The whole "Let's go" plan seemed great right up until they actually tried to leave the house.  Or at least it seemed workable, despite Julia's unsteadiness and her refusal of help, until Castiel yanked on the doorknob and nothing happened.  Which was a whole host of weird, starting with why Cas was opening doors for them, what it was about the front door of a run-down farmhouse that made him think it needed to be yanked, and how it could possibly be closed tight enough to make it clear that an angel was yanking on it in the first place.

"Cas," Dean said.  That was it, just his name, impatient and unequivocal as Dean kept a wary eye on the first floor behind them.  Sam didn't know which of them Dean was trusting to watch whatever they might be walking into, but the name was probably all the answer he needed.

Castiel didn't answer, like he knew that anything he could say would sound ridiculous.  The door's stuck, or even I can't get it open.  Because really, what the fuck.  Sam was tempted to lean around him and pull on the doorknob himself.

"Chain," Julia muttered.

Obediently, Castiel slid the chain and tried again.  Which was ridiculous.  He could knock the door out of its frame without touching it.  And also, the door didn't have a chain.

"Deadbolt," Julia said, and Cas popped the deadbolt.

"It doesn't have a--"  Dean turned around.

"That's my door," Julia said quietly, and Sam cast a cautious look around the house.  Still Jesse's.  Still the same place they'd broken into less than an hour ago, to find tiny Castiel on the floor with a tinier knife and Jesse standing over him with a stricken expression.  Did I do that?

But it wasn't Jesse's door.

"You just hanging around to keep us company or what?"  Dean shouldered Cas out of the way, flipping locks and sliding chains and rattling the doorknob every time something changed.  Except that nothing changed.

"I can't leave," Castiel said.

Dean spared him an incredulous glance.  Cas waved two fingers, and the unnecessary dramatic flourish had never looked so sarcastic.  Sam looked away, hiding a smile.  Badly.

A piece of paper on the table caught his eye, and the smile fell away.  "Hey," he said, careful not to touch Julia as he stepped around her.  She still looked like a sneeze could knock her over.  "Was that here before?"

It hadn't been, obviously.  Never more obvious than when he edged around the table and read the words in childlike scrawl on the otherwise empty page: Is Julia okay?

"What?"  Dean slammed his hand against the door before turning to look at him, and the noise made Sam wince.

"You know, people are trying to sleep," he said, holding up the paper so Dean could see.  "It's gonna be hard to explain what we're doing if they come down here with their bathrobes and their frying pans."

"They will not wake," Castiel said.

Julia just gave him a weary look, like she was resigned to whatever new kind of terror he might be, and Sam had opened his mouth to explain when Dean said, "Is Julia okay?"  He was squinting, reading the paper across the room, and he added, "Yeah, of course."

Sam glanced down automatically, but the writing on the paper had changed.  I want Sam to tell me, it said.

He and Dean exchanged glances.  "Jesse?" Sam asked carefully.

Is Julia okay? the paper asked again.  This time, the words I want Sam to tell me remained printed above the question.

Sam looked at Julia, who had her hand over her mouth and an arm wrapped around her stomach.  Cas was silent and imposing behind her.  It probably wouldn't occur to him to catch her if she fell.

"She's tired," he said.  Because apparently Jesse could hear them, wherever he was.  "She's really tired, Jesse.  But she's all right."

"Are you keeping us here?" Dean demanded.

I think you should stay until my parents wake up.  Everything else had faded from the paper, leaving only that one sentence.  Sam looked at Castiel.

He wasn't the only one.  Cas stared at the paper while Dean stared at him.  Then, abruptly, Dean said, "So, what, you want us to wake them up?"

No.  I want you to keep them safe until morning.

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off.  "We can do that," he said.  "We'll stay here until they wake up, Jesse."

The words on the paper faded, leaving a blank surface behind.  Julia had closed her eyes, her arms folded across her chest now.  Like she could sleep where she stood--and maybe stay on her feet while she did it.  Castiel stood by the door like he'd been doing it for years and could still be there when the house fell down around them.

Dean, on the other hand, looked like he was about to crawl out of his skin.  "What are we supposed to do here all night, huh?"

Something made Sam look down, and the paper had writing on it again.  He tried not to smile.  You should make valentines, it said.

"What are  you smirking at?"  Dean was suddenly right there, and Sam tipped the paper toward him without a word.  "Valentines?  What's that supposed to mean?"

