SPN FIC- TIMSHEL- PART ONE
Title: Timshel
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 14,440
Disclaimer: This belongs to the Kripkeeper and the CW.
Warnings: Spoilers up until 6.20- goes au after that. Unbeta'd kid!Fic, no mpreg.
Summary: What's the reward for saving the world from the apocalypse yet again? A medal? A condo? Wrong. A fledgling. Or, a domestic fluff fic in which Dean learns he's a father. For real this time.
“Dean”.
Shaking. The stripper bar was shaking, scantily clad, shrieking women fleeing the scene, lacy undergarments thrown into the air as a crack formed on the ceiling, the walls crumbl- No. Wait. It wasn't the club. He was shaking.
“Dean!”
He groaned piteously, burying his head against the pillow as he was forcefully yanked out of the comfort of his third favourite happy-time dream. And just when he was getting to the good part, naturally. The solid weight of someone's relentless hand rested on his shoulder, jerking his body with urgency and, if the little huffs of air were anything to go by, frustration.
“Goddammit, what?” he groused into the sheets, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he slid his arms under his pillow, hugging it towards him in an attempt to block out the fact he was currently awake and not watching angel and demon strippers get frisky. It wasn't like there was anything of immediate importance going on right now. Raphael was dead, so was Eve, Sam had his soul, no angels wanted to acquire themselves a Winchester flavoured condom and the apocalypse was off the table. Hell, even the demons were lying low lately. He hadn't seen a sassy, black-eyed bastard in almost a month and very few since Crowley had been...properly disposed of.
They'd come off simple salt and burn a little over two weeks ago, and barely heard a peep since. Things were quiet, and not the creepy, tight violin string, shit's-about-to-get-really-real-but-you-don't-know-it-yet kind of calm before the storm quiet either. Castiel had confirmed his suspicions that the majority of monsters and things that go bump in the night had not taken their mother's death all that well- the ones that didn't die along with her had shrunk back into hiding to lick their wounds, the poor little orphans. And actually, it was kind of awesome.
The air just felt...lighter and while Dean wasn't holding his breath to retire or anything quite so far-fetched, Sam was at least looking happier lately, and hell, that was good enough. This was their first real break in a long time and he wastrying to enjoy it, which would be a lot easier if it wasn't for the goddamn persistent angel.
“Dean, we need to talk” said Castiel, somewhere to the left of him, voice as grave and gravely as ever, but Dean's ears caught the layer of rushed insistence in his tone. He sounded....nervous? His attention caught, he rolled over onto his side, leaning up to squint at the clock. The smug red numbers sent a 3:47am shaped grin his way, causing him to make a miserable sound and scrub his hand over slightly stinging eyes.
“Cas, can't it wait until the birds are up at least?” Dean huffed, before looking up at the angel. To the untrained eye, Castiel was staring almost impassively down at him, a faint coating of stern impatience to his features, sure, but that was it. But Dean could see the minuscule twitches in his fingers as he lightly clutched at the edges of his trench coat, the strained glaze of his a-little-wider-than-usual eyes. The fact he actually wet his lips before speaking, so very human and so very, yes, nervous. He furrowed his brow, watching as Castiel stared at him, seemingly unsure, for a moment as he- contrary to his normal frank and abrupt nature- paused before answering.
“...Yes, I suppose it could” he said slowly as if mentally working out the equation of conversing with Dean Winchester. His eyebrows knotted together as he levelled Dean with the perpetually soul-searching stare he'd still not quite, even after four years of knowing the guy, grown used to.
“But I would prefer if we could speak now” he continued, “It...is a matter of some import.”
Dean sighed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and yanking a pair of pants on. He wasn't actually going to make Castiel wait to talk to him. Before he even noticed the angels' odd behaviour, he'd already resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be hauling his ass out of bed way too early that morning. See, after all that had happened in the past year, the fact that Castiel felt he had to go to Crowley instead of him, the isolation, the distance between them and the cost it had come at, ignoring Castiel when he came to Dean with an issue wasn't really an option for him any more. When you almost lose a member of your family for good, you make these kind of concessions.
“Alright, come on” he said in a hushed voice as he walked towards the motel room door. There was no sense in waking his still deep-in-sleep brother with their conversation. One of them should get a decent night's sleep at least. Castiel stalked eagerly out after him, his body tilting forward a little as if he was battling the urge to just blurt out whatever news it was that he had.
Dean leant back against the hood of the Impala, grateful for the lingering summer heat as opposed to the freezing night air he'd unconsciously been expecting. He watched Castiel carefully as he stood to the side of the car, hands fidgeting awkwardly at his sides.
“So, what's so important that you felt the need to drag my ass out of bed at half past hell o'clock?” Dean asked, folding his arms over his stomach as he perched on the hood. Castiel's mouth opened and closed twice, hesitancy and worry written all over his features. He let out a deep sigh, shoulders sagging as he closed his eyes for a moment. Dean's face twisted with concern at the image of distress Castiel made, the atmosphere surrounding them crackling with growing tension.
“Dude, c'mon, it can't be that bad” he prompted, which was a complete lie because it absolutely could be that bad and no-one knew that more than Dean Winchester, but going by the almost tangible anxiety radiating from Castiel, the angel needed some amount of reassurance. Castiel lifted his head back up and peeled two weary eyes, sending an expression that somehow communicated both an exasperated “you dumb human” and an exhausted “I do not want to tell you this” at the same time.
“Dean....” he started with an exhale tailing closely behind as he took an uncertain step closer “I...I am pleased that we have begun to mend the damage done to our relationship.”
Dean frowned, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything. He had been resolutely avoiding the topic of their recently strained friendship ever since they had begun making moves to build it back up because...well, honestly he didn't want to think about it. The topic left him with a hollow feeling in his gut and a putrid taste staining his pallet. They- and that includes Sam and Bobby- just didn't talk about it. So why was Castiel bringing it up now?
The angel paused again, likely collecting clumsy words to string together because after all, he learnt how to voice his thoughts and feelings from Dean, who let's face it, is not the most articulate of emoters.
“But” he began again, the heavy, simple word pulling Dean's spine taut automatically, “I...am aware that I shattered the trust you had in me with my actions this past year and I am not anticipating that I can rebuild it as it once was” and really, Dean had to protest because, yes, while it was true they still had some re-patching to do, he had forgiven Cas, begun to understand his position and why he felt he had to do what he did.
Not to mention, he had long since realised what an absolute dick he'd been to the angel and had guiltily accepted his part in what had happened. He had learnt to trust Sam again after everything with Ruby and the demon blood and he could and had extended the same courtesy to Castiel.
“Aw, c'mon Cas, you know that's not-”
“Dean, let me finish” Castiel cut in, holding a hand out to silence any further protests from Dean, who huffed in response.
“As I was saying, I know that I have shaken your trust in me, but you have to believe me” he stepped closer again, his expression serious and pleading, “I had nothing to do with this.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow at the rushed, exigent stress to his speech, trying to decipher the hidden tenor to Castiel's words.
“Nothing to do with what, Cas?” he asked, wary of the topic that had the angel so clearly spooked.
Castiel's jaw clenched and he looked off to the side, the look in his eyes just this side of absolutely fearful. His chest was expanding slowly as he took several deep breaths, so unlike his usual demeanour and Dean was nervous as hell because what was so severe it had the angel this worked up? Castiel turned away from Dean for a moment, probably to compose himself as he brought a stiff hand up to swipe over his face. He was debating whether or not to move closer, to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder to calm him when Castiel took one last breath, moved to face him and, finally, spoke.
“We...seem to have acquired an infant.”
Dean stilled, running the sentence back over in his mind, verifying that he had heard the correct words, that they meant what they meant. And yes, after going of them several times, he still reached the same conclusion; that he had absolutely no idea what the hell Castiel was talking about.
“...An infant” he repeated slowly, eyebrows raised with incredulity because this was just not making any sense to him whatsoever. Castiel sighed audibly.
