Named {PART FIVE}

[mclachland]

When he opens his eyes, he's staring at a white picket fence. An actual white picket fence. The paint isn't even chipping. He's never actually seen one of these before, but he's heard about them on TV and read about them in fairy tales.

The house, itself, looks like it's on the cover of some catalogue, a perfect little one family, white with red shutters and a red door. The grass, which is way too green for him to even handle, has been recently mowed and Dean inhales it, sweet and light. There are even sunflowers, crawling up the side of the house, giant beasts that he has half a mind to whisper "Christo" at.

"Dude." He turns to Castiel, who surveys the place like he's about to lay siege. "Seriously?"

"The ritual would not have steered us wrong."

Snorting, Dean turns around to take a look at the street. It's… cute. Adorable, even. Across the street in front of another cookie-cutter house, a woman is tending to a rhododendron bush while her husband uses a hose to water the lawn. They're both wearing khaki shorts.

The husband lifts a hand and waves at Dean, who can't do anything except wave back, feeling so out of place he might as well have a sign around his neck that reads I SAY THE WORD 'FUCK' AND I KNOW WHAT ALCOHOL TASTES LIKE.

As if on cue, two children come out of the house, a boy and a girl, both clad in brightly-colored bathing suits. Dean squints and can see the Spiderman pattern on the boy's swim trunks. They immediately run to their father, who sprays them with the hose. The woman pauses in her gardening to laugh at their delighted shrieks.

The kids retreat, regroup, and put up a united front against their enemy, their thin, pale shoulders braced for battle, little legs marching forward. The girl, in her hot pink one-piece, takes her brother by the hand and rushes at their father, who again turns the hose on them. It doesn't deter them; the girl throws up her free hand to shield her face, her other hand gripping her brother's tightly, and pushes on until their dad is forced to drop the hose. He gets wet anyway. The kids tackle him to his freshly-watered lawn, wrapping their soaked limbs around him as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

Dean swallows thickly and looks away, heart lurching. He's not jealous. This is the reason he fights demons and shit, so that family across the street can goof around on their front lawn. So when those kids go to bed at night, they can sleep without fear.

Turning his back on that touching scene but still able to hear the family laughing, he catches sight of what looks like a school halfway down the street. The yellow bricks stand out, but it's overshadowed by the giant jungle gym. There's a mother walking in front of it, pushing a baby carriage. An ice cream truck turns onto the street, merrily pumping out some carnival tune as it stops for three kids wearing shirts with cartoon characters on them.

Oh. Well, now it makes total sense. The neighborhood's a fucking smorgasbord for the guy.

"Can you sense him?" Dean asks, knocking shoulders with Castiel, who hasn't taken his eyes off of Moloch's house. Number 117.

"He is here," Castiel says, lifting his gaze to the roof. The perfectly-shingled roof. Dean's really starting to hate this place.

"Okay," Dean says, rolling his shoulders. "How are we gonna do this? Want me to knock on the door, see if I can pass off as some random guy on the street, looking for directions? Maybe offer him some Girl Scout cookies?"

Castiel stares blankly at him. Right. Human reference.

"Or, we could just kick the door down." In a neighborhood where no one's probably even seen a fight on television.

Nodding, obviously happy with Dean's shitty plan, Castiel starts forward, creepy-angel-stare fixed on the red door. Dean watches him go, feeling like he should call the police before everyone else does and give them a heads-up.

But before Castiel can knock on the door, or destroy it, it opens. Castiel's hand lifts, fingers splayed, palm out, and Dean is already running.

"CAS, WAIT --"

He can't be more than seven, not at that height, which is barely up to Dean's thigh. The hair is too gold, too curly, too pure, and the face that peers at them from under those golden curls is too innocent, eyes too wide and blue. He's wearing a shirt with the Justice League on it, and his Velcro shoes light up.

Gripping Castiel's wrist, stilling it, Dean tries to catch his breath as he stares into the bright gaze of the little boy before them. "Cas. Dude. No."

Carefully, the boy takes the brick stairs one at a time until his light-up sneakers hit the paved walkway and he's standing in front of Dean and Castiel, head tilted back to get a good look. The boy's head tips curiously and Dean has to smother a laugh at the familiar tic, his hand still clenched around Castiel's wrist.

The boy smiles up at Dean, who automatically smiles back, because the kid's fucking cute as anything.

