Out of Sight, Out of Mind: Dean/Cas Pre-slash
Title: Out of Sight, Out of Mind
Author: tasty_boots
Recipient: vivhasarifle
Pairing: Gen, pre-slash Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: All episodes before 5.04 The End
Word Count: ~6,500
Notes/Prompt(s): Castiel is for some reason raising a de-aged Dean and Sam is not in the picture and does not know Dean is de-aged, with smatterings of jealous!Dean, fluff, and hurt/comfort. This probably isn’t exactly what you had in mind, vivhasarifle, but I hope you like it. (This story fits almost completely into canon between 5.03 Free to Be You and Me and 5.04 The End.) This is the story I wrote for the DeanCastiel comm's Secret Angels project.
Summary: They say the two's are terrible, but try being suck in an eight year-old's body at thirty.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
Two nights after Dean and Castiel made Raphael their little bitch, Dean’s phone rings in the middle of the night. The sound is alarmingly loud in the quiet room and Dean wishes he had thought to lower the volume the night before. The motel is like any of the others he’s stayed in over the years: old, boxy television, crappy bathroom, weird wallpaper, King James Bible, odd smells, but only one bed, one bag. It’s a bit lonely, but he has the women he can pick up without having to worry about bringing them back to the motel and the porn he can watch whenever he wants. And Castiel, of course. Plus, it’s nice to be able to walk out of the shower naked and jerk off in the middle of the room whenever he pleases.
The ringing seems to grow louder as if it knows he’s trying to ignore it. Dean sighs and blindly reaches out to flip open his phone and hold it loosely to his ear without opening his eyes.
“What?” he growls.
“Dean.”
“Why are you calling me at,” Dean pries his eyes open for a few seconds to glance at the alarm clock sitting on the motel bedside table, “Three in the morning, Cas?”
“I found something.”
Dean sits up and switches on the light, blinking as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. “What do you mean you ‘found something?’ Like, God something?”
“Meet me at the abandoned warehouse down the road.”
“Um, okay… Whoa, wait a sec,” Dean says before Castiel can hang up, “You’re not planning on fighting any other angels, are you? Because I recall that not working so well for you last time.”
Castiel chuckles darkly on the other, “Not so well, no. I‘m not planning on it.”
“Good,” Dean hangs up and runs a hand across his face, “Coffee. Then nerdy angel.”
-----------
The warehouse is dark and quiet and, obviously, abandoned. He can see some rats scurrying about behind the old machinery, but no sign of Castiel.
Shouting seems out of place here, so he softly calls, “Cas?”
Dean hears something to his right, so he rounds a corner and comes face-to-face with a man who is definitely not Castiel. Dean practically leaps backwards and has his gun out and pointed at the stranger in seconds.
“Who are you?”
The stranger slowly emerges from the shadows, “Don’t you recognize me, Dean? Shame, your memory seems to be failing you.”
Dean’s hands tighten on his gun, though he knows it will do him no good, “Raphael.”
“I told you I’d be back.”
“What do you want?”
Raphael steps forward and Dean automatically steps back, “Revenge, I suppose.”
Dean frowns, “Then why didn’t you call Cas here?” Not that he isn’t grateful that he isn’t here, but things aren’t adding up.
“Because Castiel doesn’t care about himself,” Raphael says, “He risked his life to ask if I know where our Father is. He does, however, seem to care about you.”
Dean lowers his gun, “You can’t kill me. You need me alive so I can say yes to Michael.”
“Yes, but as long as your heart beats and your throat works, Michael can’t really complain.”
Dean can feel prickly static electricity raising the hairs on his arms.
“Well,” Raphael says, “I suppose you could always nod.”
The archangel smiles and Dean knows he’s screwed.
----------
Castiel knows something is wrong when Dean still hasn’t picked up his phone after the fifth time Castiel has called it. So with a thought, he finds himself in Dean’s motel room; Dean isn’t there. Castiel casts out his senses, but finds no trace of anything supernatural besides himself and the contents of Dean’s duffle bag… which is still here. Upon further inspection, nothing appears to be missing except some clothing, a gun, and Dean himself, of course. The Impala is missing from it’s parking space outside, so Castiel can only assume that Dean left of his own volition, but why then, is he not answering his phone? Castiel searches the town, starting with the most obvious locations: diner, bar, strip club, but to no avail.
