The story starts when it was hot and summer and I had it all, I had him right there where I wanted him…

Well, it was summer when our story begins. And it wasn't really a 'he' rather; it was a 'she'. Getting back on track here… It was hot, and it was summer… June of 1994 to be exact.

Castiel felt honored that Michael had approached him and asked that he, Castiel, a lowly Seraph, watch over the Michael Sword for the length of a human afternoon. After the botched job on his last task from Michael, Castiel was shocked and pleased Michael still trusted him.

Castiel was omnipresence in the dingy motel room just off of I-75 in Lima, Ohio. John Winchester sat at the spindly, generic motel desk poring over an odd assortment of news paper articles and obituaries trying to find the pattern in the senseless killing of fifteen construction workers over the past two weeks. Each worker was from the same union, but was working on different projects across the city at the time of death. Sam Winchester, younger brother to Michael's chosen vessel, was hard at work on his math homework.

Dean Winchester, Michael's vessel and the Righteous Man, was out in the parking lot of the cheap motel tinkering with the engine of the family's black 1967 Chevy Impala. At 16 Dean's future was murky, even to the Prophets the Archangels watched over. Dean would be distracted from the engine of the Impala once every twenty minutes or so when some of the kids from the other end of the motel would start screaming at each other.

Castiel's attention was quickly drawn away from the little Winchester family, not by the screaming children from room 4D, but by the slamming of a car door and a woman swearing, using words that made Castiel blush, and the small child in her arms to cry.


"Hey, kid." Dean ignored the woman's voice, figuring she was snapping at the damn kids three doors down. He tuned her out and kept working replacing the spark plugs in the engine.

"KID!" she said in more demanding tone for the fifth time and Dean finally looked up from the engine of the Impala, just barely avoiding the hood with his head. Dad had asked him to check the oil and spark plugs while he and Sammy did research for the new hunt. Dean didn't mind, it saved him from spending hours reading miniscule print in foreign languages, sometimes dead foreign languages.

"What?" Dean snapped, then regretted it when the little girl in the lady's, well she was female, but lady barely covered it, arms twisted and looked like she wanted to cry. Her mother's hair was dyed horribly to some sort of platinum white-blond, her makeup was overdone and unattractive, and her clothes were two sizes too small. Her shoes where neon green heels that looked like they belonged in an 80's music video. Everything about her screamed hooker. Well, except for the baby on her hip.

"John Winchester. Where is he?" the woman snapped impatiently as the little girl squirmed in her arms to be put down.

"I don't know who you're talking about, lady," Dean said effortlessly, letting the lie slide from his tongue as he closed the hood to the Impala's engine.

"That's the bastard's car," the woman said using her free hand to point at the Impala. "Where is he? And don't lie to me, kid. I got an appointment at three in Chattanooga."

"Isn't that in Tennessee?" Dean asked. It was one in the afternoon already.

"Cute, kid, but I'm talking about the one in Ohio. Now, where is he?" she asked as the girl began to whine and squirm.

"Angie want down!" the little girl said loudly as she spotted the kids that had been bothering Dean all afternoon down the sidewalk quietly playing hopscotch.

"Quiet," her mother hissed and pinched the little girl's arm, causing Angie, to break out into tears as John opened the door to the motel room.

"Dean, what's going on out here?"

"YOU!" the nameless woman hissed, turning on her hideous looking neon colored heal and marched over to John. "Ruined. My. Life." With the iteration of each word, she jabbed the acrylic nail adorning her index finger into John's chest.

"What?" John asked as he batted her hand away. "Look, lady, I don't know who you are, but you're crazy."

"You were here two years ago, almost three," the woman hissed out. "You picked me up for a night of fun; the condom obviously broke, and left me high and dry with a kid. She's yours, I'm done. Goodbye."

The next thing John knew, he had an armful of a crying two year old, a bag stuffed full of clothes and paperwork for the little girl, and the mother was marching back to her waiting taxi cab.

"What just happened?" Dean asked his father as they watched the taxi drive away.

"I have no idea," John said, looking down at the little girl.

