Thursday's Child

by wyntereyez

Or: 'Another Heartwarming Story in Which Dean and Castiel Reproduce.' Castiel brings a surprise home to Dean. It's gooey. And has tentacles. Kid!fic

2. Spoils of War

Title: Thursday's Child (2/?)

Author: WynterEyez

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: T

Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Dean/Castiel

Beta: None, though that would've been a damn good idea, don't you think?

Spoilers: AU after 'The Man Who Would Be King'

Disclaimer: I don't own them, obviously.

Warnings: References to past mpreg (I can't believe I'm doing this…), discussion of the smiting of a Nephil baby, vague descriptions of a rather messy birth

Summary: Castiel brings a surprise home to Dean. It's gooey. And has tentacles.

Chapter Summary: In which there is a birth, Cas is coping, and Dean is a father.

A/N: Originally meant to be part of the first chapter, but I split it when it got too long. Also, with this chapter, it's sadly becoming clear that this story isn't meant to be crack. God help me, I think I've written semi-serious sort-of-but-not mpreg. And poor Cas is rather out of character, though I blame that on him having been through a lot.

Two - Spoils of War

Several hours earlier

The first sign that something is wrong with Castiel is a peculiar moodiness that even the emotionally-stunted angels under his command pick up on. It starts with a conversation with Hester, in which she's seeking clarification on an order Castiel had given. Frustrated by her inability to think it through for herself rather than bother him with such a trivial matter, he snaps at her with a vehemence he usually reserves for demons. Or Dean Winchester.

Startled, she gives a keening cry and flies off.

Before anyone else can bother him, Castiel flees to the little slice of Heaven that has become his favorite retreat, where he can read the book he'd stolen from Bobby's and hopefully find what he needs to complete his and Crowley's plan.

He's just settled on his bench, book open on his lap, when he feels a peculiar sensation, like something brushing against his vessel's skin, but coming from within. He presses a palm to his side, but whatever it was, it's gone.

His vessel has been behaving strangely lately; it had been experiencing hunger pangs, which Castiel had been slow to recognize, and he'd even found himself drifting off to sleep during one of his rare quiet moments. He'd thought perhaps his focus on the civil war was affecting his control of the body, that he was failing to meet its needs as a result. He'd grown used to the sensations and was ignoring them, figuring he had time later to repair any damage he'd caused when the war was over.

But this? This is new. And alarming.

When the feeling isn't repeated, however, Castiel pushes his concern aside and focuses on his reading. He only manages to skim two pages, however, before Inias appears before him, expression apprehensive and feathers puffed in response to a threat.

"Castiel, Raphael is here. He wishes to speak with you. He's alone and unarmed, and comes under a flag of truce," Inias says anxiously. "He gave his word that he only wants to talk. Do you think it's a trick? Should I send for reinforcements?"

Reinforcements would do no good against an archangel, even an unarmed one. Besides, if Raphael had given his word, he'd keep it. Though Castiel wouldn't put it past him to find some loophole. "Tell him I will talk to him," Castiel decides. "But be ready to come if I call."

Raphael waits for him in a part of Heaven Castiel had set aside for private meetings with his spies, a trail winding through an autumn forest, where a pair of young lovers are forever walking hand in hand.

When he sees Castiel, he studies him closely, and Castiel squirms beneath the laser-focus scrutiny. "You're looking better than I expected," Raphael says mildly.

Castiel isn't in the mood for pleasantries. "What do you want, Raphael?"

Raphael holds out his hands placatingly. "Believe it or not, I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" Castiel scoffs. "Then call off your army, and forget about the Apocalypse. Earth belongs to the humans now, and they don't want this."

"We both know that's not going to happen. The Apocalypse is God's plan, after all, and I am a faithful son. Surrender, and I will ease your suffering." Raphael's smile is chilling. "What's coming will be painful for you, and demoralizing for those who follow you."

Castiel assumes his brother is referring to losing the civil war and the Apocalypse that would follow. "I'm not interested in your 'help.' And I will oppose you as long as I am alive; I know you would not be foolish enough to let me survive the Apocalypse."

