17. Chapter 17

Even though Dean's stomach ached well into the next afternoon, he refused to feel regret for having eaten two pecan pies in one sitting. Just thinking about the taste of the soft, flaky crust, paired with the thick, sweet syrup and crunchy pecans, had his mouth watering. Gabriel was an asshole sometimes, but that didn't change the fact that the archangel was one hell of a baker. He hadn't been kidding when he told Dean that sometimes he liked to do things the human way; Dean would cherish the memory of one of heaven's most powerful angels covered in flour and wearing an apron as he expertly rolled out pie crusts for the rest of his life.

He stared at the ceiling, licking his lips, and wondered if Castiel would notice if he made a move towards the remaining two pies still in the kitchen. Probably. His stomach growled at the thought, but not in the good way. More in the 'eat another piece of pie right now and you're going to be spending the rest of the night on the toilet groaning in pain' kind of way. He pouted and rolled onto his side, listening to the sounds of Castiel rattling around in the kitchen - presumably making something for a late lunch, because while Dean had gotten away with refusing breakfast he doubted he'd be so lucky with lunch.

The events of last night were mostly a blur. He remembered falling asleep in the middle of chewing a bite of pie, and that should have been the end of it. But it wasn't. He also remembered Castiel picking him up and then a firm hand thumping his back until he burped, just like a baby. Only some hasty swallowing had saved him from spitting up all over the back of Castiel's shirt, because okay, maybe he had eaten a bit too much pie. And then Castiel had carried him into the bedroom and stripped him naked before dressing him in a fresh pull-up and pajamas, all the while conversing with Gabriel in low tones about another angel.

It was humiliating to think about in the bright light of day. But it hadn't felt that way last night. Back then, more than three quarters of the way asleep and clinging to consciousness by a thread, he'd felt safe. Protected. Cared for. The affection in Castiel's every touch was something that couldn't be faked. He'd treated Dean exactly the way he would an overtired baby or a toddler, carrying him to and then getting him ready for bed, and Dean wasn't sure what disturbed him more: that he had enjoyed it so much at the time, or that there was a growing part of him that desperately wanted it to happen again.

His conversation with Gabriel had been buzzing through his mind all day yesterday, and it was the first thing he'd thought about when he woke up that morning. Even now, it hung heavily in the back of his head. Gabriel made it sound so easy, like Dean should just forget about the past and the kind of person he was and throw himself headfirst into this whole experience. But even if that was what Castiel wanted, he didn't know how to do that. He didn't know how to stop the little voice in the back of his head that told him he didn't deserve this. He didn't know how to let down the walls that had kept him safe for so many years, or even if he really wanted to.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his palms into his eyes with a heavy sigh. He felt so tired and so heavy, even though he'd had plenty of sleep last night. He just wanted to put his head down and stop thinking for a while. Better yet, he just wanted to shut his whole body off so that he didn't have to feel, either. His eyes kept itching and there was a familiar pressure behind his eyes that kept getting worse over the stupidest things, like when he'd stubbed his toe walking into the bathroom.

The desire to cling to Castiel until he felt better - he refused to let himself even think the word cry - was getting stronger by the hour, but so was the conflicting desire to just run in the opposite direction before it was too late to turn back. And when he added in the desire to please Castiel, Sam, Bobby and Gabriel by not screwing up, the need to become a better hunter, and the fear of depending on Castiel too much...

"Dean?"

The low, brisk voice cut straight through the pressure building in his head and chest. Dean took a deep breath, belatedly realizing that his throat was aching in a telltale way and his eyes were hot. He took a few seconds to get himself back under control, resolutely pushing all of those thoughts to the back of his head where they belonged, before he let his hands drop from his face.

Castiel was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching him, but all he said was, "Lunch is ready. Come on."

"I'm not hungry," Dean mumbled, but he rolled off the couch and walked into the kitchen anyway. At least Castiel had prepared a light lunch of tomato soup, something that wouldn't leave him feeling even more stuffed than he already did. He sat down in front of his bowl, noticing that Castiel also had a bowl of soup. The two of them ate in silence. It was good, but Dean only ate about half the bowl before he pushed the rest away. For once, he wasn't interested in eating.

"How about a walk?" Castiel suggested, standing up and collecting the bowls. "That might make you feel better."

"I'm fine." He didn't mean for it to come out as cranky as it did. Castiel raised an eyebrow at him as he set the bowls in the sink and Dean scowled, refusing to apologize. As far as he was concerned, it was Castiel's fault that he was feeling so out of sorts. It had to be the grace that was screwing him up so badly. He felt like he couldn't get a solid handle on anything, like everything he normally kept so contained was sliding between his fingers like sand, and it was terrifying.

