Entertaining Angels (12/?)
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Entertaining Angels
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Category: Gen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+/PG
Spoilers: Through 4.10
Summary: A strange boy shows up at Dean and Sam's motel room. Maybe he needs help, or maybe he's there to help them-they can't quite tell.
Word Count: 1866
Disclaimer: Angels belong to God. The Winchesters belong to Kripke. It's a sad, sad world we live in.
Author's Note: Check out the awesome fanart!
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
12
Dean looked up when Sam pushed through the gas station’s door, the signal box above emitting an obnoxious buzz. He was carrying Castiel, big hands wrapped around his torso under the little arms, holding the kid slightly away from his body. His expression was harried, his eyes wide. “Dean! Go get his spare clothes!”
Dean opened his mouth, then paused, taking in the poor kid’s dejected face and the wet patch spreading on both thighs beneath the hem of his long coat. “Oh,” was all he could say. “Okay.”
A quick glance at the clerk had her shoving over his purchases, bright pink lips twisting up in something like shock. She probably thought he had a gay boyfriend. And a kid.
Whatever. He kind of did. The second one, not the first.
Dean returned to find the door of the men’s room propped slightly ajar, Sam’s voice murmuring soothing phrases inside. A cautious peek revealed Castiel standing on the closed toilet and leaning with one hand on the grody tiled wall, Sam doing what he could with a handful of paper towels and a trickle of warm water from the tap. Dean shouldered inside and aimed a hesitant smile at the boy.
“Hey, buddy. Don’t worry-we’ll get you cleaned up. It’s all right.”
Cas heaved a sigh, his entire body moving with it, and his face was so resigned, so glum, that it tugged at something deep inside Dean’s chest. Sam threw a pissy glance over his shoulder, though Dean didn’t get why his little brother was so mad at him. “Geez, Dean, you couldn’t tell him to say ‘bathroom’ when he has to go? It had to be ‘racehorse?’ What is wrong with you?”
Oh. Well, this whole thing was sort of hilarious, then. Dean couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face, though he was aware that it was entirely inappropriate. “Of course I didn’t tell him to say ‘racehorse.’ I told him to say ‘I have to pee like a racehorse,’ which is a perfectly legitimate way of expressing your needs.”
“Not when you can barely put three syllables together, you jerk!”
Oh shit, Sam sounded really pissed. Which was sort of a funny way to think about it, given the current situation. But what was up with Sam being so quietly furious about what amounted to a slight inconvenience? It was as if he had poured all of his frustration and restless energy with something else, something much bigger, into this little linguistic mess.
“Hey, I can take care of it,” Dean offered, suddenly just wanting to make it better somehow. “I helped him dress yesterday and this morning-I can do it again.”
“No, no, I got it.” Sam waved a hand distractedly. “Just give me the clothes and wait outside.”
Dean knew how to pick his battles, and this was not one he was going to win. He handed over the plastic bag and stepped out, sparing another sympathetic smile for the boy. Cas watched him leave with large, soulful eyes, but didn’t say anything.
He leaned on the wall next to the restroom door, listening to his brother quietly take care of yet another mess he had caused, however inadvertently. Castiel’s face stuck in his mind, so utterly and heartbreakingly miserable. God, the poor kid had been through an awful lot of crap in his short existence as a human. First wandering alone and hungry for two days, getting his feet all scraped and bruised, then experiencing terror, sorrow, pain, grief, all in these enormous, powerful thunderstorms that swept him up and shook him in their grip. And now humiliation and embarrassment, too.
They still didn’t know exactly what had happened to make Castiel into a human child, but Dean couldn’t imagine that he would have chosen it willingly. Not if he knew it was going to be like this.
“Want Dean.”
Castiel’s soft voice drew Dean from his musings, and he straightened, turning toward the door.
“It’s okay, Cas. He didn’t go anywhere.” Sam’s voice was soothing, but still a little rough under the edges with residual anger.
“Want Dean.”
Well, there was no way Dean could ignore that. He pushed his way back inside. Castiel sat uncomfortably on the postage-stamp counter next to the lime-crusted sink, Sam tying his shoelaces with large, careful fingers. He was cleaned up, now, but misery still lengthened his little face.
When he saw the older Winchester come in, he immediately reached out with both arms, fingers flexing impatiently, face opening in relief. “Dean!”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Dean barely waited for Sam to step aside before sweeping the boy up in an embrace, snugging him close against his chest. Cas gripped his shoulders, burying his face against Dean’s neck. “It’s okay. It was my fault. I’m sorry you have to put up with me.”
Castiel shook his head furiously at that, then pulled back to look in his face, small forehead creased with wrinkles, mouth drawn up in a tight bow. Now he got to watch his little angel experience anger, too, it looked like. “No, Dean. Not okay.”