"DADDY!!! STRANGER DANGER!!!"

Dean hates kids.

"Kid, no, we're not --"

"STRANGER DANGER!!!" But the brat's just standing there. Cute kid, but dumber than a pile of rocks.

The dad from across the street ushers his wife and kids into their house before -- heading straight for Dean and Castiel. And some lady next door is coming outside, cordless phone in hand. Perfect. She's probably calling Chris Hansen.

From the open door, a man spills out onto the stairs, eyes wide in a mix of fear and rage.

It's a look Dean once saw in his dad's eyes on a werewolf hunt gone wrong. It had been Dean's first foray into the profession; he remembers how heavy the rifle was, how the silver bullets in the chamber weighed it down. He couldn't hold it steadily enough, had been too slow, too scared, and the wolf had seized the opportunity. It had been the second and last time he ever saw John Winchester terrified.

It's the look the man has now, wild around the eyes with the need to protect his child. His truly stupid child with no self-preservation instincts whatsoever.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" The man demands breathlessly, dropping to his knees in front of the boy and taking him by the shoulders. The dude's going to get grass stains on his khakis. "Did these men touch you?"

"What?! No!" Dean protests, offended. He may not be wearing a fucking varsity jacket, but he sure as hell doesn't look like a pedophile.

"Sweetie?" Prompts the man, pointedly ignoring Dean. The boy grins and shakes his head violently, whipping it from side to side the way kids do. The tension in the man's shoulders disappears and he sags in relief, like his strings have just been cut. "Then why were you shouting?"

The boy beams. "You said -- you said to shout when I don't know people, like this: STRANGER DANGER!!"

Sighing, the man picks up the kid and gently knocks their heads together, reluctantly smiling at the kid's resulting laugh. "Good job, kiddo." He waves the lady next door away with a rueful grin, then turns to wave at the guy standing in the middle of the street. "I've got it, Paul!"

Paul nods, waves back, and heads for his house.

"Sorry about this one," the man says with a smile. "I've been teaching him what to do if he's ever approached by a stranger. He was supposed to go to Paul's for help." He punctuates that by digging his nose into the boy's neck, eliciting peals of laughter.

Castiel looks like he swallowed a bucket of knives.

"Uh, no problem." Big problem. "We're sorry about scaring him. Right, Cas?" He squeezes Castiel's wrist once in warning. No baby-smiting today.

"Yes." Thank you, Mr. Helpful.

The man's smile slips and his hold on the kid tightens, quiet suspicion entering his eyes. "So, what can I do for you, gentlemen?"

Releasing Castiel's wrist, Dean steps forward with his friendliest smile tacked on firmly. "Sir, why don't we take this --"

"Moloch."

" -- inside." Kids are great. It's Castiel that he hates.

Moloch isn't looking at Dean anymore, or even his own kid. That angry-afraid look is back ten-fold, but for some reason it's not for Moloch's own safety. The white-knuckled grip on his son speaks volumes, and it twists something inside Dean until it's so braided and tight that it feels like suffocation.

"Hey," Dean says hoarsely, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on the boy's back. From the circle of Moloch's arms, the boy cranes his head around to look at Dean, blue eyes wide. "We're just here to talk. That's all."

Pressing his son's golden head to his chest, Moloch takes a step back toward the house, away from them. "No. No, you can't be here! I'm done with all that!"

Dean holds up his hands. If Moloch starts screaming "stranger danger", Dean's just going to call it a day.

"Dude, calm down," he says slowly, like he's handling a friggin' rabid lion. "It's okay. We just have a couple of questions for you."

Moloch's kid squirms out of his father's arms and stares up at Dean, eyes wide like he's the most fascinating grown-up ever. And, well, with the kind of people the kid's been around in Stepfordland, he probably is.

The boy purses his lips thoughtfully and moves around Dean, studying him, big eyes taking in the worn jeans, the calloused hands, the confused expression.

"Andy…" Moloch whispers, unable to move, unable to stop his son from walking circles around a demon-hunter.

The boy, Andy, stops in front of Dean, then solemnly reaches out to tug on the hem of Dean's shirt. "'Cuse me."

Dean casts a glance at Castiel and then bends down until he's eye-level with the kid. "Yeah?"

"Are you Superman?"

He probably should never have come down for breakfast this morning, and when he looks to Castiel for some help -- because what do you even say to that? -- Castiel just stares blankly at him. All God's angels are fucking useless.

