Winter Prompt for Elwoodjake "Home For The Holidays"
This is for 
elwoodjake, who asked for: "Adoption and family, H/C, SPN AU fandom, gen. A young, human, orphaned
Castiel, or a still orphaned, unrelated to the Winchesters Sam or Dean spots the Winchesters around Christmas and starts fantasizing about the bond the father and his son(s)seem to share. The Winchester kid(s) might find Christmas a la hunter crappy; to the young orphan, it's perfection. But he'll always be the one outside in the cold looking in... or will he? I'd love some gruff, caring John for Christmas." Hopefully this helps hit the spot. Sorry it wasn't posted yesterday, but our internet setup kept kicking me off. I figured it probably best to wait until today.
Quick note: Guriel is the angel of the zodiac house Leo, which Misha Collins belongs to. *shrugs* Seemed appropriate.
~~*^*~~
Guriel didn’t particularly like this task, charged with ensuring the meeting of one young human, and one specific hunter family. John Winchester was stubborn with the best of them, and the thought of manipulating the young one was… not pleasant. Still, a task was a task, and this one had rung down from the highest of chains of command. Obedience was the only possible answer to it. Now, to just convince Winchester to actually stop at this motel, and perhaps, the task could be completed quickly.
~~*^*~~
Castiel shivered hard as the wind howled around the alleyway, burrowing deeper into his thin coat. The low motel building helped cut a little of it, but even if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have moved. This alley housed the bakery dumpster, and there was usually a wealth of breads in it, if the rats hadn’t already moved in on it. It was unusual for the place to dump food already (Castiel knew the routine, and it was every other day that yielded the best results), but his belly didn’t really care. It was food, and if he was lucky, it wasn’t moldy yet.
He had just stuffed a loaf of the cinnamon raisin bread under his coat (he’d toss the raisins to the dog that sometimes showed up later), and was rooting a little deeper under the sticky buckets and papers when he heard a low throaty growl. His first thought was he’d been found out, and he went to scramble up and out of the metal bin, when he realized it was a car. Oh, and what a car it was. His dad had been a big fan of them, before the accident, and Castiel knew it was an older model. The big, dramatic sweeps of metal and chrome said as much. New cars didn’t have the character of the old ones.
He ducked a little when he saw the man get out, a big burly guy, who didn’t look friendly. His brain (and belly) said he should get out now, and see what was left out of the grocery trash a few blocks up, but something about the sleek and shiny car caught his attention. He didn’t even think to duck again when the man came out, holding a set of keys, and opened the back door. A kid got out first, scanning the parking lot before moving aside for the guy (Dad, his mind whispered) to fish out a baby.
Okay, it wasn’t really a baby, but it was little and asleep, cheeks still chubby and small sneakers that were worn and muddy. The baby wriggled in closer to his dad, who wrapped the edge of his coat closer around them. A few bags out of the back seat, and they disappeared inside the room, lights turning on warmly.
Castiel wished he could remember what it was like to be warm, to have a father tote you around. But it had been years since the accident, since the blood and the fire and the dead eyes of his parents staring at him, and that was the past. The present was a hungry belly, and a shelter that the recessed door on Fifth Street. He fished out the yeasty rolls he could smell, and stuffed them into his bag, before scampering out of the dumpster. If he was lucky, there was still some stuff in the grocery bin.
~~*^*~~
Despite the fact that the sun had set long ago, Castiel couldn’t resist the urge to go back to the motel, to take another long look at the warm family. He knew he should be hunkering down in his shelter for the night, but the glimpse of that family had been like a long drink of water, soothing something inside of him. The sleek black car was sitting in the parking lot, and he crept closer, peering in windows until he saw the family, the two boys cuddled up together under their dad’s arm, the soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around the headboard acting as a nightlight. It looked warm, and safe, and Castiel’s chest ached at the want coursing through him at the perfectly content picture within the glass.
He allowed himself to watch the family sleep a little longer, knowing it was kind of creepy, but the family’s peace and serenity quieted a part of him. It didn’t surprise him any when he dreamed of warm, soft beds, glittering trees and his father’s kind laughter.
~~*^*~~
The option of having the store wrap the gifts for Sammy and Dean was entirely worth the nominal expense, especially considering the unlimited funds he now had access to. The boy his parents had raised still cringed at the thought of stealing and fraud, but since his wife had been killed, John had no qualms anymore.
And trying to contain and corral the boys, and wrap gifts they weren’t supposed to know about, was a difficult task indeed, especially when Sammy was at the stage where everything was to be investigated. He had hoped to be at Pastor Jim’s already, but it looked like the boys were going to have to make due with a motel-Christmas this year. Dean wouldn’t complain, he knew, but it still hurt to see his oldest grow even more quiet and withdrawn. He remembered the extravagance that Mary had celebrated with, and it hurt to not be able to offer that to his boys.
