Fic: An Unconventional Kind of Place (3/?)
PG
3,466 words
Dean/Castiel AU. Dean runs a day care center for human and angel kids, the first of its kind. Castiel is a parent.
Usual thanks to C. and to those of you who commented. LJ's unexpected hiatus means I haven't had time to reply to you all yet, but in the meantime have a new part!
An Unconventional Kind of Place
3.
Every Friday night they can get away Dean and his brother Sam meet at Ellen's bar to catch up, and just for a few hours they can be just Dean and Sam Winchester again, like they used to be. No responsibilities, no urgent business to deal with, and no work or bills or anything else to worry about. At least, they try. Inevitably, though, they end up talking about the day care. It's been Dean's life for so long now, and Sam's been there with him at every step, so it's kind of understandable he's interested. If he's honest, Dean kind of likes talking about the day care, anyway. It's what he knows. It's an achievement that doesn't involve killing things, or anyone getting hurt. He knows his dad would never have approved, but Dean's learned over the years that his dad was wrong a lot more of the time than Dean ever would've believed when he was younger. When he thinks back he realises what a blind, dumb idiot he was. Now though he's built something good, and Dean is proud of it. It's his.
There's some crappy Country music playing low in the background, and Dean can hear Ellen somewhere behind him yelling for clean glasses, right the hell now. It's a local place, and Dean's seen most of the clientele before, knows most of them by name, or at least, knows where they're usually to be found sitting on Friday nights.
He's two beers in, and Sam's just finished telling him about his lazy-ass interns, when he asks, "How's it going with Uriel?"
"Terrifying," Dean shrugs. It's the same answer he always gives and, Dean thinks, it's unlikely ever to change. Sam shudders, because Uriel and Sam have never gotten along.
"I talked to him about taking the kids swimming," Dean says, and Sam raises an eyebrow. "Turns out angels are scared of water."
"Scared, huh? Uriel tell you that?"
Dean snorts. "Hell, no. Uriel gave me some bullshit about swimming being forbidden for angels. He had that sneaky look though, you know, the one he uses when he's lying through his teeth?"
Sam nods, frowning in thought. "I remember reading somewhere angels don't swim because of their wings, or something." An absent, dazed expression passes over Sam's face. "I'd love to see their wings."
No way is Dean going to tell Sam about how he saw Lee's wings, and exactly how awesome they were.
"New fetish, Sam?" he teases instead.
"Asshole," Sam retorts, and takes a drink of his beer. The fake-relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he looks around the room, looks at the table and its sticky beer rings, looks anywhere except at Dean, tell Dean his brother is working up to something.
"So I was reading the other day," Sam begins too-casually, "you know, what I’ve been working on recently. The whole liability thing?" Because Sam is convinced someone at some point is going to sue his ass for something. As far as Dean can tell angels have pretty much no interest in money, and even less in human law, and the human parents are all people Dean knows, and has known for years. Sam's got it into his head though, and there's no stopping him once that happens. "I can't find any distinction between kids and adults in angel law," Sam goes on. "The kids are just as responsible for their actions as adults, technically. But I can't find any cases involving younger angels at all." Sam looks thoughtful and that's always a dangerous thing. "I was thinking, you don't think you could get one of your parents to talk to me about-"
Dean should've seen that coming. "No, Sam," he cuts in. "You are not researching on my parents."
He feels a little guilty at the way Sam's face falls, but it took him years to find enough angels to make the school viable and he doesn't want to jeopardize that with anything. Dean gets how difficult it's gotta be for Sam, trying to bridge the gap between human and angel law when the angels are so damned tight lipped about everything. But Sam needs to get some angels of his own, is all. Still, Dean's made it the habit of a lifetime to help Sam out when he can, because no one sure as hell ever helped him, so he offers, "Look, there's this one guy- angel- who's pretty cool. I'll ask him if he knows anyone who can talk to you."
Dean instantly recognizes the knowing look on Sam's face. "No, Sam, it's not what you're thinking."
He takes a long pull of his beer, makes sure to glare at Sam when he lowers the bottle to the table. No way is Dean gonna admit he kind of likes Castiel, not in any way that isn't a friendly, normal, that-guy-is-pretty-cool way. That would be unprofessional. And untrue.