Castiel finally finds the Impala outside of an abandoned warehouse. He rushes inside and stops suddenly when he senses left-over power and magic. Great power. Raphael. Feebly, somewhere in the back of his mind he can sense Dean, too, and he finally spots his prone shape slumped against a large, old machine. Castiel does not miss the irony of this situation, but he’s more focused on the man in front of him.
Or should he say child.
The young boy in front of him is most definitely Dean; Castiel would know that soul anywhere, unconscious or not, but it is jarring to see him transformed like this.
Dean suddenly wrenches awake with a cough, “Ugh. What happened?” Dean clutches a hand to his throat. “What’s wrong with my voice?”
Dean’s hand travels up to his now stubble-free chin and then his gaze jerks from Castiel’s face down to his now baggy clothing and considerably smaller body. Dean easily shrugs off his jacket and over-shirt and pulls the neckline of his tee-shirt down and to the side to reveal plain, un-tattooed skin on his chest and Castiel’s handprint, which now covers much more of Dean’s body than it did before.
“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve been miniature-ized.”
“So it would seem.”
“’So it would seem?’” Dean quotes indignantly, “I am pint-sized!”
Dean stands to prove his point and his pants fall down to pool around his ankles.
“Oh, come on!”
----------
Getting back to the motel becomes a problem, or rather, getting the Impala back to the motel becomes a problem as Dean is no longer tall enough to reach the pedals and see over the dashboard at the same time. Dean curses and Castiel suggests that they leave her behind.
“No way, Cas! No way am I leaving my baby unattended in the parking lot of a freaking abandoned warehouse.”
“I suppose I could transport both you and the car back to the motel, but it would weaken me considerably.”
Dean grumbles to himself for a minute, “Here,” he tosses Castiel his car keys, “You’re driving.” Castiel looks as if Dean‘s just tossed him an alien. “But if she gets one scratch I will kill you.”
----------
They make it back to the motel in one piece, but Dean held onto his seat the whole way there.
All Castiel has to say is, “Driving is very slow.”
Dean glares at him and lets them into the room.
Once Dean gets a good look at himself in the motel mirror he figures he‘s physically somewhere around seven or eight, but mentally he seems to be just fine. (Thank God for the body-length mirror on the back of the door, or Dean might’ve had to ask Castiel to hold him up.) He’s put on his smallest shirt, rolled up his pants to where his knees usually hit and cinched the waist with some rope, and as a result, now looks like an extra from the Oliver Twist movie.
Dean’s anti-demonic possession tattoo is gone (he grabbed a charm necklace out of his bag the instant they got back to the motel), but Castiel says that the handprint is still there because it’s more of a physical representation of Castiel’s mark on his soul than it is an actual scar or some bullshit like that. Dean doesn’t really care about the handprint. Well, that’s not exactly true; he cares a little. It’s mostly a pain in the ass to explain anytime he has to take off his shirt in front of a stranger, but he’s sort of gotten used to it. What Dean really cares about though is why Raphael turned him into a little boy and how they’re going to get him back to normal.
Castiel has no answers, but promises to find them and then disappears without another word. Dean sighs and steels himself to call Bobby.
“Hello?”
“Hey Bobby.”
“Who is this?” Bobby asks.
“It’s Dean,” he says, “And if you’d get caller ID like I’ve been telling you to this would be a lot easier.”
“Dean? What happened to your voice?”
Dean sighs, “I’ve been…” What was the word Castiel used? “…Regressed.”
“Regressed?
Dean fiddles with the rope holding up his pants, “Raphael sort of popped in and, uh, turned me into an eight-year-old.”
Silence.
“Raphael,” Bobby finally says.
“Yes.”
“The archangel.”
“Yes.”
“Turned you into an eight-year-old.”
“…Erm, yes.”
“Idgit.”
“Hey!” Dean says, “It’s not like I provoked him or anything!” Well, technically he supposes he did…
Bobby doesn’t say anything, but Dean can just imagine the face he’s giving him.
“Okay, so maybe there was a little bit of provoking the last time we saw him, but I don’t understand why he regressed me or whatever you wanna call it. Why didn’t he just beat me to a bloody pulp? Hell, I was sorta expecting that, but the dick just knocked me out and when I wake up I’m pedophile bait! I mean, what the hell?”
