Dean had started to wonder if the McCall house residence were waiting for them by the time he and Cas reached the door. His suspicions were confirmed when the door it before they even knocked, revealing a thin Latina women with full dark curls gathered around her shoulders, dressed in a nurses outfit. Dean assumed that this woman was Mrs. McCall. "Dean and Castiel Winchester?" She asked, eyeing the two cautiously.

"That would be us," Dean answered stiffly, suddenly very nervous. He didn't know why, but something about the woman told him he didn't want to get on the wrong side of her. From all his years of experience, he decided to go with his gut on this one.

"Sorry, for my husband's manners," Cas said, shooting Dean a quick chastising look and stretching out a hand. "I'm Castiel, and this idiot is Dean. Are you Mrs. McCall?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at Dean, somewhat amused, before turning her gaze back to Cas; shaking his hand. "Please, Melissa," she said. "And Stiles is just inside with the other two."

"May we come in?" Dean asked.

She sized them up for a moment before nodding "Sure," she said, stepping to the side. She held the door open wide for them and the two made their way across the threshold. "Sorry in advance about the mess," she offered, kicking a few shoes and jackets out of the way of the door before closing the it behind them. "Being outnumbered three to one isn't exactly great odds for a single parent." Even Cas chuckled at that. She then led them into the entrance hall where they proceeded to take off their coats and putting them where she directed them to. "My son, Scott, is friends with Stiles," she explained when they'd finished. "He's been staying here since his father passed," she explained, her tone solemn. Dean nodded in understanding, with Cas following suit just after.

"Yes, our case worker told us," Cas supplied, gravelly voice matching Melissa's tone. "We're terribly sorry about the incident."

"It's okay," she said stiffly, crossing her arms, feeling awkward from the condolence. Then, "I'm glad you two are willing to take Stiles in, though. It's not an easy decision to make, at any rate."

Dean nodded in grim understanding. No first time foster couple in their right mind would want a traumatized moody teen. It was just too much work.

The small huddle of adults lapsed into an uncomfortable silence after that, unable to say anything else. Melissa however ended that quickly and saved everyone by asking, "So, do you want to meet him now? He's just upstairs, probably listening in on our conversation."

A muffled 'come on,' followed her sentence, proving her right. She just gave a weak smile and shook her head, clearly used to this behavior. Then, turning back into the house, she called out, "Scott, Isaac, Stiles, the Winchesters are here!"

Dean watched the stairwell as three teenagers made their way down the stairs. The first had olive skin and dark hair just like Mrs. McCall, with dark puppy dog eyes that reminded him far too much of Sam and a jaw that seemed to be crooked. The one behind him was shorter and thinner, with brown hair that seemed to stick up in every direction. He had pale skin and moles all over. He must not have been getting much sleep, judging by the dark circles around his eyes. The last teen was taller than either of the two and had a jaw line that could cut someone, and honey colored curls atop his head.

Dean knew immediately that Stiles was the one in the middle, with the pale skin and crazy hair. He had seen his headshot, but that had been of a boy with much more life and color. Now, his face seemed almost ashen and his cheeks were sallow. Dean recognized the look of grief from having spent so many years seeing it in mirrors himself. Not that Dean could blame him though.

"Stiles," Mrs. McCall said, turning to face the teen in the middle. Then, with a kind, motherly voice, said, "Come on down." She gave a small wave with her hand, gesturing for him to follow suit. Stiles seemed to have an internal debate before doing so. His lips twisted and thinned and his brow twitched into a frown. It seemed to Dean that he was scrutinizing them, but if he was it as very subtle. After a few moments of pause, Stiles skirted past the tan boy (Scott, was it?) and stepped up to them.

"How do you want to do this, Stiles?" Mrs. McCall asked him. Dean watched as Stiles' eyes flickered back and forth between him and Cas. Yep. Definitely scrutinizing.

"Can I talk to them alone first?" He asked. His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't been using it much, or possibly too much. Either possibility was quite likely.