"It's just that the last person you said was pretty cool you ended up dating," Sam says, and the asshole is laughing at him.
"He's an angel for Christ's sake," Dean protests. "Have you even heard of an angel getting together with a human?" Dean sure as hell hasn't, not in all the time they've been known on Earth. Most humans were still too afraid of them to do anything but go on living like the War had never happened, pretending the angels weren't there.
There's no going back, though, and it's obvious even to Dean that the angels are here to stay. He might have been brought up hating all things supernatural, but he's not dick enough not to realise that the angels deserve to be here as much as any human. They fought hard, their hatred of demons way more than most humans'. Their losses were enormous. A lot of the time they could be superior, condescending dicks, but it's hard to hate them when the Earth would've been razed to the freaking ground without their help.
Those that didn't fight, Dean thinks, those that didn't see just don't get that. Or maybe they just don't want to admit how close to losing they came.
That doesn't Dean's about to get himself a wing fetish.
Opposite him, Sam, the bastard, is smiling. "I've never come across any laws forbidding it or anything. You know, I think the angels are as wary of us as we are of them."
Dean nods in agreement to that because he's seen some pretty vitriolic crap get thrown at the angels, and most of them really don't deserve it. "They saw what humans could be like," Dean says carefully, knowing Sam will get his meaning.
They've both seen the worst of humanity; the deals they made with the demons, how there were those that revelled in the chaos and murder and destruction.
"Yeah," Sam agrees, sobering. For a moment they sit in silence and Dean wishes he hadn't brought that shit up. He hates how, even after all this time, the War is always there. There are still scars in the land, blackened streaks across buildings, gaping holes in cities where houses, apartments, offices, shops used to be, that the demons destroyed and no one's gotten around to re-building. God, there was so much to rebuild.
Every doorway and window and gate now is marked with sigils and protections and prayers. It's a good thing, Dean knows. It keeps people safe. But it was better, he thinks, in the old days, when most people didn't even believe demons existed. When people didn't think they needed layers upon layers of magic and spellwork just to stay alive.
Sam shakes his head, probably trying to forget too, and takes a drink of his own. When he looks at Dean again there's a grin on his face. "But you shouldn't let that stop you," he says.
"Shut up, bitch." Dean takes a swipe at his brother's head, like they're kids again and Sam is being an annoying little brother.
Sam smacks Dean's hands away ineffectually. "You always say you like trying new things," he teases.
Dean's about to tell Sam exactly what new ways he's thought of to beat on little brothers when his cell rings.
As soon as Dean sees who it is he hits the call button and answers, "What's up?"
Sam knows the drill and looks expectant, listening in case anything's wrong. It's Dean's worst nightmare for something to happen to John when he's not at home. It's one reason why he loves having John close by all day at the day care. He realizes he can be overprotective, and Bobby sometimes gets on his case about it, but he can't help it. Dean knows what kind of shit is out there in the world, and he'll do whatever he can to keep it away from his son.
Sam, too, has developed a protective streak where John is concerned, and Dean's glad for it.
Whenever the phone rings and John isn't close-by, there isn't a time when just for a second Dean doesn't think something's wrong.
On the other end of the line Bobby's gruff voice tells him, "Nothing bad. We're all good here," like he always does, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing into his seat.
He gives Sam a nod and a smile even though he knows Sam will've been able to tell from the way the tension disappears that everything's good.
"Hey, Bobby," Dean says belatedly. "Hope John's not giving you trouble. I know he can be a handful."
Bobby snorts. "Boy, I took care of you and Sam. John here's got nothing on that."
Dean looks up at Sam and tells him, "Bobby's just calling us bad kids."
Sam looks fake-appalled and leans forward across the table, placing his elbows carefully where there isn't a wet patch. He speaks loudly so Bobby can hear him down the phone, "I'm hurt, Bobby. We were awesome kids."
"Except the time you flooded my damn kitchen. Or the time you got yourself trapped in the trunk of that old-"
"That was Dean's fault!" Sam interrupts.
"Hey!" Dean protests, and leans away from his treacherous, lying brother, glaring at him. Sam, the bastard, smiles sweetly- sickeningly sweetly- back at him. "So did you call just to insult me, or was there a reason?" Dean asks Bobby.