“I don’t know, Dean,” Bobby sighs, “I guess I’ll hit the books.”
“Thanks, Bobby,“ Dean grumbles, “Cas is hitting the angel scrolls or whatever, but I figured the more people we’ve got researching the better.”
There’s a pause and then Bobby asks, “You gonna call Sam?”
Dean hesitates; the sasquatch would probably know just where to start looking. “No,” he finally says, “We can handle this. No need to bother him.”
Bobby grunts on the other end, “Alright then. Call me if your angel doesn’t come back soon.”
“Why?” Dean asks. “And he’s not my angel.” Damn, that sounded childish. Never mind the fact that he actually is a child now. Dean feels like banging his head against a wall.
“Because you look like an eight-year-old, Dean. One of us is gonna have to pretend to be your guardian or someone’s gonna call Child Services.”
“Right,” Dean says grumpily, “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
“Well let me know. I’ll get back to you if I find anything.”
“Thanks again, Bobby.”
Dean hangs up and collapses face down on his bed and mumbles into the sheets, “Worst day ever.”
----------
It’s almost 5pm when Castiel returns. Dean has been pacing the room almost all day. When he wasn’t pacing, he was brooding. He realized sometime around noon that since he can no longer drive he wouldn’t be able to go get lunch, and has since made eleven trips to the vending machine. He’s down to his last dollar bill when Castiel pops in. The personal space thing is even more awkward now that he looks like an eight year-old. Castiel nods his head in apology and takes a step backwards.
Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and asks, “Find anything?”
Castiel glances around the room at all the candy wrappers, soda bottles, and chip bags as he replies, “I did not find a way to reverse your situation nor why Raphael did this.”
“So, no.”
“No.”
Dean groans and falls on the bed and on top of an empty bag of chips, “Gah! I am so hungry. I’ve been cooped up in this stupid room all day, living off of vending machine food!” Dean picks up the bag and waves it at Castiel, “Do you know how crap the food in vending machines is? It’s crap, Cas.”
Castiel just frowns down at him slightly.
“Bobby says that one of you has to stick with me and pretend to be my guardian or something so no one calls the cops on us. So since you’re already here,” Dean hops off the bed, puts on his jacket, and begins rolling up the sleeves, “That honor falls to you. You can start with taking me to get some dinner,” Dean looks down at his bare feet and changes his mind, “But first, we have to go buy me some smaller clothes. And shoes.”
Dean’s stomach rumbles in protest.
----------
Dean refuses to let Castiel “zap” him anywhere and insists that they drive to the nearest Wal-Mart. Despite his mild annoyance at how long it takes to travel via automobile, Castiel is fine with Dean’s decision; he feels honored that Dean is letting him drive his precious Impala. Dean gives him a few pointers as they drive and promises to give him a more thorough lesson sometime “when my stomach isn’t trying to eat itself.” The thought makes Castiel smile.
The department store is… strange. It smells to Castiel of sloth and stagnation, but Dean laughs and tells him that it’s cardboard. Stranger than the store is the fact that Castiel has to look down to keep Dean within his sight. Dean stops them at the front and informs him that Castiel gets to push around the cart. Dean’s small feet carry him surprisingly quickly through the store to the section devoted to children’s clothing and Castiel follows behind, one wheel of the shopping cart squeaking all the way. Dean sneers at the colorful girls’ clothing and laughs at a shirt with an angel depicted on its front. Behind the girls’ clothing is an array of young boys’ clothing and here Dean picks out two pairs of jeans, a couple of long-sleeved shirts (most of them are plaid), and with a somewhat embarrassed glance back at Castiel, a Batman tee shirt. Dean grabs a package or two of socks and underwear and heads off to the shoe section.
“You’re very efficient,” Castiel says.
“Yeah,” Dean replies, scanning the aisles for the right size, “Dad used to put me in charge of picking out clothes for Sam and myself, and he didn’t really like dawdling so I got pretty good at guessing the right size and stuff.” Dean pauses for a second, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He physically shakes himself out of it and grabs a shoe off of one of the shelves. He sits down for a second, slips it on, and presses on the tip on the shoe.
“What are you doing?” Castiel asks.
