Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A ruffle of wings and the appearance of a strange-looking man in a trench coat caused Dean to drop his grocery bag on the sidewalk and wield the knife he’d tucked away in his boot. This town was shitty and tiny, so there was no one outside to scream for help from, leading to Dean keeping his eyes solely on his opponent—some kind of monster, one that could teleport. He was shaped like a man, but not a very good one. He was way shorter than Dad, at least, so Dean could hopefully take him. Unless whatever his kind was was good at fighting. Shit.

“Dean,” the creature said, voice like gravel. The fact that it could speak ruled out tons of monsters, but unfortunately left the scariest one, a demon, a possibility. It knowing Dean’s name only added to that hypothesis.

Dean knew his knife would be useless against such a creature, and silently cursed his stupid brain for not remembering the exorcism it was supposed to. Sammy was going to go hungry because of Dean’s carelessness, and he’d be left all alone with Dad when the drunkard eventually stumbled back from his case.

“Dean,” the creature repeated, tilting its head in a human-like, or maybe dog-like, gesture. “Don’t be afraid.”

What? What a stupid thing to say, Dean thought, still in his fighting stance and trying to stop the trembling of his outstretched hand.

The creature told him, “My name is Castiel. I’m an angel of the lord.”

Dean recalled what his mother had told him, but he didn’t let himself believe it, didn't let himself retract the knife he knew wouldn’t work. He needed to maintain some semblance of power, now that whatever this “Castiel” freak was wasn’t immediately killing him. “Angels aren’t real,” Dean said, repeating what his father insisted on.

The creature stood up straighter, and a shadow of large, fluffy, angelic wings was cast upon the shitty, rotting fence behind it. The creature’s wingspan was definitely taller than Dad, and Dean gulped in fear.

He refused to waver, still holding his knife out at the monster who was maybe an angel. “What do you want with me?” he demanded.

Castiel hid its wings again and calmly said, “You are not in danger. I want to help you and your brother.”

At the mention of Sammy, Dean tensed. “Leave him out of this.”

The angel didn’t falter. “I want to help you,” it repeated, speaking carefully and almost kindly. “It is my duty to help you.”

Its duty? Maybe Mom was right. Maybe all he had to do was get through 13 shitty years, even the first four tainted by his memory now, before getting his own angel to watch over him. Maybe that was how God worked. You had to endure before getting something good.

That didn’t seem fair to Dean, but he listened to what the angel had to say, still holding the knife tight in his hand but lowering his arm.

“I understand that you will not trust me right away. That is why I came to you alone first.”

That was smart. If Sammy were here, Dean wouldn’t listen. He’d figure out a way to get away—to safety—immediately.

Maybe the angel wasn’t really doing Dean a favor; maybe that was its tactic to get Dean’s guard down before striking. Dean kept his focus sharp, eyes trained on the angel, paying attention to any sudden movements, knife still clutched tight, as he continued to listen.

“Dean, you and your brother are not safe living with your father.”

Yeah, no shit.

“We—heaven, the angels—need you two alive. You are important. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Dean frowned. Oh, they were important? Like he’d believe that.

And even if it were true… “You don’t want to save me. You want to use me.”

“No, Dean, that’s not what this is. I care about you both.”

“How can you care about me?” Dean asked.

“I’ve been watching over you,” the angel explained, and Dean felt better and worse all at once.

Mom wasn’t lying. But, at the same time, Castiel had been watching while Sam and Dean got beaten and bruised by monsters and their father alike, and he’d done nothing. “Why now?” Dean asked.

“Sam is … coming of age.”

Dean suddenly felt very, very hot. Of course he’d thought about that, but he always discarded it with the belief he was doing a good enough job that Dad wouldn’t look elsewhere in the family. Now that Castiel was saying this, though, Dean realized how stupid he’d been. Of course Sammy was coming of age—the age Dean was when Dad started touching him under his clothes. The summer he was nine years old. Goddamn it.

“Although what your father does to you isn’t inherently deadly,” Castiel continued, “I’m worried what will happen to Sam if it starts. It’s best to remove him from the situation before it begins. And you as well, of course. Because we do care about you.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he believed that last bit quite yet, but he’d already made the decision to let this angel save him—save Sam. He didn’t have another way of helping Sam avoid a lifetime of trauma, and here was one tossed right into his lap. He’d be a fool to let it go to waste, especially when it was exactly what his mother always talked about.

Dean kept his knife in his hand and bent down to pick up the abandoned grocery bag, keeping his eyes on Castiel as he did so, just in case. “Dad won’t be home for another week or so,” Dean said. “Come back later. I need to talk to Sammy about this first.”

The angel nodded and vanished with another flutter of his wings.

---

Dean came home late with a dented box of macaroni and the information that angels were real, and that they cared about Sam and Dean.

Sam couldn’t help but smile and go to bed that night thinking about what it would be like to not live in fear. As much as Dad protected them from monsters, he was also one of the things they needed protecting from. If they had an angel around instead, they’d be completely safe.

