Archive of Our Own ^beta

Castiel felt fully devoid of hope. Throughout the six minutes he’d spent engaged in an infuriating battle with his cufflinks, he had become maddened, sore-fingered, and completely ready to give up and cancel his plans. He was on his way to the wall-mounted telephone when someone knocked at the door. He huffed, sidling out of the kitchen, closing cupboards as he went. “Clrr,” he called, but the name came out muffled – he was trying to speak through the material of his bow tie, which dangled from his mouth. His face twitched in frustration, and he nearly tripped over a bag on the way to the door.

He ripped the tie from his mouth, and called again – “Claire!” – but heard no response from upstairs.

Whoever was at the door knocked again, and Castiel hoped to God the babysitter was on the other side of that antique oaken barrier. He gave up with the cufflinks and left them on the dining table beside the bow tie, then turned for the door. He unlatched it, and opened it cautiously.

“Hello?” Castiel asked, seeing a tall man (not as tall as Sam) in a forest-green jacket standing on the doorstep. He looked mature, similar to Castiel in age. He held a scrap of paper between his hands, and had a startled expression on his remarkably well-proportioned face.

“Um. I’m here for babysitting?” said the man, in a voice deeper and grittier than Sam’s.

“Oh, good,” Castiel sighed, sagging on his feet. “Come in, Dean. I’m late, the play starts at five—” Castiel turned and checked the carriage clock on the kitchen bar, “Twenty-five minutes! Shhh...oot.”

“You’re Castiel Novak?” Dean asked, mouth hanging slightly open once he’d spoken. He was still standing outside.

“Who else would I be?” Castiel replied testily, resuming his fight with the cufflinks, hunched over the dining table.

“What— No, no, I mean...” Dean swallowed, then came to his senses and climbed up the single step to stand on the polished wood inside the house’s entrance. He looked down, checking his feet weren’t muddy. Then he closed the door behind him, all the while wearing an expression which gave Castiel the impression of a man thoroughly surprised but trying not to show it. “I guess I wasn’t expecting... someone... so...”

Dean exhaled, and stopped speaking. He stood beside Castiel and gazed at him, examining his face, then his shoulders... then the rest of him.

Castiel straightened. Dean seemed to be sizing him up as a rival, an enemy. After all, Castiel was the person stealing away a large percentage of Sam’s precious free time; Sam often mentioned how much Dean would whine about ‘brothers before gardening equipment’ or something equally absurd.

“Um. Here— Let me get that,” Dean said, hands darting forward to help Castiel with his right-hand cufflink. Castiel let him take over, and his gaze began to roam the other man’s forehead. He saw dozens of freckles there, across the bridge of Dean’s nose, across his cheeks. Long eyelashes fluttered low as he blinked... then bright green eyes lit a spark inside Castiel as Dean looked up and their gazes locked. Castiel swallowed, internally startled by Dean’s appearance – but, like Dean, he tried hard not to show it. Dean’s gaze dipped to Castiel’s mouth, then down to the cufflinks again.

At that moment, Castiel realised Dean was not sizing him up. He was checking him out.

Dean thought he was attractive, and he was surprised.

“What has Sam been telling you about me?” Castiel asked with a frown. “Why were you not expecting— Oh, thank you.” He turned his wrists this way and that, pleased to see the cufflinks were done perfectly. “Are you any good at bow ties?”

“I am spectacular at bow ties,” Dean said with an eyebrow crooked, a tidy smirk pulling at the corner of his pink lips. He swept the tie into his hand, and Castiel leaned close to let Dean wrap it around his neck, tugging it under his popped collar. “Sam never told me much,” Dean said, tilting his head, keeping his eyes on his task. “He said you were the professor in the office across the hall from him, that you got along well. I thought you did anthropology like him until he told me you did tech and social history. Guess I shouldn’t have assumed that meant you were a tweed-jacket-wearing nerd.”

“I do have a tweed jacket,” Castiel murmured, which made Dean huff out a laugh. Castiel smiled. While Dean fussed with the tie, Castiel had the freedom to look closely at Dean’s face again. His body was very warm, and he smelled like spicy cologne. There was a human scent under the spice, and Castiel liked that even more. It was similar scent to Sam’s, but far more alluring.

“There,” Dean said, folding Castiel’s collar, then brushing down his chest. Their eyes met again and Dean put on a smug smile. “You look dapper as all heck.” His eyebrow quirked upwards. “I’d do you.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Is that... meant to be a compliment?”

Dean stopped short, lips parted again. He didn’t look so smug any more. “I’m just saying,” he muttered with a shrug, stepping back. “You look good. Handsome. You should get going, or you’ll miss the start of the play. Sam was ranting on about punctuality for fifteen minutes over the phone. Granted, he meant me rather than you, but yeah.” He put on a self-conscious smile, hands scrunched into the pockets of his dark-wash jeans.

Castiel rushed to the mirror hanging on the wall near the stairs, and he looked himself over one last time before grabbing his suit jacket from the back of a dining chair. “Claire!” he shouted, glancing towards the stairs. “Papa’s leaving, come say goodbye!”

A tiny voice called from upstairs, “Five more minutes.”

“No, now!” Castiel snapped in reply, neatening himself up in the mirror. “Your ponies will still be waiting when I’m gone!” He turned to Dean, quietly asking, “Do I really look okay?”

Dean gave a genuine smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You look awesome.”

Castiel exhaled through his nose, turning from side to side to see his reflection. He didn’t look too bad, he had to admit. He glanced up when he heard the clump-clump-clump of an angry four-year-old coming down the stairs. Her blonde hair was braided so it fell only over one shoulder, and a stuffed felt pony dangled from her hand, trailing on the carpet stair runner behind her.

“I’ll be back around ten o’clock tonight,” Castiel said, crouching when Claire reached the last stair. “I want you to be in bed before then, okay? I’ll come and check on you once I’m home. You remember all my instructions?”

“Mh-hm,” Claire nodded, eyes on her hands as she fiddled with her pony’s ears.

“What were they? And speak up, because Dean needs to hear them too.”

“No goin’ out of the house unless there’s an ‘mergency, no scary movies, no loud singalongs and make sure I eat all my dinner.”

“Good girl,” Castiel said, reaching to touch the side of her head. She ignored him, eyes still down. Castiel sighed as he stood up, and he turned to Dean. “Don’t give her sugar after seven o’clock, and have her in bed before eight. She can go to the bathroom by herself, but don’t let her lock the door or you’ll end up breaking a window to get her out because she won’t unlock it herself. And she doesn’t take bribes.”

Dean seemed taken aback, and Castiel figured he was acceptably warned now. Claire took pleasure in upsetting the status quo, most days.

“I’m going now,” Castiel said, brushing past Dean to get to the front door. “Stay safe. My contact number is written on the fridge; call me if anything untoward happens.” He grabbed his trenchcoat, putting it on over his suit.

“Whoa,” Dean said.

“What?” Castiel asked, concerned something was terribly wrong.

“You are not seriously going to wear that coat with that suit.”

“Aren’t I?”

Dean shook his head vehemently, reaching for Castiel and manhandling the coat back off. “Unless you have a black pea coat, crappy outerwear is staying well away from the theatre.”

“Uhhummmm!” Claire blared. “You said a bad word.”

“What?” Dean swivelled to look at Claire, trenchcoat dangling from his hands. “‘Crappy’ isn’t a bad word, it’s an adjective.”

“Ummmmm!”

Castiel chuckled. “Claire’s right. You’re a very naughty boy, Dean. You’ve lost your TV channel privileges and your bedtime is now ten minutes earlier.”

“Now you have to watch what I want to watch,” Claire said with a cruel kind of delight, folding her arms so her pony flopped upside down. “And I get to tell you when you go to bed.”

