Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Castiel stepped into the bunker, surprised to find it empty. He had just returned from investigating a report of a heaven-made weapon spotted twenty miles away—an artifact said to manipulate time without draining grace. Curious and hopeful it might be useful, he left without telling the Winchesters and retrieved it for further study.

The bunker was quiet. As Castiel made his way through the kitchen and past the map table, he noted the signs of recent activity. The coffee was cold, and the books scattered on the table suggested the brothers had been mid-research before stepping out. With a sigh, Castiel placed the artifact—a small, hourglass-shaped object inscribed with glowing symbols—on the table and made his way to the library to search for lore.

Hours passed, and the research yielded frustratingly little. The lore was fragmented, riddled with half-truths and speculation. Castiel had just started cross-referencing another angelic text when he heard the bunker door creak open.

Dean and Sam returned, caked in mud and blood. Sam claimed the first shower, leaving Dean to groan and collapse into a chair at the map table. As he rested, Dean's gaze fell on the hourglass.

The sand inside was frozen mid-fall. Curious, Dean reached out and tilted it, watching the grains trickle to the bottom. A chill ran down his spine. That didn’t feel right.

"Oh, crap," he muttered, flipping the hourglass upright again. The sand froze once more—but now, the etched symbols began to glow gold, tinged with blue. Dean jerked back, eyes wide, just as Castiel rounded the corner.

Castiel's eyes locked onto the glowing hourglass. "Dean. Please tell me you didn’t—"

Before he could finish, the glow intensified. A low hum reverberated through the bunker, and the ground began to shake.

"Cas, what the hell is going on?" Dean asked, standing halfway, before a jolt of pain dropped him to his knees.

Castiel moved to help, but an invisible barrier sprang up between them. Dean looked up, pain etched into every line of his face. Another wave of agony hit, and he collapsed, writhing. It felt like his body was stretching and reshaping all at once—skin tightening, bones shifting. He didn’t even have time to cry out before darkness overtook him.

The shaking stopped. A flash of light consumed the room.

When it faded, Castiel blinked through the afterimage. Where Dean had once been, a small child lay on the floor—no older than eight. The boy was dressed in period-appropriate clothes, not the oversized adult ones Dean had worn moments before.

Sam's footsteps pounded down the hallway. He skidded to a stop beside Castiel, staring at the child with wide eyes.

"Dean—this is my fault," Castiel said, guilt creeping into his voice. "I brought back a heaven-made artifact. I didn't realize you two were home. He must've touched it. And now..." Trailing off as his eyes drew back to the lump on the floor. 

"That’s Dean?" Sam whispered in pure bafflement. Much like when Dean was reverted to his teenage form, this form was just as uncanny. Sam watched the child for a breath of a moment.

As Sam knelt carefully and reached for the boy, the child stirred at the touch. Then, without warning, the child's eyes snapped open. Green. Wide. Scared.

Dean scrambled backward, slamming his head and neck into a chair. His eyes darted wildly between the two men, breathing fast and shallow. Seeming to disregard the self-inflicted injury.

The child’s fright seemed to be projected back on Sam. Castiel watched, slightly amused, as Sam jolted backward and landed on the rear. 

Lifting his gaze back to the frightened child, he couldn’t help but watch as the child appeared to try and adapt to the situation.

The child’s green eyes darted swiftly and hastily. A fleeting moment of fear and panic spiked through, it was soon overcast by his fierce snarl and furrowed brow. Castiel realized the child was taking in his surroundings. Memorizing the uncharted territory.

That's when something animalistic took over, a dawning realization glazing over his face. 

"Where's my little brother?!" he demanded, voice small but fierce. "What did you do to Sammy?! I'll kill you if you hurt him!" The lines outlining his face hardened. These words and his actions were all so brash and violent for a child. 

Castiel could almost see a lot of his older version in this small, vulnerable form. As he was taking the child's actions into account, he noticed that Dean was growing more hostile, more dangerous, and uncertain with each beat of silence. 

Within a second.

A tiny switchblade appeared in his hand, shakily held but with surprising confidence. He raised the switchblade in a threatening motion. His green eyes darkened for a moment. Green eyes wide with alert and caution.