Sam bet that when the angel—Castiel—came back, he’d take them far away to a house in the forest, warded by the most powerful sigils in existence. Sam would befriend the woodland animals, and Dean wouldn’t be so stressed all the time. They’d get to eat homemade pie and sleep in their own bedrooms, though they’d have sleepovers at least once a week, of course. Castiel would be their new dad, and he would let Sam read for pleasure instead of research, and he wouldn’t force Dean to cry himself to sleep on those nights he thought Sam couldn’t hear.

Dean wasn’t crying tonight. Sam took that to mean he, too, believed they’d get a happy ending, just like Sam had always prayed for.

No one ever told Sam about angels. He started praying on his own. Even when he was really little, before he understood the gravity of their Dad’s abuse, he prayed. Not to be saved from Dad, but to be saved from himself. There was something inside of him that he didn’t like too much. It wasn’t so clean. That, he always knew. It was something he innately understood. It was why he always tried so hard to have faith. Maybe if he did that, he could be saved.

He met Castiel a few days later, when the brothers were watching TV on one of the beds. Sam startled at the angel’s sudden appearance, but quickly perked up upon recognizing the trenchcoat and crazy blue eyes Dean had told him about. He was about to stand up and approach him, but Dean held onto his arm, so Sam remained put.

“Sam,” the angel said, more like a statement than a greeting, “I trust your brother has told you about me?”

Sam nodded, suddenly feeling meeker than he’d like. Castiel’s voice was really cool, and Sam liked his hair a lot.

“Very well. Then, you two are ready to come with me?”

“Where exactly are you taking us?” Dean asked, his grip on Sam’s arm loose, no longer trying to hold him back, but still there, and Sam still wasn’t moving.

“I’ve prepared a home,” Castiel said. “Very safe, and with everything human children need to survive. You will receive near constant supervision from me, as per my new orders.”

Sam grinned, buzzing in anxiousness and excitement and shyness. Castiel really would be like a new dad. Hopefully he would like Sam.

Sam hoped he would like Castiel too, but he was pretty sure he would. So far so good.

“You may pack any belongings you’d like to bring with you, but you will also have entirely new clothes and blankets to supplement. I will wait here,” Castiel said.

Sam turned to Dean, still smiling as he thought about what he wanted to keep. Dean’s old hoodie, Sam’s favorite hand-me-down, was a must. Other than that, he wasn’t sure. Maybe his Spider-Man pajamas? They were rattier and less sentimental, so perhaps they could be replaced.

Did Castiel have money? Where would their new stuff come from? Did he steal stuff like Dad made Dean do?

“Go ahead and pack, Sammy,” Dean murmured, letting go of Sam’s arm entirely. “I think it’s safe.”

Sam nodded and clambered off the bed, quickly locating the hoodie in his duffel bag. He slipped it on over his T-Shirt and spun around to find Dean collecting knives and guns to bring with him.

Sam frowned slightly, but turned back around and slid his own knife into his boot. He went up to Castiel then, letting Dean continue getting his weapons together.

“Hi,” Sam shyly said, looking up at the angel. He was shorter than Dad, but still way taller than Sam. God, he wanted to make a good impression.

“Hello,” Castiel said.

Sam felt like he was blushing. “Have you been on Earth long?” he asked, hoping he came across as polite.

“No,” Castiel answered. “I just got here. My previous assignment was to watch over you two from above.”

Sam smiled and bounced on his heels at the idea of that. Maybe Castiel had received some of his prayers in the past? “Cool!” Sam tried. How was he doing? Did he seem like a good kid? Did he seem nervous?

Dean arrived at Sam’s side, various weapons hidden in his clothes, and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, instantly deflating tension Sam hadn’t realized had appeared. “Got everything you need?” he asked.

“Yup!” Sam confirmed, twisting to look up at his brother. “Can we go now?” He was eager more than he was shy now that Dean was at his side.

Dean squeezed his shoulder and looked past him, towards Castiel. “What will our dad think? Won’t he look for us?”

“He won’t find you,” Castiel said.

Sam, not listening at all, tugged on the hem of Dean’s flannel. “Dean. Let’s go.”

Dean looked down at him again. “Okay. Fine.”

With that, Castiel extended two fingers on both hands and pressed them gently against Sam and Dean’s foreheads.

---

Dean held Sam’s hand as they stood in the living room of their new home, as if Sam didn’t become a big boy the moment he needed to get stitches all the way down his chest and stomach. Sometimes Dean just needed to keep him little though, for his own sanity. He had to tell himself he was doing a good job with him, that Sam was more innocent than he was at his age. That Sam still needed to get his hand held.

And maybe part of it was the fact that Dean was a little freaked by the straight up teleportation they just did to get here, and that he needed to get his own hand held. Sam was the one who wasn’t pulling away, though, so Dean chose to tell himself they were holding hands for his sake.

Although their method of transportation was terrible, the living room they’d arrived in was admittedly nice. There was a full matching set of dark green couches, and Dean found himself immediately drawn to the armchair. It was big enough for him and Sam both to sit on, and it had comfy looking cushions.

The carpet beneath their feet looked soft, but Dean was wearing his boots, so he couldn’t be sure. The rest of the room was cozy too, with an unlit fireplace as the centerpiece instead of a TV. Dean supposed a TV wasn’t “necessary” to human survival, but Castiel had made it seem like the house would be perfect.

Dean wouldn’t complain though. That wasn’t a luxury he’d ever have.

