4. Chapter 4

When Dean woke up, he wasn't sure where he was at first. There was no rickety old air conditioner fighting to cool the room off. He didn't smell any alcohol. And for once, he was actually undressed and underneath the covers on the bed. The very soft covers, with sheets that made him want to curl up and go right back to sleep. But stranger than all of that was the realization that he actually felt safe enough to do that, even though a groping hand under his pillow revealed that Ruby's knife was missing.

Memory of the night before came back to him and he sighed, blinking as he sat up. The room around him was pretty bare, a stark contrast to the rest of the house from what he remembered. The walls were painted a deep green, and the furniture - two nightstands, a bookshelf, a dresser, and the bed itself - was made from a light wood that might have been oak or maple. But aside from a copy of the picture of Mary from the living room, there were no other decorations on the walls.

He pushed the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up slowly. Even though he'd clearly been sleeping for a while, he was still exhausted. But he was awake enough to want some answers. He made his way over to the door and opened it, pausing to listen for a moment. The house was quiet, with no hint as to where Castiel might be. Dean stepped out of his room, trying to ignore the feeling that he was somehow disobeying by leaving without permission.

The living room and kitchen were both empty, but he didn't have to search far before he found the angel. Castiel was sitting out on the porch. To Dean's shock, he was no longer wearing Jimmy's suit and trenchcoat. Instead, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It was easily the most casual clothing that Dean had ever seen Castiel in, and it was actually a little jarring to see the angel looking so.... human. Especially when Castiel turned his head and offered a warm smile in greeting.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hi," Dean said a little awkwardly, sinking into the other free chair. He caught a glimpse of the pajamas he was wearing and scowled, blushing, when he saw the cowboys. "What the hell, Cas?"

"You look very cute," said Castiel gravely, and Dean sputtered.

"What - that's not - you don't -"

"I think we need to have a talk," Castiel said, not giving him time to speak or protest. "Dean, you are my nestling now. And that means I will be treating you as though you are my child. In all ways."

Dean stared at him for a moment, his level of discomfort rising. "Well yeah. I figured," he said finally. "But uh... there's no need to help me dress or for this." He plucked at the pajamas in aggravation. He could just imagine the look on Sam's face if his brother saw him dressed like this. He was pretty sure that Sam would never let him live this down.

"It is my understanding that little kids can't dress themselves without help."

"But I'm not a little kid."

"You are now."

"Cas -"

"You will call me Daddy, Dean."

Dean's jaw dropped and for a few seconds he was actually speechless. It took him way too long to find his voice, but once he did he surged to his feet. "There's no way in hell I'm doing that."

His movement was fast enough that he caught a tell-tale crinkling from around his thighs, faint but audible. Horrified, he gripped the waistband of his pants and tugged them open. His face flamed with humiliation when he saw that he was wearing pull-up training pants. Exactly like a little 2 or 3-year-old would wear when they were coming out the other side of potty training and couldn't be trusted to not have accidents. There was even a picture of a dinosaur on the crotch.

Words might have failed him, but action didn't. Dean turned, intending to retreat to his bedroom and strip because even being naked was better than this, and found his way barred by a stubborn angel. Castiel's hands gently but firmly gripped his upper arms, preventing him from escaping into the house no matter how much Dean struggled. And god knew Dean tried, even throwing a punch at Castiel's face that the angel gracefully dodged. Though it was probably more to keep Dean from hurting himself than because he was concerned about what would be, for him, a glancing blow.

Castiel turned then, pulling Dean with him, and sat back down in his chair. He forcefully jerked Dean down into his lap and pinned his arms to his sides, wrapping his own arms around Dean to hold him in place. "Dean, you will listen to me."

"Damn it, you son of a bitch, let go!"

"No," came the annoyingly calm response. "I told you, you are my nestling and I am going to take care of you. I know what you need. I am going to give you some rules. If you have a problem with them, we will discuss them calmly. But I will not listen to any little boys who throw tantrums, do you understand me?"

Dean stilled, panting, mortified.

"Good. Now, when you are wearing your pull-ups you will call me Daddy. The only time you won't be wearing them is if you're needed on a hunt, or Sam and Bobby want to visit, and you need to act like an adult as much as you can. And we will be discussing all of that in detail before it happens. You are not to take your pull offs unless I give you permission, and believe me I will know if you do and you will be punished accordingly."

"Cas -"

"Daddy," Castiel corrected him before continuing, "No more drinking, Dean, You'll eat three meals a day and have a snack if you're hungry. Every night you'll be given a bath before you go to bed, and I will tuck you in and read you a story. When you feel better about this, we'll go shopping for whatever you want. I'd like you to be able to pick out decorations for your room and some toys. Maybe even some movies or a video game. I don't want you to be bored during the day."

