AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not gonna lie, it'd probably help to read Operative Word before this little piece. I mean, you could just jump on into this and be fine. I dunno. You do you.

Anyway, have a little one-shot continuation of that world. Because I love the character of Claire Novak.

xXx

The metal of the interrogation room table was cool under his hands. He flattened his fingers against it, willing the surface to diminish the clamminess of his palms even as he flashed his most blinding smile at the jackass Hwen dan who was smirking at him from across the table.

"A little warm in here for you, Winchester?" Agent Dick Roman's voice never failed to run a dull knife blade across the piano strings of Dean's soul. "Need me to turn down the heat?"

"Oh, I'm good," Dean replied, leaning back in his chair as nonchalantly as possible. "But if you're uncomfortable, go right ahead."

"I'd say my men are finishing up on their search of your ship right about now," Roman said. He doesn't blink enough, Dean thought wildly. His eyes are gonna get all dried out and he's gonna have eye-raisins. Why doesn't this guy ever blink? "I'd be lying if I said there weren't bets on the worth of stolen goods they'll turn up. One of my officers thinks they'll come up with at least twenty thousand credits worth of smuggled cargo." Roman's smirk widened. It only made Dean want to punch him more. "I personally believe he's throwing his money away. You're a good thief, Winchester, but you're not that good."

"You're a real sweetheart for noticing, thanks so much, Agent Roman."

"What disappoints me about this betting pool," Roman continued as though Dean hadn't spoken, "is that every last one of my men has missed a very important potential goldmine. It's not the food or the meds or the boring, everyday blacklisted cargo that's worth the most, is it, Captain?" Now he leaned forward. Dean gritted his teeth, biting back a snarl. "There are any number of rumors swirling around the quadrant about a certain member of your crew. Descriptions are consistent - tall, dark hair, blue eyes, long coat... fights like a machine, talks like a machine. Tell me, Winchester - does he do everything like a machine?"

The insinuation was enough to have Dean's fists clenching. Still - he was a professional, and this wasn't exactly his first rodeo. "He sounds attractive," Dean replied.

"He's also the ex-Operative Castiel, and he's wanted in four systems."

"Real attractive. You see him, you feel free to give him my number."

There was a knock at the door. Glancing through the glass, Dean could see a young Fed, wearing a familiar peaked blue cap and the expression of someone on their first trip out of the Core. Roman caught Dean's eye again as he waved the young officer inside.

"This'll be the report on your ship, Captain. Let's see what you've been hiding."

xXx

He should be caring more about the fact that a lot of his beer was slopping over the rim of his glass as he clinked the rim against Sam's and Jo's. Bela had already disappeared to see if she could charm something that didn't "smell so completely of pig's vomit" out of the barman. Dean would have bet the house on her success, given the dress she was wearing. He should care that a third of his beer wound up on the tabletop. He should... but...

"Dick-freaking-Roman!" he crowed. "We pulled one over on Dick-freaking-Roman! Turn it all in, 'cuz it's never getting better than tonight."

The memory of the smarmy Dick (heh) glaring at Dean from across the interrogation room as the poor young Fed gave the "nothing to report" speech was almost enough to wipe the guilt of being the one responsible for getting the Impala collared in the first place. They'd been headed to Hestia after a particularly successful salvage mission, and the payoff burning a hole in his proverbial pocket, coupled with the possibility of a wide, warm, clean bed to share with the undeniably attractive man standing stoic at his side had Dean pushing Meg through some rather suspicious flying patterns. Instead of hanging back as the Alliance cruiser crossed their path, as Sam and Jo had both suggested, Dean had encouraged Meg to gun it for the planet's surface.

That was when the tractor beam had snagged them.

"I'll go out the airlock," Cas had muttered to Dean as the pair of them watched the Alliance cruiser grow palm-sweatingly closer and closer. "You and the crew will be able to talk your way past the Feds without me."

"You'll leave and do what?" Dean had demanded. "Float off into space like so much spare rigging? Like hell, Cas, you'd be dead in a few hours, and we might not get free in time to come back and pick you up."

