A/N: Happy 2016! Some more majorly adorable Cas with squee factors here. *g* And thank you Guests for reviewing! If it's bad to want Cas whump, then we're all guilty. You can bet I'm not going to let that kind of opportunity for protective big brother Winchesters go by. ;)

Chapter 4

Dean drove to the local Walmart where he could get Cas some clothes and shoes with one stop. He parked the Impala halfway down the lot from the store entrance—damn those compact car spaces—and unbuckled his seatbelt before reaching over to help Cas undo his. The kid angel then tried to get the passenger door open, without success. Dean chuckled at Cas's look of frustration, but when he vanished in a flutter of wings, Dean's heart jolted and he barreled out of the car.

"Cas! Get back here right now!" Dean spun in a full circle, frantically searching for the angel to reappear. He didn't know why, but the thought of losing Cas now scared the shit out of him.

He rounded the back of the Impala and pulled up short. Cas was sitting on the pavement just outside the passenger door, much like he'd been when Dean first found him in the motel room. The kid looked up at Dean with a confused, slightly hurt expression.

"Why can't I fly right? I used to be the fastest angel in my garrison. Now my wings don't work."

Dean sighed, and closed the distance to crouch down next to him. "It won't always be like this, okay buddy? Me and Sam are gonna fix it." Somehow. He took Cas's arm and helped him stand, noting the tear in the black slacks above one knee. Dean stayed on the ground to examine it, but didn't see any blood. Then he looked at Cas's bare feet and the several-yard walk to the store. Lifting his eyes to the sky, Dean picked Cas up and carried him. Cas didn't protest, and in fact was still looking melancholic over his wings.

They entered the store, and Dean headed for the kids shoe department first. "Hey, Cas, look at these. They light up when you walk."

Cas tilted his head at the dark blue sneakers as Dean put pressure on the soles to get the LED lights to flash lime green. Cas's eyes widened. "They put lightning bugs in shoes?"

"What? No, they…" He bit back his explanation of wires and friction to generate bursts of electricity. "Um, it's shoe fairies."

Cas angled the most serious, doubting look at him Dean had ever seen. "There's no such thing."

He resisted rolling his eyes. "Right, let's just find your size." He set Cas down on the tiny stool with slanted mirrors, and then grabbed three boxes off the shelf. Cas watched with fascination as Dean held the bottom of each shoe up against Cas's foot to narrow down the right size. Once he'd figured that out, he slipped them on Cas's feet and tied the laces.

"Walk around and see how they feel," Dean said, and started putting the wrong sizes back in their boxes.

Cas hopped off the stool and bounced around, head craned down to watch the LED lights flash with each step.

"They pinch anywhere?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head, but Dean motioned him closer so he could check for himself.

"Okay, now clothes." He took Cas's hand and led him across the aisle to the clothing section. Cas hopped and skipped beside him, obsessed with the new shoes. While Cas was preoccupied with them, Dean rifled through the clothes racks, occasionally pulling out a pair of jeans or shirt and holding them up to Cas to try gauging his size. He'd tried asking Cas what he liked, but the kid had just stared at him owlishly. Right, it wasn't like adult Cas ever changed his wardrobe either.

Dean finally picked out a pair of black jeans and a dark blue, long sleeve shirt. He remembered to grab a pair of socks on the way to the register where they stood in line to pay. Dean's eyes roved the checkout racks, and paused on a section of school supplies, specifically a hanger with boxes of colored pencils.

Dean glanced at Cas, who was also looking around at everything curiously. On impulse, Dean grabbed a box of the colored pencils and added it to the conveyor belt before Cas could notice. There probably wasn't much point; Sam would get answers from Balthazar and Cas would be back to his normal self in no time. And yet…Dean couldn't not buy the pencils. Just in case.

After paying for everything, Dean ushered Cas to the nearest dressing room and told him to change into the new stuff. He waited outside, holding the door closed for several minutes before finally knocking. "Cas, hey, you okay?"

"'M stuck."

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh and opened the door. Thankfully, Cas had managed to get the jeans on no problem, but his arms had gotten tangled in the long sleeves of the shirt. "Okay, let me help." Dean knelt down and guided Cas's arms through the appropriate openings, then tugged the shirt down to smooth it out. "Right, glad it fits." He ripped off the tags and stuck them in the shopping bag, then helped Cas into the shoes and socks. "Now we can go."

"For hot chocolate?" Cas asked hopefully.

Dean couldn't help but smile. "I did promise that, didn't I?" As they walked out of the store, Dean checked his phone; there were no messages from Sam. He hoped the confrontation with Balthazar was going okay. Which reminded Dean that he needed to bring up the dick-angel to Cas and see how he reacted. Something Dean wasn't really looking forward to.

He drove to a drive-thru coffee shop he'd seen between their motel and the Walmart, bought a hot chocolate for each of them, and then parked across the street at a park. This time he leaned over to open the door for Cas, who slid out and bounded onto the grass, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.

