Work Text:
Dean thought he would be bored, when the world finally stopped ending. But on the contrary, it was fucking amazing.
It had been five months since Chuck had been disposed of, and Dean woke up every morning without a pit of dread in his stomach. Yes, he still jumped at small noises and woke up screaming occasionally, but what hunter didn't? It came with the territory, and it was the price he'd pay for a bit of peace and quiet.
However unlikely it had been, they'd somehow all made it out alive. It had taken a bit of finagling, a lot of sleepless nights, and one terrifying trip to the Empty, but they'd done it. That only left the rest of their lives, stretching out like an endless highway on a summer night.
This morning, he'd gotten up early for once, and was perched on one of the kitchen chairs, drinking coffee out of a Scooby Doo mug Sam had got him for Christmas. Miracle was at his feet, tongue lolling out to the side, his own real life Scooby. Dean leaned down to scratch the animal behind an ear, and his tail thumped against the wooden floor in response. As usual, he was reading the local news, half-heartedly trawling for cases. But there was nothing, no funny deaths, no cattle mutilations. Dean wasn't all that surprised. Under Jack's rule, monsters seemed a bit more subdued. There was the odd case, yes, but they were getting fewer and further between, and the majority of the time the residents of the bunker were happy to sit back and let the younger generation of hunters handle it, providing information and backup whenever it was needed, along with pizza and whiskey.
Basically, they were Bobby.
Damn, he missed that old man. Son of a bitch would be pleased to see that Dean had followed in his footsteps, although he'd probably never say it outright, far too grumpy for that. But he was getting nostalgic now, and that was never good this early in the day. Nostalgia led to day drinking, day drinking led to bad decision making, and he'd promised he'd teach Jack how to shoot a sniper rifle tonight, after over a month of pestering. Even sober, that could go horribly wrong, no one wanted a repeat of the grenade launcher incident.
Speak of the devil, or Nephilim or whatever, Dean heard the soft padding of footsteps down the hall, far too light to be his brother or Cas. Sure enough, Jack poked his head into the kitchen, and grinned widely when he saw Dean.
"Hey Dean."
"Morning kiddo."
He was wearing one of Sam's old Stanford shirts, a pair of joggers so long in the legs Dean was surprised he hadn't tripped over yet, and immediately started rootling about for the honey covered cereal that Dean bought specially for him, patting Miracle on the head on the way past. It was hard, on mornings like this, to believe this was the dimensions newest (and best) attempt at God.
"You got anything fun going on today?"
"Not really. Mrs Shields said we might be doing a pop quiz, but I don't think it has anything to do with popular music. Everyone else seemed displeased. I do have history club at breaktime though."
"History, eh? Sounds cool." Truly, to Dean, it sounded mind-numbingly dull, but Jack had inherited Cas' love of all things to do with the ancient world, and he wasn't about to stamp on the kids interests.
"Yeah, we're doing the Romans! Oh, and I nearly forgot, this came for you." Jack dug around in the school bag that he dumped every night by the door, and handed a perplexed Dean a thin white envelope. Typed neatly on the front were the words: 'Parents/guardians of Jack Kline, regarding parent's evening'.
"What's this about?"
"I think its about parents evening" Jack replied helpfully, spooning cereal into his face like it was going out of fashion. Dean rolled his eyes and set it to one side. He'd give it to Cas when the feathery idiot dragged himself out of bed, which could be hours yet. If there was one thing Castiel was not, it was a morning person.
"Cheers, Jack, I'll give it to your dad later."
Jack looked mildly confused, speech muffled through a mouthful of cereal. "Why bother? Your name's on it too."
"My- what?" Dean picked the letter up again, flipping it over this time to look at the back. And there it was, plain as day.
