Fallen for obstinatrix
Title: Fallen
Author: fleurlb
Recipient: obstinatrix
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: When it's all over, Castiel falls and is reborn into his own body. Sam and Dean raise the baby. It's an interesting life, parenting an old friend with your brother.
After a year of trying to bring Heaven into some semblance of order, Castiel was done. He was tired, the kind of bone-weary, constant-aching, never-ending-exhaustion that an angelic host is just not created to withstand. The warring factions of Heaven showed no signs of reconciling, their Heavenly Father was still an “MIA asshole” (as Dean so eloquently put it), and his endless attempts to protect the human world seemed as fruitless as they were pointless.
“I’m done,” he said with a sigh, pushing away from the table where for countless hours he’d been discussing strategy with the Winchesters.
“But Cas, we still need-” began Dean, but the angel cut him off with an upraised hand.
“You need and you need, you want and you want, but somehow, I’m never able to solve anything, either down here or up there.”
Dean and Sam exchanged a worried look, which would have annoyed Castiel if he’d had the capacity to care.
“You know what they say, Castiel, Rome wasn’t built in a day,” said Sam, sliding into one of his trademark soothing smiles. As much as Sam had redeemed himself the day he plummeted into the pit with Lucifer, sometimes Castiel still found him insincere and grating.
Cas stood up and rested his hands on the back of the chair. He leaned over and gathered his thoughts, then took a deep breath.
“I’m ready for a change.”
“Good idea. Why don’t you go up to heaven, have a shower in stardust or whatever it is you angels do to relax and catch up with us tomorrow morning,” suggested Dean.
“No, Dean, I’m ready for a real change. A complete change. Of state. Of being.” Castiel looked him in the eye in a way that he knew was unnerving but he had to make Dean understand.
Dean’s face fell as he grasped the full intent behind the statement. But to his credit, and just as Cas had expected, he didn’t argue the point. “Are you sure? You’ve really thought this through?”
Castiel straightened up and nodded. Dean was silent for several long beats while Sam struggled to get his attention, but this silent dialogue was playing out only between Cas and the human he had once saved. A debt was owed and they both knew it.
“Okay, then what do you need from us?” Dean Winchester was nothing if not loyal and steadfast.
“Find me. I’ll try to make it as easy as possible, but please, just find me.”
Dean stood up and held out his hand. “We’ll be there, Cas. Every step of the way.”
Cas shook Dean’s hand. It was rough but dry. If the hunter was worried about the prospect of finding and raising a fallen angel, he wasn’t sweating it now. After a quick look at Sam, whom Castiel knew would follow his brother’s lead, the angel broke the handshake, took three steps back and vanished to begin the preparations for his new life.
---//---
The preparations
It hadn’t been easy, but using every scrap of ingenuity, energy and stubbornness that Dean possessed, they’d managed to track down Castiel. That, of course, had proven to be the easy part. The more difficult part was convincing the mother to hand her baby over to a couple of dudes she’d never met. It was about then that Dean wished for angel power or mind control or anything to tip the scales in his favor.
But, as incredible and improbable as it seemed, the woman had eventually agreed and Dean was about to become a father in the most spectacular and bizarre way. Which was how he found himself stumbling through a forest in southern Ohio with Sam, looking for Castiel’s grace.
“You know, normal people would be painting the nursery or putting together the crib right about now,” said Dean as he brushed through a cloud of gnats.
“Dean, you know this has to be done,” replied Sam.
“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying that this isn’t a usual part of preparing for the birth of a child.”
“Usual or not, you’re going to want to have it close at hand, in case Castiel ever needs it.”
The brothers walked in silence for another twenty minutes, then Sam pulled out a map and a print out of a satellite image. He adjusted their course and in a few more minutes, they arrived at a huge willow, its slumping branches stretching elegantly down to the ground.
When Dean stepped through the curtain of branches, he knew they were in the right place. The dense carpet of grass under his feet seemed impossible, as did the light source that emanated gently from the tree, clearly visible within the privacy the branches offered. The place also just felt right.
Dean and Sam quickly performed the ritual to extract the grace. Afterward, Dean found himself a bit wobbly and he sat down, his back propped against the tree trunk. He turned the glowing locket over and over in his hands. Sam crouched in front of him.
“You okay, Dean?”
He nodded but found he was unable to speak. That didn’t stop Sammy though.
“You sure about all this, Dean?”
“He saved me from hell. What is there to be sure about?” asked Dean, trying to play things off with a half-shrug but his voice betrayed him.
Sam looked like he had about three thousand things to say, but for once he kept his mouth shut and just offered his brother a hand up. They walked back to the Impala in silence, the setting sun creating slanted shadows and a rosy glow in the sky. They were nearly back to the car when Sam spoke.
“So, you thought at all about what you’re going to name him?”
Dean blinked and realized that in all the stress of locating the fallen angel, securing his custody and finding his grace, he’d never considered this most basis aspect of parenthood. “I don’t think I could call him anything but Cas.”
“You can’t name him Castiel.”
“Why not?”
“Dean, you might as well just hang a neon sign around his neck. ‘Hey dick archangels and evil demons, here’s the fallen angel you’re looking for.’”
“Okay, I suppose I can’t name him Castiel then. You got any bright ideas?”
“I did some research, figuring that it would be difficult to think of him as anything but Castiel. Found a few things that shorten to Cas.”
“Lay ‘em on me,” said Dean as they reached the car. He leaned against the hood and looked at his brother.
“Casper.”
“As in the Friendly Ghost?” Dean made a sound like a buzzer. “Next?”
“Cassius.”
“If the name wasn’t good enough for the greatest boxer ever to keep, why would we give it to our little angel?”
“Caspian.”
“Not naming the kid after a sea.”
“Cassidy.”
“That’s a girl’s name. You want him to get the crap beat out of him?”
“Cassidy is not a girl’s name.” Sam’s cheeks were growing red. “Okay, how about Castor?”
“Castor oil. No way.”
“Caswyn.”
Dean was about to reject it out of hand for sounding funny, but something stopped him. “Caswyn....Caswyn...Caswyn...I’ve never heard that one before.”
“It’s Cornish. Means holy, shining battle.”
Dean’s smile unfurled slowly and he shook his head. “Caswyn. I don’t see how we could name him anything else. But you sure he’s not going to get the crap kicked out of him for it?”
“Dean, do you have any idea what names are popular right now? Trust me, he won’t even have the weirdest or most sissy name when he starts school. I promise you that.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Sammy,” replied Dean as he opened the car door and stepped inside. His pocket felt heavy and his stomach was doing flips. It was hard to believe that in a few short weeks, he was going to be the father of a friend.
