Supernatural: Houses Out of Cardboard Boxes [Part 1/2]
PART ONE
Castiel shows up on their doorstep on the last day of July.
Dean is out getting burgers; Sam is hiding behind the bed nearest the bathroom, afraid something will come for him while his brother is out. The battering at the door is intimidating to say the least, and Sam is actually relieved when he sees who it is, lets Castiel in past the angelproofing and doesn't realize that was the stupidest fucking thing he could do until Jimmy's generic black loafers are stepping into the motel room.
Shit. Castiel is the bad guy now. Sam is almost definitely dead. And Dean is going to be so pissed when he gets back.
"Hello, Sam," Castiel says, like they're still friends.
Sam cowers away, tripping over the mattress Dean has been sleeping on, falling back onto it. Maybe it's just another nightmare, he tells himself. Nightmares happen a lot while Sam's awake these days.
Castiel frowns at Sam's reaction but doesn't move forward to strike. He doesn't smite Sam.
"What do you want?" Sam asks, though he's pretty sure he won't get an answer before he croaks. They've been hunting the angel for months, and Castiel knows better than just about anyone that the best way to stop Sam and Dean from closing out a hunt is to catch them alone. Sam refused to go out with Dean, thought it would be too scary. Why didn't Dean insist?
"I would like to talk," he says, sitting on the bed next to Sam but far enough away not to touch. Sam scoots further from him, and Castiel watches but says nothing.
"Don't really have much to say to you," Sam replies, trying his best not to sound as scared as he is.
"I am sorry, Sam," Castiel says. "I just wanted you to know you and your brother were right. I'm going to fix things now that I have won the war. Heaven is at peace. I don't think it is too late."
Sam says nothing, doesn't know what he can possibly say, because this is not what he expected to hear.
"I'm going to return the souls to purgatory. I will likely destroy myself in…" Castiel looks directly at Sam, and it's only now that he realizes how off the color of Castiel's skin is and the dark circles around the wide blue eyes staring at him, looking every bit as terrified as Sam feels.
"You can't hold it," Sam says. "The souls are too much."
Castiel nods slightly. "I am not meant to be God. I never was. I was simply…blinded. I thought, at the time, that I was doing the right thing."
Sam thinks of the last few months, all the time he's spent screaming in pain or terror because an angel they trusted thought he was doing the right thing. He licks his lips, remembering the iron taste of demon blood, and can't summon all the hate he knows he should be feeling. "Why are you telling me this, Cas?"
"We were friends once. I hope," he pauses to glance out the window, "I hope that one day you and your brother can forgive me."
Castiel leans forward. Sam can't pull away any more than he already has. He can't outrun God. He can't do anything but tremble as Castiel presses a hot, glowing hand against his temple. Sam cries out for help, for Dean, anything, but the help doesn't come and neither does the rush of pain he's anticipating. When Castiel pulls away Sam feels…okay. For the first time in months, Sam's skin isn't lava, his blood isn't pumping acid through his veins, the Devil doesn't smile at him when he closes his eyes.
He feels absolutely fine. Comparatively, it's better than that. Right now it seems like Sam's never felt this good in his life, never even imagined he could feel this good.
"What did you-?" Sam asks, his breath coming heavy. "How did you?"
Castiel hardly smiles, the tiniest curve to the side of his lips. "I'm God now," he says, and Sam doesn't remember him ever sounding this sad, not even when God was missing and Sam was the only person even pretending to have hope left.
Sam wants to thank him, but he swallows hard and looks away instead.
"Get away from my brother." Sam and Castiel both turn to face the door. Dean's face is set in a scowl that would scare anyone, even though the gun he's pointing at Castiel is useless and they all know it.
"Dean, he-"
There's a sound of feathers rustling, and then Castiel is standing behind Dean outside the motel room door. "May I speak with you?" he says.
Sam watches Dean's body somehow get tenser, but he doesn’t let fear show as he turns to face the angel. "If I say no, will you fuck off?"
"Dean, he fixed it," Sam says.
Dean shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn't lower the gun, and the cold line of his shoulders doesn't melt. "Away from him," he says. "You stay away from Sam."
Castiel's eyes settle on Sam. He looks apologetic and a little like he doesn't expect to ever see Sam again. Sam wants to ask, but he can't find his voice. Then the door slams without anyone touching it, leaving Sam inside the room, trying to force his way out so he can make sure Castiel didn't come and fix him just to hurt Dean.
He can't hear through the thick glass of the window, but from what he can see, the conversation is civil enough. Castiel is the one acting like he's been cornered, and Dean's face is relentless, furious turn to his mouth with every word it shapes. Castiel doesn't say much, doesn't seem to have the energy to respond to Dean's fury in kind. His shoulders droop, and he tries to implore Dean, but Dean won't listen. Of course Dean won't listen.
It's not long before he's pushing into the room, slamming the door shut behind him and grabbing the spray paint on the table to touch-up the spot where Sam broke the sigils to let Castiel in.
"What did he say?" Sam asks, standing to put a hand on Dean's shoulder, try to help him relax. Dean is quick to push him away.
"You never do that again, Sammy," he says. "Don't you ever tamper with any of this stuff while I'm out."
"Dean, I'm okay," Sam says. "Look at me. I'm okay. He fixed me."
Dean shakes his head. "After he broke you. I don't trust it."
Sam shrugs. "Maybe he's come around."
Dean stops fixing the symbols to inspect Sam, eyes moving over him quickly. It's the look Sam's seen too many times. Flagstaff, when Dean thought he'd lost Sam; Cold Oak, the day he walked into a cabin and found Sam alive when he shouldn't have been; a hug that Sam saw through someone else's eyes when he was in Hell and Dean thought he finally wasn't. Checking over. Making sure all the parts are in place. Sam was in danger, and now he isn't. Sam hates that he's gotten so good at reading this expression.
Dean doesn't pull him in for an embrace this time, doesn't crack a joke, doesn't even continue his lecture. He just looks and looks, and Sam is going to get performance anxiety standing here if Dean doesn't find what he's searching for soon.
Finally Dean lets out a long puff of air and presses a hand to Sam's cheek for a moment before he's storming away from Sam to the bathroom.
"Don't fuck with the angelproofing," is all he says as he slams yet another door behind him.
_______________________________________________________________
They don't see Castiel again after that.
They wait for something big to go down, some kind of sign that God is back and pissed off and looking for somewhere to vent the power his vessel can't hold. It's not quiet, not quiet enough to be suspicious. Monsters still eat children in their beds, earthquakes still break homes in half, Sam still screams and hides when they see monsters on hunts, because every damn shadow reminds him of Hell. But things are not as bad as they were for awhile. Not like when Castiel was still flexing his brand new God complex and Sam was still crying under the covers every time the air conditioner made noise.
They don't stop looking-that would be sloppy. But after four months of searching without a single new clue or another attack to trace back to Castiel, the hunt starts to seem less desperate. They take other jobs. They find Crowley and waste him. They wait for the next king or queen of Hell to start causing problems so they can gut that demon and the one who replaces them.
Five more months pass full of amateur jobs and the impending worry that God might be just around the corner, preparing to strike them both down for good.
_______________________________________________________________
It's a dark and stormy night, and there's a knock at the door accompanied by a loud clash of thunder. It's pretty cliché as far as 'don't open the door' omens go and would probably scare anyone less aware of the fact that horrible things happen just as easily under blue skies as under storm clouds.
Sam makes sure to check who's outside and waits until Dean has grabbed the nearest weapon to open it. He sees nothing through the peephole, and if he were sane, he would ignore it. Leave well enough alone. Sam is a Winchester, though, so he opens the door and Dean is right behind him with an encouraging nod.
At first, he thinks there really is no one there. The sound of heavy rain filters in, amplified now that there's nothing closing it out. It's so loud that it almost drowns out the crying. Crying that makes Sam look down to his feet where he sees exactly what he'd been hoping he wouldn't see.
"Jesus Christ," Dean says, peeking over his shoulder. "Is that seriously…?"
Sam bends to pick the basket up, and a bright red face sobs from inside. "Dude, it is. It's a baby."
"What the fuck?" Dean asks.
"Don't cuss at it."
Dean stares at Sam as he shuts the door. "Someone just dropped a kid in front of our motel room door at midnight in the middle of a thunderstorm. I'm allowed to cuss."
"Should we…do you think we can find whoever left it here?"
Dean reaches into the basket and pulls out a card. It has their names on it.
"Okay, weird," Sam says, rushing to place the basket on the table and pick the baby up.
Dean tears into the envelope while Sam tries to make it stop screaming. He watches his brother's eyes rove over the words three times before he shakes his head and lowers it. "I thought shit like this only happened in movies."
"What? What's it say?"
"Says the kid's mom was a seventeen-year-old junkie who only went through with the pregnancy because she had a dream and the dream told her she had to."
Sam's eyebrows lift just a little. He looks down at the baby in his arms, relieved that aside from the hysterical sobbing and the fact that it's soaked to the bone, it seems healthy. A miracle, even if they're only taking the thunderstorm into account. "Always a good start. And why does she know our names?"
"According to this," Dean brandishes the letter, "the dream told her to bring him to us. She says that it led her here, and she knows we'll understand why. She also seems to think we'll know what to name it."
"I'm not understanding anything," Sam says.
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "We'd better call some hospitals and police stations in the area, see if anyone's missing a kid."
"Of course," Sam says. The baby continues to yell in his ear and Sam sighs. "If we can quiet this thing long enough to hear what's on the other line."
"Can I try?" Dean asks, reaching for the wet bundle in Sam's arms. He puts up no fight before surrendering and pauses to watch his brother begin to bounce the upset little lump in his arms. He whispers soothing sounds, and, after a few minutes, the baby begins to calm.
"Shouldn't be in wet clothes much longer," Sam says. "We've gotta have something warm we can wrap it in."
Dean nods and lets Sam go looking. Sam grabs every towel out of the bathroom and digs through his duffel before accepting that the best they can do for now is wrapping the baby in one of their shirts.
"It would be too much to ask for that basket to have some nice, new diapers in it, wouldn't it?"
Dean is sitting in the armchair by the window, rocking a sleeping baby. He smirks up at Sam. "Actually, I think I still have three-quarters of a pack and some supplies shoved in the back of the trunk."
"Right. From when…Bobby John." Sam's eyes dodge to the door guiltily. "I can go out and get them."
