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At the sound of the shower, Dean groans. For the love of God, he’s nervous too, but this is getting ridiculous. With a final sigh, he pushes himself up from his breakfast and pokes his head in the bathroom.
“Cas?”
Cas pops his head out from behind the shower curtain, “What?”
“Why are you showering?” Dean asks.
“... to get clean,” Cas replies, as though he’s walking into a trap.
“You showered forty-five minutes ago,” Dean says, watching Cas’ brow furrow and eyes widen. Crap, that’s one of The Faces. Dean shuts the door behind him and holds out a placating hand. “Cas, you’re okay.”
“I stink, Dean, “ Cas clutches the shower curtain for dear life and backs away. “I keep showering but it’s still there.”
“Baby, that room’s gonna smell funky until Judgment day,” Dean proceeds with caution. “But you smell fine, I promise.”
“This is the first time we’re meeting our possible child,” Cas’ throat closes around the words. “I can’t do it. Smell is the sense most connected to memory and I don’t want our kid to get their first whiff of pot smoke and think, ‘dad’.”
Cas snaps the curtain shut and squeezes a pool of shampoo into his hand.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters and pushes the curtain back open. Cas has his fingers knuckle deep in his frothy hair, though at the disturbance he stops. Just as he looks about ready to snap, Dean grabs the shower head and angles it, spraying away all the soap and, if they’re lucky, all the nerves.
Dean shuts off the water and leans against the wall, arms crossed, waiting. Cas doesn’t look up at him, doesn’t speak, just keeps his eyes fixed on the sink and his lips in a tight line. He holds out his hand, into which Dean places a towel. They stand in silence together as Cas pats himself dry, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
However, Cas is nearing the tip-top of his anxiety threshold, and if they’re not careful it’ll go into full panic and they won’t even be able to get out of the house. Dean sighs.
“You don’t smell like smoke,” he finally settles on something neutral.
“We can’t smell it, Dean, we’ve been living in it forever,” Cas insists.
“Man, Hannah did our home evaluation, all right? She said we were fine,” says Dean. Hannah wasn't the type to let anyone cut corners, either. If they passed, they could be sure it was completely legitimate.
Still, Cas and Dean don’t look at each other, but make eye contact in the mirror. Dean takes a breath and reassures, “We’re gonna be okay.”
Cas nods and swallows before stepping out onto the bath rug. He doesn’t wrap the towel around his waist before he moves to exit, but Dean can’t let him go. Not yet. He grabs Cas by the hips and pulls him back, so that he can rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. They lock eyes in the mirror again, and Dean watches his reflection nuzzle just under Cas’ earlobe.
“Dean,” Cas murmurs, his head lolling to the side, exposing his neck. Dean pushes soft kisses down and onto his shoulder.
“We’ll be fine, Cas,” his hands move from Cas’ hips so they can wrap snugly around his middle. Sam told them that they would be fine, that this is a done deal. Hell, Lucifer even pitched in a little bit when Sam got stuck.
Dean didn’t think it would actually ever pay off to have lawyers in his family.
“All right,” Dean gives him a final nip on the shoulder. “We gotta go.”
Cas whines and, christ, “You are thirty-three goddamned years old, you big baby.”
“I can’t do it,” Cas replies. “Dean, it’s bad. All I wanna do is grab Gabriel’s bong and get ripped, okay, I can’t do this.”
Dean heaves a sigh and spins Cas around. He holds him by the shoulders, thumbs stroking deliberate, soothing circles over his damp skin.
“You’re stressing yourself out,” says Dean. He takes a deep breath in, holds it, and then releases, looking to Cas with a desperate, “Remember?”
Cas nods and tries to do it, but Dean can tell by the look on his face that it’s only barely happening for him. So, Dean lets one hand drift up to the back of Cas’ neck while the other smoothes a seductive trail down his stomach.
Cas whimpers.
“Would this help you relax?” Dean asks, voice low. Cas’ eyes snap open, for a second almost impossible to read. Dean is just about to move his hand, to spare them both Cas’ rejection, but Cas stops him.