'Mr. C Winchester & Mr. D Winchester'
He hadn't really thought about it, when Cas had first come to him in the library, looking unusually determined and holding an application form. Had agreed with Cas' view. Jack might be a god, but he was also approximately three years old, and life experience couldn't account for everything. He needed an education, a real one, with professors and textbooks and shitty dining hall food. The kind Dean and his brother had never got, moving from place to place as they had all their childhoods. It would be good, for the kid to be around normal people, the kind that didn't sleep with guns under their pillows, or occasionally turn up covered in other peoples blood.
"You'll need to sign this too, Dean." Cas had said, sliding over a thick sheaf of very small text. He'd hardly looked at what he'd been scribbling, just signed his name where the angel had indicated, and got on with his day.
So they'd enrolled Jack in 9th grade, at the local high school in Lebanon. Fake ID, fake background, fake everything. He'd been happy enough, it beat sitting around all day helping Sam hack security cameras or Dean clean his pistols. Being God with the capital-G, you'd think the kid would have more to do, but for the most part the world ticked along by itself. The mere fact of him was enough to keep the balance, just so long as he checked in upstairs every so often.
Jack learned his times tables, his similes and metaphors, his conquerors and kings. He might have been a bit of an odd child (and Dean was putting it mildly here), but he found people to hang about with soon enough. And if any of his new friends sometimes wondered why he changed the subject when his family came up, or made constant excuses as to why they couldn't come round to his house, they didn't think too hard on it. They were just children after all, not so cynical quite yet.
"Uhh, Dean?"
He'd been quiet too long, frozen with the letter in his hand, and Jack had actually put down his spoon to look over inquiringly at him. Dean shook himself, contained the internal panic, and smiled unconvincingly. "Yeah, no problem, I'll be there. You better be getting on, you don't want to be late for class do you?"
Jack checked his watch, muttered "Shit I'm late", and shot off to get dressed, yelling something back over his shoulder about the sniper rifle.
"No, kid, I haven't forgotten. And what have I told you about swearing?"
"If you're gonna say fuck, say it like you mean it!" was the reply that floated back down the echoing bunker halls, and it made Dean chuckle despite himself.
"That wasn't... never mind."
After Jack had made his hasty goodbyes, Dean was alone in the kitchen again. Sam was still on his morning run (because he was, in Dean's considered opinion, a masochist), and Cas didn't look like surfacing soon, so that just left him, Miracle, his cup of coffee, and the little white envelope.
"You got anything to say?"
Unsurprisingly, Miracle had no words of wisdom for him.
'Mr. C Winchester & Mr. D Winchester'
He should have looked more closely at those damn forms.
"I fucking hate suits. Did I ever tell you that?"
"Yes, Dean. In fact, I think you've mentioned it at least four times just this evening." He could hear the eye roll in Cas tone, but didn't look over at the passenger seat as they cruised down the road into town. Dean knew the way to the school from the rare times he'd driven Jack in, on those days he was too tired to teleport into the alley beside the main gate. He'd never actually got out of the car though, just pulled up and let the kid out, enjoying the appreciative looks baby always got from the other parents.
Tonight though, he would have to walk in. And mingle. The sheer horror of this idea had been following him around for a week, ever since the arrival of the fated letter. Sam had been no help, he'd found the whole situation hilarious, and Cas had just been mildly confused when Dean had confronted him about it.
"Dean, you signed the form agreeing to be one of Jack's legal guardians. You can't be surprised when letters turn up with your name on them."
Yes, that was true, but it was still a bit terrifying that in the eyes of the law, he was (one of) Jack's fathers now. Given who his own dad had been, he could only hope he wouldnt screw the kid up like John had done to him. But Dean didn't follow the usual Winchester parenting playbook, had never raised a hand to Jack (well, he had shot him once, but that was a long time ago), and tried not to yell even when he was mad. The Bobby model, if you will, and it seemed to be working okay so far.
