Cas to the rescue! Get ready for comfort and a feast - and maybe they'll even get that tent put away!

Chapter 2

Dean sent a heartfelt prayer of thanks to the other versions of Jack that weren't currently suffering from post-sugar high, post-nap, way-too-much-birthday-excitement, screaming meltdowns.

Castiel. Cas. Comrade-in-arms, best friend, co-parent and love of Dean's life; who appeared, to save them from tantruming Jacks and feral beach-tents, presumably with a soft murmuring of his wings - but there wasn't a hope of hearing those above the cacophony.

On one arm the angel balanced a large, white cardboard box and the other was full from wrist to elbow with the handles of numerous bulging bags - the reusable jute ones and a whole rustling mess of extra plastic ones. Angel-strength came in handy when you were shopping. Not that Dean cared right now. His eyes were watering and his nose and cheek were dripping blood and he didn't have a handkerchief.

The soft smile Castiel had been wearing changed rapidly to a frown and his lips tightened even more when his eyes fell on Dean.

"Cas!" Sam sprang up from his child-level crouch. "You're back!"

The angel glanced at Sam and then at Jack, who was wrapped, oblivious, in his post-nap anger. Then he looked back at Dean and extended his arm to let the shopping bags slide to the floor. He carefully placed the white box on the table and then he was right up close, his blue eyes expressing everything - compassion, patience and a whole load of I can't leave you three alone together, can I? Dean wanted to say, It was the stupid tent's fault, but he was lost in those eyes.

Then Cas's hands were on his face, so gently, and the warmth of his grace took away the burning and the pain and a soft handkerchief dabbed away the blood, and soft kisses - one on his cheek, one on the tip of his nose and one, brief and chaste, on his lips took away the frustration and anger at himself for failing on Jack's birthday - for not making it perfect for him.

It didn't need to be perfect, said Cas's eyes and his kisses and his gentle touch. Although it would have had more of a chance of being perfect if Cas hadn't been away so long, Dean thought. He only had to go to Walmart to get the cake and party food, didn't he? What the actual fuck had taken him so long?

An eyebrow rose and a smile twitched the corner of the angel's lips. Neither of them needed to be telepathic. They just knew. Dean smiled and shrugged.

Then Cas turned away and slipped off his trenchcoat and slung it over a chair. He flapped a pacifying wave at red-faced Sammy as he calmly walked down the few stairs and approached the still-wailing Jack. He sat down on the floor.

And then Jack noticed his other Dad was back. Did he cease his shrieking sobs? Did he collapse into Cas's arms? No, he did not. Because, as Dean had frequently noted, Jack was a Winchester, and if a Winchester was doing a job, he was fucking well doing the job. The sentiment applied to tantrums. Jack redoubled his efforts. But Cas didn't flinch.

"Jack," he said. And the name was spoken with as much firmness and insistence on instant obedience as John Winchester had ever got into The Voice. But it was also stuffed to the brim with compassion and love and understanding.

Jack's cries faltered. His whole body shook. But still he didn't dive into Cas's arms.

"Pops?" After the Dad-ass phase, Jack had accidentally given Cas his desired nickname. Cas popped up. He just did. One minute no angel, the next - pop.

"Jack," said Cas again, much softer. "You just woke up?"

No, he's been like this for a good half hour now, thought Dean, his ears ringing in the silence between the hitchy, watery patches.

Jack nodded and sniffed and wiped his snotty nose on the sleeve of his stripey tee shirt.

"And you wanted to wake up, didn't you? But you still felt tired and sleepy?"

Jack nodded again.

"Maybe you'd had a bad dream?"

Jack shook his head.

"A good one? And you got confused when you woke up in the middle of it?"

Jack frowned and shrugged.

"Maybe you were angry and didn't know why."

More fat tears rolled down Jack's cheeks. His mouth trembled and drooped.

Cas held out his arms. And finally - finally - Jack collapsed into them. Dean wanted to join him. Sammy probably did too.

Cas had done it. He'd fixed their little family.

Sometimes it was Cas who was the solution. Sometimes it was Sam. And sometimes, yes, it was Dean. Because he didn't often let himself be the bad cop - even though, watching Cas, he thought he might be able to make a better job of it than his own father - but if there was tension, if the mood needed lightening, if it needed someone to see right through a mess of problems that weren't even based on real, actual things-that-mattered - well, that was where Dean came into his own, with a joke or a silly face or a grappling hug or any one of a number of tension-breakers that he'd realised he was good at when he wasn't focussed on a world under threat from terrible doom.

