Nesting Season

[tikific]

Title: Nesting Season
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Meg. There are some hints of Meg/Castiel, so if you hate that pairing, steer clear.
Warnings: Cursing. Grumpy postpartum mom.
Word Count: 2700
Summary: Castiel is feeling wistful. The boys try to help.
Notes: Short and extremely silly.





When Sam and Dean returned from the day's hunt there was an angel sitting on the couch in Bobby Singer's living room, wiping his teary eyes on the back of his trench coat sleeve.

“Hello, Sam and Dean,” sobbed Castiel.

“Cas,” said Dean, sitting down beside him, though not too close, but close enough to offer comfort, without getting weird that is.

“Are you OK, Cas?” asked Sam, who wisely kept a step back from the whole interaction.

“Oh, you are such good friend to ask. You are my very best friends,” wept Castiel. Dean grabbed a Kleenex box from Bobby's table and held it up for Cas, that no more angel snot should leak on his already soiled cuffs. Castiel took a white tissue and blew, very hard. He wadded up the tissue and handed it back to Dean, smiling through tears. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Uhhhh,” said Dean, uncertainly taking the snotty tissue between two fingers and handing it up to Sam, who balked, but finally plucked it up and ran to Bobby's kitchen to dispense with it before angel cooties could be spread. “So, what's wrong?” asked Dean.

“There is nothing wrong, my friend.”

“Uh, nothing wrong? Can I ask why the waterworks? Have you been peeling onions?”

“Oh,” sighed Castiel, “it is simply my nesting instinct. It always makes me … emotional!”

Dean looked up at Sam, who had just returned to the room, toting a little squeeze bottle of antiseptic wash, which he was generously applying to both hands.

“Nesting, Cas?” asked Dean, who suddenly called to mind Bobby Singer's living room turned into a gigantic angel's next, complete with some robin's egg blue angel eggs.

“This is the time of year when the new fledglings were presented,” Castiel told them. “We would hear their names, and sing hosannahs to our Father, and all his creations.” Castiel eye's began to leak again, and he scooped up another Kleenex.

“Wait, fledglings?” said Sam, who was now intrigued enough to sit down on the arm of Bobby's couch, just out of sniffling distance. “Castiel, does this mean you were a baby angel?” he asked, holding a hand down in the vicinity of the floor to indicate a very short person.

“Well, of course, Sam. Did you think I was created as a full fledged adult? That would have been … strange.”

“You remember when you were a kid?” asked Dean. Despite the whole getting gooey and emotional thing, it was damned interesting.

“Yes, I remember as if it were yesterday,” said Castiel, whose mood seemed to perk up a tiny bit at the mention. “My brother Gabriel held me in his strong arms, and repeated my name, and said glory hallelujah to the lord, and tickled me under my tiny chin and said cootchy-coo, you dumb little motherfucker.”

“Oh, uh, so you're younger than Gabriel?”

“Yes. Well. I was younger than Gabriel.” Which brought on another torrent of sobbing.

“Uh,” said Dean, who found himself suddenly pulled away by his brother.

“Dean. I have something in the kitchen you need to see,” mumbled Sam.

“Sam,” said Dean as soon as they were out of earshot. “Our angel! He's turned into a chick! What do we do?”

“I dunno. I just really don't know,” said Sam.

“I mean, I suppose we should offer, like, you know … support?” proposed Dean.

Sam cringed. Both brothers looked back into the other room, where Castiel had grabbed a frayed throw pillow and was hugging it to his stomach.

“You don't think he's actually gonna nest do you?” asked Sam worriedly. He was obviously thinking of how badly Bobby would kill them when he got back.

“This is serious. What should we do?” asked Dean.

“I think we need to ask a girl,” said Sam.

“Shit. Do we know any girls?” asked Dean.



“This is was your big emergency?” sighed Meg. “Your boyfriend has PMS?”

“See? I told you she'd know this girlie shit!” said Dean.

“I am a demon!” grumbled Meg. “I just wear a female meatsuit! That doesn't mean I know girlie shit.”

“You're meatsuit looks pretty today,” bawled Castiel.

”Oh, god, Castiel. Have you been forcing him to read The Notebook or something?” she asked.

“What's the Notebook?” asked Sam.

“I feel as if I am bloated. Am I still attractive to you?” Castiel asked Meg.

Meg rolled her eyes. “OK, OK, OK,” she said, throwing her hands in the air and storming out of the room and into Bobby's kitchen. There was the sound of rummaging around, and in a few moment, she returned with a quart of ice cream and a spoon.

“Here, take this!” she said, jamming the spoon into Castiel's hand. She tore the lid off the ice cream, tossed it away and handed the entire carton to him as well.

“I usually don't-” said Castiel, looking confused.

“Eat!” ordered Meg.

“Wait, no bowl?” asked Dean.

