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The sky above Lebanon, Kansas, burned gold and crimson as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Outside, the world was quiet. Inside the Men of Letters bunker—the Winchester family’s home—chaos sang a different tune. In the library, where Dean’s laughter usually echoed against the stone walls, a teenage shout now shattered the air.
"ALL YOU EVER DO IS TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO!" The boy’s voice shook the room, eyes blazing at the former angel he still called Pa.
"AND—AND LIFE WOULD BE SO SO MUCH BETTER IF YOU WEREN’T HERE!"
And just like that, silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
Castiel stood frozen, eyes wide, watery and dim, staring at his son like his heart had cracked straight down the middle.
“That’s it.”
The man in his 50s finally spoke—his voice deep, raspy, like he was barely holding back a hurricane of words he knew could break the fragile thing they’d all built.
“Eliel James Winchester... you better say something smart, before I say something I can’t take back.”
His eyes were bloodshot. His face flushed.
Another man stepped forward, gently placing a hand on the first man's shoulder. “Dean, please—”
But Dean shook his head, refusing to be calmed—even by that voice. Even by him.
He looked at Eliel like he was staring down a ghost from his own past.
Eliel swallowed hard. Yeah, his dad could be terrifying. But that ego of his? Pure Dean Winchester. And that pissed Dean off.
“ROOM. NOW.”
Dean’s voice was sharp. Cold. And his eyes? Couldn’t lie. Not now. Not after that.
“Because if you stay right here... I’m not sure I can still be your dad.”
But Eliel didn’t back down. Messy-haired, breathing heavy, teenage storm in full swing.
And those eyes—those same damn green eyes Dean had back in his twenties.
The kind that said,
Go ahead. Swing. See what happens next.
“You think you’re grown? You think you’re ready to throw hands with me?”
Dean took a step forward, but Castiel gently pulled him back into the chair, his hand smoothing over Dean’s shoulder.
“Dean. Enough.”
“Eliel, listen to your dad,” Castiel added, voice soft but cracking with emotion. His eyes shimmered—Eliel’s words had landed sharp.
Eliel cast one last glance at his parents. Dean, now curled into Cas’s arms like he was the one who’d been screamed at. Like he had broken.
Eliel walked the hallway in silence.
Yeah, he knew he’d been a jerk to Cas. He knew it was Dean’s job to protect his husband, his partner in all things.
but Dean was the chill parent. The you-only-live-once-go-party parent. Total opposite of Cas, who was stricter. Arguments weren’t rare since high school hit. And Dean usually waved it off with something like “teen hormones, whatever.”
But this time was different. This time, Eliel knew he’d gone too far.
Eliel had messed up.
Tomorrow was supposed to be his 17th birthday. A family thing.
But he’d wanted to skip all that—rent a villa, throw a wild bash with his cool crowd.
Castiel said no. That birthdays in the bunker—with the archangel uncles, Uncle Sam, Aunt Eileen, his baby cousin, Uncle Adam, Jack, and whatever ghosts tagged along—was a tradition. One they’d kept since Eliel was born.
That’s where it started.
And it went downhill fast when Eliel called it all “a weird tradition from a weird family.”
Dean had snorted at that, sipping his evening coffee with a grin.
Castiel, though? Started monologuing about how lucky they are because “our family being blessed by three Archangels.”
Blah blah blah.
Things escalated.
And then—Eliel said what he said.
And everything cracked.
Eliel slammed his door shut and threw himself onto the bed.
“Balls.”
Silence. Just him. And his guilt.
Until—
Wings.
A sudden gust. A shimmer in the air.
“Uncle Mike?”
“Greetings, Nephew.”
The voice was low. Wise. Like scripture in gravel.
Eliel sat up fast. Couldn’t exactly lie down in the presence of THE Archangel Michael.
The same Michael who didn’t bring the apocalypse when he had the chance. The same Michael who chose domestic bliss with the youngest Winchester instead
“What’s up?” Eliel asked.
Michael didn’t answer right away. He casually dropped from the air and boom, a chair appeared beneath him. He sat across from Eliel like a king visiting a reckless prince.
“Came early. A small tradition, from someone who believes affection doesn’t need a date on the calendar. Hopefully, your hippocampus still works. Would be a shame if you forgot who always shows up first—even before the world does.”
Eliel let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yeah. There’s no way I’d forget. Even if the worst-case scenario hit my brain.” He tapped his temple with a finger.
“But I kinda messed up. Don’t really feel right accepting a gift.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Is this about the ‘weird traditions from a weird family’ thing? and because I am very much part of that weirdness.”
Of course he knew. Michael always knew everything.
The Archangel exhaled—a purely performative gesture, but one that showed his disappointment. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on Eliel.
“What you said to your Pa was vicious, El.”
