A/N:OTL I'm so sorry it took me so long to get an update done. Three months, very bad of me. But the beginning just wasn't coming out like I wanted it to and we can all blame Sam.

Anyway, tiny!Cas hugs to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and especially to anyone who caught the Watchmen/JDM reference. Anyone who reviews this chapter gets cuddles from our shrunken angel of Thursday and some apple pie ice cream! And a complementary dentist visit as this chapter is mostly sugar. With some Bobby-flavored!angst thrown in.

I won't take up too much time with the author's note, as everyone's waited oh-so patiently. :3 So, here's the next installment.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, intentionally put or otherwise.

They remained stock still, taking in the appearance of one another. Though Sam was unaware of Gabriel's observation of him just hours ago, the archangel took his time drinking in the tall hunter's appearance. Sam, in turn, took in Gabriel's appearance. The small lines on his vessel that had nothing to do with laughter. He looked, well, worn out. And the pit in his stomach, a usually constant chasm ever since before he had jumped into the pit with Lucifer as his co-pilot, welled up with what might have been concern for the archangel/trickster/pagan god that had not only killed his brother multiple times over, but had proceeded to pull pigtails in TV Land (Truthfully, Sam could never look at game shows the same way again, even something as docile as Wheel of Fortune.)

"You okay there, Samalam? Creepy staring was always Cassy's thing – not yours."

Sam snapped out of what had been a near-trance, glancing momentarily at the bundle of clothes in his arm and wonders if it's grown since he last added to it. He looks back at Gabriel, almost expecting him to be gone – a waking dream, a figment of his imagination from lack of coffee. But Gabriel is still there, an almost saddened smile curling at the corners of his lips, something like regret echoing in caramel eyes before it's gone in a flash and a more forced smile takes its place.

"Still here, kiddo. Wouldn't think of leaving before I get the interrogation part of the Winchester Return-From-the-Dead Program. So, hit me with your best shot," Gabriel paused, before the smile grew into a cheeky grin. "and fire away."

He wanted to ask so many questions. They curled to the front of his brain; 'How are you alive?', 'Where have you been?' or even, and more importantly in some regards, 'How did you find me?'because the sigils on his ribcage should have protected him from any prying angel's eyes – even an archangel's.

But the only question Sam got to ask coherently was, "Katy Perry? Really?" because Gabriel was wearing the same shirt his doppelganger had been wearing.

The question took Gabriel by rare surprise and a laugh escaped him. Sam felt as if the world could have magically rid itself of the monsters roaming under people's closets and beds, miracles all over the globe – it hardly compared to making the archangel laugh.

"That isn't the question you want to ask," Gabriel managed through his quiet chuckles. "But any singer that sings about candy? A-okay in my book." He held up his hand, curling and pinching his thumb and index fingertips into a circle. The cherry on top was a ridiculous wink to accompany the hand gesture. Sam rolled his eyes, but hid away a smile.

"But, how about we blow this popsicle stand, Samwich? There's only so much of Wal-Mart even I can take." Gabriel lifted a hand and, instead of placing fingertips on his temple, curled his hand into the nook of his elbow. The sound of ripped paper completely surrounded Sam, and one minute they were standing in Wal-Mart with nil space between them, Sam's arm full of child-sized clothes, and the next –

...he was suddenly standing smack-dab in the middle of the motel room he and Dean had checked into for some rest. His armful of items he had collected was gathered into a few bags off to the side. It almost looked like more than he had gathered (and had intended to purchase, even if on someone else's dime.) He spied his brother sleeping soundly in the bed adjacent to his, snoring softly with an arm flung up to curl a pillow against him. Dean would deny with his last breath that it was cuddling. Beside him, snuggled up against his branded shoulder, was the child-sized angel equally as deep asleep as the hunter. Which was strange that they were still asleep; hunter's instinct usually had them awake at the slightest sound. Either his brother was that exhausted, or –

"Just a bit of influence for them to sleep deeper." Sam whirled around to look at the archangel critically. Gabriel almost seemed affronted. Almost. "What? I needed to check out Cassy's noggin, and your chucklehead brother just would not sleep. So, I might have laid a stronger suggestion for sleep." He shrugged, moving to look at the small sleeping child, ignoring the fierce look Sam threw his way at mentioning using his mojo—on any of them.

