How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel raised each other (and Sam)

Chapter 2- Grass Whistles

Chapter Two

Castiel liked Thursdays, when he could take the time to notice them. All too often his duties as a soldier preceded all others. Other angels didn't seem to care much for the things they had chosen before the war. The few that showed active interest were generally thought of as 'eccentric' and therefore, suspicious. Lucifer had been different, after all, and look what had happened to him.

So Castiel didn't talk about Thursdays. He counted out the days and on the fifth one, he tried to watch the sunrise and if that wasn't possible, a sunset or two. No one prayed to him. Sometimes a cry would rise out for Thor (who had given his name to the day quite late in the game, but Casday would sound ridiculous, so he had made his peace with it). Castiel would hear a dim reflection of those bloody pleas. He ignored them. There were wars to wage and orders to follow. He had no time to answer a prayer not even directed at him.

It was in the middle of an ugly battle, demons rising up against the Host where they would reconsecrate a swath of holy ground. It had been a church once, but their battle had leveled it. That they had ruined the very thing they had set out to protect did not seem to trouble either side. Castiel liked the stain glass windows though they were shattered. As he sliced into the dark smoke of a demon, he admired the glint of the sun against a dark green sliver.

Oh angels, keep watch over my son!

The words reverberated through Castiel and he almost took a vicious bite in his distraction. A woman had called to him. Maybe she did not know his name, but her prayer was directed to him as surely as an arrow found it's target.

For the first time in many years, he thought of a dying vessel on the beach. He had written off the words as senseless. Even when it became clear that words conflated to a Western naming system among humans, he didn't trouble himself with discovering the exact dimensions of their meaning. He was a warrior first and already strange enough in his interest for his other charge.

"Careful!" His sister yelled and he rededicated himself to the fight.

The next time he heard the woman's voice, it carried with it no words. Only one long helpless scream of the dying and an anguished, soundless plea. It twisted at him and he could not ignore it this time. There was no other business. The rest of his garrison waited in the silence of a temporary ceasefire for orders from on high.

He hesitated for only an instant, before taking flight. He followed the woman's death knell across the oceans and over the land he knew to be called America. It took him only an instant, but in that flicker of time the scream had ceased. Below him a house raged in flames. A child emerged from the door smoke-smeared and weeping.

"It's going to be ok, Sammy." The child said in a daze, rocking the bundle in his arm. "We're gonna go be, ok."

Castiel watched for a long time. He could not look away. Not even when a man stumbled out of the fire and swept the child and his burden further away. In the distance sirens wailed, lights flashing.

"What's your name, son?" A firefighter asked though as far as Castiel could tell the boy's father was the one who had come from the house and was now in the back of an ambulance.

"Dean." The boy said, eyes wary.

Castiel had no blood to run cold or skin to prickle or stomach to curdle. He could only vibrate on a different, higher wavelength, radiating unhappiness at the revelation. That was why the boy's mother could reach him with her prayers. It had been a general call, but Castiel was marked for this child. And he had already failed him, very badly.

"And who's that?" The fireman reached out, tugging at the bundle. A small face was tucked inside. A smaller child. A baby.

"My brother." Dean took a step away.