"Then what do you propose?" Cas asked, arching a brow. "The Alliance will search every corner of this ship -"

"Ain't their ship," Dean responded. "It's mine. No one knows her like I do. If I want the Impala to hide something, she'll hide it and she'll keep it hidden."

"Did Roman give you the third-degree about 'customer satisfaction'?" Sam asked, pulling Dean out of his reverie. He downed most of his beer in one long gulp.

"Yup," Dean said, popping the "p" at the end of the word. "Told him we run a top-notch business, no complaints."

"That's 'cuz we'd have that unsettling tendency to be shot in the head if we had an unsatisfied customer." Meg sauntered up to the table, a little extra swing in her hips. She'd acquired a shiny new pistol sometime in the last twenty minutes - Dean was willing to bet that the previous owner was the scowling giant of a man lurking by the door. He made a mental note to avoid him at all costs at the end of the night.

"The bullet-in-the-brain aesthetic is not great for business," Jo agreed.

"And rotting away in an Alliance cell until the next local supernova wouldn't've been so great either," Dean said. "Lucky for us all, I've got a very charming smile."

"Lucky for us, Charlie was able to get Ash to fake a customs report from back on Lawrence," Jo corrected. "Credit where credit's due."

"Someone trying to claim that I'm less than awesome?" Charlie had managed to slip in the front door unnoticed. "I'll tase their ass."

"Not me," Dean said quickly. Sam nearly choked on his beer.

"Good," Charlie said, turning a megawatt grin on Jo. "How 'bout a little sugar?"

"Excuse me," Jo said gravely to the rest of the table, before grabbing the front of Charlie's coveralls and attempting an in-depth excavation of the mechanic's tonsils. They only broke apart when the boo-ing and the thrown peanuts from Dean, Sam, and Meg reached dangerous levels.

"Cas okay?" Dean asked, striving for a noncommittal tone.

Charlie shot him a knowing smile. "All in one dreamy piece, Cap. He's still back at the Impala. Said he'd meet up with us when we got back."

"Hm." Dean considered the remaining beer in his glass, wondering how fast he could drink it and wishing he'd spilled more of it on the table.

Meg cut his quandary short by snatching the glass out of his hand. She drained it in one gulp and let out a burp that had the rest of the bar silencing in a moment of hushed appreciation and respect. "If I had to look at that stupid expression on your face any longer, I'd start using it for target practice," she explained, patting the pistol at her hip with more affection than he'd ever seen her express towards a living thing. "Get out of here."

"And by the time we get back, you better be keeping the noise down," Sam called as Dean headed for the door. Without turning, Dean flipped both middle fingers in the air at his cackling crew.

I bet other Captains get more respect, he thought as he made his way through the dark backstreets of Hestia. Still, with the sound of his friends' laughter ringing in his ears, he couldn't bring himself to be entirely in a bad mood.

There was also the little matter of The Words. The Three Words that had been ringing in his head for the past - well, for months and months, at least. Probably since he'd first seen the scruffy-faced moron with the electrifying blue eyes. The Words had been burning at his chest, and had a tendency to nearly slip out at the most inopportune moment.

Would it be so bad if they did? Dean asked himself as the Impala loomed into view. If I told that inscrutable asshole that I might be in l- in l -

Shut up, Dean.

He found Cas on the catwalk overlooking the cargo hold, his long legs swinging over the edge, both arms leaning against the railing. He didn't look up as Dean approached, but Dean knew that he'd heard him coming. The last few months had taught him that it was nearly impossible to sneak up on an Operative - and also that attempting to do so would most likely result in a few deep-tissue bruises.

"You doin' okay?" Dean asked, sitting next to the other man.

"It would take more than a few hours amongst the Impala's plumbing to harm me, Dean," Cas replied gravely.

"Well I know that," Dean said, kicking his heels in the air. "But I'm checking anyway."

In the dim light, he could see a small smile curve Cas's lips. "Then yes. I am doing okay."

"Well alright then."

They sat in silence for a moment, Dean leaning back on his hands, Castiel leaning forward, looking down over the cargo hold. The quiet was companionable, but Dean could sense there was something eating at Cas. Then again, he reasoned, there was always something eating at Cas - hell, there's always something eating at every one of us. But still...