Eliel looked away. His eyes found the door.
“I just don’t get how you still don’t see it,” Michael went on. “How much Castiel loves you. What he’s sacrificed—”
“Oh, great. Here we go. The sacred monologue about Pa’s holy sacrifices,” Eliel cut in, groaned, laced with teenage sarcasm.
Michael’s expression darkened.
“Of course we are,” he said, firm. “You need to hear it.”
“I know what Dean and Castiel went through,” Michael continued. “And you saying the world would be better if Cas wasn’t here? You better believe that sparked Dean’s rage.”
Eliel frowned.
Wait... what they’d been through?
The “unimportant stuffs” from before Eliel was born? was never brought up again in the bunker for as long as he could remember.
And Eliel? He made peace with not digging into it. He chose not to know.
Michael smirked, just a little. “You don’t know... do you?”
“Oh,” he said with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
“Well. Let’s fix that.”
He raised a finger and tapped it gently to Eliel’s forehead.
And with that, the boy dropped into unconsciousness.
Michael laid him gently down, adjusted the covers like a celestial babysitter...
And vanished.
———
Eliel woke up with a killer headache.
He groaned and rubbed at his temples, not immediately noticing how freakishly huge his hands felt. The pounding in his skull took up too much bandwidth.
He sat like that for a few minutes, massaging his head, trying to breathe through the ache. Then he noticed something else—his sheets. The texture was off. This wasn’t his bed. At least, not exactly.
He opened his eyes fully, blinking through the blur. He was in his room—but also... not? The walls were the same. The posters were gone. The air smelled different.
Lifting his head, Eliel blinked at his surroundings. It was his room… and it wasn’t. His room, which used to be Uncle Sam’s before he moved out to start his post-apocalyptic domestic bliss with Aunt Eileen, now looked… off.
The bookshelf had way more physical books than Eliel would ever bother with—he was a proud e-book hoarder. And the laptop on the desk? Straight-up ancient. Like, chunky dinosaur levels of outdated.
Okay. Something was definitely wrong.
So Eliel stood up, only to realize the ground was way further away than it should be.
“What… the actual fuck…?” he mumbled as he caught his reflection in the glass hanging by the door.
It wasn’t his face staring back. It was Sam freaking Winchester’s. The long hair. The ridiculous height. The entire lumberjack-journal-core vibe.
He was his uncle.
And this wasn’t a dream. That was his Uncle's face. That was his Uncle's body.
But how?
‘C’mon, use your brain, Eliel Winchester...’
‘Before this... I got into a fight with Dad and Pa... then...?’
‘UNCLE MIKE.’
“Son of a bitch,” Eliel swore under his breath.
“And he cut off my grace,” he muttered bitterly, realizing he couldn’t teleport or even feel his celestial threads. Rude.
He stood there a minute, trying to piece it together.
Until Dean’s shout echoed from the hallway like a warning bell.
“SAM! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”
Eliel sprinted out of the room—because right now, he was Sam Winchester.
He rushed into the kitchen to find Dean and Castiel at the sink. Castiel’s head was down under the faucet, Dean rubbing the back of his neck, clearly freaking out.
Dean looked up at him—at Sam—with a crease in his brow that could split mountains.
“What’s wrong with him?” Eliel asked—only to be cut off by Castiel gagging again, trying to throw up but coming up dry.
“He’s been like this since I woke up,” Dean said, helping Castiel rinse out his mouth and guide him to sit down.
“You okay, man? You’re freaking me out,” Dean said softly, rubbing small circles into Cas’s back.
Eliel stood there, watching the way Dean touched Cas with so much quiet care.
‘Okay. So… they’re definitely dating by now.’
“Where’s Jack?” Cas rasped, letting Dean guide him to sit down at the kitchen table. “He should be able to tell what’s wrong.”
Dean sat beside him, frowning. “You can’t feel it with your Angel mojo?”
Castiel shook his head slowly. “Something’s blocking my grace... I feel really weak—and nauseous.”
“Yeah? But yesterday you took down twelve demons solo!” Dean snapped, voice laced with frustrated disbelief.
Eliel furrowed his brow and quietly slipped into the chair across from Castiel. The angel—his Pa—looked pale. Unwell. And Eliel’s heart started to crumble with guilt.
‘Uncle Mike, end this. Please. I get it.’
No reply.
‘Alright. Let’s see what this birthday gift of yours really is…’
“Goddammit, Sam!” Dean suddenly barked, snapping Eliel out of his thoughts.
Castiel glanced at him—at Sam—with glassy eyes. The same look Eliel had seen just before storming off to his room. That look made him feel like actual trash.
“Why are you staring at Castiel like that?” Dean’s voice had that sharp tone again. The one he used only in rare, specific moments—like when Castiel talked about how much he admired Hannah. Or Balthazar.