Melissa considered him for a moment, but eventually nodded, her curls bouncing from the slight motion. "Do you want us to go upstairs, or would you rather us stay down here?" She asked.

Stiles chewed on his lip in thought before answering. "Um, can we talk in my, er- Scott's room please?"

Melissa cast them a quick glance to see if they were okay with that. Dean and Cas both gave short, subtle nods to let her know it was fine with them. Turning back to the boy, she said, "Sure, we'll be down here if you need anything." With that, she gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze and led the other two boys of the hall and into another room, letting the three remaining people follow the youngest up the stairs.

The room they stopped in was what Dean had imagined a typical teenage boy's room to look like. There was clothing strewn across the floor and over chairs, piles of knick-knacks such as old action figures and framed photos sat on any available surface, and books stacked carelessly on shelves and nightstands. One book that caught Dean's eye was titles JAPANIES FOLKLORE. It looked as though it had been well loved in its time. Huh. Kid probably had a thing for mythology. Dean could get behind that.

Dean and Cas watched as Stiles moved a backpack off a chair and sat down in it, motioning for them to sit on the bed. The two complied.

It was silent in the room before anyone decided to speak. In that time, Stiles started to size the two up. The taller, sandy haired, more macho one was wearing a flannel shirt and a green army coat paired with an old pair of jeans and boots. Probably did a lot of manual work, like carpentry or something. Some career that required sturdy, relatively cheap clothes. The other, darker haired one was wearing more professional clothing. An informal suit paired with a trench coat and tie. Probably did office work, but not something that had great pay, judging by the quality of his clothes. The one thing he could see from the both of them though was an air that suggested they had seen more in their lives than anyone had any right to. Stiles sighed internally. Well, at least they had something in common then.

"So, you wanna take me in, I guess?" Stiles started, voice flat but hands wringing together nervously.

"Yes, we do," Cas said, his voice strong and sure. "Are there any concerns you have about that?"

Ignoring the bluntness of the question, Stiles merely shrugged, hands flailing around as if trying to find something for them to do or something to say. Eventually he settled on scratching the back of his neck before going back to wringing them in his lap.

"It's just, I don't know you guys, like at all. And this is so sudden, and I know how the system's flawed, so if you're thinking of just fostering me for the money the state'll give you, I suggest you stop right now 'cause that's not gonna work out for either of us," he stated matter-of-factly. He probably could have said it another way, hell, any other way, that would have made it sound more sympathetic. Or at least kind. But at the moment, he didn't want to deal with bullshit like manners.

The looks the two men gave him told him he was right. Dean stiffened a little where he sat, his face growing hard, while the other one, Castiel, seemed to squint in confusion.

"Look," Dean started, jaw clenched. "I know how bad the system can be," he said. "Believe me, I know. But I promise you, that is not our intention at all, you understand?"

The way he said it made it sound like he was trying to keep his emotions in check so he wouldn't shout or something. It was very tense, but very honest. Well, that's what his gut feeling was telling him. And if there was anything Stiles had learned, it was to ALWAYS trust his gut feeling. "Have you been in the system?" He asked a small voice.

Dean took a moment before answering. "Sort of," he said, looking away. Stiles watched as Castiel put a hand on his knee as a show of comfort. "My dad wasn't the best, and sometimes CPS would catch up with him. It never lasted, but I saw enough of it to understand how it works."

Stiles immediately felt a twinge in his chest for the man. He had just met the guy ten minutes ago, but he already felt bad for him. "I'm sorry," he said, truthfully too, but unable to offer anything else.

Dean just shook his head, trying to crack a wry smile. "It's okay, he did what he could." Then, looking back at Stiles, "I don't hate him. I just wish I could have told him so before he died."

Death. Oh yeah. That was something Stiles was very familiar with. Castiel seemed to notice the growing tension in the room after Dean finished because he quickly jumped onto asking a question, distracting Stiles from thinking about his losses some more.

