#90s setting

Another night of disrupted sleep. 2:00am shines red from the alarm clock and from across the hall Cass can hear the sounds of muffled cries, the creak of aged bedsprings. Another nightmare, or exhaustion from the insomnia. Her heart aches as she lies in silence— her previous attempts to go in and offer comfort had not been accepted well. He’s a teenager after all, a mess of hormones and confusion, and she is little more than a stranger to him. 

When he’s not making himself small and haunting the house with his barely traceable presence, he dons a mask of blank indifference. When she brings up the nightmares in the morning he lies— blames the sounds she hears on the wind, or her own imagination. They had decided against therapy at first, wanting to see if Keiren could bounce back with their help. Or, that’s what they tell the doctors and social services.

  In reality, they simply cannot afford that kind of expense; taking in her estranged brother’s newly orphaned thirteen year old hadn’t been in the budget as it is, and they’d only just closed on the cafe a couple months ago. Keiren’d seemed fine— distant, grieving, prone to random flares… But fine. Or so showed the act he put on for them, which fell away each night. The sun set and the caricature of a moody, disinterested teenager dissolved to reveal a child who couldn’t sleep more than a couple hours at a time, and cried out for comfort he didn’t believe he deserved.

Now, Cass makes plans to use the local library’s computer to look for some sort of support group in their new neighborhood for the kid. The circles under his dark eyes border on black these days, and he’s having trouble staying awake throughout the day, if his tutor is to be believed. If something doesn’t change soon, he’s going to end up in the hospital, the last thing he needed. 

Another cry, this one much louder, quickly followed by a thud! Has her jumping out of bed and tiptoeing across the hall, pushing open her new housemate’s bedroom door. The bed is empty of both teenager and bedding, and when she looks down to find the aforementioned teen tangled within the blankets on the floor, she heaves a sigh. Orange light like that of a dying fire glows within the thin quilt, but there’s no heat. Moving slowly, because she hasn’t been sensed yet by the normally vigilant boy, Cass takes one edge of the blanket, pulling it away to reveal a flushed, teary face and a senseless fluff of dark curls. 

His eyes are still clenched shut, but he stiffens when she brushes against him, flaring to feverish temps and pulling away to sit more fully against the side of the bed. Her heart constricts in response, because this— this is the most unexpected part of taking in her nephew. 

They had foreseen the nightmares, the moodiness, the grief, the shaky grasp of control he held over his still developing abilities. 

They hadn’t foreseen the flinching, the fear of raised voices, the rejection of physical contact. Her brother hadn’t been a kind man or a good man when she knew him, and apparently he hadn’t changed that for his child. The bruises the doctors found hadn’t been caused by the fire, and they hadn’t been the result of rough treatment by the rescue team, but remnants of the loveless man laying in the morgue. 

Retracting her hands, Cass sits across from him and lets him wake fully. Red rimmed eyes blink open and meet her soft gaze fleetingly, before falling to examine the faded bedspread covering his lap. 

The orange glow fades; slow, almost tentative.

“S-sorry…” he croaks, a word she’s heard more in the last 3 weeks than she has in her entire life, she’s sure. He apologizes for everything— a knee jerk reaction the moment he seems to think he’s upset her. “I just fell but I’m fine, you can go back to bed.” That had been his explanation for the bruises, too. With that, he tries to stand, attempting to unwind the bedspread with minimal success and nearly tumbling to the ground a second time.

“Oh, baby…” She can’t help but murmur, climbing to her feet so she can help him free his tangled limbs, laying the blanket back on the bed. 

Standing face to face in the smallish room, with none of the distance they usually maintain during the day, she looks over the boy she’s taken in— all gangly limbs and awkward posture. Thirteen years old and he’s taller than her already, and yet again she is struck by the fact that she has missed her nephew’s entire childhood. A month ago she hadn’t even been aware of his existence. 

“You know the doctor said nightmares were normal, and we have those pills for the insomnia. You don’t have to hide these things from me.” But he’s already shaking his head, panic blooming in his eyes. “No please, I don’t want the pills, I can’t control it when I'm taking them.” 

And there was the elephant in the room. Not her nephew’s abilities, but his belief that his abilities had killed his parents. He refused to even acknowledge them point blank, and she’d only seen him really use his powers once; at the hospital when he’d been informed of his parents’ deaths. The flames had burned intensely but hadn’t struck out once; instead swirling together to form a cocoon around him. No one had been able to get through them and they’d had to resort to calling in a hydra working in the cafeteria to douse the flames so they could sedate him. 

