Archive of Our Own ^beta

Monday

Dean Winchester was sitting on his back deck in the sunshine. He’d just gotten comfortable, with his slowly-healing broken foot elevated, when he heard a strange thumping, and the deck vibrated. There was another thump, and then another, and then the golden head of an angelic looking toddler appeared. He? she? continued to noisily come up the stairs. The toddler hummed, seeming not to notice him.

The deck was reasonably toddler safe, so he didn’t have to awkwardly stagger up and put stuff away, but what the hell was a kid still young enough to be in diapers doing in his yard in the first place?

“Hello, little person,” Dean said with a warm smile. There was a brief social smile in answer, and the child, with that characteristic drunk-ass toddler gait, ran around the deck a couple of times.

A man’s voice bellowed, “Jack! Jack? Where are you?”

“Here,” Dean bellowed back. For a second the child looked genuinely annoyed, scowling as he rarely saw a child that young do; he gave Dean a disappointed, almost adult glare, and then his face went blank.

“Where’s ‘here’?” the man yelled.

“Next yard over,” Dean yelled, and the toddler hid under his deck chair, presumably in anticipation of being collected by his caregiver.

“My name’s Dean,” Dean said to the now invisible Jack.

Jack responded by tapping Dean’s butt through the fabric of his deck chair.

“Ow, what the heck,” Dean said, more annoyed than hurt. “Guess you’re choked with me for dropping that dime.”

A man, tall and dark-haired and dressed like a standard suburban dad on a Saturday, appeared. He was red-faced from yelling, and sagged in relief when he saw Jack, who got up and tried to hide behind the chiminea instead.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the man said. Dean’s heart started thumping. The neighbor was good-looking and his relieved, generous smile could power a klieg light. Then the grief-guilt kicked in. How dare he feel a little spike of happiness, seeing a handsome stranger?

He tried to keep it conversational. “Are you living next door?”

“I moved in a couple of weeks back,” the man said, sounding distracted. “I’m looking after Jack for a week while his parents have a little break. I haven’t even completely unpacked yet.”

“Does he talk, at all?”

The man grunted. “He babbles non-stop, normally. His language acquisition is within the normal range.” Which seemed a strange thing for him to say, but not out of line, just a little - clinical?

He came up the stairs to grab the wayward child, and Jack climbed onto Dean (“Oof,” Dean said) and closed his eyes and made whistly noises like a cartoon character. “Hey kiddo,” Dean said gently.

He thought about Amy, and their baby, and tears came into his eyes. Jack’s warm little body felt like a piece of heaven that had been ripped away from him. Dean sniffed. It was five months ago today that Amy and little Sam had drowned.

“Jack, please don’t bother the man.” To Dean he said apologetically, “If I pull him off you he’ll scream blue murder,” the man warned.

“Well, li’l guy he can’t stay here,” Dean said, but sympathetically, not as if the boy was a pest that needed removing. “Do what you gotta.”

As promised Jack screamed, with everything he had in him, as the man, trying to comfort him, took him back to his own place.

“Stupendous fuckin’ lungs,” Dean said aloud.

Jack was back in twenty minutes. He stomped up Dean’s deck stairs like he owned them, went straight to where Dean was now listlessly checking social media on his phone, pointed at Dean’s back door and said, quite clearly, “Highen seek.”

“Little dude, I mean, Jack, you have to go get - your caregiver - if you want to go inside. I can’t play hide and seek.”

He pointed to his foot. “My foot’s an owie, I can’t walk so good. So I can’t chase you around.”

“Jack!” the man next door yelled frantically.

“Here,” Dean shouted back.

When Jack’s harassed caregiver came and got him. Jack, squirming, arched his back, babbling to himself, and insisted on viewing Dean upside down from the safety of his caregiver’s grip. “How many more days of this have you got to look forward to?”

“Five, but I imagine I’ll be institutionalized before then, and CPS called,” the man said with weary humor. “I am completely unused to small children, but no one else they trusted was available and they can’t afford full time child care for a week from an agency.”

“No other relatives?” Dean asked.

“I’m the biological father,” the man said, considering Dean. He’d seen the little rainbow flag visible from the deck through the kitchen window. “I wasn’t supposed to get custodial duties, but life’s complicated. Their parents don’t approve of lesbian moms.”

“Oh,” Dean said inadequately. “He’s a real going concern,” he added, smoothing things over.

“He is hell on wheels,” the man said softly, and without heat. “Any idea why he finds you so fascinating?”

“There’s a hole in your fence,” Dean said. “It’s just big enough for him to squeeze through. I imagine that’s all it took.”

“So this was a crime of opportunity.” He dangled Jack by his feet as he screamed with glee.

“You are officially too tall to be trusted with door handles,” Bio-Dad said, and headed back home.

Dean got up and went inside and got the toy box he kept in the living room for his nephews and put it on the deck.

About two hours later, Dean was making iced coffee and as he looked out the kitchen window, he saw Jack climb the fence he had previously snuck through — and then fall. Dean yelled, “No,” and got down the stairs and across the yard with crutches in record time.

Jack, who had come down relatively softly on a pile of compost and yard waste, looked up at Dean and said, rebelliously, “Dirdy!” The child made a pretence of brushing himself off.

“You sure are,” Dean said, relieved. Bio-Dad didn’t even bother to call for Jack, this time, just turned up in the yard staring at Jack.

“He climbed over the fence,” Dean said. “I got toys on the deck,” he added. He checked that the side yard gate was firmly shut, not that it would stop Houdini Jr.

Jack was off like a shot at the magic word. He had the dump truck out in seconds and, as he made ‘vroom-vroom’ noises, he shed leaves and dirt like Pigpen from Charlie Brown while running the truck up and down the deck.

“Playdate’s here, I reckon,” Dean said, adding, “I was just making iced coffee if you want to help yourself.”

‘Oh God,” the man said with exhausted appreciation. “You’re sure you’re okay with him for a second.”

Dean laughed, “No. But I can’t walk and manage two glasses, so yes I’m going to have to stay here. I take mine black.”

The man went into the house and came out with a plastic ‘Minions’ cup (purchased for his nephews) of milk for Jack. He noisily drank it, dropped the cup and, with a knowing smile, emitted a spectacular belch for his size, and went back to playing dump truck.

“I really need this coffee,” the man said, and after handing Dean his, he sat back in an Adirondack chair and groaned.

“Do you have children?” the man asked.

“I’m a widower. Our infant son died in the same accident,” he said automatically, and waited for an outpouring of embarrassment and phoney sympathy. He’d only just met the guy and dumped that on him.

The man sat bolt upright. He looked at Jack, playing very comfortably with the truck and talking and humming to himself. “This must be terrible for you.”

“No, really it isn’t,” Dean assured him. “Little Sam wasn’t walking yet when he passed, so I’ve never been through this part of raising kids before. Jack is a lively little guy,” he added.

“Yes,” the man said. “But he doesn’t sleep as much as I would like, and I have to lock him into his room at night.”

“Have you tried co-sleeping with him?”

“I don’t want to do that,” the man said. “It’s very much against the parents’ wishes.

“Wow,” Dean said.

“I should say it’s very much against Rynn’s wishes,” the man said, “Trish is fine with the idea.”

Dean sighed. “It’s always better when the parents have talked shit through,” he said. “But if you’re the bio-dad then it’s a three way split and it’s two against three and it’s now an emergency situation anyway. If you don’t get enough sleep you can’t look after him, case closed.”

“So you’re in favor of the idea,” the man said.

“I’m in favor of parents and caregivers getting enough sleep,” Dean argued. “I mean, I wanted to do the family bed after seeing Sam and Eileen do it, and one of their kids is profoundly deaf, like Eileen, and he was a lot easier to manage at night that way.” He sighed. “But Amy thought it was ‘perverted’, I mean seriously, w.t.f.? and little Sam did okay sleeping anyway, so I let it slide.”

They drank their coffee in silence except to comment on how Jack was abruptly being a little angel, and then a sharply unwelcome odor came to Dean’s attention.

“Someone’s crapped his drawers,” he said.

“He has adult sized bowel movements three times a day,” the man said, frowning in wonderment. “He eats as much as I do.”

“Wow,” Dean said. “How old?”

“He’ll be three in October.”

“He’s friggin’ enormous,” Dean said in admiration.

“His mother’s family are all quite tall,” the man said. He was at least six feet himself so that was a funny comment, like he hadn’t had anything to do with Jack’s height. The man drained the last of the coffee and said, “For the coffee and adult conversation I cannot possibly thank you enough, but I can perhaps ask if you would care to join me for a very informal barbecue over at my place tonight?”

“What time?” Dean asked eagerly. He couldn’t stand long enough to make what he would call a proper meal, so it sounded wonderful.

The man looked at his watch. “5:30?”

“I’ll be there,” Dean promised.

He loaded beer and toys - what a combo he thought with an eyeroll- into a backpack, and got to the front door on his crutches. Jack pushed past him and ran down the walkway, Bio-dad just booting it after him. He grabbed Jack before he made it to the sidewalk, tossed him over his shoulder like a grain sack and finally got everyone into the house with the doors closed and bolted.

“I never introduced myself,” Bio-dad said. “Cas Novak.”

They shook hands. “Dean Winchester. What’s Jack’s last name?”

“Strong.”

Dean chuckled. “Jack Strong. He sounds like a superhero.”

“He’s certainly training like a superhero,” Cas said, realizing that Jack had thrown the toy truck into the birdbath.

They let Jack run around the back yard, now that the hole in the fence was gone and there wasn’t anything leaning against the fence for him to climb.

Dean reached into the backpack for a beer. He raised his eyebrows to Cas, who nodded gratefully and accepted one for himself.

“I hate to be critical, but it’s like you didn’t get to assess your yard for hazards before Jack ended up here.”

“Rynn told Trish that if she didn’t get a week away from Jack she was going to ask for a divorce. She booked a week, gave Trish three days to find childcare, and ….”

“Right.” Dean had no trouble picturing that.

“Not everybody is suitable to be a parent,” Cas said, “And it is astounding how many people think it’s going to be easy, and are personally offended when it’s not. I think Rynn is quite possibly one of the most selfish and entitled people I’ve ever met, but Trish is a total sweetheart.” He tilted the bottle back and sighed after his long gulp of beer. “They’ll be divorced by the time Jack’s in school, I’d bet money on it.”

“Not a good situation,” Dean said tactfully.

“I know that Jack is a bit much, but when he walks up and puts his arms up to me and begs for cuddles I melt like a stupid cartoon character. He’s utterly charming when he’s clean and dry and fed.”

Cas sighed again.

“And, as I may have previously mentioned, hell on wheels when he’s not,” Cas said, and got up and explained to Jack that he could pull the head off the dandelions, but not the annuals in pots.

Jack made a pile of dandelions. He brought a handful of them and scattered them all over Dean’s lap.

“Dandelions,” Dean said solemnly.

“Dun dee lies,” Jack repeated.

“Dandelions are yellow,” Dean said.

“LELLOW,” Jack yelled.

“Don’t tell me it’s your favorite color,” Dean said.

“RED! McQUEEN!”

“Lightning McQueen?” Dean asked. “Ka-chow!”

Jack’s face lit up and he bounced up and down and shook his little bum and yelled, “Ka-chow, ka-chow, ka-chow!” while Dean and Cas chuckled. Dean pulled a Lightning McQueen Hot Wheels car out of his backpack, and a somewhat beat up ‘Mater’ - the poor old toy was missing a few parts - the tow truck from the Cars franchise.

Jack’s reaction was to shriek and jump around some more; he obviously recognized the figures and went wild. Cas went into the house to get a little play mat with roads and buildings on it, and Jack immediately started playing by himself on the patio, running the cars up and down the streets and humming contentedly.

“All boy,” Cas said.

“Like Sam and Eileen’s two,” Dean said. “They’re little hellions, they’d love this kid. Want me to try to organize a play date?”

“How old are they?”

Dean laughed. “Ryan’s four and Dean’s two. They’re quite different but both little troublemakers.”

“That does sound like it might work,” Cas said. “Rynn alienated all the families Trish managed to organize play dates with, by being - well, that’s not helpful - so Jack’s lonely - probably why he crawled into your lap. But candidly, and I hope I can say this without being a sexist asshole, he needs men and boys to hang out with who can match his energy level and not be always telling him to sit still and be quiet.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dean agreed. “I don’t think it’s sexist to say that male-bodied and female-bodied people experience the world differently, and that mother nature occasionally doesn’t match the body up to the brain, which is why we have non-binary and trans people as part of the human spectrum.”

Cas said, “A civilized assessment.”

“I like to think so,” Dean said. They solemnly clinked the necks of their beer bottles together. For two whole seconds, Dean realized that even if he was grieving and laid up with an injury, there was a possibility, at some future point, that he might be contented again. Just shooting the breeze. Ava’s friends had disappeared after she died. The funeral was over. He had a life to live without them, however hard and challenging it was. He took a deep breath and let his whole body relax in a sigh.

The barbecue was up to temperature. There was marinated tofu with veggies, on skewers, and two chicken breasts and two chicken thighs. “You a vegetarian, or - ?”

There was a quick shrug. “Nope, trying a recipe. These days there’s always someone vegetarian at the potluck, so I’m looking for something with broad appeal. There’s potato salad and three bean salad - store bought I’m afraid - to go with.”

“I’ve been having nothing but microwaveable meals since I broke my foot, so it all sounds great.”

“How did you hurt your foot, if you don’t mind my asking?” Cas said.

Dean grunted. “Wasn’t watching where I was going - Jack please do not hit my owie with your car - “

“Jack.” Cas picked him up and put him at the far end of the yard.

Jack ran back and touched Dean’s foot gently.

“That’s right,” Dean said gratefully. “Gentle.”

“Owie,” Jack said.

“Yup,” Dean said.