Sam froze in place, his lips pinched together. Castiel held his breath. 

He was never good with people. To calm a scared child was completely out of his hands. 

Instead, he turned to Sam and noticed the Winchester brother seemed to be in an internal war. Luckily, it didn't last long. 

Sam took a shaky breath before glancing over to Castiel for reassurance, yet he wasn't too sure what kind of reassurance Sam was looking for. Tilting his head with pinched brows of confusion, Sam huffed and rolled his eyes before, carefully and slowly, he stepped closer to Dean, still crouched.

"Dean," Sam said gently, raising his hands in surrender. "This is going to sound insane. But... you’re safe. I promise." Sam hesitated, not wanting to say too much and scare his brother, who was already in a tight spot.

Dean didn’t lower the blade, but he didn’t attack either. He listened carefully as he watched Sam warily. The child’s chest heaved shakily, his breaths quiet and calculated.

"I'm Sam," the younger Winchester continued. "Your brother. Just... older. You touched something you shouldn't have. It brought you here. To the future."

The child frowned, processing. His eyes searching Sam’s. It almost seemed like Dean was trying to read his soul and see the truth within. Hesitant, he shifted the blade in his hand, and the grip loosened, only a bit. Then, in a trembling voice, "What about Sammy?"

A pause. Then added, "My Sammy." 

"He's okay," Castiel intervened, his voice soft. "This spell must have displaced you in time, but it didn't harm your brother. When we figure out how to return you to your spot in time, he will be as you last saw him."

Dean slowly lowered the blade. His brows furrowed close together like he didn't quite believe them, but he did at the same time.

"Who are you?" he asked, eyes narrowing at Castiel. Despite the child's attempt at intimidation, Castiel found himself smiling at the child. Briefly.

"My name is Castiel," the angel answered, amused.

Dean looks to Sam, confused. Sam offered a small smile. "He's our friend. Like family."

Dean's eyes widened before he offered a wave. Castiel softly chuckled and waved back.

Once the tension passed, Dean clung to Sam, following him like a shadow. Castiel watched with growing fascination—Dean was protective, even now. But now, he looked up to Sam. Now, experiencing being the younger brother.

Later, as Sam studied the artifact again, Castiel returned to the library. Two hours passed before he gave up. Rising from his seat, he could feel the creak in his bones from remaining seated for hours at a time. Wandering back into the main room, where the map table was placed. Approaching the table, he tapped Sam's shoulder and startled him.  However, as he glanced around, he noted a certain child was missing from the scene, so when Sam seemed to get over the small fright, he decided to pique his curiosity. Upon questioning Dean's current whereabouts, Sam bolted to the kitchen. Frantic, and the way he darted was clumsy and uncalculated. Nearly tripped over his own feet as he turned into the kitchen area.

Castiel followed closely after him. Hoping that Dean was alright, especially if Sam's started moose-like actions were anything to judge by.

"Dean?!"

The eight-year-old was standing on a stool, stirring spaghetti on the stove. However, when he heard the shout, his attention was diverted from the boiling pot over to the cause of the panic.

"Sammy? You okay?" Worriedly, turning the flame down on the stove, and went rushing over to Sam's hunched-over frame.

Sam gasped for breath, frazzled and relieved. Each emotion seemed to be fighting against the other at the moment.

"Your brother was worried," Castiel said, stepping in. "He neglected to keep you within sight."

"It’s okay, Sammy," Dean said, patting Sam's arm. "You said you hadn’t eaten, so I made food."

Sam blinked. "You... made food?"

"Of course! If my brother claims not to have eaten, it is up to me to make sure his stomach is full." Dean huffed like he was stating the obvious.

"Doesn't matter how old you get, it's still my job to make sure you eat," he said, sniffing indignantly and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Sam seemed to finally compose himself and looked at his brother dumbfoundedly. About to question the odd choice of words, Castiel's voice cut in front. 

"Dean, where did you learn to prepare this meal?" Castiel asked, observing the pot. He tilted his head closer, his nose capturing the aroma as it leaked through the covered lid, and hummed. His question essentially interrupted Sam.

