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blue_bells» Title: The Littlest Hunter (3/7)
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: De-ageing!
» Pairing(s)/Characters: wee!Castiel, Winchesters
» Summary: As punishment for disobeying, Castiel is sent back in time in the form of a young child - only to be unofficially adopted by John Winchester.
» A/N: Written originally for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
merry_gentry in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic.
PREVIOUS: Part 1 | Part 2
Sam thinks Castiel looks funny in his pyjamas.
They’re too wide at the shoulders and tummy and every time Castiel raises his arms Sam giggles, because Castiel looks like a confused flying fox with wings under his arms. With the big old eyes of an owl.
Dean scrunches his nose at Sam from his seat at the desk when he gets Castiel into a game of ‘Simon Says’. Sam thinks Dean might know what he’s doing because he rolls his eyes and looks back at the television every time Sam flaps his arms.
Sam ignores him for the new friend his Dad brought to play with them.
“So, where’re you from?” Sam asks him.
“Up,” Castiel pauses his imitation of Sam’s aeroplane and points at the ceiling.
Sam glances up. “The roof? Like the cable repair guy?”
Castiel’s mouth hangs open and his eyes squint at Sam, head craned to the side and when he doesn’t answer for a long moment, Sam gasps, stunned with the excitement of his revelation.
“Space! You’re a space kid!”
“No….” Castiel’s frown is very disappointing.
“Alaska,” Dean tries and they both look at him, surprised that he’s joined in.
“No.”
Sam looks at Castiel’s profile and sees the band aids Dean put on his neck and chin after his shower. Sam was pretty surprised they found so many cuts on him once the dirt was washed away. Some were jagged and deeper than others; Castiel flinched every time Dean’s fingers spread the salve on his skin. Dean had eventually sat back with an impatient huff and glared until Castiel raised his pyjama top again, looking guilty. He didn’t shirk away again when Dean reached for him.
Sam saw some big bruises on Castiel’s arms and back when he helped him with his pyjamas.
Sam’s not sure why seeing all those marks have made him a little afraid of Castiel.
“Is your Dad really dead?”
Castiel’s arms fall to his sides and his attention snaps back to Sam in shock.
“Sam,” John says, voice low and warning, when he emerges from the bathroom after his shower and Sam drops his arms, feeling sheepish for being caught still playing so close to bedtime. He pokes his tongue at Castiel with a grin when his Dad turns his back, forgetting that Castiel doesn’t know their rules or their jokes.
Castiel blinks, startled, and his face crumples in terrible confusion.
The reaction is unexpected, but funny, so he sticks his tongue out again and Castiel is definitely pouting now.
When he slouches at the foot of one of the beds, back to Sam and his hands in his lap, Sam has a real worry that his Dad will see Castiel’s pouty face and get angry at Sam.
That will not happen before bedtime!
He grabs his second pillow and runs back to push it into Castiel’s arms. “You can take my bed."
Castiel makes his face at Sam’s pillow, as though he doesn’t like it any more than he likes the faces Sam makes at him when he’s being funny. Castiel just doesn’t understand that Sam is funny.
"Sam –“ Dean starts to protest, but Sam talks louder over him.
“I’m going to sleep in Dad’s bed, so you can sleep in mine tonight!”
“Sam,” He hears his Dad sigh and looks over his shoulder, heart jumping in a familiar, nervous way at the tone in his Dad’s voice.
John is crouched over his duffel bag on the floor beside his bed that he hasn’t slept in once during the week they’ve stayed at this motel. He has that tired, almost unhappy look on his face that always comes before he makes Sam unhappy.
Sam sets his mouth grimly, his hands fist at his sides and he glares back, daring his Dad to say something stupid.
“Sammy, you can sleep with me tonight,” Dean says, resigned, somewhere behind him.
“No, I’m sleeping with Dad!”
Sam doesn’t notice Castiel peering around him, looking from Sam to his Dad. Sam would have been a bit appeased that Castiel was finally clutching his pillow.
“Sam,” Castiel murmurs, tentative and he shrinks behind the pillow when Sam whirls on him, not caring what he’s about to say or offer.
“You go to sleep!”
“Sam!” John barks and the answering quiver of fear in Sam’s chest is immediate.
Sam feels a hot flush from his chest to his face when he looks at his Dad again. He can’t see him very well because his vision is starting to blur from the sting behind his eyes.
“Sorry, Dad,” he mumbles.
“Don’t apologise to me,” John orders, angry, and Sam almost jerks back at the force of it.