---//---
Cas, age two weeks
Cas was born on a Thursday night. Dean had stumbled into the waiting room where Sam and Bobby had been waiting. He’d told them, honestly, that he’d never seen anything more disgusting, frightening, and amazing. He’d felt every bit the proud and dazed parent, even if he’d had nothing to do with the kid’s conception and development.
Cas spent one night in the hospital and then he was discharged into Dean’s custody. They were staying in a small cabin on the edge of Bobby’s property. Sam had wanted to spend a few weeks helping Dean adjust, but a demon emergency in Oregon cropped up and Dean had sent his brother out to handle it with the jaunty reassurance: “How much trouble could one seven-pound former angel possibly be?”
Two weeks later, Dean wanted to eat those words. He was sure they’d taste delicious with some ketchup and mustard. He was equally sure that he was delirious with the sleep deprivation. Young Cas had no respect for the difference between day and night. He also ate like a starving piglet, throwing himself into the bottle with much gulping and wiggling, even though Dean told him that he was just going to make himself sick.
And he did, every damn time. Dean was so sick of baby puke. In the beginning, he’d changed his clothes every time Cas puked on him. But that was a sure-fire way to run out of clothes. So he lowered his standards and now all he could see and smell was slightly processed baby formula.
“You know, kid, if this was a movie, all this would be done during a montage. It would be fast, painless, and full of cute moments, like you accidentally peeing on me,” said Dean as he paced the floor with the infant.
Cas kicked his legs and squirmed. His face scrunched up and turned red, then the crying started up. It wasn’t the most obnoxious sound in the world, but it did have a tendency to make Dean feel slightly panicky as he tried to troubleshoot the problem.
Dean hefted the baby onto his shoulder and patted his back, wondering how people willingly went through this multiple times. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to survive one infant. He sighed and paced, hoping that Cas would calm down, but the baby was inconsolable. He wasn’t interested in eating or sleeping. Right now, it seemed like all he wanted to do was cry, until Dean thought he might cry too.
“Honey, I’m home,” called Sam from the other room.
“Thank Christ for that,” muttered Dean. He turned toward the doorway and offered his brother a weak smile. He knew the place was a mess, knew that he was a mess, knew that he was in over his head. But he also knew that his brother would help him. Or at least let him get a few damn hours of sleep.
Sammy didn’t disappoint either. He’d held out his arms for the baby and sent Dean off to bed without comment. The last thing Dean heard as he drifted off to sleep was the sound of Sam complaining loudly as Cas peed on him. Dean half-smiled and slid contentedly into his first decent sleep in two weeks.
---//---
Cas, age five months
“Sam, can you please put him to bed tonight?” asked Dean, handing over the squirming baby.
Sam looked up from his laptop, his eyebrows arching up in surprise, but he said nothing. He took the baby, who squealed in protest but then settled into his uncle’s arms.
“I just... this is so much harder than I thought it was going to be,” Dean admitted, rubbing a hand over his face.
“What did you think it was going to be?” Sam let Cas stand in his lap. The baby balanced on chubby legs and then started to bounce, smiling widely when his head nearly smashed into Sam’s chin.
“I don’t know, Sammy, but I didn’t think it was going to be so....boring. So the same. You know that I can recite Goodnight Moon by heart now.”
Sam just smiled and shook his head, prompting his brother to reel off a few pages.
“In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of...the cow jumping over the moon.”
“You know what creeps me out about the book?” asked Sam, grimacing as Cas caught and pulled hard on a hank of hair. “The old lady whispering hush, her relationship to Bunny is never quite defined.
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Bunny’s room is pretty fly. I always figured she was the night nanny. The hired help. Do you know what I would give for a nanny?”
“It’s not always going to be like this, you know. The time really does fly. I can’t believe he’s already so big.”
“The days might fly but the hours drag ass,” grumbled Dean.
Sam bit his lip, the way he often did when he was thinking something that Dean wouldn’t want to hear.
“Sammy? Spit it out.”
“You could go back to work, Dean.”
“Hunting? No way. It’s bad enough that you go off on trips a few times a month.”
“You could get a regular job. Or start a business.”
“Start a business?” asked Dean with a hint of incredulity. “What? Ghostbusters?”
Sam sighed and shook his bangs out of his face, causing Cas to giggle when the hair brushed the back of his neck. “You could open a garage. Be a mechanic. The world can always use another honest mechanic.”
Dean was silent as he weighed up the suggestion. He tried to picture what that life would look like. It looked a hell of a lot better than his current life. He could get a play-pen for Cas, maybe hire a babysitter if the business did well enough. If he really did well, they could finally move out of Bobby’s cabin, get their own house. Maybe even a dog.
Dean nodded his head. As much as he hated to admit it, Sammy was right.
---//---
Cas, age one
Sam and Dean held Caswyn’s first birthday party at Dean’s garage. It was, perhaps, an unorthodox choice of venue, but it was a large open space that easily accommodated their guests. Plus, crucially, it was not their home. Dean didn’t know what he was going to do when Cas got to the age of play-dates and sleepovers. The only thought more nerve-wracking than inviting strangers to the house was the idea of letting Cas go to someone else’s house.
But Dean took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts out of his head. He lit the single candle on the child-sized birthday cake, chocolate and in the shape of a race car. Sam dimmed the lights and Dean carried the cake in with great fanfare as everyone began to sing.
Dean watched his adopted son with a strong and certain sense of pride. He was growing into an adorable kid. The chubby cheeks of babyhood were slowly receding into a charmingly roundish face with a strong chin. Bright blue eyes took everything in, as though he was cataloguing items for future reference. And his crooked smile, graced by pink cheeks, drew strangers in.
Dean mostly didn’t mind. Cas was a good-looking and good-natured kid, after all. What he did mind were the stupid things people said.
The number two most annoying comment: “You and your.....husband must be so pleased.” That one earned a tight smile and a terse correction. “Brother, actually.”
But the most annoying thing and the one for which Dean still hadn’t developed a witty retort: “He’s just a little angel.”
Dean wanted to tell people that no, he wasn’t, because angels were dicks, but he usually managed to keep his mouth shut. (A task made both easier and more maddening when he had Sammy giving him warning looks.)
One whole year of being human. Dean swiped surreptitiously at his eyes. This being a father thing was turning him into a damn girl. He pulled himself back under control just as the singing finished.
“Go ahead, Cas, blow out the candle,” encouraged Sam, demonstrating the concept to the befuddled boy while Bobby snapped pictures.
Dean gave them a half-smile and made his own wish.
---//---
Cas, age two
A blood-curdling scream wrenched Dean from sleep and propelled him out of his bed and down the hall to Cas’s room. He found the boy cowering under his blankets, rolled in a tight ball. Dean eased himself onto the edge of the bed.
