Entertaining Angels (6/?)
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Entertaining Angels
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Category: Gen, Angst, Crackiness, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+/PG
Spoilers: Through 4.10
Summary: A strange boy shows up at Dean and Sam’s motel room. Maybe he needs help, or maybe he’s there to help them-they can’t quite tell.
Word Count: 1534
Disclaimer: Angels belong to God. The Winchesters belong to Kripke. It’s a sad, sad world we live in.
Author’s Note: Still going strong, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep up this pace, so enjoy it while you can.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
6
Dean had a new favorite game. He called it Expanding Castiel’s Vocabulary. Sam called it Getting Us All Sent to the Bad Place.
It started out innocently enough. When they woke from their naps, Dean and Castiel didn’t immediately get up, instead lying there comfortably on the bed, staring at the ceiling for awhile. Sam, at the table researching herbs on his laptop, could hear a quiet murmur of conversation. Dean’s voice pattered on, telling some warm, meandering tale, and Castiel occasionally answered with short, hesitant words. Then Dean got his idea.
“Y’know, buddy, talking might get easier for you if you practice it more. How ‘bout we do this? I’ll say what things are, and you repeat after me. Just do your best, all right?”
The child’s assent was hesitant, but willing, and Dean started off, pointing at various objects around the room. Lamp, table, bed, blanket, shirt, pillow, ceiling, wall, door. Sam kept waiting for Dean to run out of items they could see without getting out of bed, but Dean was endlessly creative.
By the time Sam had gotten down to the last three sketches, Dean was holding his hands up in front of his and Castiel’s faces, the boy doing the same, head still resting on the man’s shoulder.
“And this is called a pinky,” Dean said.
“Pinky,” Castiel echoed dutifully.
“This is a thumb.”
“Thumb.”
“And we already said the pointer or index finger. Sam!” Dean called. “Is there something people call the finger next to the pinky?”
“Um, fourth finger?”
“Ring finger, that’s it! This is called the ring finger, Cas.”
“Fourf,” Castiel said. And he giggled, small and bright.
Dean laughed, loud and delighted. “Yeah, okay. You can call it the fourf finger if you want. And this is the bird.”
“Bird?” the child repeated doubtfully.
“Not bird. The bird. Say it with me.”
“The bird.”
“Yeah, you got it!”
Sam didn’t have to look up to know what was going on. Instead, he ducked his head further down behind his laptop, cheeks flaming. “Dean! Stop corrupting the angel boy!”
“This isn’t corruption,” Dean said, sounding affronted. “It’s education. The world’s a mean, nasty place, and you gotta know how to give people the bird.”
Dean Winchester’s philosophy of life, summed up in one pithy sentence.
Maybe begging would work. “Please, Dean, don’t,” Sam pleaded, putting as much sincere anxiety into his voice as possible. “We know God exists now, for real, and I’m pretty sure He wouldn’t approve.”
“Yeah, well, if I ever see Him, I’ll give Him the bird, too.”
Sam felt his shoulders hunch up, and he involuntarily glanced toward the ceiling, waiting for lightning. “Just…teach him something else for now. Please?”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” A rustle of clothing, and Dean started on a different tack. “This is called a paperclip. It has many uses.”
“Paper. Clip,” Castiel said.
Sam sighed and went back to searching for herbs that matched his sketches. It was tedious work, scrolling through multiple indexes and lists, some of which didn’t have pictures and only vague descriptions, but he was narrowing it down. Next would be the equally tedious task of calling around to different local suppliers, looking for someone who carried the needed ingredients. They might need to make multiple stops.
“Oh, there goes that bear again. Hold on, Cas, I’ll get you some more oatmeal.”
The next time Sam looked up, his brother and their little guest were both sitting on the bed, Castiel slowly making his way through a bowl of oatmeal, Dean munching on an apple. The vocabulary lesson had paused for now, which Sam was grateful for. They looked very peaceful and content, side by side, relaxed and enjoying their food. Neither one had been troubled by nightmares. Sam was even more grateful for that.
“So what’s our next move, Sam?” Dean asked, meeting his eye frankly.
Sam made his way over to sit on the other bed, facing them. “Well, after we put together that hex bag… We need to find out what’s going on. Maybe see a psychic again.”
