Holy shit, it has been over a month. I relapsed rather suddenly and very immaculately into my old eating disorder. Life is kind of difficult right now, and I spend most of it lying in bed. I feel really bad about abandoning this story for a while, but I think I'm recovering pretty well. And now, the feature presentation~!

(recap: they are going to church while the Impala is in the shop, and headed for a real date afterwards)


Church made Dean squirm. He always forgot how uncomfortable he felt in services until he actually was roped into attending one. Even when their lives were just exorcising Stunt Demon No. Three and the occasional vampire or two, church made him squeamish. He was a killer, a liar, an adulterer, a glutton and a million other things churches apparently frowned upon.

It was infinitely worse after he was raised from Hell.

Now, he knew God existed and it felt as if he was actively blaspheming rather than just not believing. Before, he could soothe himself with 'I'm an atheist and that's okay' but he was now filled with a burning dislike for the guy. It's normal to detest your father-in-law, right? Dean thought.

He hated seeing all the faithful worshipers singing praises to a god he knew was absent. All of these old ladies clad in flowery dresses and even more flowery perfumes, the men in their generic button-downs and ties that their kids bought them for Father's Day, the choir members in their blue robes, the children with their cutesy songs and images of a cherubic young boy cuddling lambs and goats... It all seemed so pointless, silly drones marching in circles because their ancestors did. He wanted to stand up and shout that God didn't care, he never did, that the archangels were gone and the rest of the Host of Heaven powerless and mortal. It sickened him to look at the innocent, naive faith these people held for their apathetic- and long gone- deity.

He ended up observing Cas for most of the time anyway.

The fallen angel was enraptured. He seemed calm and peaceful, quite literally in his element. The stained glass windows were the only source of light, and the colors danced across the faces of the congregation as they sat and prayed and stood and sang and knelt when Simon said. Dean followed along numbly, not because he bought into the stuff but because he didn't want to draw attention to himself and Cas unless completely necessary. The kneeling hurt his knees and lower back, and the wooden pews were stiff and unyielding no matter how much he fidgeted.

If Cas noticed Dean's discomfort, he had the good judgement not to acknowledge it. Dean watched him as he participated in the service, wondering if all angels knew every prayer and psalm and hymn by heart. They probably did.

Finally, finally, the sermon finished up (a lecture on how God was more prevalent than ever in these trying times- ha) and they were on to the final hymn.

"Please open your hymnals to hymn number eight and join us as we sing praises to our Lord."

Dean could think of a few things he's like to sing at God, praises far from making the list.

But despite those thoughts, he opened his maroon Hymnal 1983 (had he been holding it upside down this whole time?!?) and followed along as the congregation sang:

Morning has broken,
Like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken,
Like the first bird.
Praise for them singing,
Praise every morning.
Praise for them springing
Fresh from the word.

Dean stood next to Cas, following the words in his mind as he listened to Cas's deep singing voice. He hadn't realized that Cas had such an excellent singing voice, but he supposed he should have known based on his rather excellent speaking voice and the experience his body probably had with singing hymns.

The way the hymns were written confused him. There were lines under other lines, but they weren't sung next, and he didn't know how to read the notes and little symbols that everyone else seemed to grasp instantly. The song jumped around the page, skipping and repeating, so he gave up and contented himself to just listen.

The song, hymn number eight, was beautiful, and the lyrics seemed to dwell on the wonders of Earth rather than its creator, and Dean could feel that. He supposed, grudgingly, that he ought to be thankful to God for that. He hadn't realized he was holding Cas's hand until the fallen angel squeezed it gently between two of the verses.

Sweet the rain's new fall,
Sunlit from Heaven.
Like the first dew fall,
On the first grass.

The harmonies in the song were appealing, and he had to admit that it wasn't bad. You know, for a hymn.

Praise for the sweetness
Of the wet garden,

In his mind he was reminded of Joshua and Heaven's garden. He wondered if Joshua was out wandering somewhere. Maybe he could find a job at a conservatory. Or perhaps an aviary. The thought made Dean smile.

Sprung in completion
Where His feet pass.

Yeah, there was that whole pesky God thing. The organ music swelled and floated through the air before the final verse, and somehow the congregation started exactly at the same time, as if actors playing a part. He wondered how many of them truly believed in God, and who was doing it for their families, for the morals and the sense of community not for an actual love for their God. Maybe it was the things he'd seen in his life, the terrible, awful tragedies, children killed and families torn apart, torture and death and evil, but he didn't understand how so many millions of Christians just coughed and looked the other way, insisting that their God loved them.

Mine is the sunlight,
Mine is the morning
Born of the one light
Eden saw play.

