Little Wing
âI did it. Iâm back.â
Sleep cleared away. Dean focussed on the figure in front of him - Jack, carrying a large bundle of something.
âYou did it?â Â
What the hell? He was definitely awake, but his brain didnât want to catch up. He should really have eaten.
âI did it. But I thought - he needs some time. Some time to heal. So Iâve given him that time. See?â
Dean pushed back his chair, its whining scrape hurting his ears. He stood up, swayed, got his balance, rubbed his eyes again, blinked and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
Jack spoke to the bundle in his arms. âLook, Deanâs here. You remember Dean, donât you?â
The bundle had feet. Small, bare feet with pink toes that wiggled. Then the whole package changed shape and a tangle of dark hair emerged from the crumpled tan cloth.
âCome out and say hello.â Jackâs arms shifted, adjusting his grip and suddenly, with a snap, two black, shiny, somethings shot out from either side of the cloth wrapping. Jack looked up at Dean, his mouth twisting into a rueful smile. âHeâll learn to control that. Itâs because heâs so little.â
Wings. They were wings. Little black, shiny wings.
âIs that?â He cleared his throat. âIs that Cas?â
âYes,â smiled Jack. âI thought this was the best way for him to heal. To have a kind of vacation.â He smiled at the little boy - little angel - curled up in his arms. âHe can play and have fun!â
âUhâŚâ Dean rubbed his forehead, his thoughts losing their race toward understanding. One thought made it to the finish line. âIsnât that going to be a problem? Like⌠if he doesnât get candy, wonât he, like, smite everything?â
âOh. Oh no. Heâs just a cherub. That is, he has very limited power. Itâll be fine.â
âOkay.â Â
Dean took a step closer.
Jack smiled. âTake him.â
The little wings had sagged. One of them flapped and twitched and then fell limp again. And then they both disappeared.
âBye bye wings,â said Jack to the tiny Cas. âHeâll learn to control that soon. Take him, Dean.â
Dean found himself with two arms full of little boy. Little angel. He was wrapped in Casâs trenchcoat. He looked up at Dean with clear blue eyes. And he smiled.
âDean! Heyo, Dean!â
All of the circuits in Deanâs brain shorted out completely. Â
âCas?â The small, happy face dissolved into a watery blur. Deanâs throat closed up and he felt his face crumple, as a loud, messy sob burst out, ripping through the silence of the Bunker. âCas.â
His chest heaved. His eyes streamed. His nose streamed. He couldnât stop. And the kid was heavy. Cas was heavy, so that Deanâs arms ached, but he held on tight, hitching up the small figure and holding him as close as he could, wrapping his arms around and rocking him and kissing him and sobbing. And he wasnât even embarrassed at the noises he was making. He just didnât care. Â
âDean?â Sammyâs voice, worried and urgent. âJack? What? Jack, is thatâŚ?â
âYes, itâs Cas. I brought him back. Heâs a kid at the moment. Just for a while.â
âHeâs aâŚÂ Right. Okay, then.â
âItâs just temporary. So that he can play. And have fun. And get better.â
Deanâs whole body shook. He still couldnât stop. There was a hand on his shoulder and something pushing behind his knees.
âDean, sit.â
He sat. And he held Cas on his lap and Casâs little arms were around his neck, squeezing hard enough to strangle him, a little bony shoulder pressing into his throat.
Cas was back.
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