. So there was no way to tell him to just buzz off and come back later.
Bobby saw the look of concern that passed John's face when he saw the modest car parked nearby (if Singer Salvage could boast anything other than quality service, it was the ample parking for scrap heaps and visitors alike-- even if it did cost him the front and side yards), followed by the instant wariness on the faces of two boys that followed John like pups attached to him by leads.
"Branching off from scrap, Bobby?"
It was the gruff invitation to either reassure John that everything was okay, or that they should be running the other way.
"Just a visitor, John." Bobby nodded his greeting, hoping his anxiety didn't show too much through the façade of seasoned mechanic. "Nice to see you, boys."
John's posture relaxed a bit-- they could stay without worrying. "What's going on."
A glance at the twelve-year-old Dean as the boy was already laser-focused on the open engine Bobby had been working on. It never escaped him how Dean kept his little brother from getting too close to the machine-- as harmless as it now was-- while still pointing out what was what. It was a good enough distraction for the boys that Bobby decided he could vent his frustrations to John. So long as the damned therapist didn't catch on to it.
"Child therapist. Recommended by Jimmy's school."
"What? Why? Your boy's never been a problem." John could associate to the anxiety. It was among his worse fears that Dean's own acting out would attract too much attention they couldn't handle.
Bobby shrugged, busying his hands with cleaning up his tools and putting them where small hands couldn't easily get to them. It was the waiting that was the hard part. "They say a good imagination is 'acting out' now. He only ever writes things down." He can't help the small shake of his head in disbelief that a child's stories would be bad. "Hardly says a word to anyone in the school."
"Bobby, what's been going on?" A distressed father could easily recognize another distressed father. John's been sensitive to these odd bouts of anxiety for eight years. "Introverted kids don't get a therapist knocking on the door."
"Bad dreams, mostly." Bobby had tried looking into metaphysical ways to solve the problem, but nothing was dosed down for a child. He wouldn't trust magic in this way, either. But the writing had seemed to help-- Jimmy was a smart boy. Smart kids don't need to be told they're crazy. Bobby harrumphed as the last wrench clattered into the toolbox and the lock clicked into place. "He started writing them down and some teacher saw them. Kid was just writing stories, no harm to anyone."
"Must've been some stories." John had a shared fear on that matter, too. He'd confided in Bobby two years ago-- when the boys first met-- that Sam seemed smarter than he ought to; picked up on things and had strange dreams that had him screaming or waking with a headache. So, John knew the trouble these sorts of things drew, especially in schools when the boy was a perpetual "new kid."
"Angels and demons." No hunter believed in angels now, and almost none trusted that demons were out and about in the world. Creatures can lie and say they're whatever they want. Bobby, of course, had a different idea on the matter, but it wasn't something he ever told his boy about. "Don't know how he got the ideas in his head. He makes them out to be fighting, and the teachers said it wasn't good."
"I guess angels are supposed to fight demons. Isn't that the usual story?"
"He makes it so the angels are fighting each other."
There's a pause as John watches Dean pull a curious Sam away from the body of the scrap heap of a car. He speaks after a moment of considering his own children. "Dark stuff for a kid."
"He hasn't been near my books. I don't let him." Bobby didn't know where the stories came from, or even where Jimmy found his favourite angel character-- some low-level (according to some catalogues) creature named "Castiel." Sure, a Catholic school had some mention of these things, but it had taken Bobby weeks just to find a mention of the name anywhere. "He just makes it up."
John frowned, knowing full well that Sam had been sneaking looks at his books for roughly a year now. So it wasn't completely impossible for him to see Jimmy finding something to read in Bobby's own considerably larger collection. But before he could put his thoughts to words, the front door opened and there stood a short man who instantly rubbed John the wrong way. Sight alone was enough to make the hunter decide that he didn't like him.
Jimmy was on his heels, though, and didn't hesitate to hop off the porch to greet Sam and Dean. To John's eyes, the kid was just the same as ever: friendly, if quiet, and eager to ask Sam about his adventures.