Dean had never considered children as a part of his future. It had always been Sammy's kids he pictured looking after, the cool uncle who taught them to fight and snuck them extra sweets after dinner. He'd been that child, showing up at a new school for the sixth time that year, jumping at small noises, more knowledge with a pistol than a textbook, and he'd sworn never to repeat it with his own kids. Seeing as it was unlikely he would ever make it out of this life, that made it clear that children of his own were pretty much off the table. He'd made his peace with that long ago, and all had been good until the son of the devil was dropped unceremoniously in their laps.
But Jack wasn't a bad kid, all things considered. He was so similar to Cas in so many ways, Dean saw bits of his friend in the kid every day. The awkwardness, the complete lack of people skills, but the bravery too, the drive to always to the right thing. Biologically, Jack might be Lucifer's, but at his core, he was Cas' son.
All of this to say, Dean had never expected to have a child. But now one was around, he wasn't so adverse to the idea, especially as hunting became safer and safer. In fact, he'd felt himself relaxing into the role of parent pretty well. However, that was all well and good in the comfort of his own home, it was a whole other beast when it came to things like parents evenings, at a school who's administration were apparently under the impression that he and Cas were married. Not that the idea horrified Dean or anything, but- no, fuck, that wasn't what he meant.
This was going to be just incredible.
Jack ran up to them the second they walked into reception, bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy "Dad! Dean!"
"Hello, Jack."
"Hey kiddo." Dean tugged on his stiff collar, trying to loosen it slightly. It was a damn furnace in here, all the people - parents and students alike - milling about next to the entrance to the main hall only amplifying the effect. He wasn't sure what exactly had made him decide to put on a suit for the occasion, but it hadn't felt quite right rocking up in ripped jeans and a leather jacket to meet the headmistress. First impressions and all that, but he was regretting it now.
Jack, never one to notice peoples emotions unless explicitly stated, was tugging on Cas' sleeve, trying to lead them into the hall. "You're just in time! You've got my form tutor, Mr. Birch, my maths teacher, Dr Angelo, and a few others." He was talking at a hundred miles an hour, pointing out friends and teachers as they followed him into a somehow even more crowded space, with little signs pointing this way and that, labelled with things like 'Humanities' and 'STEM' that made little sense to Dean. He was pleased to see Cas was having just as much trouble with the stifling atmosphere. The bastard always hid it well, but the little crease between his eyebrows showed Jack had left him behind somewhere round the beginning of his ramble about the spaghetti the canteen had been serving for lunch.
Eventually, they were given a reprieve, in the form of a short, sandy haired, freckled boy which skidded up to them, crying out enthusiastically.
"Jack!"
"Oh, hi Dennis!" Jack beamed, then turned to introduce his two bewildered tag-alongs to the new arrival. "This is Dennis, he's in my form. Dennis, this is my Dad, Castiel, but you can just call him Cas because everyone does. I think its called a nickname? Oh, and that's my other Dad, Dean."
Dennis nodded at them, not really interested, and started wittering on about a puppy that one of their friends had brought with them. Soon enough, Jack had disappeared between the jostling bodies with a quick "be back in a sec!"
Which left Dean and Cas effectively stranded in the massive hall. Just perfect.
"Should we, uhh, find Mr. Birch then?"
"Yes, I think that would be wise." Cas scanned the room, then strode of purposefully in completely the wrong direction, Dean following in his wake. It took them ten minutes to locate the mysterious form tutor, by which time they were late.
During the search, Dean had time to consider the interaction. He wasn't even going near the active landmine that was Jack calling him 'Dad', that was a little too much after all this. Dean was gonna need a drink when they got home, or five. So instead, he focused on the other part, the arrival of the scruffy boy that had whisked away Jack faster than a genie at the thought of a cute dog. Fair enough, Dean liked dogs.
Dennis had taken all of two seconds to be shocked that Jack had little in the way of female parentage, then seemed to just accept it and move on. Kids were funny like that. You tell them infinity isn't a number and they'll argue with you for hours, but tell them you've got two dads? Old news, what's for dinner. Not that he and Cas were an item, but if people were going to assume they were, it was better to be chill about it than be a dick.