Dean's lips are turned down at the corners, just enough for Sam to know he gets it, but he doesn't risk waking the baby up with his usual 'it doesn't count, you weren't really you' spiel. It's a relief-soul or no soul, Sam was going to hand an innocent kid over to god knows what, he doesn't actually deserve to be told it's okay.
He's happy to get a few minutes alone after the reminder, even with the rain pounding down as he digs through the Impala. He comes back to find Dean dropping liquid onto the baby's forehead from a flask of holy water and sees a silver chain on the table.
"Dude, are you serious?" Sam says, watching Dean pick up the chain and wrap it loosely around the baby's wrist.
Dean watches closely for a few seconds as neither of the tests causes a reaction and shrugs. "Sorry, man, just had to be sure."
"You're ridiculous," says Sam, shaking his head. "You know nothing supernatural is getting through the door."
"I thought I would be done before you got back. Now drop it."
Sam's fingers curl into fists. Dean is just worried about him, and Sam knows he's right to be. It's more frustration at himself than Dean that makes him so pissed. "You think I can't even handle a goddamn baby monster on my own, Dean? I'm not that pathetic."
"I was just checking, Sam. I had to. You know why I had to." Dean meets his eyes in a silent plea, and Sam lets out a breath, all the fight leaving with it.
"Come on, let's change it and I'll pull up some websites, see if there are any outstanding baby snatchings in the area." Sam drops the diaper bag on the table by the door, and Dean nods.
They do three hours of research, Sam making phone calls and hacking into police records on the computer while Dean sits on the opposite bed with the baby asleep on his chest, the television set to a quiet murmur. There are no reports yet, not in the area, not in the state, not for three states in every direction. Sam starts nodding off and figures the best thing he can do is get some rest, see if something pops up by morning.
Dean is already asleep when Sam turns the light off.
_______________________________________________________________
When Sam wakes up the next morning, the last thing he expects to see is Dean rubbing his eye groggily with one hand and still supporting the baby against his chest with the other. He pats its back, and it doesn't cry, just yawns like it's still too tired for that kind of thing.
Sam thought it had been a dream. An oddly quiet, almost nice little dream. Not the kind of dream Sam has these days. But still a more rational explanation than…
"So that really happened, huh?" Sam asks.
Dean takes one tiny hand in his and squeezes, making the baby giggle and smile a toothless grin. It's kind of precious; Sam wishes he had a camera. Dean will never admit to this once they've found out who the kid belongs to and given him back. "That's Sammy," he tells the baby. "As you can see, he's a little slow."
The baby mirrors Dean's smile back at him, and Sam decides it's not as cute as it was a minute ago. "I hope it pees on you," Sam says.
Dean's face drops and he lifts the baby, inspecting. It looks like the few hours since they fell asleep haven't given the kid enough time for an accident just yet. Dean moves to sit at the end of the bed and holds the baby out to Sam. "You watch him. I'm going to buy him something to wear that isn't sasquatch-sized."
"What? Now?"
"Now," Dean answers as he grabs his jacket and keys off the table.
The baby squirms in Sam's arms, and it hits Sam that he's never actually been alone with a baby before. "Take him with you."
"What, and be the one to get vomited on? I don't think so."
"He likes you more than me." Sam stares at the baby, and it stares right back, an unimpressed look on its face. "And what if I find out whose it is while you're gone and I don't have a car to take it home?"
"I'll be out like 20 minutes tops." Dean pauses at the door to smile at Sam. "Don't you crazy kids get into any trouble while I'm gone."
The door closes behind Dean with a click.
"I guess it's just you and me then, huh buddy?"
Sam's buddy begins to cry.
It takes 40 minutes of pacing the room with the baby (20 minutes tops, my ass, Sam thinks), bouncing him, trying to find something on TV, before Sam manages to calm it down. He gets exasperated, and since baby talk hasn't been working, he finally holds the infant just in front of his face and tries a rational conversation instead.
"Please, please, please stop yelling," Sam begs.
The baby's mouth closes and it blinks at Sam for a few seconds, eerily still, before tilting its head just a little bit to the side. The way he does it…it reminds Sam of Castiel. But that's crazy.
"That's crazy, right?" he asks. "You're definitely not Castiel?"
The baby squirms and smiles at Sam like it knows more than it's letting on, and that's it. That settles it. It's been nine months since Castiel went missing, and the baby has Jimmy Novak's eyes. It isn’t hard for Sam to put two and two together.
"Dammit, Cas," Sam says, pulling the kid back into his arms and shaking his head. "How the hell do you expect me to sell this to Dean?"
_______________________________________________________________
"Did you find out who he belongs to?" Dean asks when he returns.
Sam stands a foot away at the opposite end of the counter, closer to the sink than the impromptu changing table Dean has created in the middle of their motel room.
Well, I have a theory, he thinks. It explains why the baby ended up on their doorstep, why the hell the mother would have dreamed that they would know what to name, let alone do with, a newborn infant. But it's not an explanation Dean is going to believe or like.
"Well, um. No? Maybe? Never mind."
Dean spares a second's glance in Sam's direction before reapplying his focus to the diaper. "Never mind what, Sam?"
"I had an idea, but…forget it. It was a weird one."
"Gotta be pretty weird to put me off, man." Dean motions Sam out of the way so he can wash his hands in the sink and then turns to face him. "Come on, I promise I'll make fun of you if it's really ridiculous."
"Don't you mean you promise you won't?"
Dean's response is a shit-eating grin and the barest hint of a wink. Sam just rolls his eyes and endures it. "He's ours," Sam answers, moving to pick Castiel up before he really drops a piano on Dean's head. "I think he's supposed to be ours."
Dean's smile slips into a confused expression, then a face that clearly means Dean isn't sure if he's supposed to laugh or not. "Who do I have to chase with a shotgun for knocking up my little brother?"
"Dean," Sam groans.
"You did a good job hiding the pregnancy, though, I'll give you-"
"Can you not fuck around please?" Sam winces, pats the baby on the head softly. "You didn't hear that."
Dean snickers, shaking his head. "All right, in all seriousness, then. What the hell do you mean you think it's ours?"
"I think it's Castiel," Sam says. "Or, was. You know, like what happened with Anna when she-"
Dean's face slides from curious and amused to something dark and dangerous in seconds. He walks past Sam, keeping his back turned so Sam can't read his expression. "That's crazy."
"Not crazier than most of the-"
"It's crazy. And if it isn't? That doesn't change anything. That's someone's kid. We just need to find out who and get rid of it."
"Dean, you read the letter. The parents don't want him, won't do him any good. He wanted us to raise him."
"He wanted us to do a lot of things, doesn't mean we did them. Anyway, it's not him. That makes no goddamn-"
"Don't tell me you haven't felt it."
"Oh, come on, Sam. 'Felt it?' Are you gonna bring in The Secret or some shit?"
"Take him," Sam says, cradling Castiel's head and extending his arms out to Dean. "Hold him and look at him and tell me you don't feel like this kid is yours."
Dean doesn't accept the offering, just turns his head.
Sam smiles, more than a little smug. "You already felt it last night, huh? Just don't want to admit I'm right?"
"Sam, if you're right, then that baby is currently Public Enemy Number One." Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "And I am just not equipped to handle that."
"Was, before he fell. Now he's just a baby. Just an innocent kid. Christ, Dean," Sam pulls Cas back into his chest, a little too protective, "you're not handling anything, not if you mean that the way I think you do."
"Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt the kid. But I'm not keeping him around to-"
"To what?" Sam asks, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"Betray us again? As soon as he's old enough to get his grace back." Dean shrugs. "They're all the same, Sam. Anna was different, and then she got her grace and tried to kill you. Cas was different and then…Nope, no way. If that's Castiel, we're dropping him the first place that will take him and getting you as far away as possible."
"It is Castiel, Dean." Sam huffs out a laugh, but he's not feeling all that amused. "Our friend, Castiel."
"He broke your wall." Dean shakes his head. "Fuck that, I'm done taking chances with this. I can't anymore."
"He saved us more times than we can count. It was one misguided mistake, and he mostly made up for it."
"You still remember Hell. You're still-"
"Still what, Dean?"
Dean forces a smile and reaches out to muss Sam's hair. "Still a mess," he says, tone playful to cover up the fact that it's completely true.
"The wall was going to come down eventually. Don't pretend you didn't know that all along."
"He didn't need to speed it up," Dean snaps.
"Maybe not, but I'm better off now than I would have been if it'd broken on its own and he never came by to help."
"It's the thought that counts, Sam. All he wanted to do was hurt us. You."
Castiel gurgles and tugs on Sam's ear, and it makes him want to smile like he hasn't since he got back from Hell. Sam's chest tightens, and he already can't imagine letting Dean give the baby away. "I've done worse," Sam says darkly. "And you forgave me."
"Yeah, but Sam, you were…meant well."
"He thought he was doing the right thing. He realized he was wrong-he tore his freaking grace out in penitence. Why do I get forgiven when this infant that neither remembers what Cas did, nor is really responsible for it at all, gets put on trial?"
Dean looks at Sam but doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Because you're my brother," he mumbles, obviously aware of how flimsy the argument is.
"Then for your brother's sake." Sam steps forward, offers Dean the baby again, and Castiel turns to grin at Dean. "Just hold him and tell me he shouldn't be our baby."
Dean doesn't take him, but he replaces Sam's hand supporting Castiel's head and draws closer. There's a smile on his lips that he's trying to hide, and if Sam can just make it come out, he'll win this one.
"We can't take care of a kid," Dean finally says, sounding put out about it. "We've got a job, and I'm not raising him like-"
"You have a job."
Dean looks up and meets Sam's eyes, and Sam lets his defenses drop. "Admit it, man. I'm not a hunter anymore. I'm a guy who does research and hides in motels while his brother kills monsters."
"Sam, you're always a hunter." Dean's fingers smooth over Sam's, and Sam lets out a breath.
"I'm useless." He cuts Dean off before he can start. "I am, I'm useless. That's not up for debate."
Dean's mouth closes in a tight line, obvious disapproval, but he waves his hand, signaling that Sam can continue.
"And I'm lonely while you're out, usually. But when you were gone today and I was taking care of him? I mean, I was awful at it. Really, really awful. But eventually we got there and I didn't-not once-stop to worry how long you'd been gone or if you were okay or if something was going to come in and hurt me. All I had time to focus on was taking care of him. Dean, it was nice."
Dean leans back against the counter and braces his hands on it. "So, what, Sam? What do you want to do? Quit hunting? Get a mortgage? Take the kid and stay inside keeping house all day?"
