Dean folds his arms, sitting in his chair angrily because Ms. Coleman is making him do stuff with the rest of the class when he really doesn't want to. He wants to go and play with the Legos in the play area because last time he made a really cool rocketship and—

"Dean," he hears, looking up to see his teacher crouching down next to him, giving him her frustrated face. "Sweetie," she starts, and he suddenly wants to cry because nobody's allowed to call him that except for Mama. "Mother's Day is almost here and I'm sure your mom would love a handmade card or picture from you."

Mama died a year and a half ago, when he was four. This will be the first Mother's Day without her. Ms. Coleman is teaching them their spelling and writing, and this week they learned how to write 'Happy Mother's Day'.

"Okay," Dean says finally, because he just wants her to go away. She gives him an encouraging smile and leaves.

His crayons sit untouched.

Suddenly, another kid comes up to him. Dean knows that his name is Castiel Novak. The dark-haired boy normally doesn't talk to anybody, so Dean's surprised.

"Can I use your blue?" he asks, pointing to the blue crayon in Dean's Crayola 24 pack.

Dean nods stiffly, watching with narrowed eyes as Castiel takes a seat across from him at Gabriel's desk and starts to color in a flower. After a moment, he notices that Dean's not coloring, too.

"Why aren'tcha coloring?" he frowns.

Dean shrugs, looking down at his sneakers. "Mama's gone," he mumbles.

Castiel puts down his crayon. "Where did she go?"

"Daddy says she's in Heaven," Dean replies quietly. "She's an angel now."

"Oh," Castiel says. "Well, my mommy's an angel too, but I'm still making her a picture." He picks up a different shade of blue and starts drawing a cat. Dean thinks he's a little weird, because cats aren't blue.

"She ain't gonna get it," Dean argues. "Why would you make one if she's not gonna get it?"

"She'll get it." Castiel looks very sure of himself.

Dean doesn't ask any further, because this kid's obviously pretty strange. He thinks he might have seen him eating the glue before, too. Only the weird kids eat the glue, everyone knows that.

Castiel sits across from him for the rest of coloring hour. Dean writes 'Mom' on the folded piece of paper in front of him in green crayon, then opens it and writes in careful script,

Happy Mother's Day. I miss yuo. I hope it is nice in Heaven and that yuo made some friends.

Love, Dean.

P.S. I'm watching over Sammy just like yuo said.

Castiel squints over at his paper. "You spelled 'you' wrong," he tells him.

Dean snatches the paper away from his line of vision, mad that Castiel read it.

"I don't care!" Dean shouts, stomping away. The other kids look up, and Ms. Coleman has him sit in time-out for ten minutes for disrupting the class and yelling. Dean doesn't like her very much. He clutches his stupid Mother's Day card to his chest and forces himself not to cry.

Later that evening, Dean's eating his macaroni and cheese while Daddy feeds Sammy.

"I heard from your teacher today. She said you were acting up in class again."

His fork pauses in the air as it makes its way to his mouth, before falling back to rest in his bowl. He looks up at Daddy. "M'sorry," he mumbles.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Dean looks up at his father, then back down at his dinner. "No."

"You know it's not nice to disrupt the class, Dean. This isn't the first time." Dad looks exhausted as he wipes the food from Sam's chin.

Dean pushes his food away, not feeling hungry anymore. "I know. I won't do it again, Dad."

His father nods and sighs, finishing up with Sammy, who has a soft smile on his face as Dean hops off his chair and approaches him.

Daddy's covering and putting the rest of his macaroni and cheese into the fridge for later as Dean kisses Sammy's forehead. The high chair is just low enough for Dean to reach. Sammy's second birthday had been last week.

"Goodnight, Sammy," Dean says, and Sam babbles back a reply of goodnight.

Later that night, tucked in bed, Dean thinks about the strange boy in his class. How does he know his dead mother will get his card? Angels live in Heaven, everybody knows that. He remembers staying at Pastor Jim's house for a little bit until they moved to this house after his momma's death, and Pastor Jim had been real nice. He'd told him that his mommy was safe where she was, that she was an angel.

He didn't say anything about her being able to see him though, being able to see his card.

The next day in school, Castiel has moved his things to sit across from Dean, effectively moving Gabriel to his old seat.

"You're not supposedta change seats," Dean argues, frowning.

Castiel just shrugs and asks, "Did you finish your card?"

Dean narrows his eyes even further. "No."

"You should. Mother's Day is almost here."

Dean ignores him, continuing to do his math problems that the Ms. Coleman had set. His hand flexes around the pencil, struggling with a question.

"Nineteen," he hears Castiel say, and he looks up to see intense blue eyes staring at him. "The answer's nineteen."

Dean's kind of annoyed that Castiel thinks he's so stupid at this. He's not. He's actually pretty good at math, but the weird kid sitting across from him is being far too distracting for him to concentrate. "I got it, thanks," he mutters, writing the answer down carefully in the blank.

Castiel's quiet for the rest of math hour. When Ms. Coleman calls them over to the rug for story time, Dean notices that the kid sits next to him, and Dean tries to shift his criss-cross-applesauce a little farther away. Castiel moves with him, not even looking at him as he keeps his focus on the story the teacher's reading, something about a caterpillar with a food fixation.