"If I wanted to insult you, Dean, I'd've done a damn sight better job of it. Lucky for you, there's a kid here who wants to say goodnight to his dad and his uncle. Hell knows why he wants to talk to either of you."
Somewhere in the background Dean can hear John's voice, but not what he's saying. Bobby replies with, "You want to tell Sam about your new friend, do you? How come you didn't tell me?" John must have moved closer to Bobby because this time Dean hears him say, "We were too busy watching TV. I'll tell you later."
Dean's gotta hand it to the kid. If it's any of the angels John wants to tell Sam about John's somehow caught on to the fact that Bobby doesn't think much of angelkind. Dean guesses it can't really be anyone else, considering the way John and Castiel's kid spend half their days with their heads bent close together like they're plotting things.
It's not that Bobby hates the angels the way some humans do, but he doesn't trust them, still sees them as just another one of the supernatural creatures he's hunted all his life.
John really is a smart kid. "Hand over the phone," Dean demands, or they're gonna be here all night and it's already way past John's bedtime.
"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumbles, but then there's the noise of shifting and movement and the phone being passed from one hand to another.
John greats Dean with, "Hi, Dad!" He sounds wide-awake and Dean knows Bobby's going to have a bitch time putting him to bed. He's probably been feeding the kid soda and sweets, so really he's only got himself to blame.
"Hey, kiddo," Dean replies. "You being good?"
"Yeah!" John says, "I had cake!"
Just like Dean had thought, but John sounds happy, so no way is Dean going to berate him for it even though he's told John a million times not to eat sweet stuff late at night. Dean had long ago decided he wasn't going to hold a five year old to the same absurdly severe standards his own dad had demanded of him.
It's Bobby’s fault anyway, for feeding him crap.
"What, no pie?" Dean says instead, and gets a long-suffering sigh for his trouble.
Across the table, Dean can see Sam rolling his eyes too.
"I always have pie with you, Dad," John tells him, like he can't eat pie with anyone else.
It's both cool that John thinks of pie as something they do together, and a shame that John doesn't see that pie is something to be eaten at every opportunity. He guesses that's not really healthy though, and knows that Sam would have a thing or seventeen to say about encouraging excessive pie eating. It should be kept as a treat anyway.
"Oh, right," Dean says, "Bobby says you're going to bed now?" It's already nine and after such a long week Dean's in awe of how much energy John still sounds like he has. Dean's exhausted.
"I am. I wanted to say goodnight." There's a short pause. "And don't stay out late."
"Uncle Bobby tell you to say that?" Dean scoffs.
"Yeah," John happily tells him. "I want to tell Uncle Sam about Lee now."
"Oh, I get it. You don't want to talk to me then?" Dean teases.
John giggles. "I talk to you all the time, Dad."
"I guess, I guess," Dean sighs dramatically. "I'll hand you over to Sam." He passes the phone to his brother, who takes it eagerly, smiling, and says, "Hi John!" There's a long pause then, "Yeah," then, "Cool, man."
Dean's beer is kind of warm when he takes a drink and the air in the bar is getting too thick with smoke to be comfortable, but he doesn't much care because at that moment Dean knows how lucky he is. After all the shit that's happened in his and Sam's life, he never thought he'd get to have a life like this, with family and work and nights out with his brother. It's so damn normal.
He's only half listening to their conversation, or more like Sam's half of it because it's a Friday night and there're a fair number of people in the bar, but then Sam cries, "His wing?" and Dean knows exactly what they're talking about.
Sam's giving Dean a worried look, and Dean shakes his head and smiles because unless Castiel has plans to secretly kill him in his sleep everything's good.
Thinking about Castiel reminds Dean that he's not supposed to be.
He hopes Lee's wing is okay.
On the phone, Sam makes a few more sympathetic sounds, assuring John, "Yeah, I'm sure he's fine."
John had been freaked out by the whole thing, upset that he hadn't gotten to see Lee again and make sure he was okay. It had been really hard to resist calling Castiel again and trying to get Lee on the phone to talk to John, but Castiel had said he was taking Lee home and Dean has no idea if Heaven even has cell coverage. Heaven. Jesus, his life is insane.
