Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean shoveled a sprinkled doughnut into his mouth as he walked into the downpour in the parking lot. The forecast hadn’t mentioned rain, so he hadn’t brought an umbrella to work. Really, Dean realized now, he was probably once again the victim of Sam leaving a weeks-old newspaper out on the kitchen table. The jerk even managed to always leave it open to the weather page, so Dean, who didn’t read the paper, still looked at it and thought it was current. He shook his head and trudged out to his car. Leave it to Sammy to repeatedly prank a guy without even trying to.

The parking lot’s fat drops of water immediately soaked Dean’s clothes through to the skin and did nothing to put him in any semblance of a good mood. Maybe a sunny day with little fluffy clouds would’ve brightened his outlook a little bit, but with his hair dripping in his eyes and his toes squishing in his shoes, Dean wondered why he even bothered with anything. It was all basically hopeless anyway, but he did what he could. He wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t. It was the third Tuesday of the month, which meant it was Dad Day.

Dean not so secretly hated Dad Day, but he’d hate even more to miss it. Every first and third Tuesday he made the drive out to see John Winchester, and actually secretly, he looked forward to it. Twice a month didn’t seem often enough, because John was his dad, and for better or worse, he was always going to be the guy who could pick up Dean over is head and run through the house because Dean was an airplane.

As soon as the ’67 Impala roared up the entryway to the Forest View Mental Health Facility, though, Dean wondered why he ever came. Every time it was like he was fifteen years old and the police had his dad again. Like he’s fifteen and everyone’s really sorry, but they’ve found his dad again and it doesn’t seem like he’s doing very well, so does Dean want to see him at all? Of-fucking-course Dean wanted to see him, and he glared around at everyone who’d been keeping him waiting.

”Okay sweetie, but just so you know, he seems to have gone downhill since the last time you saw him. According to my records anyway.” The woman was nice, but nameless and faceless in Dean’s memory. Just a lady behind a clipboard trying to keep him from his family, just like all the other ladies who carried clipboards, and all the dudes in sweater vests who ‘totally get where he’s coming from’ as their fingers clacked against keyboards and hidden behind bulky monitors.

Dean ground his teeth together and fought against the anger and worry and hurt that roiled in his stomach. He didn’t react. These people didn’t let you get anything if you lashed out at them, even if they’d made you sit and wait for three hours in the world’s most uncomfortable chair that was way too small and you had absolutely no idea what to do with your newly long, teenage legs the whole time.

Mostly though, Dean wasn’t angry with anyone. He just wanted to get this over with and everyone was holding him up, asking him pointless questions that he couldn’t possibly know the answers to (“has your dad done any drugs in the past six months?” “Has he ever been placed in a mental health facility or group home?), and questions that they must already know the answers for (“how long has it been since you’ve last had contact with your father?”), and then there was that question that lurked around every single other question—the one that made Dean cringe every time they finally asked it outright—“when did your father first exhibit signs of mental illness?”

It was frustrating. Dean just wanted to move on and see his Dad. He was sick of waiting because… part of him wasn’t sick of waiting. He gulped and mumbled, “Whatever. I can handle it. He’s been messed up before; I just want to see my dad.”

Sort of, Dean wanted to wait in the uncomfortable chair forever.

So Clipboard Lady led Dean to a small room. It’s not like it was a cell or anything this time, so maybe he wasn’t in that much trouble? Dean hoped anyway. It was like an interrogation room. Like one of those rooms in a crime procedural show, with a table and two chairs and a pen and a pad of yellow paper for you to write your confession on, dirtbag.

John was pacing. Back and forth and back and forth, and then he circled around the table mumbling and looking at his feet. He was wringing his hands—he’d never done that before.

Dean cleared his throat, but his dad didn’t notice him.

“Ahem,” he tried again.

Nothing. Just more hand wringing and mumbling; something about “sinovial fluid.” Dean wondered if he’d been like this the whole time he’d been waiting. Would things be better if they’d let him come in sooner? What if Dean had been older—would they have let him do more?

“Hey… Dad?” Dean tried not to let his voice waver. Clipboard Lady was still behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. Dean shrugged it off and stared at his dad, who was looking back at him now, finally. His eyes were wild and accented with deep purple bags underneath, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He had a ragged beard that looked more recently shaved in some places than others. There was dirt and sweat running lines over his face and neck and he stunk like kerosene.

And he wasn’t happy to see Dean. John was always happy to see Dean. Dean was his good boy, and he couldn’t wait to tell him about all the monsters he’d killed and the people he’d saved. Then Dean would be proud of him and show Dad how much Sammy had grown, and Dad would be proud too.

John acted like Dean had just seen him two hours ago, rather than two years ago, and like he expected Dean to automatically know what was happening. As though Dean should already be perfectly aware as to why he smelled so flammable and why he kept muttering, rather than pulling his son into a hug.

“The necks… tell them Dean, look at their necks. That’s where they latch on.”

That’s when Dean saw his dad for the first time. He was fifteen and he saw him—the raving eyes and the nonsense talk and suddenly everything was wrong; upside down. Everything he’d ever been told and not believed was right, and everything he’d been told and thought was real was wrong. The only person who was ever right about anything was suddenly wrong. Just so impossibly wrong.

Dean lost track of which thing was the floor and which was the ceiling for a second, feeling like he’d just gotten off a tire swing going way too fast, and he remembered Clipboard Lady’s shoes. They were sensible and black with a little gold decoration adorning the front. At least she hadn’t worn something with open toes, when Dean’s vomit splattered all over them.

John didn’t look like a crazy person anymore. No one would see him and think, “Oh hey, that dude’s suffering a mental breakdown!” He was well groomed, his teeth were always cleaned, his clothes were never covered in blood. He was just John…Dad—the guy who Dean had grown up trusting and believing in those first fifteen years.

Dean usually tried to strike up a conversation about the food. Who was doing the cooking lately and whether or not they were any good was always an issue in John’s life, and one Dean found a lot more interesting than whichever contestant had been eliminated off reality TV this week. John wanted to talk about the new woman who’d started living across the hall.

“Her uncle was killed by demons, just like your mom,” he declared. So mater-of-fact; John was absolutely sincere in this belief. “She lived with her uncle and her little boy. Her cousins and some of their kids, they were out when the demon came, but her uncle… he was watching the game. She walked in on that demon and—“ John flung his wrist toward the ceiling, letting his eyes follow the gesture, “he threw the guy right up on the ceiling. Started him on fire.”

Dean nodded, because he didn’t know what else to do. It seemed awkward to follow up with, “so have they been making a lot of macaroni again lately? Or has this been more of a chicken month?” so he just stayed silent.

“Poor lady had to grab her kid up off the floor and run out of there. Couldn’t even try to save her uncle. Let him burn right up. Now they think she’s crazy of course.”

Dean nodded again. “Of course.”

He wondered how off base his dad was here. Did the woman across the hall believe in this story? It is something she’d actually told John? Dean severely doubted it. Whatever was going on with here was her issue, and John’s issues were John’s. This was why he was here at Forest View in the first place—because he made up stories about people and then believed them. Because his stories often contained elements of fantasy and horror. Because he’d try to save people from imaginary things, and because he’d tried to set four children on fire in order to save them, and that’s something a crazy person would do.

“If you see that poor lady on your way out, say ‘hi’ to her for me,” said John, as Dean waved goodbye.

“Okay, sure Dad. See you soon.”

A heavy feeling settled in Dean’s chest, just like after every Dad visit, and this time he also felt a little sick to his stomach. It hadn’t been a normal Dad Day. A normal Dad Day would’ve been Dean giving Dad his candy bar, and John wolfing it down while he explained a mundane conspiracy theory—something about the fabric softener or how much acne a care assistant had. Then Dean would tell Dad about the bookstore and Bobby, and yes, Sam’s still in law school—he’s doing well. Then they’d hug goodbye.

There was no hug. There hadn’t been talk of Dean’s life at all. The candy bar had been left on the nightstand. Dean always felt bad after Dad Day. It was a reminder of how messed up his entire life was always doomed to be. Today he was… He didn’t know. Some kind of other mushy feelings or something. In any case it was fucked up, and seriously today was not the day that Dean wanted to have to talk to Mel.

The nurse smiled hugely at him, her blonde hair shimmering in the fluorescent light. “Tuesday again already, huh?” she asked, and Dean so did not have a crush on her. Sure, in any other situation ever, he’d probably already have slept with her, then pissed her off, then somehow managed to get her to date him again by now. She was sort of chubby in a way that did wonders for her curves, and those eyes of hers could brighten up a cave. But really—this was the woman who supervised his dad when he shaved, since John couldn’t have a razor unsupervised. She helped the occasionally catatonic guy next door wipe his ass.

“Yeah,” Dean said dully, pointedly ignoring the way she flipped her hair at him. “Right after Monday. Go figure.”

She made her eyes all sympathetic and put a hand on Dean’s arm. “Your dad probably went on and on about Vanessa, I suppose. Unless you’ve not seen him yet?”

“I was on my way out, yeah. Vanessa’s his new favorite resident then?”

“Oh yeah,” Mel kind of giggled. Seriously, who giggles right now? “He’s laser focused on her for some reason. Probably a proximity thing.” She flashed another 1000-watt smile at Dean as though everything were okay, like they weren’t just discussing how random his dad’s delusions were.

There was no way that flirting could be any more awkward.

“Okay then,” said Dean, backing toward the exit. “I’ve actually… gotta get home. Bye!”

* * * *

Dean didn’t really have to get home, obviously, but there’s only so much of seeing one’s crazy dad, and then small talking with overzealous nurses that a guy can take in a day. Dean was completely at his limit. To be fair, Mel was nice. She was cute and bubbly, and her smiles, at the very least, always made Dean feel welcome at his bi-weekly visits. Her smile would be perfectly wonderful if he ever struck up a conversation with her that was actually smile-worthy. Or if she could just find a boyfriend or something and not fawn all over Dean.

“Hey Sammy,” sighed Dean, letting the apartment door slam behind him. “Thanks for cleaning up your newspapers this morning.” Dean smirked.

“Wuh?” Sam looked up from his laptop, taking in Dean’s sodden appearance. “Oh… You’ve gotta stop relying on my papers for the weather forecast Dean. Or at least look at the date first.”

“Oh, so this is my fault? Because I assume a newspaper that’s on the top of a pile is the most recent?”

“Uh… yeah.”

Dean relented and smirked again. Sammy was going to leave his law school shit and his newspapers all over the place no matter what, but as his brother and roommate, it was Dean’s duty to give him shit about it. Kid was a neat freak with his own spaces—his bedroom, a small office space where all his school crap was supposed to exist but didn’t, and shelves in the bathroom that a borrowed label maker had designated “SAM.” But when it came to communal spaces, Sam’s stuff was just everywhere. What was the point of having a weirdo, neat freak little brother if he didn’t clean up after you? Sam almost never cleaned up after Dean.

Dean wandered to his own room, which was definitely the messiest in the apartment, striping off his wet clothes as he went. He flopped down on his bed in his boxers and waffled about whether he should take a super hot shower first to warm up from the rain, or if he should join Sammy on the couch and distract him by watching TV. In any case, Dean was ready for a distraction himself. Dad Day was a good thing to do and all, and at the end of the day Dean was glad that he could still see his dad, but that didn’t mean it was a good thing to dwell on.

He rolled over and sat up, reaching for his softest, warmest hoodie, and pulled it over his head. He’d microwave himself a quick dinner, veg with his ridiculous brother on the couch while they told everyone on TV off for being stupid, then go to bed, ready for work tomorrow—so long as Sam didn’t catch him in another downpour. It was totally Sam’s fault. If Sam was going to leave incorrect weather forecasts on the kitchen table, then obviously he was the one who was making it rain as well.

* * * *

Only nine AM and the store’s employees were angling for an eleven thirty lunch break. Dean took out his little notebook and checked to see who on shift had longest been deprived of the coveted break time. It was a close call, and Dean almost always let more people take their breaks at eleven thirty than he probably should, so he almost always had to deal with the Book Den’s most regular—and most bizarre—customer. No one wanted to have to take his order at the café or to ring up his purchases at checkout.

Being shift manager was otherwise a great gig, and Dean was grateful that Bobby liked him so well, and felt he could trust him with the responsibility. Dean knew Bobby through his Dad. According to Bobby, he was the one who’d usually been responsible for calling the cops when Dad’s behavior started getting too out of control. He’d been the one who’d hung onto the Impala for Dean until he got his license. Dean wasn’t really sure how Bobby and John had met, but Bobby was the kind of guy who would’ve made himself responsible for a guy like John. Knowing there was a guy in the world who could hurt someone and not keeping an eye on the situation was just not something that was in Bobby’s make up.

Bobby liked Dean to keep the same kind of eye on the store and the younger employees, always looking out for everyone’s well being. Dean got to feel like he was taking care of things, asking the younger ones about their days and making sure they didn’t work so much that their homework never got done. He got to wander around to various sections of the store as well, so he never got too bored with his work. Technically, he oversaw the employees at the front end, but in the mornings he also made sure everyone in the music and movies section (or, as Bobby called it “that crap on discs” section) got their breaks, and he’d check to see that the café was running smoothly, which gave him an opportunity to order some coffee without looking totally off task.

It was pretty great, even when Dean was working up front and mindlessly scanning barcodes and swiping credit cards, he managed to enjoy most days. Granted, he didn’t enjoy working as much as Sam loved taking advantage of his employee discount, but then, no one could love anything that much. It was a bigger paycheck than Dean had ever gotten before now—big enough that Sam only had to work part time while he was in school. Dean sort of wondered if Bobby hadn’t made sure of that on purpose.

Bobby’s Book Den was a pretty big store that had expanded about five years ago in order to compete with a big chain bookstore that opened up a couple towns over. Or course, Bobby knew exactly what he was doing and never did anything half-assed, so the expanded version of the little homegrown shop managed to be the one shutting out the big chain. The customers in the area really liked that.

Dean made it a point to at least be familiar with what genre a lot of the books were. Just by knowing the genre he was able to have gratifying exchanges with most customers, and it was a fun kind of challenge to see how big he could make his small talk—can he have a successful interaction without mentioning the weather? He didn’t like getting tunnel visioned on his register, so he talked to everyone. He enjoyed the customers, and even though Dean didn’t exactly read, they liked him too.

Jeff and Monica were going to have to work through until noon for their lunch, and they weren’t going to be happy about it. They were totally going to be pissy and crabby and Dean sighed.

“Look,” he told them, “I’ll make sure I’m at a register when Castiel comes in the store.”

“And if he needs help finding something?” Monica whined, sounding skeptical.

“Direct him to me. I’ll deal with it.”

Castiel was totally weird. Dean only knew his name (his weird name) from reading it off his check card. The guy came in around eleven thirty nearly every weekday and carefully browsed all the books in a particular section. His long fingers would skim over the spines of the book as though the guy just really enjoyed the tactile experience of the books, feeling his fingertips bump, bump, bump over each book title.

Then he’d pull a book from the shelf and stare at it with such serious eyes, as though if he looked at the book’s cover sternly enough, it would reveal all its secrets and then he’d know if it was the correct book to purchase. Sometimes a book wouldn’t pass this staring test, and Castiel would reshelve the volume, careful to put it back in the exact same spot. Usually though, he’d flip through all the pages like a flipbook, inhaling the scent of freshly cut paper—or the old and worn paper, in the case of Bobby’s extensive used book section—before reading the flap on the jacket.

The only thing more disconcerting than the way Castiel stared at book covers was the way he stared at people, specifically the people he was talking to. There was something about the way he seemed to look into people that was just unnerving. So when Castiel would whisk in everyday—coming, Dean assumed, from the office park across the street—his dingy, tan trench coat billowing out behind him as the doors closed, Dean’s employees would scatter and look busy, forcing other customers to accept their assistance. It’d be funny if it didn’t leave Dean as the one who had to help the weirdo every day.

Clearly Castiel read all the fucking time, since he would buy something new practically everyday, and he read different stuff all the time too. He’d rotate where he’d browse in the store from day to day, making his rounds. Today he walked swiftly over to a stack of bargain books in the used section and began flipping though pages. Dean specifically avoided looking at him, because he knew the dude recognized him and was now at the point where he’d call Dean by name—probably only knowing it from reading Dean’s nametag. He acted as though they should have some sort of camaraderie, simply because the guy couldn’t seem to stay out of a bookstore for more than 24 hours at a go.

Dean focused on the customer in front of him, a mom who was having some sort of crisis with her little girl who wouldn’t stop begging for a sparkly bookmark with kittens. She gave Dean eyes pleading for him to hurry so they could get away from the bookmark display, and Dean rushed through the purchase, no small talk necessary. “Have a nice day!”

The girl scowled, but her mother looked at Dean gratefully, and oh shit, Castiel had already joined the queue. His head was bowed into the book he’d selected, which was some paperback that Dean didn’t recognize. Thankfully, it looked as though Castiel was going to end up with the other cashier. His book looked like it might be about dragons or something. Some kind of kids’ book maybe, Dean thought, but—oh god he didn’t…

Castiel let the person in line behind him go ahead, so now he would be at Dean’s register. No way. Had the guy been doing this all along? How long had Castiel been stalking Dean down at the register?

Castiel’s gaze moved out of his dragon book and up to meet Dean’s eyes. It was those stupid eyes. They were all penetrating and would freak anyone out. If Dean was honest with himself, they were really sort of stunning, but now that Dean was aware Castiel was actively seeking him out, those eyes were really making him feel creeped upon.

