[fic] these three for a dropout (part 1 of 2)
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: These Three (1/2)
Author: tabi_jeff
Recipient: dropout
Rating: PG
Word Count 13,690
Warnings None
Spoilers: Up to 7X3
Summary: It was a cold winter night, and there was a knocking at the door.
Author notes: I took the prompt for Cas being de-aged and the Winchesters looking after him, included lots of Sam, some fluff, some h/c, and some angst and I hope it came out as something you'll enjoy! Thanks for the great prompts, and thanks to C. for the betaing.
These Three
Wisconsin in December was a shitty place to be. Freezing temperatures and blizzards, roads blocked with feet of snow and electricity down across what felt like half the frigging state and all of it meant that Dean and Sam were stuck in some back-end shit hole of a motel with no way to get out, shivering because the heating had been installed in the Fifties or something and just about managed to warm the room to slightly above unbearable. The phone lines were down and even their cell phones had shitty reception and it even though it was only a few days to Christmas most of the shops and diners were closed and Dean was hungry. They had coffee, at least, and Dean had made it even better with the addition of a healthy amount of whiskey. He ignored Sam's looks, focusing on the T.V. even if he wasn't actually listening, not caring what was on because it was all shit and they were stuck here and had been stuck here for two days. There was several foot of snow outside and it was still coming down, falling slow and silent and never-ending.
They'd meant to go see Bobby's- not for Christmas or anything because that was something Dean wanted to ignore- but because he'd heard something about the Leviathan's movements and wouldn't tell them about it over the phone. And now they were trapped by the worst weather this century, or so the news had said, and that was something not even the Winchesters could fight against. Dean hoped that the freak weather would somehow slow down the Leviathan too, whatever their plan was. He hoped they wouldn't be too late to stop them.
It wouldn't have been so bad, Dean guessed, with nothing to do but watch crap on T.V. and drink if he wasn't so fucking cold, and he wasn't worrying about his car, locked up somewhere so that he had to rely on some piece of junk, and Bobby and bad shit happening when he couldn't do anything to stop it, and when all he dreamed about when he was too bored or too drunk to stay awake anymore was Cas.
If there was one thing Dean didn't want to think about, that was it, but he was always there in his dreams saying he was sorry and saying he would make it up to them and how the fuck was Cas going to make anything up to him when he was fucking dead?
Sometimes Dean imagined he heard Cas whispering that he wasn't dead, that he'd come back, like he always did.
Once he'd said, I always come when you call, but Dean didn't dare try it.
***
It was late, or early, or whatever. It was kind of hard to tell either way because it was never really light out anymore anyway, the heavy snow blotting out the sky to a dull gray. Blinking his eyes open, groggy from alcohol and lethargy and bad sleep, Dean couldn't work out which but something had woken him up.
In the bed to his right Sam slept mostly peacefully. Dean couldn't see much of him for all the blankets piled on top of him leaving not much more than a flop of hair on white pillow.
Outside there was no sound of traffic, nothing at all beside the soft hiss of snow fall. It was creepy, like the world had disappeared in the time since he'd fallen asleep watching some crappy repeat of a movie he knew he'd watched a dozen times but would never be able to say what happened in it. Then, there was something, a scraping sound, like a scratching at the door, movement like something shuffling through snow. Probably some unlucky animal stuck out in the cold. Poor bastard.
Dean turned over, away from the door, pulling his own multitude of blankets and comforters over his ears, trying to block out the cool night air and the noise.
It wasn't even that loud, and Dean shouldn't have been able to still hear it, he thought, but it was irritating. Grating on his nerves, and something else, like he knew it was something more, something important, but he really didn't want to get out of bed. He didn't want to have to deal with premonitions or feelings, but every instinct told him this was something he had to do.
He ignored it. He ignored the sound. And he kept ignoring right up to the point he felt his teeth gritting against the sound, like fucking nails across a chalkboard. Whatever it was, Dean decided, he would kill it. Put them both out of their misery.
It was an old habit to sleep with a knife under his pillow, one that he'd had pretty much his entire life, and right at that moment he was glad for it because it meant he didn't have to go searching around in the dark and the cold.
Getting up, Dean didn't bother being quiet, cursing under his breath when his feet hit the floor and it was freezing. Leaving the warmth of his covers wasn't any better and Dean could feel his muscles tensing and his teeth chattering as he made his way over to the door. Sam, the asshole, slept on unconcerned.
The cold had to have slowed his senses because it was only then that Dean considered that whatever was outside the door might be a threat. They'd salted the doors and windows and maybe it was something trying to get in. Except the sound didn't exactly suggest something large or aggressive. But Dean knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving.
He approached the door cautiously, clicked the lock over slowly.
What he saw when he pulled the door open wasn't anything he could ever have expected.
"Shit," he swore, made to move forward but then stopped, cautious again.
On the doorstop lay a boy, no more than five, maybe six. The kid had curled in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest. His dark, messy hair and dark suit were a stark contrast against the white of the snow. Worse, he had no shoes and from what Dean could see he was soaking wet. His hand was outstretched towards the door and Dean could see his fingers were red, raw. There was blood on his shirt.
Nothing, Dean thought, nothing supernatural could ever look this miserable and helpless. And the kid was shaking like crazy and Dean couldn't just let him lie there, freezing to death. He had to take the chance that this wasn't something out to kill them, that this was just some unlucky kid because there was no way Dean could shut the door and turn away from this. He'd never forgive himself if this was a human kid.
Deep, deep down the kid's face and hair and the suit reminded him of Cas, but that was something Dean was ignoring.
"Hey," Dean said, kneeling in the snow beside the kid, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The blood worried him. As he'd thought, the clothes were soaked through and Dean could smell stagnant water, rotting plants. It was hard not to wonder where the hell the boy's parents were, what had happened to him. It didn't escape Dean's notice that there was no sign of disturbed snow anyway but where the boy lay. No footprints. It was possible they'd been covered over by the still heavy snowfall, but the white surface looked pristine and untouched around the stoop.
He brushed snow off the boy's shoulder, off the side of his face and from his hair and he was shockingly cold, his face almost as pale as the snow and his lips a frightening blue. Dean stripped off his own jacket and wrapped it around the kid's shoulders, pulling him into his arms. The kid barely responded at all and that made up Dean's mind. He had to get the kid warm and dry before he worked out where the fuck he'd come from.
The boy weighed hardly anything when Dean lifted him, hurrying into the room and slamming the door behind him.
"Sam," he called. "Get up. Turn on the lights."
There was sleepy complaining from Sam's bed, but he reached out and switched on the lamp anyway and the room was thrown into a low, dulled orange hue.
By the time Sam had sat up, rubbing at his eyes, Dean already had the kid out of the sopping jacket and pants. He rubbed at the boy's feet, worried about frostbite and circulation.
"What the-" Dean started, blinking at Dean and the kid.
"Get some towels. Now," Dean cut Sam off. He'd explain later. Not that he actually knew anything himself, but the most important thing now was keeping the kid alive. "Come on," he encouraged, trying to get some reaction. "You're gonna be fine."
Dean could feel the kid's breath against his hand as he checked for injuries, could feel his pulse beating way too slow at his neck. It had been the only indication Dean had the kid wasn't dead until the boy's eyes opened. They were little more than narrow slits but Dean could clearly see bright blue eyes. They stared unblinkingly at Dean and it was so familiar it hurt.
"I've gotta get you warmed up, okay?" Dean said, trying to sound soothing and completely not scary. Not that the kid looked at all afraid of him.
Instead, the kid reached out to him and in a small, croaked voice called, "Dean," and Dean froze.