Dean hates that he doesn't really know for sure either if Lee is okay. But Castiel had said it was no big deal and Dean believes him. It'd still taken a couple of hours to get John to believe it though. He knows the kid can't wait 'till Monday. Dean just hopes Lee will be there.
From the way Sam is saying "Uh huh," and "That sounds cool," and, "What did he tell you about heaven?" Dean guesses they've moved on in their conversation. Sam sounds so enthusiastic that Dean has to scowl at his brother, mouthing, "Angelophile freak," to get him to stop interrogating his son.
It doesn't really work because Sam just rolls his eyes and carries right listening to whatever John is telling him. Dean's surprised Sam doesn't get out his pen and make notes.
It's a long time, and probably pretty much all his minutes, before Sam finally says, "Okay, dude. Sleep well. Don't forget to check your salt lines. Your new friend sounds cool."
All Dean gets is a "'Night, Dad," before John hangs up. Dean would be kind of jealous if he didn't know he was going to see the kid again in a few hours.
To derail Sam's inevitable questions about the wing incident, Dean says, "You should come to the park with us tomorrow. I know John'd be stoked to see you."
Going to the park not far from their house is something Dean and John do every Saturday they get the chance. It's pretty much John's favourite place in the universe, and Dean's gotta admit he kind of likes it too. It's small, but according to John it's got the best slide in the city. There's grass and trees and birds, things you don't get to see much of anymore, and for a park full of kids it can be weirdly peaceful. Even more importantly, any time Dean gets to spend with John can't be anything but good.
Sam though gives him a regretful look, and Dean knows what the answer will be. The same answer he always gets.
"I wish I could," Sam says. "I gotta work."
"Man, that's all you do," Dean complains.
"It's important."
Dean shakes his head. "I know, man." Because he does. He gets it. Without Sam, Dean would never have been able to sort through all the legal shit required to get the day care even close to being started. Dean knows how important Sam's work is to him. It's about as important as Dean's job is to him.
"And don't think I'm not gonna ask you about the wing thing," Sam adds, and finishes off his beer, grimacing at the taste, which couldn't be anything other than grossly warm by now.
"It was nothing much, just a kid got his feathers yanked on," Dean shrugs.
Sam looks horrified. "Dean, that's a crime in angel law."
Castiel hadn't mentioned that.
"It was just a kid. He didn't know any better."
"Except the five thousand times you've told them. And I told you before: there's no distinction in angel law between kids and adults."
"Maybe in theory," Dean argues. "I don't think it works like that in practice, not from what I've seen." He shrugs. "How do we know how their shit works. The human kids don't get it. Not really. Castiel- the angel kid's dad- he gets that." Even Uriel had taken the whole thing without much in the way of angelic wrath. Whether it's humans or angels, in Dean's experience, there's always a big difference between what people say and what people actually do.
Sam pauses and Dean does not like the contemplative look on his brother's face. "Castiel, huh?"
"That's his name, yeah," Dean replies carefully.
"That the angel you were talking about earlier?"
Dean glares. "I don't know what you think-"
"I think it's funny both you and John made angel best friends," Sam cuts in. He's grinning like a lunatic. "It's cute."
There's really only one response to that. "Dick."
That only makes Sam grin wider. "It is cool though. I gotta meet him. A him, right?"
"Yeah, him. And no. Your fangirling would be too embarrassing. No meeting any angels for you."
Sam pulls his face into an expression of exaggerated sulking that makes Dean laugh.
"You look like John with that face," Dean tells him, because the fake poutiness is something Dean is all too familiar with and Sam is doing an awesome impression of it. "I'm getting another drink. I'm not getting anything for you."
They both know he's lying, but Sam makes a token protest anyway as Dean slides off his barstool.
Sam's here and smiling, and that's something his brother didn't do for a long time before the War ended. Sam teases him and he knows Dean too damn well, a product of years spent in each other's company 24 hours a day, fighting back to back, and as annoying as it is at times it's cool too. There are things that Dean doesn't have to say or explain because Sam already knows. John's at home and they're all alive and safe and as Dean hands over the cash for another couple bottles of beer he thinks, this is all I ever wanted.
