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“Angels are watching over you, Dean,” Mary Winchester said to her son, every night. She knew the truth about monsters under the bed and other things that go bump in the night, just as she knew her sons would be protected. “Angels are watching over you.” The phrase was used in other instances too. Sometimes, on the playground, other kids would tease Dean. “Freckle face!” they called him. Young Dean always ran back to his Mom to pout about his, “‘tupid freckles.” (He picked up his language from his father.) “Now, Dean,” Mary would say, “those aren’t just any freckles.” “Why?” Dean would ask. “Why not, Mommy?” And so Mary told him. “Angels are watching over you Dean. And they’re keeping you safe. They must leave a mark on you, so the monsters know to stay away. When you’re sleeping, late at night, an angel flies down and kisses you gently. And a spark flies out from his lips and leaves a little freckle right on your skin!” Mary would poke nearly every freckle on her little boy’s body until he squirmed with laughter, and they left the park to get ice cream.
Many years later, Dean remembered his mother. And he remembered the angels watching over him. (He met a few too, the d*****bags.) And then there was Cas, of course. Some nights, Cas would stare at Dean’s freckles for maybe a little too long, counting. Dean would remember what else his mother had said about angels, and their kisses.
Dean was never too surprised when new freckles began showing up on his skin shortly after he kissed Cas for the first time.