Fanfics from Ao3 - Private

If You Give a Winchester a Librarian

Chapter One

"Is this the library with the kids' storytime?"
Cas looks up from the computer at the circulation desk and right into a pair of tired green eyes. He stares at them for a few seconds before taking in the rest of the man in front of him. He doesn't look much older than Castiel himself, if not fresh out of college then close to it, and is wearing a worn reddish leather jacket and dark jeans, a beat-up messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Next to him is, Castiel presumes, a child—even if all Cas can currently see of him are his small fingers gripping the edge of the counter and a mop of unruly brown hair.
When Cas doesn't answer right away, those green eyes go slightly wide. " Please tell me it's the library with the kids' storytime," he mutters, shoving a hand through his hair. Cas knows what he's thinking; the only other library branch is at least half an hour away, and if they're at the wrong one, there's no way they'd make it there on time. Judging by the way Cas can see the little boy practically bouncing with excitement on the other side of the desk, he guesses that missing storytime wouldn't go over particularly well.
"It is," Cas finally gets himself to answer, smiling when his response provokes a fist pump from the little boy. "You're a little early, but we'll be setting up near the bean bag chairs, if you'd like to reserve yourself a seat."
The boy looks up at the man, taking a few steps toward the children's section as he does so. "I can go early, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, go have fun, nerd." He ruffles the little boy's hair affectionately, and Cas smiles to himself as the sleeves of the little boy's oversized sweatshirt slide down to expose his forearms as he swats the older man's—brother's, probably—hand away before making a beeline for the children's section.
"Manners, Sam!" the brother calls after him. Sam, unsurprisingly, doesn't respond, and his brother chuckles to himself before mouthing a quick thanks to Castiel and heading to a nearby table. Castiel watches distantly as he goes. He likes the way he walks, with a subtle confidence that's just as unassuming as it is assured. It's a far cry from the way Cas moves through the world, that's for sure. He flings the messenger bag onto the table in front of him, then pulls out a notebook and a couple of textbooks. There's a pair of headphones looped around the back of his neck that Castiel hadn't noticed before, and he slides them up and over his ears before fiddling with his phone and getting to work.
It's nothing much, but it's still more than enough for Castiel to realize that he could easily spend the rest of the afternoon watching Sam's older brother, even if all he does is write. He looks up suddenly, and Cas averts his eyes, clearing his throat and busying himself with the small pile of books in front of him. He'd been too obvious, of course he'd been too obvious, and now Sam's brother is probably going to grab all his stuff and actually take Sam to the other library branch, half-hour drive be damned, all because Cas—
A dull thud echoes through the otherwise quiet library, and Castiel's eyes dart toward where it came from in the children's section. He smiles to himself when he sees that Sam's plopped down onto the green bean bag—the one smack-dab in front of the tiny plastic chair Cas will soon be cramming himself into, mid-twenties knees be damned—nose already stuck in a book while he waits for storytime to begin.
Cas glances back down at the books scattered atop the circulation desk. Before Sam and his brother had arrived, he'd been trying to decide between three different books for this morning's storytime, but now he thinks he might be able to tap the expertise of someone much more qualified.
He grabs the books he'd been trying to decide between and edges out from behind the desk. Sam's brother doesn't move, and Sam himself flops down over the edge of the bean bag, holding the book— Coraline , Cas sees as he gets closer—close to his face as he keeps reading.
"Sam," he says quietly, unable to hide his small smile when the boy rests the book on his chest and looks up at him curiously. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I actually might need your opinion on something..."