Part 4
3,466 words
Dean/Castiel AU. Dean runs a day care center for human and angel kids, the first of its kind. Castiel is a parent.
Usual thanks to C. and to those of you who commented. LJ's unexpected hiatus means I haven't had time to reply to you all yet, but in the meantime have a new part!
An Unconventional Kind of Place
3.
Every Friday night they can get away Dean and his brother Sam meet at Ellen's bar to catch up, and just for a few hours they can be just Dean and Sam Winchester again, like they used to be. No responsibilities, no urgent business to deal with, and no work or bills or anything else to worry about. At least, they try. Inevitably, though, they end up talking about the day care. It's been Dean's life for so long now, and Sam's been there with him at every step, so it's kind of understandable he's interested. If he's honest, Dean kind of likes talking about the day care, anyway. It's what he knows. It's an achievement that doesn't involve killing things, or anyone getting hurt. He knows his dad would never have approved, but Dean's learned over the years that his dad was wrong a lot more of the time than Dean ever would've believed when he was younger. When he thinks back he realises what a blind, dumb idiot he was. Now though he's built something good, and Dean is proud of it. It's his.
There's some crappy Country music playing low in the background, and Dean can hear Ellen somewhere behind him yelling for clean glasses, right the hell now. It's a local place, and Dean's seen most of the clientele before, knows most of them by name, or at least, knows where they're usually to be found sitting on Friday nights.
He's two beers in, and Sam's just finished telling him about his lazy-ass interns, when he asks, "How's it going with Uriel?"
"Terrifying," Dean shrugs. It's the same answer he always gives and, Dean thinks, it's unlikely ever to change. Sam shudders, because Uriel and Sam have never gotten along.
"I talked to him about taking the kids swimming," Dean says, and Sam raises an eyebrow. "Turns out angels are scared of water."
"Scared, huh? Uriel tell you that?"
Dean snorts. "Hell, no. Uriel gave me some bullshit about swimming being forbidden for angels. He had that sneaky look though, you know, the one he uses when he's lying through his teeth?"
Sam nods, frowning in thought. "I remember reading somewhere angels don't swim because of their wings, or something." An absent, dazed expression passes over Sam's face. "I'd love to see their wings."
No way is Dean going to tell Sam about how he saw Lee's wings, and exactly how awesome they were.
"New fetish, Sam?" he teases instead.
"Asshole," Sam retorts, and takes a drink of his beer. The fake-relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he looks around the room, looks at the table and its sticky beer rings, looks anywhere except at Dean, tell Dean his brother is working up to something.
"So I was reading the other day," Sam begins too-casually, "you know, what I’ve been working on recently. The whole liability thing?" Because Sam is convinced someone at some point is going to sue his ass for something. As far as Dean can tell angels have pretty much no interest in money, and even less in human law, and the human parents are all people Dean knows, and has known for years. Sam's got it into his head though, and there's no stopping him once that happens. "I can't find any distinction between kids and adults in angel law," Sam goes on. "The kids are just as responsible for their actions as adults, technically. But I can't find any cases involving younger angels at all." Sam looks thoughtful and that's always a dangerous thing. "I was thinking, you don't think you could get one of your parents to talk to me about-"
Dean should've seen that coming. "No, Sam," he cuts in. "You are not researching on my parents."
He feels a little guilty at the way Sam's face falls, but it took him years to find enough angels to make the school viable and he doesn't want to jeopardize that with anything. Dean gets how difficult it's gotta be for Sam, trying to bridge the gap between human and angel law when the angels are so damned tight lipped about everything. But Sam needs to get some angels of his own, is all. Still, Dean's made it the habit of a lifetime to help Sam out when he can, because no one sure as hell ever helped him, so he offers, "Look, there's this one guy- angel- who's pretty cool. I'll ask him if he knows anyone who can talk to you."
Dean instantly recognizes the knowing look on Sam's face. "No, Sam, it's not what you're thinking."
He takes a long pull of his beer, makes sure to glare at Sam when he lowers the bottle to the table. No way is Dean gonna admit he kind of likes Castiel, not in any way that isn't a friendly, normal, that-guy-is-pretty-cool way. That would be unprofessional. And untrue.
