70. Chapter 70

“Dean. Deaaaaaaaaaaan. Dean-o. Kiddo. Hey.”

The soft voice tugged at Dean’s awareness, pulling him out of a sound sleep. He blinked his eyes open and found himself staring fuzzily up at Uncle Gabriel. Gabriel grinned, wings puffed up with excitement, and reached into the crib to run a hand through Dean’s hair, down his neck and across his wing. Dean mewled at the sensation, still not fully used to hands touching an appendage that hadn’t existed two months ago, and rubbed his eyes.

“Cassie told me not to wake you, but what does he know? I knew you’d want to see this.” Gabriel carefully leaned down and slid his hands under Dean’s arms, lifting Dean. Dean thought about throwing a fuss, but frankly anything that had piqued Gabriel’s interest had to be worth going to see. He settled for a low whine as the cooler air of the room hit him and cuddling into his uncle.

Gabriel snagged a blanket from the crib, wrapping it and both wings around Dean as they walked out the door. The nest was otherwise quiet. Dean rested his head on Gabriel’s shoulder and slid his thumb into his mouth, watching with half-lidded eyes as Gabriel climbed down the stairs and entered the living room. He walked over to the big window and dramatically pulled the curtains open. Dean gasped softly, eyes widening with wonder.

It was snowing.

Big, fat and fluffy flakes were drifting past the window. A few landed on the glass and melted, turning into water that trickled down the panes. Dean leaned forward to get a better look. The tips of the grass was still visible, but there was maybe a quarter to half an inch of snow already down and it was still coming. Even the trees all had a light coating of snow for as far as he could see. The thick grey clouds in the sky suggested that the snow wasn’t going to be stopping anytime, either.

“Pretty, huh?” Gabriel said, resting his cheek against Dean’s.

“Pretty,” Dean agreed, resting a hand against the cold glass. This was far from the first time he’d seen snow, obviously. When you traveled all over the U.S., you saw every kind of weather there was. John, to give him his due, had usually tried to make sure that they were in a northern climate for Christmas, but that wasn’t always feasible in their line of work. And of course, Christmas usually sucked so much that, in the end, it didn’t really matter whether they had snow or not. There wasn’t much a perpetually broke and homeless man could or would buy for his kids.

But Dean had a few carefully guarded memories of Christmas with his mother. He really only remembered one; he would’ve been too young for the others. Mary had loved Christmas, he knew that much. She’d taken him and Sam to pick out a real tree, and Dean could remember helping her to put the decorations on. They’d done some Christmas baking, too: cookies and pies and fudge and other sweet treats. He remembered writing a letter to Santa, and trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve knowing that Santa would be coming, and how exciting it was to wake up on Christmas morning and know presents were waiting.

Contrasting that, though, were the many more years of memories of Christmas spent in the back of the Impala, or in some shitty hotel room. Sometimes John was there, but as they got older it was more likely he wouldn’t be. There’d been a couple years of Dean going hungry for weeks beforehand because he was trying to save a little money to buy Sam a gift. Several years where food had been scarce, period. He and Sam had always tried to give each other something, usually food or alcohol once they were of age.

His excited smile dulled slightly. Unless they met up at Bobby’s, he and Sam probably wouldn’t see each other for Christmas this year. He wondered what the holiday season would be like with angels. Castiel and Gabriel had never struck him as being particularly conscious of most human rituals, never mind those that related specifically to religion. He wondered what the chances were of getting a Christmas tree or baking, much less gifts, and figured it was probably slim to none.

Not unless he wanted to tell them that’s what he wanted. Dean’s stomach flipped at the thought. He’d been with them long enough to know that Castiel would give him the moon if he asked for it. Never before had Dean had someone who doted on him so thoroughly. Gabriel was almost as bad as his brother, practically turning himself out in efforts just to make Dean smile. Sometimes it was as weird as it was nice.

And Dean thought he’d gotten a little better at asking for things that he wanted. He’d asked Gabriel to make him a pie and pancakes once. He’d asked Castiel for extra bacon yesterday. But asking for something like Christmas… that was a lot. It would take time and money and serious effort, and all for something Dean didn’t really believe in anymore. He might be a hatchling, but he knew that Santa wasn’t real – or at least, he thought with a private grimace as he remembered the pagan gods they’d dealt with one year, not the kind of Santa that the stories and songs told you about.

“Dean?”

Dean started, realizing that Gabriel was looking at him curiously, and he wondered how long he’d been quiet for. Long enough for Gabriel to get concerned, obviously. For a single, almost overwhelming moment, he wanted to tell Gabriel everything that had just rolled through his head. He had to clamp down on the urge, pressing his thumb into his mouth to help. They’d done enough.

Gabriel’s mouth tugged down into a curious frown, but he didn’t press. “Do you want to help me make breakfast?” he asked. “I was thinking we could have crepes with fresh fruit.”

That sounded like an unusually healthy breakfast coming from Gabriel, but Dean was grateful for the chance to focus on something other than the looming holidays. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought about Christmas before, but it was like seeing the snow had thrown his brain into overdrive. He’d relish the distraction, so he gave an eager nod and wrapped both arms around Gabriel’s neck.

“’nanas?” he asked eagerly.