“Owie,” Jack said.

“I broke my foot,” Dean said. Jack frowned. “I was walking along, I got my foot jammed into something and some of those little bones went ‘snap’.” Jack went back to the toy cars. “That’s why grownups worry when you climb fences.” He was addressing the back of Jack’s head, so it was really for Cas’s benefit.

“On top of your other woes,” Cas said with a slow, sympathetic nod.

Dean nodded, grateful that Cas had taken his loss into consideration. “The ER nurse said that grieving people often get into accidents or break stuff in the first six months. It’s hard to ‘be present’ when you’re stuck in the past. Anyway I’d like to describe how much it hurt, and how manly I was, but I got on the morphine PDQ and it’s healing up okay, but I’ve been a bum about getting to physio so I’ve got to go deal with that. As things are, I can’t drive.”

“Do you want me to give you a lift to physio?”

Dean was quiet. “Wouldn’t want to impose.”

Cas considered him. “I could take Jack to the nearest park and wait for you.”

They ate, they talked, they finished the beer. It was the most pleasant supper he could remember in ages. Cas had been sympathetic but hadn’t asked for details, which was good. Dean wasn’t tired of telling the story, but he was tired of strangers reacting to it with fake emotions. Cas didn’t press for the ‘gruesome details’, which was a relief.  He’d never told anyone the whole sad tale. You couldn’t be hung for what you were thinking, as long as you didn’t show anything on the outside.

They exchanged contact details. Dean remembered to give Cas his brother’s direct line.

He hobbled home so Cas could ‘get started on the landing cycle’ which was how he described the activities required to get Jack into bed and asleep. Dean slept better than he had since he’d hurt himself. Still, he woke up at four am and cried for a while, which was better than the numbness, he supposed.

Tuesday

By eight am, Dean was sitting in his kitchen hating his house full of yearning and arguments and memories and grief, thinking about running some errands with the help of an Uber driver, and Cas and Jack tapped on the back door.

“Hi!” he said, standing as fast as he comfortably could. He let them in.

“I can’t get hold of either Rynn or Trish,” Cas said in a grim voice.

“They’re on vacation,” Dean pointed out.

“Rynn said they were going to California,” Cas said. “Trish’s phone tracker says she’s in Phuket, Thailand. I can’t track Rynn.”

“Jack’s mom left the country without telling you?” Dean asked, his tone grim and appalled.

“Mummy?” Jack said.

“Yeah, we’re talking about your mommy,” Dean said soothingly. He got on his cell phone.  “Gonna call my bro and get some advice. Hey Sam,” he said.

“Dean, how are you managing?” Sam managed to sound both cheerful and concerned.

“Yeah I’m fine. You’re on speaker. So, got a weird one for ya; my new neighbor is looking after a cute little toddler named Jack, but it seems like his mother left the country for her vacation, rather than going to California, and he wants to do a wellness check, but apparently she’s in Thailand. So how the hell do we check where she really is?”

“Want down,” Jack said imperiously.

“The living room’s childproofed, the rest of the house is not,” Dean called after Cas, as he chased Jack into the living room.

“Dean, I dunno if I can do that for you.”

“Should we contact the consulate in Phuket?”

“You need info like her passport number, date of birth, stuff like that. But yeah. Didn’t she give the babysitter an itinerary?”

“Her wife was arranging everything,” Cas poked his head back into the kitchen again. “And Dean said I’m looking after Jack but I’m a non-custodial biological parent.”

Sam took a few moments to digest this. “Who’s the mother?” Sam asked.

“Trish,” Cas said. “Dean you left the - “ and there was a blast of noise as Jack got the TV on.

Cas got the screaming turned off. He said, “Sorry! Jack, we have to move the remote NO, PLEASE! do not touch the screen! Thank you.”

Dean started to talk but Sam’s laugh rolled over him. “I take it that was the kid saying hi?”

Dean grunted in the affirmative.

Sam said, “So you don’t have any of the information I mentioned.”

Cas said, coming back into the room and holding Jack, who was thudding his feet against Cas’s gut and ribs as he winced, “I have a photocopy of her passport, but it was the weirdest thing, Trish didn’t have it, Rynn did. And she did not want me to have a copy. I said she could give me a copy or I could report her for theft, because Trish definitely wanted me to have a copy and Rynn was very pissed but handed it over, and she called me every fifteen minutes until it was done and I handed it back.”

“Rynn sounds like a piece of work,” Dean started to say, but this time he and Sam, like siblings, said exactly the same thing.

“I think this is where one of us says, ‘jinx!’ Did Rynn tell her she was going to California but took her to Thailand instead?” Cas asked.

“It all sounds pretty messed up,” Sam said. “Do you want me to open a file and pursue it, or are you okay contacting the consulate?”

“I’ll wait on hold, if it helps,” Dean said. “But not on my phone, long distance to Thailand must be expensive.” He looked at Cas. Jack had found a toy car under the bookshelf next to the kitchen table and was happily playing with it.

“This is a nightmare,” Cas murmured.

“Are you going to handle it yourself?” Sam asked, rephrasing, patiently.

“No,” Dean answered. He looked at Cas.

Cas said, “I need the help. Can you please be Jack’s lawyer, and represent his interests? I’m an adult and I’ll deal with… whatever this lapse in communication means. But it’s just not right that Trish hasn’t at least tried to talk to Jack on a video call.”

“Mummy?” Jack said from under the table. He started to cry, quietly, and then to wail, “Mummy, mummy,” to Cas’s dismay.

“Cuddles,” Cas said.

“Want mummy!” Jack roared. Conversation became impossible.

Sam said, shouting, “I’m on it. Text me the details about the passport. And the full legal name of her wife.”

“Let’s go back to your place, it’s more familiar to him, and let him keep the toy,” Dean said over the din.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed distractedly.

It took the best part of fifteen minutes, through distraction and redirection, to get Jack settled again.

“You’ve been so helpful,” Cas said emotionally, turning to Dean with a look of thankfulness.

“Relax, you’re doing a good job,” Dean said. He sighed. “I really need to get my foot up.”

Cas fussed over him, getting a footstool and a cup of coffee. It felt nice. Jack buzzed back into the room and opened the fridge door. Cas got him a snack of blueberries, strawberries, dry cereal, milk and cheese crackers and spent half a minute manhandling him into the high chair.

“Wow,” Dean said.

“I told you, he eats like a troll,” Cas said. “In terms of both quantity and style.”

They watched Jack throw down his ‘snack’, eating with smiling efficiency in ten minutes what could keep a man on his feet for six hours. Then he asked for seconds of everything, beat the arms of his high chair while impatiently waiting, ate his seconds and then screamed to be released from the high chair. Cas chased him around wiping his hands and face, and then returned to the kitchen looking dour.

Dean looked at him.

“We should leave the house.”

Cas closed his eyes. “It’s nine in the morning and I’m exhausted already.”

“The closest mall has a kids’ play area with one entrance. He knows something is up with his mom and he’s going to be nuts. It’s not you. It’s out of your control and it’s messed up. So, let’s go to the mall and get a cup of coffee and a danish and sit there for a while? Whatever Sam manages to figure out it’ll be hours before he calls.”

Eerily, Dean’s phone rang. They both jumped like they had guilty consciences. It was Sam.

“That was not hours,” Cas said.

“Patricia Birdie Strong,” Sam said without preamble, “Is in hospital in Phuket with a traumatic brain injury. Her wife Rynn Kassandra Salton cleared customs about two hours ago and is apparently returning to the US. By some miracle I ended up talking to a person who could answer my questions.”

“Oh my god,” Cas murmured, barely able to respond.

“Is she coming back here for Jack?” Dean asked.

“What the hell?” Cas said, in a much more animated voice. “She hates Jack. Why would she come here for him? Why did she abandon Trish? Is Trish going to survive?”

“All good questions,” Sam said tactfully. “But Rynn’ll be back in the US soon, unless she turns around and flies somewhere else when she gets here.”

“She has a career, and friends here!” Cas spluttered. “Why would she want to run away?

“The Thai authorities want to speak with her,” Sam said.

“Holy mackerel, you work fast,” Dean said.

“Not my doing,” Sam corrected, “They already wanted to talk to her, there’s apparently security camera footage of the two of them having an argument on the beach.”

“Holy shit,” Dean said.  Cas shot him a look for swearing.

“Yeah, the consular staff were actually really glad I called,” Sam said. “I told them I was a lawyer who’d been hired to represent the minor child of the marriage and that the biological father was caring for him until his mother returned. They have your number and may contact you directly.”

“Oh god, poor Jack,” Cas said, practically in tears. Dean reached over and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“So we can expect her to show up here shortly?”

“It’s possible,” Sam said grimly. Brightening, he said, “When am I going to meet my new client? I made the mistake of telling Eileen I have a baby client and now she’s bugging me to meet him.”

Cas pulled himself together, “Sam, if Rynn’s as irrational as her behavior is hinting at, bringing your children here would be a bad idea. And I wouldn’t wish Jack on your boys without you having met him, especially if one of them is deaf. He’s not a bad kid, but he’s relentless in a way that’s hard to describe.”

“He ain’t lyin’,” Dean agreed in a gravelly voice.

“Yeah, of course, you’re right,” Sam said. “Text me the address, I’ll come by when I can,” he added.

“It’s the house next to mine with the planters,” Dean said. His brother had disconnected.

They looked at each other for a minute.

“Well?” Dean said. “I still think we should get the hell out of the house.”

“I am freaking out about Rynn, and mostly about Tricia. I do not want to leave, in case we miss your brother. And I do not want to move Jack.” Cas folded his arms at the end of this speech.

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’ll call an Uber. I got shit to do today that I can’t do online.”

“Oh,” Cas said.

“Don’t even,” Dean said. “Unless you genuinely want to leave the house and think it’s a good idea to give Jack a change of scene, stay put. Do not put yourself out for me.”

“Right,” Cas said.

Half an hour later, Dean and Cas were sitting on a bench at the closest mall, with a perfect view of the children’s play area.

“You just… handled him.” Cas was still shaking his head.

“It’s the nephews. You gotta find what they’re currently obsessed about and work it like a vein of gold, knowing it will peter out in time. Then find the next thing. Him liking the Cars franchise? I can do that ‘ka-chow!’ like falling off a log.”

“Obviously. I suppose I’ll have to learn to do that,” Cas said sadly. “Oh god, if I am going into a custody battle - “

“Don’t borrow trouble. One crisis at a time,” Dean said soothingly.

“Your life is immeasurably harder than mine and you’re staying calm.”

“I’m really enjoying someone else’s problems for a change. I mean,” Dean said, shooting a glance at Cas, which revealed that he was staring, “You’re giving me a break from being sad. And guilty. And fucking devastated. And sad. And guilty.”

Cas was about to say something and Dean said, “Hate to interrupt but as a matter of kid safety, one or both of us has to be watching him at all times.”

“Right,” Cas said, and stopped staring at him.

Dean’s voice was reserved and level. “You still don’t have the scanning instincts of a parent. Keep him in view or you will be sorry. It’s not that he won’t be safe, it’s that he’ll take every last fucking egg out of the fridge and drop it on the one rug that’s in the kitchen.”

“I’d really appreciate if you not swear in front of him,” Cas said. He was watching Jack now, and keeping a weak, social smile on his face.

“I won’t,” Dean said placidly.

They watched Jack in silence for a few minutes, as he climbed and went down the slide at the little playground a dozen times and then Cas said, “What if your brother - “

“I texted him while you were loading Jack,” Dean said. “He knows where we are.”

“What if Tricia dies?” Cas said. He was anguished. “I won’t hand him over to Rynn without a fight.”

“That’s what my brother’s taking care of; temporary injunction for you to maintain custody until such time as she’s spoken to the Thai cops,” Dean said calmly.

“How can you stay calm about this?” Cas asked.

“I used to be a cop,” Dean said.

“What happened?” Cas asked in astonishment.

“Remember what I said about how one of us has to be watching him at all times?” Dean asked.

Cas looked back at the playground. He couldn’t see Jack and visibly started to panic; then Jack popped up next to the mini-climbing wall.

“You’re an ex-cop,” Cas said blankly.

“I never asked you what you do,” Dean said. He appeared to be enjoying himself. “I was a poor excuse for a cop. Too soft-hearted, didn’t give a crap about the chain of command.”

Cas supplied, “I’m a vice principal at an alternative school.”

“Cool,” Dean said.

“Why did you stop being a cop?”

“I got fired, and then sued the department, and got a settlement,” Dean said.

“Oh,” Cas said. “So now?”

“Now I’m a grieving widower with an unhealthy interest in his neighbor’s parenting skills and associated legal problems,” Dean said. He never took his eyes off Jack.

Cas chuckled and shook his head.

“I need to say three things to you, maybe four,” Dean said.

“Okay,” Cas said. He seemed mildly stunned. He went back to watching Jack, who was ‘driving’ a firetruck built into the playground, and singing ‘woo woo’ as the siren.

Dean said, “I don’t want to go home.”

“We can stay here,” Cas said in a reasonable tone.

“No; I mean I never want to be in my house again,” Dean said. He sighed.

Cas was now concerned. “You sound, Dean - you sound weird.”

“I’m about ten seconds from busting out bawling, so yeah, I sound weird,” Dean said. He sniffed and compressed his lips.

“Your home is full of bad memories,” Cas said, guessing.

“You got it.” They shared a brief glance and looked back at Jack.

“You want to stay at my place?” Cas asked, hesitantly.

“Yes, please,” Dean said in relief. “I’ll just get some things and sleep on the couch.”

Cas nodded. “You won’t have to do that, there’s a guest bedroom for you although the bed’s not made up and there’s boxes everywhere.” He tried to sound cheerful, “Don’t worry, maybe some time and distance will help you cope, get you some ideas about what to do about your home.”

