Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural! Refer to this disclaimer for future chapters :D

I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, etc. I'm not super familiar with the ins and outs of foster care, so if anything sounds off, that would be why. I'm going for more of a gist.

Let me know what you think!

Dean Winchester relished the feeling of the cool cotton of his freshly ironed dress shirt as he slipped his arms through the sleeves and lazily buttoned the buttons. Looking out of his bedroom window he could see lush grassy hills, an even mixture of tall oatgrass and orchardgrass that seemed to shimmer as the wind blew hot, the sun scorching the tree tops as it stood alone in the pale blue sky.

The sharp beauty of it all did little to ease the churning in his gut, the heavy feeling of dread that seemed to eminate from some indiscernible origin.

Was he even ready for this?

His parents, John, an easy-going veterinarian, and Mary, a third grade teacher, had discussed this with Dean at dinner two or three months prior. They wanted his approval and whatnot. Dean knew why they wanted to do this. It was beyond obvious. It almost made him angry.

But then he thought about all the effort it took to be angry.

And then he thought a little more.

And he decided that he just didn't have the energy.

Not after everything that had happened.

So with a shrug and a grunt, Dean consented to this.

He tilted his head toward the ceiling and closed his eyes, breathing in slowly through his nostrils and out through his mouth, counting silently in his head like he'd been told to do when he felt like this.

Dean was about five seconds from being totally chill, when the loud thump of hurried feet and a flash of red and yellow was his only warning before he was attacked from behind, the blow knocking him off balance and onto the floor.

Seriously, what the fuck.

"Did we scare you? Did we scare you, Dean?"

"We totally scared him."

"Totally."

"Yeah, you scared me. Now get off of me," Dean said somewhat out of breath, seeing as he currently had two seven-year-old boys sitting on top of his back and effectively suppressing his airflow. They scurried off of him and stood back as Dean picked himself up off of the floor. "Seriously, you guys need to stop doing that," he said with a breathless laugh.

"Sorry, Dean," the boys said together. Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Creepy ass twin-talk.

"Micah? Ben?" Mary's voice called from downstairs, "C'mon down boys, he'll be here any minute. Dean? That goes for you, too"

"Yeah, we're coming," Dean called out in response. He looked down at the twins with a smirk on his face. "Well?" he said expectantly. Two flashes of teeth, and the twins sprinted from Dean's bedroom, shrill laughter reverberating off of the walls and throughout the house. Dean quickly slid on his shoes and ran after them, a goofy grin on his face.

After much fussing and preening, the twins, Dean, John, and Mary, were all seated in the living room. Mary fidgeted with her necklace while John kept glancing at his watch. The twins poked each other and did, you know, kid stuff. And Dean? Well, Dean was wishing that they could just hurry up and get this over with.

They all started when the doorbell rang.

Dean's heart thumped loudly in his ears. He clenched and unclenched his fists, counting silently in his head. Never ending it seemed, counting, counting, always counting.

A squeeze on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts. Dean opened his eyes, surprised that they were shut in the first place, and looked up at his father. John gave him a knowing look. Dean suddenly felt old, a century's worth of exhaustion washing over him and settling at some point over his heart. He nodded tersely. John smiled sadly before giving Dean's shoulder another squeeze and moving past him to answer the door. Mary was close behind, running her fingers through Dean's hair quickly as she walked past.

The swoosh of blood pounding in Dean's ears kept him from hearing the typical niceties; Dean instead stared at the floor as he worked to regulate his blood pressure. He sat up when he heard footsteps entering the living room.

"…and these are my nephews, Micah and Ben, both seven. They are staying with us over the summer. And over there is our son, Dean, who's sixteen," Mary said as she ushered in the social worker and a boy that looked to be about Dean's age. He had dark unruly hair that hung down nearly covering his eyes. His jaw was set and serious. He only looked up briefly as Mary talked, catching Dean's eye for only a second before quickly looking away.

"It's nice to meet all of you. My name is Bridget Cardova, and this is Castiel Novak, he's the same age as your son," said Bridget, the social worker. She looked to be in her early forties with chestnut curls and an olive complexion. Her smile was genuine and warm, branching out and enveloping the large room, water slipping through cement cracks on a hot summer's day.

Mary extended her hand toward the couch as an invitation. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like anything to drink? How about you, Castiel? Are you thirsty?" Mary asked gently. Bridget declined politely, while Castiel simply shook his head, something akin to a smile coloring his face before shifting back into the mask of seriousness. It was obvious that smiling wasn't a habit of his.

"So!" Bridget started brightly, "Why don't we get right to it? You have wanted to be a foster family for some time now?"

John cleared his throat and straightened up in his seat. "Yes, we have. Ever since…the loss of our youngest son, we've wanted to help children in need." John paused for a second to glance over at Dean, "And it's great that Castiel is so close to Dean's age. We wanted Dean to have someone that he could be somewhat of a big brother to, but this way it's more like having a friend."

Dean dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Bridget said sincerely, "That must have been very hard for you to go through. How long ago did this happen?"

"Spring of last year," Mary said somberly. "He was only eleven."

Dean's jaw clenched painfully.

"Oh, my. Again, I am so sorry for your loss," Bridget said softly. The room was quiet for a moment. "Um, well, like I said, this is Castiel," Bridget began cheerfully, an obvious attempt at diffusing the tension that was suddenly palpable in the room. "He's been through twelve foster homes now. His parents passed away when he was fairly young. When I read your files, I just knew this would be a great place for him. His experience with foster care hasn't always been…the best." A brief pause. "He's been through a lot, but he's a great kid," Bridget finished with a tight smile and sad eyes, and what looked to be a gentle squeeze to Castiel's hand. Castiel's eyes flickered around the room once more before settling back on the floor.

"I'm sure that he is," Mary said warmly, looking over at Dean as she spoke.

Dean looked away.

After numerous papers had been signed and dated, Bridget left, giving Castiel a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before leaving. Once she was gone Castiel seemed lost and uncomfortable as he stood in the middle of the Winchester's living room.

Mary, always the eager caregiver, asked Castiel if he was hungry, only getting a soft 'no, ma'am' in response. He said he was tired, so they showed him to his bedroom. Well, Dean's bedroom. After giving brief directions to the nearest bathroom, the Winchester family left Castiel to sleep.

Dinner was quiet and uneventful. John and Mary tried to have somewhat of a normal conversation, but honestly, Dean just wasn't feeling it. After a few bites he excused himself to his now shared bedroom.

As he slowly sank into his bed, Dean studied Castiel's silhouette. Castiel was turned toward the wall, his breathing deep and steady. He had cocooned himself in the covers to the point that Dean could only make out a few dark tuffs of hair. Dean turned his gaze to his open window, the night surprisingly cool and the breeze milky and soft as it wafted through his bedroom, settling on his skin.

It was weird. Everything was just so...wrong. Losing his brother. Having a complete stranger sleeping in his room, laying in the bed that his brother used to sleep in. That Sam used to sleep in. It was surreal.

Dean turned his attention back to Castiel. The raven-haired boy shifted slightly in his sleep, small noises escaping from his nest of blankets and pillows as he slipped into a more comfortable position.

Dean sighed as he turned over and slowly settled into sleep.

TBC?

A/N: If you are wondering about when I am going to finally update Where There's a Will, I promise that there will be an ending! My muse has been avoiding that story for the longest. But I do know how I want to end it and where I want it to go. I'm sorry for such a long break :(