“Earlier this afternoon, I met with a few higher ranking brothers of mine” he informed Dean, a heavy sense of tiredness amalgamating with the disquiet in his tone. “Balthazar interrupted.”
Well no surprises there, Dean thought. He really disliked that smarmy, v-neck wearing douchenozzle, but pushing his snarky thought patterns to the side for a moment, he focused hard on Cas, unable to thread these snaps of information together to form a clear picture. Castiel looked up at the sky, squinting at the clouds as though he was seeing the scene of the crime from down here.
“He...brought news” Castiel muttered. His eyes flickered back up to meet Dean's confused gaze once more, “He brought with him a child.” Dean screwed up his nose and stood up straighter.
“Alright, I think I'm missing something here. Balthazar crashes your party with a kid and this requires me to be awake because why now?”
Castiel chewed his bottom lip for a moment, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent in the pallid moonlight, the weight of the past four years exposed in the tiny nets of dark blue veins illuminated under the tell tale spotlight, the worry lines that had somehow deepened over the time Castiel had been in possession of his vessel. It made something inside Dean knot up, pushing him into familiar uncomfortable territory because he didn't like seeing Castiel this way.
There were parts of him that refused to quieten down that urged and insisted that he smooth over the cracks on Castiel's surface, that wanted to give back because Castiel had taken care of him to the best of his ability and at the expense of great personal sacrifice for years and glass shards of compulsion swarmed his veins and it was all he could do not to pull the angel into an urgent hug, because that is just something they just didn't do.
And the truth was, it wasn't down to a fierce disdain for 'chick flick' moments, or really his inability to express himself. It was the burgeoning fear that he would reach out to help Castiel, to tug him back to shore only to find out he is a ball of yarn and the harder he tugs, the more he unravels, diminishes. He wanted to patch him over, make him new just as the angel had done for him all those years ago. But he was Dean Winchester. He destroyed, he did not repair. And he couldn't risk it. So instead he stood, arms spread wide, watching the barely visible flecks of emotion pinch across Castiel's face.
“Dean” he said staidly, “It- he- is our child. ...Our son”
There was an immediate wrench somewhere inside Dean's middle as Castiel spoke the impossible words, the impact as though he had been kicked in the stomach by a particularly overly keen wendigo. His brain scrambled to catch up with itself, clambering over the shapes and sounds that had just puked their way out of Castiel's fumbling mouth because there was absolutely no way he could mean the first conclusion Dean had arrived at. It was preposterous, infeasible and no little amount of insane. They stared at each other for long moments of precariously hinged silence before he twitched his head to the side in bewildered question because what?
“Yours and...Balthazar's?” he questioned tentatively, electrons and synapses and whatever the hell else working overdrive to provide an explanation, the fringe theory that might actually turn out to be the correct one, go all Dunham on their asses and save the goddamn day. But dammit, he knew. With that same twist in his gut, he knew.
The way Cas was staring at him, the begging truth in his eyes, the open posture of his body which was somehow both defensive and protective in it's plainness. Some primordial instinct in him was already twisting with the word's Castiel hadn't yet verified, but his body was frozen, heart jackhammering as he waited only half consciously for confirmation of the nonsensical supposition.
Castiel breathed out through his nose, his spider leg-blue stare unwavering, the sharp edges of it blooming red heat up Dean's neck as his emotions hopscotched. This could not be good.
“Dean” Castiel said, his lips stretching around the single syllable as though it was painful to choke out, “the boy is ours. Mine...and yours.”
He blinked once. Twice.
The atmosphere pulsing like something alive around them. As Castiel stared back at him, face miserable and sewn with an unmitigated amount of uneasiness. He wasn't kidding- oh god- he wasn't kidding. Panic swelled in his flesh, curdling unsettlingly in his chest, pinching and abducted his breath. He gripped at the Impala, no longer trusting his knees to keep him upright because that was it. That was stony, unyielding truth he could feel stagnant in the air. He stammered, mind flailing out blindly, searching desperately for some way of making sense of this because-
“How?” he choked, finishing his thought aloud, “W-we've never even-”
“Dean, as neither one of us are in possession of a womb or a birth canal, even constant sexual congress would not have resulted in a child,” Castiel cut in, and if Dean wasn't too busy losing his mind to cruel shock, he would have called him out on his snark and eye rolling, but as it stood, the common sense of Castiel's words merely served to confuse him more.
“Then, how, Cas?” Dean yelled, snappiness setting in as his instincts flung him into defence mode, “Because last time I checked, babies just don't appear out of no-where. Especially for two dudes!”
“I...believe my father had something to do with this” Castiel said quietly, head cocked to the side as though he was tasting the words for the first time, formulating a theory, “Only he has the power to create a new angel and one so unique...Dean, this has to be a gift from the Lord.”
Dean snorted disbelievingly, a half sneer polluting his features.
“A gift? Your dad's been AWOL for the past fuck knows how long, left us to deal with the goddamn apocalypse and decided to leave us a baby instead of a fruit basket to, what? Pass on his thanks?” He scoffed, eyebrows knotted into an expression of clear contempt. Castiel's jawed clenched, a scowl slipping into his eyes.
“Then what do you theorise Dean?” he bit out, moving closer, shoulders drawn taut “A small, nephilim hybrid of an infant was presented before my brother while he was still in the heavenly spheres- an infant whose makeup is thread with both my grace and your soul. Whose body is comprised of your DNA and that of my vessel. How is it that he exists if not for my father?”
“I don't know, Cas!” Dean shouted, hands jerking out at the side of him, still immeasurably on edge “You're the one who dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night to tell me I apparently got an angel for a kid as a 'no hard feelings' present from God.” Castiel's face darkened visibly, his teeth clenching
“The nature of my visit, Dean, doesn't concern how our son exists, it's that he does” he snapped, “He belongs to us and we have a responsibility to talk about this. Keeping secrets from you, I've recently discovered, is good for nothing, aside for 'fucking things up', and due to the seriousness of the topic, I assumed you would want to know.” He turned around, trench coat swooshing in the slight breeze.
“Cas-”
“I do not expect anything from you, Dean” Castiel muttered, “I came to you because as the child's other father, you have a right to know of his existence. But if needs be, I will raise Dashiel alone.”
The strength of Dean's fear and anger was knocked right out of him by the gut punch of guilt because dammit that is not what he meant. He hadn't even gotten to the point of thinking about raising anything- he was still too busy freaking out over the concept of being a dad out of nowhere- and he didn't even get laid to do it! But he certainly wasn't thinking about letting Castiel do this on his own. The slumped downturn of the angel's shoulders tore at his insides with unhappiness because he just knew that he'd gone ahead without thinking and forced Castiel into a sense of isolation again. He exhaled, pinching his nose in stress.
“Cas, that's not what I was sayi-” something occurred to him suddenly, silencing his train of thoughts, “...Dashiel? You named our kid without asking me?” Castiel huffed and turned back around.
“He needed a name, Dean. I couldn't keep referring to him as 'the nephilim'” he said irritably, “It is a name that connotes both the angelic and the human. Balthazar agreed it was appropriate.” Dean's head fell back against his shoulder in agitation before deciding to pick his battles and mentally re-scheduling this one for a later date because Dashiel? Really?
“How do you...know he's ours?” He had to ask, knew there was room for misunderstanding, but he didn't trust angels. Aside from Cas, they had all been dickbags out for themselves, wanting nothing more than to fuck with and manipulate Dean's life and he would not put letting him believe he had a son past them. And Castiel must have understood as he nodded once, firmly, showing not signs of offence at Dean's query.
“I understand your disbelief, Dean” he began, eyes boring straight into Dean's, “If I could not see, I would probably feel the same.”
“See?” Castiel nodded again.
“I know our son is mine because I can feel my grace in his when he reaches out with it. It is... extraordinary” he looked off to the side briefly, lips pursed as though he was remembering the sensation he spoke of, before turning serious eyes back to Dean.