"There was this magazine at the store near our motel," Dean explained proudly. "It had pictures and some step-by-steps. I kind of guessed." He shrugged nonchalantly, seemingly unbothered by the brief interruption. Instead, took the opportunity to look around for plates to serve the spaghetti on. When he realized they were out of sight, he turned back to look at Castiel.

"Where are the plates?" 

Castiel pointed into the cabinet above Dean's head. The child went on his tippy toes and stretched his arms to reach for the items. After realizing they were too high for the child to reach, Castiel grabbed the dishes and placed them down in front of the child. Sam chuckled as he turned on his heel. Announcing that he would clear up the table. To which Dean smiled and yelled out a thanks in return.

Dean then refocused his attention back to Castiel, looking up and huffing, nose flaring with the action. Castiel thought the act was cute, which he assumed was not the reaction the child wanted.

"I could've done it myself. I am not that young." Castiel found the statement quite ironic since he was identified as a child by law and couldn't reach the cabinet himself. Instead of arguing or explaining this, Castiel simply nodded and said, "Of course, my apologies."

Castiel exited the kitchen to give Dean his space.

Not even moments later, Dean served plates: Sam first, then Castiel, then himself.

Sam finished quickly, still a little hungry. Dean took notice.

Without a word, he pushed his plate over and took Sam’s empty one.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"You’re bigger than me. You should have more. I’m not hungry anyway."

Sam stared. He couldn’t remember the last time Dean had said that. Worry ebbed away as he observed the child skeptically.

"You sure?" Cocking an eyebrow up in disbelief. Older Dean often referred to the look as ‘bitchy.’

8-year-old Dean just smiled and nodded, raising a hand as if to say: Scout's honor.

Castiel watched, quietly moved. Even as a child, Dean was still putting Sam first. This was both a comfort and a concern to the angel.

He watched Sam give in to the look of certainty plastered all over the child's face before digging into the food. 

When Sam left to do dishes, Castiel noticed Dean staring at the plate he had swapped with Sam, unsure.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"Yes, sir," the boy spoke stiffly, his voice higher. 

Castiel hesitated, then pushed his plate toward Dean. The boy looked up in surprise. Wide green eyes filled to the brim with uncertainty and worry.

"Did you not like it?" anxiously peering between the plate of food and Castiel.

"I don’t need much food. My hunger works differently. You can have mine." The angel answered resolutely. 

Blinking owlishly, his green eyes went wide with shock before he nervously shifted in his seat and once again doubted if Castiel had meant it.

He did. He doesn’t need to eat. He is an angel of the lord.

“Dean, you can eat. Otherwise, it will go to waste.” Trying a different approach when convincing the child. Hopefully, he looked genuine.

Dean blinked, then grinned gratefully. "Thanks!"

He dug in with gusto, and for the first time since the transformation, Castiel felt something like hope. 

Hope that maybe, for the time being, Dean would be okay. Till they could unfold the mysteries of the hourglass he brought home.

He caused this mess. He would be the one to make sure he undid this mess and have Dean return to his present age.

Chapter Text

As the sun dipped below the horizon and day gave way to night, the bunker grew quiet. Sam glanced beside him and smiled softly. Dean, now eight years old, hummed to himself while coloring the pages Sam had given him to keep his mind busy.

The humming stopped. Dean looked up, catching Sam in the act of watching him. Embarrassed, Sam quickly scrambled for something to say.

“It’s getting late, Dean. Bet you’re getting tired?”

“No, not really.”

Sam turned to face him fully, caught off guard by the quick answer. He opened his mouth to respond, but the look on Dean’s face stopped him cold.

Dean looked… nervous? Frustrated? Anxious?

Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but one thing was clear—bedtime wasn’t going to be easy.

Sighing, Sam tried a different tactic. “Okay. Maybe not now. How about this—you’ve got until I finish this chapter, then it’s time for bed. No arguments.”

Dean didn’t answer. He just went back to coloring, the crayon dragging across the page in silence. Sam ran a tired hand over his face and returned to his book, trying to ignore the quiet weight of worry pressing down on him.

The room was silent for a long time. Except for the sound of the occasional page flip and the sound of a crayon brushing up against the paper. 