Now, Keiren avoids heat like the plague; windows flung open despite the still chilly spring temps, electric fan going full speed. All he had salvaged from his old house was armfuls of eclectic sweaters, and yet he lived in the plain tank tops and t-shirts the temporary foster family provided him. He doesn’t even seem to like being in the kitchen when the stove is on. 

He cautiously climbs back into bed when she gestures for him to do so, going along without complaint when she drapes the blanket back over him— he could do it himself of course, and he’ll likely kick it off as soon as she leaves, but he’s just so heartbreaking with his shaking hands and nervous glances, and if he’s not going to sleep Cass at least wants him comfortable.

“Are you sure? We have a long day tomorrow, if you don’t get at least a little sleep…” She hesitates to give in— she’s a mother now, shouldn’t she put her foot down here? He truly does need the sleep— meeting the others is going to be rough enough for him without the added stress of a sleepless night. Her own parents would never have entertained giving her a choice to take medication or not, but her parents hadn’t been in a situation like this. 

“I’ll sleep, I promise; you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t ruin tomorrow for you.” He says it so earnestly, and paired with such big wet eyes that any thought of standing her ground vanishes. He’s had enough of people poking and prodding at him to do as they bid and she wouldn’t become one of them. 

She can’t let that last comment go though, and her hand makes an aborted motion to run through his hair before she reconsiders and settles it instead on her hip. 

“You could never ruin anything, baby.” she exhales, nodding. “You promise you’ll sleep? No books, no music?” More than once she had noticed him curled up with a flashlight  and a novel, headphones firmly in place and blasting whatever the kids were listening to these days deep into the night. Keiren shakes his head again, and the exhaustion in his eyes makes her believe that he will at least try. 

“Okay then. Sleep tight.” she offers as he’s rolling over to face the wall; a dismissal. She studies his tense form a moment longer, rubbing absently at her chilled arms before leaving. 

It’s the best a night like this has gone, Cass muses as she climbs back into bed. He’s the most talkative at night, when the need for sleep has lowered his walls some, but he’s still nearly nonverbal. The conversation tonight is the most he’s said in one sitting since being discharged from the hospital. She lies still, waiting for a sign that the teenager is being assuaged by nightmares once again. 

The night stays still and silent. 

Hoping it is a sign of better things to come, she turns out the light and succumbs to sleep.

They arrive at the house first; the movers’ trucks pull away just as they crunch over the gravel driveway. 

Keiren silently refuses her offer to help take his few belongings out of the car and hefts the battered book bag over his shoulder before dragging the garbage bag that contains his clothes out of the passenger side door to land by his feet. Cass grabs her own bag of last minute essentials and heads for the front door left partially ajar, hissing when her elbow catches on the knob. She sets her bag on the white kitchen counter before taking in her surroundings.

  The house is… bright. Late morning sunlight pours through windows accented with cheery yellow curtains, illuminating the tiny dust particles in the air— no doubt kicked up by the movers unloading. Outside the window a flock of sprites flitter around, chasing a squirrel. Towers of meticulously labeled boxes fill each room, with newly assembled furniture standing out like islands in the sea. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating. 

Rubbing her hands on her jeans, Cass walks back to the front door, where Keiren stands. He looks painfully out of place; trash bag slumped by his feet, oversized t-shirt pulled off one shoulder from the weight of his bookbag, gaze focused on the yellowed smoke detector above the door. She makes a note to have them all checked and replace any faulty ones. 

She’s about to show him to his room when another car crunches over the gravel; Peter. 

Keiren’s reaction is expected, given the little she knows of him— he freezes, panicked, eyes finding hers before he looks away, and then he just… vanishes. His shoulders pull inward, he steps away and turns so his back is to the wall, and drops his gaze to the ground. His hands clutch tightly at the strap of his bag, and the temperature of the room raises a bit. 

She’s torn between telling him to go upstairs in order to give him a reprieve and just getting the initial first meeting out of the way, when heavy footsteps take the choice from her and the door flies open. 

A large hand grappling for the handle stops it from making contact with the wall, and an equally large man passes through.

“Shit, sorry! What kind of hinges did they put on this thing?” She can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“You’re late.” Cass scolds, hands on hips. 