It sounded like torture. Dean struggled again, frustrated that Castiel's grip was so immovable. "Why are you doing this?" he bit out, pissed. "I don't want this."

"You agreed to give it a chance," Castiel reminded him.

"Yeah, well, that was before I knew you wanted to treat me like a two-year-old!"

"Would it be so bad?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Dean could hardly believe his ears. "Dude, I'm a grown-ass man. I don't need to wear pull ups or have someone monitor my eating habits or take me shopping or tuck me in at night. And none of those other nestlings I saw did, either."

"Nestlings are all different ages," Castiel murmured. "And how do you know what you don't need these things? You've never had them."

That was actually enough to make Dean stop. "I - that's not true."

"Isn't it? Dean, when you were four years old your childhood ended. I saw your life when I raised you from hell. Your father stopped treating you like the child you were and started acting like you were an adult. At the age of four, you had to change your own brother's diapers."

"Sammy needed me," Dean muttered.

"I know, and you were a wonderful parent. But that wasn't fair to you. You should never have had to sacrifice your childhood like that, even if it was for the sake of your little brother. I just want to give you what you never had, and this is the only way I can think of to do so. You said you trusted me, Dean, and I swear to you that I will not do anything to abuse that trust."

Castiel's passionate speech left him silent and floundering for words to say. He could tell this was a losing battle, if only because he'd already discovered that it was nearly impossible to explain a human emotion like embarrassment to an angel. Castiel just didn't get it. Worse yet, the angel was stubborn enough that he wouldn't let this bizarre idea go until Dean could prove to him that it wasn't going to work. Which wouldn't be that hard, because no amount of grace was ever going to be enough to make Dean be okay with this.

He could leave. He hadn't consumed any grace yet, so there was still time. It was only once he had his first taste of grace that he would essentially be trapped here. But the longer he looked into Castiel's familiar blue eyes, the less he wanted to. There was a part of him that still wanted this, so long as Castiel eventually stopped this weird kid thing and let him act the way he wanted to. And if he had to sneak into the bathroom and take the stupid pull ups off and go commando for the foreseeable future, well, that was fine.

"Boundaries," he finally said, his voice an embarrassingly thin crack. "I can't just..."

"I know. We'll learn together. It will be okay." The arms around him tightened, but this time it wasn't with the goal of restricting him. This was an embrace, warming him from the inside out. Dean sat stiffly for only a minute before his body relaxed into it without his permission. It just felt so good.

Not long after he begrudgingly relaxed, Castiel began rubbing a hand up and down his spine. It wasn't quite an impromptu massage, but damn it if the angel didn't seem to know every single place where tension had been building. Castiel's fingers located those spots unerringly and pressed in hard, releasing the tension and turning Dean's muscles into flimsy piles of goo. He found himself with his head on the angel's shoulder, basically a boneless puddle.

He could've sat there for a lot longer, not that Dean would've admitted it, had his stomach not started letting out hungry little grumbles. Castiel's hand paused briefly and then he chuckled. "You're hungry, baby."

Dean's face burned and he made a non-committal sound in response, not sure how to otherwise respond to the term of endearment. It was one he'd used plenty himself, both in relation to his car and to women, but he couldn't remember the last time it was applied to him. It was things like this that he knew he would never be comfortable with no matter what Castiel said, and he hoped that it wouldn't be long before the stubborn angel gave up on this bizarre crusade.

"I could eat something," he mumbled.

Castiel shifted beneath him, and then suddenly he stood up. Dean would never admit to the - completely manly - squeak that came out of his mouth. He clutched at the angel desperately, even though he was only a few feet off the ground. The arm around his waist tightened and Castiel lifted him effortlessly, balancing Dean on his hip the way Dean used to carry Sammy when his brother got tired and whiny. It was weird, because he was technically taller than Castiel, and yet Castiel held him like he weighed no more than a baby.

"Let's get you something to eat. Do you want anything in particular?"

Slowly, unable to resist wrapping an arm around Castiel's neck and holding on tightly, Dean shook his head. He couldn't have put into words how strange it felt to be carried inside the house. Castiel didn't put him down until they were in the kitchen, and then he lowered Dean into one of the chairs like he was something fragile or breakable. He was smiling in a way that Dean had never seen before, and it made Dean uncomfortable in a way he was equally unable to describe.

Castiel looked happy, and he had no idea what to do about that.