Well, this is a random day to be posting a new chapter! I kind of had it ready yesterday, but my head was a bit chemo-fuzzy, so I wasn't sure. Anyway, here it is. I'm not sure if I'll have a chapter ready for next weekend or if my posting schedule will be a bit random. I'm away for a couple of days this week, so we'll see.

This was actually quite a hard chapter to write. Because there's light-hearted stuff going on, but Dean, as usual has conflicting feelings to deal with. Actually, I've been in that situation at a soft play party - everything's colourful and cheerful and it just doesn't match the stuff that's going on in your head. But I'm sure Dean and Cas will have fun anyway...

Chapter 24

Dean was surrounded. And it was good - kind of - to be the centre of so many well-wishers, so many hearty slaps on the back, so many smiles and 'long-time-no-sees.' From all sides, he was bombarded with voices and faces and bathed in the hunter's scent of gun oil, sweat, coffee and hard alcohol as well as the brisk jabs of fresh air and youth from Claire Novak and her gang.

He caught a wave and a nod from his brother, standing out above the crowd like the tallest tree in the jungle, then Sam jerked his thumb inside the building and disappeared. Making sure everything was organised, or getting first go on the trampolines? It'd be hilarious if Sammy went out of control - long limbs flying all over the place.

Happy Birthday, Dean. Good to see you, Winchester. The sea of voices was filled with memories, especially from Bobby and Charlie and others who were them, but not them - refugees from that world of ash, who didn't quite match up with the lost members of Dean's family that 'don't end in blood.' He loved them. He couldn't not love them. But they didn't have that shared history, that true bond he'd had with their counterparts.

The birthday well-wishes flowed over him in a torrent, as well as digs and jibes and jokes with a dark undercurrent, typical of their community.

"Never thought you'd quit."

"What the hell's happened to your hair?"

"Thought you'd be hunting till you…"

"You gonna braid that, Winchester?"

"Where you bin' hidin'? Coulda done with your help a while back - nasty nest of vamps."

"Didn't figure you'd ever give it up."

"Thought there was only one way out for a Winchester."

The greetings were genuine and heartfelt, but with each came a raise of brows, a too-hearty slap, a sidelong glance - Happy Birthday! You're still alive?

And what else did the voices hide? They said - never thought you'd quit. Did they really mean that he shouldn't have quit? That he should still be out there? Were they saying, What the hell, Winchester? Monsters to hunt? People to save? Have you forgotten who you are?

"Dean."

"I think they're clean now." Bobby was surveying the crowd, glaring at a group of shifty, young hunters that he'd had to send back to their pick-up three times.

Dean received another slap on the back. Another, "Happy Birthday, Winchester - you gettin' back in the game soon?"

"All right," said Bobby, "you lot get your asses inside - give the birthday boy some space there. Come on - haul your butts through that door!"

The crowd trailed past. Thank fuck for Bobby Singer, from any universe.

"Dean."

Then there was Cas, inserting himself between Dean and the line of hunters, looking right into his eyes. There were no snapping fingers, but Dean felt himself jerk back to who he was and what he was doing here - or who he'd become. His angel's hands curled over his shoulders.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's just - you know…" He tried to smile and then swallowed down a hitching breath. "It's pretty full-on."

"Maybe I shouldn't have sent out quite such a general invitation. I'm sorry, Dean, I-"

"No! No, Cas, you did right. I mean, it's good to see everyone. We'll have a blast."

"I hope so."

Dean smiled and gave him a quick squeeze. He would have fun. And, if it felt like a bit of a test - his old life against the new… well, he had issues to work through, didn't he? He knew that already. Maybe he could burn some of them off with sweat and adrenaline. Trampolines. Awesome.

"Are you two lilies of the field gonna waft around out here all day makin' goo-goo eyes at each other? Get your butts in that door!"

"Okay, Bobby!" Dean pushed Cas ahead of him. "We're going."

Jostling bodies filled the lobby before the swing doors that led to the trampolines. Nobody liked being crowded into a small space, least of all hunters, least of all Dean. But they all had to buy socks, for fuck's sake. Everyone was already wearing socks (probably), but the girl behind the counter - Casey, looking at their party like she was wondering whether to press a panic button - said they had to have the special, grippy socks.

"We've got pink for girls and blue for boys!" she said, with a wild-eyed grin.

Claire pushed her way out of the group, flanked by Kaia and Patience. "Why?" she asked, her eyes hard and flat in a way that Dean knew boded no good.

"Uh… sorry?"

"Why pink for girls and blue for boys?"

Patience leant over the counter. "And why do you assume that everyone here would choose to be assigned to one of those genders?"

Jody slid her way along the desk, pressed by the push of grumbling hunters. "Okay, let's just cool it down!"

"We shouldn't have to conform to gender-stereotypes," said Patience. "It's important to challenge these things."