“I suppose I should give you a tour of the house,” Castiel said, standing in front of the brothers, who were still hand in hand. “We’re standing in what I believe you call the living room. I decorated it myself.”

That explained the lack of a TV. Castiel started walking away, so Sam and Dean followed. They made it to the kitchen before Sam finally let go of Dean’s hand.

“Kitchen,” Castiel said, needlessly, probably trying to prove he knew what it was called.

Dean looked around. It was as nice as the living room—decent sized and with fancy appliances. He’d have to figure out how to use this type of stove so he could cook for Sammy; hopefully he wouldn’t have too much trouble with that. Before he could get too deep into that line of thinking, though, Castiel was speaking again.

“I will always have plenty of snacks in stock, which you two may eat any time you please. I will make sure you get three meals a day as well.”

Dean stared at the angel and felt around for Sam’s hand once more, squeezing it tight when he found it. Sam didn’t just not pull away this time—he actively squeezed back. Had Dean really understood the angel’s words correctly?

After a few moments where the brothers just processed the information, Sam squeaked out, “What kind of snacks?”

Castiel opened a door that led to a closet (pantry? Dean felt like he’d heard that term on TV before) and started pulling stuff out to inspect the labels. “Goldfish? Rice Krispie Treats. Supposed fruit snacks. I think you call these granola bars,” he rattled off a few examples, then put everything away and turned to face the brothers again. “I will also buy anything you two ask me to, if something is missing.

A quiet sniffle came from beside Dean, so he squeezed his brother’s hand harder.

“Um,” Castiel said, looking as confused as he always did, with the same head tilt thing he’d done when they first met. Dean was really starting to find that facial expression annoying. “I was told humans needed snacks. Why are you crying, Sam?”

Sam let out a small sob and turned to hide his face in Dean’s chest, so Dean let go of his hand to hug him. Castiel looked at Dean inquisitively.

“We didn’t have food like this before,” Dean explained, too shocked to be crying himself. Even Uncle Bobby didn't keep this many snacks in stock for them.

Castiel still looked confused. “I know that. But I still don’t understand the tears.”

Dean sighed and didn’t bother responding. He just pet Sam’s hair and held him close for a few seconds as the boy calmed himself down. It didn’t take long, and he was pulling away to wipe his cheeks before Castiel could ask any more stupid questions. The Winchesters were good at keeping their public crying fits to a minimum. They had a lot of practice.

“You okay?” Dean murmured.

Sam nodded, face pretty much dry now. He didn’t reach for Dean’s hand again.

Castiel still had that lost look on his face, but he continued the tour. He pointed out the downstairs bathroom and then led them to the room on the other side of the staircase. It was … another living room. With a TV this time.

Sam shot Dean a confused look, which Dean mirrored before turning on Castiel. “Is this not also a living room?”

Castiel looked around. “I suppose it is.”

Dean blinked at the casualness of that. Was this common? Was it for rich people? Was it in all houses?

It wasn’t in their house in Lawrence.

“I didn’t build this house, I just decorated it,” Castiel said. “Is two living rooms an issue?”

Dean was at a loss for words for a second before he came to his senses. “No! It’s fine.” He needed to be grateful for what was given to him.

“Alright. Well, let’s move on then.”

Castiel took them upstairs, where there was another bathroom and three bedrooms. One of them was to the right of the bathroom, and the door was closed. The other two were directly across the hall from each other on the other side.

“This is Sam’s bedroom,” Castiel said, leading them into one of the two. “I hope it’s to your liking, but changes can always be made.”

Now Sam reached for Dean’s hand again, and Dean gladly gave it to him. The room was perfect for the kid. It had a large bookshelf already filled with chapter books. Dean took a closer look at some of the titles. Not all of them looked age appropriate—some too advanced for Dean, even—but Sammy could probably handle them. He was smart.

(That was actually Dean’s biggest fear. That Sam was smart enough to know what went on between Dean and Dad. He was pretty sure they’d done a good job hiding it so far. Sam never said anything about it. Hopefully, now that it wouldn’t be happening anymore, Sam would never find out.)

There was also a dresser, probably filled with clothes like Castiel had said. It was made of the same color wood as the bookshelf, which brought a nice bit of cohesion. For someone so confused about everything else, Castiel had an eye for interior design.

Not that Dean wanted to be paying the angel any compliments just yet. If he got too deep into thinking of him as his savior, he might miss some obvious red flags. This was better than staying with Dad, yes, but Dean still needed to be alert.

The bed was twin sized and had plain blue sheets. A floppy stuffed tiger rested against the pillow, and Sam was immediately drawn to it, tugging Dean with him as he approached.

He picked it up with his free hand to look at, then held it to his chest and turned to Castiel. “This is for me?” he asked softly, needlessly, but Dean understood. Sam had never had a stuffed animal before. The ones Dean had when he was really little burned up in the fire, or else he would have given them to him.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “Its purpose is to comfort children, so I thought you would enjoy it.”

Sam squeezed it and Dean’s hand at the same time. He was quiet for a minute before setting it gently back on his bed and saying, “Let’s see Dean’s room now.”