Sam's eye dodge down to Castiel and he smiles. "Yeah, Dean. I think that's exactly what I want."
Sam knows this isn't something he can force or beg for-it's too big to go in on unless they go in together. And he's terrified. If Dean says no, Sam will have to relent, have to hand Castiel over to strangers and go back to following his brother around without anything to live for.
Dean's face is unreadable when Sam looks back up at him. He wishes Dean would just say something already. Not knowing what his brother is thinking is uncomfortable enough at the best of times, and this is not the best of times.
Finally, something in Dean's expression breaks; his eyes soften and he shakes his head. "You win this time, Sammy."
_______________________________________________________________
It's not until he's buckling Castiel into a car seat in the back of the Impala the next morning that Sam realizes they have no idea what their next stop is. Neither of them has a burning desire to go live in Lawrence, but it's the only town they know of that means anything like home. Sam's not sure if they're supposed to do research for this kind of thing, Google good places to raise a kid and take someone they don't know's word for it. Or if they're just supposed to drive around with a newborn until they reach a town that feels right. Sam's not having second thoughts, but he is two days in and already wondering if he's a crappy parent.
"You're an idiot," Dean informs Sam the first time he dares to bring that little problem up.
Sam glares at his brother from the passenger seat and scoffs. "Why am I an idiot?"
"Because we don’t have a choice in where we're raising the kid if we're raising the kid," Dean says. "Did you forget what he is?"
Sam sits, considering it for all of a minute before he gets the desire to smack his palm to his forehead. "Shit, Dean, his grace."
Dean snickers. "So there is something rattling around in that giant skull of yours. Good to know."
"What are we doing wasting time in the car, man? We have to find out where it is. Before any of the angels who're still pissed at him get ideas."
Dean waits until they're at a red light to reach over and open the glove compartment. He pulls out a stack of newspapers and drops it on Sam's lap. "Ten steps ahead of you."
Sam scans through the first article, then the second, then flips through the remaining three. Last week a redwood popped up in Southern Wyoming, practically overnight. It's hundreds of miles away from being in the right region and stretches up as tall as the giants in California. The town of Saratoga has no idea where the sequoia came from-they're all swearing up and down that it was an empty field before the tree showed up. Most of the newspapers are assuming some kind of elaborate hoax.
"And, uh, meteor shower?"
"Nope," Dean says cheerfully. "No showers. But I checked the local astronomy sites in the nearest towns and they all saw-you guessed it-one exceptionally large falling star, heading right for Saratoga the night before the tree reports started."
"Wow," Sam says, dropping the papers into his lap. "You really did your homework, huh?"
Dean gives him a cocky smile and a half-glance. "Try not to sound so surprised."
"Why didn't you tell me about any of this?" Sam asks.
Dean laughs. "Because it was too much fun to listen to you angsting over what to do next. And because it all kind of occurred to me last night while the kid was keeping me up and," Dean shrugs, but Sam can read something like excitement in his body language, "I figured if we're doing this, I might as well pull my weight."
Sam turns around and squeezes the baby's feet. He giggles and kicks them in the air. "You hear that, Castiel? We're going home."
"Stop calling him that," Dean says.
"But that's his name," Sam replies, turning his attention back to the driver's seat.
Dean shakes his head. "That was his name when he was an angel. No kid of mine is going through life being called Castiel. Jesus, Sam, there was a reason he was a virgin for thousands of years."
Sam raises an eyebrow. He's pretty sure the reason for that was the whole angel thing, but he decides it's not worth the effort. "What are we calling him, then?"
"Not Castiel," Dean supplies helpfully.
"I guess we could name him Jimmy."
Dean bites his bottom lip. "I think that's the last thing Jimmy'd want. They didn't exactly end on good terms."
Sam sits back. "Castiel wasn't really very good at the whole 'maintaining friends' thing, was he?"
"Guess he spent too much time with your ass." Dean turns to face the baby. "Don't you worry, kid. I won't let the Nerd Wonder over here make you socially awkward. Again."
"Har har, really funny, Dean."
Dean's attention is back on Sam, a grin taking up half his face. "Well, thanks, Sammy, I thought so, too."
Sam swats away the hand that tries to attack his hair. "So what's his name gonna be?"
"Cas, duh," Dean replies. "A Cas can totally get laid."
"This is how you choose what to name a kid?" Sam groans, sinking into his seat. "What have I done?"
"Oh, give it up. Cas is a perfectly acceptable solution."
"People are gonna wanna know what it's short for," Sam says.
Dean shrugs. "People can suck it?"
"That's nice, Dean. Really nice."
He smiles. "It's gonna have to be Cas or it's gonna have to be Angus Young the II."
Sam looks into the backseat and waves. "Hey there, Cas."
Dean snickers. "Weak choice, bro."
"Okay, we should forge him a birth certificate as soon as we get to Saratoga. Make this all official before anyone asks."
"Check out the tree, fake some papers, buy a house," Dean recites. "Piece of pie."
"I think the expression is cake."
"Don't kill my buzz, Sam," says Dean. "Wanna listen to some Zep, kid?"
Dean takes Cas's silence and Sam's whine as unanimous approval.
_______________________________________________________________
Looking up, all Sam can think is-
"Damn, that is a big fucking tree," Dean says, stepping into the field. He's got Cas strapped to his chest in a baby carrier Sam bought three days ago.
"Language," Sam reminds him for the thousandth time.
"He's not gonna remember I said fuck." Dean grins. "Twice."
"He will if you don't get out of the habit of doing it every three words."
"Whatever, it won't hurt him." Dean takes Cas's hand and Cas looks up at him, blowing a spit bubble. "The big bad word's not gonna hurt you just 'cause Sammy's got his panties in a knot, is it?"
The bubble pops.
"See? Cas is on my side."
Sam marches on. "What do we do now?" he asks, feeling the trunk of the massive tree for some kind of instruction. "We can't touch the actual grace, right? Without hurting ourselves?"
"I don't think so. I mean, not if it burns out people's eyes or whatever."
"Then our only option is to, what? Guard it? Wait until he's old enough, tell him about his past and let him choose?"
Dean shrugs. "Should make sure it's even here first." He steps up to the tree and Cas puts a hand out immediately, drawn to it. As soon as his palm touches the bark he starts to glow, white light pouring off him just enough to be noticeable. For one unbearable moment, Sam thinks it's game over. Cas will get his grace back and that will be the end of that.
But then he pulls his hand away and burps.
Dean smiles fondly and claps Sam on the shoulder. "Guess that settles that. Let's go commit fraud and settle down, eh?"
Something about the way his smile lights up his face, or the easiness in the words, or the way his hand curls in the fabric of Sam's shirt makes Sam's heart attempt to float away in his chest. In a moment of terrifying clarity, he realizes he's in love with his brother.
_______________________________________________________________
Because Dean is good-really, really, scary good-at faking identities, Cas is registered with a social security number and papers before they settle down to sleep for the night. Sam has a 743 credit score before noon the next day, good enough to sign off on a house without anyone blinking an eye, but not enough to make it suspicious. They find the closest home for sale they can-just a few blocks away from the tree, guaranteed no problem to get there if the need ever arises-and call the realtor to give them a tour. It's a nice house, brick and wooden floors and shutters on the windows.
It's all very strange.
Moving in takes fifteen minutes. Three trips from the car with duffels and baby bags hanging off their shoulders; Sam's careful to only take what he can hold without putting Cas in danger of getting hit by a bag. The house seems too big this empty, so Dean gets them a room at the local motel until they've gotten the place ready to be lived in.
The first thing they buy is a crib. Sam spends the next three weeks taking care of Cas and furnishing the house (Dean's calling it decorating, but there's a difference) while Dean finds hunts in the surrounding area and keeps doing what Dean does best. Sam helps with the research side of Dean's hunts when he can, but he's finding it increasingly difficult to be useful, what with the fact that he suddenly wants to jump his brother's bones every time he's in the same room. Sam figures Dean would rather deal with the jobs on his own than have to find out about that little fact.
It's nice. Not something Sam has thought about or wanted for a long, long time, but it's exactly what he needs now that hunting is out, and Dean gets that. Doesn't make more fun of Sam than he's required to. Even seems to be less excited to leave than to get home some days, but maybe Sam is imagining that. Sam has to be imagining that.
He spends the first two weeks making sure the house is safe-though Sam doesn't even know that babyproofing exists until Dean comes out into the yard and asks why Cas was trying to lick the light sockets. Sam's safety rituals are a little more in line with real world problems: devil's traps, Enochian sigils, charms and traps, silver and iron. He does his best to cover them, carves the sigils onto the fence posts and hides them behind rose beds. He does his best to forget they're there and convince himself that his greatest worries have to do with light sockets.
But he's not an idiot. There's a ring of salt buried in their lawn, and Sam's willing to let the grass die if that's what it takes. He gets around to making things look nice after he's sure they won't be torn to shreds in their sleep, and Sam would be lying if he said he didn't think he was kind of good at it.
"Wow, Martha Stewart, sparing no expense, are you?" Dean comes in from his hunts caked in dirt and blood and God knows what else, and Sam tries not to let his distress show. "How much of my money are you spending on this shit, anyway?" Dean picks up a vase and peers through it before putting it down on the mantle carelessly, leaving a muddy smudge where his fingers held it.
Sam follows and steadies it before it can fall. "Your money?" he asks. "You know you're not bringing in any money, right?"
Dean peers at him over one shoulder as he holds Cas up in the air. "Who got you those credit cards you're buying all this shit with again?"
Sam scoffs. "Hardly counts as a hard day's work."
Dean turns back to the baby. "Do you hear how he treats Daddy? I don't even come home to a warm meal."
"I fed Cas," Sam points out. "He won't take your side."
Dean shrugs. "He's less than a month old, what does he know?"
Sam passes Dean on the way to the kitchen and grabs Cas out of his arms. "Enough to have figured out which one of us will let him starve to death if there's a Dr. Sexy marathon on TV."
"He wasn't gonna starve to death, I was waiting for commercials."
Sam swallows the laugh. "Spaghetti and meatballs tonight?"
Dean's lips curl into a slow grin. "Oh, Sammy, you spoil me."
Sam stares at the smile a moment too long before he can break his gaze. "Uh, I'm gonna go put this guy in his crib. Could you get the water boiling?"
Dean nods, moving to grab a pot out of the cabinet. "I've been thinking of getting a job," Dean calls up when Sam is making his way back down to the kitchen.