It's a holiday, the paper said.  The words appeared faster than anyone could write, but the letters still bore the unmistakable mark of a childish hand.  Where you tell the people you love that you love them.

"Um, yeah," Sam said.  "Valentine's Day is in February."

My parents always give each other valentines after they fight.  It's easier than apologizing.

"I'm not making valentines," Dean said.

You could sing a song, the paper suggested.  Singing makes people feel better.

Lies that kids believe, Sam thought.  He had just enough presence of mind not to say it aloud.  He also had Dean rolling his eyes and probably about to come out with something unbelievably stupid, so he said, "I think valentines are a good idea.  You got any paper we can use?"

Paper goes in the desk.  It's under the window by the porch.

Yeah, Sam was looking at it.  He debated handing the note off to Dean for like half a second, because Dean wasn't good at de-escalating situations.  His specialty was really the opposite.  And he was really, really special at it.

"Got it," Sam confirmed a moment later.  "Hey, is it okay if we borrow some pens and stuff?  Maybe some scissors?"

"What are you doing?" Dean asked irritably.  "I'm not making a damn valentine, okay?  Get it through your head."

The craft stuff in the desk is for everyone.  My parents got it for when I have friends over.

The fact that almost everything in the desk under the window looked brand new made that bit of kindness seem more wishful thinking than anything else.  Sam didn't say anything, though, just collected paper and scissors and some markers he found off to one side.  He piled them up and put the note on top, carrying it all over to the table.

They were going to need some more light.

"Hey, Jesse?" Sam said.  "Can I turn on a light or something?"

Julia had drifted over to the table, and she was staring down at the note when the words changed.  I don't care, the paper said.  It's daytime here.

"Where are you?"  Dean had been reading too.  "Kid, tell us where you are and we can come get you."

If I wanted you to come get me, I wouldn't have left.  You and Knife Guy should make valentines for each other; you deserve each other.  Sam, could you make one for Julia?  Please?

Sam couldn't help but smile.  "Yeah," he said aloud.  "No problem."

"We're making valentines?" Julia asked.  She didn't even bother to ask why.  "Who do I have to make one for?"

There was a long moment between the paper going blank and the next words appearing.  Sam said you're tired.  You don't have to make one.

She sat down heavily, just collapsing into one of the chairs at the table.  She didn't answer.  But she reached for a piece of paper and began to fold it in half.

"Cas," Sam said, because a millennia-old knife-wielding angel was easier to reason with than his brother.  Then, for good measure, "Dean.  Come on.  Get over here."

Castiel looked at Dean, but he walked over and sat down at the table without a word.

Dean just snorted.  "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Dean?" Sam said, in his best humor-the-crazy-person voice.  "The kid's been through a lot.  Looking out for his parents is the least we can do.  And if it takes a little arts and crafts to keep us awake, I think we can handle that.  Don't you?"

Dean shook his head, but he pulled a chair out from the table and slouched into it, crossing his arms over his chest.  Sam took the seat opposite him and shoved a piece of paper in his direction.  He pushed one at Cas, too, because the angel was looking... well, either curious or confused.

It was sort of the same expression on him, actually.

Sam figured he'd follow Julia's lead, except that he definitely couldn't freehand cut a heart like that, so he took a marker and drew half a heart up against the fold of his paper.  He snagged the scissors from her when she was done--it wasn't like he had any competition--and cut the heart out.

Then he slapped it down in front of Castiel, took his untouched paper, and repeated the process.  "Write something to Dean," Sam said, while he was tracing his second heart.

Instead of asking "Why?" as Sam had expected, Cas gave the impression of frowning without actually doing it and asked, "Like what?"

"Like nothing," Dean interrupted.  He was leaning back in his chair, balancing on two legs like it was some kind of zen meditation.  "You don't need valentines to say stuff."  This was directed loudly toward the note in the middle of the table, but the paper Jesse had been writing on remained blank.

"Write something nice about Dean," Sam said with a sigh.  "If you can."

"Hey."  Dean glared at him.  "I'm not the one who got coal in my stocking last year."

"You put coal in my stocking last year," Sam said.

"Yeah, exactly."  Dean looked like that had been his whole point, so Sam rolled his eyes and looked around for another marker.