Moloch finally snaps into motion, sweat dotting his pale cheeks, and he takes Andy's little hand away from Dean's shirt, holding it tightly in his own. He gestures desperately at the house, turning pleading eyes on Dean, like he'll save Moloch's kid from the wrath of the angel standing silently on the perfectly-trimmed lawn.

"Can we take this inside?" Moloch doesn't wait for an answer, just picks up his kid and all but high-tails it into the house. He leaves the door open, which is smart, because there's really no way Moloch's getting rid of them now.

Dean turns to Castiel, who stares at the open doorway with a stare so intense that Dean's half-waiting for it to burst into flame. "Dude, come on. It's not like this guy's a threat."

"He was Lucifer's top general," Castiel reminds him, eyes still on the doorway.

"He's wearing Birkenstocks, Cas." Closed-toe, thank fuck, and that might be the gayest thought he's ever had. "The guy's about as dangerous as his kid. I don't think we have anything to worry about; he's scared as shit of you."

Castiel finally looks away from the doorway and turns bright eyes onto Dean. There's something lurking there that Dean can't name, but it makes his gut tighten. He used to be terrified of Castiel's stare; there's nothing worse than having a friggin' angel silently judge you, but Castiel hasn't done it for a while. Not since that shit with Alistair landed him in a hospital bed, Castiel keeping vigil at his side.

"His child is an abomination."

"Cas," he tries again, because this just doesn't seem to be sinking in. "Cas, he's a kid. We don't kill kids."

Before Dean can even try and decipher that look, Castiel turns back to the house and nods. "I will not harm neither Moloch nor his child. But you need to understand, Dean, this new life does not excuse Moloch's past crimes."

He can't help but smile and throw his arm around Castiel, gripping the arm of the trench coat in an odd parody of Castiel's mark on his own bicep. "Dude, sometimes you've got to forgive and forget. You're talking to the most colossal fuck-up this side of the Moon. I've done a lot of stupid things in my life, but you guys still picked me to be your Righteous Man."

Castiel gives him an offended look. "It was always you, Dean."

"Yeah, why is that? Gandhi's schedule too busy?"

"You are the best man I know," Castiel says bluntly, and that stops Dean in his tracks pretty fucking quick. "You are the best man I have ever known. I think that even if it weren't you, it would still be you."

Whoa. Whoa, wait a second. Wait a fucking second --

Andy decides it would be great to stand in the doorway, little hands bunched into fists, and shout, "Mr. Kent, you can come in now!"

Dean hates kids. Especially this one.

Castiel ducks his head, but Dean catches the bare edge of what might be an amused smile, and he watches the tails of the trench coat sway as Castiel takes the stairs into the house.

"You must be Jimmy!" Andy chirps at Castiel, following him inside and leaving Dean to stand staring after them.

How is this his life?


The interior's just as creepily adorable as the outside, all off-white walls with complementary furniture, spacious but still claustrophobic, cluttered with knick-knacks, toys strewn across the carpet like mines waiting to be stepped on. Framed photographs line the walls in the too-bright living room, which is where Moloch leads them. Pictures of Andy as a baby, at the zoo, at the beach, at Disney World with Mickey, with Moloch. It's not as weird as it probably should be; it's sweet and kind of sad, like the dude's atoning for all the kids he killed by loving his own.

By one of the windows is another photo; the sunlight catches the glass of the frame. From what Dean can see, which isn't much because the glare is so bright, it's of a woman. Must be Moloch's wife, although he can't see any motherly touches around the house.

Andy sidles up to Dean and takes his hand, leading him over to the couch. He makes sure Dean's sitting before rushing out of the room, shouting for Dean to wait because he's "not ready."

The second Andy's gone, Moloch turns to them, face drawn and hands trembling, already resigned to whatever fate he thinks he deserves. "Please, whatever you're here to do… leave him out of it. He has nothing to do with… He's innocent."

Castiel cocks his head, eyes darting to Dean and then to Moloch. "We have no intention of harming you or your son. Dean already explained the reason for our visit."

Moloch looks at Dean, who shrugs. Looks like it's time to play Good Cop-Bad Cop. Or, knowing them, Bad Cop - Cryptic Asshole That Drops Bombs During Inappropriate Times. "Just here to ask questions, not here to judge. But if the circumstances were different? I'd have ganked you ten minutes ago." At the wide-eyed expression of horror, Dean reminds him, "Dude. I said if the circumstances were different. You're safe."