“I should just put it on the market and get out of there,” Dean muttered.

“Maybe not today,” Cas said. He was frowning, slightly, when Dean glanced at him. “You said - “ Cas said, and paused. “You said you had a couple of things to tell me.”

“Ava deliberately drowned herself and little Sam,” Dean said, his eyes tightly closed.

“Oh good heavens,” Cas said, with emotion. “Watch the kid,” he said to himself.

In spite of everything, Dean managed a chuckle. “Now you’re getting it.” He got solemn again, and looked at Jack as he spoke. “We’d been fighting, and she grabbed him and left. Next thing the cops are at the door and her car’s at the bottom of the river. Obviously the local police fucking hate me because of all of the lawsuit crap and then the federal investigation so they grilled me for hours and almost arrested me on an ‘incitement to murder’ charge saying that I’d nagged her into killing little Sam, but there was no direct evidence and I don’t fight by text or email, only in person, so they couldn’t prove anything except for the one fight she’d recorded on her phone, which was me basically asking her what was happening. Finally her psychiatrist - and get this, I didn’t even know she had a psychiatrist - he said that she had post-partum depression and had snapped. It’s been a fucking nightmare, and of course we can never know for sure what the hell she was thinking.”

Cas’s face was the picture of warm concern. “Did you know she had PPD?”

“I never knew that woman at all. I thought I did. She fooled Sam and Eileen, and me, and that takes work. And to answer your question, no. She was more cranky than usual, and completely uninterested in sex, but I just ‘gave her space’.” He sighed. “And maybe she had PPD, but she was a devoted and excellent mom. And maybe she had PPD, but it’s still 100% my fault, because I’m the one who got her pregnant.”

They were silent for a while. Jack buzzed over to them, demanded water, tanked up, and went back to the playground.

“Never seen a toddler that would drink water. Sam’s boys drink juice and milk and nothing else.” Dean was frowning. “Jack is really something.”

“Was there anything else?” Cas said hesitantly.

“Are you gay?”

“Yes. Would that be a problem?” Cas asked, his voice much sterner.

“God, no,” Dean said, a smile in his voice. He sighed. “But if you’re one of those gay men who think bisexual men need to come out of the heteronormative closet and commit to being gay, you and I are probably gonna have a problem.” He kept looking at Jack and held his breath.

Cas’s level, friendly voice buoyed him up. “Bisexuality is a known and accepted human orientation, and people who say it isn’t? are bigots,” Cas said. “I’m a vice principal at an alternative high school, Dean; to say that my kids are every color of the rainbow flag is to sell their glorious diversity short. One of the kids is trans, non-binary and in a chair, and was relentlessly bullied at their old school. Now they have study buddies and a social life and review table top games on Youtube and plan on going into designing better public spaces. We all need people in our lives who ‘get’ us, people who can help us bloom.”

“Sounds challenging,” Dean managed. His relief was obvious. “But it’s good you’re there for them. Do you have somebody in your life like that?”

“I see a therapist twice a month,” Cas said. “On-line.”

They sat in silence for a while longer.

“I can’t stop thinking about Trish,” Cas said.

“Me either. I look at the little guy, and I thank God you’re in his life, but boy howdy, it’s a lot to take in.”

“Indeed. Now, I’m almost scared to ask, but did you have anything else on your list?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said. “You need to immediately find a smart, hyperactive teenager to babysit this kid so you can have a break in the evenings once in a while. And you need coverage when you go back to work.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” Cas moaned.

“I’m Mr. Worst Case Scenario, pleased ta meetcha,” Dean said in a brash, offhand voice, sliding a glance over to Cas. “Do you want me to start investigating daycare so you don’t have to?”

The way Cas looked back at him made Dean feel weird, and warm. “That would be so helpful. I don’t know what I would have done so far without your help.”

“Gotten along fine, I imagine,” Dean said.

“I… somehow I doubt that. Any more pearls of wisdom for me?”

“Trying to wring me dry?” Dean asked. His voice was droll, and maybe a little suggestive.

“No,” Cas said placidly. “But I may start taking notes.”

“Do you know what ‘cheugy’ means?” Dean asked, apropos of nothing.

“Uncool, old-fashioned. You know, like you and me.” Dean made a face at this. “Why?”

“Just occurred to me, you’re waist-deep in teenagers, you’d know.”

“The kids aren’t using ‘cheugy’ any more,” Cas said. “When I hear something new, I listen for the tone and whether the other kids are being mean, laughing about it. Then I go to Urban Dictionary and check for myself, since I can’t trust a gosh-darned word they say about contemporary slang.”

“Oh,” Dean said.

“Getting older can suck,” Cas said. He patted Dean’s hand.

Dean jumped and said something to cover his feelings. “You’re older than I am!” Dean said.

“But not wiser,” Cas said. “Your life experience seems more extensive than mine.” He tilted his head and scrutinized Dean. “Still have the feeling you’ve got something else to say,” he said encouragingly.

“You’re the guidance counsellor at your school, aren’t you,” Dean murmured.

Cas was matter-of-fact. “Someone’s got to do it.”

“Should be easy to find a babysitter then.” Dean rose from the bench like an athlete, winced as his foot took more weight than it should have, and sat down again heavily. Jack was looking for something new to play with and had left the play area. His father sprinted after him.

“He needs a kid leash,” Dean commented upon his return.

“I don’t like how they look,” Cas said, winded. Jack was making discontented noises. Somehow as he was scanning the mall over his father’s shoulder he saw something that scared him and began to scream in earnest, the kind of childish shrieks that accompany terror or injury. He screamed all the way down the corridor and all the way out to the car, and would not stay in his car seat long enough to be belted in. Dean said, “Lemme hold him and try. You need a break.” Cas leaned against the car.

As he did so, Cas saw Rynn’s car go by. It was hard to miss, as it had a custom, vibrant, purple paint-and-wrap design with matching rims. And it was impossible not to think that it was seeing Rynn that had made Jack start screaming.

“Dean!” he called in alarm, stomach churning.

“Gimme a second,” Dean said. He got Jack into his car seat and Cas heard the ‘snaps’ with relief.

“What?” Dean asked as he got into the car.

“Rynn’s back in town. Or her car is,” Cas said grimly.

“Let’s get back to your place before she sets the place on fire,” Dean said with equal grimness. Cas went as fast as he legally and morally could with his son in the car. There was no sign of Rynn when he got there, but to his surprise, his oldest surviving cousin was sitting in the chair on the front deck - the one that people never sat in because it was for food deliveries - with a lollipop in his mouth.

Cas turned to Dean. “That’s Gabe, he’s family, he teases me non-stop, he’s a gossip and I do NOT like being called Cassie. I don’t know why he’s here, but he probably wants money and I don’t have any. If he finds out you’re thinking of selling your house he’ll ask you for money.” He parked and started to get Jack, who was grizzling about something, out of his car seat.

“Sounds like a prince,” Dean snorted, and then limped up the walkway on his crutches, ignored by the man in the chair.

“Cassie,” Gabe said in a conversational tone. He removed and then popped the lollipop back in his mouth with a childishly rude sucking sound. He looked Dean up and down and said, “So this is who you replaced Zar with, a little beat-up, I see? but still an upgrade. Where’s Trish?” he asked, turning his attention back to Cas.

“Go soak your head,” Dean said, keeping his voice level for Jack.

“So the mean-looking chica in the purple car who pulled into the driveway and then peeled out as soon as she saw me really was Rynn?” the man enquired of Cas. “Haven’t seen that sourpuss since you showed me pics of the wedding.”

“Nack, nack, nack!” Jack roared, demanding a snack.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He waited for Cas to arrive with Jack and the keys.

“Let me get the door open,” Cas said.

“Don’t mean to be a jerk,” Dean said, “But if you call him ‘Cassie’ again in my hearing you’re gonna get a poke in the ribs with my crutch.”

Cas threw Dean a grateful look, and then they were back inside.

“Dean, sit,” Cas demanded. In desperation he gave Jack an upturned metal pot and a wooden spoon, and a rhythmic din ensued.

“I’m not talking to you with that shit going on,” Gabe said. He had a face like a staging area for a leer.

“Nobody asked you, rude guy I haven’t actually met yet,” Dean said in annoyance, stumping after him into the living room. “If Jack doesn’t get fed we’ll all be sorry.”

“Cassie - HUNHN! - you hit me with your crutch, you son of a bitch,” the man yelped in dismay.

“Exactly like I said I would, which is why I moved out of Jack’s line of sight first,” Dean said mercilessly. “And at this point, given that Cas didn’t invite you and you haven’t stated your business - “ the din stopped and was replaced by jazz almost a century old. Both men visibly relaxed.

“I’m Gabe, Gabe Angeli from the other side of the family. And you are?”

He was practically growling. “Dean Winchester, Cas’s neighbor. Not his boyfriend, not his lover, not his pool cleaner.”

“You’re protesting way too much,” Gabe said archly.

“You’re supposed to be a total gossip so I’m making things as clear as they need to be! This may turn into a legal and custody battle — and if you do or say anything to mess Cas up? The grief you get from him will be nothing compared to what you get from me. He needs to have a spotless reputation, and if you get talkative with the wrong person he could lose custody of Jack.”

“Cas!” Gabe yelled.

“I’m with my son,” Cas said primly.

Gabe glared at Dean. “The fam was told Cas would never have custody.”

“His mother’s in intensive care in Thailand and her wife abandoned her,” Dean said.

Gabe’s surprise was almost comical. “What? Trish is in hospital?” He’d met Trish at a party a couple of years back. Before the brat.

“Quit yelling and shut your dick-holster,” Dean said.

Gabe looked genuinely hurt. “Cassie!” Gabe yelled, forgetting.

“Shit, FUCK! you fucking asshole,” he swore, after collecting another hard poke with the tip of Dean’s crutch.

“No cursing in front of the kid,” Dean said virtuously, and went back into the kitchen, where Jack was energetically jumping up and down. Dean grinned at Cas. “What’s the music.”

“Mills Brothers, backed by Duke Ellington’s orchestra; it’s called Diga Diga Do. Makes your toes tap.”

Dean grinned. “Or in Jack’s case, every part of him.” He set his crutches aside, scooped Jack up and bounced him on his good leg in time to the music while he giggled and waved his arms.

Cas got the snack in order and Jack downed, in record time, three servings of string cheese, six cut up strawberries, half a bowl of dry Cheerios, about six ounces of water, carrots and celery slices, and two slices of rosemary ham.

Gabe watched, leaning against the doorway with disgusted fascination. “Does he always eat that much and that fast?”

“Pretty much,” Cas said sadly. “And that was a snack. He can eat an adult-sized meal at supper time.”

Dean helped by cleaning up the ‘food appreciation chair’ and Cas took Jack out in the back yard.

Gabe followed Cas and said, trying to make himself heard with a slight scowl, over Jack’s almost continual burbling to himself, “So I suppose now is not the time to talk to you about a business opportunity.”

Cas had had a lifetime of being scammed by Gabe, so he sighed and said, “I’m not loaning you money, mortgaging my house, co-signing a loan, pretending to be a rich investor with my ‘delicious Russian accent’, or pretending to rob you so you have an excuse not to pay someone else back in time. And if you’ve come up with another scam, I don’t wanna hear about it.”

Gabe put his hand over his chest, which was still sore from Dean’s unfair weapon, to mime distress and hurt feelings.

“What’s this about a scam,” Dean said flatly, coming out onto the patio.

“Oh, nothing,” Gabe said airily. He sat down.

“Gabe owes me thirty grand,” Cas said. “He thinks he’s getting more out of me.”

“I got my crutches with me,” Dean said menacingly.

Gabe gave up at that point. “I hope you have a whole barnful of kids like that,” he said, taking in Dean and Cas with a pointed glance as they sat next to each other on the patio, and waving at Jack with a careless hand. They stared at him stonily, and Gabe left by the side gate, muttering. At the last possible moment, he turned and called out, “Bye!” quite cheerfully.

A few minutes later, they heard the front doorbell ring through the open back door. Cas looked at Dean. “You want me to answer the door or mind Jack.”

“The door? If it’s Rynn I’m gonna cut my mooring and run gibber-gibber down the street,” Cas growled.

“‘kay.”

It was his brother. “Here to see my client,” he announced, almost pompously.

“You may get to meet Rynn,” Dean advised. “Bruh, it is so good to see ya.” They exchanged a hug.

“Dean, you really should get off that foot. So, you mean the wicked stepmother? She better not get any funny ideas if I’m here. Who was the guy leaving as I pulled up?”

Dean said, “Some dickweed relative of Cas’s named Gabe. If you ever meet him he’ll try to borrow money.”

“Fu-uck,” Sam said, emitting a single chuckle and grinning like a jack-o-lantern. He didn’t normally swear. “If Eileen wasn’t budgeting down to the penny like an absolute fiscal queen, I’d be borrowing money from family myself! Well, where’s the man of the hour?”

“Back yard.”

Within minutes, Sam turned to Cas and said, “I thought our two were busy boys, but your Jack is like a hummingbird! Does he ever quit moving?”

Cas chuckled. “When he’s asleep. Even when he’s watching TV he’s moving.”

“ADHD?”

“I dunno,” Cas said. “I’m neurodiverse but I don’t think Trish is. I was so overjoyed at being asked to contribute to Jack’s existence it never occurred to me to get a diagnosis first. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”

“You’re neurodiverse?” Dean asked in astonishment.

“I’ve never been diagnosed, but I’m obviously autistic,” Cas said. “It’s hard to be gay and autistic,” he said, sighing again. He said to Dean, “I thought it was safe to assume that your brother isn’t a homophobe.”

