CHARACTERS: Castiel/Jo, Dean, Sam
SUMMARY: AU, kid!fic. In which Cas knows he's right -- and, damn, they should know it, too! (500+ words)
NOTES: This takes place in a happier world where Castiel and Jo grow up alongside the Winchester brothers. Will figure out the rest of the details later.
Dean gives him a look. And he can't understand it. Because he knows he's right and he ought to inform them (and they ought to know, really), but that doesn't seem to matter. Not at all. Not to Dean, not to Sam. And, especially, not to Jo.
"What's the matter, Cas?"
She gazes up at him from where she's lying in the snow, arms spread wide, legs reaching as far as they can go, her hair curling at the edges. It must be freezing. He crouches down beside her, hoping he can whisper it in her ear.
But Sam has other ideas.
"We should build a snowman next," the younger Winchester grins, holding out his hand to her. She turns toward Cas before she takes it.
"Did you want to tell me something?"
He frowns, but shakes his head. Watches her run off with Sam to look for pebbles and maybe a carrot. Dean plops down next to him, offers him a cigarette while they wait. His frown deepens as he takes the stick and hurls it at the monstrosity. Dean sputters in rage.
He sighs, "You shouldn't be smoking anyway."
Dean actually looks like he's thinking it over before he replies, "You're just pissed that no one's listening to you."
"They should know the truth," he fiddles with his scarf, fastens it a bit more snugly around his neck.
"Dude, they're kids!" Dean lifts a hand to his temple. Drops it when they hear the two trudging back to them through the snow. That's when he decides to take the chance, children or not.
He pats his trench coat down before meeting them, placing himself between the two in case Sam decides to interfere again. From the way the boy is staring at him, Sam must know the truth.
He shrugs and pulls Jo to his side, pointedly glaring at Dean before settling down so that she doesn't have to strain her neck looking up.
"This might come as a shock to you, Joanna Beth," he begins, his voice gradually growing soft and unsure, "but... that is not an angel of the Lord."
Jo blinks, her mouth opening then closing, the pebbles falling from her tiny hands one by one. He shakes his head.
"I'm not saying that it's a terrible sin, but I can't have you living in ignorance any longer. And those two refused to inform you themselves," he turns to the Winchesters, sees them holding back their laughter (and failing), and feels anger beyond all reason.
He's about to waltz right up to them and defend her honor when she makes a grab for his coat sleeve. It takes another second or two before she replies.
"... I know," she bites down on her lower lip and he feels his chest tighten, "I know that snow angels aren't real angels. But since you don't get to see them very much and you're stuck with us this year, I thought you might like the second best thing to tide you over."
He doesn't know how it happens but suddenly she's in his arms and he's thanking her, quietly and only for Jo to hear. But still, it's in front of the boys and he knows they're going to be laughing and telling jokes about this for months, maybe years, to come.
And, really, it doesn't matter. Not at all. Not one bit. Not to him.