"Why are we still here?" Cas asked abruptly. "Why are we staying on this planet when the Alliance ship that just took the Impala is just above us? Shouldn't we be doing our best to make it to the other side of the galaxy?"

"We do that, Roman and his asshat cronies'll know we have something to hide," Dean said, shrugging. "Better to hang back for a day or so - go about our business - then we saunter off-world all casual-like when they either get frustrated or lose interest." He nudged the other man with his elbow. "And hey - a few days of shore leave ain't such a bad thing. I can think of a couple of ways to spend that time."

Cas shot him a sidelong glance. There was still something - guilt, most likely - glittering in the corner of his eyes, but his attention had definitely been grabbed by Dean's words. "You paint an intriguing image, Captain Winchester."

"'Intriguing isn't how I'd put-mmph!" The rest of Dean's sentence was swallowed by Cas's lips, and Dean allowed himself to be pulled against the other man's chest.

The issue with spending so much time locked in a tin can in the middle of the crushing void was that there was no privacy. Dean spent every waking hour in the same few-yard span of the same six other people, one of whom he was related to. He wasn't necessarily a shy guy by any means, but still - the idea of shoving his tongue down Cas's throat in front of his brother was not an idea he was keen on entertaining. He didn't have the quasi-exhibitionist streak that Charlie and Jo seemed to share. He liked to be the only one who was allowed to see Cas like this - eyes closed, lips puffy and red and slick -

So for a few long minutes, Dean allowed himself to relax and just enjoy the sensation of the man underneath his hands, of the wandering fingers sliding from his shoulders to his chest to his hips, underneath the hem of his shirt... and lower...

"Hello?"

Dean sat up so fast that he hit his head on the railing. "Wu de ma," he cursed, rubbing at the sore spot.

"Is there someone up there?"

Castiel was pushing himself up on his elbows. He somehow managed to still look fierce, even with his hair sticking up in every direction. "One of Roman's?" he hissed to Dean.

Dean peered over the catwalk and snorted. "Doubt it," he replied. "Not unless he's recruiting out of nurseries these days." He pulled himself to his feet and leaned over the railing. "Hang on!" he shouted to the intruder. "Be right down!"

There was a girl standing in the cargo bay entrance. She had long blond hair half-pulled back from her face in a messy braid, and was wearing clothes that were second-, third- or fourth-hand. The army jacket slung over her shoulders was oversized, drowning her in green fabric, but the glare that blazed out of her bright blue eyes as she watched Dean descend from the catwalk would have been enough to make anyone think twice before messing with her.

Dean thought twice... and decided to mess with her anyway. "Toy store's down the street," he said. "If you ask nice, they might even give you a lollipop to take with you."

"Fuck you to you too," the girl shot back. Dean had to bite back a grin. "You're Captain Winchester."

"Depends who's asking, kid."

"Don't call me 'kid'. My name's Claire." She kept her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, and Dean noticed the knapsack slung over one shoulder. It was threadbare canvas, and had the initials "J.N." stitched near the drawstring closure. "And that wasn't a question. You're Dean Winchester, I know who you are."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Cas standing in the shadows of the catwalk. If he hadn't known the other man was there, he wouldn't have spotted him, and the man moved silent as a spring breeze. He was watching Dean and the girl - Claire - with a focus that was extraordinary even for him.

"Then I guess you got me at a disadvantage," Dean said, trying to keep one eye on the Operative and one eye on Claire. "What can I do for you, Claire?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Gonna stop you right there," Dean said. "I don't do 'looking for someone'. 'Looking for someone' always end in trouble that I don't rightly want to bring on me and my crew. If you're 'looking for someone', I'm sorry, kid -"

"Don't call me kid."

"- but you're gonna have to keep on moving."

"His name is Castiel," Claire barged on, stepping on Dean's words. "I know he's been traveling with you - hell, every Fed in the quadrant knows he's been traveling with you."

"Then every Fed in the quadrant's feng le -"

"I'm not here to hurt him, I promise, I just need to -"

"Dean."