“Well, I try not to be,” Sam said, not taking the slightest offence, and there was, for a moment, his deeply unserious catlike grin. He sobered. “Anyway, to business. If Rynn shows up, give her the copy of the motion for Cas to be granted temporary legal custody of Jack until Rynn has spoken to local and Thai police about her role, if any, in Trish’s ‘accident’.” He pulled two copies of the motion out of his satchel. “This should prevent the cops from removing Jack from the house, but if they try to help her leave with Jack, make sure they know that as Jack’s lawyer I’m asking her to give the police an account of why she abandoned her brain-damaged wife in Thailand before any of the custody issues come up before a family court judge.”

The three were solemn-faced. Dean chose to keep his eyes on Jack. Cas had turned a plastic planter into a miniature sandbox and Jack had tipped it over (onto a tarp, Cas wasn’t a dope) and was using a toy truck to dig it all out. He hummed and his bum wiggled as he kept time.

“Can I assume you went through a background check before you were allowed to work at the school?” Sam asked.

“Oh, yes. A thorough background check,” Cas said.

“And I got the same, as a cop,” Dean added. “Not that it mattered.”

Sam sucked on his teeth for a second as if considering how to phrase his next sentence. “Well, I got the company investigator to go through various databases, and she learned that Rynn has priors … and aliases.”

Cas’s eyes bugged out, and Dean said, “Holy crap,” under his breath.

“What did she do?” Cas asked, stricken.

Sam’s tone was level, but he was obviously disturbed. “Mostly fraud, extortion, receiving stolen goods, renting and selling houses she doesn’t own, and identity theft - but there’s one assault with a weapon in there. The gun turned out to be a fake. She’s served about four years in jail, in total.”

Cas breathed. “Trish didn’t know about any of this. She thinks Rynn sells real estate.”

“Sure,” Dean scoffed. “Homes that ain’t hers. What a piece of work!”

Cas shook his head. “There’s no way Trish could have known.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “If she did, she never told you. Love does strange things to people. Are you close?”

“I called her once a week and we’d chat. Things were never great with Rynn, who in my considered opinion is an abusive POS, but so was my boyfriend so I really tried not to judge. Anyway she adores Jack and in my opinion she’s a competent, affectionate and protective mother.”

Dean spoke to his brother with the bitterness in his heart. “If someone lied to you from the beginning,” he said, “It wasn’t love, now, was it?”

Sam sighed.

“Cas,” Dean said, noting that Jack was getting in trouble.

Cas followed his gaze and heaved a great sigh. “Dang it,” Cas said with sincerity, and bolted for Jack before he could get any dirtier.

As Jack made his displeasure known, Sam chose to start a quiet side conversation with his brother. “So how long have you known Cas? You said he was your new neighbor,” Sam said.

“I dunno, two days?” Dean said distractedly. His face relaxed into a lopsided smile, watching him interact with his son.

“You get along well,” Sam said without much emphasis.

“I dunno, I guess,” Dean replied. “I mean, he never expected to be a dad. He’s used to teenagers at his school, not to the most brutal two year old I ever met. He’s coping pretty good.” He chuckled; Cas was now holding his son by both ankles and gently shaking the dirt off while Jack shrieked in glee. “The thing that gets me is that most toddlers would be crying 24/7 for mommy and Jack’s just, ‘doop-de-doop-de-do, s’all cool’. Jack is really not like other kids.”

“Dean, you know he can’t be, you know, a substitute - “

Dean’s pleasant expression vanished as he glared at his brother. “For little Sam? Any more than your kids are. I’m glad for every minute I got with him, and I’ll never stop being sad about him passing, but I can stop sitting around being sad and useless - and be sad while I’m doing something.”

Cas passed them, returning to the house. “I’m going to hose him down and change him and his clothes,” he said. Dean gave the thumbs-up sign.

“Anyway, give Cas some space,” Sam said.

“That’ll be hard, given that I’m sleeping over tonight,” Dean said.

“Why?” Sam said.

“‘Cause I can’t spend another night in that big empty house,” Dean said. “I can’t stagger around the joint and listen to my own heartbeat and cry like a - like a cartoon character every time I see family pictures I don’t have the strength to take down. And Cas has a spare room, and he needs another adult on deck because Jack is - “ and he just shook his head. “Even with my stupid foot I’m better than nothing.”

“How’s physio coming?”

Dean bit the words off. “It’s not. How’s the remodelling going?”

It was not going well, and Dean knew it. The idea of remodelling with two kids under five just seemed horrifying to him. Without a partner of Eileen’s energy level, Sam’d be hosed. Sam shook his head, ever so slightly, again. “Dean…”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just trying to stay above ground,” Dean said.

“You aren’t at risk …” Sam said tentatively.

Dean looked directly at his brother and gave him a sad smile. “No, I am not at risk of self-harm.” Determination bloomed on his face. “And I absolutely can’t be, anyway, until all this Rynn shit’s fixed. Cas really needs a friend right now and you helping with the temporary custody order is helping to calm things down so he can focus on Jack.”

“It’s like … you’re on a mission,” Sam said. “But, Dean — what are you gonna do when the mission’s over?”

Dean gave his easy, untrustworthy smile. “Put my foot up, drink beer and plan my next move.”

“Try not to get too attached.”

“What?” Dean said, annoyed but still smiling. “I’m allowed to like him!”

“It’s very soon after your … losses,” Sam said.

“I’m aware,” Dean said, softening both his tone and his expression. “I’m not doing great, but Cas has been really good about it. He doesn’t expect me to be happy and he didn’t pry for details, which was a nice change.”

“Dean, what’s the real reason you’re ’sleeping over’ tonight?” Sam asked pointedly.

Dean’s face went blank for a second and then he compressed his lips and said, almost embarrassed, “Because if anything happens to Jack because I wasn’t there to prevent it, I’ll - ” Dean said, unable to finish the sentence.

“Oh,” Sam said.

“Yeah. The ‘getting attached’ ship has sailed,” Dean said. “I’m sure you’ve got other shit on your mind right now and other clients to assist, so…”

“When’s the last time you spoke to any of the old gang?” Sam said.

“I kinda hafta wait until I’m in the mood for it; you know, strong enough to have them talk about how traumatized they were by their deaths,” Dean said.

“Your friends are better than that,” Sam said.

“You’d be surprised,” Dean said. “I don’t have enough for myself, I can’t spare much mental energy for other people.” It was a hard thing to say. People inevitably centre themselves in other people’s grief, and the person grieving gets plenty tired of it.

“I don’t want you to become a hermit.”

“Me either,” Dean assured him. “Look, I’m going to be a long time recovering from this.”

“You should see someone, maybe?” Sam said helplessly. Seeing that his brother wasn’t already rejecting the idea, he took heart. “I found a counsellor who specializes in grief and coping with illness and disability, if you’re interested.”

For a second, Dean wanted nothing more than to tell Sam to mind his own business. But brief reflection made such a response a bad idea, and it was a shitty way to treat Sam, who was genuinely concerned. As long as Jack had need of Sam as a lawyer, Dean needed to keep things sweet. He sighed and said, “Text me the phone number and the website, if they have one.”

Sam blinked. He had obviously not expected the quick surrender, given his previous failures. Perhaps Cas was a good influence. He seemed nice enough. “Of course. Of course. Well, I’ve seen my client and we’ve got a plan, so yeah, I should get back to the office.”

Sam patted his shoulder and let himself out the front door. After a minute Dean got up to lock the doors. 

Over the course of the day, Jack got a bath, which he enjoyed, while trashing the bathroom (so.much.water) although Cas didn’t really have enough bath toys, so Dean ended up back at his place cutting up pool noodles for funsies, and they stuck him in his stroller - protesting the entire time until they were actually moving - and took him to the park and carefully watched him run around and once again, get grimy, and then, after a mighty struggle with the dampened washcloth Cas had packed and an even noisier ‘stuffing’ into the car seat, they ran errands.

Dean stayed in the car, because of course Jack fell asleep and dragging a sleepy, cranky toddler through the mall was no fun. Dean asked for snacks, bacon and ground chuck, and more beer. Cas gave him a look, which Dean answered with a look of injured innocence. Shaking his head, but smiling, Cas set off to buy things.

Cas had looked thrilled to have ‘approximately forty five minutes of alone time’ as he put it, while he grocery shopped and went to the bank and a few other places. Dean remembered those feelings, being almost giddy at not having kid duty. And then Ava got weird about little Sam. Breathe.

Sam’s promised info pinged. Some dude named Garth Fitzgerald IV was available to help people process grief, trauma, loss, the consequences of becoming disabled, fertility issues, and mental health problems associated with dementia and caregiving for relatives. In his picture he looked friendly and intelligent and there was a pride flag flapping at the top of the site, so - Sam had done his homework, obviously. The great big moose.

Dean made the call. He expected an answering machine and got Garth himself. Within minutes he had an appointment for the next day, a cancellation. He sucked on his teeth and thought, ‘What the hell,’ and called and requested an appointment with the physiotherapist who’d been recommended to him. Then he called Benny and Ellen and Bobby and left messages saying that he wasn’t dead and was thinking of them, and that he was going to go to therapy (that should get me some callbacks).

Then he played baseball on his phone. The next time he looked up, an hour had gone by. He texted Cas.

U okay?

Cas answered almost immediately.

On my way.

He arrived after a couple of minutes. Cas put the groceries in the trunk, and as he was closing the trunk twin girls of about fifteen said from a couple of cars away, “Mr. Novak?”

Cas knew his kids. His smile was almost blinding. “Ali! Brienna! Wonderful to see you! How’s your summer going!”

Dean cracked the door open. “Ask them if they babysit!”

“Babysit?” the girls said simultaneously.

“I have a son, a toddler,” Cas said. “You can see him, he’s sleeping in the back seat.”

The girls came up to the car and cooed over Jack, who was still out cold.

“I’m going to need a regular babysitter, or two, to help me. But I have to warn you, he’s a lot.” He had a business card, and put his cell phone number on it. “Talk to your parents about it and give me a call if you want an orientation session. And please don’t share this number, I don’t need any pranks at the moment.”

Ali was curious. “Who’s your friend, Mr. Novak?”

“Dean Winchester, my neighbor.” The girls looked at each other and stifled a giggle. Dean fake glared at them through the window and then stuck out his tongue with a maniacal expression and they giggled even harder. “Well, let me know if you’re willing, it would be fantastic if you could, since you are such energetic and good-tempered kids.”

“That’s not what the stepdown says,” Brienna said with an eyeroll.

“You certainly act that way at school,” Cas said tactfully, passing over the slur on her stepfather with a mental thumbs-up at the witticism. “I will pay more than any other parent, because Jack is….”

“Oh, I love the name Jack,” Ali said.

“I didn’t pick it,” Cas admitted. “But it certainly suits him.”

“Is he adopted?” Brienna asked.

Dean opened the door again. “Cas, he’s waking up, we should motor.”

Cas said, with great sincerity, “I hope to hear from you. Take care.”

“Oh, Dean,” he sighed as he slid into the driver’s seat. “You have no idea what a nice break that was. And thanks to your reminder, maybe I’ve got a line on some childcare.”

“Can we order out for dinner? Does he eat pizza?”

Cas said, “Jack eats anything. I bet he’d eat liver and onions if I served it.”

“Hoo-wee, that’s one way to test the kitchen fan.”

Jack was now fully awake. He said in a quiet, hopeful voice, “Pizza?” just as clearly as an adult might.

“Affirmative,” Dean said.

Cas chuckled. “Yeah, Jack, pizza.”

They returned to Cas’s place, passing a number of utility trucks along the way, which sent Jack to the limits of his vocabulary in trying to describe and greet them with little cries of ’fwiendwy twuck’. Cas put away the groceries while Dean watched Jack in the back yard. He came out with two beers and Dean said, with genuine happiness, “Goddamn, you read my mind.”

“You appear to be a man of simple tastes,” Cas said without much expression.

“I got no idea if that’s a passing comment or a sick burn,” Dean said, with one short chuckle.

Cas sounded downcast. “Nobody thinks I’m witty, and I get misinterpreted more than I like. At least you tell me how I said it wrong.”

Dean turned to look at Cas in astonishment. “What? I mean most people think I have simple tastes. I accept it. I couldn’t tell if you were sitting in judgement on me about it.”

Cas seemed relieved. “Even if I thought I had the right, I don’t see why you’d put up with anyone sitting in judgement on you.”

Dean tore his gaze away and sat back a little in his chair again. He hooked the little aluminum-tube ottoman closer with his crutch and put his foot up.

“C’mon, relax,” Dean said. “Tiny human ‘lives another day!’ rrowr!”

“I got him some bath toys,” Cas said.

“He will really enjoy daycare,” Dean said. “The new toys will just make him so happy. I should mention that I didn’t make any daycare calls yet because I realized your school year will be starting up again but I don’t have dates, and you can’t just dump the kid on the first day, because there’s a half day, or a couple, before you get full day coverage,” Dean added.

“I am so grateful for your parenting knowledge,” Cas said humbly.

They sat in silence while Jack played. Somewhere down the block a two stroke engine snarled to life. After a couple of minutes the din was too annoying, so Cas hoisted Jack into the air and said, “It’s too noisy for me, Jack, let’s go inside.” Dean carried the beer back in successfully, while using crutches, so that was a win. “Maybe you should get a swing-set for him, or a climbing wall?”

Dean ordered pizza, entirely vegetarian just to show he paid attention, then went overboard and got two kinds of wings and a big caesar salad, and lasagne just in case someone demanded meat.

When the food arrived, he volunteered to feed Jack, to give Cas a chance to eat like an adult. He started with the lasagne, reasoning that it would fill him up the fastest and longest. Jack chowed through an adult portion of lasagne with incredible concentration, as fast as Dean could cut it up, check it for heat, and shovel it into his ‘gaping piehole’. Jack then ate two forkfuls of the caesar salad and a pile of the croutons, followed by an entire slice of pizza unaided, not even making that much of a mess, and without picking anything off the top of it.