“Now, that’s not quite true, is it, Claire?” Castiel smiled, taking his trenchcoat from Dean and hanging it back up. “Dean’s a grownup, so his bedtime is much later than yours.”

Claire seemed disheartened, but she didn’t unfold her arms.

“All right,” Dean said with a grin. “From now on, the c-word is off-limits.” He mimed zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key. “Now get your butt outta here, man – Castiel – Mr. Novak!”

“‘Castiel’ is fine,” Castiel said, patting Dean’s bicep (holy cow on a Sunday, that was a firm bicep). “I’ll see you when I get back.”

He stepped out of the front door, feeling the bite of evening air on the back of his neck. He pined for his coat, feeling naked without it, but Dean barred his reaching hand with his forearm. “Trust me,” Dean said firmly. “You look hot as you are now.”

“I feel cold,” Castiel complained.

“No, I mean ‘hot’ as in—” Dean cut himself off and smiled when he realised Castiel was poking fun at him. “Oh, screw you. See ya later, Cas. Go have your fun with my brother.” He waved, and Claire waved from beside him. Castiel waved back, then hastened down the garden path, following the meandering curves of the paving slab river, every slab banked by overgrown beds of flowers.

He got to the gate, then paused. He turned and ran back, a frown settled firmly between his eyebrows.

“Car keys,” he breathed, pushing Dean out of the way to grab his coat. He took out his keys, his wallet, then resentfully hung the coat back upon its hook. “Be good, you two,” he said, rushing away again.

Castiel got into his car. As he keyed the engine to life, he looked back towards the house and saw Dean and Claire disappear behind the front door.

Castiel did his best to assure himself they’d be fine. Still, as he angled the car out of its roadside parking space, he said a quick prayer inside his head.

Please, God, let Dean be as good at looking after Claire as he is at making me feel attractive.

“This is not how you play hide-and-go-seek,” Dean murmured to himself, trying hard not to entertain notions of a real-life Hitchcock movie. Even without a soundtrack, his temperature rose every time he approached a new door or turned another corner. Locating a small child in an otherwise empty house was not only difficult if the child didn’t want to be found, but also kind of nerve-racking.

“Kid, I’m gonna count to ten, again, and if you’re not out here, I’m calling your Papa.”

Silence.

“One,” Dean called, screwing up his face in trepidation as he pushed open another door.

This building hadn’t looked so big from the outside – it was a regular two-story suburban house, it shouldn’t have this many rooms. “Bedroom number four,” Dean said, switching the light on. The light was one of those eco bulbs, and until it warmed up it would have no effect whatsoever. Dean lay down on his belly and looked under the bed, squinting to see into the shadows. He held his breath, then sighed. No movement at all; nothing there. Not even a storage box.

“Two,” he said, pushing himself back to his feet.

He looked behind the bedroom door, then opened the biggest drawer on a filing cabinet, figuring Claire could fit inside. He raised his eyebrows when he saw a mess (a serious mess) of papers, most of which looked important. Curious, he reached in and pulled out a handful, straightening up the edges. Shuffling through, he found bank statements, something about a birth certificate, something else about passports... bills (paid? unpaid? he couldn’t tell), lots of timetables for the classes Castiel taught, a few unmarked student papers...

“Dude, you need a secretary,” Dean muttered disparagingly. He imagined Castiel stuffing new papers into the drawer without looking at them, and the thought made Dean queasy. He himself wasn’t always the neatest of people, but he would at least put things in a straight stack. Perhaps he’d even alphabetise, given a free afternoon.

He spent two minutes tidying things up, enough so the drawer closed cleanly without crumpling anything up. “Three,” Dean sighed, shutting the drawer at last with a semi-satisfied roll of his eyes.

He left the room, calling, “Come on, Claire, this isn’t fun. I just did filing.”

“Fo-ohr-ohr-our,” he sang, jolting his vocal chords as he jogged up the stairs. They were steep stairs, and he tripped near the top, catching himself on the bannister. He grunted, sitting himself down on the top stair with his back to the upper floor’s landing.

He held his breath and listened intently, waiting to hear a scuffle or a squeak. Anything.

Nothing.

“Five!” Dean shouted, standing up and swinging around. “Your uncle’s not going to be happy, Claire! The play he and Uncle Sam went to see is probably almost over by now, and you know as well as I do that nobody likes being disturbed in the middle of watching something!”

Dean knew it so well, in fact, that he had no intention of calling Castiel, at least not until the play was completely over and he and Sam had claimed their 8 p.m. reservations at the restaurant. Dean would only use a phone call as a threat up until a certain point; if the whole Claire-is-missing thing went too far, he suspected he might need to fake a call to smoke her out. Without leverage or a stronger sense of authority, he had no idea how to convince the kid to quit playing her little game.

Dean stopped dead once he reached the upstairs bathroom. “Six,” he said, half-heartedly. His mind was full of thoughts which skipped about, overriding his immediate need to find Claire.

Little game.

Claire thought they were playing, right? She’d decided Dean was up for an impromptu hide-and-go-seek session, and Dean... Well, Dean wasn’t playing along. It was no fun for Dean this way, as he was honestly a little worried she’d snuck out of a window, the same way he did when he was fifteen. But, every time Dean complained aloud that he couldn’t find Claire, it only got more fun for her. That was Dean’s theory, anyway. Her goal was to annoy him, and by exclaiming his unrest every time he looked and she wasn’t there, he was giving her exactly what she wanted.

“Okay,” Dean announced to the whole house, feeling a smile appear on his face. “New rules. I’m going downstairs, and I’m gonna turn the TV on. I’ll put on one of those episodes of... whatever that pony thing was. They’re twenty-minute episodes, right? If I find you before the end of the episode, I win. And I get to hide next, and you find me. If I don’t find you before the episode is over, I have to forfeit. You win, and you get to hide again...” Dean raised a finger, spinning slowly on the spot to project his voice down the other end of the hallway. “But, you have to come out first.”

He smirked, satisfied that was a good deal for a four-year-old. “That sound acceptable to you? Claire?”

A small, distant voice came from one of the bedrooms. “Yeah.”

Dean’s smirk spread into a grin. “Gotcha.”

And, because he was actually the kind of guy who kept his word, he didn’t move towards Claire’s voice but instead went downstairs, spent thirty seconds figuring out how to work the TV, then put on an episode of the original My Little Pony. With the volume set halfway up, he returned to the foot of the stairs.

He could hear two tiny feet thundering about on the upper floor, madly trying to find a new hiding place. Dean chuckled and began to ascend.

He wasn’t what anyone would call young – nowadays he wasn’t too far off forty. But who ever said that meant he couldn’t love playing hide-and-go-seek?

When Sam’s cellphone rang, Castiel had a mouthful of expensive seafood salad. He swallowed quickly, looking around to check if anyone else in the restaurant was disturbed by the ringing. Nobody looked their way, and Castiel went back to eating as Sam answered his call.

“Oh, hey Dean,” Sam said. Castiel nearly dropped his fork. Sam looked straight at him, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, Cas is here now. The play finished about an hour ago – why?”

“Is Claire okay?” Castiel asked, hands moving for his coat pocket to get his cellphone, needing to check for missed calls. But he wasn’t wearing his coat – it was still at home, and his cellphone was still in the pocket. His blood chilled, panic rising and making him light-headed. Did something go wrong, was Claire injured, was she in hospital for emergency surgery and Castiel hadn’t been there to act as first of kin and agree to surgery and now she was lying there—

Sam laughed into his phone. “I didn’t think you knew that much about ponies.”

“Give me the phone, Sam,” Castiel begged, reaching for Sam.

Sam saw, and his smile dimmed a little. “Okay. Okay, hang on, Dean – Cas wants to talk to you.”