Castiel had managed to make it down the stairs without being noticed by either Dean or Claire.

"Get back upstairs," Dean snapped. Whatever this girl wanted with Cas, she wasn't going to get it. There was no way in all the seven hells that they'd have gone through everything they'd gone through, and then have it all ripped away because Polly Pigtails had an uncanny ability to wander onto the right boat in a backwater port.

"I think we should hear what she has to say."

"That was an order," Dean said.

"Dean."

"A-are you -"

The quavering tone was so unlike the girl's otherwise demanding demeanor that Dean glanced back at her. She was staring at Cas with wide eyes. Her face had gone very, very pale, and she had finally taken her hands out of her pockets. One of them reached towards the Operative. It shook, near-imperceptible, but undeniable.

"I am," Cas replied gravely.

"You look -"

"I know."

She stared at him in silence for a long moment before hissing, "Lao tien fu."

What happened next happened very, very fast. First Claire was standing, frozen in place. Before Dean even registered a change in position, she drew a small caliber gun out from a hidden boot holster and leveled it at Cas.

Cas, of course, was no longer where she had last seen him. Instead, the Operative had slipped gracefully to her side. He reached for the pistol, but she tugged it away at the last second, aiming a flying elbow at his throat. It didn't hit its intended mark, catching him instead in the shoulder, but it was enough to have Cas moving again, attempting to grab her arm, to restrain her.

Her finger squeezed. A loud report echoed through the cargo hold, and Dean hit the deck, hoping that flying pieces of lead weren't about to rupture anything important on his Baby.

"Enough," he heard Cas say sharply. When he looked up again, the gun was in Castiel's hands, and he had Claire's arm folded up behind her back. She struggled a little, but in her current position, any major movements would have dislocated her shoulder. Still, Dean couldn't ignore the fact that the Operative was treating this girl with far more care and concern than Dean had seen him show any of his other opponents, despite their age or gender.

"Fuck you," Claire spat over her shoulder.

"I said enough," Cas repeated. She stilled for a moment. When it seemed as though she was done with her struggling, Cas relaxed the grip on her arm - though he kept the firearm safely tucked away.

The girl sat then, her knees buckling, staring fixedly at Cas's face from her new angle on the floor. The Operative stared back, expression unreadable.

"Alright," Dean said. "Anyone want to fill me in on what the actual fuck is going on here?"

"This is Claire," Cas said. Claire seemed incapable of further speech at the moment.

"Yeah, I got that."

"Claire Novak."

That last name - Cas's birth surname - set off alarms in Dean's skull. "You mean -"

Cas nodded. "This is my niece."

xXx

Meg studied Claire's face from an unsettling distance of about three centimeters. "She looks like you, Blue-Eyes," she observed finally, settling back in her chair and removing her new pistol from her holster. She spun it languidly around her finger, and Dean hoped to hell that it wasn't loaded.

"She would," Castiel said, his tone flat.

"My dad was his twin brother," Claire said. Her eyes hadn't left Castiel since he'd first revealed his presence to her. Now, the shock in them had faded, to be replaced by something more like hurt and anger - much more in line with the Claire Dean had initially met.

Dean studied Cas. To anyone else, the Operative would have seemed completely unemotional and detached, but Dean knew Cas better than that. The man was as much in turmoil as Claire had been - he was just slightly more adept at hiding it. You knew about this kid?! he wanted to shout at him. You knew and you didn't tell me?

"While family reunions are always moving," Bela said, "I find myself wondering why you have chosen to seek out our stony-faced Castiel."

"And I wouldn't mind knowing the 'how' of it all, too," Charlie added.

"Yeah, how did you even know to look here?"

"What do you want from Blue-Eyes, kid?"

"Don't call me 'kid'."

"Alright, alright, let's everyone just quiet down." Sam rose to his feet, his big frame actually casting a shadow across the table. Dean noted, not for the first time, that the top of Sam's head brushed against the low ceiling of the mess, and he mentally gave his genes a pat on the back for not making him too tall. "One question at a time, okay? We don't want to overwhelm Claire."