He’s swallowing convulsively when he turns back to Castiel, his throat feels like it’s burning and he’s expecting his head to explode any minute from the throbbing at his temples.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean is standing still by the television, now turned off.
Some of the tears finally escape and he can see Castiel properly for a moment. Sam doesn’t understand the look in Castiel’s eyes, like he’s afraid as he searches Sam’s face. He’s not even the one being yelled at.
“’M sorry I yelled at you, Castiel,” Sam hiccups and crushes his lips around the sound.
“I forgive you, Sam,” Castiel says immediately, voice trembling, and Sam thinks he’s about to cry, too.
That makes Sam cry for real, which is stupid and frustrating, and when he tries to stop, he only cries harder.
He stands there for what feels like a really long minute, rubbing the heels of his hands to his eyes, angrily trying to force the tears back. Something soft presses against his chest and he realises Castiel is holding his pillow out to him, eyes intent with sympathy and at least he’s not crying.
Castiel lets go as soon as Sam buries his face in the pillow. He gets out two good sobs against the yellow and green striped pattern before large, warm hands settle on his shoulder, on his head.
“Okay, that’s enough,” John says, gruff, and rubs the top of his head, “That’s enough for tonight.”
Sam thinks his Dad could be gentler with his hair and lets out a particularly spiteful sob.
“Sam, you take my bed. I’ve got some work to do; I’ll sit at the desk,” John says and Sam scowls against the pillow when his Dad pulls him against his waist, arm over his chest and Sam can’t help the delight and relief that springs up being held like this. Being held by his Dad at all.
He really wants to stay mad, though, because his Dad’s solution isn’t what he wanted either.
He scowls and fumes against his pillow, but then Dean appears holding a cold glass of milk out to him, lips pressed in a thin line. He nods curtly at Sam to take the glass.
“C’mon, drink this. And don’t choke.”
Sam’s grip is slippery, but he feels the milk wind its cool, calm way through him and the glass is half-empty when he stops to catch his breath. He’s barely shaking anymore.
“Drink up, it’ll help you sleep,” Dean is saying as he hands Castiel his own tall glass.
Sam watches over the rim, jostling with every gulp because his Dad’s hand is still moving over his hair.
“It will?” Castiel looks deep into his glass and holds it with both hands. “How will I know when I’m sleepy?”
“Drink it, don’t inhale it, kid,” Dean adds and takes Sam’s empty glass to the sink as John moves away to finish sorting his duffel bag. “You just lie back when you’re done and let the magic milk do its work.”
Castiel takes his first sips and stops with a noise of interest. His eyes are bright and he licks his lips thoughtfully. “Hmm. This is….”
“Milky,” Sam helps and wipes his milk moustache with the back of his sleeve, “Dean gets us the good stuff.” After a pause, he offers the pillow in his arms back to Castiel. “I’m sorry it’s a bit wet now.”
Castiel shakes his head once, but Sam thinks he looks sort of grateful. “You keep it.”
“… Okay,” Sam shrugs because he’s noticed his Dad pulling the covers back for him and he likes to leap in as soon as they’re open. He’s preparing to pounce over there when Castiel surfaces from his glass again.
“Sam?”
“… Yeah?”
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
“Sure,” Sam doesn’t notice the small smile Castiel hides in his glass because he’s bounding towards the third bed in the next moment. He leaps, “Rawr!”
He pokes his tongue, grinning when his Dad quirks a smile and tucks his arms and legs under the blanket. He helps by raising his head when John pushes the pillow under his neck.
“You just sleep on my bed when you get tired, okay, Dad?”
John combs the fringe back from his eyes. “You bet, Sammy. And you just mind your temper when you talk, y'hear?”
Sam's almost forgotten he was naughty at all. He tries to look ashamed. "Yes, Sir."
His Dad pinches his nose and winks and Sam has to ask.
“Dad?”
John hums in his throat and raises his eyebrows, waiting.
“Did you see Castiel’s cuts and… stuff?”
John’s expression loses some of its softness and he glances down, nodding. “Yeah.”
“… Do you think he’s an orphan?”
John presses a thumb over Sam’s eyebrows, smoothing down the furrow there. “Let me worry about that, all right?”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Sam says, smiling sleepily, “He’ll be fine because you found him.”
Sam doesn’t worry that his Dad isn’t smiling, too, because he get a kiss in his hair. “Night, Sam.”
Before his eyes slide shut, Sam sees Dean and Castiel standing at either side of Castiel’s bed. They’re each holding a corner of the blanket while Dean points at the pillow and Castiel’s frown of confusion is back.