Castiel spoke to Dean like everything Dean ever said was of absolutely vital importance, which should be good news for Dean’s game of big small talk. It was just hard to think of anything to say at all when someone looked at you like that. The guy tilted his head like a bird and met Dean’s eyes. “Hello Dean.”

His face was very still, and it was like this customer to cashier banter was the only thing happening in the world, and they were just lucky enough to be the only two who got to experience it. Dean was aware that this was the way Castiel spoke to everyone, but that didn’t mean a chill didn’t tickle its way down his spine.

“Do you know anything about this book?” Castiel asked, like he was onto Dean’s scheme of keeping up with book genres; he’d probably figured it out psychically or something.

“I think it’s for kids,” Dean offered, pretending like he was searching for the barcode on the book in a ploy to avoid looking at the customer. He didn’t want to know what sort of frowning, slightly disapproving expression Castiel’s face carried. He could picture it well enough as it was, thank you. He could still feel Castiel’s eyes on him though. Why did he have look at people?

“Y’know, not for little kids,” Dean continued, desperately filling the silence. “But older kids who still like to read about dragons and stuff. I bet my little brother’d have read it if he could’ve bought books. Prob’ly has fantasy type stuff in it.”

Castiel nodded. “Fantasy is very intriguing,” he said, large hands fumbling in his coat for his wallet. “Although I keep thinking I should’ve chosen the book about reptile anatomy. That was interesting too.”

“If you say so?”

“You’ve never wondered how snakes evolved with no limbs?” asked Castiel. His eyebrows furrowed and now he was definitely looking more into Dean than at Dean. The fact that Dean had never sat around pondering the evolutionary process of snakes was apparently perplexing and mysterious and why the fuck should some random dude care about what Dean does and doesn’t think about?

No way this should make Dean feel stupid because that thought had never occurred to him before. No way he should feel any blush heating his ears, but damn. Damn Castiel, why couldn’t he just leave Dean alone?

Dean took Castiel’s card and shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, like Castiel wasn’t totally weird and like the question didn’t bother him. “I don’t read much of anything,” Dean told Castiel for probably the millionth time, trying to blow him off. “I guess I’m not really intrigued by much.”

Castiel smiled. “You just haven’t found the right thing to fascinate you, Dean.”

* * * *

Dean found the right thing to fascinate him two weeks later. It was Dad Day again, and Dean was grumbling even though this time it was sunny and warm. The perfect sort of day when the grass seemed to glow extra green and small fluffs of clouds hung in the air. Dean suggested he and his dad take a walk around the grounds. John was still talking endlessly about the woman across the hall—at least now he called her by name.

“And you know, Vanessa’s kid probably saw the whole thing too—the way you saw the whole thing. Now he knows all about demons and so does his mom, and they are just going to keep them apart, like our family, but nobody is going to fight that demon. Maybe I can talk to her and find out about the demon, then you can go after it Dean.” He looked to Dean hopefully, but Dean’s mind was stuck on the first part of the rant. The part about there being a little kid and how this was like their family, where some little kid was stuck in the middle of this giant mess, and who knows what actually happened, but Dean was pretty sure that if there was a kid who’s mom had wound up here, things weren’t all puppies and ice cream.

In truth, Dean did remember the “demon attack”, and for years he went along with that being what it was. He remembered his teddy bear night-light flickering, and he remembered how that was keeping him awake so he rolled over to face away from it, facing the door. He remembered how he could see the light from the hallway sneaking in from under the crack, and he could see the shadow of his mother’s feet as she snuck into the nursery to check on baby Sammy. He could see the lights flicker in the hallway too.

And then they all went out and it was loud and his mom screamed, “John!” and Dad came running. Then it was hot.

Dean ran out of his room and Sammy was shoved into his arms. “Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back! Now Dean. Go!”

Weeks later Dad scoffed at the people investigating the fire. “Electrical fire my ass!”

In retrospect, Dean didn’t actually remember any demons, or anyone being there besides his mother and father, and his little brother. The cloaked figure from his nightmares was a figment. Dean didn’t even begin to include it in his memory until he was nearly eight years old.

“Poor lady got home and the demon was killing them,” John continued. “It didn’t like the sight of her when she came through the door though, so then it started with the fire. It must’ve done something to her before though. Some reason why it didn’t like her.”

“If you still need to ask her about the demon, how do you know all this?”

John chewed on his tongue for a moment and seemed to decide this was a good opportunity to lace up his shoes… finally.

“I overhear things,” he said once his shoes were in place. “You know, from across the hall. If you eavesdrop, you can gather a lot.”

“Uh huh,” Dean nodded. He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain to his dad yet again that he didn’t spend every waking moment outside of this place hunting demons and ghosts. Most of the time it seemed like hanging onto that thought—the idea that Dean was continuing his work of hunting things—was the only thing that kept his dad from busting out of the facility. “Are you ready to go?”

John gave a small nod and followed Dean out.

And of course there was Mel, out in the garden with another resident. Dean sighed and she was already on her way over, too big smile plastered across her face. Like it wasn’t enough that Dean put up with her flirtations, now he was going to go through this whole charade in front of his dad, while, of course, Dad was in the middle of one of his more crazy tirades in the past several years. Of course, Mel would just act like everything was perfectly normal for everyone, and that would make Dean feel even weirder. Then Mel would touch his arm and look at him in a way that was clearly not meant to be platonic and Dean would think about Mel reminding his Dad that it was laundry day for sheets or something.

Dean tried not to shudder too visibly.

“You need to stay vigilant at all times, Dean. Even Mel could be the demon,” John warned.

Dean laughed. “No demon could even pretend to be as perky as Mel is, Dad.”

Mel’s smile somehow managed to get wider at this proclamation. “I supposed your Dad has been regaling you with stories about Vanessa?”

“He has.”

“I’m starting to think there is every possibility that she’s another victim of the same demon that attacked us. If only we’d have stopped him, none of this would be happening to her. Dean…”

John’s eyes were desperate and pleading. He sunk down on a stone bench surrounded by wilting ferns. So he’d been working up to this reveal all along, Dean realized. It was awfully underhanded of him, really, because even after all these years, Dean found the hunt for the demon that killed their mother a hard one to let go of. He knew it was all stories spawned from delusions and a mental breakdown, but for years it was reality—he was going to join the hunt as soon as he was old enough. Ghosts, ghouls, wendigos, and all manner of monsters Dean could let go of, and did so happily. Just… It was hard to rewire and un-believe everything, no matter how much he knew it was wrong.

Vanessa though, she was never attacked by a demon. That was just a bunch of crap his dad made up. He was right on her name, but that was probably it.

Mel smiled at John before turning to Dean. “He’s fine,” she said. “He’s more protective of Vanessa than anything else. We’ve been keeping a close eye on the situation.” Then, once again, she put a hand on Dean’s forearm, because clearly Dean was begging for a physical reassurance.

“My dad’s never actually talked to Vanessa, right?” Dean asked Mel.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He does have a fair bit right, but a lot is wrong too. There’s no uncle and there was no fire, at least none that I know of. She does have a kid though. He visited once, but from what I hear he moves around a lot now and none of the foster families are bringing him in.”

This was probably more information than Mel was supposed to be sharing with him, but he wasn’t going to call her on it. Although it did make Dean wonder how much Mel talked about him when he wasn’t around. Still… Dean gulped.

“He moves around a lot?”

Mel shrugged and smiled again, like it was no big deal. “I guess so.”

* * * *

Only, it sort of was a big deal.

When Dean was a kid there was a time that he’d switched homes three times in one month. It was all Dean’s fault, and Dean always knew it. It was Dean’s fault that they had to move, because he was the bad one. It was his fault that Sammy had to move. It was his fault that they had to meet new kids all the time and start at new schools. It was Dean’s fault they were in foster homes in the first place, because he couldn’t take care of things the way he was supposed to when Dad had been away, and then Dad was gone, and it was Dean’s fault.

And now Dean was older, so he had some understanding of how the situation looked to everyone else, and how all those people had actually been doing right by him and Sam, but it still never felt right to Dean.

”Can I ride it?” asked Dean, his eyes fawning over Joey’s brand new bike. Its red paint gleamed in the sunlight incitingly.

“You don’t even know how to ride it.”

“I can figure it out. My dad was gonna teach me before…”

”Your dad’s crazy though,” Joey huffed, and that was it. Dean grabbed Joey’s bike by the handlebars and pulled it away from him.

“Hey! I said no! I didn’t say you could ride it!”

“Too bad,” shouted Dean, riding over that asshole Joey’s toes. “C’mon Sammy, jump up on the handle bars.”

Sam did, and Dean rode away teetering down the sidewalk until they hit a stick and Sam went flying as Dean toppled over. Red paint from the bike was scraped onto the sidewalk, getting all mixed up with the blood from Dean’s knee.

“Dean? ‘M I okay?” Sam wanted to know. He had a wicked gash above his eye, and rocks were scraped into his cheek, so Angie, their current foster mom, was going to want to dab stinging antiseptic all over it.

“You’re okay, Sammy. C’mon, you’re okay.”

“You stole my bike! You stole it and look what you did!” Joey screamed in despair. “I told you you couldn’t ride it!”

“Shut up, Joey. Don’t you ever talk about my dad, ever. You hear?”

Then Angie rushed outside, petting at Sam’s face and looking him over before moving onto Dean. His knee was gushing enough blood that his socks were getting wet.

“Joey, go on ahead and go home,” Angie said in that soothing tone she always had. “I’ll take care of Sam and Dean.” Sam was starting to blubber now, the pain sinking into his face as the adrenalin wore off.

“Dean took my bike!” Joey wailed, but Angie ignored him and tried to lead Dean into the house by his shoulders. She ruffled Sammy’s hair with her other hand, directing him in front of her.

Dean shrugged her off. “Leave me alone!”

“Dean…”

Dean glared up at her and wiped his hand up his shin, smearing the blood around. “I’m fine,” he said, because who cared how nice Angie was. He pushed her away, his bloody hand messing up her shirt. He instantly hated how he’d done that, so he grabbed the fabric and pulled, then punched Angie with his other hand.

Soon she’d get mad about how he’d taken the bike, and soon she’d be just as happy to dump him and Sam back off at child services so they could go to some other house. Who needed her anyway? Dean punched her again.

It had sucked. It wasn’t fair that they’d had to move around so much, and it wasn’t fair for Vanessa’s kid either. His mom was in a mental health facility, and what was any little kid supposed to think about that? When you’re told the stable center of your universe is actually crazy. Then all these random people you go to live with continue to insist that yes, your parent is crazy… Well, why was it such an odd reaction to haul off and punch some of those people?

If Dean knew a kid like that, he’d sure make certain not to discredit whatever it was that the kid thought. He’d take him in to see his mom too, and whatever the kid did, well there weren’t any other children in the Winchester home for it to be a safety issue.

Was Dean really thinking all this? Because yeah, he was pretty sure he could be a good foster parent, just because he wouldn’t let the kid go after a little bit of violence. He’d hold onto him. Make sure that the kid could stay in a place long enough to get used to it, and to trust the people there.

“What are you doing?” Sam leered over Dean’s shoulder. Dean was hunched over the too-old desktop computer in the living room. It was the sort of machine that kind of buzzed when it was on for too long, and it had one of those really ancient looking white monitors that took up the whole desk. Sam refused to go near the thing, and usually worked on the couch from his laptop that Dean “was not allowed to touch.”

Dean quickly closed the window he was browsing like one of his foster moms had just busted him surfing porn. Something in Sam’s voice felt accusing and Dean didn’t really know why.

“Nothing. Just doing some research, y’know?”

Sam shook his head and yes, this was a stupid story, even though it was sort of the truth in this instance. Dean had never done research. What would he even have to look up?

“It’s not like I actually care, Dean. I just could see that you were doing something other than playing Farmville, and I was curious.”

“I don’t play Farmville!”

“Whatever.”

“I play Mafia Wars…” Dean mumbled. “And anyway, I was doing research.”

“What were you researching?”

There, Sam sounded all accusing again, making Dean not want to answer him. And really, Dean had no idea what he was up to here, but as soon as he told Sammy, for some reason there’d be no turning back.

“I thought I’d research how to sell my soul,” Dean joked, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. “Y’know, in case you got in a jam and were gonna fail out of law school, I could make a deal for you. Did you know, I don’t even think I’d have to die right away?”

“You are such an idiot, Dean,” Sam snorted.

Or not.

According to what he was reading, Dean was pretty well qualified to take in a foster child. He had some experience working with kids, since he’d spent three years working at a teen center during his early twenties. Sam had started hanging out there, and since Dean was over eighteen and the group home Sam was in was supposed to only be for kids up to age eighteen, Dean found another way to see his brother. He’d started volunteering, but they’d even started to pay him after awhile, and once he was employed he got training courses on working with kids and teens.

He had been working with some “difficult” teens, and after a year or so, the community directors running the teen center decided the trainings would be useful. Now they definitely were. Mel said that Vanessa’s little boy was getting passed around a lot, and in Dean’s experience that meant he’d probably be classified as “difficult.” Fuck, if Dean hadn’t been considered a “difficult child” in his day, he’d eat his own hand.

But it was a crazy long process. First, Dean would have to get an info packet, then if he was still interested someone would come out to the apartment for a safety check and to give him (and probably Sam) a consultation—they’d make sure no one in the home was a criminal or whatever. This was the earliest point in the process that Sam would have to hear about this idea, Dean figured. He’d probably change his mind before things got that far.

The thing was, Dean was what one might call an impulse buyer. So if Dean were to find a Snickers bar at the back of the store, he’d put it in his basket, but by the time he got to the front he usually found something else that he’d rather spend his money on. However, if it was up by the register, Dean didn’t have time to change his mind and he’d buy the candy. He’d probably buy two.

As it turned out, this mentality translated to other aspects in Dean’s life as well. Schedule the date for two days from now and Dean would go and have a great time. A week from now and maybe she wasn’t as hot as Dean thought, who cares anyway, and maybe Dean should cancel. Becoming a foster parent in less than a week and Dean was all for it, but meet some little kid to take care of a month from now, and maybe Dean wasn’t going to be so psyched.

There was just a lot of time for Dean to doubt himself, and what if this was a bad idea? What if it turned out Dean was no good at talking to kids anymore? Or maybe he was only good at relating with the older kids, and then he met Vanessa’s kid and he was a baby? What if the kid wanted to eat a food all the time that Dean didn’t know how to make?

The whole process would take seven to eight weeks before anyone would allow a child to be placed in the Winchester home, so really, there was basically zero chance anything would come of Dean looking into all of this, and there was no harm in Dean nurturing the idea a little bit. Before long he’d forget all about this. Life would go on the way it always had.

The thing was that even though there were a lot of steps along the way, each new step seemed like a good idea. He could skip out on his required class today and it would be over except… then it would be over. And if it was over then it would weigh on Dean’s mind every time he saw his dad, especially since Dad still hadn’t let Vanessa’s demon attack completely drop yet. Just the thought of a future where Dean didn’t follow through with going to class and having his next home visit weighed on Dean.

The thought of skipping out and letting it all go away was like skipping Dad Day. It was necessary. It also was the sort of thing that his dad would want him to do. Not his crazy dad, but the part of John that was John. The guy who would be proud of Dean and who would love Sammy no matter what. That guy valued family and helping people, and it was just the crazy part that got him confused as to what that all meant.

So Dean never skipped out on anything. Every step of the way was a good idea, and somehow Dean found himself at the front of the store, Snickers bar still in his shopping chart.

* * * *

So going to meet Uriel, Vanessa’s boy, to introduce himself and bring him home, all that? Didn’t go exactly how Dean expected. Or…honestly, it went pretty much exactly like Dean expected, but it could’ve gone better.

Dean sat in one of the stupidly uncomfortable chairs at Child Protective Services and waited around while paperwork got filled out and shuffled around. Meanwhile, Dean could see Uriel’s back as he put together an elaborate train set up in the playroom. Dean suspected the window was a two-way mirror though, so the idea of looking in on the kid kind of creeped him out. He didn’t want to start out as some sneaky adult, so he just sat back in the chair and waited.

That was going to be the kid. That child would be living in Dean’s home, and Dean would take care of him. If that little boy got sick, Dean would sit him down in front of cartoons with a fleece blanket and get him medicine. If he scraped his knee, it was going to be Dean’s job to fix it. When he wanted new books and toys, Dean would get to take him shopping.

It was a while, but it seemed like no time at all before the door was opening and here was this kid. Dean’s nerves were trying to flee, because this whole process had been littered with chances to turn back, but now Uriel was taking slow steps toward him and all those chances were over. No turning back.

It was just a little scary, if Dean was honest with himself. He put on his best “not-nervous” face and tried to smile. But if Dean put on one of those warm but authoritative smiles with a hint of pity in his eyes, then all of a sudden he was just as obnoxious and phony bologna as everyone else Uriel had seen in the past couple months. Dean tried to just look like himself, but how did he usually look?

Then one of the ladies from CPS went in the room with the two-way mirror, and Uriel was standing up; following her out, and Dean was certain he didn’t have any idea what he was doing with his life. He had to do this—not taking Uriel would be like buying gas for his car without also getting a bag of Funyuns.

In any case, the small boy slouched into the room, shuffling his feet behind the lady with the folders. Folder Lady, Dean mentally called her. He was tinier than Dean had expected, all knobbly elbows and knees and a shoulder that was trying to sneak through the neck of a wrinkled, red t-shirt. The kid had big huge eyes that he kept downcast, letting Dean only see the top of his head, with hair trimmed very short so the tight curls hugged his scalp.

