Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mary had died three years ago, after giving birth to Sam, she’d gotten a bad infection, her own body basically fried her to death in an attempt to fight it off but in the end, it was a losing battle. They cremated her, and Dean kept some of her ashes in a locket, which lay on his chest alongside this little amulet Sam had found in a bin at a thrift shop a year and a half ago.

After Mary had died, Dean dropped out of college to take care of Sam and John spiralled, drinking every other night, passed out in the couch every night with the TV blasting but God forbid Dean try to turn it off, he’d wake up in a such a fury it was almost impossible to believe he’d been asleep in the first place, just stewing, waiting for someone to do something.

A heart attack had gotten him.

Dean wasn’t actually listening to the doctors when they told him how John had died, he was too busy trying to think what that meant for Sam. And now he knew.

John had, impulsively, that he admitted in a drunken ramble—one of many, which always came about when Dean was trying to wrestle his uncooperative body up the stairs and to his bedroom—bought a farmhouse, somewhere in rural Texas. He had originally planned to move him, Dean and Sam there but grief of his wife got the better of him and it never happened.

And Dean didn’t want to stay in that house, where stale memories bled into every crevice and a stench of whiskey, vodka and a mix of beers Dean would never even think to touch had permeated the whole building. Sam’s room had actually grown dusty, he either slept in Dean’s room or on the couch with John when Dean was away at his job. A job he now no longer had because he was leaving Lawrence.

”Call us,” Benny had told him, “keep us updated on how you and Sam are doing.” He’d known Dean for the longest apart from Bobby and Charlie—he’d met Dean’s parents and even went to Mary’s funeral, though he neglected John’s. Bobby had attended both but Charlie only came to visit Dean after them, which he wasn’t really mad about, he knew Charlie didn’t like getting involved in the family affairs.

Despite the others distance from Dean’s personal life, everyone at the garage said they’d really miss Dean—even Kevin, he’d only been there a few months but he’d really taken to Dean, sticking at his side while he worked on his homework for college.

Bobby, obviously, demanded he call at least once a week so he was sure he wasn’t dead. Dean had laughed but promised and on the last day he’d brought Sam in to say goodbye to everyone. He gave a hug to each and every one of them, even Cain, who did begrudgingly like the kid and was fairly amicable with Dean.

Now, he was in Texas, standing at the front door of a farmhouse that had no furniture, no curtains, no food and no John, no Mary, no comfort, not yet. The only things he had with him, until the movers had brought whatever items Dean had decided were worth bringing with him, were his clothes and Sam’s, a mattress, and Sam’s dismantled toddler bed. He’d have Bobby drive down the Impala another day, for now having the truck bed was easiest.

The sun shone down through the uncovered windows and lit the dark wood of the house with a golden glow. If it had furniture or pictures on the walls, it’d almost look like a home. It definitely seemed like something John would buy, definitely something of a Winchester taste, if the old photos John kept of his childhood home were anything to go by.

”How you liking it, Sammy?”

He looked down at his brother, who was staring at the empty rooms with all the scrutiny a three year old could muster. After a second, he nodded affirmatively, “Like it,” he said, his hand tightening around Dean’s finger. He was pretty small for a three year old, but various doctor’s appointments assured Dean that he was probably just a slow grower and to expect a growth spurt when he was in his teens. Dean gave him a smile, pleased that Sam was enjoying the new place so far, “Okay, let’s get your bed set up—go pick a room,” he tugged Sam’s hand forward, pulling him toward the staircase.

”Biggest one?” Sam stared up at him hopefully, but Dean tilted his head, expression now deadpan. Sam only huffed dramatically before going up to the stairs, crawling up them while Dean watched in case he fell. Once he was a few steps up, Dean followed after him, amused.

Sleeping on just a mattress was something Dean hasn’t had to do since John kicked him out when he was 17. A shitty motel room with shittier furniture and the bed had just collapsed right under Dean but he was too exhausted to care and passed out right on the floor.

