Almost two months had passed since their baby was born (Cas had settled on the name 'Jimmy' in the end), and Dean simply could not get enough of his tiny son. Something about the little guy just had his heart twisting in his chest, and every sound that came out of him just made Dean so happy, he almost wanted to cry. There had actually been a few close calls, but nothing he couldn't hide with a fake coughing fit.
It was still too early to determine who he would take after most, and Sam had been quick to point out that his eyes probably wouldn't stay so blue after a few months, but Dean had the sneaking suspicion that Jimmy was going to be a carbon copy of Cas.
Especially after the first lightbulb exploded. Normally, Dean would tack it up to bad wiring, but one look at Jimmy's excited face told him otherwise. That, and the telltale afterglow of grace in the baby's eyes.
"Oh, you are going to be such a badass," Dean said as he scooped Jimmy into his arms, patting him on the back as he stepped over the broken glass. "Sammy, we got a broom anywhere?"
Dean poked his head into the bunker's library and smirked. Sam was sound asleep on one of his many 'curious volumes of forgotten lore', and was drooling profusely on the pages. "Oh, look at that, Jimmy." Dean said softly. "That's why it's important to sleep every night. Uncle Sammy here never left his college cram sessions behind him." Jimmy just hiccupped and grabbed at his dad's ear, and Dean laughed. "Sam, wake up, man," he said, shaking Sam's shoulder with his free hand. "C'mon, you can sleep tonight."
Sam continued to sleep.
"Okay, you asked for it," he said, pushing Jimmy towards Sam's face. "Get 'im, Jimmy!"
Jimmy immediately grabbed a tiny fistful of Sam's hair and stuck it in his mouth. Sam snuffled slightly in his sleep, but otherwise gave no sign of life. Dean frowned, and set Jimmy on the floor with a muttered "don't touch anything, buddy."
"Sammy?" He shook his brother's shoulder much harder than usual, and felt the panic rising. Sam wasn't dead, but he wasn't this deep of a sleeper. Something had to be wrong. Castiel's name was half-formed on his lips in prayer when something caught the corner of his eye.
An angel. That wasn't Cas.
Sitting on the floor. Holding his son.
"Who the hell are you?!" Dean shouted, hand immediately shooting for the angel blade he kept tucked in his jacket. "I swear to fuck, if you don't put him down right now, I'll peel you like a potato!"
The angel—Inias, Dean remembered belatedly—looked confused. "Why are you so hostile?" he asked, bouncing Jimmy slightly on his leg.
"Why are you touching my kid?" Dean shot back.
Inias smiled with something akin to pride. "He is learning so fast," he cooed. "Most children don't begin displaying grace until at least a year."
"What, the light bulb thing?" he asked cautiously, still not lowering the blade.
"I had assumed you could use someone to help guide him with his grace, that's all," Inias said with a shrug, poking Jimmy lightly on the nose.
"Oh, you did, did you?" Dean snapped. "Well, let me tell you something, Feathers. If, and I mean if, I need help getting Jimmy's mojo under control, I'll ask Cas. Not you." He snatched Jimmy up and held him tight in one arm, the other hand shaking slightly as he clutched the blade in a white-knuckled grip.
For a moment, Inias looked—dare he say it?—sad. Like a child that just dropped an ice cream cone. "I was only…" he began hesitantly, then seemingly losing his train of thought, tried again with, "I just thought…"
"All I want you to do is wake Sam up and get the hell out of here before I have to bury you in the yard."
Inias slowly—sulkily, almost—got to his feet and tapped his first two fingers to Sam's forehead, and was gone in a rush of feathers before Sam could even open his eyes. "Hey, Dean," Sam finally muttered. "What's up?"
"We got problems, Sam," Dean muttered, holding Jimmy as close as physical limitations would allow.