Sam would glance over at the child worriedly from time to time. Something about being told he would have to sleep seemed to upset Dean, and he was curious to know why. Whenever Sam tried to think back to their childhood, hoping for a clue to Dean’s odd behavior. Alas, the earliest age he could remember bits and pieces of was 10. Meaning his memory was useless in this problem.

Sam was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the bunker door creak open. He was brought back to reality when a hand was placed on top of his shoulder.

Jumping at the contact, his eyes snapped up to the owner, Castiel. Sam brought a hand to calm his startled heart. 

“Jesus-Cas, you scared the crap out of me. Again.” Sam couldn’t help but grumble upon realizing this was the second time the angel had seemed to appear out of nowhere beside him.

“Sam, I do not know a lot about human children or how to raise them, but it is midnight. Shouldn’t Dean be asleep now? I understand that most children require a minimum of 8 hours of rest.” Castiel then gave Dean a sideways glance. Dean hadn't bothered paying much attention to Castiel, but now he was glaring at him with resentment.

“Yeah, I know.” Sighing, Sam rubbed a hand down his tired face before refacing the angel in a grim voice. “I tried to put him down 4 hours ago. But he really didn’t want to, so I told him that when I finished the book, he would have to go without a fight. I guess I lost track of time reading.”

Sam looked over Dean, unimpressed with the major stink eye he was giving Cas at the moment. Sam wanted to laugh, but he was pretty sure that would give the kid the wrong idea. So, Sam let out a grunt and got up from his chair, giving his arms a stretch after being bent at an unflattering angle for so long. Looking down, Sam noticed Dean was squirming nervously in his seat; his brows were pinched tightly, and he was gripping the fabric of his khaki shorts.

“Dean?” He asked the child, catching the attention of the angel, too. Castiel peered over at the child and raised a brow in question. Did he notice Dean was behaving oddly as well?

Dean looked up, his lip trembling a bit. Sam crouched down to meet Dean’s height and once again, prompted him, “Dean? Is everything ok?” The child remained silent, his big green eyes filled with hesitance and fear. Worried, Sam backpedaled his insistence and instead tried reassuring his brother, “It’s ok to tell me. I only want to help Dean.” Silence. 

Sam heaved a disappointed sigh when Dean’s eyes fell back to the floor and turned away from him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say or do. Without any other ideas, he returned onto his feet and guided Dean to his bedroom. The lights were dim, along with the stillness of the air. Footsteps and shifting clothes were the only sounds that could be heard. With each step toward his brother's room, the air felt stuffy, and the lights seemed to turn harsher. 

Taking a small glance back, and saw that Castiel was staring down at Dean with a calculated look. Sam wanted to press him and see if he knew anything or could sense something-anything! God, he was desperate to make sure his brother was ok.

Arriving in front of Dean’s bedroom door, looking down, he saw his brother looking from the door up at him. Something in his eyes told him he was still scared. Of what, He still wasn’t sure. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and led Dean to his bed. 

Castiel lifted the child gently, placing him under the covers. Sam lifted the bed covers and leaned over to tuck Dean in. As he brought the covers to Dean’s chin, the child’s hand shot out. Gripping the sleeve of his beige plaid shirt, his eyes were wide and anxious.

“You’ll be close by, right?” Dean's voice shook with uncertainty.

Sam’s brows furrowed in question. After all, why was he so worried?

“Of course I will be Dean.” 

Nodding his head slowly, he kept one arm out and on top of the comforters. Not thinking it was worth fussing over, he ignored it and just put on a comforting smile. Slowly, Dean’s green eyes shut, and Sam gently rose from his spot. Spinning around in an attempt to leave and let his small brother rest. However, he noticed Castiel was still watching the child thoughtfully. 

“Cas? C’mon, let’s leave him to rest.” Sam gestured to follow him toward the door. It took another minute, but eventually the angel complied with his request and left Dean’s side to exit the room.

Quietly, Sam closed the door. Feeling the tension subside for a moment, he allowed his shoulders to sag in relief. Remembering his earlier questions, he directed his attention to the angel.