"You're correct, of course… but I can be merciful. I can give you quick death where none will witness your betrayal would be far kinder than being torn apart by your own people. Or I may feel generous and offer you exile; I'll shred your wings first, of course, and I won't hide you from the rest of the Host, but you'd still live."

Castiel shifts uneasily, wondering if the betrayal Raphael is referring to his arrangement with Crowley. Exposing the demon deal could potentially turn his own troops against him. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says warily.

"I'm referring to my little time bomb. Really, Castiel, you shouldn't have let anyone knock you unconscious. Who knows what could happen while you're out?" Raphael presses his hand to Castiel's abdomen, and again he feels that fluttering sensation, just beneath the archangel's palm. "I can't believe it made it this far along," Raphael says. "I thought you and your ragtag bunch would be dead within a year. Good thing I had a contingency plan." And Raphael smirks cruelly.

Castiel jerks away. "What have you done, Raphael?"

"I've won the war."

Raphael sounds far too confident for this to be a bluff. "We're still at an impasse," Castiel reminds him. "Nothing has changed." Not that he's aware of, anyway; Raphael and his army has been strangely quiet the past month, with only the occasional small skirmish to prove they were still at war.

"Not yet," Raphael agrees. "But I give you an hour, maybe two…"

"What did you do to me?!" His voice is hoarse with fear.

"I gave you a gift… one not seen on Heaven or Earth for a very long time." Raphael spreads his three sets of wings, which fill the forest around them. "Call for me, and I will end your suffering. I will even take the abomination off your hands. Consider it the spoils of war. After all, you've given victory to me so easily." With a mighty rush of wings, Raphael vanishes.

He's still staring at the spot where Raphael had been when a wave of crippling sensation hits him, and he doubles over with a cry. It takes him a moment to identify the feeling; he's only felt it this severely once before.

Hunger. He doesn't understand why, but suddenly, he's starving - a ravenous hunger comparable to the Famine-fueled craving for red meat.

He acts on instinct, flinging out his wings and diving through the ether towards Earth and the first source of food he sees.

He lands somewhat ungracefully in the half-full lobby of a restaurant he recognizes as the one with the clown who sells the breakfasts Dean likes. Around him, people cry out in surprise at his sudden appearance. He finds their voices annoying and with a gesture, sends them to a field several miles outside of town.

Castiel quickly devours the already-prepared burgers, including the half-eaten ones still on trays in the lobby. From there, he eats his way through the burger patties, chicken, fish, and fries, then empties the containers of toppings.

He ends up in the freezer, trying and then tossing aside frozen meat patties as inedible. At least the raw cookies are palatable, and eats several boxes of those.

His hunger isn't sated, but he's taken enough of an edge off that he finally becomes aware that the internal fluttering has returned, only it's much stronger now, and he can see movement beneath his shirt. Fingers shaking, he unbuttons his shirt to reveal his abdomen and the roiling motion of his flesh.

Something pushes against his skin, deforming it, stretching it until it's nearly translucent before retracting. Something is behind the thin veil of skin that hides his Grace… something that isn't him. Something alive. And whatever it is, his feeding binge has just given it enough strength to force its way out.

He barely keeps from launching himself back homeward to seek the help of the angelic healers that serve under him. Raphael's warning that his own people will kill him still rings in his ears, and he knows he can't go back, not yet. He can only ride this out, and hope there will be enough of him left over to put back together.

His Grace flares, burning hotter than it ever has before, and he becomes aware that parts of it have integrated into this foreign object, and when it pulls loose, it will shred his Grace and take pieces of it with it.

The pain is excruciating, and it rapidly intensifies. Castiel crumples to the floor and curls in on himself, only vaguely aware that he's calling out to his Father to help him get through this. Of course, there's no answer.

And then with a final, agonizing wrench, his Grace sunders, his vessel splits, he screams, and everything goes dark.

When Castiel comes to, he's aware of heat and light and the most overwhelming sensation of all, pain. He opens his eyes and finds that the source of the light and heat is the smoldering rubble around him, what remains of the restaurant. Scorched meat patties litter the ground around him, and a pile of them sits quivering on the tile before him.

Then it snaps open dozens of eyes, and the blob of meat awkwardly jerks towards him.