If only all people could be as accepting.
Mr. Birch, as it transpired, fell neatly into the category of people Dean would label 'douchebags'. This was apparent from the first, as he pointedly checked his watch when the pair of them sank down onto the uncomfortable little chairs before the desk, just over two minutes tardy. And, given how he was scowling, the tutor would have quite liked to have given them both detention for it.
"Hi, sorry about that. Its a big room, eh?" Dean said, trying to lessen the tension. It wasn't much use, Mr Birch was looking between the pair of them, back and forth, back and forth, with an air of distaste. Dean mentally labelled him Mr. Bitch.
"Mr and Mr Winchester, now you're both here, finally, we can begin."
So, a bigot and a prick then. This was gonna be fun.
Mr. Bitch did a lot of talking, none of it particularly useful. All of his blustering tones about new beginnings and fresh starts couldn't disguise the fact that despite Jack having joined the school just over three months ago, this guy hardly seemed to know much more than his name. He read them out some grades, which were damn good (the kid was following Sammy's route it seemed, and Dean couldn't be happier), and made generalised comments about class contributions that sounded like he was reading off a cue card. Needless to say, Dean was bored. Cas however, hadn't moved a muscle since the conversation had began, ram-rod straight in his chair like a very lifelike mannequin. Glancing over, Dean watched as Cas regarded the teacher steadily, blue eyes doing all they could to burn a hole in his forehead. He looked like a predator. He looked pissed.
Because yes, for all Castiel's simulation of humanity, he was nothing more than a cosmic entity crammed neatly inside an admittedly handsome meat suit. He wasn't too good at the whole emotion repressing thing (neither was Jack, go figure), and right now looked about two seconds from breaking Mr. Bitches stupid little reading glasses, and his nose as well. Dean understood, the teachers complete lack of enthusiasm for the kid was infuriating, but not quite irritating enough to him to justify throwing punches. Cas was never one for subtlety though, and that option was getting more and more likely with every passing second.
But they were trying to get through tonight without trouble, and launching himself over the table to grab an ineffectual educator by the scruff of the neck certainly counted as trouble in Dean's book. There wasn't another high school for twenty miles at least, and Jack had friends here. So Dean did the only thing he could think of to tell Cas to cool the fuck off, short of physically removing him from Mr. Bitches presence. He reached over and took Cas' hand from where it was resting on his knee, (not a difficult feat, seeing as they were squashed in together in the ridiculous seats) and squeezed it firmly, threading their fingers together. Cas glanced over sharply, then seemed to get the message, and took a long breath. Good, that was a start.
The entire interaction flew right past the tutor's prominent ears, and he kept droning on. Dean did not let go of Cas' hand though. That was fine, he just wanted to make sure Cas wouldn't do anything stupid. Perfectly reasonable, right? Nothing to do with how the angels hand felt in his, calloused fingers entwined with his own. Not at all.
After several minutes where Dean tried to focus on the tutor, and not Cas, (get it together Winchester, you're acting like a teenage girl on a first date. Its just holding hands, for fucks sake.) a bell rang from somewhere that signalled the meeting was over, and parents should locate their next teacher. They stood gratefully, and Dean took a shot at a friendly goodbye. It went about as well as you'd expect.
"May I suggest the pair of you make an effort to appear promptly next time? These conversations are very important you know."
"May I suggest you get to know our son somewhat before next time? Maybe then you might be able to provide us with some substantial feedback." Cas snapped, temper flaring right back up, and Dean winced as other parents shot them curious looks. He should have hoped for less.
