Disclaimer: The song mentioned is by Jethro Tull.

Many thanks to deborah-bryant-18, superchiwo, HollieElisabeth, and gnbrules for taking the time to share their thoughts, and thank you to everyone who favorited and/or followed this story. I love you all.

Chapter Two

A week later — the most exhausting week of his life — Castiel arrived back in New York with a sad and silent nine year old in tow. The doctor had assured him that there was nothing physically wrong with Claire. It's a very common response to emotional trauma in children. She'll talk again when she's ready. So Castiel was doing his best not to push, but it made it very difficult to bond with her when anything other than simple yes or no questions got only a blank look in reply. He hadn't seen her in almost a year. Even without the trauma of losing her father, she would be a different person now with different interests and probably a new favorite color.

He'd been afraid that she would take one look at him and think her father had come back to life, but he needn't have worried. She'd always been able to tell them apart, even when she was a baby.

She cheered up a little when the boxes containing her toys arrived by FedEx in the late afternoon. Castiel left her to arrange her room (formerly his guest room although it hadn't been used often) while he made dinner. He didn't have much in the way of fresh ingredients. He should take Claire with him to Chelsea Market tomorrow. She might enjoy that. But for tonight …

He was about to give up and order takeout when he spotted some rather sad looking leeks in the bottom of the crisper and inspiration struck. The potatoes and garlic were still good. He dug a quart of homemade chicken stock out of the freezer and opened a can of evaporated milk since the cream was way past its prime. An hour later he had a pot of fragrant vichyssoise, and he decided to break with tradition just this once and serve it hot. He was too hungry to wait for it to chill properly, and a bowl of warm soup sounded like just the thing for Claire's first meal in her new home.

He was feeling quite proud of himself as he dished out the food. His first week of parenting had involved a lot of pizza and fries, and he'd been uncomfortably reminded of the meals his mother used to put on the table when she happened to remember that she had two children who needed to eat. But there was just so much to do, the funeral to arrange and the house to pack up and put on the market, so he'd promised himself that as soon as he was back on familiar ground, he would do better. And he had. Their first day back he had produced a wholesome, filling dinner practically out of thin air.

Claire peered suspiciously at the white goop in her bowl.

"It's potato soup," Castiel said, deciding that the proper French name would probably scare her off.

She picked up her spoon and swirled it around a few times. Then she gave him a look that said quite clearly without words, Do I have to?

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, ignoring his wounded pride.

She shook her head.

"Would you rather just play until bedtime?"

She nodded.

"Okay. Let me know if you change your mind."

He ate his dinner alone. It didn't taste quite as good as it had smelled.

~o0o~

He went back to work on Thursday night. Getting a babysitter who could stay until past midnight was quite a challenge, but he finally found a temp agency who sent him a college student named Josie.

When he walked into the kitchen, he had to stop a moment and make sure he was in the right restaurant. Yes, there was Anna and Gabe and all the other familiar faces. No one had noticed him standing by the door yet. There was music playing, an electric guitar incongruously accompanied by a trilling flute that wouldn't have sounded out of place in a classical orchestra, and a man's voice singing about being too old to rock and roll but too young to die. Some of the kitchen staff were singing along, others were just grinning and laughing, and in the middle of it all a man in a white chef's coat was serenading Anna's pregnant belly while Anna — efficient, no nonsense Anna — giggled like a little girl.

"What is going on here?" Castiel's voice cut through the noise like a sharp knife through tender meat. Everyone turned to look at him. The music played on, seeming louder in the sudden silence. At least his staff had the grace to look guilty. The stranger did not.

"Oh my God, it's you," he exclaimed as though Castiel was some kind of celebrity. "You're … You're you."

Castiel raised an eyebrow and fixed the man with his coldest, most imperious stare, the one that had reduced many a clumsy waiter to a trembling puddle of apologies and pleas for a second chance. "Yes, I'm well aware of that. What I would like to know is who you are and what you are doing in my kitchen."

"Oh. Right." The man's smile faltered for half a second, but then it reappeared, brighter and more charming than before. "Dean Winchester. Your new sous chef."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Are you now? And who hired you?"

"I did," said a voice from behind him.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had a child at home. He could not afford to get arrested for murder. "Naomi," he began as calmly as he could.

"Perhaps we should talk in my office," she forestalled him. "Dean, join us. Everyone else, back to work." But she didn't tell them to turn off the music.

Anna snagged Castiel's arm as he walked past her. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I told her to wait until you got back, but he's actually really good. Almost as good as you."

Coming from anyone else that would have sounded like flattery, but Anna had never been one to coddle his ego. She always spoke with perfect honesty. "I'll take that into consideration," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a balloon that needs to pee every ten minutes, but it's almost over, and then comes the fun part."

He smiled wryly. "The dirty diapers or being woken up at two a.m.?"

"Both. All of it." She got a misty look in her eyes. "God, I can't wait."

"Castiel," Naomi called impatiently.

He sighed and went to do battle, but he suspected he had already lost.

~o0o~

"We needed a replacement for Anna anyway, so it made sense for the same person to fill in while you were away. Two birds, one stone. Honestly, Castiel, I don't understand your objection. I thought you'd be glad that it was taken care of. You've told me many times that you prefer to focus on the food and let me deal with the people."

"You know perfectly well I was talking about the customers, not my staff. I had only one condition when I took this job. I choose who I work with."

"We were running out of time. Anna could pop any day now, and then you suddenly disappear with no warning."

Castiel opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

"I'm not blaming you. Anna told me you had a family emergency, and I won't ask for details. Lord knows you hardly ever take time off. All I'm saying is a decision had to be made quickly, and you weren't available to consult."

"Fine," he conceded, "but I'm back now, and until Anna actually has the baby, I don't see that I really need two sous chefs."

"Don't you? Anna can barely go five minutes without a bathroom break, and she doesn't complain but being on her feet all night can't be easy. Dean can help carry the load."

Dean had so far sat silently while Castiel and Naomi argued. Now he said quietly, "Do I get a say in this?"

"Well, I presume your position is that you'd like to keep the job," Castiel said acidly.

"Not necessarily."

Green eyes regarded Castiel calmly, and he felt a little guilty for snapping. It wasn't Dean's fault that Naomi had put him in the middle of their ongoing power struggle.

"I'd be honored to cook with the great Castiel Novak," — there was no hint of sarcasm or irony in the words — "but I do have other options, and I'd rather go somewhere I'll be welcome."

"You're welcome here," Naomi said firmly.

"I'm sorry," Dean said without looking at her, "but I need to hear that from him. It may be your restaurant, but in the kitchen the chef's opinion is the only one that counts." He smiled at Castiel, and it was less ingratiatingly charming than his earlier smile. More sincere. "So what'll it be, chef?"

Castiel was grudgingly impressed. He couldn't turn Dean away now without looking petty. "Well, Anna says you're a good cook, and she knows what she's talking about."

Unlike Naomi, was implied, but she kept silent. She was about to get her way provided she didn't give him a reason to be petty.

"Very well. You can stay. But no music in the kitchen. It's distracting."

Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Whatever you say, boss."

It appears that this is going to be a bit of a slower burn than my other stories. Be patient with me while I convince these two stubborn men that they really want to rip each other's clothes off. =)