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Dean pulls into the parking lot of the apartment complex. It’s a beige 70s construction, and Castiel is already standing by the front door when he gets out of the Impala. They stare at each other for a minute, and Dean shakes his head, clearing his thoughts as he takes a deep breath. There’s little lights alongside the pathway, and Dean walks slower than necessary.
“Are you sure about this?” Dean looks back at the Impala, then at the imposing metal door of the building. “I mean, we’re not exactly… You’re supposed to be settled and suburban before you do this.”
Castiel tilts his head, spares Dean one of those almost-smiles that has amusement and pity written all over it. And patience – so much patience that Dean cannot begin to understand where he keeps it all. “We will never be suburban or settled, Dean, but you will be an amazing father.”
“With you, maybe.” Dean shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket as Castiel rings the apartment; he exchanges a few words with a woman before the door buzzes open. As they’re standing at the elevator, he finally asks, “How did you even find her?”
“God answered her mother’s prayers.” Castiel looks away briefly, before adding quietly, “And my own.” Dean’s heart hammers in his chest, and he pulls Castiel into a brief hug – their foreheads touch and their breaths mingle, and the moment is perfect until the elevator doors open.
The apartment is on the third floor. Castiel knocks, Dean standing close by his shoulder. Castiel has spoken to the family already, but Dean is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. They had been talking about a family for long time – throwing it around seriously for over a year, though never seriously enough to try – and that it was finally within reach seemed too good to be true.
Then again, every day with Castiel was too good to be true, and Dean had learned to stop waiting for that shoe. Still, hope sometimes still eludes Dean
The door opens, and the woman who answers hugs Castiel hard, whispering something in his ear. Castiel pats the woman awkwardly in return – and Dean realizes that this is their child’s grandmother. She turns her attention to Dean, hugging him as though she’s known him all her life. “Thank you,” she says softly, hurt and relief mixed in her voice.
She turns and leads him into the apartment; as they follow Dean asks, “Have you seen her?”
Castiel shakes his head. “I wanted us to see her together.”
They do, in the back bedroom. The mother, a girl hardly old enough to qualify as a woman, is sitting beside a bassinet, looking down at the sleeping infant. She smiles as she sees them. “Castiel,” she says softly. “I thought you might have changed your mind.”
“Traffic,” Dean whispers – his heart is thudding in his chest, and his palms are sweating. He’s going to pass out. He can feel the blood rushing away from his head, and any minute –
Castiel spares him a warm glance, and Dean takes a deep breath. He can do this. He practically raised Sammy – Sam, waiting back at the hotel room anxious to see his niece – and after rough-and-tumbling with every freak this country has to offer, he has to be able to handle fatherhood.
The girl lifts the swaddled infant out of her bed; she kisses the newborn’s forehead and wordlessly hands the child to Castiel. As she sits down again she looks thoroughly exhausted; Dean has to remind himself that the day previous she had given birth.
For a moment Castiel looks as terrified as Dean felt – Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, and after a second Castiel turns to look at him. Castiel is smiling at him, seriously smiling, and Dean thinks of his mother holding Sam in those first days – fuzzy memories almost forgotten in a lifetime of hurt, but he remembers her smile and her radiance and sees it in Castiel’s face. And he knows that this is their daughter, not just some child that someone gave them.
Castiel hands her to Dean. She feels small and fragile in his arms, and it takes him a second to arrange her so that she feels secure and he can really look at her – the wrinkles and blemishes on her newborn face, the thick dark hairs poking out from beneath the white cap on her head, her perfect eyelashes and her soft breathing.
He can imagine a lifetime of her – of showing her all the landmarks and diners and country highways, of teaching her to fix up the Impala, of teaching her to respect good music, of teaching her to protect herself. He imagines the windows down as they go 70 on a perfect summer day, imagines laying in the sun on the grass by a lake. Imagines Castiel teaching her about Heaven, Uncle Sam helping her with homework, Grandad Bobby teaching her snark. Smiles as he imagines the kind of hell he and Cas are going to give the first boy who dares break her heart.
He sees it all in her sleeping face, and even as he’s panicking he wonders how he could have ever had any doubts.
The girl is smiling with shaking shoulders, tears on her cheeks. Castiel kneels in front of her, smooths her hair away from her face and kisses each cheek, whispers to her in Enochian and heals her physical hurts -- though they all know that just because it’s right doesn’t mean it’s easy.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
“No.” Dean shakes his head. “Thank you. For this. For everything.” He doesn’t know if he should say more, if there are enough words – he sucks at words – but Castiel understands, somehow, and he leads them to the door.
Their daughter’s grandmother kisses her forehead as well on the way out the door, before returning to her daughter. Dean holds their daughter close down the elevator, relishing in the perfection of the moment as they stand pressed together, Castiel staring down at the baby with obvious wonder.
An Angel, nearly as old as time, and he’s staring at their daughter like she’s the most amazing thing that has ever existed. Dean kisses him, catching the corner of his mouth but unable to quite extend any further. Castiel actually laughs a little.
And then their daughter snuffles awake, with a keening little cry that goes right to the panic center of his brain. They all but run back to the Impala, where there’s bottled water and formula, and a car seat – Castiel sits sideways in the front seat at Dean’s direction, takes the baby without complaint. “I could transport us – “
“No way are you taking our baby on superhuman flight,” Dean says, hoping he doesn’t sound shrill. “Babies are not meant for that shit. Gimme a second, I can do this…” The baby begins to really wail while he scoops the formula, adds the water, and shakes the bottle to mix it all. By the time he holds the bottle out Castiel looks like the panic is starting to settle in for him too.
“I don’t know how this works,” he says, holding the bottle and staring at the baby in the crook of his arm as though it’ll all work if he just stares hard enough. Dean kneels on the concrete in front of him, the door open to his side, and hums Hey Jude as he coaxes Castiel through the steps of feeding the baby – as best as he remembers them, anyway. Why hadn’t he brought Sam and his research? Sam was probably bouncing off the walls back at the hotel, armed with diagrams and graphs and all knowledge ever written on how to manage babies.
The baby is asleep again before the bottle is done, and between the two of them they manage to secure the baby in the car seat that Sam had meticulously installed. Castiel sits in the back while Dean drives back to the hotel room.
“What will we call her?” Castiel asks. Dean smiles; he has the perfect name.