“Do you know something? Something that I don’t.” Castiel continued to stare at Sam with a default look. It was always kind of awkward when it was just the two of them. It felt like talking to a relative you haven’t seen in ages, and was trying to rekindle a bond. He always tried to ignore the weirdness, but with everything going on, his brother being a literal child, an unnamed object is still sitting on the map table, and they are no closer to finding a cure. It was all too much, and he didn’t have time to dance around the timid, mediocre facade.

“Come on, Cas! I need answers now. I need some answers to all this, or else I am going to lose my mind.” He hadn’t meant to shout, seeing as they were still only a couple of feet away from Dean’s bedroom door. Castiel finally seemed to acknowledge his question and huffed.

“I can’t say for sure- I, myself, am still figuring things out, but something is troubling Dean, which you have managed to catch onto as well. Something is off with Dean, his feelings and fears, they are all so large. Some of which, I think, are an indication of our Dean.” The explanation was slightly jumbled, causing Sam’s tired brain to short-circuit on a good portion of it. However, after a moment of processing, Sam realized what Castiel was saying.

“You think it’s possible, even though younger Dean doesn’t understand or know why, he may still have some of Dean’s feelings and thoughts?”

“Yes.”

Sam was left speechless for a brief moment. After all, what was he supposed to say or ask? It was new, but information and answers nonetheless.

“That’s good. Isn’t it? I mean that means deep down, the older Dean is still there.” Castiel’s lips curved into something grim. Sam was now doubting if he wanted to know anymore. “What?” Sam questioned upon seeing the uncomfortable look on Castiel’s face.

“Well, with Dean being transformed into his younger self and having all of his previous feelings, thoughts, and memories, I fear it may be too much on him. For example, I believe his fear of sleep wasn’t of his younger emotions but his older ones.” Castiel explained, his brows pinched and lips pursed in thought.

“Which would explain why he was silent, it’s because he couldn’t explain why he was scared to sleep. For him, it was like instinct because he, at this age, has no innate connection with these feelings?” Castiel inclined his head to nod again.

Why can’t things ever go easily in their lives? Why couldn’t it be like the books, after a certain amount of time, Dean would change back into his grown self, or they break the object and it breaks the spell? That kind of thing.

Groaning in frustration, he once again used the heels of his palms to scrub his eyelids. Feeling drained emotionally and physically, Sam decided he too should get some rest. 

“Hey, Cas, I’m gonna call it a night. If anything comes up, wake me.” Castiel gave him a firm nod, and with that, Sam spun around and headed off to his room.”

Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.

Sam woke up with his mind foggy, and the arm he instinctively let hang off the bed had gone numb. Grunting, he tried to maneuver his arm on top of the bed, but that’s when he realized the tiny hand holding his- well, more like a vice grip. 

Sam shifted his body weight and peered down, his heart nearly shattered at the sight. His, at the moment, younger brother made a small bed on the floor next to his and was holding his hand like his life depended on it. Sam turned his body over, facing the side where Dean lay on the floor. Sam couldn’t remove his hand, mainly due to the fear of waking the child, the other half being guilt. 

Instead, he closed his eyes once again and focused on the comforting hand holding his. The warmth it brought, and despite the numbness from the lack of proper blood flow, it was grounding to have his brother hold his hand again. It wasn’t long before Sam once again drifted off into a peaceful slumber. 

The light was glaring through the curtains, assaulting his still resting eyes. Just as he was about to open them, the sound of murmurs and whispers kept him from announcing his wake.

“Dean, are you alright?” 

“Shhh, you’ll wake up Sammy.” Sam scrunched up his brows in confusion. Why would Dean be worried about him waking up? Not feeling awake enough to dwell, he continued to listen in on the conversation.

“Well, wouldn’t that be a good thing? Then we can all talk about your dream.” What dream? 

“No. I don’t want him to worry about it. It’s my problem, which means you gotta pinky swear you won’t tell him either.” He practically demanded, and there was a lengthy silence that followed. Sam was worried; maybe they knew he was awake or that something else had happened. Finally, he could feel Dean tighten his grip on his hand, and Castiel spoke, “I pinky swear. However, I do suggest you discuss this with your brother.”

“I can’t- I don’t want him to worry about me. That’s my job, not his.” 

Sam could feel his heart constrict painfully at his brother's words.