“Please,” he swallows, harder this time. “I need--I don’t--shit.”
“It’s okay,” Dean pulls him in close, wrapping both arms around his shoulders now. Cas hugs back, diggin his talons into Dean’s shirt. So, Dean repeats, Cas against him and barely holding it together, “We’re gonna be okay.”
oo
Their social worker is a no-nonsense type by the name of Hannah. She’s all blazers and sensible shoes and definitely not one for sarcasm, as Dean found out about twenty seconds into their first meeting with her.
“I find it quite upsetting that a same-sex couple has had this much trouble with getting a child,” she’d said. “It’s the twenty-first century, for Heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah, apparently a lot of people are big on the whole ‘queers are pedophiles’ thing.”
Hannah had just paused and looked up from her clipboard.
And Dean being Dean, he hadn’t taken the hint, and kept on with a, “Everyone should know by now we don’t have sex with children.”
“Dean, for the love--”
“Just animals.”
In fact, if anyone would have been responsible for them being deemed unfit, it would have been Dean. What could he say, he just does not have a good rapport with authority figures. Luckily, Cas and Hannah seemed to speak the same language and they’d smoothed it out in no time.
Meeting the kid? That was the easy part for Dean. Dean loves kids, and the fact that he might be meeting his kid makes it all the more exciting. Cas is good with kids too, but in different ways that kids don’t always respond to.
Dean parks the car outside the address from Hannah’s email. It’s a big house with a long stretch of green lawn out front, nearly indistinguishable from every other on the block. Hannah is already there, eyes glued to her clipboard as she jots something down.
“We’re late,” Cas gulps.
“We are not, it’s barely even eleven,” Dean gestures to his watch. “Now come on, before you make me turn around.”
Another groan and Cas joins Dean in getting out of the car. This catches Hannah’s attention, though it’s another moment before she says, “Hello, Castiel. Dean.”
“Hey, Hannah,” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets.
Cas doesn’t say anything, and so Dean nudges him. He starts, but eventually looks up and offers Hannah a greeting. They exchange very few pleasantries--Hannah isn’t the type to put up with chit-chat--and start up the walkway.
“Did you have time to review the information I sent?” asks Hannah.
It was just the basics: Cas and Dean were meeting a nearly three-year-old by the name of Joseph. He’s been in the system for most of his life, having lost both of his parents when he was only four months old. Apparently this is his fourth foster placement; according to Hannah, he has a lot of trouble with authoritative adults.
Sounds like Dean’s kind of kid.
Hannah raps her knuckles sharply on the door, and they have only a moment to wait before the door swings open to reveal a plucky-looking woman bedecked in plaid, carrying a small child on her hip.
“Hey there, Hannah,” she greets. “Gentlemen.”
“Dean, Castiel, this is Jody Mills,” Hannah introduces, and one by one they shake her hand. “And this is Isabella.”
The little girl looks sleepy, her chunky arms coiled around Jody’s neck, her dark hair just airy wisps of night against her light brown skin.
“Pleased to meet you, boys,” Jody grins and invites them inside.
This is definitely a house full of children. Mish-mash art lines the walls. There are boundary gates and cushioned corners galore, and a table so long that Dean can hardly fathom how Jody fit it into her dining area. Jody leads them in the opposite direction, into a cozy living room with cushioned armchairs and an array of books scattered on the ground.
In the middle of them all was a little boy in a brown t-shirt, branded with the words ‘Chunky Monkey’ around a cartoonish monkey, and no pants.
“Joey,” Jody gives a fond sigh and sets Isabella down on the couch. She grabs his pants from where he’d abandoned them and places a hand on his shoulder. “Joey, I’m putting your pants back on.”
Joey whines, struggles, but when he looks up and sees Hannah he smiles.
“Hello, Joseph,” she greets warmly. “This is Castiel and Dean.”
Immediately, Dean squats down onto Joey’s level and greets, “Hey, buddy.”