"You can't-" Dean started. "You're not-" Because Cas was dead. "Who- What are you?" he demanded.
It was hard to miss the way the kid- or whatever the fuck this thing was- dropped his arms from where he'd been trying to get a hold of Dean. His teeth chattered and his eyes- Jesus his eyes- closed again like it was too much effort to keep them open.
"Hey." Dean shook the kid gently. "Wake up. Tell me-"
And then there was Sam with an armful of crappy thin motel towels. His hair was a mess and his eyes red, blinking them and very obviously still trying to wake up and work out what the hell was going on. "Towels," he interrupted.
"Shit," Dean swore. He had no clue what to do, but if there was one thing Dean knew he couldn't let this kid die, whatever it was.
He took the towels from Sam and started wrapping them around the boy's legs, instructing Sam to dry the kid's hair and face. Dean undid the buttons of his blood-spattered shirt and what he saw made him stop dead, shocked.
"Sam," he said, and something in his voice must have told Sam something was wrong because Sam looked up immediately before following Dean's gaze down to the kid's chest.
There, a pattern Dean recognized as the one Cas cut into himself could be seen formed from thin white scars. An angel banishing spell and as much as Dean wanted to believe it wasn't true, and at the same time wanted it so freaking badly to be true, he couldn't believe this kid was Cas.
"Shit," Sam echoed, but he didn't seem to have any problem accepting it at all.
He looked to the kid's face, placed a hand over one of his pale cheeks and called, "Cas. Man. Is that you?"
The kid opened his eyes again and they looked sad and worn and he said, "Sam," and the utter relief in the boy's voice was enough to convince Dean that this kid couldn't be any one else but Cas.
***
It took a long time, too long, to get Cas to the point where his lips had gone from a frightening blue to a less deathly pale. They dried him, rubbing at his chest and legs and arms and drying his hair until he stopped shivering quite so badly. A couple of times Cas opened his eyes and looked at Dean and then Sam and back to Dean again and tried to say something, but Sam shushed him and Cas didn't seem to have the energy to protest.
They wrapped him up in their blankets and Sam tried to coax some more life out of the ancient heating. When that didn't work he made Cas some kind of foul-smelling green tea from his new and bulging collection of healthy grass drinks. Cas, at least, seemed to like it, sipping greedily and all Dean could wonder was if Cas was human. If Cas was a kid now and would grow up like any human and what the fuck they would do if he was. Right then Cas didn't even have the strength to hold up the mug and that left Dean with Cas bundled up on his lap carefully tipping lukewarm tea into his mouth, his lips that had always looked dry cracking so badly now they bled. It reminded Dean of nursing Sam was he was sick and Dean didn't know if he could do that all over again. They had leviathan to fight. They lived a life on the road and no kid deserved that. Dean ought to know.
Except for all that Cas hadn't said much Dean was almost certain he was still the Castiel they knew, with at least some of his memories intact. He knew them, recognized and trusted them both, and there was way too much sadness, too many years behind his eyes. And guilt. Whenever he looked at Dean there was guilt and apology and it was exactly the same look Cas had given him that night in Crowley's lab when this whole fucked up mess should have been finished with. Cas should've been okay.
"Do you think we need food? Cas might need to eat." Sam fussed and it might've annoyed him if it hadn't made Cas look somewhere between pleased and amused as he watched Sam stalk around the room trying to find things to do.
"It's the ass-end of night. Nothing's gonna be open. Not in this weather."
"I still have some-" Cas tried to say, and even as a kid his voice was too low and too rough, but maybe that was just the fact that he'd been lying outside in the snow without any shoes for who the fuck knew how long. "I'm not human."
"Okay. Okay." Dean rubbed at Cas's shoulder reassuringly, and it should've felt weird but it wasn't. This was Castiel, an angel of the Lord who was maybe five billion years older than Dean and had been to Hell and done some really fucked up things, but here was Dean more or less hugging him. It was to keep Cas warm, Dean assured himself. It wasn't because he was cute as hell and really looked like he needed it, like Sam had when he was five and missing Dad or hungry or sick. "But you're not exactly... at your best," Dean pointed out.
Which was an understatement but Cas was restless and agitated, sometimes squirming in Dean's lap when he had the energy, and there was pain in his too-old eyes. Dean was pretty sure that was from his feet. They'd been so cold Dean had been afraid of frostbite. Sam had wrapped Cas's feet in three pairs of his own way too big socks and they'd just have to wait and see. It was unlikely Cas would be walking anywhere anytime soon. Dean knew from experience that getting feeling back in frozen limbs hurt.
Cas just stared at Dean, or what passed for staring when his eyelids kept drooping closed. He might still be an angel- and Dean didn't doubt it because Cas was warming up faster than any human kid would've- but he very obviously needed rest.
The weirdest thing was how wet Cas's eyes looked, like he was on the verge of crying, full of misery and discomfort and that was not like Cas at all.
"No," Cas admitted. He looked like he wanted to say more.
"It's cool," Dean shrugged and held Cas, in his cocoon of Dean's sweater and Sam’s socks and blankets, tighter. "We all have shitty days. Just, y'know, try to get some sleep."
"Angels don't sleep," Cas stated automatically, but then he frowned and turned his face to press against Dean's chest. "But I'm so tired. I never felt this tired, before."
It wasn't hard to guess that Cas was talking about when he'd been mostly human, back when there'd been an apocalypse and Dean had no doubts that he could trust Cas with anything.
"And I don't understand what I feel. I want to cry
." Cas said it like it was the most distasteful thing in the universe. "And I'm angry at everything and my stomach hurts with- I don't know."
Cas sniffed and pressed his face more tightly against Dean's shirt and Dean wondered if he really was crying now and what the fuck he should do. If it was Sam he'd know; hug the kid, pet his hair, tell him it was okay. But this was Cas and Dean didn't know where they stood or what Cas would accept. Sam didn't seem to have the same problem, sitting down next to them on the bed heavily and laying a hand gently on the top of Cas's head.
"You remember everything, right?" Sam asked gently and Cas nodded, face still hidden. "Then maybe you're experiencing emotion like a little kid because that's the vessel you're in, and it's just temporary."
Dean didn't know if Sam was bullshitting to calm Cas down or he meant it, but he looked sincere. As cute as Cas was Dean really hoped this was only temporary.
Sniffing again, Cas turned to look at Sam and Dean could see his eyes were red and puffy. "Sam," he said. "I'm sorry."
"What for, man?" Sam smiled and rubbed Cas's hair lightly. Cas didn't seem to mind.
"For breaking your wall. And for not bringing you all back. And for-" Cas's voice was growing strained, almost frantic so Dean cut in, "Cas, stop," and was surprised when Cas immediately fell silent.
"We'll talk about stuff tomorrow." Cas was starting to shiver again in his arms and Dean didn't think it was from the cold anymore. Yeah, there was a lot of shit they had to go through, not least what the fuck had happened to Cas that he was now a five year old. It was obvious it was still Jimmy, just with a face far too young for the sadness and guilt of his expression. But it was late and they were all tired and Dean didn't think any of them were up to working through that crap. "There's nothing we can do right now." He started gathering the comforters and blankets Cas wasn't mummified in, maneuvering Cas into the middle of the bed. "Sam," he ordered. "Get your shit together and get in the other side. It's too frigging cold in here."
Sam obeyed without argument which might've been a miracle if he didn't look ready to fall asleep where he sat, and if Cas's teeth hadn't started chattering again. Figuring that if Cas didn't mind Sam stroking his hair he wouldn't mind Dean holding onto him and he arranged them into a position where Cas had his head on some pillows and half of Dean's covers over him, his arms wrapped around Cas. Sam did the same, his stupid huge body taking up way more than half the bed. There wasn't really room on the crappy old motel bed for three people, even if one of them was pint-sized, but it was warmer than Dean had felt all night.
