mourningcastiel-blog

[mourningcastiel-blog]

Baby!Cas👶

Characters : Castiel Dean Sam

Word Count : 1,712

Author : Erica & Emily (Us)

Warnings : Cliche ;)

Written for : Destiel / DeanCas shippers / Family Winchester

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Chapter 1 :

“ Sweet Dreams Feathers”

Dean didn’t know that bringing Cas to fight a witch was going to have consequences… He thought it was going to be a like a normal case; grab witch killing bullets, find the ugly son of a bitch, and then shoot. But somehow while he had his back to her she went for Cas. It was quick, she made her way to Cas placing a small hex bag in his pocket of his withered trench coat. Making her escape, Cas noticed the brown bundle pulling it out of his large coat pocket. He held it unsure whether to discard the little sack himself or to tell Dean. He didn’t want to seem useless, that he wasn’t knowledgeable in these different aspects in hunting. Castiel wanted to become a hunter, just like Sam and Dean. Be as great as them, he thought there would be no aftermath if he were to just throw the hex bag away. Thinking that because he’s a celestial-being, a simple witchy spell would have no affect on him. Understandable, right? A Hex bag is honestly just dirt, a few little bones, and some herbs. Wrapped in a dirty brown cloth, tied with leather. No big deal.

_

Just as they were leaving the open case, walking down the creaky old wooden stairs of that bitch witch house. Castiel stayed behind the two burly Winchesters watching them both walk in sync; keeping some distance from them and himself. Bickering and arguing over and over about the same thing, ‘I could have took the damn shot!’ ‘We’ll get her Dean, just have to wait. Read up on the lore.’ Castiel waited for the right moment to the discard the sack, while the boys were distracted by their own selves. Grabbing the brown cloth, he lightly tossed the bag into a nearby wildering shrub making no noticeable noise. Paying no mind, as he follow behind closer reaching their destination of the Chevy Impala. Granted, it was just across the street from the ratty old house. Castiel opened the heavy backseat door of the Impala, hearing it squeak as it slammed closed causing the half open windows to shake with an echoing rattle.

_

“Awesome! Just awesome.” Dean jammed the keys into the ignition, starting up his baby… Giving her a roar as his worn out boot stomped down on the petal; sending the Impala quickly forward down the empty street.

_

The fast motion sent both Sam and Castiel lunging forward towards the windshield. “Dean!” Sam’s hand rapidly slammed down in front of him, keeping his body up from colliding against the windshield. “Come on man!” Cas followed agreeing with only a grunt, making his body shift back; to the position he was once in. He was sitting in the middle seat with a perfect view of the muggy midnight light. All three Winchester boys drove down the empty road, for a solid fifteen minutes. Half the drive Dean’s eyes weren’t even on the road, his main excuses ‘You don’t need to see if you’re an expert driver’or ‘I know what i’m doing dammit.’ Castiel was quiet the whole drive back, he didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. Or for Dean to ask him questions, he couldn’t answer. He would get fluster, and more likely stutter his words. Which only made Sam turn his flannel covered body around to look at him, judgingly of course. Sam is such a silent judger, Dean is just damn intimidating. But. Lucky with Dean’s “expert” driving they made it back to the bunker, alive. Thank Chuck. _

Squirrel got out of the car first, ripping the worn out keys from the ignition. Sam followed his motion, one leg came out of the car then the other. As he stood up completely towering over the low car, both of the indestructible metal doors slammed closed rudely at the same time. Castiel got out last, as usual. Letting the Winchester’s lead the way to the bunker, he was polite with Dean’s items. Never wanting to touch them, not wanting to break them; as if they were a gift from God.

_

The Impala door creaked loudly echoing in the silent night. Castiel opened the door gently and raised himself from those worn leather seats Dean adored so much. He was walking to the Winchesters when a sudden wave of nausea seemed to crash against his skull. ‘Wh.. what is this?’ Castiel was questioning why he was feeling this physical pain. Why was it so bad? The pain was foreign to him, this human experience. ‘Humans go through this, everyday? Dean goes through this too?’ This pain wasn’t angel radio, he knew that instinctively. Cas tried to be the least obvious, but that didn’t work so well. He gripped the side of his raven black hair holding his cranium in a steady position, as he let out an involuntary groan. It was like a cry for help, his trenchcoated body descended forward to the pavemented floor. Luckily the angel’s hand caught himself before his entire body could come to a crashing holt, his hand was the only thing keeping his body up. Castiel felt a rough grip at his bicep, causing the fabric to become tight around his skin. It was Dean, using every ounce of strength he had; he pulled the heavy angel to his feet. _