“Very well.” Castiel started leaving the room, and the brothers followed, still hand in hand. Sam pointedly didn’t let go, which Dean silently appreciated. He knew he’d need something to steady him if the perfectness of Sam’s room was anything to go off of.

The first thing Dean noticed in his new bedroom was the cowboy poster hanging above the bed. It looked exactly like what he would have picked for himself if he’d had the choice. He felt known. He felt dizzy, like he didn’t deserve any of this—the snacks and the cowboys and the lack of bad touches. He couldn’t believe it was real. Castiel had claimed Dad wouldn’t find them, but he couldn’t help but feel like this would all get taken away when he showed up again, like he always did.

Sam was squeezing Dean’s hand tight, though, so he managed to remain upright and look around. His bed was also twin sized, but his sheets were dark gray and there was no stuffed animal, which was okay. The dresser had a record player on top and a bunch of rock vinyls in a bin next to it.

“How … How did you know we liked all this stuff?” Dean asked, stupidly, mouth dry, still holding Sam’s hand and not looking at Castiel.

“Like I said. I’ve been watching over you.”

Dean didn’t know what to say.

Maybe this was all a trap. Maybe Castiel was trying to lull the brothers into a false sense of security, and it was up to Dean to keep his guard up and make sure Sammy was safe.

But, then again … Dean was 99% sure Castiel was who he said he was. Weren’t angels supposed to be the good guys?

Maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched that someone good would care about Sam and Dean.

Maybe.

Well, Dean had no problem believing that Sam, at least, deserved it.

---

Castiel had been wary when given his new assignment. He understood the importance of it, of course—they couldn’t afford for Sam to suffer too much and give in to what was inside him just yet. Somebody needed to step in, and Dean—bless him—was doing his best, but he wouldn’t have been able to stop his father until it was too late. It was just that Castiel wasn’t sure that he was the right fit.

He knew the Winchesters better than any of his peers, as they were his ward from the very beginning, which may make him seem like the obvious choice. The problem was that Castiel knew far less about the human condition than most. Similarly, he likely had the worst sense of humor of any angel he knew.

Still, he knew better than to argue with his superiors, so here he was. So far, it wasn’t like how he thought it’d be.

The brothers sat quietly in Dean’s room as Castiel did his best to cook dinner. He practiced some, as properly nourishing the children was part of his assignment, but he wasn’t sure how good he was at it yet. The Winchesters, though, were excellent at not making any noise.

Castiel could sense them, of course—their souls were some of the brightest in humankind, especially when they were near each other’s, as was the case for all soulmates—but if not for that, he wouldn’t have even known they were in the house.

When dinner was ready and Castiel called the brothers downstairs, Sam eagerly set the table without being asked.

Sam. He was a curious child. So far, he seemed different than what his blood said he’d be. He seemed … sweet, more than anything. Not evil. Still, Castiel would keep an eye on him.

About halfway through dinner, which the boys were eating without fuss, Sam spoke up in his soft voice. “Castiel?”

“Yes?” Castiel didn’t have a plate in front of him, since he didn’t eat, but he didn’t know where else to go, so he sat at the table with the Winchesters.

“Where exactly are we?” Sam asked. “Like … in the country … Um, I looked out the window in my room earlier, and it seems like we’re in the middle of nowhere … Not that I’m complaining. Just curious.”

“Yes, of course. Good question, Sam,” Castiel reassured, not liking how insecure the boy seemed. It made Castiel uneasy. He didn’t know how to handle it, so he wanted to get rid of it. “We’re in North Dakota. Far away enough from the nearest town that no hunt should bring your father here.”

“How will we go to school?” Sam asked.

“I will enroll you both when the time comes. There are angels assigned to keep track of your father’s whereabouts, so if it is reported that he is in town, which will likely be rare, you two must not attend school on those days.” John Winchester wasn’t as important as his children, so various angels took shifts on him; rather than having one angel to know everything about him, there were a few who knew bits and pieces.

Sam nodded, seeming to find that fair. Although John hadn’t started sexually assaulting Sam yet, he had beat him up a few times, and beat Dean up in front of him many times. It seemed to Castiel that Sam didn’t want their father to find them as much as Dean didn’t.

After dinner, the brothers began washing the dishes before Castiel could even tell them they were free to do whatever they wanted. They had a system: Dean soaping and Sam rinsing. Castiel had observed it many times before, from Heaven.

He thought about telling them they didn’t need to worry about the dishes, and that he’d handle them, but they didn’t seem upset about doing them. Plus, weren’t “chores” normal for children to do?

Of course, Sam and Dean were far from normal. They deserved relaxation after everything they’d experienced in their short lives.

They finished the dishes before Castiel could say anything, but he decided he’d tell them not to wash them next time.

---

Sam and Dean brushed their teeth side by side in the bathroom. Castiel had bought them toothbrushes—yellow for Sam and green for Dean. He even got the type of toothpaste Sammy liked, the one from Uncle Bobby’s house that tasted like wintergreen.

Afterwards, they took turns showering, Sammy first. When it was Dean’s turn, he noticed that his favorite brand of bar soap and the expensive conditioner Sammy raved about that one time were in stock.

Obviously, Castiel knew everything they liked because he’d been watching over them (which Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around), but Dean wondered what his intentions were in buying them. Did he want to be nice? Did he really, actually care?