“But I know he is yours because I can see your soul in him” Castiel's tone was grave, leaving no room for argument or protest, “Your soul shone out through the darkest depths of hell to me, still so beautiful, still so bright despite all you had endured. And I held it in my grace and felt its purity at the very core of me...Out of all things, Dean, your soul is the most fascinating and magnificent thing I have ever witnessed. I would know it anywhere.”
Dean felt his heart pound in his chest, half wondering if it was about to break through because as uncomfortable as he was at Castiel's speech, the surety, the passion with which he spoke drew out something desperate in Dean, annoyingly so. He knew his cheeks were flushing over, knew his disbelieving snort of response was not convincing. Castiel had to know the effect his words were having on Dean and, man, he sucked.
“Can we stop referring to my soul as 'beautiful' please, Cassandra?” And, alright that wasn't his best, but he needed to say something to blanket how awkward he felt under the attention. Dean Winchester, repressive, emotionally stunted moron reporting for duty.
“And our son has it” Castiel continued on, ignoring and seemingly unphased by Dean's absurd reactions, voice adamant but almost begging, as through he felt he needed to convince Dean of this.
“When I look at our child, I can see your soul shine in his, and it is...perhaps even more beautiful when coupled with his grace. He is ours, Dean.” Castiel sighed, looking so overhwhelmed, so out of place but so desperate for Dean to believe him, to support him, it was near heartbreaking
Dean stopped to collect himself, working overtime to calm down, hammering it into his head that he was not the only party effected here. His best friend and...whatever else Castiel might have been to him was just as far from his comfort zone as he was and they had a...son to think of, and yes he believed Castiel's words. Of course he did. He just needed to align his thoughts, and fast. And though he wouldn't admit it, the lines of Castiel's face, the awkward hold of his posture told Dean that he was counting on him. He felt lost and alienated and, Christ, no they weren't going down that road again. He needed Dean to help him, he needed his support and Dean would give it. He would. He just had to breathe.
Rubbing the palm of his hand over his eyes, he swallowed down his own fears and reservations and looked back to Cas, stress still pouring off him despite his best efforts.
“Look, where...where is he?” he questioned, frowning as he struggled to gather where he was going with this train of thought. Castiel eyes roamed the stars again, the moon painting silver over his cheeks.
“He's with Balthazar” he grumbled, turning his head back to Dean, the twitch of his brows relaying a sense of apprehension once more “I was...reluctant to leave him. I have to get back soon.” Which Dean totally understood because the thought ofBalthazar looking after his kid- or any kid for that matter- summoned a churning sensation in his midsection.
“Can I see him?” he blurted out, surprising himself with his own words as he was confronted with the realisation of how much he wanted that. Wanted to see this miracle brat for himself, wanted to look at the baby and see himself reflected there twined with pieces of Cas. Wanted to hold his son for the first time and introduce himself and that pressing desire, the need of it, outweighed any lingering sense of fear. He tried again, more firm, looking straight into Cas' eyes. “I want to see him.”
Castiel paused for a moment, considering him, his eyes tracing over Dean's face as though he was assessing his words, the veracity of them- measuring up the pros and cons. After a handful of seconds worth of appraising, he fixed Dean's eyes back into his line of vision and nodded once.
“Of course” he said, and for a fleeting second, Dean swore he caught a passing glimpse of the barest of smiles, less than those light twitches of lip he'd seen on Cas' face before, but something airy. Relieved. For a moment there was a lightness about him, a curl of happiness in the blue of his irises and, man, Dean wanted to see it again, wanted to capture it for himself and bathe in the way it lifted the dead weight in his chest, eased the ache in his stomach.
He wanted, undeniably, to spend time coaxing those barely visible quirks of the mouth from Cas and this was probably not the best time to be waxing poetic about the guy, but he'd spent the past three years or more catching himself doing exactly that at the most inopportune moments- he figured studying the borrowed features of the father of his child at the news of his..creation, well...that was permissible.
“Wait here” Castiel ordered and abruptly disappeared with a flutter of invisible wings, leaving Dean stood in the close summer morning, a rapidly descending sense of anxiety and juddering nerves encasing him because oh fuck, oh fuck. Any sense of calmness had left with Castiel. He didn't think this through. What was he doing? He had very little experience with babies- the shifter experience a total bust. And Ben...he had felt like a father, would've done anything to protect him. He had loved the kid. Fiercely. But ultimately, as he knew he would, he brought misery and pain to both Lisa and her child.
How could he inflict that on his own son? He didn't have the first idea about raising a child. And Castiel...Castiel's experiences with children hadn't faired so well either. How the hell had this happened? What kind of twisted God would relinquish a small, innocent person into their care?
He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to do anything other than stand there, unmoving save for the nervous clenching and unclenching of his hands as he waited out the longest, most high strung two minutes of his life. Tension coiled and twisted and built up in his stomach, his body flushing over hot as an air of dizziness drilled into his head and just as he thought maybe he should sit down because he was pretty damn close to passing out, Castiel reappeared before him, a tiny dark blue bundle in trench clad arms.
His breathing stopped. The overwhelming emotions he was feeling merely seconds earlier suddenly ripped out from him, pushing him to zero. He found himself staring, frozen in place, limbs not listening to his commands to move as he watched Castiel look down at the thing in his arms and it was only when the angel's gazed flickered to him that he, eyes impossibly wide, stuttered forward, feet moving before his brain had caught up.
He approached Castiel with quivering limbs, heart lodged in his gullet. Dean stared down at the blanketed package Castiel was carrying, fairly awkwardly too- as though he wasn't quite sure how to hold it correctly but nonetheless handling it with absolute care and attention, lest he break something precious. Dean swallowed compulsively against his emotions, hunting for breath.
“Is that..” he croaked out, craning his neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the child's face. Castiel nodded solemnly.
“Can I..?” Dean's voice trailed off as his eyes flickered up to Castiel's in question, his intent clear. He wet his mouth, suddenly unfathomably eager to meet the person Castiel clutched clumsily to his chest.
The angel looked briefly down at the baby in his arms and to Dean's surprise, his face smoothed out. No hint of worried wrinkle, no dark lines of pained stress. There was wonder carved into his eyes, there was clarity, and Dean's pulse screamed at him to move forward, to see what Castiel was seeing. But he stayed perfectly still, the whole territory untrodden and littered with landmines. Castiel's eyes slid back up to him and he stepped forward.
“Of course you can” he whispered, the harsher edges of his voice buttering over with something that sang of reverence. He passed the child into Dean's waiting arms, mindful of the head, breath hitching a little as the infant fussed in his sleep. “He is yours”.
Dean gathered the child close to him, a sudden, crashing sense of amazement filling him as he stared down at the tiny being, Castiel's words lingering languidly in the ether. He watched, awed, as the baby did nothing but breathe, small chest expanding lightly in his slumber, the tiniest of twitches flecking across smooth, pink cheeks as he dreamt.. Dean drank in his features, cataloguing ever last millimetre of soft skin, filing away the length of dark eyelashes, the gentle curve of a tiny nose, the slope of the smallest red lips he'd ever seen. He noticed the mop of dark hair- Castiel's hair...or Jimmy's, he supposed- and found himself wanting to know the colour of the child's eyes. Would they be the same stupidly blue colour Castiel was currently sporting? Which, alright, was a dumb question- newborns always had blue eyes, right? But just looking at this kid, he needed to know, wanted to learn more, to learn everything. He didn't, want to let go. Not for a second. He wouldn't.
Something eased inside him, the onerous mass that had constricted his lungs bursting into compurgation, into absolution with every sweep of impatient eyes over the baby- his baby's face, because yes. This was his. Somehow, he had played a part in creating this...thing, this shockingly small, beautiful thing. And there was no denying it, no battling back against the irrefutable truth that this child belonged to him. It was unexplainable, he had no word for it, but he knew. Somewhere distantly he wondered if it was like Castiel said, if it was due to the child carrying a piece of his soul but that was neither here nor there. He had a son, a real honest to fuck, flesh and blood, half angel son.
