Two and A Half Men

Chapter 1: You've Got To Be Joking

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Not Mine, Supernatural belongs to Erik Kirpke

A/N: So this is my sequel to The Stars Fall Like Feathers. You don't need to have read that to get the plot for this story, but it will make a lot more sense if you do. There're also an awful lot of spoilers for TSFLF if you do decide to read this first.

I will just say that Uzziel is a young Scottish Terrier puppy Castiel rescued and Dean claims to despise her. They both call her by a different nickname, Uzzi for Cas and Uzi for Dean, though Castiel doesn't actually know about this. So if you're wondering why they're spelt interchangeably, there is a reason for it .:)

Unlike TSFLF, I haven't finished this story before I've started posting, but I'm aiming to add up a new chapter every week on Saturdays.

I hope you enjoy it :)

–

You've Got To Be Joking...

–

Dean Winchester's life isn't always what you'd call easy.

Or fair.

Or good for personal well-being… Or mental stability. Or hygiene.

Okay. Dean Winchester's life has been pretty shitty, specifically the last forty three years or so, give or take a few months either side. But, what the hell, right?

Right now, the apocalypse is firmly off the table. Raphael's locked in a Purgatory time-out and Gabriel is, shockingly, managing to keep Heaven somewhat off of their case.

For a Winchester, that's damn close to paradise. The irony of using that word after the last bout with Raphael is not lost on the hunter either, thank you very much.

Now, he knows that it won't last; he knows Raphael will break out at some point with Team Free Will right at the top of his hit list when he finally does. He knows that that whole lightning never strikes twice is complete and utter crap and that lightning will strike you however many times it damn well wants and there's nothing you can do about it.

But right at the moment, he's got a beer in his hand and his brother being a first class nerd at the crappy motel table.

Life's fucking fantastic.

There's been a few rough patches since they'd managed to bunk Raphael off on the Purgatory Express back in July. The top point being Castiel occasionally flitting off to who the hell knows where for days at a time to fulfil some random side mission Gabriel sends down from on-high that apparently the Winchester's aren't invited to. He's never come back more than a little scratched up, but one day in early September, the black winged Seraph had flapped off to the Pyrenees for two days to kill something or other that was eating the local two-legged livestock, and come back wingless.

I gotta tell you, after nearly three months of seeing the guy with enormous black limbs sprouting from his shoulder blades, it's a little jarring for them to suddenly be missing. Dean had nearly killed himself with a panic induced heart-attack when the Seraph landed wingless. The flapping should have given the concealment away but there was still a moment of Holy shit something's torn them off.

In retrospect, the whole incident makes Dean grumble embarrassedly every time he thinks about it. He doesn't care what the hell Sam says, he is not freaking moping that the huge, black, pain in the ass wings are gone.

It's not like he liked the damn things. Damn dangerous they were; with the way they flared at the angel's emotions, giving away everything he felt when he did anything, absorbing anybody's emotions like giant empathy hovers, or making Dean sit there for hours grooming the damn things back into some semblance of order because whenever the asshole seemed to zap off it always seemed like he found hurricanes to fly through and tangle his feathers. Who the hell cares if they're gone? So Sam can just shut his unnaturally large mouth, fuck you very much.

But that was near a month ago, and though Castiel is currently off on one of his flapsacades, Dean is pretty damn content with what he's got going right now.

Demons are still a bit of an issue. With Heaven on stricter lock down until Gabriel gets a better grip of the situation, (not that they know all that much, they haven't seen the asshole since a scorching Texan day in mid-August), the demons that are still left over from the apocalypse occasionally seem to go on messed up raves. It would be more dangerous if they were actually organised. As far as Team Free Will knows, Crowley and his Growley are still the top dogs down South, and apparently he doesn't care for the idiotic demons left roaming boredly around the Earth.

Having an angel with them most of the time they go to take out a small pack of them sure helps too.

But right at this very moment, fresh from a shower in mid-October, finishing off his beer and debating between watching The Walking Dead or hitting the lumpy motel sack, Dean's not even that riled that the Seraph has flapped out on them again.