Or was there an ulterior motive? Was that why he’d just watched as Dean got molested all those years? Was something different now, other than what he’d said about Sammy’s coming of age?

It was too early to tell, but Dean would make sure to keep an eye on Castiel’s behavior and figure him out.

He got dressed in the bathroom after his shower, having picked out flannel patterned pajamas from the dresser Castiel had stocked. He never forgot to bring a change of clothes in with him when he showered anymore, not since Dad started touching him. Sammy—or anyone who wasn’t Dad, for that matter—hadn’t seen Dean anything but fully clothed for a long time.

When he left the bathroom and entered his room, he found Sammy sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his own new pajamas. He was biting the nail of his thumb, and his new tiger plush was sitting in his lap.

Dean went and sat beside him, and Sam instantly removed his nail from his mouth and looked up at him. He looked a bit down, which wasn’t uncommon for him.

Gently, Dean brushed some of Sam’s fluffy, drying hair away from his forehead and murmured, “You okay, Eeyore?”

Sam exhaled and looked away. “Yes, I’m fine … I just wanted to say good night.”

“Okay,” Dean accepted. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Sam waited a beat before standing up and leaving, holding his tiger in one arm; Dean watched him go.

That night, Dean stayed up for a while, not having Sam’s breathing nearby to help him sleep. It wasn’t so bad, though, because it gave him the time to do some much needed thinking.

He still wasn’t sure how much he could trust Castiel or his motives in giving them this awesome house, but he knew he wouldn’t touch him like Dad did. More importantly, he’d never touch Sam.

Dean knew that Sam was still young. He hadn’t been corrupted yet. He wasn’t too late for his chance to be happy, despite his predisposition to the opposite. If Castiel was as good as he seemed to be so far, maybe everything would be okay for Sam.

And as for whatever Sam and Dean were “needed” by the angels for, it couldn’t make a safe home not worth it, right?

If it all went to shit, Dean would be ready. Uncle Bobby’s was only a state away, and Dean would get himself and Sam there somehow.

For now, though, he’d let Sammy think everything was okay. There was no need to worry him over maybe.

---

Dean looked about as tired as Sam felt at breakfast the next morning. Neither one had slept well, it seemed, despite their comfy beds.

Sam only managed to fall asleep after he tugged on the hoodie he brought with him, which he was still wearing at the breakfast table now, despite the fact he hadn’t washed it.

Castiel had made eggs and toast—with bacon for Dean and fruit for Sam. Sam’s toast was slightly burnt, but he was used to that. When Dean was younger and couldn’t cook as well, slightly burnt toast was a staple. Besides, Dean’s toast was more burnt, and he wasn’t complaining, so Sam wouldn’t either.

He was just tired, though, so he ate slowly.

“You two didn’t sleep well,” Castiel stated.

Sam and Dean both looked up at him. Were they that obvious that someone who clearly didn’t understand human beings could tell? Or maybe he could sense it with his angel mojo. That would be awesome.

“Were your rooms not to your liking?”

“No, they were perfect, Castiel,” Sam said truthfully. He knew Dean liked his too.

Castiel squinted a little bit, an expression Sam was getting used to. He quite liked it. Sam wondered if it was a common angel mannerism, or if it was unique to Castiel.

The brothers had eaten a few more bites by the time Castiel suggested, “I could use my grace on you to help you both sleep.”

“No!” Dean said.

Sam flinched at the sound of Dean’s fork hitting his plate.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean said, quietly. He looked at Castiel again and said, firmly, “No. That’s not necessary.”

Castiel was still squinting, but his expression soon softened. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, Dean.”

Dean’s face was red. He looked down at his breakfast and didn’t say anything more. Neither did Castiel, so Sam remained silent too.

He thought he knew why Dean reacted so strongly. An angel grace induced sleep sounded like a deeper sleep, and Dean always felt the need to be aware of his surroundings, even when unconscious. Little things always woke him up, and he liked it that way.

Still, it seemed like a bit of an overreaction. As far as Sam knew, nothing bad had ever happened to either of them while sleeping. And it wasn’t like Dean had a bad experience with sleeping pills or something, so why should he be scared of angel grace?

Whether Sam fully agreed with his brother’s vehement “no” or not, he didn’t argue against it. He trusted Dean’s judgement more than anything. He must not trust Castiel fully yet, or something. It was probably good for at least one of them to not be completely whipped yet, and Sam was glad Dean was the one taking that responsibility as always.

Besides, their sleeping problem had a far easier fix. After a day of snacks and full meals and no chores and reading and TV (usually, they only got the last one consistently), Sam got dressed in clean pajamas, grabbed his tiger, who he’d named Jasper, and waited on Dean’s bed for him to get out of the shower.

When his brother arrived, he looked at him with a soft smile. “Hey. Here to say good night again?”

Sam shrugged. When Dean sat down beside him, he gazed up at him. “I thought we could have a sleepover.”

“Really?”

Sam nodded. Dean looked, briefly, like he was about to tease, but he didn’t, which Sam was grateful for.

Instead, he said, “Okay,” and scooted to get under the covers.

Sam did the same, and they laid on their sides facing each other, Jasper in Sam’s arms. Dean was one of the taller boys in his grade, but Sam was still tiny, so they both fit despite the small bed.