"That's generally what one does when they've just finished a hunt."
Dean is stirring pasta on the stove when Sam gets back. "Not…I mean, I didn't mean it like that."
Sam bumps his hip against Dean's and Dean hands over the stirring spoon, sliding out of Sam's way. "Beer?"
"I'm good," Sam replies. "So how did you mean it, then?"
"Just, you know. A real job. Here in town. One that pays money."
Sam stops worrying about his pasta to give Dean a much more worried look. "Like a steady job?"
"Yeah!" Dean says with a bright, easy smile. "A steady job."
"Without hunting?"
Dean confirms.
"Are you feeling quite all right, Dean?"
"Yeah, I just thought maybe, I mean, I don't know."
"Oh, right," Sam says slowly. "Maybe, I mean, I don't know. Definitely the kind of clear thinking one should shape major life decisions around."
Dean sighs. "Blow me."
Sam grins. "You know, I'll be honest, I wasn't even sure you were capable of that kind of intense cerebral activity."
"Blow me, Sammy."
"It's just such a rough brainwave you were riding there. I hope you didn't strain anything."
"I said 'blow me.'"
"And, to conclude, the intellectual powerhouse offers-"
Sam flourishes at Dean just as Dean gives him one last, passionate, "Blow me."
He turns back to the stove to hide the fact that his mouth can't help smirking. It's lucky timing, anyway. His noodles are ready. "Please continue with your riveting tale of the deep river of logical thinking you were paddling through as you bashed through a ghoul's head this morning."
"It was a goblin and I set him on fire," Dean sniffs loudly, "it's like you don't even listen to me."
He says something else, too, but Sam's focusing on pouring hot water into the strainer instead of his hand, so he doesn't catch it.
"See, that's exactly what I mean."
"What?" Sam asks, lifting his head and giving Dean a guilty smile.
"You don't want to hear about my hunts when I get home," he says, only a little accusatory.
Sam flushes. "It's not that it's just-"
"No, it is that. And if you don't even wanna hear about them, what makes you think I wanna go through with them?"
Sam shrugs, pulling red sauce from the fridge. "You love hunting."
"I did. I do." Sam freezes and looks at Dean, really looks at him for the first time since he got home. He's got his hands buried in his pockets and, shit. A look on his face like he's really not kidding. "It just sucks to do it alone, I guess. Or…it wasn't so bad when I thought it was all I could do. But then after Lisa and Ben-well, I didn't suck at that. I mean, I did because you were…but not-"
"I get it," Sam says, letting him off the hook.
Dean huffs out a relieved breath and gives him a thankful nod. "What I'm trying to say here is that we can't keep hunting forever, that was never an option, not even before you were…"
"Again," Sam says, a little cooler this time. "I get it."
"There was always something to run toward or from before, but now we're just two guys. Nothing coming for us, nothing we have to do. If we don't hunt, it's not such a big deal. World won't end. Plus, we've got the kid now and people who will notice if neither of us ever does an honest day's work and-fuck it, those are excuses. I just don't want to anymore, Sam. I'm sick of it. I wanna stay put for more than an hour and watch Cas grow up and not die in some alley somewhere chasing after monsters."
Dean is going to be safe. They're all going to be safe. Sam's not allowed to say out loud how worried he's spent the last year while Dean was hunting, he has to play it cool. His heart is beating out of control, but he doesn't pull his brother in for a hug or pump his fist into the air or shut him the hell up with a kiss. He pulls two plates out of the cabinet and gives Dean the best-contained smile he can manage. "So get a job then," he says. "I'm not your mom."
Dean smiles, hesitates before he moves aside so Sam can get the meatballs out of the microwave. "Wait, I, have another. How about you?"
"How about me?"
"I can stay home with Cas while you finish up school. You could be a lawyer for real. I mean, the schools around here won't be Stanford, but-"
"No." Sam's answer comes too quick and too harsh. Dean looks up shocked, and Sam relaxes a little. "It's not that I'm scared to go out on my own"-it is, Dean knows it is-"I just don't really want that anymore. Haven't for a while. I like what I've been doing, Dean."
Dean smiles dimly, takes the meatballs out for Sam and gives his shoulder a careful slap as he hands them over and walks to the table. "All right, Sam, if that's what you want. Just don't start quoting The Feminine Mystique at me when you realize you're my housewife."
Sam is caught so far off guard he forgets to protest the wife comment. "How do you even know what The Feminine Mystique is?"
Dean grins. "Do you have any idea how many women studies majors you meet in college bars, Sammy? Namedrop some of that crap and they'll forget they hate you for having a dick in a heartbeat."
"And then you promptly remind them the next morning?"
"Guilty as charged," Dean says proudly. "Where's the cheese?"
Sam shakes his head but reaches for the parmesan anyway. "You're disgusting."
"Not my fault their icy hearts melt for a piece of this," Dean says through a slurp.
Sam takes a little bit of comfort in the fact that he has spaghetti dangling from his mouth and looks like a moron. Then he imagines licking the sauce off Dean's chin and his body flushes with warmth. He coughs into his hand. "Just shut up and eat your dinner."
_______________________________________________________________
Dean gets a job after a month and a half of sitting around on the couch and sleeping too much. He insists it's a hard economy, Sam insists he's not trying hard enough, and the reality of it is probably somewhere in the middle. It doesn't actually matter, Sam doesn't mind having him around, Cas certainly doesn't mind getting twice as much attention, and the credit cards hold out until he's employed.
He gets hired by a mechanic, a reliable job Sam knows will make him happy, and drives by Cas's tree every morning. He says he waves to it, too, but Sam's pretty sure he isn't serious. They settle into it pretty easily, though there are times Sam misses the open road and he can tell Dean feels the same. He comes home from work, soaked in car grease, and spends an hour taking his guns apart and cleaning them while Sam makes dinner. Sam likes to think these are just growing pains, and they'll both be over them soon.
By the time Cas is crawling, they've got a routine. It still involves holy water and late nights, but no one's genuinely worried. Not really. Not usually.
Sam wakes at 2:30 a.m. from the worst nightmare he's had since Castiel's last visit. Dean on a ceiling and Cas in his crib, and Sam's matted with sweat, but there's still a chill running down his spine. It's then he remembers it's Cas' six month birthday, and Sam swears there's a creaking sound coming from the hall.
He tells himself to calm down. There's no way. But his instinct says get the hell out of bed, and it's the instinct he listens to. Sam grabs a water gun full of holy water from the drawer next to his bed and heads to the next door over. One look into Cas' room shows nothing; Cas is fast asleep, the windows are still lined with salt, there's no one in there. Nothing to worry about, he tells himself again, but he might as well go downstairs and check. Make sure none of his protective measures have been broken. Just in case.
He meet's Dean in the hall, and they fight. Sam sprays Dean before he notices who he's aiming the gun at and has to wrestle Ruby's knife out of his brother's hand before it takes his head off.
Sam pushes Dean against the wall and holds his wrist too tight until Dean relents, dropping the weapon. It's not until he's calmed down that he looks at Sam and realizes what was happening. He lets out a breath, of relief or amusement or both, and sinks to the floor when Sam lets go of him. Sam joins him, picking up the knife and laughing at the way his brother's cradling his hand.
"Ow," he says. "That hurt, you dick."
"You were trying to stab me," Sam says, still laughing a little.
Dean finally laughs, too. "What were you doing in there, anyway?"
Sam swallows hard. "I, uh. Couldn't sleep."
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Me neither."
"Did you…?"
"Everything's okay downstairs," Dean says.
Sam lets his head drop back in relief, rests it against the wall. "Good. That's good."
"We should. Go back to bed, I guess."
"Yeah," says Sam. "Yeah, we should."
They sit there, neither making a move to go.
"I think we should get a dog," Dean says after some time.
Sam doesn't know where it's coming from or why the hell Dean's bringing it up at 2 in the morning, but hey. "A dog?"
"A puppy," Dean elaborates. "For Cas. He's crawling now. He can have a dog crawling around with him."
Sam shrugs. "I always wanted a dog."
"I know," Dean says, a little quieter.
"What kinda dog?" Sam asks, just because the lull is getting uncomfortable.
"I dunno," Dean says. "I was thinking of stopping by a pound or something tomorrow. Picking up the first one that sticks out."
Sam feels himself smiling. "Yeah, okay."
"Really?"
"Yeah!" He sits up and catches enough moonlight to see his brother's face. "I'm kind of excited."
Dean grins, and Sam can't help moving forward, putting a hand on the side of his neck. It would be so easy to kiss him, but when Dean takes a deep breath and holds it, Sam realizes he's probably making Dean uncomfortable. He slaps the side of Dean's face gently, rising to his feet and hoping Dean won't wonder why the touch went on so long. "It really is bedtime, then, huh? I mean, we're not getting anything done out here, and you have work in the morning."
Sam feels Dean's hand grab for his ankle and turns back to catch Dean looking up at him with a weird expression on his face. "Sammy?" he says, almost whispering.
"Yeah, Dean?" Sam offers him a hand up and Dean takes it.
Dean's staring at him again, so close Sam has to turn away. He looks shaken, like he's scared or wants to ask for something, and Sam really hopes he's not freaking out because he figured Sam out. He licks his lip and then shakes his head. "Forget it. I was-"
"Forget what?"
Dean lets out a shaky laugh. "I'm not sleeping tonight," he admits, though Sam has a feeling he's not really saying what he'd been planning to a minute ago. "Not really."
Sam nods, leaning against the wall. "I don't think I am, either."
Dean reaches out, pushes the door to Cas's room open between them. "Wanna pull up some chairs? Try sleeping in shifts?"
The corners of Sam's mouth lift up. It's stupid, and on some level he's pretty sure they both know that. But it's nice to know he's not the only one wary of six month birthdays. "Sounds good," he says. "Rock, paper, scissors for who goes first?"
"I'll go first."
"Aww, chickening out 'cause you know you'll lose," Sam teases. "What happened to the big, strong hunter in you, Dean?"
Dean rolls his eyes and shoves Sam into the room, taking the better chair before Sam can beat him to it. He pulls a shot gun full of rock salt onto his lap from under Cas' cradle and settles in next to Sam. Sam smiles into the scratchy pillow on the armchair he's in, a $20 buy from a garage sale they'd stopped at when Cas was throwing a fit and Sam was going to kill them both if he didn't get out of the house for at least an hour. He feels stupidly safe and happy, neck cramps notwithstanding.