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe that," Moloch spits, curling in on himself and practically disappearing before Dean's eyes. He can't reconcile this whiny, sniveling dad with the monster he'd built up in his mind. Then again, Dean (hopefully) doesn't have kids, so he really can't understand where Moloch's coming from.

Castiel is standing in front of a photo of Andy at Sea World, studying it with all the concentration of an art major jerking off in front of the Mona Lisa. "You'll forgive me if I find it hard to believe you are a father."

All the blood drains out of Moloch's face. Dean feels no pity; someone had to say it.

"It's… ironic," Castiel continues, rolling the word around in his mouth, getting a feel for it. "I wonder what made you… choose this path."

Castiel may be an angel, but he's the best bad cop Dean's ever seen, politely twisting the knife in Moloch's chest, bringing up a past Moloch has obviously been trying to forget without even making it a big deal. It's cutthroat. He likes it.

"I'M ALMOST READY!!" Andy shouts from wherever he is in the house. Dean cracks a smile. Kid's a dumbass, but he's adorable. Almost as cute as Sam'd been at that age.

Shoulders dropping, Moloch gazes pleadingly at Castiel. "Please… Just… If you're really here to ask questions, then ask them and go. I'm done with the before, okay? I'm not proud of it, and I'll never atone for it, but I'm done with it."

The judging stare that Dean recognizes is back, and he can almost feel the weight of it as it comes to a rest on Moloch, heavy blue like a boatload of seawater crushing the guy. Castiel's definitely got a knack for this sort of thing and would probably be a riot to have on cases. Sam can be the good cop, Dean the bad cop, and Castiel the woodchipper guy from Fargo. They can't lose.

Finally, Castiel blinks. "Have you --"

Andy decides it's the perfect time to be ready and comes barreling into the living room, a large red 'S' emblazoned on his tiny chest and a cape trailing after him, this little blue-and-red thing that poses proudly for them, chest puffed out and arms akimbo. He beams at Dean. "Look, Mr. Kent! I look just like you!"

Grinning, Dean pats the couch next to him. "C'mon, Man of Steel."

"LET'S PLAY A GAME!!" Andy yells, running out of the room again, cape billowing behind him, making it look like he's actually flying. After a beat, he comes pounding back in and throws his arms around Moloch's legs. "Thank you for inviting Superman, daddy." That said, he's gone again.

Moloch watches his son leave, then turns to Dean, deciding that Dean's the one running the show and keeping the angel in line. "Would you… He seems to really like you. If I… If I speak to the angel, will you --"

He takes pity on the guy. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Pale with relief, Moloch motions for Castiel to follow him. Bright blue eyes find his and Dean hopes that whatever Castiel sees is enough to remind him not to kill Moloch.

As he watches the tails of the trench coat disappear into the doorway, he realizes Moloch never offered them refreshments. Worst Stepford dad ever. He opens his mouth to complain, but stops himself. If he were Moloch, he wouldn't offer them anything, either.

He settles into the couch, plush fabric giving beneath him, and sighs, eyes closing. Fuck, but this is a comfortable couch. He's totally going to steal it. Or maybe Moloch will just give it to them as a bribe to get them to leave. Normally, he's not one to accept bribes, because if you can't do something on your own than money or whatever you're offering isn't gonna fucking help, but he'd take this couch in a heartbeat.

"Oof!" His eyes fly open as a squirming weight drops into his lap. Andy pays no attention to Dean's discomfort -- obviously doesn't care about the knee he's digging into Dean's nads. The kid flails and kills any hope of Dean reproducing as he struggles to find a comfortable spot on Dean's left leg.

"Okay, Mr. Kent," Andy says cheerfully, pointing to the coffee table where a DVD of DC Universe Scene-It is sitting. "You have to put it in. 'm not allowed to anymore."

"Why not?" He probably doesn't want to know.

"I put Monkey in it an' broke it."

Dean glances down at the forest of golden curls beneath his chin and then suspiciously at the DVD player. Nice flat screen TV, though. Probably HD. "Who's Monkey?"

"My goldfish."