Even at this age, he felt a sense of duty over him, Sam had hoped Dean wasn’t ‘trained’ just yet.

Chapter Text

As Dean closed his eyes and tried to put his mind to rest, he could feel the springs of the bed shift as Sam’s weight was then removed. There was the quiet echo of footsteps, but Dean didn’t hear Castiel move from his spot, which made him curious. Just as he was going to take a peek, Sam ushered Castiel out of the room, and soon he heard the shift of clothing followed by soft footsteps and a closed door.

Dean let out a tired sigh, he couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. The blankets were soft, and the feeling of memory foam enveloping his weight made him drowsy. Soft murmurs could be heard from across the room just outside the door. The hunter side of him wanted to eavesdrop and see if he could learn more about why he was suddenly transported to the future; however, the other half wanted to, just for the moment, relax and allow his mind to believe everything will work itself out. 

After all, if this older version of Sammy couldn’t figure it out, maybe they could ask their dad. Dean was snapped back to reality when he realized the soft murmurs outside his door had vanished completely. The groans of pipes, the soft sound of flickering light, and the low hum reverberated off each wall, it became all he could hear. 

The silence was too loud.

Dean’s breathing hitched. At this time of night, he’d usually hear Sammy’s soft snores in the opposite twin bed. Whenever his little brother had trouble sleeping—bad dreams or questions about their dad’s work—Dean would read to him from the flimsy, dog-eared Bible or make up a story. The rhythm of his own voice always lulled Sammy to sleep, leaving Dean to stare at the ceiling, watching over him.

Now, that space was empty. And the quiet pressed in like a weighted blanket.

His eyelids grew heavy, memories pulling him under.

As the memories of his brother being beside him clouded his mind, slowly the images lulled him to sleep. 

The air was thick—humid, and suffocating, clinging to Dean’s skin like a second layer. Each breath scraped down his throat like sandpaper. Shadows danced at the edge of his vision, flickering like dying candlelight. Nothing looked solid. The ground beneath him rippled, shifting like liquid tar.

His vision blurred, spinning in and out of focus. Everything illuminated in red, the glow of fire embers, the sound of a nasal laugh mocking him far off in the distance. 

The worst part was the mixed cries, screams, and yells that travelled on like it was on loop. The desperate wail of eternal damnation from those wayward sinners.

They were all trapped there. Suffering together, yet separately. 

Pain crashed into him like a tidal wave, sudden and consuming.

It didn’t start slowly and build gradually over time. No. It was immediate, harsh, and quick like being hit by a bus and left with the impact. Unlike being hit by a vehicle, the pain never subsided instead, it felt like he was in agonizing, tormenting pain and when he thought he would finally find peace in passing out, his body ‘reset’ and the experience appeared to start all over again.

With all this happening to him, he could hardly think anymore, his mind fogged in delirium and distortion. The thing that seemed to play on loop was: Pain .

Everything was too overwhelming; He screamed.

However, the scream was far from that of a child- It was guttural, raw, almost inhuman. The kind of scream that wouldn’t exist from a child’s throat. The kind that echoed off the walls and eventually submerged-blending in with the others. It was the kind of scream that never leaves you.

Please, someone, anyone, help me. It hurts! Help me! I can’t take it anymore-- let me out!! Let me off-!

He couldn’t identify the place because it was unlike anywhere he had ever been. Yet, this place seemed to remember him, and something inside him told him this place had teeth. This place recognized him, and it made sure he knew that.

His nails dug into his skin, tearing away into his arms, neck, and chest. Anywhere he could reach, just to make the pain stop or dull down. His lungs no longer filled with air. The pain was too thick, he couldn’t breathe. His throat felt raw and flayed from the endless screaming. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out other than a sad, low whine of sound.

The agony was too big for him.

Then-

A big ball of brilliant light.

Soft at first glance, but began growing, radiant, and golden.

It descended slowly and gracefully, cutting through the suffocating blackness like dawn after a long winter. 

The warmth gently kissed his face.

The pain began to fade away.

The fires began to recede.