“It's gotta be outta the carton!” insisted Meg. “OK, now, that stupid TV show you watch?”

“What, Dr. Sexy?” asked Dean.

“Yeah, that.”

“Dr. Sexy is not stupid,” said Dean.

“This tastes very good,” said Castiel, who was somehow managing to stuff his face while crying. “You're so supportive!'

“Let him watch that for a while.” Meg turned to leave.

“But I hate watching that show with him!” said Dean. “He keeps interrupting!”

“Whatever,” counseled Meg. “Anyway. I'm outta town.”

“Wait! Meg!” said Sam. “And then what?”

“Hope this shit blows over, baby.” And then, with a faint smell of sulfur, she was gone.

“OK. OK,” said Dean, sitting on the couch next to Castiel and rummaging around for Bobby's remote. He clicked on the TV. “Since I don't have any better ideas. I don't even know if it's on. I think they're on their summer break or whatever,” he muttered, idly clicking around. “Actors are such lazy bastards.”

“You wish to see, Dr. Sexy, Dean?” asked Castiel, mint ripple dripping down his chin onto Bobby's throw pillow in his lap.

“Yeah, that's the point.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and pointed the spoon at the television. The picture frizzed out, and then came back in them middle of the Dr. Sexy theme song, a plaintive guitar piece.

“Whoa!” said Dean, who was honestly impressed.

“It is a Dr. Sexy marathon,” said Castiel, going back to his ice cream.

“You can use angel magic to conjure a Dr. Sexy marathon?” asked Dean.

“Well, yes,” said Castiel.

“Wait, Dean, where are you going?” asked Sam as his brother jumped off the couch and ran from the room.

“I need to get my own damn ice cream!” he yelled back.



Dean and Castiel sat amid empty ice cream cartons, chip bags, and the stray beer bottle, staring intently at Bobby's TV.

“So, that nurse admires that doctor?” Castiel was asking.

“Yeah, but he's a big jerk.”

“So, why does she like him?” persisted Castiel.

“That's what I've been trying to explain, Cas! She likes him because he's a jerk. Chicks dig jerks. The bigger the better.”

“Oh,” Castiel frowned and stuck a finger in his bag of Doritos, bringing out a thin film of salt and cool ranch flavoring. “Should I be a jerk to Meg?”

“Heh. She would dig that,” said Dean, knocking back a beer. “Yeah, you're catching on. She'd probably like it if you punched a guy or something.” Dean looked over to his angel friend, but was surprised to see he was sitting all alone.

“Dr. Lothario! You are playing with the affections of Nurse Dearheart!” said an awfully, awfully familiar gravelly voice on the TV.

“Cas?” asked Dean.

“What are you doing here?” asked the very confused dude playing Dr. Lorthario.

“Cease this immediately, or I will have to resort to fisticuffs!” warned TV-Castiel.

“I don't think I'd say fisticuffs, Cas, but that's a pretty good try,” offered Dean.

”You're gonna hit me, shrimp-o? Look, I dunno who you are but I'm Dr. Lothario, and Iove 'em and leave 'em!”

“Ha, that's not a good move, dude,” Dean advised the TV doctor, his hand going to his own face at the memory of an angelic right to the jaw.

“Are you going to cease harassing Nurse Dearheart?

”Bite me, bitch.”

“Ooooo,” said Dean. It wasn't a bite, but it looked pretty damned painful. The camera panned down to the now horizontal Dr. Lothario. “Hope that guy had dental insurance,” muttered Dean.

Sam had returned, hefting the pizza carton. He had left after about five minutes of Dr. Sexy, and was hoping to hell he wouldn't walk in on Dean and Cas braiding each other's hair.

“Pizza!” said Sam.

“Cool!” said Dean. “I'm starved. Hey, Cas! Pie's here. Get out of the TV!”

“What?” asked Sam.

“Is it Dutch apple? I like Dutch apple,” said Cas, who was now back in Bobby's living room, peeking at the carton Sam had just placed over all the wrappers on the coffee table.

Dean helped himself to a slice. “Different kind of pie, Cas.”

“I always get them confused.”

“So, are you, uh, better Castiel?” asked Sam.

“Yes, I am decidedly less moody,” said Castiel. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you, Dean.”

“Don't mention,” said Dean, chomping on his pepperoni slice.

“You are my best friend!” gushed Castiel, trapping Dean in a sincere angel hug.

“Uh,” said Dean.

Sam desperately tried not to guffaw. And failed miserably.

“And you too, Sam!” said Castiel, leaping up from the couch and wresting poor Sam into a headlock. “You are my equally good friend.”

“Cas! I can't breathe!” sputtered Sam, as Dean spat mozarella bits.

“What the JESUS FUCK are you idjits doing?” spat Bobby, who had just come into his house to find it a den of pizza boxes and overly affectionate angels.