Dean's thankful when the story's over just so he can get away from the dweeb.

Recess is here, and that means a whole hour of freedom. Dean's playing on the monkey bars with Charlie, the redheaded girl who once helped him clean up his spilled paint when they were finger painting.

He watches Castiel suspiciously, who's drawing with sidewalk chalk with Anna Milton and a couple of her friends.

Dean drops from the monkey bars and walks over to him, not really sure why.

The girls are off in their own little world. Castiel's drawing an angel with a piece of blue chalk.

"Blue was her favorite color," the other boy says after a minute, feeling Dean's presence behind him.

Dean sits down on the pavement next to him. "Blue is my favorite color," he offers.

Castiel looks at him, and Dean can see that his eyes are a little wet. He offers him a chalk piece, and Dean takes it.

He colors with Castiel quietly for the rest of recess.

The days are edging closer to Mother's Day, and Dean still hasn't finished that stupid card. He knows that there really isn't any point. Mama's not there for him to give it to. But he sneaks a look at Castiel's card, which is sitting conspicuously on the top shelf in his cubby, and it's even decorated with feathers and glitter.

Dean's a little jealous that Castiel's card looks so good, so Dean puts everything into his card during free time. He finds himself drawing an angel on his card like Castiel had, because even if he hates copying Castiel, Pastor Jim had assured him Mama was one. He holds it up when he's finished with it, admiring his work. Okay, so he's not the best at drawing, but he put some solid effort into it.

He catches Castiel watching, smiling softly, and Dean turns red, stuffing his card into his Superman backpack.

Mother's Day comes sooner than Dean expected, and when he walks downstairs that Sunday, Daddy's sitting at the kitchen table with a mug in his hand and a sad look on his face. Dean pads over to him and nudges him silently, crawling up into his lap. That makes John smile, and Dean's proud of being able to make him smile. John wraps an arm around Dean to keep him stable.

"Good morning," his father rumbles.

"Good morning," Dean answers. After a minute, he adds, "I checked on Sammy. He's sleeping still."

Dad kisses his forehead. "That's good to hear, son." He notices Dean taking whiffs of his coffee and chuckles, gesturing to the boy with the mug. "Do you want some coffee? It's not very hot."

Dean wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. Last time he tried it, it was bitter and awful.

"Good. Little boys don't need coffee."

"I'm not little!" Dean protests.

"Yes, you are," Daddy chuckles again. "And you're going to stay that way, alright?"

"Okay," Dean says, albeit a little sourly.

"You look just like your Mama, you know that?" Dad murmurs.

"Yeah, I know," Dean responds quietly. "I miss her, Daddy."

"We all do," John breathes, kissing his temple again. "We all do."

Dean latches Sam into his carseat and gets in the back with him, buckling his own seatbelt. His card is on his lap, spelling fixed. He showed it to Daddy earlier, and Daddy had to take a minute before he could reply with, "She would have loved that."

They're going to visit Mama today at the cemetery. Daddy has lots of flowers to plant around her grave. Dean talks to Sam on the way, and Sammy just listens and quietly plays with a toy.

When they reach the cemetery, they see that there are a lot of people there today. Daddy has Dean carry the flowers so that he can hold Sammy, and Dean feels very important carrying the flowers. The card is nestled between the flowers and his chest. Dad has a spade and the handle of the watering can in his other hand.

They find her grave and Dad sets Sammy down, his dinosaur toy in hand, and he plays with it in the grass as Dean and his father go about planting the flowers. When they're all done, Dean gets to water them. Sam sees the ducks by the duck pond, a short distance away, and Dad tells him he can stay with Mama but he can't go wandering anywhere.

"Keep me in your sight, and I'll keep you in mine," John says, and he's wearing his stern face. "I'm not far."

Dean nods. He's not going to go anywhere, and he knows all about stranger danger, anyway.

He sits on the ground in front of the grave, their gardening supplies to the side with Sam's toy dinosaur.

"Hey, Mama," Dean says. "Happy Mother's Day. I brought you a card. I drew it myself."

He puts the card down behind the flowers, against the gravestone.

"A boy at school told me you'd be able to read it. I hope he's right. He's kind of like a friend. I don't know, I've never had a best friend before. I'm still in kindergarten. But I think we could be friends. I wish you were here so you could meet him, Mama. He's weird, but he's kinda nice too. Anyway, I just wanted to say Happy Mother's Day. I wish you were here so we could spend the day together like we used to. I really miss you."

Dean sits there for a little while longer, looks up to see his dad a short distance away while Sammy giggles at the ducks. He feels a tapping on his shoulder and looks up. It's Castiel, and he sits down next to Dean.

"Hi," the other boy says.

"Hi," Dean greets. "Is your Mama here too?"

Castiel nods. He points to where a man and a small herd of children plant flowers around a gravestone. Dean assumes it's his family.

"Hey," Dean says, an idea popping into his head, "maybe your mom is friends with my mom."

Castiel gives him a strange look for that, though it's not an unpleasant one.

"Maybe that means we should be friends," Dean continues.