“Where does he put it?” Dean marvelled. Both of Sam’s kids were picky eaters. Jack was a new dimension in childcare for him.

Cas sounded resigned. “And we’ll get the same volume out the other end. Make sure he drinks something, he can get constipated. I got him some organic fruit juice.” Cas got up and fetched it.

As always, when Jack was done, he was done. He wanted to go back outside again and almost made a break for it, but Cas got to the door first.

“If I ate that much relative to my size I’d be in a food coma,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“I know, he hardly seems human sometimes.”

“Mebbe he’s a changeling?” Dean teased.

The doorbell rang.

“Always during meals,” Cas said, dropping his fork with a clatter, “and I was enjoying myself.”  He was still eating, and Dean hadn’t really started yet.

It was Rynn.

Cas held the outer glass door closed by the handle, firmly, and said, “I’m not letting you in.”

“I’m here for Jack,” she said. The social smile she’d arrived with turned hard.

Cas cut to the chase. “I dare you to call the cops. I’ve got a temporary order for his custody - ” a white lie, but okay under the circumstances, “ - and you have to speak to them anyway about abandoning Trish in Thailand after she was assaulted on the beach.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rynn said. “I left Trish in California. I’m taking Jack to her in California.”

“Really? Why can’t she come to the phone? She never cleared customs in Thailand, so she’s still there, in a hospital in Phuket according to the consular official, which is where you abandoned her with brain damage and lacerations. She may not even survive. So, before you get Jack you have to apply for custody, and satisfy both the Thai and local police that you have the legal right to him. After all, you didn’t formally adopt him,” Cas added, “And I’m his biological father, and you either tried to kill Trish or paid someone else to.”

Jack came into the entranceway like an angry whirl of arms and legs and started beating and kicking the door hard enough that Cas was worried he’d break the glass. He was screaming. “No, no, no, no!” until Dean was able to grab him and take him back into the master bedroom. Rynn’s expression of distaste and loathing was brief but indelible.

“And then there’s the issue of how Jack really doesn’t like you all that much,” Cas said, as the screaming volume dropped behind a closed door. “And how you said you’d divorce Trish if you didn’t get a break from Jack.”

“I don’t want to talk to you through a door, Cas,” Rynn said, in a gentle voice, like she thought Cas was having a bad day. The social smile, with an edge, was back.

Cas was unhelpful. “Life is full of minor disappointments.” He got out Sam’s business card, held it up to the glass and said, “Here’s the number of Jack’s lawyer.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “Jack’s lawyer?”

“Yes, I specifically told Sam that he was to represent Jack’s best interests, not mine,” Cas said. “Sam gave us a list of your prior arrests and incarcerations and aliases, by the way. And since it’s my opinion that if you get your hands on Jack you’ll sell him for what you can get, you’re not getting into this house.”

Rynn’s face went blank, and then filled with hate, but she got herself back under control. She made no threats, she didn’t swear or stomp. She turned on her heel, and made for her car.

Cas followed her. She broke into a run, got in and locked the doors. Cas folded his arms and shook his head in disgust. She didn’t even have a car seat in her vehicle. Maybe she thought she’d sweet-talk it out of Cas, or just imperiously take his. Or unsafely drive Jack wherever the (probable) handoff was going to be. The lasagne gurgled in his stomach and sent a little spritz of acid up his throat. So much for a leisurely adult meal.

He went back inside, left a message for Sam, and went to tell little Jack that the mean lady was gone.

Jack was still sobbing, much more quietly, in Dean’s arms. Dean was stony-faced, although his voice, comforting the little boy, was soft and affectionate. Cas hugged his little boy, and for a moment the two men were holding him between them as his sobs quietened. Cas said, “You’d better try to eat something.”

Dean said, releasing Jack, “Where’s Trish’s place? I’d like to go over there and have a little chat with Rynn. With a gun.”

Cas sounded exasperated. “Dean, you can’t just shoot her. And please, no such talk in front of Jack. It’s all very well to joke about it - ”

Dean looked sour. “If she actually wanted Jack to sell him, she could be hanging around with some very unpleasant, heavily-armed mooks. I’m more qualified to deal with those kind of … situations, than you are.”

“Are you? Really? Dean, you’re going to hobble into it, trying to manage a gun and your crutches at the same time,” Cas said in a more reasonable tone.

“I want intel,” Dean growled, after a slow eyeroll and a huffed sigh indicated that he’d taken Cas’s words onboard.

“I want you to stay here and protect Jack,” Cas said firmly.

“God, when you put it like that…” Dean said. After a moment to think he said, “Fine, but I’d sure like to know what her next move is gonna be.”

They finished their meal and went into the living room and watched ‘Bluey’ and other toddler-friendly shows for several hours until Jack fell asleep on his dad, at which point Cas transferred him into ‘the big bed’.

Cas had bought a bolster and a side rail to prevent Jack from coming off the bed in the middle of the night. He tucked his son in and came back out into the living room and sat.

“I’m not going to be able to sleep,” Dean said. “I was so rattled to see that woman. She creeped me the hell out. As a cop I’ve met more than my share of dirtbags and her? she ticks the boxes.”

“Dean,” Cas said.

“Yeah?” Dean said.

“I’m going to give you a hug,” Cas said. And he did, leaning across to hug Dean’s shoulders as they sat next to each other on the couch.

Dean didn’t move for the first two seconds, and then he sagged against Cas and put his arms around him.  They stayed like that for a while, but it wasn’t very comfortable. Dean shifted to make his back and neck quit whining. “How the fuck did you know I needed that?” he said in a soft voice.

“You used to be able to touch a baby every day. You’re probably so touch-starved you’re half crazy,” Cas said in a muffled voice. “I know it’s kinda self-serving, ‘cause I could use it, too.”

“Man, I don’t know,” Dean said, leaning away. His eyes were bright with tears. “You’re being pretty amazing about all of this shit.”

Cas sighed. “Well, I was a combat medic, so at least I can stay calm under most circumstances, but I’ll scream like a girl if you prank me.”

Dean pulled all the way back to look at his face. “A combat medic? holy crap. But I dunno… I fucking love pranks.”

“Play them on other people, or face my murderous wrath,” Cas said in that same deep, calm voice.

Dean said, “See, I can’t tell when you’re being sarcastic…”

“I’m setting a boundary. Not telling you what to do with other people. Zar used to prank me as if I should treat it as an honor, and in the end all I felt was his contempt, and his disrespect.”

“That sucks.” They sat for a minute. Dean spoke softly. “I feel like if I let one emotion out, they’ll all rush for the fucking door and start screaming their business in the street.”

Cas said, with calm interest, “Which emotion’s up next? For me, it’s always anxiety, my one true constant in life.”

Dean was sympathetic. “Christ, musta got turned up to eleven when you realized you had the world’s wildest toddler living with you from now until the little son-of-a-gun moves out.”

“Dean, what’s really got me worried is how feral I got when I realized Trish was hurt and Jack was at risk.”

“Panic-mode dad,” Dean said, not joking.

“I know you had no obligation to get involved in the dangerous chaos that my life has turned into.  But also… I know you’d both kill and die for Jack,” Cas said.

Dean shrugged to hide how moved he was. “I care about the outcome,” he said in a deep voice.

“You have no idea what that means to me,” Cas said.

“One of my fans?” Dean asked hopefully.

“Well, I’m going to show you the gun safe,” Cas said, with a casualness that floored Dean.

Dean said, “There are guns in the house?” Then he got practical. “All kosher and unloaded and locked, right … right?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Cas said with distaste. “But you need to know where it is and where the key is.”

“Yeah, I’d say. Do you shoot at a gun range?”

“A couple of times a year, enough to stay accurate,” Cas said. “Can I assume that with your police experience you’re a reasonable shot?”

“Well, I won the local NRA Serving Officer Challenge two years running, but in truth I haven’t touched a firearm since I left the PD,” Dean said.

Cas showed him where everything was. Dean checked to make sure the guns - there were two, a no-name .22 target pistol and a Colt Model 10 .38 with a custom grip - weren’t loaded, saw there was sufficient ammo, and grunted his approval.

“So here we are,” Dean said, “Talking about blowing away Jack’s stepmother.”

“Well, in our defence, she’s serving up the 'wicked' stereotype with hot sauce on top,” Cas said.

Dean barked out a laugh and said, affectionately, “You’re a weirdo.”

Cas smiled briefly. “I’m a much less anxious weirdo when you’re around.”

“High praise,” Dean said. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

Dean said, “How did you end up being a high school teacher?”

Cas took a moment to consider it. “Once I figured out I was gay - and believe me, it took a while, since for the longest time I didn’t understand that thinking that women are beautiful is not the same as being attracted to them - I realized I’d probably never have kids. I was working in the family business and hating it - “

“Oh?”

“Slum landlords,” Cas said tersely. “Imagine how scummy they are that Gabe couldn’t deal with it. So I went back to school and got a Masters degree in Education, and then my friend started the alternative school and even though I had zero experience I became the vice principal.”

Dean nodded.

“If I may, can I enquire what you’re hoping to do after your foot heals?”

“Cas, I have no idea. I don’t actually have to work. I was thinking of volunteering to look after Jack when school starts but he’ll do better in day care.”

Cas seemed relieved. “You think I don’t need a nanny?”

Dean got chatty, seeking to reassure him. “I do. Eileen felt terrible putting her little guys in day care after she went back to work, but they love it. They’re in different rooms, so they can relax and be themselves without constantly getting into fights, and the carer for the youngest knows ASL and now the other kids are learning it to keep up with their conversations with parental support, which is just awesome. And Eileen gets to keep working on her career, social worker by day and peer support to deaf parents by night and mom both night and day. Now let’s be real here if my assessment sucks you should get him a nanny or at least another daycare.”

“I’ll get you the school start dates,” Cas said.

Dean shrugged. “No problem.”

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get ready for bed, I’m exhausted.”

“Can I watch TV - quietly - for a while? I need to wind down.”

“Feel free,” Cas said, with a wave. “If you can figure out the wireless headphones you can use them.”

Cas went to bed and thought, briefly, because he was a self-disciplined man, how fantastic it would be if Dean just snuck into bed without asking and put his arms around him.

Real life is never so straightforward.

At some point during the night, Dean, who was in patrol mode, dropped a crutch in the hallway - even through the closed door it made a racket and then he swore loud enough to be heard. Cas looked at the half-acre of bed he had to cross before he could get out. He couldn’t get out the other side without waking Jack. He lifted the blanket and slowly and gently rolled over three times (he must look like an assbutt, he thought mournfully.)

He got up and he was just about to open the door to quietly chide Dean, when he realized he was naked - he’d been a naturist since he’d left home - and that was not kosher. He put his ‘extra fluffy’ bathrobe on - how Gabe had mocked him, relentlessly, when he’d first purchase it. Cas was terrible at buying things on line, but at least it fit and was comfy, and he was practical enough to put the aesthetics aside, since he couldn’t be bothered to return it.

By the glow of the nightlight, Dean was an almost shapeless shadow.

“Man, I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You didn’t waken Jack,” Cas whispered back. The bed was a magnet, tugging at him. He needed to sleep. “Do you think you’d sleep better if you were in a room with other people?” Cas asked.

There was a catch in Dean’s breath before he answered. “Are you suggesting I sleep in your bed?”

“Or try to. It might help to listen to other people, breathing slowly.”

“Or snore,” and even through the whisper the tone was derisive.

“No problem. See you in the morning,” Cas said, and went back to bed.

Just as Cas was falling back asleep, he heard the bedroom door open, turned over and whispered, “That better be you, Dean,” and Dean said, “Yeah,” softly. He was wearing a t-shirt and either shorts or boxers, it was hard to tell. He closed the door, padded over to the bed, got in without making a lot of noise, and Cas started to wish he was sort of unconscious. Just long enough to avoid this.

Dean stealthily scooched all the way over. Cas took a moment to admire it; Dean was totally committed to not waking Jack up. Full marks. But he kept scooching, and kept scooching, and before long Dean was resting a hand on his iliac spine. It was very warm, and very welcome, and Cas held still, knowing what was coming. Dean had brushed his teeth, apparently. Cas felt his spine go rigid and braced himself. He could smell Dean’s laundry detergent.

“Cas,” Dean said softly.

“Yes,” Cas said.

“You’re naked.”

“Yeah, sorry, I sleep that way,” Cas whispered. “Also, I’ve been following the single dad sites and some of them recommend nudity and being more relaxed about leaving the bathroom door open during toilet training.”

Dean did not move his hand. “I mean, it was a surprise, but thanks for the briefing,” Dean said. “Or debriefing, or whatever.” He sat up, took his t-shirt off, and then to Cas’s joy and terror plastered himself across Cas’s back. Tears welled in his eyes.

Dean said, “But you’re going to have to put up with me being the big spoon.”

“That’s - that’s fine,” Cas managed to say. It was overwhelming for Cas, but at the same time comforting and strangely - ordinary? Normal? No big deal?  He steadied his breathing and waited for Dean to get fresh, and all Dean did was mimic Cas’s breathing. He wasn’t alone, Cas thought dreamily. They were both asleep in minutes.

Wednesday

Dean woke around 5 am, almost overheating. Cas had drifted away to Jack’s side of the bed; Jack himself was between them, his red-hot head pushed into Dean’s chest and his feet against his dad’s back. If you had a certain turn of mind it might look like Jack was trying to drive a wedge between them, but Dean interpreted it as Jack wanting to stay in contact with both of his protectors and smiled to himself.

Jack was still asleep, which suited Dean just fine. He very carefully unstuck himself from Jack, trying hard not to think about little Sam, and crept across the bed, collecting his t-shirt along the way. He grabbed his crutches and made his way to the coffee-maker.

Cas got up about twenty minutes later, poured himself a cup of coffee and said, absent-mindedly, “Good morning.”

