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

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"Scrambled eggs."

At five, Sam had already taken to the stubbornness that would be an integral part of his personality for the rest of his life. The difference was that at five, the stuck out chin and wrinkled up forehead were endearing, rather than frustrating. Castiel, unaware of the poor precedence it would set, had made a bad habit of catering to that expression.

"I'm not sure I can make eggs." He equivocated even as he removed the carton from the fridge. Dean was still asleep in the next room, catching up on sleep lost to a late night horror movie. The offer to fix Sam breakfast had been made on the assumption that Sam would ask for his usual bowl of cereal.

"I can help!" Sam dragged a chair to the counter and climbed on top of it. He wrestled the skillet out from a high shelf though Castiel had to catch it when it proved too heavy for Sam's grip.

"Careful." Castiel murmured. He opened the carton of eggs and drifted fingertips over the thin shells. He could see the tight pressed coop where the mothers had sat, the calloused hands that had packed the eggs into their foam container.

"Gotta crack 'em." Sam instructed.

Obligingly, Castiel wrapped the egg against the edge of the skillet as he had seen Dean do many times. The egg did indeed crack. Shattered would probably be a better word though. The innards splattered up, catching on the tip of Castiel's nose and liberally spraying the countertop.

"Too hard." Sam commented, picking bits of shell out of the skillet.

"So it would seem." Castiel took out another egg and attempted a more gentle hit. The egg split with less violence and more or less made it into the pan. "How many?"

"Two for me and two for Dean." Sam handed him the next egg solemnly.

By the fourth egg, Castiel thought he had the hang of opening them. The last one spilled it's contents beautifully.

"Now what?"

"We scramble 'em." Sam opened a drawer and pulled out a fork. "You stick it in and waggle it around until it's all one color."

Five minutes later, they were both wearing substantially more egg than what remained in the skillet.

"I'm an angel of the Lord." Castiel said, a little mournfully.

"There's still enough to eat." Sam pat him on the arm. "Just put the burner on."

Neither of them thought to clean off the stove top first. They had also forgotten to grease the pan. Which was how Dean woke up to the smell of burnt eggs.

"What happened?" He asked drowsily.

"Eggs!" Sam offered him a charred plate and a glass of orange juice.

"What did you do to these?" Dean wrinkled his nose.

"Cas made them!" Sam's puppy dogs eyes went rounder.

"Cas?" Dean looked from the plate to Castiel. "Are you...is there egg in your hair?"

"I do not wish to discuss it."

)*(

That Sam's eleventh birthday went by mostly unnoticed was only to be expected. John's stay in Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy had stretched on for four days and he was only just beginning to show signs of recovery. Dean had spent every minute of visitor's hours sitting at his father's bedside, usually with Sam close by doing the homework a kind teacher brought at the end of each day.

"Happy birthday, Sammy." Dean said once, early on the day and presented Sam with a bag of new underwear, socks and undershirts.

That had been the end of it. Castiel, present but invisible at Dean's request, decided that Sam deserved some kind of reward for taking the meager offering with gratitude and quiet understanding of Dean's current position.