For now, while he was busy getting everything set up and Sam into a daycare in town, Sam’s toddler bed was in the same room his mattress was in, which meant most nights he didn’t sleep in his bed, he slept with Dean or on Dean. He didn’t mind but he knew Sam wasn’t sleeping well on just the mattress, so the next thing he did was rebuild his frame from Lawrence.

”Thanks for helping, Bobby,” Dean mumbled, sat on the floor of the supposed living room. There was only one seat so far, the armchair, and Bobby was occupying it with Sam fast asleep on his chest. Dean’s hands were awkwardly fumbling with the screws for the coffee table, which was half built but Bobby had insisted on a break.

”Ain’t a problem—Dean, you’re 24 with a three year old, you need all the help you can get right now,” Bobby told him, gently patting Sam’s back, “I don’t mind helping you get things sorted while you sort yourself out too, Sam doesn’t need you burning out on him.”

Dean looked from Bobby’s solemn face to Sam’s slack one. He frowned, “He’s been working up a fever recently… I don’t know if it’s just ‘cause he’s got a summer cold or he’s adjusting to the house but I was gonna take him to the hospital in town tomorrow, they’ve got a walk-in clinic, I just wanna make sure he’s okay,” it was a silent plea for help, one Bobby knew Dean would never overtly ask.

”I can stay here tomorrow, help the movers get everything in—I don’t mind setting up Sam’s room either while you’re gone, I can help you set up yours if you want me to,” he offered, hoping he sounded casual enough for Dean to actually accept. He almost sighed in relief when Dean nodded, finally dropping the screws, “Thanks, Bobby.”

The farmhouse was pretty big, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a study, a large living room and kitchen, not to mention the entire field and the barn a bit away from the house. Dean was only one man and while Sam liked to be around his brother and try to help, it ended up with Dean actually keeping Sam from getting himself hurt as well as trying to build the furniture that they’d brought.

Bobby didn’t mind helping. Ever since serving with John, he’d been intertwined with the Winchesters for years. There had been a few times where John had completely cut contact but otherwise, he was always there—like right after Mary died and Dean had dropped out of college, he’d been there to help him out. Having had his own son, he knew how to take care of kids better than Dean did and it wasn’t like John was lifting a hand to help.

It would take Dean a little while to fully settle in, but while he did, Bobby’d be there for him to fall back on.

“Sammy, I know, it’s annoying but I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Dean pleaded, kneeling at the open back door of the Impala, where Sam was absolutely refusing to get out. He hated hospitals, but Dean needed to get the kid in the clinic.

”Don’t wanna!”

”I don’t either—“

”No!”

”Sam—“

”No!” It was more insistent this time and punctuated with an almost-shriek. Dean sighed, staring at him, lost. How did John do it? When he was sober enough to remember to take care of a screaming Sam, how did he do it? Did he just talk to Sam, pet his hair and tell him it was fine? How did he do it when Dean acted up as a kid? Well, Dean was usually with Mary, he never had the chance to be an irritating kid around John.

He sighed again, covering his face with a hand as he tried to think, to compose himself as Sam continued to cry and kick his legs against his car seat. “Sam!” He finally yelled, hand smacking down on the leather. The kid paused, lip quivering as he stared at Dean, who immediately shrank back with regret. “Sammy, you’re sick… An-and I’m worried,” he raised a hand, musing it through Sam’s hair, “please, for an hour, just work with me…”

For a three year old, he had impeccable understanding of begging. Sam complied, shyly wringing his fingers as Dean unclipped him and pulled him out of the car.

”Sorry, Dee,” he leant his head on Dean’s shoulder, hugging his front. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Dean hoisted him up, putting his arm under him more securely, “just an hour, then I promise, when we get home, we can do anything you want,” he felt Sam nod against his shoulder and held his breath, finally relaxing.

The clinic wasn’t actually that busy. There were a few parents there, who, in their irritated states of wrangling their own gaggle of children, were judging everyone that walked into the building. Dean knew he looked young, people rarely ever got his age right and he’d been turned away from bars even with his ID. Sam also got mistaken for his kid a lot, which was fine, Dean never minded but it was muscle memory to correct them because God forbid John find out people think Sam isn’t his.