"How are you alive, Gabriel? I— we thought you were dead... And how did you know about Castiel?" He paused, thoughts jumbling together. "How did you know where to find us?"

Gabriel paused from his inspection of the bed to look back at Sam curiously. He sat on Sam's bed, bouncing on the mattress once, twice before patting the spot next to him invitingly. Sam didn't budge. "Oh, come on, Samsquatch. I won't bite unless you want me to." With a small eyebrow wiggle, he grinned at Sam's eye roll. "If you're not careful, they'll stick that way."

Sam pulled a bitch face, but sat down on the other side of the bed against his better judgment. "That doesn't make sense."

"... Your face doesn't make sense."

He raised an eyebrow. "Great comeback."

Gabriel grinned merrily, pulling a Snickers from his pocket. "I try."

Sam frowned, before shaking his head. He leaned back on the bed, propped up by his elbows. Gabriel moved to mimic him. "Are you going to answer me?"

"What'cha mean, kiddo?"

"My questions, Gabriel."

The archangel sighed, chewing on his candy bar if only as a means to think. "I don't know why I'm back. One minute I'm fighting Luci, I get shivved with my own blade—" He wanted to say Sam's eyes widening and mild look of alarm and surprise resolutely did not make him feel guilty. He hadn't felt guilty in a long, long, long time. That he'd admit to. But maybe he could have worded that better. "—next I'm waking up in a corn field in Iowa with barely any mojo to spare. So I hid out in TV Land until my strength came back." There was something far-away in his eyes, but he switched directions before he could go on. "Next thing I know, the Apocalypse was averted and Castiel's being flung from the skies. Which, incidentally, is how I found you two." Done with his candy bar, he threw the wrapper in the general direction of the trashcan, not bothering to look if it made it in. "But I'll explain that once Dean-o's awake. Got too much to do to repeat myself, and
every growing moose needs his rest."

Sam moved to protest—he wasn't tired, not really—if only to keep Gabriel talking and just be here and not disappear once he slipped into sleep. The look in his honey eyes softened to a shade of molten caramel, as Gabriel lifted a hand to frame Sam's cheek.

"Sleep, Sam." Gabriel commanded gently.

"But—" He could feel the warmth the archangel radiated through that one point of contact, gentle tendrils of, of something that soothed every ache and worry and had him leaning towards it even as he laid back against the stiff mattress and thin sheets.

"Sleep..."

And he did.

/\\/\\/\\/

Among the variety of things Sam had woken up to over his life; stage-whisper-yelling wasn't exactly a stranger. Vague memories of being younger, his father and brother arguing over a trivial thing that had happened during their latest hunt while the youngest slept soundly, or so they had thought. Dean and Bobby sometimes still did it, whether with each other or on the phone. But this time, Sam was having trouble dragging back the memories from the last day or so. Who could Dean be arguing with?

Let's see... The wendigo hunt had finally wrapped up, they stopped to watch the meteor shower, The Big Shooting Star that collided into a church, finding out the Big Shooting Star was Castiel (small and amnesiac), stopping at a hotel, Wal-Mart, Gabriel...

Gabriel.

"— .. won't let me wake him up. We need to go soon—the sooner we get to Bobby's..."

"I think you ought to be more focused on Precious Moments and the Muffin That Was, instead of the sleeping moose."

"What—Cas, that's too big, you'll choke—"

"That's what he said."

"Shut up, short stack. At least tear it up, eat in smaller bites."

Finally adventuring to unbury his head from his pillow to face the inevitable storm that loomed, the younger Winchester was assaulted by what smelled like a bakery that had set up shop in their motel room. Turning over, Sam eyed the site in front of him; the hotel table was literally covered in baked goods, Dean hovering next to Castiel while showing him to rip up what looked like a blueberry muffin into smaller bites. A graveyard of sampled and destroyed food lay in front on him, as well as on him and all over the floor. Occasionally he would shoot a dark look that looked entirely too heavy on such a young face towards the archangel, though he seemed to ignore them. Gabriel had stolen the other chair, leaning back on the back legs and looking very much like the cat that ate the canary.

He was, unfortunately, the one who noticed Sam awaken first. "He's alive!"

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded at Dean, moving towards the table. "So, what is this?"

"Eh, peace offering, of sorts." He nudged a carrot muffin towards Sam.