Eliel sighed. “It’s nothing. Don’t get jealous. Jeez”
“Jealous?! I’m not—” Dean snapped, louder now.
“You guys need me?”
Jack’s voice slid in from behind Castiel, eyes locking instantly on Eliel—in Sam’s body.
“Something’s weird.” Jack said
“Yeah… My Grace’s being blocked by something, and I feel incredibly weak. Yesterday I was fine. My Grace was functioning perfectly,” Castiel explained, voice raw, eyes still glassy with tears.
“That’s not what I meant…” Jack was still staring at Eliel, brows pulled together.
Eliel raised a brow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
'Gotta act like Uncle Sam,' he reminded himself.
Jack shook his head, then focused back on Castiel. “Your Grace is blocked? And you’re not feeling well? That’s also weird.”
“Exactly. You should get that checked out,” Dean chimed in fast.
“I actually already did. I mean—I could tell the moment I got here,” Jack said, glancing between Cas and Dean.
“And... what exactly is messing with Cas?” Dean asked, squinting a little.
Jack looked a bit awkward glancing between them.
“Um… have you two… had marital relations?”
Eliel arched a brow. Oh.
“No!” Dean shouted in disbelief
“Yes.” this one is Cas
Dean and Cas answered at the same time. They locked eyes, then Cas broke the gaze and turned toward Jack.
Eliel blinked at Dean in confusion. In his timeline, Dad would’ve worn that fact like a damn badge of honor. So what changed here?
“Well, yeah… a few times—” Dean started.
Eliel cut in fast before Dean could traumatize the children.
“So… what’s up with the lovebirds? Why does this matter to Cas’ condition?” he interrupted, totally over this scene dragging on.
“Cas is growing a Nephilim... In him.”
The bunker’s kitchen went dead quiet.
No reaction from Dean. No reaction from Cas.
“Congrats…?” Jack offered, breaking the silence like a confused party guest.
'And it’s me. The nephilim is me!!!'
Eliel screamed internally from Sam’s body.
Dean laughed out loud, but no one has the same reaction as him
“how?? Cas. You—You can’t. You’re a dude." Dean asked, halfway to losing his mind.
“Jimmy is a man, Dean. I’m an angel. I don’t have those kinds of labels,” Cas answered quietly, sadness softening his voice, hand finds the coat’s hem, twisting it between his fingers.
Dean went silent again, his brain clearly short-circuiting.
Eliel squinted, confused.
'Wait... Dad doesn’t want me? Or something...?'
Okay, yeah. That was a little heartbreaking. But honestly? He got it. It was kinda terrifying.
“But... why? I hooked up with Anna too, right? And she didn’t… y’know—get angel pregnant!”
Jack smiled innocently. “Because you two are married? Well, angels can only produce offspring if their Grace bonds with another Grace—or a soul. You guys have been bonded for years. And you sealed the deal by, y’know… doing it.”
“Wait—you knew about this bond thing, Jack?!” Dean nearly shouted.
Jack nodded casually. “Uh, yeah? Angels and demons can see and sense those bonds, like, super clearly.”
Dean shook his head, totally in denial. Meanwhile, Castiel refused to meet his gaze.
“You let this happen, Cas? This weird-ass bond?!” Dean snapped.
'What the fuck???'
Eliel couldn’t believe what just came out of his dad’s mouth. Dean freaking Winchester, who in the future was the biggest simp husband ever, just said that?
Eliel felt his brain melt. This was too much lore dump in one day.
“You—you weren’t supposed to, man. You should’ve said no last night—goddammit!” Dean stood up, chair scraping back violently.
He ran his hands through his hair, turning to Castiel with eyes full of fire.
“You should’ve never kept this from me. Hell, you should’ve never let it happen. Why would you think I’d want this?”
“Dammit, Cas. What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Castiel stood still, voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Keep it to yourself. I don’t wanna hear a damn word from you. God—I need air.”
Dean stormed out, boots pounding down the hall.
Cas’ eyes filled with tears again, cheeks flushed. It would’ve been kinda cute—if his baby daddy hadn’t just emotionally slammed the door on him.
And then—Cas vanished.
“Cas!” Jack shouted, disappearing after him.
The bunker fell silent. Again.
“Oh my god… I’m an unwanted child…” Eliel muttered to himself.
———
Eliel was alone after that whole scene, and honestly? He had no idea what else to do—so he figured, might as well channel his inner Sam Winchester and crash in the library like a proper geek.
Even though his eyes were locked on a crumbling piece of parchment written in Latin, his mind was galaxies away.
With a long sigh, Eliel let his head fall onto the desk. “I should’ve said yes to learning how to control my powers... Sitting here useless like this is actually driving me insane.”