His body stopped trembling, and his lungs filled again. The light enveloped him like wings, cocooning him in silence, heat, and something that felt achingly like peace . A distant sensation settled on his left bicep, a soft, delicate touch that simmered momentarily.

Dean stopped moving.

He let his eyes flutter shut. Let the warmth pull him under.

Here, there were no monsters.

No screams.

No failure.

No weight .

He wanted to stay.

As he leaned into the soft, absorbing light, something called for him in the distance. A fleeting voice: Dean. Dean Winchester.

A voice filled with honey and rocks. Soft and welcoming, yet gravelly and stern like the gentle impact of a wave in the ocean.

However, something was off each time it was repeated. Starting as a small noise in the afterglow, became more urgent. The tone changed completely, it caught Dean’s attention. The more he acknowledged the voice, the louder it got, the more desperate it became.

This voice, it was familiar, so familiar that it clicked instantly. Resonating deep within his soul.

Continuously, it called to him.

“Dean-Dean, please don’t go! Don’t leave me!”

That voice—older, but still his brother’s. Full of fear. Full of need .

Sammy.

That was when the light pulsed once. It didn’t burn, but it judged .

Dean stood at the edge of something—something finalized.

And as he turned away.

The light dimmed. Its warmth fled along with it. Leaving Dean feeling cold and empty in its place.

After that, the shadows swallowed everything, leaving him in darkness.

Bolting upright in bed, he heaved a ragged breath. The sweat was cold against his flushed skin. The fear and coldness remained fresh in his mind.

His hand clutched his sheets tightly. So tightly, his knuckles turned white with the effort. The nightmare-induced sweat cloaked his body, causing his shirt to cling to bare skin. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, green eyes travelled around the room. Although the room was very new and should probably be scary to him, Dean found himself grounded almost as if the room were familiar. It felt safe.

Broken pieces of the nightmare rushed back into his head. Once again, afraid that the pain might return, he hugged his knees close and kept the blanket up to his chin. Big green eyes staring into the darkness, daring for something to move in the shadows. 

Everything remained the same, the same pipes wheezed, the walls of the building continued to hum softly, and the silence dragged on as it did when he first closed his eyes.

Dean relaxed upon realizing that the pain wasn’t gonna come back for him. Dean was about to settle back down when a soft rustle in the darkest corner of the room made him snap his head up.

“Dean?” came a voice—quiet, concerned.

Dean turned, blinking rapidly. His eyes were locked on blue.

Castiel.

Moving forward, out of the darkness. Dean could finally see his figure better, and the dull light from the hallway in the bunker illuminated his face and side.

Approaching the bed softly, it was only in this moment that something clicked into his brain. 

Right. 

When he went to sleep, the door was shut; now, it was open wide. The hallway was dark but had some incandescent lighting.

When did Castiel open it? How long was he standing there-?

Dean could now see his expression better. It was gentle, but his eyes were full of something far deeper. Recognition.

Fear spiked in him. 

Could he see the fear in his eyes? Was he being too obvious?

Ducking away from his align of sight, Dean tried to cover his face with the blanket, attempting to block Castiel’s view- then he couldn’t read him. He hoped.

“I’m fine,” he lied, voice rough. “Just… bad dream. Not a big deal.”

Castiel didn’t speak right away. He moved slowly, carefully, and sat at the edge of the bed.

The bed shifted with the weight, Dean’s small frame naturally edged closer to where the bed dipped. Castiel looked uncomfortable, like something was bothering him.

“While you were asleep, you cried out a couple of times. When I came in here, you yelled something in Enochian.” 

Dean dropped his head, ashamed that he had burdened Castiel with a silly nightmare. One thing stood out to him, though.

Raising his head again, he tilted his head as he asked, “What is Enochian?”

Castiel exchanged a glance before glancing back down at his hands.

“It is the language I speak.” He paused. Hesitating, he glanced back at Dean.

“Is it like the Egyptians?” 

Castiel finally turned to officially look at Dean. The question made Castiel’s lip quirk up ever so slightly in amusement. 

Dean wasn’t too sure why he felt so giddy about it.

“No. It is an old language.” Castiel looked like he wanted to say more, and Dean hoped he would, but as Castiel’s lips pursed, Dean figured he wouldn’t get a straight answer. Not tonight.

