A/N: Nyx Ro, forgive me for not acknowledging you last chapter! I hope this chapter addresses some of your other questions and comments.

I've had most of this chapter and the next already plotted out since before I posted the last one, but while there aren't any real spoilers for the finale... let's just say I've been dying for the time to get it written.

Chapter 4
Then Came You

Henry stared at Cas for a moment, trying and failing to make sense of what the angel had just said. "Are we talking about the same person?"

"That's an interesting philosophical question—"

"That we can get into later. Dean. The hunter you brought to the Campbells to investigate Azazel's plan."

"Yes."

"Is... is my grandson?!" Henry couldn't figure out how that could be—but now that he thought about it, Cas had always been extremely careful not to reveal the names of John's children.

Cas nodded. "I didn't want to influence the choice of names."

"Well, fine, but—but—John's eldest, the one you said came back in time to kill Azazel."

"Yes."

"Is the same hunter you brought to Lawrence."

"Yes."

"And Mary's pregnant with him now, only you say it's too early."

"Yes."

"How can that be?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't know. I don't understand what's going on, what God's doing. And of course his life won't be the same, even if he had been born on schedule—but I know that soul." He paused, then added softly, "For I bore it out of Hell."

Henry slumped back in his seat, mind whirling. "So what does it mean? And... and what do we do?"

Cas sighed and shrugged slightly. "I don't know what it means. As for what to do... I think we're already doing it. All I know is that I want to protect him, give him what he needs to become the righteous man I know he can be." His eyes strayed toward John and Mary's room again, with a look that seemed mingled of fondness and sorrow. "I have no idea what had happened in that distant future, but he deserves far better than the life he would have had."

With a deep, steadying breath, Henry nodded his agreement. "I can go along with that." Then he paused and smiled mischievously as something occurred to him. "After all, isn't spoiling the baby a grandfather's prerogative?"

And Cas actually smiled.

By mutual agreement, Cas and Henry didn't let on that they knew Mary was pregnant when the kids came to breakfast the next morning, or any morning for the next few weeks until the morning sickness hit Mary with a vengeance and she decided to tell Henry and John at the same time. John was both overjoyed and overwhelmed, but Henry laughed and gave Mary a hug. And Cas took the announcement as permission to give in to his instinct to hover, which amused both Mary and John.

Cas had reason to hover, though, and they all knew it. Finding a doctor whom Mary could visit for her prenatal checkups without giving away their location was going to be a challenge, to say nothing of a suitable hospital. John quickly learned that there were no doctors in Lebanon, which annoyed Mary but relieved Henry and Cas. Between the four of them, they finally decided on a clinic in Salina; Mary knew of a hunter there who would be willing for her to use his address on her paperwork. But Cas insisted on being the one to take her to and from every appointment, considering that it was a two-hour drive even if there were no need for evasive maneuvers to ensure that the Impala wasn't followed. He and John went toe to toe over it a couple of times, but John always backed down in the end.

Apart from that, though, the pregnancy went like clockwork. Henry was never sure how much of that was thanks to Cas, but regardless, January 24, 1975, found the family at the hospital in Salina, welcoming little Dean Miles into the world. Mary looked tired but radiant when the men were finally let in to see her after the delivery, and Dean was healthy and strong in every way. John practically glowed when the nurse placed Dean in his arms. Henry got to hold him next, and Dean got a hand out of his swaddling to wrap around Henry's finger, which promptly wrapped Henry around Dean's.

Then Mary said, "Would you like to hold him, Cas?"

Looking both pleased and nervous, Cas nodded. "I would."

Henry brought Dean to Cas, who took him as gingerly and reverently as if he were the Holy Grail. Angel and child looked deep into each other's eyes, and Henry watched as the grave ancient warrior's face softened in love too deep for more than the smallest of smiles.

"Hello, Dean," Cas whispered.

"Mmmm," Dean replied.

And if Henry squinted, he could almost make out the edges of Cas' wings wrapped forward protectively around his grandson.

Life with Dean brought a host of new challenges. Henry was prepared for some of them, of course; it hadn't been all that long ago that he'd gone through the fussy nights and dirty diapers and teething troubles with John. And John seemed to realize it, which meant that more of Henry's evenings were spent having long conversations with John about fatherhood. They and Cas all took turns spelling Mary on overnight diaper duty, which meant that she got more rest than many new mothers—but they were all relieved when Dean was finally old enough to sleep through the night.