He's so good with Sam.
That's not the first thing Dean notices about him—that honor would probably go to his eyes, his jaw, the way that old-man light gray sweater vest somehow makes said eyes look even bluer than they already were—but it's probably the most important.
Dean had tried not to be obvious about it, but he'd watched the way the librarian had gone over to Sam, knelt down to be at his level, and fanned out a few books. Sam, who had been lying on his back, book held close to his face like he does on the floor at home, had flopped onto his stomach and thrown on his thinking face—Dean can recognize it anywhere—but only waited for a few seconds before jabbing a finger toward one in particular. The librarian had nodded and set the book down on the floor, then resumed his work back at the circulation desk.
Fifteen minutes later, the guy's got his knees tucked up close to his chest, sitting in a green plastic chair designed for a five-year-old, and reading the book Sam had chosen to all the other rugrats sprawled out on the carpet in the kids' section.
The whole scene's fucking cute, and Dean can't help but think the same of the guy himself.
Dean spends some more time working out a chunk of his English paper, but after another ten minutes or so, he decides that he's gotten as far as he's gonna get today, and starts packing up his stuff. He leaves his notebook out, tucking it under his arm, and heads for the bank of computers next to the kids' section. They're all occupied, but he figures if someone asks why he's standing around like a creep, saying that he's waiting for a computer to free up (as much as it'd make his life easier, a laptop is so far down on his list of priorities, it's not even funny) is a better response than waxing poetic about how it's easier for him to see the librarian and his too-blue eyes from here.
He makes himself comfortable leaning against one of the pillars at the entrance to the kids' section, arms crossed. He can see the book Sam had chosen from here— If You Give a Mouse a Cookie —and he can hear the librarian's voice much better, but he can also hear Sam's near-constant barrage of questions clear as a goddamn bell.
Dean loves Sam, but he knows as well as anyone that Sam can be... well, the kid's a lot. Smart as hell, but that leads to questions, and lots of them (most of which Dean doesn't have the answers to). But the librarian is patient and kind, fielding the constant interruptions and questions like a pro, so much so that Dean wonders if he's got his own little brother at home.
"When he's finished, he'll ask for a napkin. Then he'll want to look in the mirror to make sure he doesn't have a milk mustache... yes, Sam?"
"What would happen if you really did give a mouse a cookie and milk?"
"Well, I imagine that the mouse would be quite appreciative."
"But are you supposed to give them milk and cookies? Wouldn't they get sick?"
"They might," the librarian allows patiently. "But that's one of the best things about books. Reading them gives us the opportunity to pretend. Real-life rules don't apply."
Dean feels the edge of his mouth quirk up in a small smile; the guy had just more or less verbatim shared Dean's favorite part of reading. The answer also seems to satisfy Sam, and the story continues.
"When he looks into the mirror, he might notice his hair needs a trim. So he'll probably ask... another question, Sam?"
"Does a mouse's hair grow back? Wait, is it even hair, or is it fur? Did the book make a mistake?"
"Jesus, Sam," Dean mutters under his breath as he watches the librarian start to put together another answer. At this point, he wouldn't blame the other kids if one of them decided to up and clock his kid brother just so they could finish the story without interruption, but the librarian seems to be holding his own well. He answers Sam's questions thoughtfully, feeding bullshit like it's his job.
For whatever reason, Sam seems to get the hint after that, and the group finishes up the book without any more interruptions. Once the story is over, the librarian gets to his feet—much more gracefully than Dean would've—and shows them where to reshelve the book, taking care to emphasize making space on the shelf for it before sliding it between the others.
It's stupidly sweet, and Dean relaxes further against the pillar.
The kids amble off after that, some heading further into the stacks of the children's section, others making their way over to the pint-sized aquarium set up in one corner. Sam's in there somewhere, but they've got some time before they have to leave so Dean can get to work on time, so he lets him wander for a bit longer.
While he waits, he can't help but gaze at the space. The library's done a hell of a job creating a haven for young readers like Sam—and himself when he was a kid, if he's being honest. He would've loved a place like this, full of books and colors and comfort. It hadn't been in the cards for him, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make sure it's there for Sam, Sam and his voracious appetite for books, half of which Dean's never even heard of—
"Do you need help finding something?"
Dean startles, whipping around so sharply that he almost hits the person who's snuck up next to him with his messenger bag. The librarian (of fucking course, because the universe seems to hate him no matter what he does) is standing beside him now, a small stack of picture books in his arms and a curious little smile playing on his lips.
"Just, uh, was waiting for a..." Dean jerks his thumb back toward the computers, but trails off when he notices that two of them are empty and, by the looks of it, have been for a good few minutes now. "...a computer."
The librarian nods slowly. "You know, our storytime is open to all ages," he says teasingly. He shifts the books under one arm and pulls one out, tapping it with his finger. "I, for one, can never say no to a good picture book, so I get it. You're welcome to join us next time."
Dean can feel the back of his neck going hot, and he rubs at it with an awkward laugh. "Ha, yeah, maybe next time."
Sam, god love him, chooses that moment to show up at Dean's other side. "I think we should give the mouse in our basement a cookie," he says. "That way you wouldn't have to use one of those traps you hate."
Dean smiles tightly, throwing his arm across Sam's shoulders and gripping just a bit too hard. "Yeah, so, uh, we gotta get heading, right, Sammy?"
The librarian smiles at him, then nods. "I hope you'll be by again, Sam. I appreciate being kept on my toes during storytime."
Sam fucking beams at him. "I'll be here, even if I have to walk the whole way."
Dean chuckles, shoving Sam gently toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah, Ranger Rick. Let's get going. Thanks," he adds over his shoulder, nodding toward the librarian.
He waves, and Dean ducks his head, blushing furiously as they head for the parking lot.

"Can we come back next week?" Sam asks, bouncing excitedly on the Impala's bench seat once he's buckled his seatbelt. "I think we should come back next week."
Dean leans back against the seat and glances out the window at the library. He thinks of the librarian, of his patience, of his soft, warm smile, in stark contrast with the roughness of his voice. Of the fact that Dean thinks, if their mom had been here to take Sammy to the library, she would like him too.
"Yeah, Sammy," he says, turning the key in the ignition and reveling in the way the Impala comes to life around them. It's one of the only things they've got left of their parents, and sometimes, if Dean concentrates and suspends his disbelief hard enough, he can imagine the warmth of the heater is his mom hugging him, the rumble of the engine the sound of his dad's laughter as he held Dean close, long before he stopped laughing at all. "Yeah, I think so too."