"Dean-" Cas tried, and Dean could hear the doubt in his voice. He couldn't see anything more of him than a vague outline now that Sam had switched off the lights, but he could tell Cas had turned to face him.
Dean pulled him closer.
"Whatever it is, Cas, it's okay," Dean told him. For all the crap that had gone on between them having Cas back and alive meant more than any of it.
It was the warmest Dean had felt in months.
***
The morning brought the same gray sky and the same endlessly falling snow and somehow the whole damned world was a different place; not quite so shit. Not quite so bleak.
Dean didn't drink anything but Sam's crappy instant coffee. He'd never admit to anyone it was because he'd seen the way Cas looked at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table.
A part of Dean- a really loud and insistent and well-practiced part- told him that this wouldn't last. That sooner or later something would happen and take all this away again. This time though Dean wasn't going to let Cas out of his fucking sight. He would do everything he could to keep this.
It had taken Cas a long time to fall asleep; he'd shifted and fidgeted against Dean for half the night but eventually he'd slept. Even then he was restless and Dean had rubbed the back of his neck like he used to do with Sam when he'd had bad dreams. Dean obsessively checked Cas's forehead and his cheeks to see if he was warming up at all. It was easier to be like this, to treat Cas like he was the five years old of his body, when his eyes were closed and he was silent. Like any kid the proximity, gentle touches, seemed to help him settle. It was dawn before Dean had fallen into something approaching sleep himself, and he didn't think Sam had slept much better if the three cups of coffee he'd drunk before leaving for the store were any indication.
"Be careful," Dean had warned, throwing him the car keys. He didn't give a fuck about the car but he did care if Sam drove himself into a tree. "Call me if that crap heap breaks down or- whatever." If there was any indication someone had followed Cas. If there was even the vaguest hint of something supernatural. Dean hated that he had to let Sam go out alone but someone had to stay with Cas because he was deeply asleep now and still pale and sickly-looking. And because he looked five. They couldn't take him with them out into the snow and the cold with no clothes, looking so ill.
"I have driven in snow before, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll stop at the first place I find. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He'd been gone an hour when Cas started to stir and Dean was totally not resisting the urge to call Sam every ten minutes to check he was okay. A part of him had almost wished the car wouldn't start when Sam had left, but they needed food and clothes for Cas. They wouldn't have bothered if it was just the two of them, too used to cold and hunger, but neither of them were about to take the chance that Cas would be okay without extra help.
Which was how Dean found himself making up one of Sam's gross teas for Cas to drink. It smelled like burned grass. Out of some sick sense of curiosity Dean took a sip, grimacing because it tasted even worse. How either Sam or Cas could drink this stuff was beyond Dean.
On the bed Cas opened his eyes blearily, looking around the room in confusion and Dean could see his uncertainty and something close to fear before he met Dean's gaze. Cas blinked.
"Tea," Dean announced, coming over to the bed, slotting himself beside Cas, leaning against the headboard.
Cas stared at the mug in his hand suspiciously. Maybe Cas didn't like it after all.
"I know it's gross, but it'll keep you warm."
"No," Cas shook his head slowly. "I- I'm thirsty."
Dean ignored the helpless despair in his voice. Like always, concentrating on what he could fix right then and leaving the rest to worry about later.
"You're just- sick or something," Dean tried. "C'mon. Drink something."
After helping Cas to sit up, he complied easily enough, fingers wrapping around the mug greedily, seeking the warmth. He leaned heavily against Dean's side. His hair was messed up- even more disheveled than usual- but he seemed stronger at least. When he'd finished the tea Cas was a lot more awake and coherent than he had been the night before, thanking Dean and re-wrapping the blankets around his arms. He didn't attempt to move away and Dean guessed Cas was still cold, or maybe just didn't have the energy.
They sat in awkward silence for long minutes, Dean unsure what to say, not wanting to upset Cas when he was like this, but needing to know what was going on here. There were too many unanswered questions.
Cas must've sensed his discomfort, or maybe he could still read minds or something, because he announced, "I don't know how I came to be here. It's- unclear."
"What's the last thing you do remember?" Dean asked.
"I remember you." Cas looked up at him and his face was so familiar and so different at the same time it was almost too much. "I told you I was sorry. I told you I would make it up to you." Cas frowned. "This is not making it up to you."
"You're alive. I'll take that over dead any day." The honesty of it, the realization of how much he'd kind of lost it over the past months surprised Dean. It surprised Cas too, but it shouldn’t have. Cas should've known. "I hate saying this shit- you know I hate saying this shit- but, Cas, you're my friend, and you're Sam's friend." Dean laughed humorlessly. "We've all fucked up, and when we mess things up? We do it with style. So, we know what that's like. I'm pissed. Of course I'm pissed at you. You lied. You did some really shitty things. You didn't listen to me. But I never wanted you gone. You'll always be welcome with me and Sam. You are family, Cas."
There were other things that Dean maybe sometimes wanted from Cas, maybe sometimes thought might be awesome if Cas wanted it too, but right now Cas was in the body of a five year old and Dean couldn't think about any of that. But at least like this it wasn't so weird to put his arm around Cas and pull him closer against his side.
"You said you've still got your angel mojo," Dean said after another long silence where Cas stared at Dean and looked like he might start crying again. "So, are you gonna be able to go back to being, y'know, an adult? Soon?"
Cas's expression turned thoughtful, as though he were looking within himself. "I hadn't considered it," he admitted. "Is it imperative I be adult?"
Even after knowing Cas all this time, he still managed to surprise Dean with how little he understood humanity, and Dean had to shake his head in disbelief.
"Yeah, Cas. It is," he said. "I dunno if you've noticed but you're one hell of a lot shorter now, for one."
"Any human vessel is far smaller than my true form," Cas shrugged.
"Yeah. No. It's just- weird. Kids don't walk around on their own a lot, or hang out with two guys in seedy motel rooms."
Cas didn't look like he understood why, and was probably filing it away under his collection of inexplicable human behavior information, but to Dean's relief he said, "I think when I have recovered some of my strength I can return this body to the age it was previously. I don't understand how I came to be like this."
Dean didn't know what Cas saw when he looked down at himself, at his thin arms and his feet and legs hidden in Sam's socks, but it wasn't anything good so Dean rubbed a hand against his cheek. The skin there was finally something warmer than freezing.
"But," Cas said, "When I'm like this you and Sam are both far more tactile."
Dean made to pull his hand away, saying, "Sorry Man," but Cas grabbed at his wrist and held him still. "No. I like it," he said.
It was hard not to imagine what this would be like if Cas was an adult, leaning together, warm and comfortable in each other's space. If Cas would still like this then.
***
"You two are adorable," was the first thing Sam said, grinning, when Dean woke up maybe an hour later, wrapped in their blankets and Cas and not having realized he'd even fallen asleep.
"Shut up." Dean's response was automatic, but he kept his voice down because Cas was still asleep and if the black smudges under the kid's eyes were any indication. He didn't dare move for fear of waking him, instead tucking the comforter more securely around Cas's shoulders. "What did you get?"
"Found a Wal-mart still open a couple towns over." Sam held up his bags. "Got clothes, food and some other stuff."
Dean didn't dare ask what Sam's idea of "other stuff" was so he left his brother to unpacking the groceries, demanding coffee and pie because there was no way Sam would be bastard enough to go out and not buy those things. It had been days since Dean had drunk anything more than the sludge that passed for coffee at gas stations, and he hadn't eaten pie in almost two weeks.