One woman sat across from Dean was sending him barely concealed glares. She seemed to have a few kids, the oldest looked about five or six, the youngest about two, but all four of them were rowdy and shouting, making a mess of the waiting room. Dean was well aware of how annoying kids could be, sometimes kids came in with their parents to the garage and Dean would be in charge of entertaining them.

Cain wasn’t good with kids, too stoic; Garth was but he’d get too distracted from his actual job, Benny and Charlie practically played hide and seek with Bobby when the idea of looking after a kid while their parent got their car fixed came up and Kevin—well, Kevin was usually there for a place to study, since Bobby owed his mom a few favours. It was loud and he was always dragged into arguments over stupid shit, but he did like being there, learning about cars, shadowing Dean and Bobby and using Bobby’s office as a place to get his schoolwork out of the way.

Dean averted his eyes from the kids making a ruckus in front of him, pulling Sam up his lap lest he slip, and counting the minutes down until he was hopefully called by a nurse. 

“That the only kid you got?”

His mind stalled as he looked up to the mother. She seemed civil-ish, glaring still, but maybe she didn’t realise she was doing it. Dean had been told he did the same thing sometimes. “Uh,” he squeezed his eyes, rubbing his temple, “he’s my—yeah, only one,” he fumbled over the words, deciding whether to sell himself as a single father—or at least an alone father—or an older brother saddled with an age gap siblingship and a trip to the clinic with a grumpy toddler. His subconscious seemed to want to go with the first one.

She gave a short hum, “I’d never have my kid that young,” she said, after a moment of Dean’s blind staring, she shook her head, “sorry, I mean, like… You’re just so young.”

”I’m 24,” Dean said, though it probably didn’t help his case. She only nodded, looking away to her kids. Maybe she was a single mother, or maybe her partner made her feel like one, Dean felt like that even when John was alive, taking care of Sam like he was the only one in the house.

”Winchester?”

Dean looked up to find a man in blue scrubs holding a thin file. He had a little scruff on his jaw, blue eyes that seemed a little bloodshot under the hospital lights and shaggy brown hair that looked like he’d ran his hands through it one too many times. Dean pulled Sam up onto his hip as he stood and followed the man into another room.

”What’s the matter?” The nurse seems to study him, looking him up and down in a way that makes Dean feel weirdly exposed. He stepped toward the bench, setting Sam down on it and awkwardly fixing the kid’s hair in an attempt to ease himself into the conversation. “It’s Sam… Uh, my brother, Sam,” Dean gestured to him; he was looking around at the cupboards, squinting like he was trying to see through them.

”We just moved here, he’s been running a fever for a week but I didn’t know if it was just a summer or cold of he was just having trouble adjusting to the new place,” he explained, fixing his eyes on the nurse’s name tag: Novak, Castiel - LPN.

He gave a warm smile, to both Dean and Sam. “He doesn’t look so bad,” he said, which lifted part of the weight off Dean’s chest. Pulling forward a stool, he caught Sam’s attention, slipping out a little bee finger puppet, “I usually end up in paediatrics,” he explained to Dean’s confused look. “You can have this if you answer my questions, Sam.”

Sam nodded enthusiastically, a hand gripping Dean’s jacket, completely transfixed on Castiel.

”Has your nose been running? All snotty?” He made a grimace, making Sam giggle but he nodded, “An’ I’m sneezing,” he told Castiel, matter-of-factly. “Does your throat feel scratchy on the inside?” He got another nod—after another few moments of questions, funny faces and Sam giggling at him, he handed over the finger puppet, looking up at Dean with the same smile.

”It is just a cold, he should be fine in the next few days if you said this has already gone on a week,” he slid the stool away, leading Dean out, “but please come back if you have any worries, it’s better to be safe than sorry, even if you do annoy the kid in the process.”

”Thanks,” Dean stared at him as he walked back toward the waiting room. That was probably the best interaction with a medical professional Dean had ever had. Sam waved at Castiel over Dean’s shoulder as they left and didn’t say a word as he clipped into his car seat.