ON TO PART TWO
or
BACK TO MASTERPOST
Castiel shows up on their doorstep on the last day of July.
Dean is out getting burgers; Sam is hiding behind the bed nearest the bathroom, afraid something will come for him while his brother is out. The battering at the door is intimidating to say the least, and Sam is actually relieved when he sees who it is, lets Castiel in past the angelproofing and doesn't realize that was the stupidest fucking thing he could do until Jimmy's generic black loafers are stepping into the motel room.
Shit. Castiel is the bad guy now. Sam is almost definitely dead. And Dean is going to be so pissed when he gets back.
"Hello, Sam," Castiel says, like they're still friends.
Sam cowers away, tripping over the mattress Dean has been sleeping on, falling back onto it. Maybe it's just another nightmare, he tells himself. Nightmares happen a lot while Sam's awake these days.
Castiel frowns at Sam's reaction but doesn't move forward to strike. He doesn't smite Sam.
"What do you want?" Sam asks, though he's pretty sure he won't get an answer before he croaks. They've been hunting the angel for months, and Castiel knows better than just about anyone that the best way to stop Sam and Dean from closing out a hunt is to catch them alone. Sam refused to go out with Dean, thought it would be too scary. Why didn't Dean insist?
"I would like to talk," he says, sitting on the bed next to Sam but far enough away not to touch. Sam scoots further from him, and Castiel watches but says nothing.
"Don't really have much to say to you," Sam replies, trying his best not to sound as scared as he is.
"I am sorry, Sam," Castiel says. "I just wanted you to know you and your brother were right. I'm going to fix things now that I have won the war. Heaven is at peace. I don't think it is too late."
Sam says nothing, doesn't know what he can possibly say, because this is not what he expected to hear.
"I'm going to return the souls to purgatory. I will likely destroy myself in…" Castiel looks directly at Sam, and it's only now that he realizes how off the color of Castiel's skin is and the dark circles around the wide blue eyes staring at him, looking every bit as terrified as Sam feels.
"You can't hold it," Sam says. "The souls are too much."
Castiel nods slightly. "I am not meant to be God. I never was. I was simply…blinded. I thought, at the time, that I was doing the right thing."
Sam thinks of the last few months, all the time he's spent screaming in pain or terror because an angel they trusted thought he was doing the right thing. He licks his lips, remembering the iron taste of demon blood, and can't summon all the hate he knows he should be feeling. "Why are you telling me this, Cas?"
"We were friends once. I hope," he pauses to glance out the window, "I hope that one day you and your brother can forgive me."
Castiel leans forward. Sam can't pull away any more than he already has. He can't outrun God. He can't do anything but tremble as Castiel presses a hot, glowing hand against his temple. Sam cries out for help, for Dean, anything, but the help doesn't come and neither does the rush of pain he's anticipating. When Castiel pulls away Sam feels…okay. For the first time in months, Sam's skin isn't lava, his blood isn't pumping acid through his veins, the Devil doesn't smile at him when he closes his eyes.
He feels absolutely fine. Comparatively, it's better than that. Right now it seems like Sam's never felt this good in his life, never even imagined he could feel this good.
"What did you-?" Sam asks, his breath coming heavy. "How did you?"
Castiel hardly smiles, the tiniest curve to the side of his lips. "I'm God now," he says, and Sam doesn't remember him ever sounding this sad, not even when God was missing and Sam was the only person even pretending to have hope left.
Sam wants to thank him, but he swallows hard and looks away instead.
"Get away from my brother." Sam and Castiel both turn to face the door. Dean's face is set in a scowl that would scare anyone, even though the gun he's pointing at Castiel is useless and they all know it.
"Dean, he-"
There's a sound of feathers rustling, and then Castiel is standing behind Dean outside the motel room door. "May I speak with you?" he says.
Sam watches Dean's body somehow get tenser, but he doesn’t let fear show as he turns to face the angel. "If I say no, will you fuck off?"
"Dean, he fixed it," Sam says.
Dean shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn't lower the gun, and the cold line of his shoulders doesn't melt. "Away from him," he says. "You stay away from Sam."
Castiel's eyes settle on Sam. He looks apologetic and a little like he doesn't expect to ever see Sam again. Sam wants to ask, but he can't find his voice. Then the door slams without anyone touching it, leaving Sam inside the room, trying to force his way out so he can make sure Castiel didn't come and fix him just to hurt Dean.
He can't hear through the thick glass of the window, but from what he can see, the conversation is civil enough. Castiel is the one acting like he's been cornered, and Dean's face is relentless, furious turn to his mouth with every word it shapes. Castiel doesn't say much, doesn't seem to have the energy to respond to Dean's fury in kind. His shoulders droop, and he tries to implore Dean, but Dean won't listen. Of course Dean won't listen.
It's not long before he's pushing into the room, slamming the door shut behind him and grabbing the spray paint on the table to touch-up the spot where Sam broke the sigils to let Castiel in.
"What did he say?" Sam asks, standing to put a hand on Dean's shoulder, try to help him relax. Dean is quick to push him away.
"You never do that again, Sammy," he says. "Don't you ever tamper with any of this stuff while I'm out."
"Dean, I'm okay," Sam says. "Look at me. I'm okay. He fixed me."
Dean shakes his head. "After he broke you. I don't trust it."
Sam shrugs. "Maybe he's come around."
Dean stops fixing the symbols to inspect Sam, eyes moving over him quickly. It's the look Sam's seen too many times. Flagstaff, when Dean thought he'd lost Sam; Cold Oak, the day he walked into a cabin and found Sam alive when he shouldn't have been; a hug that Sam saw through someone else's eyes when he was in Hell and Dean thought he finally wasn't. Checking over. Making sure all the parts are in place. Sam was in danger, and now he isn't. Sam hates that he's gotten so good at reading this expression.
Dean doesn't pull him in for an embrace this time, doesn't crack a joke, doesn't even continue his lecture. He just looks and looks, and Sam is going to get performance anxiety standing here if Dean doesn't find what he's searching for soon.
Finally Dean lets out a long puff of air and presses a hand to Sam's cheek for a moment before he's storming away from Sam to the bathroom.
"Don't fuck with the angelproofing," is all he says as he slams yet another door behind him.
_______________________________________________________________
They don't see Castiel again after that.
They wait for something big to go down, some kind of sign that God is back and pissed off and looking for somewhere to vent the power his vessel can't hold. It's not quiet, not quiet enough to be suspicious. Monsters still eat children in their beds, earthquakes still break homes in half, Sam still screams and hides when they see monsters on hunts, because every damn shadow reminds him of Hell. But things are not as bad as they were for awhile. Not like when Castiel was still flexing his brand new God complex and Sam was still crying under the covers every time the air conditioner made noise.
They don't stop looking-that would be sloppy. But after four months of searching without a single new clue or another attack to trace back to Castiel, the hunt starts to seem less desperate. They take other jobs. They find Crowley and waste him. They wait for the next king or queen of Hell to start causing problems so they can gut that demon and the one who replaces them.
Five more months pass full of amateur jobs and the impending worry that God might be just around the corner, preparing to strike them both down for good.
_______________________________________________________________
It's a dark and stormy night, and there's a knock at the door accompanied by a loud clash of thunder. It's pretty cliché as far as 'don't open the door' omens go and would probably scare anyone less aware of the fact that horrible things happen just as easily under blue skies as under storm clouds.
Sam makes sure to check who's outside and waits until Dean has grabbed the nearest weapon to open it. He sees nothing through the peephole, and if he were sane, he would ignore it. Leave well enough alone. Sam is a Winchester, though, so he opens the door and Dean is right behind him with an encouraging nod.
At first, he thinks there really is no one there. The sound of heavy rain filters in, amplified now that there's nothing closing it out. It's so loud that it almost drowns out the crying. Crying that makes Sam look down to his feet where he sees exactly what he'd been hoping he wouldn't see.
"Jesus Christ," Dean says, peeking over his shoulder. "Is that seriously…?"
Sam bends to pick the basket up, and a bright red face sobs from inside. "Dude, it is. It's a baby."
"What the fuck?" Dean asks.
"Don't cuss at it."
Dean stares at Sam as he shuts the door. "Someone just dropped a kid in front of our motel room door at midnight in the middle of a thunderstorm. I'm allowed to cuss."
"Should we…do you think we can find whoever left it here?"
Dean reaches into the basket and pulls out a card. It has their names on it.
"Okay, weird," Sam says, rushing to place the basket on the table and pick the baby up.
Dean tears into the envelope while Sam tries to make it stop screaming. He watches his brother's eyes rove over the words three times before he shakes his head and lowers it. "I thought shit like this only happened in movies."
"What? What's it say?"
"Says the kid's mom was a seventeen-year-old junkie who only went through with the pregnancy because she had a dream and the dream told her she had to."
Sam's eyebrows lift just a little. He looks down at the baby in his arms, relieved that aside from the hysterical sobbing and the fact that it's soaked to the bone, it seems healthy. A miracle, even if they're only taking the thunderstorm into account. "Always a good start. And why does she know our names?"
"According to this," Dean brandishes the letter, "the dream told her to bring him to us. She says that it led her here, and she knows we'll understand why. She also seems to think we'll know what to name it."
"I'm not understanding anything," Sam says.
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "We'd better call some hospitals and police stations in the area, see if anyone's missing a kid."
"Of course," Sam says. The baby continues to yell in his ear and Sam sighs. "If we can quiet this thing long enough to hear what's on the other line."
"Can I try?" Dean asks, reaching for the wet bundle in Sam's arms. He puts up no fight before surrendering and pauses to watch his brother begin to bounce the upset little lump in his arms. He whispers soothing sounds, and, after a few minutes, the baby begins to calm.
"Shouldn't be in wet clothes much longer," Sam says. "We've gotta have something warm we can wrap it in."
Dean nods and lets Sam go looking. Sam grabs every towel out of the bathroom and digs through his duffel before accepting that the best they can do for now is wrapping the baby in one of their shirts.
"It would be too much to ask for that basket to have some nice, new diapers in it, wouldn't it?"
Dean is sitting in the armchair by the window, rocking a sleeping baby. He smirks up at Sam. "Actually, I think I still have three-quarters of a pack and some supplies shoved in the back of the trunk."
"Right. From when…Bobby John." Sam's eyes dodge to the door guiltily. "I can go out and get them."