A heavy rustle and clatter announced that the heap of Cas's shopping bags had collapsed.

"What've you got here, Cas?"

Cas looked up, still with his arms around Jack.

"The cake's in the white box. The rest is all the food Jack wanted for his party feast. And a few other things."

Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, so… not that I'm not grateful, but what took you so long? Cause, you know…" He waved at Jack. "We kind of could have done with you being here."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I was going to go to Walmart, but Jack had asked for the best cake ever and the best pizza ever… So I had to go further afield."

"Okay."

"Where'd you go, Cas?" Sam asked, combing his fingers through his hair, calming it down after its torture at his own hands. "A round the world trip?"

The angel smiled. "Well, France is the best place for patisserie, so…"

"You went to France for Jack's cake?" asked Dean.

"He wanted a cake that looked like heaven. It was a complex creation. I had to wait a while." Cas took Jack's hand and eased both of them up from the floor. "Come and look, Jack. A lady called Marie-France made your cake. She said to tell you, "Joyeux troisième anniversaire," which means 'Happy third birthday."

"Joytrozair," repeated Jack, his voice still a bit squeaky and hitchy, which always made Dean's heart melt, no matter what hair-tearing had gone before. "Joytrozair to me."

"Precisely," said Cas.

He led Jack up the steps and over to the table, where he let go of his hand to open the tall, white cardboard box and fold down the sides.

"Whoa, Cas! That is one hell of a cake!" The thing was huge - wedding-cake sized.

"One heaven of a cake, Dean," corrected Castiel.

"Pick me up! Pick me up! Wanna seeee!"

Cas whizzed Jack easily up in his arms, letting him go at the top of his arc to catch him again and settle him against his hip. And if Dean tried that he'd probably put his back out. That airplane whizzing earlier had made his muscles ache already.

"It's bootful," said Jack, reaching out toward the cake.

It was beautiful. Even Dean had to admit that, and squash down his jealousy of the skillful Marie-France.

He could have made Jack a cake. Maybe not a three-tier cake big enough for a wedding, with little winding pathways leading up through the tiers, flanked by delicate sugar handrails and overhung by crystalline trees. And maybe he would have struggled to make the perfect mini replica of a Greek temple that sat on top of the highest tier. He could've made the spun-sugar clouds, though. And he would've made the tiny sugarpaste angels more realistic, even if they wouldn't've been so pretty (the douchebags). Apart from Cas, obviously. Dean would have laboured over a sugarpaste Cas until it was as pretty as he could get.

"Bootful!" repeated Jack, with awe. "Can I have some now?"

"No," said Cas. "You've got your pizza to eat first."

"Pizza?" said Dean. "It'll be cold, won't it? Where d'you get it from? Rome?"

"It's not cold, because I'm keeping it warm with my grace," said Cas. "And no, not Rome - Naples, the true home of pizza. There's a little street stall where they do just plain cheese and tomato." He still held Jack in his arms, and tipped his head toward the little boy. "Did you know there's a volcano very close to Naples?"

"Ooh. Does it 'rupt? Whoosh!" Jack stretched his arms up in the air. "Lava everywhere!"

"Well, sometimes it does erupt, yes," said Cas. "But when it's sleeping, people grow crops on its slopes. And the tomatoes that grow in the volcanic soil make their pizza sauce the best in the world. And buffaloes graze nearby and produce milk which makes the best mozzarella in the world."

"So the pizzas are the best in the world?" asked Jack. "Best pizzas for my birfday?"

"Yes," said Cas. "And if you buy them from a little stall in the street they don't even cost much and they fold them into cones so you can hold them and eat them as you're walking along."

"I'm gon' eat my pizza walking!"

This could lead to a whole lot of drippy tomato and cheese spread around the bunker. But it did sound like fun.

"I'll get them out, Cas," said Sam. "Which bag are they in?"

"The Lebanon farmer's market one."

"Okay."

Sam handed out the pizza-cones, each wrapped in a cone of paper. They ate. They walked around, weaving in and out of each other, avoiding the slops of tomato and runny cheese that Jack dropped. Some of Dean's tomato sauce dropped in a big splat, but he could blame Jack.

