Babysitting!

Castiel had been watching. For one year he had been watching.

He had been watching Teddy read to Harry when he wasn't feeling too well…

"Mother Duck says, 'See? That was the easiest swim ever!' And Baby Duck says, 'It sure was. I love swimming.' They swam and swam and swam until Baby Duck forgot all about losing his pet rock." Teddy paused to look up at his godfather. "Do you like the story so far?"

"I do." Harry managed a weak smile for him. "I like the pictures."

"Hmm." Teddy leaned back while shifting on Harry's lap. "Oh!" Suddenly, at the side of his head, he felt fast drumming. He started and looked back again. "Harry! Are you scared?"

"Hmm?"

He pressed his hand to Harry's chest. "Oh no. Your heart is so fast," he gasped.

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He tried pushing Teddy's hand down. "It's nothing."

But Teddy knew it wasn't nothing. Dismayed, he glanced towards the door. "I think I have to get the nurse," he decided.

Before the boy could scoot out of the bed, Harry rested a firm hand on him. "I'm fine, Teddy," he said as calm as he could despite the shooting pain in his immobile legs. "Keep reading. I'll be fine."

Teddy tsked. "Harry." He stayed put though, for his godfather's sake. "Do you feel like crying?"

Harry pressed a kiss on Teddy's hair. "Maybe a bit." His voice cracked.

"Because you can cry. I don't mind."

"You don't?"

"Nope. Because I cry all the time and you don't mind. So if you cry, I don't mind."

He had been watching the day Harry walked without help for the first time since waking up…

Gritting his teeth, Harry shuffled forward, feet dragging on the cold wood floor sluggishly as he willed them to move. His breath escaped in pants from exertion and anticipation. Months of work led up to this moment. His therapy instructor watched with bated breath, ready to catch him at a moment's notice. But he'd be damned if he fell. He pushed his other foot forward. It felt foreign, as though not attached to the rest of him at all. But it was responding. However weak that response was, it was enough to move him forward a few inches.

"How does that feel?" the instructor asked eagerly.

"Fine," he answered. "I'm… It's fine. No pain." He was glad for that. "Heavy, that's all."

"Looks like those water sessions did you good, hmm?"

He had been watching the day Harry was discharged from the hospital…

"No place like home," Hermione beamed as she helped her friend onto the couch bed.

Harry sank into it thankfully, stretching his legs out and closing his eyes to take a breather. "This is going to be impossible," he mumbled. "Can't even get up stairs…"

"Come on, mate," Ron interjected jovially. "You'll be back on your feet in no time. Mark my words." He dropped the luggage on the floor and flopped down beside Harry, despite Hermione's irritated tsk. "The kids have been going on and on about having Uncle Harry over. They won't give you a moment's rest."

"I'm not a babysitter."

"You didn't expect to live here rent-free, did you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the bickering men while whisking the luggage into a cluttered closet by the hallway. It was nice to see Harry back in good spirits after those long, draining months at the hospital.

He had been watching the day Harry went back to work…

"WELCOME BACK!"

Harry tripped over his feet in shock before catching himself by the door and then gawking in wonder at the marked and festive transformation of the conventionally dreary Auror office. There were floating streamers, balloons, banners, cake, and a familiar group of grinning faces. "You idiots," he groaned. They knew better than anyone that he hated flashy gestures.

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a-"

"Oh shut up." He slammed the door shut behind him before interested onlookers could peek inside. The Aurors didn't shut up despite that, continuing their chorus until Harry was red in the face from embarrassment. It was the least they could do considering he had scared them half to death by nearly getting himself killed on that mission a year ago.

He had been watching the day Harry got sliced by Pritchard…

He had watched Harry's painful progress out of the hospital bed. He had watched many therapy sessions where the young wizard struggled to do menial tasks like throw a ball or hold a cup. He had watched those sleepless nights and endless days.

In fact, he had been watching until he could watch no more.

Why was Harry Potter so determined?

Castiel watched the Auror slip on his robes and smooth it down absently. The way he handled his badge was the same as Dean handling his ivory Colt – with ease and authority. In fact, the two men were very alike in the angel's mind. They never seemed to tire, remained hardheaded at the worst times, and cared all too much about family.

And now…

Harry let out a startled yelp at the sudden appearance of the angel in the locker room. He managed not to throw a hex at the last second, jerking his arm to his side instead. He looked around quickly, glad to see that the rest of his team had already shuffled out. He looked back at Castiel. "You can't be in here," he blurted out.

"I… wanted to apologize."

That rendered him speechless for a moment. "Oh."

"I was short with you."

"Um… Yes."

"It was not my intention to lose my temper."

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. "So you understand my position, don't you?" he hesitated.

Castiel shook his head. "I cannot understand your position."

Dismayed, Harry started to argue. But they were interrupted.

"We're waiting on you, Potter."

He glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Y-yeah. Give me a second," he called back.

When he looked around again, Castiel was gone.

"Oh, goddamnit," he swore under his breath. Why was he surprised?

He had had a hell of a couple of days. It was difficult enough dealing with Molly and Andromeda badgering him to stop working such dangerous cases. Now to have an angel tell him so was really messing with his mind.

Even now, as he searched an abandoned house for illegal contraband and smugglers with his partner, he was thinking about Castiel's words. He owed his life to the angel? No. He didn't ask to be saved. He had given up and let go, allowing the Reaper to reap his soul. The fact that he was alive was not his doing. He didn't owe the angel anything.

It didn't matter that his friends and family were beyond ecstatic to see him recover fully. It didn't matter that he was back at his job a mere year later, hunting down suspects in dilapidated buildings as though the past nightmarish year hadn't happened at all.

None of that matters, he lied to himself. His life was his own. Whether he lived or died was on his own head. What he did with himself was his decision. He wouldn't let anyone else influence it. Not anymore.

"POTTER!"

Harry cut across the dusty room in a dead sprint, swiping at hindering cobwebs just as pounding footsteps echoed along the adjoining corridor. He threw the creaking door open.

But he was pulled away before he could run out.

A crackling red curse shot out right in front of him, where he would have stood had he not been jerked out of the way.

For a breath, he felt glowing warmth against his back, spreading fast into his limbs.

Then he was shoved out the door.

He ran straight into the suspect. He cast a quick stunning curse at the man just before they tumbled into a shuttered window and fell to the ground. By then his partner had caught up, in time to cuff the unconscious suspect.

When he looked back at the room he had scrambled out of, he saw nothing.

Castiel slumped against the mouldy wall, invisible to Harry's searching eyes, and hid his face in his hands. "This will not work," he realized tiredly. Did he have to keep an eye on this utterly ridiculous and impossible man every hour of every day? "I am not a babysitter."