He took it, eyeing it with mild apprehension before nibbling it. The damn thing was still warm. "What has he told you?"

"Oh, not much." Gabriel commented flippantly. "Threats, snark; the patented Dean Winchester attitude."

Sam threw him a look. "Not you."

Dean snorted, taking a bite out of an apple turnover once Cas had decided he liked the blueberry muffin. "Him seeing Cas fall –" He was interrupted by a pointed cough by Gabriel. "Crash, excuse me – meeting up with you at Wal-Mart, his heroic flee into TV Land once he was mysteriously brought back to life," Gabriel had coughed again, but Dean ignored this one. "Not much that was particularly useful, besides apparently Cas didn't Fall, so much as Crash."

Throwing Gabriel a curious look, "There's a difference?"

The archangel gave an exasperated sigh like he was dealing with explaining rocket science to a three year old. "There is, kiddo. He didn't so much as Fall as Crashed, because all of his mojo is still swirling around in there. But someone, something put a lid on it. There, but inaccessible. While his grace in incommunicado, the John he's riding will have some influence—unconsciously, of course. The soul is gone, but the vessel still retains muscle memory."

It was strange, hearing Gabriel, trickster-, pagan-god-parading extraordinaire sound so serious. It made the brothers straighten up slightly. Castiel had found interest in his bakery graveyard, resolutely looking anywhere but the two hunters and his older brother.

"But, wait," Dean drawled slowly, thinking back to the church. "He pushed us back with his mojo, and he was perfectly fine when we found him. Not a scratch."

Gabriel shrugged, rocking slightly on his chair. "So the lid might have a crack or two in it—mojo may seep out, but he wouldn't be able to properly control it."

"But you can pop the lid, right?" Came the hopeful question. "Get him back to his old, awkward Holy Tax Accountant self?"

"I can, but I won't." Gabriel stuck an orange lollipop into his mouth.

Dean snapped upright, visibly bristling at Gabriel's non-challance. "Why the Hell not!"

"Because, Dean-o," Gabriel drawled, his tone harsh as he removed the sucker to speak. Amber eyes were lit with a smoldering impatience and bordering on anger. "Popping the box without knowing what did it, how it did it? Severe consequences, potentially." That, at least, got Dean to settle back a bit.

"So, what you're saying is, if you help him now, you could potentially hurt him more than help?" Sam asked, glancing between the other three occupants at the table.

Gabriel turned towards Sam, the darker look vanishing as the archangel beamed at the younger Winchester. "Got it in one, Captain Obvious!" He reached over, fluffing the mess of Sam's long hair almost affectionately.

Groaning and fighting back a smile, Sam pushed away his hand. "Don't do that."

"Spoilsport."

"Immature –"

"Well, if you're done with flirting with each other..." Dean cut in awkwardly, glancing down at Castiel. "You done eating? Need to get you cleaned up and head out of here."

"I'm done." The child-sized angel hopped down from the chair before wandering to the bathroom. Dean trailed after him, grabbing the bag of clothes Sam had brought back before following the angel.

Now left alone in only a mild awkward pause and evading eye contact for the briefest of moments, Sam cleared his throat softly, eliciting a chuckle from Gabriel.

"So.."

"Yeah."

"You'll let us know if you find anything?"

"Of course, Samsquatch. That is still my baby bro."

Sam threw him a hard look, persistently ignoring the fluttering feeling that was steadily rising in his stomach. "You could just call me Sam, Gabriel."

There was a pause as he looked towards the ceiling in thought, head tilting side-to-side in contemplation. "Sam, Sam... Sam." Sam's heart was resolutely not skipping beats at how Gabriel said his name, several times. "Mmmnaaah." The short angel grinned, fluffing up Sam's hair once more before he stood up. "Making nicknames for you is too fun."

Samuel Winchester certainly did not blush at that.

The hand in his hair lingered, fingers lacing through soft brown hair and slowly straightening out his bed head. Sam's hazel eyes trailed up his arm, to his shoulder before meeting that intense pair studying him already. There was something in Gabriel's golden eyes—dark, warm, affectionate. Gently, the hair was swept from his face with such tenderness that Sam nearly ached with it—until he remembered just who this was, Gabriel the Archangel who had killed his brother so, so, so many times at Mystery Spot and put him through misery in TV Land.