Dean was smiling at him for some reason. It was a warm, intimate smile, and Cas smiled back. Dean said, “Good morning, sunshine. I woke up with a kid stuck to me.”

“I got woken up with a kick to the sternum,” Cas complained. He softened. “So I am very glad you made coffee, that was a heckuva way to wake up.”

“Where’s Jack?”

Cas’s voice was in its lowest register. He sounded like an exhausted undertaker. “In the living room, no doubt trying to rip down the curtains. I have a new decorating plan. I’m just going to let him keep destroying stuff until there’s nothing left to replace, at which point I’ll go minimalist.”

Dean grinned sympathetically. “The go-with-the-flow plan.”

Jack appeared from the living room with his Tow Mater truck, stomped up to Dean and demanded ‘uppies’. Dean obliged, wincing a bit. Cas said, “I’ll get started on breakfast.”

He made a stack of pancakes. Dean realized that he was going to be doing ‘the stuffing of the liddle face’ because Jack would not get down from his lap and refused his high chair.  It seemed pretty clear that Dean was Jack’s new toy. “Hokay, liddle man,” he said, and gave him a bouncing ride on his good leg. Jack devoured two pancakes and all the homemade strawberry sauce, occasionally kicking Dean’s shin with his heel in his enthusiasm. He drank about six ounces of milk, ate four more strawberries and two pieces of turkey bacon, submitted to a wet wipe on the hands and face, and returned to the living room.

“He really likes you,” Cas said.

Dean answered through a mouthful of pancake. “That’s good, because I think he’s cool.”

“Do you know, I was about to get a cat, I was so lonely,” Cas confided. “God knows what the cat would think, being trapped in a house with Jack.”

“Good thing you didn’t, I love cats but they make me sneeze for days,” Dean said.

“Anything else you’re allergic to?”

Dean groaned. “Assholes. It made being a cop impossible, cause the perps aren’t always worse than the people arresting them.”

“Why did you become one, then?” Cas asked in wonderment.

“Eventually you’ll catch on that I’m kind of a dolt,” Dean said, once again with his mouth full. Cas contemplated him with an intense, yet difficult to read, expression.

“What,” Dean said, muffled.

“I just do not experience you as a dolt, Dean,” Cas said.

“I said eventually,” Dean said, swallowing.

There was a thump from the living room, followed by a wail, and Cas went to see what his kid was up to. Dean tipped his head to one side, waiting to see if he needed to get up, but Cas called, “He’s fine, he jumped off the sofa.” Cas got him set up with his favorite shows and a godawful singing toy that played the Old McDonald song on repeat, and returned to the kitchen.

“He needs other kids,” Dean observed.

“So you’ve said, I’m convinced.”

Cas cleaned up after breakfast while Dean checked his phone.

“Oh god, no,” he said.

“What?” Cas asked, turning around.

Dean was frowning and biting his lip. “I dunno how to say it. He texted us both at the same time.”

“It’s bad,” Cas said, visibly bracing himself.

“The consular office faxed Sam. Trish passed away at 6 am yesterday,” Dean said.

Cas crumpled against the kitchen counter, and Dean got up and hopped over on one foot to give him a hug. Cas clung to Dean and did his best to not to start sobbing. “That poor little boy,” Cas said against Dean’s shoulder. “My mother was horrible, but at least I had a mother.”

“Now Rynn can’t claim Jack any more,” Dean said, trying to be comforting. “With Trish gone …”

“But I can’t just hand him back, now, either,” Cas said with a little gasp. “I’m committed.”

Dean made eye contact. “Sam’s gone ahead and formally asked for a custody hearing.”

“Yeah, of course,” Cas said in a hollowed-out voice. He looked woebegone.

Dean gave him a shoulder squeeze and sat down again.

They looked toward the living room when they heard furniture moving.

Cas went to check. Jack had shoved the sofa away from the front window - in addition to his other notable features he was strong as a buffalo - and was making himself a little play area. He bent over from his waist to pick things up, looking so adorable Cas grinned. He looked up at his dad and Cas moved the coffee table a bit closer to the TV and straightened out the rug. Jack started tugging at the curtains. “I’ll close them for you,” Cas said.

“Tag you,” Jack said. “Coze em.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m gonna head over to my place to shower and change,” Dean said.

“Will you be back?” Cas asked. He pulled himself together, realizing that he sounded all forlorn, and said, more evenly, “I’m sorry, you may have other obligations.”

Dean looked at him as if he was nuts. “Until we know for sure Rynn’s completely out of the picture, you’re kinda stuck with me.”

“Oh,” Cas said. “That’s a relief.”

Dean gave him a wink and went home, or tried to. As Dean was standing at his back door, fumbling with his keys, Rynn appeared out of nowhere and aimed a taser at him. Dean swung his metal crutch around; the leads stuck in the tape around the crutch, while Dean was insulated by the grip. The electrified crutch struck Rynn in the side of the neck, and she received an attenuated shock, which along with the sweeping blow knocked her on her ass down the deck stairs.

“Jesus fucking Christ, lady,” Dean said. Rynn moaned.

She couldn’t stand right away, but she could yell, by God. “You assaulted me!” Rynn yelled. She continued to sputter, but it was mostly gibberish except the part where she was claiming to be seriously injured.

“You started it,” Dean said in a growl, and got his cell phone out.

He called Cas, yelling over Rynn’s racket. “Rynn’s here, she tased me, call the cops,” he said, and stared Rynn down.

She staggered to her feet. Dean hopped down the steps like a three-legged cat and struck her dead centre in the sternum with his crutch tip. If he’d hit her harder, he could have killed her, but it was a blow calculated so as not to break anything.

“Stay down,” Dean advised. It was quite a while before Rynn could get enough breath in her to squeak, let alone yell. Cas came out into his yard. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Cas was obviously talking to 911.

“Trish is dead,” he said flatly.

Rynn gave him a hate stare. Other than that, no reaction.

Dean vented his disgust.

“You are a piece of work, you know that? You got no claim on Jack, at all, any more than I have, so maybe you can take the loss and get the fuck out of our lives.”

“He’s my son,” Rynn gasped. “I’m taking him.”

“You took an advance on him, I betcha, and now you have to deliver. It isn’t gonna happen,” Dean said with contempt. “Tell your trafficking buddies that they’re not getting Jack.” He bent over her, threatening with her his crutch the whole time while she cowered, and plucked her phone from her pocket.

“No password!?” he marvelled. He emailed her contact list to himself. She tried to get up and he didn’t even poke her that hard before she was on her ass, yelling, again. Dean, with an evil smile, tossed the phone back to her.

“Now I’ve got the contact info for your scumbag friends,” Dean said. There was Cas’s face, white as a sheet and hanging like a moon over the fence.

“The police should be here shortly,” he called.

“Jack,” Rynn yelled, “I’m here for you, baby!”

“You can’t have him without a court hearing,” Cas yelled back.

“Delulu,” Dean said, with an eyeroll at Rynn.

Jack, thank goodness, was still in the house, doing god knows what in the bathroom, or wherever.

“Are you okay Dean? Did she really taser you?”

“Well, the goddamned confetti’s everywhere, so, yeah,” Dean yelled back.

Dean stared at Rynn. She stared back. And eventually, after about four lifetimes, the cops arrived.

Rynn started yelling again and Dean asked to speak to one of the policemen away from Rynn. Dean told him that he had in fact struck Rynn three times, and where, and made sure he wrote it down, but she’d tased him first and he’d used reasonable force in keeping her detained and nothing more. Ten minutes later she was headed to the station, arrested and cuffed because she hadn’t bothered to get a permit for her taser, with a planned side trip to Emerg first.

“Dumbass,” Dean said, wiggling the fingers of one hand at her as she departed. He yelled at the cops, “Keep an eye out she’s a slippery one!” He made his way back to the side gate and nodded at Cas.

“Dean,” Cas said. He’d gotten Jack out of the house so he could watch as his would-be abductor got hauled away by the police. Jack was breathing noisily and wore his ‘mean expression’. “Do you think someone else will come for Jack?”

“Not this instant,” Dean guessed. “If they’re here they’ll have seen the cops and booked it long since. Still haven’t got my shower.”

“Why don’t I help you grab what you need and you come back here?” Cas suggested.

Dean looked sly. “Are you encouraging me to move in with you? Wanna see my toothbrush in your bathroom?”

Cas gave a sigh. “Just until the crisis has definitely passed. And I know you didn’t know her, but Trish was my best friend in college and her passing is just wrecking me right now.”

Dean sobered. “You don’t want to be alone.”

“I’d prefer some adult company,” Cas said simply.

“Are you demanding cuddles?” Dean asked with that sly expression again. He gently leaned on the fence and blinked rapidly, to hilarious effect.

“Not demanding, no,” Cas said, pinching his lips together so he didn’t allow himself to smile.

“Fine. I’m still going to have a shower at my place, and then I’ll ask for help bringing more stuff over, but I’m warning you, next thing you know my air fryer’s gonna be on your counter and I’ll have messed up your decor,” Dean warned.

“I would be happy to carry your air fryer into my kitchen,” Cas announced gravely, and left Dean in peace to go home and clean up.

Jack’s adventures weren’t too bad. Jack had gotten into the bathtub, realized he was wearing his clothes, gotten out, taken them off, and was now screeching at how cold the water was. Cas was relieved Jack hadn’t gotten the hot water on, he could have scalded himself. He thought he’d have to lower the water heater temperature.

“Daddy’s here,” Cas said, trying to ignore the noise. He turned off the tap, and Jack looked up at him and said, “Daddy,” and Cas sat down on the bathroom floor and cried for about ten seconds. It was the first time Jack had called him that.

Jack got out of the bathtub and tried to comfort his father. Cas responded by getting a grip on himself; he swiftly stripped down, grabbed the sack of bath toys he and Dean had assembled, and he and Jack had a bath. Jack started straining; Cas realized he had about two seconds to get Jack positioned over the toilet; he grabbed his slippery kid and got him set up and so Cas got to say, “Good job!” and wipe him.

He started counting the minutes until Dean returned. The seconds, even.

Dean didn’t mess around. He had the air fryer, his toiletries and a box of crackers in his backpack when he banged on the back door twenty-five minutes later.

“Guess who went number two in the toilet just now,” Cas said by way of greeting. He was pink and his hair was wet and dripping into his bathrobe.

“Jack? You better be talking ‘bout Jack. What a kid.”

Jack, birthday suit and all, hopped around the kitchen and yelled, “I go POO I go POO!”

Dean, who had a disgusting sense of humor, started pretending it was a song. So he sang, taking the old jazz standard, “Am I blue?” as a template, and sang, “I go poo! I go poo! ain’t this plop - in the john - telling you,” at which point Cas cackled with laughter and the three of them were laughing at the stupid joke.

“I know you were only gone half an hour,” Cas said, “But something else happened.”

“What?”

“He called me ‘daddy’,” Cas breathed.

“Oh, wow,” Dean said. “Milestones today, hey?” He grinned at Jack and said, “He’s Daddy, and I’m Dean. Can you call me Dean?”

“Dean,” Jack said. He started hopping, bending low as he hopped. “Daddy. Dean. Daddy. Dean.”

“Sounds great,” Dean said with satisfaction. Cas went him one better.

Cas started hopping. He looked very serious, but the effect was ludicrous.  “Daddy,” he said, pointing to himself. “Dean,” he said, pointing to Dean. “And great big Jack, Jack, Jack,” and now the adults were deafened as Jack started imitating Cas.

“Gate bick JACK JACK JACK,” Jack screamed.

“Oh god,” said Dean, amused. “Is it too early to start drinking? I feel like I’ve had a complete day already.”

“Yes, Dean, it’s too early to start drinking,” Cas said.

“I wasn’t serious,” Dean said.

“Good. How do you feel about collapsing in the living room and watching ‘toddlervision’ with Jack while I get you a cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

Dean let his face get all soft and gooey.

“So, yes,” Cas said.

But Dean did not do as he was asked. Instead, he ported his playlist over to Cas’s TV (Cas was not even aware that his TV could ‘do that’) and started playing classic rock, and encouraging Jack to dance. Cas came in with the coffee and snack and said, almost, but not quite, miffed, “Can you turn it down?” but both Dean and Jack insisted. Dean danced sitting on the sofa, and Jack wiggled, jumped, stomped, arm-waved and karate-kicked his way around the living room. Even Cas had to admit that Jack looked very cute, interpreting Led Zeppelin with slow head bangs (he was imitating Dean, of course).

Cas said said, almost in despair after checking Jack’s midsection, “Can you turn the music down so I can coax him into a fresh diaper? I just had him on the toilet.”

“Yeah, sure, Cas,” Dean said, and turned the volume way down. Jack whipped around with his ‘mean face’ and just hate-stared at Dean and then Cas, neither of whom gave an inch. Dean made an exaggerated mean face right back at him, and all of a sudden Jack’s lip wobbled.

“Hey buddy,” Dean said. “Get a new diaper and we can dance some more in the living room.”

Jack allowed himself to be changed but re-entered the living room with many loud stomps and much commotion.

“After we dance do you you want to play outside?” Dean asked

“Ogay,” Jack said.

“Cool,” Dean said. The volume came back up and Cas fled the room to cut up snacks.

Dean killed the music to try to get Cas’s attention, over Jack’s noisy objections. Jack used the time without music to jump on the couch and step back and forth from the end of the sectional to the coffee table. Back and forth, back and forth, a jolly little automaton.

“If you fall, you’ll get no sympathy from me,” Dean said, shaking a pointless finger. He raised his voice, “Got any balloons?”

“I think they’re in the junk drawer,” Cas called back from the kitchen. “Or still packed. Nope, there are some here.”

“Can I have a couple?”

Dean blew a couple up and Jack batted balloons around to the strains of Metallica, The White Stripes, and Pink Floyd.