"It's just that the last person you said was pretty cool you ended up dating," Sam says, and the asshole is laughing at him.
"He's an angel for Christ's sake," Dean protests. "Have you even heard of an angel getting together with a human?" Dean sure as hell hasn't, not in all the time they've been known on Earth. Most humans were still too afraid of them to do anything but go on living like the War had never happened, pretending the angels weren't there.
There's no going back, though, and it's obvious even to Dean that the angels are here to stay. He might have been brought up hating all things supernatural, but he's not dick enough not to realise that the angels deserve to be here as much as any human. They fought hard, their hatred of demons way more than most humans'. Their losses were enormous. A lot of the time they could be superior, condescending dicks, but it's hard to hate them when the Earth would've been razed to the freaking ground without their help.
Those that didn't fight, Dean thinks, those that didn't see just don't get that. Or maybe they just don't want to admit how close to losing they came.
That doesn't Dean's about to get himself a wing fetish.
Opposite him, Sam, the bastard, is smiling. "I've never come across any laws forbidding it or anything. You know, I think the angels are as wary of us as we are of them."
Dean nods in agreement to that because he's seen some pretty vitriolic crap get thrown at the angels, and most of them really don't deserve it. "They saw what humans could be like," Dean says carefully, knowing Sam will get his meaning.
They've both seen the worst of humanity; the deals they made with the demons, how there were those that revelled in the chaos and murder and destruction.
"Yeah," Sam agrees, sobering. For a moment they sit in silence and Dean wishes he hadn't brought that shit up. He hates how, even after all this time, the War is always there. There are still scars in the land, blackened streaks across buildings, gaping holes in cities where houses, apartments, offices, shops used to be, that the demons destroyed and no one's gotten around to re-building. God, there was so much to rebuild.
Every doorway and window and gate now is marked with sigils and protections and prayers. It's a good thing, Dean knows. It keeps people safe. But it was better, he thinks, in the old days, when most people didn't even believe demons existed. When people didn't think they needed layers upon layers of magic and spellwork just to stay alive.
Sam shakes his head, probably trying to forget too, and takes a drink of his own. When he looks at Dean again there's a grin on his face. "But you shouldn't let that stop you," he says.
"Shut up, bitch." Dean takes a swipe at his brother's head, like they're kids again and Sam is being an annoying little brother.
Sam smacks Dean's hands away ineffectually. "You always say you like trying new things," he teases.
Dean's about to tell Sam exactly what new ways he's thought of to beat on little brothers when his cell rings.
As soon as Dean sees who it is he hits the call button and answers, "What's up?"
Sam knows the drill and looks expectant, listening in case anything's wrong. It's Dean's worst nightmare for something to happen to John when he's not at home. It's one reason why he loves having John close by all day at the day care. He realizes he can be overprotective, and Bobby sometimes gets on his case about it, but he can't help it. Dean knows what kind of shit is out there in the world, and he'll do whatever he can to keep it away from his son.
Sam, too, has developed a protective streak where John is concerned, and Dean's glad for it.
Whenever the phone rings and John isn't close-by, there isn't a time when just for a second Dean doesn't think something's wrong.
On the other end of the line Bobby's gruff voice tells him, "Nothing bad. We're all good here," like he always does, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing into his seat.
He gives Sam a nod and a smile even though he knows Sam will've been able to tell from the way the tension disappears that everything's good.
"Hey, Bobby," Dean says belatedly. "Hope John's not giving you trouble. I know he can be a handful."
Bobby snorts. "Boy, I took care of you and Sam. John here's got nothing on that."
Dean looks up at Sam and tells him, "Bobby's just calling us bad kids."
Sam looks fake-appalled and leans forward across the table, placing his elbows carefully where there isn't a wet patch. He speaks loudly so Bobby can hear him down the phone, "I'm hurt, Bobby. We were awesome kids."
"Except the time you flooded my damn kitchen. Or the time you got yourself trapped in the trunk of that old-"
"That was Dean's fault!" Sam interrupts.
"Hey!" Dean protests, and leans away from his treacherous, lying brother, glaring at him. Sam, the bastard, smiles sweetly- sickeningly sweetly- back at him. "So did you call just to insult me, or was there a reason?" Dean asks Bobby.