"I like gardens," he announced. "There's a garden in Heaven I like to sit in. It belongs to an autistic man, but I don't think he minds me visiting."

Dean paused, taken aback by that little tidbit, though he didn't know why. Maybe because after how long he'd known Cas, he'd never really known anything personal about his angel friend.

"Yeah? Why do you like it?" He led Cas to a picnic table where he set their cups of hot chocolate. There was a grove of trees to the left, and on their other side a playground with a bunch of children the same age as Cas playing on the swings and slides while their mothers chatted and watched. Dean wondered for a brief moment if Cas would want to play with them.

Cas climbed onto the bench and wrapped both of his tiny hands around the to-go cup. "It's quiet and pretty." He paused, and then lowered his voice. "Well, it was. Raphael knocked me down and got blood on the garden."

Dean stiffened. The way Cas said it, one would think he was talking about a bully at recess, but Dean knew that was probably a grossly understated analogy. "He did what? When was this?"

Cas's gaze went distant, as though he were passively recalling the memory. "After he told me to kneel and I said no." His brow furrowed. "I don't know why I said that. I think…it would have been bad for you and Sam."

"Raphael and his followers, they want him to rule Heaven."

"And what happens if Raphael wins? What does he want?"

"What he's always wanted—to end the story the way it was written."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. Cas had stood against an archangel—the one that had killed him once before—because he didn't want to see all their hard work to divert the Apocalypse be for nothing, for all of their sacrifices to be for nothing. And it sounded like Cas had gotten the shit kicked out of him for it, too.

Dean opened his mouth to apologize, but decided against it. He didn't think Cas would truly understand while he was like this. So when he was back to normal, then Dean would have a long overdue talk with his best friend.

Dean cleared his throat. "So how do you like hot chocolate?" he asked instead.

Cas beamed over the rim of the cup. "Better than your coffee."

Dean's brows shot up, and he wondered whether he should be offended by that. But he just grinned in return and shook his head in amusement. How many times had he tried to get Cas to lighten up, kick back and have a beer? There'd been the 'den of iniquity'—which Dean was so not taking four-year-old Cas to. Oh well, there was something to be said for hot chocolate and sitting in a park with the laughter of children ringing in the background. It'd actually been a while since Dean had taken such a break from the stressful, hectic paced life of hunting and saving the world.

Except this wasn't really a break, and he had a pressing case sitting right in front of him. Dean took a deep breath. "Think Balthazar would like hot chocolate?" He winced at the lame transition, but was relieved Cas didn't automatically respond to the name with fear.

Instead, Cas's forehead crinkled further. "Mhm, he likes alcohol as much as you do."

Dean rolled his eyes, not exactly keen on having anything in common with that dickwad. "We could invite him to try some," he mentioned cautiously.

Cas let out a small chortle. "He doesn't like you. He calls you names Michael said we're not supposed to use."

Dean nearly choked on his drink. That so? Well, fine, he had a few choice adjectives for that pompous angel as well…though nothing he was currently going to say in front of Cas. At this rate, the kid angel would probably repeat everything back to the SOB, and Dean didn't need to give the douche-angel any more reasons to smite him. "Okay, but Balthazar likes you, right? You're friends?"

Cas nodded. "I was really sad when he died, but then he came back!"

Well, all this was a good sign. Dean still felt reticent, though, about bringing Balthazar into this. Yet what choice did they have?

Cas abruptly pushed his cup away and started squirming on the bench seat, rolling his shoulders and biting his lip.

"You got ants in your pants?" As soon as the joke left his mouth, Dean blanched at the thought that Cas might have to use the bathroom. Angels never needed to, but then, this whole fledgling thing was completely unchartered territory.

"It's too tight," Cas whined, tugging at his collar.

Dean frowned. "No it's not." He leaned over to test it himself, just in case this freaky universe included baby angels growing a few inches within minutes, but the shirt was just as loose fitting as it was when he'd bought it. Cas, however, still had his face scrunched up in apparent discomfort. Then the kid leaned his head back, mouth opening wide, and rocked forward again with a violent sneeze.

Dean would have laughed at the shocked expression on Cas's face—if his own wasn't equally stupefied by the pair of wings that had suddenly materialized behind Cas. They were much smaller than the shadowed wingspans Dean remembered seeing before. Which made sense, if Cas was a fledgling. These wings extended only about two feet on either side, with the longer primaries a deep, onyx black that moved down to blend into splotched areas of silver gray and pure white.

Cas craned his neck over his shoulder to look at them, and his brows knit together. "They're not supposed to be that color."

Dean snapped out of his stupor. "Shit, Cas, put those away before someone sees!"