“Hello?” Castiel breathed, taking the phone. It was still warm from Sam’s hand. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Claire all right?”

“She’s a god-damn menace, Cas. If you call that ‘all right’ then yeah, she’s fine and dandy. I’m calling to file an official complaint. I think I’ve lost an eyebrow – and unless I find them before you get back, I’m down a pair of shoes.”

Castiel breathed a huge sigh of relief, and the sigh turned to a smile as he heard Claire chirp, “That’s another ten minutes from your bedtime! You’re not ‘llowed to take a Lord’s name in vain.”

“I’ll take you in vain if you don’t quit that! I don’t do tea parties! Get off! Ow, get off! Ow! OW!”

“Claire,” Castiel said sternly. “Dean, hold the phone to her ear.”

There was a kerfuffle, then Castiel heard Claire breathing. “Claire,” he said again. “I hope you’re behaving yourself.”

“We’re making pony cakes,” she said innocently, which was more-or-less code for ‘bossing the babysitter around and causing havoc’. Claire’s tea parties tended to involve pirate ships made of toilet paper, fire, and throwing things off the balcony.

“Are you causing Dean unnecessary upset?”

“No,” Claire said. Castiel gave her a look through the phone, even though he stared at the basket of bread rolls on the table. Claire sensed it in his silence, and she sighed. “Maybe.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to do, is it?” Castiel sighed. “Claire... I know Dean isn’t like all your other babysitters—”

“He’s a boy! He doesn’t smell like flowers and he’s too big.”

“Hey, I didn’t put on that much weight, shut up,” Dean interjected, making Castiel smile.

“Claire,” Castiel said again, gently, “I think you’re grown-up enough to look after your babysitter as much as he looks after you. You remember what we learned on Tuesday? Treat others...” He trailed off into silence, but when Claire didn’t finish the sentence, he went on, “Treat others how we want to—”

“How we want to be treated!” Claire shouted triumphantly. “But I want to make pony cakes!”

“You can make pony cakes without removing Dean’s eyebrows any further, can’t you?” Castiel said, smirking at Sam, who had choked on his wine and now had ruby-red dribbles running down his chin. “When I get back I don’t want to see a fire truck out front like last time, okay?”

“Okay,” Claire agreed, begrudgingly.

“Good,” Castiel said. “Now, pass the phone back to Dean for me, please.”

He listened as she threw the phone at Dean, then the yelp of pain as Dean was struck – presumably in the head, if the sound of the thump and the volume of his shout was anything to go by. Castiel listened to the quiet fibres of Claire’s bedroom rug for a few seconds, then heard Dean pick the phone up again, groaning.

“Are you all right?” Castiel asked, angling his fork so he could poke at his uneaten mussels. “That sounded painful.”

“Wasn’t as bad as the door she slammed on my foot,” Dean said bitterly. “Seriously, how do you even keep this kid from blowing up her preschool class?”

“She has her own teacher aide,” Castiel said, eyes closing. “It is difficult, but we manage... mostly. I also—” Castiel glanced around the nearby restaurant tables before lowering his voice and confessing to Dean, “I’m also considering booking her some therapy sessions. She had counselling last year, but the adoption agency stopped covering the fees after a certain number of sessions.” Castiel shook his head, laying his fork down and pushing away his plate. “I’m still wondering if I made a mistake. Perhaps she would’ve been better suited to a real family.”

Castiel gulped. He didn’t want to look up at Sam, knowing he was listening. The memory of Jimmy and Amelia’s disappearance still felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. It had been hard for Castiel to lose a brother like that, not to mention a sister-in-law – but no child should ever be left without carers. The loss had been harder on Claire than anyone.

“I think it was good of you,” Dean said softly. The ambience surrounding his voice had changed; he sounded like he was in the laundry room now, the door resting closed, pipes gurgling in the wall behind him. “Sam told me a fair bit of what happened. That year when your family vanished... I remember he was always out trying to keep you from going off the rails. I barely saw him, and I was pissed at the time – jealous – but I... I get it now. I think you needed him, and I’m glad he was around to help you make the decisions you made. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if he left you to deal with it alone, like I told him to.”

Castiel rested a hand over his mouth, trying to hide the tremble of his lips. He was a word away from letting a tear fall, but he couldn’t allow that, not here.

“I know it’s nothing to do with me, Cas, but... if it was my brother who disappeared, I’d do the same thing you did. I love Sam. I do. Right now he’s the only family I’ve got. But if he had a kid who was going to be thrown into the system, I’d bet you anything that I’d look after the kid instead of looking for my missing brother. Even if that kid was as wild as Claire. It could be worse, you know? I mean – she listens to you when you talk. Honest to God... I think I’m starting to like her. And I can’t even believe I’m saying that, not after she ruined my best jacket.”

Castiel snorted. “You wore your best jacket to a babysitting job?”

“Sam told me to look presentable. It was the only thing that didn’t have oil stains on it.”

“I get that,” Castiel said, smiling again. He met Sam’s eye and nodded to reassure him he wasn’t on the verge of tears any more. “Most days I barely have a clean shirt to wear to work, let alone a pea coat to wear on my evening away from Claire. Once a month I get time away from her. I need this time, in order to preserve my own sanity. I’m grateful you were free today, Dean.”

“Heh,” Dean muttered. “I only did it ‘cause I needed the money.”

“I see,” Castiel said, lowering his chin and examining the tablecloth.

“I do well at the garage. People always need their cars fixed, you know? But I can’t stay on top of my college debt without the extra cash, extra jobs on the side. So yeah – thank you. Means and opportunity, man. You handed it right to my broke, sorry ass.”

“You said the bad word for ‘butt’!” Claire shrieked out of nowhere. Castiel heard the laundry door slam, then click locked. Her voice more muffled now, Claire sang, “You have to go to bed right now!”

Dean groaned, and Castiel heard his head bump the laundry door. “She locked me into the laundry room. The key’s on the outside. And I think she was eavesdropping!”

Castiel gave a dramatic sigh, unable to keep from smiling. “Ah, Dean. That’s what happens when you leave her unattended for two minutes to talk to her Papa.”

“I take it back. I don’t like her at all. She’s actually my arch enemy.”

“I ought to let you go then,” Castiel grinned, fingers running over the handle of the knife beside him. “You have a war to fight, it seems.”

Dean made the sound of a crackling radio with his mouth. “Mission control, mission control, come in mission control. This is Dean Winchester, I’m trapped in the hull of an alien war vessel. There’s a guard on the door and I may be surrounded. Do you read me?”

Castiel heard Claire giggling, and his eyebrows raised. “My, my, Dean. I think you’re winning her over. Keep that up and you might actually escape the laundry room before I get home.”

“Aye, Captain,” Dean whispered, so quietly that Claire wouldn’t have heard. Who was really playing this game? “I’ll have the alien under my command before you return to base. Have a safe journey, Captain. Dean Winchester out.” Dean hung up, and Castiel felt a thrill. A thrill he hadn’t felt in years. Perhaps it was even a new kind of thrill. Castiel stared at the phone in his hand, resting it in his cupped palms against the table.

“What did he say?” Sam asked, reaching to retrieve his phone.

Castiel licked his lips. Rather than answer Sam’s question, he posed one of his own: “May I ask... Why did you recommend Dean to me as a babysitter? You said he didn’t have much experience with children.”

“The better question is why you agreed to it, knowing he didn’t have much experience,” Sam countered.

Castiel shook his head, wordlessly expressing how desperate he’d been to find someone who could handle the job for more than one day. Sam chuckled, reaching for a napkin to wipe his face clean.

“He told me he wanted kids,” Sam said, laying his napkin down flat. “He said it in confidence – but you know how it is with him.”

