A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's continuing to review, and to new readers and followers! If I've missed thanking anyone personally, I apologize; I moved last weekend, so life has been in flux. I'm happy I didn't have to miss updating though. ^_^ Time for more comfort and Cas cuteness!

Chapter 9

Dean stared at the drawings Sam had left in the room. He'd had a couple hours to think about their conversation and go over the events of the past year, analyzing Cas's actions in a new light. Dean still didn't understand how Cas could just assume they only wanted him around as a tool…except that's exactly how they'd been treating him lately. And hadn't Dean planted that seed long before he and Cas had even become real friends? He remembered sitting in a park with Cas, the angel hesitant as he quietly admitted, "I'm not a hammer, as you say," as though uttering out loud the fact that he had doubts would bring down divine judgment. Or rejection. And it'd done exactly that when Cas chose to help Dean stop Sam from killing Lilith.

His younger brother was right: Cas's siblings weren't exactly good examples of what it meant to be family. Dean thought for sure he and Sam had been better than that…but when it came down to it, they'd been preoccupied with fighting the Apocalypse. That's what had united them, and Dean felt as though his bond of brotherhood with Cas had been forged on the battlefield. But what if Cas really did interpret it differently? That friendship equated with need—need for help, need for his super powers, or his knowledge.

And why would Cas have cause to think differently, when Dean didn't exactly go out of his way to show him otherwise? When was the last time Dean shared a meal with the angel the way he'd done with little Cas? Or enjoyed his company without any ulterior purposes? Or, hell, asked him a damn personal question?

Over two years, that's when. The first and only time was when Dean had taken Cas out for his 'last night on earth' before their showdown with Raphael. Okay, maybe Cas hadn't had the best time at the 'den of iniquity,' but Dean remembered how the angel had smiled, even though he was completely clueless as to why Dean was laughing so hard at the end of the night. That had solidified their friendship in Dean's mind, and he'd assumed it had for Cas as well.

Dean set the sketches on the side table and turned to the unconscious form in the bed. "Guess we both figured wrong, huh?" he muttered.

Dean hated admitting this whole past year had been some colossal misunderstanding; it felt like such a waste. And like his hard feelings were his own fault. If Cas were his normal self, Dean would probably want to yell at him and call him an idiot, maybe throttle him. He'd never do that to kid-Cas, though. Kid-Cas, who seemed to understand a whole lot better how much the Winchesters cared for him. So why was it so hard for adult-Cas to get through his thick skull?

Dean ran a hand down his face. The angel still hadn't woken up, and the day had turned into evening. Sam had gone downstairs to fix some food for the both of them and would be bringing it back up soon. They didn't know how long they should wait before giving in and summoning Balthazar, angel ire be damned.

A small sound came from the bed, and Dean whipped his head up. Cas's face was scrunched up, and he seemed to be struggling to pry his eyelids open. Dean scooted closer. "Cas? I'm right here, you're safe."

"D'n?" Cas's eyes slowly opened and squinted at him.

"Hey, how you feeling?"

Cas turned his head from side to side, smushing his hair. "I can't move." His voice was frail and pitiful, but quickly started to become panicked. "Why can't I move?"

Dean surged out of the chair. "Whoa, hey, you're okay. It's just the heavy blankets."

"Dean?" Sam strode in, a plate stacked with two sandwiches in one hand and some beer bottles in the other. He set them on the dresser and hurried to the bedside. "What's wrong?"

"I can't move," Cas whimpered. "Let me go!"

Sam put a hand on the kid's thrashing head to try to calm him. "Cas, it's okay."

The whimpers turned to begging sobs, spurring Dean to rip the top blankets off, followed by the various towels. Sam helped, and in less than six seconds they'd thrown everything to the foot of the bed or on the floor. Cas let out a distressed hiccup as he rolled onto his side. He was shaking—or shivering—and couldn't even muster the strength to sit up. Sam exchanged an alarmed look with Dean.