“Do you like it here so far?” Sam softly asked.

“Yeah,” Dean responded. “It’s better than I thought.”

“Really?” At Dean’s nod, Sam went on, “It’s worse than I thought.” He was still grateful, but he could be honest with Dean.

“How so?”

“I thought Castiel would be different.” So far, all he’d done was cook mediocre food and watch them watch TV. He didn’t chat or play. He wasn’t a parent. “I guess my expectations were too high.”

“Sorry.”

Sam shrugged a little.

After a moment, Dean said, “Good night, Sammy.”

Sam squeezed Jasper a little tighter. “Good night,” he echoed.

He was asleep in minutes thanks to the metronome that was Dean’s breathing. It signaled safety to his subconscious. Always had.

His sleep was peaceful until he woke to laboured breathing a few hours later. Squinting in the dark, he saw Dean deep in a nightmare, his expression pained and his body jerking this way and that.

Sam raised himself up on his elbow and gently shook Dean’s shoulder with his other hand, Jasper laying forgotten on the bed between them now.

Dean gasped and shot up to a sitting position, and Sam followed. He placed his little hand on Dean’s heaving chest and let his brother catch his breath. When it was Dean comforting Sam after a nightmare, he usually soothed him with sweet words. Sam was never sure what to say, though.

Finally, Dean had calmed down. He nodded and said, “I’m okay.”

Sam took his hand away. “Talk to me?” he asked, not hopeful.

Dean predictably shook his head. He rarely talked. Sam wasn’t sure why. He was pretty sure they had nightmares about the same things.

He accepted it regardless. The brothers sat in bed for a bit longer as Dean continued taking deep breaths.

Eventually, Sam picked up his tiger and held it out to Dean. “You want Jasper?” he asked softly.

Dean looked down at the stuffie then back up at Sam, smiling a little. “You named it Jasper?”

“Him Jasper,” Sam corrected. “And yeah.”

Dean’s smile grew, then softened into something real. He took the tiger. “Thanks, Sammy,” he said quietly.

“Sure.”

They laid back down and Sam fell asleep easily again.

---

It wasn’t part of Castiel’s assignment to parent the Winchesters. All that was required of him was to keep them fed and sheltered and ready to be vessels when the time came.

He was to keep Sam from suffering too much and turning to unsavory methods of coping, which he was predisposed to thanks to his blood and his destiny.

He was to instill faith in Dean.

That was all. Nowhere in his task did it say to go the extra mile.

But, Castiel really wasn’t lying when he told Dean he cared about them. After watching over them for so many years, it was inevitable. Especially Dean, Castiel found, was quite easy to love.

Castiel was nothing but a rule follower, of course. But nowhere in his assignment was he told he couldn’t or shouldn’t be as kind to the Winchesters as possible. He wasn’t forbidden from attempting to give them happiness.

So far, he hadn’t interacted much with them. They seemed nervous on Sam’s part and untrusting on Dean’s. But when, for the second time in a row, he felt Dean’s soul wake in the middle of his sleep from a nightmare, he felt something odd. Something human.

He wanted to make their lives better. And they were already in his care. Why not?

Chapter Text

Dean woke up to Jasper in his arms, sunlight pouring through the windows, a vague memory of the nightmare he had last night, and Sam’s sleepy soft eyes staring straight at him. He held onto Jasper for a few more moments before letting go of the tiger entirely, feeling a bit bad now about taking Sam’s toy like that. He wasn’t thinking straight when he did.

“Hi,” Sam whispered, picking up Jasper from where Dean dropped him and hugging him to his own chest.

“Hi,” Dean whispered back. He slowly rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “Up long?”

“Nah. Just a minute,” Sam answered. His grip on Jasper was tight, like he’d missed the plush. Dean felt worse. “Slept good.”

“Same,” he admitted. That was Sam though, not Jasper. Obviously. Dean was 13 for Christ’s sake. He didn’t need a plush tiger to sleep well.

The brothers laid in bed for a few minutes, just letting themselves wake up. Eventually, they decided to get up and head downstairs. Sam left Jasper on Dean’s bed, not wanting to make the trip to his own room to drop him off.

The two went downstairs in their pajamas and found Castiel in the kitchen, making pancakes. He turned to face them when they came in.

“Sam, Dean. Hello. Have a seat.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other and obeyed. Dean could tell Sam was itching to do something to help instead, but he resisted. His obvious infatuation with Castiel and his need to make a good impression was still going strong.

Castiel served them the pancakes a minute later. They never really got to eat pancakes other than the rare occasions Dad was home and took them to a diner, so Dean was excited, even though they looked sort of like a toddler made them.

They tasted fine, though, so, as always, Dean wasn’t complaining.

As the brothers were eating, Castiel spoke up. “I would like to do something with you boys today. Something fun.”

That sounded ominous, but it was probably just Castiel’s inability to use tone when speaking. “What?” Dean asked.

“I was thinking the aquarium.”

That sounded the right amount of nerdy for Sam to like it but Dean to not be totally bored. He looked over at Sam, who gave him an approving smile of the idea.

“Okay,” Dean agreed for the both of them. “Is there really an aquarium nearby, though? This seems like a small town.”