“You want bananas? I think I can do that.” Gabriel turned away from the window and walked into the kitchen. Dean gasped again, shocked for the second time that morning as he caught sight of the different fruits laid out on the table. Bananas, pomegranates, oranges, strawberries, kiwis… his mouth began to water.

Gabriel grinned at him. “What do you think? A banana and strawberry crepe with nutella?”

Dean’s eyes lit up and he nodded. That sounded more like it. He squirmed happily as Gabriel carried him over to the table and sat him down in the chair. Dean immediately leaned forward and tried to grab at a strawberry, nearly sliding right off the chair in his excitement. Gabriel grabbed him just in time, steadying him with a quiet, fond laugh that made Dean feel warm from head to toe.

“Whoa there, kiddo. You’re really squirmy this morning, aren’t you?” Gabriel said. He scooped Dean up and set him down in a different chair that was different from the other kitchen chairs. It was higher and sat back deeper, so that Dean’s feet didn’t quite touch the floor. Dean blinked in bemusement as Gabriel pulled two straps diagonally across his chest, one over each shoulder, that attached each to a buckle across Dean’s midsection. A third strap was pulled up between Dean’s thighs and again attached to the buckle.

He couldn’t move. The realization hit Dean in a flash just as Gabriel stepped back and pulled a tray into view. He slotted it into the chair right over Dean’s lap. Dean stared at him incredulously. This was a high chair! The last time he’d seen one of these had been way back when Sammy was two years old and had gone through a stage where he didn’t want to eat anything.

“There,” Gabriel said, pretending not to see the look on Dean’s face. “That’s better! Can’t have you slipping out and hurting yourself, little man. Now you can have some strawberries.” He quickly set a few of the bright red berries down on the tray. They’d already been hulled and washed and were ready to be eaten.

Dean’s mouth open and closed in astonishment as he watched his uncle walk away whistling, as though this wasn’t out of the ordinary at all. Gabriel stepped up to the counter and grabbed a bowl, cracking a couple of eggs into it and then picking up a fork to whip them. He didn’t look back at Dean, apparently expecting Dean to be content with the strawberries until breakfast was ready.

“Wh-what? Wh-why?” Dean finally managed to sputter out, grabbing one of the straps.

Gabriel glanced at him. “You’re a baby angel, Dean,” he said mildly. “That’s the safest place for you to be when you’re at the table. That way, I know you’re safe and that you’re not doing anything you’re not supposed to be doing. And it’ll be easier for you to eat that way.”

“I eat fine!” Dean squeaked, mortified. He grappled with the straps half-heartedly, but he already knew that there would be no getting out until an angel wanted to let him out. It was probably the most frustrating thing about being a hatchling. Dean had never been around people who could so consistently outclass him in terms of strength. It used to be scary, but now it might have become comforting and he wasn’t wholly sure what to do about that.

He scowled at Gabriel’s back, wondering why they insisted on this babyish equipment. Okay, he didn’t mind the crib or the stroller. Those were embarrassing, but it wasn’t too bad. But the bouncer? The high chair? Dean didn’t like those at all. He crossed his arms and glared at the strawberries, refusing to eat.

If Gabriel noticed, he didn’t let on. He mixed together the ingredients for the crepe and then moved over to the stove. His back was to Dean now. Dean eyed him and then the strawberries, then smirked. He waited until Gabriel had scooped up a ladle full of the crepe mixture and then poured it into the pan. The sizzling told Dean that the crepe was beginning to cook. He selected the biggest strawberry on the tray, aimed and threw.

Thanks to years of practice, Dean’s aim was pretty damn good if he did say so himself. The strawberry hit Gabriel in the back of the head. The juicy fruit splattered, send a rivulet of red juice down Gabriel’s hair. Gabriel jumped and whirled around, an astonished look on his face.

“Did – did you?!” he sputtered, pointing the ladle at Dean.

Castiel chose that exact moment to walk into the room. He stopped short, seeing his brother standing in front of the stove pointing a ladle at his baby. Dean was sitting in a high chair, arms folded across his chest, a smug smirk on his face. There was absolute silence for a few seconds, broken only by the sound of the crepe mixture slowly sliding off of the ladle and dripping to the floor.

Then Castiel said, “Did I miss something?”

“Your baby is a little shit,” Gabriel announced. “He threw a strawberry at me!” He sounded deeply offended. Dean’s smirk deepened.

“You put him in the high chair and gave him food, Gabriel. I told you he wouldn’t like it. What did you think would happen?” Castiel said, more amused than he wanted to admit.

Gabriel scowled. “He was sliding off a normal chair! It was for his own safety! You should be thanking me!”

“Thank you,” Castiel deadpanned. “Your crepe is burning.”

The yelp Gabriel let out was hilarious. Castiel couldn’t help cracking a grin as Gabriel spun back to face the stove, letting him see the impact that the strawberry had made. He glanced over at Dean, who was looking back at him with a defiant look. Really, Dean should be punished – but Castiel had warned his brother about the high chair. Really, a strawberry was a small price to pay. Gabriel was just lucky Dean couldn’t reach the oranges or pomegranates.

“How about a bottle, and you can sit on my lap for breakfast?” he suggested. Dean didn’t look entirely happy about the compromise, but he nodded and reached his arms out to Castiel.