His eyes pricked with wetness, the energy- the thought- to be embarrassed having long left him because this was his kid goddammit, and the only other person here to witness it was Castiel, who not only didn't know to be embarrassed by this but by the look of him, understood completely.
“Hey, little buddy” Dean breathed after long seconds of enraptured staring. He clutched the baby closer to him, gently smoothing over an absurdly soft cheek with a tender finger. His voice was cracked open with emotion, every syllable in danger of breaking on his tongue.
“I'm your daddy.”
The child didn't react, completely unaware that his very existence had just shaken everything Dean knew, had split open his life just by breathing and reduced everything down to this one moment. He slept on, the little shit, uncaring of how he had melted Dean Winchester down by doing absolutely nothing until he was completely gone for the kid and, dammit, he was. This little guy wrapped haphazardly in a suspiciously cashmere blanket had come out of nowhere and skewered right into the centre of Dean's world- shuffling in comfortably right next to Sam and pie, and he'd only met him two and a half minutes ago.
He looked up at Castiel who was watching them with a lopsided half-smile on his face, which on Cas was nothing short of beaming, as his eyes radiated unbridled joy at his charge. Dean's stomach fluttered obnoxiously again at the image of him, the shades of pride and happiness as he looked upon Dean and...their child. Dean smiled back, unable to fight against the infectious expression and seconds later, found himself gazing back down at his son, eager eyes studying him again.
“Fuck, Cas” he sighed, breathing deeply around the lump in his throat. “He's beautiful.”
Castiel stepped forward, shuffling to their side to peer over Dean's shoulder at the infant, greedily taking the opportunity to stare at him some more.
“Yes. He is...quite remarkable”, he said, the small smile still firmly lodged into place. He looked Dean straight in the eyes, the proximity of their faces something that would normally send him into a flustered panic as he squirmed under the pressure of the uncomfortable intensity of Castiel's presence. But now...yes, there was the lingering sense of awkwardness but it was familiar. The disregard for personal space, the batting aside of human customs- it was comforting because Castiel really, even after all that had happened, hadn't changed.
Even after the past year- hell the past four years- he was still Cas. Still good, still the angel that hauled his ass out of hell, the angel that had sat in a brothel with him and smiled that awkward smile as Dean laughed at their exploits. The angel who gave everything up for him, who died more than once for him and still came back for more. The angel who had become so hell bent on keeping him alive and safe that he'd almost lost himself in the process and having him right next to him, knowing that never happened, that he held on, that he was here, well, Dean didn't even have the energy to pretend that did anything other than uncurl warmth inside him.
“I believe as he grows, he will come to greatly resemble his father” Castiel frowned “Uh...I meant his human father. You.” Dean snorted. Yeah, that was going to cause some thinking problems in the future but right now he couldn't give a damn about how many dads the kid had because he was his and that was something he just couldn't get over. And Castiel's fumbling version of “he looks just like his daddy” was, aw hell, it was probably one of the most endearing things he'd ever witnessed and something dangerously more than affection swelled alongside the dozens of other roiling emotions he carried.
“So what you're saying is he's gonna be a handsome son of a bitch when he's older”, he grinned at Castiel, dutifully masking his inner turbulence with a layer of playful smugness and bravado.
“Perhaps you should be more concerned about whether or not he'll inherit your big head ” Castiel replied simply, the flat deadpan tone drawing a startled bark of a laugh out of Dean, subsequently jolting the child in his arms. Dean's eyes ballooned as the baby made a small noise of protest and he scrambled to shush him, to quieten him back down as he rocked him gently, crooning out whispered lulling sounds to him on reflex.
“You...are good at that”, Castiel murmured, contemplating the two, seemingly weighing up Dean's instinctual abilities. Dean saw as the twitch of a frown descended back onto Castiel's forehead, a clear omen of the worrying he was currently doing. And if Dean had three guesses, he'd bank on Cas freaking out over whether or not he'd be able to handle this because that was a very human reaction and Castiel had learnt his humanity from Dean.
“I... You'll be fine at this, you know”, he said conversationally, still soothing the baby. Castiel's head dropped down again, eyes not meeting Dean's so really he had no option but to brace Dashiel... temporarily-Dashiel on one arm and to bring his other hand up to cup Castiel's chin and lift his head until the angel was forced to look at him.
“Cas, I have no idea what I'm doing either” he said, mossy green eyes honest and open, relaying the truth of what he was saying- and it was. They were as pink and vulnerable as the child before them and were both emerging into uncharted territory completely unprepared, but they would tackle this the Winchester way. Together. And Castiel had to know that. Had to know that there was no way on earth was Dean going to leave him to raise Dash- the baby alone.
“But we'll...we'll figure it out, okay?” he whispered, fingers still resting on Castiel's stubble speckled jaw, “You and me. We're gonna do this together. Alright?”
Castiel considered him for a moment before silently nodding, the light frown yielding to the pleasant almost smile once more. Dean couldn't even find it in himself to curse the honeyed fondness he was feeling or the rush of emotion he didn't even know how to feel, as feathered halcyon tickled at his flesh, drawing out goosebumps along his bare arms. He saw the slivers of worry dissolve away, until the angels' face was illuminated, his otherworldly, more blue than virtue eyes locking into Dean's as though he could offer him answers to all the questions laying heavy on his tongue.
Castiel watched him right back, the unhinging strength of the two orbs bright with something so much more than Jimmy Novak's tired irises, and Dean had always speculated over whether or not that was the glow of his friend's grace, the thrum of power bubbling unsteadily just beneath the surface, reminding him exactly whatCas was. But it didn't matter. Not then and certainly not now. Not with the solid weight of their child in his arms, the look laced with something akin to happiness in Castiel's powerful gaze, seeping into Dean like molasses.
Since the moment Castiel had made the decision to rebel against his superiors- his brothers- for Dean and had jumped aboard the SS Free Will, his angelic nature had been nothing but a quotidian fact- no more remarkable than his hair happening to be dark, not really, because in all ways that counted, Castiel was very human. He had wormed his way into Dean's life, into his family and dammit, Dean wanted nothing more than to keep him. The thought of Castiel returning to heaven, of not seeing him...it was led in his stomach. Like the thought of Sam leaving with Ruby had been, or the memory of his missing father. He needed Castiel here, and not just for the baby. He needed Castiel.
He realised that his hand was still on Castiel's skin, his thumb resting idly just beneath the fullness of a pink bottom lip, had been there for a few moments too long and showed no signs of leaving. His eyes moved of their own will to Castiel's mouth, lingering for a few heartbeats before roaming up Castiel's face and fixing on half lidded, richly blue eyes.
Castiel's breath hitched as they stared into the core of each other, inclining slightly as Dean edged his head forward, unthinkably moving closer to the softness of his mouth and oh God, this was it. That thing between them. That thing that had been there since before Lucifer rose, maybe before that even, the thing that yanked him towards Castiel time and time again and kept the other man coming back to him. That made him yearn for things neither of them had any name for, had any way of processing and he knew, man, he knew somewhere in his centre that they would always have ended up here. That, sooner or later, they would have gravitated towards this. Towards each other. That finally they would know this.
He was leaning forward, caution discarded and shredded apart in something he might have later regretted if it wasn't for Castiel shifting closer to him, his relative lack of experience definitely not holding him back as he angled his head slightly, hand coming to rest gently on his hip and there would be no turning back now, no getting away from the fact that he had kis-
A loud banging noise shocked him out of his revelry as his head snapped up to the motel door just as Sam stumbled through it, tiredly swiping at the sleep coating his eyes with the back of an over-large hand, messy strands of girlish hair falling in front of his face.
“Dean? What's all the...” he yawned, stilling and frowning as he looked at them, sleep lagged mind trying to grasp a firm conclusion from the picture of the two man standing extremely close, more so then usual, intimacy and the clear sense of “private moment” saturating the air as his brother held some small amount of cloth in their arms. His nose screwed up, hazed eyes narrowing in sleepy confusion.
