Work Text:
Castiel watches his son drag a chair across the room. He nudges Dean, who chuckles at the sight of tiny little Jack trying to move a chair taller than him. Neither man can hide his astonishment when the kid succeeds. Jack positions the chair a few feet away from the back of the couch before running back into the kitchen for another.
“Now what are you doing?” Castiel picks up Jack
“Making a fort” Jack giggles as he tries to squirm out of his dad’s arms.
“Oh, a fort?” Cas tightens his grip “Let’s let Dean carry the chairs, alright? You’ll scuff the floors”
Dean sighs and picks up the chair. He carries it into the living room and places it next to the first one.
“Ok now what?” Dean asks. Castiel sets Jack down. He takes a blanket off the couch and spreads it over the top of the chairs before connecting it to the back of the couch. He tucks the end under the cushions.
“Where did you learn this?” Castiel examines the start of Jack’s fort. He was surprisingly smart with it, the blanket wouldn’t come down on him without a little force.
“Uncle Adam taught me” Jack starts taking pillows off the couch and chairs “He made these when he was my age”
Dean sighs. Of course Adam had blanket forts. Adam had everything. Castiel rests a hand on Dean’s arm. Their eyes meet, neither man has to say a word to know what the other is thinking. They’d both do anything to give their son the childhood they didn’t get, even if Jack’s childhood is a redo. Dean grabs another throw blanket and spreads it on the floor of Jack’s fort. Castiel kneels on the ground. A little angel mojo and it’s much softer than a hardwood floor with a blanket on it. Jack orders his dads around like a two-man workforce. Dean chuckles. The sight of the little boy bossing with such an authoritative voice must be adorable.
Jack curls up in his fort next to Castiel. He reads aloud from one of his storybooks. Cas pretends not to notice when his son stumbles over his words. Dean takes a picture and sets it as his homescreen. He scoots closer, against Castiel’s chest.
“He’s getting better at reading” the angel mutters
“Our boy” Dean mutters back.