A small frown started tugging at Gabriel's lips, mouth opening to speak until –

"Sam! What the Hell?"

Gabriel grinned, giving a gentle tug at a strand of hair playfully. "Guess that's my cue. Later, kiddo."

Dean marched out to the main room just as Gabriel was gone in a flap of his wings, but Sam was barely even aware of his brother or the white shirt that rained golden glitter all over the carpet of the room. He was only aware of the warm echo of fingers carded through his hair, and an affectionate pair of golden eyes look pained as he flew off.

/\\/\\/\\/

After but a few moments of ranting at a disconnected Sam about the fact he got one of The Girliest Shirts Wal-Mart had to offer— and finally figuring out that Sam wasn't listening to a single word he said, he lobbed the glittery monster at his head and stalked back off to the bathroom. Cas was balanced on the lip of the tub, looking up at the hunter innocently—smears of blueberry stains were spread even worse over his face and hands, Hell even on his shirt. Chuckling to himself, Dean motioned for him to stand.

"A bit hard to clean things without water."

Castiel looked put out, but stood per request. "I could not.. reach it." He muttered haltingly, staring at the checkered tile floor. "And I could not figure out how to use the tub faucet."

Shaking his head slightly, the hunter leaned down, scooping up the small angel before setting him on the sink counter. "Bit hard to do that, being pint sized an' all."

Dean hated the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The child froze, hand halfway stretched for the tap before he found himself again and busied himself with cleaning the blueberry off resolutely. But he looked so.. sad.

Damn his mouth.

"Cas, you know we're going to fix this, right?"

"Of course, Dean." The tone was flat, clipped; if anything said just to get him to shut up.

"I mean it –" He gently ran his hand through the shock of messy, dark hair, carding through it and making it stand up even more. "We'll get you back, right as rain. Just, trust me, okay?"

A small pair of intensely blue eyes turned up to regard him, almost as if he was staring through him—the feeling was familiar, but still unnerving. "I believe you, Dean. I already trust you." A warmth flooded through Dean's chest, though try as he might to smother it down it just wouldn't stick.

A sudden fluttering, not unlike papers in the wind, caught his attention as a small pair of black wings that had otherwise been absent slipped through the slits in the back of the shirt in a smooth motion. They flapped once, twice before partially folding against his back in what looked like a relaxed manner. It took a solid moment for Dean to regain his thoughts—admittingly, he had forgot about Cas' wings. He should have mentioned something about it when Gabriel was here (he's still curious as to why he has eyes, even if he does enjoy watching the angel's wings move), but figures this will hardly be the last they see of Gabriel. Especially after he witnessed that.. moment between him and Sam, even if he still isn't sure what exactly happened. But maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to find out.

There was a chance he wouldn't get any information about the wings from Cas, who barely remembered the past few years. But it was worth a shot, right?

"So, Cas," He calls for his attention carefully, and small, deep blue eyes glance up at him in the mirror. Silently urging him on as he cleans himself. "How are you able to hide your wings? Do you know?"

There's a long pause, as Cas seems to mull the answer over while washing himself. Dean shifts his gaze to stare at the curtain, allowing himself to be lulled into a calm state with nothing but the slosh of water and rustle of fabric. Occasionally his gaze drifts over, making sure Castiel is okay or doing an okay job at cleaning himself. His thoughts continue to drift, however, from the events of the past day plus. The first thing he needed to do was call Bobby, once they were on the road. Catch him up to speed, maybe even get him working on how to find out what tagged Cas as a child. He was so lost in his own thoughts, Dean almost missed Castiel's response.

"It's a seal."

"'Seal'?"

He nodded, then started to shuck the oversized shirt. Dean reached out, helping him out of it. His fingers gently coaxed downy soft wings through the slits before tugging it gently over his head.
"Watch," He commanded softly, a pebbly squeak, as he remained still until Dean finally nodded his assent. The wings flapped once, before tucking up against his back. They slowly started to mold back with his back, the dark color spreading up in an intricate fan to resemble the wings held within in the very same oily black of his feathers. "Sealed," Castiel repeated, before quick as a snap his wings flared out, fanned through the air before settling.

