10. Chapter 10

The lost, lonely look on Dean's face brought all of Castiel's protective instincts rushing to the surface. He held Dean in his arms for a long time and murmured to him reassuringly, wrestling with the anger that made him want to go back in time and punch John Winchester in the face for being so neglectful, until Dean had relaxed and was standing there complacently with his head resting on Castiel's shoulder. It wasn't quite a hug back, because Dean's arms were still hanging limply at his sides, but it was a step in the right direction. Having a conscious, pliable Dean to hug made every fight worthwhile.

After a few minutes, Dean started to shiver as the air in the room cooled off. Castiel stroked his hair one last time and then stepped back, urging him to sit down on the toilet. Dean obeyed, looking up at Castiel with slightly glazed eyes as Castiel rewrapped the towel around his shoulders. He wasn't zoned out, though, the way Castiel thought that he might be. He was aware enough to tense a little when Castiel took a razor and some shaving cream out of the bathroom cupboard.

"I'm just going to shave your face," Castiel told him, reaching out and running his thumb down the curve of Dean's jaw. With time, the grace would stop the growth of Dean's hair - face, body and head included - until he reached the point where he would be able to will his hair to grow if he wanted it to. In the meantime, Castiel had no problems with helping him to shave. He squirted some of the cream onto his hands and carefully slathered it over Dean's face, making sure to leave Dean's mouth clear, and then reached for the razor.

Dean tensed even more when the blade was brought close to his cheek, and there was a slight look of fear in his eyes. Castiel paused, waiting, wanting to show Dean that he was willing to be patient, that he wouldn't do anything his little boy wasn't okay with. He watched as Dean's eyes darted from Castiel to the razor and back again for several seconds and finally decided to speak up.

"Daddy won't hurt you, Dean," he said quietly, slowly bringing the razor to Dean's cheek. He pressed it down gently, ready to stop at the slightest sign that Dean was scared. But while Dean's hands flexed nervously against his thighs - and he hadn't even seemed to notice that, aside from the towel around his shoulders, he was still naked - he didn't protest or try to move away. So Castiel carefully slid the razor down, following the contours of his cheek with as much care and precision as was possible. Then he rinsed the razor off and repeated the motion. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.

"You're being such a good boy for me," he murmured, hardly aware that he was speaking, but noticing that the words had a relaxing effect on Dean. Whether Dean just liked the sound of his voice or what he was saying, talking to him seemed to make him feel better. He added, "Daddy's very proud of you, sweetheart, for trusting him to do this. I can't think of anyone else who would have the opportunity to do this for you."

Because that was the truth, was it not? Both of Dean Winchester's arms and every bone in his hands would have to be broken before he would allow his brother to do this, and Castiel couldn't imagine anyone else would ever get this close to Dean with a razor without a major battle. He looked down at his little boy, overwhelmed at how trustingly Dean was tipping his head up so that Castiel could shave below. It would be so easy to cut Dean's throat right now, and surely the hunter in Dean must have been aware of that. Yet he was still here, eyes half-closed, letting Castiel shave him. It gave him hope that maybe Dean would be amenable to his plans after all.

He rinsed the razor off for the last time and patted Dean's smooth face dry. Like this, Dean looked even more childlike. His eyes looked bigger and more vulnerable without the scruff. He set the towel aside and knelt to get another pull-up from underneath the cabinet. Dean stepped into the hated garment without argument, even letting Castiel tug them into place around his hips. A fresh set of pajamas followed, these ones patterned with cowboy hats and boots.

"I'll get you a cup of water, and then you can get into bed and I'll read you a story," Castiel said, opening the bathroom door. It only took him a moment to run to the kitchen and pour some water into Dean's sippy cup. Now that he'd used it once, Castiel wasn't going to let him backtrack to a regular glass. He added roughly a teaspoon of his grace, which turned the clear liquid a beautiful silvery color, and then screwed the top back on.

Dean was already in bed, but he was still sitting up. He frowned at the cup but took it, lifting it to his face and wrapping his lips around the spout. Castiel picked up a book from the bookshelf and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as he sucked at the concoction. Amazingly, just as Gabriel had said, the grace didn't burn him as he swallowed. If anything, although Dean would probably never admit it, he looked like he was enjoying the taste. Under Castiel's scrutiny, though, he squirmed, and Castiel realized he was making Dean nervous.

"I wasn't sure what you would like to read," he said, quickly turning his gaze away towards the book on his knee. Maybe talking helped to give Dean something else to focus on, letting him enjoy a childlike activity without worrying about it too much? He held up the book. "The attendant in the bookstore recommended this one. He said it was very interesting."