Joey’s got big brown cow eyes and a mop of blond that looks more like hay than hair. He stares Dean down, then reaches out. His hand lands on Dean’s left arm, right over his tattoo, and asks, “Why you got that on your arm?”
Jody looks to be surprised by this interaction, but doesn’t move to stop it. Dean glances up at Cas, who shrugs back at him, and then down to Joey again.
Finally, Dean replies, “‘cause I wanted some pretty art there.”
“Why?”
At a loss, Dean supplies, “‘cause I like pretty art.”
“You’re not suppos’to draw on yourself,” says Joey.
“But we didn’t,” Cas finally decides to get his head in the game and kneels beside Dean. He rolls up his sleeve and shows Joey, “I have the same one. Someone else drew it on for us.”
“Are you arguing semantics with a two-year-old?” Dean mutters.
“Shush,” Cas poked him before turning back to Joey, “It’s not a good idea to draw on yourself, you are right. But there are special kinds of paints and markers that are made for drawing on skin. They’re much different from paper markers or paints.”
“Oh,” Joey nods, and that’s the end of that.
Good merciful Christ, Dean could kiss this man right here, right now.
While Jody takes Isabella and Hannah sits on the couch, Dean and Cas both get more comfortable on the floor.
“Do you like books, Joey?” asks Dean.
Joey looks away, scanning his books until he finds a well-worn copy of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and shows Dean.
“Aw, man that’s a good one,” Dean nods.
“Could you read this?” Joey hands it over to Dean. Shit, how has no one snatched up this kid before? Not only does he hand Dean the book, he climbs into Cas’ lap and nuzzles back against him.
This kid looks like he’s testing out couches in an Ikea.
Finding Cas to be a pleasant enough seat, he settles.
So, Dean opens up the book and starts reading. It’s way longer than he remembers, and it ties up his tongue more than once, which leaves both Cas and Joey laughing. As Dean keeps reading, he notices Joey pop his thumb into his mouth, he sees Cas start to zone out, not unlike he does when he meditates. He reaches up a tentative hand and strokes his fingers along Joey’s fair hair.
Dean’s pretty sure it’s when Joey lulls under Cas’ attention that he’s madly, deeply in love with this child.
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that,” says Hannah, and suddenly Dean remembers that, right, they’re not at home. They’re in the living room at a foster home with a half-asleep kid.
As though Joey can read thoughts, he pushes himself up from Cas’ lap and grabs another book from his pile, which he hands to Cas.
There’s a Wocket in my Pocket.
Without warning, Joey climbs into Dean’s lap, settling in with much less scrutiny than before.
There’s a simultaneous flood of warmth in his chest and a prickle behind his eyes. He does not know what he’ll do if Cas doesn’t think Joey’s a good match for them. Dean’s already on the fast track, constructing fantasy futures of teaching this kid how to ride a bike, making his lunches and bandaging his knees. It’s a shot, hard and fast, and it goes right to Dean’s heart.
Also, Cas’ tongue flips flawlessly over the made up words and the rhythm of the sentences, the cheeky bastard. His voice rumbles smoky and low, settles over him like a wool blanket in the middle of winter.
When the story is over, again, Dean has to remind himself that they’re not at home.
He looks up at Cas and sees this look of absolute adoration on his face, his smile all the way up to his cheeks in a toothy display.
Holy crap.
Holy crap, this is their kid.
oo
The house had to have been up to a certain level of suitability before Hannah had conducted her first visit, but now it’s different. Now it’s their job to actually stock the room with the essentials before they go to pick up Joey and bring him home.
Hannah told them to hold off on getting a lot of things, as transitioning into a forever home can be very difficult for children. These are often children who have had little to no personal possessions for their entire lives--no toys, no family, no space even to call their own. Understandably, children can get overwhelmed by their sudden radical life change.
And apparently, so can expectant fathers. Castiel now has to forcibly drag his grown-ass partner away from the kids section of virtually every store they go into, for fear that he’ll ignore Hannah’s instructions and buy a small fortune of toys and games.