Castiel isn't ashamed to admit he may have screamed a little bit.

At first, Castiel's mind refuses to understand what's happened. He has no comprehension of why his vessel is torn and bleeding, why a quarter of his Grace is just gone, or why the tiny thing shivering on the floor is staring expectantly up at him with myriad eyes that all look familiar.

And then he looks at the creature, and sees the tattered edges of its Grace - his own missing chunk of Grace - blended with the brilliance of a familiar human soul, and he's revolted. It's a Nephil, an abomination to God and Heaven, and he's its mother.

It's a rather alarming turn of events, and Castiel lacks the coping mechanisms necessary to deal with this.

Numbly, he scoops the quivering mass into a box that had somehow survived the explosion and, with what remains of his strength, instinctively flies to the only place where he'll feel safe.

~oOo~

Now

As Dean had predicted, Castiel hadn't gone very far. He'd ended up in the outbuilding furthest from the house while still being inside his wards. It's cold and damp, and he's so fatigued that he can't block the chill in his vessel's bones. Or the pain from the Nephil's emergence point whenever he bends his torso, which is healing too slowly, though it's no longer leaking light and sound. He picks his way across the cluttered floor - his night vision hasn't failed him, at least - and finds a spot along the rear wall that's clear and relatively clean, and sinks to the floor. The cement is cold beneath him, but he's too exhausted to move again. He sets the Nephil on the floor beside him and leans back against the wall, pulling his trench coat more tightly around him to warm him. The Nephil nudges against him, demanding attention and sustenance.

Castiel just stares down at the squishy mass of prehensile limbs and eyes that has ruined his life. It's hideous, even to an angel taught to view all God's creations as beautiful, with its raw-looking, wet red and black skin that looks frighteningly like exposed organ tissue, its massive, mismatched googly eyes, and its random assortment of features from the various creatures Castiel resembles. If it had been full angel, its features would be fluid and ever-shifting: a casual observer would at one moment glimpse two sets of branching antlers more elaborate than any Earthly elk, the next a sharp, tearing beak and dark beady eyes, and then find they'd been replaced by glistening smooth skin and hundreds of delicate tentacles. He's been told the effect is quite beautiful, for those who can handle the sight.

In the Nephil, the features are static and the effect is nauseating.

Because of this… this abomination, he's lost a war. Worse, he's lost his home, and his family. Even the humans he's adopted don't want him.

He should smite it. His Father's orders are clear: Nephilim will not be permitted to live, and if he destroys it himself, he may be able to return to Heaven. After all, he didn't seek to bear it; it was forced on him, he was a victim, and he may be forgiven if he performs menial Messenger duty as penance for the next few centuries.

He would be gentler than any of Raphael's men. He could make it quick, painless. It would be far kinder than letting it live, he tells himself. The only thing it could look forward to is a life on the run, avoiding angels and demons and any monster who has a use for a half-angel. His hand hovers over it, power building in his palm as he prepares to end its life. This is a mercy.

Except… it's staring up at him with guileless, beseeching eyes, three of which are an achingly familiar green, and he can feel the emotions it's radiating, still primitive, but pure. Absolute trust, and need, and unconditional love. It's the only thing on Heaven and Earth that loves him. Castiel lowers his hand.

"I'm very sorry," Castiel tells it. "You deserve a much better parent than I." He has no idea how to take care of an infant. He's been running on instinct so far - instincts he hadn't been aware angels possessed - and they could only do so much for the half-human child. It likely has needs far beyond his ability to comprehend. Yet he can't abandon it with someone more suitable, either; angel fledglings feed on Grace, and the Nephilim are no different. And without access to Heaven, he is its only source of food.

Castiel carefully picks the Nephil up and settles it onto his lap, then unfurls his wings and wraps them around himself, forming a cocoon of shadowy feathers that keeps back the cold. Now he can feel the Nephil's contentment as it nestles close to his chest, drawing tendrils of his Grace into itself for nourishment. Absently, he strokes the skin between its still-damp wings and begins to plan for a bleak future on the run. He'd visited many beautiful, isolated places during his search for God, and he could think of several that would be ideal for hiding the Nephil. A mountain range, perhaps; they could soar over the cold beauty of the Alps, or watch the seasons change in the Rockies. Or maybe they could live in a rainforest, nesting like birds in treetops and enjoying the diversity before the inevitable Apocalypse destroys it.