“Uriel,” cooed the Folder Lady. “This is Dean. He’s here to meet you!” Dean rolled his eyes at her voice and wondered if he’d ever heard anything sound quite that patronizing in his entire life. And he had dealt with his fair share of patronizing Folder Ladies in his lifetime.

Uriel looked up at Dean finally, and those dark brown eyes were confused. The boy looked from him to the Folder Lady, jaw setting like he was trying to decide exactly who he should be angry at in this situation, and maybe figure out why he was upset in the first place.

Dean could relate. That’s why he was here, after all, because he could relate to this kid. Uriel probably felt like he should definitely be angry with someone, because everything was all fucked up and it wasn’t his fault. But then everyone acted pretty nice and didn’t do anything in particular to indicate they were to blame, but someone had to be.

Dean let out a forced huff of laughter, which came out too fake sounding and he knew it. “This is all pretty bullshit, huh dude?”

Uriel figured out who to lay the blame on today, and suddenly a small fist punched like a dagger into Dean’s crotch. “Oof!” he gulped and hunched over, wincing, “’spose I should’ve expected that.”

Uriel rolled his eyes and looked upon Dean in utter disdain.

“’Spose you should’ve. But then, I don’t expect much from pathetic termites.”

Dean shuffled backward, still hunched over from Uriel’s punch, looking to fall back into his previous seat in the chair. “A termite? Really?”

Uriel shrugged. “What’s one vermin compared to the rest? Perhaps I could’ve compared you to a roach, but I took you more as one to follow the group. To colonize.”

“Well, I guess I am looking to add someone to my family group, so that’s kind of accurate?”

Uriel snorted.

Dean picked up the boy’s two stuffed backpacks and handed one over to him. “C’mon kid. Let’s get going so you can tell me some more about what a terrible person I am.”

Uriel took his bag skeptically and followed Dean out.

“I’m not getting in your stupid car.” Uriel crossed his arms, planting his feet firmly on the asphalt.

“Oh?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Then how’re you getting home?”

“I don’t have a home.”

Dean sighed, tossing Uriel’s stuff into the backseat. “Okay, how’re you getting to my home, which you’ve never seen before and might actually like?”

“Maybe I don’t want to stay in whatever swine sewer of a home you’ve managed to obtain for yourself.”

“Swine sewer?”

“Have you ever driven by a pig farm?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Smells like Death’s porta-potty.”

“Whatever Uriel. Just get in the car.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll wait.”

Uriel scowled and uncrossed his arms. “Someday you’ll feel so rotten about all of this that your intestines will actually rot and burst from your gut.”

“Gross.”

“Maybe I’ll just flatten you to speed the process up. Like bloated rodent being hit by a steamroller.”

Despite all he had to say, Uriel crawled into the backseat of the Impala, arranging his stuff next to him.

“Okay?” asked Dean.

“Okay,” said Uriel, scrunching his nose disdainfully and putting his feet up on the passenger seat. “But I am not buckling my seat belt.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “It’s your life. You wanna trust my driving, that’s up to you.”

Uriel kicked the seat. Hard.

“Hey!” shouted Dean, and immediately berating himself for yelling. Not even a half hour into this and he was already raising his voice. “I know I’m a jerk, but don’t take it out on the car. Jeez.”

“I do not like you,” Uriel practically growled, but he buckled his seatbelt.

Dean turned the ignition, feeling the Impala rumble to life around him. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, unable to resist a little sarcasm. “What’ve I ever done for you?”

Uriel didn’t say anything, and carefully watched Dean drive.

“So,” Dean broke the silence. “How was the last place you were staying?”

“Didn’t like it.”

“How come?”

“I don’t need to talk to you!”

“No, you don’t,” Dean chuckled, glancing back at Uriel’s glaring face in the rearview mirror. He still had his feet up on the seat, but he was buckled, safe and sound, and putting on such an angry front that it was comical. “I’ll just let you know that you’re gonna be the only kid at our place—it’s an apartment, so you’ll have your own room. And I didn’t know what kind of stuff you’re into, to there’s only a few toys, but we can go get some more stuff later.”

“Oh, I see. A cheap ploy to win my affection.”

“If that’s how you want to look at it. Otherwise, maybe I don’t want you to be bored all the time and want to get you something to play with.”

“I like Legos,” said Uriel. “And blocks and action figures.”

“Cool. We’ve got Lego’s. Not many, but it’s a start anyway. Sam ‘n’ I grew up in foster care too, so the Lego’s we have are the ones that were in my dad’s car when we first got put in the system. Dad saved all our stuff for us. I got the car when I was fifteen, and it was all there.”

Dean turned to look at Uriel and saw the boy picking at his shirt, his bottom lip pouted out as though he were trying very hard not to sniffle. “I don’t think anyone kept all my stuff. I don’t know what happened to it. They just brought me some of my clothes.” His arm curled around the backpack nearest him.

Dean didn’t really know what to say to that. When he and Sammy were first tossed into the system Dean hadn’t really found his old toys and clothes that important, but he still knew that it was safe. That Dad wouldn’t get rid of it. It would really suck to lose your family and all your stuff. Uriel probably had better stuff than he or Sam ever did too, given that most people don’t move around so much as they did.

“I’ll ask around about it,” Dean promised, “but I can’t say for sure it’ll be good news.”

* * * *

Sam hadn’t been thrilled by Dean’s sudden desire to take in a foster child. Less so when Dean revealed it was because the poor guy was getting passed around, just like they were. Sam’s willingness to live with a child who was more or less going to be a version of Dean as a child was limited.

“I just don’t get why, Dean.”

“Because. I don’t know. Our parents are in the same place. And I’m older, I get to decide. Besides, we have the space for him.”

“Where am I supposed to put my office stuff then, if this kid is here?”

“All over the rest of the apartment, just like it is now. The only difference’ll be that there won’t be some other place you should be stashing it.”

“This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

Sam shot Dean one of his patented bitchy looks.

“Look, I already bought him one of those rugs with a town on it and a plush toy.”

“What kind of plush toy?” Sam asked dubiously.

“Ninja turtle. Donatello,” Dean said smugly, knowing that Donatello had always been Sam’s favorite.

“Fine. Okay then,” said Sam, and appeared to give up the argument.

Sam was sitting in his usual spot on the couch when Dean and Uriel walked in. Immediately Uriel dashed across the room to where he could better survey his surroundings.

“Oh, uh, hey,” said Sam, giving a cautious smile. He held out his hand for Uriel to shake.

Uriel took Sam’s giant hand in his small fingers for a moment before he lunged forward, his teeth clamping between Sam’s thumb and forefinger.

“Ow! What—Stop!” Sam’s hair fell forward over his eyes as he tried to pull his hand away from Uriel.

“Don’t pull Sam, jeez!” said Dean. He sat on the couch next to where Uriel was standing. “Not a very good first impression, huh.” Dean considered rubbing Uriel’s back in a comforting gesture, or maybe lightly stroking a finger down his cheek, but decided against it in case the action might make Uriel clamp down harder.

“Dean, I just want to say I’m really glad you decided to bring a child into our lives.” Sam grimaced at his hand, where small teeth were sinking in further.

And Dean was already at a loss for what to do. At foster parent class, Dean was in every way the biggest fuck up when it came to being authoritative. Sure, he was sort of a boss at work, but those people already wanted to do what Dean was telling them. Also, they were older and could see that Dean was being fair to all of them, even when the work was kind of a bitch. Kids though, they didn’t wear goggles with such a panoramic view. “Don’t lose control of the situation,” was the advice. Also, “don’t get yourself playing mind games.” But how could he keep control of anything if he didn’t play mind games?

Was he just supposed to yell at Uriel? Somehow Dean doubted very much that yelling was the way to gain control of this situation. He knew, both from his recent class and from his trainings at the teen center, that Sam couldn’t just pull away… that pulling out of a bite was how you got your flesh torn off. That was the only thing Dean was absolutely certain of. Bobby always gave Dean all the credit for raising Sam—hell, he’d been solely responsible for the kid for almost three and a half years… making his bottles, potty training him, tucking him in at night, but Dean had always given into Sam. Everything Sam every wanted, if Dean could give it to him, it was Sam’s.

Now that failing was all too obvious. Dean just did not naturally default to being the boss in most situations.

“Y’know, Uriel,” tried Dean. “Obviously we’re just total assholes and I know acting like a little shit to everyone has served you well in the past as it’s so adorable and everything but—“

Uriel released Sam at the word “adorable” and turned to scowl at Dean.

“—it’d be better if you could not bite people. Eventually you’re going to find yourself with repercussions.”

“Yeah, you’ll punish me. I don’t care.” Uriel practically wilted as he sat down between the two brothers.

”I don’t care!” shouted Dean, and he didn’t. They could take away his snack and his playtime and his turn to pick the TV station and he wouldn’t care about any of it. So long as no one did anything to mess with Sammy, they couldn’t do anything that mattered to Dean.

Dad was gone.

There had been arguing and Dad buttoned his shirt all the way and combed his hair different, and Sam and Dean were supposed to dress really nice. Someone led Dean into a room that was obviously for kids and Dean had to talk to a brand new Folder Lady. She had lots of folders with her and Dean could see that one was labeled “Dean Winchester” and another read “Sam Winchester.” Dean ignored the crayons and construction paper that had been set out across the child-sized table.

The Folder Lady asked him questions, and Dean explained that his dad was a hero. That any kid would be lucky to have a dad like Dean and Sam’s, because he saved people. Dean’s dad could do anything.

Later they’d told Dean that he’d be staying with the Andersons and that Dad couldn’t take care of him and Sammy anymore. They could still see Dad, but they couldn’t go with him. Then Dad left; he had to go hunt the demon and he left Dean and Sammy behind.

“You’ll care when you’re hungry,” Hannah Anderson chided him.

Dean was already hungry. He didn’t care.

“D’you wanna pick what we watch on TV?” asked Dean, sitting back on the couch. Uriel scooted away, making sure there was at least three inches between himself and Dean on the one side, and himself and Sam on the other. He eyed the remote like obviously he did.

“No,” he said. “Watch whatever you want.”

“Well, Uriel,” said Sam. “I get the whole biting thing. Spending an afternoon with Dean would make anyone frustrated—“

“Hey!”

“—But you still can’t do things that actually hurt people.”

“I don’t care if I injure anyone,” Uriel crossed his arms.

“Well, maybe not right now, but you will. And everyone else cares when people get hurt.”

“So?”

“So you’ve gotta do something else. Even if you get really, really angry.”

Uriel laughed. “Have you heard yourself?”

Dean almost laughed too. The kid had a way of sounding so pompous, and the pompous tone at Sam’s expense was hilarious.

“You should try smiting people, instead of biting people,” Sam suggested. He grabbed the remote and passed it to the kid.

“Ooooh clever!” scoffed Uriel. “It even rhymes.”

“Next time you get angry just think about what you’d want to happen and imagine it’s real. It can even be bigger stuff that you can really do yourself, or what’s even possible… but you’re thinking it, so you’re doing it.”

“Sam, that’s awful! Don’t tell the kid to do that.”

“It’s something I’ve done,” Sam shrugged. “It’s pretty cathartic sometimes. And totally harmless. You don’t ever take action on any of it,” Sam told Uriel.

“I’m smiting you right now,” Uriel said. “I’m smiting you a lot.”

* * * *

Settling into life with a five year old in the house was something interesting. Whenever Dean was home, Uriel was always there. Sam was home with the kid whenever Dean was at work, and Dean had to adjust his work schedule around his classes, but it all worked out. The only thing was, Dean always had to go home right away, and it was a little weird how Uriel expected him to be like other adults. Uriel just expected Dean to be this grown up guy who yelled at him and got mad, and it was hard not to be that guy, even though that wasn’t who he was or who he wanted to be.

But Dean was always whatever it was that other people expected of him, or whatever everyone else needed him to be. He was never really a grown up the way his dad had expected him to be. Not when he was seven years old, and not now in his thirties with a foster kid to care for. And Dean couldn’t do anything and take care of every problem like he always had for Sammy. What was more was that Sam knew it too, but Dean couldn’t stop being that guy for him. Sam did his own laundry, cleaned up his own dirty dishes and he was about to graduate from freaking law school. Only he was also still the guy who ate fruity Trix for breakfast and who left his shoes around on the coffee table. He was about as grown up as Dean was.

Now there was Uriel, and Dean put on his same grown up face for him that he did for everyone.

“How’s the kid doin’?” asked Bobby. Dean was a responsible guy for Bobby too, even though responsibility was always an act.

“He’s good. He’s, y’know, spirited, or whatever euphemism you use when you’ve got a kid who’s prone to violent outbursts.”

Bobby chuckled. “Figures you’d get yourself into something like this, now that Sam is grown,” he said, clapping Dean on the back. “Well, here’s your favorite customer.”

Dean turned in the direction Bobby was nodding, and of course there was Castiel, who started approaching them now that Dean was looking his direction.

“See ya later, Dean,” said Bobby, and went off to do whatever. Even Bobby didn’t bother to deal with Castiel. How had this guy somehow become Dean’s sole responsibility?

“Hello Dean.”

“Yeah, hi, whatever,” said Dean, all pretense of maturity completely dropped. He didn’t care what Castiel thought of him. He just wanted this part of the day to be over with. It wasn’t even that Castiel was particularly annoying, but just the fact that everyone always made him Dean’s job made it seem just that much more of a pain in the ass.

“Do you have anything you’d recommend to me today?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What are you asking me for? You know I don’t read.”

“Yes, I thought it would be funny.”

Dean shook his head and pushed Castiel on the shoulder giving him a “come on” look. “I’ll meet you at the register when you’re ready.”

Castiel nodded and looked at his shoulder where Dean had pushed him with a small smile. Dean wouldn’t ever have dared to touch any other customer, much less push them, but something just dropped out of him when he had to talk to Castiel. Maybe it was the one time he was just himself, because he didn’t have any face that he was supposed to put on for him. He never seemed to expect Dean to act like just some store clerk, and so Dean didn’t.

Dean was just Dean.

* * * *

It’d only been a few days, but Dean quickly discovered that Uriel liked to build magnificent cities and towns with his blocks. He’d arrange them into straight streets and long winding roads. There would be a tightly clustered downtown with skyscrapers, surrounded by neighborhoods and suburbs. He even built parks and schools.

The towns were fascinating, but what was funny was how building such an elaborate block town was more of a means to an end. The real game was destruction. Uriel relished in destroying his creation. The first day Dean had work after Uriel had joined them, he came home to find Uriel smothering a Blockville with a couch cushion.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m wiping them off the map.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Because I’m playing. That’s the game. They are insignificant and I destroy them.”

“Uh huh. Did Sam tell you about this game?” Between the destruction of the block town and Sam’s suggestion of smiting everyone, it was maybe a little disturbing. But then, there was a five-year-old in his living room crouched on top of a cushion and smooshing the imaginary citizens of Blockville. It was so freaking cute, and Dean had forgotten about how random the things that kids did were.

“Puh. This is my game. Don’t place so much credit on Sam. He’s… unimaginative.”

“Yeah, okay. What are you waiting for? Knock it down.”

Uriel grinned and swept out his arm to connect with a skyscraper as tall as he was. “TAKE THAT MUD MONKEYS!” he shouted and then invited Dean to help.

Dean kicked over a neighborhood of blocks, sending several Hot Wheels cars rolling under the TV stand.

“Yeah!” Uriel stomped around Dean, pumping small fists in the air.

It was fun.

So was the next day when Dean came home and Uriel was trying to get Sam to read to him from a book about thunderstorms.

“Just a minute, Uriel. I’ve got to finish this article and then I’ll read with you.”

“I’ll read,” said Dean, and Uriel read most of the book to Dean, rather than the other way around. He’d just wanted an adult to help him out with some of the bigger, more science-y words.

“How’d you learn to read so good?”

“So well,” Uriel corrected. “Don’t sound like a fool.”

“Oh I’m so sorry,” Dean laughed.

“My mom taught me, and they talk about letters at school too. I was in pre-school, and you know I start Kindergarten in September, right?”

“That’s right,” Dean was grateful for the reminder. School was only a month and a half away.

At work, for the first time Dean found himself wanting to be elsewhere and planning for the weekend. Maybe he could take Uriel to the zoo. Maybe Uriel would call the monkeys “mud monkeys.” Dean could buy him cotton candy and Sam would frown at him for giving Uriel too much sugar, then they could go watch the seals swim around and around, taunting everyone with how happy they were in the water.

Usually one place was just as good as the next for Dean, but now… Home was actually better than work. He was getting what everyone else complained about, and in more than just an early-morning-I’m-tired capacity. Apparently it showed.

“You seem distracted,” said Castiel, gently placing his purchase on the table.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Dean hadn’t even realized Castiel was in the store yet. It was like the guy had appeared out of nowhere. Just another reason why people didn’t like him.

“It’s okay,” said Castiel, smiling with his eyes. “It’s good. You can’t be so dedicated to your job all the time, even when it’s a very interesting job, which working as a clerk is probably not that… Well this isn’t a bad place to work,” Castiel tried to correct himself, like Dean would actually be offended at the idea that being a clerk was boring.

“Thanks for the advice, dude. If I ever need a therapist, I’ll look to you,” said Dean.

Castiel’s face threatened to laugh but he stopped himself. Or maybe Dean just imagined it, but he’d taken his book and gone before Dean could figure it out.