“Get in, shut your eyes, and if you’re still stuck, start counting sheep,” he hears Dean say.
“… Where are the sheep?”
At least Castiel enjoyed his milk, Sam thinks, before he sinks into the warm black.
He wakes up sooner than he should.
He knows because it’s still black outside, the motel room is quiet and his Dad is hunched at the desk with his back to the room. The pale glow of the desk light lets him see Dean curled tightly on his side under the messy covers, snoring softly. His eyebrows are pinched like he’s thinking through a problem even in his sleep.
Sam yawns, pushes the hair back from his face and looks at Castiel’s bed, closest to him. Castiel’s blankets have barely been disturbed. Sam thinks that he must be a sound sleeper, even if his lips are moving in his sleep.
Sam frowns blearily, vision clearing of sleep as he focuses and realises that Castiel’s eyes are open.
Castiel’s eyes are darting back and forth across the ceiling, blankets up to his chin as he murmurs soundlessly.
Sam sits up and checks the bedside clock. It’s almost four in the morning, at least six hours since Sam fell asleep.
Castiel’s head turns to Sam when he stumbles to his bedside, curious, wrapped in the coverlet and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Castiel’s blue eyes are bright and clear.
“When do I stop counting?” Castiel asks, the softest breath without sound, but Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
His Dad is surprised at the touch on his shoulder and turns the light down when he realises it’s Sam at his side, blinking against the glare.
“What wrong, Sammy?” John murmurs and rubs his son’s back.
Sam glances at the paper his Dad’s been studying on the desk: a funny spiderweb with fake letters and shapes all over it, scrawled in blue pen.
He rubs a knuckle to the corner of his eyes. “Castiel’s still awake.”
John straightens with a frown and looks over his shoulder.
Sam stares at the sink on the far wall and yawns. His bare feet are cold on the carpet.
“Thanks, Sammy. Go back to bed,” His Dad says and Sam is too happy to follow that order.
He falls back into the warmth of his bed and turns towards the wall with a smile. Sleep rises up like the final warm blanket and he snuggles down, certain that his Dad will take care of it; he always takes care of them.
He doesn’t see his Dad sit back in his seat, watching Castiel murmur to himself until the sun rises.
Part 4
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: De-ageing!
» Pairing(s)/Characters: wee!Castiel, Winchesters
» Summary: As punishment for disobeying, Castiel is sent back in time in the form of a young child - only to be unofficially adopted by John Winchester.
» A/N: Written originally for
merry_gentry in comment_fic.PREVIOUS: Part 1 | Part 2
Sam thinks Castiel looks funny in his pyjamas.
They’re too wide at the shoulders and tummy and every time Castiel raises his arms Sam giggles, because Castiel looks like a confused flying fox with wings under his arms. With the big old eyes of an owl.
Dean scrunches his nose at Sam from his seat at the desk when he gets Castiel into a game of ‘Simon Says’. Sam thinks Dean might know what he’s doing because he rolls his eyes and looks back at the television every time Sam flaps his arms.
Sam ignores him for the new friend his Dad brought to play with them.
“So, where’re you from?” Sam asks him.
“Up,” Castiel pauses his imitation of Sam’s aeroplane and points at the ceiling.
Sam glances up. “The roof? Like the cable repair guy?”
Castiel’s mouth hangs open and his eyes squint at Sam, head craned to the side and when he doesn’t answer for a long moment, Sam gasps, stunned with the excitement of his revelation.
“Space! You’re a space kid!”
“No….” Castiel’s frown is very disappointing.
“Alaska,” Dean tries and they both look at him, surprised that he’s joined in.
“No.”
Sam looks at Castiel’s profile and sees the band aids Dean put on his neck and chin after his shower. Sam was pretty surprised they found so many cuts on him once the dirt was washed away. Some were jagged and deeper than others; Castiel flinched every time Dean’s fingers spread the salve on his skin. Dean had eventually sat back with an impatient huff and glared until Castiel raised his pyjama top again, looking guilty. He didn’t shirk away again when Dean reached for him.
Sam saw some big bruises on Castiel’s arms and back when he helped him with his pyjamas.
Sam’s not sure why seeing all those marks have made him a little afraid of Castiel.
“Is your Dad really dead?”
Castiel’s arms fall to his sides and his attention snaps back to Sam in shock.