Suddenly grateful to the ache in his balls that will spare the cassette player in the Impala the same fate, Dean rolls Andy off his lap -- much to the kid's delight -- and goes to put the DVD into the goldfish-torture chamber. He grabs the remote control from its place on top of the entertainment system and, wow, who needs that many buttons? One wrong move and he might press the one that launches all the nukes in the world.

"Which one for the TV?"

"The green one!" Andy chirps, and Dean obligingly presses it, hoping that he didn't preemptively start Judgment Day. But, luckily, the TV trills as it clicks on, the picture bright and clear. At the sight of the DC Comics logo, Andy lets out a whoop and kicks his legs excitedly. Dean grins and heads back to the couch.

"You can't answer any questions about you," Andy admonishes as Dean sits back down on his leather slice of paradise and throws a companionable arm around the kid's tiny shoulders. "'Cause that's cheating."

"What makes you think I'm Superman?" He's curious. He doesn't have Superman's jet-black hair or ridiculously-cut chest; it's probably something stupid, like he's the most muscular person Andy's ever seen in Stepfordville, or maybe Dean's just that good-looking. Not like it matters. He's always been more of a Batman kind of guy.

"I can just tell," Andy says, like it's obvious, eyes on the television where a picture of some black and red-suited guy pops up. "Batman Beyond!"

"What?" Dean demands. Oh, hell no. "That's not Batman!"

"Is, too! That's Terry, the new Batman."

Uh, not so much. "That's some poser who wishes he were Batman. Where the hell is Bruce Wayne while this douchebag runs around and uses his stuff?"

"He's old an' in the Bat Cave an' has a dog." Andy squirms so he can twist under Dean's arm and look up at him. "What's a douchebag?"

Perfect. "Uh, someone you don't like. But you can't say that word."

Andy settles back down, warm and faintly vibrating against Dean's side like a little dynamo on overload. "You said it."

"Yeah, well, I'm Superman. I can say whatever I want."

Glum at the 'I'm an adult and you're not' line that he's probably fed day in and day out, Andy darts a look at the clown chick on the screen and mutters, "Harley Quinn."

Reaching up, he ruffles Andy's hair. Fucking adorable. "You know a lot about these guys."

"I have to," Andy says, relaxing under Dean's arm.

A comic panel of some guy dressed like Robin Hood fades onto the screen, something in a word bubble whited out. The instructions tell them to fill in the blank, but Dean's too busy trying to figure out who the guy is. "Why's that?"

"I'm gonna be a superhero," Andy announces quietly, playing with the very ends of his cape. He nestles against Dean, humming happily to himself. "An' then I'm gonna be in the Justice League."

Dean smiles. "Oh yeah? How?"

"'Cause I'm not like people," Andy says, like it's no big deal. "An' I get picked on a lot, 'cause I'm smarter an' faster an' stronger an' better, an' all people like that become superheroes. So, I'm gonna be a superhero. I'm gonna be Justice Man an' someday, Mr. Kent, you an' me are gonna fly around an' save everybody."

Andy suddenly sits up and points at the screen.

"WONDER WOMAN'S REAL NAME IS DIANA AN' SHE'S A PRINCESS!!"

Princess Diana is a blur of black, blue and red, and Dean can't seem to focus on her. He tightens his hold on the kid, this little kid who thinks that someday he'll be wearing spandex and a giant 'JM' because he had the shit luck of being demon spawn.

Christ. This is what their lives would have been like if they'd quit hunting and tried to live a normal life. Sam would have gone through school a little too smart, a little too better than everyone else, either beaten up by jealous and scared kids, or shunned altogether and forced to go it alone. And Dean? If he hadn't dropped out by sophomore year, he'd be that kid: the one teachers dread, the one guys don't want to mess with, the one girls think about saving but never actually want to touch. He and Sam would wear the stigma of being touched by the supernatural for the rest of their lives. No one to help them. No one to guide them. Certainly not their father.

That's what's in store for this little kid who wants to become a superhero.

"Andy," Dean rasps, lifting Andy onto his knee and forcing him to stop watching the television. "Andy, I gotta tell you something. Important."

Andy gazes up at him with those large, blue eyes, and Dean has an overwhelming urge to track down and beat the shit out of every kid that ever bullied Andy. He's never wanted to hurt a child in his life, but those eyes, the eyes that could've been Sam's if things had been different, make the prospect of having baby-soft skin split beneath his knuckles so sweet.