“I don’t know that language.” Attempting to uplift the mood with some humor. “So whatever I said must have been stupid.” However, Castiel’s face turned to something more serious as he shook his head.

“No. You screamed for Help.”

“Oh.”

The air felt heavy once again, and his breath caught in the back of his throat.

Dean curled inward, his lip curling into a frown. “I’m sorry.” He spoke shamefully and was embarrassed.

Castiel’s brows creased slightly in confusion, tilting his head toward the child. His Eyes remained gentle as they watched him.

“I must have looked pretty weak,” Dean admitted solemnly. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from looking too pathetic.

“Dean.” Castiel attempted to reassure, but Dean interrupted.

“I can’t be.” 

Everything went silent again upon the quiet confession.

The response wasn’t one Castiel predicted. His clear blue eyes were squinty and bore into the child's head as he waited for further explanation. 

Tiny hands gripped the blanket once more, working through the nerves to finish his previous statement. With the silence, Dean broke down the wall of anxiety and faced Castiel.

Determined green eyes met with sympathetic blue ones.

“Dean, you are anything but weak.” 

Dean's face wavered. Castiel didn’t break eye contact, holding Dean’s gaze until he accepted what he said. Eventually, a warm, compliant smile made its way back to Dean’s face. 

“Thanks, Cas. I am glad I ended up with a friend like you.” Dean said with such sincerity that Castiel jolted in surprise. 

Castiel offered in a soft tone with a warm smile, “Would you feel better if I watched over you?” 

Silence remained as he considered the offer. While contemplating carefully, Castiel waited patiently for the child to make a decision. 

Dean realized, then, how much comfort he found in Castiel’s presence. No pressure. No judgment. Just quiet, steady companionship.

Slowly, he nodded, answering Castiel’s question. Just as Castiel went to sit beside him on the bed, Dean reached out, stopping him mid-movement. 

“I don’t want to stay in here. Can we go into Sammy’s room? Please.” Dean pleaded with his eyes big and hopeful. 

Castiel glanced down in thought before responding to his plea. 

Giving in fairly quickly to the request, he nodded and guided the child down the hall to his brother’s room. 

Opening the door softly, both crept in, making little to no noise. Dean’s pillow and comforter were both bundled into his small arms. 

Sam’s room was different than Dean’s. Both set up-wise and aesthetically, Sam’s room fit the bill of being a nerd. The thought made his shoulders relax instantly, all tension ebeing away.

Dean placed his pillow on the floor, settling down on the floor before covering himself with his blanket. He took one last glance over at Castiel. His eyes were so blue, like looking into the ocean, both filled deep and filled with mystery. However, his thoughts didn’t get far. His eyes grew heavier, drooping down before closing them completely. 

Sam was sprawled on his back, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed. Before closing his eyes, he reached up, grabbing Sam’s dangling hand. He squeezed it, the small but fierce grip of a protector—his protector. Relief swelled in his chest, a tight knot unwinding as he clung to his brother’s hand like a lifeline, the unspoken promise that he’d keep Sam safe, no matter how small he was now.

The warmth from his brother’s hand was grounding, even if the difference in their hand sizes was a bit disorienting. All tension and nerves that had accumulated and followed him from his nightmares slipped away, and his hold on Sam’s hand tightened. Sam was here. Safe. Unharmed. And as long as Dean could hold onto him, he would keep him that way. Deep down hoping that the desperate cry he heard in his dream would never become reality. To hear his brother so broken, disheveled, and desperate made his heart ache worse than any pain being inflicted on him beforehand. However, in this moment, none of that mattered because Sam was beside him. Through their conjoined hands, Dean could feel the light thump of a pulse. Every beat was another indicator of life; Sam was alive, he was ok, they were together. 

Whatever happens, they would deal with it together .  

In the darkness, Castiel settled nearby, sitting vigil as Dean’s breathing evened out, his small hand still clutching Sam’s.

For now, Dean slept. And for now, he was safe. Sam was safe. Dean’s small hand still held tightly to Sam’s, as if tethering himself to the one constant in his life—the brother he would always protect, even now, even in dreams.

Dad will be so proud of him.