Castiel knows that Dean wants to give this child everything he never had. Dean knows this kid has had an inexcusably hard life and wants to do all he can to make it right. His heart is in the right place, but it’s not just heart that goes into parenting. Knowing the difference between want and need is crucial, and right now? Joey doesn’t need a hundred toys.
He needs as much love as Dean and Castiel can pour into him.
In any case, Hannah is the expert, and she’s absolutely right. There’s no telling how Joey will react to this. Hell, there’s no telling how they’ll react to this. Castiel is every variation of unprepared, but, according to his sources, that’s just what parenthood is.
Lucky for them, Ellen has made it her personal mission to make sure they don’t screw up too badly.
“Is he potty trained?”
Dean doesn’t appear to have heard her, having lost himself in constructing the bed. Castiel sighs, then replies to Ellen, “Mostly. Apparently he’s trained himself, but he’s never been in one place long enough for anyone to have really tried.”
It’s a statement that actually makes Castiel’s heart hurt. There’s nothing he wants more than to have Joey with them right here, right now, finally in a place where he can take root and have a home.
Castiel busies himself with folding clothes while Ellen and Dean work out the assembly and placement of Joey’s new bed.
“You keepin’ a list of what all you still gotta get?” Ellen asks then. “Cause Pull-Ups are definitely a big priority.”
At which point, Dean throws the pieces of bedframe to the floor and sits with his face in his hands.
Oh, dear.
Ellen and Castiel look at each other briefly before Castiel sets down his laundry and kneels beside Dean. He loops an arm around Dean’s shoulders and kisses him on the cheek.
“We’re not ready,” he mumbles.
“You’re more prepared than most,” says Ellen. Cas hums in agreement.
“Baby steps,” he reminds Dean. “Everything is going to take time.”
“Oh, now you’re calm?” Dean shoots back, a crack in his voice that makes Castiel wince, and then consider.
“Well, one of us has to be,” Castiel concludes, scratching lightly over the soft hairs on Dean’s nape. “You’ve been letting me lose my mind more and more lately, so have at it. It’s your turn.”
Dean’s lips curve into a soft smile and he leans in, holding Cas close as they share a kiss.
“Great gig in the sky, keep it in your drawers around mother hen, at least,” comes Gabriel’s interruption, and Dean and Castiel pull away from one another. Gabriel then peers into the room and clucks his tongue, “Looked way better when I lived in here.”
“It also looked like an opium den,” says Ellen. “Now a little boy can live in here.”
“If you call this living,” Gabriel shakes his head. “Are you making a space for this kid or sentencing him for twenty to life?”
“See!” Dean exclaims just as Castiel says, “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“I told you, Cas,” Dean starts in. “I told you, he’s gonna think he’s in a prison. I’m going back to Toys R--”
“No, you are not,” Castiel snags his shirt sleeve in his hand. “We are going to make this transition as easy on him as possible, and that does not include overstimulating him with more toys and decorations than he can handle.”
Grudgingly, Dean calms himself to a simmer. Castiel grabs him by the biceps and looks him right in the eye, “There’s plenty of time for all of that. Right now, we need to focus on what he’ll need right away, and we’ll take the rest as it comes.”
Dean gives him a wary look, but nods.
“All right,” Ellen decides. “It looks like everyone could use a nice home-cooked meal. Gabriel, come on to the grocery store with me. I’m gonna stock you boys up.”
“Ellen--”
“Can it, boy,” Ellen whaps him on the side of the head. “You two just take a breather and calm yourselves down.”
She kisses the top of Castiel’s head, then Dean’s, and herds Gabriel out to her truck.
“Goddamn it,” Dean sighs as soon as the front door shuts. “I’m sorry. I picked a hell of a time to flip the fuck out.”
“Hey,” Castiel scoots close to him, hooks Dean’s thighs up over his and pulls him into a snug embrace. “Just breathe with me for a few minutes.”
He rests their foreheads together and starts to steady his breathing. Then Dean’s falls in with his, and they’re basically one big pretzel just sitting on the floor of their son’s new room, but it does what it’s meant to do and gets them both a little calmer. When he opens his eyes, Castiel can see every last line and freckle on Dean’s face.