"Okay, Mr. Kent," Andy says, smiling up at him, waiting for his hero to lay some pearls of wisdom on him.

"Okay, right. So." This was a bad idea. He's never been good at giving advice and he doesn't know a ton about Superman. "Remember when I crashed here as a baby?"

Andy brightens. "In your Ma and Pa's field!"

Dean nods, breaking out into a light sweat. What the fuck is Castiel doing in there that's taking so long? "Well, I grew up like any other kid, but I knew I was different."

"Like me!"

"Like you," he agrees. "You can do all sorts of cool things that other kids can't, and sometimes they're mean because of it."

Nodding sagely, Andy shifts on Dean's knee until he's more comfortable. "Like when Brendan calls me a freak, or when no one wants to eat lunch with me."

Dean's heart constricts painfully at the image of a sun-drenched classroom full of empty chairs and Andy eating alone while the other kids play outside. "As you grow up, it's gonna get worse. It's gonna get so much worse. People will call you names even worse than 'freak'. They'll spread lies about you. They'll try to hurt you, because they're jealous and scared, and it's the only way they can feel better."

The shine is gone from Andy's eyes, the blue dulling to a slate gray, as Dean's words begin to sink in and his child's mind tries to wrap around what he's being told.

"Oh," Andy breathes, lip trembling. "Because they're douchebags."

It shocks a laugh out of him, barbed and dragging painfully up his throat. "Yeah. Exactly. But you need to remember to never use your, uh, powers against them."

"I know that!" Andy cries, offended that Dean would even suggest he would. "I never have an' I never will!"

"You say that now, but someday it might get bad enough that you forget. No matter how bad it gets, no matter how many names they call you, no matter how many times they take your lunch money, or tell lies about you, or beat you up, you can't use your powers for bad. Only for good." Dean swallows, throat clicking dryly around whatever's lodged there. "That's the mark of a true hero, right?"

Andy nods solemnly, eyes wide and glassy.

"And, well, the Justice League will be recruiting soon, so we're going to need to make sure you're doing what you should."

Brightening, Andy tries to crawl on top of Dean, little arms stretched out and fingers grasping for some shirt or hair, desperate for a hug. "The Justice League?! Thank you, Mr. Kent! I promise I'll be the best superhero ever!"

Laughing, Dean bats at Andy's hands, sinking into the couch to escape the kid's evil knees. "Only for good, remember!"

"I promise!" Andy finally grabs a hold of the back of his neck and squeezes as tightly as he can, which isn't much. Dean jabs his fingers into the soft fabric beneath Andy's arms, unleashing a merciless tickle attack that would make any older brother proud and sends Andy into a tailspin of squealing laughter, his legs kicking uselessly. He lets up on the assault, allowing the kid to catch his breath and come down from the high.

Finally, the arm around his neck loosens as the excitement leaves Andy, the little body relaxing against Dean's chest, golden curls tucked securely under his chin. Dean breathes out slowly; Sam used to do this, in cheap motels where the walls were paper-thin and hid nothing, like the people having loud sex in the room to their left or the drug deal gone wrong to their right. It was a way for Sam to have a connection, to know that he wasn't alone. That Andy does it now tells Dean that Moloch loves his son, but not in the kind of way the kid needs. Andy needs someone to sit him down and tell him why he has all the makings of a superhero. It'd be an impossible subject to bring up, but at least the kid would know instead of wondering about it for the rest of his life.

"Mr. Kent?" Andy murmurs, puffing hot air against the skin of Dean's throat.

"What's up, Justice Man?"

The arm around his neck falls away and a little hand clutches his shirt. "Next week my school's having a field day an' we're s'posed to bring someone from our family to do the races with. Daddy can't go 'cause he's been to lots of school things an' can't miss work again, an' Mommy died, an' I don't have any brothers or sisters. If nobody needs saving, can you fly there an' do the races with me?"

If nobody needs saving. Everyone's going to need saving next week, which is going to be a job even Superman can't handle.

But he curls a hand into Andy's hair and ruffles it. "If nobody needs saving, I'll be there." Maybe with Sam in tow. The three of them would kick some serious ass.

A floor board creaks, and Dean glances up from Andy's golden curls to where Moloch is watching them from the doorway, Castiel standing a step behind. Moloch's face is unreadable, but Dean would put it somewhere between relieved and devastated, his eyes taking in the way his son rests easily against Dean, like he's always done it.