“Cas, it’s okay. You were just having a nightmare. You’re safe now,” said Dean, keeping his voice low and soothing. His nerves were jangling, the way that had every night for the last three weeks.
No response from under the blanket, so Dean gently placed a hand on the quivering ball.
“Cas, I promise, it’s all fine.”
Dean could feel the boy shaking his head vehemently.
“Come out and talk about it,” coaxed Dean.
Cas peeled back the corner of the blankets, revealing one suspicious eye. “They’re so mad. They’re going to kill me.”
“No one is going to kill you.”
“They’re mad. And they’re bad. Bad, bad, bad brothers.” Cas flipped the blanket back over his face.
“Brothers aren’t all bad, Cas. Sammy’s my brother and he’s good.”
“But these brothers are bad. Big and bad and shiny.”
Dean yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Any chance of you getting back to bed, buddy?”
More negative head-shaking from under the blankets made Dean sigh. “All right, how about if you come into my bed? Would that-”
The suggestion wasn’t even fully out of his mouth before Cas jumped up and bolted for the other room. Dean got up and returned to his room, knowing Sammy was going to give him shit for this but he didn’t care. Sitting powerlessly next to a kid’s bed while he was tormented by dreams of angry killer brothers was intolerable. Better to cave, share a bed with the little blanket hog and hope the phase would pass soon.
---//---
Cas, age four and a half
Dean sliced onions for his three-alarm chili, a recipe that had been downgraded from five alarms due to Cas and his delicate taste sensibilities. Wincing against the strong onion smell, Dean swiped at his eyes with his left arm while his right hand gripped the knife tighter and chopped faster. Sammy always said that was going to end in blood but Dean usually retorted that if he didn’t like it, he could make dinner once in awhile. That usually shut Sam up.
“Dad?” asked Cas, poking his head into the kitchen.
“Yeah?” replied Dean as the pan of water on the stove started to boil over with a hiss. He went to deal with it, but shot a quick look back at Cas so the boy knew that he was listening.
“What’s myrrh?”
A splash of boiling water caught Dean’s hand and he suppressed a string of curse words. “Myrrh? I think you mean mirth. It’s laughter, good humor, cheerfulness, that sort of thing.”
The boy’s mumbled thanks was lost in the pounding of his feet as he raced back into the living room. The kid always moved at warp speed, just like he and Sammy used to when they were kids.
The boiling water situation dealt with, Dean tended to his burnt hand, letting cold water run over it for a few minutes. He was about to go back to chopping duty when Sam’s voice called him into the living room.
“Can this wait?” he shouted back, not wanting dinner time to slide too late. Bitter experience had taught him that over-tiredness in kids was like rocket fuel, powering them to bounce off the walls.
“Nope,” Sam sing-songed back to him, his chipper voice suggesting that Cas was doing something unspeakably cute.
Dean grabbed a dish towel and headed into the living room, wiping his hands as he walked. He was about to mutter something about how this had better be good when he rounded the corner and took in the scene.
Sam was laying on the ground, some gold coins and a Frankenstein figure on his stomach. Cas stood over him, holding a paper with a crude Enochian sigil drawn on it.
“Now, Uncle Sammy, you have to laugh,” instructed Cas, his forehead creased in concentration.
“I’m not sure why I need to laugh.”
“Because it’s what I need. Gold, Frankenstein and mirth. Now, laugh,” the boy insisted, his voice taking on a commanding quality that was equal parts hilarious and frightening.
Sam indulged him and Dean was about to laugh along when Cas raised the paper and began to speak what sounded quite convincingly like an angelic summoning ritual. Dean cleared his throat sharply and looked at Sam, who jumped up off the floor.
“Uncle Sammy, we were playing,” complained Cas, his voice carrying the childish whine that usually irritated Dean but, after what he’d just seen, the whine sounded sweeter than music.
“I need Uncle Sammy’s help in the kitchen. Why don’t you clean up here and start getting ready for dinner?”
Cas pouted for thirty seconds but then pulled it together and nodded. Dean tousled his hair and went back to the kitchen, Sam close behind him.
“What the hell was that?” asked Dean in a low tone.
Sam shook his head as he pulled a beer bottle out of the fridge. “I guess he’s got some residual memories, more than what we thought.”
“Gee, do you think?” asked Dean, just barely avoiding the urge to tack on the insult “genius” or “Einstein”.
“Dean, relax, it’s fine. It’s a phase he’s going to grow out of. The older he gets, the more he’ll forget. Being human will become first and second nature.”
Dean stared at his brother, hoping he was right. “Sure, Sammy, I’m sure you’re right. All the parenting books talk about phases. Of course, none of the parenting books deal with past life as a celestial being.”
“Maybe you need to find a parenting book written by a Buddhist. Or find the Dalai Lama’s parents.”
“It’s not funny, Sam.”
“I get why you’re upset, Dean, but really, it’s going to be okay.” Sam clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before stepping back.
Dean went back to the counter and resumed chopping the onions. After a minute, his eyes were tearing and he had to turn toward the doorway where Sam was still standing, looking concerned.
Dean mustered a smile. “Yeah, it was a little funny. Now quit looking like me like that and make sure Cas is getting ready for dinner.”
---//---
Cas, age five
Cas maintained a death-grip on Dean’s hand as they walked into the school. Dean and Sam had both explained to him many times over the last several weeks how school worked. Cas wasn’t quite convinced that it would be a magical place of joy and wonder, as Dean had insisted.
As schools went, it didn’t seem like that bad a place to Dean. The kindergarten room was bright and airy, with circular tables dotting the interior of the room. The walls were lined with shelves full of toys and books.
Dean introduced himself and Cas to the teacher, a pretty redhead with a pleasant smile and chirpy voice. Then he settled Cas into the nearest table of boys, all of whom were wearing the school-mandated name tags.
“Let’s see who we have here, Cas. This is Caden, Landon, Jordan, and Peyton.” The last boy looked particularly unhappy.
“Peyton is a girl’s name,” said Landon with an air of authority that made Dean think the kid was destined for middle management.
“My name’s Cas. It’s not a girl’s name,” replied Cas as he reluctantly edged into the chair that Dean had pulled out for him.
“Neither is Peyton. Haven’t you ever heard of Peyton Manning? He’s only the best quarterback in the history of football,” insisted little Peyton, no doubt parroting something his dad had been telling him ever since he’d met the first little girl Peyton.
Dean made eye contact with the teacher and nodded, then stepped quietly to the door, watching the spirited conversation happening between Cas and his new schoolmates. He remembered the conversation about names that he’d had with Sammy. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago. But Sam had been right. Caswyn was a fine name for a fallen angel.
