Chapter Text
Sammy, five years old, runs up to the counter with a pink and orange stuffed dinosaur in his hand, and stands on tiptoe to hand it to the clerk. Dean is a few steps behind him, completely distracted by how awful the toy is, and simultaneously thankful that this time Sammy hasn’t gathered up almost every toy in the shop and cried fat tears while asking why he can’t take them all home. He’s so distracted by the dinosaur in fact, that he doesn’t notice the (considerably attractive) man staring at him from across the counter, and has to ask him to repeat what it was he had just said. His cheeks don’t flush with embarrassment until he looks up, staring into clear blue eyes and a polite smile, showing perfect white teeth, then he turns the colour of a stoplight as his brain registers damn, this guy is cute.
The guy, who is wearing a plastic nametag reading ‘Cas’ merely smiles at him and says, in a rough, husky voice: “My kid likes that one too. I’m still struggling to see why.”
“I know, right?” Dean exhales in relief. The guy clearly doesn’t think he’s a total blundering idiot. “It’s so…garish!”
Cas shrugs. “That I can understand. The bright colours help with cerebral development. I just think it looks like it comes alive at night. Look at those eyes. Totally evil.” He drops his voice to say the last part, but it doesn’t matter; Sammy is distracted by a display of flashing lightsabers, and Dean decides to pay quickly so he doesn’t get the pleading eyes and quivering bottom lip that come out whenever Sammy really wants something. He can’t resist that expression. He tugs out his wallet, and notices Cas staring over at Sammy with a fond expression.
“How old is your kid?” He pulls out a wad of cash, and Cas rings the dinosaur through the till.
“Hmm? Oh, they’re four. Twin boys. Little monkeys, both of them, as you can imagine.” Cas’ eyes light up as soon as he starts talking. “How old is yours?”
“He’s five.” Dean takes his receipt and the dinosaur. “Uhm,” He stalls, wondering if he’s crazy to ask his next question. The guy is a total stranger, he could be anyone. Although, how much of an asshole is someone who works in a toy store likely to be? What the hell. All in the name of settling in… “We just moved here, actually, and Sammy doesn’t start school for another two weeks. Would you be interested in a play date? Get the kids together, maybe go for a picnic or something?” He gestures to the large floor-to-ceiling window at the front of the toy store. “The scenery around here is gorgeous and we haven't seen any of it yet, you know what it's like, so busy getting unpacked and finding a good school and sorting out work. I know you’re probably really busy too, especially with twins. But I just thought, you know, if you weren’t…”
“I’d love to.” Cas cuts him off smoothly, extending his hand across the counter so it rests in the middle, palm down. Dean was rambling, babbling nervously and unable to stop himself so he's glad Cas intervened. He feels heat flare in his cheeks again, but this time it's combined with relief. “ My twins love making new friends, and we’re great tour guides. It would be my pleasure. I’ll probably need your name first, though.”
“Oh! It’s Dean. Dean Winchester. And that’s Sammy.” Sammy is currently sitting in the middle of the floor reading a Beauty and the Beast colouring book - upside down.
“I’m Cas. Here,” Cas scribbles something on the back of Dean’s receipt. “Give me a call sometime and we’ll get a date… a play date arranged?” The man’s smile is sweet and subtle beneath oceanic eyes, and Dean’s heart skips several beats.
As he leaves the store with Sammy in tow, he can’t help the pleased glow that pulses in his chest. Settling in is going just fine, see Dean? New friend already. And was that an accidental slip when Cas had said date before correcting himself? Because Dean could get on board with a regular, run of the mill date if Cas is offering those… He fervently hopes Cas is single too.
They hop into the Impala, parked right outside the toy store, and Sammy busies himself with an imaginary world involving his new toy. When Dean chances a glance back over his shoulder at the toy store, he sees Cas watching them go from the doorway, a gentle smile playing at his perfect lips.
*
Dean is sitting by the phone with a beer in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. The receipt is creased in every way possible, thanks to it being made into a paper plane, an origami bird, and a very wonky flower by Dean’s nervous fingers as he kills time and tries to work up the nerve to call Cas. The numbers on the back are still legible, a cell phone number, and he finishes his beer and makes a snap decision. He struggles with phone calls in general, finds they trigger unknown and misplaced anxieties, but texting he can do. Sammy is asleep in his bed upstairs, content in dreamland and snuggled up to his new dinosaur, so Dean has the rest of the evening to himself. He fetches another beer from the fridge - Dutch courage - and pulls out his cellphone. He's normally not shy about asking people out - although, if he thinks about it, he hasn't asked anyone out in a long time. Months. No, years. And why is he getting so worked up anyway? This is a play date, not a date date.
He opens a blank text message…then drops his phone on the sofa. Damn. He just needs a minute or two. Why is he so worked up about this? Cas is just some guy, and this is just a play date. He isn't asking the guy to marry him or anything even close.
He stalls again, this time going upstairs to check on Sammy for the fifth time. Damn, his anxiety is bringing out old obsessive behaviours he thought he'd handled a while back. Sure enough, his son sleeps peacefully in bed, a line of stuffed animals in bed with him, like his little companions. A small, blue nightlight blinks in he corner in the shape of a star, and the music he left on is still playing quietly. Sammy’s room is the only one that looks half-decent; the rest of the small house is still cluttered with half-unpacked boxes, although the kitchen and living area are almost done, and the place is starting to feel homely. Cosy. Safe, for both of them, and like somewhere they can stay for a long time.