On Friday Dean came home and Uriel was slumped on the couch half asleep, watching cartoons. Dean plopped down beside him and closed his eyes just listening to the high-pitched, animated voices and the chaotic clamor of the cartoon. Suddenly he was aware of a warm body squirming its way right into his side, filling up the space beneath his arm perfectly. Uriel snuggled his way in so there was no space at all between the two of them and soon tiny snores rose and fell from his little chest. Dean had never felt so full before. Full of everything; he was just bursting.

It was then that the phone rang.

Dean let it ring, and Uriel squirmed next to him, waking at the noise until Sam got up and got it.

“It’s for you.”

Dean sighed and took the phone from his brother. “Hello, Dean Winchester. This is Marilyn from CPS. I have some interesting news.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just allowed her to keep speaking.

“As you know we’ve been looking for some of Uriel’s family, as he’s been so difficult to place, and well… Earlier today we were contacted by one of his relatives. Apparently a distant cousin to his mother’s aunt, or something like. He’s interested in meeting Uriel.”

Uriel looked up at Dean curiously. “She’s saying my name on the phone. I can hear her.”

“There’s a distant relative of yours who wants to meet you,” said Dean.

“Would you like to meet Mr. Novak at CPS, or how would you prefer to arrange this?”

“If I have to meet up with someone, can we go to Burger King?” asked Uriel.

“What? Why do you want to go to Burger King?”

“Let’s go to Burger King!” Uriel insisted.

“Okay, jeez. Does this Novak guy have anything against Burger King?” Dean asked into the phone.

“Uriel wants to get the Spiderman toys Burger King’s been promoting,” Sam explained from the kitchen.

“Yeah! We should go to Burger King tomorrow. Or right now!” Uriel grinned, jumping up and down on the couch.

“If you select a time and place, CPS will notify Mr. Novak and he will be willing to meet you there. Would you like a CPS representative present?”

“I think I can handle it. Uriel and I are getting on alright and he’s pretty keen on representing himself.”

Uriel raised his eyebrows and nodded.

So then it was arranged. Dean and Uriel would go meet some relative of his for lunch at Burger King the next day. Dean wasn’t so sure about it. It had only been a week, one lousy week, and now they might have found someone else who could take Uriel.

Dean liked the kid. He was bossy and self-righteous and full of weird things to say, which were often violent and disturbing. But he was also the sweet little boy who was cuddling with him on the couch, the kid who liked to read and was really smart, who invented games and who Dean knew he could count on to call him on his bullshit.

It was good for Uriel to have a family member who would care about him, but Dean was unsure about it. This Novak guy might really care about Uriel, but at the moment he’d never even met the kid, and Dean didn’t know anything about him. Could he actually provide a stable home for Uriel? It had taken Dean over a month of preparations before he could meet Uriel, and he’d warmed to him entirely in less than a week. Now the new guy was set to enter the picture tomorrow, and Dean was just unsure about it. He patted Uriel on the head. “So what’s for dinner, Boss-man?”

“Macaroni and cheese with hotdogs,” said Uriel, with a quiet seriousness that demanded, absolutely, this is what Dean would be making for dinner. Fortunately Uriel was a realist and seemed to always know what was actually available in the kitchen, so had yet to demand anything that couldn’t be made.

Then, maybe after dinner Dean and Uriel could destroy another town together.

* * * *

“Spiderman thinks that he can save Lego-Town, but we’ll see. He can shoot his sticky webs, but he is measly in comparison to many a foe.” Dean smiled and brushed his hand over Uriel’s hair before he remembered with a kick to the shin—Uriel didn’t like to be touched unless he directed it.

“Sorry,” said Dean, but he was spacing out. Uriel was talking about action figures and their relation to a storyline he’d created and Dean couldn’t help thinking about how great the kid was. Sure, he preferred to elbow Dean in the side then run off to hide beneath his blankets refusing to say a word to him, rather than accept a goodnight hug and a story, but… Well that was just Uriel wasn’t it? And who would trust hugs and stories when they’d been taken away from you as many times as they’d been taken from Uriel?

Dean didn’t know what this Mr. Novak relative was expecting, but probably he’d want to take in Uriel himself. Even though he’d only just started to get settled with the Winchesters, now it’d be time for Uriel to move again. That’s just how it goes though, you get settled and then they kick you out, over and over again. Who’s to say this relative would actually warm to Uriel? Maybe Novak wouldn’t have the patience for getting kicked in the shin.

Uriel didn’t need to move again, and not to mention, Dean would miss him. He might even miss the little violent outbursts.

“Okay Uriel, what do you want to eat?”

“I want a Whopper.”

“Those don’t come with Kid’s Meals.”

“Order a Whopper and a Kid’s Meal.” Uriel was swinging gleefully from the wooden divider that formed the queue, and his voice was pitched slightly higher than usual. He was trying to see what kind of shit he could get away with.

“You want me to order you a meal, and then an additional meal just so you can get a toy?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“But our whole purpose in coming was for the toy.”

“So order something with the toy.”

“It won’t taste how I want it. Then you’ll have to explain to my taste buds why you’ve forced this plague upon them.”

“What’s wrong with a regular burger? Look, I can even get you a Big Kid’s Meal.”

“I’d prefer to end this pointless tirade and for you to just get me what I want,” Uriel crossed his arms, big eyes gazing up meaningfully.

Dean resigned himself to his fate. “If I order you two meals, will you eat them both?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll get you the Kid’s Meal and when it’s gone,” Dean paused. “Then I’ll buy you a Whopper.”

Uriel scuffed his shoe against the tile floor. “I’m going to call the town Spiderman tries to protect ‘Dean Town’.”

“Okay, sure,” said Dean, and ordered their food, relieved at how well that had gone over. The stress of having Uriel potentially decide it was time to come to blows over food was just leaving his shoulders when a gruff, familiar voice behind him made him tense up all over again.

“Dean? Is that you?” Dean was annoyed before his brain could even register that this was the voice of Castiel.

He turned around and there he was, still wearing his suit and tie beneath his trench coat, despite how it was a Saturday. Despite how it was freaking summer. Dealing with some weirdo at work was one thing, but at Burger King with Uriel… Wasn’t it enough that he was here with a kid who thought now was a good time to test his limits, and who’s distant relative was going to show up at any minute? Now super-weirdo Castiel had to be here too?

Uriel was armpit height to the counter and had his arms stretched out across it. “I’d like a crown!” he demanded, then waited while the teenage girl behind the counter reached over to size it to his head.

“It’s nice to see you outside the Book Den,” said Castiel, smiling pleasantly. “Apparently you don’t always wear a name tag.”

“Uh… yeah?” said Dean wondering if that was some misguided attempt at humor, before his brain caught up and he knew exactly what Castiel was doing here. Castiel Novak, or, as his check card read “CASTIEL J NOVAK”.

Fuck. Fuck fucking fuck, why? Of all the people in the world, why?

“Dean! I’ve been crowned the Burger King!” Uriel smirked, looking at Castiel before giving Dean a pitying look. “He’s a friend of yours?”

“Dean and I are acquaintances.”

“Uriel, this is your long lost relative, Castiel. You two are related. Maybe you have lots in common,” Dean teased, because for some reason even now, when Uriel was just looking for something to set him off, and when he was just about to make his first impression with like, his eighth uncle thirty times removed or something, Dean still had to be a smart ass.

Maybe he was doing it on purpose. Maybe subconsciously he wanted Castiel to hate Uriel and for this whole meeting to fail. Dean couldn’t be that much of a dick though, could he?

Uriel gave Castiel a skeptical look, then stalked off to choose a table. He made sure to seat himself at one of the spinny chairs.

Dean and Castiel soon joined the spinning Uriel carrying trays of food. “I wouldn’t have figured you such a meat eater,” said Dean, eyeing Castiel’s multiple double cheeseburgers.

“They are a vice,” Castiel admitted somewhat sheepishly. “So this is Uriel?” Castiel held out his hand to shake Uriel’s.

“I wouldn’t… Be careful—“ Dean started, but Uriel didn’t bite. He didn’t grab Castiel’s wrist and pinch his small fingers into the spaces between the bones. He didn’t bend back any fingers, an expression of sadistic glee on his face. Uriel put his hand inside Castiel’s and shook politely.

“Hi. I’m Uriel.”

Dean gulped. Thank whatever god there may be, if Castiel decided to dislike Uriel, it wasn’t going to be Deans’ fault. Dean resolved to cut out his dickishness and sarcasm, at least for the next half hour.

Uriel smiled hugely, and reached in his box for his Spiderman toy. Castiel was going to like Uriel. Anyone would.

Only… then Castiel would say there was a space for him at his home, and certainly some dude who wore a suit and tie to work could better provide than a guy who worked at a bookstore. Dean dug into his burger and tried to look pleased with life.

“What grade are you in Uriel?” Castiel tilted his head curiously, the same way he did when Dean explained yet again that, no, he hadn’t read anything by that author.

“I’m going to be in Kindergarten.”

“Really? You’re already so big. You must do a good job eating your food,” Castiel said pointedly.

Uriel hadn’t even looked at his food yet, instead bending the legs back and forth on his new Spiderman figurine. At Castiel’s proclamation he put the toy down and fumbled with his food wrappers.

Then he looked up. “By the way, your guilt trip was unnecessary; I was gonna eat my food. Don’t try it again.”

Dean looked at Castiel and smiled. He was actually proud. Uriel wasn’t his kid, and after only a week Dean couldn’t take any credit for how awesome he was, but he was proud. Not even four feet tall, wearing a Burger King crown that was starting to slip down his forehead over his eyes, and refusing to loosen his grip on a Spiderman toy, Uriel could make himself the boss of any situation. Not even through physical force either, although the kid was clearly partial to that tactic on occasion.

“So how would you like to handle this?” asked Castiel.

“Hmm?”

“Well, I’d be happy to take over care of Uriel,” Castiel tilted his head again and peered at Dean like he couldn’t figure out why Dean wasn’t following the conversation. “I remember his mother from when I was a child. We didn’t see each other often, but I remember her.”

“Dean’s going to take me to see Mom on Tuesday,” Uriel informed the table. He was constantly flipping Spiderman’s leg back and forth with one hand while eating with the other. He’d also slouched way down in his seat so he could spin the chair left and right with one foot.

“What makes you think I want you to take him?”

“The people I spoke to at Child Protective Services explained to me that he was difficult to place, and they’d come to not expect him to stay in any home for over two weeks.”

“And you think you can handle him then?”

“He’s family. I’ll have to.”

“No, you don’t. Listen dude, it doesn’t hurt for family to be part of the kid’s life, but don’t you think he needs some stability? Moving in with a guy just because he happens to be a distant relative, after you’ve only met long enough to share fast food does nothing to guarantee that.”

“Didn’t he move in with you after you’d just met?”

Okay, that was true but… This was different. In a movie or something Uriel’d get dumped with Castiel and then Castiel would go through a series of humorous realizations before discovering how much he loved the kid and they’d live as kid and dad; happy forever. Reality went more like Castiel having a series of not-so-hilarious confrontations, and then Uriel getting shoved back out into the foster system once again.

Dean had gone through classes, and he’d practically raised Sammy at times. Who knew if Castiel had ever so much as folded a tiny pair of Bob the Builder underpants. His house was probably quiet and spooky, full of books and expensive, boring things.

“It’s just… I like Uriel,” said Dean. “I think he should stay with me.”

“That’s just not the impression I got from CPS. What happens when you no longer feel you can handle his behavior? He likes to hit and bite?”

A cheeseburger flew across the table and hit the booth on the other side.

Dean looked to Uriel who was now on his knees, wheeling the chair around by turning his hips, a whole bag of fries clutched in his fist threatening to let fly across the table.

Shit. They’d just been talking like he wasn’t even there. Dean had been so focused on not letting Castiel take Uriel away that he’d… Shit.

Uriel gulped, his eyebrows furrowed together, then the fries hit Dean in the face. Uriel picked up a ketchup container and it hit Castiel square between the eyes. Castiel’s hands went up in the air, his mouth open in a surprised “oh”.

It was a blink of an eye before Uriel was standing on the table, kicking over soft drinks and stomping Castiel’s burgers, ketchup and ground beef everywhere. Dean couldn’t react quickly enough, nor was he exactly sure how to react. He and Castiel had really fucked this up; arguing in front of the kid, about the kid? What the actual fuck was Dean thinking?

“I’M SMITING EVERYONE IN THIS BURGER KING!” shouted Uriel, and pushed his crown back up his face.

Dean stood up, only semi-successful at not laughing, then grabbed the Spiderman toy off the floor and wrapped an arm around Uriel’s waist to carry him kicking and flailing from the restaurant.

“YOUR EYES WILL TURN TO PUS YOU SIMPERING MUD MONKEY! YOU’RE EXISTENCE IS A WASTE UPON US ALL!”

* * * *

Things hadn’t gotten much easier for Dean after leaving the restaurant. He’d tossed Uriel headfirst onto the only vaguely soft backseat of the Impala, and just as he climbed into the driver’s seat he realized for the first time in his life why child locks had been invented. Of course, his baby was a ’67 girl and didn’t have any, so Uriel frantically threw himself from the car, tumbling out into the parking lot. He ran for it, his tennis shoes looking big and awkward at the ends of his spindly legs and his plaid t-shirt billowing out behind him.

Goddamn it. Dean leapt out after him and caught up half a block down the sidewalk, scooping the boy into his arms and holding him close. Dean let tiny fists smack into his shoulders; tiny knees and feet digging up under his ribs and into his thighs.

“That sucked a lot Uriel, I know. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Leave me alone! Put me DOWN, you stupid fuck! I’ll smash your bones to dust! Grind your guts into a paste! LEAVE! ME! ALONE!”

Dean’s shoulder was getting all wet from the tears, snot, and slobber and he hugged Uriel’s tiny frame closer, because he deserved every bit of Uriel’s punishment.

Finally they’d gotten back to the car; Uriel mumbling sobbed threats into Dean’s shoulder. Dean slid into the passenger seat, Uriel on his lap, and just waited. Finally he said, “That was a fuck up if there ever was one.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. I would too,” said Dean, softly tracing the triangle of freckles beneath Uriel’s right eye.

“You’re the worst foster parent of them all,” Uriel said, and hell, the kid had dished out a lot of threats and accusations in the last five minutes, but Dean wasn’t expecting that one. That one cut deep, and Dean fucking deserved it. Maybe he should just give the kid up to Castiel.

* * * *

Dean had finally brought home a sulking Uriel who immediately locked himself in Sam’s room upon arriving home, and wouldn’t come out, even for dinner.

Sam looked hopeful. “Dude he’s in my room. Can’t we starve him out?”

Dean plopped three pizza slices on a plate and left it outside the door, thinking that Uriel would sneak it in when they weren’t looking and at least eat something. “Sorry Sam,” Dean shrugged. He didn’t feel like he should be eating anything until Uriel did. Uriel shouldn’t have an empty stomach and Dean shouldn’t be such an idiot.

“But three slices? He’s tiny,” said Sam. “His stomach is the size of a walnut.”

“It stretches. Besides, he didn’t eat any lunch.”

Sam’s eyes silently pestered Dean for an explanation.

“He sort of threw it at the wall. And at me. And at Castiel.”

Sam looked appalled, probably thinking about Uriel throwing stuff in his room, and now Dean had given him pizza that he could throw. Dean could see the realization dawn upon his brother’s face.

“Where’m I gonna sleep then, Dean?”

“You can take my room or the couch. Your choice.”

Sam crinkled his nose. “I’ll take the couch.”

Unlike Sam, Dean had a bed for the night, but he spent the whole night tossing and turning. He wished he knew the perfect things to say to people when they were upset, but he never did. Dean usually defaulted into trying to lighten the mood, which then ended up in Dean saying something that was only funny if you were Dean, and actually made Dean seem like even more of an asshole. He had hours and hours to think about what he might say to Uriel when he finally decided to emerge, but making fun of how lame Sam’s room is seemed like it’d be an unhelpful tactic, as did any smart quips about “who’s up for some Burger King?”

The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon and Dean’s mind was still circling around all sorts of terrible conversation starters, when he was roused by a slammed door and the noisy clamor of Sam’s limbs shuffling down the hall.

“Do you have any idea, exactly what Uriel did in my room?” Sam bellowed from the hallway. Oh god, it was barely even five o’clock. Dean stumbled out into the hall, where Sam was doing an impression of… well of a hyperbolized version of himself, with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows comically raised.

“What’d he cut up all your porn or something?”

Sam flipped a hand at his door like a crazy, drama queen baby. It wasn’t that bad.

Most of Sam’s clothing had been removed from the dresser, and was now strung up and tied together forming two walls of an elaborate fort. The third wall was one of Sam’s bed sheets, and the rest of the bedding was inside the fort.

“What?” asked Dean.

“He turned my underwear into walls!”

“You need sleep,” Dean said groggily. “You actually sound insane.”

“My underwear!”

“Dude, that is a sweet ass fort. Your underwear should be honored.”

“YOU ARE BOTH BEING SMITED RIGHT NOW!” Uriel informed them from the bathroom. Apparently he’d held his bladder as long as he could, and then snuck out while everyone was asleep. Unfortunately for Uriel, Sam was about a foot and a half longer than the couch and slept lightly when he was all coiled up.

“Awesome,” said Sam. “When are you going to put away my underwear?”

Uriel opened the door and glared at him with pursed lips. Framed all around by the harsh white glow of the bathroom light, he looked as menacing as anyone three and a half feet tall ever could. His foot shot out and hit Sam in the shin.