“I don’t, not really,” Castiel said. “You talk about him but you never really told me what he’s like, underneath it all.”

“Well, he tends to get anxious about things that are normal for the rest of the world. Him telling me he wanting to be a parent, it was like a top-secret confessional for him. And like any decent brother would, I told him if he’s going to have kids, he ought to find out what it would be like first. I talked to you, you told me you needed an evening off – so I told Dean where to go and when, and voilà. Why?”

“I... I didn’t expect him to be like this.”

“Like what?”

Castiel’s eyes drifted away, and he started to smile. “Fun. Empathetic... Acceptably witty. Attractive,” he added, tilting his head. “Most of what you said about him in the past few years made him sound like a jerk, quite frankly.”

“He can be a jerk,” Sam agreed, tucking his shoulder-length hair behind his ears and leaning back against his chair. “But I’ll be the first to point out he’s also got a moral compass aimed at the magnetic north of good intentions – and like you said, he’s fun and witty. Empathetic on occasion, sure. Don’t know about attractive, though.”

Castiel met Sam’s eyes, and they both chuckled.

“So I take it you think he’s doing fine with Claire?” Sam prompted, and Castiel rocked his head side-to-side in quasi-agreement.

“Until I get home and see Claire in bed and asleep, I can’t be convinced he’s doing fine, but he’s certainly a step up from my other babysitters,” Castiel said. “It shouldn’t take a genius to figure out putting Claire in front of the TV for six hours straight isn’t going to hold her attention.” He blinked. “Well, unless there are scary movies on. I dare say that babysitter didn’t last too long under my employ. But my point is, he’s interacting with her. Even if he sat there and argued while she gnawed his fingers, something about his – humanity... it would get through to her. Eventually she’ll treat him like a person, then like an ally. That’s how it happened for me. It took nearly a year after her parents’ disappearance, but I got there. That was when she started calling me ‘Papa’.”

Sam smiled, reaching for an extra bread bun to nibble on. He seemed thoughtful.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, sensing an impending question.

“You really think Dean’s attractive?”

Castiel huffed a laugh at the sudden change in subject. Sam seemed genuinely interested, however, so Castiel made the effort to think of an answer.

He thought of Dean’s face, his eyes, and he experienced a moment of self-doubt – Dean was merely handsome, it didn’t mean anything – but then he remembered the heat of Dean’s hands on his neck as he did up his bow tie, the peppermint scent on his breath, and, most strongly, the electrically-charged warmth that flowed through Castiel while they’d talked on the phone.

Meeting Dean had awakened something in Castiel, something which other people felt all the time. Castiel had always wondered how it would feel for him, should he ever feel it. Now he knew.

“Yes,” he said at last, nodding slowly. “Whether it’s his face, his inner spirit – or perhaps the way he talks, I can’t be sure, but yes.” He looked Sam in the eye. “I am most definitely attracted to your brother.”

“Uhh. Okay. Wow,” Sam said, eyebrows jumping as he averted his eyes from Castiel’s. “Is that—” He looked up again. “That’s new for you, isn’t it?”

Castiel nodded, fiddling with his knife. “I think I like it. This feeling. I’m starting to get why people spend their time looking for someone to date. It’s exciting.” He grinned at Sam, exhilaration on his breath. “It’s the thrill of the chase, isn’t it? Then the satisfaction of winning?”

“Sure,” Sam nodded, smiling while a frown crept onto his forehead. “Doesn’t it freak you out, even a little? You told me you never once felt attraction—”

“I’m not scared, Sam.” Castiel looked Sam with determination. He wanted Sam to get it, wanted him to understand it wasn’t just that he’d ‘found the right person’, like everyone made a point of telling him he would whenever he said he was asexual. “Nothing has changed for me. I’m still asexual. I’m still everything I was before. But this is new for me, and I’ve... I’ve needed something new. Until now my life has been stale and unchanging – and difficult.”

“Does this feel easy?” Sam asked. There was a note of confusion in his voice. Perhaps he didn’t get it yet. “You met Dean for five minutes and now—”

“Those five minutes were some of the least stressful minutes I’ve had in months,” Castiel shrugged. “I took one look at Dean standing there on my doorstep, and I stopped worrying. Flat-out stopped. Do you know how rare that is?”

A smirk played on Sam’s lips, amusement putting a shine in his eyes. “About as rare as attraction, I’d assume.”

Castiel reached to grip Sam’s wrist. He leaned close, and with a rapturous smile, he said, “Even rarer.”

Sam pursed his lips, giving a few accepting nods. “Have to admit,” he said, watching Castiel retract his hand and return to fiddling with his knife. “I wasn’t expecting this. Look, I have to ask— Is it... sexual?” He whispered the last word, head down.

Castiel chuckled, looking around at the busy restaurant. Nobody cared what they were talking about. He shrugged, looking back at Sam. “I don’t know yet. I feel a connection. It’s emotional – definitely emotional. No, I don’t know.” He shook his head, shrugging again. “It’s too soon to tell.”

Sum hummed a short, chirpy note. “I hope it goes well. Whatever... happens between you. I think it’ll work out.”

“You do?”

Sam grinned quickly. “Yeah. You’re well-suited. Dean’s got a truckload of his own personal problems, but who doesn’t, you know? He needs stability in his life, and I think your household could be that for him. Organised chaos and all. And I know for certain he can fix, or at least tame a few things in your life.”

“My problems?”

“Your demons, too,” Sam chuckled. “And your niece.”

Castiel curled his toes inside his shoes, all of him filled with quiet delight. “You really think he’s good for me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Sam said, gripping Castiel’s shoulder with an open hand. “Don’t you think I could’ve sent him on some childcare course, or told him to find his own damn babysitting job? Nah. C’mon, man. Parenting practice was only half the reason I sent him your way.”

When Castiel pulled his car into the parking space outside the house at ten-fifteen that night, he grew concerned: the lights in the house were still on, not only downstairs, but upstairs too. The lace privacy curtains on Claire’s bedroom window were drawn open, and a shadow fluttered across the ceiling.

Castiel moved cautiously towards the house, pulling his keys out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He opened the door quietly, listening hard, heart beating on his tongue.

He was met with silence at first. Once he got through the door and closed it soundlessly behind him, he took a good look around the entrance area. It was a total mess.

The dining table on his left was covered in empty bowls – what remained inside looked like mashed potato, with carrots and peas buried stealthily inside the white mush. Claire was too smart to be fooled by the bright colours; the only reason Castiel knew there were even carrots and peas there was because she hadn’t eaten them.

The terracotta tiles between the table and the kitchen counter were scattered with the torn-out pages from a colouring book. As he moved forward, something snapped beneath the sole of Castiel’s shoe. He lifted his foot to see what it was, then bent at the waist and picked up a broken crayon.

He set the crayon on the dining table – then he heard Claire’s bright, happy laugh from upstairs, and all of Castiel’s concern dissipated, like a hot breeze vaporising snow.

“What are you still doing awake, Claire?” he murmured to himself, toeing off his shoes, then removing his suit jacket and resting it over the back of the nearest chair.

He lifted the jacket again when he realised there was an item of clothing already there: Dean’s canvas jacket sprawled limply over part of the table. Castiel set his own jacket down again, lifting Dean’s instead. Its green shoulder patches had metal studs on them, which obviously hadn’t been there before. Castiel scoffed in surprise, recognising the studs from those awful boots Claire insisted on buying last time they went shopping.

With a sigh, Castiel left his and Dean’s jackets side-by-side, turning for the stairs. He climbed gingerly, picking at his cufflinks. He couldn’t get them undone, so worked on his bow tie instead.