Dean knelt down to Cas's eye level and gently touched his shoulder. Kid was still cold, though at least not frozen. "Cas, hey, you're safe here, I promise. Me and Sam are right here, and we're not gonna let anything hurt you." He had to swallow against the lump of guilt that tried to clog his throat, since he'd failed to keep that promise the first time. But he'd be damned if he let it happen again.

Glassy blue eyes stared back at him. "I couldn't move," Cas whimpered. "I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't listen, and I couldn't move." His whole body shuddered, eliciting another choked sob.

Dean's stomach clenched, and he glanced at his brother; Cas had said, 'he.' Maybe the kid was confused again, or maybe he was reliving the moments of the attack that led to his being turned into a child. It sounded like Cas had been immobilized somehow…and waking up with heavy blankets sitting on his chest had probably triggered a memory. Not to mention remembering Hel holding him down couldn't have helped things either.

A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked as he took a moment to process that as well. He eased himself onto the edge of the bed and reached over to rub Cas's back. The kid was a coiled knot of tension, but at the touch he seemed to calm a little. Dean rubbed his arm.

"I'm sorry waking up like that scared you," he said. "But you need the blankets, okay? You need to get warm." The fact that Cas was still weak and hadn't banished the chill was worrying.

Sam grabbed the electric blanket from the foot of the bed and lightly spread it over Cas. "Hey, Bobby made you soup. If I bring some up, will you try to eat?"

"How's that sound, Cas?" Dean prompted when the kid didn't immediately respond.

Cas gave a minute nod, and Sam slid off the bed to hurry back downstairs. Dean ran his gaze over the small angel, who was still trembling. The blanket wasn't gonna be enough. Dean gently picked him up and sat on the bed himself, leaning back against the headboard with Cas propped up in his arms. Maybe body heat would help. Something needed to.

"This okay?" Dean asked. He figured avoiding positioning Cas flat on his back for a while would be a good thing.

Cas nodded with a sniffle. Dean tucked the edges of the blanket closer around his small body to keep in as much warmth as possible, and then smoothed some of the kid's mussed hair back. There were so many things he wanted to tell Cas, to clear the air between them…but now wasn't the time. He had to content himself with the fact that this right here was enough to show kid-Cas he was loved and cared for. …And this was gonna make things really awkward when Cas was changed back into an adult. Or maybe it would help.

Dean sighed. Their lives were too weird.

Sam came back with a steaming ceramic mug, lips quirking at the sight of them. Dean decided to hold back the snarky comments for now. Sam sat on the side of the bed and stirred the soup a few times before lifting out a spoonful. He tried it first, probably to check the temperature, and then coaxed Cas into opening his mouth. Cas accepted the soup, expression mildly curious as he swallowed.

"Taste good?" Sam asked.

Cas nodded. He was like a baby bird, taking spoonful after spoonful of soup as Sam gingerly fed them to him.

"What, no airplane?" Dean finally jibed.

Sam shot him a wry look.

They'd gotten half the soup down Cas before the kid's eyelids started drooping. There was a slight flush to his cheeks that suggested the hot liquid had done him some good at least. Dean's stomach was rumbling, and the sandwiches Sam had made were still sitting on the dresser, but he was loathe to disentangle himself from Cas. The kid needed rest, and Dean didn't want to lay him down and risk another rude wake-up call like the first.

"Pass me a sandwich, would you?" he asked.

Sam smirked as he got up to set the soup on the dresser and pick up the plate instead. "You want the airplane?"

Dean scowled, and worked one arm out from under Cas. He waved impatiently for Sam to hand him food. Grinning, Sam held the plate out, and Dean snatched the top sandwich off it. Then Sam settled back on the bed, and they both ate in silence while they watched Cas sleep. At least this time the kid looked more peaceful and less…dead. The bread and mustard turned to sandpaper in Dean's mouth, and he forcibly swallowed.