“OW!” Sam’s eyes shot to Dean all pathetic. “He’s not even wearing shoes. How does he make it hurt like that?”

Uriel was gone though. Dashed between the brothers and gone back to hiding in the fort.

“Sam, just chill out. Let him have his hiding spot,” said Dean.

Sam was too filled with sleep deprivation and a pained shin to bother listening and stalked off after Uriel, reaching his long limbs into the underwear fort to grab at Uriel, pulling him out by his feet.

“YOU FOUL GIANT! YOU’LL BE A BAG OF PUS AND PLAGUE! SMITING YOU! I’M… LET ME GO!”

A bare toe caught in Sam’s nostril, as the other foot continued to kick, hitting him more squarely on the nose. Blood gushed from Sam’s face, immediately running down his arm through fingers Sam had brought up to try and stop it. Uriel huddled back in the furthest corner of his fort, hugging his knees close to himself, big eyes peeking out from behind them.

There was a surprising amount of blood. “Sam! Are you okay?” Dean rushed off to grab a roll of toilet paper and hold it to his brother’s face. Part of him knew to pay attention to Uriel right now, but Sam’s nose could actually be broken here, and Dean was responsible for that too.

“Let me see, Sam,” Dean said, craning his neck to try to see Sam’s face. “Quit tilting your head back; you’ll swallow too much blood.”

“It feels swollen.”

“Do you think it’s broken?” asked Dean. A whimper was barely audible from the fort, and Dean winced. So Uriel was scared now, but it was a question Dean had to ask. Uriel wanted to live in a world with no consequences, and Dean was terrible at doling out punishments anyway, but sometimes when you act like a dick, people actually get hurt. Uriel’d have to deal with that.

“H’my s’posed a know?” Sam asked, sounding kind of gurgley and touching at his nose.

“Stop tilting your head back! You’ll make yourself sick.” Dean sat him down on his bed and snatched a tissue off the dresser. “Here,” he said, rolling up the tissue, fashioning a cylinder. “Put this under your lip. Cut down the circulation a bit. And pinch your nose.”

“Hurrs dough,” Sam complained.

Shit. Dean didn’t know how Uriel would feel if he’d broken Sam’s nose, but that couldn’t be a good thing. He closed his eyes and hoped it was just bruised. Could be it was just badly bruised, he thought, sneaking a peek around Sam’s hand to see the damage.

“I’ll go get you some ice,” said Dean. “Then you hold it there until the bleeding stops.”

Thankfully, by morning it was obvious that Sam’s nose had just been badly bruised. His cheek and one side of his nose was all black and blue, but there were no broken bones and no trips to the hospital. So really, it could’ve been worse, and Dean was in no place to complain, but then Dean wasn’t really complaining. He was kind of frustrated, but… it was fucking stressful, okay?

When he finally tried to speak with Uriel again, he had crammed himself into the tiniest corner possible, like he was trying to not exist anymore, or to just vanish from this place to somewhere else. The sun was high enough now to shine cheerfully through the windows, as well as through some of Sam’s lighter colored shirts and boxers. The fort was warm from the sun when Dean crawled in, forearm at the ready to block any incoming punches or kicks.

“Hey Uriel,” Dean said softly. “What d’you want for breakfast?”

Uriel turned his back to Dean, kicking out a foot behind him, which Dean dodged.

“Yeah okay, but Uriel? This fort is kick ass. You should definitely have breakfast in here; what do you want?”

Uriel peeked a quick look at Dean, his face all scrunched up in anger. “I want you to leave this place.”

“Without pancakes?”

“Make it French toast.”

“Bacon?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“And grape juice.”

Dean smiled for the first time all day. “You got it,” he said, already knowing this would be another argument with Sam. Grape juice plus a five-year-old in his room was just never going to be something Sam would be happy about. ”It’ll stain, Dean!”

Dean brought Uriel his breakfast, which he turned around long enough to grab, then faced his back to Dean again. “You can go.”

“What if I don’t want to?” asked Dean, scooching further inside the fort, so he was level with Uriel.

“Build your own fort, you pathetic ape!”

“Couldn’t be as good as this one.”

Carefully, Uriel set his plate and glass on the floor next to him, then turned to grab Dean’s arm, pulling it to dig his teeth into it.

“Ow, hey! You got French toast, that’s way tastier!”

Of course, sarcasm only ever served to make Uriel bite down harder, to the point where Dean was getting concerned the kid was going to draw blood. He pushed his arm deeper into Uriel’s mouth, forcing it open wider until his bite loosened and Dean was able to pull free.

“Gross. Now I’m all spitty.”

“You’re usually gross. It was an improvement,” said Uriel, going back to his breakfast.

So Dean just sat there, because this wasn’t going to be anything but a waiting game. Dean couldn’t manage to say anything that didn’t make him more of an asshole in Uriel’s eyes, and Uriel wasn’t going to feel more secure around the Winchester home if he was holed up all alone and being ignored. So Dean waited. Waited for Uriel to throw another fit, to run off to somewhere else, to have a thought that merited sharing with Dean, or maybe even to fall asleep. All there was to do was wait for Uriel to initiate the next move—to let him be in control of the fort.

“I wish smiting were real,” said Uriel after a long time.

“Yeah, I kinda figured. ‘S why I told Sam it was a bad idea.”

“Nobody wants me. I should smite them. I want to drop dinosaurs and Megaladons on them. People should have the rain turn to acid above their homes. They should sink into the concrete, trapped until the sun boils them away.”

“What do you mean nobody wants you?”

“You paid attention to Sam. He got hurt and now I’ve got be sent away.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“When people get hurt there is an ‘unsafe environment.’ They’re going to have me live with that loser in a trench coat. I don’t want to live with Castiel. I don’t want to be anywhere.”

Tentatively Dean reached out and stroked Uriel’s back. It was always smaller than he expected from someone with a personality so big. Tiny and trembling ever so slightly beneath Dean’s palm, and Dean just kept his hand there still, testing to see if Uriel would accept the comfort or if he’d be threatened by it.

Uriel held his breath for a moment, before leaning into Dean. “I wish I didn’t kick Sam,” he confessed. “There are repercussions.”

“Not this time,” said Dean. “Maybe next time, but we definitely won’t be sending you away. Not ever.”

* * * *

Dean was exhausted in more ways than he ever could have imagined, and Monday was just not turning out to be an easy workday. Bobby had dropped off an insane amount of used books, and Dean doubted they could all go out on the floor, but Bobby was utterly determined that they would. “Gotta have maximum selection for the store, boy,” he said. So Dean had delegated tasks and had a few people go sort through books, only apparently everyone wanted to do that and people kept leaving their registers to go help, and now no one was working the front.

Dean kneaded his eyebrows and tried to muster up the energy to go usher people back to their jobs, but he hadn’t slept more than forty minutes in two days. It was almost eleven thirty, and Dean rubbed his thumb and forefinger through his eyes in an attempt to de-blear them. He was keeping an eye out for Castiel, who he hadn’t heard from since he’d dragged Uriel from the Burger King. He couldn’t wait for him to show up so he could get this confrontation over with. So he could finally loosen at least one of the knots in his gut.

Dean had a lot of gut knots. Knot one: Tomorrow was Dad Day… with Uriel. It was also Uriel’s Mom Day. Knot two: Sam had offered to go with, but it’d been over three years since he’d last bothered to visit Dad. Knot three: Seriously Bobby? There was no way all those books would fit in the store. Knot four: Castiel was Uriel’s relative, and could take him away if he so desired.

Right on cue Castiel’s familiar trench coat whisked through the door. He made a beeline for the used section, which was a state of utter chaos, looking determinedly anywhere but the front of the store. Looking anywhere but at Dean. So that’s how he was going to play it then. Great.

Castiel hadn’t seen any of Uriel’s punching and kicking. He didn’t know Uriel’s bad side, not really. He didn’t even know Uriel’s good side—the side of the kid that was more obvious and more fun and was this little boy who Dean was just getting to know himself. Was Castiel going to want to meet that good side too? Was he going to take Uriel home with him, or maybe ”I’m smiting everyone in this Burger King!” was enough for the guy. Dean needed to know where Castiel stood. This avoidant crap wasn’t going to fly.

In Dean’s opinion it probably wouldn’t hurt for Uriel to have an actual relative in his life—even if that relative had the unfortunate distinction of being an unnerving weirdo named Castiel. But that didn’t mean that it’d be best for Uriel to go live with him all of a sudden. Occasional visits would be better. Maybe visits that Sam took him to, because didn’t Dean see enough of Castiel at work?

Castiel was sure acting like it. He glanced in Dean’s direction, saw that Dean was looking at him, then quickly looked away like a teenager caught checking out a crush. Jesus Christ, thought Dean, you can’t ignore me all day. We are going to have to talk about this.

Finally Castiel joined the line for checkout, clearly having enjoyed the increased inventory as he was carrying three books today.

About time, thought Dean. He was getting more and more jittery. He could handle an argument, but waiting for one was another story. Then Castiel switched places in line again, the way he’d done before to make sure he’d wind up at Dean’s register. This time though, Dean counted the people in line… This time he’d done the exact opposite.

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he tried not to be visibly pissed off, as he watched Castiel make his purchases and leave the store, completely ignoring Dean.

Okay, that was it. Dean wasn’t going to live through another night of wondering, just because this fucker who used to stare at Dean like he’d lost something on his face suddenly couldn’t bring himself to spare a glance in his direction.

Dean followed him out into the parking lot, where thunder boomed ominously, threatening to unleash gallons of rain at any moment.

“What the fuck, Castiel?”

Castiel turned, glancing up at the thunderhead, before finally paying attention to Dean. His stupid blue eyes stood out vivid against the grey sky, like they were the only flecks of color in a black and white film. That and the light pink tinge of a ketchup stain on his coat, a reminder of Saturday. It made him look all young and innocent, so no matter what Dean said he’d feel like he’d come off as an asshole. Great.

“Hello Dean.” His voice was serious and calm, his words falling flatly to the pavement between them.

“Why the hell are you avoiding me?”

Castiel’s posture visibly crumpled and he looked skyward again. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“I don’t give a crap, Dude. There’s a kid involved here, and you’ve gotta be a grown up here. Either you want the kid in your life or you don’t.”

“I know, I just—“

“What?”

Castiel just stood there, not saying anything, and the sky chose that moment to open up on them. Dean was drenched instantly, and fuck this, because now he’d be all wet and itchy for the rest of the day, but no—this was Castiel’s fault. They could’ve had this conversation inside if the dude weren’t such an avoidant dickwad.

“I do,” Castiel said finally. “I do want to know Uriel. It’d be wrong to just leave him.”

“If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to see him. You’ll be a blip on the radar of his life. We’ll move on—“

Castiel held up a hand silencing Dean. Water dripped down the bridge of his nose, and he stood so awkwardly, letting his hand fall to his side so his arms just hung there at his sides, unmoving, like they had no life in them at all, simply because Castiel wasn’t using them at the moment.

“I like Uriel and I’d like to see him again. However, I feel like things might be a bit awkward between the two of us. At the moment Uriel is very much with you.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

That was good, right? Castiel didn’t want to take Uriel away? Dean could continue to make Uriel his favorite dinner, Uriel could stab him with a fork, and Uriel could read him books until he got sleepy and fell asleep in Dean’s arms.

Castiel was either getting cold in the warm summer rain, despite that coat of his, or he was actually nervous. “We should try to meet again, I suppose. Maybe tomorrow?” he suggested.

Ugh. Tomorrow… Thank you Castiel, for bringing the shit storm that was Gut Knot number one, right into the middle of Gut Knot number four. Maybe Dean should consider not knowing so many people so he wouldn’t have to deal with shit like this.

“Tomorrow is kind of busy,” said Dean, and he must’ve been just a little too standoffish, because Castiel was peering at him through the rain in that same old creepy way of his. Like he was investigating Dean.

“Sorry,” said Dean, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “We… uh… I’m taking Uriel to visit his mom.”

“Oh!” Castiel smiled, which mostly involved the skin crinkling around his eyes. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, so… Another time then.”

“I’d love to see Vanessa again. The last time I saw her she was nine.”

Dean really, really didn’t want to tell Castiel about his dad. No one knew about Dean’s dad outside of Bobby and Sam and the people at the Forest View Mental Health Facility.

“I suppose she’s a bit different now,” Castiel laughed, completely failing to generate any levity in the space between himself and Dean.

Sam had offered to accompany Dean as well, and Dean had yet to successfully shut that suggestion down. Sam hadn’t seen Dad in years, and John always asked Dean about him. Dean would report how he was doing in school, or if Sam had a girlfriend, and what kind of stuff Sam had been doing for fun. But John never got to see Sam.

If Sam came to Dad Day, then there would be Uriel, Vanessa, Dad, and Sam, and Dean would be responsible for all of them. Sure, Sam was a grown up man or whatever, but when Dad said something rude and Sam got all pissy, Dean was going to be the one to sort it all out.

Oh, and just guess how much Dean couldn’t wait for Dad to ask Uriel about the demon attack. Even better, for Sam to drag the kid out of John’s room and for John to follow Sam out, and this is the part where Dean imagined it could really come to blows between the two of them.

Dodging out of the demon conversation was going to be tricky enough without Sam. It’d be worse if he were there.

Without warning, Castiel reached out and wiped the droplets of water off Dean’s eyebrow.

“Dude!”

“I’m sorry. A big droplet was just about to fall into your eye,” Castiel explained. “Perhaps we should go inside?”

“No,” Dean said, keeping a watchful eye on Castiel’s hands now, lest they make another surprise swipe at his face. “Let’s just plan a time to get together and leave it at that.”

“Okay. So how about it then? Can I join you in going to see Vanessa?”

Dean couldn’t think of any particularly excellent reasons why Castiel shouldn’t be able to go visit a long lost relative. At least nothing other than the guy was so weird that he didn’t seem to understand the rules of personal space, because seriously? The guy was like six inches away and now that Dean was aware of it he seemed like he was holding back big time when it came to touching Dean’s face again. But there was no real reason why Uriel shouldn’t have a family member join him on the visit to see his mom. The only things that kept Castiel from being welcome were Dean’s issues… Dean’s family. And when it came to Castiel’s involvement here, it wasn’t about Dean’s family.

“Okay, fine,” Dean relented, then tried to find the words to tell Castiel how his dad was actually crazy and would be there too. “But just—“

The sentence sat unfinished, and Dean was getting so absolutely rain-soaked that his shoes were starting to feel squelchy. “Never mind. See you tomorrow around six thirty.”

“Alright,” Castiel’s fingers twinkled a weird little wave as he turned to go back to work. “Thank you, Dean, for confronting me.”

Dean shook the water out of his eyes. At least if Castiel was going with tomorrow, Dean would have a good excuse for Sam to stay home. Sorry Sam, don’t need your help anymore. Castiel’s going with the kid.

* * * *

Castiel would not take his eyes off Dean. He was supposed to be here to get to know the kid, but he kept looking at Dean. Dean had never known the side of his face to be so incredibly fascinating.

Uriel had been bouncing on his heels all the way up to the front entrance to the facility. Then they’d met up with Castiel at the front entryway/lobby sort of area and Uriel had given him a strange, smug sort of look, before he continued bouncing as they all walked down the hall. Dean kept his eyes on Uriel, but was acutely aware of Castiel next to him. It was the first time Dean had ever seen Castiel wearing anything but his usual uniform of a suit and trench coat. Now he was wearing his same work slacks, but he’d changed into a plain, navy t-shirt.

It was kind of weird. Dean almost didn’t recognize him.

“I thought I’d get my coat cleaned,” Castiel explained, his eyes twinkling a glance at Uriel.

“Turn right, Uriel,” called Dean, as Uriel bounded ahead of them.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked.

“Absolutely. Why?”

“You didn’t check in when you got here. You didn’t ask what room.”

“Yeah. I already know it. They told me on the phone,” Dean lied. Obviously everyone would know about Dad eventually. Everyone would know by the end of today, but it would be easier if they could just find out. John would be there and then people would know. It was easier than talking.

Dean spared a glance at Castiel, and he looked sympathetic. Only Castiel could look quite that sympathetic, Dean thought. His puppy dog eyes rivaled Sam’s. “You’re holding yourself differently. It’s like your stress is keeping you held upright.”

Dean felt pretty much exactly like that, so points for accuracy, but still, why was Castiel all of a sudden trying to be Dean’s best friend. Unless maybe Castiel had always been trying to be Dean’s best friend, and Dean had just never noticed before. He had always sought Dean out at the Book Den, and he did seem to try to make their conversations stretch too long, even when Dean had customers waiting. Dean had always chalked that up to Castiel just being Castiel.

But then there was also Castiel’s bizarre lack of personal space boundaries in the parking lot, and with the way he was looking at Dean now… Dean was reminded of girls who got flirty with him. Except Castiel spent way less time looking at Dean’s ass. So really, this wasn’t all that different from how Castiel’d always looked at Dean. Castiel was just weird, right?

Oh for fuck’s sake, it was almost like he was counting Dean’s freckles now. Hello Gut Knot number five.

Maybe Castiel was still just being Castiel. Dean didn’t really know him after all, and his opinion of how social interactions should go seemed to run on a different wavelength from the rest of the world.

“Okay,” said Dean, “I’ll give you the rundown on the plan. First we’ll go see Vanessa, and we’ll let Uriel run the show. After awhile though, I’ve gotta go visit the guy across the hall.”

“Who’s across the hall?”

