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.