Chapter Text
It begins when they’re young. Too young to really understand that they’re alive and certainly too young to have any thoughts about the tragic events that will take place in their lifetime. It begins in the bright walls of a nursery surrounded by Radio Flyers and tinker toys. It begins in a time of prosperity for a great nation with the looming stain of ruin creeping in from each and every corner. It begins with two young boys and a promise.
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“Dean, you’ve got to let go of my skirt honey, it’s going to be alright.” Mary attempts to peel her son’s snot covered hands out of the folds of her clothing. It goes less smoothly than planned as she’s simultaneously trying to keep her 8-month-old son from squirming out of her arms. Suddenly another woman is there in front of her taking her infant with a knowing smile. Mary’s hand drops to stroke her other son’s head.
“It is hard on the children, no? Not with parents for first time?” Naomi’s face is a welcome relief.
“It certainly is, I can’t thank you enough for starting up this operation.” Mary looks around the clean, well lit room to the young children of various ages running and crawling for the toys that had, until now, been neatly put away. “It’s been hard trying to find a job with all of these new machines coming in. John’s done the best he can but…” the blonde woman’s words trail off as her eyes fill with tears thinking about her love’s new inability to find work on the local farms.
A hand lands on her shoulder, smoothing away some of the stress. “I understand Mrs. Winchester. My husband and I thought America is land of money and dreams… so far it has not been that way.” The other woman’s eyes turn distant before she comes back to herself. “But we are very grateful to what your community has done for us and our children. It is hard to accept outsiders and we…”
Mary calms the frantic woman. “Naomi, we all understand. You and Charles only wanted a better life for all of your children. You’ve all done so much for the community already and I can’t even begin to tell you how welcomed you are.” The two women share a look that seems to convey a million words before the new life in Naomi’s arms lets out a screech that seems louder than a thousand demons crawling their way up from hell. Their attention quickly turns to hushing the young boy, ignoring the scene taking place at their feet.
Dean, who had stopped crying as his mother had carefully carded her fingers through his hair, had now started silently leaking tears from his eyes as his baby brother wailed above him. Rubbing at his eyes, he hadn’t noticed the other boy near him until he felt the soft weight of a hand on his arm. Still wracked with soft sobs he looked up straight into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Almost immediately he stopped crying, only a few stray tears and sniffles still escaping him. He and this new boy stared at each other before the blue-eyed child slowly brought his arm down and said, “My name is Castiel.”
Dean wrinkled his nose and swiped at it a few times to get rid of the extra snot. Not forgetting his manners, even in his current state of distress, he stretched his now snot covered hand out to the boy. “I’m Dean, it’s nice to meet you Cas-tile, Cass-teal, Cats…” He let out a sudden huff, “can I just call you Cas?” Blue eyes met green for a few shocked seconds before a shy, gummy smile opened on Castiel’s face and he nodded finally taking Dean’s hand. “Okay, nice to meet you Cas.”
“Do you want to come sees my favorite toy?” Dean’s face lit up, tears completely forgotten. The two boys ran off, still hand in hand, as above them their mothers continued cooing over the colicky infant.
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From that day on, the two boys were only the best of friends. Castiel spent the first day showing Dean each of the toys he and his siblings had given to help their mother. His most favorite toy, though contributed, had been hidden back behind the radiator at the far end of the room. Castiel hugged the small, soft bee to his chest letting Dean stroke the floppy antenna made of yarn. Dean spent most of the rest of the day picking up small push cars and telling Castiel about each type. He would proudly proclaim each make and model before passing it to Castiel, sometimes telling him stories about going to the big field with his father and seeing this car or that one in person.
They sat next to each other through lunches, telling jokes and sharing secrets. Well, Dean told jokes but both he and Castiel shared the things they would never tell anyone else. Dean began to notice that Mrs. Naomi would sometimes give Cas less food than the other kids, so he would slowly push the rest of his sandwiches, carrots, or whatever else he had been given towards Cas. At first Cas would ignore the bites offered to him by Dean but as time went on he began to eat more and more, crunching on his shared carrot while listening to Dean tell him about the latest radio show. The boys did everything together, but for some reason Dean never saw Castiel outside of the care center.
Things continued easily as the boys grew, Dean would go straight to Cas every morning. Sometimes bringing little Sammy along either toting him in his arms or, later, providing a steadying hand as he toddled over. He would also sometimes bring other children from the town, introducing them to Cas but they often would get bored and wander off as Cas got lost in explaining his favorite things like differences in the stripes of bees.
Finally, the day came for the two boys to enter the small public school in their town. Once again, the morning was met with loud tears from Dean who still hated being apart from his mother, but Castiel quietly came over and took his hand. Calming him down as they walked through the doors. Luckily, or in some ways unluckily, their town was small, so it only had three different classes. One for ages 6-9, one for ages 9-13, and one for ages 13-17. This meant that they were able to stay in the same classroom, but it also meant they had a lot of classmates to put up with.
It was only the second day of school when Dean and Castiel realized how difficult this last fact could be.