Once Dean started walking, though, the adults quickly realized that the bunker was not designed to be child-proof. And keeping up with the boy could be a full-time job. Being physically in his mid-forties, Henry was in better shape than many grandfathers he knew, but some days Dean seemed to be capable of wearing out even Cas. Closing and even locking doors wouldn't necessarily keep Dean out of harm's way for long. So in the fall of '76, John finally located a locking spell that would ward a door against entry by anyone but specific people, and he and Henry used it on the most dangerous rooms for a child while Cas took Mary and Dean to Salina for a checkup. The warding wouldn't deliver more than a minor shock to anyone else, and it would be easy enough to remove once Dean was old enough to be allowed in those rooms.

Naturally, it was only a day or two later that Henry realized that Dean was being too quiet, went looking for him, and came down a hall just as Dean reached for one of the warded doorknobs. Henry hung back to wait for the shock, which came, and the tears, which... didn't. Rather, Dean shook his hand and tried again. After the second shock, he frowned and tried again. His eyes narrowed as he studied the knob for a moment.

Then he toddled into an open room nearby, dragged out a chair, climbed up on it, and began systematically testing whether the knob would zap him from every angle or just one.

The boy's a born scientist, Henry thought, amused, and leaned against the wall to keep an eye on him.

Up, down, left, right, fast, slow, direct approach, sneak attack, Dean tried everything he could think of, but he couldn't outsmart that doorknob. Finally, with a frustrated huff, he sat down on the chair and gave the door a long, searching look, seeking some other way beyond it. Impossible was clearly not going to be a concept Dean would accept readily when he wanted something! Before Henry had cause to intervene, however, Dean's stomach grumbled loudly enough for Henry to hear from several feet away.

Taking that as his cue, Henry pushed off the wall and started toward his grandson. "Hey, buddy," he called. "Whatcha doing?"

Dean didn't have much of a vocabulary yet, but that didn't stop him from telling Henry all about his frustration with this stupid door.

"I see," Henry replied solemnly. "Sounds like hard work. You hungry?"

Dean brightened at that. "PEESE!"

"Okay. Let's go get you something to eat."

Dean held out his arms to be picked up, and Henry happily obliged. And he tried not to let on that he heard Cas put the chair back where it belonged when Dean wasn't looking.

Not long after that, however, the combination of the bunker's many risks and Mary's justified concern about getting Dean enough fresh air and sunshine prompted Cas to begin offering to take Dean outside to play every few days. Mary gratefully accepted, and knowing that Dean would be perfectly safe in the angel's care, none of the adults thought to ask where Cas was taking Dean to play. Dean always came back tired but happy, healthy, and a little more pink or freckled than he'd been when he left, and that was all that really mattered.

Then one Saturday morning Henry decided he needed some fresh air, too, and offered to go along with Cas and Dean. Dean cheered.

Cas smiled and picked Dean up. "What would you like to see today, Dean?"

"PANDAS!" Dean cried.

Cas chuckled and touched Henry's forehead—

—and suddenly they were in a bamboo forest, where a mother panda and her two cubs were just coming into a clearing. The animals froze until Cas set down a squirming Dean. Then the cubs squeaked in happy recognition and bounded over to bowl Dean over, and Dean laughed as if reunited with old friends.

"Pandas," Henry said bemusedly.

Cas looked sheepish. "These are docile."

"You two come here often?"

"Well... sometimes. We've been to Australia to see koalas and Kenya to see giraffes, but the panda cubs are easier to play with. Maybe next year he'll be old enough for elephants."

The mother panda looked amused.

"You don't think John and Mary will mind, do you?"

Henry shook his head and laughed. "Not if we don't tell them."

Cas brightened a little.

"But sooner or later he'll have to learn to play with his own species."

"I think I can manage that."

The cubs finally let Dean up, and no sooner had he caught his breath than he began chasing them around the clearing. The mother panda let out a noise that was probably a laugh.

Henry laughed again, too, then looked at Cas more closely. "We are in China, aren't we?"

Cas nodded.

"That gives me an idea for when he's a little older..."