It will be a lonely existence, but it can be done.

The door creaks, and Castiel freezes when he hears the door creak open, followed by boots clomping across the floor. A flashlight beam precedes a shadowy, dripping figure, which stiffens at the sight of Cas. He's not surprised to see it's Dean, but he still tenses, bracing himself for Dean's wrath. But Dean doesn't immediately resume their argument; instead, he stands very still, staring silently down at Castiel and the Nephil, which is clearly visible through wings that are invisible to the human's eyes.

Dean's expression is carefully neutral, and Castiel tries to head off the inevitable explosion.

"Dean… please… I'll leave as soon as I am able and you'll never see us again. Just give me the chance to recover my strength first." He tries struggling to his feet, but his legs won't obey and he only manages to flop sideways. The Nephil protests when its dislodged from Castiel's Grace.

"No, you don't have to get up." Dean pauses, visibly gathering himself. Castiel winces inwardly. "I'm still angry with you over your deal with Crowley. Hell, I'm furious, and it's making it very difficult to trust you right now. But I shouldn't have lost it like I did." Dean sighs and slides down the wall, until he's seated a few feet from Castiel. "It's hard to tell with you, but you're scared, aren't you? You went through something traumatic, and the last thing you need right now is for me to scream at you."

Dean makes him sound so delicate… but he's right. Usually, he can hold his own against Dean's rants, but this time, his words had snapped what was left of Castiel's fragile control, and he'd fled.

"And…" Dean pauses. "And it's not like you're the only one who's made bad decisions involving demons. Me, Sam, Bobby… Hell, even my parents… Since we're your biggest influences when it comes to learning about free will and making your own choices, I shouldn't be surprised you're making the same stupid mistake we all did." He smiles ruefully. "We need to find you a better role model. That's it… we're having a Chuck Norris marathon as soon as the power comes back on."

Castiel doesn't know how to respond; he's already explained his actions, and he's not sorry that he's trying to save Earth from another Apocalypse. But he does regret not talking to Dean first.

"This thing with Raphael, we'll find another way to handle it, yeah? One that doesn't involve demons and Purgatory." Dean grins broadly. "We stopped the Apocalypse together, and there were two archangels involved; there's no reason we shouldn't be able to handle Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel."

"Yes," Castiel says dubiously.

Dean is silent for awhile, studying the Nephil, which has stopped feeding and is returning the favor. Castiel senses a spark of interest from it; it recognizes Dean's soul as a match for the pieces of soul within itself, and it knows Dean's voice from before its emergence. It's slowly coming to the conclusion that Dean is somehow important to it.

"How'd you end up with a kid, anyway? I know cloud-seeding isn't your thing, but I can't imagine how you'd end up with it by accident."

"It was Raphael's doing. He is our healer and therefore knows the bodies of angels best; he triggered the Nephil's gestation, and hid it from me until it was too late." Castiel smiles faintly. "He must be very disappointed that the Nephil did not emerge while I was in Heaven, for all to see."

Dean just stares at him in horror. "Raphael did this to you?"

At Castiel's nod, Dean looks ready to hunt down and gank Raphael right then. "I almost admire his deviousness, using creation as a weapon. It's far more creative than I would have given him credit for." And winning a war by creating life rather than ending it was almost poetic. It would appeal to those angels tired of all the death and destruction - though it wouldn't stop them from killing the abominations - and sway them to Raphael's way of thinking.

"But… why this?" Dean demands. "I mean, yeah, it'd be inconvenient if you needed to stop to change a diaper in the middle of a battle, but it's not something you couldn't work around. Wouldn't it be easier to just smite you? He's done it before!"

"Yes… but then I would have become a martyr to my cause, and my army would have fought all the harder. As the parent of an abomination to God, however, even my own troops will turn on me, and Raphael will have won without a fight."

"Wait… does this mean you can't even go home again? Can't you just explain that it's Raphael's fault? Cas, you're the victim here!"

