6. Chapter 6

His suspicions were correct. Castiel didn't need to be able to see through clothing to know that. There was a marked difference in the way that Dean moved as he opened the bathroom door and came out still wiping his hands on the bottoms of his pajamas, a confidence that had not been there before, and it didn't take a genius to guess why. His head was down and he clearly wasn't expecting Castiel to be standing right there, as Dean just barely managed to stop before he ran right into him.

"Uh, Cas?" he asked with a puzzled frown, shifting to the left. Castiel moved with him, not allowing him to pass. He had his arms folded across his chest, and he spoke softly but firmly.

"It's Daddy, Dean, and I would like you to show me that you are still wearing your pull-up."

Dean froze, though whether it was from the reminder or the request or both it was hard to say. "Why?"

"I want to make sure that you're still wearing it."

"Well, I am." Dean shifted to the right this time, scowling when again, Castiel moved with him. He made a quick dodge to the left, right, and then the left again before Castiel lost his patience and stepped forward. Dean stepped backwards automatically and Castiel followed him into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it without taking his eyes off of his troublesome nestling.

"I want to see," he said simply.

"Don't you believe me?" Dean demanded.

Castiel met his gaze squarely, refusing to be guilted. Dean was very much a little boy in some ways no matter how much he denied it, using emotional manipulation and pouting to get his way when he was backed into a corner. No doubt it had served him well with the few parental figures he'd had in his life, but not in this case. This was too important. The pull-ups were not only a stepping stone to where he ultimately felt Dean needed to be, they were a physical reminder that would not allow Dean to forget what he now was.

"If you show me," he said, "then I'll step aside. You can get dressed and we can go for our walk. But we are not leaving this bathroom until you do."

"You can't keep me in here!" Dean said, outraged.

"Yes, I can," Castiel said, leaning back against the door in a casual move that Gabriel would have been proud of. He was an angel, but even if he had been mortal he was positive that his attention span could outlast that of a little boy. As a hunter Dean was used to lying in wait for monsters, sometimes spending hours on a stake-out, but this time there would be no adrenaline or plans to keep him occupied.

For several minutes Dean just stood there and scowled at him, at first as though he couldn't believe this was really happening and then, like he thought he could make Castiel move aside through sheer force of will. Castiel just looked back at him, calm and resolute, and finally Dean cracked. He began to look around the room for an escape route, but there was nothing. While the bathroom was spacious, the only window was too small for Dean to be able to fit through.

The only way out was through the door, and Castiel was not going to budge anytime soon. Watching Dean come to this conclusion was both amusing and endearing, though Castiel made sure to keep his expression schooled. Evidently, after he had thoroughly examined the window and judged it too small, Dean decided to outwait him, because he dropped to the floor with his back against the tub and just sat there staring at the floor.

Dean was much more stubborn than Castiel had expected him to be, though in retrospect he felt foolish for not having anticipated this earlier. It was nearly two full hours before Dean spoke. When he did it was to grunt, "I'm thirsty."

With a twitch of his fingers, Castiel created a glass. He filled it with water from the sink and silently held it out to Dean. The scowl he was rewarded with was truly impressive as Dean snatched the glass away, drinking the contents in a couple of deep gulps. Then he slammed it down on the lid of the bathtub and folded his arms across his chest just like Castiel. But whereas Castiel maintained the pose for comfort, at that moment Dean looked like he was minutes away from a bout of frustrated tears.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to let him reach that point, but Castiel couldn't do it. "Dean," he said gently, knowing that Dean was listening even if the boy refused to look at him. "I'm not as ignorant as you think. I am aware that you find this embarrassing. I know that you are in complete control of your bodily functions." For now, anyway. "But wearing your pull-up is important."

"It's for little kids and I'm not doing it!" Dean snapped, his hands tightening into fists, though he still spoke to the floor. "You can't make me!"

Castiel purposely did not point out how very untrue that statement was. If he so desired, he could put Dean in diapers and use his grace to make them irremovable by anyone but himself. And he could not only force Dean to use them, he was capable of binding Dean's muscles so that he had no more mobility than an infant and had to depend entirely on Castiel. And all of that could be done with absolutely no warning in less time than it would take Dean to blink or draw breath.

But he wouldn't, because forcing Dean into that role would only make him hate it. Eventually, of course, Dean would settle into it given enough time, but it would not offer his torn soul the healing it so desperately needed. Castiel wanted Dean to want this, and in order for that to happen they had to start small. Dean had to become comfortable with the idea of being treated as a little boy before he would be willing to depend on Castiel for so much more.