So it was that, beginning the following summer, once or twice a week as long as Dean had been behaving himself, Cas and Henry would take him traveling. Sometimes it was a play date—in Uganda, in Tehran, in Tokyo. But sometimes it was a museum tour. They visited the Forbidden City, the Taj Mahal, Red Square, the Great Pyramids, and more. Sometimes Cas located a castle whose owner had no objection to letting Dean run Henry ragged playing pretend all over the grounds. Sometimes they went to one of the great cathedrals so Dean could learn to be quiet and reverent.

And Dean soaked in every bit of it like a sponge. It was impossible to tell how much he'd remember as he grew older, of course, but he was such a bright child, such a fast learner, that Henry knew he wouldn't be surprised if more of it stuck than one might expect with a child so young.

The truth did eventually come out to John and Mary, once Dean had the vocabulary to tell them all about his day as soon as he got home. They were both too good at putting puzzle pieces together to assume for very long that Dean's stories were entirely the product of his imagination. But all John said with a sigh was, "I wish you'd told me."

And Mary, running her fingers through Dean's hair, asked, "We're going to have to homeschool when this is over, aren't we?"

"Probably," Henry admitted. "But we might have to anyway, and not just because of what he already knows of the supernatural. He's a bright boy; I don't know if his peers would be able to keep up with him."

"He'll still need a social life."

"There's always Little League."

Dean's eyes lit up at that.

John noticed. "Think you'd like that, Sport?"

Dean nodded emphatically.

"What do you think you'd play?"

"BASEBALL!"

The adults laughed, and it was John's turn to ruffle Dean's hair.

The chance to join a local sports team was still years in the future, however. And the present still had hazards enough—some of which even Castiel failed to perceive.

By the time Dean was three years old, John had had his fill of only learning lore and basic skills. The knowledge was useless, he argued, if one never did anything with it. He knew Mary's thoughts on hunting and agreed that at least she and Dean ought to stay out of the life as much as possible, but he could no longer bear to sit idle, knowing the truth but not acting on it to save lives. Finally, Mary got him to agree to the compromise of going through the Men of Letters' unsolved case files to see which ones could be acted upon safely under their current restrictions.

One of the first cases to attract John's interest was the disappearance of Dorothy Baum. He and Mary had just reread the Wizard of Oz series to see if Dean might be old enough for it yet, so it took very little time for him to piece together the clues in both the books and James Haggerty's notes, locate the poppy extract Haggerty had bartered from a fairy, and conclude that the most effective means of delivery would be as a coating on bullets. Castiel watched with interest as Mary helped John prepare the bullets and load them into his gun.

"Now all we gotta do is find the witch," John stated, sliding the gun back into his waistband.

And suddenly, Castiel alone heard Dean say, "Uh-ohhhhh..."

"Dean's in danger," he reported. "Room 28." And before John or Mary could react, Castiel flew to the lab that none of the adults had thought was a hazard.

Dean sat on the lab floor, toy truck in hand, staring up at a glass bottle on a set of metal shelves. The bottle lay on its side—Castiel quickly realized that Dean had accidentally bumped the shelves hard enough to knock the bottle over—and its greyish-blue contents flashed and pulsed and sloshed against the stopper. Before Castiel understood that the liquid was moving under its own power, it forced the stopper out and began pouring down the wall.

"Uh-ohhhhh," Dean repeated more worriedly.

Castiel pushed aside the computer that stood in his way, then scooped Dean up off the floor. The little time that took was enough for the liquid to have formed itself into a thick black webbing, and before Castiel could take more than two steps backward, a piercing green light slashed through the web to let a haggard old woman escape... none other than the Wicked Witch of the West of Oz.

Dean gasped and clung to Castiel. His arms too full to manage both Dean and his sword, Castiel drew his wings forward as a shield. Yet he was torn—did he dare take his eyes off the witch long enough to get Dean to safety and risk her escape, or did he try to deal with the witch himself and risk Dean remaining in harm's way?

For once, however, his hesitation did not prove fatal. He was still edging toward the door while trying to make up his mind when he heard two shots fired from the doorway. The witch fell with a horrible scream and dissolved into smoke, leaving behind only the filthy rags she had worn. Dean buried his face in Castiel's shoulder, crying and shaking.

And Castiel turned to John, who lowered his smoking gun and hurried to check on his son. "What happened?" John demanded. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Castiel reported. "Frightened, but unharmed."