“BOBBY!” said Castiel, who let go of Sam and now leapt for Bobby.

Sam cringed at the gruesome spectacle of angel-upon-Bobby PDA. “Oh, we're gonna die now,” he whispered to Dean.

“Yeah, but it'll be totally worth it,” grinned Dean.

“Get this thing offa me!” Bobby sputtered.

“You are a great friend and a wise mentor!” Castiel told Bobby as he released him from the glomp.

“Yeah, I'm Obi-Wan Fucking Kenobi. What's got into you, boy?”

“Cas was feeling moody, so we were just trying to cheer him up,” said Dean.

“I'd say you overdid!” said Bobby. “Maybe angels enjoy being moody little sonsa bitches. You dimwits ever think of that?”

“It’s my nesting instinct,” sighed Castiel, who had just sunk down from joy to despair once again.

“You’re what?” asked Bobby.

“They used to have, uh, baby angels?” said Dean, as Sam mimed holding a baby. Bobby gave the brothers the stinkeye, and they shut up.

“All right, I think I may have a solution for you,” said Bobby, grabbing one of his hunter phone lines.

“You’re gonna call a hunter?” asked Sam.

“I’m gonna call a real special hunter,” said Bobby. “She’s been out of commission, but I think she can help.”



Bobby introduced the drawn and exhausted looking woman who showed up at his door some time later as Elizabeth. She looked as if she had neither slept nor showered in over a month.

“But call me Liz,” she yawned. “I don’t have time for my whole damned name.” The bundle she was clutching to her chest started to fuss. “What do you want?” she sighed as the fuss turned to a cry and then an unearthly howl.

“What the heck is that?” asked Dean.

“My little demon from hell,” sighed Liz, pulling back the edge of the receiving blanket so Sam and Dean could see the red-faced baby who was kicking up a fuss. “I just fed him, changed him. I dunno what the fuck he wants. Other than making me insane.”

Castiel was suddenly at the door, gasping and outstretching his hands. Liz dumped the kid in his arms and immediately dropped onto one of Bobby’s couches. She looked up though, as did Sam and Dean, when Castiel began singing.

“What’s that? That’s not English,” said Liz.

“Probably Enochian,” said Bobby, sitting down next to her and patting her on her knee.

“What?”

“The weird kid’s an angel,” Bobby told her.

“He’s gotta be, if he’s taking my squalling brat,” said Liz. “Hey, wait, do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Dean.

“The kid stopped crying,” said Sam.

Liz was suddenly up from the couch, peeping at her child, still in Castiel’s contented arms. The angel was now humming the tune he had been singing.

The child, no longer red-faced, was fast asleep.

“My kid sleeps?” whispered Liz, looking around at Bobby.

“Anything’s possible!” laughed Bobby.

“It’s been a month since I gave birth. I think this is the first time he’s slept,” she said in wonder.

“What's his name?” asked Dean.

“Boy, I haven't even thought up a name yet,” said Liz. “Too much squalling.” She looked curiously over at Castiel, rocking her infant. “Hey, you. What's your name?”

“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord,” Cas told her, blissful smile on his face.

“Uhhh. OK. Anyway, my kid needs a name.” said Liz.

“You gonna come back from maternity leave soon, Liz?” asked Bobby. “You're one of my best.”

“I tell you, I would rather be facing abominations that dealing with this. I dunno, I just feel like I need about 20 years vacation,” she told Bobby. “Hey, you, Casanova, do you babysit?” Liz asked Castiel.

“What is babysitting? It sounds uncomfortable,” hummed Castiel.

“You do what you're doing now,” said Liz. “While I shower. Or, maybe take a bath! And read a terrible romance novel!”

“Oh. OK,” said Castiel.

“Cas,” said Bobby. “Can you take Liz home now and let her take a bath?”

“Can I keep holding the child?” asked Castiel excitedly.

“Long as you want, boy,” said Bobby. “He gets twenty-five cents and hour. And we’ll send your car,” he told Liz as Cas touched her shoulder, and the three disappeared.

“Bobby, has anyone ever told you you’re fucking brilliant?” said Dean as Sam nodded.

“Boys, enough with the bullshit. Clean up my living room, or so help me, I’ll stick both your head on pikes,” scolded Bobby.

“Yes, Bobby!” chorused the Winchester boys as Bobby went off to find some Scotch.

“Hey, Dean, you ever think about having a kid?” asked Sam as he tossed chip bags and ice cream cartons into a Hefty bag.

“No,” said Dean as he ran the vacuum. “I think I'd rather have a demon.”

“Yeah. Me too,” said Sam. “Or maybe a unicorn.”

“A unicorn?”

“You could ride it!”

“Oh, yeah, that's a great idea,” agreed Dean.

“Idjits,” said Bobby, knocking back a drink.