A month had gone by and in that time, Dean had to take Sam back to the clinic twice and the emergency room once, wherein which he met a foul man supposedly called Lucifer according to his name tag. He was an LPN, like Castiel, which meant that there was a good chance Dean would run into him again if he had to go to the hospital again.

The reason he’d had to go to the emergency room was because when Dean had picked him up from the daycare and they got home, Sam had slammed the car door shut on his own hand and it wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Lucifer had crudely told Dean not to waste time in the ER and go to the clinic instead. Dean, desperately trying to get Sam to stop screaming down his ear and the poor kid’s hand to stop bleeding, had just mindlessly listened and headed over to the clinic. Thankfully, Castiel had spotted him before Sam’s hand could get any worse and taken care of it, advising him not to listen to Lucifer again.

A week since then had passed and right now, Sam was causing an absolute ruckus in the living room. He was resolutely refusing to go to sleep despite being tired, yawning in between his screams and kicking the cushions off the sofa.

”Sam, I swear to God, will you just sit still?” Dean asked exasperatedly, trying to put the cushions back and failing when Sam kicked them again. He sighed, running a hand over his face, “Fine! Okay, you don’t have to go to sleep, alright?! Will you just quit it!” He shouted, apparently in vane since Sam just screamed louder at him.

Through a wane in the tantrum, Dean heard a few knocks at the door, garnering his attention. But as soon as the wane came, it began to wax again.

”I don’t want to!” Sam shouted, grabbing another cushion and raising his hand to throw it. Dean snatched it out of his grip, scowling at him before heading over to the front door and yanking it open.

Before him stood Castiel, awkwardly shifting. “Um… Sorry, for intruding,” he said quietly, peeking in and spotting Sam on the sofa, kicking his feet in the back of it. Dean looked back, cheeks going red at having a scene thrown right in front of Castiel, “Hey! Sam, cut it out!” He shouted, rushing back into the living room, the front door left open.

”No!” Sam screamed, thrashing as Dean picked him up, “I will lock you in your room, I swear to God, I will, Sam,” Dean threatened, though it did nothing to ease Sam’s tantrum, even as the kid yawned.

Castiel leant forward and peeked further into the house. He thought it looked nice, very much like something Dean would live in. He stood awkwardly outside the threshold, watching as Sam and Dean argued. After a moment, he looked down and dug into his pocket, fishing out both a phone and a beanie baby. It used to be his sister-in-law’s but she didn’t want it and neither did her daughter, so to Castiel it went.

Dean hiked Sam up again, trying to keep him from wriggling out of his hold, “Would you come in already?! He’ll book it outside if you leave the door open!” He looked at Castiel almost pleadingly and the man complied, stepping through the doorway and shutting it behind him. Dean dropped Sam and scowled as the rascal ran upstairs, slamming his door with as much force as a kid his size could muster.

He ran a hand over his face, sighing, “Sorry, about that… You came for a reason?”

Castiel handed the beanie baby to him, “For when Sam behaves,” he explained, then handed over the phone, “you forgot it in the ER, Lucifer didn’t think to hand it over to lost and found or the front desk, but I recognised it, figured I’d return it to you.”

Dean hit his hand against his face, taking the phone back and thanking him under his breath, “Thanks, do you want something? To eat, to drink?” He asked, gesturing to the kitchen but Castiel shook his head, “No, thank you. Actually, I came here for another reason.”

Dean stopped, his phone half flipped open where he knew a hundred missed calls from Bobby and some of the guys at the garage would be waiting for him. “What do you mean?” His voice sounded suspicious now, his brows furrowed. If not to return things then why would Castiel be in his home? He turned away, walking into the kitchen and setting the teddy on the table, leaning on the counter once Castiel caught up with him.

”I actually came to warn you—“

”Warn me?”

”Some of the nurses have been worried that Sam is getting hurt more than a regular child would and,” Castiel sighed, “Lucifer has been spreading lies, saying you’re unfit to be Sam’s parent…”

Dean stood there, dumbstruck. Dean had given them all the information they needed, they knew he was recently orphaned, he had to emergency adopt his brother and uproot them to Texas, he had no friends and no family here—so sue him if he got a little distracted, Sam was prone to accidents more than most anyway and most of all, he was three, he was in that adventurous, boundary-pushing stage, he was bound to get hurt sometimes.

