A/N: Hm, I seem to be neck deep in kid fics at the moment, LOL. But one is happy while the other is…obviously not. And I know this topic is belated, but I really wanted to do a Father's Day for Cas. ^_^ Which seemed like a good place to kick off this series.

I will take requests, but I'm gonna be sticking to Amala being 6-7ish, just because that seems the best age for maximum cuteness.

Standard disclaimer that I don't own the guys. Also, usually I am very meticulous with details and avoiding inconsistencies, but that requires lots of planning in advance, and since these are just meant to be fluffy interludes, we're gonna have to ignore any logistical issues that might come up. Thanks. ;)

Thank you to 29Pieces for beta reading! (And for the craft idea.) ^_^

"Father's Day"

Dean wedged his knife up into his Baby's underside to cut free the plastic bag wrapped around the chassis. Damn litter bugs on the highway. Ugh, and it was sticky with some gunk or other. He'd have to grab a wet rag and cleaner to wipe the frame down and make sure nothing corrosive was left behind.

Light footsteps pattered across the concrete floor of the garage, and a moment later a pair of purple sneakers appeared at the edge of the Impala. "Uncle Dean, are you busy?"

Dean ripped the last of the plastic off and shimmied out from under the Impala. A three-foot-ten rugrat with honey-brown eyes and dark chocolate hair was gazing at him upside down. "Hey, kiddo," he said, pushing himself up and righting his orientation. "What's up?"

"I need help with something."

Dean wadded the plastic up and tossed it in the nearby trashcan. He scrunched his face up at the residue he hadn't managed to avoid getting on his fingers, so he stood and went to the sink to wash it off. "Oh yeah? With what?"

Amy bounded after him. "I want to make Daddy something for Father's Day. For his car."

"For his car?" Dean repeated, drying his hands on a rag as he turned to give his niece his full attention.

"Yeah, so when he goes away on jobs, he'll have something to remind him to think of me."

Dean smiled. "Your dad's always thinking of you, but that's a great idea."

Even though Cas had gotten his wings back a while ago, he hadn't given up driving. Dean had thought he would; the angel had once complained that travel by car was slow and confining. Granted, that had been way back during the Apocalypse. Cas wasn't the same angel he'd been then.

So even with his wings restored, Cas still loved to drive places, and he still loved that piece of crap Continental.

"What do you want to make?" Dean asked.

Amy poked her tongue against the inside of her cheek. "I dunno. You know everything about cars."

Dean's lips quirked. "Well, if you want your dad to think of you whenever he sees it, you can make just about anything that will sit on the dash."

Amy's brow furrowed, and she tilted her head in that thoughtful moue she'd inherited from her father.

"Why don't you think about it a little more," Dean suggested.

"Mhm, okay," she said, somewhat dejectedly, and turned to go back into the bunker.

Dean got another wet rag and then lay down on the creeper again to roll under the Impala and clean any sticky molecules off the undercarriage. After that, he popped the trunk and went about restocking the rock salt bags and rounds they'd used on their last hunt. Once everything was in order, he headed inside.

He found Amy and Sam in the study area, Amy sitting on Sam's lap as they both looked at something on his laptop.

"Uncle Dean!" she exclaimed. "I know what I want to make."

Dean arched a brow. "Oh yeah?"

Sam flashed him an eager smile, and turned his computer around so Dean could see the screen. On it there was a picture of a handprint mold, painted a bright color and attached to a key ring.

"Yeah, you could make that for your dad's keys," Dean said.

"Actually," Sam put in, "if we did a life size cast, it could hang on the Continental's rearview mirror, since Amala said she wanted it for the car."

"Yeah!" she piped up. "Can we do that?"

Dean thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. But what do you want to make the mold with? It can't be plaster; that'd be too heavy."

"Polymer clay," Sam replied. "That's what this is made of."

"Where did you even find that?" Dean asked dubiously.

Sam snorted. "It's called Pinterest. There's all these boards with crafts and projects you can follow—"

Dean made the cutting off motion with his hand. "Okay, stop. I'm not following Martha Stewart."

"It's not- never mind." Sam rolled his eyes. "So we need some clay and paint."

"And glitter," Amy said.

"And glitter," Sam repeated seriously, trying to suppress a grin.

"Yeah, alright," Dean said. "Didn't Charlie leave a bin of that kind of stuff lying around somewhere?" She'd certainly brought a ton of craftsy crap back when Amy was a baby so Charlie and Ryn could start scrapbooking.

Sam nudged Amy to hop off his lap so he could stand. "I think it's in one of these cabinets." He went down one of the short bookcase aisles and opened the cupboard against the wall. Dean followed and peered over his brother's shoulder as Sam sifted through a bunch of files.

"Not that one," he said, getting up and moving around to the next. There he found the plastic tub with the arts and crafts. Even a cursory glance showed they probably had everything they'd need, luckily.

"Okay, here's some clay." Sam pulled out a large plastic ziploc bag full of various colored packages of polymer clay. "What color do you want for your handprint?"

"Purple."

Dean shook his head; he could have guessed that.

"Do you want to paint it too, or just stick with the glitter?" he asked.

"We'll need the paint to make the glitter stick," Sam said.

Oh, right, that made sense.

"Okay," Sam went on, "we have blue paint, pink, more purple, green—"

"Blue," Amy said. "Is there silver glitter?"

"There is." Sam picked up a container of the stuff and set it on top of the bookcase. "That it?"

"Yup!"

Dean took the package of purple clay. "Okay, come here and let's get a cast of your hand."