“Ah, come on babe! Not that late, and I hardly think the kid cares that much about punctuality. What teenager does?” he mutters good naturedly as he toes off his boots and drops them by the door. She clears her throat, gaining his attention and nodding towards Keiren. 

“Oh. OH! Fuck, sorry kid, I didn’t even see you there. Kieren, right?” He steps forward to shake his hand, apparently deciding not to heed any of the warnings she had given him beforehand. To his credit, he doesn’t just grab the kid’s hand like he usually would, instead leaves it extended for the teenager to either take or reject. 

She’s prepared to intervene before any feelings can be hurt (he’s a sensitive sort of man, no matter the trucker hat and stature) but to her pleased surprise, a smaller hand slowly reaches out and takes his, shaking it once before making a hasty retreat to twist and worry the hem of his shirt. 

Keiren doesn’t speak, not that she had expected him to, but he does nod, eyes flicking up to meet Peter’s for a split second before edging carefully away and to the doorway, making his escape. Peter turns towards her with a confused yet proud expression, pointing up the stairs.

“Did you see that? I think he likes me!” And this is why, despite his gruff personality and rough appearance, he was the one she wanted Keiren to meet first. “Kid was shaking like a leaf though, hope I didn’t startle ‘im too bad.” 

“That’s the warmest greeting anyone’s gotten out of him yet,” She admits, reaching up to tug the brim of his ‘entirely ironic’ Madonna ballcap affectionately. “Come on, let’s go see if we can get the coffee machine unpacked. I’m not touching these boxes without caffeine.” 

They do finally find the coffee machine, but the mugs are nowhere to be found. They sit on the back porch, sipping out of a ceramic measuring cup and a short vase, respectively. Keiren doesn’t make another appearance but she can hear him in his room, his music —something guitar heavy and angry— filtering through the screen of his open window. He’s avoiding them, Cass knows. One backpack and a few clothes simply did not take an hour to unpack. 

But the clock is creeping towards noon, and they haven’t eaten. He’s slight enough as it is— teetering just on the edge of malnutrition, according to the doctor, and he can’t afford to be missing meals. Finishing her last swig of black coffee (and making a note to add creamer to the shopping list), Cass stands and nudges the screen door open enough to slip through, pausing to give Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, snorting when he can’t be bothered to pull his nose from his book.

Cooking meals Keiren would eat was another one of those unexpected challenges. 

She’d cooked a huge meal to celebrate the adoption going through— roast chicken, green beans, baked potatoes, rolls. Admittedly, a meal more suited to her partners, but a good meal nonetheless. The teen had balked at the sight of the food laden table though, sitting stiffly the entire time and fiddling with a roll, nervously picking it to shreds.  She’d heard him later that night in the kitchen, digging through the cupboard like a little mouse and scarfing down handfuls of cornflakes. 

He held such an aversion towards casserole that he’d not even come down to eat, the one time she’d tried. He didn’t like chicken or beef. She’d ended up creating a mental list of the teenager’s ‘safe foods’: soup but not stew, plain turkey sandwiches with mustard, not mayo and never miracle whip, any and every kind of dry cereal… and little else. Even typical teen fare held no appeal. Pizza had gotten a few disinterested nibbles, and fast food had gotten a deluge of rejections and apologies before she’d even pulled into the drive-thru. 

The pantry was still empty, but luckily she found the nonperishable food box, and dug out a couple cans of chili and a bag of corn chips for herself and Peter, and a can of vegetable soup for Keiren. She quickly gets the two meals heating up on the stove, fully immersed in the task of lunch. 

So fully immersed that she doesn’t notice a second person in the kitchen until she turns to grab bowls and sees Keiren standing by the sink, filling a glass with water. He’s changed his clothes, succumbing to the chilly temperatures and donning a faded sweater with an uncharacteristic image of a smiling sun plastered across the front. She notes his bare feet curled a little against the cold hardwood, and adds socks to that ever growing list. 

“Lunch is going to be ready in a couple minutes, sweetheart. I hope soup is okay? It’s veggie.” A short nod, and a flash of relief that confirms her instinct that chili would be a no-go with him. He turns, presumably to go back upstairs, but seems to hesitate before turning back around. 

“Need help?” he asks so quickly that it takes a second for it to register. She nods belatedly, eyes wide and trying to stifle a smile, lest her excitement scare him off.

“Yeah. Yeah! Here, you can set the table. Bowls are above the sink, silverware is… to the right —no, the left— of the fridge. And can you also grab a soda from the fridge for Peter?” She almost asks him to grab a beer on instinct, but he’ll have to make do with pop until Keiren is settled. 