"So Stiles," he started. "How long have you known Scott for?" He had noticed how the teens were practically joined at the hip and how the other boy seemed very protective of him, while Isaac hadn't seemed to care less.

Stiles welcomed the distraction, and jumped into the explanation. "We met in the sandbox when we were four. We've been best friends since." A pause. "More like brothers, really. We always have each other's backs. We used to have sleepovers at our houses when we were kids, building pillow forts and doing other stupid things like that. Sometimes, we would convince one of our parents to buy us some raw cookie dough to bake at the others' house that night, but instead we would just eat it raw while watching some cheesy horror flick." Stiles smiled at the memory of the two of them curled up in a blanket on the couch, lights off and hands covered in greasy dough. Those had been good times.

"Wow, you were a wild child," Dean snickered.

Stiles let himself smile at that, but it faded quickly. The thoughts of those times were quickly making him depressed, and he wanted to change the topic as soon as possible.

"So what about you two?" He asked, turning the focus to them. "I mean, like; how did you meet, how long have you been together, why on earth would you want to foster a teenager instead of a cute, chubby little kid like most people?"

All fair questions, but all too fast for the men to catch. Curse his ADHD.

Castiel looked like a cross between a deer in the headlights and a scientist who had just been told to evaluate the complete genetic code of an octopus. "Uh, I can answer the first one," Dean offered, expression not nearly as complex or thrown as his husbands. Stiles motioned with his hand for him to continue.

"You could say that, well," he struggled to find the right words. "Cas here," he grabbed his shoulder, breaking the other man out of his reverie. With a look of pride, he continued. "He came swooping into my life and got me back on my feet."

"I pulled him out of Hell," the other man deadpanned.

Well, okay, if you wanted to put it that way.

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a huge, defeated sigh, dropping his hand back to his knee. Castiel, or rather Cas, didn't seemed put out in the least by his (rather odd) choice of words. "I was going through a pretty bad spot, and Cas here pulled me out of it," Dean explained in exasperation. It seemed to be a sentence he had to say often, making Stiles wonder just what kind of a person Cas was to always say that when people asked. His guess was autistic. That didn't explain the Hell thing though.

"And how long ago was that?" Stiles asked, still staring at Cas in confusion, tying to work the guy out.

"Almost ten years ago, I think," Dean said with a frown. Cas just nodded, not really confirming or denying it.

"So when did you guys get together?"

"Two or so years ago," Cas answered. "Dean's brother forced us to go on a date and we've been together as romantic partners since then." Stiles chose to ignore the odd choice of words, instead choosing to note Dean's awesome wingman brother.

He heard a snort from Dean and looked over to see the man shaking his head, a smile splitting across his face. "Yeah, I think Sam knew we were pining after each other before we did," he laughed.

"I've always known I've loved you, Dean," Castiel said plainly, frowning at his husband. Dean stopped laughing and made a small 'oh' with his mouth, eyes looking down and away from him. Stiles couldn't help but smile at the exchange.

Stiles must have made a noise or something, because soon after that, the couple broke their eye sex competition and turned back to him, as if just remembering he was there.

"Oh, what about you, Stiles? What are some things you like to do? What's your favorite food, music, other things people ask as an icebreaker…" Dean trailed off, looking expectantly up at Stiles.

Um…

"I mean, I don't really do much," he shrugged, not really sure what to say. He hadn't done ice breakers since the ninth grade. "I really like curly fries, I guess? Um, Fall Out Boy's pretty good, so is Nirvana…" He pursed and twisted his lips in thought, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make him sound like the complete whacko he really was. That really limited the field.

"I like lacrosse," he finally offered. A quick look at their faces told him they had no idea what that was. "It's like a… it's a sport," he tried to clarify, voice smaller from the awkward tension.

And great, awkward silence once again. His favorite. Not.