"'m not overwhelmed," mumbled Claire, who in fact looked as though she was about to melt under the power of the Impala Inquisition.

"Perhaps we should make some tea," Cas rumbled quietly at Dean's elbow. Claire gave him a suspicious look, but Sam was already busying himself at the stove with the kettle.

"Whenever you wanna start talking, we'll start listening," Dean said.

The girl seemed to sag in on herself. She pulled the overlarge sleeves of her jacket over her hands and hugged the rest of it around herself. Dean was struck by how very young she looked, despite the fire in her eyes and the knife in front of her.

"I didn't know I had an uncle," she finally mumbled. Dean sensed, rather than saw, Cas's shoulders stiffening. "I mean, Dad didn't even know he had a brother, much less an identical twin. Grampa never really... he didn't talk about anything that happened before Grandma died. Then, after the Angel Tablet..." She shrugged. "It all came out. There was a lot of shouting. Kinda really unpleasant around home for a few weeks."

"Sounds familiar," Sam muttered, spooning tea into the pot.

"Dad wanted to find you," Claire said, looking over at Cas again. The Operative didn't make eye contact, instead staring straight ahead at the wall. "He said he should know his own brother. Grampa told him not to. He said the Operatives were all just cold-blooded killers, and that's what you probably were now too." She smiled slightly. "But Dad was always gorram stubborn. He started to put feelers out, trying to track you down."

"'Was'?" Charlie asked, her voice soft.

Claire's face hardened. "Few months back. Group of men came by Whitefall. Found us. Found Dad. They wanted him to tell him what he'd learned about - about Castiel. But he wouldn't say anything." She shrugged, stilted. "You probably know what came next."

The mess was silent for a moment. Bela leaned forward and laid a manicured hand on Claire's frayed sleeve. "I am very sorry," she said.

The teakettle shrilled. Sam hurried to turn it off.

"Wasn't your fault," Claire said, though the words came from between gritted teeth. She glared at Cas. "It was his. Without you, my dad would still be alive. I'd still have a home."

Castiel said nothing to this. "Claire..." Sam began, but trailed off, searching in vain for the right words.

"Your father sounds like a really brave guy," said Jo, stepping in.

"He was. Real stupid, too."

"What - what was his name?" Dean found himself asking.

The look that Claire shot Cas was hard and pointed. Go ahead, it seemed to say. You fucking tell him.

"James," Castiel said. His voice was even more gravelly than normal, and Dean was surprised to see a faint sheen of tears in his bright blue eyes. "His name was James Novak."

xXx

Hestia had three suns, and right now Dean was hating every single one of them. The glaring light burned into his corneas, throbbing in time with his hangover.

So he'd gotten drunk the night before. So what? So his - partner? Lover? Eh, labels - had left a pretty glaring omission when he'd filled Dean in about his family. "Father had a beard, mother had a blue dress," Dean muttered to himself as he loaded the Impala's little transpo vehicle with the scavenged ship parts. You'd think that "identical twin brother and niece-with-homicidal-tendencies" would have warranted a mention or two.

"Looking rough there, Cap," Meg observed, swinging herself into the transpo's driver's seat. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Shut up, Meg."

"Hey, no one ever said I was good at couples counseling," Meg replied. "But you know Cas never does anything without a pretty good reason. He might have kept this whole family branch all hush-hush, but he didn't do it to hurt you."

"Yeah, he's had a great track record with logical thinking in the past," Dean said. "Remember the part where he smuggled top-secret information off-planet by implanting it in his own chest cavity?"

"He did what?"

Apparently the ability to sneak up behind people all gorram ghost-like was a family trait. Claire was standing in the cargo bay entrance, wrapped up again in that oversize coat.

"Right here," Dean gestured to a spot right below his ribs. "Your uncle stole the Operative's 'Who's Who' and decided that the best way to sneak it by all and sundry was to turn his body into a lockbox. Really worked out for him in the long run. If you don't count all the blood and torture and stuff."

Claire let out a low whistle. "Impressive."

"Idiotic," Dean muttered, turning to load the last compression coil onto the back of the transpo.