"Daddy," Dean wailed.

John set his gun on the computer and took Dean from Castiel. "Hey. It's okay, buddy. She's not gonna hurt you."

"I didn't mean to—I knocked it over—"

"Shh. It's all right, Sport. We didn't know there was anything bad in here. We're sorry."

Mary was right behind John and joined him in rubbing Dean's back. "It was an accident, Deanie. We're just glad you didn't get hurt."

Henry came in then and, after pausing to rub Dean's shoulder, went to examine the witch's remains and the webbing on the wall. He touched the unopened side of the web gingerly, then drew his pocketknife to cut a small opening... and jumped back as a human hand fell into view. "There's someone else in there!"

Mary grabbed John's gun, and John pushed Dean back into Castiel's arms before Castiel could object. Castiel backed into the hallway but watched as Mary kept the gun trained on the webbing while John and Henry carefully enlarged the opening. Then Mary gasped and lowered the gun as a young woman tumbled out, unconscious, into John's arms.

"Dorothy," John realized.

"We need to get her to the infirmary," Henry said.

And with that, the adults bustled past, carrying Dorothy between them and leaving Castiel with a still-sobbing Dean.

Sighing, Castiel rested his cheek on the top of Dean's head and carried him slowly down to the library. Somehow it felt kinder to walk than to fly in this case. "It's all right, Dean," he said softly. "The danger's past. Fear not."

Dean gave a sniffly hiccup. "Cas..."

"Shh. I've got you."

"Want Mommy."

"Your mommy's busy right now, but she'll be back in a little while."

"'M scared."

"I know. But the witch is dead. Your daddy killed her. She won't hurt you or anyone else ever again."

Dean's breath hitched a couple of times. "Y'promise?"

"I promise." And Castiel drew his wings forward again, knowing that Dean, as a vessel, could sense their nearness.

Dean's sobs quieted, but he clung to Castiel all the tighter, and he was still sniffling past a few silent tears when they reached the library and sat down in a reading chair. And Castiel, for lack of a better idea, simply held the boy, giving what comfort he was able.

About ten minutes later, Mary finally rushed into the library. "I'm sorry, Cas. We shouldn't have pushed Dean off on you like that. Guess we were so worried about Dorothy, we forgot."

Castiel smiled gently. "I understand."

Dean stirred and looked up at her. "Mommy?"

Mary knelt beside the chair and put a hand on Dean's back. "Hi, honey."

Dean finally let go of Castiel's neck and reached for Mary.

She took him and stood. "How's my boy? You all right?"

He nodded against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry this happened, Deanie. We really didn't know there was anything bad in that room."

He sniffled. "'Sokay, Mommy."

She kissed his ear and swayed a little as she held him, radiating love in a way only a mother could, and Castiel felt yet another pang of guilt that his garrison could ever have let Azazel sever this bond—all the sharper now that he knew it hadn't been Father's will at all.

After a moment, though, Mary said, "Miss Dorothy wants to meet you."

Dean's silence spoke for itself.

"Can you come say hello like a big boy?"

"'Kay," Dean replied, but it was barely audible.

"Cas can come with us."

"'Kay."

Castiel nodded to Mary and followed her and Dean into the infirmary. Dorothy was awake, though groggy and confused, and John was in the process of explaining how he'd managed to kill the witch so quickly. Dean half-turned his head to see what was going on.

"'Scuse me, John," said Mary. "Dorothy, this is our son Dean."

Dorothy sat forward a little. "Hi, Dean."

Dean leaned his head forward on Mary's shoulder but waved a little.

"How old are you?"

Dean held up three fingers.

"Three. Wow. Pretty soon, you'll be all grown up."

Dean ducked his head a little more.

"Say, I hear I owe you a thank you."

Dean frowned a little and turned his head to look at her better.

Dorothy nodded toward John. "Your father says you knocked over that bottle in the lab."

"It was a accident," Dean replied quietly.

"Yeah, but you see, I'd been stuck in that bottle with the Wicked Witch for a long time—since your granddaddy was still a little boy."

Dean's eyes widened.

"If you hadn't found me, I might have been stuck in there a whole lot longer. Who knows?"

Dean's eyes widened further. "Really?"