“Is...Is that a baby?”
(continue reading here)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 14,440
Disclaimer: This belongs to the Kripkeeper and the CW.
Warnings: Spoilers up until 6.20- goes au after that. Unbeta'd kid!Fic, no mpreg.
Summary: What's the reward for saving the world from the apocalypse yet again? A medal? A condo? Wrong. A fledgling. Or, a domestic fluff fic in which Dean learns he's a father. For real this time.
“Dean”.
Shaking. The stripper bar was shaking, scantily clad, shrieking women fleeing the scene, lacy undergarments thrown into the air as a crack formed on the ceiling, the walls crumbl- No. Wait. It wasn't the club. He was shaking.
“Dean!”
He groaned piteously, burying his head against the pillow as he was forcefully yanked out of the comfort of his third favourite happy-time dream. And just when he was getting to the good part, naturally. The solid weight of someone's relentless hand rested on his shoulder, jerking his body with urgency and, if the little huffs of air were anything to go by, frustration.
“Goddammit, what?” he groused into the sheets, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he slid his arms under his pillow, hugging it towards him in an attempt to block out the fact he was currently awake and not watching angel and demon strippers get frisky. It wasn't like there was anything of immediate importance going on right now. Raphael was dead, so was Eve, Sam had his soul, no angels wanted to acquire themselves a Winchester flavoured condom and the apocalypse was off the table. Hell, even the demons were lying low lately. He hadn't seen a sassy, black-eyed bastard in almost a month and very few since Crowley had been...properly disposed of.
They'd come off simple salt and burn a little over two weeks ago, and barely heard a peep since. Things were quiet, and not the creepy, tight violin string, shit's-about-to-get-really-real-but-you-don't-know-it-yet kind of calm before the storm quiet either. Castiel had confirmed his suspicions that the majority of monsters and things that go bump in the night had not taken their mother's death all that well- the ones that didn't die along with her had shrunk back into hiding to lick their wounds, the poor little orphans. And actually, it was kind of awesome.
The air just felt...lighter and while Dean wasn't holding his breath to retire or anything quite so far-fetched, Sam was at least looking happier lately, and hell, that was good enough. This was their first real break in a long time and he wastrying to enjoy it, which would be a lot easier if it wasn't for the goddamn persistent angel.
“Dean, we need to talk” said Castiel, somewhere to the left of him, voice as grave and gravely as ever, but Dean's ears caught the layer of rushed insistence in his tone. He sounded....nervous? His attention caught, he rolled over onto his side, leaning up to squint at the clock. The smug red numbers sent a 3:47am shaped grin his way, causing him to make a miserable sound and scrub his hand over slightly stinging eyes.
“Cas, can't it wait until the birds are up at least?” Dean huffed, before looking up at the angel. To the untrained eye, Castiel was staring almost impassively down at him, a faint coating of stern impatience to his features, sure, but that was it. But Dean could see the minuscule twitches in his fingers as he lightly clutched at the edges of his trench coat, the strained glaze of his a-little-wider-than-usual eyes. The fact he actually wet his lips before speaking, so very human and so very, yes, nervous. He furrowed his brow, watching as Castiel stared at him, seemingly unsure, for a moment as he- contrary to his normal frank and abrupt nature- paused before answering.
“...Yes, I suppose it could” he said slowly as if mentally working out the equation of conversing with Dean Winchester. His eyebrows knotted together as he levelled Dean with the perpetually soul-searching stare he'd still not quite, even after four years of knowing the guy, grown used to.
“But I would prefer if we could speak now” he continued, “It...is a matter of some import.”
Dean sighed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and yanking a pair of pants on. He wasn't actually going to make Castiel wait to talk to him. Before he even noticed the angels' odd behaviour, he'd already resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be hauling his ass out of bed way too early that morning. See, after all that had happened in the past year, the fact that Castiel felt he had to go to Crowley instead of him, the isolation, the distance between them and the cost it had come at, ignoring Castiel when he came to Dean with an issue wasn't really an option for him any more. When you almost lose a member of your family for good, you make these kind of concessions.
“Alright, come on” he said in a hushed voice as he walked towards the motel room door. There was no sense in waking his still deep-in-sleep brother with their conversation. One of them should get a decent night's sleep at least. Castiel stalked eagerly out after him, his body tilting forward a little as if he was battling the urge to just blurt out whatever news it was that he had.
Dean leant back against the hood of the Impala, grateful for the lingering summer heat as opposed to the freezing night air he'd unconsciously been expecting. He watched Castiel carefully as he stood to the side of the car, hands fidgeting awkwardly at his sides.
“So, what's so important that you felt the need to drag my ass out of bed at half past hell o'clock?” Dean asked, folding his arms over his stomach as he perched on the hood. Castiel's mouth opened and closed twice, hesitancy and worry written all over his features. He let out a deep sigh, shoulders sagging as he closed his eyes for a moment. Dean's face twisted with concern at the image of distress Castiel made, the atmosphere surrounding them crackling with growing tension.
“Dude, c'mon, it can't be that bad” he prompted, which was a complete lie because it absolutely could be that bad and no-one knew that more than Dean Winchester, but going by the almost tangible anxiety radiating from Castiel, the angel needed some amount of reassurance. Castiel lifted his head back up and peeled two weary eyes, sending an expression that somehow communicated both an exasperated “you dumb human” and an exhausted “I do not want to tell you this” at the same time.
“Dean....” he started with an exhale tailing closely behind as he took an uncertain step closer “I...I am pleased that we have begun to mend the damage done to our relationship.”
Dean frowned, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything. He had been resolutely avoiding the topic of their recently strained friendship ever since they had begun making moves to build it back up because...well, honestly he didn't want to think about it. The topic left him with a hollow feeling in his gut and a putrid taste staining his pallet. They- and that includes Sam and Bobby- just didn't talk about it. So why was Castiel bringing it up now?
The angel paused again, likely collecting clumsy words to string together because after all, he learnt how to voice his thoughts and feelings from Dean, who let's face it, is not the most articulate of emoters.
“But” he began again, the heavy, simple word pulling Dean's spine taut automatically, “I...am aware that I shattered the trust you had in me with my actions this past year and I am not anticipating that I can rebuild it as it once was” and really, Dean had to protest because, yes, while it was true they still had some re-patching to do, he had forgiven Cas, begun to understand his position and why he felt he had to do what he did.
Not to mention, he had long since realised what an absolute dick he'd been to the angel and had guiltily accepted his part in what had happened. He had learnt to trust Sam again after everything with Ruby and the demon blood and he could and had extended the same courtesy to Castiel.
“Aw, c'mon Cas, you know that's not-”
“Dean, let me finish” Castiel cut in, holding a hand out to silence any further protests from Dean, who huffed in response.
“As I was saying, I know that I have shaken your trust in me, but you have to believe me” he stepped closer again, his expression serious and pleading, “I had nothing to do with this.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow at the rushed, exigent stress to his speech, trying to decipher the hidden tenor to Castiel's words.
“Nothing to do with what, Cas?” he asked, wary of the topic that had the angel so clearly spooked.
Castiel's jaw clenched and he looked off to the side, the look in his eyes just this side of absolutely fearful. His chest was expanding slowly as he took several deep breaths, so unlike his usual demeanour and Dean was nervous as hell because what was so severe it had the angel this worked up? Castiel turned away from Dean for a moment, probably to compose himself as he brought a stiff hand up to swipe over his face. He was debating whether or not to move closer, to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder to calm him when Castiel took one last breath, moved to face him and, finally, spoke.
“We...seem to have acquired an infant.”
Dean stilled, running the sentence back over in his mind, verifying that he had heard the correct words, that they meant what they meant. And yes, after going of them several times, he still reached the same conclusion; that he had absolutely no idea what the hell Castiel was talking about.
“...An infant” he repeated slowly, eyebrows raised with incredulity because this was just not making any sense to him whatsoever. Castiel sighed audibly.