"It was weird," Sam said, rummaging through the cupboards for something. He pulled out an old dented pan and Dean saw soup in all their futures. "The store was full of people buying Christmas stuff."
Sam glanced towards Cas and Dean could easily guess why. The angel never mentioned God anymore. He never spoke of faith or hope or righteousness and Dean knew that the Winchesters had done that to him. They'd dragged Cas into their world where things like that just didn't exist and sometimes Dean wished Cas had never met them. He could've been happy, frolicking around Heaven in ignorance with his dick angel brothers instead on lying over Dean's knees, cold and cut off from everything he'd ever known.
Well, he had them now and kid or not Dean wasn't about to let Cas forget it this time.
Over by the counter Sam was pouring a can of soup into the pot. "I bought cookie mix," he announced. "I thought Cas might like it.
"He's not actually five," Dean pointed out.
"Okay. I wanted to make cookies. If we're stuck here we might as well, you know, enjoy ourselves. Celebrate, now we've got something to celebrate."
Now they had Cas back was what Sam meant and that was something Dean couldn't deny.
"Did he tell you how he ended up here?" Sam asked.
"Says he doesn't remember. He said something about being underwater, maybe, and then cold." In a lower voice Dean added, "He didn't say it but I'm pretty sure he thinks God brought him back again."
"Jesus," Sam said, then seemed to realize what he'd just said and coughed uncomfortably, looking around the room like God himself was going to show up right then and there and smite him or something. "So. Err. Are we safe from the other angels?"
"I think so." Cas had been vague about that, but when was he ever not? "From what I could tell, they all think he's dead."
From beside him Cas added in a groggy voice, "To them I am dead, even if I live. It's no less than I deserve." He sat himself up, rubbing at his eyes. He shivered where the blankets fell into his lap and it'd become almost normal to reach out to him and pull him close, wrapping his arms around Cas's back. Cas let himself be moved, laying his head easily against Dean's chest.
"It isn't," Dean denied and Cas didn't bother to argue, instead saying, "Hello Sam."
"Hey Cas," Sam smiled. He turned away from the stove where he was stirring the soup. "Sorry if we woke you up."
"It was the smell." Cas pointed to the pan. "I think I'm hungry," he admitted.
Sam paused and Dean knew that look; it was his worried, uncertain face. He covered it quickly, turning back to the motel's kitchen area and opening and closing the cupboards, looking for dishes Dean guessed. "It's not much, but it's warm."
Even if it was just cheap soup out of a can Cas seemed to enjoy it, eating it all with a relish he hadn't seen in him since he'd been under famine's influence, gorging himself on hamburgers.
Sam ate too and forced some on Dean who would rather have had a drink, but sometime between last night and now his bottle had disappeared from the side table. He suspected Sam but now wasn't the time to bitch him out over it.
After they'd eaten and Sam had collected up their chipped bowls they dressed Cas in the horrors Sam had purchased from the store.
"You couldn't have found something less fuck ugly?" Dean asked, holding the bright neon green t-shirt up to the bedside lamp. It was early in the evening but it was dark enough outside that they had to keep the lights on.
"No, I couldn't." Sam snatched the t-shirt away, pulling it over Cas's head because the poor guy was shivering outside of his layers of blankets and Dean's sweatshirt. Sam had, at least, had the sense to buy a ton of layers and a thick fleece. Dean tried really hard not to laugh at the cartoon socks, and even better Cas's confused expression as he watched Sam pull them onto his feet.
"My old socks did not have faces on them," Cas commented sadly and Dean wasn't sure if he thought all socks should have drawings on them or if he wanted his adult, plain socks back.
Dressed and awake Cas looked pretty much like an ordinary human kid and it was starting to freak Dean out.
They tried to stand him upright, get him moving around but he was unsteady and grimaced when any weight was put onto his feet.
"Okay," Dean conceded. "Maybe not yet."
He rubbed at Cas's feet as he lay with his back against the bed panting softly, even that little exercise exhausting him. "I guess you're not gonna be up to being all Angel of the Lord for a while." Dean grinned to show he was teasing and was glad when Cas gave him a wan smile in return, falling asleep again soon after.
This time he slept peacefully for the first time since he'd shown up on their doorstep and Dean was relieved Cas was finally getting some real rest. It occurred to Dean that he, too, felt like he could sleep without the weight of guilt and loss, without the help of a bottle of whiskey.
There was no ignoring in the back of his mind that there was still a shit load of crap they had to deal with, but with Cas alive it seemed a lot less impossible and pointless.
When Cas woke up it was evening and Sam had turned on the TV low, watching some kind of travel show and outside the snow had finally stopped. He stayed with Cas on the bed, his head laying against his thigh, his hands tucked up under Dean's leg for warmth. Maybe it was weird and stalkery but Dean hadn't been able to do anything but watch him sleep, keeping a hand running gently through his freakishly soft hair. It was a miracle that Sam hadn't laughed at him for it.
"You're very comfortable," Cas commented with a yawn, seeing Dean leaning over him. Of course Cas would think the staring thing was normal.
"Right. Thanks." Dean really had no other reply to that.
"You want some water or tea or anything?" Sam offered Cas, and Dean could just see the asshole was smirking at him now.
"I liked the tea," Cas said. Dean might've guessed he'd appreciate Sam's healthy grass drinks. Sam looked smug.
Somehow, Sam convinced Cas that he wanted to try making the cookies, feeding him bullcrap about it being a human tradition and that Dean really loved eating them and that it was really awesome fun. Unsurprisingly they managed to make a mess of every worktop and every plate and spoon. Not being able to reach the table tops, or even able to stand for very long, Dean sat Cas on the surface beside the room's microwave and marveled at how Cas spread havoc all around himself but didn't get a single speck of cookie dough or flour over his new, garish clothes. Maybe his angel-aura repelled dirt like his old suit and coat had done. No matter how many times Dean had seen Cas bleed over them, seen them cut up or burned or torn, they'd always been fixed by the time Dean saw Cas again.
Thinking of Cas's old suit reminded Dean that he still carried Cas's trench coat in his duffel. He wondered if Cas would want to see it, if he'd think it was weird that Dean had kept it, not wanting to even let it out of his sight for long. For so many months Dean had thought it was all he had left of Cas.
Keeping a watchful eye over Cas's stirring, Sam was saying, "They're easy to make. Dean used to make them with me when I was a kid." He dipped his finger into the mix and Dean snorted at Cas's scandalized look. "You're supposed to eat the dough," Sam explained, demonstrating.
Cas didn't look convinced, arguing, "It's raw," and refusing to try any.
Despite only having a toaster oven, the cookies came out more than edible and they ate them for dinner, watching crap on TV and drinking juice.
"I called Bobby," Sam announced, biting into his third cookie of the night. They'd taken to sitting on Dean's bed, Cas between the two of them, with the covers pulled up over them again because there was no getting the heating to work, no matter what they tried. Cas had icing all around his mouth and Dean rubbed it off with his sleeve. "He says hi, and he's glad you're back, Cas. We both thought Dean was kind of lost without you." Sam's voice was teasing, like it was a joke, but there was seriousness in his eyes that Dean was going to ignore.
Cas didn't miss it either. "I will endeavor not to leave again," he nodded gravely, and Dean really fucking hoped he meant that. But he was still Dean Winchester and he had a reputation to uphold.
"Shut up, both of you," he scowled and turned his attention to skipping through all the TV channels continuously just because he knew it pissed the hell out of Sam.