---//---
Cas, age six and three quarters
Sam and Dean shepherded Cas across the giant parking lot, the boy bouncing between them as he chattered excitedly about the new bike they were about to buy. The store greeter tweaked Dean’s weirdo radar before they’d even crossed the store’s threshold, but he’d chalked it up to the giant smiley shirt the guy was forced to wear.
They stood inside the front of the store for a few minutes, trying to get their bearings and figure out where the bikes would be. Sam was advocating for sporting goods while Dean insisted the last time he’d looked for bikes, they’d been with the toys.
“Dad,” interrupted Cas, tugging on Dean’s hand.
“In a second, Uncle Sammy and I are just figuring things out here.”
“There’s something wrong with that man’s eyes.” Cas lifted his arm to point but Dean intercepted it, knowing that he had to be talking about the greeter.
“I don’t see anything,” Dean said, looking at Sam, who had a quick glance back before confirming that he also didn’t see anything.
“They’re all black,” insisted Cas.
Dean froze and looked back at the greeter again. No black eyes that he could see, but he didn’t like the leering grin the man gave him when he caught Dean staring.
Dean turned and hustled Cas and Sam out of sight. “Sam, get the car and meet us around back. Cas, remember those emergency drills we have? We’re going to have one now.”
“But Dad, my bike,” whined Cas, his bottom lip folding into a pout.
“Cas, c’mon, now is not the time,” said Dean, glad for the excuse to grab the boy’s hand and pull him toward the back of the store. They walked right into an Employees Only area and quickly found the back door. Dean checked behind them but no one was following.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the sunshine, still feeling chilled to the bone. Sam pulled up in the Impala, stopping it with a screech that made Dean grit his teeth and mutter about having some respect.
Dean was to usher Cas inside the car when the store greeter appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and grabbed the boy’s arm.
“Hey! No!” shouted the boy, just as Dean and Sam had taught him. Dean stepped forward but the greeter grabbed the door and swung it right into Dean’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
The greeter leaned down over Cas. “I know what you are.”
Cas pressed a hand into the man’s face, trying to push him away. When their skin made contact, the man’s eyes spun black and he howled. Then a black column of smoke rose up and exploded like fireworks. The now un-possessed greeter collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Dean bundled Cas into the car. He looked down at the greeter, ensured the man was still breathing, and pulled out his cell phone to call 911 as soon as they were safely out of the parking lot. Dean climbed into the back seat and Sam drove off.
“What just happened?” asked Cas, his eyes wide with fear.
Dean put an arm around the boy and held him tight. He looked up and met Sam’s eyes in the rearview mirror. His brother looked both grim and excited, and Dean hoped he had the sense to keep his big trap shut.
“Nothing, Cas, that man just had a seizure. I’m calling an ambulance for him now.”
The brief 911 call gave Dean enough time to collect his thoughts and steady his nerves. When he pocketed the phone, he tousled Cas’s hair.
“All right, kiddo, it’s all taken care of now. Nothing to worry about.”
“But Dad, what about the black smoke and the fireworks?”
“What black smoke and fireworks? I don’t remember anything like that. It was exciting, Cas, but it wasn’t that exciting.” Dean purposely kept his voice light and forced his body to relax, removing his arm from Cas’s shoulders to let it drape casually across the seats.
“Uncle Sammy, did you see it?”
Dean shot Sam a fierce look and Sam shook his head dutifully. “Sorry Cas, I was too busy driving to notice anything.”
“But-”
“But nothing. Nothing happened, Cas. Nothing important. Nothing we ever need to discuss again. Capisce?” Dean’s voice was no-nonsense and stern. He wondered when he had started sounding like their father.
Cas nodded. “So, when am I going to get my bike?”
Dean grinned and allowed Cas to pepper him with questions about and requests for his new bike.
Later that night, after Cas was safely tucked into bed, Dean and Sam settled onto the couch with a couple of beers. Dean put his feet up on the coffee table and finally relaxed for real. He could feel all the stress leaking out of his body and felt a boneless sense of relief.
“Dean, what the hell was that today?”
Dean half-shrugged and took a long pull of beer. “Dunno Sammy.”
“Cas can see demons when they’re not visibly presenting. He can also exorcise them just by touching them and destroy them totally, all while sparing the vessel.”
“Sam, we don’t know anything about what he can and can’t do.”
“Bullshit, Dean. We both saw it today with our own eyes.”
Dean shook his head and looked away.
“Do you know what this means?”
“Yeah, Sammy, it means exactly nothing.”
“But Dean,” argued Sam, sitting forward and gesturing forcefully. “He’s got special powers. Powers that could really help people.”
Dean shook his head. “No way, Sammy. He’s going to be a kid. He’s going to be a normal, regular kid. He’s going to learn how to ride a bike. He’s going to climb trees. He’s going to do all the things kids are supposed to do.”
“But Dean-”
“But nothing.”
“You’re depriving him of something, something important. Who knows? This might be exactly what Castiel wanted.”
“Cas wanted peace and quiet and normal,” said Dean, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “He wanted to join humanity, not be some sort of separate freak with a demon-hunting agenda.”
“How do you know what he wanted?” countered Sam.
Dean didn’t know how to answer that, so he went on the attack instead. “I mean it, Sam. He’s going to have a normal life. School, dogs, summer vacations, birthday parties. He’s not going to spend his childhood living in some crappy motels, preparing to do battle with evil every day.”
“You can’t protect him forever.”
“No, maybe not. But I can protect him for right now.” For the second time that day, Dean wondered when and how he’d started channeling his father. But then Cas was his responsibility and he took that responsibility extra seriously.
“Dean, what about the world? What about all the good he can do in the world?”
“The world can wait, Sammy. We’re going to take care of him, protect him, and make sure he has a normal life. You got it?”
Sam clearly wanted to argue with him, but Dean knew he wouldn’t. They’d never actually discussed it but they’d had a tacit agreement from the beginning. Dean, with his special bond with Castiel, was the primary parent, the adoptive father. Cas was primarily his responsibility.
“Some day, you’re going to have to tell him and let him decide what he wants to do.”
Dean agreed with a long sigh. “Some day, yeah, but not today and not any day soon. For now he gets to be a kid, with all the things we never had.”
Sam held up his long-neck beer bottle. “Here’s to dogs, birthday parties, and soccer.”
“Football, Sammy, soccer’s for girls,” replied Dean, and they clinked bottles in an agreeable toast. Dean hoped that he was able to deliver on that promise. He felt a great responsibility to his old friend and he couldn’t imagine anyone he’d rather have helping him out than Sammy. Dean knew that whatever new challenges parenting threw at them, he and Sam would be able to weather them together.