This time, he's been gone for four days, mumbling off something about some creature eating unfortunate appendages of people on some island he's never heard of in Australasia. There's an unspoken rule going between them that Dean'll text the angel something meaningless about whatever the hell they happen to be doing that night. And Castiel will send him back a photo taken on his phone from where ever he's managed to wander off to. It'd taken Dean three bottles of beer and an hour of patience to show Castiel how to take photos on his phone and the hunter's damn grateful he did. The first few had been too blurry or dim to make out much, but eventually Castiel got the hang of it and Dean has several amazing looking pictures hoarded on his phone that he'll sometimes stare at if he can't sleep.

Again, something else that Sam doesn't need to know.

Dean considers the pictures to be payment for them looking after Castiel's small rat bag of a Scottish terrier puppy. She's grown quite a bit since the Seraph first pulled her from the deep pocket of his trench coat all those months ago. She's around six months old now, beginning to fill out and no longer small enough to sit comfortably in the palm of their hands.

They had to take her to an honest to god groomers the other day because Castiel flat out refused to brush her for fear of hurting her and Sam had tried but declared her coat too long to keep tangle-free for more than a few days. Dean wasn't going near that grudge bearing rodent with a knife; so, extortionate groomers it was. And she actually kinda looks like a proper Scottie now. All elegant eyebrows, trimmed coat and long black beard.

Yeah, okay. She looks cute, whatever.

But, cute as she may be. Every time Castiel leaves she spends the whole time pining like some scorned abandoned child. Usually, Dean can get the little pest to sleep on a blanket on the floor if Castiel leaves them for the few hours when they sleep. But if he's half way around the world, she'll whine like she's being murdered until Dean lets her curl down beside him.

And no. The older Winchester doesn't find that endearing either.

But this time, Castiel's not sent his daily photo yet. It usually pings off between six and eleven, and this time it's nearly half one in the morning. No, Dean's not staying up waiting for it. Dean sent his Man, this motel has the crappiest shower I've ever seen text hours ago. The angel isn't a freaking child, he can do what the hell he wants. Dean would probably forget to check his phone too if he was wading around knee deep in something that'd be quite happy to take a chunk out of his man bits.

Still, it makes the hunter wary.

Sam keeps yawning from the table, clicking aimlessly every few moments. There's nothing to research, they'd finished their case earlier and they hadn't found a new one yet to run too, though Sam has been making notes about something for the last few days when he thinks Dean hasn't been looking. The younger Winchester does know about the photo rule, he has one of the Northern Lights from near the top end of Norway as his laptop desktop background, and Dean gets the impression that Sam is also waiting. There's no point going to sleep if he's gonna get woken up in half an hour if the damn Seraph flaps back in the middle of the night. Usually, the return doesn't wake them, but Uzziel going bat shit insane with joy will without fail. Because she's fun like that.

Growling to himself, the older Winchester swallows the rest of his beer and drags his feet through his nightly routine, or as much of one as a hunter can have. It takes up a whole four extra minutes, but there's still nothing when he checks his phone the last time before hitting the sack. If the damn angel is gonna blank him, fuck him; Dean's going to sleep and if the ass comes back in the middle of the night, the hunter will lob things at him till he leaves. Serves him right.

No, it's not childish if the objects thrown are sharp.

Sam watches him slouch his way to the slab of the day like he's thinking things. Dean glowers back, and the stupid calculating look his brother is sporting turns into his sour insulted owl face. God knows why. Moodily glaring back, Sam shuts his laptop, tousles the Scottie on the head, and disappears into the tiny motel bathroom.

Dean smirks into his pillow.

–

Why is it that he can never have a simple stripper dream without being bothered for something? It must be a supernatural thing. Dean Winchester's having a great time in his pitifully few hours of sleep. Let's piss him off and wake him up for something.

At least this time there isn't an angel walking around his head.

It's close to it though.

Dean drags his gritty eyes open what feels like five minutes after closing them. There's someone pounding on the door enthusiastically, beating out the tune of Candy Store that Dean just about vaguely recalls from his time in school, or at least the few times he went. It's so weird that the hunter growls darkly and flips over.

Sam is mumbling something faint and unfriendly under his comforter.

