"And this is the john. You shit in it." Dean looked expectantly at the toddler. Blue eyes returned the look with a healthy side of skepticism. Slowly the head tilted to the side.

"Watch your language," Bobby warned from where he and Sam were watching from the doorway. " I thought you were supposed to be good with the little tykes."

"I'm not talking baby-talk, Bobby. I'm pretty sure that's all of Cas in there."

The corners of Castiel's mouth turned down sharply.

"Castiel," Sam broke in hurriedly, recognizing the sign of impending tears. This smaller version of the angel liked the full version of his name, not that Dean could wrap his head around that.

Tantrum averted. The head tilted the other way, and a sharp odor began to permeate the air.

Dean swore roundly.

The witch said that this was supposed to be helpful. The witch said that there were lessons to be learned. Sam did a little after hours research to make sure that she wasn't Gabriel back in the flesh and in disguise.

Although, Sam kind of doubted that Gabriel would leave his little brother this vulnerable in Sam and Dean's incapable hands. Anyway. Tests proved the witch was exactly what she purported to be, a misguided do-gooder with the powers of darkness.

So, until all three of them learned their lessons, they had a toddler-shaped Castiel-with severely limited communication skills. Not that this was a big change, but Dean became "Dee." Sam was reduced to "Tham."

Sam was pretty sure that Castiel pronounced "Bobby" correctly just to spite them all.

This babysitting was cutting deeply into the time spent looking for Sam's soul. Also, Sam was pretty sure that Heaven's civil war was still raging on with or without Castiel.

They so don't have time for this.

Dean has since given up on the "Not really a baby" argument, although he's gaining ground on the "Angels don't sleep" front.

Although, Dean would pay Castiel's current weight in gold, if the angel would just . . . freaking . . . pretend . . .

He shifts Castiel in his arms, bouncing the wide awake toddler up and down to go along with the sideways rocking sway as Dean paced back and forth.

"Dean, you're going to make him seasick."

"It's not gonna make him seasick," Dean snapped.

"Well, it's making me seasick, just watching," Sam countered.

Dean glared, and added a little Metallica stylings to his routine. Castiel reached out and patted his cheek gently. Dean didn't know if that was encouragement or "Please stop" in baby-angel. He kept singing until the words started blurring together, and he ran into a solid wall of dingy flannel.

"Dude," Sam rumbled down at him. "Go to bed. I can watch him."

Dean snorted, and shifted Castiel's weight to his other shoulder. "No way. I've got this." So what if his lesson was supposed to be trust? He's not trusting a completely vulnerable Castiel to his soul-less brother.

"You're asleep on your feet. First there was the hunt, then twenty-four hours of "How to fix Castiel" and another sixteen of angel baby-sitting . . ."

"Then I'll wake up Bobby," Dean snapped.

"Dean. I've got this. Four hours of making sure Castiel doesn't kill himself. I can do that."

Sam's looking at him with his earnest expression which means diddly right now, but it's so familiar, and Dean is exhausted.

"No outlets, no sharp objects, no heights, staying in the house, no questionable herbs, and no cooking. I'll sit here and read him a book."

"If . . ."

"If demons come knocking, if Castiel suddenly turns blue and sprouts wings, if Lisa calls, if Raphael appears, if the house is on fire . . . I've got it. If anything happens, wake you up." Sam pried Castiel out of Dean's arms, and after one last pat, the littlest angel allowed it.

Dean's unconscious the moment his face hits the sofa.

Sam watched his big brother sleep for a few moments, and then turns back to Bobby's chair. It's big enough to hold him, and Castiel actually kind of, sort of fits in the crook of his arm. Sam grabs the nearest book, and flips open the history of Norse mythology.

At first, he tries to read it in a more animated tone, but soon he gives up on that. It's too much work, and emulating his worst Stanford professor isn't going to kill Castiel. The kid is warm, dry, well-fed, and has someone of legal age keeping an eye on him. It's more than the Winchesters had growing up.

But Sam begins to notice something as the dry dull monotone continued. Castiel becomes heavier. His head rests lightly back against Sam's chest as he follows Sam's finger across the text with bleary eyes. Sam slows the monotone a little further.

Castiel settles completely, and the big blue eyes fall shut.