It occurred to him after he uncapped it that black wasn't very festive.  "Julia," he said, and she didn't jump.  She just looked up, some of her tiredness buried under concentration, and suddenly he thought maybe this wasn't such a ridiculous idea after all.

"What's your favorite color?" Sam asked, trying a smile to go along with the question.

"Oh, I don't know."  She looked down at her paper heart again, sliding it over the scraps as she traced a blue outline around the edge.  After a moment, though, she said, "Green, I guess."

"Okay."  He picked up the green marker instead and wrote Dear Julia on one side of the heart.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Castiel doing that not-frown at his own valentine.  When he looked up, Castiel's gaze slid from him to Dean.

"Dean," Cas said, apparently serious.  "What is your favorite color?"

Dean scoffed, the front two feet of his chair hitting the floor, and he reached out to spin the scissors lazily across the table's surface.  "Take a wild guess."

Castiel considered this.  "Sam," he said.  "Would you hand me that black marker."  It wasn't really a question, but Sam rolled it across the table to him anyway.

He drew a little sun above Julia's name.  He added a couple of raindrops under the message he'd written for her, then started hoarding colored markers to make a proper rainbow.  Hey, that's what went on valentines, right?  Cute stuff?

"I'm done," Julia said, after a few more minutes had passed in silence.  Well, silent except for the sound of Dean playing with the scissors, dropping them on the floor, and then scraping his chair around noisily while he looked for them.  It went on so long that even Castiel gave him a sideways look.

The next thing Sam knew, the scissors were back on top of the table and Dean was banging his head on the bottom of it.  "Ow," he muttered.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam said.  "Way to find the scissors."

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, lifting his head to give Sam the evil eye--which was when he saw them sitting there, like they'd never fallen.  Pulling himself back into his chair, all he said was, "Very funny."

No one laughed, and Sam knew better than to smile.  He leaned over when Julia announced that she'd finished, though, and he couldn't help it.  "Nice," he said.  "Jesse?  Can you see the valentine Julia made?"

Words appeared on the blank piece of paper for the first time since they'd sat down.  She didn't have to, it said.

"Yeah," Julia murmured.  "Well.  I wanted to."

Jesse, the paper heart said.  The Winchesters told me you were a good kid.  I guess they were right.  Then, underneath, she had added, Happy Valentine's Day, from Julia.

Sam caught her eye, and he nodded before she could look away.

"Can you see it, Jesse?" he repeated.

The note in the middle of the table answered his question without addressing him at all.  You know Valentine's Day is in February, don't you?

Sam tilted his head, studying the message.  "Hey, Jesse," he said.  "You're a pretty good speller."

I'm not writing, the paper replied.

"Okay."  Probably better not to dwell on that.  He capped his marker with a flourish and presented his own valentine to Julia.  "There you go."

Her eyes lingered on it, and something that could have been a smile tugged at he corners of her mouth.  Dear Julia, it read.  I think you're really brave.  Your friend, Sam Winchester.

"I have not finished," Castiel remarked.  "I am not aware of the expected duration for this activity."

"Feeling the pressure?" Dean asked, pushing his chair back onto two legs again.

"Good," Sam said.  "It'll give Dean time to make his."  Then he added, "There's no time limit," just in case Castiel wasn't messing with them.

"I'm not," Dean began again.

"Do you need me to cut out a heart for you?" Sam asked.  "Because I can do that for you, man.  Don't let your inadequate crafting skills hold you back."

"Fuck you," Dean said.

"We're here for you," Sam told him.

Dean gave him the finger, but he spun the scissors back and began cutting something out of the paper Sam had passed him.  Sam started drawing another heart, because maybe Julia had the right idea.  Maybe this wasn't about them at all.

When he thought about it, he figured it never had been.

Dear Jesse, he wrote on his second paper heart.  I think you made a good choice.  He signed it the same way he'd signed Julia's: Your friend, Sam Winchester.

Who knew?  Sometimes all it took was someone believing in you.

The right someone, which he probably wasn't, but still.

"Here you go," Dean said.

Sam looked up in time to see Dean hand Castiel a lopsided circle with writing in the middle.  "What does it say?" he wanted to know.

"This is a stupid-ass project and I want a beer," Castiel said.

A laugh escaped before Sam could think.  Dean just shrugged when Castiel looked at him.  Julia ignored all of them, doodling on the valentine she'd made for Jesse, and Sam glanced at the note in the middle of the table.  It wasn't blank anymore.