Jack, unfinished pizza in one hand, came to a halt beside the heap of shopping bags. "What else did you get, Pops? D'you get the shushi?"

"I did get the sushi, yes."

"Let me guess - from Japan?" Dean asked.

Cas smiled. "It had to be the best sushi in the world, Dean."

"Best shushi in the world, for my best birfday in the world!"

Cas sorted out the sushi, which came in a beautiful box with tiny glass bottles of soy sauce, and tiny glass jars of wasabi, with tiny wooden spoons for scooping it out. And Dean would definitely not be giving Jack access to the wasabi after last time, when the little boy had insisted on slathering his portion with the green condiment and then had cried when he'd popped his favourite tuna and avocado roll into his mouth and it had burned. Dean had had to swap and eat the wasabi-slathered portion himself. It had made his eyes water and his head prickle from his temples all the way around to the back of his neck.

They sat at the table to share the sushi, which was very good. And then they sampled sweet little snacks from India - balls of dough soaked in syrup, and coconutty, milky-tasting squares of yellow stuff, and then they were back in Japan for a bit with squishy balls in pink, white and green.

"Mochi," said Sam. "You need to chew them up properly, Jack. Or they can stick in your throat."

Jack obligingly opened his mouth wide, to show a slurry of chewed stickiness.

"Ew, gross."

"I'm chewing mine up too, Sammy." Dean let his brother have an eyeful.

"Cas! Can't you keep these two under control?"

"Possibly I can," said Cas, with a smile. "We haven't sung happy birthday yet. And there are more gifts to open."

"Cake!" yelled Jack in agreement. "Gifts!

Cas sorted through his bags and drew out three silvery candles, which looked a bit lost in amongst the winding paths of the huge cake.

"I'll get a lighter," said Sam.

"No need. Please turn off the lights, though Sam." Three little grace-fuelled flames popped into existence.

And when Sam turned the lights off, the cake really did look like an ideal version of heaven. It sparkled in the candlelight, the crystalline trees cast mysterious shadows and flickering yellow flame lit up the inside of the Greek temple so that it looked like there'd be a friendly welcome there for everyone.

Jack's voice was soft and sombre and, for a moment, wasn't the voice of a three-year-old. "My heaven's like that. It's kind and beautiful and it's a place where everyone can be happy and feel safe."

Dean's eyes prickled. He squeezed an arm around the little boy and felt Cas's arm curling around from the other side and Sam was leaning down from behind to put his arms around all of them. No words were needed.

Then, "Sing!" The three-year-old was back, in full-on birthday mode. "You're supposed to sing!"

They did - Cas's growly, scratchy bass, Sam's clear baritone and Dean's expressive tenor, which he tried to tone down to blend with the lower voices, but he couldn't. Sometimes he could sing along to music in the car and keep it light and deliberately put in a few off-key notes, so that it sounded as though it didn't matter that much. But sometimes he couldn't help his real, natural voice coming out, and along with it came all the emotion that was lurking inside him. Dean felt like even the few lines of Happy Birthday were a heartfelt ballad that revealed everything he felt about his little family.

Jack stood up on his chair to blow out the candles and Sammy turned the lights back on. Dean kept his head down and hoped nobody noticed him wiping his eyes.

Cas cut some slices off the side of the cake and they ate, even though they were already very full from pizza, sushi and mochi and Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Cas was using his grace in some way to stop Jack getting sick.

The little boy licked icing from his fingers. "Presents?" he asked hopefully.

Soon Jack sat in a nest of wrapping paper, his new toys and books and clothes spread out around him. Dean watched, and took a sip of his much-needed beer as the little boy drove a model Impala through the debris. But then the car faltered, the blond bangs flopping forward, the lower lip visible beneath.

"Tired, Jack?"

"Uh-uh."

"You sure? You can sit up here on my knee for a bit if you like."

"Not tired." But he scrambled up from the floor and into Dean's lap and gave him a hug and a sticky kiss and then nestled in, his fingers buried in Dean's soft green hoodie.

"What's up, Jackrabbit?"

The little body rose and fell in a heavy sigh. "I got so many gifts."

"That's good, though, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"So…?"

Jack sat up suddenly, and leaned back so that Dean had to link his arms around him to hold him in place.