The Winchesters would've been more than content to ignore the damn asshole responsible if Uzziel wasn't going quite so fucking nuts in Dean's ear; yowling puppy screeches down his eardrums like she's aiming for an impression of her owner going vessel-less. Spewing hateful content, Dean throws the comforter off, momentarily muffling the terrier's howls, and stalks up to the door with Ithuriel's angel sword in one hand and his silver loaded 45. In the other.

It's dim outside, dawn just about approaching. The unbearably loud knocking is looping into repeat with no sign of stopping.

Peering through the eye-hole, Dean's not surprised, but thoroughly unhappy, to see an archangel on his damn doorstep.

Seriously, of all the times that Dean's howled at angels to use the door, and now he can't get one to stop.

"What the hell are you doing, Gabriel!" He snaps through the door, unwilling to let him in. As if that crappy sliding chain and rusting dead lock bolt will keep the archangel out.

The hideous children's songs' beat stops abruptly. And why the hell is Gabriel even knocking?

"You've wounded me with your harsh words, Deano." Gabriel sings back through, and Dean nearly stops unbolting the door altogether in favour of smashing his skull against it instead. "But, you're gonna wanna see this. And stop yelling, you're scaring him."

The hunter stops dead in his tracks. "I swear to God, if you hand me another fucking dog I'll freaking skin you with my blunt ass boot buckle!"

Gabriel snorts. "My, my, Deano! You speak to the ladies with that mouth?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean finally pulls the door open, catching Sam grumpily crawling out of his bed in the corner of his eye. "Hey, some of them like it." He snaps. It's too early for something so cheerful to be cackling in their faces. Just because Dean doesn't have anything that can kill an archangel on him, doesn't mean he won't stab the asshole anyway.

"You kinky human creep." The archangel drawls as the door swings open. There's a smug grin on his stupid face, and Dean would be hurling insults if his eyes weren't completely locked onto the bundle of tan in the asshole's arms.

Castiel's coat.

Sam sticks his bitchiest face round the edge of the door frame just as Dean brings the 45. in between the archangel's eyes. "Where is Cas?" The older Winchester snaps, very much wide awake.

His younger brother tenses behind him as the words settle in, and Gabriel shrugs uneasily. "Well, that's the thing..." He moves his arms a little, and there must have been some mojo at work before because there's no way that Dean would have missed it before. But there is small mop of dark curls poking out of the top of that bundle. The weapon goes completely slack in Dean's grip as two huge blue eyes peer back up at him over the edge of the tan fabric.

Gabriel hefts the weight in his arms, balancing the kid, because that's what the hell it is, on his hip. The concealing fabric moves with the action, and he looks far too small, dark brown hair wild and just as untamed as normal, blue eyes piercing, but strangely wary too.

It's Castiel. Dean knows it without needing to be told, he'd know it without the coat, or without Gabriel pissing him off. There's no mistaking those stupidly old blue eyes, no matter how young his vessel's face is around them.

"Holy crap." Sam stutters quietly behind him.

Dean snarls at the archangel. "What the hell did you do to him?!"

The kid flinches sharply, turning his face into his now much older brother's chest, gripping his red shirt tightly in his impossibly small hands. Gabriel's passive amusement turns into a black warning glare in a heartbeat. Dean doesn't need the spiteful look to remember not to do that again.

"I found him like this." The archangel starts impatiently, glancing around the deserted parking lot uneasily and brushing past the two stunned hunters into the room. He waits until Dean closes the door before starting again, this is hardly the safest place for such a small angel to be. "I was happy as Larry on my own personal cloud when some schmucks from some German Autobahn start chattering about some Wunder and an Engel in prayers. Don't get me wrong, we ignore most of them, just kinda tune it all out. Don't give me that bitchy look, Sambo; see how many please let me win a million bucks you get before you start turning them off. I still wasn't gonna do anything, but Grace going haywire isn't something so easy to ignore."

"What do you mean?" Sam adds uneasily, eyeing up the way the kid hasn't moved since Dean's shout by the door. He's a little out of his depth with this one.

