Dean realized there was definitely something up when he heard the lock on the back door being picked almost soundlessly and there was the faintest sound of footsteps quietly sneaking through the kitchen before breaking into a sprint up the stairs. And by something being up he really meant something wrong. And that meant there was something wrong with Cas.

Not Cas as in Castiel, heavenly angel of the lord I-raised-you-from-perdition-and-saved-your-ass-fro m-burning-in-hell Cas but Cas as in Cassidy, or as she only let him and her Uncle Sammy call her, Cassie.

He wondered who she had picked that up from.

Don't ask him how it happened; he really needed to sue the condom manufacturers, but he ended up with a kid. A kid who was now a hormonal fifteen year old girl and he would seriously rather deal with heaven's army of assholes than angsty teenagers any day. He huffed a sigh, neglecting his coffee and making for the stairs as Sam shot him a confused look but shut his precious laptop and left it lying on the table with the guns and salt.

She was curled up at the headrest on her batman printed sheets, knees tucked up under her chin with puffy red rimmed eyes and a suspicious looking bruise in the unmistakable shape of a fist on her cheek.

Someone had hit her. Someone big or at least bigger than her. That wasn't hard of course, Cassie was tiny even if her only living relatives were six foot plus she was just pushing five. Dean always thought she was the double of his mom, all blonde hair and compressed fire. He was angry now, imagining someone laying into his kid, even though logically she could return the damage that any regular high schooler could do tenfold.

He nudged Sam in the chest and tilted his head, 'stay back' were the unsaid words and his giant of a little brother leant against the door frame and watched on with concerned eyes.

"Hey Cas," he said kneeling next to her bed. God those words had been said so many times in the past, to that feathery asshole in a trench coat in endless shitty motel rooms and in the impala who he hadn't heard from in years. Never in a proper house, unless you count the odd times in the bat cave. Maybe he'd be proud of his human charge, after all these years he had an actual home and a family.

Cassie snuffled and buried her fair head deeper into her forearm and she let out a half sob when she felt her dad put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"C'mon kid, work with me here," another hitching sob, "I saw the bruise on your face." She roughly shrugged his hand of her shoulder and scuttled backwards. He glanced at Sam who was looking pissed and heartbroken all at once at seeing his niece in such a state but he mouthed 'more tact dude.' "I could get Lisa on the phone if it's chick stuff?" Sammy face palmed in the corner.

Blonde hair flopping in her face as she scrubbed away the tear tracks with the sleeve of her jumper as she met his eyes with a kind of proud reluctance, no question she was a Winchester but she looked like her own mom who had been little and he remembered the last time he had seen Beth, lying ill and pale on the hospital bed as she held his hand and stroked away his tears when he cried. "There was a guy…"

Obviously there was a guy. He had been a guy in high school too and knew exactly what the slimy fuckers were like, hell he was one of them! Cas had been quieter lately and always on her phone so yeah, he'd had a sneaking theory but hearing it out loud made it so much worse.

Cue Sammy, "Did he do anything Cassie? You know you can tell us, we won't be mad sweetheart." Huh, he was actually pretty good at this stuff.

"He said he really liked me," she started, her green eyes filling with fresh tears, "I caught him with Karen the other day so I'd been avoiding him but today he-he-" she stuttered and pressed her eyes into her palms and took a few heaving breaths while Sam and him exchanged worrying glances and seriously, he had his gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans and the shotgun was down the stairs, all he needed to know was where the son of a bitch lived so he could make him pay for hurting his little girl. "He tried to get into my pants," she said bluntly and yep, he was tightening his grip on his gun and did Sam still really carry around that demon blade? "I said no so he hit me and pinned me to the wall."

"He did what?" Dean roared and he hadn't felt this much rage in a long, long time. Was going to take his sweet time killing this bastard that dared interfere with a Winchester, the rapist had definitely picked the wrong girl this time and he was going to pay, all that time with Alistair downstairs wasn't something easily forgotten and fuck, he was ranting but Sam was just staring at Cassie with that puppy dog expression and he finally noticed to. The bruise on her cheek, the blood on her lip that trickled down to her chin, finger-shaped marks on her pale throat and more importantly, her grazed and bloody knuckles that look like she's just-

Oh.

And now his daughter has that ridiculously smug look on her face now that the tears are gone. "Not an issue, he's nursing his injured pride as well as a busted nose."

"Cassie," he says warningly, because it wouldn't be enough for her, if a boy had gotten that close to screwing her over she would be seriously pissed. Besides, she's been taught self-defence for years and ever since she got a hold of Garth's rifle when she was a toddler she could hit a bullseye at fifty paces.

"Daddy," Cas replies, her tone condescending, "Okay so I broke his wrist but it was on my throat and he was touching me." She didn't meet their eyes, staring at her hands which were fiddling and playing with the hem of her jeans.

"Cassidy Bethany Winchester, what did you do?" he manages to get out, sounding serious but lacking venom because seriously, how could he not be proud of his kid who totally owned a scumbag's ass, it was either that or the anger that he couldn't seem to get rid of and so what if he wanted to lock Cas up in the house so she would never have to see another boy ever again. He would never say that though, Cas was lethal all by herself and if he suggested that it might be him with a bloody nose and broken wrist.

"He might have trouble ever having children," she smiled sheepishly.