“Checking to see if my toes are hiding.”
“What?”
“Never mind. I used to… I used to say that to Sam when he was little. It doesn’t really matter if you’re one size off on a shirt, but shoes are something you kind of have to try on, and one of the ways to see if a shoe fits is to squeeze the top to see where your toes are.”
Dean pinches the tip of the shoe he has on and then reaches over to do the same to Castiel’s shoe. “See?” he says smiling up at Castiel, “Perfect fit.”
Castiel smiles back at him, “Yes.”
Dean blushes and looks away. He laces up the shoe, puts on the other one and then throws the box into the cart with the other things.
“That should be it.”
Castiel nods and begins pushing the cart toward the front of the store.
----------
Castiel doesn’t seem to know what to do once they reach the cash register, so Dean takes over. He pulls a wad of cash out of the pocket of his over-sized jeans and reaches up to place the right amount on the counter. The cashier eyes the two of them, but dutifully takes the money and hands him a receipt. Dean takes the receipt, hands Castiel the bags of clothing, and gives the cashier his most charming smile.
It must look a little awkward in his eight year-old body because she just says, “Aren’t you a cutie!”
Dean drops the smile and tugs Castiel away. The cashier frowns after them.
It’s extremely awkward and a little bit difficult, but Dean manages to change into his new clothes in the back seat of the Impala. Castiel sits stiffly up front on the driver’s side and waits for Dean to climb into the passenger seat before he starts the car. Without thinking, Dean asks Castiel what he wants to eat.
“I don’t need sustenance.”
“Right,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, “Then just pull across the street to that burger joint.”
They go through the drive-through and Dean orders a bacon cheeseburger, a soda, and french fries.
“Do you want a slice of American apple pie for dessert?” Castiel asks.
Dean blinks at him for a second before he realizes that the fast food place offers “A Slice of American Apple Pie” on their menu. He chuckles and says, “Sure,” but Dean is sort of, well, touched that Castiel knows him well enough to know that he might like pie for dessert. They drive up to the window and Castiel passes the cash Dean hands him over to the cashier and takes Dean’s bag of food. Dean takes a breath and inhales the delicious smells of greasy bacon. He thinks about how unhealthy this meal is and laughs at the fact that Castiel encouraged him to buy even more unhealthy food.
“Cas, you are the worst parent…” Dean trails off.
“Dean?”
“Cas,” Dean looks almost panicked, “I can’t remember my mom.”
----------
Dean doesn’t say much on the ride back to the motel except to explain that he knows he used to remember his mother because he remembers talking about remembering her, but he can’t actually remember her. Castiel asks Dean how far back he can remember.
“I don’t know,” he responds, and doesn’t say another word until they reach the motel.
Dean doesn’t hold out his hand for his keys like he did before, so Castiel slips them into his pocket for safe-keeping. Dean unlocks the door, throws the bag of uneaten fast food on the bed, and begins to pace the room as he pulls out his cell phone and dials. Castiel takes a seat at the tiny motel table and watches Dean worriedly.
Dean launches into speech as soon as the person on the other end answers, “Bobby, it’s Dean. Have you found anything yet?”
It’s no trouble at all for Castiel to hear Bobby’s voice through the phone, “No, I’ve been lookin’ but there ain’t ever been an angel who regressed a human to a child. At least not that I can find.”
Dean looks to Castiel and raises an eyebrow as if to ask if he heard and if it’s true. Castiel nods silently.
“Well, that doesn’t mean an angel couldn’t do it, right?”
Castiel nods again, “It is within an archangel’s power to do this, but it has never been done before.”
“Great, just what we need,” Dean says, “Creative archangels.”
“What’s goin’ on, Dean? Has something changed?” Bobby asks.
Dean runs a hand over his little face, “Yeah. I’m starting to lose my memories.”
“What?”
“I can’t remember my mom. I guess I’ve been slowly losing memories all day without noticing. If I rack my brain, the farthest back I can remember is Sam’s seventh birthday.”
Dean and Bobby discuss various theories, but Castiel isn’t listening to the specifics; he’s watching Dean. Castiel rebelled for this man - well, child now. Castiel would do just about anything for Dean, but he doesn’t know what to do for him now. The only thing he can think of is to go do some more research, but he feels like he shouldn’t leave Dean alone for too long.