Castiel smiles bitterly. "It doesn't matter. I reek of Nephil; I'd be killed before I even had the chance to explain myself. We've all been conditioned to react without thought. If I hadn't recognized my own Grace in the child, I would have instinctively killed it. Nephilim are too powerful to live." He pauses as a thought strikes him. He considers Raphael's offer, to 'take the abomination off his hands.' "I believe Raphael may have another reason for doing this as well; he can't sire a Nephil himself without consequences, but if he claims mine, he can raise it in secret and use it as a weapon."

"Jesus… you really are fucked, aren't you? What are you going to do now?"

Castiel leans back against the metal wall, the chill of it seeping through his trench coat. "Well, since I was told to leave here and never return, I'll find somewhere isolated where I can protect the Nephil. If I'm lucky, I may have a few years before he Apocalypse finds us, or Crowley opens Purgatory without me to keep him in check and creates Hell on Earth."

"You're not going anywhere, man. Forget what I said before; you're staying here, and we'll find a way to fix this."

And Castiel finally believes him. As he'd said before, Dean and Sam had a way of exceeding all expectations, beating impossible odds and coming out victorious. Perhaps, if he'd just gone to Dean two years ago, they'd already have resolved this.

"Cas… what you said about it being mine… what did you mean? We never did anything. Right?" Dean's voice is suddenly strained. "Did Raphael - ? I haven't had my mind Windexed again, have I?"

"No, Dean, we never 'did' anything." He actually air quotes it, which earns a grin from Dean. "It was… an immaculate conception.

"Angels do reproduce, but it is a rare process that normally must blessed by our Father, and then assisted by one of a handful of angels gifted with the power to enable the union, the chief of which is Raphael, our healer. A piece of grace would be taken from each of the parent angels, and Raphael would mold them together into a new life, which he would then place within the more feminine of the parent angels, where it would feed on her Grace until its birth. Once it detaches from its mother's Grace, the infant would be welcomed into its designated Choir as a new brother or sister, and absorb Grace from them until it matured." Castiel closes his eyes and tips his head back, imagining the reception mother and child received from the joyous angels. He hadn't realized until then just how much he craved the love and attention they would have lavished upon him, had his child been entirely angelic.

"Shortly after I pulled Sam from Hell, I had a confrontation with Raphael, during which he knocked me unconscious. It never occurred to me that he'd done something to me while I was out until shortly before the Nephil's birth. I believe that Raphael used fragments of your soul that were left over from when I carried you out of Perdition and fused them with my Grace to create the child."

"So it really is mine," Dean whispers, staring at the Nephil with a mix of horror and awe. "I have an angel tentacle baby. I'm really not sure how to feel about that."

Castiel smiles faintly. "I feel much the same way."

The Nephil seems to have come to a decision about Dean, and slowly slips off Castiel's lap and undulates across the short distance between them until it's by Dean's legs. Castiel tenses as it curiously probes Dean's thigh with one extended limb. Dean stares down at it, but doesn't make any threatening moves. "What's it doing?"

"It recognizes you - well, your soul - and it wants to get to know you." He can feel its curiosity about its other parent, and wariness, and a desire to love and be loved in return. Castiel desperately hopes it isn't in for a major disappointment.

"Is it safe to touch?" Dean asks uncertainly.

Castiel bristles. "It is an infant," he growls. "It can't hurt you, nor does it want to."

"I didn't mean it like that! I meant, is it fragile? If I pick it up, will I hurt it?"

"Oh… no, it's tougher than it looks. Just don't drop it."

Dean gives him a look, then pulls the Nephil up to his chest. "Wow, squishy," he observes. He sounds fascinated rather than disgusted, to Castiel's relief. "About my soul… where'd you get pieces of it? It's not something you can just find lying around." Dean runs his fingers along one of the Nephil's still-damp wings. "Oh, they're soft!" he says with surprise.

"When I retrieved you from Hell, your soul was a damaged thing, still burning brightly but fraying at the edges. I carried you within my Grace, to protect you as well as heal you during our journey from Perdition, and you… bled. There were still fragments of your soul lingering within my Grace. I could have purged them, but… they were comforting."

