Chapter Text
“Bobby’s called. The Winchesters are coming our way. Do me a favor, sweetheart, get the beds ready? I already sent Jo to the pantry to get some food.”
Ellen leaned over to Cas, nearly shouting over the buzz of the bar. The Roadhouse was packed tonight, and by all rights, Cas shouldn’t even be downstairs – being fourteen and all; not really a place for a fourteen year old boy, the Roadhouse. But he had never been especially good at following orders. Plus, Ellen never really got mad about him when he disobeyed, just ruffled his hair and sent him his way.
“Sure, Ma. Anything else?”, he said and went to get fresh sheets after Ellen had shook her head.
Now, Ellen – she wasn’t really his mother, and Cas knew it. His father had been a hunter (just like about every other person currently in the room) and had dropped him off at the Roadhouse; he had been following an especially mean wendigo and didn’t want to endanger his son. He had never come back.
At least, that’s how Ellen always told the story. From what Cas had gleamed so far (so what, hunters talked; and drunk hunters talked even more), his dad had most likely dropped him off here because he didn’t want to endanger himself; having to care for a kid and all. Cas had stopped caring about which story was the right one; the wendigo had killed his dad either way, so in the end, it didn’t really matter.
He must’ve been no more than ten years old when his dad had died, and probably eleven when he started to call Ellen “Ma”. She was the closest he would ever get to a mother (he didn’t know his real mother, and his father had never talked about her); and besides, she never really seemed to mind. Jo – five years old then – had thrown a fit of epic proportions, but had calmed down afterwards, only to warn Cas away from her toys (and for a five year old girl, she had done a damn good job).
So Cas had stayed at the Roadhouse, because after all, it wasn’t like there had been any place else he could’ve gone. It wasn’t like there was a home for wayward sons of hunters or some such shit. Instead, Ellen had told him that – if he wanted – the Roadhouse was his new home, for as long as he wanted to stay here. The first time he had called her “Ma”, Ellen had cried.
Cas had been twelve when he met the Winchesters for the first time: John, the father, that had looked weary even for a hunter, and his sons, Dean and Sam. Dean had been eleven, and Sam seven years old. After the first time, he hadn’t been so sure if he liked either of them – Dean looked older than he was and sure acted like it, too; and Sam had managed to beat him in training. The latter hadn’t been really a surprise, seeing that Ellen didn’t really train him or Jo; and John seemed determined to make some badass soldiers out of both of his sons.
Anyway, they managed to not kill each other during the Winchesters’ stay at the Roadhouse, which Cas thought was a pretty impressive feat. It didn’t really get better at first, and after the third stay Cas was pretty positive that he hated Dean’s guts; possibly Sam’s too. No matter how often Ellen told him to behave himself, and no matter how done all three Winchesters looked, Cas couldn’t bring himself to do it. Plus, he didn’t like them to show up with the frequency they did. And from what he had gathered from Ellen’s confused looks, showing up three times in six months wasn’t exactly textbook Winchester behavior.
Now that he looked back, it had probably been jealousy: he hadn’t wanted another boy near his family, much less two. Only after John had dropped of Dean and Sam for the whole summer, murmuring something about how Bobby didn’t have time for the boys and he had a big hunt going on, Cas had begun to like Sam and Dean. More precisely, he had begun to like them after both Jo and Sam had been scared shitless because they had sneaked in Ellen’s library to look at some pictures of monsters.
***
“And you’re sure the monsters can’t come in here?”, Sammy asked from where he was perched on the bed. He tried to look brave, Cas realized, but the tears that stood in his eyes and the fact that he was shaking like a leaf betrayed his act. Jo wasn’t much better off, sitting in Cas’ lap and hiding her face in his neck.
Under normal circumstances, looking in the closet and under the bed to prove that there was no monster would’ve probably sufficed. Maybe a nightlight and leaving the door open. But neither the circumstances nor the children were exactly normal. Every one of them knew about monsters, knew that they were real; after all, they were hunters’ children.