"Yes, you're right. But we're here for Dean's birthday party and we're all crushed together right now, so how about we let everyone get their socks and then once we're inside you can sit down and have a discussion with whoever's in charge?"

The girls huffed and twitched and Casey received a barrage of it's not over glares. But they backed off.

"Uh… So, can we just have enough for everyone?" Cas was so out of his depth. "And they can all choose what colour?"

Casey reached beneath the counter and took out two big tubs of plastic-wrapped socks and set them on the counter. Then she backed away.

There was a surge forward, as if pink and blue socks were the latest in protective hex bags. But Jody's riot-quelling voice held them back.

"Hold up! Let the birthday boy through first, folks." She spread her arms to hold back the tide and Cas ushered Dean ahead of him.

"I'm having blue." His angel took a plastic-wrapped pair of socks with sticky, grippy bits on their soles. He looked at Dean. And took a pink pair as well. Then he pushed Dean ahead of him toward the inner entrance and the wave of hunters broke behind them.

"Awesome." Maybe he overused the word, but hey… "Freaking awesome, man."

The place was huge. It was big and colourful and there was so much to see that Dean couldn't take it all in at a glance. There was a big field of little trampolines in rows, looking like some kind of a bouncy chess board. There were a couple of massive trampolines - how high could you get on those babies? There was some kind of climbing frame thing which looked like it had a whole load of soft, foamy blocks beneath for you to fall into - good to know there was some kind of thought to safety. There were also trampolines on a diagonal to the wall - and hey, if you took a running jump at one of those you could bounce off and spin, couldn't you? An image of a pool ball bouncing off the cushion sprang into Dean's mind as well as some cloudy, distant math about angles. Maybe Dean could make himself the pool ball?

He squeezed Cas's hand.

"This looks… fun." His angel's words were hollow.

Cas's mouth had that little downturn at one corner and his eyes were bigger than they should be. Dean patted one tense shoulder. "I promised - remember? I'll be careful."

"I don't want to spoil it for you."

"You won't. You won't, angel."

Surely he could have fun without aggravating any of his old injuries? Dean knew he wasn't a kid anymore - he knew his body wouldn't throw off the kind of abuse it'd used to take as a matter of course. He didn't want to see that look on Cas's face - to know that he'd put it there through his own carelessness. That look - the bleak emptiness in his eyes because he felt helpless and useless in the face of Dean's pain, no longer able to heal with a touch. He'd be careful, for Cas's sake.

The quiet, echoing space began to fill up with a buzz and clatter as the hunters spilled in from the lobby, their muted greens and browns surging like a muddy river into the bright primary colour scheme - worlds colliding, when they would never normally meet.

Dean's chest tightened.

A test. His old life against the new.

He had belonged to the muted, murky world of hunting - the behind-the-scenes action of violence and danger and lives saved at a high price. He'd grown up and lived (and died) by its rules. Now, though - did he belong in the light? Did he belong in this place of neon-bright shapes, of artificial obstacles, designed just for having a good time?

Plastic packets of sticky socks crinkled in Cas's hands. Cas. Castiel. The Angel of the Lord - best friend, partner, lover.

Dean's head was full of boulders grating together.

So much had changed. The world had ended and begun again, its pieces flung up and fallen down in a different pattern - a pattern where Dean was just a man, living a good life with a home and a partner who was also just a man and not an angel any more.

Shit. What the hell was going on in his head? Why couldn't he just kick back and enjoy the day? Oh yeah, because he had issues.

He forced a deep, steadying breath - and there was his brother. There was Sam. And Cas was here, so it was all good. Dean hitched his face into a broad grin.

"Hey, Sammy!"

Long legs stuck out awkwardly from the low bench, and Sam was scowling at a pair of pink socks that were too small for his massive, moosey feet. Dean sat down next to him and began to unlace his boots. His brother and his angel - they'd help keep his feet on the ground. Or not, because he was trampolining.

"Happy Birthday, Dean." Sam huffed and sat up, leaving the socks straining over his heels. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Sam."

There was a look and a quick nod between them - what did that mean? Another part of the nurprise? A warm spark of excitement sprang to life in Dean's chest. All this had been planned just for him. Not because he'd done anything to deserve it, but just because he was Dean. And now he didn't know whether he was a kid at a party or a battered old warrior or, hell, maybe a man on the run. He had a sudden longing for the burn of whiskey in his throat.

But, hey, at least the pink socks fit him. He tugged them straight so the sticky bits were on the soles. He wiggled his toes. And then sat up and rubbed his hands. Time to slap down all the shit going on in his head - shut down his brain and get his body moving.

"Okay, let's get this show on the road."

What would he do first? See if he could bounce up on one of those giant tramps and touch the ceiling? Already there was a scattered slew of abandoned boots and outerwear and hunters were approaching the trampolines in small, suspicious groups, like they were stalking some as yet unidentified fugly.