"You gonna sell this go se?" Claire asked, moving closer to the transpo and inspecting the contents.

"Ain't go se," Charlie said, ducking around Claire and tossing her bag into the passenger's seat. "This is our next paycheck. You'd be surprised, mei mei - folk'll spend good money on quality secondhand like this."

"But it's... not new," Claire said.

"Just because it ain't sparkly doesn't mean it don't work," Dean said. He climbed onto the transpo behind Meg. As the pilot revved the engine, Dean caught a glimpse of Claire's lost expression, which - against his will - tugged at something in the depths of the withered, dead thing he called a heart. "You wanna come?" he called over the roar of the transpo.

"With you?"

"Yeah."

Claire regarded the transpo for a moment. "Will Castiel be there?"

"No."

"Then yes."

She jumped in beside Dean and barely had enough time to buckle herself in before Meg took off, tearing out of the cargo hold and down the dusty old road into the market center of Hestia.

Dean had been to Whitefall - he knew it was a small, backwater planet. But Claire's reaction to the chaos of Hestia only hammered that home for him. He remembered being fifteen - he knew how important it had seemed then to appear totally unfazed by everything around him. Claire was doing a fairly good job of keeping up that front. Still, anyone would notice the way she stared at things a little too long and smiled a little too wide.

"This is nothing," he said, once Meg had slowed to something approaching a chat-able speed. "You should see Persephone sometime. Or, hell, I reckon Helios is more building than planet."

Claire gave him a sheepish smile. "Am I that obvious?"

"Naw," Dean reassured her. "You just look excited, is all. Your trip here didn't bring you to many other planets?"

"It did," Claire shrugged. "But they were mostly barren rocks like Whitefall. I puddle-jumped my way here with anyone that would take me on for a couple credits. Pawned my mother's earrings for passage."

"I'm sorry."

"Eh," she flapped a hand. "What am I gonna do with earrings? This was more important."

Meg pulled the transpo up outside of a grungy little storefront - one whose grubby exterior masked an impressive and extensive interior that Dean knew well. The name "MR. FIZZLES EMPORIUM" blazed over the door in shaky neon letters, and Dean didn't miss the eyebrow that Claire raised.

"Friend of a friend's," Dean explained. "He's a little weird, but he always gives us a good deal. Hey - you ladies got this?" he called up to Meg and Charlie. "I'm gonna show Claire around a little." Charlie gave him a thumbs-up. "C'mon," Dean said, sliding down from the back of the transpo.

After a moment's hesitation, Claire followed Dean into the shop. The bell over the door tinkled as they pushed through, and Dean let out a quick "Hey Garth!" and moved further into the endless rows so he wouldn't have to deal with the response.

If Dean had thought Claire's eyes were going to fall out of her head on the drive over, he was convinced they would downright explode in a puff of smoke as she took in Garth's wares. It was certainly nothing to sneeze at, Dean had to admit. Garth sold everything - clothing, ship equipment and everything in between. He remembered having a similar reaction the first time he'd ever set foot in here himself.

"So you and Castiel, huh?" Claire asked from somewhere underneath a massive bonnet that might have been in style around 45 years ago. "You guys..."

He could only assume she was waggling her eyebrows. "None of your gorram business, kid."

"Don't call me kid," she answered absently. "Were you guys fooling around when I showed up yesterday?"

"None of your -"

"You loooooove him - ow!"

Dean had chucked a loose wooden domino at her. "Okay, okay," she took the bonnet off and turned her attention to a rusted toy firetruck. "Just, sorry if I cockblocked anything."

"Jesus, okay, we're gonna stop talking about this," Dean said.

She held up her hands in defeat, and together they moved into the next row (which featured, as far as Dean could tell, an extensive collection of the 'verse's creepiest doll's heads). "Why are you avoiding him?" she asked, finally. "This doesn't seem like the kind of errand a Captain should be wasting his time on."

"Why are you avoiding him?" Dean wanted to know. "You came all this way to kill him and now you're wasting your time getting creeped out in a secondhand shop with me."