"A walk it is," Castiel said decisively. "Make sure you put some sunscreen on so you don't get sunburned."

"Don't need sunscreen," Dean grumbled, though he obeyed because - annoyingly enough - Castiel had a point. He'd narrowly escaped dealing with the pain and discomfort of a sunburn last time, and he had no idea whether or not Castiel would be so gracious if it happened again. He went into the living room and found the sunscreen that Gabriel had brought with him yesterday. It was SPF 75, which seemed a little high, but it was all he had. He squeezed some out and rubbed it on his legs and arms, then on his face and ears. The coconut scent was both familiar and new, reminding him of the last time his mother had done this.

She'd been gentle but brisk, the practiced movements of someone who had put sunscreen on a thousand times, even while Dean had squirmed and whined about having to wait during the extra step. Mary had always made sure that she got every inch of skin covered. He hadn't understood why until the following summer after she died, when he got a bad sunburn after spending the afternoon in a park with Sam and John. He also remembered how lost John had been, like he didn't know how to handle a five-year-old that was in pain.

A cold hand touched the back of Dean's neck, startling him out of his daze. Castiel was standing right behind him, having gotten close enough to take some of the sunscreen to rub on Dean's neck without his notice. Even though it was the first time he'd done it, he moved exactly like Mary had. It was almost like having his mother standing behind him, definitely like having a parent there, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, stiff and tense until Castiel's fingers stopped. Even then he didn't take his hand away, letting his fingers linger there, five little points of warm pressure.

"Are you sure you're okay, baby?" Castiel asked, and his voice was very soft.

A sob swelled in his throat embarrassingly fast, and the desire to turn and throw himself into Castiel's arms was, for a split second, overwhelming. In that second of time, he could see it: what it would be like to have a daddy instead of a father. Someone who cared for you and loved you, who made you the most important thing in their world, who never made you feel bad or stupid for what you wanted or needed. And he wanted that so much that no words would have been enough to articulate his need.

But just as quickly as those feelings surged through him, terror cooled their fire and allowed him to take a hasty step forward out of reach. "I'm fine," he rasped, not looking back as he knelt to put his sneakers on. He pretended that it took all of his attention to tie the laces, so that by the time he stood up again he felt marginally more composed.

Castiel didn't push, though there was no doubt in Dean's mind that the angel probably knew exactly how much he was struggling. He let Dean lead the way outside and down the steps, across the grass and into the trees. It was immediately cooler there, protected from the worst of the sun. Dean felt better as soon as he was outside, away from the confines of the cabin. As awesome as it was to have a place to call home, it was also really weird and sometimes he wasn't sure he liked it as much as he thought he would.

He set a deliberately brisk pace that kept him a few steps ahead of Castiel, though he knew Castiel could've easily caught up if he'd wanted to. It was quiet in the forest, with only the sound of the wind in the trees and their footsteps on the ground to break the silence. Dean tipped his head back as he walked through a patch of sunlight, looking up at the sky just in time to see several birds flying overhead in a V-formation.

"Hey, Cas," he said meaningfully, the word tasting weird, "look." And he pointed.

"It's Daddy, Dean," said Castiel, even as he tilted his head back to follow Dean's gaze, and the hair on the back of Dean's neck prickled. He'd heard that about twenty times by now, but it never ceased to hit hard. And right then, it let him breathless for reasons he couldn't - wouldn't identify. Daddy. His tongue felt swollen.

Looking away, towards the ground, he mumbled thoughtlessly, "S'weird."

"What is?"

Dean was going to say that it was weird that there were no other animals around, after their previous walk to the lake during which they'd seen and heard all kinds of squirrels, chipmunks, birds and even a couple of foxes, or at least he would have if he'd been capable of making his mouth cooperate. He was afraid that if he said anything else, it was going to end up being something that would tip him over the breaking point.

In the end it didn't matter, because it wasn't his choice.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something dark. Castiel was already spinning around, moving with lightening fast reflexes to get in front of Dean, and Dean heard the sound of his grunt as they collided. Someone - a woman with black eyes - laughed as Castiel was driven to the ground, bloody and leaking lines of white, the angel blade falling from his hand. The black-eyed man beside her grabbed the blade and plunged it deep into Castiel's stomach in one smooth move. Castiel screamed, his body spasming.

The world felt like it was falling away from Dean as the woman looked up at him and smirked, and he was barely aware of screaming himself.

"Daddy!"