It was another nice day, so they took it outside.

Jack single-mindedly chased the green balloon up and down the yard. He tripped, lots, but got up laughing like a maniac and continued his pursuit. The green balloon popped and Dean blew up a blue one. The blue one popped and Dean blew up a red one. Dean laughed so hard he told Cas he was scared he’d 'pop' his ribcage. Cas went in to get snacks.

Jack’s smile disappeared. Dean followed his gaze. A straight white middle aged couple were standing at the side gate.

“Can I help you?” he asked mildly, and then turned his attention back to Jack.

“We’re here for our grandson,” the woman announced imperiously.

“For a visit? Sure,” Dean said. He got up and blocked them from entering the yard by making his crutches a trip hazard. “Let’s see some ID, things have gotten weird around here.”

The man looked like he could spit nails. His eyes bulged. “Let’s see some ID from you! Who are you and what are you doing with my grandson!”

“Dean,” Jack wailed, apparently thinking that his new friend was in trouble, and came straight at the older man. “Go way go way go WAY!” Jack yelled, and the man literally dodged behind the gate and closed it rather than get Jack’s grubby hands and face on his pant legs. It looked hilarious from Dean’s perspective and he made a face so he wouldn’t smile.

The woman heaved a forbearing sigh.

Mrs. Strong produced her identification without comment. Dean said, “Mrs. Strong, thank you.” He produced his own ID. “I’m Dean Winchester. Have you been speaking to Rynn?”

“She informs us that Mr. Novak has kidnapped Jack,” Mrs. Strong said. She didn’t seem convinced.

Dean assessed her. “Did she tell you where Trish is?”

There was the chill of a nice WASP lady suppressing her emotions. “We heard. She’s being buried in Thailand, apparently.”

Dean spoke as honestly as he thought was polite. “I am really sorry for your loss. I heard through Cas that you were estranged, but that doesn’t make it easier.”

She looked at him, unable to speak.

“Kidnapping victims don’t usually have the run of the yard,” Dean said, and then gave hobbling chase as Jack tried to find another way to climb the fence. Dean said, over his shoulder, “Come into the yard, Mr. Strong.”

Cas backed out of the door with the tray of snacks, pivoted to come out on the patio, and nearly dropped the tray. He moved stiffly over to the table and sat. “Mr. and Mrs. Strong,” he said.

“Castiel,” she said.

“They’ve been talking to Rynn,” Dean said.

“Mm.” Cas said. “Excuse me for a moment.” He went into the house, and returned with Sam’s business card and two extra glasses for sweet tea.

“What are your intentions with respect to Jack?” Cas asked.

Mrs. Strong said, “We’re going to take him home with us. Rynn says that this home is unfit.” She said it, but she was obviously starting to have second thoughts. It was likely Rynn had sent them in hoping they’d get farther than she had. You had to admire the gall of someone who got arrested and lied about it in such a way that she could coax an upper middle class couple into kidnapping a child. There was a consistent, brutal directness to Rynn that Dean found almost compelling. Then he remembered something.

“Got a car seat?” Dean grunted.

“No, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Strong said. She was frowning.

“Right,” Cas said, considering her. “No, you may not borrow mine. Yes, you may visit him and take him on excursions once you’ve demonstrated you’re safe with him. Here’s his lawyer’s card.”

“He’s a two year old child,” Mr. Strong said to Cas, as if he thought he was mentally slow. “What’s this nonsense about safety.”

Cas and Dean looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Dean sobered first. “Sure,” Dean said.

“Absolutely,” Cas said. “He’s a two year old child whom you may not hit or spank to discipline, and who co-sleeps with his caregivers, and who has an energy level that has to be experienced to believe.” (Jack was still playing with his balloon, but keeping a wary eye out for his grandfather and staying in the far end of the yard.) “Are you ready to have a toddler in your bed for overnight visits?”

“Ridiculous,” Mr. Strong said.

“Richard,” Mrs. Strong said, a plea in her voice. “He will allow us access!”

“He’s our grandson! This man’s just the - just the sperm donor!” Richard sputtered.

Dean and Cas exchanged a fiery glance, and Cas made a little gesture. “You don’t want this child full time,” Cas said. “It’s not a question of your fitness, he’s just too much kid.” Dean was looking at the ground and shaking his head.

“Who is this man?” Richard demanded, pointing at Dean as if he was dog meat.

“This is a former police officer who has had a complete background check, as have I,” Cas answered peacefully. “I sure hope if I run background checks on you two nothing will come up. You know, a driving charge or anything.”

Richard looked like he was about to swallow his tongue. It wasn’t known outside the family that he’d been arrested. The veins on his forehead bulged out and he yelled, “This fool is impossible. Kelly, we’re leaving.”

Kelly waited until her husband had stormed off out of view. She accepted Sam’s business card and mimed, nodding, that she would call Cas. Cas and Dean nodded back at her politely without smiling.

“Bye bye, Jack,” she said to her grandson. She had a hopeful smile on her face.

Jack stopped running and turned toward her. A small smile came onto his face in response. He waved. He understood the social niceties. “Bye bye!” he chirped, and went back to chasing his balloon. She went away, smiling.

“She’ll bring him around, I bet,” Cas said.

“You won’t try to block access,” Dean said.

“Richard’s a dick but Kelly will be fine,” Cas said. “And they’re loaded. Having rich relatives may save his life someday.”

“Aren’t you the perfect dad,” Dean said. “And I think you’re right. You don’t cut off family just because you don’t like them. If you keep Jack’s interests in mind you may never get a thank you but at least you’ll know you were doing the right thing.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Cas said.

They drank sweet tea and munched on the veggies Cas had prepped and watched Jack chase a balloon for the best part of an hour.

“Tireless,” Cas said, shaking his head.

Dean probably sounded more pompous than he meant to, but only because he was quoting his brother. “He’s getting gross motor stimulation in a relatively safe environment. The only thing that would make things better is kids his own age.”

“I am looking forward to that,” Cas sighed.

Dean’s watch beeped. “Believe it or not, I have a therapy appointment.”

“Your first?”

“Yup.”

“In your life?” Cas asked.

Dean’s expression turned hard. “Jeez,” Dean said. “Just don’t, my brother basically had to get on his hands and knees to get me to a therapist.”

Cas calmed down. “Good luck. I hope your therapist is decently competent.”

“Sure seems that way, we’ll see.”

“I’ll be locking the door, so I’d better give you a key,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. Cas shooting at him when he tried to get back into the house would really suck.  “I should probably do the same.” They exchanged house keys and Dean succeeded in not saying anything stupid about it, like, “Does this mean that we’re going steady?”

Dean had already filled in the intake paperwork on line and established his three main goals in therapy.

“To deal with my guilt about my wife and son dying.”

Just looking at that sentence made Dean feel panicky. How are you supposed to get over something like that? Deal with it? C’mon.

“To get some insight about what I might do to make a living.” I got a settlement but a man should make a contribution.

“To figure out how I can tell when a relationship is good for me.” Because man, Cas is looking good! – and that’s just … not right. I cannot be feeling like this when my wife and son are scarcely cold in the ground.

He fired up his laptop, checked the mic, turned on the webcam, and waited for his appointment to begin.

Garth gave Dean an opening speech, which concluded with: “I’m here to give you practical assistance in managing your emotions. I’m here to be honest about assessing your situation and your needs. I don’t pretend to be impartial. Candidly, I find that ‘being impartial’ approach kinda authoritarian. I’m all about getting power back to people after they’ve been coached how to use it for good.”

“Sounds good so far,” Dean said.

“Condolences on the loss of your wife and child,” Garth said. He seemed very sincere.

“Thank you.”

“Can we dive right in?”

Dean shrugged.

“Could you talk a bit about how their deaths have impacted your life?”

Dean frowned. What part of his life wasn’t impacted by Ava and Sam? “What can I tell you? I feel sad and sore and guilty every day,” Dean said.

“How does that play out? What behaviors occur?” Garth asked.

Dean thought it about it briefly. “I cry. I can’t move. I know I have to do household stuff but instead I sit around in my underwear. I watch TV just to hear a human voice. I stay away from my friends. I don’t talk to my brother as much as I should. I didn’t get proper physio for my broken foot although I made an appointment when I called you.”

“Yeah, I saw that you’d hurt your foot,” Garth said sympathetically.

“I didn’t cry yesterday though,” Dean said. He thought about putting his arms around Cas and briefly smirked.

Garth narrowed his eyes. “What was different about yesterday?” Garth asked.

“I slept over at my neighbor’s house,” Dean said. “You know, got away from the mausoleum.”

“You smiled. Did something else happen?”

“Well, my neighbor has a problem with the custody situation for his toddler, and I was over there helping out with the kid, in a couple of different ways, and I got too distracted with all of his problems to feel sorry for myself.”

“I get the impression that’s not all that happened. Are you developing a relationship with your neighbour?”

There was a troubled pause. “Mebbe,” Dean said reluctantly. “I mean, I don’t know if that’s what he’s interested in.”

“You said in your history that you’re bisexual.”

“Yeah.”

“Having a child doesn’t necessarily imply that he’s straight. Do you know his orientation?”

“He told me he’s gay,” Dean said.

“Does he know yours? Do you flirt with him?”

“I told him, and nah, not really,” Dean said. “He’s kinda autistic so flirting is hard,” he added.

“So you are interested in him, but don’t know his feelings.”

Dean thought about it. “Yeah, but it’s kinda more complicated than that. He noticed I was having trouble sleeping and wondered aloud if I’d do better bunking in with him and his kid…”

Garth’s eyebrows came down abruptly. “He sleeps with his child?”

“The child’s mother was just murdered in Thailand, and he’s too young to be told his mother’s gone and someone he barely knows is looking after him, so I suggested Cas let him sleep in the same bed and now everybody’s getting more sleep.”

“That’s kinda unconventional,” Garth said. “You said ‘murdered in Thailand’. That’s true?”

“Well, that’s what the consular office says,” Dean said flatly. He addressed the other, unspoken question. “My brother and his wife and family practice ‘the family bed’ but two of them are deaf and it makes nighttimes less of a hassle,” Dean said. “It’s the only reason I suggested it since it’s working great for my bro.”

“Oh,” Garth said. “So he suggested that you join him and you said yes?” Garth said, in that same kind, implacable voice.

“Yeah, but,” and at that point Dean couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t make it obvious that something sexual was going on, even if absolutely nothing sexual happened. “Nothing sexual happened.”

“Because there was a minor child present,” Garth said in a mildly disapproving voice.

“And because Ava and little Sam haven’t been dead that long, and I need to process as much of that as I can before I get involved with anyone else.”

“I really don’t recommend sleeping in the same bed as your neighbor until the two of you have had a proper chat about what it means and what your expectations and boundaries are,” Garth said.

“Do I hafta?” Dean complained. “I was just going to let it ride, if he doesn’t say anything. I mean, the way you say it, you make it sound easy, but I have no idea what to say to him.”

Garth permitted himself a small, cajoling smile. “He could be planning a wedding in his head and if you don’t talk to him you’ll have regrets. You need to understand and enforce healthy adult boundaries,” Garth said.

“Two different sets of people tried to kidnap Jack yesterday. I really don’t think Cas is thinking of china patterns right now,” Dean said.

“Holy shit,” Garth squeaked. “Is that true?”

“Yeah, and it’s fine, you can swear, I won’t report you,” Dean said.

“You’re serious.”

“Like a heart attack,” Dean assured him.

“Are the police involved?”

Things probably only got more confusing for Garth. “For the mother’s death, yes, but in Thailand, at least so far, and we only called the cops on Rynn, the woman who was married to the mom at the time of her death. Cas made nice to the other people, seeing as how they’re the mom’s parents and it could be argued that they have a legitimate claim to him,” Dean said.

“Your neighbor has a very complicated life,” Garth said, digesting this.

“Well yeah, and it looks like Rynn was going to sell Jack, the kid, and she turns out to be a total crook. And Jack just fuckin’ hates her; I thought he was gonna rip her lungs out when he saw her. Kicking and screaming, the whole ball of wax.”

Garth was going down the rabbit hole; he faintly said, “She was planning to sell him?”

Dean, fully aware of how nutjob it all was, stayed calm. “Yup, that’s why Cas hired a lawyer to represent Jack’s interests, because he’s super vulnerable right now. Cas is the biological father, but he never had custody before, like not even a babysitting gig, and just to put it all on ‘hard mode’, Jack is the most energetic kid I’ve ever seen. He is busy, but not inattentive. He can pay attention to complicated things for a long time and he can play independently, supervised, for an hour, I’ve seen him do it. He also eats like a teenager and he’s still in diapers which is basically number one on my behavioral modification list because Christ alive that kid’s diapers smell like the gas station restroom in hell, and, also, he never quits moving.”

Garth nodded, smiling faintly. “But you’re an uncle so toddlers don’t scare you.”

He shrugged. “I love this kid,” Dean said. “I already know that people will say I’m mixing him up with my baby boy, but it’s okay, because they’re really two different people. He’s calling me by name already, it’s hard not to like him for that. And he came into my life on his own two feet, and punched me in the ass, the little bastard, and my heart got thieved again by a kid. I don’t mind.”

“And you really like his dad,” Garth said calmly.

“Well, he’s really easy to like,” Dean said.

“You don’t want to talk about your wife and son,” Garth said.

He’s got me there. “I have to. That doesn’t mean I want to.” Dean sighed. “Look, it’s simple. You’re going to think I’m a psycho, but here’s the deal: I got used to Ava being dead almost right away. I was angry at her, not sad. I was happy I’d never have to see her again or deal with her… her everything. That’s cold, but it’s true. I didn’t hate her, and I don’t hate her now, I’m pissed. She hurt our kid. She killed him. It’s little Sam that grieves me. I didn’t realize he was in danger from his own mother and as his father, and protector, I failed.” He swallowed hard and tears came into his eyes, finally. “I failed,” he whispered. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. “So yeah, that’s why I don’t want to talk about it.”

