"Would Dean Winchester report to the office, please? Dean Winchester, report to the office."

Dean paused, mid-bite. It's Mommy, he thought happily, putting his sandwich down. As he stood up, his friends "ooooooohhh"ed collectively, acting as though he'd gotten in big trouble or something.

"Shut up," Dean said, smiling.

"I'll watch this for ya, yeah?" Benny asked. Dean's eyes flickered to his friend, who was already rifling through Dean's lunch bag as he usually did.

"Mmhm, but don't knock yourself out. I'm not gonna be gone long," Dean replied.

"Yeah, yeah. Go get yelled at by the principle," Benny teased in return.

Dean gave his friend a playful shove before wandering off in the direction of the office.

…

All offices appeared the same to Dean.

It didn't matter whether it was the doctor's office or the school's office. They were all seemed the same.

For one, they were always cold, like it was always winter in there.

Next were the plants—always fake and pretending they could survive and bloom in a place that they just can't.

Needless to say, offices were foreign territory for Dean.

Yet knowing what he was to expect upon coming to the office, Dean had been anticipating this visit all day.

Thus, it shouldn't have been particularly hard for Dean to find his mother—a touch of familiarity in this strange place-with his firefighter helmet, but it was.

Namely, because she was merely not there.

Just like that, the office had become an unknown country to Dean again. Dean hesitated by the doorway through which he had entered, wringing the sleeves of his Batman crewneck unsurely.

Maybe Mommy had forgotten? Or perhaps Sammy was being fussy again. Or maybe there was traffic.

But if that was a possibility, why had he been called?

"Something you need, sweetie?"

Dean was drawn out of his thoughts by a lady wearing a bright pink cardigan at the front desk smiling expectantly at him.

"Um, yeah," Dean said, approaching the lady slowly, eyes darting about all the while, hoping to catch sight of his mother.

Up close, Dean could read the lady's name tag. Ms. Masters. Inquisitive eyes peered down at Dean through lashes heavy with mascara and the smile that was too bright and faintly smudged with lipstick widened in encouragement.

"I'm…uh—" Dean started, but was cut off by a rough voice and a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, I got him." Dean glanced upwards to see that it was his father who had spoken up.

Dean's brows furrowed. Daddy doesn't seem like himself…

Indeed, there was something more drawn about his father than usual.

That exhaustion was different from the exhaustion that graced his features after a long day at the garage.

That tension in his dad's jaw was different from the tension that would normally appear when his dad and mom would argue—an occurrence that happened more often than not lately.

"Daddy, where's Mommy?" Dean asked as his father led him away from the front desk, having gotten permission to take Dean, and towards the door through which Dean had originally arrived. "Where are we going?"

"Dean." And just like that, further questions died on Dean's lips. Green eyes peered up searchingly at his father, who suddenly knelt down to his level.

At a closer glance, Dean could see that his father's eyes were red-rimmed and slightly vacant, as if he were not all there.

"Ace, I'll answer your questions later. I promise you, I'll answer them. But right now, I need you to get your stuff and fast. No more questions, okay?"

Dean nodded mutely and with that, the two of them walked into the cafeteria.

By now, few kids were in the cafeteria, most having finished their lunch and gone outside to play.

The place Dean had been sitting at before had been cleared. Benny must have took Dean's lunch box for safekeeping.

Deep in thought and his mind reeling at a mile per minute, Dean continued walking towards his classroom, unaware that his father had paused at some point until he realized that the only footsteps he heard were his own.

Dean glanced back in time to see that his father was kneeling down to pick up a napkin that had been lying by Dean's lunch seat.

It was Dean's.

Dean watched his father examine the script on the napkin with an unreadable expression. His mother tried to write something different on his napkins each day and Dean wracked his brain for a minute, trying to remember what she had written today.

Oh, right. Angels are watching over you.

When his dad remained a statue, Dean tentatively walked over and tugged on his father's leather jacket.

"Daddy?" he questioned.

"Hmm?" As if drawn from a spell, his father tore his gaze off the crumpled napkin and down at his son. "Oh, right. Sorry." He read his wife's neat script on the napkin for what seemed like one last time before balling it up and tossing it in the closest trashcan.

Dean's teacher, Mrs. Harvelle, had easily let the two of them into the classroom, and as Dean gathered his things, he tried to catch what his father was saying to her.

"…sorry for the trouble…sudden…family emergency…"

If he hadn't felt it before, Dean could definitely feel the pit of dread growing within him. He rushed to cram the last of his folders into his backpack and hurried back to his dad's side, nearly knocking over a classmate's telescope, meant for that day's presentations, in his haste.

Dean had almost forgotten about that—the presentations. His firefighter hat seemed like a world away now.

As Dean walked with his dad to the parking lot, the questions began bubbling up inside him again.

They were almost to the Impala when Dean wrenched his hand out of his dad's clutch.

"What family emergency?" he blurted out, fingers seeking the adjusters on his backpack before his dad could grab his hand back.

"Dean. I told you—not now. Now get into the Impala." His father's voice had hardened at the end. Dean shivered inwardly. It was the tone that brooked no argument, the tone his father took when Dean knew he was seconds away from deep trouble.

Dean swallowed, hesitating. He'd gotten this far…

"No," he said stubbornly. "I…I want to know what's going on."

"Dean Smith Winchester. I won't repeat myself."

"Neither will I."

"Dean-"

"I deserve to know!" Dean almost shouted before his dad could continue. On a roll now, Dean charged on. "I don't like this, Daddy. Where's Mommy? Where's Sammy? What are you not telling me?"

Dean paused there, chest heaving and fists shaking from his outburst before his eyes widened.

He'd never gone against his father like that and as his father took a step closer, Dean closed his eyes, expecting some form of punishment.

"Dean," his dad said, for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Yet there was a quietness about that one syllable that made Dean's eyes open to see his dad kneeling at his level once more.

"Mommy's…not coming," his father began quietly. "Neither is Sam—Sammy."

"Why?" Dean whispered. "Did they go somewhere?"

His dad let out a broken chuckle. "Yeah. Th—they sure did."

"Where?"

John studied his eldest son. So innocent, still so young… He couldn't do this. There was no right way to tell his child that his mother and brother were long gone. No right way for even himself to comprehend it. So he left behind his Marine background in favor of something he had not been the best at, a father.

"Up," John finally said in response to his son's question.

"Up?"

"Mmhm. To the sky, sun, the moon, the stars."

"Why?"

"To become the angels watching over you."

"What happened to the angels already watching over me?"

"Well, after watching humans for so long, the angels wanted to become human. They wanted to know what is was like to talk to people and what pie tasted like and they wanted this so much that with every passing day they got sadder and sadder. So Mommy and Sammy offered to take their place, to say thank you to these angels for all they've done and to watch over you better."

"So…Mommy and Sammy are never coming back?" Dean's asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"No, Dean, they aren't," his dad said gently.

Traitorous tears slid down Dean's cheek and he furiously wiped them away as he pulled the Impala door open.

"I hate angels."

"You and me both, Dean."

A/N: Hello! This is the other half of Collaboration SPN. Sorry for the Sherlock-sized hiatus, but hopefully the content makes up for it. Thanks for reading!