And the fact that his parents were fighting? Yeah. That stung. Bad.
And it was clearly because of him.
“Uncle Michael really went for the drama, huh?” Eliel thought bitterly. “Sending me to the past just to show me what Dad and Pa went through? Man picked the most traumatic flashback and hit play on the most emotional scene possible."
He sat up straighter, shaking the thought out of his head.
His watch read 8:30 AM. Still no sign of either Dean or Castiel returning to the bunker.
With a sigh, Eliel pulled out his phone. If anyone was gonna break the silence, it’d be Dad. Dean always talked to uncle Sam eventually—so he’d definitely talk to him now, right?
It took three tries before Dean finally picked up.
Silence filled the line the moment the call connected. The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful—it was loud.
“You okay, Dean? Where are you?” Eliel finally asked, trying to sound casual—but his voice cracked slightly.
Dean took a beat before responding. “A diner. Grabbing breakfast. You want me to pick something up, Sam?” His voice was low. Rough. Worn out.
It was the kind of deflection Eliel expected—but it still hit like a punch to the chest.
“No, I’m good. Already ate.” Eliel paused to swallow, throat dry with nerves. The image of Dean yelling earlier was still playing on loop in his head.
Now that he thought about it... That was only the second time he’d ever heard Dean really lose it.
The first time? Yesterday—when Eliel had argued with Castiel.
The second? This morning—when Dean found out Castiel was pregnant.
It scared him.
Because in Eliel’s future, Dean was the most chill, loving, dorky dad ever. Seeing him this furious... it was like watching a stranger wear his father’s skin.
“Sam? You still there?” Dean’s voice broke through again—raspier now, a little louder.
“Yeah... Just— I dunno. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” Eliel asked carefully.
There was another long pause.
Then a heavy exhale on the other end.
“I don’t know, man...” Dean finally muttered, voice distant. "I just—I woke up this morning thinkin’ the world was normal. Or... as normal as it gets for us. And now? Cas is pregnant. With my kid. And that… that ain’t normal."
"I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with that, huh? I’m a hunter. I kill monsters. I ruin everything I touch. Now there’s a whole-ass kid involved. And it’s mine. Mine and Cas’. I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t even—I didn’t even know we were… y’know… that." Dean paused for a moment
"I thought he… I thought I was the only one confused. And now there’s a kid. A whole life. And I already suck at family. I already screwed it up with Sam, with Dad, with Mom. How the hell am I supposed to be a dad to—Shit. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
Dean’s voice cracked so small. Like a stone trying to stay whole even as it crumbles.
Eliel stared down at the table, fingers tightening around his phone.
The man yelling earlier?
That wasn’t his dad.
But the voice on the other end of the line now—the one that would rather chew broken glass than admit he’s scared?
That was.
Dean always acted like the world would fall apart if he stopped holding it together.
Like it was his job to carry everyone else’s chaos… but never mention his own.
Eliel had seen him laugh, swear, throw a burger at the TV.
But this version of Dean?
Quiet. Shattered.
It hurt.
Eliel took a slow breath.
If this was even a fraction of what Dad had been carrying all these years… Then he deserved to know—he never failed.
There was a pause.
The gentle hum of the phone felt loud in Eliel’s ear.
And then, his voice—quieter. Steadier.
“You know… I’ve seen you angry. Stubborn as hell. Pushing people away ‘cause you thought it was the only way to protect them.” Eliel said softly, momentarily forgetting he was speaking from Uncle Sam’s body.
“But I’ve also seen you hold someone’s hand after a nightmare. Stay up till 4 AM just to make sure they eat. Teach how to load a gun… but also how to make pancakes.”
“You raised me, Dean. And… looking at how I turned out? You did great. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be there. And you always have been.”
Dean didn’t answer right away.
The silence settled back in—gentle now, not heavy.
“Thanks, Sammy.”
“Anytime, Dean.”
Eliel let out a small breath of relief.
“Well, go enjoy your weird magical baby break. Come back swinging, Jerk.”
Dean chuckled through the phone.
“Bitch.”
———
One blink.
That’s all it took.
Eliel closed his eyes for a blink—and the next second, he was already standing in the intertemporal plane.
And there was Michael.
Waiting.
Eliel looked around.
The sky around them was fractured like broken glass, and the sound of time itself echoed like a bell on the verge of shattering.
There was no wind.
But somehow, Michael’s robes still moved.
“Greetings, Nephew,” Michael said with a thin smile—clearly trying way too hard to keep his elegant archangel image intact despite the obvious urge to tease.
Eliel rolled his eyes.
“Well hello, dearest uncle. You look… obnoxiously pleased with yourself.”
The corner of Michael’s mouth twitched just slightly wider, amused.