Dean shook his head firmly. “Not Pam Barnes. She has a thing against angels, and especially Castiel. And, I mean, justified, but no. Not going to her.”
Castiel looked up at the mention of his name, blinking at them both, but didn’t say anything. Sam looked at the child, so innocent and young and helpless, and couldn’t imagine anyone holding a grudge against him. But he had still burned out Pamela’s eyes, even if he didn’t remember it. Even though he probably hadn’t meant or wanted to do it at all.
“Well, she’s the closest one we know, just up in Illinois, but she’s not the only one. What about Missouri?”
Dean’s jaw worked. He still didn’t like going back to Lawrence, though they had been there more than once, now, and even visited Missouri a time or two. He nodded reluctantly, though.
“Or, of course, there’s always Bobby…”
Dean’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, Bobby!” He was always up for visiting Bobby. Grinning, he turned to Castiel. “Do you remember Bobby? You made him go to sleep.” He demonstrated, leaning his head on his pressed-together hands and closing his eyes for a second.
Castiel tilted his head to the side, forehead wrinkling. “Bobby?”
“Yep, Bobby. He’s a good guy. I bet you’ll like him.” Dean ruffled the boy’s dark hair, making it stand up even more. “I bet he’ll like you, too.”
Castiel smiled softly, pleased to see Dean so happy, then turned back to his oatmeal.
Sam shook his head gently. “Bobby knows a lot and he can find out a lot more, but we don’t really have anything for him to go on, yet. The more we can figure out before taking this to him, the better.”
Dean nodded impatiently, still stuck on Bobby Bobby Bobby. “Okay. So, Missouri first, then Bobby. Sounds like a plan.”
“Well, herb shops first. Then Missouri, then Bobby. Yeah.”
“Oh, and Cas needs some better clothes. It’s getting cold out and he doesn’t even have socks.” Dean reached out to pinch the shoulder of Castiel’s gray t-shirt between thumb and forefinger, one finger almost slipping into the hole worn through at the seam. “Where’d you get these, kid? Do you remember?”
The boy looked down, squinting at his almost-empty bowl, mouth pursing in concentration. He looked back into Dean’s face and gestured with both hands, tracing a vague oblong shape. “T…trash? Trash. Many. Hiding.”
Dean nodded, now holding the child’s shoulder in a gentle grip, rubbing with his thumb. “After you woke up like this, you hid. Probably behind some kind of building, right? And you found a pile of clothes someone had thrown out. That was lucky, huh?”
Castiel nodded gravely. “Lucky.” Then he tilted his head, struggling for another word. “Bless…blessed.”
“Yeah. Blessed.” Dean looked imploringly to Sam, as if asking for permission.
Sam drew in a deep breath, wondering when Dean had surrendered control of this situation to him. It wasn’t that he minded-Dean deserved not to have to make decisions all the time, especially when he still felt so shaky and damaged himself. But he was surprised by his brother’s acceptance of the current status quo. It was as if having a little kid to look after had let Dean permit himself to release everything else, for once trusting Sam to take care of it.
It was another gift Castiel had brought them. Another blessing.
Holding all of this to his heart, Sam simply nodded. “Right. While I’m shopping for herbs and other ingredients, you two can go to a Goodwill or something. We should get going soon, though. The quicker we get away from here, the better. You know, just in case.”
Dean’s eyes sharpened, and he nodded. Just in case. Just in case something else was on the horizon. Just in case some dark figure was chasing their little guest, tracking his steps to the flimsy protection of this motel. Just in case they really did need to be hiding from angels or demons or both.
Both Winchesters found themselves staring at their small charge, watching him slowly eat, savoring every bite. He had come to them for protection, entrusting his life to them, placing his safety and well-being gently in their hands without a quiver of hesitation. He was theirs, now. Both felt the connection twining between them, fastened low in the gut, a strong cord that would not be broken.
Castiel felt the eyes on him and looked up, spoon stuck in his mouth, dark blue eyes wide at the attention. He seemed to sense that something was going on, that something was passing between them, but he didn’t know what. So he just smiled, slow and sweet, so like a corner of sunlight peeking from behind a bank of clouds. The room was brighter for it.
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, and a moment of understanding flew between them, solid and sure. This boy, this angel, this human child…he was small and innocent and defenseless, and he trusted them. They would do anything to keep him safe.
Anything.