Author: fleurlb
Recipient: obstinatrix
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: When it's all over, Castiel falls and is reborn into his own body. Sam and Dean raise the baby. It's an interesting life, parenting an old friend with your brother.
After a year of trying to bring Heaven into some semblance of order, Castiel was done. He was tired, the kind of bone-weary, constant-aching, never-ending-exhaustion that an angelic host is just not created to withstand. The warring factions of Heaven showed no signs of reconciling, their Heavenly Father was still an “MIA asshole” (as Dean so eloquently put it), and his endless attempts to protect the human world seemed as fruitless as they were pointless.
“I’m done,” he said with a sigh, pushing away from the table where for countless hours he’d been discussing strategy with the Winchesters.
“But Cas, we still need-” began Dean, but the angel cut him off with an upraised hand.
“You need and you need, you want and you want, but somehow, I’m never able to solve anything, either down here or up there.”
Dean and Sam exchanged a worried look, which would have annoyed Castiel if he’d had the capacity to care.
“You know what they say, Castiel, Rome wasn’t built in a day,” said Sam, sliding into one of his trademark soothing smiles. As much as Sam had redeemed himself the day he plummeted into the pit with Lucifer, sometimes Castiel still found him insincere and grating.
Cas stood up and rested his hands on the back of the chair. He leaned over and gathered his thoughts, then took a deep breath.
“I’m ready for a change.”
“Good idea. Why don’t you go up to heaven, have a shower in stardust or whatever it is you angels do to relax and catch up with us tomorrow morning,” suggested Dean.
“No, Dean, I’m ready for a real change. A complete change. Of state. Of being.” Castiel looked him in the eye in a way that he knew was unnerving but he had to make Dean understand.
Dean’s face fell as he grasped the full intent behind the statement. But to his credit, and just as Cas had expected, he didn’t argue the point. “Are you sure? You’ve really thought this through?”
Castiel straightened up and nodded. Dean was silent for several long beats while Sam struggled to get his attention, but this silent dialogue was playing out only between Cas and the human he had once saved. A debt was owed and they both knew it.
“Okay, then what do you need from us?” Dean Winchester was nothing if not loyal and steadfast.
“Find me. I’ll try to make it as easy as possible, but please, just find me.”
Dean stood up and held out his hand. “We’ll be there, Cas. Every step of the way.”
Cas shook Dean’s hand. It was rough but dry. If the hunter was worried about the prospect of finding and raising a fallen angel, he wasn’t sweating it now. After a quick look at Sam, whom Castiel knew would follow his brother’s lead, the angel broke the handshake, took three steps back and vanished to begin the preparations for his new life.
---//---
The preparations
It hadn’t been easy, but using every scrap of ingenuity, energy and stubbornness that Dean possessed, they’d managed to track down Castiel. That, of course, had proven to be the easy part. The more difficult part was convincing the mother to hand her baby over to a couple of dudes she’d never met. It was about then that Dean wished for angel power or mind control or anything to tip the scales in his favor.
But, as incredible and improbable as it seemed, the woman had eventually agreed and Dean was about to become a father in the most spectacular and bizarre way. Which was how he found himself stumbling through a forest in southern Ohio with Sam, looking for Castiel’s grace.
“You know, normal people would be painting the nursery or putting together the crib right about now,” said Dean as he brushed through a cloud of gnats.
“Dean, you know this has to be done,” replied Sam.
“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying that this isn’t a usual part of preparing for the birth of a child.”
“Usual or not, you’re going to want to have it close at hand, in case Castiel ever needs it.”
The brothers walked in silence for another twenty minutes, then Sam pulled out a map and a print out of a satellite image. He adjusted their course and in a few more minutes, they arrived at a huge willow, its slumping branches stretching elegantly down to the ground.
When Dean stepped through the curtain of branches, he knew they were in the right place. The dense carpet of grass under his feet seemed impossible, as did the light source that emanated gently from the tree, clearly visible within the privacy the branches offered. The place also just felt right.
Dean and Sam quickly performed the ritual to extract the grace. Afterward, Dean found himself a bit wobbly and he sat down, his back propped against the tree trunk. He turned the glowing locket over and over in his hands. Sam crouched in front of him.
“You okay, Dean?”
He nodded but found he was unable to speak. That didn’t stop Sammy though.
“You sure about all this, Dean?”
“He saved me from hell. What is there to be sure about?” asked Dean, trying to play things off with a half-shrug but his voice betrayed him.
Sam looked like he had about three thousand things to say, but for once he kept his mouth shut and just offered his brother a hand up. They walked back to the Impala in silence, the setting sun creating slanted shadows and a rosy glow in the sky. They were nearly back to the car when Sam spoke.
“So, you thought at all about what you’re going to name him?”
Dean blinked and realized that in all the stress of locating the fallen angel, securing his custody and finding his grace, he’d never considered this most basis aspect of parenthood. “I don’t think I could call him anything but Cas.”
“You can’t name him Castiel.”
“Why not?”
“Dean, you might as well just hang a neon sign around his neck. ‘Hey dick archangels and evil demons, here’s the fallen angel you’re looking for.’”
“Okay, I suppose I can’t name him Castiel then. You got any bright ideas?”
“I did some research, figuring that it would be difficult to think of him as anything but Castiel. Found a few things that shorten to Cas.”
“Lay ‘em on me,” said Dean as they reached the car. He leaned against the hood and looked at his brother.
“Casper.”
“As in the Friendly Ghost?” Dean made a sound like a buzzer. “Next?”
“Cassius.”
“If the name wasn’t good enough for the greatest boxer ever to keep, why would we give it to our little angel?”
“Caspian.”
“Not naming the kid after a sea.”
“Cassidy.”
“That’s a girl’s name. You want him to get the crap beat out of him?”
“Cassidy is not a girl’s name.” Sam’s cheeks were growing red. “Okay, how about Castor?”
“Castor oil. No way.”
“Caswyn.”
Dean was about to reject it out of hand for sounding funny, but something stopped him. “Caswyn....Caswyn...Caswyn...I’ve never heard that one before.”
“It’s Cornish. Means holy, shining battle.”
Dean’s smile unfurled slowly and he shook his head. “Caswyn. I don’t see how we could name him anything else. But you sure he’s not going to get the crap kicked out of him for it?”
“Dean, do you have any idea what names are popular right now? Trust me, he won’t even have the weirdest or most sissy name when he starts school. I promise you that.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Sammy,” replied Dean as he opened the car door and stepped inside. His pocket felt heavy and his stomach was doing flips. It was hard to believe that in a few short weeks, he was going to be the father of a friend.