“I thought I’d take you to the one in Georgia. It’s the largest in the United States. There are ‘cooler’ ones elsewhere, but I imagine you two would prefer to speak the language.”

Georgia? Given how much they moved around, Dean was decent at geography. Wasn’t Georgia, like, really far away from North Dakota?

“Are you gonna fly us there?” Sam asked excitedly.

Oh, right.

Oh, jeez. Dean hated that last time. He bit his tongue, though. Sammy was obviously looking forward to the idea.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I will take you both after breakfast.”

Sam continued to happily eat, but Dean was pensive as he ate his own food. He didn’t like the idea of flying again, but it was more than that. Why did Castiel want to take them somewhere fun? What was he getting at?

His guard was still up. It was all the way up. That was the way it needed to be for now, to protect Sam. Sam, who was too innocent to even question it when someone was nice to him. Sam, who’d never been bad touched.

---

After breakfast, the brothers went upstairs to change and get ready for the aquarium. Sam had never been anywhere that sounded as cool as that!

He felt the urge to talk to Jasper, who he’d grown quite close to already, but when he looked to his bed, he found that the tiger was missing. He’d left him on Dean’s bed this morning, he remembered.

That was okay. It was a stupid, childish want anyway. Sam was too old to talk to an inanimate tiger. Plus, someone as dirty as him didn’t deserve something like that.

Sam shook his head, reminded himself that Castiel had saved him. That had to have been for a reason.

He went downstairs in a flannel and jeans, his hair as nice as it was going to get, and saw Dean dressed similarly as he sat on the couch waiting for him. Castiel was nearby too, in the awesome trench coat he always wore.

Dean stood up and stood next to Sam. Sam smiled nervously at him. Maybe it was excitedly, actually. Sam couldn’t quite tell the difference. There were butterflies either way.

Castiel pressed two fingers on either hand to Sam and Dean’s foreheads, and the next thing Sam knew, he was in a wide open room, bathed in blue light. There were signs pointing every which way, and Sam was immediately interested in the one that said “Sharks”.

He jumped up and down and grabbed Dean’s hand. “Cool!” he exclaimed over the underwater themed music and the noise of the crowd. “Can we see the sharks? Can we? Can we?”

Dean looked a bit ill, so Sam stopped jumping. He frowned at him.

“Sorry.” Dean squeezed Sam’s hand. “Yeah, let’s see the sharks.”

Sam chalked it up to Dean’s motion sickness and began pulling him to where the sign pointed. Castiel followed the brothers, which made Sam feel so good about himself in a way he couldn’t explain.

Sam oohed and ahhed at the massive tanks of water, still holding Dean’s hand because he didn’t want to get swept away by the crowd. He felt a bit overwhelmed, but the sharks were pretty to watch, so he focused on them.

After a few minutes of staring, mesmerized, Sam realized something. They hadn’t paid for their tickets! Castiel had flown them right inside!

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered how he felt about that. He came to the conclusion that it was fine. Angels were moral, right? Castiel wouldn’t have done it this way if it wasn’t right.

“Do you like them?” Sam asked Dean, referring to the sharks.

“Yeah, they’re awesome,” Dean said genuinely, seemingly over his motion sickness now.

Sam grinned real wide at him and turned to Castiel, who was standing right behind the brothers.

“Did you know that sharks are older than trees?” Sam asked the angel.

“I did know that, Sam.”

Oh, right. Obviously. Sam kept smiling anyway. He was at the freaking aquarium! There was nothing for him to be sad about, for once.

They spent multiple hours at the aquarium. The sharks were still awesome, but Sam’s favorite bit was the tunnel with the glass walls and ceiling. Seeing the fishies swimming all around him was amazing.

He also liked the tiny crawl space he managed to convince Dean to take him through. They got to see fishies above them under there, too, and there was a little round window in there as well to see the fishies from the side.

He didn’t stay long to read the fishy facts at any of the exhibits because he didn’t want to be far away from Dean, and Dean didn’t want to stand there and watch Sam learn. He didn’t say that, but Sam knew it was true. This was Dean’s day too.

Castiel was awesome for taking them here, Sam thought. Maybe he was what Sam had hoped he’d be. Maybe he was just nervous at first!

Sam got nervous all the time, so he understood. The idea that an angel could relate to him was actually awesome.

The three of them flew home in time for a late lunch.

“Thank you for taking us to the aquarium!” Sam exclaimed, sitting at the dining table and swinging his legs as Castiel made grilled cheese at the stove.

“Of course, Sam,” Castiel answered.

Sam turned his head to grin at Dean, only to find him narrowing his eyes at the back of their angel’s head. Sam frowned and kicked Dean’s shin under the table to get his attention.

Dean turned to face him, his expression schooled. “What?” he asked quietly.

Sam jerked his head towards Castiel and made a confused face.

Dean quickly glanced at Castiel. Later, he mouthed.

Sam didn’t like that. Was there something he wasn’t picking up on? He felt stupid.

Still, he thanked Castiel for the grilled cheese and ate it without fuss.

---

Upstairs, in Dean’s room, Sam sat crisscross in the middle of the bed, Jasper on his lap. Dean sat in front of him, facing him.

“Well?” Sam demanded.