It was foolish of him, keeping those fragments inside. At first he'd done it in the hopes they'd help him better understand his charge, the Righteous Man who fought his destiny. Later, they were a way of reminding himself that even though he was cut off from the Host, he wasn't alone.

Dean is wearing much the same expression he'd had when Castiel had announced they'd shared a profound bond. But before the moment can become even more awkward, Castiel does something that surprises him as much as it does Dean: he yawns, and widely enough that his jaw cracks.

"Oh," Castiel says faintly. "I haven't done that before."

"You must be exhausted. Cas, when was it born?"

"At 11:57 pm. Fortunately, it was still Thursday, though barely." Dean, of course doesn't grasp the significance of this, that the day of birth ties it even more firmly to the angel of Thursday. Now that Castiel is slowly coming to accept his new role as a parent, he's grateful for this.

"So… it's been barely two hours. No wonder you look so beat; you really shouldn't be pushing yourself like this." Dean clambers to his feet, Nephil still cradled protectively in one arm. "C'mon, let's get out of the cold and get you to bed. Can you fly us inside?"

"No… I used the last of my strength getting us here. At the moment, I am almost completely helpless." Castiel tries unsuccessfully to hide his frustration as he struggles to his feet, using the wall as support. "Oh," he says as he tips forward, barely managing to keep himself from pitching into Dean. "Perhaps I am completely helpless after all."

"We'll just have to make this quick, then. Try to run between the rain drops, okay?" Dean quips.

Castiel frowns. "I don't think that's possible," he says.

Dean just rolls his eyes. "Right. Hope you don't mind getting a little wet, then." His face drops to the Nephil still in his arms. "What about it? Will it be okay? The storm's pretty fierce and I really don't want to expose a baby to that."

Castiel pulls off his trench coat - which is far more difficult than it should be, since it requires him to remove his stabilizing hand from the wall - and tosses it to Dean. "Cover the Nephil with this; it should provide adequate protection."

Dean carefully wraps the coat around the Nephil and holds it in the crook of one arm. The other, he offers to Cas. It's embarrassing just how much of his weight Dean needs to support, but he's too tired to care. He's barely even clinging to consciousness as he follows Dean out into the rainy night.

~oOo~

Castiel is practically a dead weight in Dean's arm by the time they reach the house. They're both soaked to the skin, despite an attempt by Cas to shield them from the worst of the rain by wrapping his wings around them, and Dean can hear Castiel's teeth chattering. Or maybe that's his own.

At least the Nephil, wrapped securely in the trench coat, seems to be escaping the worst of it. However, it's wiggling around, desperate to escape the confines of the coat, and it's not making things easier.

All Dean can think about is getting warm and dry, which will prove much harder without power. There's always the fireplace, but it'll take time to get a good fire going, and he curses himself for not thinking of that before heading out.

Fortunately, Sam seems to have anticipated their needs, because Dean can see the warm orange glow and flickering light of a fire shining through one window. Dean quickens his pace in anticipation of sitting in front of the fireplace. Castiel stumbles, and Dean is forced to slow again and tighten his grip around the angel.

Sam must have been watching for them, because a moment later, he bursts out the door, dressed in a rain slicker that Dean wishes he'd found before running headlong into this monsoon, and comes up on Castiel's other side, taking the bulk of the angel's weight so Dean can concentrate on not dropping the squirming Nephil.

When they finally get inside, Sam pushes them toward the living room and its gloriously warm fire. Dean notices that he'd also collected every blanket and towel he could find, and he'd laid out dry clothing for them both. "I'm boiling some water for cocoa, too," Sam says.

Sam is officially the most awesome brother ever, Dean thinks.

Despite looking ready to collapse, Castiel takes the Nephil from Dean and shakily makes his way to the blanket pile, where he gently frees the infant and nestles it in a fold of cotton. He accepts the clothes Sam offers him, eying them curiously before shucking off his suit jacket and tie. Realizing that Castiel apparently has no modesty, but not having the heart to yell at him, Dean grabs his clothes and heads to the bathroom, while Sam mutters something about fixing the cocoa and rushes to the kitchen.