Dean eventually hangs up the phone and tells Castiel what he already knows, “Well, Bobby’s gonna search his library for some answers.”
Castiel nods, “You should eat your dinner.”
Dean shrugs and turns away from Castiel, “Not really hungry anymore.” He picks up the bag from the bed and tosses it in the trash can. “I’m kind of tired, though, so…”
There’s a pause and then Dean turns around and seems almost surprised to see Castiel still sitting there.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Cas.”
Castiel stands slowly, “Goodnight, Dean.”
Dean nods and Castiel is gone.
----------
Dean wakes up to the sound of his stomach growling. Sure, the anxiety had reduced his hunger last night, but now he’s starving. Dean glances at the bag of fast food in the trash can and regrets not forcing himself to eat it last night. Dean gets up, dresses himself in his new clothes and takes the garbage out to the dumpster so that it doesn’t start stinking up the room. When he gets back, Castiel is sitting at the table with coffee, donuts, and a news paper. Dean smiles and plops himself into the chair opposite him, the table comes up to Dean’s neck.
“Hey, Cas.”
“Good morning, Dean.”
Dean grabs a donut and drags the cup of coffee toward himself, “So, did you steal these, or just magically create them?”
“I used some of the money you gave me at the brothel.”
Dean almost chokes on a bite of donut, “Right. Uh, sorry about that.”
Castiel tilts his head at him.
“Uh… Never mind. Thanks for bringing breakfast, Cas.”
“You’re welcome. I also brought you a news paper. There was a dispenser outside of the donut store.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, reaching for the paper, “Thanks.” Dean rifles through the pages for a second before pulling them apart. “Here,” Dean hands Castiel the comics section, “You could probably use a lesson in humor.”
Dean chuckles at the bewildered expression on Castiel’s face and flips back to the front page to scan the headlines and obituaries.
Famous pianist crushed by piano.
Writer dies of ink poisoning.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean says.
Castiel takes the page Dean hands him and goes from frowning at one of the cartoons, to frowning at the headlines.
“You think I found a case there?” Dean asks.
“It’s possible,” Castiel says.
“What do you think that could be, a witch?”
“Could be.”
“Alright, let’s go check it out,” Dean says.
“I don’t think you should.”
“You don’t think I should? Why not?”
“You are physically just a child,” Castiel says.
“I’ve been hunting all my life!”
“Yes, but you’ve lost several years of training and hunting, now.”
Dean glares at Castiel, “Fine,” he says, “If you won’t take me, then I’ll just walk there.”
“I don’t think you’d get very far.
“I’ll take a cab.”
Castiel raises an eyebrow.
“I’ll rig up the Impala and drive her myself.”
“Well, you could,” Castiel says, pulling a familiar keychain out of his pocket, “But I have your car keys.”
Dean just stares at him, mouth agape. Is Castiel smirking?
“Give them back,” Dean says.
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Cas,” Dean growls and stands up to face him, holding out his hand, “Give me my car keys.”
Castiel stands as well, and Dean hates that he now has a major height advantage.
“At the moment, you’re not legally old enough to operate a motor vehicle.”
Dean lunges at Castiel’s hand, but Castiel simply raises his arm high enough to hold the keys over Dean’s head. Dean jumps for them, but Castiel just lifts his arm higher.
“Oh, you are so dead when I get back to my normal size.”
“Hmm… We’ll see.”
“Seriously, Cas,” Dean says, “I really need to go investigate this before someone else gets hurt.”
“Then I will go.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why?” Castiel asks.
“Remember when we were investigating the Raphael thing?”
“Yes.”
“You almost blew our cover! You can’t just go in there and straight up ask people about this crazy stuff.”
“Then I will lie like you told me to.”
“Well, then let’s go together.”
“You look like an eight year-old, Dean,” Castiel points out.
“Well, I’ll think of something.”
“I will take care of this, Dean.”
“No! Cas--” there is the customary sound of wings, and then Castiel is gone, “Dammit, Cas!”
Castiel doesn’t return for hours and not only is Dean hungry, but he can feel his memories slipping away faster and faster. By the time Castiel pops back into the motel room, Dean is hungry, angry, worried, and generally in a piss poor mood. As soon as Castiel appears, Dean throws an empty soda can at him. Castiel easily dodges.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dean asks.