“What’s not okay?” Dean drew his head back in genuine confusion. God, would this kid never stop surprising him? He was aware of Sam standing still at his elbow, listening intently.
“Told you. Anger not.”
“Right.” Dean deflated. “You want me not to be angry at myself. Sorry, kiddo. I wish I could stop just because you ask me to.”
Castiel paused, tilting his head to the side. He pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead, then pulled his hand back and stared at them in obvious disappointment. “Human,” he said, almost to himself. It was the first time he had sounded sad about it.
Dean couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Did you want to put me to sleep? Send me back in time?”
Castiel shook his head, glaring at him again. “Want you. Want you…okay. Want you okay, Dean.”
The response was automatic. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” It was the first time Sam had spoken since Dean had come back in. The words were quiet, firm. No more anger there, but the lilt of sadness was strong and undeniable, a match for Castiel’s.
Because now there were tears in the little boy’s eyes again, and Dean hated that. He hated that it was for him, that he was the cause of this. Hated it almost more than he hated the fact that he had caused the same sorrow in his little brother, the person he would give anything, anything, everything (and had), to protect. They weren’t supposed to hurt for him. That wasn’t the way it worked.
But they were, and it was, and Castiel put his little hands on Dean’s cheeks to hold him still, so like Anna, and he flinched again, he couldn’t help it, and the child’s dark blue eyes brimmed and overflowed. “Love you, Dean,” he said, and it was both a whisper and a scream. “Love you. Want you okay.”
Another human emotion, another human pain, and this was the worst of them all. Dean’s breath stopped, jammed in his throat. He couldn’t look in the boy’s face and he couldn’t look away, so he raised a shaking hand and pressed it to the back of Castiel’s head, gently pulling him in to hide his face on Dean’s shoulder. His vision grayed out for a second, and when it came back his butt was against the sink and Sam’s arm was around his shoulder, holding him up, his other hand resting on Castiel’s back.
“Breathe, Dean.” Sam’s voice was urgent, his breath warm against Dean’s ear. “C’mon, man, you gotta breathe. Was that really such a shock to you, you dumbass?”
One more wrenching hitch of the chest, and Dean managed to pull in a breath, thinking fuzzily that of course they were doing this here, in a filthy one-pot men’s room filled with the stench of piss and mildew in a gas station in west Missouri, of course they were, it was the Winchester way. Stupid and insane and so, so far from normal, but all they had, all they were allowed. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah. I’m a dumbass.”
Cas turned his head against Dean’s shoulder to look at Sam, sniffing noisily. “Love you too.”
“I know, buddy. Thanks.” Sam patted his back.
The kid sneezed all over him.
Sam sighed and went for more paper towels.
X
“I forgot about antibodies,” Sam said later, back in the car, once they had settled Castiel in with the coloring book and crayons Dean had bought for him, along with a travel-sized pack of tissues.
Dean blinked at the non-sequitur, but kept his eyes on the road. “What now?”
“All that worrying about Castiel getting the right stuff to eat, and I forgot that his body doesn’t have antibodies. His immune system is brand new. He has no defenses against anything at all. No childhood sicknesses, no vaccines…” He gasped sharply. “God, he could get polio.”
Dean glanced over at that, saw how his brother’s eyes were wide at the thought. “I don’t think that’s really the first thing we need to be worrying about.”
Sam settled back in the seat. “No, no, you’re right. More like all the cold and flu germs that are always around everywhere. I mean, I don’t know how many strains there are, but there’s a lot. We get years to build up tolerances before we go to kindergarten or anything, and he’s only been here a few days.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair, mussing it up all over the place. “Damn it, anything could happen to him. Anything at all.”
Dean bit his lip, determined not to sigh. He just couldn’t deal with even more things to worry about right now. “Look, let’s not borrow trouble. He’s had a really horrible couple of days-of course his body needs some time to recover. It’s just some sniffles right now, isn’t it? Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam looked ahead, letting his head thump back against the leather upholstery. “How far to Lawrence? Missouri will help us figure things out.”
“Maybe fifty miles.” As much as Lawrence and Missouri Mosely both unnerved Dean, he had to admit that it would be good to have someone else to lean on, just for a little bit. This whole thing was just a tiny bit overwhelming. Ruby’s hex bag (currently tucked in Castiel's coat pocket with a firm admonition never to lose it) did a little to ease his mind, but there was still way too much that they didn’t know, and didn’t even know that they didn’t know.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, as he reflexively did every few seconds, it felt like. Castiel was still bent quietly over his book, coloring away. Dean still couldn’t quite wrap his head around what this amazing kid had told him back there in the gas station bathroom, but he felt like he owed it to him to try.
Castiel believed in Dean with everything he had. The least Dean could do was try to believe in Castiel.