Still, John pushed the thoughts away, settling the presents in the hidden compartment of the car. Dean still didn’t know about the newly-remodeled trunk, so it was really the best hiding spot possible. He shut the trunk, and paused, the sense of being watched skittering down his spine uneasily. It was still hard to be nonchalant as he glanced around, making his way towards the alleyway. If he was being hunted himself, it was best to lure it to a darker, more isolated space. Less likely to be caught killing it.
Except ‘it’ was the little ragamuffin that he had seen skulking around the motel the last few nights. John didn’t have Mary’s gift of estimating ages, but he still ball parked the kid as exceptionally young. Nine at the oldest, but he was leaning more towards seven, maybe seven and half. Dirty and worn, he was pressed against the slimy brick wall, dark blue coat doing nothing to help hide him, but the kid seemed to think he was invisible. John took a few steps past, curious to what the kid would do. He hesitated to think that something could be using the kid, but he had his own boys to protect.
The boy didn’t do much, other than reach a hand out barely touch the hem of his coat. John doubted he would have ever felt it, a butterfly’s touch on thick canvas. He struck too quick for the boy to dodge, gripping a tiny wrist with delicate bones his grasp. He carefully ignored how thin the limb was, how fragile the bones shifting under his grip felt. “Who are you?”
The boy just shook, blue eyes huge and terrified. John tried to remember to modulate his voice a bit, less barking orders, and more like he was talking with Dean. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Castiel.” The word was quietly whispered, breath quick and panicked. John eased his tight grip, but didn’t let go.
“Where’s your parents, Cas? It’s a bit late for kids to be out on their own, don’t you think?” A cold, uneasy feeling crept into his gut as the kids eyes dimmed and went a little lifeless. Please, let the kid have a family to go home to, and he was just worried about being caught. The boy didn’t answer, so John shook his wrist, asking again, and when the silence pretty well answered his question, he crouched down a little closer. “What about your foster family? Surely they’re missing you.” A thin shoulder lifted in a shrug, eyes locked on his. John sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, how about we go down and talk to the police. They can get you back to your family.”
John never expected the suddenly violent, desperate fighting to get out of his grip. “Hey, hey, that’s enough!” Castiel stilled, panting and eyes wide with terror. “Okay, just calm down. What’s going on with you?”
“I won’t stay with them. I’ve always gotten loose. I will this time too. Don’t bother.”
“Okay, but you’ve got to tell me where you came from. You understand?” Castiel nodded, swallowing hard, and John tried to reign in his gruff tone again. “It’s alright, kid, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know where your family is, and figure out what we’re going to do with you.”
The boy thrust out his little chin, meeting John’s eyes solidly, despite the tears starting to well up. “They’re dead. Our car hit this big thing, it was so ugly, and Mom said to run. I hid for a bit, but then it ate Dad, and I ran. And I kept running.” His breath hitched, and John couldn’t stop the instinct to draw the boy close, wrapping him up in a hug as the tears fell and the sobs broke loose.
John had survived by relying on his instincts, both in the war overseas, and the war on the home front. Instincts he had honed and trusted explicitly. His brain argued that he should take the kid to the police, let them contact CPS, wash his hands of the situation.
But his instincts were clattering to protect the kid, to add him to his flock, and the thought was weird, but maybe Pastor Jim could offer him some advice. Surely the man of the cloth knew somebody who could take the kid in, and that’s where they were headed in a day or two anyway. It couldn’t hurt to take the boy with them.
Slowly, Castiel went quiet, and John sighed. “Alright, here’s the deal. I’ve got a friend up in Minnesota. He runs a church, and is a good fellow. We’re headed up to see him, and I think maybe you should come along with us, if you want. There may be some in his parish that can help you out.” He waited a bit, let the words sink in. “What do you say?”
The little nod against his chest settled it, and John’s mind started whirling with what he’d need (clothes, another stop at the grocery store, yet another trip into the mall to get the kid a gift, a thicker coat for sure), but it sort of felt like a puzzle piece settling into place. A step at a time, he reminded himself, and hoped Dean wouldn’t raise too much of a fuss over a stranger for a day.