Part Two
Title: These Three (1/2)
Author: tabi_jeff
Recipient: dropout
Rating: PG
Word Count 13,690
Warnings None
Spoilers: Up to 7X3
Summary: It was a cold winter night, and there was a knocking at the door.
Author notes: I took the prompt for Cas being de-aged and the Winchesters looking after him, included lots of Sam, some fluff, some h/c, and some angst and I hope it came out as something you'll enjoy! Thanks for the great prompts, and thanks to C. for the betaing.
These Three
Wisconsin in December was a shitty place to be. Freezing temperatures and blizzards, roads blocked with feet of snow and electricity down across what felt like half the frigging state and all of it meant that Dean and Sam were stuck in some back-end shit hole of a motel with no way to get out, shivering because the heating had been installed in the Fifties or something and just about managed to warm the room to slightly above unbearable. The phone lines were down and even their cell phones had shitty reception and it even though it was only a few days to Christmas most of the shops and diners were closed and Dean was hungry. They had coffee, at least, and Dean had made it even better with the addition of a healthy amount of whiskey. He ignored Sam's looks, focusing on the T.V. even if he wasn't actually listening, not caring what was on because it was all shit and they were stuck here and had been stuck here for two days. There was several foot of snow outside and it was still coming down, falling slow and silent and never-ending.
They'd meant to go see Bobby's- not for Christmas or anything because that was something Dean wanted to ignore- but because he'd heard something about the Leviathan's movements and wouldn't tell them about it over the phone. And now they were trapped by the worst weather this century, or so the news had said, and that was something not even the Winchesters could fight against. Dean hoped that the freak weather would somehow slow down the Leviathan too, whatever their plan was. He hoped they wouldn't be too late to stop them.
It wouldn't have been so bad, Dean guessed, with nothing to do but watch crap on T.V. and drink if he wasn't so fucking cold, and he wasn't worrying about his car, locked up somewhere so that he had to rely on some piece of junk, and Bobby and bad shit happening when he couldn't do anything to stop it, and when all he dreamed about when he was too bored or too drunk to stay awake anymore was Cas.
If there was one thing Dean didn't want to think about, that was it, but he was always there in his dreams saying he was sorry and saying he would make it up to them and how the fuck was Cas going to make anything up to him when he was fucking dead?
Sometimes Dean imagined he heard Cas whispering that he wasn't dead, that he'd come back, like he always did.
Once he'd said, I always come when you call, but Dean didn't dare try it.
***
It was late, or early, or whatever. It was kind of hard to tell either way because it was never really light out anymore anyway, the heavy snow blotting out the sky to a dull gray. Blinking his eyes open, groggy from alcohol and lethargy and bad sleep, Dean couldn't work out which but something had woken him up.
In the bed to his right Sam slept mostly peacefully. Dean couldn't see much of him for all the blankets piled on top of him leaving not much more than a flop of hair on white pillow.
Outside there was no sound of traffic, nothing at all beside the soft hiss of snow fall. It was creepy, like the world had disappeared in the time since he'd fallen asleep watching some crappy repeat of a movie he knew he'd watched a dozen times but would never be able to say what happened in it. Then, there was something, a scraping sound, like a scratching at the door, movement like something shuffling through snow. Probably some unlucky animal stuck out in the cold. Poor bastard.
Dean turned over, away from the door, pulling his own multitude of blankets and comforters over his ears, trying to block out the cool night air and the noise.
It wasn't even that loud, and Dean shouldn't have been able to still hear it, he thought, but it was irritating. Grating on his nerves, and something else, like he knew it was something more, something important, but he really didn't want to get out of bed. He didn't want to have to deal with premonitions or feelings, but every instinct told him this was something he had to do.
He ignored it. He ignored the sound. And he kept ignoring right up to the point he felt his teeth gritting against the sound, like fucking nails across a chalkboard. Whatever it was, Dean decided, he would kill it. Put them both out of their misery.
It was an old habit to sleep with a knife under his pillow, one that he'd had pretty much his entire life, and right at that moment he was glad for it because it meant he didn't have to go searching around in the dark and the cold.
Getting up, Dean didn't bother being quiet, cursing under his breath when his feet hit the floor and it was freezing. Leaving the warmth of his covers wasn't any better and Dean could feel his muscles tensing and his teeth chattering as he made his way over to the door. Sam, the asshole, slept on unconcerned.
The cold had to have slowed his senses because it was only then that Dean considered that whatever was outside the door might be a threat. They'd salted the doors and windows and maybe it was something trying to get in. Except the sound didn't exactly suggest something large or aggressive. But Dean knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving.
He approached the door cautiously, clicked the lock over slowly.
What he saw when he pulled the door open wasn't anything he could ever have expected.
"Shit," he swore, made to move forward but then stopped, cautious again.
On the doorstop lay a boy, no more than five, maybe six. The kid had curled in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest. His dark, messy hair and dark suit were a stark contrast against the white of the snow. Worse, he had no shoes and from what Dean could see he was soaking wet. His hand was outstretched towards the door and Dean could see his fingers were red, raw. There was blood on his shirt.
Nothing, Dean thought, nothing supernatural could ever look this miserable and helpless. And the kid was shaking like crazy and Dean couldn't just let him lie there, freezing to death. He had to take the chance that this wasn't something out to kill them, that this was just some unlucky kid because there was no way Dean could shut the door and turn away from this. He'd never forgive himself if this was a human kid.
Deep, deep down the kid's face and hair and the suit reminded him of Cas, but that was something Dean was ignoring.
"Hey," Dean said, kneeling in the snow beside the kid, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The blood worried him. As he'd thought, the clothes were soaked through and Dean could smell stagnant water, rotting plants. It was hard not to wonder where the hell the boy's parents were, what had happened to him. It didn't escape Dean's notice that there was no sign of disturbed snow anyway but where the boy lay. No footprints. It was possible they'd been covered over by the still heavy snowfall, but the white surface looked pristine and untouched around the stoop.
He brushed snow off the boy's shoulder, off the side of his face and from his hair and he was shockingly cold, his face almost as pale as the snow and his lips a frightening blue. Dean stripped off his own jacket and wrapped it around the kid's shoulders, pulling him into his arms. The kid barely responded at all and that made up Dean's mind. He had to get the kid warm and dry before he worked out where the fuck he'd come from.
The boy weighed hardly anything when Dean lifted him, hurrying into the room and slamming the door behind him.
"Sam," he called. "Get up. Turn on the lights."
There was sleepy complaining from Sam's bed, but he reached out and switched on the lamp anyway and the room was thrown into a low, dulled orange hue.
By the time Sam had sat up, rubbing at his eyes, Dean already had the kid out of the sopping jacket and pants. He rubbed at the boy's feet, worried about frostbite and circulation.
"What the-" Dean started, blinking at Dean and the kid.
"Get some towels. Now," Dean cut Sam off. He'd explain later. Not that he actually knew anything himself, but the most important thing now was keeping the kid alive. "Come on," he encouraged, trying to get some reaction. "You're gonna be fine."
Dean could feel the kid's breath against his hand as he checked for injuries, could feel his pulse beating way too slow at his neck. It had been the only indication Dean had the kid wasn't dead until the boy's eyes opened. They were little more than narrow slits but Dean could clearly see bright blue eyes. They stared unblinkingly at Dean and it was so familiar it hurt.
"I've gotta get you warmed up, okay?" Dean said, trying to sound soothing and completely not scary. Not that the kid looked at all afraid of him.
Instead, the kid reached out to him and in a small, croaked voice called, "Dean," and Dean froze.