“What if this fucks us up?” Dean asks. “It’s just been you and me like this for a long time, Cas.”
“And now it will be the three of us,” Castiel presses a kiss to his forehead. “It’s all right to be nervous. I think that’s as good of an indication as any that we might not be half bad at this.”
Dean finally opens his eyes and stares into Castiel, seeking whatever comfort it is that he claims to find there. Personally, Castiel doesn’t know how anyone could find any aspect of him comforting whatsoever, but if that’s what Dean believes, then that’s that. Dean appears to agree on some cosmic, telepathic leven and closes the distance between them with a warm, soothing kiss. Castiel melts right into it.
When they pull apart, Dean threads his fingers through Castiel’s hair. He says, “So, last night with just the two of us and everything…”
Castiel looks back up at him, grinning ear to ear as he shakes his head, “You are not giving me your ‘last night on earth’ line.”
“Aw, but it’s one of my best lines,” Dean complains as Castiel slides out from under his legs and stands. He takes Castiel’s hands when he offers them, but by no means looks happy to be doing so.
“Right, but after eleven years I’m not sure why you think you need your best lines,” Castiel smacks another kiss to his lips. “C’mon, bedroom.”
“Come on,” Dean groans. “There’s a perfectly good floor right here, and we don’t know how long Ellen and Gabe are gonna be.”
“We’re not fucking in here, Dean,” Castiel can’t hold back his laugh at Dean’s toddler-like resistance to his directions.
“What, not like we haven’t done it before,” Dean points out.
“True, but that was when this was Gabriel’s room,” Castiel reminds him. “And that was funny. This would just be gross.”
“Whatever you say, pops.”
Castiel jumps as Dean gives his ass a two-handed smack, and laughs when he pushes past to dart down the hall, into their bedroom. He laughs even harder when he gets to the doorway just in time to see Dean lose his balance, jeans around his ankles and ass now firmly planted on the ground. He laughs so hard that he can’t even stand up anymore.
He ends up on the floor with Dean, the both of them fighting for breath and even a shred of their remaining sanity.
oo
Another one of Hannah’s rules: Introduce the child to family members very gradually. No big gatherings right away--for Joey, his new family is comprised completely of strangers. That thought has Castiel stressing out for him. It’s only the first of countless times, he knows, but he didn’t know it could happen so fast.
It’s nearly noon when they bring Joey into his new home for the first time. There are no flashy colors, no inappropriate pictures or paraphernalia lying around. If any smoking is to be done, it’s to be done in the garage. Being that the garage has a child safety lock on it, there’s little chance of Joey ending up in there.
There’s also very little chance of Dean ending up in there, as he has already fought more than one losing battle with their child proofing equipment.
“Well, buddy,” Dean adjusts Joey on his hip. “Home, sweet home.”
Sweet, indeed. The smell of cookies baking hangs heavy in the air. Castiel can already tell he’s going to have to run interference on cookie consumption, for both his son and his partner.
Son and partner.
Huh.
Until now, it hadn’t felt all that real. He knew it was happening, but having Joey here makes it all final.
“Let’s go see your room,” Dean announces.
Joey says nothing, but does lock his arms around Dean’s neck in some sort of response. Castiel carries what few things Joey had to take with him--a couple articles of clothes that are already too small for him, it seems, and a single stuffed bear that has definitely seen better days. All these things and the boy himself, they brought into Joey’s room.
“Down you go, kiddo,” Dean bends and sets him on his mattress. Not sure of what to do with himself, Joey runs his palms over the hand-knitted blanket from his aunt Jo. Per aunt Charlie’s request, there is a vinyl Rebel Alliance sticker on the wooden expanse of headboard.
As Charlie says, how’s a kid supposed to get cultured if you don’t start ‘em off right?
There’s a soft knock on the doorjamb and Castiel looks back. Gabriel stands in the doorway, about as timid as Castiel has ever seen him.
Dean crouches down to Joey’s level and strokes a tentative hand over his soft hair.
“Joey, that’s uncle Gabriel,” he explains. “That’s C--dad’s brother.”