"If I wanted to insult you, Dean, I'd've done a damn sight better job of it. Lucky for you, there's a kid here who wants to say goodnight to his dad and his uncle. Hell knows why he wants to talk to either of you."
Somewhere in the background Dean can hear John's voice, but not what he's saying. Bobby replies with, "You want to tell Sam about your new friend, do you? How come you didn't tell me?" John must have moved closer to Bobby because this time Dean hears him say, "We were too busy watching TV. I'll tell you later."
Dean's gotta hand it to the kid. If it's any of the angels John wants to tell Sam about John's somehow caught on to the fact that Bobby doesn't think much of angelkind. Dean guesses it can't really be anyone else, considering the way John and Castiel's kid spend half their days with their heads bent close together like they're plotting things.
It's not that Bobby hates the angels the way some humans do, but he doesn't trust them, still sees them as just another one of the supernatural creatures he's hunted all his life.
John really is a smart kid. "Hand over the phone," Dean demands, or they're gonna be here all night and it's already way past John's bedtime.
"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumbles, but then there's the noise of shifting and movement and the phone being passed from one hand to another.
John greats Dean with, "Hi, Dad!" He sounds wide-awake and Dean knows Bobby's going to have a bitch time putting him to bed. He's probably been feeding the kid soda and sweets, so really he's only got himself to blame.
"Hey, kiddo," Dean replies. "You being good?"
"Yeah!" John says, "I had cake!"
Just like Dean had thought, but John sounds happy, so no way is Dean going to berate him for it even though he's told John a million times not to eat sweet stuff late at night. Dean had long ago decided he wasn't going to hold a five year old to the same absurdly severe standards his own dad had demanded of him.
It's Bobby’s fault anyway, for feeding him crap.
"What, no pie?" Dean says instead, and gets a long-suffering sigh for his trouble.
Across the table, Dean can see Sam rolling his eyes too.
"I always have pie with you, Dad," John tells him, like he can't eat pie with anyone else.
It's both cool that John thinks of pie as something they do together, and a shame that John doesn't see that pie is something to be eaten at every opportunity. He guesses that's not really healthy though, and knows that Sam would have a thing or seventeen to say about encouraging excessive pie eating. It should be kept as a treat anyway.
"Oh, right," Dean says, "Bobby says you're going to bed now?" It's already nine and after such a long week Dean's in awe of how much energy John still sounds like he has. Dean's exhausted.
"I am. I wanted to say goodnight." There's a short pause. "And don't stay out late."
"Uncle Bobby tell you to say that?" Dean scoffs.
"Yeah," John happily tells him. "I want to tell Uncle Sam about Lee now."
"Oh, I get it. You don't want to talk to me then?" Dean teases.
John giggles. "I talk to you all the time, Dad."
"I guess, I guess," Dean sighs dramatically. "I'll hand you over to Sam." He passes the phone to his brother, who takes it eagerly, smiling, and says, "Hi John!" There's a long pause then, "Yeah," then, "Cool, man."
Dean's beer is kind of warm when he takes a drink and the air in the bar is getting too thick with smoke to be comfortable, but he doesn't much care because at that moment Dean knows how lucky he is. After all the shit that's happened in his and Sam's life, he never thought he'd get to have a life like this, with family and work and nights out with his brother. It's so damn normal.
He's only half listening to their conversation, or more like Sam's half of it because it's a Friday night and there're a fair number of people in the bar, but then Sam cries, "His wing?" and Dean knows exactly what they're talking about.
Sam's giving Dean a worried look, and Dean shakes his head and smiles because unless Castiel has plans to secretly kill him in his sleep everything's good.
Thinking about Castiel reminds Dean that he's not supposed to be.
He hopes Lee's wing is okay.
On the phone, Sam makes a few more sympathetic sounds, assuring John, "Yeah, I'm sure he's fine."
John had been freaked out by the whole thing, upset that he hadn't gotten to see Lee again and make sure he was okay. It had been really hard to resist calling Castiel again and trying to get Lee on the phone to talk to John, but Castiel had said he was taking Lee home and Dean has no idea if Heaven even has cell coverage. Heaven. Jesus, his life is insane.