Angela looked at her father and blinked. She had stopped crying when her mother had flounced away and was studying John's face. "Mommy go bye-bye," she said sadly.

John set the toddler on the bed next to Sammy, and riffled through the bag the nameless mother had left at his feet for information on the baby.

"Her name's Angie or something like that," Dean said, closing the door of the motel room.

"What?" John asked him, caught off guard. Having a baby dumped on him out of the blue had thrown him off-kilter.

"When her mom was grilling me about where you were, she said she wanted down," Dean replied. "She went 'Angie want down'. The mom didn't put her down, though, pinched her arm and then you came out."

Sam stared at the girl, and Angie stared at Sam. She stuck her pudgy fingers in her mouth, cocked her head to the side, and decided Sam was an alright person, because she crawled across the mattress, onto Sam's lap and gave him a slobbery kiss on the cheek with a giggle. "Angie wike you."

"I'm Sam," Sam said with a smile and hugged the little girl.

"An-ga-wa Faif Winchusta," Angie said pointing to herself. She beamed; proud she was able to say her full name.

"Hear that, Dad?" Dean asked his father with a mischievous smirk. "The munchkin's name is Angawa Faif Winchusta."

"Cute, Dean," John said with a sigh as he stared at the birth certificate in his hand. The dates fit. Angela Faith Winchester was born on May 4th, 1992, in Lima, Ohio.

Nine months to the day he had stopped and "let loose" as Caleb called it, here in Lima. John smiled as he watched his three children interact on the boys' bed. It slightly un-nerved him that his youngest children's birthdays where within two days of each other.

"Angela Faith sounds weird," Sam said as he made a face at his drool coated tee shirt. "Kinda choppy, like her mom didn't care if her name went."

"You are such a girl," Dean said with a groan and playfully punched Sam's arm.

"Dean, stop it!" Sam whined while John thought his earlier comment over.

"Sam's right, it doesn't go at all," John said, standing up and dropping the papers on top of his research material. "Angela Marie Winchester, on the other hand fits perfectly."

Angela, oblivious to her new name, had set her sights on Dean's amulet and was in the process of turning it into her favorite chew toy.

"Angie! No!" Dean protested when he realized what the baby was doing. "That's not something you can eat."

Angie's hazel eyes welled up and she looked like she was about to burst into tears again. Dean, despite having practically raised Sam and his Puppy Eyes of Doom, was unable to deny the little girl the little amulet.

"Fine, I guess you can chew on it today. But today only," Dean said as his newest sibling crawled from Sammy's lap to his.

"What are we gonna do with her, Dad?" Sam asked curiously. "Is she gonna stay with us?"

Dean looked at his father expectantly and hugged the little pudgy person on his lap. Angela had been in their family for less than fifteen minutes and Dean had no intentions of letting her go without a fight.

"Well, her grandparents' address is in this mess of paperwork, so I figure I'll give them a call," John said slowly, gauging the looks on the boys faces. Sam's face fell, as if John had already decided that Angela wasn't staying, and Dean looked pissed. "After we finish this hunt," he added with a smirk of his own as his boys broke into happy cheers.

"Sammy an' Dee happy?" Angela asked, curiously.

"You betcha, kiddo," Dean replied with a laugh. "You're staying with us!"

"Why stay?" Angela asked. She still didn't know that Sam and Dean were her brothers, or that John was her father. "No go with Mommy?"

John realized he had to tell Angela her mother didn't want her. It struck him hard that somebody didn't want this amazing little girl in their life. Sure he had only known Angela for about ten minutes, but that ten minutes was enough to become fiercely protective of his little girl.

"Did your mommy tell you who I am?" John asked his daughter, crouching down in front of Dean.

"You Daddy," Angela said happily. "Mommy say Angie wive wif Daddy."

"Exactly, Princess," John said, scooping up the little girl. "You're gonna live with me and your brothers from now on. What do you think about that?"

"Otay!" Angela said with a giggle and gave John a big slobbery kiss on the cheek.

"Princess?" Dean mouthed to Sam in confusion.

Sam just shrugged, equally weirded out. "Don't look at me," he said. "I'm not the one that brought the baby in."