“I’m thinking,” Dean said. He wasn’t sure how to say this—or if he even should say this. He’d told himself he wouldn’t worry Sam over maybe, but he felt like it wasn’t maybe anymore. The aquarium was too nice. People didn’t just do things that nice for no reason. “Okay, I wanna hear what you think of this. How do you feel about Castiel?”

“I think he’s awesome,” Sam said. “Changed my mind from yesterday night.”

Dean chewed his lip. “Cause of the aquarium?”

“Yeah, duh,” Sam said.

“Don’t you think that’s … What if that was the point?”

“Huh?”

“What if he took us to the aquarium to make us like him—make us trust him?”

Sam held Jasper tight. “Are you saying he can’t be trusted? He’s trying to trick us?”

“No,” Dean said. “I don’t know. Look, I didn’t want to say anything. I’m probably paranoid. But I feel like it’s good for you to know too, just in case.”

Sam was quiet for a few seconds before he nodded. He looked dejected. Shit.

“Do you hate me?” Dean asked quietly. “I know you were happy here.”

“No. Thanks for telling me.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure. I don’t mean to ruin anything for you.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Sam stood up and took Jasper with him. He left the room and gently shut the door behind himself.

Dean collapsed onto his bed. He didn’t know if he did the right thing telling Sam about his suspicions.

For the first time, Dean hoped Sam wouldn’t believe him.

The fact that Sam didn’t come to Dean’s room to sleep that night made him think he did believe him, and he hated him, despite what he said.

Dean had another nightmare after falling asleep, meaning he’d had one every night since moving here. He normally only got them at least once a week. It was like he was more paranoid now that he wasn’t around Dad. He was doing it to himself, at this point.

He was safe, at least from bad touches like that. Why did his brain need to keep bringing them up?

He sat up in bed and took a few minutes to catch his breath. His nightmare was already fuzzy. That was good.

Still, he couldn’t fall back asleep. After tossing and turning for a while, he went downstairs for some water and maybe a snack (he still couldn’t believe he had access to snacks now).

He didn’t bother turning the lights on as he descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, as the moonlight from the window was enough. His eyes were really good in the dark anyway just from all the nights he used to search for monsters that weren’t there. (He tried not to look whenever The Monster actually was there.)

As he entered the kitchen, slightly sleepy, he noticed Castiel sitting at the table. Damn it. Dean should have stayed upstairs.

He averted his eyes, as if that would do anything.

“This is your third nightmare in a row, Dean,” Castiel said.

Dean still didn’t look at him as he grabbed a cup from the cupboard. After a beat, he dumbly asked, “How do you know?”

“I watch over you.”

Dean had heard that about a million times now. It never got less weird.

He filled his cup with water and took big sips. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he finally looked at Castiel. The angel was sitting with his hands folded on the table. It was sort of creepy. “Why?” Dean asked quietly.

“Because I care about you.”

Dean didn’t know what to do with that. “Why?” he asked again.

Castiel carefully stood up. He approached Dean, stopping arm’s length in front of him and looking down at him. “Good things do happen, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “Why should I believe that?”

Why should he believe anything Castiel said? He watched what was happening to Dean for four years. He only stepped in when it was Sammy who might have been at risk.

Besides, in Dean’s experience, his statement wasn’t true. Good things didn’t even happen to good people. Case in point: Sam. The best thing that happened to him was Castiel, who, as far as Dean was concerned, was still a phony.

Castiel tilted his head. “I think you’ll be a lot happier if you do.”

Dean thought about that. He didn’t deserve to be happy.

Sammy did, though.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said. He dropped his cup in the sink and left.

Take that, Castiel. I didn’t wash my dish.

At the top of the stairs, he went into Sam’s room instead of his own. The boy was on his stomach, and he immediately turned to face the door. He was probably having trouble sleeping anyway.

“De?” he mumbled, squinting.

Dean shut the door behind himself and laid down beside Sam. “Sorry about what I said about Castiel,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Sam scooted a bit to give Dean more space, Jasper clutched in his hand and his face turned towards Dean. “But, weren’t you right?”

“I don’t know.”

He’d been so sure, and maybe he still was. But maybe that was his own problem. There really was no need to ruin Sam’s happiness. That was his rarest emotion. He needed to see it once in a while.

“So, it’s okay if I still like Castiel?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Oh. Okay.” Sam rolled onto his side, facing Dean. “Night, Dean.”

“Night, Sammy.”

His brother fell asleep first, leaving Dean space to think.

He tried to come up with an ulterior motive for Castiel—some nefarious reason behind his kindness other than that it was how he was instructed to be.

He couldn’t think of one. Maybe the angel really was just an angel.

And maybe, even if Dean didn’t deserve happiness, he should try to have some anyway. It wasn’t like he’d be taking any from Sammy by having his own, right? Maybe it was okay.

Maybe he’d keep his plan to run in a compartment in his mind instead of at the forefront. The problem with that was he didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t worried.

Maybe it was time to find out.

He’d already had the worst thing possible done to him multiple times, anyway. It wasn’t like there was anything he needed to protect himself from that he couldn’t handle.

If he made sure Sammy was still safe, giving himself permission to be 13 didn’t seem like the worst thing.