"We have… all the information we need," Castiel announces quietly, curiously studying Andy before meeting Dean's gaze. "I think it would be wise to make our leave now."

"Yeah, okay," Dean says, then glances down and pokes at Andy. "Hey, Justice Man, I gotta get up now."

Andy's grip briefly tightens on his shirt before the boy lets him go, sliding off of him to sit on the couch and stare up with wide, pleading eyes. "Mr. Kent, we didn't finish playing Scene-It."

"Next time." It comes out like the promise he didn't intend but wants to make, and Dean knows that this is more than just the similarities with how Sam used to be. He genuinely likes this kid, and he really wants to be there for the field day. Show those other kids just who's got Andy's back.

Andy nods solemnly, taking him at his word, and then turns to smile brightly at Moloch. "Daddy! Remember how you said you couldn't do the races with me? Mr. Kent is going to come an' do them with me instead!"

Moloch's mouth moves soundlessly beneath the wounds Andy's inflicting before it decides to try on a shaky smile. "That's great, sweetheart. I'm sure you and, uh, Mr. Kent are going to be great."

Sliding off the couch with great regret (he's totally coming back for this couch), he stands and stretches, jerking his thumb toward the front door. "Ready?"

Castiel nods.

"Bye, Jimmy!" Andy calls, waving cheerfully, totally oblivious to the surprised look Castiel turns on him. "You can come to the races next week, too, an' write a news story about me an' Mr. Kent beating everyone!"

Dean grins and nods pointedly at Castiel, who turns to Andy with grave promise and says, "I will be there."

"With your pen an' paper so you can take lots of notes! An' you gotta make sure you call me Justice Man!"

Castiel's gaze softens, charmed by the infectious, simple joy that the kid exudes. "I will not forget."

"I'll walk out with you," Moloch says with false brightness, practically ushering them out of the living room.

Except this isn't how he wants to leave things. He'll definitely regret this, but he thinks of how Sam might have felt in Andy's place, how Moloch and a virtual stranger were the only things the kid could count on.

Dean easily bypasses Moloch's guiding hand and strides quickly back to the couch where Andy's still sitting. There's a TV Guide sitting on the coffee table, open to the crossword puzzle on the last page, half-filled in with words that make absolutely no sense to Dean. But there is an uncapped pen next to it, and he takes it between his fingers and scribbles out his number on the white space on the top of the page. He tears it out and hands it to Andy.

"No one else has this number, because it's top secret," Dean whispers conspiratorially, much to Andy's delight. "It goes right to the Justice League headquarters; it's my number. Anytime you want to talk, you call me. Okay?"

Eyes shining, Andy nods and clutches the piece of paper tightly to the 'S' on his chest. "Thanks, Superman."

Something warm bubbles in his chest as Dean stands straight and points at the kid, tiny on the couch. "Only for good, Andy."

"I promise, Mr. Kent."

As he turns and heads for the doorway, taking stock of the perfect living room in the perfect house on the perfect street, Andy's voice reaches him once again.

"Mr. Kent? Remember when you asked me why I thought you were Superman?"

Dean stops and turns, just on the threshold of the room. "Yeah?"

"I knew 'cause you're so bright," Andy says from his place on the couch. "Like the sun, but even brighter. An' Superman gets his powers from the sun, but he's even better than the sun. So I knew."

Huh. "Oh. Well, that's cool. Thanks, Andy."

He leaves the room without another word, walking through the hallway to where Moloch is standing with the door open, Castiel already on the front step, waiting.

"Dude," Dean says. "Your kid's awesome."

It brings a reluctant smile to Moloch's face, and Dean watches the uncomfortable pull of Moloch's cheek muscles. "Yeah. He's… He's an amazing little boy. I got lucky."

"Yeah," he agrees, and the awkwardness descends. "Look… Has he told you about the bullying? Kids at school giving him a hard time?"

Moloch opens his mouth, then closes it and looks down. "I… He's told me, yes. I just don't know how to handle it. Kids will be kids, of course, and he's so much smaller than the others. I know why it's happening; I just don't know what to tell him to help. I can't tell him what he is, or what I was."

"But you can," Dean says. "Because if you don't, it's just going to get worse. The not knowing is worse than what happens when you do know. Right now? The kid thinks he's going to join the friggin' Justice League because he thinks he's a superhero. You need to sit him down and tell him just what's going on with him. He already knows to use his powers only for good, he needs to hear it from his father."