He sets his water on the counter and goes about setting the table while she turns off the stove and gives the counter a cursory wipedown, tossing the empty cans as she does. It’s ridiculously mundane; they don’t even talk, and it's awkward maneuvering the new kitchen while also avoiding getting in each other’s way— and yet it’s the happiest she’d felt in months. 

Between the funeral arrangements, the doctors’ visits, the nightmares, the social services appointments, the moving… It’d been impossible to find a second to breathe, and happiness has taken a backseat to surviving. 

She hadn’t even set foot in the cafe since they’d closed; her partners had taken care of all of that down to hiring the staff and preparing for opening day. Hopefully by then Keiren would be settled enough to want to go with them. He hadn’t mentioned missing any friends, and he didn’t look particularly bothered to have spent so much of these months either alone or with adults, but a little social interaction would be good for him. Their neighbors had a daughter who looked around his age— her partners said to leave it alone, but she thought they would get along well. A housewarming party, just a casual backyard barbeque kind of thing, maybe… 

A soft throat clear brings her out of her musing, and she takes in Keiren’s work. He’s sat her and Peter together at one end of the picnic style table and placed himself a fair distance away, just close enough to not look blatantly avoidant. 

“You did great, Keiren,” She decides to test this new bravery of his. “Can you go and let Peter know that it’s time to eat? I just have to dish this all up,” she adds, turning a little to indicate the food. 

He nods slowly but not hesitantly, from what she can tell, and slips away, silently as he came. 

She doesn’t try to eavesdrop, because that would be silly. She just stands by the already open window, diligently drying a tiny wet spot on the counter. If she leans herself out the window a little to really take in the scenery and happens to also give herself a passable view of the porch, that’s no one’s business but her own. 

Keiren doesn’t get the jump on Peter like he had Cass; the creaky screen door prevents it. Peter looks up from his book, turning in his rocker to see the teenager, who seems to stiffen a little bit, but again, doesn’t flee like she’s seen him do with other men. 

Keiren talks with his hands, just like his father. 

She can't make out their words from this distance, but even so, she can tell they’re not just talking about lunch. Peter holds up his book, apparently in answer to a question Keiren must have asked. The teen smiles. Cass nearly tumbles out the window in shock, barely righting herself and finishing filling their bowls just as the two walk in, joining her at the table. Lunch is a silent affair but for the clanking of spoons and the fizz of Peter’s soda can. 

Keiren eats the entire bowl of vegetable soup.

Outside the sprites flutter and a distant dog barks.

“So. You’re a fan of… pie?”

Castiel normally feels out-of-his-element (in fact, has yet to find what his element is), but Dean throws him off in a completely different way than normal, and he cringes internally at his own terrible conversation starter.

Dean laughs like he’s happy to be in on whatever joke Castiel might make. “Big fan, yup. Always have been, ever since my first taste of my mom’s homemade apple pie. One bite and I was a goner. True love, you might say.” He winks.

For a handful of seconds, Castiel just stares at Dean while the other man continues to smile. All the people he’s been around, his whole life, they always seem to have a mask on, their true feelings hidden behind 50 layers of Southern manners and self-serving interests, and Castiel has always had trouble deciphering the truth behind anyone’s words (save, perhaps, Gabriel, but Gabriel was almost too forward). Dean, however, is so… open. Castiel finds he can’t look away from the play of emotions that are constantly moving across his face, present in every quirk of his lips and blink of his lashes, because for once he feels like maybe he doesn’t need to unpeel all those layers of social convention that he’s never quite gotten the hang of and that everyone else seems to know innately.

He realizes he might be staring too much when Dean clears his throat and looks down, fiddling with some sugar packets left in the middle of the small table. Castiel watches his fingers move around the sugar packets instead. “I, uh, wanted to come by and let you know I got a room at Rufus’s,” Dean says. “Though everyone seems to know that already.”

Castiel snaps free of his thoughts and clears his throat as well. “Yes. Good! I’m glad to hear you’ll be staying. There’s more to Shades Cove than meets the eye. It certainly warrants a closer inspection.” He’s not entirely sure why he says that—does a small town with an overhyped nature trail to an uninspiring waterfall and only one bar really call for a second look?—but he knows, for now, that he wants Dean to stay.

Dean looks up from his organization of the sugar packets. “I’m starting to see that,” he answers.