---//---
Cas, age two weeks
Cas was born on a Thursday night. Dean had stumbled into the waiting room where Sam and Bobby had been waiting. He’d told them, honestly, that he’d never seen anything more disgusting, frightening, and amazing. He’d felt every bit the proud and dazed parent, even if he’d had nothing to do with the kid’s conception and development.
Cas spent one night in the hospital and then he was discharged into Dean’s custody. They were staying in a small cabin on the edge of Bobby’s property. Sam had wanted to spend a few weeks helping Dean adjust, but a demon emergency in Oregon cropped up and Dean had sent his brother out to handle it with the jaunty reassurance: “How much trouble could one seven-pound former angel possibly be?”
Two weeks later, Dean wanted to eat those words. He was sure they’d taste delicious with some ketchup and mustard. He was equally sure that he was delirious with the sleep deprivation. Young Cas had no respect for the difference between day and night. He also ate like a starving piglet, throwing himself into the bottle with much gulping and wiggling, even though Dean told him that he was just going to make himself sick.
And he did, every damn time. Dean was so sick of baby puke. In the beginning, he’d changed his clothes every time Cas puked on him. But that was a sure-fire way to run out of clothes. So he lowered his standards and now all he could see and smell was slightly processed baby formula.
“You know, kid, if this was a movie, all this would be done during a montage. It would be fast, painless, and full of cute moments, like you accidentally peeing on me,” said Dean as he paced the floor with the infant.
Cas kicked his legs and squirmed. His face scrunched up and turned red, then the crying started up. It wasn’t the most obnoxious sound in the world, but it did have a tendency to make Dean feel slightly panicky as he tried to troubleshoot the problem.
Dean hefted the baby onto his shoulder and patted his back, wondering how people willingly went through this multiple times. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to survive one infant. He sighed and paced, hoping that Cas would calm down, but the baby was inconsolable. He wasn’t interested in eating or sleeping. Right now, it seemed like all he wanted to do was cry, until Dean thought he might cry too.
“Honey, I’m home,” called Sam from the other room.
“Thank Christ for that,” muttered Dean. He turned toward the doorway and offered his brother a weak smile. He knew the place was a mess, knew that he was a mess, knew that he was in over his head. But he also knew that his brother would help him. Or at least let him get a few damn hours of sleep.
Sammy didn’t disappoint either. He’d held out his arms for the baby and sent Dean off to bed without comment. The last thing Dean heard as he drifted off to sleep was the sound of Sam complaining loudly as Cas peed on him. Dean half-smiled and slid contentedly into his first decent sleep in two weeks.
---//---
Cas, age five months
“Sam, can you please put him to bed tonight?” asked Dean, handing over the squirming baby.
Sam looked up from his laptop, his eyebrows arching up in surprise, but he said nothing. He took the baby, who squealed in protest but then settled into his uncle’s arms.
“I just... this is so much harder than I thought it was going to be,” Dean admitted, rubbing a hand over his face.
“What did you think it was going to be?” Sam let Cas stand in his lap. The baby balanced on chubby legs and then started to bounce, smiling widely when his head nearly smashed into Sam’s chin.
“I don’t know, Sammy, but I didn’t think it was going to be so....boring. So the same. You know that I can recite Goodnight Moon by heart now.”
Sam just smiled and shook his head, prompting his brother to reel off a few pages.
“In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of...the cow jumping over the moon.”
“You know what creeps me out about the book?” asked Sam, grimacing as Cas caught and pulled hard on a hank of hair. “The old lady whispering hush, her relationship to Bunny is never quite defined.
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Bunny’s room is pretty fly. I always figured she was the night nanny. The hired help. Do you know what I would give for a nanny?”
“It’s not always going to be like this, you know. The time really does fly. I can’t believe he’s already so big.”
“The days might fly but the hours drag ass,” grumbled Dean.
Sam bit his lip, the way he often did when he was thinking something that Dean wouldn’t want to hear.
“Sammy? Spit it out.”
“You could go back to work, Dean.”
“Hunting? No way. It’s bad enough that you go off on trips a few times a month.”
“You could get a regular job. Or start a business.”
“Start a business?” asked Dean with a hint of incredulity. “What? Ghostbusters?”
Sam sighed and shook his bangs out of his face, causing Cas to giggle when the hair brushed the back of his neck. “You could open a garage. Be a mechanic. The world can always use another honest mechanic.”
Dean was silent as he weighed up the suggestion. He tried to picture what that life would look like. It looked a hell of a lot better than his current life. He could get a play-pen for Cas, maybe hire a babysitter if the business did well enough. If he really did well, they could finally move out of Bobby’s cabin, get their own house. Maybe even a dog.
Dean nodded his head. As much as he hated to admit it, Sammy was right.
---//---
Cas, age one
Sam and Dean held Caswyn’s first birthday party at Dean’s garage. It was, perhaps, an unorthodox choice of venue, but it was a large open space that easily accommodated their guests. Plus, crucially, it was not their home. Dean didn’t know what he was going to do when Cas got to the age of play-dates and sleepovers. The only thought more nerve-wracking than inviting strangers to the house was the idea of letting Cas go to someone else’s house.
But Dean took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts out of his head. He lit the single candle on the child-sized birthday cake, chocolate and in the shape of a race car. Sam dimmed the lights and Dean carried the cake in with great fanfare as everyone began to sing.
Dean watched his adopted son with a strong and certain sense of pride. He was growing into an adorable kid. The chubby cheeks of babyhood were slowly receding into a charmingly roundish face with a strong chin. Bright blue eyes took everything in, as though he was cataloguing items for future reference. And his crooked smile, graced by pink cheeks, drew strangers in.
Dean mostly didn’t mind. Cas was a good-looking and good-natured kid, after all. What he did mind were the stupid things people said.
The number two most annoying comment: “You and your.....husband must be so pleased.” That one earned a tight smile and a terse correction. “Brother, actually.”
But the most annoying thing and the one for which Dean still hadn’t developed a witty retort: “He’s just a little angel.”
Dean wanted to tell people that no, he wasn’t, because angels were dicks, but he usually managed to keep his mouth shut. (A task made both easier and more maddening when he had Sammy giving him warning looks.)
One whole year of being human. Dean swiped surreptitiously at his eyes. This being a father thing was turning him into a damn girl. He pulled himself back under control just as the singing finished.
“Go ahead, Cas, blow out the candle,” encouraged Sam, demonstrating the concept to the befuddled boy while Bobby snapped pictures.
Dean gave them a half-smile and made his own wish.
---//---
Cas, age two
A blood-curdling scream wrenched Dean from sleep and propelled him out of his bed and down the hall to Cas’s room. He found the boy cowering under his blankets, rolled in a tight ball. Dean eased himself onto the edge of the bed.