"You can't-" Dean started. "You're not-" Because Cas was dead. "Who- What are you?" he demanded.
It was hard to miss the way the kid- or whatever the fuck this thing was- dropped his arms from where he'd been trying to get a hold of Dean. His teeth chattered and his eyes- Jesus his eyes- closed again like it was too much effort to keep them open.
"Hey." Dean shook the kid gently. "Wake up. Tell me-"
And then there was Sam with an armful of crappy thin motel towels. His hair was a mess and his eyes red, blinking them and very obviously still trying to wake up and work out what the hell was going on. "Towels," he interrupted.
"Shit," Dean swore. He had no clue what to do, but if there was one thing Dean knew he couldn't let this kid die, whatever it was.
He took the towels from Sam and started wrapping them around the boy's legs, instructing Sam to dry the kid's hair and face. Dean undid the buttons of his blood-spattered shirt and what he saw made him stop dead, shocked.
"Sam," he said, and something in his voice must have told Sam something was wrong because Sam looked up immediately before following Dean's gaze down to the kid's chest.
There, a pattern Dean recognized as the one Cas cut into himself could be seen formed from thin white scars. An angel banishing spell and as much as Dean wanted to believe it wasn't true, and at the same time wanted it so freaking badly to be true, he couldn't believe this kid was Cas.
"Shit," Sam echoed, but he didn't seem to have any problem accepting it at all.
He looked to the kid's face, placed a hand over one of his pale cheeks and called, "Cas. Man. Is that you?"
The kid opened his eyes again and they looked sad and worn and he said, "Sam," and the utter relief in the boy's voice was enough to convince Dean that this kid couldn't be any one else but Cas.
***
It took a long time, too long, to get Cas to the point where his lips had gone from a frightening blue to a less deathly pale. They dried him, rubbing at his chest and legs and arms and drying his hair until he stopped shivering quite so badly. A couple of times Cas opened his eyes and looked at Dean and then Sam and back to Dean again and tried to say something, but Sam shushed him and Cas didn't seem to have the energy to protest.
They wrapped him up in their blankets and Sam tried to coax some more life out of the ancient heating. When that didn't work he made Cas some kind of foul-smelling green tea from his new and bulging collection of healthy grass drinks. Cas, at least, seemed to like it, sipping greedily and all Dean could wonder was if Cas was human. If Cas was a kid now and would grow up like any human and what the fuck they would do if he was. Right then Cas didn't even have the strength to hold up the mug and that left Dean with Cas bundled up on his lap carefully tipping lukewarm tea into his mouth, his lips that had always looked dry cracking so badly now they bled. It reminded Dean of nursing Sam was he was sick and Dean didn't know if he could do that all over again. They had leviathan to fight. They lived a life on the road and no kid deserved that. Dean ought to know.
Except for all that Cas hadn't said much Dean was almost certain he was still the Castiel they knew, with at least some of his memories intact. He knew them, recognized and trusted them both, and there was way too much sadness, too many years behind his eyes. And guilt. Whenever he looked at Dean there was guilt and apology and it was exactly the same look Cas had given him that night in Crowley's lab when this whole fucked up mess should have been finished with. Cas should've been okay.
"Do you think we need food? Cas might need to eat." Sam fussed and it might've annoyed him if it hadn't made Cas look somewhere between pleased and amused as he watched Sam stalk around the room trying to find things to do.
"It's the ass-end of night. Nothing's gonna be open. Not in this weather."
"I still have some-" Cas tried to say, and even as a kid his voice was too low and too rough, but maybe that was just the fact that he'd been lying outside in the snow without any shoes for who the fuck knew how long. "I'm not human."
"Okay. Okay." Dean rubbed at Cas's shoulder reassuringly, and it should've felt weird but it wasn't. This was Castiel, an angel of the Lord who was maybe five billion years older than Dean and had been to Hell and done some really fucked up things, but here was Dean more or less hugging him. It was to keep Cas warm, Dean assured himself. It wasn't because he was cute as hell and really looked like he needed it, like Sam had when he was five and missing Dad or hungry or sick. "But you're not exactly... at your best," Dean pointed out.
Which was an understatement but Cas was restless and agitated, sometimes squirming in Dean's lap when he had the energy, and there was pain in his too-old eyes. Dean was pretty sure that was from his feet. They'd been so cold Dean had been afraid of frostbite. Sam had wrapped Cas's feet in three pairs of his own way too big socks and they'd just have to wait and see. It was unlikely Cas would be walking anywhere anytime soon. Dean knew from experience that getting feeling back in frozen limbs hurt.
Cas just stared at Dean, or what passed for staring when his eyelids kept drooping closed. He might still be an angel- and Dean didn't doubt it because Cas was warming up faster than any human kid would've- but he very obviously needed rest.
The weirdest thing was how wet Cas's eyes looked, like he was on the verge of crying, full of misery and discomfort and that was not like Cas at all.
"No," Cas admitted. He looked like he wanted to say more.
"It's cool," Dean shrugged and held Cas, in his cocoon of Dean's sweater and Sam’s socks and blankets, tighter. "We all have shitty days. Just, y'know, try to get some sleep."
"Angels don't sleep," Cas stated automatically, but then he frowned and turned his face to press against Dean's chest. "But I'm so tired. I never felt this tired, before."
It wasn't hard to guess that Cas was talking about when he'd been mostly human, back when there'd been an apocalypse and Dean had no doubts that he could trust Cas with anything.
"And I don't understand what I feel. I want to cry
." Cas said it like it was the most distasteful thing in the universe. "And I'm angry at everything and my stomach hurts with- I don't know."
Cas sniffed and pressed his face more tightly against Dean's shirt and Dean wondered if he really was crying now and what the fuck he should do. If it was Sam he'd know; hug the kid, pet his hair, tell him it was okay. But this was Cas and Dean didn't know where they stood or what Cas would accept. Sam didn't seem to have the same problem, sitting down next to them on the bed heavily and laying a hand gently on the top of Cas's head.
"You remember everything, right?" Sam asked gently and Cas nodded, face still hidden. "Then maybe you're experiencing emotion like a little kid because that's the vessel you're in, and it's just temporary."
Dean didn't know if Sam was bullshitting to calm Cas down or he meant it, but he looked sincere. As cute as Cas was Dean really hoped this was only temporary.
Sniffing again, Cas turned to look at Sam and Dean could see his eyes were red and puffy. "Sam," he said. "I'm sorry."
"What for, man?" Sam smiled and rubbed Cas's hair lightly. Cas didn't seem to mind.
"For breaking your wall. And for not bringing you all back. And for-" Cas's voice was growing strained, almost frantic so Dean cut in, "Cas, stop," and was surprised when Cas immediately fell silent.
"We'll talk about stuff tomorrow." Cas was starting to shiver again in his arms and Dean didn't think it was from the cold anymore. Yeah, there was a lot of shit they had to go through, not least what the fuck had happened to Cas that he was now a five year old. It was obvious it was still Jimmy, just with a face far too young for the sadness and guilt of his expression. But it was late and they were all tired and Dean didn't think any of them were up to working through that crap. "There's nothing we can do right now." He started gathering the comforters and blankets Cas wasn't mummified in, maneuvering Cas into the middle of the bed. "Sam," he ordered. "Get your shit together and get in the other side. It's too frigging cold in here."
Sam obeyed without argument which might've been a miracle if he didn't look ready to fall asleep where he sat, and if Cas's teeth hadn't started chattering again. Figuring that if Cas didn't mind Sam stroking his hair he wouldn't mind Dean holding onto him and he arranged them into a position where Cas had his head on some pillows and half of Dean's covers over him, his arms wrapped around Cas. Sam did the same, his stupid huge body taking up way more than half the bed. There wasn't really room on the crappy old motel bed for three people, even if one of them was pint-sized, but it was warmer than Dean had felt all night.