Dean's valentine sucks, the paper said.  Tell him to make another one.

"You heard him," Sam said, reaching for another piece of paper.  "I'll make you a heart."

"There's something wrong with you," Dean informed him.

"Sam," Castiel said.  "Why did you draw on the valentine you made for Julia?"

"I dunno."  Because kids do, he wanted to say.  But with Jesse listening to every word, he didn't think that would go over well.  "It's kind of a valentine's tradition, right?  That you... draw symbols of affection?"

Dean was going to love that, he thought.

"Ah," Castiel said.  "You drew a sign of our Father's love for Noah."

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, glancing at Julia.  "I mean, no.  I was just--I thought, the rainbow's a sign that... everything turns out okay in the end?  Even when things seem bad?"

She gave him a small smile, inclining her head.

Dean snorted.  "Don't go drawing anything stupid, Cas.  Sammy here must have banged his head harder than we thought.  He's regressed to kindergarten."

"I believe I understand," Castiel said.  He uncapped a red marker, pressed the tip to the piece of paper, and then lifted it without actually drawing anything.  Putting the cap back on, he set the marker down and handed the paper heart to Dean.  "I have completed your valentine."

Dean's expression was priceless.  Sam would have wished for a camera if he didn't care what the "valentine" said.  Mocking Dean would pretty much guarantee he never saw it.  Better to ask first and mock later.

"What's it say?" he asked, as casually as he could.

Dean turned the paper around, using both hands so the fold that split the heart in half snapped tight.  To the left of the line were three words: Dean loves Sam.  To the right of the line was a miniature handprint.

Sam blinked.  "Wow," he said.  "Well, that's... not your typical valentine?"

"You said that I should write something that's good about Dean," Castiel said.  "There wasn't enough room for all of it."

Of course there wasn't.

"I think it's nice," Julia offered quietly.

"Yeah," Sam said.  "Sure. Me too."

"I think you should shut up," Dean told them.  Then he added, "Thanks, Cas," and he folded the heart in half and put it in his jacket: inside coat pocket.  With his ID.

Castiel tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"Here," Sam said, slapping a paper heart down in front of his brother.  "Try again.  Write something nice this time."

"You sure you don't want to draw little rainbows on it first?"

"Just for that," Sam said, picking up the scissors again, "you can make one for Jesse, too."  He pointed the scissors at Dean just as he opened his mouth.  "One nice thing, okay?"

He flicked the scissors at the note briefly before he turned them to his own paper, and Dean shrugged.  More than that, he took a marker--black--and applied it to the heart Sam had given him.  Sam wouldn't take any bets on what he was writing, but at least he wasn't actively ticking off the kid with the superpowers, so that was something.

"There," Dean said, before Sam could even finish cutting out the next heart.  He tossed the marker back on the table and shoved the paper at Castiel.  "Satisfied?"

Cas looked down at the heart curiously, but Sam knew how to keep momentum.  "Now Jesse," he said.  He snipped the heart free and unfolded it, ignoring the dark look Dean gave him as he handed it over.

"You're a regular freakin' Cupid," Dean muttered.  But he took the paper.

Sam took the opportunity to try to see what his second valentine said, but Cas had his hand over it, palm flat against the paper.  He was staring at his fingers like he didn't trust his eyes.  Like maybe he could absorb the words through his skin instead.

Must have been some note, Sam thought.

"I'm just going to put my head down," Julia murmured, her chin slipping off her hand as she laid her arm down on the table instead.  "Don't mind me."

"Hey," Sam said.  He pushed his chair back, glancing at the blank piece of paper in the middle of the table.  "You want to lie down or something?  It's been a rough day."

"I'm already lying down."  Her voice was muffled now, her face buried in the crook of her arm.  The paper heart he'd given her was pressed flat under her hand... oddly like Castiel's.

"Well, you'll be more comfortable if you're not doing it on a table," Sam told her.  He wasn't sure touching her was the best idea, but he put his hand on the table next to hers.  "I think there's a couch in the other room."

Her head moved slightly as she let out a small laugh.  Or at least, a huff that could generously be called a laugh.  "Oh, yeah," Julia mumbled.  "That's exactly what I want, to be alone."

Oh.  Right, he thought.  Not about us.

"We'll go with you," Dean said gruffly.  "No law that says we have to stay at the table, right?"

