Free Angel: Preferably to broken home
Based on the idea of Melissa Corbin on FaceBook's I Devote my Soul to Castiel! Page in reference to a sweet 'chibi' drawing of a tiny Castiel in a cardboard box with this story's title scribbled on a sign taped to the side! Ya HAVE to see this pix, ask the administrators if ya can't find it, they'll be happy to share it with ya! Great folks on that page! 3
A/N: I miss Baby SO much that ya might well consider this at least slightly AU because I can NOT write Dean driving anything BUT the Impala! *shrug* Sorry! And for visual effect with lil Cass… If you've ever had the pleasure of seeing a picture of Misha Collins' son, West, imagine HIM only with darker hair! It's how I could picture Misha/Castiel as a child! *le sigh* Also, FYI, for those who don't know much about American English slang…'FUBAR' is an acronym for 'Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition'. Apology for the F-bomb there! ;D
It had been a LONG day…scratch that, long WEEK…Ah, HELL, long several MONTHS! Screw it…maybe we should just shot for their whole LIVES having been FUBAR'ed! Closer approximation! They'd lost their best friend and ally - more like an adopted brother, really - to bad decisions built on good intentions, to the only house that had ever come CLOSE to being a home being torched by the things THEY were supposed to be hunting - NOT the other way around, then the man that's been like a second father is taken out by the, seemingly, never-ending war they always seemed embroiled in! It's been a long time since the Winchester brothers have felt THIS lost and alone in the world that wants to eat them whole, LITERALLY!
So no sooner had the room at ANOTHER crap-tastic motel been paid for, then both of the Winchester brothers dropped unconscious on each bed. Just barely thinking to lock and salt the door and one window before it was lights out!
Dean bolted up-right at some point in the night, shaking and sweating. Hand instinctually reaching to the night stand for his trusted .45. Blurry vision trained down the gun's sights, he quickly scans the small room for whatever threat had startled him awake. As his eyes sweep to the far side, the veteran Hunter lowers his weapon as it swings over the tossing form of his baby brother, who grunts and flips onto his stomach unaware.
With an amused huff, the elder Winchester shoves the pistol back on the table. A groan, sigh and head shake follow a disgruntled glance at the alarm clock.
'1:27 A.M.? Seriously?' He thinks while envisioning the clock smashing against the far wall!
Knowing full well that continued sleep would elude him, Dean stares around his surroundings again trying vainly to recall the disturbing dream from moments before. He gives up quickly, slapping the mattress hopelessly and goes about thinking of how to entertain himself without waking Sammy. Giving the timepiece a slightly less aggressive peek, he decided he could make the bar down the road before last call.
As quickly and quietly as he could, the older Winchester tossed back the covers and slide into his boots. He and his brother had been so exhausted when they hit the hay earlier in the night, that kicking off their shoes was as far as they got to changing out of their street clothes. Now he was glad for the few extra minutes he was saving by not having to change out of sweatpants.
Throwing on his carpenter jacket as an afterthought at the door, Dean gave his brother one last look, sending up a prayer to…WHOEVER was still Upstairs…that Sam would sleep well enough for the hour or so he was gone.
Outside, he turns up his collar and growls at the sky above.
'When the HELL did it start RAINING!'
Sure, there'd been some cloud cover when they pulled in. But nothing that would have forewarned of the silent lightning and torrential downpour that sounded like rapid gunfire as it slammed off the metal and glass of the cars around him. The Hunter jogged across the parking lot to the mechanical "love of his life", pulling out the keys as he went. Once safe inside the Impala from the cold rain, he tossed his head and coat and felt a pang of pity for anyone who might be caught in such foul weather.
The radio stayed unusually quiet during the several block drive. Dean, for once, enjoying the simple melody on water tapping on the windshield and steady rhythm of the wipers. At a red light just down from his destination, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, impatient for the signal to change. The Hunter jumped, startled, as a flash of light and crash of thunder drew his musings to the view beyond the passenger window.
Several more bolts illuminated a massive ancient church ominously. But more interesting than the castle-like architecture, more heart stopping than the stunning stain glass windows was a lone cardboard box sitting precariously on the stone rail amidst driving wind and rain. A small note taped to the side flapped wildly like a trapped butterfly. Just as Dean made to turn his focus back to the road, he spied a small soaked tuft of dark fur poke over the edge before quickly ducking back into to it's relative shelter.
The blare of a horn from behind snapped his attention to the fact the light had finally turned green. Pulling ahead slowly, the elder Winchester couldn't stop his eyes from glancing back with worry for the helpless thing outside the church. He paid no mind to the vehicle passing him in the wrong lane with a decidedly rude hand gesture. The Hunter's attention remained partially glued to the rear view mirror even as he pulled to the curb.
'I can't REALLY be thinking of…' He sighed at himself even as he put the Impala in reverse and carefully backed up to park beside the huge edifice. As he sat staring through the rain splattered window, Dean's face took on a look of awe as the tiny head eased above the paper edge once again. This time, though, the matted hair was followed by large fearful eyes peering out of a pale face.