"Harry Potter? Really?" Dean asked, scrunching his nose up. "That's for geeks."

At least he hadn't said it was for little kids. Castiel would take that as a step in the right direction, even though he knew the story wouldn't be appropriate for most normal little kids. The attendant had made sure that he was aware the novels became progressively darker as they continued. But even as a nestling, Dean wouldn't be able to forget the horrors he'd seen and done, so Castiel said, "He described the story to me and I thought that we would enjoy it. Besides, you'll be able to shock Sam the next time you see him."

Dean opened his mouth and then paused, thinking this over. Finally, he smirked. "Fine. But I don't promise to like it."

"If you don't like it, we'll find something else," Castiel replied. He was grateful that Dean wasn't protesting being read a story in the first place, because he thought it would be an excellent way to send Dean to sleep every night. Part of Dean's problem was the natural human inclination for the mind to wander and fester on problems or trauma during relaxation; this would give him something else to focus on. Gradually he hoped to start introducing younger, more age appropriate books, though he suspected that if there was ever a line for Dean Winchester to draw, it would be that one.

He opened the book and cleared his throat, reading out the first line. Dean continued to sip quietly from his cup, letting out a faint huff of breath at times when he was amused or surprised. By the middle of the chapter, his cup was empty and he was drumming the side of his fingers against it to keep himself awake. Castiel paused just long enough to take the cup and set it on the nightstand, then waited pointedly until Dean reclined against the pillow. He pulled the covers up around Dean's chest before he returned to the story, pretending not to notice Dean's puzzled frown.

It took a chapter and a half of Dean's eyes slowly sliding shut and then snapping back open as he struggled to stay awake, before he finally relaxed into sleep. A little amused at his stubbornness, Castiel shook his head and closed the book. He could admit that he was a little curious about the story as well, but he would wait for tomorrow to read anymore. This was something that he and Dean could share. Dean seemed to like seeing Castiel's reaction to the story just as much as he liked the story itself, which wasn't surprising: it had always amused Dean to see the angel's reactions to humanity.

But he did wonder whether that could be used to his advantage in other ways as well, if maybe the key to getting Dean more comfortable with being a child was to lead by example. Castiel pondered this as he shut the lights off and left the room, leaving the door open a crack to let a little light in. Dean was embarrassed when he acted like a child, even when it was just him and Castiel, but if Castiel were participating in the same activities he might be more willing to let himself go. And it would help to convince him that, unlike humans, Castiel legitimately did not care about what was supposed to be normal. This night had been an excellent start and he wanted to keep the momentum going.

With these thoughts in mind, he did a little preparation and then spent the rest of the night communing with Gabriel through grace. Heaven was slowly sorting itself out according to the archangel, though Raphael was still being a dumbass. Gabriel also added that Samandriel and Balthazar had both expressed an interest in visiting Castiel soon. Castiel regretfully declined, at least for the time being, knowing that the presence of too many angels would push Dean in the opposite direction. As it was, Gabriel's presence had been a risk. It was pure coincidence that Dean had been so out of it with fear that he hadn't reacted negatively.

The shuffling of footsteps eventually registered with the small part of his focus that was still on the nest, and he said his goodbyes to Gabriel. He opened his eyes just in time to see Dean stumbling into the room. "Good morning, Dean."

"Morning. I - what are you doing?"

Castiel glanced down at the coffee table, admiring the stack of coloring books and the two large boxes of crayons he had put there the night before. "I thought we could color."

Dean's face did something admirable, torn between indignation and curiosity. The latter won, and he said, "You want to color?" in tones of great disbelief.

"I have never done it before. It seems like a soothing activity," Castiel said, sliding one of the books towards him. When he opened it, the first page had a picture of a woman in a fancy dress. He selected a purple crayon and began to color her dress.

"There's an angel in the living room coloring," Dean muttered to himself, shaking his head. Slowly, he came a little bit closer, watching. Castiel pretended not to notice, and at one point when he went over the thick black line, Dean let out a frustrated sound.

"Dude, you're supposed to stay in the lines!"

"I didn't know," Castiel lied. He held the crayon out to Dean. "Will you show me?"

Dean hesitated, then grabbed another book from the stack. "Not with that one. That one's for girls," he proclaimed, opening his chosen book to reveal a cowboy on his horse. After careful consideration, he selected a light brown crayon and began to color the horse. As promised, not a single dot of color went over the black line. "See, you gotta stay inside the lines or else it won't look right."

"I see," Castiel said, hiding his smile, and turned back to his own picture, this time making sure he stayed inside of the line.