Stiles drummed his fingers nervously along his knees. Nobody was speaking. Maybe he should say something. But what? He couldn't think of anything off the top of his head. Maybe he could bring up the topic of the supernatural, just to see how they'd take it. But not like a conspiracy theorist, just chill, casual mythology conversation. Could he even do that? Most of his conversations felt casual when they were about the supernatural, but he was also friends with a banshee, a few werewolves, a kitsune, and an ex-werewolf hunter. Yeah, best to ditch the idea. He was never good with casual anyway.

Before he could try to think of another lame icebreaker, there was a knock on the door. Stile and the Winchesters looked up as Scott cracked open the door and stuck his head inside.

"Uh, hey," he said, glancing around at them. Stiles raised a questioning eyebrow, confused as to why Scott was intruding. "My mom wanted to know if you guys wanted something to drink, like water or coffee…" He trailed off, glancing back and forth between the two. Dean turned to Castiel and shrugged, showing his indifference to any decision the other made.

Castiel seemed to ponder it for a second before replying. "Yes, coffee would be wonderful. Thank you."

Scott nodded, glancing quickly at Stiles to try and see what the boy was thinking. He seemed to reach some conclusion before looking back at the couple. "Actually, my mom kind of wants to talk to you guys too, parent to parent thing, I guess. Is that cool with you guys?" Scott asked, shooting them a full blown puppy dog stare.

Dean shrugged, somewhat stiff, and said, "Sure. Wouldn't hurt to get on your moms good side," he supposed, looking to Castiel to see what he wanted. Castiel nodded as well.

"I don't see why not," he responded in his own gravelly voice.

"Alright, great," Scott beamed. "We're down in the living room." And with that he pushed the door further open and stepped aside for them to walk past. Once Stiles was passing, he turned to Scott and raised a questioning eyebrow, trying to mutely ask what was on his mind.

Thank God Scott knew him so well. "I interrupted because that awkward silence was killing me," he whispered in faux trauma, like the event had physically causing him pain. Stiles' managed a weak smile and shook his head, punching Scott playfully in the shoulder as he moved past him. The teen merely snickered in response before following his friend down the stairs to where everyone was now hanging around in the living room.

Stiles noted that Dean and Castiel had already found themselves a seat and were now accepting cups of coffee from Melissa. Isaac was sitting awkwardly off to the side, as if debating whether he wanted to be a part of the small group or not. Stiles and Scott both made their way into the room and plopped down on a love seat next to each other, waiting for Melissa to sit before they decided to start talking. While they waited, Stiles found himself making eye contact with Dean. The man, despite his macho façade, looked fairly nervous. And rightfully so. No one wanted to be on the bad side of Melissa McCall. Stiles offered the man a weak smile, but he felt like it came out more as a grimace.

"So," Mrs. McCall started, sitting down in the last remaining chair, across from them. "Mr. Ferguson, Stiles' case worker, didn't tell us much about you two. What made you chose to move to Beacon Hills?"

It was a fair question, Stiles reasoned. Anyone who googled Beacon Hills was bound to know the death toll here was a little above average for a town its size. He narrowed his eyes and watched for their response.

"My brother finally forced me out of our place," Dean explained, cradling his coffee cup in both hands, elbows on his knees. "And basically told us to just settle down. As to how we found this place, it was my idea. Sam, my brother, has some old school buddies from Stanford who live around here. Figured living somewhere with some familiar faces would be better than a random city somewhere else."

"Your brother went to Stanford?" Scott suddenly asked. Stiles glanced over and saw the impressed look on his face.

"Yeah, full ride and everything. Highest LSAT scores in his class," Dean smirked, tone thick with pride. Stiles heard a muttered 'cool' come from Scott before the teen sat back again, satisfied with his answer.

Noticing the lull in conversation, Dean turned towards Melissa. "So what about you? Have you been raising-Scott is it?- all by yourself?"

"No," she answered. "His father was a drunk, so I had to kick him out of the house a few years ago. Haven't really tried seeing one afterwards. Never had time."