'And just what the HELL are Sammy and I gonna do with a PET?' He tried to rationalize with himself as it popped back down again. 'Well, I can at least get it out of the cold rain for one night. Take it to a shelter in the morning.'
Resolved to aid the poor creature, he stepped out of the warmth of his car and ran to the box's side. He briefly noted the church's sign next to the railing as a shock of lightning flared. St. Gabriel's Methodist Church. A smirk ticked his lips with the brush of memory of a reluctant winged ally that'd had an insatiable sweet tooth!
"Hey, dude…wanna get where it's dry?" He tapped the container. When no response came, the Hunter smacked the cardboard a little harder. "Ya didn't already drop dead in there, did ya?"
The box shifted as whatever was inside moved about and a mournful "oooohhh" came from within. A small smile spread across his face as he carefully took up his load and quickly transferred it to the passenger seat. Sliding behind the wheel, Dean nudged his prize once more while issuing a stern warning.
"Telling ya now…Whatever the hell are…ya even TRY to hurt me or my brother, especially my brother, and, dude, I'll gank ya myself! Got it?"
A soft rustle of movement was followed by "Ep" muttered so quietly, he passed it off as more that the thing had hiccupped than actually responded.
"Okie dokie…Well, ya gotta be soaked and cold so…" The soft hearted Hunter reached heedlessly onto the backseat and pulled up front the first dry cloth his hand touched. He remotely acknowledged a dirty old coat for a second before shrugging as he tossed it into the box. "Here."
"Oh! MY!" Came a squeal that shocked the Winchester. As he watched fascinated, the rest of the jacket was swiftly pulled in. Dean peered as best as he could in the box only to find the creature covered over and nestling itself into the material with a mute mewing of "My, my."
"Seems we got ourselves a cat, Sammy!" He chuckled as the Impala u-turned back towards the motel where, hopefully, said brother was still sleeping peacefully.
Pulling back into a parking space minutes later, the Hunter leaned an ear near the cardboard. The only sound coming from within resembled gentle snores. He grinned trying to imagine what their new companion might look like. Shaking his head, Dean wondered why he found himself hoping the cat would have deep blue eyes and fluffy black fur. Silently chastising himself for such an absurd notion, he, less than gently, pulled the box out the driver's side with him.
'Don't go getting attached, Winchester! ONE night! That's it! Can't keep a cat when ya live on the road!'
Once inside, he passed a glance to Sam to be certain he was still out and set the box on the counter next to the small kitchenette sink. Clicking on the little wall lamp over it, Dean again took note of the sign taped to cardboard. He snatched it off and held it under the light.
'Free angel' It read. 'Preferably to broken home. VERY disobedient!' The Hunter chuckled under his breath at the misspelled words written in crayon. And then full out laughed when he looked over the size of the box that supposedly held a celestial being as he remembered one such creature unemotionally boasting, '…my TRUE form is approximately the size of your Chrysler Building.' 'Angel, my ass!' And, absently, jammed the paper in a pocket of his coat.
"Alright, bud! We're in a dry warm motel room." He reached cautiously in and grabbed the jacket. "What do ya say we get a look at ya?"
Dean was a little more than startled when the material was yanked out of his hand with a scolding, "MY! My 'oat!"
"WHAT THE…!"
He made short work of steeping over to switch on the overhead light, which elicited a pained groan from his brother - who tossed his pillow over his head! From his position next to the door, the Hunter stared nervously at the box as it shuffled itself off the edge of the counter landing with a thump and whimpered "Owie!". A corner of the box lifted to reveal a pair of sky blue eyes glaring at him accusingly. When it dropped back to the floor, Dean bravely maneuvered next to it and toed the box off the 'cat?' before lurching back to a safe distance .
The coat he'd courteously offered it earlier was balled over and around it and was being pulled in tighter as he watched. He crouched low and reached far to snag the jacket and pull it away quickly so as not to give the thing time to hoard it again. As the being wrapped inside tumbled out, the veteran Hunter jumped back not knowing what to expect.
What he found appeared to be a baby, or rather toddler. A little boy perhaps 1-2 years old. Longish shaggy black bangs fell over huge watering eyes in a sad wilted face. The child turned a disheartened glance up at Dean, who could do nothing more than fall onto his butt and mutter, "Son of a bitch!"
" 'On a 'itch!" The boy, tried, to repeat while wiping an oozing nose on the sleeve of a wrinkled mini business coat.
Taken aback by the copying, the older Winchester chastised, "Hey! You're too little to say that!"
To which the child's visage fell further, apologetically, "Oopsie." The battle-hardened Hunter's heart sank for the sorrowful image before him.
Scooting forward a bit, he consoled, "There, little man. It's okay, I'm not mad at ya!" Putting out his arms, Dean waved his fingers in a 'Come to me' motion. "C'mere, bud." When the boy stood and toddled toward him on bare feet with head tilted curiously, he was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu. 'NO…It CAN'T be!'
