Back at the motel, Cas was watching Bran draw at the table when I came in with breakfast. They were both bent over his picture, elbows on the table, pointing and talking quietly over what should and shouldn't be put in. They fit together so well. Like a surrogate parent and an adopted orphan. It gave me an ache in my chest for rug rats of my own – our own now, I guess. But it was pushed aside. In my hands I balanced the fruit of my food run, the hot grease staining the bottom of the brown paper bag and burning my fingers. In my other hand was a flat white box. I figured it was better to go out and come back than expose a kid who just lost his dad to the world – especially when that thing might be after him still. With a smile crinkling the edges of my eyes I held it out when they looked up at the sound of the lock clicking open. "I brought doughnuts," I said proudly, all cheer and sunshine, shutting the door with my foot. Bran cleaned the table off and I set the breakfast bag down. A big container of pancakes and eggs, a variety of sausage and bacon, an orange juice and two beers. Not to mention a box of raspberry filled glazed beauties. "Man I love breakfast," I mumbled as I divvied out the plates and forks.

Morning light streamed through the open windows. It was strangely warm outside – even as I live and breathe I'd never seen any weather like this. Bran had slept in Sam's empty bed, and Cas and I had managed to snatch a few good hours of sleep in mine, between bouts of being worried about the white haired bundle not far away. There were no questions from short stuff this morning as Cas and I took turns in the bathroom, moving around and cleaning, preparing for the day. Our hands touched. Our eyes met. I even snatched a kiss from the fallen angel a few times, unable to rest without one. After a night hard at work before this, last night had been just as taxing and half as relieving. But it was good to know Bran was safe, and that he didn't see anything wrong with our behavior. At least kids were sympathetic.

Making sure Bran got a bit of everything, I did the same with Cas, lecturing him when he tried to eat the entire box of doughnuts on his own. His appetite was amazing. There were no leftovers. But I was just glad to see the kid get something in his stomach, even if he hardly ate as much as I'd hoped. It was just drive-through stuff, but it was something. Once we were all sated, even the endless pit that is Cas's human stomach, I sat back in my chair and sipped my beer. "So, whatcha been drawing, Branny boy?"

"Angels," Bran grinned disarmingly, and I blinked. "Angels and forest spirits together." Man, this kid liked taking people off guard.

I nodded to the stack. "Can I see?" As he dug through them I looked over at Cas and he returned it with equal amounts of warmth. There was something about him. A spring in his movements, a light in his eyes. He was almost glowing as he turned to watch Bran pour over his favorites. They were all on notebook paper, from a discarded notebook I'd found in the trunk, above the false bottom.

"This is Castiel," Bran lifted one of them up and held it out to me. A surprisingly accurate stick figure with two blue marker dots as eyes and a spry of black hair on his head, his trench coat covering all of him. He had magnificent white wings that were hap-hazard but pretty damn good.

"Amazing, kid," I chuckled as I took the offered art. "You even got the hair right." Bran wiggled in his seat, grinning, and when I looked up Cas was smiling as he watched him. His laugh lines colored extra emotion into his eyes. I cracked a smile myself and motioned to the picture. "What about those spirits?" I asked eagerly, leaning forward. If there was any good way to distract this kid, I was gonna take it.

With clumsy kid fingers Bran showed me another one of a forest of brown and green marker lines, and a light blue stick figure wandering around in the back. "They look after the trees," he explained, "they make sure they have enough light and water and that they're healthy enough for birds to live in."

"That's a pretty big job," I raised my eyebrows at him.

His silver head bobbed. "They've been doing it ever since the earth was born. God sent them because we can't talk to the trees like they can. We can only see it when they're dying – and it happens so slowly that we can't really realize it until it's too late." My eyes skimmed over the trees. "The trees need them." There was a point to the face of the spirit, its eyes purple dots that bore into me. "Sometimes, they even take in human children, and raise them to care for the trees when there are too many for them to take care of."

Marveling at this kid, I jumped when my phone rang, and Bran took the pictures back and organized them again. Flipping my phone to my ear, I rose, putting a hand on Cas's shoulder before walking to the door. "Yeah, got anything?"

"Yup," came Sam's voice. "Ted and Sasha found the signs at a family's house called the Prenton's, but they're staying with the family. Since taking the signs doesn't stop them from being killed, they are searching for more clues to the how's and why's using that book you found, and standing guard. They're only an hour or two East of here."

"Give me the address and we'll meet you there."

"Is the kid even ready?"

I glanced back at Bran and Cas, who were watching me with similar childlike curiosity. Shooting them a fake smile, I looked away. "Everything is under control."

"All right," he replied grudgingly, and prattled off some house in the suburbs of another city.

I scribbled down the address on my hand and nodded. "Ok, Sammy. We're on our way. And keep those friends of yours on a leash," I snapped. "They even look at Cas the wrong way and I will punch them to Timbuktu."

"Dean."

"I'm not kidding, Sam."

An exasperated sigh crackled over the line. "Fine. I'll talk to them. See you in a bit."

I hung up satisfied, and turned to the pair at the table. Cas blinked. I shot him a wink and put my hands on my hips. "Get saddled up, boys. We're heading out."