Eliel looked down, touched his body—
The ground wasn’t too far.
His hands were his own again. His hair short.
He was back.
Back in his real body.
Eliel exhaled with dramatic relief.
“I was terrified of the idea i'd have to use the bathroom while stuck in Uncle Sam’s body.”
Michael actually laughed.
Deep, smooth, and ancient—like if a billionaire’s laugh had been blessed by centuries. It echoed with wisdom and ridiculousness all at once.
Then he stopped, like he had to remember to breathe, and turned his eyes back on Eliel.
“What you said to Dean… you feel like you meant that, didn’t you?”
Eliel froze.
Then nodded once.
Michael’s voice dropped, serious now, still celestial, but heavy.
“Then maybe now… it’s time you saw what Castiel’s silence really cost him.”
He raised his hand—two fingers poised.
Eliel’s eyes widened.
“Uncle Mike, wait! At least don’t seal my Grace—”
But Michael didn’t wait.
He snapped his fingers.
And Eliel vanished again.
———
The wind rolled in like God Himself exhaling. From the cracks between dimensions, Eliel stepped—no, was drawn—into a space not his own. His body felt weightless, like mist stripped of shape.
“What… is this?” he whispered, but there was no echo, no resonance. Even his voice sounded strange.
Eliel’s eyes darted around. An old church. Cracked stone walls eaten by time. Half-break stained glass windows. A shell of a sanctuary consumed by nature. The air stood still. Unlit candles remained untouched. The altar’s wood was rotted—like a hymn too worn to repeat.
And in the front pew sat Castiel, his gaze fixed on the altar, far from where Eliel stood. His mind seemed lost, lips moving softly—praying Apologizing? To someone who would never hear—but now, they did.
Behind him, Jack’s feet lay on the pew, like a guardian whispering, "I’m here, call me if you need me."
Eliel stepped forward, nearing Castiel. Jack, sensing something, jolted upright. A crease formed on Jack’s brow, but Eliel’s focus stayed on Cas, now just a few feet away.
“I was created to obey, then I learned to choose. And I chose him. Again and again. But now… he looks at me like I’m a stranger. And I wonder if that’s all I’ll ever be.”
Castiel’s quiet, broken voice froze Jack mid-breath—and halted Eliel’s steps.
Cas hugged himself, whispering to his own chest, “I’m sorry. I thought… maybe we could be wanted. Maybe we’d belong.”
Eliel’s jaw dropped; his heart slammed inside his chest. Breathing became impossible.
He tried to speak…
“Pa… hey. I’m here. I… I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. It was just…”
Cas remained silent. Eliel shuffled forward, kneeling. He attempted to touch Cas’s knee—his hand passed right through, like light through glass.
His throat tightened. Tears filled his eyes. He felt that primal fear, the fear that he couldn’t even apologize to his father.
Jack cleared his throat. Cas turned.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked gently.
Castiel shook his head weakly, then looked downward.
“Does Dean really hate me?” Cas finally whispered, his voice cracking.
Eliel shook his head, tears falling hard. “Pa… Dad doesn’t hate you! Pa, I’m sorry! Papa! PLEASE, PLEASE LISTEN—I AM SO SORRY, I AM!” His voice strangled off as he cried into the pew, his form blending with the wood.
Cas stared at a shattered window as morning light, like unwanted memories, filtered in. In a voice nearly strangled by grief, he spoke—not to Eliel, but to every soul he’d ever tried to protect.
“I know I’m not what they wanted…”
He gently caressed his belly—his last tether to the world.
“Dean wanted a weapon. Heaven wanted a tool. The world… just wanted me silent.” His breath trembled. Each word stole a slice of his soul.
“Cas…” Jack rose beside him, offering quiet comfort
Eliel’s mind burned with jealousy as he witnessed his father’s comfort in another’s arms.
Eliel’s chest tightened.
He had to say something.
That’s when Cas’ voice, low and wounded, broke through, “I once believed that if I loved hard enough, if I was loyal enough… then they’d love me too. But love isn’t currency in this world, is it?”
His voice slipped, fragile.
“Dean never said it, but I could see it—the way he looked at me changed. After this child… after I—” Cas faltered.
“All I ever wanted… was one person who’d say, ‘I’m glad you exist.’” He gripped his robe as if it were his only anchor.
Castiel fell silent again.
“Maybe... maybe God was right. I shouldn’t have fallen in love with humanity. I shouldn’t have hoped.”
Jack’s gaze stayed on Cas, filled with lifelong compassion. Cas looked nowhere—just down, one hand on his heart, the other on his belly.
And Eliel—he stood a few paces behind. His limbs trembled. Breaths came in short gasps. His chest felt imprisoned. His eyes burned. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
“I… I can’t… I can’t hear this anymore,” he whispered, moving backward. His hand raised, lowered, then raised again, torn—rage, heartbreak, desperation.