He carried the stuff back to the study table and mashed the clump into something flatter. Amy climbed onto a chair so she had the leverage, and when it was ready, Dean helped press her hand into the clay, pinching the material up around her fingers so there'd be ridges around the outline. Then he took out his knife to trim away the excess edges. Once the shape was as desired, he helped her extricate her hand. Sam reminded him to poke out a hole they could stick twine through so it would hang on the rearview mirror.

"Alright," Dean hummed, picking up the package to read the back. "So we have to bake it to make it set." That was easy.

It didn't take too long, either, since it wasn't that thick. After it cooled, Dean then supervised Amy adding the finishing touches with the paint. Sam had gone off to make sure Cas was plenty preoccupied in the archives so as not to walk in on them.

She painted the inside dip with the blue paint, leaving the ridges and back with the clay's natural purple. Then she dusted it with glitter—and the table and floor. Some of it got on Dean's boots, but he was used to that kind of thing by now.

Amy pursed her mouth as she surveyed the finished product. It looked pretty nice.

"Your dad's gonna love it," Dean said.

"I think it needs something more," she replied.

Dean frowned, but then he was struck with an idea. He'd blame Charlie's influence for it later, but at the moment, he figured it was the answer they needed. "Hang on, I think I have just the thing."

He went to the alcove in the library that doubled as their family room, and got a small chest off one of the top shelves. He and Sam kept several things inside it, things that were somewhat sentimental—if the Winchesters were the type—but also significant just by their nature. Like angel feathers they'd found in the backseat of the Impala during the Apocalypse. And, more recently, small black feathers that had the same indigo streaks as said angel's feathers, but also rivulets of rich dark plum and mulberry.

Dean remembered the first time he and Sam had started finding them around the bunker. They'd both freaked, worried Amala was sick or something, but it turned out she was just going through some growth spurts and "molting," which Cas and Ryn assured them was perfectly normal. Dean and Sam had saved the feathers anyway, just because.

Now, he carefully looked through their collection until he found a near perfect feather with velvety down and iridescent veins of those vivid colors. Dean took it out and then shut the lid and placed the chest back on the shelf. He brought the feather over to Amy.

"Here. Now not only was this made by you, but it's got a bit of you in it."

Amy burst into a beaming grin, and Dean decided he wouldn't actually mind taking tips from Martha Stewart in the future.

He just wouldn't tell Sam.

With a little glue, they set the feather across the palm of the cast hand shape, its shades matching perfectly with the clay and paint. All that was left was something to loop through the hole so they could hang it, and Dean went back out to the garage for some fishing line.

"Want me to hide it until Father's Day?" he asked once the gift was complete.

Amy nodded, then threw her arms around his waist. "Thank you, Uncle Dean!"

He smiled. "You're welcome. Don't forget to thank Sam, too."

She grinned and turned to run off. Dean just shook his head and tucked the ornament safely in his tool box for later.

When Father's Day rolled around that weekend, Dean had to track Cas down in the archives. According to Sam and Ryn, he was really into whatever objects he'd recently unearthed in the Men of Letters' collection.

"Hey, Cas," Dean called when he entered the storage room. "Can you come up to the garage for a minute?"

"Why?" the angel asked, not even looking up from the block of engraved rock that was captivating his attention.

"I need to talk to you about something with your car."

Cas's already furrowed brow tightened further and he briefly glanced over. "What's wrong with it? It was running fine when I drove it last."

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course Cas couldn't take a hint, and probably didn't even remember what today was. "I need to show you."

"I'm in the middle of cataloguing some very interesting items…"

"Unless that's a Word of God, it can wait."

Cas sighed, but set the slab of rock down. "Alright," he said, not without a trace of disgruntlement.

Dean rolled his eyes again, and ushered his friend through the bunker and out to the stairs. Cas looked completely put-out the entire way, until they walked into the garage and found Sam, Ryn, and Amy waiting for them.

The angel pulled up short. "What's going on?"

Amy ran up to hug him. "Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"

Cas blinked at her for a moment. "Oh. Is that today?"

"Yeah," Dean muttered in his friend's ear.

Cas dropped an arm around his daughter lovingly. "Thank you."

Amy grabbed his hand and started tugging him toward the Continental. "I made you something."

"You did? What is it?"

"Come see." Amy dragged him over to the driver's side where she then yanked open the heavy door.

"Amala, what are you…"

"See, right there." She pointed up toward the rearview mirror where they'd already hung the hand-made ornament.

Cas's brows pinched ever so slightly with intrigue as he slid in behind the wheel to get a look. Dean watched that confusion slowly turn to wonder the moment he knew Cas recognized the feather, and made the connection with the size of the hand mold.

"Now when you go away for work, you'll have a part of me to keep you company on the road."

The corners of Cas's mouth curved upward. "It's beautiful." He climbed back out of the car and scooped Amy up into his arms. "Thank you. It's absolutely perfect."

She beamed at him.

Ryn stepped up and placed a soft kiss on Cas's cheek. "I know you still doubt it, but you are the best father in the world, and we all want to keep reminding you of it."

Cas's cheeks took on a pink flush, even as he gave her a wry look.

"I agree," Amy declared.

Dean and Sam both chuckled.

Cas swept his gaze over each of them, eyes bright with touched emotion. "You know, I do have reason to celebrate—I'm the luckiest father in the world." He smiled widely at Amy and planted a kiss to the side of her head.

Dean couldn't stop grinning, himself.

He was pretty damn lucky, too.