Part 7
Title: Entertaining Angels
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Category: Gen, Angst, Crackiness, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+/PG
Spoilers: Through 4.10
Summary: A strange boy shows up at Dean and Sam’s motel room. Maybe he needs help, or maybe he’s there to help them-they can’t quite tell.
Word Count: 1534
Disclaimer: Angels belong to God. The Winchesters belong to Kripke. It’s a sad, sad world we live in.
Author’s Note: Still going strong, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep up this pace, so enjoy it while you can.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
6
Dean had a new favorite game. He called it Expanding Castiel’s Vocabulary. Sam called it Getting Us All Sent to the Bad Place.
It started out innocently enough. When they woke from their naps, Dean and Castiel didn’t immediately get up, instead lying there comfortably on the bed, staring at the ceiling for awhile. Sam, at the table researching herbs on his laptop, could hear a quiet murmur of conversation. Dean’s voice pattered on, telling some warm, meandering tale, and Castiel occasionally answered with short, hesitant words. Then Dean got his idea.
“Y’know, buddy, talking might get easier for you if you practice it more. How ‘bout we do this? I’ll say what things are, and you repeat after me. Just do your best, all right?”
The child’s assent was hesitant, but willing, and Dean started off, pointing at various objects around the room. Lamp, table, bed, blanket, shirt, pillow, ceiling, wall, door. Sam kept waiting for Dean to run out of items they could see without getting out of bed, but Dean was endlessly creative.
By the time Sam had gotten down to the last three sketches, Dean was holding his hands up in front of his and Castiel’s faces, the boy doing the same, head still resting on the man’s shoulder.
“And this is called a pinky,” Dean said.
“Pinky,” Castiel echoed dutifully.
“This is a thumb.”
“Thumb.”
“And we already said the pointer or index finger. Sam!” Dean called. “Is there something people call the finger next to the pinky?”
“Um, fourth finger?”
“Ring finger, that’s it! This is called the ring finger, Cas.”
“Fourf,” Castiel said. And he giggled, small and bright.
Dean laughed, loud and delighted. “Yeah, okay. You can call it the fourf finger if you want. And this is the bird.”
“Bird?” the child repeated doubtfully.
“Not bird. The bird. Say it with me.”
“The bird.”
“Yeah, you got it!”
Sam didn’t have to look up to know what was going on. Instead, he ducked his head further down behind his laptop, cheeks flaming. “Dean! Stop corrupting the angel boy!”
“This isn’t corruption,” Dean said, sounding affronted. “It’s education. The world’s a mean, nasty place, and you gotta know how to give people the bird.”
Dean Winchester’s philosophy of life, summed up in one pithy sentence.
Maybe begging would work. “Please, Dean, don’t,” Sam pleaded, putting as much sincere anxiety into his voice as possible. “We know God exists now, for real, and I’m pretty sure He wouldn’t approve.”
“Yeah, well, if I ever see Him, I’ll give Him the bird, too.”
Sam felt his shoulders hunch up, and he involuntarily glanced toward the ceiling, waiting for lightning. “Just…teach him something else for now. Please?”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” A rustle of clothing, and Dean started on a different tack. “This is called a paperclip. It has many uses.”
“Paper. Clip,” Castiel said.
Sam sighed and went back to searching for herbs that matched his sketches. It was tedious work, scrolling through multiple indexes and lists, some of which didn’t have pictures and only vague descriptions, but he was narrowing it down. Next would be the equally tedious task of calling around to different local suppliers, looking for someone who carried the needed ingredients. They might need to make multiple stops.
“Oh, there goes that bear again. Hold on, Cas, I’ll get you some more oatmeal.”
The next time Sam looked up, his brother and their little guest were both sitting on the bed, Castiel slowly making his way through a bowl of oatmeal, Dean munching on an apple. The vocabulary lesson had paused for now, which Sam was grateful for. They looked very peaceful and content, side by side, relaxed and enjoying their food. Neither one had been troubled by nightmares. Sam was even more grateful for that.
“So what’s our next move, Sam?” Dean asked, meeting his eye frankly.
Sam made his way over to sit on the other bed, facing them. “Well, after we put together that hex bag… We need to find out what’s going on. Maybe see a psychic again.”