"Do you think…" he started. "Hel didn't cause any permanent damage, right?" Because Cas always bounced back from injuries.

Sam chewed for an extra moment before swallowing. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Only Cas can tell us that, but…"

"It's not something I particularly want to ask him," Dean finished.

"Yeah." Setting his sandwich on the plate, Sam reached out and placed the back of his hand on Cas's cheek. "He's getting better, though. Maybe…we should just wait and see."

Dean nodded around another mouthful. That was all they could do at this point.

It was another day before Cas was strong enough to get out of bed. He still caught a chill way too easily, but Sam had found a box of their old clothes in Bobby's attic, from one of those many instances when John had dropped them at Singer Salvage for months at a time. Dean couldn't believe Bobby had saved all that crap, but then, the older man never threw anything away. Which turned out to be a good thing because Sam found some clothes that would fit Cas, and they were able to bundle him up in extra layers.

They kept feeding him soup, too, and hot chocolate, which Cas had been asking for nonstop since he started feeling better. Dean was happy to give him whatever he wanted, though Sam kept insisting Cas could only have the hot chocolate after yet another cup of vegetable soup. Bobby had just rolled his eyes at the lot of them and barked that the boys were covering the next grocery run.

"Bobby, may I have some more paper please?"

Dean looked up from the lore book he was reading on transfiguration; they'd made zero progress on figuring out how to change Cas back. The kid angel was currently standing next to Bobby's desk, a colored pencil clutched in one hand. Overall, Cas was a pretty mild kid, and it didn't take much to keep him entertained. But in two days, he had gone through half of a notebook that Bobby normally used for research and stuff.

The older man huffed. "Again? Do you think paper grows on trees?"

Cas tilted his head. "Mhm, paper is made from trees, so…yes!" He beamed at the hunter. "Paper grows on trees."

Dean bit back a chuckle.

Bobby glared at them both. "Dean, take your angel outside for a bit."

Dean rolled his eyes, but set the book on the couch and stood up. "Come on, Cas. Sam will be back from the store soon and then you can have some hot chocolate." Not to mention a proper sketchbook, which the brothers had agreed to buy for the angel so his drawings wouldn't have to be scattered all over the place anymore.

Cas bounded over, request for paper momentarily forgotten. He pulled up short as he remembered the pencil in his hand, darted back to set it on Bobby's desk, and then scurried ahead of Dean to get to the door. Guess they'd been keeping him cooped up more than they realized.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was out, the warmest part of the day, but there was a slight breeze, and Dean still worried about Cas getting cold. "Let me grab you a jacket, okay?" Dean called as Cas ran out onto the grass. The kid already had on a sweater, but Dean was taking no chances. He stepped back inside to retrieve a small jacket that had once been Sam's, and when he returned outside, Cas was nowhere in sight.

"Cas?" Dean spun around, scanning the driveway and the section of scrap yard visible from the front of the house. Adrenaline spiked through him when he couldn't spot the little angel. "Cas!"

"Yes, Dean?" a small voice filtered down.

Dean whipped his head up, heart dropping into his stomach when he found Cas on the friggin' roof. "What the hell are you doing up there?" he shouted, fear making him snap.

"Stretching my wings," Cas replied, and took a few steps across the slats that made Dean's heart nearly seize. "I like this view," he continued nonchalantly.

"Cas, you get your ass down here right now!"

Cas shot him a startled look, and for a moment, Dean had the horrible vision of the kid simply jumping off the roof. But one second Cas was standing up there, and the next he'd vanished. There was the sound of tiny wingbeats, and then Cas stumbled into sight in front of Dean.

Cas's face scrunched up in consternation. "I still can't land smoothly."

Dean dropped to the ground and took him roughly by the shoulders. "Don't you ever do that again. You could have fallen and hurt yourself!"

Wide blue eyes blinked owlishly at him. "I'm sorry," he said pitifully.

Dean sighed, and forced his tone down to a more reasonable level. "No, I'm sorry for yelling. You just scared me. You can't go flying off, and you cannot go prancing around on the roof."