"You didn't get any gifts. Daddy-Sam didn't. Pops didn't. They were all for me."

"It's your birthday, squirt. That's what happens on your birthday."

"Doesn't seem fair."

Cas and Sam's murmuring conversation approached and they both drew out chairs and sat down.

"That's all the food packed away," said Sam. "We can have more later, though." He looked from Jack to Dean and back. "What's up?"

"Nothing," said Jack.

"Jack-in-the-box is feeling a bit sad, aren't you squirt? Cause he's the only one who got gifts today."

"Oh, that's not true, Jack!" said Sam. "You got all the wrapped gifts, but we got to spend your birthday with you and that's the best gift of all."

Jack didn't look convinced. "I was bad. I hurt you."

"No! You weren't bad. You were just… a bit grumpy. Like when you go in and wake Dadean up before he's ready sometimes. Or like Pops before he's had his third coffee of the day."

"Whereas you're always sweetness and light first thing," sneered Dean. "Even when someone's finished off the Lucky Charms that you pretend not to like."

"I've been drinking my new blend of kale and chia smoothies every morning for weeks now, Dean. You've seen me!"

"I've seen the Lucky Charms box left out too. Admit it, Sammy. You love 'em as much as you did when you were Jack's age."

"We didn't get them then. You always said they were too expensive."

"We did if I could get them. One way or another." He used to wear one of Dad's old coats. He'd check up and down the aisle and if it was clear he'd slide the box up beneath the loose fabric and hunch over his shopping basket so that people wouldn't see his front was too bulgy for his skinny frame.

"Well, you don't need to worry, Jack," said Cas. "Nobody is missing out today."

"You got presents for everyone?" Jack slid down from Dean's lap and grabbed Cas's hands, bouncing up and down and tugging on them. "Pops?"

"Yes, I did. Look in the Thriftway bag. The green one."

Jack sorted through the bags, found the right one and tipped it out.

"Hey!" Dean slithered off his chair and onto the floor to sit next to Jack. "Rainbow slinkies!" He looked up at his angel, whose eyes were crinkled up at the edges with humour. "You got us rainbow slinkies?"

"I knew you'd lost yours, Dean."

"You lost the rainbow slinky that I got especially for you?" Sam was outraged. "When I'd been beaten up by evil clowns?"

"Sorry, Sammy, but yeah - all that Mark of Cain stuff, and then Amara and then everything else. I don't think a man can be blamed for losing his rainbow slinky with that sh- I mean all that bad stuff going on."

"Dadean nearly said shit, Pops. You nearly did, didn't you, Dadean? That's a bad word."

"So you shouldn't repeat it, should you, Jack?" said Cas. "Now, why don't you all play with your slinkies while I put this tent away?"

"Oh." Sam sat back in his chair and folded his arms, a slow smile spreading over his face. "No. I think I'm staying right here. This should be good."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't do it, Sam?"

"I think you'd be better off taking a machete to it, Cas," Sam replied.

"Or, hey - why not just go for the rocket launcher." Dean was always looking for an excuse to use that particular toy. And you could say it was overkill for a child's tent, but that thing deserved all it got after taunting him and his brother for most of the afternoon.

"I don't think that will be necessary," said Cas. He stood up and walked calmly over to the tent, glanced around the structure once and then picked up the little round bag that had been discarded on the floor. "Perhaps someone could hold this open for me."

"That is the absolute definition of optimism," said Sam.

"What's moptism?" Jack asked.

"Optimism is when someone decides that things are going to go exactly according to plan," said Sam, "despite huge amounts of evidence, not to mention blood, sweat - and I don't mind admitting to tears - to the contrary."

Jack ran up to Cas and hugged his legs, earning himself a hair-ruffling. "You can do it, can't you Pops? You can do it cos you're a angel!"

"Hey, no way - that's cheating!" said Sam.

"Yeah - no grace allowed," Dean agreed. "You have to do it with your own two hands and nothing else."

Cas looked at Dean, a small smile twitching his lips, his eyes narrowed. "I don't need my grace." He gave the little tent bag to Jack. "Hold this for me, please. Don't worry. The tent won't spring apart and hurt you."

"Of course it won't, Pops. Cos you're a angel!"

"That doesn't make any difference!" Sam protested. "No grace! No cheating!"

"No angel mojo of any kind," said Dean.

Cas ignored them. "Are you ready, Jack?"