Part 13
Title: Entertaining Angels
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Category: Gen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+/PG
Spoilers: Through 4.10
Summary: A strange boy shows up at Dean and Sam's motel room. Maybe he needs help, or maybe he's there to help them-they can't quite tell.
Word Count: 1866
Disclaimer: Angels belong to God. The Winchesters belong to Kripke. It's a sad, sad world we live in.
Author's Note: Check out the awesome fanart!
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
12
Dean looked up when Sam pushed through the gas station’s door, the signal box above emitting an obnoxious buzz. He was carrying Castiel, big hands wrapped around his torso under the little arms, holding the kid slightly away from his body. His expression was harried, his eyes wide. “Dean! Go get his spare clothes!”
Dean opened his mouth, then paused, taking in the poor kid’s dejected face and the wet patch spreading on both thighs beneath the hem of his long coat. “Oh,” was all he could say. “Okay.”
A quick glance at the clerk had her shoving over his purchases, bright pink lips twisting up in something like shock. She probably thought he had a gay boyfriend. And a kid.
Whatever. He kind of did. The second one, not the first.
Dean returned to find the door of the men’s room propped slightly ajar, Sam’s voice murmuring soothing phrases inside. A cautious peek revealed Castiel standing on the closed toilet and leaning with one hand on the grody tiled wall, Sam doing what he could with a handful of paper towels and a trickle of warm water from the tap. Dean shouldered inside and aimed a hesitant smile at the boy.
“Hey, buddy. Don’t worry-we’ll get you cleaned up. It’s all right.”
Cas heaved a sigh, his entire body moving with it, and his face was so resigned, so glum, that it tugged at something deep inside Dean’s chest. Sam threw a pissy glance over his shoulder, though Dean didn’t get why his little brother was so mad at him. “Geez, Dean, you couldn’t tell him to say ‘bathroom’ when he has to go? It had to be ‘racehorse?’ What is wrong with you?”
Oh. Well, this whole thing was sort of hilarious, then. Dean couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face, though he was aware that it was entirely inappropriate. “Of course I didn’t tell him to say ‘racehorse.’ I told him to say ‘I have to pee like a racehorse,’ which is a perfectly legitimate way of expressing your needs.”
“Not when you can barely put three syllables together, you jerk!”
Oh shit, Sam sounded really pissed. Which was sort of a funny way to think about it, given the current situation. But what was up with Sam being so quietly furious about what amounted to a slight inconvenience? It was as if he had poured all of his frustration and restless energy with something else, something much bigger, into this little linguistic mess.
“Hey, I can take care of it,” Dean offered, suddenly just wanting to make it better somehow. “I helped him dress yesterday and this morning-I can do it again.”
“No, no, I got it.” Sam waved a hand distractedly. “Just give me the clothes and wait outside.”
Dean knew how to pick his battles, and this was not one he was going to win. He handed over the plastic bag and stepped out, sparing another sympathetic smile for the boy. Cas watched him leave with large, soulful eyes, but didn’t say anything.
He leaned on the wall next to the restroom door, listening to his brother quietly take care of yet another mess he had caused, however inadvertently. Castiel’s face stuck in his mind, so utterly and heartbreakingly miserable. God, the poor kid had been through an awful lot of crap in his short existence as a human. First wandering alone and hungry for two days, getting his feet all scraped and bruised, then experiencing terror, sorrow, pain, grief, all in these enormous, powerful thunderstorms that swept him up and shook him in their grip. And now humiliation and embarrassment, too.
They still didn’t know exactly what had happened to make Castiel into a human child, but Dean couldn’t imagine that he would have chosen it willingly. Not if he knew it was going to be like this.
“Want Dean.”
Castiel’s soft voice drew Dean from his musings, and he straightened, turning toward the door.
“It’s okay, Cas. He didn’t go anywhere.” Sam’s voice was soothing, but still a little rough under the edges with residual anger.
“Want Dean.”
Well, there was no way Dean could ignore that. He pushed his way back inside. Castiel sat uncomfortably on the postage-stamp counter next to the lime-crusted sink, Sam tying his shoelaces with large, careful fingers. He was cleaned up, now, but misery still lengthened his little face.
When he saw the older Winchester come in, he immediately reached out with both arms, fingers flexing impatiently, face opening in relief. “Dean!”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Dean barely waited for Sam to step aside before sweeping the boy up in an embrace, snugging him close against his chest. Cas gripped his shoulders, burying his face against Dean’s neck. “It’s okay. It was my fault. I’m sorry you have to put up with me.”
Castiel shook his head furiously at that, then pulled back to look in his face, small forehead creased with wrinkles, mouth drawn up in a tight bow. Now he got to watch his little angel experience anger, too, it looked like. “No, Dean. Not okay.”