Dean shot Cas a look, anger mixed with concern. It wasn’t Cas’ fault that Jo and Sam had managed to get into the library; and it wasn’t his fault that they had grabbed one of the books that portrayed practically everything that goes bump in the night, either, but Dean looked like he wanted to blame him nevertheless. But at first, Cas and Dean had to make sure that their siblings felt save again.
“We’ll do this together, Sammy, a’right? What protects you from ghosts?” Dean nudged the younger boy with a finger. “Salt,” came the answer. “Salt lines at the windowsills and the doors. And iron.” Dean nodded. “So I put salt on the windowsills and you have the poker, yeah?”
Sam exhaled and looked towards Cas, as if he was expecting him to say something, too. “Uhm,” Cas said, hesitating. “Under your pillow, there’s a hexbag. You wanna open it and tell me what you see?”
Jo had taken interest in her surroundings again, because she lifted her head and watched Sam scramble for the pillow. Carefully, she climbed down Cas’ lap, stood and walked towards the bed where Dean and Sam were sitting. After she’d shot one uncertain look back, Cas stood too and walked over there.
“Jo, wanna help?”, Sam asked and showed the ingredients of the bag. “That’s a chicken’s foot,” she said “and that’s lavender.” Sam nodded and inspected the other parts. “A spider’s egg. And… hemp?” he looked at Dean for approval. “And goofer dust,” Cas added. “The hexbag protects you from demons and angels.” Dean snorted. “Angels,” he said dismissively, “you don’t think they really exist, do you?” Cas shrugged (like hell he would admit that he believed in them) “Can’t hurt to protect yourself,” he said.
Jo tugged at Cas’ hands as he folded the ingredients back in the bag and put it under the pillow. “Do we get to have a devil’s trap?” she asked. Cas spared one moment to despair of the fact that the girl just freakin knew way too much for her own good, then he sighed and nooded. “Sure thing, Dean’ll draw one in no time, won’t you?” He grinned at Dean, finally able to shed some of the worry that had crept in his heart after he had seen what kind of mess Jo and Sam had been. Dean grumbled something unintelligible, but complied. As soon as Dean had left the bed, Sam moved closer to Cas, taking the hand that wasn’t occupied by Jo.
After they had put their smaller siblings to bed, Cas and Dean headed to the room they shared. Just as Cas was about to turn off the light, Dean looked at him. “Thank you,” he said quietly “Sam doesn’t normally like being touched by other people ‘cept for me and Dad. You were good with him.”
With that, he turned around so his back was facing Cas, and a few moments later Cas heard him snoring softly.
***
Cas snorted as he thought of the memory. The next day, Dean had made fun of him for dropping his weapon; and no matter how often Cas insisted that he wasn’t trained as Dean was, the boy insisted that he trained along with him. After that, Cas had looked forward to visits from the Winchesters; as much as he loved Jo, it was nice to have another boy of his age in the house.
After he had gotten sheets on the spare beds in Jo’s and his room – how they would actually bunk together wasn’t quite sure yet, most of the time the four of them together decided on a whim who would sleep in whose room – he finished the guest bed for John, then he went downstairs again to see if he could help Jo and their cook.
When the Winchesters arrived, Cas was half asleep already. He only woke because Sam threw himself in Cas’ bed to hug him hello, and Dean let his duffel fall to the floor, causing an incredible racket.
“Jesus Christ, Dean. What the fuck is in our bag? Did you rob a china store?” Cas muffled from under Sam’s hair and gently pushed the smaller boy to the side. It looked like the two Winchesters were both sleeping in his room, seeing as Jo was already asleep and could get unbelievably grumpy when she was woken in the middle of the night. In a silent understanding, Dean and he pushed the beds together, so they would have at least a resemblance of space to sleep. With Sam in the middle (already complaining about how he felt more of the frames than the mattresses), Cas and Dean fell asleep pretty quickly.
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