Dean hated feeling like this. So…so helpless. For him, keeping up appearances and maintaining a tough, kick-ass reputation was one of his main goals. But getting his ass kicked by a pint-sized, blue-eyed, three-year-old could not have been good for his image. Not only was he in combat with the toddler, he was also waging a war deep inside his conscious mind. Defend himself properly? Or stick to morale? The kid clawed animal-like at Dean's face, trying desperately to reach his wide, green eyes. Screw this.
The small child went flying, toppling huge head over tiny feet into a nearby dumpster. Dean narrowed his bright emerald eyes and cracked his neck. Gritting his teeth, he curled his hands into tight fists.
"Give me your best shot, you little bastard!"
Whimper.
Dean tilted his head to the one side, curiosity spreading over his handsome features.
"You gotta be kidding me."
The fucking little prick was crying!
Dean scoffed and shuffled towards the dumpster in a macho-like "pimp walk."
"You ain't foolin; me, you little bitch! Come on! Daddy's waitin'!"
Dean reached out a calloused hand to flip open the heavy lid of the grimy dumpster.
"DEAN WINCHESTER!"
He froze his arm in mid-air.
"BACK AWAY FROM THE TRASH RECEPTACLE!"
Dean narrowed one eye and his brow puckered. Trash receptacle? What the hell?
He turned and faced the long dark alley.
"Who's there?" he called, his deep voice echoing off the surrounding brick walls.
No answer.
"Hel-"
A flash of light cascaded down to the wet pavement directly under Dean's feet. He stared upwards, trying to single out a possible source. As he was mesmerized by the brilliant display, the dumpster opened soundlessly, a pair of tear-filled eyes standing out from the darkness.
"YOU SHALL SHOW RESPECT FOR MY CHILD!"
Dean blinked. His mouth hung open in disbelief. He turned his head slowly and gazed down. The little boy stood at his side, tears drying on his smooth cheeks, staring up at the sky.
"CASTIEL."
The little boy nodded and Dean's eyes went even wider.
"Yes, Father?"
"DON'T BE AFRAID TO PUNISH HIM IF HE GETS OUR OF LINE. YOU PULLED HIM OUT OF HELL, AND YOU CAN THROW HIM BACK IN!"
Dean finally stumbled upon his voice.
"Cas?!"
The little boy smirked up at him.
"In the flesh."
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o
Dean opened his eyes, his heart traipsing in his chest. His breathing was ragged and shallow.
"Bad dream?"
He almost wet himself.
"Cas!" he breathed, releasing the bed sheets from his fists.
The angel tilted his head, and even in the dark, Dean could tell his harsh blue eyes were questioning.
"Uh…yeah, Cas. It was a bad dream. Well, not as much bad as…surprising."
Castiel sat on the edge of Dean's bed, barely disturbing the old spring mattress.
"Care to explain?"
Dean swallowed. He gazed into the angel's sapphire irises, the tiny toddler staring back.
"No. Not this time, Cas," he whispered.
The angel lowered his eyes dejectedly and Dean just couldn't take it anymore.
"Aww, Cas," he sighed.
Before he could stop himself, he had grabbed a hold of the angel, cradling his small frame tight in his arms.
Castiel sniffed.
"Why won't you let me in, Dean?" he asked, his deep voice steady, but his eyes childlike and scared.
Dean rocked him in silence.
He let the question hand in the still night air. Right now all he could see was little Castiel, eyes wide, tears rolling down his cheeks. He felt like it was his entire fault and it was his job to comfort him; Castiel deserved respect.
Now more than ever.
END