“Cas, it’s okay. You were just having a nightmare. You’re safe now,” said Dean, keeping his voice low and soothing. His nerves were jangling, the way that had every night for the last three weeks.
No response from under the blanket, so Dean gently placed a hand on the quivering ball.
“Cas, I promise, it’s all fine.”
Dean could feel the boy shaking his head vehemently.
“Come out and talk about it,” coaxed Dean.
Cas peeled back the corner of the blankets, revealing one suspicious eye. “They’re so mad. They’re going to kill me.”
“No one is going to kill you.”
“They’re mad. And they’re bad. Bad, bad, bad brothers.” Cas flipped the blanket back over his face.
“Brothers aren’t all bad, Cas. Sammy’s my brother and he’s good.”
“But these brothers are bad. Big and bad and shiny.”
Dean yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Any chance of you getting back to bed, buddy?”
More negative head-shaking from under the blankets made Dean sigh. “All right, how about if you come into my bed? Would that-”
The suggestion wasn’t even fully out of his mouth before Cas jumped up and bolted for the other room. Dean got up and returned to his room, knowing Sammy was going to give him shit for this but he didn’t care. Sitting powerlessly next to a kid’s bed while he was tormented by dreams of angry killer brothers was intolerable. Better to cave, share a bed with the little blanket hog and hope the phase would pass soon.
---//---
Cas, age four and a half
Dean sliced onions for his three-alarm chili, a recipe that had been downgraded from five alarms due to Cas and his delicate taste sensibilities. Wincing against the strong onion smell, Dean swiped at his eyes with his left arm while his right hand gripped the knife tighter and chopped faster. Sammy always said that was going to end in blood but Dean usually retorted that if he didn’t like it, he could make dinner once in awhile. That usually shut Sam up.
“Dad?” asked Cas, poking his head into the kitchen.
“Yeah?” replied Dean as the pan of water on the stove started to boil over with a hiss. He went to deal with it, but shot a quick look back at Cas so the boy knew that he was listening.
“What’s myrrh?”
A splash of boiling water caught Dean’s hand and he suppressed a string of curse words. “Myrrh? I think you mean mirth. It’s laughter, good humor, cheerfulness, that sort of thing.”
The boy’s mumbled thanks was lost in the pounding of his feet as he raced back into the living room. The kid always moved at warp speed, just like he and Sammy used to when they were kids.
The boiling water situation dealt with, Dean tended to his burnt hand, letting cold water run over it for a few minutes. He was about to go back to chopping duty when Sam’s voice called him into the living room.
“Can this wait?” he shouted back, not wanting dinner time to slide too late. Bitter experience had taught him that over-tiredness in kids was like rocket fuel, powering them to bounce off the walls.
“Nope,” Sam sing-songed back to him, his chipper voice suggesting that Cas was doing something unspeakably cute.
Dean grabbed a dish towel and headed into the living room, wiping his hands as he walked. He was about to mutter something about how this had better be good when he rounded the corner and took in the scene.
Sam was laying on the ground, some gold coins and a Frankenstein figure on his stomach. Cas stood over him, holding a paper with a crude Enochian sigil drawn on it.
“Now, Uncle Sammy, you have to laugh,” instructed Cas, his forehead creased in concentration.
“I’m not sure why I need to laugh.”
“Because it’s what I need. Gold, Frankenstein and mirth. Now, laugh,” the boy insisted, his voice taking on a commanding quality that was equal parts hilarious and frightening.
Sam indulged him and Dean was about to laugh along when Cas raised the paper and began to speak what sounded quite convincingly like an angelic summoning ritual. Dean cleared his throat sharply and looked at Sam, who jumped up off the floor.
“Uncle Sammy, we were playing,” complained Cas, his voice carrying the childish whine that usually irritated Dean but, after what he’d just seen, the whine sounded sweeter than music.
“I need Uncle Sammy’s help in the kitchen. Why don’t you clean up here and start getting ready for dinner?”
Cas pouted for thirty seconds but then pulled it together and nodded. Dean tousled his hair and went back to the kitchen, Sam close behind him.
“What the hell was that?” asked Dean in a low tone.
Sam shook his head as he pulled a beer bottle out of the fridge. “I guess he’s got some residual memories, more than what we thought.”
“Gee, do you think?” asked Dean, just barely avoiding the urge to tack on the insult “genius” or “Einstein”.
“Dean, relax, it’s fine. It’s a phase he’s going to grow out of. The older he gets, the more he’ll forget. Being human will become first and second nature.”
Dean stared at his brother, hoping he was right. “Sure, Sammy, I’m sure you’re right. All the parenting books talk about phases. Of course, none of the parenting books deal with past life as a celestial being.”
“Maybe you need to find a parenting book written by a Buddhist. Or find the Dalai Lama’s parents.”
“It’s not funny, Sam.”
“I get why you’re upset, Dean, but really, it’s going to be okay.” Sam clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before stepping back.
Dean went back to the counter and resumed chopping the onions. After a minute, his eyes were tearing and he had to turn toward the doorway where Sam was still standing, looking concerned.
Dean mustered a smile. “Yeah, it was a little funny. Now quit looking like me like that and make sure Cas is getting ready for dinner.”
---//---
Cas, age five
Cas maintained a death-grip on Dean’s hand as they walked into the school. Dean and Sam had both explained to him many times over the last several weeks how school worked. Cas wasn’t quite convinced that it would be a magical place of joy and wonder, as Dean had insisted.
As schools went, it didn’t seem like that bad a place to Dean. The kindergarten room was bright and airy, with circular tables dotting the interior of the room. The walls were lined with shelves full of toys and books.
Dean introduced himself and Cas to the teacher, a pretty redhead with a pleasant smile and chirpy voice. Then he settled Cas into the nearest table of boys, all of whom were wearing the school-mandated name tags.
“Let’s see who we have here, Cas. This is Caden, Landon, Jordan, and Peyton.” The last boy looked particularly unhappy.
“Peyton is a girl’s name,” said Landon with an air of authority that made Dean think the kid was destined for middle management.
“My name’s Cas. It’s not a girl’s name,” replied Cas as he reluctantly edged into the chair that Dean had pulled out for him.
“Neither is Peyton. Haven’t you ever heard of Peyton Manning? He’s only the best quarterback in the history of football,” insisted little Peyton, no doubt parroting something his dad had been telling him ever since he’d met the first little girl Peyton.
Dean made eye contact with the teacher and nodded, then stepped quietly to the door, watching the spirited conversation happening between Cas and his new schoolmates. He remembered the conversation about names that he’d had with Sammy. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago. But Sam had been right. Caswyn was a fine name for a fallen angel.