These Christians really did love their garden imagery, noted Dean.

Praise with elation,
Praise every morning,
God's recreation
Of the first day.

The organ music ceased and the pastor dismissed the congregation as the churchgoers stirred and shuffled, setting their hymnals once again into the backs of the pews before them. Men loosened their bland ties and women smoothed their skirts unnecessarily as children shed sweater vests and cardigans to go run around in their Mary Janes and miniature loafers. Adults who didn't really care about one another made stiff, polite conversation and painfully untrue suggestions of having each other over for dinner some time. Old folks popped mints for their halitosis. Sulky teens turned their phones back on as their younger siblings played around. What a cute flock of sheep they were.

Dean smiled at a little girl running un-chased up and down the secondary aisle, taking breaks at random intervals to tug on the sleeves of her generic parents. She smiled back before running away again, probably despairing over why her parents so desperately needed to converse with other flavorless adults.

"Dean, we can go now," Cas said finally, watching Dean gaze fondly at the little kids. It tugged on his heart that Dean probably didn't even realize what he was doing, had stifled the longing in him for green grapes cut in half so that babies wouldn't choke, of bickering over whose turn it was to provide snack for the soccer team, of truly awful school plays with terrible songs yelled in off-key voices, of hand-me-down clothing and Easter egg hunts and 'no, honey, we can't get a kitty because your daddy's allergic' and cherry Tylenol and bug bites and movie nights.

Cas swallowed, uneasy with the amount of vivid detail his brain had conjured up. His vessel, Jimmy, poor hapless James Novak, had had a lovely all-American picket fence life, with a reasonable-looking wife and a little girl. Cara? Charlo- Claire. Her name was Claire.

He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of a young girl left fatherless. He wondered how he could have been so cruel without any hesitations, to Claire and the reasonable-looking wife and to Jimmy himself.

Oh, right, because he had been a self-righteous ass-butt who didn't care a bit about the mindless...guppies. What difference did the brief heartache of a fleeting speck of dust or two matter when he was helping save them all from the celestial vacuum cleaners named Michael and Lucifer?

Operative words: had been.

Had been.

As in, was but is not currently. Cas forced himself not to dwell on the Novaks. But it was too late. His mind was flooded with questions, such as Is Claire technically a blood relation now? and If I had ended up with a female and procreated, would it be Jimmy's child or mine? and Should I find the Novaks? Apologize for what I have done?

The little girl was back, having grown tired of pulling on her father's blue button down. She raced up and down the aisle, bored and full of energy enough to power an obscure country in Eastern Europe for a week.

Dean seemed enraptured. The little girl was what, five? Six years old at most? She wasn't fond of being ignored and getting lots of 'just a minute, sweetheart' from behind gritted teeth from the adults she loved. Nice Church Couple Number One continued to talk to Nice Church Couple Two, all 'how's your mother doing?' and 'I love the new gelato place uptown'.

She wandered over to the edge of their pew, where Dean had somehow shifted away from Cas and was standing right up next to the aisle. Timidly, she whispered a 'hi' and hid her face in her hands.

"Hey, kid," Dean offered, no doubt flashing that winning smile that loosened lips (and legs) countless times before, ever the charmer.

"Hi," the girl said again, a little bolder now that the strange man was declared benevolent.

"I like your watch," Dean said softly. "Are those dragons?"

"Yeah. My mommy said it was for boys, 'cause dragons are for boys, but Uncle Ricky noticed and gave it to me for my birthday last week."

"Good for him. I like those dragons. So, how old are you now?"

"Six and five days," the girl said proudly, grinning widely, flashing a missing front tooth among shining pearly whites.

Nagging kids to brush their teeth. Cas hoped Dean wasn't remembering all those bedtimes with Ben, or buying the fun flavors of toothpaste to promote healthy oral hygiene.

"Wow. Are you going to start driving soon?"

"No." The girl giggled sweetly. Cas felt a constricting sensation in his chest. Dean was sitting again, facing her, body language sending out an air of contentedness and love, love for this random kid and any other random kids.

He remembered suddenly a time, back when he used to observe Dean quite a bit (he was bored a lot and the man interested him- definitely not stalking. Oh, that must be shame, he thought briefly.) where Dean and... Jo? No, Jo was the younger one, it was Ellen. He was depressed, saddened beyond relief after a demon in a pre-school had murdered two young boys before Dean could get to him. Dean drank it out, pushed his brother away as usual. But at night (yes, Castiel watched Dean at night, too) he dreamt of those little children, once innocent and sweet and full of promise, their necks snapped and their tiny bodies garnished with dry blood. He talked to Ellen about it, years later, and though Cas didn't particularly care at the time, he had made a statement that now made his heart clench.