~~*^*~~
By the time they reached Blue Earth three days after Christmas, John had a hard time remembering that he only had 2 sons, not three. Castiel had slotted into their little family effortlessly, drawing Dean out of his quiet shell, and being another set of eyes and ears to keep track of an easily distracted toddler. The kid was entirely too grateful for everything, and had squirmed his way far enough into John’s heart, despite his attempts at hardening it. And when the kid had quietly asked if please, couldn’t he just stay with John instead?, he found himself asking Murphy for a set of forged documents claiming Castiel as his own, instead of trying to find him a new home.
elwoodjake, who asked for: "Adoption and family, H/C, SPN AU fandom, gen. A young, human, orphaned
Castiel, or a still orphaned, unrelated to the Winchesters Sam or Dean spots the Winchesters around Christmas and starts fantasizing about the bond the father and his son(s)seem to share. The Winchester kid(s) might find Christmas a la hunter crappy; to the young orphan, it's perfection. But he'll always be the one outside in the cold looking in... or will he? I'd love some gruff, caring John for Christmas." Hopefully this helps hit the spot. Sorry it wasn't posted yesterday, but our internet setup kept kicking me off. I figured it probably best to wait until today.
Quick note: Guriel is the angel of the zodiac house Leo, which Misha Collins belongs to. *shrugs* Seemed appropriate.
~~*^*~~
Guriel didn’t particularly like this task, charged with ensuring the meeting of one young human, and one specific hunter family. John Winchester was stubborn with the best of them, and the thought of manipulating the young one was… not pleasant. Still, a task was a task, and this one had rung down from the highest of chains of command. Obedience was the only possible answer to it. Now, to just convince Winchester to actually stop at this motel, and perhaps, the task could be completed quickly.
~~*^*~~
Castiel shivered hard as the wind howled around the alleyway, burrowing deeper into his thin coat. The low motel building helped cut a little of it, but even if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have moved. This alley housed the bakery dumpster, and there was usually a wealth of breads in it, if the rats hadn’t already moved in on it. It was unusual for the place to dump food already (Castiel knew the routine, and it was every other day that yielded the best results), but his belly didn’t really care. It was food, and if he was lucky, it wasn’t moldy yet.
He had just stuffed a loaf of the cinnamon raisin bread under his coat (he’d toss the raisins to the dog that sometimes showed up later), and was rooting a little deeper under the sticky buckets and papers when he heard a low throaty growl. His first thought was he’d been found out, and he went to scramble up and out of the metal bin, when he realized it was a car. Oh, and what a car it was. His dad had been a big fan of them, before the accident, and Castiel knew it was an older model. The big, dramatic sweeps of metal and chrome said as much. New cars didn’t have the character of the old ones.
He ducked a little when he saw the man get out, a big burly guy, who didn’t look friendly. His brain (and belly) said he should get out now, and see what was left out of the grocery trash a few blocks up, but something about the sleek and shiny car caught his attention. He didn’t even think to duck again when the man came out, holding a set of keys, and opened the back door. A kid got out first, scanning the parking lot before moving aside for the guy (Dad, his mind whispered) to fish out a baby.
Okay, it wasn’t really a baby, but it was little and asleep, cheeks still chubby and small sneakers that were worn and muddy. The baby wriggled in closer to his dad, who wrapped the edge of his coat closer around them. A few bags out of the back seat, and they disappeared inside the room, lights turning on warmly.
Castiel wished he could remember what it was like to be warm, to have a father tote you around. But it had been years since the accident, since the blood and the fire and the dead eyes of his parents staring at him, and that was the past. The present was a hungry belly, and a shelter that the recessed door on Fifth Street. He fished out the yeasty rolls he could smell, and stuffed them into his bag, before scampering out of the dumpster. If he was lucky, there was still some stuff in the grocery bin.
~~*^*~~
Despite the fact that the sun had set long ago, Castiel couldn’t resist the urge to go back to the motel, to take another long look at the warm family. He knew he should be hunkering down in his shelter for the night, but the glimpse of that family had been like a long drink of water, soothing something inside of him. The sleek black car was sitting in the parking lot, and he crept closer, peering in windows until he saw the family, the two boys cuddled up together under their dad’s arm, the soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around the headboard acting as a nightlight. It looked warm, and safe, and Castiel’s chest ached at the want coursing through him at the perfectly content picture within the glass.
He allowed himself to watch the family sleep a little longer, knowing it was kind of creepy, but the family’s peace and serenity quieted a part of him. It didn’t surprise him any when he dreamed of warm, soft beds, glittering trees and his father’s kind laughter.
~~*^*~~
The option of having the store wrap the gifts for Sammy and Dean was entirely worth the nominal expense, especially considering the unlimited funds he now had access to. The boy his parents had raised still cringed at the thought of stealing and fraud, but since his wife had been killed, John had no qualms anymore.
And trying to contain and corral the boys, and wrap gifts they weren’t supposed to know about, was a difficult task indeed, especially when Sammy was at the stage where everything was to be investigated. He had hoped to be at Pastor Jim’s already, but it looked like the boys were going to have to make due with a motel-Christmas this year. Dean wouldn’t complain, he knew, but it still hurt to see his oldest grow even more quiet and withdrawn. He remembered the extravagance that Mary had celebrated with, and it hurt to not be able to offer that to his boys.
