If there was any word that could have described the next hour of Stiles life, it would have to be, "orientation". Dean and Cas showed him around the house again, but this time instead of it being a tour, since he'd already basically had that, they were showing him all the personal things they had and where they kept the guns in case someone broke in (even though Stiles had grown up with a cop for a dad, it was still a little perturbing).

They showed him how the showers worked (because lets be honest, no one knows how other peoples showers work) and how to use the landline. Because they really were that old fashioned. It wasn't like Stiles was clueless when it came to those though, how else could he have listened in on all his dads calls before?

But then came the house rules. Which of course was Stiles favorite part of the afternoon. Not. If Stiles was anything, it was troublesome. So he could easily see how these rules could be a problem.

The first rule had been to always check in with either Dean or Cas before going anywhere, just to let him know where he was at and when to expect him home again. They said it was for safety. So that if Stiles ever went missing or something happened to him, they would know where to start looking. A little paranoid in Stiles' opinion, but honestly, with his life, it was quiet smart.

Maybe he would actually do it, despite how creepy it was. But with his ADHD, there were no promises.

The second rule was to never, under any circumstance, drive, or even TOUCH the impala. Dean had gone on to explain why but Stiles completely understood. If anyone even breathed wrong on his jeep Roscoe, he'd put them six feet under.

The last rule was curfew. 10 o' clock every night, which could be stretched to 11 or even 12 on weekends. Now that rule could put a real crimp in his lifestyle. Because for some stupid reason most supernatural creators decided their terrorizing hours would be only after midnight, or close to it.

Yeah, Stiles was definitely going to have to find a way to work around that one.

After that, Dean had gotten called into the auto shop where he worked and Cas had let him get settled into his room.

"I can help if you would like me to," he offered in that sincere, gravely voice of his. Stiles debated it a moment, before nodding and heading off to his new room, his guardian just behind him.

His new room was nice, Stiles had to admit. But it wasn't his old room. It didn't have all the band posters on the wall, or that art piece that he'd made in seventh grade that had all that string on it. It didn't have the dent in the door where Derek had slammed him against it last year, or the chips in the plaster where he had stuck thumb tacks into it.

It wasn't home.

But this was his home now, and he had to accept that.

"Is something wrong?"

The deep voice snapped Stiles out of his reverie, to where he realized he had been standing in silence for the past minute.

"Um, no," he murmured, brushing it off. "Just thinking."

Cas' eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief, but he made no comment. For which Stiles had to admit he was grateful.

Turning around, Stiles headed into the room and over to a the few boxes that had yet to be fully unpacked. Everything had already been set up. His bed, desk, shelves, and dresser had been done days ago by the Winchesters. It hadn't been done in the style he liked it, but that would be easy to fix. All that remained now were the miscellaneous items like his laptop, books, and everything else the pack hadn't gotten to yesterday. It wasn't much, but it still had to be done.

"So I'll take this box over here, is that cool?" Stiles asked, pointing to a box labeled photos. Cas merely nodded his head and went over to another box. The one that had all his silly participation medals from over the years.

Stiles quickly got down and started to rifle through the box and began pulling out photos at random.

"You played soccer?" Cas suddenly asked. Stiles looked up and saw him holding a bronzed bobble head of a soccer player, the name plate on the stand reading Stiles Stilinski. It brought a wry smirk to his face at the memory.

"Yeah, Scott and I joined the team in first grade. We sucked, but we were kids, you know," he explained, flailing his hands to aid in his explanation. Not that it really did though.

"That must have been fun," Cas commented, setting it down and going for another stupid trophy.

"It was," Stiles admitted. "Until I broke my arm when Jackson barged into me going for the goal."

"Somehow I suspect that was not your last sport injury," Cas said with a sly grin. Oh, he had a devious side, did he? Maybe Cas was cooler than he thought.

"And this?" He asked, holding up a red ribbon that proudly proclaimed him to be 10th place in track and field.

"Was a mistake," he sighed, rolling his eyes at his nine year old self for thinking he could do it.

Cas, just like the last time, smiled at the thought, and set it down in a growing pile of "awards". Honestly, why did Stiles even keep them? He'd never know.

He went back to the photos in the box and pulled out a bigger, older album. It was fairly dusty, and had on the cover in his child handwriting "Scot and Me". Wow, his spelling and grammar had been terrible. But then again, this was coming from the kid who couldn't even pronounce his own name for years.

Intrigued, he opened the book and smiled softly at the sight of the first page. It was four photos of him and Scott, dressed up as power rangers for Halloween, all with them flashing wide, toothless grins. Smiling, and rolling his eyes at young Scott doing a silly pose in one of them, he turned the page. This one was filled with kid drawings. Both his and Scott's, he knew this because one piece was signed "Mischief" while the other was signed "Scoty".

The rest of the pages were the same, photos of him and Scott through the years, going all the way up until they were around ten. And then they stopped.

"Stiles, are you all right?"

Blinking, Stiles was pulled back from his reminiscing and realized there were tears in his eyes. Rubbing them away, he quickly closed the photo album and turned to Cas. "Yeah, yeah I'm good," he said. "Just forgot about all this."

He didn't have to look to know that at that moment, Cas was giving him a soft, sympathetic look.

"Dean does the same thing," he commented. "He keeps photos of his mother on him at all times. As well as his brother. He thinks I don't notice, but I know he tears up at them."

"And here I was thinking he was a macho man," he commented dryly. Cas actually laughed at that. Wow, the man wasn't a total brick after all.

"Believe it or not," he started. "Dean is more of a softy than anything. But those would be Sam's words, not mine."

Stiles cracked a grin this time, trying to imagine Dean tearing up while watching The Notebook. For some reason, it wasn't hard to do.

"The illusion is shattered."

Cas laughed again, but this time it was more of a chuckle. Before Stiles could comment on that, however, the shrill sound of a phone ringing split through the room.

Stiles jumped, before realizing it was his and diving for where he'd left it on the wood floor. He picked it up and the first thing he saw on the display screen was SCOTT: DUDE, GET 2 THE LOFT. ASAP.

'Oh boy', Stiles thought as he scrambled up off the floor and ran towards the stairwell, leaving Cas alone and confused behind him. 'This better be good.'