Sam reads for ten minutes longer just to make sure that the sneaky angel isn't playing a prank on him. Then he puts the book down. Castiel doesn't stir. Sam carefully shifts Castiel into the hold that Dean used on the shape-shifter baby. Castiel is a little bigger than the baby was, so Sam has to adjust it a little bit.

"Guess you do sleep after all," Sam commented.

And he carefully walks over to the sofa, laying Castiel down in the crook of Dean's arm between the hunter and the sofa. Castiel nuzzles sweetly into Dean's t-shirt, and Sam rolled his eyes, but dug out his phone.

He wasn't touched in the least, but he remembered being the other-Sam.

And this? This is prime blackmail material.

"An'elth!"

Dean groaned and turned to Bobby, the unofficial toddler translator.

Bobby shrugged and flipped a page in his book.

In the next moment, the house was lit so brightly that Dean thought the fairies were back. Then the light begins to resolve into human shapes. Dean lunged around the table for Castiel. He gets a handful of fake denim and that's enough. He's got Castiel; somehow between Dean's lunge and Castiel's wiggling, he has Castiel trapped against his chest with little arms tight around his neck.

It's Raphael. Dean knows it instinctively, even though he's never laid eyes on this vessel.

"An'elth!" Castiel continues to scream in his ear, and now Dean can translate it for himself, thank you.

Angels. As in more than one, but Raphael is pretty much the worst thing they could come up against. Regular angels, Sam and Dean have a little practice with. Archangels are something else.

"Tham!"

"I'm coming!" his little brother shouted. There was a flash of light and a dull thud, but it seemed to satisfy Castiel, who quietly laid his head against Dean's shoulder and waited patiently.

Dean was considerably less patient. And considerably more stressed. Of course the angel learns his lesson of trust now. Worst possible timing ever.

And then there was Sam. And fire. Bobby sounded pretty pissed too, but Dean didn't believe in looking gifthorses in the mouth. Most of them had large teeth.

"So."

Castiel looked back at Dean from his place in Sam's arms. Sam tossed Castiel in the air gently, catching him easily, and Castiel enjoyed the minor sensation of flight. "So what?"

"What exactly are we going to do with the archangel in Bobby's library?"

"Wait for Castiel to get back to normal?" Sam suggested. "Which by the way requires us to go back to searching for my soul so that I can learn my lesson."

Subtlety, thy name is not Sam.

Castiel sighed. The Winchesters were so focused on limitations, that they continually neglected opportunities. Castiel would have to change this when he was able to more effectively communicate.

Sam threw him again. Castiel couldn't help the tiny delighted smile. He squirmed in Sam's loose grasp to share it with Dean. The older Winchester seemed calmed by expressions of enjoyment.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Castiel frowned. He knew that voice. He knew what that voice really was.

"What do you want, Crowley?" Dean snapped, already moving between the demon, Castiel and Sam.

"I heard that you boys acquired something interesting."

"We're not handing over an archangel, not even Raphael," Dean insisted.

"Wouldn't have the foggiest idea how to handle him if you did," Crowley continued smoothly. "Firepower's a bit above my paygrade. Was actually hoping that he and your little friend there," with a jerk of his head in Castiel's direction, "would finish each other off in their little war."

Crowley reappeared closer to Sam and Castiel, completely bypassing Dean. "Although you don't look like much now, do you, Castiel?"

And Castiel very quietly reached out. The demon let him, still chuckling and making the odd degrading cooing noise that the witch had made. Castiel rested his fingers against the tip of the demon's nose. Then he swept them up fast and sharp, smacking the heel of his his small palm against Crowley's forehead.

There was no time for the demon to react.

As Crowley's smoking meatsuit hit the floor, the hunters were staring at Castiel in shock.

"So . . . I guess the archangel upgrade is still intact," Dean commented, obviously stunned.

Castiel graced them all with his small sneaky smile.

Now they could go retrieve Sam's soul. Sam logically knew that Castiel trusted him. There was no compassion or guilt to interfere, and Castiel's actions had been plain. Once Sam's soul had been retrieved, Castiel would likely have to convince him again. But it could wait.

And so could reversing the witch's spell. Castiel could now, if he wanted to. He could. But, the hunters were comfortably-shaped for napping on. Tomorrow was another day.