Dean ignored the question. “You can stay with Uriel and his mom if you want, but eventually my—if this is going to be any sort of permanent routine then Uriel will need to meet the guy. I don’t know what his mom’ll want to do, but whatever. We’ll see, right?”

Dean really wished he knew more of what to expect about Vanessa. He basically knew she lived here, but he didn’t know if she even able to speak, or if she might go on a tirade about nothing, in words that didn’t even form sentences, or if she’d be able to have a conversation with her son.

Whatever it was, she’d be happy to see Uriel. Even if she wasn’t going to be able to express it. Everyone else Uriel’d stayed with were bitches and assholes for not bringing the kid to see his mom.

When John had first been admitted here, Dean was eighteen and John was transferring from a different facility. This place seemed nicer than the last one, and it was much easier for Dean to visit. He’d decided at the time to come every week, but John wasn’t really ready for visitors yet.

He’d yelled at Dean, sometimes cussing and throwing things. Eventually Dean was advised not to return until they’d balanced out John’s medication and therapies. Dean crossed his fingers that nothing like that would be happening with Vanessa. She’d only been here a couple months though, so who knew?

Castiel nodded and stopped walking. “Dean, who stays across the hall?”

Dean rolled his eyes, and glanced down the hall where Uriel was nearly at his mom’s room. “No one important, okay?”

“I’m obviously going to find out.”

“Yeah. That’s fine,” said Dean. As long as Castiel didn’t make Dean say it out loud, it was fine.

“Hey Uriel!” Dean called out. “Stop there! Knock on the door to your left.”

Uriel wheeled around and grinned, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen so many of the kid’s teeth. He’d felt them on his arms and shoulders, but Uriel had never smiled quite so hugely.

“Are you excited?” Dean asked Castiel as they caught up to Uriel. “To see your cousin or whatever?”

“A little. We spent two weeks at her grandma’s when I was seven. I always thought of her as a cousin, even though we weren’t that closely related. Then there was a family reunion when I was eleven… That’s the last time I saw her. Our families weren’t actually that close; it was just because I’d needed somewhere to stay one summer that I even knew her at all.”

“Oh, touching,” said Dean, because he could try not being a dick, but didn’t really see the point, especially not when it came to Castiel.

Castiel smiled in that way of his that mostly involved his eyes and then they were at the door, looking into a brightly sunlit room full of colorful, knit blankets and pictures of Uriel. Vanessa was sitting on one of the room’s two chairs, practically the spitting image of Uriel, only with slightly lighter skin and fuller cheeks, and obviously adult and female. Uriel was jumping up and down on her bed, very animatedly telling her all about the time three days ago, when he’d kicked Sam Winchester in the face and then Sam bled all over his fort, and then Dean had to clean him up and also Dean ignored him until it was breakfast time but it was because he was busy.

Vanessa smiled, and continued listening as Uriel went on to another story. “And then at my last foster parent’s house they had this cat named Billy and he got stuck behind the refrigerator, but I don’t know how that happened and anyway then I told Jasmin to get him out from there—“

“You must be Dean,” said Vanessa.

“Yes, good to meet you finally,” Dean took her hand.

“Hi,” Castiel waved around Dean’s shoulder, craning his neck around so Vanessa could see him.

“You’re not… It can’t be Castiel?”

“Guilty,” said Castiel, moving deeper into the room so he could see his cousin better. “It’s been awhile,” he said fondly.

“I’ll say. I bet you all wonder how come I’m here in this place and all.”

Uriel stopped talking and stood still on the bed for a moment before hopping down, his butt bouncing on the mattress on the way down.

“It’s not really my business,” Dean reassured. Vanessa shushed him with a wave of her hand.

“I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was sixteen. There was a while there when it didn’t seem like I’d even graduate high school, but then I got on medication and I was fine.”

“Mom, you don’t gotta tell them stuff. The other people’ll just make me move away from them anyway.”

“It’s okay Uriel,” Vanessa assured him, although it did make Dean a little nervous to have Vanessa speaking so frankly in front of the young boy. “If they make you move again, I’ll yell at ’em. And I’ll have some words to say to Dean here, for kicking you out as the case would probably be.”

“Dean’s not letting Uriel go anywhere,” said Castiel, bumping Dean with an elbow and grinning. “He doesn’t even want the kid to come live with me. I think he’s grown rather attatched.”

Vanessa smiled before continuing. “Anyway, about six months ago my medication started not working anymore. At first I didn’t really notice it—I was just feeling a bit down on my luck. But then things got really bad. I started imagining things and thinking they were real, and I wasn’t ever gettin’ any sleep. We tried a few other medications, but nothing was working very well.

“Then one day I started thinking like Uriel was planning something, and I had to make myself a shelter to be protected from him. It wasn’t true, and somewhere I think I knew it too, but—After that delusion passed I knew I couldn’t take care of him safely anymore; I just thank god it never possessed me to hurt him in anyway. I brought Uriel to CPS myself, and then brought myself here.”

Dean wasn’t supposed to have to explain to Sammy that Dad wasn’t coming to take them with him, but somehow no one had made sure that Sam understood.

“Where’s Dad?” Sam asked, scribbling on the Anderson’s driveway with sidewalk chalk. The ninety-degree sun beat down on Dean’s head and a bead of sweat ran down his temple.

“What’d you mean ‘where’s Dad?’ Dad’s gone.”

“But you said if we told ‘em Dad was a good Dad, then we’d getta go back like it was a’fore.”

“Yeah, but Dad probably told them the wrong thing. They won’t let us go with Dad.”

“But they said we could see him.”

“Dad’s gotta go fight the monsters though. He’s not allowed to bring us with.”

“But Dean,” Sammy pleaded, “what if the monsters are here? Who’ll protect us?”

“I’ll make sure we’re safe, Sammy. I’ll watch out for you,” Dean promised, because he had to now. Dad was gone. He could’ve stayed around and visited Sam and Dean everyday, but he left. Sammy’s lip was quivering and Dean did his best to suppress his own sniffle. Good job too, because no sooner than Dean had wiped his nose when that stupid kid who thought he was king of the foster kids started yelling.

“Hey Deeeeeaaaaan!” called Silas from across the yard.

“What!”

“What’s wrong with your little brother? Your brother a baby? Look Deeeeeeaaaan, your stupid brother’s gonna cry!”

“Leave him alone!” shouted Dean, running toward Silas, glaring.

“Fuck you, Dean. You’re not the boss of me. ‘Specially when you’ve gotta spend all your time taking care of your brother, acting like a stupid baby!”

“He’s barely four. Leave him alone.”

“Four years old seems awfully old to be acting like a baaaaaby!”

“You’re right,” said Dean, stepping closer to Silas, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe I should just ditch him like my dad did.” Dean kneed Silas in the crotch. “Or maybe I should just kick your ass until you leave my brother alone!” Silas hunched over and Dean elbowed him between the shoulder blades. He needed to sniffle again and now there was a knot in his throat. Dean turned away from Silas, swallowing away whatever snotty gob it was trying to make him cry.

Maybe Dad would come back in a couple weeks.

“You seem… better,” said Dean, swallowing another of those horrible knots in his throat, and all of a sudden there was a hand holding his, and Castiel was right next to him. Dean wanted to whip his hand away and glare. Castiel was totally strange and since yesterday with all the random touching… He’d now touched Dean three times, not that Dean was counting. Dean expected him to look all sympathetic again, which would be so obvious and cue the whole room how lame Dean was, and that Castiel was holding his hand for some reason—what was it about Dean that made everyone assume he needed a physical comfort? Between all Mel’s pats on the arm and now Castiel’s random hand holding…

Only it was nice. Castiel’s face betrayed nothing, and Dean didn’t pull away. Not that Dean needed anyone’s help to get through the world’s most stressful story time. It was a distraction from it,that was all. Castiel’s hands were warm and dry around his sweaty palms.

“I still have my days,” Vanessa admitted. “But thank you. And I am doing a little better. Under more direct supervision they’ve been able to try different drug cocktails.”

“I’m so sorry, Vanessa,” Castiel had been saving the big blue puppy eyes for her. Uriel shared a matching pair of brown ones, looking over from the bed. Dean’s heart felt heavy and tired. Maybe they’d never find a way to keep Vanessa stable. Maybe Uriel would be stuck in the foster system, his mom perpetually on the verge of a breakthrough in medication, and he’d never know if things were going to change or not. This was life for the kid, and before this it might’ve even been worse. How long was it that Vanessa was scared of her own son? Dean wondered what Uriel ate during that time. What he did during the day with no one but his mom.

Dad was gone longer than he said he was going to be, the day that it happened. He’d be back in two days, he said. “Take care of little Sammy.”

Dean always took care of Sammy. He was seven and a half, which most people thought was like a kid, but Dean was grown up. Dad had said so and it was true.

Dad was never gone for more than two days.

The place kind of stunk, because Dean had screwed up the first night and forgotten to make Sammy use the bathroom before bed, but Dean had cleaned the mess. A soiled sheet and Sammy’s pajamas were wadded up in the motel room’s bathtub, and Dean had taken one of the scratchy extra blankets from the dresser and spread it over Sam’s bed. He was pleased with his handiwork.

Dad would probably be mad that Dean had let the mess happen in the first place, but at least he’d cleaned it up. That’s what a grown up would’ve done.

“I’m hungry,” Sam complained.

“We ate all the food. Dad’ll be back any minute, and then we can get more.”

“But’m hungry now!”

Dean bit his lip. There wasn’t any food. There had been some Zebra Cakes that Dean was saving for himself, but he’d let Sam have them for breakfast. Now there really was nothing. Dean’s stomach growled in a hopeless bid for attention.

“I’m sorry Sammy.”

“Whuh, whuh, whuh,” Sam started to sniffled and oh shit, he was going to start crying. Dad didn’t want the neighbors to be able to hear them.

“Shhh!”

“Whuh, whuh, whuh.”

Then three knocks pounded against the motel room door. Sam’s mouth snapped shut, and he rubbed the tears off his face with his palms. Both boys stared at the door, rapt, waiting for the two more knocks, then another pause, and three knocks again.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three knocks! It wasn’t Dad!

“Hide Sammy!” Dean whispered, and they both squirmed their way under the bed, just in time before someone unlocked the door, letting several people inside.

They had shiny shoes, and complained out loud that the place was a mess. “Stinks like piss,” someone said. Then they found Sam and Dean, and everything was different.

“Mom, I’m gonna show Dean the pictures of me now,” Uriel said, and dragged Dean over to a frame on the wall that held multiple photographs of his old life. Castiel followed them, eyes crinkled happily at Uriel’s memories. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?

Castiel squeezed Dean’s shoulder in response, and Dean totally didn’t lean into his hand, except for the little bit that he did. But that was not on purpose. Castiel was still a freak.

“See, here’s me when I was a baby,” said Uriel, pointing to a swaddled infant, face all scrunched up in sleep. “Then here’s me at the pool with water wings on. An’ then here’s me coloring the walls with crayons. Mom got mad after she took the picture. Oh! And my first day of pre-school is the picture on the bottom. Once time for school we got to go on a field trip to the museum and there was a room full of bubbles, but I don’t have any pictures of that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much before, Uriel.”

“No one’s let me go see mom in a long time,” said Uriel. “We have a lot to catch up.”

“Uriel, tell me everything about Dean,” Vanessa prompted.

“Dean’s a jerk. And he swears quite a bit and lets me do whatever I want most of the time. Also I have to read to him, even though he works at a book store, he says he likes listening to me read better than reading the words himself!”

Castiel laughed at that one, and looked so fondly at Dean it was like he’d known Dean for years or something. Dean was starting to feel like an intruder on someone else’s family, and he wasn’t about to forget his own.

“Who lives across the hall?” asked Uriel.

“You’ll meet him in a bit, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, just tell me!”

“Uriel,” Vanessa soothed, “relax.”

“No. Tell me where you’re going, mud monkey!”

“Go sit down!” Vanessa demanded. “Now Dean has some other business and will be back for you when you stop with the rudeness!”

Whoa. She knew how to handle that kid and it was amazing. Uriel scowled, but he shuffled his feet over to the bed and sat down, still scowling at Dean.

“Has he always called everything and everyone a ‘mud monkey’?” Dean wondered. “Where on earth did that come from?”

Vanessa was still busy scolding Uriel with her eyes, but she said, “I’ve no idea where he got it from. Just one of those things he started saying when he was little. It was better than having him cuss all the time.” She shrugged.

Across the hall, John greeted Dean with a gruff, “you’re late.”

“I know. I was visiting your friend Vanessa across the hall.”

“Did you ask her about the demon? What did she say?” John asked excitedly. Almost giddy. Dean put a hand on his shoulder and hoped he was being calming.

“Listen Dad, I need you to do me a favor. No demon talk. Just at least for today, no mention of demons of any kind.”

“What’s gotten into you Dean?” John searched Dean’s eyes as though looking for a confirmation that Dean was really Dean, and hadn’t become possessed by a demon himself. Whatever it was, John seemed to find what he was looking for and broke away from Dean, sinking into his favorite perch on the bed. Dean pulled a partially melted Milky Way from his pocket and gave it to his dad.

It was weird, explaining to his dad how he’d decided to become a foster parent. John stared at him impassively, chewing his candy, then asked, “’s the kid here, or’d you leave him with your brother?”

“He’s here. He’s visiting his mom.”

John looked at Dean suspiciously and Dean hoped John Winchester could stow some of his more crazy sounding theories just for today, and behave how a rational human behaved when meeting a five-year-old child. He hoped that Vanessa wouldn’t become curious and feel the need to step across the hall and see what was going on there, because all those people in one room just seemed needlessly complicated.

And then Uriel was there, smile plastered across his face. He walked across the hall and opened the door like he owned the place and needed to ask no permission for anything. That was Uriel—taking what he wanted and ignoring the consequences later. “I drew this,” he said, pushing a crayon drawing in Dean’s face. “For an apology. It’s a picture of a town we can build later.”

“Ah, the blue prints for the doomed city of Crayon Town.”

“Yes! Squash them all; they smell like wax!” Uriel grinned.

Dean laughed. “Uriel, this is John. Dad, this is Uriel.”

“He’s your dad?”

Dean nodded, and Uriel’s eyes got all wide and adorable looking.

“I thought you made all that stuff up about you and Sam and when you were little. I thought you were just trying to make me like you better.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To make me like you better! I just said, you hopeless cow! Pay attention.”

Then Castiel and Vanessa were in John’s room. Castiel’s eyes immediately found Dean’s and seemed to be asking if anything had caught fire or exploded or something in the five seconds since Uriel had wandered into John’s room without permission.

Dean nodded, like everything was okay, even though it totally wasn’t, and something was defiantly going to blow up at any second now.

“All right, Dad? Why don’t you sit down back where you were,” Dean suggested. “Vanessa and Castiel can have the chairs. Uriel, you and I can stand.”

“Yeah right!” shouted Uriel, hopping onto a chair. “I get a chair, you and Castiel can stand.”

“Okay, whatever. Just so everyone’s okay with each other, you can all say ‘hi’, acknowledge that the other people exist, and that’s it. I don’t know what else we need to do here today.”

“Why are you crazy?” Uriel asked, looking directly at John.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

* * * *

Dean had never stayed here this late before. People were filtering through the halls; staff were escorting some of the residents places and dropping off dinner trays for others. “They have a nice dining room,” noted Vanessa. “Most people eat there at a designated time.” Evidentially it was nearly time for Vanessa’s dinner. Until then, Dean was stuck with the whole gang. Dad, with his constant staring at Vanessa, and Vanessa who definitely noticed and Dean wasn’t sure what she made of it. Then Uriel, who Dean was starting to suspect Sam had fed caffeine pills to for lunch. He was holding his mom’s hand, leaping in the air, paying no attention to the path or the plants he kept landing on. No… actually he was probably one hundred percent aware of what he was doing. He usually was.

Then there was Castiel, bringing up the tail of the group. Castiel wasn’t doing anything, but then he was there, and he was weird, and just knowing he was there was making Gut Knot number five tighten and twist. Just how weird was Castiel? That was the question, because either he was really, really weird… Or probably he had a crush on Dean or something because seriously? The only people who’d ever looked at Dean like that were people Dean had soon made out with.

The guy had just reached out and touched Dean’s face that one time. And then it was nice of him to hold Dean’s hand when things were getting… emotional, but then again, he was holding Dean’s hand.

And Dean wasn’t gay. Or at least he’d made sure of it that he wasn’t gay, and then it occurred to him that if you have to try not to be gay, then maybe you are actually. Only Dean liked girls. He definitely liked girls a lot, and spending much of his teen years in group home situations surrounded by boys walking around in towels or boxers or less… not getting his ass kicked was much easier if he only like girls.

“Sun’s in my eyes,” John complained.

“We could go back,” Castiel suggested. “It’s nearly dinner, and the sun will be at our backs.”

“Can I go to dinner with you Mom?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Vanessa. But then there was some nurse passing by, who gushed and cooed at how cute Uriel was, and of course he should have supper with his mommy! It was ridiculous, but Uriel beamed up with his cutest expression at the nurse and before Dean could interject that he didn’t feel like separating from Uriel, or that they needed to leave soon, Uriel was going off with Nurse Pushover and his mom.

Now it was just Dean, Castiel, and Dad out in the garden.

“Still gonna head back, ‘cause the sun’s in my eyes,” John announced. Dean glanced at Castiel, who seemed prepared to follow him inside, but if the guy had business visiting Vanessa and Uriel, he certainly had no reason to butt his head into the Winchester family drama. Maybe Dean could tell him to “stay” like he was some lost puppy or something, and he’d wait out in the garden?