With that in mind, he kept his voice soft and unthreatening as he said, "It's a reminder, Dean. Physically you're a very strong man, tall and capable, and I love you exactly the way you are."

Dean's head shot up then, and he looked at Castiel with very wide, shocked eyes.

"I wouldn't want to change anything about you. That's why I want you to wear your pull-ups. It's to help you remember that you're my nestling now, and that as your daddy I'm here to take care of you. Without your pull-ups, especially at the beginning, it will be easy for you to forget. I'm just trying to make this easier on you, little one, that's all. It's not about embarrassing you or making you unhappy."

"But..." Dean started, and then he stopped. He bit his lip and dropped his gaze again, refusing to say anymore.

Uncertain as to whether he should prod Dean into speaking or not, Castiel chose to remain silent. Everything he had said was true, and he didn't think there was anything else he could have said to sway Dean on the matter. He could only hope that Dean was thinking about everything he had said, both now and while they were on the porch. One way or another, Dean would be wearing the pull-ups and eventually diapers, even if he had to accompany the boy to the bathroom and stand there with him every time Dean needed to go.

It was another hour and seventeen minutes before Dean Winchester broke. Without saying a word, he got up from where he'd been huddled and reached behind the toilet. He pulled out the wadded up pull-up and, still silent and his cheeks pink from blushing, handed it to Castiel.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, filled with a rush of pride. He knew this was very hard on Dean, who always worked so hard at holding himself to a very high standard. John Winchester had drilled that certain standard into his children's heads, that of the take-no-prisoners hunter who lived on alcohol, fast food and one night stands, and this, plus the concept of someone actually wanting to care, was very new to him and probably difficult to understand.

Dean ducked his head in a nod.

Dropping the pull-up in the garbage, Castiel knelt and took a fresh one from the package beneath the sink. "Would you like me to help you?" he asked.

This time his answer was a quick head shake. Dean turned his back, and either he believed Castiel was not looking or he didn't care because he dropped his pajama bottoms. Castiel suspected it was the former, but he made no move to turn away as Dean stepped out of the bottoms and into the pull-up. He had rebuilt Dean's body from ashes; there was nothing he didn't already intimately know about this boy. Nudity mattered little when you could see into someone's soul.

Slowly, Dean reached down and grabbed the pull-up, tugging it into place around his hips. He was much faster at stepping into the pajama bottoms and pulling them back up. When he turned around again, Castiel was smiling warmly and practically bursting with pride.

"Thank you," he repeated, this time not stopping himself from stepping forward and taking Dean into his arms. His little boy tensed at first, and it took him a full minute to slowly relax into the embrace. Still, even then he did not lift his arms to hug back. His hands hung stiffly at his sides, but that was okay. In time, Castiel hoped, Dean would feel comfortable enough to initiate hugs.

As they stood there, for the first time he lightly skimmed the surface of Dean's thoughts. Embarrassment and a good deal of anxiety were the strongest emotions, combined with not a little fear and confusion. That was not surprising. But much to Castiel's pleasure, there was also just a hint of contentment and a struggle to trust. He could tell that Dean was warring with himself, his deeply ingrained sense of right and wrong clashing against what Castiel was telling him.

Currently, he was reminding himself over and over that Castiel was an angel who did not think like a human and would not judge him. That Sam and John weren't there, and would never know, and so he need not remove himself from the arms of someone who cared for (the word loved was very carefully not thought) him.

That was just the surface. Castiel had no doubt that the war went far deeper. He squeezed Dean tighter, wishing that he could remove the conflict, but he couldn't. Just like removing the memories of hell would ultimately be worse for Dean in the long run, this was something that Dean needed to work through and come to terms with. Removing it and making him compliant would not heal him; a soul could not heal if it was unaware that the wounds were even there.

He let the embrace last until he sensed that Dean was getting restless, and only then did he let go. There would be a need for several more discussions over the next few days, and if Dean removed his pull-up again he would not like the consequences, but Castiel felt they had come far enough in one day. "It's too late for a walk now. Do you want to help me cook supper?"

Dean looked a little suspicious. "What were you planning to cook?"

"I thought we could start with baking chocolate chip cookies for dessert," Castiel replied, gratified when Dean's face lit up. He stepped aside now and Dean hurtled past him, leaving the angel to chuckle softly and hurry after him.