“I was pissed yesterday! I… I didn’t mean any of it! I just…”
He clawed at his hair, shaking. “Papa… why won’t you hear me?!”
Cas stayed silent. Jack didn’t move.
Eliel looked out through the broken window, searching for anything—Michael, God, even Dean.
“Are you all SILENT now?! You can shift time, you can fly souls, but none of you can tell him to hear me?!”
Then, something snapped inside him.
BRRRRKK!!
He snatched a stone from the altar’s edge and hurled it with all his might at the church wall. The stone passed right through and landed without a sound. No echo. None.
Eliel froze.
“NO!”
He collapsed to the stone floor, knees hitting unforgiving cold. Fists clenched. Head bowed. He pressed his hands to the ground, like a child begging for a hug from a ghost.
“But I just… I just want you to know I’m grateful you’re here… and I’m grateful you’re my father… and I’m… I’m proud. I’m proud I was born from you, Papa… I—”
Sobs wracked his body. He fell silent, breathless.
Jack watched Cas sighed with a heavy acceptance—something familiar, but lost, hung in the air.
Nothing else was said.
Nothing else was heard.
———
And then, in the very next second, Eliel was back—inside Uncle Sam’s body. He realized it when he caught a glimpse of the familiar plaid flannel shirt he was wearing.
His head throbbed, eyes swollen and heavy with leftover emotion from the last scene. He was back in the bunker, slumped on the long couch, still winded, still carrying the weight of what he’d just witnessed.
“Sam… can I hug you?”
The raspy voice beside him startled him.
He turned—there was Pa. Castiel. His expression soft, peaceful. Just seeing him calmed Eliel’s storming heart. Castiel’s belly was round now, the curve of late pregnancy making everything he did seem slower, more deliberate. He must be feeling… a lot.
But then Castiel hesitated, stepping back slightly, his face conflicted. “Sorry, I just—I don’t know. I’m sorry for asking out of nowhere—”
Eliel hugged him.
No hesitation. No words. Just arms and gravity and heartache.
“Sam… are you okay?” Castiel asked gently, tightening the embrace as his hand rubbed soothing circles along Eliel’s back—well, Sam’s back.
Eliel shook his head, unable to form words. That last vision had wrung him dry.
“Mmm,” the angel hummed, a sound full of quiet warmth and celestial calm. “The baby feels… safe. After hugging you. It’s peaceful.”
Eliel’s arms tightened around him again, a tear slipping from his eye.
No one said anything more.
And that was enough.
———
Eliel wasn’t done holding onto Castiel’s warmth. Not even close. They hadn’t even pulled apart from their hug when Michael whisked him away—again.
His head was still bowed against his Pa’s shoulder when the world changed.
The gentle rhythm of Castiel’s breathing vanished—ripped away by raw, agonizing screams. The lighting in the bunker flared, sharp and artificial.
And just like that, Sam’s body—Eliel’s borrowed shell—was standing stiff in the corner of a different room.
Castiel lay on a makeshift medical bed in the bunker, his face twisted in pain. His skin glistened with sweat, breath jagged and shallow. Every contraction rocked his swollen belly, his whole body trembling with each wave.
Dean was right beside him, eyes wild, voice cracking.
“You’re doing great, Cas. You’re okay. You’re doing great, okay?!”
But Dean didn’t look okay. Not even a little.
Aunt Eileen and gramma Kate knelt at the end of the bed, gloves on, hands moving with trained urgency but their faces were tense. The baby was coming too fast. Too early.
Cas screamed again, breath ripping in half.
His body arched, stiff with strain.
And then—
“I SEE THE HEAD!” Kate shouted, her voice sharp.
Eileen gently swept damp strands of hair from Castiel’s face.
Dean tightened his grip on Castiel’s hand, his eyes burning red. “Come on, babe, you’re almost there. Come on, Cas, you got this—”
'That’s... me?'
Eliel thought. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
'That little head... that slick skin... I look so—fragile.'
The baby slipped free, too quickly. Kate caught him in her arms. And then—
Silence.
No cry.
No movement.
'No—no—why am I quiet?'
'Why aren’t I—why aren’t I crying?'
'That’s me! PLEASE, JUST CRY! DO SOMETHING!'
Kate pressed the baby to her chest, holding his cool little body against her. She patted his back, quick and rhythmic.
“Come on, baby, come on,” she whispered, barely breathing. “Don’t do this—don’t do this to us.”
Castiel froze.
His eyes went hollow. He was shaking. Mouth open—no sound.
Dean stumbled back a step.
His whole world was collapsing behind his eyes.