”I just wanted to say that I’d be happy to come down here and check on Sam or you myself, so you won’t have to deal with them at the hospital,” Castiel offered, “I’m not essential to the hospital anyway, they have my sister doing most of the rounds; paediatrics usually just call me if they’re short on staff.”

He stood there, staring at Dean, not exactly waiting for an answer but he wasn’t not, either.

Dean winced when he heard a crash upstairs, just knowing that Sam had managed to either drag out a drawer from his dresser or tip over the chair by the window. There were no cries, so he wasn’t hurt, so Dean ignored it for now. “That’d be great,” he said tiredly, glancing down to his hands, Mary’s rings on two of them, another one Charlie had gifted him and a fourth had been a gift from Benny for his birthday. He looked up and found Castiel with the smallest smile.

He startled then and dug into his pocket once more, handing Dean a piece of paper, “My personal number—I’ll leave you to deal with Sam now.”

Dean only nodded, watching as he left and once the door clicked shut, he hurried upstairs.

”Sam, unlock the door.”

”No!”

”Sam, I’m being serious, unlock it.”

”No!”

Oh, Dean really wanted to throttle something right now. “Castiel got you a teddy, but he said you could only have it if you listen to me,” his hand tightened on the door knob and he could hear Sam go quiet, sniffing and yawning. A few moments later, the door clicked and Dean practically shoved it open.

The room was in shambles, Sam had pulled a drawer out of the dresser and yanked out all the clothes, threw his teddies on the floor and unearthed his toy box—a furby had somehow been turned on, rattling nonsense.

He cringed, looking down at Sam, who seemed to have a modicum of guilt.

”I’m sorry,” he mumbled, keeping his head down but reaching his arms up to Dean. He let out a breath, waiting a second for his heart to stop hammering, before he lifted Sam up against his chest, arm under him. He moved the hair out of Sam’s eyes, deciding he’d have to cut it later, “Help me clean this up, okay?” Was all he said, kneeling down next to the bed and setting Sam on it before he turned and hauled the toy box upright.

Some part of Dean urged to throw the damn furby into the wall, to kick the toy box in and wreck the dresser with a crowbar. But he looked at Sam, his cheeks red from crying, as he pottered around the room picking up and drawing his clothes back to the drawer he’d taken out. If he were Sam, John would’ve done that, he’d have thrown out his toys and refused him any others until he could prove he deserved them. Mary might’ve snuck him a few while John was at work.

But Dean wasn’t them, and Sam wasn’t him and he had to do better.

”C’mon, let’s go make dinner.”

One thing that was true for the both of them though, was that being held while someone made dinner over the stove was a sure fire way to get them to sleep. Mary had always done it when Dean was in his terrible twos and wouldn’t settle, all the way until he was six, when John would work late nights and Dean wouldn’t go to sleep until he got back.

The stairs creaked as he made his way downstairs, Sam hopping down them after him but five from the bottom he stopped and put his arms out, making grabbing motions toward Dean. Dean huffed with amusement, staring at his brother for a second before picking him up again, resting him against his hip. It was growing dark and Dean wanted nothing more than to be in bed, not thinking about tackling tomorrow, but he also needed to eat; Sam would be asleep before he could eat his portion but he’d save it for tomorrow.

Once in the kitchen, with Sam eagerly asking about every little thing he was doing, he fired up the stove and got to work making tikka masala, and when he could do the work with just the one hand, he held Sam against his chest, the kids head on his shoulder, and gently patted his back. He was out in minutes, arm loosely resting against Dean’s.

So, parenting wasn’t the easiest, Dean knew that, he also knew that some nurses needed to mind their own business. But he’d get through it. Next May, Sam would be four and he’d officially stop being a toddler, by then, Dean would have a job and hopefully, he could make things work here.

With Castiel having essentially offered himself as a personal nurse, well, that helped too.