At four o'clock, John drove off in the Impala, giving the boys strict orders not to let Angela out of their sights at all, or to let her leave the room. Before leaving, John had taken every sharp, pointy, rusty, dull, shiny, broken, or usable weapon out of the hotel room and placed them in the false bottom of the Impala's trunk. The rest of the baby-proofing job was up to Sam and Dean.

"Where Daddy go?" Angela asked from her pillow prison on John's bed. Since they were lacking a playpen, Dean had constructed a make shift pillow playpen with every pillow or couch cushion in the room to keep Angela safe and out of the way while he and Sam finished Operation Make The Motel Room Angela-Friendly.

"He went to get dinner, Squirt," Dean said as he finished taping over the unused electrical sockets. "He'll be back in a little bit, I promise."

Angela fell silent and began to amuse herself with the blanket in her little fort.

Sam finished his third sweep of the room for any weapons John could have missed and sat down to work on his homework again. "Dean, do we have a calculator in here somewhere? I think I left mine in the car."

"Hold on," Dean said and rummaged around his own barely used school bag before tossing a calculator to Sam. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Sam said and got back to work.

Satisfied the room was now 'Angela Friendly', Dean broke down one of the walls in the little fort and turned on the TV to watch mind-numbing cartoons. He found Rugrats on one channel and settled in to watch it.

Angela, wasting no time in her new found freedom, scrambled straight into her brother's lap and watched the TV with rapt fascination, like she'd never been allowed to watch before.

"Dean," Angela said suddenly as Tommy Pickles sprung his equally diaper clad, bald companions from the playpen. "Where Pooh?"

"Where's who?" Dean asked, looking down at his sister in confusion.

"Pooh," Angela said again, her eyes growing in size as they started to fill with tears.

"Your Pooh Bear?" Dean asked quickly, trying to beat the oncoming crying fit.

"POOH!" Angela yelled suddenly as the tears burst out. "Want Pooh!"

"Sam! Help me out here!" Dean cried as he tore through the pillow fort looking for the yellow bear.

Sam abandoned his homework again, and tore through the diaper bag, finding diapers, socks, baby powder, sippy cups, teething rings, a takeout menu, some clothes, but no Pooh Bear.

"It's not in the bag!" Sam said in a panic looking up at Dean. He had no experience with babies and didn't know what to do as Angela's cries became louder. "Did she have it when she got here?"

"I don't know!" Dean said once the pillows had been moved and there was no sign of the bear.

"WANT POOH!" Angela wailed unhappily, beginning to hiccup.

"What do we do?" Sam moaned, resisting the urge to cover his ears.

Just as Dean opened his mouth to reply, John walked into the motel room balancing a child's suitcase, the missing toy in question, and bags of food from McDonalds.

"I think somebody forgot their bear outside," John said, handing Pooh to a sobbing Angela.

Angela grabbed the bear and hugged him tight, her loud sobs and hiccups quieting as she was transferred from Dean's arms to John's. She clung to her father and the bear and mumbled "No go way, Daddy. No go," over and over as John rubbed his hand in circles on her back to calm down the upset two year old.

Finally, after five minutes of sobbing and mumbling, the little girl was worn out to the point of exhaustion, and fell asleep while eating her chicken nuggets.

John put her to bed and returned to the table to discuss the hunt they had been working on.

"What did you find about the thing behind all these murders, Dad?" Dean asked in a low voice, the last thing any of them wanted was to wake up Angela.

"Angry spirit is my guess," John said dismissively. "I called Caleb while I was out getting supplies and dinner. He's going to finish up here. Angela's custody arrangement is a little more important at the moment.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look but stayed silent on the subject. If John wanted to hand off a hunt he'd barely started, that was fine with them. It meant some down time and it also meant that Angela was here to stay.


The next morning, John had all three of his children up and ready to go by 7:30. Dean grumbled about being up so early, but other than his initial complaint, the boy fell silent and kept the baby occupied.

"Where are we going, Dad?" Sam asked curiously from the backseat of the Impala. Angela was next to him in the brand new car seat, happily munching away on Pooh's ears.