Moloch exhales and nods. "I… can do that."

Good. "Good. And, uh, sorry about barging in like this."

"No, no," Moloch stammers, glancing down at their shoes -- his own Birkenstocks and Dean's worn to hell boots. "I didn't know that things were as bad as they are. I've given your… friend as much information as I could, which wasn't much. But… there's someone who's waiting for... Lucifer, as well.."

Castiel tilts his head. He looks like a blazingly intense sparrow. "Give us a name."

Moloch swallows. "It's -- It's The Whore."

Now that's something Dean can get behind. "What kind of whore?"

"Not a whore," Castiel corrects him. "The Whore. 'And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication; Upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. She rises when Lucifer walks the Earth."

Moloch nods. "Um, she runs a nightclub called Sirrush in L.A. We spoke last night; she felt Lucifer for a moment, then nothing. She is waiting for him. But that's all I can tell you. I'm done with all of that."

"What do you mean, 'then nothing?'"

"Just... That's all she said."

Dean still can't reconcile the monster he'd built up in his mind with the man standing before him, but he can still see the traces Hell left on him. It's the same shit he sees whenever he looks in a mirror. "This is probably gonna be out of line, but can I ask… how your wife died?"

Moloch's shoulders stiffen and the glare he turns on Dean flays him to the bone. "Human women are not… equipped to deal with the birth of a non-human child."

"Guess you're not as done with all that as you thought."

On that final note, he steps outside and tips his face to the warmth of the sun. Getting the last word in and getting out of a demon's abode alive? It's like a twofer.

Next

Comments

[sycophantastic.livejournal.com]

Why is it that from Metatron I get the heebie-jeebies but from Moloch I just feel bad for the guy? Things are topsy-turvy in the SPN 'verse, feeling creeped out by angels & sympathy for formerly unthinkable monsters!

[laura-trekkie.livejournal.com]

Huh. So, I'm with Dean: Moloch's not really what I expected :). And I have to agree with x_shorty1013_x that the Voice of God was way creepier than Lucifer's second in command. Only in SPN...

I liked the Dean-Andy conversation and the similarities Dean saw in Andy and Sam at that age. It took me a while to catch on to Andy calling Cas Jimmy ::is slow::.

That's their next lead then? The Whore and her LA nightclub? Should be interesting *g*.

Laura.

[aemorgans.livejournal.com]

Andy is just precious! And I completely agree with the above comments about Metatron and Moloch.

[cotymundi.livejournal.com]

Well, actually, the kid creeps me out. "I say the word fuck and I know what alcohol tastes like"; yeah, that's me. I'm scared shitless of my neighbours because they're all like Stepfordville and they know I don't fit; I only live here because I was freezing to death on my boat and it was the only house that would take a dog. I now have my neighbour's birthday barbecue to avoid and I wish Cas could zap me out of here. Back to the fic; I don't feel sorry for Moloch and I was a bit nauseated by how long Dean was talking to him and how nice he was, I honestly thought Cas was going to gank him while they were upstairs and I was getting ready to laugh at Dean's face. Oh well... I love it when Cas calls people an abomination, he's so literal, it's adorable.
Plot's really interesting, so can't wait to see what happens next!

[quenderra.livejournal.com]

I totally agree with Dean - Moloch's kid is awesome. Such an adorable little boy. It makes me want one. ... almost. Many years from now.

Nicely done.

[destielfan06.livejournal.com]

Andy is Adorable
Of Course Dean would be Clark and Cass would be Jimmy Of Course.
I really liked Moloch.
You can tell That he's Just Changed and He doesn't want to deal with all that Bullish anymore.
Andy reminds me of Jesse. But a whole lot sweeter.

[rubyrose804.livejournal.com]

Aw. I'm so in love with this story okay. Dean and Andy were so cute and Andy telling Dean there was something special about him after Cas keeps telling him the same thing xxx But, ugh, Dean's so emotionally constipated that no matter how many times he hears that he's special he won't believe it.

And I like how this is a Dean/Cas story but it focuses on an actual plot and the whole thing isn't about their relationship. But you still mention enough little moments to make our Destiel feels go crazy.

The pacing of this is perfect and your plot is so good and I just love this and yeah. On to the next chapter! ;)