Dean was utterly speechless, nodding to himself. "Seals, okay. Always seals with you angels..." He rifled through the bag for the least-testosterone-damaging clothing before setting them out for Castiel to change into. He decided against opening new wing slits in these clothes – Castiel seemingly didn't have must trust in Sam, something Dean hoped to rectify but might take some time. Reaching forward, his knuckles brushed against the very tips of the long black pinion feathers, unable to hide a smile as the small wings twitched and flapped awkwardly for a moment, before settling back.

Dean was halfway through showing Cas how to dress, mind off on the moon. He ought to let sleeping dogs lie for now. But, he couldn't let some things rest. "So, why do you let me see them?"

Castiel blinked, looking up at Dean with such an open look that toed the line of sadness. It reminded him of a barn painted in every religious symbol they could find, with an Angel that Raised Him From Perdition and, 'You don't think you deserve to be saved.'

It hurt, knowing he was basically back at square one point five now, with his munchkin angel.

"I trust you, Dean."

This time, if he let the warmth spread without shoving it back down, well, that was his own damn business.

/\\/\\/\\/

They'd just gotten on the road after leaving the motel; Dean driving and Sam as his shotgun, with Castiel nestled in the back with his overcoat. He was busy investigating what Sam had brought back, digging through the clothes and what looked like various forms of childish entertainment. Sam had to smile as he watched Cas poke around a box of crayons carefully, knowing full and well that Gabriel was the source of those.

"So," Sam started carefully, looking back at Dean. It was hard to get a current grasp on his mood – he looked almost as ease, but his stress tells were going off. "You seem to be taking Gabriel's whole resurrection thing rather well."

Dean's head snapped so quick Sam thought he might give himself whiplash.

"... what?"

"When I woke up, and saw Gabriel standing over Cas..." There hadn't been words. He'd just flown into action. "I tried to shank him."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah. The dick pinned me up against the wall—we were yelling at each other pretty loud, I have no idea how you slept so frigging sound." Shaking his head, he rubbed his neck slightly. "Then Cas wakes up, taps into the bit of angel mojo he can and sent Gabriel through the TV. The look on his face was worth it." Dean chuckled, relaxing back into his seat.

Sam was having trouble wrapping his head around this. How had he slept through a fight? Angel mojo, maybe? And Castiel getting the jump on Gabriel? Something's weren't adding up. It kind of did explain Castiel's dark looks this morning, however.

"So, Gabriel fixed the TV, fixed up breakfast and we'd been working on that for a while until you woke up." The older Winchester shook his head, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

Dean snuck a glance at his younger brother. "How're you handling him being back?"

Sam shrugged, staring out the window. "Okay, I guess. It's nice, that he seems to be on our side." He paused, looking thoughtful. "If he can help with Castiel, maybe he can help with Bobby, and help figure out what raised me from Lucifer's box."

The conversation dropped, but things seemed lighter. More hopeful.

A regained ally helped.

/\\/\\/\\/

They'd been on the road for a few hours, fringing on mid-afternoon by the time they called Bobby. Nestled into an off-road gas station that only had two working self-service pumps coated in a fine layer of road dust. But it was working, and Baby could do with a fill-up.

Dean leaned against the bumper of the impala, watching the meter scroll idly by. The faint sounds of Sam chatting with Bobby—from the sounds of it, the older hunter wasn't all too happy. But the way things were progressing, they'd be back by evening (barring some broken speed laws...). Then they could work on figuring out what did this to Cas. And get Bobby out of his contract, of course.

In the backseat of the vintage car, Castiel was nestled up with not only his overcoat but one of Dean's as well in a bastardized coat nest fitting of a tiny angel (or, at least, the one that hung around them.) Despite after a good night's sleep and a good breakfast, the mini angel had fallen asleep after they had left the hotel. It was a relief to know that at least Castiel wasn't fallen—but it sometimes left Dean feeling unsettled. If he were honest with himself, a part of his memory kept flickering back to his trip to 2014, and seeing a very human, very broken, former-Angel-of-the-Lord unnerved the hunter. He wouldn't hesitate to help out Cas if he had fallen—he had, after Van Nuys went down, when Cas had called him from a hospital in Louisiana. A part of him convinces the needling worry that he would never let Cas stumble down that path.

But, what if—

The older Winchester blinked as the door to the backseat suddenly clicked open and swung out. Cas climbed out, scrubbing almost fitfully at his eyes to rid them of sleep. His dark hair was tousled and twisted into gravity-defying positions, vainly attempted to be swept back by smaller hands as the child-sized angel yawned.