"To see Gertrude Dawson," John replied as he eased the Impala onto the road and into the flow of traffic. "She's Angela's g-r-a-n-d-m-o-t-h-e-r," he spelled out to the boys.

"So you're gonna talk to her about keeping Angela?" Dean asked, looking over his shoulder to make faces at the toddler.

Angela squealed in delight and clapped her hands shouting "GAIN DEAN! AGAIN!"

"Sure as hell I am," John said happily. "You boys are here to show her I'm not some lay-about drunk that'll abandon the kid."

"Do you know anything about this Gertrude chick?" Dean asked his father. "I mean, for all we know, she's just as bad as the mom and wants nothing to do with Angie."

"Then her loss is our gain," John said with a shrug. He was personally hoping he wouldn't have to fight for Angela's custody and that the grandmother would sign it over with no fights.

It took the little Winchester family almost a half hour to cross town to get to Gertrude Dawson's apartment in Lima Heights. On the way across town, to Dean and John's delight, Angela loved AC/DC and Kansas. The second they changed the radio station to something other than classic rock, she had a mini temper tantrum in her car seat. Sam had been clocked with Pooh's head, and the little plastic eyes had actually hurt when they made contact with his skull. Sam was not amused and begged them to change the station back for the safety of his own skull.

Pulling into the first available parking spot he could find in the Lima Heights development, John killed the radio and engine and turned to his sons. "I don't care what goes on while we're in this apartment, I want the two of you on your best behavior. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Sam and Dean answered in unison as Sam began to unbuckle his sister.

"Good, let's get this over with," John said, getting out of the car and straightening his jacket. He was thinking it might have been a better idea to wear his 'FBI' suit and have the boys wear their nicest clothes… but it was too late now to regret not making that decision. Their worn blue jeans, tee shirts, flannel over shirts, and work boots should be enough. They were clean and well fed. He couldn't think of a good reason that Ms. Dawson wouldn't trust them.

Dean and Sam fell in step behind their father, Angela clinging to one hand from each of her brothers as she stubbornly walked on her own, recognizing the buildings around her. "NANA!" she squealed happily. "Nana live here!"

"She does, does she?" Dean asked with a chuckle.

"Ahuh," Angela said, nodding excitingly. "Me and Mommy live wif Nana!"

John's step faltered. He hadn't been expecting that Angela and her mother lived with her grandmother, but then again he should have. What self-respecting hooker raises a kid on her own? None. They get help from their family. Or their pimp.

John ignored the growing fear of not getting to keep Angela and knocked on the door to unit 47A, Gertrude Dawson's home, and waited for the door to open.


Castiel was already waiting in the sitting area in the home of Gertrude Beatrice Katherine Dawson, an 83 year old God-fearing woman who insisted on helping those less fortunate than her. Mrs. Dawson has almost nothing of her own, but she insisted on giving to those who had even less. That was how Sheryl Antonia Gabriella Lorenzo Parker, or Candy as she was known to the Lima Police Department and her clientele, and Angela had ended up living with Mrs. Dawson.

The old woman had taken pity on the streetwalker and invited the young woman to stay with her while she was pregnant and after the birth of Angela. Gertrude was more of a mother to the child than Sheryl could ever or would ever be.

Mrs. Dawson had just sat down in her Spartan living room with a fresh mug of tea and her knitting when John knocked on her front door.

Castiel watched, silently and unseen, as the older woman gingerly rose from her rocking chair and shuffled to the door to greet her visitors.


If anything, John had been expecting a woman in her mid 60's to answer the door and demand to know what he and his boys wanted and why his gangly twelve year old was holding her precious grandbaby. He had not been expecting the frail 80-something year old woman in a pink house coat with tufts of wispy white hair to answer the door.

"May I help you dears with something?" she asked calmly, like she was used to opening her door to see strangers in need.

Judging by the size of the cross on her rosary dangling from her neck, John would recon that happened a lot in this neighborhood. "Are you Mrs. Dawson? Mrs. Gertrude Dawson?" John asked nervously.

