Little Dean Winchester laid in his crib, cosy in his 'I Wuv Hugs' jumper, wrapped in a soft fleece blanket. He stared up at his room, absorbing his surroundings with utter wonder. Dean was new to the world, only a year old, and knew not of all he was destined to do, all that awaited him in the future.
It was only January of 1980, a simpler time for the Winchester family. A time when John and Mary were alive and very much in love. A time when Sam Winchester was just a little thought for later expansion of the family. A time when they didn't worry about hunting.
Though they knew not of what lied ahead—all the trouble, torment, and anguish—they were still watched carefully, because one day the fate of the world would rest in the hands of two brothers.
Watching them from the start, assigned this task long before, was none other than Castiel.
He watched the boys all their lives, keeping an especially close eye on Dean, waiting for the time when he would step in. Little did he know when he accepted the duty that this mere human, this speck of dust in the great universe, this flawed individual creation, would capture him in a way no other could. He would rebel for him, care for him, develop feelings for him. He would protect Dean not because he had to but because he wanted to, because he was the most important man in existence.
At least to Castiel.
He gazed down at little Dean, knowing that this baby was to become the vessel of Michael, not knowing that this baby was to become his loving keeper.
Dean stared back, sensing Castiel's presence. He knew nothing about what the future beheld, or who was there, or what was; but he did know that something was watching him. Maybe he would doubt that later, but he could see it now clear as day.
And that made him laugh, letting out a babyish giggle, clapping his hands and smiling a big, toothless grin. His olive eyes lit up, and that light extended into the angel. It was warm, loving, and unique; the very first taste of what awaited the two later on.
Hearing her son awake, Mary entered the room, lips curved into a smile as her son clapped and laughed. She walked up to the crib, reaching down and scooping up her child, holding him against her bosom.
"Who's a happy little boy?" She asked, beaming. Dean responded with a few simple giggles, and then looked around the room.
Suddenly, his eyes locked on the angel figurine set above his crib. It was a cheap little thing, something Mary found at a garage sale, but Dean saw through the painted blue eyes, staring face to face with the one watching over him. His laughter stopped a moment, so entranced by the figure, by the ethereal one he recognised.
"The angels are watching over you, Dean," Mary whispered, kissing the crown of Dean's head. She had no idea how right she was saying that, unaware of her son's guardian angel, the one who leaned over and watched him just as closely—if not closer—than she.
Dean blinked, then looked up at his mother, wiggling in her hold.
She smiled.
"Come on," She cooed, turning to take Dean into the other room, "You must be hungry."
Mary carried Dean away, Castiel still there. His watchful eyes were always there, focused on Dean, his vigil tireless and unyielding.
Because there was so much meant for Dean, and so much more meant for THEM.
But that was the future; that was not for some time.
But, for the time being, he could watch over him, and be his guardian angel.
A/N: And for lack of anything better to do, I post more random things. Yeah, my friend and I were talking about this, and she wanted me to write it. So I did at two in the morning. Yeah. Thanks for reading! Uhyeah... ~CQO