“Earlier this afternoon, I met with a few higher ranking brothers of mine” he informed Dean, a heavy sense of tiredness amalgamating with the disquiet in his tone. “Balthazar interrupted.”
Well no surprises there, Dean thought. He really disliked that smarmy, v-neck wearing douchenozzle, but pushing his snarky thought patterns to the side for a moment, he focused hard on Cas, unable to thread these snaps of information together to form a clear picture. Castiel looked up at the sky, squinting at the clouds as though he was seeing the scene of the crime from down here.
“He...brought news” Castiel muttered. His eyes flickered back up to meet Dean's confused gaze once more, “He brought with him a child.” Dean screwed up his nose and stood up straighter.
“Alright, I think I'm missing something here. Balthazar crashes your party with a kid and this requires me to be awake because why now?”
Castiel chewed his bottom lip for a moment, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent in the pallid moonlight, the weight of the past four years exposed in the tiny nets of dark blue veins illuminated under the tell tale spotlight, the worry lines that had somehow deepened over the time Castiel had been in possession of his vessel. It made something inside Dean knot up, pushing him into familiar uncomfortable territory because he didn't like seeing Castiel this way.
There were parts of him that refused to quieten down that urged and insisted that he smooth over the cracks on Castiel's surface, that wanted to give back because Castiel had taken care of him to the best of his ability and at the expense of great personal sacrifice for years and glass shards of compulsion swarmed his veins and it was all he could do not to pull the angel into an urgent hug, because that is just something they just didn't do.
And the truth was, it wasn't down to a fierce disdain for 'chick flick' moments, or really his inability to express himself. It was the burgeoning fear that he would reach out to help Castiel, to tug him back to shore only to find out he is a ball of yarn and the harder he tugs, the more he unravels, diminishes. He wanted to patch him over, make him new just as the angel had done for him all those years ago. But he was Dean Winchester. He destroyed, he did not repair. And he couldn't risk it. So instead he stood, arms spread wide, watching the barely visible flecks of emotion pinch across Castiel's face.
“Dean” he said staidly, “It- he- is our child. ...Our son”
There was an immediate wrench somewhere inside Dean's middle as Castiel spoke the impossible words, the impact as though he had been kicked in the stomach by a particularly overly keen wendigo. His brain scrambled to catch up with itself, clambering over the shapes and sounds that had just puked their way out of Castiel's fumbling mouth because there was absolutely no way he could mean the first conclusion Dean had arrived at. It was preposterous, infeasible and no little amount of insane. They stared at each other for long moments of precariously hinged silence before he twitched his head to the side in bewildered question because what?
“Yours and...Balthazar's?” he questioned tentatively, electrons and synapses and whatever the hell else working overdrive to provide an explanation, the fringe theory that might actually turn out to be the correct one, go all Dunham on their asses and save the goddamn day. But dammit, he knew. With that same twist in his gut, he knew.
The way Cas was staring at him, the begging truth in his eyes, the open posture of his body which was somehow both defensive and protective in it's plainness. Some primordial instinct in him was already twisting with the word's Castiel hadn't yet verified, but his body was frozen, heart jackhammering as he waited only half consciously for confirmation of the nonsensical supposition.
Castiel breathed out through his nose, his spider leg-blue stare unwavering, the sharp edges of it blooming red heat up Dean's neck as his emotions hopscotched. This could not be good.
“Dean” Castiel said, his lips stretching around the single syllable as though it was painful to choke out, “the boy is ours. Mine...and yours.”
He blinked once. Twice.
The atmosphere pulsing like something alive around them. As Castiel stared back at him, face miserable and sewn with an unmitigated amount of uneasiness. He wasn't kidding- oh god- he wasn't kidding. Panic swelled in his flesh, curdling unsettlingly in his chest, pinching and abducted his breath. He gripped at the Impala, no longer trusting his knees to keep him upright because that was it. That was stony, unyielding truth he could feel stagnant in the air. He stammered, mind flailing out blindly, searching desperately for some way of making sense of this because-
“How?” he choked, finishing his thought aloud, “W-we've never even-”
“Dean, as neither one of us are in possession of a womb or a birth canal, even constant sexual congress would not have resulted in a child,” Castiel cut in, and if Dean wasn't too busy losing his mind to cruel shock, he would have called him out on his snark and eye rolling, but as it stood, the common sense of Castiel's words merely served to confuse him more.
“Then, how, Cas?” Dean yelled, snappiness setting in as his instincts flung him into defence mode, “Because last time I checked, babies just don't appear out of no-where. Especially for two dudes!”
“I...believe my father had something to do with this” Castiel said quietly, head cocked to the side as though he was tasting the words for the first time, formulating a theory, “Only he has the power to create a new angel and one so unique...Dean, this has to be a gift from the Lord.”
Dean snorted disbelievingly, a half sneer polluting his features.
“A gift? Your dad's been AWOL for the past fuck knows how long, left us to deal with the goddamn apocalypse and decided to leave us a baby instead of a fruit basket to, what? Pass on his thanks?” He scoffed, eyebrows knotted into an expression of clear contempt. Castiel's jawed clenched, a scowl slipping into his eyes.
“Then what do you theorise Dean?” he bit out, moving closer, shoulders drawn taut “A small, nephilim hybrid of an infant was presented before my brother while he was still in the heavenly spheres- an infant whose makeup is thread with both my grace and your soul. Whose body is comprised of your DNA and that of my vessel. How is it that he exists if not for my father?”
“I don't know, Cas!” Dean shouted, hands jerking out at the side of him, still immeasurably on edge “You're the one who dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night to tell me I apparently got an angel for a kid as a 'no hard feelings' present from God.” Castiel's face darkened visibly, his teeth clenching
“The nature of my visit, Dean, doesn't concern how our son exists, it's that he does” he snapped, “He belongs to us and we have a responsibility to talk about this. Keeping secrets from you, I've recently discovered, is good for nothing, aside for 'fucking things up', and due to the seriousness of the topic, I assumed you would want to know.” He turned around, trench coat swooshing in the slight breeze.
“Cas-”
“I do not expect anything from you, Dean” Castiel muttered, “I came to you because as the child's other father, you have a right to know of his existence. But if needs be, I will raise Dashiel alone.”
The strength of Dean's fear and anger was knocked right out of him by the gut punch of guilt because dammit that is not what he meant. He hadn't even gotten to the point of thinking about raising anything- he was still too busy freaking out over the concept of being a dad out of nowhere- and he didn't even get laid to do it! But he certainly wasn't thinking about letting Castiel do this on his own. The slumped downturn of the angel's shoulders tore at his insides with unhappiness because he just knew that he'd gone ahead without thinking and forced Castiel into a sense of isolation again. He exhaled, pinching his nose in stress.
“Cas, that's not what I was sayi-” something occurred to him suddenly, silencing his train of thoughts, “...Dashiel? You named our kid without asking me?” Castiel huffed and turned back around.
“He needed a name, Dean. I couldn't keep referring to him as 'the nephilim'” he said irritably, “It is a name that connotes both the angelic and the human. Balthazar agreed it was appropriate.” Dean's head fell back against his shoulder in agitation before deciding to pick his battles and mentally re-scheduling this one for a later date because Dashiel? Really?
“How do you...know he's ours?” He had to ask, knew there was room for misunderstanding, but he didn't trust angels. Aside from Cas, they had all been dickbags out for themselves, wanting nothing more than to fuck with and manipulate Dean's life and he would not put letting him believe he had a son past them. And Castiel must have understood as he nodded once, firmly, showing not signs of offence at Dean's query.
“I understand your disbelief, Dean” he began, eyes boring straight into Dean's, “If I could not see, I would probably feel the same.”
“See?” Castiel nodded again.
“I know our son is mine because I can feel my grace in his when he reaches out with it. It is... extraordinary” he looked off to the side briefly, lips pursed as though he was remembering the sensation he spoke of, before turning serious eyes back to Dean.
