Dean Winchester was five when the angels fell to Earth.
Well, actually, "angel" was just a generic term for them, and they probably hadn't literally fallen. He knew they'd been given some fancy scientific name, but that was something he wasn't required to know and therefore he'd never bothered learning it.
They looked like angels, though, like the ones you saw in old paintings. Like humans, only prettier, and with wings. Fucking wings.
Nobody knew what planet they were from, what galaxy, what universe...nothing. They were very close-lipped on the subject of themselves, and despite what it seemed like in movies, the US government didn't really have the resources or the right to torture and dissect them. Not that it would be easy to do that to something that looked like you, learned your language, and could break your neck with one hand.
Dean remembered watching the news with his dad when the angels' sudden appearance was still a huge deal. Sammy was asleep in his crib, barely a year old. Dean had liked the angels when he saw them in footage, they seemed nice. It reminded him of how his Mommy, dead from a house fire for a year at this point, told him before she tucked him into bed each night that angels were watching over him and his new baby brother. And now they were here. He hoped they would be happy to meet him.
"Do you think they can bring Mom back, Dad?" Dean asked hopefully, looking up at John Winchester, who was staring intently at the screen. His son's question shocked him out of it, and he looked down at the boy's hopeful, shining face.
"I...no," John answered gruffly, looking away as Dean's face fell. Damn it. "They aren't real angels."
Dean, of course, hadn't believed him. Angels performed miracles all the time; he'd learned it in Sunday School. He was sure that if he met one, if he asked nicely, they would bring his mom back to life.
Meanwhile, the angels were creating quite a stir. There religious groups who worshiped them. There were extraterrestrial/UFO enthusiasts who hounded them. There were individuals screaming on the streets in every major city that they were bad omens, harbingers of the Judeo-Christian apocalypse. There were open-minded people who welcomed them. And there were hate groups who attacked them, both verbally and physically. Killing them proved to be damned near impossible, but they could be hurt, maimed, scarred forever. The angels were taking jobs. They weren't American; they weren't even human. The angels were voting for the "Socialist liberals". These statements and others spewed from the mouths of every protestor brought in front of a camera. The world had a new minority to protect.
Dean prayed for an angel every night for a year, under his covers and barely above a breath because if John found out, he would probably yell. Sammy wasn't old enough to talk yet, so Dean had to pray twice as hard for the both of them.
He just wanted his mom back. He was pretty sure the angels were her friends, because obviously she had asked them to look after her sons. They were just busy, that was all. Dean understood that there were a lot of people to help.
When Dean heard his friend's mom talking about two angels moving in down the street, he knew he had his chance. They were going to live in the little white house that the old lady who died used to live in. That part was sad, but finally, his prayers had been answered.
Dean didn't bother asking John for permission because he knew he would say no. He told Sammy, though, quietly because his brother was supposed to be napping. Sam was staring widely at his older brother. He understood what he was being told, Dean was sure of it.
"Don't cry tonight, ok?" Dean pleaded fervently, "Dad can't wake up."
After laying out his plan, Dean slipped stealthily out of Sammy's room, wincing when the almost-toddler let out a sharp cry at his absence.
He glanced at the clock. Seven hours to go.
Dean peeked out the window several times throughout the day, trying to catch a glimpse of the angels. He didn't know what they looked like, but the wings would have given them away, probably. He never saw them, and their curtains were drawn.
Every time his dad caught him, he pretended to be looking for Jo Harvelle, daughter of their close friend and neighbor, Ellen.
"Jo's a baby, Dean," John said, "She's Sam's age. Why would you be looking for her?"
Dean shrugged. "She's ok to play with. I like babies."
John went to bed early that night, as Dean was hoping for, because he had to get up early for work, when Uncle Bobby would come over to babysit. But Dean had to wait an hour longer than he'd wanted because Sammy broke his promise and started crying.
At 10:00, when the upstairs was quiet, Dean tiptoed out of his room and down the steps. He unlocked the front door slowly so the locks wouldn't click noisily, and then he slipped through as small a crack as possible because the wider you opened the door, the louder it creaked.
Dean practically stumbled down the porch in relief. He was outside. He was on his way. He had to cross the street to get to the angel house, which terrified him a little, but there weren't any cars, so he risked it.
Just a few more houses to go. Dean wanted to run, but Uncle Bobby always said never to run in the dark unless you were in danger, so he didn't. He could see a dim light showing through the front curtains of their house, so he took that to mean they were awake, probably watching whatever his dad watched late at night. Thinking of TV made him wonder briefly if the angels liked the same cartoons that he did.
Almost there. He turned and leapt up their worn steps, head dizzy with excitement.
He almost yelped in fright when the door opened before he even knocked on it. He thought the angels must have known he was coming, but in truth, Balthazar opened the door because it sounded like a herd of buffalo was on their front porch.
Ellen was shocked, to say the least, when she happened to look out her window and see Dean Winchester wandering around this late. Her first instinct was to call John, but her curiosity at seeing where Dean was headed tamped it down.
Dean stared up at the person in the doorway, who in turn was staring down at him. Dean lost the ability to even make a sound, mesmerized by the bright silver thing peeking from behind the angel's back. Wings.
"Can I help you?" Balthazar asked, unable to hide the slight smirk creeping onto his face. What an interesting visitor.
"Nurgh," the boy's mouth opened in what was probably meant to be the beginning of a sentence but instead turned into nonsense.
"What is it?" Castiel asked his brother, moving toward the doorway. He froze when he saw the wide-eyed boy on the porch. What was he doing here?
Dean stared at the second angel, unable to think of something to say. Mouth gaping, his eyes swiveled back to the first, and he was stuck in a weird back and forth until:
"Dean?" the second angel said it hesitantly, not in the familiar way that Dean was used to hearing from people he knew, "That's your name, right?"
The angel crouched to his level, and Dean relaxed slightly. He had a weird, gravelly voice but his smile was friendly and his eyes were blue, blue, blue.
"Yeah," Dean confirmed, resolve restored, "You guys know my mom, right? Can you bring her back?"
The blue-eyed angel's head snapped up to look at the other one, his smile gone.
The first angel said something to Dean, and Dean couldn't help but think that his voice was funny like the people in those old Harry Potter movies. The only words his young brain registered were "I'm sorry."
"Wait, what?" Dean was confused, "Why are you saying sorry?"
The angel sighed, and the one kneeling on the floor put a hand on Dean's shoulder, turning him in his direction.
"We can't bring your mother back, Dean," he said slowly, "I'm very sorry."
Dean didn't realize he was crying until his tongue tasted salt. What was wrong? Why couldn't they help him?
"Please," his voice broke, and he would have been embarrassed if he wasn't so upset, "My baby brother hasn't even met her yet, not really!"
The angel closed his blue eyes and shook his head.
Dean sobbed, standing on their porch because his mother was dead and she wasn't coming back, and he suddenly thought that angels sucked, which wasn't a nice word, but he really didn't care.
Dean eventually tore back down their steps and ran across the street without looking both ways. His father was waiting for him on their front porch, and Dean didn't even have the energy to feel guilty at sneaking out because John was hugging him, and of course he wasn't mad.
Ok, hi, guys! I'm really excited about this AU, so let me know what you think. I hope I accomplished a passable stream of consciousness style from a little kid perspective, so please give me feedback on that in particular. PLEASE. And don't worry, next chapter returns to present time.