"Good morning, sunshine." Dean chuckled, leaning in to sweep the dark locks away from his face with a bit more success. Castiel just sighed gently, leaning into the touch gently.

"It's not morning." He dutifully reported, as if Dean couldn't see the afternoon sun himself. "Where are we?"

"Close, I promise. Should be there by evening." As the pump suddenly gave a heave and a heavy click, Dean swooped down to remove the gasoline nozzle and replace it back into its cradle.

A woman and her child walked out of the station house, gaining Castiel's attention. The little girl that bounced by her side, a smile on her face as her yellow sun dress twirled with her excited movements. He watched them until they came to the edge of the dusty road, eyebrows knitted as he took mental notes. The small girl beamed up at her mother as the woman smiled back, extending her hand which the girl happily took within her smaller one. Together joined, they made their way across the street to a small shop promising homemade ice cream after looking both ways.

"Want some ice cream?"

Castiel jerked slightly in surprise, blinking and glancing up at Dean. The hunter leaned against the bumper, watching amusedly and having no idea the true focus of Cas' observation. Behind him, Sam was making his way in to go pay the gas bill and buy road food.

Glancing back at the hut, Cas nodded almost uncertainly. "Um.. Yes."

Grinning, Dean fluffed the angel's hair (Cas half-heartedly pushed his hand away, but smiled). "C'mon, then."

He started walking towards the building, trusting Cas to follow. But once Dean got halfway across the street, he turned to check on him...

...and found him standing firmly back at the edge of the street, watching the hunter intently.

"Cas? C'mon, don't tell me you forgot how to walk." Cas just continued to stare at him, as if waiting for the hunter to do something. "Dude, don't just stare. What's wrong? Change your mind?"

His small shoulders dropped slightly, frowning lightly in frustration as he glanced down at the dirty road before back up at Dean. The older Winchester's eyebrows furrowed in concern, taking a step back towards the angel. Cas finally moved; raising his arm up, palm face up and fingers splayed out in offering, face set in determination.

Dean stopped walking, staring at the hand as if it might bite him. "You're kidding me." The determination wavered on his face, biting his lip as he flexed his fingers, staring up at Dean. The hunter's cheeks heated up in mild embarrassment, glancing around as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Cas, there's no cars coming. You'll be fine."

"Oh." And if that didn't break Dean's heart.

Lowering his arm, Cas moved to join Dean but the hunter crossed back over first. A hand—tan, calloused with a silver ring wrapped around a finger—was suddenly thrusted in front of him, palm open and waiting. Cas glanced up at Dean curiously, meeting annoyed, embarrassed, amused eyes. The small angel smiled, slipping his hand into the hunter's and squeezed it slightly.

Seeing Cas smile like that, looking more lit up then he probably realized, as they crossed the street endeared him more than Dean Winchester would ever admit to in this life or thereafter. It definitely helped when Cas would later spill vanilla ice cream on the back seat of his baby.

That, and apple pie ice cream.
That helped, too.

.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.

"... What the Hell do you mean, six?"

"Just what I said, Bobby. Gabriel—"

"The archangel?"

"Yeah, he –"

"Ain't dead?"

"— thinks Cas was hit with a spell, but isn't sure of what kind yet."

"And you boys are bringing him here?"

"Yeah. We really need the home base right now, and if it's too much..."

"Oh, shut up. You idjits get here in one piece, got it? And I expect a full explanation once you get here."

A soft chuckle over the line. "Got it, Bobby. See you soon."

Bobby ran a hand over his face, returning the phone to its cradle as Sam hung up. A six year old angel.. why not? Add to the growing list of problems.

Sam's sudden unknown resurrection.
Reports from various hunters of monsters migrating.
Whatever whammied Castiel.

And, oh yeah, Crowley had his soul contract in a locked box.

That was another matter what-so-ever. His hourglass was winding down until crunch time with the King of Hell's hellhound. The very thought was enough to make him shudder, fingers playing with the handle of his desk drawer, a heartbeat away from reaching for the cheap liquor stashed inside. The thoughts of his seemingly inevitable demise were frequent enough to plague his dreams and haunt his waking thoughts.