"I beg your pardon?" the teacher stood abruptly, but it hardly made much of an effect, due to the fact that he was about five foot six. Short people, always the pissiest. It was a complex. At any rate, he looked a little cowed as Cas loomed forwards, tugging an unwilling Dean in his wake. Even to those who didn't know him as an angel, Cas was a pretty scary guy, tall and muscular, with that air of someone who's seen a little too much to be wholly complete. Other people were looking in earnest now, and this could all go sideways very quickly. Dean tugged firmly on the hand he was still holding, and Cas looked back at him, eyes blazing with that unholy power. Yep, pretty damn terrifying, if not just a tiny bit sexy.
"Cas, c'mon, lets just go."
"No, Dean, this is important."
"I know, love, I know. But this guy's obviously just incompetent. Lets go talk to someone else eh?" He had no idea where the nickname had come from, but it surprised Cas enough to bring him partially back to his senses, and he nodded, stepping back. It also had the dual effect of pissing off the form tutor, Dean noted with no small amount of smugness, who's nostrils had flared, eyes widening comically, as if to say 'the audacity!'
Dean didn't care though. If they were doing this act, they were doing it properly, and right now he was pretty sure the hand holding was the only reason there wasn't a very dead (or at least mentally scarred) man before them, instead of a living breathing douchebag. The bitch himself was in no place to make demands, having slowly shrunk back down into his seat like a wilted weed, but glared at them both all the same. Dean forced a saccharine smile in a belated effort to salvage the situation, and steered Cas firmly away before he blew the lights out, calling back over his shoulder in what he hoped was a friendly tone.
"Uhh, thanks, Mr. Bitch-I mean Birch!"
Very smooth.
Comparatively, the rest of the interviews went spectacularly well. Dr Angelo, Jack's maths teacher, turned out to be a lovely lady. She was short and smiling, braids jingling with multicoloured beads, and somehow reminded Dean forcibly of Missouri Mosely, if the physic had been a little more optimistic that is. She'd apparently witnessed the entire exchange between them and the form tutor, and seemed to find the entire thing hilarious, referring to Mr. Birch as "that old fart", which had immediately got Dean on side. By the time they left her table, Dean was much happier, and Cas had even perked up a little. He no longer looked in danger of smiting anyone at least.
Dean did not let go of Cas' hand the entire hour they were there.
This was, obviously, all part of the act. So were the occasional endearments, the moving the chairs even closer than necessary, even the quick peck on the cheek that Dean had somehow found the balls to pull of when Jack's art teacher, Ms. Anderson, said what a cute couple they made, and how nice it was to have new faces in the school community. Cas had shot him a look after that, which he didn't know how to read. It might have been confusion, maybe even irritation. But, if he'd had long enough to look closely, Dean might have discovered it was something far more akin to hope.
He didn't look though, and Cas quickly schooled himself into indifference. Learning emotional restraint, after several billion years.
Jack finally resurfaced just as they were exiting the hall. They'd seen him occasionally, weaving through other people with a group scruffily grinning boys, obviously up to various mischief with a nerf gun, inciting shrieks all around. It didn't last long, they were caught, received a stiff telling off, (in which Jack hung his head to hide a smirk) and were sent on their way by a teaching assistant who's face clearly said that they weren't paid enough for this shit. Dean was rubbing off on the kid after all then. Now, he rushed over, excited at the prospect of leaving. Nerf guns were fun and all, but his dads had real ones at home, and tonight was a training night.
"Proud of you kiddo. Fuckin' crushing it out there." Dean had never been particularly good at praise - having never actually received any from John - but he seemed to be saying something right, because Jack beamed, and threw himself forward to hug Dean tight. Stable ground. If there was one thing he could do besides kill people, it was give them a damn good bear hug. He finally (reluctantly) released the angels hand to clap Jack on the shoulder. After a moment, Jack stepped back and they begun the walk back to the car, the cool evening air hitting their faces refreshing after the stifling heat of the hall.
"How about we stop and get a takeaway? I could do with a real meal, and its Sam's turn to cook tonight. Anything but rabbit food."