"God, it's just... it's the kids. Days when I want nothing more than to just take a gun from the trunk and send a bullet through my skull, I keep going for the kids. But it just hurts too much when I lose them..."

Dean Winchester, who drank more than Pan himself (Pan wasn't exactly a lightweight, either) and listened to loud, abrasive music, the Dean that Cas had seen put on a tough, unaffected air so many times... Dean loved children. Cas's chest was seriously hurting, like his rib cage had shrunk.

Being human was hard.

"Oh, you can't drive yet, huh? Bet you're the most popular girl in the whole high school though. The other kids would be stupid not to like someone so pretty." Dean kept talking, and the girl was clearly warming up to him, giggling and blushing pink at his lavish praises.

"No. I just finished pre-school," she admitted, smile unwavering.

"Pre-school?!" Dean feigned shock. "Wow. I never would have guessed. I'm too old to know, huh?"

Cas sat in the pew again, knowing that this would only make Dean hurt for what he had denied himself but at the same time unwilling- unable- to tear him away.

"You're not old. Gramps is old. He thinks I'm my mommy sometimes," the girl confided, her voice lowering to a whisper.

"Is your mommy as pretty as you?" Dean said, offering an upturned palm for the girl to take.

"She's pretty, but not when she's mad at me for leaving my crayons out. I left one in the car seat and it melted. There was green all over her favorite dress she bought me!"

"I bet it looked better with the green." Dean paused. "But what do I know? I'm too old to know the fashions."

"You don't look old. How old are you?"

Time spent dead included, over a century, Cas mused.

"Older than thirty," Dean said.

"Do you have any kids?"

Dean stilled, shoulders drooping minutely. He took a moment to think before he answered.

"No, sweetheart, I don't. I had a boy named Ben but he's gone now."

Cas felt his eyes smart at the bottomless sorrow Dean's answer held.

"Oh. In Heaven?" The girl took his hand comfortingly. "I bet my grandmothers make him cookies."

"I hope so," Dean answered, voice steady, but Cas could practically feel the pain seeping out.

"Do you want another? 'Cause Daddy told me that men and women can have babies. Are you married?"

Ouch, ouch ouch. Cas bristled, but Dean kept calm.

"No, I'm not married. Did your dad ever tell you that sometimes men fall in love with other men?"

The girl shook her head no.

"I don't have a wife because I'm not in love with a woman," he explained gently. The girl just nodded.

"Lucy has two moms," she said.

"See that man?" Dean turned his head in Cas's direction, and the girl looked over. Cas pretended to be occupied with the random Bible next to him on the seat. "That's Cas. We love each other like your parents love each other, and like Lucy's parents love each other. But some people don't accept that, and it makes it very difficult for people like Cas and me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, honey."

"That's silly." The girl scratched her arm. Then, "I don't think my dad likes me having play dates at Lucy's house."

"Well, just remember that family isn't always what people think. If you like Lucy, be friends with her. If you don't like Lucy, then don't play with her. Don't let what adults think is normal get in the way of that. Promise?"

"I promise," she said, nodding solemnly.

"Hey, is that your dad?" Dean motioned at the man in the blue shirt.

"Yeah."

"I think he is ready to leave. Go with him. And keep liking dragons."

"I will," she said and scampered off.

The second she turned her back on him, Dean slumped, pressing his palms into his face. Cas was filled with a new-found hatred for every single evil thing that had ripped from Dean what he wanted more than anything. Quietly, he moved over to sit next to Dean, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. Dean inhaled and exhaled deeply, and his old soul seemed on display in his face as he turned to Cas.

"Hey," he said softly. "Ready to go?"

Cas nodded, and they stood up. He dropped his hand, aware that perhaps Dean was aware of the girl's parents' alleged prejudice and probably not eager for openly flaunting their relationship. But Dean just pulled him into a tight embrace, un-moving for several minutes, relishing the comfort of a loved one's shoulder.

"Feel like some ice cream?" Dean grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. Cas nodded, hoping Dean couldn't tell that he'd just had his heart run over by the Impala.

Dean took his hand as they walked through town, and they talked about everything and nothing. He brushed off any stares they received, and by the time they got to the ice cream place, he seemed a bit happier.

Cas wondered if he would ever be able to disclose the fact that Ben was Dean's biological son. Would it make him happy that he had a child, or even sadder than beforehand? The former angel hated being burdened with all of these things, things that he had previously not cared enough to dwell on.

Sometimes he really hated his sudden humanity.


UPDATE REALLY SOON, I PROMISE. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT, IT REALLY MAKES ME HAPPY. PEACE OWT, HOMIES