"Yes, Pops. I ready."

Cas reached down to the tent. He spread his arms and took hold of either end. And then standing up, he gave a twist and a fold and another twist. And then he slid the small, round, folded shape neatly back in its bag. "Thank you, Jack." He took the bag, tightened the drawstring and set it down on the table.

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked at Sam. Cas had made it look so easy. After all that fuss. All that frustration. Dean scratched the back of his neck. And though his own eyes were fixed on the floor, he distinctly heard an uncomfortable throat-clearing from his brother's direction.

Jack laughed. "I said so, dint I? I said Pops could do it cos he's a angel!"

Dean grunted something-or-other. Sam huffed.

"Dean. Sam."

Dean looked up at Cas's twitching lips, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were deeper than ever.

"Tell me - how do I fly?"

"What?"

"How do I get from A to B? Or from B to C? Or from Paris to Naples? And then onto India and Japan?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. You've got those great big wings that we can only see when you're showing off." Oh.

"Great big wings!" said Jack, spreading his arms wide and flapping them. "I can have great big wings when I want. When I'm older."

"Not yet, though, Jack," said Cas.

"Great big wings," repeated Sam. "That have to go somewhere when you land."

"Yes," said Cas.

"I thought they just hung around in another dimension," said Dean. "Flapping about and not getting in our way, because they're not really… here."

"Well, that would still be awkward for me," said Cas.

"So he folds 'em right up, tight up!" shouted Jack, spreading his arms and then wiggling them and drawing them in to fold across his chest. "Just like the tent!"

"Very like the tent," agreed Cas. "But much more complex. A complex series of folds and twists and more folds and more twists that I've been carrying out since I was created. Or at least since I learnt to make the best use of my wings. Which is a very, very, long, long time ago."

Dean, still sitting on the floor next to the rainbow slinkies, shook his head and rubbed his forehead. "So the tent was a no-brainer for you, then."

"It was certainly quite straightforward."

Then Cas stood up. He held out his arms.

Dean looked at him.

"Get up, Dean."

"What?"

"I've been all over the world today and now I'm home. I want a hug and so do you."

Dean blushed. "Aw, Cas."

"Come on." The angel flapped his hands. "You know you want to."

Dean got up and found himself drawn into a tight, warm, Cas-scented hug. And he hugged back with all the warmth and love and strength he had, because you could give an angel a really, really strong hug with no danger of ribs getting crushed.

"I'd say 'get a room'" said Sam. "But you already have one. And actually you are pretty cute together, as I've said before and will no doubt say again."

"Pops loves Dadean and Dadean loves Pops," said Jack, nodding wisely.

"And we all love you, Jack," said Sam.

Cas stepped back from Dean, his strong hands curving over his love's shoulders, his blue eyes looking deep inside Dean's heart. Dean grinned what was surely a foolish grin.

"It's time to play," said Cas, seriously.

"Yeah!" Dean agreed, because everyone should get to be a kid on their kid's birthday. "Hey, Cas - I'm gonna see if mine'll go all the way down the stairs from the entrance."

"It'll fall through the gaps," said Sam.

"No it won't. Not if I angle it right. You gotta have the skills, Sammy!"

"We'll see about that." Sam stood up, scooped up one of the slinkies and began passing the rings from one hand to another, tauntingly, making that the characteristic shink-shink that all the best metal slinkies made.

"That sounds like a challenge! You coming, Cas?"

"I wouldn't miss it. And I believe I may be able to top your sad, mortal efforts."

"Oh, you're asking for it, angel."

"Fight!" Jack yelled. "Yay!"

"Just a little friendly competition," said Cas. "We're not fighting."

"Fight!" contradicted Jack with glee.

Dean held out a slinky to Cas and then leapt up from the floor with his own and grabbed Cas's hand. "Come on, angel. Let's settle this once and for all."

Cas smiled. Sam laughed. And they followed Jack's pattering footsteps across the shiny, slightly scratched, wooden floor and climbed the metal stairway so that battle could begin.

I hope you enjoyed that little story! Thank you so much for reading. I'm not sure how much writing I'll get done this week - it's autumn half term here so the children are off school, although they're old enough to do their own thing, mostly. But more ideas are bubbling away in my mind, and writing really is the best therapy for all kinds of things, so hopefully I'll turn out something!