Dean's lips are turned down at the corners, just enough for Sam to know he gets it, but he doesn't risk waking the baby up with his usual 'it doesn't count, you weren't really you' spiel. It's a relief-soul or no soul, Sam was going to hand an innocent kid over to god knows what, he doesn't actually deserve to be told it's okay.
He's happy to get a few minutes alone after the reminder, even with the rain pounding down as he digs through the Impala. He comes back to find Dean dropping liquid onto the baby's forehead from a flask of holy water and sees a silver chain on the table.
"Dude, are you serious?" Sam says, watching Dean pick up the chain and wrap it loosely around the baby's wrist.
Dean watches closely for a few seconds as neither of the tests causes a reaction and shrugs. "Sorry, man, just had to be sure."
"You're ridiculous," says Sam, shaking his head. "You know nothing supernatural is getting through the door."
"I thought I would be done before you got back. Now drop it."
Sam's fingers curl into fists. Dean is just worried about him, and Sam knows he's right to be. It's more frustration at himself than Dean that makes him so pissed. "You think I can't even handle a goddamn baby monster on my own, Dean? I'm not that pathetic."
"I was just checking, Sam. I had to. You know why I had to." Dean meets his eyes in a silent plea, and Sam lets out a breath, all the fight leaving with it.
"Come on, let's change it and I'll pull up some websites, see if there are any outstanding baby snatchings in the area." Sam drops the diaper bag on the table by the door, and Dean nods.
They do three hours of research, Sam making phone calls and hacking into police records on the computer while Dean sits on the opposite bed with the baby asleep on his chest, the television set to a quiet murmur. There are no reports yet, not in the area, not in the state, not for three states in every direction. Sam starts nodding off and figures the best thing he can do is get some rest, see if something pops up by morning.
Dean is already asleep when Sam turns the light off.
_______________________________________________________________
When Sam wakes up the next morning, the last thing he expects to see is Dean rubbing his eye groggily with one hand and still supporting the baby against his chest with the other. He pats its back, and it doesn't cry, just yawns like it's still too tired for that kind of thing.
Sam thought it had been a dream. An oddly quiet, almost nice little dream. Not the kind of dream Sam has these days. But still a more rational explanation than…
"So that really happened, huh?" Sam asks.
Dean takes one tiny hand in his and squeezes, making the baby giggle and smile a toothless grin. It's kind of precious; Sam wishes he had a camera. Dean will never admit to this once they've found out who the kid belongs to and given him back. "That's Sammy," he tells the baby. "As you can see, he's a little slow."
The baby mirrors Dean's smile back at him, and Sam decides it's not as cute as it was a minute ago. "I hope it pees on you," Sam says.
Dean's face drops and he lifts the baby, inspecting. It looks like the few hours since they fell asleep haven't given the kid enough time for an accident just yet. Dean moves to sit at the end of the bed and holds the baby out to Sam. "You watch him. I'm going to buy him something to wear that isn't sasquatch-sized."
"What? Now?"
"Now," Dean answers as he grabs his jacket and keys off the table.
The baby squirms in Sam's arms, and it hits Sam that he's never actually been alone with a baby before. "Take him with you."
"What, and be the one to get vomited on? I don't think so."
"He likes you more than me." Sam stares at the baby, and it stares right back, an unimpressed look on its face. "And what if I find out whose it is while you're gone and I don't have a car to take it home?"
"I'll be out like 20 minutes tops." Dean pauses at the door to smile at Sam. "Don't you crazy kids get into any trouble while I'm gone."
The door closes behind Dean with a click.
"I guess it's just you and me then, huh buddy?"
Sam's buddy begins to cry.
It takes 40 minutes of pacing the room with the baby (20 minutes tops, my ass, Sam thinks), bouncing him, trying to find something on TV, before Sam manages to calm it down. He gets exasperated, and since baby talk hasn't been working, he finally holds the infant just in front of his face and tries a rational conversation instead.
"Please, please, please stop yelling," Sam begs.
The baby's mouth closes and it blinks at Sam for a few seconds, eerily still, before tilting its head just a little bit to the side. The way he does it…it reminds Sam of Castiel. But that's crazy.
"That's crazy, right?" he asks. "You're definitely not Castiel?"
The baby squirms and smiles at Sam like it knows more than it's letting on, and that's it. That settles it. It's been nine months since Castiel went missing, and the baby has Jimmy Novak's eyes. It isn’t hard for Sam to put two and two together.
"Dammit, Cas," Sam says, pulling the kid back into his arms and shaking his head. "How the hell do you expect me to sell this to Dean?"
_______________________________________________________________
"Did you find out who he belongs to?" Dean asks when he returns.
Sam stands a foot away at the opposite end of the counter, closer to the sink than the impromptu changing table Dean has created in the middle of their motel room.
Well, I have a theory, he thinks. It explains why the baby ended up on their doorstep, why the hell the mother would have dreamed that they would know what to name, let alone do with, a newborn infant. But it's not an explanation Dean is going to believe or like.
"Well, um. No? Maybe? Never mind."
Dean spares a second's glance in Sam's direction before reapplying his focus to the diaper. "Never mind what, Sam?"
"I had an idea, but…forget it. It was a weird one."
"Gotta be pretty weird to put me off, man." Dean motions Sam out of the way so he can wash his hands in the sink and then turns to face him. "Come on, I promise I'll make fun of you if it's really ridiculous."
"Don't you mean you promise you won't?"
Dean's response is a shit-eating grin and the barest hint of a wink. Sam just rolls his eyes and endures it. "He's ours," Sam answers, moving to pick Castiel up before he really drops a piano on Dean's head. "I think he's supposed to be ours."
Dean's smile slips into a confused expression, then a face that clearly means Dean isn't sure if he's supposed to laugh or not. "Who do I have to chase with a shotgun for knocking up my little brother?"
"Dean," Sam groans.
"You did a good job hiding the pregnancy, though, I'll give you-"
"Can you not fuck around please?" Sam winces, pats the baby on the head softly. "You didn't hear that."
Dean snickers, shaking his head. "All right, in all seriousness, then. What the hell do you mean you think it's ours?"
"I think it's Castiel," Sam says. "Or, was. You know, like what happened with Anna when she-"
Dean's face slides from curious and amused to something dark and dangerous in seconds. He walks past Sam, keeping his back turned so Sam can't read his expression. "That's crazy."
"Not crazier than most of the-"
"It's crazy. And if it isn't? That doesn't change anything. That's someone's kid. We just need to find out who and get rid of it."
"Dean, you read the letter. The parents don't want him, won't do him any good. He wanted us to raise him."
"He wanted us to do a lot of things, doesn't mean we did them. Anyway, it's not him. That makes no goddamn-"
"Don't tell me you haven't felt it."
"Oh, come on, Sam. 'Felt it?' Are you gonna bring in The Secret or some shit?"
"Take him," Sam says, cradling Castiel's head and extending his arms out to Dean. "Hold him and look at him and tell me you don't feel like this kid is yours."
Dean doesn't accept the offering, just turns his head.
Sam smiles, more than a little smug. "You already felt it last night, huh? Just don't want to admit I'm right?"
"Sam, if you're right, then that baby is currently Public Enemy Number One." Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "And I am just not equipped to handle that."
"Was, before he fell. Now he's just a baby. Just an innocent kid. Christ, Dean," Sam pulls Cas back into his chest, a little too protective, "you're not handling anything, not if you mean that the way I think you do."
"Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt the kid. But I'm not keeping him around to-"
"To what?" Sam asks, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"Betray us again? As soon as he's old enough to get his grace back." Dean shrugs. "They're all the same, Sam. Anna was different, and then she got her grace and tried to kill you. Cas was different and then…Nope, no way. If that's Castiel, we're dropping him the first place that will take him and getting you as far away as possible."
"It is Castiel, Dean." Sam huffs out a laugh, but he's not feeling all that amused. "Our friend, Castiel."
"He broke your wall." Dean shakes his head. "Fuck that, I'm done taking chances with this. I can't anymore."
"He saved us more times than we can count. It was one misguided mistake, and he mostly made up for it."
"You still remember Hell. You're still-"
"Still what, Dean?"
Dean forces a smile and reaches out to muss Sam's hair. "Still a mess," he says, tone playful to cover up the fact that it's completely true.
"The wall was going to come down eventually. Don't pretend you didn't know that all along."
"He didn't need to speed it up," Dean snaps.
"Maybe not, but I'm better off now than I would have been if it'd broken on its own and he never came by to help."
"It's the thought that counts, Sam. All he wanted to do was hurt us. You."
Castiel gurgles and tugs on Sam's ear, and it makes him want to smile like he hasn't since he got back from Hell. Sam's chest tightens, and he already can't imagine letting Dean give the baby away. "I've done worse," Sam says darkly. "And you forgave me."
"Yeah, but Sam, you were…meant well."
"He thought he was doing the right thing. He realized he was wrong-he tore his freaking grace out in penitence. Why do I get forgiven when this infant that neither remembers what Cas did, nor is really responsible for it at all, gets put on trial?"
Dean looks at Sam but doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Because you're my brother," he mumbles, obviously aware of how flimsy the argument is.
"Then for your brother's sake." Sam steps forward, offers Dean the baby again, and Castiel turns to grin at Dean. "Just hold him and tell me he shouldn't be our baby."
Dean doesn't take him, but he replaces Sam's hand supporting Castiel's head and draws closer. There's a smile on his lips that he's trying to hide, and if Sam can just make it come out, he'll win this one.
"We can't take care of a kid," Dean finally says, sounding put out about it. "We've got a job, and I'm not raising him like-"
"You have a job."
Dean looks up and meets Sam's eyes, and Sam lets his defenses drop. "Admit it, man. I'm not a hunter anymore. I'm a guy who does research and hides in motels while his brother kills monsters."
"Sam, you're always a hunter." Dean's fingers smooth over Sam's, and Sam lets out a breath.
"I'm useless." He cuts Dean off before he can start. "I am, I'm useless. That's not up for debate."
Dean's mouth closes in a tight line, obvious disapproval, but he waves his hand, signaling that Sam can continue.
"And I'm lonely while you're out, usually. But when you were gone today and I was taking care of him? I mean, I was awful at it. Really, really awful. But eventually we got there and I didn't-not once-stop to worry how long you'd been gone or if you were okay or if something was going to come in and hurt me. All I had time to focus on was taking care of him. Dean, it was nice."
Dean leans back against the counter and braces his hands on it. "So, what, Sam? What do you want to do? Quit hunting? Get a mortgage? Take the kid and stay inside keeping house all day?"