"Work?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. Speaking of, what do you do, Dean? And you, Castiel?" She asked, directing the conversation back to them.

"I've just been hired at one of the mechanic shops in town. I never had the chance to go to college, and I enjoy fixing cars. So I'm not about to complain."

"Yeah," Stiles cut in, his voice a wry laugh. "Scotty here works part time at the local animal clinic. You can say he has a real knack for it." Without looking, he knew Scott was shooting him the most subtle glare he could manage. It filled Stiles with smug glee. Dean and Castiel raised an eyebrow at the interaction, but said nothing.

The conversation continued to what Dean and Cas had been doing for the past few years, and getting to know them better. It seemed as though Melissa was quizzing them, and was judging them based on their answers. As if she were deeming them worthy of fostering Stiles. Stiles felt both flattered and embarrassed. So Castiel and Dean told them about their history. He said that they had been traveling across the country ever since his dad's death a little over ten years ago, and how it had been really hard on him and his brother. Eventually, when he was in a really dark part of his life, Cas came swooping in and pulled him out of it. Dean talked about the year he had spent with a woman named Lisa and her son Ben, and talked about how much he had loved it, but couldn't stay, even though he had really wanted too.

Melissa seemed to sympathize with Lisa on being a single mother, and she had shared her own stories about raising Scott, and sometimes Stiles, seeing as you couldn't have one without the other, and how they had been trouble makers their whole lives. Dean ended up smiling at the tales of their shenanigans while both Scott and Stiles moaned and squirmed where they sat.

Scott eventually directed the conversation to their friends, telling them how they were super tight knit and should expect to see them a lot with Stiles. He talked about Kira, explaining to them how she had just moved into town two months ago with her parents, and Lydia, the queen queen bee but also a big brain, and Allison. Trying to explain everyone's relationship with her was more complicated than Stiles remembered it.

They eventually ended their visit when Melissa announced that she had a shift starting soon and had to leave. Dean and Cas thanked her for allowing them in and for the drinks and conversation. Before they left, they did manage to get to talk to just Stiles while Scott and Isaac started setting up for dinner in the kitchen.

"So, you think you can deal with us?" Dean asked the him.

Stiles shrugged, unsure what to say.

"I promise you kid," Dean said. "We only want what's best for you. I know what you're going through, and I know how bad it can get. But you have Scott, and Mrs. McCall, and all your friends. And if you want, you can have us."

Stiles glanced up at the two when Dean said that, and looked at them. Really looked at them. His tawny eyes raked over the pair, scrutinizing and firm. "You don't seem like bad guys," he finally said. "But why me? If you want a kid so badly, why chose me? I just lost my dad, and I'm not the most well behaved kid in the system. So why me?"

His voice was hollow, but his words were heavy. Dean sighed deeply, looking the poor him over with his own emerald eyes. "Because," he finally said. "I know exactly how it feels to have your dad taken away from you. And I know the system isn't that great for a sixteen year old boy, especially one who's lost both parents like you have." Stiles drew in a sharp breath, fighting the tears forming in his eyes. "But if Cas and I were going to foster anyone, it'd be one we can help."

"We don't want anyone to go down the wrong path because of circumstances," Cas added. "We know what we're getting into. And I promise you we can help. If you'll let us."

They were all silent for a moment, waiting for Stiles to respond, but he didn't have anything to offer them. He found it hard to believe what they were saying, but for some reason it was hard not to trust them. They were waiting for a response, he realized. But he'd started sniffling by then, a few tears running down his cheeks. Goddamnit, Stiles thought to himself, squeezing his eyes shut angrily, trying to impede anymore hot tears from slipping down his face. He took a deep breath and reigned himself back in, brushing the wetness out of his eyes.

"Alright," Stiles said, sniffing again. "But I want one thing first."

"Sure," Dean supplied. "But no take-backsies."

Giving the two men a weak smile, Stiles said, "You're gonna teach me how to fix my jeep."