Claire played with the frizzy hair of a doll with cracked skin straight out of a nightmare. "I thought he'd be different," she said.

"I know he can seem stilted," Dean replied, "and kind of disconnected and cold, but that's not really who -"

"No, that's not what - no," Claire said. She let out a frustrated huff of air. "He's warmer than I expected. More human. I guess - from all the stories about Operatives, from everything my Grampa said - I thought he'd be like a robot. Kinda. No feelings." She managed a small smile. "He's got a lot of feelings, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed fervently. "A lot of 'em."

"Wish he didn't," Claire muttered, and it sounded as though she was talking to herself. "Would've made this a helluva lot easier."

"Claire..."

"He didn't tell you about us, did he?" Claire demanded. Dean was too taken aback to call her on the sudden change in subject. "He knew who my dad was, and he knew who I was, but you didn't. He didn't tell you." She smirked. "That's gotta sting, lover-boy."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, Blondie," he said. "You asked for it. You're here, you're gonna work. Hey Meg!" he called to the front of the shop as Claire let out a heartfelt groan. "You need help unloading that spare aft cooler?"

Claire's fingers were covered in blisters, but she was grinning by the time the four of them returned to the Impala. The three (unforgiving, horrible) suns were setting, and their pockets were full, and Meg had successfully tricked Dean into eating something she claimed was a "local delicacy" but what had really been a gigantic insect covered in the Hestia equivalent of chili powder. His eyes were still watering as the transpo pulled to a halt in the cargo hold.

Jo greeted Charlie with a smacking kiss and got to work unloading the new airlock component they'd be needing in a few months (if Charlie's calculations were accurate, which they always were).

Bela slunk up the ramp a few minutes after their return, dressed impeccably as always. "Roman's lost interest," she informed them. "For now at least. And I have an absolutely tantalizing lead for a job on Helios. Thank God. I don't think I could stand another layover in one of these backwater cesspools."

"We'll leave tomorrow," Dean reassured her. Bela gave his arm a little squeeze as she slipped by, headed for the mess. With her gone, Dean turned his attention back to Claire. "Now you," he said. "I don't know what we're gonna do with you."

"I can take care of myself," Claire said, that defiant gleam returning to her eyes. "You don't need to worry about me."

"Aw hell, I won't," Dean said, smiling. "But I can think of someone who will. C'mon."

He took a few steps towards the bridge. When he noticed that she wasn't following, he physically grabbed the sleeve of that ridiculously overlarge jacket and towed her gently along behind him. "Dean, no," she whined, but he just shook his head.

"'Dean, yes'," he whined back to her.

"How do you know I won't try to kill him again?" Claire asked.

"I don't," Dean replied. "But just keep in mind that when people try to kill your uncle, it tends not to work out well for them." He stopped just outside the bridge doors. Through them, he could see a sliver of Castiel's long tan trenchcoat draped over the edge of the copilot's seat. "Listen," he said to Claire. "I know how it feels to lose your parents. Hell, most of the people on this boat know how that feels. It can drive you crazy, if you let it. But you -" he tugged at her braid - "you're smarter'n me. Too smart to let that happen."

"No I'm not," Claire grumbled.

"Whatever you say, Blondie," Dean replied. "Now get in there and talk to your uncle. And please - try not to kill him on my bridge."

He gave her a little shove towards the door. She stumbled a few steps, then looked back at him. "D'you - d'you think I could travel with you? On the Impala?"

"It'd take a power bigger'n this 'verse to stop me from taking you on," Dean said. "When you're older." And with that (and one final glower from Claire), Dean pushed the teenager onto the bridge and shut the door behind her.

xXx

"Y'all know a fellow goes by the name 'Roman'?" Ellen wanted to know. She was spooning hefty servings of her famous homemade chili into wooden bowls and passing them down the bar at the Roadhouse for the Impala's crew. Meg, Jo, and Charlie were already tucking in. Bela accepted her bowl with polite thanks and a ravenous expression.

"No," Dean said innocently. "Who's Roman?"