“Sam,” John says, voice low and warning, when he emerges from the bathroom after his shower and Sam drops his arms, feeling sheepish for being caught still playing so close to bedtime. He pokes his tongue at Castiel with a grin when his Dad turns his back, forgetting that Castiel doesn’t know their rules or their jokes.
Castiel blinks, startled, and his face crumples in terrible confusion.
The reaction is unexpected, but funny, so he sticks his tongue out again and Castiel is definitely pouting now.
When he slouches at the foot of one of the beds, back to Sam and his hands in his lap, Sam has a real worry that his Dad will see Castiel’s pouty face and get angry at Sam.
That will not happen before bedtime!
He grabs his second pillow and runs back to push it into Castiel’s arms. “You can take my bed."
Castiel makes his face at Sam’s pillow, as though he doesn’t like it any more than he likes the faces Sam makes at him when he’s being funny. Castiel just doesn’t understand that Sam is funny.
"Sam –“ Dean starts to protest, but Sam talks louder over him.
“I’m going to sleep in Dad’s bed, so you can sleep in mine tonight!”
“Sam,” He hears his Dad sigh and looks over his shoulder, heart jumping in a familiar, nervous way at the tone in his Dad’s voice.
John is crouched over his duffel bag on the floor beside his bed that he hasn’t slept in once during the week they’ve stayed at this motel. He has that tired, almost unhappy look on his face that always comes before he makes Sam unhappy.
Sam sets his mouth grimly, his hands fist at his sides and he glares back, daring his Dad to say something stupid.
“Sammy, you can sleep with me tonight,” Dean says, resigned, somewhere behind him.
“No, I’m sleeping with Dad!”
Sam doesn’t notice Castiel peering around him, looking from Sam to his Dad. Sam would have been a bit appeased that Castiel was finally clutching his pillow.
“Sam,” Castiel murmurs, tentative and he shrinks behind the pillow when Sam whirls on him, not caring what he’s about to say or offer.
“You go to sleep!”
“Sam!” John barks and the answering quiver of fear in Sam’s chest is immediate.
Sam feels a hot flush from his chest to his face when he looks at his Dad again. He can’t see him very well because his vision is starting to blur from the sting behind his eyes.
“Sorry, Dad,” he mumbles.
“Don’t apologise to me,” John orders, angry, and Sam almost jerks back at the force of it.
He’s swallowing convulsively when he turns back to Castiel, his throat feels like it’s burning and he’s expecting his head to explode any minute from the throbbing at his temples.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean is standing still by the television, now turned off.
Some of the tears finally escape and he can see Castiel properly for a moment. Sam doesn’t understand the look in Castiel’s eyes, like he’s afraid as he searches Sam’s face. He’s not even the one being yelled at.
“’M sorry I yelled at you, Castiel,” Sam hiccups and crushes his lips around the sound.
“I forgive you, Sam,” Castiel says immediately, voice trembling, and Sam thinks he’s about to cry, too.
That makes Sam cry for real, which is stupid and frustrating, and when he tries to stop, he only cries harder.
He stands there for what feels like a really long minute, rubbing the heels of his hands to his eyes, angrily trying to force the tears back. Something soft presses against his chest and he realises Castiel is holding his pillow out to him, eyes intent with sympathy and at least he’s not crying.
Castiel lets go as soon as Sam buries his face in the pillow. He gets out two good sobs against the yellow and green striped pattern before large, warm hands settle on his shoulder, on his head.
“Okay, that’s enough,” John says, gruff, and rubs the top of his head, “That’s enough for tonight.”
Sam thinks his Dad could be gentler with his hair and lets out a particularly spiteful sob.
“Sam, you take my bed. I’ve got some work to do; I’ll sit at the desk,” John says and Sam scowls against the pillow when his Dad pulls him against his waist, arm over his chest and Sam can’t help the delight and relief that springs up being held like this. Being held by his Dad at all.
He really wants to stay mad, though, because his Dad’s solution isn’t what he wanted either.
He scowls and fumes against his pillow, but then Dean appears holding a cold glass of milk out to him, lips pressed in a thin line. He nods curtly at Sam to take the glass.
“C’mon, drink this. And don’t choke.”
Sam’s grip is slippery, but he feels the milk wind its cool, calm way through him and the glass is half-empty when he stops to catch his breath. He’s barely shaking anymore.
“Drink up, it’ll help you sleep,” Dean is saying as he hands Castiel his own tall glass.
Sam watches over the rim, jostling with every gulp because his Dad’s hand is still moving over his hair.
“It will?” Castiel looks deep into his glass and holds it with both hands. “How will I know when I’m sleepy?”