He reached the upstairs landing and craned his head around the corner, looking ahead towards Claire’s bedroom. He could hear her laughing again, while Dean’s low voice rumbled in speech, speaking softly and calmly. Perhaps he was telling her a bedtime story. It was extremely late for her bedtime, but Castiel admittedly had trouble getting her into bed on time too. Dean had done rather well; getting her into the bedroom was a feat in itself.

Except, when Castiel tiptoed closer to Claire’s open door, he heard what Dean was saying. It wasn’t a bedtime story at all.

“Maybe more glue?” Dean said. “I don’t know. I don’t want it to look like I crawled outta the sea, you know?”

Claire giggled, then replied, “You’re a sea monster!”

“But sea monsters live in the sea.”

“Soooo... you’re a sea lion! They come out of the sea.”

“Guess so. Hey, pass me the ribbon again? If I can just— Wait one second... There! Like that! Yes! I think we’re almost done.”

“You look like a doof,” Claire said, making Castiel cover his mouth to muffle his chuckle.

“But I’m a pretty doof, right?”

“Pretty big doof.”

Dean laughed. “Jeez. For someone four years old, you sure have a mouth on you.” The amusement in his voice minimised to an audible smile, and he insisted, “No, I’m serious. Does my butt look okay in this?”

“Your butt is bigger than my head.”

Dean snorted, and Castiel nearly choked on his own breath. His eyes rose to the dimly-lit ceiling in the hallway, and he thanked God and all the angels alike that Dean had such a power over Claire. Castiel had never encountered anyone who could connect to her so seemingly without effort, allowing themselves to be teased so she was kept amused.

Dean sighed. Castiel heard his gentle footfalls. Presumably he was standing in one place, moving one foot to shift his weight. Looking into the mirror, perhaps?

Finding he was unable to sate his curiosity without seeing into the room, Castiel leaned forward and peered around the door frame. The walls of Claire’s lilac bedroom were lit by the orange floor lamp, and Dean and Claire’s shapes cast hazy shadows on the ceiling. Castiel’s mouth dropped open when he realised they were each wearing a tutu. Claire’s was technically a unitard with a skirt: she wore it when she went swimming. But Dean’s was definitely a tutu – it was fashioned out of red tulle mesh and a maroon fabric which Castiel thought bore a notable resemblance to one of his work shirts.

Neither Dean nor Claire saw Castiel’s face, as they were too busy adjusting Dean’s homemade clothing. Thank goodness, Dean was wearing the skirt over his jeans.

“Can we practice again now?” Claire asked, jumping up and down on the spot. “Do the pirouette!”

“The pirouette? Really?” Dean screwed up his face, checking himself in the mirror again. He hadn’t been wrong earlier: he was indeed missing half an eyebrow. “This thing’s not too sturdy,” he said. “It’s gonna fall apart if I start prancing around.” He looked down at Claire’s eager face. “Are you sure you want the pirouette?”

“Yes! Yes, the pirouette!” Claire laughed, then shrieked, hurrying around the room as Dean lunged for her, laughing.

“One condition, then,” Dean said, pointing at Claire as she started jumping on her bed.

“What?” Claire demanded, her loose blonde curls flapping up past her head then back to her shoulders as she kept on bouncing, making the bed screech in complaint.

“If I do the pirouette...”

“What!”

“...You get into bed and try to go to sleep.”

Castiel wanted to scoff; Claire never took bribes, and couldn’t be swayed by even the most fair of exchanges, nor logical reasoning. She was a force of pure will, and her mind could not be changed.

And yet, Claire had stopped bouncing, and she seemed to consider the offer.

“C’mon,” Dean encouraged. “I’ll do the best pirouette you’ve ever seen.”

Castiel stepped forward to stand under the door frame now, giving up on trying to hide. He rested his shoulder on the wood, arms crossed. He wouldn’t be able to wipe this smile from his face, not even if the world was a minute away from ending.

“Okay,” Claire said, tugging on the sides of her unitard’s skirt. “But you have to do two pirouettes!”

“Done,” Dean said, holding out his hand for Claire to touch with her palm. Claire nodded firmly, and Castiel shook his head in total awe.

Unfortunately his movement alerted Claire to his presence, and she gasped, eyes locking on to him. “Papa!” she squeaked, leaping off her bed and cannoning towards Castiel with some enthusiasm. “Papa, look what we made!” Claire’s arms wrapped around Castiel’s thighs, and her chin pressed his hip as she looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes. “Dean’s a ballerina.”

“I—” Dean had begun to blush. Due to the position of his skirt he couldn’t shove his hands into his pockets – but that didn’t stop him from trying. The resulting movement was awkward, which only made him blush more.

“Don’t mind me,” Castiel said placatingly, making a gentle settle-down gesture towards Dean. “It’s a very flattering colour on you.”

“He took it out of your closet,” Claire said slyly. “He said, ‘That’s the ugliest flupping shirt I’ve ever seen’ and he took it and cut it into bits.”

“Tattle-tale,” Dean sneered at Claire. “And I didn’t say ‘flupping’,” he added, looking Castiel in the eye. “I, um... I guess I won’t be winning any points if I tell you what I really said.”

“I can extrapolate, don’t worry,” Castiel said, stroking Claire’s hair back. “You do realise it’s well past ten o’clock, don’t you?”

Dean sucked on the back of his lips. “Um. Yeah. We kind of got... caught up. Playing. And stuff. Look, man— Castiel. I really like Claire. You have an amazing niece. Like, amazing. She’s smart and she’s actually kinda nice once you get past the throwing and the hitting – and she’s funny too, if you figure out her sense of humour! And she’s cute. God! Just look at her, she’s freaking adorable.”

Castiel looked down at Claire with a fond smile, watching her blink sleepily. She still clung to his thigh, her cheek resting on his untucked shirt.

“I know I screwed up,” Dean said softly. “I know I did. It’s so late—” He looked out of the window, and seemed further disheartened once he saw it was pitch-black outside. “I totally lost track of time. And the shirt...” He looked down, smoothing a hand over the red fabric. “I shouldn’t have done that. Christ, that was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He huffed. “Listen, I got no clue if you were planning on paying me for tonight, but I just wanna say... keep your money. Just keep it. I suck at babysitting – hell, I suck at house-sitting too. Who even rips up someone else’s shirt? Like—” He covered his face with his hands, his wide shoulders sinking down as he exhaled.

When Dean let his hands fall, Castiel was startled to see tears in his eyes. Dean swallowed, then said in a voice as thick as the craft glue stuck in the bedroom rug, “I had such a good evening. I haven’t had this much fun in years. But I don’t think you’d want me back here. I mean, seriously, what kind of example am I setting like this? Not a good one, that’s for sure.”

He turned his face away, eyes gleaming with tears.

Castiel couldn’t find the words to reply for another few seconds. Dean looked so small now. It was like his wide shoulders and the volume of his constructed skirt made no difference; he thought he was nothing, and it made him look like nothing.

“Dean,” Castiel said, almost in a whisper. He looked down at Claire, and saw she was half-asleep, her mouth hanging open, most of her weight on Castiel’s leg. “Dean, help me put her to bed.”

Dean hesitated, but then came forwards. Castiel let Dean lift her, and Castiel held her hand as she stirred. Dean cradled her like she was precious – he carried her the same way Castiel often did, her weight over his shoulder, hand against the back of her head.

Dean lay Claire down on her bed while Castiel pulled back the covers. Claire murmured, blinking slowly.

“Sh-sh,” Castiel hushed, hand against her face. He leaned close and kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Nhnn,” Claire complained, batting a hand towards Dean, tugging on the hem of his skirt. “Pir’wette.”

“Next time,” Castiel said, easing her hand away from Dean. She moved without resistance; she was exhausted. “Dean owes you two pirouettes. He won’t forget.”