Sam's eye dodge down to Castiel and he smiles. "Yeah, Dean. I think that's exactly what I want."
Sam knows this isn't something he can force or beg for-it's too big to go in on unless they go in together. And he's terrified. If Dean says no, Sam will have to relent, have to hand Castiel over to strangers and go back to following his brother around without anything to live for.
Dean's face is unreadable when Sam looks back up at him. He wishes Dean would just say something already. Not knowing what his brother is thinking is uncomfortable enough at the best of times, and this is not the best of times.
Finally, something in Dean's expression breaks; his eyes soften and he shakes his head. "You win this time, Sammy."
_______________________________________________________________
It's not until he's buckling Castiel into a car seat in the back of the Impala the next morning that Sam realizes they have no idea what their next stop is. Neither of them has a burning desire to go live in Lawrence, but it's the only town they know of that means anything like home. Sam's not sure if they're supposed to do research for this kind of thing, Google good places to raise a kid and take someone they don't know's word for it. Or if they're just supposed to drive around with a newborn until they reach a town that feels right. Sam's not having second thoughts, but he is two days in and already wondering if he's a crappy parent.
"You're an idiot," Dean informs Sam the first time he dares to bring that little problem up.
Sam glares at his brother from the passenger seat and scoffs. "Why am I an idiot?"
"Because we don’t have a choice in where we're raising the kid if we're raising the kid," Dean says. "Did you forget what he is?"
Sam sits, considering it for all of a minute before he gets the desire to smack his palm to his forehead. "Shit, Dean, his grace."
Dean snickers. "So there is something rattling around in that giant skull of yours. Good to know."
"What are we doing wasting time in the car, man? We have to find out where it is. Before any of the angels who're still pissed at him get ideas."
Dean waits until they're at a red light to reach over and open the glove compartment. He pulls out a stack of newspapers and drops it on Sam's lap. "Ten steps ahead of you."
Sam scans through the first article, then the second, then flips through the remaining three. Last week a redwood popped up in Southern Wyoming, practically overnight. It's hundreds of miles away from being in the right region and stretches up as tall as the giants in California. The town of Saratoga has no idea where the sequoia came from-they're all swearing up and down that it was an empty field before the tree showed up. Most of the newspapers are assuming some kind of elaborate hoax.
"And, uh, meteor shower?"
"Nope," Dean says cheerfully. "No showers. But I checked the local astronomy sites in the nearest towns and they all saw-you guessed it-one exceptionally large falling star, heading right for Saratoga the night before the tree reports started."
"Wow," Sam says, dropping the papers into his lap. "You really did your homework, huh?"
Dean gives him a cocky smile and a half-glance. "Try not to sound so surprised."
"Why didn't you tell me about any of this?" Sam asks.
Dean laughs. "Because it was too much fun to listen to you angsting over what to do next. And because it all kind of occurred to me last night while the kid was keeping me up and," Dean shrugs, but Sam can read something like excitement in his body language, "I figured if we're doing this, I might as well pull my weight."
Sam turns around and squeezes the baby's feet. He giggles and kicks them in the air. "You hear that, Castiel? We're going home."
"Stop calling him that," Dean says.
"But that's his name," Sam replies, turning his attention back to the driver's seat.
Dean shakes his head. "That was his name when he was an angel. No kid of mine is going through life being called Castiel. Jesus, Sam, there was a reason he was a virgin for thousands of years."
Sam raises an eyebrow. He's pretty sure the reason for that was the whole angel thing, but he decides it's not worth the effort. "What are we calling him, then?"
"Not Castiel," Dean supplies helpfully.
"I guess we could name him Jimmy."
Dean bites his bottom lip. "I think that's the last thing Jimmy'd want. They didn't exactly end on good terms."
Sam sits back. "Castiel wasn't really very good at the whole 'maintaining friends' thing, was he?"
"Guess he spent too much time with your ass." Dean turns to face the baby. "Don't you worry, kid. I won't let the Nerd Wonder over here make you socially awkward. Again."
"Har har, really funny, Dean."
Dean's attention is back on Sam, a grin taking up half his face. "Well, thanks, Sammy, I thought so, too."
Sam swats away the hand that tries to attack his hair. "So what's his name gonna be?"
"Cas, duh," Dean replies. "A Cas can totally get laid."
"This is how you choose what to name a kid?" Sam groans, sinking into his seat. "What have I done?"
"Oh, give it up. Cas is a perfectly acceptable solution."
"People are gonna wanna know what it's short for," Sam says.
Dean shrugs. "People can suck it?"
"That's nice, Dean. Really nice."
He smiles. "It's gonna have to be Cas or it's gonna have to be Angus Young the II."
Sam looks into the backseat and waves. "Hey there, Cas."
Dean snickers. "Weak choice, bro."
"Okay, we should forge him a birth certificate as soon as we get to Saratoga. Make this all official before anyone asks."
"Check out the tree, fake some papers, buy a house," Dean recites. "Piece of pie."
"I think the expression is cake."
"Don't kill my buzz, Sam," says Dean. "Wanna listen to some Zep, kid?"
Dean takes Cas's silence and Sam's whine as unanimous approval.
_______________________________________________________________
Looking up, all Sam can think is-
"Damn, that is a big fucking tree," Dean says, stepping into the field. He's got Cas strapped to his chest in a baby carrier Sam bought three days ago.
"Language," Sam reminds him for the thousandth time.
"He's not gonna remember I said fuck." Dean grins. "Twice."
"He will if you don't get out of the habit of doing it every three words."
"Whatever, it won't hurt him." Dean takes Cas's hand and Cas looks up at him, blowing a spit bubble. "The big bad word's not gonna hurt you just 'cause Sammy's got his panties in a knot, is it?"
The bubble pops.
"See? Cas is on my side."
Sam marches on. "What do we do now?" he asks, feeling the trunk of the massive tree for some kind of instruction. "We can't touch the actual grace, right? Without hurting ourselves?"
"I don't think so. I mean, not if it burns out people's eyes or whatever."
"Then our only option is to, what? Guard it? Wait until he's old enough, tell him about his past and let him choose?"
Dean shrugs. "Should make sure it's even here first." He steps up to the tree and Cas puts a hand out immediately, drawn to it. As soon as his palm touches the bark he starts to glow, white light pouring off him just enough to be noticeable. For one unbearable moment, Sam thinks it's game over. Cas will get his grace back and that will be the end of that.
But then he pulls his hand away and burps.
Dean smiles fondly and claps Sam on the shoulder. "Guess that settles that. Let's go commit fraud and settle down, eh?"
Something about the way his smile lights up his face, or the easiness in the words, or the way his hand curls in the fabric of Sam's shirt makes Sam's heart attempt to float away in his chest. In a moment of terrifying clarity, he realizes he's in love with his brother.
_______________________________________________________________
Because Dean is good-really, really, scary good-at faking identities, Cas is registered with a social security number and papers before they settle down to sleep for the night. Sam has a 743 credit score before noon the next day, good enough to sign off on a house without anyone blinking an eye, but not enough to make it suspicious. They find the closest home for sale they can-just a few blocks away from the tree, guaranteed no problem to get there if the need ever arises-and call the realtor to give them a tour. It's a nice house, brick and wooden floors and shutters on the windows.
It's all very strange.
Moving in takes fifteen minutes. Three trips from the car with duffels and baby bags hanging off their shoulders; Sam's careful to only take what he can hold without putting Cas in danger of getting hit by a bag. The house seems too big this empty, so Dean gets them a room at the local motel until they've gotten the place ready to be lived in.
The first thing they buy is a crib. Sam spends the next three weeks taking care of Cas and furnishing the house (Dean's calling it decorating, but there's a difference) while Dean finds hunts in the surrounding area and keeps doing what Dean does best. Sam helps with the research side of Dean's hunts when he can, but he's finding it increasingly difficult to be useful, what with the fact that he suddenly wants to jump his brother's bones every time he's in the same room. Sam figures Dean would rather deal with the jobs on his own than have to find out about that little fact.
It's nice. Not something Sam has thought about or wanted for a long, long time, but it's exactly what he needs now that hunting is out, and Dean gets that. Doesn't make more fun of Sam than he's required to. Even seems to be less excited to leave than to get home some days, but maybe Sam is imagining that. Sam has to be imagining that.
He spends the first two weeks making sure the house is safe-though Sam doesn't even know that babyproofing exists until Dean comes out into the yard and asks why Cas was trying to lick the light sockets. Sam's safety rituals are a little more in line with real world problems: devil's traps, Enochian sigils, charms and traps, silver and iron. He does his best to cover them, carves the sigils onto the fence posts and hides them behind rose beds. He does his best to forget they're there and convince himself that his greatest worries have to do with light sockets.
But he's not an idiot. There's a ring of salt buried in their lawn, and Sam's willing to let the grass die if that's what it takes. He gets around to making things look nice after he's sure they won't be torn to shreds in their sleep, and Sam would be lying if he said he didn't think he was kind of good at it.
"Wow, Martha Stewart, sparing no expense, are you?" Dean comes in from his hunts caked in dirt and blood and God knows what else, and Sam tries not to let his distress show. "How much of my money are you spending on this shit, anyway?" Dean picks up a vase and peers through it before putting it down on the mantle carelessly, leaving a muddy smudge where his fingers held it.
Sam follows and steadies it before it can fall. "Your money?" he asks. "You know you're not bringing in any money, right?"
Dean peers at him over one shoulder as he holds Cas up in the air. "Who got you those credit cards you're buying all this shit with again?"
Sam scoffs. "Hardly counts as a hard day's work."
Dean turns back to the baby. "Do you hear how he treats Daddy? I don't even come home to a warm meal."
"I fed Cas," Sam points out. "He won't take your side."
Dean shrugs. "He's less than a month old, what does he know?"
Sam passes Dean on the way to the kitchen and grabs Cas out of his arms. "Enough to have figured out which one of us will let him starve to death if there's a Dr. Sexy marathon on TV."
"He wasn't gonna starve to death, I was waiting for commercials."
Sam swallows the laugh. "Spaghetti and meatballs tonight?"
Dean's lips curl into a slow grin. "Oh, Sammy, you spoil me."
Sam stares at the smile a moment too long before he can break his gaze. "Uh, I'm gonna go put this guy in his crib. Could you get the water boiling?"
Dean nods, moving to grab a pot out of the cabinet. "I've been thinking of getting a job," Dean calls up when Sam is making his way back down to the kitchen.