"Okay," Cas said in a small, dejected voice. His shoulders bunched, and for a moment Dean was reminded of those wings he'd seen at the park. Crap, he was so not qualified to take care of a fledgling.

"Are your wings okay?" he asked hesitantly. Because it wasn't like Dean knew how to help if they weren't. "Do they hurt?"

Cas shook his head, gaze fixed on the ground.

Dean loosened his grip on the kid's shoulders and rubbed his arms. "Hey, I know I don't know much about angels, but I want to help if I can. But you gotta tell me."

Cas shifted his weight, scuffing his shoe through the dirt. "I don't know how to fix them."

Dean frowned. "Fix them? Are you hurt? Did…" he cut off asking if Hel had done something to Cas's wings.

Cas didn't seem to notice. "They're wrong."

Wrong? Oh, wait, the wrong color. That's what had upset Cas when he'd first seen his wings. Balthazar had said not to bring it up, but there was no way Dean was gonna let the kid continue thinking his wings were something to be ashamed of.

Dean eased himself down to sit crosslegged on the ground, gently pulling Cas down next to him. "How are they supposed to be?"

"White." Cas's brows knitted together. "No, they're black now."

Dean's chest constricted, now that he knew how that had happened. "So they changed color?"

Cas poked his finger in the dirt and started tracing random swirls. "They were white. …And then I raised you from perdition." Cas rolled his shoulder.

Dean thought he might be sick, but he forced himself to keep it together. "Hey, uh, what color are Balthazar's wings?" The dick-angel had hinted that he'd been to Hell with Cas and come back…changed.

Cas cocked his head as he tried to remember. "White, of course. And…and some gray. And brown." He pushed more dirt around.

"So not every angel has all white wings," Dean prompted.

Cas pursed his mouth. "No…others have battle scars. But mine are the darkest." He got to his feet then and started walking circles around Dean, arms spread out for balance—or to imitate flying.

Dean didn't know quite what to say. He'd never really given much thought to Cas's wings. Out of sight, out of mind. And it made sense for child-Cas to be upset and confused by the current state of them, but could it be that adult-Cas also felt ashamed of them? It was such a foreign concept to Dean, because Cas had always been this confident, staunch soldier, unafraid of anything…but Dean was beginning to realize that Cas did have a lot more emotions that the angel just never shared. And that Dean needed to pay more attention to.

He reached out to snag Cas's arm when the kid walked past again. "Hey, your wings are nothing to be ashamed of."

"They're ugly," Cas said matter-of-factly, as though he'd been told it often enough. And considering the dick angels he used to hang with, Dean had no trouble believing that's what happened.

"They're not," he insisted. "You know what scars show? That you survived." Dean shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing the handprint scar. "Do you think this is ugly?"

Cas studied it for a moment. "No."

Dean smiled. In truth, he'd never thought of his scar as particularly ugly, though he'd never appreciated it either. Until it'd helped him save Cas. "Me neither. And I don't think your wings are ugly. I think they're friggin' awesome and strong, and any scars show that you did something none of those other angels did. You raised me from Hell."

Dean paused, suddenly wondering whether Cas had gained even more scars when he'd gone back to the Pit to rescue Sam. But he wasn't gonna ask the kid that, and it wasn't something Sam needed on his shoulders. Dean carrying the weight of such knowledge was enough for the both of them.

Cas's mouth turned up slightly, and he reached out to touch the handprint scar. "It was worth it."

A lump tried to settle in Dean's throat, so he cleared it and picked up his jacket. "Let's go back inside. Hey, have you drawn a picture for Bobby yet? Maybe that will butter him up into giving you more paper."

"Okay!" Cas beamed, and Dean was grateful for how easy it was to cheer him up and redirect him. There was only so much heart-to-heart Dean could take at one time, and he needed to pace himself for when they got Cas back to normal…when the even harder topics would come up.