Castiel frowns at him, “I have been looking into the case you found this morning.”
“Yeah, I get that, you dick, but it’s the afternoon already in case you didn’t notice. Where have you been?”
“I went to the police station, then to the places where the victims died, then I did some research, and then looked around town for similar cases,” Castiel explains.
Dean huffs at him, “And?”
“And…?”
“What did you find?”
“It would appear to be mischievous witches, but I found no hex bags, nor did I sense any lingering spells.”
“Ugh,” Dean says, “I hate witches.”
“I know,” Castiel says, “But it might not be witches.”
“Right, it might be a whole new creature that we’ve never faced before.”
Dean feels like banging his head against the wall, “I just want to go a week without being turned into a little kid or losing my memories or having to hunt some sick supernatural creature. Is that so much to ask for?”
“What’s the earliest thing you can remember?” Castiel asks.
Dean sighs and thinks for a moment, “Sam dying,” he says quietly.
Castiel does his silent staring thing for a minute and then says, “Would you like to go get some ice cream?”
----------
The ice cream parlor Castiel takes him to claims to serve the best ice cream in the state. The woman behind the counter smiles at Dean as he stands on his tip toes to see what flavors they have.
Dean looks up at Castiel, “Are you going to get any?”
“I do not require--”
“Yeah, I know, but do you wanna try some?”
“I will if you want me to.”
“Okay then,” Dean turns to the woman behind the counter, “We’ll have a medium cone of Rocky Road and a small cone of…” Dean glances back at Castiel, “Mint Chocolate Chip, I think.”
The woman behind the counter laughs and says to Castiel, “Your son is adorable.”
“He’s not my son.”
“Um…”
“He’s my uncle,” Dean quickly supplies.
“Oh,” the woman says, “Where’s your aunt?”
“He doesn’t have an aunt,” Castiel says.
The woman hands them their ice cream and blushes, “So you’re single then?”
Dean and Castiel answer at the same time.
“Yes.”
“No.”
Castiel frowns at Dean, Dean frowns at the woman.
“He considers himself married to his work,” Dean says.
“O-oh,” the woman stammers, “Well, um, enjoy your ice cream.”
“Why did you tell that woman that I am not single?” Castiel asks.
Dean can feel his cheeks heating up, “Well, because, I don't know. You deserve better than her, I guess. And, you know, Jimmy's married and all.”
Castiel nods, but seems lost in thought. Dean and Castiel sit outside and Dean waits until Castiel has taken a tentative lick of his ice cream before starting in on his own.
“So what do you think?” Dean asks.
“It’s… cold,” Castiel says.
Dean chuckles. They eat in silence until Dean finishes his cone and finds Castiel staring at something behind him. He turns around to find a mother comforting her crying daughter, who seems to have dropped her ice cream. Without a word, Castiel gets up and hands the little girl the rest of his ice cream cone. The girl smiles at him and goes to take a lick, but her mother grabs it out of her hand in disgust.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” the mother asks him.
Castiel just tilts his head at her, so Dean jumps up and tugs him away before the angry mother can make a scene.
Once they’re a safe distance away, Castiel asks Dean what he did wrong.
“Well, it’s just a guess, but mothers don’t usually like when strangers hand their kids half-eaten food,” Dean smiles at him, “It was a nice thought though.”
Castiel smiles back at him, but Dean doesn’t think he quite understands.
Dean yawns, “I think all of this memory loss is making me tired.
“I will take you back to the motel and then go get you dinner.”
“Thanks, Cas. You’re awesome.”
----------
Castiel stays long enough to watch Dean flop onto the motel bed like a rag doll before he zips off to fetch Dean some food.
When Castiel gets back, Dean is exactly where he left him, curled up on his bed, but he’s not asleep like Castiel assumed he would be, and he’s clutching a pillow to his chest like it’s a flotation device.
“Dean?”
“I can’t remember Hell anymore.”
The emotionless mask seems wrong on Dean’s young face. Castiel sits down on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder, slowly moving his thumb back and forth like the mother he saw at the ice cream parlor. Dean shivers, but doesn’t move away or ask Castiel to stop, so he doesn’t.
“It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a year.”