Bobby glanced once at the wall clock before-screw it-he pulled the drawer open and pulled out a near-empty fifth. He'd just uncapped it, ready to draw what little liquor it had, when an accented voice carried over to him from behind him.

"Five 'o'clock somewhere, right, sweetheart?"

Scowling at the bottle, Bobby took a swig and shook his head. "Don't quote Jimmy Buffet at me, Crowley. What do you want?" Fingers grazed the back of his neck, brushing against the short hair and making the older man shiver. He turned, glancing up at just how close the tailored demon was to him. Dark, hooded eyes watched him curiously, almost detached as he adjusted his grip on the whiskey glass in his hand. Even after Bobby turned, his fingers continued stroking the short hair on his nape.

A smile crept at the corners of Crowley's lips. "What, no 'hello' kiss?" Bobby scowled and swatting his hand away irritably, making the other laugh. "No sense of humor today, sweetheart? Or should I go make a tampon run?" Bobby scowled grew darker. "You should be more careful, love. Your face might stick like that."

"Well, aren't you in a good mood."

"I try. Coming to your little bucolic nest is always a pleasure."

"And now I feel insulted." With a sigh, he took another swig. "What the Hell do you want, Crowley? Come to collect early?"

All traces of humor were instantly swept from the demon's face, forming together into a placid, emotionless mask. "No. Why would you think that?"

Confusion swept over the older hunter. "Why else would you be here?"

"Maybe I was telling the truth, Robert." The clipped tone made Bobby straighten up slightly in his chair, but Crowley had strolled the length of the room in a few easy strides. He eyed one of the picture frames on a shelf, of two young boys holding a football in autumn. Colored leaves scattered around and all over them, as if they'd managed to halt their play to take a quick photo. Somewhere, he mused that they might be the Winchester brats. "Just came to check in, is all. Making sure you're still breathing." There was a minute pause, almost, almost nonexistent. "Wouldn't want you to up and die on me before I can collect you."

"You mean your hellhound."

Crowley suddenly turned, fixing Bobby with a heavy look. "Who's to say I wouldn't come myself?"

Bobby remained unimpressed. "You could just give the damn thing back."

Tilting his head back and forth, he seemed to weigh the option before shaking his head. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Why not?"

Crowley tutted, shaking his head. "Safe keeping. Really, Bobby, if you traded your soul to me, I can't even imagine what other sorts you'd sell it to. Probably ones who wouldn't take care of it, as I have."

The old hunter made a rude noise, observing the demon where he stood. "Take care of it, right. That's why you'll send your damn hellhound after me in the end— to take care of my soul."

That fierce look was instantly clouding Crowley's face; dark, impatient, unimpressed. It made unease settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. "I told you, I won't send him after you." He paused, dark gaze flickering over Bobby's face before the hard look softened into something the hunter had never seen before—at least, never had seen Crowley wear it. But he couldn't for the remaining life of him identify it. When he spoke again, it was lower, softer; barely above a whisper that Bobby was almost convinced it was his imagination. "I do remember what it's like to have a heart, Bobby."

But before Bobby could respond, Crowley was gone from his living room with barely a whisper of sound.

"... Balls."

It was edging close to evening by the time Bobby heard the rumbling purr of the impala pull into his yard.

He hadn't moved much since his visit from Crowley, staying by his desk with what remained of his fifth, swirling the liquor idly even after he capped it. The glass Crowley had been using was still perched on the end of his desk, looking innocent and inconspicuous but only adding turmoil to his already heavy mind.

.. 'I do remember what it's like to have a heart, Bobby.'...

What did he mean by that?

But the arrival of the impala provided with a decent distraction for now—he had the mini!Cas problem to focus on, instead of his soul, or Crowley. Standing up from his desk(and it never got old that he could do that again), he stretched before going to open the door.

Sam smiled and nodded in greeting, as Dean ushered a very small angel out from the back seat, practically swallowed up in a large leather jacket he was vaguely certain was Dean's.

"Boys." Bobby nodded at both of them before switching to look at the small form hovering at Dean's knee, watching him critically. "Castiel?" The small form nodded slightly, but still remained on edge. Bobby nodded before shrugging, turning to go back inside. "Well, come on in."

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean refused to move, even as Sam moved to enter the house. Both men turned to look at him curiously. Even Castiel, who made no attempt to move without Dean, looked up at him. "This doesn't freak you out in the slightest?"