But then Jody planted herself between the creeping advance and the trampolines, back on riot duty. "Hold up folks! We all have to watch the safety video first."

"Safety video?" There were scornful mutterings.

"Yes, safety video. And I want everyone to pay attention and stick to the rules." She spread her arms and swept the hunters backward, past the benches and scattered boots and coats, in the direction of a café area and, beside it, an alcove where there were seats in rows in front of a large screen.

"That sounds like a good idea," said Cas. He stood up. "Come on, Dean. Let's set a good example."

He held out his hand.

Cas held out his hand and Dean should take it. He should take it and stand up and walk next to Cas, like he did every day, hand-in-hand, because that's the way they were. They touched each other all the time, in friendship, in affection, in love.

But all around him were the people who'd lived the hunters' life as long and longer than he had - the men, the women that Dad had trained him to hide himself from. Dean had been made to play a part, to be a man's man, to deny his pain and his needs, to do the dark deeds without flinching, to allow no softness and no hint to show of what lay beneath the hard-drinking, waitress-fucking, love-em-and-leave-em, all-macho Dean Winchester.

His heart fluttered, fast and shallow. Prickling heat burned on his cheeks but his lips felt cold.

Some of them - how many? - knew about him and Cas. Most of them must know they lived together. And they'd come, hadn't they? That must mean there was some level of acceptance, mustn't it?

But Dad had taught him to hide. Yellow roses on a black shirt. Dad had said, what the hell is wrong with you, kid?

Was he breathing? His chest moved but there was no air.

Cas's hand was held out for him to take, and yet all Dean's life, a man's hand was a fist - used to strike blows in anger - never a hand to hold in comfort or love. Men were brothers-in-arms, fighting side by side, their bodies used as weapons as much as the guns and knives they carried. And Dean Winchester was a hunter, a soldier, a killer - the man who'd been to hell and back and who didn't flinch from blood or pain, who did what had to be done and moved on without doubt or weakness - without ever needing a hand to hold.

You need to toughen up, boy. Was it his Dad's voice or had it come from the crowd?

"Dean?"

He put his hand in Cas's.

His own was shaking, but his angel's grip was tight, as it had always been. Cas's hand was warm and firm and right and it belonged in his.

Dean stood up and Cas leaned close and whispered, "I'll always raise you up, Dean. When you need me to."

Dean swallowed and blinked and nodded and cleared his throat. "Okay. Yeah."

Were people looking? Were they judging?

Cas was smiling at him. Claire was rolling her eyes. Bobby was glaring at some 'idjit' who'd put his socks on with the sticky bits on top. And there was Garth, arriving late, a blue sticky-sock pulled on over one hand, making it talk to his daughter and two staggering, shrieking toddlers.

And, hey - if anyone was going to judge Dean's life choices, they could fuck off out of his birthday party and why would he care what they thought anyway? Cas squeezed his hand and the memories and voices were gone. Everyone was jostling for space to sit in the video room and Dean was being towed toward a seat at the front.

The benches were too low - designed for kids. Sammy's knees were under his chin.

"Safety video."

"Sounds like a loada balls."

"Don't think I done anything safe since… maybe eighty-three?"

Someone laughed.

The big screen on the wall came to life. There should be popcorn.

Welcome to Boing! Before your session, please make sure everyone in your party watches this fun safety video.

A stick figure appeared on the screen, gently bouncing on a simple diagram of a trampoline.

Trampolining can be dangerous...

Laughter and cat-calls broke out from the hunters. Cas turned around and gave them a quelling look.

…causing serious injuries…

Dean flinched as the bouncing stick figure's leg broken completely off.

…or even death.

A skull and crossbones appeared above the figure, which toppled over. Its neck snapped and the head bounced out of shot.

"Shit!"

"They let kids watch this?"

Another healthy, bouncing stick figure appeared.

Always remain in control, resumed the cheerful voice-over, and avoid landing on the foam pads covering the steel frame and springs. Landing here risks serious leg injuries.

The stick figure's leg snapped in half again.

"Son of a bitch."

"Think I'll go track down a vengeful spirit. Might be more relaxin'."

The video continued and Cas's hand gripped Dean's more and more tightly as the stick figure snapped, twisted, crumpled and was crippled or killed in a variety of ways, most of which Dean thought looked like normal stunts to have a go at on a trampoline.

"Well, shit," said Sam, when the screen had settled back to a blank grey sheet. "I was going to try most of that."

"Yeah." Dean turned toward his brother. If they'd been, what - thirty years younger (fuck - thirty? Really?) they would have done their best to break every single one of those rules and think up even more stupid things to do besides. "I was definitely gonna bounce along the whole row and then flip off the wall. Who the hell wouldn't want to do that?"

"Anyone who values their life, apparently," said Cas.

Have you seen those safety videos? I remember the first time I saw one - it was brutal. That poor stick figure!