The short man had a lopsided smile as he stood before both men, looking more than satisfied with himself. A brief introduction as "Mr.Gabe " to John, and the man gave Bobby his assessment.
"Kid's fine."
There was an incredulous pause from both men at that-- not because they didn't believe it, but because it seemed to be a completely unanimous decision. Bobby frowned. "That's it?"
"Yup." Gabe pulled what looked like a candy bar from his pocket (John reasoned that it was understandable-- a therapist could bribe a kid into talking to him, after all). "Kid's fine. Shouldn't be having nightmares, and even likes the nickname we sorted out for him."
"Nickname? You mean that 'Casper' one?"
"Kinda." Gabe's posture shifted, from the informal, playful friend of troubled children everywhere, to the self-assured man who could also talk to adults. "Names have power, and kids-- little brats that they are-- like to abuse it. Jimmy gets called one thing, so we associated it to something he likes. Name of an angel, for instance."
It was a test, Bobby could see it. The challenge in the man's eyes and way he held himself. He wanted to know if Bobby had been a good father and actually listened to his son. Bobby just had no idea what to make of it. "You turned "Casper" into "Castiel," right?"
"Got it in one. Should help the little guy get some confidence." Gabe paused, crumpling up the candy wrapper. "Just don't worry about the bully thing-- that'll sort itself out soon."
Bobby nodded and muttered a quick 'thanks' as the therapist promptly spun on his heel and sauntered back to the modest car waiting for him. Hunter instincts were telling him that he missed something important, but paternal relief that his boy wasn't in any sort of danger of being taken away was enough to take over. For now, he'd let it be. The boys were fine playing together, and he could see what the hell John Winchester drove all the way to South Dakota for.
"Sorry about that, John. What did you need?"
"I need some information, Bobby. I think there's some things I need to know about demons."
That brought the relief back full circle to anxiety. But Bobby nodded, knowing that it was better to help John out than it was to stand in his way. "Best go inside, and let the boys play."
John followed, mind falling back to purpose and mission as he switched focus from family to business. It was an easy jump for him, though Bobby had often told him it wasn't healthy. He still paused to tell Dean;
"You keep an eye on them, Dean. Don't go wandering too far."
Father and drill sergeant, John Winchester knew that the order would be followed to the letter.
--------
He could understand looking out for Sammy--it was important, it kept his family together, and it was the sort of responsibility that his dad needed from him. But when it came to looking out for both Sammy and Jimmy… That just felt too much like babysitting. And he wasn't getting paid to babysit.
Sure, he'd keep an eye on them and make sure the kids didn't go get themselves killed under some scrap metal, but he didn't have to play with them. Besides, eight-year-olds were weird.
So he took a moment to rummage through the back of the impala while Jimmy collected the tiny green army men and things he had around. Triumphant with a stack of crumpled, colourful paper, Dean stretches out on the porch to read.
"Dean!" Sammy's voice had that distinct 'I'm telling' whine to it-- the tone that made Dean roll his eyes and wonder how they could possibly be related. "You're not supposed to read those."
"Just play with Jimmy, Sam."
"But Dad said--"
"Dad doesn't care if I read The Weekly World News or not. "
"He said you're not supposed to. It's full of crap."
"He reads it." Dean paused, adding as an afterthought. "And if you tell him I'm reading it, I'm telling him you're swearing."
"I'm not."
"Go play, Sammy."
"But-"
Dean had to look up when Sam's whine was cut off. Of all the possible scenarios that could make his little brother shut up when he dug his heels in over something, Dean hadn't expected this one. Still sitting in the dust and looking for all intents and purposes like he was ignoring the brothers, Jimmy had started to draw. It was enough to get Sam's attention, and get him to offer his help. From his angle, and clouded by his disinterest, Dean just thought it looked like the sort of rudimentary shapes kids doodled in kindergarten.
He would have paid more attention to what Jimmy meant when he said that "Mr. Gabe" taught him it to stay safe, but there was a great story about the capture of a vampire cat on page three.