"Yes, I am she," Mrs. Dawson said, seemingly relaxing even more upon spotting Angela in Sam's arms. "Please, come in and sit down."

"Thank you, ma'am," John said and politely waited for Mrs. Dawson to open the door all of the way before entering her home.

"Nana!" Angela squealed happily and squirmed until Sam set her down on her feet. Once she was on the ground, Angela scampered over to Gertrude and hugged her legs. "I wuv you!"

"I love you too, Little Angel," Mrs. Dawson said with a smile and smoothed Angela's messy curls.

"I come home now?" Angela looked up, hope shining in her eyes. "Daddy and my bwovers too?"

"So you're John Winchester," Mrs. Dawson said with a smile. "Angela has so many of your features, you know."

" I can see that," John said with a nervous chuckle.

"Oh! Where did my manners go?" Mrs. Dawson said suddenly. "Please, sit down! I insist!" she shooed the Winchesters into the living room and made them sit and came back out of the kitchen with a bottle of lemonade and some paper cups. "I apologize, I don't have a pitcher to put this lemonade in," she said, pouring the men a glass each, and then filling a sippy cup with practiced ease for Angela.

"It's fine, Mrs. Dawson, I wasn't actually planning on staying long," John admitted. "I was just coming to inform you that I'm seeking custody of your granddaughter."

"My granddaughter?" Mrs. Dawson echoed. "My granddaughter lives in Flori- Oh! You mean Angela!" She laughed at her own confusion. "I took Sheryl in when she was pregnant, the poor thing said she was looking for a place to stay until she could get back on her feet."

"So, Angela's not your granddaughter?" John asked her, and the fear of losing his baby was swept away.

"Not in the blood sense of the word," Mrs. Dawson said as she fondly watched Angela toddle around the living room and down the hall into her old room. "Her mother packed all of their stuff up last week and told me she was leaving. Claims she found a place for her and Angela to live and she'd be back for the rest of Angela's things later. Am I correct to assume you'll be keeping Angela with you, Mr. Winchester?"

"You are, Ma'am," John answered as Angela came back down the hallway tugging her favorite baby blankie with her.

"Daddy! Look! It's Blankie! Mommy said Blankie went bye-bye! I found Blankie!" she cried excitedly and crawled into John's lap and smiled contentedly. "We stay with Nana?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry, Princess," John said and kissed the top of her head, "but we're not staying with your Nana. We have to go bye-byes too."

Angela pouted and wiggled off of her father's lap and trotted over to her Nana. "Nana, Daddy say we go bye-byes," she informed her pseudo grandmother. She hugged Mrs. Dawson and walked back to Dean and Sammy. "Up!" she said to Dean, and her brother swooped her up with a laugh.


Mrs. Dawson had insisted that the Winchesters stay for lunch, and hadn't let them leave the table until everyone had eaten a third sandwich. Angela sat in her own highchair and happily munched away on her PB&J with no crust while the adults discussed moving her furniture out of the small apartment.

Her attention, however was on the ceiling of the kitchen. Nana had told her once upon a time that Papa Dawson had painted a special picture on the ceiling with yellow paint and called it a Devil's Trap.

Angie had tried on several different occasions tried to trap things in the Devil's Trap, but it hadn't worked. Angie didn't care, she thought it looked cool and decided to bring it to her father's attention.

"Daddy, looky!" she pointed up to the Devil's Trap. "Papa make Debil's Twap!"

John jerked his head back and saw the faint outline of the Devil's Trap on the ceiling and smirked. "Hunter?" he asked Mrs. Dawson with a smirk.

"My late husband was, yes," Mrs. Dawson said with a smile. "I take it you're in the life?"

John nodded. "I am."

"Then I have all the faith in the world that Angela is in the best hands possible," Mrs. Dawson said with a smile and Angela cheered happily.


"And that's how you ended up in our family," Dean recited for what seemed like the millionth time in his lifetime.

Seven year old Angela smiled sleepily, and curled up next to Sam. "Will Dad be back soon?" she asked sleepily.

"Yeah, he'll be back in a few days," Dean said exchanging a look with Sam. Before he could add anything else, Angela was out like a light


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