Gabriel huffs tiredly, carefully bouncing the kid once to see if he'll look at him. He won't. "You kinda get a feel for a guy's Grace when he's flooding you full of it every other hour to hold you together." He smirks dryly, Dean can't imagine that's a particularly good memory for the archangel. "So, when it goes off like a small Nuke, thousands of miles away from where you've sent it off too? You kinda notice. So, I drag myself from home to see what all the fuss is about. And find this little tyke scared out of his wits in the middle of a highway pile up."

Dean doesn't like the way the kid won't look at him. His brain says Cas, but Dean can't see a scrap of his Seraph in this small frightened child anywhere. "What, that's it?"

The archangel grins lazily. "Easy there, Wile E. Coyote, took a while to get any sense out of anyone. But some driver swears down he saw huge ass star like thing carve out an impressive hole in the local asphalt, just in time to get hit by a semi-truck. By the time everything cooled down again, there was a little kid in a pile of wreckage without a scratch on him."

"Sounds pretty miraculous to me." Sam agrees tiredly, not willing to ask whether or not anybody died in the pile up, he doesn't really want to hear the answer.

"So, what's wrong with him?" Dean butts in angrily, he wants his angel back damnit.

Castiel flinches again. Gabriel glares daggers back.

"Nothing" The archangel growls threateningly. It takes Dean a little by surprise; between the two angels, there's been a few slips over the last months that they've known each other since Castiel was whatever the angel equivalent of young is, but the Winchester wasn't expecting the archangel to act so, well, brotherly.

"Something completely scrambled his Grace. Probably tried to unravel it so completely that he'd just die. Morons probably didn't think that doing something so stupid, to one of the Seraphim for Dad's sake, would probably take out an area the size of Switzerland." Both Winchester's try not to cringe at the notion. "Course, there's nothing on Earth with that much mojo, I doubt even an archangel could swing whatever it was they were trying, it's one thing to destroy Grace, but unmaking it? That's a whole different level of hard. Castiel's Grace fought back, with all the damage it was...disarranged. It...De-aged him essentially." The archangel sighed flatly at Dean's narrowed eyes. "I know there's a lot of complicated words in here, Bucko. But try to keep up, kid's draining me dry and I've got tracks to cover."

"Shut your yap you little..." The Winchester trails off at the murder in Gabriel's eyes and the tightening grip on the archangel's shirt. "Can you fix him?" He growls out instead.

Sneering, the archangel taps the tiny angel on the head gently. "I tried. You may or may not have forgotten, Tweedledee. But this archangel is flying at half-mast. I need to find the thing that did this to him. But I can't bring him with me; I may not have ever been nominated for Brother Of The Year Award, but I'm not dragging him into Demon holes either."

"Oh no! We are not angelic baby sitters! We are not looking after some de-powered little piece of demon bait!" Even Dean's ashamed of the words as they fly out of his mouth. But that's responsibility he doesn't want or need on his shoulders.

He genuinely fears for his life at the way that Gabriel tenses as his little brother sniffles quietly. The lights flicker dangerously. He can feel Sam's ultimate DEAN Bitchface burning into the side of his head.

Gabriel has to look down for half a second before he can scoff rather than kill. "You poor, disillusioned insect. You think dear little Cassie here is powerless?" He barks out a sarcastic laugh, it rattles every single one of Dean's nerves. "Bucko, this fledgling is still more powerful than most of the things you've ever hunted. He's been made into a fledgling, not turned into a child. He still has all of his abilities, he just doesn't really remember how to use them all, he's just about old enough to fly and you can be damn certain he remembers odd things from before too."

Sam frowns in confusion, breaking in to try and cool down Gabriel's clearly fraying patience. "So, why can't you leave him in Heaven?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes in exasperation. "I swear it's like talking to the dead. There is no Heavenly nursery, remember? There are no other fledglings, Raphael killed them all. Cassie here is on his own. And yeah, he's still a walking power house, but his batteries are tiny now. He needs Grace to keep him healthy; he starts throwing around the power shots, he's gonna crash faster than a drunk driver, and it won't be pretty."

Dean's scowl only deepens. He still can't see why this has to be their problem. "So, that answers the why can't he stay in Heaven Question how, exactly?"