---//---
Cas, age six and three quarters
Sam and Dean shepherded Cas across the giant parking lot, the boy bouncing between them as he chattered excitedly about the new bike they were about to buy. The store greeter tweaked Dean’s weirdo radar before they’d even crossed the store’s threshold, but he’d chalked it up to the giant smiley shirt the guy was forced to wear.
They stood inside the front of the store for a few minutes, trying to get their bearings and figure out where the bikes would be. Sam was advocating for sporting goods while Dean insisted the last time he’d looked for bikes, they’d been with the toys.
“Dad,” interrupted Cas, tugging on Dean’s hand.
“In a second, Uncle Sammy and I are just figuring things out here.”
“There’s something wrong with that man’s eyes.” Cas lifted his arm to point but Dean intercepted it, knowing that he had to be talking about the greeter.
“I don’t see anything,” Dean said, looking at Sam, who had a quick glance back before confirming that he also didn’t see anything.
“They’re all black,” insisted Cas.
Dean froze and looked back at the greeter again. No black eyes that he could see, but he didn’t like the leering grin the man gave him when he caught Dean staring.
Dean turned and hustled Cas and Sam out of sight. “Sam, get the car and meet us around back. Cas, remember those emergency drills we have? We’re going to have one now.”
“But Dad, my bike,” whined Cas, his bottom lip folding into a pout.
“Cas, c’mon, now is not the time,” said Dean, glad for the excuse to grab the boy’s hand and pull him toward the back of the store. They walked right into an Employees Only area and quickly found the back door. Dean checked behind them but no one was following.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the sunshine, still feeling chilled to the bone. Sam pulled up in the Impala, stopping it with a screech that made Dean grit his teeth and mutter about having some respect.
Dean was to usher Cas inside the car when the store greeter appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and grabbed the boy’s arm.
“Hey! No!” shouted the boy, just as Dean and Sam had taught him. Dean stepped forward but the greeter grabbed the door and swung it right into Dean’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
The greeter leaned down over Cas. “I know what you are.”
Cas pressed a hand into the man’s face, trying to push him away. When their skin made contact, the man’s eyes spun black and he howled. Then a black column of smoke rose up and exploded like fireworks. The now un-possessed greeter collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Dean bundled Cas into the car. He looked down at the greeter, ensured the man was still breathing, and pulled out his cell phone to call 911 as soon as they were safely out of the parking lot. Dean climbed into the back seat and Sam drove off.
“What just happened?” asked Cas, his eyes wide with fear.
Dean put an arm around the boy and held him tight. He looked up and met Sam’s eyes in the rearview mirror. His brother looked both grim and excited, and Dean hoped he had the sense to keep his big trap shut.
“Nothing, Cas, that man just had a seizure. I’m calling an ambulance for him now.”
The brief 911 call gave Dean enough time to collect his thoughts and steady his nerves. When he pocketed the phone, he tousled Cas’s hair.
“All right, kiddo, it’s all taken care of now. Nothing to worry about.”
“But Dad, what about the black smoke and the fireworks?”
“What black smoke and fireworks? I don’t remember anything like that. It was exciting, Cas, but it wasn’t that exciting.” Dean purposely kept his voice light and forced his body to relax, removing his arm from Cas’s shoulders to let it drape casually across the seats.
“Uncle Sammy, did you see it?”
Dean shot Sam a fierce look and Sam shook his head dutifully. “Sorry Cas, I was too busy driving to notice anything.”
“But-”
“But nothing. Nothing happened, Cas. Nothing important. Nothing we ever need to discuss again. Capisce?” Dean’s voice was no-nonsense and stern. He wondered when he had started sounding like their father.
Cas nodded. “So, when am I going to get my bike?”
Dean grinned and allowed Cas to pepper him with questions about and requests for his new bike.
Later that night, after Cas was safely tucked into bed, Dean and Sam settled onto the couch with a couple of beers. Dean put his feet up on the coffee table and finally relaxed for real. He could feel all the stress leaking out of his body and felt a boneless sense of relief.
“Dean, what the hell was that today?”
Dean half-shrugged and took a long pull of beer. “Dunno Sammy.”
“Cas can see demons when they’re not visibly presenting. He can also exorcise them just by touching them and destroy them totally, all while sparing the vessel.”
“Sam, we don’t know anything about what he can and can’t do.”
“Bullshit, Dean. We both saw it today with our own eyes.”
Dean shook his head and looked away.
“Do you know what this means?”
“Yeah, Sammy, it means exactly nothing.”
“But Dean,” argued Sam, sitting forward and gesturing forcefully. “He’s got special powers. Powers that could really help people.”
Dean shook his head. “No way, Sammy. He’s going to be a kid. He’s going to be a normal, regular kid. He’s going to learn how to ride a bike. He’s going to climb trees. He’s going to do all the things kids are supposed to do.”
“But Dean-”
“But nothing.”
“You’re depriving him of something, something important. Who knows? This might be exactly what Castiel wanted.”
“Cas wanted peace and quiet and normal,” said Dean, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “He wanted to join humanity, not be some sort of separate freak with a demon-hunting agenda.”
“How do you know what he wanted?” countered Sam.
Dean didn’t know how to answer that, so he went on the attack instead. “I mean it, Sam. He’s going to have a normal life. School, dogs, summer vacations, birthday parties. He’s not going to spend his childhood living in some crappy motels, preparing to do battle with evil every day.”
“You can’t protect him forever.”
“No, maybe not. But I can protect him for right now.” For the second time that day, Dean wondered when and how he’d started channeling his father. But then Cas was his responsibility and he took that responsibility extra seriously.
“Dean, what about the world? What about all the good he can do in the world?”
“The world can wait, Sammy. We’re going to take care of him, protect him, and make sure he has a normal life. You got it?”
Sam clearly wanted to argue with him, but Dean knew he wouldn’t. They’d never actually discussed it but they’d had a tacit agreement from the beginning. Dean, with his special bond with Castiel, was the primary parent, the adoptive father. Cas was primarily his responsibility.
“Some day, you’re going to have to tell him and let him decide what he wants to do.”
Dean agreed with a long sigh. “Some day, yeah, but not today and not any day soon. For now he gets to be a kid, with all the things we never had.”
Sam held up his long-neck beer bottle. “Here’s to dogs, birthday parties, and soccer.”
“Football, Sammy, soccer’s for girls,” replied Dean, and they clinked bottles in an agreeable toast. Dean hoped that he was able to deliver on that promise. He felt a great responsibility to his old friend and he couldn’t imagine anyone he’d rather have helping him out than Sammy. Dean knew that whatever new challenges parenting threw at them, he and Sam would be able to weather them together.