Title: And Their Promises They'd Kept
Prompt: Written for hugglewolf on livejournal: "Supernatural, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Family. Castiel's vessel reverts to a child, permanently, as does he. He's now a baby angel, and Dean and Sam have to look after him like they're his fathers. It means moving from town to town when people realise the little boy isn't aging, and some nights Dean lies awake worrying what will happen to Cas if anything happens to him or Sam."
Note: Title taken from Heather Dale's song, "The Changeling Child."
It's their fourth move and the eighth year.
The air conditioner isn't hooked up yet, and it's August, so all three of them are sleeping on mattresses in the living room under the direct influence of the only working fan. Even Sam was easily persuaded to order pizza and forget the sheets which may or may not be in the box labeled KITCHEN instead of the box labeled LINEN (because while Sam is a nerd, and an organized one at that, Dean rushes things).
As usual and regardless of heat, Castiel is sprawled over Sam's chest with a Rubik's cube, although both brothers know that he'll be sharing with Dean by morning.
He looks about nine, but it's younger or something in angel years because he's too clingy and too vulnerable. So they try passing him off as eight or once even a daring seven. Castiel still hasn't quite figured out falsehoods, so they try to keep it easy on him-or at least keep it consistent.
Baby angels can recite the multiplication table up into the twelve digits, master Mario Kart, and navigate the continent by stars alone. Baby angels can't fly (although they certainly try), need help to groom their wings, and have a dangerous degree of empathy.
And yes, there's a story behind each of those.
The crash course in caring for baby angels was carefully documented in both Sam's neat print, and Dean's rushed hand. Eight years in, Sam and Dean are pros. Baby angels didn't sleep, but they were used to nesting behavior, so Castiel shared a bed with at least one of them. Baby angels liked honey, so there were honey-glazed donuts every Sunday. Baby angels needed this. Baby angels did that.
Baby angels didn't age.
Eight years since Dean hauled a child-sized Castiel out of the rubble, and Castiel remained unchanged. His face is as smooth and as young as it had been when Dean pressed it into his neck during the hurried flight from a leveled motel in Dallas.
Dean is almost forty. His hair is already shot with gray. His back's been messed up one time too many, and Dean knows that he looks older than he is. At the start of this arrangement, he posed as Castiel's father with Sam the dorky uncle. Now Sam is the one that teachers ask for and that the neighbor kids greet as "Cas' Dad."
Another four years and two-maybe-three moves, and they'll have to change their story again. They'll have to explain things away differently with each new move.
There is no back-up plan.
There is no one left that Sam and Dean can trust to care for Castiel when they are gone. Bobby, Jo, and Ellen are dead. Gabriel and Chuck are missing. No civilian can be trusted with the secret. There is no back-up.
Dean isn't the praying type. But when Castiel crawls in beside him a few hours before dawn . . . Dean prays for one more year.