"That's generally what one does when they've just finished a hunt."
Dean is stirring pasta on the stove when Sam gets back. "Not…I mean, I didn't mean it like that."
Sam bumps his hip against Dean's and Dean hands over the stirring spoon, sliding out of Sam's way. "Beer?"
"I'm good," Sam replies. "So how did you mean it, then?"
"Just, you know. A real job. Here in town. One that pays money."
Sam stops worrying about his pasta to give Dean a much more worried look. "Like a steady job?"
"Yeah!" Dean says with a bright, easy smile. "A steady job."
"Without hunting?"
Dean confirms.
"Are you feeling quite all right, Dean?"
"Yeah, I just thought maybe, I mean, I don't know."
"Oh, right," Sam says slowly. "Maybe, I mean, I don't know. Definitely the kind of clear thinking one should shape major life decisions around."
Dean sighs. "Blow me."
Sam grins. "You know, I'll be honest, I wasn't even sure you were capable of that kind of intense cerebral activity."
"Blow me, Sammy."
"It's just such a rough brainwave you were riding there. I hope you didn't strain anything."
"I said 'blow me.'"
"And, to conclude, the intellectual powerhouse offers-"
Sam flourishes at Dean just as Dean gives him one last, passionate, "Blow me."
He turns back to the stove to hide the fact that his mouth can't help smirking. It's lucky timing, anyway. His noodles are ready. "Please continue with your riveting tale of the deep river of logical thinking you were paddling through as you bashed through a ghoul's head this morning."
"It was a goblin and I set him on fire," Dean sniffs loudly, "it's like you don't even listen to me."
He says something else, too, but Sam's focusing on pouring hot water into the strainer instead of his hand, so he doesn't catch it.
"See, that's exactly what I mean."
"What?" Sam asks, lifting his head and giving Dean a guilty smile.
"You don't want to hear about my hunts when I get home," he says, only a little accusatory.
Sam flushes. "It's not that it's just-"
"No, it is that. And if you don't even wanna hear about them, what makes you think I wanna go through with them?"
Sam shrugs, pulling red sauce from the fridge. "You love hunting."
"I did. I do." Sam freezes and looks at Dean, really looks at him for the first time since he got home. He's got his hands buried in his pockets and, shit. A look on his face like he's really not kidding. "It just sucks to do it alone, I guess. Or…it wasn't so bad when I thought it was all I could do. But then after Lisa and Ben-well, I didn't suck at that. I mean, I did because you were…but not-"
"I get it," Sam says, letting him off the hook.
Dean huffs out a relieved breath and gives him a thankful nod. "What I'm trying to say here is that we can't keep hunting forever, that was never an option, not even before you were…"
"Again," Sam says, a little cooler this time. "I get it."
"There was always something to run toward or from before, but now we're just two guys. Nothing coming for us, nothing we have to do. If we don't hunt, it's not such a big deal. World won't end. Plus, we've got the kid now and people who will notice if neither of us ever does an honest day's work and-fuck it, those are excuses. I just don't want to anymore, Sam. I'm sick of it. I wanna stay put for more than an hour and watch Cas grow up and not die in some alley somewhere chasing after monsters."
Dean is going to be safe. They're all going to be safe. Sam's not allowed to say out loud how worried he's spent the last year while Dean was hunting, he has to play it cool. His heart is beating out of control, but he doesn't pull his brother in for a hug or pump his fist into the air or shut him the hell up with a kiss. He pulls two plates out of the cabinet and gives Dean the best-contained smile he can manage. "So get a job then," he says. "I'm not your mom."
Dean smiles, hesitates before he moves aside so Sam can get the meatballs out of the microwave. "Wait, I, have another. How about you?"
"How about me?"
"I can stay home with Cas while you finish up school. You could be a lawyer for real. I mean, the schools around here won't be Stanford, but-"
"No." Sam's answer comes too quick and too harsh. Dean looks up shocked, and Sam relaxes a little. "It's not that I'm scared to go out on my own"-it is, Dean knows it is-"I just don't really want that anymore. Haven't for a while. I like what I've been doing, Dean."
Dean smiles dimly, takes the meatballs out for Sam and gives his shoulder a careful slap as he hands them over and walks to the table. "All right, Sam, if that's what you want. Just don't start quoting The Feminine Mystique at me when you realize you're my housewife."
Sam is caught so far off guard he forgets to protest the wife comment. "How do you even know what The Feminine Mystique is?"
Dean grins. "Do you have any idea how many women studies majors you meet in college bars, Sammy? Namedrop some of that crap and they'll forget they hate you for having a dick in a heartbeat."
"And then you promptly remind them the next morning?"
"Guilty as charged," Dean says proudly. "Where's the cheese?"
Sam shakes his head but reaches for the parmesan anyway. "You're disgusting."
"Not my fault their icy hearts melt for a piece of this," Dean says through a slurp.
Sam takes a little bit of comfort in the fact that he has spaghetti dangling from his mouth and looks like a moron. Then he imagines licking the sauce off Dean's chin and his body flushes with warmth. He coughs into his hand. "Just shut up and eat your dinner."
_______________________________________________________________
Dean gets a job after a month and a half of sitting around on the couch and sleeping too much. He insists it's a hard economy, Sam insists he's not trying hard enough, and the reality of it is probably somewhere in the middle. It doesn't actually matter, Sam doesn't mind having him around, Cas certainly doesn't mind getting twice as much attention, and the credit cards hold out until he's employed.
He gets hired by a mechanic, a reliable job Sam knows will make him happy, and drives by Cas's tree every morning. He says he waves to it, too, but Sam's pretty sure he isn't serious. They settle into it pretty easily, though there are times Sam misses the open road and he can tell Dean feels the same. He comes home from work, soaked in car grease, and spends an hour taking his guns apart and cleaning them while Sam makes dinner. Sam likes to think these are just growing pains, and they'll both be over them soon.
By the time Cas is crawling, they've got a routine. It still involves holy water and late nights, but no one's genuinely worried. Not really. Not usually.
Sam wakes at 2:30 a.m. from the worst nightmare he's had since Castiel's last visit. Dean on a ceiling and Cas in his crib, and Sam's matted with sweat, but there's still a chill running down his spine. It's then he remembers it's Cas' six month birthday, and Sam swears there's a creaking sound coming from the hall.
He tells himself to calm down. There's no way. But his instinct says get the hell out of bed, and it's the instinct he listens to. Sam grabs a water gun full of holy water from the drawer next to his bed and heads to the next door over. One look into Cas' room shows nothing; Cas is fast asleep, the windows are still lined with salt, there's no one in there. Nothing to worry about, he tells himself again, but he might as well go downstairs and check. Make sure none of his protective measures have been broken. Just in case.
He meet's Dean in the hall, and they fight. Sam sprays Dean before he notices who he's aiming the gun at and has to wrestle Ruby's knife out of his brother's hand before it takes his head off.
Sam pushes Dean against the wall and holds his wrist too tight until Dean relents, dropping the weapon. It's not until he's calmed down that he looks at Sam and realizes what was happening. He lets out a breath, of relief or amusement or both, and sinks to the floor when Sam lets go of him. Sam joins him, picking up the knife and laughing at the way his brother's cradling his hand.
"Ow," he says. "That hurt, you dick."
"You were trying to stab me," Sam says, still laughing a little.
Dean finally laughs, too. "What were you doing in there, anyway?"
Sam swallows hard. "I, uh. Couldn't sleep."
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Me neither."
"Did you…?"
"Everything's okay downstairs," Dean says.
Sam lets his head drop back in relief, rests it against the wall. "Good. That's good."
"We should. Go back to bed, I guess."
"Yeah," says Sam. "Yeah, we should."
They sit there, neither making a move to go.
"I think we should get a dog," Dean says after some time.
Sam doesn't know where it's coming from or why the hell Dean's bringing it up at 2 in the morning, but hey. "A dog?"
"A puppy," Dean elaborates. "For Cas. He's crawling now. He can have a dog crawling around with him."
Sam shrugs. "I always wanted a dog."
"I know," Dean says, a little quieter.
"What kinda dog?" Sam asks, just because the lull is getting uncomfortable.
"I dunno," Dean says. "I was thinking of stopping by a pound or something tomorrow. Picking up the first one that sticks out."
Sam feels himself smiling. "Yeah, okay."
"Really?"
"Yeah!" He sits up and catches enough moonlight to see his brother's face. "I'm kind of excited."
Dean grins, and Sam can't help moving forward, putting a hand on the side of his neck. It would be so easy to kiss him, but when Dean takes a deep breath and holds it, Sam realizes he's probably making Dean uncomfortable. He slaps the side of Dean's face gently, rising to his feet and hoping Dean won't wonder why the touch went on so long. "It really is bedtime, then, huh? I mean, we're not getting anything done out here, and you have work in the morning."
Sam feels Dean's hand grab for his ankle and turns back to catch Dean looking up at him with a weird expression on his face. "Sammy?" he says, almost whispering.
"Yeah, Dean?" Sam offers him a hand up and Dean takes it.
Dean's staring at him again, so close Sam has to turn away. He looks shaken, like he's scared or wants to ask for something, and Sam really hopes he's not freaking out because he figured Sam out. He licks his lip and then shakes his head. "Forget it. I was-"
"Forget what?"
Dean lets out a shaky laugh. "I'm not sleeping tonight," he admits, though Sam has a feeling he's not really saying what he'd been planning to a minute ago. "Not really."
Sam nods, leaning against the wall. "I don't think I am, either."
Dean reaches out, pushes the door to Cas's room open between them. "Wanna pull up some chairs? Try sleeping in shifts?"
The corners of Sam's mouth lift up. It's stupid, and on some level he's pretty sure they both know that. But it's nice to know he's not the only one wary of six month birthdays. "Sounds good," he says. "Rock, paper, scissors for who goes first?"
"I'll go first."
"Aww, chickening out 'cause you know you'll lose," Sam teases. "What happened to the big, strong hunter in you, Dean?"
Dean rolls his eyes and shoves Sam into the room, taking the better chair before Sam can beat him to it. He pulls a shot gun full of rock salt onto his lap from under Cas' cradle and settles in next to Sam. Sam smiles into the scratchy pillow on the armchair he's in, a $20 buy from a garage sale they'd stopped at when Cas was throwing a fit and Sam was going to kill them both if he didn't get out of the house for at least an hour. He feels stupidly safe and happy, neck cramps notwithstanding.
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