But talk about it they did.

Garth didn’t pester with questions while Dean was thinking about what to say. Some guy on the radio had talked about ‘breathing into’ grief; Garth was quietly observant of it. But when the pace of the conversation picked up again, Garth was charming and engaged and receptive, and while he did take the occasional swift note, he mostly listened when Dean was slow to speak, as he tried to think of what to say that wouldn’t turn him into a cartoon fountain of tears.

Garth waited for him to get it right when it really counted, so Dean never felt rushed to respond. That was good, because he was coming to terms with how grief - grief this intense and furious and all-consuming - just freaking destroyed his brain and made it harder to think - about anything. He was hurting all over, including his brain.

At the end of the session Garth said, “Can I book you in for Saturday? I know that’s not a full week but I am concerned about your well-being.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said.

“I’d like to reiterate that you set boundaries with your neighbor about developing a physical relationship or partnership, so neither of you get hurt. It’s easy to get in over your head very fast.”

“Hmm. Saturday is fine,” Dean said. He felt like he’d been scraped out with a spoon. He had a lot to think about. He and Cas didn’t really have to talk, did they?

Dean texted Cas to say that he was going to do some laundry and other household stuff and have a think about his first therapy session but that he’d be back around one in the afternoon. Cas immediately texted back, “Do you want lunch at one?” and Dean said, “yes pls” and Dean thought, “That was easy. It’s fucking amazing what two people can do when they talk to each other,” and then he thought about the whole ‘having to talk to Cas about bedtime’ thing and felt cold. He didn’t want to talk about it, but if he didn’t talk about it he couldn’t do it, because expectations and boundaries had not been clearly set. He decided if the subject came up, he’d say that it wasn’t appropriate because he was grieving, and leave it at that.

He came back for lunch - Cas seemed so happy to see him - and ate spaghetti with prepackaged meatballs and homemade sauce, and he power-ate a bowl and then fed Jack so Cas could get a break. It was a solid minute getting Jack into the high chair; he pivoted and swung around and squirmed and shoved away from Dean until he thought he was wrassling with a baby bear, and Dean said, “Please, Jack,” in an exasperated voice and all of a sudden he slid into his chair.

“These meatballs are really good for store bought,” Dean said. “You’re going to love these little guy. Definitely want these again.” Jack was eating as if he never expected another meal.

“Glad you both like them,” Cas said. He ate, with what seemed to Dean like impossible neatness, and watched the carnage as Jack slurped, inhaled and stuffed food into his mouth. Dean and Jack took turns. Cas had reheated the leftover wings in the air fryer and Jack insisted on sharing every other bite with Dean.

“Jack, you’ll eat anything you can get close to, huh?” Dean said admiringly. He let Jack tear off some meat and then finished it off. “No, I can’t just give it you, you’ll choke on the bones.” Dean mimed choking, and Jack laughed. “Bones are bad for growing boys, we don’t eat them.”

“Dean,” Cas said, with something that was not as stern as a warning in his voice, “Maybe less challenging food.”

Dean shook some still warm peas onto Jack’s ‘feeding trough’ as Dean referred to it, and Jack fed himself contentedly for a while as Dean polished off the wings.

Cas finished and took his bowl next to the sink.

“It’s like feeding time at the zoo,” Castiel said, brows knitted as he leaned against the sink and watched them. “So disgusting and yet so innocently entertaining.”

Dean gave him a dirty look. Jack, seeing it, gave Cas a dirty look as well, and Cas burst out laughing at the sight. “You two,” he said. “You’re a fine pair of trouble makers.”

Jack was smiling at the sight of Cas smiling. He began to sing to himself. It was recognizably a tune from one of his interminable, brain-destroying toddler shows. Dean absentmindedly began to hum along and tore open some string cheese. “I know you want it,” he said in a teasing voice, and Jack made a different face, a ‘you’re so disappointing face’ and Dean laughed. Cas said, “What’s he doing now?”

“I think he’s saddened by my calorie procurement rate,” Dean said.

“As in, you can’t get food into him fast enough,” Cas clarified.

“And he wants carbs and protein and fat.”

“He got peas, does he want celery?”

“Ask him yourself, he’s the boss!” Dean advised. Then he appeared to change his mind and said, “Jack, you want some celery that’s green, that goes crunch crunch?”

“Kunch kunch.”

Dean put an enormous, phony frown on his face; he lifted his chin and said, “You serious or you just jacking me around?”

“Kunch kunch,” Jack asserted with great seriousness. He thrashed once in his chair to emphasize it.

They all ate celery. Cas tried to tell Dean it was a palate cleanser after the greasy wings and he couldn’t really argue the point. Jack was eating it as noisily as possible, and Dean could tell it was torture for Cas but Dean loved it. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten celery that hadn’t been part of a cocktail. It made him think about sitting in his mother’s kitchen as a kid, and he realized that Sam never lived to demand celery, and he could feel himself beguiled by this lovely dream, of having a family, and a partner, and then he felt cold with anger at himself, for having the fucking gall to make any such assumptions about this situation. Which was not his situation. He was here to be useful. He’d go away when he wasn’t needed.

And Ava and Sam were still dead. He gulped and said, “I don’t want to cry in front of Jack,” in a sort of offhand voice, to Cas.

“You’re - just go into the living room. If you need more privacy, the bathroom,” Cas said.

“Thanks,” Dean said. He said, “Jack? I’ll be back after I go potty.”

But apparently Jack was done eating and Cas got the joy of cleaning the debris field and wiping him thoroughly and grimly saying NO to himself about changing his clothes. There was already a mountain of laundry and he was seriously thinking about just buying more clothes and then he thought about clothes for his boy and how he hated having to wear whatever ‘afterthought clothes’ his parents could be bothered to buy, and decided he wasn’t doing that to Jack.

And of course the house only had one bathroom and this was the day Jack decided to announce that he was ready to use the toilet by singing, “I GO POO” at the top of his lungs.

“Oh God,” Cas said, grabbing his kid.  “Dean! Jack needs in!”

“Sure,” came Dean’s voice, foggy with tears. “It’s not locked.”

Within a five second span, as Cas managed to tear Jack’s diaper off, Dean’s voice had changed. “Hotboxing two grown men, what a champ!”

“Dean!”

“We’re gonna need blast doors on our noses,” Dean remarked.

Cas started laughing, much against his will. Jack did his business, massively resisted getting wiped, finally went limp when his dad gripped him very hard, and as soon as he was released, he fled the scene, pulling up his track pants as he went and giggling like a maniac.

Dean was laughing helplessly, his tears still spangled on his face. He shared a look with Cas from the bottom of his soul, and Cas’s breath caught at how beautiful his eyes were, brimming still.

Cas washed his hands and went to find his kid. “I don’t know how we’d explain this to Child Protection Services,” he said balefully to Dean as he turned in the doorway. Dean, instead of being supportive, barked a laugh.

The rest of the day was uneventful, or as uneventful as a day crammed with hyperactive toddler hijinks could be. They watched some TV, played some more in the back yard, and Cas tried to nag Dean about his foot. Dean stared him down with, “You can drive me to my appointment this week if you’re so concerned,” at which point Cas looked kinda pale around the eyes. Dean said, “I made an appointment! I’m making progress! Please do not even attempt to nag me, after Ava I’m hypersensitive.”

“I’m an anxious person by nature,” Cas said apologetically. “I like to know what’s going on.”

“But when something needs to be done, you don’t mess around,” Dean said. “I kinda like that in a human.”

“Having a toddler is so… immediate,” Cas said. “I’m used to planning things, at least at work.”

Dean considered it. “So you don’t have to control a situation, you want to know what’s happening.”

“Many things are out of my control,” Cas said gravely. “When you work with teenagers you have to accept and roll with that. But with toddlers, I have to maintain enough executive function to keep the baby alive, when the sheer sensory overload of it, on top of my ‘okay-I-self-diagnosed’ autism, is making me feel I’m losing the ability to do anything but gobble like a turkey and start drinking heavily.” It was an odd thing to say, as there was hardly any alcohol in the house - two bottles of wine, what was left of the last six pack, and some scotch under a layer of dust.

“Sounds like a floor show,” Dean observed. “And then there’s Rynn.” He’d left a message for his brother to let him know the instant Rynn made bail, since he couldn’t trust anyone with the police to call him back.

Cas got Jack to sleep around 8:30 and tiptoed out of his bedroom in his bathrobe to find Dean, who was apparently setting up to sleep in the guest room.

Cas looked like he was going to say something, thought better of it, and turned to leave.

Dean said, “I think maybe we should talk.”

“It’s okay,” Cas said softly.

“The thing is I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talk about what, Dean,” Cas said. “Did you mean cuddles? I take it you talked to the therapist about it.”

“Well, a little. He thinks we should be cautious.”

“Because…” Cas said.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?”

“Oh, Dean, not to me. That’s kind of my ongoing problem.”

“Well my problem is that even when I know what we should be talking about, I don’t want to,” Dean said.

Cas sounded almost timid. “Could we meta talk about it?”

Dean’s confusion would have been funny under different circumstances. The light bulb went on.

He breathed out noisily, then said, “Fine, I’m supposed to talk about a situation with someone I care about. That means I have to be careful. But I don’t know him well enough to know what might trigger him, or whether we see eye to eye about anything really.’

“Are we talking still about cuddles?” Cas asked, his confusion palpable.

“And everything that goes with it,” Dean said.

Cas didn’t say anything. His face was almost blank, but there was a lot going on under the surface. Dean had no idea what was happening, so he said, gritting his teeth a little first, “You went quiet— can I assume it’s something you don’t want?”

Cas gasped. In a quiet, desperate voice, that got louder as he spoke, he said, “Dean, I’m just barely holding it together. Just by the skin of my teeth. The only thing in my life right now that is preventing me from coming completely unglued is the idea that you might put your big heavy arm around me and hold me so that I can think for 30 seconds that things are going to be okay and I can just stop worrying for a little while, just a little while, to give my brain a break.”

Dean couldn’t answer.

Cas said, “Actually I’m sad, sorry it came out so vehement.”

“C’mere,” Dean said. Cas sat next to him on the bed and Dean put his arm around him. Cas still looked sad.

“The therapist wanted me to ask what you want.”

Cas said, “I don’t know, I’ve only known you two days! “

“Three. Do you want to date me?” Dean asked after a short pause. “As in, eventually, at some more appropriate time and venue, we go on dates and even maybe kiss and have sex?”

Cas sagged against him. “Yes please.”

Dean was relieved. He tried to joke. “I suppose talking about shit isn’t so bad.”

Cas said, “We really should make a habit of it.”

Cas practically skipped across the hall, shedding his bathrobe while Dean’s eyes bugged out, and seconds later they were cuddling, next to Jack, who made whistling noises in his sleep from time to time.

Rynn made bail, but the message didn’t come through on Dean’s phone until the next morning.

Thursday

Around 1:30 in the morning, Dean and Cas woke simultaneously to thumps coming from the back door.

“Fuck,” Dean said under his breath. “Gun safe?”

“Stay with Jack,” Cas said. Naked, he scrambled across the bed and grabbed a spare closet rod out of the closet. He lay on the floor in front of the closed bedroom door, and as the intruders closely approached, he braced his feet against the wall and swept the rod under the gap in the door and knocked at least one of the intruders off his feet.

There was a horrifyingly loud bang as a gun discharged. A man screamed. Jack woke and started to cry in terror. One intruder ran away; the thud of his booted feet receded out the back door. The other intruder kept up a stream of curses, interspersed with demands for an ambulance.

“Give up your weapon,” Cas yelled over the din.

“Fuck you!” the man’s voice came back. Dean appeared behind Cas, grabbed the rod and moved Cas aside. He opened the door, secured the gun without incident, and called the ambulance while Cas comforted his child.

“You again,” one of the cops said in disgust when he saw Dean.

The would-be kidnapper, who had cleanly shot himself through the fleshy part of his hip, ("You're lucky you didn't blow your nuts off," was Cas's comment, doing first aid) but he was going to be fine, although he’d be recovering in jail awaiting trial. His partner was caught fleeing on the Ring camera of a neighbor; then he got spotted in his girlfriend’s car as he tried to leave town, and he was arrested as well. Neither of them would give up their boss, or whoever it was that had been dealing with Rynn.

Four days later, an unidentified woman’s body was found under some brush in a State Park about ten miles out of town. She’d been dead about three days. Dean hit the pause button on the news broadcast and called the cops to suggest Rynn Kassandra Salton might be the victim. DNA confirmed it; someone had chopped off her fingertips post-mortem, so identification took longer than it should have. What’s left of her lies in a pauper’s grave in Kansas City, as no one claimed the body.

The Thai police eventually concluded that Rynn had hired a local to mug Trish, but no arrest was ever made.

Cas and Dean are still talking. Dean sold his place and became a house husband. He is helping Cas raise Jack, and all three of them are learning ASL.

Kelly Strong gets her grandson for an overnight visit once a week. She scrapbooks everything, posts Jack’s photos to social media to Cas and Dean’s permanent disappointment, and tells him about his mummy in heaven. She’s also enrolled him in circus school. Her opinion: “If he’s going to climb everything, he should learn about safety equipment.”

“And it’s a damn good thing you made nice with her, or we’d never get laid,” Dean remarked.

“I try to be pleasant to everyone,” Cas said.

Dean scritched Cas’s scalp. “As long as you’re nicest of all to me,” he said.

“Always,” Cas said. After that, things got very pleasant, and extremely rude.

They’d trashed the bed. Still panting a little, Cas said, “You know, I think the nicest thing about us is that if we ever lose this,” and he splayed a hand over the chaos, “We’ll always have cuddles.”