Dean hates that he doesn't really know for sure either if Lee is okay. But Castiel had said it was no big deal and Dean believes him. It'd still taken a couple of hours to get John to believe it though. He knows the kid can't wait 'till Monday. Dean just hopes Lee will be there.
From the way Sam is saying "Uh huh," and "That sounds cool," and, "What did he tell you about heaven?" Dean guesses they've moved on in their conversation. Sam sounds so enthusiastic that Dean has to scowl at his brother, mouthing, "Angelophile freak," to get him to stop interrogating his son.
It doesn't really work because Sam just rolls his eyes and carries right listening to whatever John is telling him. Dean's surprised Sam doesn't get out his pen and make notes.
It's a long time, and probably pretty much all his minutes, before Sam finally says, "Okay, dude. Sleep well. Don't forget to check your salt lines. Your new friend sounds cool."
All Dean gets is a "'Night, Dad," before John hangs up. Dean would be kind of jealous if he didn't know he was going to see the kid again in a few hours.
To derail Sam's inevitable questions about the wing incident, Dean says, "You should come to the park with us tomorrow. I know John'd be stoked to see you."
Going to the park not far from their house is something Dean and John do every Saturday they get the chance. It's pretty much John's favourite place in the universe, and Dean's gotta admit he kind of likes it too. It's small, but according to John it's got the best slide in the city. There's grass and trees and birds, things you don't get to see much of anymore, and for a park full of kids it can be weirdly peaceful. Even more importantly, any time Dean gets to spend with John can't be anything but good.
Sam though gives him a regretful look, and Dean knows what the answer will be. The same answer he always gets.
"I wish I could," Sam says. "I gotta work."
"Man, that's all you do," Dean complains.
"It's important."
Dean shakes his head. "I know, man." Because he does. He gets it. Without Sam, Dean would never have been able to sort through all the legal shit required to get the day care even close to being started. Dean knows how important Sam's work is to him. It's about as important as Dean's job is to him.
"And don't think I'm not gonna ask you about the wing thing," Sam adds, and finishes off his beer, grimacing at the taste, which couldn't be anything other than grossly warm by now.
"It was nothing much, just a kid got his feathers yanked on," Dean shrugs.
Sam looks horrified. "Dean, that's a crime in angel law."
Castiel hadn't mentioned that.
"It was just a kid. He didn't know any better."
"Except the five thousand times you've told them. And I told you before: there's no distinction in angel law between kids and adults."
"Maybe in theory," Dean argues. "I don't think it works like that in practice, not from what I've seen." He shrugs. "How do we know how their shit works. The human kids don't get it. Not really. Castiel- the angel kid's dad- he gets that." Even Uriel had taken the whole thing without much in the way of angelic wrath. Whether it's humans or angels, in Dean's experience, there's always a big difference between what people say and what people actually do.
Sam pauses and Dean does not like the contemplative look on his brother's face. "Castiel, huh?"
"That's his name, yeah," Dean replies carefully.
"That the angel you were talking about earlier?"
Dean glares. "I don't know what you think-"
"I think it's funny both you and John made angel best friends," Sam cuts in. He's grinning like a lunatic. "It's cute."
There's really only one response to that. "Dick."
That only makes Sam grin wider. "It is cool though. I gotta meet him. A him, right?"
"Yeah, him. And no. Your fangirling would be too embarrassing. No meeting any angels for you."
Sam pulls his face into an expression of exaggerated sulking that makes Dean laugh.
"You look like John with that face," Dean tells him, because the fake poutiness is something Dean is all too familiar with and Sam is doing an awesome impression of it. "I'm getting another drink. I'm not getting anything for you."
They both know he's lying, but Sam makes a token protest anyway as Dean slides off his barstool.
Sam's here and smiling, and that's something his brother didn't do for a long time before the War ended. Sam teases him and he knows Dean too damn well, a product of years spent in each other's company 24 hours a day, fighting back to back, and as annoying as it is at times it's cool too. There are things that Dean doesn't have to say or explain because Sam already knows. John's at home and they're all alive and safe and as Dean hands over the cash for another couple bottles of beer he thinks, this is all I ever wanted.
Part 4