"Roman?!" The gruff voice barked from the back of the Roadhouse. Dean closed his eyes and silently counted down the seconds until Bobby Singer emerged from the kitchen, trucker cap pushed back on his forehead and frustrated concern in his eyes. "You idjits been messing with Dick Roman again?"

"He was messing with us, Bobby, calm down," Sam said, taking his own bowl from Ellen with a nod of thanks. "And don't worry - everything worked out."

"With a little help from yours truly," shouted Ash across the bar.

"Well, whoever he is, he's got it out for you two," Ellen said. "I've heard your names over the Alliance waves more now than I have since this whole Operative business went down months back. He's gunning for the Impala."

"He can get in line," Dean retorted, finally receiving his own dinner. Ellen slapped his hand when he reached for the ladle to serve himself some more, but only so she could serve him herself. He looked up in time to catch her fond smile.

She was gazing at the corner booth across the bar, where Castiel and Claire sat deep in intense conversation. Dean buried a smile of his own in his chili. They'd been like that ever since their reconciliation on the bridge, and Cas had taken the opportunity to interrogate the girl for every little detail about her father that she could remember.

"That was a good thing you did," Sam said, watching the pair as well.

"What, stopping her from turning Cas into walking Swiss cheese?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Dean grinned. "Look at me, doling out relationship advice!"

"What's that they say about stopped clocks?" Sam asked innocently.

"Shut up. Bitch."

Sam flicked a spoonful of chili across Dean's face in retaliation. Only Ellen's barked "NO ROUGHHOUSING!" kept the situation from degenerating into a full-fledged food-fight.

"So what do you think, Ellen?" he asked, once his face was chili-free. "She look like Roadhouse material?"

"I'm not having her behind the bar. Not at her age," Ellen said sharply. "But... we have been a little short-handed since Jo flew off to join your band of lunatics." She reached across the bar and squeezed Dean's shoulder, smiling. "Of course we'll have her, Dean. We'd be happy to."

He found Cas on the roof of the Roadhouse later that night, staring up at the stars. "Fancy meeting you here," he panted as he struggled out the window, attempting and failing to hold onto any traces of grace. "Where's Claire?"

"Ellen is showing her around Lawrence," Cas responded, scooting over to make room for Dean. As Dean settled in next to him, Cas leaned close, forcing Dean to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"You cold?"

"No."

Dean snorted, squeezing Cas's shoulders tighter. They sat like that for half an hour, watching the sky and listening to the increasingly loud revelry filtering up from the bar below.

"I'm sorry," Cas finally said. Dean glanced down, but all he could see was the top of the man's head.

"For what?"

"I didn't tell you about my brother. Or Claire."

"Oh."

"I just... didn't know what to say," Cas said. "When I went back to Whitefall after... everything, I was so lost. I wanted to be with you - I knew I wanted to be with you, and I knew that the Impala was my home. To be honest, I didn't think I would find anything on Whitefall worth returning to in the way of family. So when I found out about James and Claire..." he shrugged. "I felt so guilty. Because I had found home already. And it wasn't them. So I ran back to you and I tried to forget."

"Cas..."

"I can never make amends for what happened to James," Cas said, sitting up straight. Dean loosened his grip on the other man's shoulders, but he didn't let go. "But I can help Claire to the best of my abilities. I can... be her family. To the best of my abilities."

"You've got some gorram great abilities there, Cas," Dean assured him.

Cas finally turned to look at him, and Dean was surprised to see that he was smiling. "Dean Winchester," he murmured. "How is it that, even after all we've been through, you still surprise me?"

"I'm just unpredictable I guess," Dean whispered back. He swallowed hard. The way Cas was looking at him was making his mouth go dry.

"I love you," Cas said. He paused, cocking his head and inspecting Dean's face. "Just so you know."

Without really knowing he was doing it, Dean surged forward so suddenly that he nearly toppled Cas off the roof. His lips locked over the other man's, hard and insistent, biting and nipping and trying to convey all the passion that he just didn't have the words for. Dean pulled back just enough to whisper, "Just so you know" right back, before diving in again.

In the stars above them, there might be dicks called Roman gunning for them and criminals waiting to shoot them in the back. But down on Lawrence was just plain home.