Dean closes the door and heads back downstairs, taking a breath and deciding he's being utterly pathetic and needs to give himself a good slap. Swallowing his nerves along with a mouthful of Corona, he scoops his phone up again and brings up a blank message.
Hey, Cas, it’s Dean. He pauses, then adds, From the store today. Just in case Cas has a bad memory, or in case he handed his number to multiple Deans in the same afternoon. He goes to add more, but in his state of self-imposed anxiety, accidentally hits send.
“Fuuuck.”
He leans his head right back until it lands on the back of the sofa and covers his eyes. Smooth, Dean. Very smooth. He doesn't expect a reply right away, so switches the TV on quietly to watch a baseball game and kill time, pretending he isn't checking his phone every ten seconds. Five minutes passes. Then ten. Then twenty, and Dean has all but given up. Cas must have just said he would meet up to be polite. Maybe the number isn't even really his. Maybe Dean is just gullible and a fantasist. He doesn't know many people in this town, and he figured making friends would be easier than it has been. He didn't count on his anxieties rearing their heads so soon, or so viciously; plus with it just being him and Sammy, his options for socialising are pretty limited. Dean sighs, sips his beer, and tries not to feel too dejected. Shit happens.
Half an hour later, the sofa vibrates next to him as a kmessage from an unknown number pops up on his screen.
Hello Dean. How are you? Sorry for taking a little while to reply to your message, I was putting the twins to bed. Jimmy wouldn't settle. I hope that Sammy likes the dinosaur toy.
It's so cheerful and friendly that a smile instantly splits Dean’s face, and he starts typing a reply. Before he can form more than a few words, a second message comes through.
I know it's short notice, and you're probably busy, but would you like to meet up tomorrow? I told the twins that they might have a new friend to play with and they were incredibly excited. It also happens to be my day off. If tomorrow isn't good for you then let me know when. I'm sure I can swap a shift at work, it shouldn't be a problem.
Wow. Cas is chatty, even in texts. And the way he writes is beautiful; eloquent without being too stuffy or formal. It's a welcome hint that their time spent together won't involve lots of awkward silences and stammering. At least, it likely won't on Cas’ side. Dean isn't so sure about himself. He quickly taps out a response and hits send, a smile already playing at his lips.
Tomorrow is great! Sammy will be thrilled. Do you know anywhere nice to go?
There are some lovely places around here. If you don't mind a bit of a drive, there is a lovely quiet park, just twenty minutes North of here. It's got a play area, a beautiful lake and a little fallen-down castle on the top of a hill. My boys love it there. It's meant to be spectacular weather tomorrow too; we have chosen a good day!
Already, Dean adores Cas’ texts. Despite them only exchanging a few words in the store, he can hear the rich, gravelly voice as he reads the words through once, then again. He can sense the love and affection for his children shining through, even in Cas’ text-speak. He wonders what the boys are like, if they're identical twins or if he will be able to tell them apart. He's sure Sammy has never met twin's before, so it should be a fun experience for him, a chance to make new friends. The move has been tough on the little guy, taken away hfrom everything and everyone he knows, and Dean is determined to do right by his kid. He's already imagining Sammy smiling, laughing, playing with other kids. The way he used to be.
Damn. He's sending himself off to the deep end with this line of thought. He finishes his beer, changes the TV channel and turns the volume down as an action film blared across the screen, and grabs his phone again.
Before he can reply however, a sound from the bottom of the stairs draws his attention.
Sammy is standing there in his elephant-print PJs, one hand on the bannister and the other gripping tightly on to the new stuffed dinosaur, wide-eyes with his hair sticking up in every direction. In the shadows cast from the television, he looks younger than his five-years, and Dean feels a tightness in his chest as he realises his son has probably had a nightmare. A depressingly regular occurrence since their move.
“Sammy? You all right, buddy?”
Sammy nods. “There's a monster in my closet.” He doesn't move any closer, but his eyes shimmer with tears as he blinks. “I'm scared.”
“Hey, it's OK.” Dean is up and off the sofa in a heartbeat, sweeping Sammy up into his arms and kissing the end of his nose. He should put the kid back to bed. That's what all the books say, and those little videos he's been watching on YouTube. But five minutes can't hurt.
“Come sit with me for a bit, and I promise you when we go back up he will have got bored and gone away. I bet he was a friendly one anyway. The closet monsters always are.”
They settle on the sofa together - the television turned to a more appropriate channel - with Sammy cuddled in his lap with his face pressed into his chest, breath coming in short, gentle puffs as he quickly falls asleep again. Dean wraps a blanket around them and lies down, stretching out with Sam on top of him, and fumbles for his phone to text Cas back.
It sounds perfect. Meet you there at midday?
Of course, Dean. I'll bring food.
Dean smiles, feels Sammy mumble something in his sleep while shoving his thumb in his mouth, and goes to reply, but another message pings through from Cas.
I'm really looking forward to it.