Sam looked at him in surprise, but Dean just pushed the second heart away from him and frowned over at Castiel.  "You gonna make a valentine for the kid, or what?"

Dean had written, Way to protect your family, Jesse.

"I'm not making a valentine for the antichrist," Castiel said.  Then he gave the note paper in the middle of the table an incongruous glance and added, "You understand."

Whatever, the paper said.  I'm not a kid.

"I don't," Dean said, not looking at the note.  "Why can't you make him a valentine?  You did it for me."

Castiel gave him a look like the two statements couldn't be less related to each other.  "That was hardly difficult," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he took his valentine back and wrote his own name, drawing an arrow from it to the message he'd written for Jesse.  Standing next to Julia, Sam could see exactly what he was doing when he wrote Cas' name next to his and drew another arrow.  This time he wrote, Thanks for not wasting me.

"There," Dean said.  "Done.  Can we go now?"

"Hey," Sam said quietly.  "You want some help?"

"I'm fine," Julia muttered.  But she stood up, and Sam thought maybe someone should pick up all the stuff they'd left out but now didn't really seem like the time to mention it.

He did catch a glimpse of Castiel's valentine, though, as he stood up and his hand pulled away.  The one Dean had made for him.  Cas folded it quickly, carefully, making it disappear into his trench coat, but not before Sam read the words that tilted across the center line.

Proof that some angels aren't dicks.

From Dean, that was about as nice as it got.  Especially considering that just the other day he'd called Cas a stupid son of a bitch for no apparent reason, and the day before he'd been muttering about "freakin' angels and their freakin' allegiances."  Castiel hadn't actually been there for that one, but he'd been mentioned, and Sam was under the impression that Cas had some psychic angel radar that tuned in every time Dean said his name.

So really, "not a dick" was pretty high up on the scale of compliments a guy could expect to receive from Dean these days.  Somehow Jesse must have gotten that, because he didn't make Dean do it over.  Or maybe wherever he was, he could see Castiel's face and he knew there wasn't any need.

Or maybe he was just a tired eleven-year-old kid who didn't want to fight anymore.  Maybe he just wanted everyone to make nice and say they were sorry and believe that it would all be better in the morning.  When, indeed, the locks were gone from the door and it swung easily when Sam pushed it open to let in the light.

He left it ajar while he went back to get the others, just in case.  He glanced past Castiel, nodded at Dean, and stood a respectful distance from Julia before he said her name--quietly, but she started awake anyway.

"Door's open," he said.  "We better take off before Jesse's parents come down."

"The table," she murmured, pushing the afghan off of her shoulders.  Sam held out a hand for it, but she started to fold it without looking.  "We should clear it off."

It was already clear when they went to leave, though.  Jesse's valentines had been the only ones left on the table: they were gone, along with the scissors, markers, and paper.  Including the note paper he'd been using to communicate with them.

"Looks like we're good here," Dean muttered.  "Let's move."

"Second time's the charm," Sam said under his breath.

But the door was still open, and it stayed that way while they all filed out.  Dean closed it behind them, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket as he fell in beside Sam on the steps.  "Here," he said, holding it out while he scanned the driveway and surrounding fields.  "Wouldn't want you to feel left out."

It was the protest valentine he'd made last night, with the words This is a stupid-ass project and I want a beer now followed by Happy Valentine's Day, Sammy.  It had lots of badly drawn hearts all over it.

"Gee, thanks," Sam said dryly.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder.  "No problem," he said.  He was already loping off before he called over his shoulder, "Last one to the road buys breakfast!"

"I could make you breakfast," Julia began, voice finally loud enough to mean something as Sam took off after his brother.

"Thanks, Julia!" Sam yelled back.  "That'd be great!"

Dean still beat him to the road, and he still ended up buying everyone coffee afterwards.  But Julia made a mean omelet, which was worth the whole night right there, and she let them crash at her place for the rest of the morning.  Castiel disappeared--literally took off, which needed slightly less explaining than usual--and Julia went to work on however many hours of sleep she'd gotten on the couch.

So they had a free, quiet place to sleep for a few hours, and maybe everything was still waiting for them when they woke up... but hey, at least that meant the world was still there.  They still had something to fight for.  Sam decided that the next time someone asked him how things were going, he would say, So far so good.

Not because it was true, but because some people deserved the lie.