“What’s not okay?” Dean drew his head back in genuine confusion. God, would this kid never stop surprising him? He was aware of Sam standing still at his elbow, listening intently.
“Told you. Anger not.”
“Right.” Dean deflated. “You want me not to be angry at myself. Sorry, kiddo. I wish I could stop just because you ask me to.”
Castiel paused, tilting his head to the side. He pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead, then pulled his hand back and stared at them in obvious disappointment. “Human,” he said, almost to himself. It was the first time he had sounded sad about it.
Dean couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Did you want to put me to sleep? Send me back in time?”
Castiel shook his head, glaring at him again. “Want you. Want you…okay. Want you okay, Dean.”
The response was automatic. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” It was the first time Sam had spoken since Dean had come back in. The words were quiet, firm. No more anger there, but the lilt of sadness was strong and undeniable, a match for Castiel’s.
Because now there were tears in the little boy’s eyes again, and Dean hated that. He hated that it was for him, that he was the cause of this. Hated it almost more than he hated the fact that he had caused the same sorrow in his little brother, the person he would give anything, anything, everything (and had), to protect. They weren’t supposed to hurt for him. That wasn’t the way it worked.
But they were, and it was, and Castiel put his little hands on Dean’s cheeks to hold him still, so like Anna, and he flinched again, he couldn’t help it, and the child’s dark blue eyes brimmed and overflowed. “Love you, Dean,” he said, and it was both a whisper and a scream. “Love you. Want you okay.”
Another human emotion, another human pain, and this was the worst of them all. Dean’s breath stopped, jammed in his throat. He couldn’t look in the boy’s face and he couldn’t look away, so he raised a shaking hand and pressed it to the back of Castiel’s head, gently pulling him in to hide his face on Dean’s shoulder. His vision grayed out for a second, and when it came back his butt was against the sink and Sam’s arm was around his shoulder, holding him up, his other hand resting on Castiel’s back.
“Breathe, Dean.” Sam’s voice was urgent, his breath warm against Dean’s ear. “C’mon, man, you gotta breathe. Was that really such a shock to you, you dumbass?”
One more wrenching hitch of the chest, and Dean managed to pull in a breath, thinking fuzzily that of course they were doing this here, in a filthy one-pot men’s room filled with the stench of piss and mildew in a gas station in west Missouri, of course they were, it was the Winchester way. Stupid and insane and so, so far from normal, but all they had, all they were allowed. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah. I’m a dumbass.”
Cas turned his head against Dean’s shoulder to look at Sam, sniffing noisily. “Love you too.”
“I know, buddy. Thanks.” Sam patted his back.
The kid sneezed all over him.
Sam sighed and went for more paper towels.
X
“I forgot about antibodies,” Sam said later, back in the car, once they had settled Castiel in with the coloring book and crayons Dean had bought for him, along with a travel-sized pack of tissues.
Dean blinked at the non-sequitur, but kept his eyes on the road. “What now?”
“All that worrying about Castiel getting the right stuff to eat, and I forgot that his body doesn’t have antibodies. His immune system is brand new. He has no defenses against anything at all. No childhood sicknesses, no vaccines…” He gasped sharply. “God, he could get polio.”
Dean glanced over at that, saw how his brother’s eyes were wide at the thought. “I don’t think that’s really the first thing we need to be worrying about.”
Sam settled back in the seat. “No, no, you’re right. More like all the cold and flu germs that are always around everywhere. I mean, I don’t know how many strains there are, but there’s a lot. We get years to build up tolerances before we go to kindergarten or anything, and he’s only been here a few days.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair, mussing it up all over the place. “Damn it, anything could happen to him. Anything at all.”
Dean bit his lip, determined not to sigh. He just couldn’t deal with even more things to worry about right now. “Look, let’s not borrow trouble. He’s had a really horrible couple of days-of course his body needs some time to recover. It’s just some sniffles right now, isn’t it? Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam looked ahead, letting his head thump back against the leather upholstery. “How far to Lawrence? Missouri will help us figure things out.”
“Maybe fifty miles.” As much as Lawrence and Missouri Mosely both unnerved Dean, he had to admit that it would be good to have someone else to lean on, just for a little bit. This whole thing was just a tiny bit overwhelming. Ruby’s hex bag (currently tucked in Castiel's coat pocket with a firm admonition never to lose it) did a little to ease his mind, but there was still way too much that they didn’t know, and didn’t even know that they didn’t know.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, as he reflexively did every few seconds, it felt like. Castiel was still bent quietly over his book, coloring away. Dean still couldn’t quite wrap his head around what this amazing kid had told him back there in the gas station bathroom, but he felt like he owed it to him to try.
Castiel believed in Dean with everything he had. The least Dean could do was try to believe in Castiel.
Part 13