"I thought we were friends already," Castiel replies.

"Well," Dean says slowly, "then we can be best friends."

Castiel smiles brightly and takes Dean's hand. "I'd like that."

Dean blushes a little at his hand in Castiel's. "Uh, Cas. I don't think best friends hold hands."

Castiel seems to ponder this for a moment, still not letting go, and finally says, "Sometimes they do."

Castiel leaves in a little while, and Dean says good-bye, happy that he has a best friend. He tells Daddy all about his new best friend on the way home, and Daddy's pleased.

The day goes by, and Dean starts thinking about the card he left for his mother at the grave. He's worried that it got blown away or the rain ruined it. He voices his concerns to Castiel on Monday.

"But what if it got ruined 'cause of the rain or the wind took it and she never got to see it?" Dean is close to tears at this. He wants Mama to know that he loves her and was thinking of her.

"Dean, I'm sure she got it," Castiel sighs. They're on the swings at recess, though aren't swinging and are just sitting there, letting the breeze gently rock them.

"But what if she didn't?"

Castiel takes his hand as they swing, and Dean only acknowledges it with a squeeze. "Sometimes you just have to have faith in good things."

Dean nods, and they stay like that for the rest of recess.

Days pass, weeks pass, years pass. They find each other on the swings even after they're too old for recess, days like today, where two sixteen year olds sit on the same swing, facing each other. Castiel sifts his fingers through Dean's hair, sitting in his lap.

It's Mother's Day.

"Did that Crowley kid talk to you again today?" Dean asks, voice a little rough.

Castiel hesitates. "Dean, it's okay."

"No, it's fucking not. You shouldn't let other people treat you like that, call you names. I'm going to kick his ass again."

"Dean, you already got detention for a week for that. Don't make it worse."

They're bickering, but it's in soft tones. Dean, for the life of him, can't raise his voice at Castiel.

"I was just defending you."

"I don't need that, okay? I appreciate it, I do. But I'd rather not have you get in trouble because of me, okay? Just let me handle it."

Dean mumbles something unintelligible.

Castiel kisses his forehead. He understands why Dean is always exceptionally grumpy on this holiday. "Hey, I love you."

"I know," Dean murmurs. "I love you too." He holds Castiel close, arms wrapped around his waist as they swing gently in the breeze.

Dean is sixteen years old, and he is in love. Dean is sixteen years old, and he is confused about life. He is confused about the world. He is confused about himself. And he really, really could use his mother's hug, though the pain of her loss has lessened much with Castiel in his life. And if he's being completely honest, Castiel's hugs are just as warm and loving, albeit different, but yeah… these are good hugs.

Dean is kissing Castiel's shoulders, his neck, and his face. Their bodies are loose and sweaty and spent, and the sun is just flooding the room with light through the curtains.

It's Mother's Day.

Castiel's still panting a little and as Dean stops kissing him, he rests his head on Dean's shoulder, breath warm on Dean's neck. Dean rubs his sides reverently, looking down at his boyfriend's body. He's goddamn beautiful, the sunlight throwing highlights and shadows all over his skin. He watches the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, looks at the delicate way his knees are slightly bent, sees his now soft length resting against his thigh.

"Hey," Dean breathes, and Castiel looks up at him, blue eyes under thick lashes. "Marry me?"

"Of course," Castiel answers, without missing a beat, and that's that. They fall into a light doze, and they're twenty six and beautiful and the sun still rises and Dean still misses his mother. And it's all okay.

They stand at her grave as the noontime sun beats over their heads, making their gold wedding bands shine. Their hands are locked, fingers intertwined. Fresh flowers were planted at both of their mothers' graves, and Dean lets a few tears water the tulips planted at his mother's.

It's Mother's Day.

Castiel kisses his cheek, and Dean wipes the tears away from his cheeks. He is twenty nine years old, he shouldn't be crying.

"I still wonder what happened to that damn card."

Castiel sighs. "I know. I do the same with mine."

"Do you really think our moms could read them?" Dean asks him, and even though it's a stupid question, Castiel doesn't give him a stupid answer.

"I don't know. I try to. It's better than the alternative, at least. Why should I convince myself otherwise? Part of accepting death is that knowing that the belief that the deceased look down on you isn't a bad thing at all. It's a good thing. It means they're still a part of you."

Dean smiles to himself, turning to look from the gravestone to Castiel. "You're still just as eloquent as you were when you were six."

Castiel just shrugs, a little grin gracing his lips.

They walk around the cemetery, feed the ducks, sit by the pond. Dean kisses Castiel on the lips and he feels closure.

Dean has his arms wrapped around Castiel's waist, chin resting on his shoulder. He's thirty two years old and it is a little past two a.m. Castiel has a little bundle in his arms, and Dean grins down at the baby as it nurses from the bottle Castiel's holding. They don't know whose sperm was fertilized with the egg, but Dean's kind of suspicious it was Castiel's because the baby has blue eyes just like Daddy, and this pleases him to no end.

The baby watches his parents from Castiel's arms, and Dean presses a long, lingering kiss to the hinge of Castiel's jaw as his husband smiles down at their son.

It's Father's Day.

fin