“Drink it, don’t inhale it, kid,” Dean adds and takes Sam’s empty glass to the sink as John moves away to finish sorting his duffel bag. “You just lie back when you’re done and let the magic milk do its work.”
Castiel takes his first sips and stops with a noise of interest. His eyes are bright and he licks his lips thoughtfully. “Hmm. This is….”
“Milky,” Sam helps and wipes his milk moustache with the back of his sleeve, “Dean gets us the good stuff.” After a pause, he offers the pillow in his arms back to Castiel. “I’m sorry it’s a bit wet now.”
Castiel shakes his head once, but Sam thinks he looks sort of grateful. “You keep it.”
“… Okay,” Sam shrugs because he’s noticed his Dad pulling the covers back for him and he likes to leap in as soon as they’re open. He’s preparing to pounce over there when Castiel surfaces from his glass again.
“Sam?”
“… Yeah?”
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
“Sure,” Sam doesn’t notice the small smile Castiel hides in his glass because he’s bounding towards the third bed in the next moment. He leaps, “Rawr!”
He pokes his tongue, grinning when his Dad quirks a smile and tucks his arms and legs under the blanket. He helps by raising his head when John pushes the pillow under his neck.
“You just sleep on my bed when you get tired, okay, Dad?”
John combs the fringe back from his eyes. “You bet, Sammy. And you just mind your temper when you talk, y'hear?”
Sam's almost forgotten he was naughty at all. He tries to look ashamed. "Yes, Sir."
His Dad pinches his nose and winks and Sam has to ask.
“Dad?”
John hums in his throat and raises his eyebrows, waiting.
“Did you see Castiel’s cuts and… stuff?”
John’s expression loses some of its softness and he glances down, nodding. “Yeah.”
“… Do you think he’s an orphan?”
John presses a thumb over Sam’s eyebrows, smoothing down the furrow there. “Let me worry about that, all right?”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Sam says, smiling sleepily, “He’ll be fine because you found him.”
Sam doesn’t worry that his Dad isn’t smiling, too, because he get a kiss in his hair. “Night, Sam.”
Before his eyes slide shut, Sam sees Dean and Castiel standing at either side of Castiel’s bed. They’re each holding a corner of the blanket while Dean points at the pillow and Castiel’s frown of confusion is back.
“Get in, shut your eyes, and if you’re still stuck, start counting sheep,” he hears Dean say.
“… Where are the sheep?”
At least Castiel enjoyed his milk, Sam thinks, before he sinks into the warm black.
He wakes up sooner than he should.
He knows because it’s still black outside, the motel room is quiet and his Dad is hunched at the desk with his back to the room. The pale glow of the desk light lets him see Dean curled tightly on his side under the messy covers, snoring softly. His eyebrows are pinched like he’s thinking through a problem even in his sleep.
Sam yawns, pushes the hair back from his face and looks at Castiel’s bed, closest to him. Castiel’s blankets have barely been disturbed. Sam thinks that he must be a sound sleeper, even if his lips are moving in his sleep.
Sam frowns blearily, vision clearing of sleep as he focuses and realises that Castiel’s eyes are open.
Castiel’s eyes are darting back and forth across the ceiling, blankets up to his chin as he murmurs soundlessly.
Sam sits up and checks the bedside clock. It’s almost four in the morning, at least six hours since Sam fell asleep.
Castiel’s head turns to Sam when he stumbles to his bedside, curious, wrapped in the coverlet and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Castiel’s blue eyes are bright and clear.
“When do I stop counting?” Castiel asks, the softest breath without sound, but Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
His Dad is surprised at the touch on his shoulder and turns the light down when he realises it’s Sam at his side, blinking against the glare.
“What wrong, Sammy?” John murmurs and rubs his son’s back.
Sam glances at the paper his Dad’s been studying on the desk: a funny spiderweb with fake letters and shapes all over it, scrawled in blue pen.
He rubs a knuckle to the corner of his eyes. “Castiel’s still awake.”
John straightens with a frown and looks over his shoulder.
Sam stares at the sink on the far wall and yawns. His bare feet are cold on the carpet.
“Thanks, Sammy. Go back to bed,” His Dad says and Sam is too happy to follow that order.
He falls back into the warmth of his bed and turns towards the wall with a smile. Sleep rises up like the final warm blanket and he snuggles down, certain that his Dad will take care of it; he always takes care of them.
He doesn’t see his Dad sit back in his seat, watching Castiel murmur to himself until the sun rises.
Part 4