“Alright up we go Buddy.” His grip became gentle, letting his hand never leave his bicep. Slowly his large hand lingered down the length of the mucky beige trench, until Dean’s sudden motion stopped reaching his friend’s blamy hand. Dean’s concerned emerald eyes never left the blue eyed Saint, as he turned Castiel’s hand upright. Letting his palm face up, his skin had broke; revealing his vessel’s red flesh. Bloody and bruised, Dean steadily placed his hand flat on top of the throbbing open wounds. He didn’t care whether or not it was unsanitary; uneasily he need to keep himself in check. Holding the sky eyed man was the only way Dean knew how to calm him down. After all, he doesn’t need Castiel to freak an angel off. To heavens know where! _ “Cas what the hell was that?” He exclaimed sternly yet concerned eyeing his feathered friend.

_

“I - I don’t know. M-y h-ead. Its filled with this unusual pain, I have not experienced before…” Castiel’s stuttering words fluttered off as he realized Dean’s sensual gesture. The eldest Winchester has never been so handsy. He always kept his distance, but yet; Castiel welcomed the new experience. Sam turned, looking over his broad shoulder spotting the two men in their own personal chick-flick moment and scoffed dramatically. _

Turning back and ignoring the current situation he inserted the small key into the bunker door, twisting the ashen doorknob. Opening the heavy solid metal door letting it slam open. Sam stepped inside leaving the two to make things awkward. The minute Sam stepped into the bunker he shivered, it has always been either bitter cold or so hot that Dean would take off his shirt and lay on the cold cement floor. Shaking off the thought he made himself down the staircase while pulling up his zipper on the jacket he had worn for years.

_

“Alright just, just come inside. It aint that bad Cas…” Dean’s forest eyes left the hurting angel, raising his hand he gestured feathers to the direction of the Lettermans bunker. Dean followed towards the building gruffly while Cass followed quickly waddling down the dirty steps, each time he placed his foot down it was weary and hostile.

_

They all gathered at the cold glass table in the middle of the main corridor and Dean plopped himself on one of the wooden chairs “Eugh! Im beat!” he moaned throwing his head back dramatically, of course. Sam shook his head in utter judgment.

_

“Dean we didn’t even do anything. The witch got away, remember?.” his tone was obviously rude to prod Dean to motivation.

_

“Well you’re a party pooper. I’m turning in for the night. Sweet dreams feathers, Samuel.” he stood up from his position on the wooden chair and made his way out of the room.

_

“Phst. It’s Sam!” the youngest Winchester rolled his exaggerated eyes.

_

“Um…” Castiel rubbed his head, his headache was killing him. Each minute of him standing up made him even more nauseous, the sudden waves made his hands shake as he started to feel chilly.

_

"I - Ill just go to my room.” he scurried weakly to his room; the world seemed to spin around him as he held to the wall padding towards his destination.  Pushing the chestnut wooden door open. There laid a bed, right it the middle of the penitentiary like room. The sheets were dull, a depressing shade of tan and grey. Untouched, Castiel has not once slept on the firm mattress; Angels don’t sleep. Nor does Castiel like sleeping. Alone. Actually, the only time he’s in his personal sleeping corder is to get away from the Winchester drama. He doesn’t stay long; never wanting to overstay his welcome. Normally he angels off. Leaving a note of his coordinates of course; Dean taught him well…

_

“The human species - the-y. They have - a suspension of consciousness. When - they are ill?” Wings started to pull the unwrinkled sheets forward allowing space for his body to vacate the mattress. His mind was scrambled, without noticing his own very action. Cas slipped into the bed, laying flat on his aching back. Wearing his “casual” clothing, trenchcoated business wear to be exact. You got to give him some credit, he took of his dress shoes. Atleast. With one tug he pulled the dull musty blanket to his chin. Which sent the blanket right pass his toes, leaving them bare to the cold September night. Wiggling them playfully at the sense of nothing covering over them, the six foot angel was too big for the tiny bed. Itty bitty bed for a giant, he snuggled against the blanket like a pea in a pod. His ocean eyes became heavy, blinking them at the sound of throbbing beat in his head. It was like a white noise to the Saint, maybe it was a heartbeat but maybe it wasn't… The effect took holded of him, forcing an involuntary unconsciousness.

To be continued…