“Hey there, kiddo,” Gabriel greets.
Joey scoots toward Dean, a very noticable fraction of an inch.
“He’s all right,” Dean reassures. “And I’m pretty sure he made you cookies.”
Joey perks up, and Castiel sighs.
So it begins.
“Let’s see, now,” he halts everyone and pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket. Before they’d left, Jody had printed up her schedule. She and her daughter Anne had fostering down to a science, with designated schedules for each child that combined their needs with the schedule of the rest of the household.
Jody reassured them that it would help with the transition, that if Joey was eased from one routine into another, he wouldn’t have as much of a shock.
Castiel checks his phone and scans down the page.
“Twelve-thirty is lunchtime,” he says, more to Dean than Joey or Gabriel. Jody also included a list of foods that Joey partial to, and so Castiel asks, “What do you like to eat, Joey?”
Joey doesn’t say anything, and he shows no indication that he will anytime soon. Castiel scans the list again, then offers, “I think we have peanut butter and jelly. Would you like a sandwich?”
Though he’s apparently refusing to talk, Joey does nod.
“Okay,” Castiel smiles. “Peanut butter and jelly it is, then. Maybe dad will look through some books with you.”
“Wait, you’re both ‘dad’?” asks Gabriel, and Castiel raises an eyebrow.
“That’s the general idea, yes.”
“Dad one and dad two?” Gabriel leans against the door frame.
"You are not helping," Castiel comments lightly.
“To be fair, I wasn’t really trying to,” Gabriel shrugs.
“This is really the first impression you want to make on your nephew?”
“It’s an honest impression.”
“Yo, fellas,” Dean cuts in. Gabriel and Castiel look back to see Joey curled up against the baseboard of his bed, holding onto Dean’s sleeve.
Great.
“It’s okay,” Dean puts his arm around Joey, pulls him in as close as they can get with the bed between them. “They’re not really fighting. It looks like it, but they’re not mad.”
He hoists Joey back up into his arms and settles him on his hip, then says to him, “Let’s go get you that pb&j, huh?”
Castiel didn’t even realize that could have been taken as confrontational. However, he did grow up with brothers--to him and to Gabriel, that exchange was commonplace. On some level it was even affectionate.
Though he doesn’t know what Joey’s near three years on this planet have been like until now, he’s pretty sure that he’s seen a fight or two.
“Talkative little twerp, isn’t he?”
“Gabriel,” Castiel warns, but he’s too tired to follow it up with any sort of threat. He’s already doing a bang-up job with this parenting thing and they haven’t even been at it for half an hour.
Deciding that he’ll at least be useful, Castiel walks out to the kitchen and clicks Joey’s schedule into place with a magnet. Dean is busy assembling three sandwiches, so Castiel turns his attention to Joey, who sits at the table in his booster seat, totally entranced by Dean.
Of course Dean is going to be the favorite. Dean is sweet and loving and immeasurably kind, with a fun streak nine and a half miles wide. That’s why Dean is always the favorite.
Castiel swallows the knot in his throat--he has to--and bends to kiss the top of Joey’s head before he takes his seat.
“All right, kid,” Dean sets his sandwich down in front of him. “Crusts?”
Joey shakes his head, and so Dean dutifully and neatly removes the crust. Just as he starts cutting the sandwich in a diagonal, Joey shakes his head.
“What, you don’t want it cut?” asks Dean.
“Maybe he means cut down the middle,” Castiel suggests and looks to Joey for confirmation, “In squares?”
Joey nods.
Dean looks wary of this method, but complies regardless. Joey picks up his first square and takes a bite, while Dean grabs the other two sandwiches for himself and Castiel.
And just like that, they’re having their first family meal.
oo
Castiel figured the whole not talking thing would last for a day, maybe two.
It’s edging on the end of their second week with Joey and he hasn’t said a word. Castiel has spent hours on the internet, much to Dean’s dismay, pouring over articles and forums and blog entries, looking for something to do, something to say. Castiel has heard him speak before, so it’s not as though he’s physically incapable, and it’s not that he doesn’t know that they’re speaking to him, because he does. He’ll respond to Dean and Castiel, will even resort to rudimentary pantomime if need be.