“But I know he is yours because I can see your soul in him” Castiel's tone was grave, leaving no room for argument or protest, “Your soul shone out through the darkest depths of hell to me, still so beautiful, still so bright despite all you had endured. And I held it in my grace and felt its purity at the very core of me...Out of all things, Dean, your soul is the most fascinating and magnificent thing I have ever witnessed. I would know it anywhere.”
Dean felt his heart pound in his chest, half wondering if it was about to break through because as uncomfortable as he was at Castiel's speech, the surety, the passion with which he spoke drew out something desperate in Dean, annoyingly so. He knew his cheeks were flushing over, knew his disbelieving snort of response was not convincing. Castiel had to know the effect his words were having on Dean and, man, he sucked.
“Can we stop referring to my soul as 'beautiful' please, Cassandra?” And, alright that wasn't his best, but he needed to say something to blanket how awkward he felt under the attention. Dean Winchester, repressive, emotionally stunted moron reporting for duty.
“And our son has it” Castiel continued on, ignoring and seemingly unphased by Dean's absurd reactions, voice adamant but almost begging, as through he felt he needed to convince Dean of this.
“When I look at our child, I can see your soul shine in his, and it is...perhaps even more beautiful when coupled with his grace. He is ours, Dean.” Castiel sighed, looking so overhwhelmed, so out of place but so desperate for Dean to believe him, to support him, it was near heartbreaking
Dean stopped to collect himself, working overtime to calm down, hammering it into his head that he was not the only party effected here. His best friend and...whatever else Castiel might have been to him was just as far from his comfort zone as he was and they had a...son to think of, and yes he believed Castiel's words. Of course he did. He just needed to align his thoughts, and fast. And though he wouldn't admit it, the lines of Castiel's face, the awkward hold of his posture told Dean that he was counting on him. He felt lost and alienated and, Christ, no they weren't going down that road again. He needed Dean to help him, he needed his support and Dean would give it. He would. He just had to breathe.
Rubbing the palm of his hand over his eyes, he swallowed down his own fears and reservations and looked back to Cas, stress still pouring off him despite his best efforts.
“Look, where...where is he?” he questioned, frowning as he struggled to gather where he was going with this train of thought. Castiel eyes roamed the stars again, the moon painting silver over his cheeks.
“He's with Balthazar” he grumbled, turning his head back to Dean, the twitch of his brows relaying a sense of apprehension once more “I was...reluctant to leave him. I have to get back soon.” Which Dean totally understood because the thought ofBalthazar looking after his kid- or any kid for that matter- summoned a churning sensation in his midsection.
“Can I see him?” he blurted out, surprising himself with his own words as he was confronted with the realisation of how much he wanted that. Wanted to see this miracle brat for himself, wanted to look at the baby and see himself reflected there twined with pieces of Cas. Wanted to hold his son for the first time and introduce himself and that pressing desire, the need of it, outweighed any lingering sense of fear. He tried again, more firm, looking straight into Cas' eyes. “I want to see him.”
Castiel paused for a moment, considering him, his eyes tracing over Dean's face as though he was assessing his words, the veracity of them- measuring up the pros and cons. After a handful of seconds worth of appraising, he fixed Dean's eyes back into his line of vision and nodded once.
“Of course” he said, and for a fleeting second, Dean swore he caught a passing glimpse of the barest of smiles, less than those light twitches of lip he'd seen on Cas' face before, but something airy. Relieved. For a moment there was a lightness about him, a curl of happiness in the blue of his irises and, man, Dean wanted to see it again, wanted to capture it for himself and bathe in the way it lifted the dead weight in his chest, eased the ache in his stomach.
He wanted, undeniably, to spend time coaxing those barely visible quirks of the mouth from Cas and this was probably not the best time to be waxing poetic about the guy, but he'd spent the past three years or more catching himself doing exactly that at the most inopportune moments- he figured studying the borrowed features of the father of his child at the news of his..creation, well...that was permissible.
“Wait here” Castiel ordered and abruptly disappeared with a flutter of invisible wings, leaving Dean stood in the close summer morning, a rapidly descending sense of anxiety and juddering nerves encasing him because oh fuck, oh fuck. Any sense of calmness had left with Castiel. He didn't think this through. What was he doing? He had very little experience with babies- the shifter experience a total bust. And Ben...he had felt like a father, would've done anything to protect him. He had loved the kid. Fiercely. But ultimately, as he knew he would, he brought misery and pain to both Lisa and her child.
How could he inflict that on his own son? He didn't have the first idea about raising a child. And Castiel...Castiel's experiences with children hadn't faired so well either. How the hell had this happened? What kind of twisted God would relinquish a small, innocent person into their care?
He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to do anything other than stand there, unmoving save for the nervous clenching and unclenching of his hands as he waited out the longest, most high strung two minutes of his life. Tension coiled and twisted and built up in his stomach, his body flushing over hot as an air of dizziness drilled into his head and just as he thought maybe he should sit down because he was pretty damn close to passing out, Castiel reappeared before him, a tiny dark blue bundle in trench clad arms.
His breathing stopped. The overwhelming emotions he was feeling merely seconds earlier suddenly ripped out from him, pushing him to zero. He found himself staring, frozen in place, limbs not listening to his commands to move as he watched Castiel look down at the thing in his arms and it was only when the angel's gazed flickered to him that he, eyes impossibly wide, stuttered forward, feet moving before his brain had caught up.
He approached Castiel with quivering limbs, heart lodged in his gullet. Dean stared down at the blanketed package Castiel was carrying, fairly awkwardly too- as though he wasn't quite sure how to hold it correctly but nonetheless handling it with absolute care and attention, lest he break something precious. Dean swallowed compulsively against his emotions, hunting for breath.
“Is that..” he croaked out, craning his neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the child's face. Castiel nodded solemnly.
“Can I..?” Dean's voice trailed off as his eyes flickered up to Castiel's in question, his intent clear. He wet his mouth, suddenly unfathomably eager to meet the person Castiel clutched clumsily to his chest.
The angel looked briefly down at the baby in his arms and to Dean's surprise, his face smoothed out. No hint of worried wrinkle, no dark lines of pained stress. There was wonder carved into his eyes, there was clarity, and Dean's pulse screamed at him to move forward, to see what Castiel was seeing. But he stayed perfectly still, the whole territory untrodden and littered with landmines. Castiel's eyes slid back up to him and he stepped forward.
“Of course you can” he whispered, the harsher edges of his voice buttering over with something that sang of reverence. He passed the child into Dean's waiting arms, mindful of the head, breath hitching a little as the infant fussed in his sleep. “He is yours”.
Dean gathered the child close to him, a sudden, crashing sense of amazement filling him as he stared down at the tiny being, Castiel's words lingering languidly in the ether. He watched, awed, as the baby did nothing but breathe, small chest expanding lightly in his slumber, the tiniest of twitches flecking across smooth, pink cheeks as he dreamt.. Dean drank in his features, cataloguing ever last millimetre of soft skin, filing away the length of dark eyelashes, the gentle curve of a tiny nose, the slope of the smallest red lips he'd ever seen. He noticed the mop of dark hair- Castiel's hair...or Jimmy's, he supposed- and found himself wanting to know the colour of the child's eyes. Would they be the same stupidly blue colour Castiel was currently sporting? Which, alright, was a dumb question- newborns always had blue eyes, right? But just looking at this kid, he needed to know, wanted to learn more, to learn everything. He didn't, want to let go. Not for a second. He wouldn't.
Something eased inside him, the onerous mass that had constricted his lungs bursting into compurgation, into absolution with every sweep of impatient eyes over the baby- his baby's face, because yes. This was his. Somehow, he had played a part in creating this...thing, this shockingly small, beautiful thing. And there was no denying it, no battling back against the irrefutable truth that this child belonged to him. It was unexplainable, he had no word for it, but he knew. Somewhere distantly he wondered if it was like Castiel said, if it was due to the child carrying a piece of his soul but that was neither here nor there. He had a son, a real honest to fuck, flesh and blood, half angel son.