"Dean-" Cas tried, and Dean could hear the doubt in his voice. He couldn't see anything more of him than a vague outline now that Sam had switched off the lights, but he could tell Cas had turned to face him.
Dean pulled him closer.
"Whatever it is, Cas, it's okay," Dean told him. For all the crap that had gone on between them having Cas back and alive meant more than any of it.
It was the warmest Dean had felt in months.
***
The morning brought the same gray sky and the same endlessly falling snow and somehow the whole damned world was a different place; not quite so shit. Not quite so bleak.
Dean didn't drink anything but Sam's crappy instant coffee. He'd never admit to anyone it was because he'd seen the way Cas looked at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table.
A part of Dean- a really loud and insistent and well-practiced part- told him that this wouldn't last. That sooner or later something would happen and take all this away again. This time though Dean wasn't going to let Cas out of his fucking sight. He would do everything he could to keep this.
It had taken Cas a long time to fall asleep; he'd shifted and fidgeted against Dean for half the night but eventually he'd slept. Even then he was restless and Dean had rubbed the back of his neck like he used to do with Sam when he'd had bad dreams. Dean obsessively checked Cas's forehead and his cheeks to see if he was warming up at all. It was easier to be like this, to treat Cas like he was the five years old of his body, when his eyes were closed and he was silent. Like any kid the proximity, gentle touches, seemed to help him settle. It was dawn before Dean had fallen into something approaching sleep himself, and he didn't think Sam had slept much better if the three cups of coffee he'd drunk before leaving for the store were any indication.
"Be careful," Dean had warned, throwing him the car keys. He didn't give a fuck about the car but he did care if Sam drove himself into a tree. "Call me if that crap heap breaks down or- whatever." If there was any indication someone had followed Cas. If there was even the vaguest hint of something supernatural. Dean hated that he had to let Sam go out alone but someone had to stay with Cas because he was deeply asleep now and still pale and sickly-looking. And because he looked five. They couldn't take him with them out into the snow and the cold with no clothes, looking so ill.
"I have driven in snow before, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll stop at the first place I find. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He'd been gone an hour when Cas started to stir and Dean was totally not resisting the urge to call Sam every ten minutes to check he was okay. A part of him had almost wished the car wouldn't start when Sam had left, but they needed food and clothes for Cas. They wouldn't have bothered if it was just the two of them, too used to cold and hunger, but neither of them were about to take the chance that Cas would be okay without extra help.
Which was how Dean found himself making up one of Sam's gross teas for Cas to drink. It smelled like burned grass. Out of some sick sense of curiosity Dean took a sip, grimacing because it tasted even worse. How either Sam or Cas could drink this stuff was beyond Dean.
On the bed Cas opened his eyes blearily, looking around the room in confusion and Dean could see his uncertainty and something close to fear before he met Dean's gaze. Cas blinked.
"Tea," Dean announced, coming over to the bed, slotting himself beside Cas, leaning against the headboard.
Cas stared at the mug in his hand suspiciously. Maybe Cas didn't like it after all.
"I know it's gross, but it'll keep you warm."
"No," Cas shook his head slowly. "I- I'm thirsty."
Dean ignored the helpless despair in his voice. Like always, concentrating on what he could fix right then and leaving the rest to worry about later.
"You're just- sick or something," Dean tried. "C'mon. Drink something."
After helping Cas to sit up, he complied easily enough, fingers wrapping around the mug greedily, seeking the warmth. He leaned heavily against Dean's side. His hair was messed up- even more disheveled than usual- but he seemed stronger at least. When he'd finished the tea Cas was a lot more awake and coherent than he had been the night before, thanking Dean and re-wrapping the blankets around his arms. He didn't attempt to move away and Dean guessed Cas was still cold, or maybe just didn't have the energy.
They sat in awkward silence for long minutes, Dean unsure what to say, not wanting to upset Cas when he was like this, but needing to know what was going on here. There were too many unanswered questions.
Cas must've sensed his discomfort, or maybe he could still read minds or something, because he announced, "I don't know how I came to be here. It's- unclear."
"What's the last thing you do remember?" Dean asked.
"I remember you." Cas looked up at him and his face was so familiar and so different at the same time it was almost too much. "I told you I was sorry. I told you I would make it up to you." Cas frowned. "This is not making it up to you."
"You're alive. I'll take that over dead any day." The honesty of it, the realization of how much he'd kind of lost it over the past months surprised Dean. It surprised Cas too, but it shouldn’t have. Cas should've known. "I hate saying this shit- you know I hate saying this shit- but, Cas, you're my friend, and you're Sam's friend." Dean laughed humorlessly. "We've all fucked up, and when we mess things up? We do it with style. So, we know what that's like. I'm pissed. Of course I'm pissed at you. You lied. You did some really shitty things. You didn't listen to me. But I never wanted you gone. You'll always be welcome with me and Sam. You are family, Cas."
There were other things that Dean maybe sometimes wanted from Cas, maybe sometimes thought might be awesome if Cas wanted it too, but right now Cas was in the body of a five year old and Dean couldn't think about any of that. But at least like this it wasn't so weird to put his arm around Cas and pull him closer against his side.
"You said you've still got your angel mojo," Dean said after another long silence where Cas stared at Dean and looked like he might start crying again. "So, are you gonna be able to go back to being, y'know, an adult? Soon?"
Cas's expression turned thoughtful, as though he were looking within himself. "I hadn't considered it," he admitted. "Is it imperative I be adult?"
Even after knowing Cas all this time, he still managed to surprise Dean with how little he understood humanity, and Dean had to shake his head in disbelief.
"Yeah, Cas. It is," he said. "I dunno if you've noticed but you're one hell of a lot shorter now, for one."
"Any human vessel is far smaller than my true form," Cas shrugged.
"Yeah. No. It's just- weird. Kids don't walk around on their own a lot, or hang out with two guys in seedy motel rooms."
Cas didn't look like he understood why, and was probably filing it away under his collection of inexplicable human behavior information, but to Dean's relief he said, "I think when I have recovered some of my strength I can return this body to the age it was previously. I don't understand how I came to be like this."
Dean didn't know what Cas saw when he looked down at himself, at his thin arms and his feet and legs hidden in Sam's socks, but it wasn't anything good so Dean rubbed a hand against his cheek. The skin there was finally something warmer than freezing.
"But," Cas said, "When I'm like this you and Sam are both far more tactile."
Dean made to pull his hand away, saying, "Sorry Man," but Cas grabbed at his wrist and held him still. "No. I like it," he said.
It was hard not to imagine what this would be like if Cas was an adult, leaning together, warm and comfortable in each other's space. If Cas would still like this then.
***
"You two are adorable," was the first thing Sam said, grinning, when Dean woke up maybe an hour later, wrapped in their blankets and Cas and not having realized he'd even fallen asleep.
"Shut up." Dean's response was automatic, but he kept his voice down because Cas was still asleep and if the black smudges under the kid's eyes were any indication. He didn't dare move for fear of waking him, instead tucking the comforter more securely around Cas's shoulders. "What did you get?"
"Found a Wal-mart still open a couple towns over." Sam held up his bags. "Got clothes, food and some other stuff."
Dean didn't dare ask what Sam's idea of "other stuff" was so he left his brother to unpacking the groceries, demanding coffee and pie because there was no way Sam would be bastard enough to go out and not buy those things. It had been days since Dean had drunk anything more than the sludge that passed for coffee at gas stations, and he hadn't eaten pie in almost two weeks.