“SAM!! SAM, DO SOMETHING! CALL MICHAEL! OR JACK! CALL ANYONE!”
“FUCK!” The scream rattled the room, all fury and fear
But the baby still didn’t cry.
Eliel tried to move Sam’s massive frame.
It barely shifted. His mind spun. His heart cracked.
'Am I... dead?'
'Did I... fail?'
Cas was sobbing, shoulders shaking. “Dean...”
And Dean was there, holding him, whispering useless comfort. Trying to anchor a broken man to a sinking floor.
Eliel’s blurred vision fell on Kate—Kate, his honorary step-grandma, his warm hug and second slice of cake.
She still held him—the baby version of him—and kept trying. Desperate. Gentle.
Eliel’s chest caved inward, too tight to breathe.
He knew this wasn’t real. He knew this was a vision Michael crafted.
A divine punishment.
He was alive now—wasn’t he?
But seeing this? Living this?
It was too much. Too much.
'Uncle Mike, please... please, I can’t take this. I can’t.'
'Please... take me back to them. To a place where I can speak as myself. Not as a guest in uncle Sam’s skin. Not as a ghost in the corner. Just me. Eliel. The son of Castiel. And Dean.'
The words choked on tears, a prayer that felt like it could break the sky.
'Please... let me hold him. Let me be held. Please. Please. Please. Please.'
Kate turned, still cradling the baby close. Her steps were slow, reverent, as she approached Castiel.
“Give me my son, Kate,” Cas whispered. His voice was frayed. Barely there.
And then—
A flash of light.
Wings, thunderous and holy.
Michael appeared in the doorway, radiating power and calm.
His eyes met Eliel’s.
And he smiled.
The world shifted once more.
———
Eliel woke up gasping for air.
One breath. Two. Three.
Each inhale felt like swallowing glass.
His eyes fluttered open
The light was blinding. Not the bunker. Not the delivery room. His bed. His room.
Cold sweat clung to the back of his neck, tracing down his spine. His fingers clenched the sheets, trembling like leaves in a storm.
A whisper cracked out of him, barely formed, “I’m... alive?”
Then louder, bitter, breathless, “Yeah. Of course I’m alive. Damn it.”
Slow. Rough. But real.
He was back. In his timeline. In his own body. His own lungs. His own voice.
And then, tears.
They spilled down his cheeks without warning. No sobs, no noise. Just a flood breaking loose from a dam that had been holding too long.
“You’re crying on your birthday?” The voice came from the chair at his desk.
Eliel turned his head, eyes still stinging—Of course. Uncle Michael.
“Good morning, Eliel. Happy birthday,” Michael said smoothly, adjusting his seat like he owned the place. “Ready to celebrate your special day? Adam bought you a gift worth more than most human currencies, which surprised me, since he’s not exactly the type—”
“That was a terrible job, Uncle,” Eliel cut him off, still shaking, still wiping at his face. “I could barely breathe.”
Michael looked pleased. “I have little tolerance for insolent teens,” he said simply.
“Oh my god, that was the worst dream of my entire life,” Eliel groaned, scrubbing his face with both hands like he could erase the memory.
“It wasn’t just a dream, El,” Michael said, his voice calm—almost too calm.
“You just witnessed a piece of the past. With My permission.”
Eliel blinked.
“So... that fight really happened?” he muttered.
“And I... I was supposed to die? And you saved me?”
He finally met his uncle’s eyes—sharp, bright, and unreasonably symmetrical.
Eliel was almost certain Michael stole that vessel from a model. Or at least from someone with "future runway star turned priest" energy.
Michael shook his head.
“Nope-y nope. That was all Castiel.”
Eliel raised a brow, confused.
“You didn’t cry,” Michael continued, “not until Castiel held you. And remember—he was fallen back then. Powerless. Just a being with too much humanity. Too much love. And somehow... that was enough. His love for you, Eliel, it’s infinite. And it saved you. After that day, I started respecting him." Michael paused
Then he shrugged, "and... Maybe because I’d just begun understanding what love really meant—thanks to Adam.”
Eliel felt like his soul had been slapped with holy water.
Michael leaned back slightly, voice sharpening.
“So when you screamed at him yesterday—told him life would be better without him—I got pissed. Because you don’t get to say that, kid. Not when the reason you're breathing on this day, 17 years later, is because he wrapped his broken wings around you... and gave you life.”
Silence.
Eliel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even look up.
He realized it, right then he’d been cruel. A brat. A damn ungrateful kid.
He made Castiel cry.
His beloved Pa.
His chest felt tight with guilt. Shame clinging to his bones like second skin. Officially seventeen, and already certified as “Worst Son Ever.”
“I just wanna hug Pa,” he muttered, voice cracking as he stood up.
“No party. I don’t care. I just... I need him.”