Castiel stood up straight, a faint smile on his lips. He looked towards Dean, whose wide eyes and parted lips expressed his surprise. “Well?” Castiel said quietly. “Aren’t you going to say goodnight?”

Dean gave a few rapid blinks, then lowered his gaze to Claire. She was keeping herself awake, trying hard not to let her eyes close.

“Uh. Do you want a hug?” Dean asked her unsurely.

“Mm-hm,” Claire said, nodding.

Dean leaned down and half-hugged her, too wary of Castiel’s presence and Claire’s small size to embrace her properly. Claire seemed satisfied though, and Castiel saw her smile when Dean stood up again. The smile faded... Claire was asleep.

“Come on,” Castiel said, touching Dean’s bare forearm. “Turn out the light and close the drapes on your way. I’ll pour us some tea.”

He left Dean in the bedroom and he headed down the stairs, still smiling.

Castiel washed his hands in the kitchen. Even when water splashed on his too-long shirt cuffs, he couldn’t stop smiling – nor did he want to. Since Jimmy and Amelia had been around, nobody but Castiel himself had gained Claire’s trust. The sight of Dean bending to bid Claire a good night, and Claire’s tiny smile... That was going to be one of Castiel’s most treasured memories, he was sure of it.

As Castiel got out two mugs and set them on the kitchen counter, he heard the toilet flushing upstairs, then the pipes gurgling as Dean washed his hands. Good, Castiel thought, getting the tea of out the fridge. Regardless of the mess he’d left on the table, Dean was hygienic. Clutter, dirt and germs were three completely different things.

Dean came downstairs slowly, and Castiel watched how his legs pulled outward at the knee. It was a strange, almost frog-like way to walk, but the movement was oddly becoming on Dean.

Dean gave a sheepish smile, slinking into the kitchen. “I can’t get the skirt off. I think I glued it to my jeans.”

“If you used the craft glue from Claire’s art box, then it’ll wash out. Turn the washing machine’s temperature up to the highest setting and your jeans will be good as new. Here, this one’s for you.” Castiel handed Dean his mug of iced tea, handle offered towards him. Dean took it with a gratified sigh, and as he tipped back his first sip, he shut his eyes to savour the sweet taste.

“Thanks,” Dean exhaled, lowering the mug after drinking half of its contents. “Chasing that kid around is thirsty work.”

“Don’t I know it,” Castiel said, resting his ass against the handle of the cutlery drawer. He was inches from Dean’s side now, and he watched him take another swig. The mug was the bright pink plastic one with flowers on it, and the sight of it in Dean’s sturdy, rough-knuckled hands made Castiel feel fluttery inside. There had been a plumber here once who had done some renovations in the kitchen, but the same sight had had the opposite effect on Castiel. Back then, he’d wanted the plumber out, wishing he’d given him a different mug. Now, Castiel was perfectly content seeing Dean sipping from the plastic rim, his freckled cheeks gently illuminated by the row of dangling orbs in the kitchen.

Castiel gulped at his own tea, still deep in thought. He trusted Dean. He’d trusted him from the moment he arrived on the doorstep. Castiel’s first impressions were not always right, but this time, the sense that Dean belonged precisely where he was standing was overwhelming. Perhaps the feeling was due to all the encouraging things Sam had said this evening, or perhaps it was due to the fact that, aside from tales of brotherly bickering, Sam hadn’t actually said anything dreadful about Dean over the years gone by. But, above all, Castiel’s feeling of trust was influenced by the evidence he had seen tonight.

Castiel decided it was time he set Dean’s mind at ease. The poor man was swallowing too often, tense in the shoulders. He still thought he’d failed.

“The last babysitter I had,” Castiel said, “she gave Claire ice cream and they made pizza for dinner.”

Dean smirked, but it was forced. “Claire must’ve had a great time, huh.”

“I came home to discover a team of firefighters had been summoned in my absence,” Castiel said. “Claire and the babysitter had made the pizza in the artificial fireplace, because the babysitter said – and I quote – ‘it’ll be cool’.”

Dean snorted, looking at Castiel with astonishment all over his face. “Seriously?”

“She was twenty-five years old,” Castiel nodded. “The babysitter before her, she was sixteen. Claire put her in hospital. I had to pay the bill for five stitches and offer a legal settlement to the girl’s parents for the trouble. Then I had a second court hearing to discuss my wilful abandonment of minors.” Castiel smiled tensely, seeing Dean’s jaw drop. “The case was thrown out of court once the judge realised what happened.”

“What about before then?”

Castiel sighed, thinking back. “One time, I had to pay a fine for a babysitter’s prank phone call to the cops. It was three-year-old Claire’s idea, apparently – as if that excuses it. I’ve been forced to leave my own lectures early because I knew beforehand the babysitter wasn’t up to par. I once offered to pay Claire’s playschool teacher to look after her for a single day, and I was promptly shouted at by the entire board of directors. I never— I never lived down that shame. People think...” Castiel peered into his tea, watching the amber liquid catch the light in starburst sparkles. “People think I’m constantly abandoning her. They think I don’t want her, or I don’t love her – that I don’t deserve her, that I should never have been granted custody in the first place.” He swallowed hard. “None of it’s true. What is true is that I can’t cope alone. But I have... nobody.”

“But Sam...?”

Looking up, Castiel saw the sympathy and understanding in Dean’s eyes. Castiel gave him a weak smile, then shook his head. “Sam is as busy as I am. When I take time off, I want to spend it with him. There’s never any use me asking him to babysit. You, on the other hand...”

Dean blinked. “Are you... asking if I want a job? Like, a permanent position?”

Castiel felt something flip in his stomach, surprised that Dean had interpreted his words that way.

Well, of course he took it that way, Castiel scolded himself. How else could he have taken it? Castiel couldn’t correct him now, that would be embarrassing.

“Perhaps,” Castiel muttered, chin down to his chest. “Perhaps.”

When Dean took a slow breath, but said nothing, Castiel looked at him carefully again.

“You tried to give her vegetables for dinner,” Castiel said, amusement seeping into his voice. “No babysitter ever tried that before.”

“Backfired,” Dean shrugged, glancing towards the dining table. “She’s not a fan of nutrients.”

“You also ripped apart a perfectly good shirt to use as scrap material.”

Dean shut his eyes, hands clenching on his empty mug. “Yeah.”

Castiel smiled. He rocked against Dean’s side, bumping his shoulder. “I hated that shirt.”

Dean’s eyes shot to meet Castiel’s. “Really?”

“Red – it’s not my colour,” Castiel shrugged. “But it suits you very well,” he admitted, admiring the poofiness of the tutu around Dean’s waist. “I look forward to seeing that famed pirouette of yours.”

“Oh, that,” Dean muttered, a shy smile curling his lips as he covered his eyes with a hand. “I don’t do ballet, I only watched a few movies. Guess when you’re four you can’t tell the difference between a pirouette and spinning on the spot.”

“Oh-ho,” Castiel chuckled, “trust me, she knows the difference. She merely enjoys watching you make a fool of yourself.”

Dean snorted, slapping his hand to his thigh. “Figures.”

“Do you want more tea?” Castiel asked, already heading for the fridge. When Dean said yes please, Castiel went and poured them each another mugful.

They settled back against the counter, Castiel’s legs crossed at the ankle, one of Dean’s heels kicked back against the sideboard. Castiel stared at the kitchen sink, where a pair of rubber gloves hung over the long faucet.

“So, uh,” Dean said, breaking the meditative ambience of tea-sipping. “How was your date?”

Castiel’s mouthful of tea almost went down the wrong pipe. “My date?” he coughed.

“With Sam.”