When Dean comes back, drier and no longer shivering, the cocoa is done and Cas is dressed. His hair is still dripping down his face - he's obviously having some trouble grasping the concept of towels - and he's sitting on the couch next to the Nephil, fidgeting with the edges of his too-long sleeves. Dean sips from his cocoa and watches for a moment before turning to Sam, who is obviously about to burst with curiosity. Dean really can't handle the third degree right now, so he remains silent, watching in amusement as Sam grows more and more impatient with him.

"Well?" Sam finally demands, when the silence draws on too long.

"Well, it looks like Cas is staying indefinitely. Oh… you're an uncle and I have tentacle monster for a kid." Dean slurps down the rest of his cocoa, wishing he'd thought to make it Irish, first. "Look, I'll explain everything tomorrow. Right now, I need time to process this, and Cas is about to pass out. And so am I."

Dean sets aside the mug and heads to the living room, absently picking up the jumble of wet clothes Castiel had carelessly discarded in front of the fireplace, clearing the area because he's going to leave the couch for Cas and sleep stretched out on the hard floor in front of the fire. He grabs some blankets from Sam's neat pile, then looks down at Castiel, who is still somehow awake.

Castiel is practically drowning in Sam's clothes, and it makes him seem very small and vulnerable. Dean suspects that was Sam's intention; he could have just as easily given Cas some of Dean's clothing, which would've been a better fit.

"Your brother is very large," Cas says irritably, tugging at sleeves that hang to his fingertips. Dean rolls his eyes and helps him roll up the sleeves.

"Yeah… my theory is our mom had an affair with Sasquatch. Explains his hair, too."

Castiel's lips twitch, and then he starts fussing over the Nephil until Sam hands him a mug of steaming cocoa. Castiel regards it uncertainly for a moment, then accepts it and gulps it down without any regard for the temperature. "That was very nice. Thank you," he says, handing the mug back and returning his attention to his offspring.

Dean lays a few layers of blankets in front of the fire, not enough to save himself from a backache (he hates getting old; he used to be able to sleep on harder surfaces and wake up feeling refreshed) but he doesn't want to steal too many blankets from the Nephil's makeshift nest. He settles on his back, arms behind his head, and is about to close his eyes when Castiel drops a large bundle of blankets onto the floor next to him and begins to spread them out.

"What are you doing? Wouldn't the couch be more comfortable?"

Castiel finishes arranging the blankets to his satisfaction, then sets the Nephil down next to Dean. "It wants to sleep between both of us. The attention will be good for it. And… I might rest better as well, knowing you're there to help protect it," he finishes shyly.

"Okay… I guess one night can't hurt. But what if I accidentally do something you mistake as a threat to it?" Dean watches the Nephil gather its limbs around itself, then shut all its eyes simultaneously. "I really don't need to be tossed into another table, thanks."

Castiel considers this for a moment, then says very seriously, "Try to keep very still."

Great. Dean is so going to get smited for trying to scratch his ass in the middle of the night…

Castiel settles on his side, facing the Nephil and Dean. He rests his hand atop the Nephil, and visibly relaxes at the contact. His eyes close, and he shifts a bit closer, until his knees are touching Dean's leg.

As something that feels like the world's heaviest invisible feather comforter settles over him and Castiel sighs in contentment, it suddenly occurs to Dean that the Nephil isn't the only one in desperate need of his attention. He remembers the longing look on the angel's face when he'd talked about newborns being welcomed to the family, and suspected Castiel could use some of that as well. What should have been a joyous occasion is instead a death sentence.

It reinforces Dean's feelings that angels are total dicks.

It's hard to believe that the previous night, Dean had seen Cas as one of the monsters he needed to stop, a belief that had been reinforced when they'd found his midnight visit hadn't been a social call, but a robbery. Now, Cas is clinging to him like one of those suction-cup Garfields Dean still sees in car windows. And they have a kid. Together.

Dean thinks the only reason he got any sleep at all is because of the alcohol. Otherwise, he'd never have been able to drift off.

Of course, Dean might have slept better if he hadn't been wondering if maybe Castiel has something besides his wing wrapped around him, like a big-ass, eyeball-y tentacle.

Also? Castiel snores.

~tbc~