"It was weird," Sam said, rummaging through the cupboards for something. He pulled out an old dented pan and Dean saw soup in all their futures. "The store was full of people buying Christmas stuff."
Sam glanced towards Cas and Dean could easily guess why. The angel never mentioned God anymore. He never spoke of faith or hope or righteousness and Dean knew that the Winchesters had done that to him. They'd dragged Cas into their world where things like that just didn't exist and sometimes Dean wished Cas had never met them. He could've been happy, frolicking around Heaven in ignorance with his dick angel brothers instead on lying over Dean's knees, cold and cut off from everything he'd ever known.
Well, he had them now and kid or not Dean wasn't about to let Cas forget it this time.
Over by the counter Sam was pouring a can of soup into the pot. "I bought cookie mix," he announced. "I thought Cas might like it.
"He's not actually five," Dean pointed out.
"Okay. I wanted to make cookies. If we're stuck here we might as well, you know, enjoy ourselves. Celebrate, now we've got something to celebrate."
Now they had Cas back was what Sam meant and that was something Dean couldn't deny.
"Did he tell you how he ended up here?" Sam asked.
"Says he doesn't remember. He said something about being underwater, maybe, and then cold." In a lower voice Dean added, "He didn't say it but I'm pretty sure he thinks God brought him back again."
"Jesus," Sam said, then seemed to realize what he'd just said and coughed uncomfortably, looking around the room like God himself was going to show up right then and there and smite him or something. "So. Err. Are we safe from the other angels?"
"I think so." Cas had been vague about that, but when was he ever not? "From what I could tell, they all think he's dead."
From beside him Cas added in a groggy voice, "To them I am dead, even if I live. It's no less than I deserve." He sat himself up, rubbing at his eyes. He shivered where the blankets fell into his lap and it'd become almost normal to reach out to him and pull him close, wrapping his arms around Cas's back. Cas let himself be moved, laying his head easily against Dean's chest.
"It isn't," Dean denied and Cas didn't bother to argue, instead saying, "Hello Sam."
"Hey Cas," Sam smiled. He turned away from the stove where he was stirring the soup. "Sorry if we woke you up."
"It was the smell." Cas pointed to the pan. "I think I'm hungry," he admitted.
Sam paused and Dean knew that look; it was his worried, uncertain face. He covered it quickly, turning back to the motel's kitchen area and opening and closing the cupboards, looking for dishes Dean guessed. "It's not much, but it's warm."
Even if it was just cheap soup out of a can Cas seemed to enjoy it, eating it all with a relish he hadn't seen in him since he'd been under famine's influence, gorging himself on hamburgers.
Sam ate too and forced some on Dean who would rather have had a drink, but sometime between last night and now his bottle had disappeared from the side table. He suspected Sam but now wasn't the time to bitch him out over it.
After they'd eaten and Sam had collected up their chipped bowls they dressed Cas in the horrors Sam had purchased from the store.
"You couldn't have found something less fuck ugly?" Dean asked, holding the bright neon green t-shirt up to the bedside lamp. It was early in the evening but it was dark enough outside that they had to keep the lights on.
"No, I couldn't." Sam snatched the t-shirt away, pulling it over Cas's head because the poor guy was shivering outside of his layers of blankets and Dean's sweatshirt. Sam had, at least, had the sense to buy a ton of layers and a thick fleece. Dean tried really hard not to laugh at the cartoon socks, and even better Cas's confused expression as he watched Sam pull them onto his feet.
"My old socks did not have faces on them," Cas commented sadly and Dean wasn't sure if he thought all socks should have drawings on them or if he wanted his adult, plain socks back.
Dressed and awake Cas looked pretty much like an ordinary human kid and it was starting to freak Dean out.
They tried to stand him upright, get him moving around but he was unsteady and grimaced when any weight was put onto his feet.
"Okay," Dean conceded. "Maybe not yet."
He rubbed at Cas's feet as he lay with his back against the bed panting softly, even that little exercise exhausting him. "I guess you're not gonna be up to being all Angel of the Lord for a while." Dean grinned to show he was teasing and was glad when Cas gave him a wan smile in return, falling asleep again soon after.
This time he slept peacefully for the first time since he'd shown up on their doorstep and Dean was relieved Cas was finally getting some real rest. It occurred to Dean that he, too, felt like he could sleep without the weight of guilt and loss, without the help of a bottle of whiskey.
There was no ignoring in the back of his mind that there was still a shit load of crap they had to deal with, but with Cas alive it seemed a lot less impossible and pointless.
When Cas woke up it was evening and Sam had turned on the TV low, watching some kind of travel show and outside the snow had finally stopped. He stayed with Cas on the bed, his head laying against his thigh, his hands tucked up under Dean's leg for warmth. Maybe it was weird and stalkery but Dean hadn't been able to do anything but watch him sleep, keeping a hand running gently through his freakishly soft hair. It was a miracle that Sam hadn't laughed at him for it.
"You're very comfortable," Cas commented with a yawn, seeing Dean leaning over him. Of course Cas would think the staring thing was normal.
"Right. Thanks." Dean really had no other reply to that.
"You want some water or tea or anything?" Sam offered Cas, and Dean could just see the asshole was smirking at him now.
"I liked the tea," Cas said. Dean might've guessed he'd appreciate Sam's healthy grass drinks. Sam looked smug.
Somehow, Sam convinced Cas that he wanted to try making the cookies, feeding him bullcrap about it being a human tradition and that Dean really loved eating them and that it was really awesome fun. Unsurprisingly they managed to make a mess of every worktop and every plate and spoon. Not being able to reach the table tops, or even able to stand for very long, Dean sat Cas on the surface beside the room's microwave and marveled at how Cas spread havoc all around himself but didn't get a single speck of cookie dough or flour over his new, garish clothes. Maybe his angel-aura repelled dirt like his old suit and coat had done. No matter how many times Dean had seen Cas bleed over them, seen them cut up or burned or torn, they'd always been fixed by the time Dean saw Cas again.
Thinking of Cas's old suit reminded Dean that he still carried Cas's trench coat in his duffel. He wondered if Cas would want to see it, if he'd think it was weird that Dean had kept it, not wanting to even let it out of his sight for long. For so many months Dean had thought it was all he had left of Cas.
Keeping a watchful eye over Cas's stirring, Sam was saying, "They're easy to make. Dean used to make them with me when I was a kid." He dipped his finger into the mix and Dean snorted at Cas's scandalized look. "You're supposed to eat the dough," Sam explained, demonstrating.
Cas didn't look convinced, arguing, "It's raw," and refusing to try any.
Despite only having a toaster oven, the cookies came out more than edible and they ate them for dinner, watching crap on TV and drinking juice.
"I called Bobby," Sam announced, biting into his third cookie of the night. They'd taken to sitting on Dean's bed, Cas between the two of them, with the covers pulled up over them again because there was no getting the heating to work, no matter what they tried. Cas had icing all around his mouth and Dean rubbed it off with his sleeve. "He says hi, and he's glad you're back, Cas. We both thought Dean was kind of lost without you." Sam's voice was teasing, like it was a joke, but there was seriousness in his eyes that Dean was going to ignore.
Cas didn't miss it either. "I will endeavor not to leave again," he nodded gravely, and Dean really fucking hoped he meant that. But he was still Dean Winchester and he had a reputation to uphold.
"Shut up, both of you," he scowled and turned his attention to skipping through all the TV channels continuously just because he knew it pissed the hell out of Sam.
Part Two