Castiel stared at Dean, bewilderment tickling at his mind (and his throat). “It wasn’t a date. Sam and I are friends. Very good, platonic friends. And Sam’s not even—” Castiel stopped himself before this could become a discussion about Sam Winchester’s sexuality. “It was good. The play was excellent, the food was even better. Sam is great company for me. But it wasn’t a date.”

Dean set down his mug on the counter. “Oh,” he said.

Dean really had no idea...? Castiel was astounded.

“This whole time – whenever Sam and I take an evening off to have to dinner together,” Castiel squinted, “you thought we were dating?”

“Sort of. Well... not exactly. I started to suspect, but there was nothing about it that bothered me. Not until I met you, that is.” Dean shrugged a shoulder. A small smile played on his lips now; he seemed to relax. “Again, I made some pretty unfounded assumptions. Theatres and fancy restaurant dinners aren’t always romantic.”

“Childcare... could be romantic,” Castiel said.

“What?”

“What? Nothing,” Castiel said hastily. He guzzled another few sips of his iced tea, draining the mug. He licked his lips and swept up both mugs, carrying them to the sink. “Could you please bring me those dirty bowls from the table?”

“Um. Yeah— Alright.” Dean bustled around, and a short moment later he arrived at Castiel’s side, holding an armful of dishes. He set them down, then reached over and started to undo Castiel’s cufflinks without asking if he could. Without needing to ask. Castiel let him take the links, then watched as Dean rolled up his sleeves to the elbows for him. He smiled when he felt Dean pat his lower back before moving away.

This shouldn’t be so easy. It shouldn’t.

Castiel washed the dishes, and Dean tidied the room, picking up all the loose colouring-book pages and the crayons. It was comfortable. Those minutes allowed Castiel a sense of security, and, once he thought about it, a sense of relief, too. He’d been waiting far too long to feel like this.

He sniffed, needing to wipe his eyes with the back of his forearm. This was a bad time to let emotion get the better of him. But he couldn’t help it...

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asked, his warmth appearing at Castiel’s back.

Castiel laughed softly, watery eyes rising, tracking the steam of the hot water. “It’s nothing.” He shook his head. “It’s nothing, really.”

Dean’s touch was hesitant, but Castiel shut his eyes and felt sparkles of elation fill his bloodstream, bright as daylight and as magnificent as the whole ocean under a full moon. Dean’s hand rested flat on the side of his ribcage, hot and soothing at once.

“I feel like—” Castiel said, before he lost his voice to a breathless, silent sob. He dropped the dishwashing gloves over the faucet and turned the water off, spinning around to look Dean in the eye. Dean didn’t look like a stranger any more. His face was as familiar to Castiel as if they’d lived together for every day of their adult lives, and the sight of Dean’s eyes lingering on his own brought a sense of peace to Castiel’s threadbare soul.

Voice thick with emotion, Castiel tried again to speak. “I f-feel like... I’ve been waiting for you. Not someone like you, not merely a random person with your skills or your knowledge – or even someone with a familial connection to the only other person in the world I can count as a reliable friend. I mean you. You, and exactly you.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. Too stunned to react, he didn’t deter Castiel as he reached up to touch his heart. Castiel’s hand rested there for a moment, feeling the swell of Dean’s pectoral muscles through his dark t-shirt.

Dean licked his lips, somehow causing the rest of Castiel’s confession to tumble out, set free: “I— I’ve needed you for so long... and here you are, at last.” His hand slid upwards, and he touched Dean’s neck, delicately enough that Dean might not have felt anything.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, frowning now. “That must sound horribly clichéd. Not to mention... creepy.”

He turned away, sniffing one last time before reaching for the dishwashing gloves again.

“It’s not clichéd or creepy,” Dean said. “Well – okay, yeah – it is. But I don’t care.”

Castiel froze, his stare set on the black and white tiles in front of him.

“What you and Claire have,” Dean started, breath hitching as he spoke, “it’s what I want. Fast-forward four, five years, and you’re living out my dream life. The kid, the house, ‘assistant professor’ on my business card. I could see myself here, no problem.” He took a slow breath in. “There’s one thing missing though.”

“And what’s that?” Castiel asked, too afraid to turn around again. What if he kissed Dean by accident? With all the feelings bubbling inside him now, the chance that he could be overtaken by the urge to kiss his niece's babysitter – his best friend’s brother – seemed like a very real possibility.

Dean’s hand slid slowly – tenderly – sweeping from Castiel’s side to his belly, where it was joined by his other hand. Dean was hugging him from behind. Castiel could feel Dean’s heartbeat thumping against his back.

Oh, they were both so unsure about this, so nervous and inexperienced. Things like this didn’t happen to Castiel. Whatever he felt towards Dean, it wasn’t meant to be fuel for a one-night hookup. It was too rare and too precious for that. There was no doubt in his mind that what he felt for Dean was very, very real. It wasn’t a mistake, and it wasn’t a misinterpreted feeling. Why couldn’t the need for romantic intimacy be equally as genuine for Dean?

Well, there was one way to find out: he could ask.

Castiel relaxed, letting go of a breath. His hand touched where Dean’s hands held him, and their fingers threaded together like they were weaving parts of themselves into one.

Dean rested his cheek on Castiel’s shoulder – and Castiel chuckled. “You know, Dean, other people feel something for near-strangers, and their solution is to push them against walls and kiss them breathless,” he mused, looking down at where their hands were caught. “They’d have sex. They’d—”

“Wake up the next morning and wish they’d taken it slower,” Dean finished. “I’ve done that with strangers, Cas.” His chin bumped Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel thought he felt the shape of a kiss. “Hey. Turn around? I wanna look at you.”

Castiel turned, keeping his hand locked with Dean’s. He rested his lower back against the ridge of the sink, and let Dean envelop him in a real hug. Dean pulled away before Castiel could fully appreciate his firm shape, his heat, and his intoxicating, comforting scent; instead, they looked into each other’s eyes, giving each other the meticulous consideration required in the moment.

“I’ve done it with strangers,” Dean repeated. “If you ever decided to let me be part of what you have here – wake up next to you, or whatever... I don’t want you to be a stranger. Right now all we’re certain of is that we seem compatible.”

They both grinned shyly; there was nothing to disagree with there.

Dean lifted their joined hands and gave the back of Castiel’s fingers a gentle kiss. Breath floated over his skin as Dean held his gaze, murmuring, “I wanna get to know you before we start something.”

Castiel thought he was about to cry again; he covered his face with his free hand, failing to hold back a pathetic sound that had brewed in his throat without his knowing. Total relief, that was what this feeling was. The weight of every single worry had been knocked from his heavy shoulders, and he was left floating. Dean held him steady, embracing him again.

Castiel clung to Dean’s back the way Claire had clung to his thigh not too long ago. “I never thought— I never imagined that anyone else would want that. I never knew how to ask.”

Dean breathed out, hand on Castiel’s neck. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re not alone, you hear me? Everything’s gonna be just fine. Just fine. Take deep breaths.”

Castiel inhaled, filling his head with Dean’s scent. He leaned back and met Dean’s eye, giving him a heartfelt smile. “Thank you,” he said, breathing out. Dean understood how dearly he meant it.

“You’re welcome,” Dean whispered, touching Castiel’s cheek. “Damn,” he added, looking at Castiel’s lips, then his eyes again. “Now I don’t know who’s more adorable – you or your niece.”

“Me,” Castiel said with a brief frown. “Definitely me.”

Dean’s smirk spread into a grin. “Well, that’s settled then. Case closed.”

Castiel licked his lips, side-stepping to put some space between his chest and Dean’s. Their hands still dangled together, fingers linked for comfort. “I suspect it’s time to call it a night,” Castiel suggested, looking down at the floor tiles. “It is rather late. My emotions are... unstable. I may do or say something I’ll later come to regret.”

Dean chuckled, and Castiel lowered his face to hide his self-conscious lip bite.