"Really. You and your dad saved my life. You're a hero."

Dean gasped. "Like Batman?"

After a brief frown of confusion, Dorothy decided to humor him and smiled. "Sure, kid. Like Batman."

Dean looked at Mary, who smiled and put him down. He immediately toddled over to Dorothy's bedside. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Dorothy's smile turned genuinely fond as she put a hand on his head. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

"The witch didn't hurt you?"

"Nah."

He put both hands on the edge of the bed but couldn't quite pull himself up onto it, so John gave him a boost. Once he was settled, Dean threw his arms around Dorothy's neck and gave her a kiss for good measure. She chuckled and hugged him back.

"'M glad you're okay, Dorfy."

"Me, too, kid. Me, too."

After Dean finally went to bed that night, John, Mary, and Henry had a long talk about finding better ways to ensure Dean's safety. As for Dorothy, however, by the time she had fully recovered and returned to Oz, she was firmly ensconced as Dean's "Aunt Dorfy" and promised to return to visit as soon as her work in Oz was finished.

The encounter with Dorothy brought to the fore a tendency Henry thought he had spotted in Dean a few times before, though not quite so strongly: a drive to protect and serve. He'd long seemed to delight in feeding his panda friends, for example, and often stood up to bullies when he played with other children. But once he'd understood that Dorothy had been in danger from the witch, too, his own fears had appeared to take a back seat to wanting to know she was well. He'd asked her several times a day if she was okay, tried to give her food from his own plate at meals, and tagged along with her as if he were keeping an eye on her and not the other way around. Dorothy had seemed unsure whether to find it annoying or endearing until Mary took her aside one day; Henry didn't know what they'd discussed, but after that, Dorothy had happily taken Dean under her wing.

So it probably shouldn't have surprised Henry as much as it did to walk into the kitchen one morning a few months later to find a chair pushed up to the stove and Dean struggling with a soup pot.

"Hey, Sport," Henry said.

"Hi!" Dean chirped, intent on his errand.

"What's up?"

"Mommy doesn't feel good. I'monna make her some soup."

"Oh. Here, why don't I—" Henry started to reach for the pot.

But Dean shied away. "NO! I'll do it, Grandpa!"

"Okay," Henry allowed, "but can I help?"

Dean set the pot on the chair and considered. "Okay."

Henry set the pot on the stove and Dean on the chair. "All right, what do we need?"

Dean rattled off ingredients, none of which sounded outlandish, and Henry went and fetched them. Together, grandfather and grandson carefully measured water, rice, salt, and a couple of other spices, and Henry opened cans of tomato sauce while Dean stirred the pot with an air of great concentration. Finally, everything was blended to Dean's satisfaction and hot through, and Henry took a taste to discover that it was... the exact same soup Mary had made the few times Dean had gotten sick.

"Is it good, Grandpa?" Dean asked.

Henry nodded. "Just like your mom makes."

Dean beamed.

The dishes were up out of Dean's reach, so Henry had to be the one to get a bowl and ladle to serve up a helping—generous, but not so generous it would spill en route. While he was doing that, Dean located a bed tray in one of the lower cabinets as well as some soda crackers in the pantry. Once everything was arranged, Henry carried the tray while Dean ran ahead to get the door to John and Mary's room. John had gone to the store with Cas, so Mary was alone, propped up in bed and looking fairly peaked.

"Hi," she said, smiling weakly down at Dean.

"I made you some soup, Mommy," Dean announced. "Grandpa helped."

Mary smiled but looked up at Henry skeptically.

Henry nodded and set the tray over her lap. "Tomato-rice soup. Just what the doctor ordered."

Mary raised an eyebrow, picked up the spoon, and took a taste. "Mm!" she exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, Deanie, this is just right!"

Dean glowed. "I got you some crackers, too."

"You did. Thank you, sweetheart."

Dean ran around to the other side of the bed and clambered up to sit beside Mary and chatter at her while she ate. After exchanging one last smile with Mary, Henry headed back to the kitchen to put away the leftovers. Dean had followed Mary's recipe so exactly that there was still a good amount of soup left, but it looked like Mary might need it all. She hadn't been this sick since...

... since...

Henry froze in mid-stride as the pieces came together with a snap. Mary was pregnant again.

And this time, Cas hadn't breathed a word.