Cas stared behind him at the wings as though he could bore laser holes through them, but they were not disappearing. Dean shot a frantic look toward the playground where a bunch of kids and their mothers were still congregated. Darting out of his seat, he hurried around the table to block their view of Cas, his mouth dropping open as he caught sight of the wings poking through two slits in the back of Cas's new shirt. Dean should've bought a spare.

He picked Cas up and carried him toward the grove of trees. Once they were out of sight, Dean set him on the ground and crouched down to look at him on the same eye level. "Cas, man, I'm serious, you gotta make those invisible."

The wings flexed up and down, and Cas's mouth disappeared in a thin line. "I don't know how."

Oh, you've got to be kidding. Dean rubbed a hand down his face, and glanced around to make sure they were still alone. "Please just try? If anyone sees them…it could be bad, okay?"

The wings folded down behind Cas's back. "Because they're ugly," he said in a pitiful voice.

"What? No, they're not ugly." What the hell was that about? His phone started ringing, and Dean fished it out of his pocket in a hurry. It was Sam. He hit the answer button and put the cell to his ear. "Please tell me you have something."

"Yes and no," Sam replied, a hesitant catch in his voice. "But I'm hoping Balthazar can help. Did you, uh, get a chance to talk to Cas?"

Dean glanced at the kid angel, whose wings were twitching almost self-consciously. "Yeah, the name didn't trigger anything. You trust him though?"

There was a pause on the other end, and Dean wondered if Balthazar was standing right there. "Yeah."

"Good, because Cas just sneezed his wings into existence and I can't get him to make them disappear."

"They itch," Cas said petulantly, feathers bristling.

"He what?" Sam exclaimed.

"We're at King Park, behind the trees near the picnic tables," Dean said in response. "Tell douche-angel if he wants to help, he won't waste any time getting here."

Dean hadn't completed hanging up when the flutter of wings intruded on them. Dean tensed, just in case seeing Balthazar triggered a different reaction in Cas than talking about him, but Cas didn't immediately freak out. Instead, he was staring up at the British angel, who had thankfully brought Sam along.

Cas canted his head. "You're taller than I remember."

Balthazar continued to gape, apparently dumbfounded. "Bloody hell," he uttered. "What did you hairless apes do?"

"Hey," Dean snapped, surging to his feet. "We didn't do anything except try to help Cas, who came to us after getting whammied by another angel."

"Guys!" Sam shouted, and then quickly resumed a calmer tone as he nodded to Cas. "Can we focus on the wings first?"

They all returned their attention to Cas, who had stepped back a few feet and had his wings curled around the front of his shoulders, tightly hugging himself as he stared pointedly at the ground.

Balthazar huffed out a breath. "Right. Hey, Cas."

Cas looked up shyly and gave him a small smile. "Hello, Balthazar."

"You seem to be in quite the pickle."

Cas heaved a heavy sigh. "My wings are all wrong. They won't fly right, and the color's wrong, and they itch."

Balthazar looked at Cas for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally said with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I can see that. I'll do whatever I can to fix them, but first you have to put them back in the ethereal plane where they belong."

Cas cocked his head. "How?"

The older angel blinked. "Uh…you just…shit, it's been millennia since we had these lessons."

"You mean you angels were actually young once?" Sam asked.

Balthazar shot him a wry look. "Long before you lot crawled out of the primordial ooze."

Dean waved his hand impatiently at both of them, in between glances back toward the playground. The longer Cas was exposed like this, the more nervous he was becoming.

"Okay," Balthazar went on. "How about, uh, I help?"

Cas didn't reply, so Balthazar moved closer and knelt down in front of the little angel. "You hear the chords of the ether?" Cas nodded. "Okay, picture the aura of your wings; they should be pulsating at a specific frequency in tune with the physical plane. You just need to shift it so it's vibrating with the ethereal one."

Dean exchanged a piqued look with Sam. That was some interesting wing tidbits there.

Cas's face screwed up in concentration, and Dean tried not to pace apprehensively while they waited for it to work. But finally, the wings started to shimmer iridescently, and gradually flickered out of sight.

Balthazar stood up and turned back to the Winchesters. "I suggest we find a more private place to talk, immediately."

Sam told him their motel and room number, and a second later they were all taking a trip on Angel Air. It was only with a belated curse that Dean realized they'd left his baby in the parking lot.

o.0.o

A man in a white ice-cream truck uniform stepped away from the bushes and strode back toward his vehicle. Kids were lining up outside to stuff their faces with cavity-inducing sugar—and a few randomly injected poisons. But that was all getting thrown on the back burner now.

He slammed the window closed in their faces, taking pleasure in the wave of disappointed whines that echoed through the corrugated steel. Plucking a bowl from the freezer, he knelt beside the body he'd stuffed in the cooler earlier, and squeezed out some blood. It was cold, which meant he had to wait a few minutes for it to flow easily into the bowl. Once it had, he placed his call. The viscous red liquid bubbled and burbled.

"Tell her she's not going to believe what's running around top-side."