Dean shook his head firmly. “Not Pam Barnes. She has a thing against angels, and especially Castiel. And, I mean, justified, but no. Not going to her.”
Castiel looked up at the mention of his name, blinking at them both, but didn’t say anything. Sam looked at the child, so innocent and young and helpless, and couldn’t imagine anyone holding a grudge against him. But he had still burned out Pamela’s eyes, even if he didn’t remember it. Even though he probably hadn’t meant or wanted to do it at all.
“Well, she’s the closest one we know, just up in Illinois, but she’s not the only one. What about Missouri?”
Dean’s jaw worked. He still didn’t like going back to Lawrence, though they had been there more than once, now, and even visited Missouri a time or two. He nodded reluctantly, though.
“Or, of course, there’s always Bobby…”
Dean’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, Bobby!” He was always up for visiting Bobby. Grinning, he turned to Castiel. “Do you remember Bobby? You made him go to sleep.” He demonstrated, leaning his head on his pressed-together hands and closing his eyes for a second.
Castiel tilted his head to the side, forehead wrinkling. “Bobby?”
“Yep, Bobby. He’s a good guy. I bet you’ll like him.” Dean ruffled the boy’s dark hair, making it stand up even more. “I bet he’ll like you, too.”
Castiel smiled softly, pleased to see Dean so happy, then turned back to his oatmeal.
Sam shook his head gently. “Bobby knows a lot and he can find out a lot more, but we don’t really have anything for him to go on, yet. The more we can figure out before taking this to him, the better.”
Dean nodded impatiently, still stuck on Bobby Bobby Bobby. “Okay. So, Missouri first, then Bobby. Sounds like a plan.”
“Well, herb shops first. Then Missouri, then Bobby. Yeah.”
“Oh, and Cas needs some better clothes. It’s getting cold out and he doesn’t even have socks.” Dean reached out to pinch the shoulder of Castiel’s gray t-shirt between thumb and forefinger, one finger almost slipping into the hole worn through at the seam. “Where’d you get these, kid? Do you remember?”
The boy looked down, squinting at his almost-empty bowl, mouth pursing in concentration. He looked back into Dean’s face and gestured with both hands, tracing a vague oblong shape. “T…trash? Trash. Many. Hiding.”
Dean nodded, now holding the child’s shoulder in a gentle grip, rubbing with his thumb. “After you woke up like this, you hid. Probably behind some kind of building, right? And you found a pile of clothes someone had thrown out. That was lucky, huh?”
Castiel nodded gravely. “Lucky.” Then he tilted his head, struggling for another word. “Bless…blessed.”
“Yeah. Blessed.” Dean looked imploringly to Sam, as if asking for permission.
Sam drew in a deep breath, wondering when Dean had surrendered control of this situation to him. It wasn’t that he minded-Dean deserved not to have to make decisions all the time, especially when he still felt so shaky and damaged himself. But he was surprised by his brother’s acceptance of the current status quo. It was as if having a little kid to look after had let Dean permit himself to release everything else, for once trusting Sam to take care of it.
It was another gift Castiel had brought them. Another blessing.
Holding all of this to his heart, Sam simply nodded. “Right. While I’m shopping for herbs and other ingredients, you two can go to a Goodwill or something. We should get going soon, though. The quicker we get away from here, the better. You know, just in case.”
Dean’s eyes sharpened, and he nodded. Just in case. Just in case something else was on the horizon. Just in case some dark figure was chasing their little guest, tracking his steps to the flimsy protection of this motel. Just in case they really did need to be hiding from angels or demons or both.
Both Winchesters found themselves staring at their small charge, watching him slowly eat, savoring every bite. He had come to them for protection, entrusting his life to them, placing his safety and well-being gently in their hands without a quiver of hesitation. He was theirs, now. Both felt the connection twining between them, fastened low in the gut, a strong cord that would not be broken.
Castiel felt the eyes on him and looked up, spoon stuck in his mouth, dark blue eyes wide at the attention. He seemed to sense that something was going on, that something was passing between them, but he didn’t know what. So he just smiled, slow and sweet, so like a corner of sunlight peeking from behind a bank of clouds. The room was brighter for it.
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, and a moment of understanding flew between them, solid and sure. This boy, this angel, this human child…he was small and innocent and defenseless, and he trusted them. They would do anything to keep him safe.
Anything.
Part 7