The look that floods across the archangel face is one of utter despair that he's surrounded by idiots and is half a word from smashing his head against the nearest solid surface. The motel wouldn't stand a chance. "Jeez...Look you moron. Cassie here kinda split Heaven in two back when Sam took his Swan dive. Sure, we sorted that out and shut Raphie up for now, but there was a whole chunk of the host on his side. Most of Raphie's lackeys are Earth bound in time out. Learning humility from the ground up seemed like the best option at the time. But there are still a few rogues, and none of them would pass up a chance to seek a little revenge. I'm doing my best, guys, but Heaven's not the safe haven you morons seem to think it is. Castiel is as good as dead up top."

Sighing, Dean palms at his aching head. "So you want to stash him down here? What about needing Grace or whatever. We're not exactly lactating the stuff if you haven't noticed."

Gabriel gives the older Winchester a thoroughly disgusted look. "Gross, kid. But sorry to break this to you. But you kinda are... in a way."

The older hunter tenses uneasily. "What?"

Chuckling, Gabriel reaches out his free hand and points at Dean's left shoulder. "The mutt's got some too, but yours is way bigger. What? You think Castiel can brand you like that and not leave a little Grace behind?"

Smirking dryly, the angel tilted his head again. "The animal was starved and half dead; healing animals is usually much easier than healing humans, but this one was so young and deprived that it... clung on to my Grace; much like you did."

The hunter nearly swallowed part of the wrapper he had been tearing off with his teeth. "I, what!?"

When Castiel answers, it's with his Why Are You Acting So Surprised? head tilt. Man, that one always irritates Dean. "When I grabbed you in Hell, it is part of the reason I branded you."

That's what Castiel had said, back in July. He'd always kinda wondered, but it was still jarring to hear. "Great. Now I'm hoarding angel sparkles. Fantastic."

His younger brother hums thoughtfully. "Well, we always kinda of guessed that was why he was less worked up with you and Uzi in the room after Zephon tried to shred his wings to pieces."

Like that makes it any better.

"The point is, Deano. Castiel needs someone to keep an eye out for him till I sort this out. And you happen to fit the bill. Believe me, I'm not thrilled about leaving my baby brother here with you two clueless schmuck buckets."

"Thanks for that brilliant vote of confidence." The older hunter snaps irritatedly. He's going in for another insult when Castiel finally shifts, warily peeking out at them from over the collar of his now far too big trench coat. Those clear blue eyes are wide and nervous, flitting around the room as if torn between curiosity and caution. It takes the two hunters by surprise when he finally speaks, glancing up to his older, amber eyed brother uncertainly; his voice is softer and a little higher than Jimmy's poor ruined adult voice, but the words that leave his mouth are old, harsh sounding syllables. Enochian.

Dean understands nothing of what little he says, and if things weren't already looking to be hard enough with a freakin fledgling Cas, then a damn fledgling Cas that can't speak English is way worse.

Gabriel smiles encouragingly, nodding at whatever his little brother nervously asks and responds in kind. Nodding his head in the Winchester's direction. The fledgling eyes the two hunter's inquisitively. There's a weirdly tense silence, before the young angel tilts his head, squinting up at the older Winchester in such a familiar way that Dean stops breathing. Then he simply asks "Dean?"

A tension the older Winchester didn't even know he was clinging on to floods out of him in one long breath, he smirks at the little angel in relief. "Hey, Cas." He waits a bit, a glimmer of surprise crossing the tyke's face at the nickname, but he seems more confused a moment later as to why he was surprised at all. As if he knew that's what Dean called him but didn't understand why it'd seemed strange. Guess he remembers more than the hunter thought he would. A child version of his angel he could deal with, not whatever angel Castiel had been before they'd ever met.

Something about that makes Dean uneasy and guilty. He forces it down and away somewhere he doesn't have to think about it. "You remember me?" He adds a moment later. The longer he watches, the more he begins to catch the small nuances that make the Seraph up as an adult.

Squinting harder, the angel goes into full soul staring mode. Honestly, Dean's damn well missed it over these last few confusing minutes. "...Sorta." Castiel gives eventually. The slang sounds so weird coming out of him of all people. It's oddly endearing.

Gabriel's grinning like an ingenious plan is coming together perfectly. "Cassie, Darling. Big Bro has to go."