When the boy, literally, falls into his hands, he's gently pulled onto the Hunter's lap and quietly questioned, "Cass?"
The child's deep blue eyes lifted and lighted up. " 'Ello 'Ean!" Then, mockingly pouting, asked, " 'Ean, my 'oat?", pointing to the jacket still in the adult's hand. Looking down at it, Dean finally realized WHAT jacket it was he'd thrown haphazardly into the box and understood the reaction it had received! Of course Cass would recognize it, it was his!
"Um, yeah…Cass? Yeah, YOUR coat!" He watched, fascinated, as the mini angel took the jacket and struggles to slip short arms into the long sleeves. Chuckling at the child tugging the material up far enough to make his hands visible, his amused shutters become joyful sobs.
" 'Ean?"
"Yeah, buddy?" He sniffled.
"Why 'ou c'y? 'Ou s'ill ma' a me?" Tiny hands reach up to wipe away the tears.
"Wha…God, no, Cass! It's just…We…Me, Bobby, Sammy…we thought…" Dean suddenly sobers and quickly, but carefully, sets the boy on his feet. "SAM!" Jumping to his own feet, he runs to his brother's side and starts shaking him, crazed. "SAM! Get UP! It's Cass, he's alive!"
"Screw off, Dean! Lemme sleep!" Swinging half-heartedly with one arm, Sam pulls the pillow tighter over his head with the other.
"Wake the hell up, Sammy! Cass is…"
The younger Winchester moves the cushion far enough to finish for Dean, "DEAD! Damn it, Dean, Cass is DEAD! You KNOW it!"
"But…" The older tries again, desperate to get the other to just LOOK.
"NO…damn it! Just…no!" Slamming the pillow back under his head with a sigh, Sam turned away muttering, "It's just another dream, bro! Just a dream!"
"But…It's not a dream! Not this time." Dean's somber musings as he stands dejectedly staring at his brother get interrupted by a little hand tugging at his pant leg. The childish visage of his friend stares up at him with all the solemn curiousness of the adult version.
" 'Ammie s'ill 'ick?" Little Cass inquires, tapping an index finger against his temple.
"Yeah, Cass. Sammy's still sick. Actually, he's…" The Hunter drops back onto his own bed and tries fruitlessly to avoid the little angel's piercing gaze peeking over his knees. "Well, he's worse than when…"
The tiny face drops as his bottom lip starts to tremble, " 'En I b'oke him 'ead!"
"Aw! Damn it, kiddo! C' mere!" Dean lifts the small child and sits him carefully beside him, rubbing circles on his back. "I get it, Cass! Really I do! I know you didn't WANT to hurt Sam. Know that you wanna fix him. You did the best you could at the time!"
The Hunter startles when he realizes his hand is now only moving air. Looking over, he finds the miniature Castiel has scooted off his bed and is crawling up onto Sam's. Muttering as he struggles, "It o' tay, 'Ammie! I 'ere mack righ' !" Dean stares dumbfounded as the angel shuffles on his knees up next to Sam's head, tenderly lacing his tiny fingers through his brother's long hair. "I sho' dent a b'oke ya 'ead! Oh, 'Ammie, I SO 'orry!"
A soft white light shines in the big azure eyes and glows under his small palms. His face grows contorted from the effort he puts into the healing. But after several minutes, the child angel drops back on his heels, panting and whimpering. Cass lifts his hands before his face, balling and opening his fists. Looking for all the world like he's never seen such small, weak things in all his existence. "I ca…can dent 'eel 'im!" He sobs. Looking over at his friend, tears down chubby cheeks, the little boy openly cries, "I SO 'ery 'orry, 'Ean! I…I can DENT!" before burying his face in the younger brother's shoulder.
Dean reaches across the narrow space and pulls Cass away from Sam, cradling him on his lap.
"It's okay, buddy! I swear! It's alright! You're just too small right now. That's all!" He rocks the boy with all the care and concern he hopes to, someday, show his own child. "I don't know who or what made you little like this, Cass! But I swear to you…I'll find out how to get ya big again!"
Carrying his light load in gentle arms, the Hunter walks over to switch off the overhead lights. Arranging the little angel next to him, the older brother throws a tenuous glance at the other, whom, somehow, sleep deeply through the attempted restoration. Dean fondly snugs the stained trench coat under the kid's chin. "Let's get some sleep, Cass! Maybe things'll seem clearer in the morning! Okay?"
Clutching at the front of the shirt of the man that's always been more of a brother than any of his own, the angel pipes, "Okie dokie." before burying his tears in the material and chanting under his breath, "MY 'Ean…MY 'Ammie…SO 'orry! So 'orry, my 'Ean an 'Ammie!"
The Hunter clamps his jaw against the fresh wave of emotion and dozes off. Lulled by the mantra, muffled as it is, that's a harmony between that of a dove's coo and kitten's purr.