Jack nodded enthusiastically, and Cas rolled his eyes. Not actually having to eat aside, Dean had been educating him on every greasy food known to man for several months, and the angel had developed a singular fondness for burgers, much to Dean's satisfaction. It was probably Jimmy's influence. They could stop in at the nearest takeaway, and Sam could eat his sad little salad alone. Parking around the school had been slim to none, Nissan Micras and Toyota Corollas packed in like sardines around the gates, so Dean had been forced to stop Baby a little way down the street. As they walked back to her, Jack bounced ahead, chattering away about a project for computer science that Sam - ever the technology geek - had promised to help him with.
A minute down the street, as they passed under an orange streetlamp, Dean felt a calloused hand take his own, and looked over, surprised. Cas just raised an eyebrow, completely unabashed, and possibly a bit amused.
"You started it, husband."
Dean was glad it was dark (ish), because the blush that lit up his face, like a neon sign from his neck to the tips of his ears was just fucking embarrassing. Unfortunately, he had a feeling Cas could tell. Damn angels and their eldritch proportions and their night vision and their all round sexiness. His mind had gone spectacularly blank searching for a reasonable answer, and he eventually choked out "Jeez, Cas. Buy a guy a drink before you propose to him, why don't you?"
"Fine. Tomorrow?" Cas shrugged. The smooth son of a bitch actually shrugged, blue eyes sparkling in a way that was all too distracting.
Dean opened his mouth to hastily backtrack, but some part of him that had been lying low up to this point (and by lying low, he meant stored in a box in his mind with fifteen padlocks on the door, with a label reading 'gay thoughts') sat up, and told him firmly to be quiet and try not to fuck this up. By some miracle, Cas hadn't pulled away, hadn't taken back his words, and if Dean wanted it to remain that way, it was best if he repressed his immediate desire to run.
Maybe he should have been expecting this a little more. Cas had literally confessed his love for him before going to the Empty, a memory that would haunt Dean's nightmares until the end of time, but he'd assumed that was more in a bro kinda way. That was normal, right?
No, it wasn't, he'd just been an idiot, and too scared of the consequences of interpreting it any other way than purely platonic. Cas, apparently, had got bored of waiting for Dean to remove his head from his ass, and now here they were. And it felt right. So Dean tried not to think about how his father would have looked at him if he'd ever heard of this, and squeezed Cas hand a little, earning a small smile.
"Yeah, uhh, a drink sounds okay- good, I mean, yeah. Good."
"Perfect." Cas smiled, a proper grin that he rarely saw from the usually reserved angel, and damn if it wasn't beautiful.
All eyes on Cas, Dean hadn't noticed that they'd reached the Impala, or that Jack had heard the tail end of their conversation. He piped up now, looking between them quizzically. "What are you two talking about?"
"Uhh, well." Dean flushed furiously once more, spectacularly failing to come up with a response, so Cas cut in to save his ass, like usual.
"We're going on a date."
Jack shrugged. "Okay then. Dean, can I please get a nougat and double chocolate milkshake with my food?"
"Sure, kiddo, whatever you want." Dean probably would have given Jack his own grenade launcher if he'd asked at that particular moment, so relieved was he that the kid hadn't flipped out. But why should he? He didn't even seem surprised. Which was weird.
"Uhh, Jack?"
"Yeah Dean?" Jack slid into the backseat, comfortably spreading out as the two adults took the front, and Dean flicked the ignition and pulled away from the curb, Baby purring beneath them. The familiar action gave him strength.
"You, uh, you cool with this then? Me and him?" He inclined his head towards Cas, still not quite able to meet his eye, but he had a feeling the angel was smirking.
Jack looked confused. "What do you mean? You two are married, right?"
Dean nearly crashed the car.
(Jack, of course, was quite right, he was just a year or so too early, but he can be forgiven for assuming so. By the time his 10th grade parents evening rolled around, the rings on his fathers fingers were real, not fake, and they held hands all the way home.)
(Mr. Bitch was also fired, much to everyone's, but especially Dean's, joy.)