The young Seraph glances back up nervously, grip on his older brother's shirt never faltering. He rattles out something bullet quick in Enochian with such a childish streak of panic in it that Dean feels damn annoyed at the archangel for no freaking reason. Well, more so than usual.

The demand for a translation dies on Dean's tongue when Gabriel actually goes a little white. The older angel's voice is gentle when he answers, but clearly rattled by his baby brother's panic.

Dean wonders if this is what the people who they often get stuck protecting on hunts must feel like whenever he and his brother break into deep supernatural talk without explaining anything.

It's really fucking annoying, if nothing else.

But he's never actually seen the archangel stunned so speechless before and doesn't think it worth the risk to his life to press the issue further.

"Come on, Castiel. Do this for me?" Gabriel breaks back out into language understood by the other lower creatures unfortunate enough to be in the room. Castiel is clearly unhappy about something, and Dean doesn't think it's at being given over like an unwanted present.

The fledgling screws his eyes shut, conflicted, and buries his head against his brother's chest instead. "Fine." He whines out quietly, not sounding at all like it's fine.

Gabriel though grins hugely, ruffling his brother's hair eagerly. "There's my favourite baby bro. Come on, Kiddo, no water works. Honestly, I'd forgotten how clingy you were." He mutters half a moment later, prying the reluctant fledgling from his chest like an unwilling limpet.

For half a terrifying moment, Dean thought the archangel was going to give the child to him. And this even though this is supposedly Cas, he still doesn't quite know what the hell he's supposed to be doing about this. Sam looks ill with the thought of looking after a kid. The younger Winchester never has been all that good with children.

Carefully setting the Seraph down, the fledgling hugs his huge tan coat around his shoulders and against his chest like a life line. Gabriel drops a dark blue duffel next to Sam's laptop on the rickety motel table that he hadn't walked in the room with. Dean can't get over how small the angel is. Gabriel has somehow managed to get the kid into some dark jeans and a black T-shirt, he has no idea where the black suit has gone, but he barely comes up to Dean's hip, little toes curling nervously into the old, faded motel carpet.

Uzziel comes bounding over instantly, leaping around the fledgling's feet like she usually seems to whenever the angel disappears for several days. She howls and licks like she always does, and there's absolutely no doubt that she knows exactly who this little replica actually is. Castiel's eyes go huge as the puppy comes tearing over, clearly bigger than he remembers, if he remembers at all. Then he seems to relax, a small half smile breaking out as she dances around him eagerly, stroking her gingerly when she stands still long enough for it.

Something in Dean thaws. The solid wall that he's been stacking up against letting Gabriel leave this stranger in their midst crumbling to dust in seconds. This was Castiel. He looks ridiculously adorable several feet too short and way too many years too young. But he's here and vulnerable and needs Dean to watch his back, even if he doesn't really remember why.

Why the hell was this even a problem?

Smirking, Dean kneels down to Castiel's height, which will never not be funny, and carefully settles himself down. He is hyper aware of the very cautious staring coming from Gabriel's corner of the room. "So, Cas. You gonna be staying with us a while, huh?"

The fledgling's smile had gone with moment Dean had taken the first move forwards. He cautiously stares at his older brother for a few moments, before watching the hunter warily and nodding. Shy was something Dean had no problem believing that Castiel had ever been as a kid.

"Great." The hunter answers anyway, this isn't his first time riding the child coaxing train. "So, can you tell me what you remember?"

Castiel seems to fight off a scowl, not appreciating the patronising attitude. Which is freaking great. That means there's some of his Cas floating around in those memories, this isn't just some random child.

Dean doesn't grasp the depth to which his overly cheerful attitude that he usually uses with children has offended the angel. Castiel puffs like an insulted peacock, the large coat wrapped around his shoulders and hugged to his chest shifts, familiar black wings flaring out and upwards; the Seraph shoots out his hand to the dumbstruck Winchester's left shoulder and glowers. "I'm 'n angel, you Assbutt, not a child."

"Jesus, Cas!"

Gabriel breaks into a cackle, choking out a vague "Laters." And flaps off.

Asshole. Dean is like ninety nine percent sure he never agreed to this...

A/N: Till next time.