Being the youngest Winchester came with a lot of responsibilities. You didn’t hunt as much as Sam and Dean, but you were the one who always cleaned up after their chaos. Sam needed help with research? You were there. Dean made a mess? You were already fixing it before he even noticed.

And today was no different.

Dean had been in one of those moods—frustrated, impatient, snappy. So when a hunt went sideways, and he came back to the bunker pissed off, something had to take the fall. Unfortunately, that something happened to be Castiel’s game.

The old board game had been one Cas had been trying to understand for days now, probably as a way to bond with everyone. But Dean, in his frustration, swiped it off the table, sending pieces scattering to the floor.

Cas just stood there, watching the mess with that usual unreadable expression of his. But you could tell. He was confused. A little disappointed, maybe.

With a sigh, you crouched down and started gathering the scattered game pieces without a word. It wasn’t the first time you’d had to fix something Dean messed up, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Cas knelt beside you, watching your hands carefully pick up each piece, setting them back into the box.

“Thanks… for helping,” he murmured after a moment.

You glanced up at him, expecting just a typical Cas-level awkward gratitude. But the way he said it—soft, almost like he really meant it—made you pause.

You smiled slightly, nudging his arm. “Someone’s gotta clean up after these guys.”

Cas blinked, then, in a way that was so distinctly him, nodded as if you had just said something incredibly profound. “Yes. And you do it… often.”

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess I’ve got a talent for it.”

Cas watched you for another second before carefully picking up a piece and placing it in the box himself, like he was trying to help in his own quiet way.

Maybe the game wasn’t that important. But the fact that you cared enough to fix it? That meant something to him.