Castiel’s hand stills on Dean’s shoulder.
“I remember that I went to Hell. I remember how I was after you brought me back,” Dean says, “I remember having nightmares every night, Cas, but I can’t remember what they were about and I--” Dean’s voice cracks, “I don’t miss those memories. I would love to never remember Hell again.”
Castiel squeezes Dean’s arm, but doesn’t know if he should say anything and wouldn’t know what to say even if he did.
“But I also can’t remember what Sam looked like as a kid. I can’t remember my mom or my dad. I can’t remember the first girl I kissed or the first time I had sex. I don’t remember if I’ve ever tried sushi or not, or whether I ever had chicken pox. I’m forgetting more and more each day and soon I won’t remember anything and then I’ll have no reason not to say yes to Michael,” Dean finally meets Castiel’s eyes, “You’ll probably be the last person I forget.”
There are things Castiel knows with all his being; he knows that the Earth rotates around the Sun and that Dean loves pie and a million other things, and he wants to tell Dean that everything will be okay, that they’ll find a way to fix this, but those are not things he knows and Castiel can’t lie to Dean. So instead, he pulls away the pillow Dean’s clutching and replaces it with his body, wrapping his arms protectively around his tiny torso. They stay like that until the food has long gone cold.
----------
Dean wakes up alone. It’s not like Dean asked Castiel to stay the night, but when you fall asleep in someone’s arms, you sort of expect them to be there in the morning.
Dean’s stomach growls, so he gets up and dressed and picks up the bag of food from last night. He’s about to throw it away, because he’s learned from experience not to eat food that’s been left un-refrigerated overnight, when he sees the note. There’s a piece of the motel stationary sitting next to the bag that reads: Found something. Fresh food. Eat it before noon or throw it away, in the neatest cursive handwriting he’s ever seen. The note is signed Castiel, and written beneath his name, maybe just in case Dean had forgotten who he is, or maybe just to make Dean smile, is, Angel of the Lord. Whatever the reason, it does make him smile. It’s well before noon, so Dean sits down and studies Castiel’s handwriting while he eats.
The fries don’t have enough salt on them, so Dean sprinkles one of the salt packets over them, but when he takes a bite of one, it’s covered in sugar. Dean spits it out in surprise and glances accusingly at the tiny packet clearly marked SALT.
“I never get tired of that one.”
In the blink of an eye, there’s suddenly a man sitting across from him. Dean leaps from his seat and grabs his gun, pointing it at the man.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Gun won’t do you any good, Dean, don’t you remember? Oh wait,” The man smiles and he gets to his feet. He’s a stout man with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes that twinkle wickedly.
“What are you?”
“I'm the Trickster. Demigod. I love candy. Really? You don't remember me at all? You wound me, Dean.”
“What the hell do you want?”
The Trickster holds up his hands, “I come in peace. I’m just here to check on my…” he looks Dean up and down, “Handiwork.”
Dean takes a step away from him and toward his bag, “What are you talking about?”
The Trickster lets out an exaggerated sigh, “I hate when my work goes unappreciated. Do you really think that Raphael turned you into a little kid?”
“Son of a bitch,” Dean says as he realizes what the Trickster is getting at.
“Tsk tsk. Little boys shouldn’t swear.”
“Bite me,” Dean says.
The Trickster shrugs his eyebrows as if he’s considering it and while he does, Dean lunges for his bag and the stake inside.
“Whoa there Dean-o! You kill me and you might as well go join the Lost Boys. You’ll be eight for the rest of your life. Well, until Michael burns you out of your body, that is.”
The wooden stake Dean was just holding is now a kid-sized baseball bat, and though this bastard deserves a good beating, Dean doesn’t think he‘d stay hurt for long. Dean throws down the bat, feeling all too defenseless.
“How do you know about all of this angel crap?” Dean asks.
The Trickster raises an eyebrow, “Demigod, remember?” He chuckles. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
The Trickster shrugs, “Okay, not really, but come on! It’s funny!”
Dean glares at him, “You’re not just here to check on me, so what do you want, Trickster?”
The Trickster sighs, “There's a lesson to be learned here, Dean,” he says.
“What,” Dean says, “That you're a dick with a sick sense of humor? You killed that writer and the pianist, didn't you?”