Dean let out a long breath. He rubbed at Castiel’s hand reassuringly, then let him go. “I should be heading home. Work tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“Not all of us have the luxury of a five-day-week,” Dean said, clicking his cheek against his teeth. “You and Sam, you’re lucky sons of bitches.”

Castiel gave Dean a hard stare. “You watch your language, Dean Winchester. Given that I can do absolutely nothing about rearranging your bedtime as punishment, I imagine I might do well to install a swear jar in this house. It will accept one-dollar donations.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Do I sense that you’re expecting me to swear in this house a lot?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Castiel said, squeezing past Dean and heading towards the door. He paused at the dining table, picking up his suit jacket and tugging out his wallet. “Now, will one hundred dollars cover your time for this evening? Or ninety-nine, minus the dollar for the swear jar. I doubt babysitting will ever pay as well as your garage per hour, but if we’re going to make this a regular thing, then I—”

Castiel paused, mouth half-open: Dean had set his fingers over his lips. Castiel exhaled, and the air escaped between Dean’s fingers, surprising him into moving his hand away. Castiel stared at him, licking the taste of the bathroom soap off his lips. Dean’s eyes were trained on Castiel’s mouth, but then they flicked up to peer back at him.

“I’d do this for free,” Dean said, inclining his head ever so slightly. “I lied earlier, on the phone. It’s not about the money. It’s about this.” He gestured around the house with a finger. “Claire...” His finger drifted towards Castiel, then sank down. “You. If anything’s ever going to happen between us, then I can’t let this be a paid job, not even once. Hell, I’d pay to have this experience again. I’d finish my doctorate while camped out here if I could. Become a stay-at-home sitter, I’d sell my car— Actually, scratch that, I’m not giving up my baby for anythi—”

Dean paused the way Castiel had; Castiel’s fingers were set over his lips. Such plush, soft lips. Castiel too had trouble removing his gaze from Dean’s mouth as his fingers slipped away. He managed it, looking back at Dean with a smile pulling at his own lips. “Hold your horses, Dean,” he said, gentle as a breath. More firmly, he continued, “You don’t need to give up anything, especially not your education. But you are welcome to study here, just as Sam is welcome here.” He smiled at the thought of Sam. “This whole idea, letting you have a go at parenting – it was quite possibly the best idea Sam’s ever had. Undoubtedly... you are father material.”

Castiel saw Dean’s eyes fill with a startled flood of tears, then he watched Dean blink them away furiously, breath hastening over his lips.

“You— You can’t mean that—” Dean stammered.

Castiel couldn’t help himself any more. He leaned in and put a chaste kiss upon Dean’s lips, smiling into the touch as he felt Dean’s breath halt completely. Castiel eased away, still smiling. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Dean laughed, shutting his eyes and turning away. He turned back, clearly trying to hold back a tide of emotion. “Thank you. Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me. Really.”

“No – I do,” Castiel said. “I know. I know, because Sam told me exactly the same thing once. Unless he’d said those words, Claire would be in foster care at this point in time. In the hands of some stranger. A true stranger. And by all accounts, I would have been at more of a loss than I would be equipped to handle. Looking after Claire is a struggle for me, Dean. But, without her, I would not have the strength... nor the willpower to go on as passionately as I do.” He kept his expression steady, but he couldn’t keep his voice from breaking. “She keeps me fighting. I hope one day you’ll have a child and you’ll be able to say the same of them. Maybe even—”

The room fell silent. Dean and Castiel’s eyes never strayed from each other.

Castiel took a breath and finished the sentence he started. “Maybe even Claire.”

Dean smiled. His eyes were full of hope, and something in him appeared to have come alight with joy. “I’d like that,” he said.

Castiel reached to touch Dean’s chest, patting once. “Go home. Get some rest. I will call you when I need you.”

“You’d better,” Dean smiled, grabbing his jacket.

He put it on, and Castiel took a moment to look him up and down.

“Dean... I’m not sure how pleased you would be to hear this,” Castiel said, smirking, “but that jacket with the shoulder studs goes remarkably well with the red skirt. I believe the style is known as ‘punk’.”

“Would you look at that,” Dean chuckled, sneaking a peek at himself in the mirror. “Give myself some eyeliner, a faux-hawk and a lip ring, and I could pull this look right off. Hey. The half-eyebrow even looks kinda fetching, in a weird way.” He beamed as he sauntered back to Castiel’s side. “I might keep these jeans outta the wash after all. Stitch the skirt on permanently. I owe a certain someone a pirouette; I’m betting it’ll look better with a little flounce. That girl’s got an eye for fashion.”

“As do you,” Castiel said, holding Dean steady as he slipped his boots on. “That red shirt was decidedly not father material.”

Dean laughed out loud, but set a hand over his mouth in case he woke Claire up. His eyes remained twinkling, wrinkles beside them, ellipses of amusement around his mouth.

“Go on,” Castiel said, opening up the front door as quietly as he could. “If you’re free at any point at the weekend... let me know. I think it might be nice for us to spend some time together with Claire.”

“You bet your ass I’ll let you know the moment I’m free,” Dean said, shoving his hands into his jacket.

Castiel frowned. “Excuse me. You’ve had enough warnings – that was your first strike. One dollar for the swear jar, please,” he said, holding out a hand for the money.

“No way,” Dean said, lifting his boots and waggling them in turn. “I’m outside the house. Doesn’t count.”

Castiel looked down and saw he was indeed outside, standing on the stoop but not the doormat. “Ah. You win,” Castiel sighed, smiling at Dean. “You won’t always win, but you win this time.”

“I’ll take it,” Dean winked. He smiled and turned halfway, ready to leave. “See ya ‘round, Cas.”

Castiel took a quick breath and leaned out of the door, setting his lips on Dean’s. He didn’t know why he did it; he didn’t even remember moving. But he was happy to feel the touch of lips against his own, and even happier to feel Dean’s lips part under the pressure. The intimacy of touching mouths was nowhere near as uncomfortable as the thought had always made Castiel in the past. Dean was, to put it concisely, the right person for him – in every conceivable way.

Dean tasted like iced tea. Now Castiel would never be able to drink iced tea and not think of this moment. He was content with that.

Their kiss broke with a puff of breath vapour, particles glowing in the porch light until they vanished. Dean’s eyelashes fluttered, and Castiel began to smile.

“Thank you,” Dean said. He exhaled forcefully, realising that potentially sounded like a non-sequitur. “I mean, thank you for—”

“It’s okay.” Castiel touched Dean’s chin with curled fingers. “I know what you meant.”

Dean’s smile widened, and he bit his lip, just for a second. Then he stepped back, pausing one stair down. He stared up at Castiel with a dazed look in his eyes.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, resting a hand on the door frame.

“Father material,” Dean said, but his vocal inflection was too vague to let Castiel know what he meant. When Castiel squinted in confusion, Dean chuckled, taking another step down. “You and me. We’d probably make a pretty neat pattern. Strong moral fibres.”

Dean then pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. This’ll be good. ...You’ll see.”

Castiel shook his head and chuckled, having no reply for Dean. Dean’s eye contact endured as he turned... then he blinked, hopped down the steps and walked on down the garden path. There was a bounce in his bowlegged stride, Castiel couldn’t help but notice.

Dean got into his car and started the engine, still watching the house. Castiel waited in the doorway, pleased to see Dean smile one last time.

They each waved a farewell as Dean steered his car onto the roadway. The engine roared like a monster down the street, shattering the silence of the night into a roll of thunder – and then Dean his car were gone.

Castiel shut the door, and felt himself fill with warmth, not from the house, but from the heart. Somehow, Dean had given him hope for Claire, and hope for himself. Truly, nothing could make the future look more promising than having hope.