Or maybe while Dean was deciding what to do, his dad would disappear inside the building without him. Then Dean would be sitting outside in the garden of a mental health facility with Castiel, the weirdo everyone at work avoided, and waiting for his foster kid to get back from dinner with his mom.

“I’m glad I came here with you Dean,” said Castiel and he was suddenly very, very close. Dean took a step back from him, because dude, personal space issues aside it was also summer and too hot to be close to people. “I can’t believe you were actually planning on handling this all yourself.”

Then Castiel grabbed at Dean’s hand again, stroking between the knuckles. It definitely felt nice but Castiel was still a dude, and he was still a weird dude, and Dean didn’t really know if he should say something, because maybe if you’re as weird as Castiel, thumbing over people’s knuckles was just something that you do. But probably not.

“Okay dude, what the hell is with all the touchy?” Dean pulled his hand way.

Castiel looked startled. “I am sorry. You let me hold your hand before…”

“Yeah, that seemed like a different kind of hand holding, if you understand what I mean.” Dean doubted Castiel was versed enough in social interactions to have any clue, but whatever.

Castiel smiled and tilted his head in a way that was definitely adorable, especially when coupled with a smile, rather than that perplexed expression he was always giving Dean when Dean explained that, no he didn’t read books… he just worked at a book store.

“I do understand, Dean. When I held your hand before it was because I could sense that your emotions seemed… spinny? I wanted to hold onto them. Dean? Why do you think I come to the Book Den everyday?”

“For books?”

“I do enjoy books. As well as I enjoy getting out of an office building for a half hour everyday. But I could go other places.”

“Oh,” said Dean, for lack of anything better to say, because really, it hadn’t occurred to him, or anyone else at the Book Den for that matter, that Castiel was anything but a book nut who had to read so much because no one would actually talk to him.

“You’re letting me hold your hand,” Castiel pointed out, as if just to make sure that Dean did in fact have nerve endings in his hand, and was aware of this. Dean apparently didn’t have nerve endings, because he hadn’t noticed. He was way to preoccupied with what he figured Castiel was about to say next: I come to the Book Den for you, Dean.

But he didn’t say it. Instead he just smiled, his eyes crinkling, and he stroked between Dean’s knuckles again.

* * * *

They were going to go to the zoo next weekend, and Dean definitely wasn’t going to invite Castiel. He’d let the guy be part of Uriel’s life, but there was no reason that Dean had to instigate everything. Let Castiel come up with an activity to invite them to.

“Can my mom come to the zoo?”

Dean looked at Uriel incredulously. He was just asking this question to start something and Dean knew it. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you think dude? I don’t control these things.”

“Can your dad come?”

“What? No way! Dude, he’d decide the gorilla pen is haunted. What’s the matter with you?”

Uriel gave a scheming smile. “What about Castiel? He could come to the zoo.”

“You really want him to come to the zoo with us?”

Uriel seemed to think about it for a moment before responding, “Sure. Why not?”

“He is related to you… technically.”

Uriel crinkled his nose disdainfully. “I think I got the better genes. But he’s not so bad. He doesn’t leave until it is time to leave.”

Dean nodded at that. Castiel had stayed with Dean in the garden until Uriel returned from dinner, so he could say a proper goodbye to the little boy. He could’ve bailed early, but he stayed, and that was more than Uriel could say for a lot of people who’d come into his life in the past few months.

So that was how Dean wound up on the phone with freaking Castiel, who was even more strange when you couldn’t see him in person, as it turned out, inviting him to the zoo.

“Yep. Me and Uriel, and my brother Sam will be there too.”

Castiel waited before speaking, as if expecting some cue that Dean had finished what he was about to say.

“Uriel! Get back here!” Sam shouted from the hallway.

“Sam, I’m on the phone!”

“Excuse me?” asked Castiel.

“Nothing, just my brother is yelling something.”

Uriel was running around the living room, bouncing from one end of the couch to the other, and then Sam was chasing Uriel around the couch in circles, wearing nothing but a towel.

“Neener neener! Neener neener, mud monkey!” Uriel laughed. Sam reached after him, but his mobility was constricted by his unwillingness to let go of his towel, or to bend over in any way that might leave a gap.

“Guys! What is going on?”

“He’s got my underwear,” Sam sighed. “He snuck in while I was in the shower, and he took my underwear, Dean.”

“So get another pair. I’m trying to hear the phone.”

“DO YOU NEED ME TO SPEAK LOUDER?” Castiel asked.

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear. “Unbelievable,” he mumbled.

“That’s my last clean pair. The rest of them are still walls in his fort, Dean.”

“Uriel, you’ve got to stop messing with Sam’s underwear.”

“But he’s so funny!”

“Uriel! Either give Sam his boxers, or he’ll take a pair from your fort.”

“I can call you back at a different time…” Castiel suggested.

“No, it’s alright. Uriel was just about to give Sam his underwear back,” Dean looked meaningfully at Uriel… “And everyone is going to shut up so I can talk to Castiel.”

“Why is there an ordeal involving underwear?”

“Because it gets the biggest reaction out of Sam, and Uriel knows it,” sighed Dean. “You’d think with all the brains my brother’s got, that he’d have figured that out by now.”

“You were calling me because of the zoo,” Castiel reminded. “Would you prefer to talk about your brother?”

“Oh hell Cas, just meet us at the zoo around eleven,” Dean hung up. “Ugh. That dude bugs.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked.

“He’s just weird.”

“He wants to kiss Dean,” Uriel piped up. “On the mouth.”

“What?” both Winchesters asked. Dean’s breath caught in his throat… It couldn’t be that transparent. Dean would be more aware of it, rather than the whole thing just being a suspicion. Uriel just didn’t know about how Castiel didn’t get on with people the right way.

Uriel handed Sam his boxers, and sat down to dump out a shoebox full of his blocks. “He spent the whole time the other day looking at Dean’s mouth,” Uriel said, beginning to build a new town. “It makes Dean uncomfortable. Then Dean looks even funnier than he looks right now.”

Dean forced himself to look calm, like there was nothing to what Uriel was saying, and he might as well have been explaining the plot of a show on the Disney Channel.

Sam laughed. “I think I can’t wait to go to the zoo now,” he said, and stalked off toward his room. “And I don’t feel like doing my laundry tonight, so this is the last day of the fort!”

“If he destroys my fort then he will be smote like never before!”

* * * *

If Dean had thought that it was the most awkward when Mel flirted with him, she was about to lose her title.

Castiel didn’t even bother with his charade of looking through all the books, finding just the right one, and waiting in line to purchase it from Dean. Instead he walked right up to Dean’s counter. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning,” Dean said boredly.

“I look forward to seeing you outside your place of work,” said Castiel, and if Dean sounded bored, Castiel made the words so stiff it was a miracle they didn’t shatter.

“Um? You’re not going to get a book today?” Dean asked, and Castiel eyed him curiously with a who-do-you-think-you’re-fooling look.

“I think I may have blown my cover with you last Tuesday,” he replied bluntly, and well… Yes, he had. But Dean still wasn’t sure what to make of that yet, so was it so terrible for him to go on pretending like he was completely clueless?

So because he didn’t know what to say, and Castiel didn’t seem inclined to just go away, Dean just blurted out, “You know I’m not gay, right?”

Perhaps he’d said that a little too loudly, because the words seemed to echo and clang down around him, the rest of the store silent, like that moment after a song ends and someone says something too loudly because they’d been talking over the music.

Castiel slowly let out a breath, but didn’t say anything, and maybe Dean had misjudged this whole thing. Maybe Castiel really was just that weird a weirdo, and maybe he had absolutely no idea why Dean was making this assertion right now. For the first time Dean hoped that Uriel was right, and that Castiel did want to kiss him, just so he wouldn’t sound like he was nuts.

“I mean,” Dean babbled, trying to cover this up, filling up spaces with words, “I’m not. Not that it matters. I totally like girls… in case you were wondering or something. I definitely like girls, but I’m not seeing anyone now, so there’s no one Uriel’s gotta meet or anything like that.”

Dean found it impossible to make eye contact with Castiel, and he really hoped that everyone else in the store was off doing their jobs, because he felt like everyone in the world was probably listening to this conversation and oh god, the idea of this kind of ridiculous exchange being had with a customer getting around to Bobby somehow kind of made Dean die inside. Dean looked around and nobody was paying any attention whatsoever.

Castiel was just smiling in that way he had where he was still actually frowning, but his eyes were all crinkled at the corners. “That’s unfortunate. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but you are utterly charming.”

“I uh—“ Dean started, but Castiel had already turned and was out the door.

But at least Dean hadn’t been quite so foolish in his “not gay” assertion, and at least he had told Castiel about it. The guy found him “utterly charming” so he needed to know about it. He already felt bad about misleading the poor guy the other day at Forest View. It wasn’t like Dean wanted to be a jerk about it or anything either, it was just that he couldn’t imagine himself with the whole gay scenario. With another guy.

He couldn’t imagine having Sam know, and really couldn’t fathom having things go on long enough that he’d have to tell Dad. Dean had just lived so long being Dean… Being the big brother who paraded females through his family’s life one after another. The big brother who would occasionally have a long-term girlfriend, but in those cases not tell his brother about it until the whole thing was almost over.

Dean was used to being the one irresponsible in love, such a typical male, and the guy who never had trouble finding sex when he wanted it, because hey, he was unattached and he was Dean, so he was automatically awesome, at least for the night. All of that was different now, since Uriel had become such a figure in Dean’s life. Honestly, Dean wasn’t sure how he’d date people anymore, but a romantic life had always been secondary to Dean anyway. Dad and Sammy always came first, and now Uriel did too.

A few months ago Dean wouldn’t have been able to imagine changing his “lady’s man” persona to “foster dad, family man”, and weirdly that had happened. Still…

Dean could imagine the guy. It wasn’t like he’d never once thought about the brand new muscles moving beneath the smooth skin of some of the boys he’d stayed with growing up. That was just because he was curious though, that’s what he’d told himself at the time. He was curious, comparing the other boys to himself, and considering how his own body was adding on muscle.

He could imagine that Castiel would be thinner than himself, beneath all that trench coat and clothing, but that he’d still be strong. He could envision how Castiel’s collarbone and hips would stretch his skin outward, creating spaces where Dean could smooth his hands into, or sneak his tongue.

Okay, so that was pretty gay. But the part where Castiel would have to walk through Dean’s living room would have to come first, and that just didn’t compute with Dean’s mind’s eye.

* * * *

When it finally came time to head for the zoo, Dean was a nervous wreck, and he wondered how things had gone from Castiel being just some random weirdo, to Castiel being the random weirdo with a crush on Dean, to Dean being the one who’d been thinking about what might be underneath Castiel’s clothes. That was just all kinds of fucked up.

“How come we’re going to the zoo?” Uriel asked, for some reason five minutes before they were to head out the door.

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t asking why not. I was asking why.”

“Because… Kids like going to the zoo. And you’re a kid. And we should do fun things like go to the zoo. Why, don’t you want to go all of a sudden?”

“I do,” Uriel said, pulling on his shoes. “You just want to take me places.”

“Well yeah…” said Dean grabbing over shirts for himself and Uriel, just in case it got chilly, and it struck him that Uriel probably hadn’t been someplace fun since his mother conceded custody of him. A small boy who was prone to hitting and biting the other children was the small boy who was likely to be left behind on a family trip.

”Why don’t I get to see the movie?” asked Dean.

“When we can trust your behavior in public, then you can come along to movies,” came the stern reply.

“But Sam gets to go!”

“Sam hasn’t hit anyone this week, now has he?”

“But that other boy was the one who was going to take Sam’s toy. I was just making him back off!”

“It’s not your job to do that now, is it Dean? If your brother needs help, then he can ask an adult.”

“But I’m the one who can take care of Sammy!”

“Well, now Sammy is going to go see a movie. You’re behind on your homework, Dean. Why don’t you use the opportunity to catch up? Phil will be here if you need any help.”

Dean crossed his arms as he watched Sammy and the two other children rush through the rain and into the family’s minivan. He watched the van pull away, then stared at the spot where it had been for a long time.

Little boys who hit the other kids never got to do anything. Even if they were only trying to help, it didn’t matter.

“Come on, Uriel,” Dean grinned, so happy that he got to take Uriel to the zoo. “Let’s go see us some monkeys.”

“And tigers!”

“Totally. And tigers.”

* * * *

Castiel was waiting for them by the entrance. No stupid trench coat today, and thank god because Dean didn’t want to have to call 911 when the guy died of heat stroke; it was like eighty-five degrees out. He was actually wearing jeans, but he still had on the same pair of black dress shoes, like the guy only owned that one pair of shoes or something. Who wore dress shoes to the zoo?

The answer to that was Castiel, apparently. He didn’t wave or holler out, just waited and watched the group approach.

“Hey Castiel,” said Uriel, “this is Dean’s stupidly giant brother, Sam. Sam, this is my stupidly distant relative, Castiel.”

“So ‘stupidly’ is the word of the day, I guess, huh Uriel?” asked Sam.

“No. You’re just stupidly tall. It’s accurate. And you can tell this guy is hardly related to me at all by looking at us, obviously.”

“You talk now, Short Man, but you might be taller than me sooner than you think,” Sam grinned, then picked Uriel up and sat the kid on his shoulders. Uriel wove his fingers through Sam’s hair, and Dean really hoped that Sam didn’t manage to piss Uriel off while he was up there. That hair was so incredibly pull-able.

Castiel smiled warmly at Sam, and shook his hand. “It’s good to meet you Sam.”

“I want to see the tigers first,” proclaimed Uriel from his high perch.

“I think they keep them in the back, way on the other side of the zoo,” said Dean, and received a pout for the information. “So where to first?”

“THE TIGERS, YOU IMPOSSIBLE GNAT! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?”

“Okay then, to the tigers,” said Dean, figuring they’d get distracted by something and stop along the way.

They didn’t. Uriel remained laser focused on getting to the tiger enclosure, and Dean just hoped they were actually out in their exhibit, and not being held in the back.

Sam kept looking back and forth between Dean and Castiel, clearly not forgetting Uriel’s claim that Castiel wanted to kiss Dean. Castiel, however, wasn’t looking at Dean with nearly the intensity that he had on Tuesday. He spared him the occasional glance, but for the most part seemed to be acting normally… Or normally enough anyway.

Nearing the tiger enclosure, snack carts and concessions began to appear. The smells of corndogs, mini doughnuts, cotton candy, and snow cones wafted into Dean’s nose. “After the tigers, we are so getting lunch,” he declared.

“I’m having cotton candy for lunch,” said Uriel.

“You’ve gotta get something else too, dude,” Sam told him, and now Uriel grabbed on tight to his hair.

“I’M GETTING COTTON CANDY FOR LUNCH, SAM!”

“Uriel, chill,” said Dean. “You’re totally getting cotton candy for lunch. We’ll buy you some other stuff too. Nothing healthy, I promise. Just more filling food so you don’t get hungry.”

“SAM IS BEING AN INSOLENT MUD MONKEY!”

“I know.”

“It’s awful,” agreed Castiel, nearly laughing for probably the first time ever.

“I’M GOING TO SMITE SAM.”

“Smite me all you like, just don’t pull my hair,” Sam winced.

Dean laughed. “Girl.”

“Shut up, Dean.”

Dean could see Castiel just observing all this. Two brothers who argued and made fun of each other, and a little boy who threatened and yelled until he got his way with everything. What a family, Dean thought. Castiel was cool leaving Uriel under the care of the Winchesters before, but maybe after this he’d change his mind.

Castiel, with his calm demeanor and his kind eyes, seemed to tag along next to the group, rather than feel a part of it. Maybe, upon second thought, he didn’t really want to be a part of this group, but Dean still felt that he should try to include the poor guy.

They saw the tigers, and thank god they were out and one of them actually spent a few minutes roaming around. Uriel insisted upon waiting for another fifteen minutes, just in case the tiger decided to move again.

“Once they lay down, they pretty much stay put,” Dean observed.

“Your opinion is of no importance here,” said Uriel, and so they stayed.

For lunch everyone had corndogs and cotton candy. Sam complained. “We should’ve brought a picnic.”

“We’re out in the sun, we can smell animal shit everywhere we go… greasy junk food is the clear answer.”

It was the perfect sort of day to be outside looking at the animals. The sun was beating down, and was just a little too hot, but Dean figured the cure for that was for everyone to get snow cones come mid-afternoon. The smells of the park and the people hugged the sidewalks and the heat, and lingered around their breath. They were surrounded in the ambiance of the people and food and animals. It was almost miserable, but not quite. It was perfect.

It was when they were wandering toward the giraffes that Uriel began to talk to Castiel. First he told him all about a glorious block city that he had destroyed by throwing a colander at it. Then he explained to Castiel about Sam’s theory of smiting, and how Sam was a total jerk because he thought it was clever to compare it to biting, which rhymes obviously.

Then Uriel asked Castiel if he was going to kiss Dean anytime soon.

Dean stopped walking. A giraffe blinked at him with large brown eyes that either sympathized with Dean’s plight, or hoped that Dean had some giraffe food he’d like to share.

Sam covered his mouth to keep from laughing. Oh god. Dean wasn’t going to have to explain that maybe he actually would kiss Castiel in front of Sam, was he? Because if that was the case then he would just forget it. Sam would laugh and say something like, “who’s the girl now?” And Dean would just be… He didn’t even know.