“Guilty. You don't need a warped sense of humor to find any of this funny. I mean, look at yourself, Dean. You're wearing a Batman shirt.”
Dean glances self-consciously down at his shirt and then glares up at the Trickster.
“How 'bout this? You tell me, honestly, one thing you learned these past few days and I'll change you back.”
“Why would you do that?” Dean asks suspiciously.
“What can I say? I'm in a generous mood,” the Trickster shrugs, “Answer within the next thirty seconds and I'll even give you your memories back.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure. Clock's ticking, though.”
“Um, I-- I don’t know, uh… Fries aren’t that bad with sugar.”
The Trickster raises an eyebrow at him, “Twenty seconds.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say! Uh, Raphael’s a bastard. I don’t know!”
“Oh come on, Dean. Dig a little deeper!”
“I don’t--!” Dean yells in frustration, mind racing, “Cas is my best friend!”
Dean stares at the Trickster, waiting for some sort of reaction.
“That’ll do, pig, that’ll do.”
The Trickster snaps his fingers and Dean gasps as it all comes flooding back.
----------
Dean once again wakes to Castiel crouching beside him, and he can remember everything.
Dean beams at Castiel, “Hi, Cas.” Dean’s voice is back to normal; his grin widens.
Castiel offers him a bewildered smile, “Hello, Dean.”
Dean stands and pulls Castiel up and into a hug. After he gives the angel a thorough squeeze, he pulls away and holds Castiel at arms length, relishing in the fact that he’s once again taller than him. Castiel gives him a once-over and raises an eyebrow. Dean glances down at himself to see that his clothes seem to have disappeared completely, not that he would fit into them anymore now that he’s 6’1” again.
Dean hastily lets go of Castiel and grabs the nearest thing he can reach to cover his crotch, which happens to be the hamburger bag. Dean and Castiel stare at each other awkwardly for a second before Dean thinks of a bad pun revolving around the word “meat” and cracks up. Castiel chuckles and while Dean is busy laughing hysterically and trying to keep the take-out bag in place, retrieves some clothing from Dean’s duffle bag.
Dean wipes his watering eyes and, still chuckling, accepts the clothes Castiel hands him. Dean slips into the bathroom to put on the clothes and gives Castiel the short version of what he missed through the bathroom door. When he emerges, he notices that Castiel is frowning at his own note.
“What?” Dean asks, “Forget to put something? What was it that you found anyway?”
“I did not write this note.”
“What?”
“I did not leave you this note,” Castiel says.
“No, I heard you the first, Cas, I just-- Ugh. I swear, I am going to kill that damn Trickster one day.”
“You didn’t eat this food did you?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, “Why?”
“Because it is the food from last night and has probably gone bad.”
“Son of a bitch!”
----------
Dean calls Bobby to explain what happened and gets a fond, “Idgit,” and a dial tone in return. Dean starts throwing up an hour later, but as soon as he stops, Dean insists that they leave “this God-forsaken town.” Castiel frowns at his phrasing, but agrees that they should move on. Dean is very happy to be able to drive his car again and makes a point of speeding past the town limits sign. Castiel waits until they’ve been driving down the highway for a while to ask something he’s been wondering since this morning.
“Dean, how did you convince the Trickster to return you to normal?”
“Well,” Dean says, “He gave me thirty seconds to tell him something I had learned from his stupid trick, and so I did, and, poof! Here I am.”
“Yes, you mentioned that, but you didn’t say what it was that you learned.”
“Oh, I, uh…” Dean blushes slightly and Castiel tilts his head at him, “I learned that you’re my best friend.”
Castiel studies Dean’s profile as he drives until Dean coughs awkwardly. When Dean glances over at him, Castiel gives him a smile and Dean smiles back at him.
“Alright,” Dean says, turning back to the road, “Moment’s over. Don’t you have a God to search for?”
Castiel sighs, “Yes.”
“So, I guess you’ll be going then.”
“I suppose so.”
Dean glances over at him again, “I can’t say these past few days have been fun, but, uh… Well, I guess I just wanted to say, thanks, Cas. For everything.”
“You’re welcome, Dean.”
“I guess I’ll see you around then.”
“Yes,” Castiel says, “You will.”
Castiel “pops away” as his friend might say, but he watches over Dean until he reaches the next town.