He walked past Michael, heading to the door behind him.
“Hey,” Michael called behind him, “Knock first before you go in. They just had a night that was—”
SLAM.
Eliel slammed the door so hard it echoed down the hall. Michael chuckled, clearly too satisfied for someone who just emotionally dismantled a teenager.
———
Eliel’s steps were heavy.
The cold bunker floor echoed beneath his bare feet. The light spilling from the kitchen said morning had been here for a while. But he only just started to feel alive.
His fist was clenched loosely in front of his parents’s bedroom door.
He knocked.
Once.
Twice.
The door creaked open to reveal Dean—rumpled shirt half-on, sleep still clinging to his scruffy jaw.
“El? It’s five in the morning.” Dean raised a brow.
“I want Pa.” Eliel’s voice was flat, eyes locked on the floor, a little embarrassed after the way Castiel had looked at him last night.
“Oh? After everything that went down and now it’s just ‘I want Pa’?” Dean’s sarcasm was hoarse, morning-rough and raw.
Eliel exhaled, tired already. “Dad, can we not do this now? I just want Papa. Please.”
That tone.
Frustration wrapped in a whisper.
Dean paused, then sighed deeply.
“Let him put on something decent first. He’s… sore. Sick. Whatever fits.” Dean glanced at his son, then slipped back inside, closing the door.
Not long after, Castiel’s warm voice drifted through.
“come in, El.”
Eliel stepped inside.
Castiel was sitting on the bed, adjusting his shirt. The faint sound of running water from the bathroom hinted Dean was still in there.
Eliel climbed onto the bed.
No hesitation.
He leaned in and wrapped his arms around his Pa, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
No “good morning.”
No “I’m awake.”
No “I’m sorry.”
But every word was in that hug.
Castiel went still for a moment… then pulled him closer. Strong. Warm. Like time had stopped just for them.
He pressed a kiss to Eliel’s cheek. A little scratchy from stubble, but none of it mattered now.
“What’s wrong, El?” he asked softly.
“I’m sorry, Pa.” Eliel’s voice cracked, his tears returning, uninvited.
“Hey, what’s going on with my son who just turned seventeen today, hmm?” Castiel rubbed his back soothingly.
Eliel sobbed for a second before trying to calm down. “Uncle Michael is evil,” he sniffed.
“I had this dream—or no, he took me. Threw me into Uncle Sam’s body. Made me watch... everything. The day you found out you were pregnant. You at the old church after that, and then the day I was born.” He said it in pieces, voice low and torn.
Castiel froze.
“And I... I didn’t cry when I was born. Everyone panicked. I was just... silent. But then you—you held me, and suddenly i was alive.”
Eliel let out a weak, breathy laugh.
“And yesterday I said the world would be better without you.”
“and I know you didn't mean it” Castiel said gently.
Eliel shook his head. “But I said it. That makes me awful.”
Castiel only held him tighter.
“If you’re awful, then I’ll just have to love you louder. Until there’s no room left for you to hate yourself.”
Silence fell again.
Just their breath. Just the embrace.
Then Castiel pulled back a little to look at his son.
“I’m sorry you had to see all that.”
He brushed Eliel’s bangs from his face.
Eliel scrunched his nose. “Pa, stop apologizing. You should’ve smacked me, honestly.”
Castiel laughed softly.
“Hard to do, even for a former angel, when the nephilim in question is extraordinary.”
They shared a look.
Just the two of them. Soul-deep.
“Happy birthday, Eliel.”
Eliel nodded.
“Thanks for making me exist, Pa.”
They stayed like that, quiet, hugging under the early light.
No cake. No candles.
Just love.
And that was enough.
Dean stepped out of the bathroom and caught sight of his son and husband cuddled up in bed.
He rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Eliel stole our morning, babe. We didn’t even finish. I wasn’t done.”
Dean plopped down on the other side of Eliel, squishing him between them.
Castiel chuckled.
“You’re so dramatic. We didn’t even sleep last night.”
“Ew,” Eliel muttered. “Aren’t you guys too old for that?”
Dean barked out a laugh. “Don’t act like you know anything, you little gremlin.”
He stretched out and pulled both of them close, one arm around each, squeezing tight.
“Dad! I can’t breathe!”
Dean just smiled, leaned over to kiss his husband, then dropped a kiss onto the top of his son’s head.
The three of them stayed there, wrapped up in each other, sunk into the kind of warmth you don’t get from blankets.
Please stay like this. Please let this stay, Dean prayed silently.
Castiel didn’t hear prayers anymore. He gave that up seventeen years ago, the day Eliel was born.
But Eliel, the boy who’d ignored Heaven’s whispers for years—he finally heard one.
And in the quiet of his soul, he answered
“I will, Dad. I’ll protect all of it.”