Bobby leveled a look at him, raising an eyebrow. "We deal with the supernatural every day. Especially since you two idjits attract it like magnets. So whatever curse or, whatever, was cast on Cas, then we'll deal with it." He groused, spinning on his heel before going inside.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look before shrugging and following him inside, Cas trailing behind.

"So, fill me in on everything..."

.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..|:.

Bobby was rather understanding of the whole thing, which took the boys by surprise. But dealing with the monsters in the dark, left little room to be surprised anymore these days. They'd gotten a few stacks of pizzas from a local pizza place, camping out in Bobby's living room and talking about different stratagems to the various problems now balanced up on their plates.

They had swapped stories; finding Cas for the reports of migrating monsters from various hunters.

"Doesn't it kind of seem like when it rains, it pours, with us?" Sam asks the open air, getting two grunts of agreement. He switches to watching his brother peering over Castiel's shoulder, who was coloring in one of the books Gabriel had, in a round-about way, given to him. He's vaguely sure he heard Dean murmur, "Dude, why's the giraffe green?" to of which Castiel looked so nearly scandalized that Sam had to walk away into the kitchen to keep from laughing. He didn't, however, miss the tiny angel's admission that it was his favorite color.

When Dean joined him not a few moments later, feigning a need for another beer, Sam noticed his face was tinged in mild embarrassment.

His brother was strange.

/\\/\\/\\/

They'd settled down for the night soon after dinner. Bobby going first, muttering about idjits and too many problems with not enough solutions. Sam followed not that long after, with a goodnight to his brother and Castiel. Dean remained sprawled out on the couch, remote in one hand and beer in the other as he stared at the late night movie. Castiel was currently branching out past just scribbling odd colors between thick lines and had found an old ream of yellowed printer paper to doodle on.

His box of crayons had all but depleted by now—they had lasted a bit longer once he realized that squeezing them too tight caused them to snap quicker, and had gone about using them more delicately. Papers were spread out in a wide circle around him, each holding a different image, a different moment and upon closer inspection: a different memory. To his left, various more memories laid around him. Of brothers and more joyful times, soft feathers and moonlit clouds, powerful wings and a sun-warmed planet just beginning to grow. A fish crawling out of the muck and a gentle reminder to not step on it. His garrison, of seemingly more innocent times. To his right, what memories were resurfacing as the day went on. Meeting a conflicted, brazen hunter in a barn full of religious symbols painted along the walls, threats to throw him back into the pit he was pulled from, a quiet pair of park benches after the defeat of Samhain. Of fleeing from a den of iniquity and watching a man with a soul bruised but not beaten laugh like he hadn't in years. Waking up in New Orleans, completely human and his first compulsion being to call this man, seek him out. In the middle, directly in front of him was a scribbled hellscape; darkness and chains and souls pleading for salvation or at the very least an end to suffering, but none so bright as the fallen Righteous Man, to be saved by the little angel of Thursday.

Slowly, Castiel stood up from where he sat, looking at all his drawings, moments, memories. They were slowly coming back to him, at least. Even if he remembered them in a more detached sense, like watching someone else's memories. But he looked at the right side, of his more recent memories. The ones still coming back to him.

They were all of Dean.

He turned, glancing back at the hunter at the center of his memories. Dean had nodded off at some point while watching his movie, which had by now switched to infomercials. The older Winchester was laid half off the couch, snuffling gently in his sleep, twitching as if annoyed by his dreams. For an unknown reason, it made Castiel smile.

Switching off the TV and the last lamps that were lit, the small angel moved around to look curiously at the Righteous Man. He looked tired, no doubt about that. But Dean looked more at peace in the soft cradle of sleep, with the weight of the world off his shoulders for a few hours. Castiel didn't have the heart to wake him up, even if he was sure that sleeping on the couch wasn't good for him. So he opted instead to lay beside the hunter on the small couch, cuddling up beneath the folds of his open jacket to share his body warmth. Whatever dream had been plaguing Dean was erased almost instantly, a warm set of arms enveloping his tiny form protectively. Cas smiled, resting his cheek above Dean's heart and closed his eyes.

It was like this, safe in his hunter's arms with that beautiful soul so close, with a million different emotions swarming his grace-locked form that Castiel fell into a blissful sleep.