His eyes pricked with wetness, the energy- the thought- to be embarrassed having long left him because this was his kid goddammit, and the only other person here to witness it was Castiel, who not only didn't know to be embarrassed by this but by the look of him, understood completely.
“Hey, little buddy” Dean breathed after long seconds of enraptured staring. He clutched the baby closer to him, gently smoothing over an absurdly soft cheek with a tender finger. His voice was cracked open with emotion, every syllable in danger of breaking on his tongue.
“I'm your daddy.”
The child didn't react, completely unaware that his very existence had just shaken everything Dean knew, had split open his life just by breathing and reduced everything down to this one moment. He slept on, the little shit, uncaring of how he had melted Dean Winchester down by doing absolutely nothing until he was completely gone for the kid and, dammit, he was. This little guy wrapped haphazardly in a suspiciously cashmere blanket had come out of nowhere and skewered right into the centre of Dean's world- shuffling in comfortably right next to Sam and pie, and he'd only met him two and a half minutes ago.
He looked up at Castiel who was watching them with a lopsided half-smile on his face, which on Cas was nothing short of beaming, as his eyes radiated unbridled joy at his charge. Dean's stomach fluttered obnoxiously again at the image of him, the shades of pride and happiness as he looked upon Dean and...their child. Dean smiled back, unable to fight against the infectious expression and seconds later, found himself gazing back down at his son, eager eyes studying him again.
“Fuck, Cas” he sighed, breathing deeply around the lump in his throat. “He's beautiful.”
Castiel stepped forward, shuffling to their side to peer over Dean's shoulder at the infant, greedily taking the opportunity to stare at him some more.
“Yes. He is...quite remarkable”, he said, the small smile still firmly lodged into place. He looked Dean straight in the eyes, the proximity of their faces something that would normally send him into a flustered panic as he squirmed under the pressure of the uncomfortable intensity of Castiel's presence. But now...yes, there was the lingering sense of awkwardness but it was familiar. The disregard for personal space, the batting aside of human customs- it was comforting because Castiel really, even after all that had happened, hadn't changed.
Even after the past year- hell the past four years- he was still Cas. Still good, still the angel that hauled his ass out of hell, the angel that had sat in a brothel with him and smiled that awkward smile as Dean laughed at their exploits. The angel who gave everything up for him, who died more than once for him and still came back for more. The angel who had become so hell bent on keeping him alive and safe that he'd almost lost himself in the process and having him right next to him, knowing that never happened, that he held on, that he was here, well, Dean didn't even have the energy to pretend that did anything other than uncurl warmth inside him.
“I believe as he grows, he will come to greatly resemble his father” Castiel frowned “Uh...I meant his human father. You.” Dean snorted. Yeah, that was going to cause some thinking problems in the future but right now he couldn't give a damn about how many dads the kid had because he was his and that was something he just couldn't get over. And Castiel's fumbling version of “he looks just like his daddy” was, aw hell, it was probably one of the most endearing things he'd ever witnessed and something dangerously more than affection swelled alongside the dozens of other roiling emotions he carried.
“So what you're saying is he's gonna be a handsome son of a bitch when he's older”, he grinned at Castiel, dutifully masking his inner turbulence with a layer of playful smugness and bravado.
“Perhaps you should be more concerned about whether or not he'll inherit your big head ” Castiel replied simply, the flat deadpan tone drawing a startled bark of a laugh out of Dean, subsequently jolting the child in his arms. Dean's eyes ballooned as the baby made a small noise of protest and he scrambled to shush him, to quieten him back down as he rocked him gently, crooning out whispered lulling sounds to him on reflex.
“You...are good at that”, Castiel murmured, contemplating the two, seemingly weighing up Dean's instinctual abilities. Dean saw as the twitch of a frown descended back onto Castiel's forehead, a clear omen of the worrying he was currently doing. And if Dean had three guesses, he'd bank on Cas freaking out over whether or not he'd be able to handle this because that was a very human reaction and Castiel had learnt his humanity from Dean.
“I... You'll be fine at this, you know”, he said conversationally, still soothing the baby. Castiel's head dropped down again, eyes not meeting Dean's so really he had no option but to brace Dashiel... temporarily-Dashiel on one arm and to bring his other hand up to cup Castiel's chin and lift his head until the angel was forced to look at him.
“Cas, I have no idea what I'm doing either” he said, mossy green eyes honest and open, relaying the truth of what he was saying- and it was. They were as pink and vulnerable as the child before them and were both emerging into uncharted territory completely unprepared, but they would tackle this the Winchester way. Together. And Castiel had to know that. Had to know that there was no way on earth was Dean going to leave him to raise Dash- the baby alone.
“But we'll...we'll figure it out, okay?” he whispered, fingers still resting on Castiel's stubble speckled jaw, “You and me. We're gonna do this together. Alright?”
Castiel considered him for a moment before silently nodding, the light frown yielding to the pleasant almost smile once more. Dean couldn't even find it in himself to curse the honeyed fondness he was feeling or the rush of emotion he didn't even know how to feel, as feathered halcyon tickled at his flesh, drawing out goosebumps along his bare arms. He saw the slivers of worry dissolve away, until the angels' face was illuminated, his otherworldly, more blue than virtue eyes locking into Dean's as though he could offer him answers to all the questions laying heavy on his tongue.
Castiel watched him right back, the unhinging strength of the two orbs bright with something so much more than Jimmy Novak's tired irises, and Dean had always speculated over whether or not that was the glow of his friend's grace, the thrum of power bubbling unsteadily just beneath the surface, reminding him exactly whatCas was. But it didn't matter. Not then and certainly not now. Not with the solid weight of their child in his arms, the look laced with something akin to happiness in Castiel's powerful gaze, seeping into Dean like molasses.
Since the moment Castiel had made the decision to rebel against his superiors- his brothers- for Dean and had jumped aboard the SS Free Will, his angelic nature had been nothing but a quotidian fact- no more remarkable than his hair happening to be dark, not really, because in all ways that counted, Castiel was very human. He had wormed his way into Dean's life, into his family and dammit, Dean wanted nothing more than to keep him. The thought of Castiel returning to heaven, of not seeing him...it was led in his stomach. Like the thought of Sam leaving with Ruby had been, or the memory of his missing father. He needed Castiel here, and not just for the baby. He needed Castiel.
He realised that his hand was still on Castiel's skin, his thumb resting idly just beneath the fullness of a pink bottom lip, had been there for a few moments too long and showed no signs of leaving. His eyes moved of their own will to Castiel's mouth, lingering for a few heartbeats before roaming up Castiel's face and fixing on half lidded, richly blue eyes.
Castiel's breath hitched as they stared into the core of each other, inclining slightly as Dean edged his head forward, unthinkably moving closer to the softness of his mouth and oh God, this was it. That thing between them. That thing that had been there since before Lucifer rose, maybe before that even, the thing that yanked him towards Castiel time and time again and kept the other man coming back to him. That made him yearn for things neither of them had any name for, had any way of processing and he knew, man, he knew somewhere in his centre that they would always have ended up here. That, sooner or later, they would have gravitated towards this. Towards each other. That finally they would know this.
He was leaning forward, caution discarded and shredded apart in something he might have later regretted if it wasn't for Castiel shifting closer to him, his relative lack of experience definitely not holding him back as he angled his head slightly, hand coming to rest gently on his hip and there would be no turning back now, no getting away from the fact that he had kis-
A loud banging noise shocked him out of his revelry as his head snapped up to the motel door just as Sam stumbled through it, tiredly swiping at the sleep coating his eyes with the back of an over-large hand, messy strands of girlish hair falling in front of his face.
“Dean? What's all the...” he yawned, stilling and frowning as he looked at them, sleep lagged mind trying to grasp a firm conclusion from the picture of the two man standing extremely close, more so then usual, intimacy and the clear sense of “private moment” saturating the air as his brother held some small amount of cloth in their arms. His nose screwed up, hazed eyes narrowing in sleepy confusion.
“Is...Is that a baby?”
(continue reading here)