Still, John pushed the thoughts away, settling the presents in the hidden compartment of the car. Dean still didn’t know about the newly-remodeled trunk, so it was really the best hiding spot possible. He shut the trunk, and paused, the sense of being watched skittering down his spine uneasily. It was still hard to be nonchalant as he glanced around, making his way towards the alleyway. If he was being hunted himself, it was best to lure it to a darker, more isolated space. Less likely to be caught killing it.
Except ‘it’ was the little ragamuffin that he had seen skulking around the motel the last few nights. John didn’t have Mary’s gift of estimating ages, but he still ball parked the kid as exceptionally young. Nine at the oldest, but he was leaning more towards seven, maybe seven and half. Dirty and worn, he was pressed against the slimy brick wall, dark blue coat doing nothing to help hide him, but the kid seemed to think he was invisible. John took a few steps past, curious to what the kid would do. He hesitated to think that something could be using the kid, but he had his own boys to protect.
The boy didn’t do much, other than reach a hand out barely touch the hem of his coat. John doubted he would have ever felt it, a butterfly’s touch on thick canvas. He struck too quick for the boy to dodge, gripping a tiny wrist with delicate bones his grasp. He carefully ignored how thin the limb was, how fragile the bones shifting under his grip felt. “Who are you?”
The boy just shook, blue eyes huge and terrified. John tried to remember to modulate his voice a bit, less barking orders, and more like he was talking with Dean. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Castiel.” The word was quietly whispered, breath quick and panicked. John eased his tight grip, but didn’t let go.
“Where’s your parents, Cas? It’s a bit late for kids to be out on their own, don’t you think?” A cold, uneasy feeling crept into his gut as the kids eyes dimmed and went a little lifeless. Please, let the kid have a family to go home to, and he was just worried about being caught. The boy didn’t answer, so John shook his wrist, asking again, and when the silence pretty well answered his question, he crouched down a little closer. “What about your foster family? Surely they’re missing you.” A thin shoulder lifted in a shrug, eyes locked on his. John sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, how about we go down and talk to the police. They can get you back to your family.”
John never expected the suddenly violent, desperate fighting to get out of his grip. “Hey, hey, that’s enough!” Castiel stilled, panting and eyes wide with terror. “Okay, just calm down. What’s going on with you?”
“I won’t stay with them. I’ve always gotten loose. I will this time too. Don’t bother.”
“Okay, but you’ve got to tell me where you came from. You understand?” Castiel nodded, swallowing hard, and John tried to reign in his gruff tone again. “It’s alright, kid, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know where your family is, and figure out what we’re going to do with you.”
The boy thrust out his little chin, meeting John’s eyes solidly, despite the tears starting to well up. “They’re dead. Our car hit this big thing, it was so ugly, and Mom said to run. I hid for a bit, but then it ate Dad, and I ran. And I kept running.” His breath hitched, and John couldn’t stop the instinct to draw the boy close, wrapping him up in a hug as the tears fell and the sobs broke loose.
John had survived by relying on his instincts, both in the war overseas, and the war on the home front. Instincts he had honed and trusted explicitly. His brain argued that he should take the kid to the police, let them contact CPS, wash his hands of the situation.
But his instincts were clattering to protect the kid, to add him to his flock, and the thought was weird, but maybe Pastor Jim could offer him some advice. Surely the man of the cloth knew somebody who could take the kid in, and that’s where they were headed in a day or two anyway. It couldn’t hurt to take the boy with them.
Slowly, Castiel went quiet, and John sighed. “Alright, here’s the deal. I’ve got a friend up in Minnesota. He runs a church, and is a good fellow. We’re headed up to see him, and I think maybe you should come along with us, if you want. There may be some in his parish that can help you out.” He waited a bit, let the words sink in. “What do you say?”
The little nod against his chest settled it, and John’s mind started whirling with what he’d need (clothes, another stop at the grocery store, yet another trip into the mall to get the kid a gift, a thicker coat for sure), but it sort of felt like a puzzle piece settling into place. A step at a time, he reminded himself, and hoped Dean wouldn’t raise too much of a fuss over a stranger for a day.
~~*^*~~
By the time they reached Blue Earth three days after Christmas, John had a hard time remembering that he only had 2 sons, not three. Castiel had slotted into their little family effortlessly, drawing Dean out of his quiet shell, and being another set of eyes and ears to keep track of an easily distracted toddler. The kid was entirely too grateful for everything, and had squirmed his way far enough into John’s heart, despite his attempts at hardening it. And when the kid had quietly asked if please, couldn’t he just stay with John instead?, he found himself asking Murphy for a set of forged documents claiming Castiel as his own, instead of trying to find him a new home.