He smiles and laughs and screams and cries, but the words just don’t come.
Apparently it’s linked to social anxiety.
It still doesn’t keep Castiel from asking, “Did we break him?”
They’ve already put Joey to bed and have drifted together, Castiel’s head resting in Dean’s lap and his feet propped up on the arm of the couch. Dean pulls his attention from the TV, from some crappy sitcom rerun, and fluffs his fingers through Castiel’s hair.
“Dude, you gotta stop worrying like this,” he says. “You keep it up, you’ll keel over before he’s five. I can’t be a single dad. I’ve seen how that movie ends in my family.”
Castiel sighs, about to chastise Dean for even suggesting that he’s comparable to his father, when they hear Joey’s door open. The clock on the cable box indicates that it’s just after nine, a whole forty-five minutes after they put him to bed. Castiel sits up and Dean looks over the back of the couch.
Joey stands out like a sore thumb against the dark of the hallway, all done up in his footed pajamas, with his bear clutched tightly against his chest.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean smiles at him, soft and warm. “What’s up?”
Joey rubs his eyes and walks over to them, dragging his feet in a way that Castiel is sure will end in a faceplant on the carpet. He manages, however, to make it over to the couch and climb up so he’s situated between Dean and Castiel.
“Aw, what’s up, babycakes?” Dean fruitlessly smoothes down Joey’s flyaways.
No verbal response. Instead, Joey climbs into Dean’s lap and sits there.
That’s it.
He just sits there, like he’s waiting for a bus.
“Did you just take my spot?” Castiel asks, leaning down so he and Joey are at eye level.
Joey looks at him, then tries to hide his smile behind his bear.
“Oh, I see,” Castiel nods, his face stretching into an uncontrollable grin. “So we’ve got a spot-stealer in these parts, do we?”
Joey giggles into his bear.
Castiel clucks his tongue and looks at Dean, “Looks like we got an outlaw in these parts, sheriff.”
Catching on, Dean smiles back and clamps his hands on either side of Joey’s ribs, earning a little squeal.
“You know what we do to outlaws here, Tex?” he asks, and without warning starts to tickle Joey relentlessly. There’s another squeal before he descends into another giggle fit, and yet another squeal when Castiel joins in and starts to tickle his feet through his jammies.
Through his laughs, Joey begs, “No, daddy, stop!”
And they actually do, too stunned to go on. For a second, Joey looks like he might be about to cry, the stress of his first words at home too much for him to shoulder.
So, Castiel tries to save it as quickly as he can and asks, “Just daddy sheriff? So, if papa sheriff wanted to keep tickling--”
Joey wriggles and laughs in Dean’s hold as Castiel resumes his tickling. Castiel keeps going until Joey is pink in the face and demanding, “Papa stop!”
Draped across Dean’s lap, in what is still Castiel’s stolen spot, Joey catches his breath with a great big smile on his face.
“All right, make way,” Castiel scoots over so he and Dean are pressed side to side, Joey now using both of their laps as his human cot.
Only, he seems to feel that this is better suited to sitting back up, one half on Dean and one half on Castiel, his bear against his chest. Dean grabs the remote and brings up the guide. By the time Dean switches it onto Wizard of Oz, Joey has melted back against them, exhausted from laughing so hard and thrashing so violently.
“I know, kinda corny,” says Dean. “But it’s a classic. I can’t let you skimp on the classics just ‘cause they’re corny.”
Joey just yawns in response, looking as content as they’ve ever seen him.
They wait twenty minutes before Dean grabs him and carries him back to his room. When he returns, he hops onto the couch, a giant smile plastered on his face.
“Our baby spoke to us,” he says, then smacks a kiss to Castiel’s lips. “Way to go, pops.”
“Papa doesn’t sound too stupid?” Castiel asks, only to get another kiss in response.
“Not stupid,” Dean grins against him. “Just right.”