What was it about Dean’s life that attracted these situations where he couldn’t find the words to explain? That made him feel like he was different from what he meant himself to be? Dean was supposed to be the cool guy who always got the girl, and whose parents would laugh at all the stupid mistakes he’d made, but his mom would hug him and his dad would punch him in the arm and… Nothing that had happened had ever led Dean closer to that life.

“I… I uh—“ Castiel struggled to answer, but ultimately he just stood there, looking helplessly to Dean, shrinking in uncertainty.

It was awful, because honestly, Dean had thought about it all too much recently, and he really could see himself kissing Castiel. He could put his own lips on Castiel’s, and they’d sink into them because Castiel’s lips looked like pillows. He could sneak his tongue into Castiel’s mouth and discover the space inside. He could reach his hand around to hold the man’s head in place, feeling his short hair tickling at his fingers.

But before all those thoughts he’d told Castiel off, so it was too late now, and now Castiel was an extra in this group. He was a side character who occasionally visited the Winchester clan so he could see Uriel—a boy he was related to, but who he’d never known before and who he had no real emotional connection to.

He didn’t join them every evening and share in their inside jokes. He didn’t know why it was so funny when Uriel joked about “underpants walls”, and he wasn’t there for Uriel to suggest Sam and Dean get a “goodnight punch in the stomach” rather than hugs and tucking him in tight. It wasn’t fair at all, because Castiel was trying hard and was doing the right thing and he was here for Uriel, a little boy who’d had everything taken away from him. It was awful to treat Cas like an outsider.

“Dean, did you… Why did you tell Uriel?”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t. Kid’s quick and he figured you out on his own.” Dean couldn’t disguise the pride in his voice. He might not be in any way responsible for Uriel’s brightness, but he still felt good knowing about it. He was the adult in charge of a smart kid.

Castiel’s brows were knit together, as were his lips, and Sam’s plans to find all this so incredibly amusing were clearly backfiring. Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortably.

“Listen uh—“

“I don’t feel well,” said Castiel suddenly. “I think the corndog didn’t agree with me.”

The dude was pale, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead stopped seeming like a healthy effect of the heat, and started looking clammy and sick. Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and led him quickly to a bench. They sat, and Dean rubbed Castiel’s back between his shoulder blades.

“Breathe in slowly dude,” said Dean. “I’ll go get you some water.”

“I can get it,” said Sam, and scurried off before Dean could say anything or Uriel could follow.

“You gonna be okay Castiel? I will smite the hot dog vendor.”

Cas rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping some of the sweat away, and his eyes grinned at Uriel. “Thank you Uriel, but it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I want to smite him for being bad at making food.”

“I think I’m just the one who’s bad at digesting it. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s too late. His head’s getting eaten by a Pteranodon.” Uriel spread his arms out like the giant webbed wings of the dinosaur, snapping his head forward. “Rar! Rar!”

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked.

“I think I’ll feel better after I sit for a minute.” Castiel leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you for sitting with me. And for inviting me to the zoo.”

“Uriel’s the one who wanted you to come.”

“Thank you anyway, Dean.”

“I—“ Dean stopped himself. If he stopped right here, and never again thought about Castiel’s crush on him, and then the one that formed vice versa, things might stay just like this. They could stay as friends sitting on a bench while a young boy pretended to be a dinosaur eating a hot dog vendor’s head in front of them. At the same time, maybe not. “I think actually, that maybe I was wrong the other day. When I said I wasn’t gay.”

“I’m not shocked,” said Castiel.

“What?”

“I’ve watched you,” he admitted. “I did like you after all. It was why I came… Other than for the books anyway. Your eyes linger on males. Maybe you didn’t notice it.”

“Oh.”

“Dean, the fact that you wouldn’t notice something about yourself, because you’re too wrapped up in everyone else is part of what makes you wonderful. The fact that you hate reading books, but surround yourself with them anyway. The way you find ways to talk to everyone you meet… When I said I found you charming, that was an understatement.”

“I think you’re creeping me out a little bit Cas.”

“But that you would give so much of your life to a little boy. That you work while your brother goes to school. I never expected you would be so generous as well. You give all of yourself.”

What did someone say to something like that? Castiel had probably been saving all that in his head for awhile, because it was like a speech for which there was nothing to counter with. Should Dean make a compliment about Castiel? All that time that Dean had spent labeling Cas with words like weirdo and freak, Castiel had been thinking Dean was generous and charming. He felt a little bad.

“I’m sorry I don’t have such nice things to say about you.”

“Don’t be,” said Cas, raising his head from Dean’s shoulder as Sam arrived with a bottle of water.

“Sorry it’s so cold. Warmer would probably settle your tummy better, but it’s all they have anywhere.”

“It’s fine Sam. Thank you.”

“I’m smiting the hot dog guy Sam! Wanna help me?” Uriel ran a lap around Sam, his arms still out like a Pteranadon. “Raaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr!”

Sam looked at Dean and Castiel, and gave Dean a significant look and what the fuck, was Dean seriously the last person in the world who didn’t know he was actually kind of gay? Or bi… whatever.

“Alright Uriel, let’s go!” said Sam and picked the boy up around the middle, holding him out so he could fly through the air.

“Let’s go! RAR! Let’s go see the stupid monkeys!”

“To the monkeys!” yelled Sam, and Dean felt his hand slip between Castiel’s as he watched his brother run down the path.

The color was coming back into Cas’ face now that he’d gotten some water, and he was looking much better. In fact, Dean wasn’t sure, but it was possible that Castiel had never looked better than he did right then, because he’d never been quite so at ease before. He was comfortable, leaning against Dean, holding Dean’s hand in his, and completely sure of everything.

Dean found Castiel’s lips with his own and smiled into them, and it was exactly like what he had imagined.

* * * *

By the time Castiel was actually walking through Dean’s living room, Dean couldn’t remember why this had ever seemed so incomprehensible. Maybe in Dean’s mind Cas had somehow been wearing a hot-pink fishnet tank top? Certainly in his mind Sam had been looking at him with some sort of expression if not judgmental than just… knowing. Dean hated having people know things, forcing him to wonder what they were thinking.

But Castiel was just normal. Uriel was slung over his shoulder, sleeping and limp-limbed, with the tiger mask Dean had bought him riding up onto his forehead as it rubbed against Castiel’s shoulder.

“Should I put him on the couch, or does he have a bedroom?”

“Couch,” said Dean. “He’s got a bedroom, but couch is fine.” Uriel would be waking up soon, ready for dinner, but also, maybe it was still too weird for Castiel to walk down the hall towards the bedrooms, even if he was just going to Uriel’s.

Dean ordered pizza and Castiel sat on the couch next to where Uriel was resting, and Sam didn’t say anything. He just went in the kitchen and got himself a beer. “Want one Cas?” he offered.

Castiel turned to Sam uncertainly before nodding. “Yes, thank you.”

Sam popped the top off and passed a bottle to Castiel, leaning over to grab his laptop off the coffee table. He brought the computer into the kitchen and Dean kept staring at him incredulously, like he couldn’t believe that Sam didn’t have anything to say. Dean had made fun of Sam for being overly feminine his entire life, and now the guy, the male guy that Dean had been kissing was sitting on their couch, and Sam didn’t have a single quip to make.

Granted, Sam hadn’t actually seen them kissing or anything, but he’d seen Cas’ head leaning on Dean’s shoulder. His hair had brushed up against Dean’s cheek, soft and tickling in his nose, as their fingers intertwined. He’d seen enough, and after Uriel dropped the knowledge that Cas intended to kiss Dean, well, Sam was smart enough to figure out the rest.

Still he didn’t say anything, leaving Dean to wonder what kind of thoughts were running through his head. Leaving Dean to fumble for what he should do next.

“So should we watch a movie or something? Or do you guys like to eat around the table; I could help clear it off before the food comes,” Castiel offered, saving Dean from breaking the silence.

“M’wanna watch the llama movie,” Uriel mumbled into a cushion, pulling himself into a seated position.

“Sure,” Dean smiled. “Emperor’s New Groove cool with you, Cas?”

“I have never seen it,” he said, looking at Uriel. Uriel kicked him in the thigh for no discernable reason, pulling his tiger mask back down over his face.

“You should see it, Castiel. I’m gonna be a tiger for the movie and get that squirrel! ROAR!”

Uriel leapt up and jumped on the couch a few times while Dean slid the DVD into the player, then sat down between Cas and Uriel.

“You gonna watch the movie Uriel, or just jump all over the place?” asked Dean.

“I can do both!” Uriel yelled, then climbed across the back of the couch, using Dean’s shoulders as a support.

Once the pizza came, Uriel sat down cross-legged at the end of the couch next to Dean, munching on his slice of pepperoni, cheese messily slipping off onto his paper plate.

Dean, in between the Cas and Uriel, watched Uriel intently, fully aware of what Sam would say about the mess when Uriel’s pizza dropped onto the couch. On the other hand though, he could feel the warmth of Castiel’s leg next to his own, and the guy’s elbow kept bumping into Dean’s as he lifted his food to his mouth. It was a lot less awkward than he’d imagined, but it was definitely weird. It was weird when Castiel scooted closer to Dean, so their legs were definitely touching. Pressing together from their knees to the tops of their thighs.

And Sam was right there. Dean somehow kept feeling his eyes on them, even though he could clearly see that Sam was watching the movie and all his glances toward them were actually directed at Uriel.

“I think Uriel really relates to Emperor Kuzco,” said Dean. “In sort of a destroying the hillside village kind of way.”

“URIELTOPIA!” Uriel shouted, the last of his cheese landing on his lap with a plop. “Complete with a waterslide.”

Uriel picked the cheese off his jeans and ate it nonchalantly, as Sam looked over to grimace at the stain and to cluck about how at least it should come out in the wash, but they’d just bought those jeans.

“Sam, of course, is much more in tune with Yzma,” said Dean.

“I suppose that makes you Kronk,” Castiel pointed out. Dean frowned.

Sam and Castiel shared a laugh, as Uriel licked sauce off his fingers asking, “so who’s in my chair?”

“You do realize this would have to make you Pacha?” Dean said.

“I can live with that,” said Castiel, swinging his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “I think it fits.”

Dean shot a glance over to Sam, but Sam looked normal. He was smiling at them, and he looked normal and not like this was a weird thing at all, and for a moment Dean could imagine all of everything being no big deal at all. All the parental issues were fine, because Uriel would be fine. He’d be with Dean and Cas and Sam, and they’d take him to see his mom so it’d be fine. And the thing with the gay was fine, because there was no reason it shouldn’t be, and Sam was smiling right now and Uriel was giggling at the movie.

Everything was perfectly normal, so Dean said, “Castiel kissed me earlier. On the mouth.”

“I told you he wanted to,” said Uriel, his eyes still focused on the TV.

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Thanks for sharing Dean.”

“And besides,” said Cas, “Dean is the one who kissed me.”

Sam smirked. “Figures.”

Dean threw a napkin at him, which led to Uriel jumping up and throwing his grease laden paper plate across the room, and everyone laughing when the boy picked up a cushion and smacking Dean in the face with it.

By the time the movie ended, Uriel’s eyelids were drooping, his head nodding every few minutes in an attempt to stay awake. Castiel had already lost the battle over twenty minutes ago, and was snoring on Dean’s shoulder. Dean unraveled his arm from its position around the grown man, so he could get up and carry Uriel to his bed, and Castiel stirred awake.

“Sorry Dean. I missed the end of the movie.”

“”Sokay. Uriel likes to watch it about three times a week. You’ll see it again.”

“Because I’ll be over again?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

“Of course,” said Dean, kissing Cas on the forehead. “Why wouldn’t you? C’mon, let’s get Uriel into bed.”

* * * *

Vanessa was moving. She was doing very well, and her doctors agreed that with supervision, she should be able to function semi-normally in society. She wouldn’t be able to get any job she ever wanted, and she’d need to live in a group home setting so her medications could be monitored and adjusted on a daily basis, but she was doing well. “No freaky psychotic symptoms in over a month,” she beamed. “I’ve been a little manic though.”

Uriel was helping her put her photographs into boxes after Castiel wrapped the frames in newspapers. “How come I still can’t live with you Mom?”

“I’m better, but I’m not well enough to take care of you. It’s like, before I had the flu, and now I’ve got a cold. I’ll still see you all the time, baby Uriel. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean’s heart could’ve burst with the happiness he had for Uriel in that moment. His life had fallen apart, but sometimes everything just goes completely wrong like that. Sometimes maybe your dad sees your mom die in a fire, and the smell and sight of her turning to charcoal is enough for his brain to forget what’s real. Sometimes maybe the chemicals that kept things in check inside your mom’s head for years just change, for no reason at all. It happens and life is shitty. It happens and then you don’t know who is the good guy anymore, and you just have to punch and kick your way through it until you figure it out.

Dean’s life might’ve tried to teach him again and again that he couldn’t have anything. That as soon as he’d get used to where he was and what was happening, that it’d get taken away. Only it didn’t have to be that way. It had been that way for Uriel too, but it wasn’t because he was wrong. He just had to find the right people. He just had to find the people he could be himself around.

“And you’ll always have Dean and Castiel,” Vanessa said reassuringly. Uriel grinned up at Dean, his big brown eyes looking straight at him, and he didn’t punch Dean in the gut or knee him in the shin. Uriel reached out his arms and hugged them around Dean’s waist, daring to trust that Dean wouldn’t go away.

“All right Vanessa,” called one of the staff from her new group home. “Van’s leaving in about ten minutes. Let’s get your stuff out there.”

Dean hugged Uriel’s shoulders tight. “Okay kid, let’s haul out some boxes and stuff for your mom. Why don’t you take the pillow?”

“You take it. I’m not a wuss; I can take a box,” Uriel scoffed and kicked Dean in the shin. Some things would never change. “Which box is the heaviest?”

Castiel handed him a box filled with knick-knacks and the tissue box from Vanessa’s bedside table. “You got it?”

“Clearly,” said Uriel, and marched out toward the van, Dean and Cas grabbing boxes and following out behind him.

“Is Castiel coming over for supper again tonight?” Uriel asked.

“Absolutely,” said Castiel. “And tomorrow we need to get you school supplies.”

“And we need to get you some new shoes,” Dean told Castiel. Uriel laughed.

“What’s so funny?” asked Vanessa.

“Castiel only has that one pair of shoes!” Uriel exclaimed.

“It’s not that weird,” said Castiel.

“I might be the crazy one Castiel, but I think you’re nuts to wear shoes like that everywhere,” Vanessa said, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Time to go, Vanessa,” someone called from the driver’s seat of the van.

“I’d better see y’all next week,” she said, climbing into the vehicle. “I’m gonna call after you.”

And Dean was positive that Uriel was going to be just fine, because as well meaning has he ever was, that was something that John Winchester had never done. Uriel grabbed hold of Cas’ hand and of Dean’s, and they began their walk toward the Impala.

“One, two, three—SWING!” Dean and Cas swung Uriel between them, the boy cackling with delight.

* * * *

“The supply list says right here,” Castiel showed Uriel, “one 24 box of crayons.”

“I want a 64 box! Get me the 64 box, mud monkeys!”

Dean sighed and tried to reason. “You have a 120 box at home, and for school they ask for 24. Besides, sometimes the teachers take the crayons and keep them in a box at the center of the table. Then everyone shares.”

“No…” Uriel gasped.

“They do,” Castiel confirmed. “In Kindergarten everyone practices sharing.”

“Didn’t I practice that enough in pre-school? This is ridiculous! What kind of madhouse are you sending me too?”

Dean snorted a laugh and clapped Castiel on the shoulder, sharing a look of utter amusement with him. “C’mon Uriel. Put the 24 box in the cart, then we’ll go pick you out the most kick ass backpack in the store.”

“Maybe they’ll have one with flowers and ponies,” Castiel teased, Dean’s arm still wrapped around his shoulder.

“Oh yeah. Uriel’d look so cute with one of those,” Dean concurred.

“You shut your foul mouths!” Uriel glared, taking the helm on the cart. Dean and Cas following into the next isle. “I will get no such backpack!”

“Okay, so long as you get a Hello Kitty lunchbox,” said Dean, in a perfect deadpan.

“NO!”

“Maybe just a thermos?” tried Castiel, laughing hopelessly through the whole sentence.

“LET ME PICK MY OWN STUFF! I’LL SMITE YOU ALL, YOU STUPID MUD MONKEYS!”

Dean and Castiel laughed, Castiel actually pitching forward and clutching his gut. When he finally stood he ran his hand through the curls atop Uriel’s head. He was going to need a haircut before school started, Dean noted, before ruffling his own hand through Castiel’s spiked tresses.

Castiel swatted his hand away. “Personal space, remember?”

Uriel gave Castiel a significant look, then put a Batman backpack into the cart.

“Okay, what’s next on the list?” asked Dean.

“He needs to bring a box of Kleenex, and I don’t know… I think he needs new shoes more than I do Dean.”

“He’s definitely getting shoes, but he doesn’t need them as badly as you do. Then maybe we can get him one of those Lunchable lunches. Something special for his first day.”

“I’m going to need to get a camera,” said Cas. “We’re going to have start getting pictures of these things.”

Dean nodded. He and Cas definitely were going to have to start documenting things like the first day of school, and putting the memories in frames, the way Vanessa did. Uriel was already pushing the cart toward the shoes, speeding up until he was running at top five-year-old speed, Dean and Castiel following behind him.

THE END.