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Thunderclouds raged outside with violent sentiment, the air vibrating with electric sparks. A back window, bursting open to allow solemn autumn leaves to sweep through. The entire room is putrid, the carpet festering at the edges and the linen folded in puffs of dust. One can hear the scattering of mice through the walls. On your knees, eyes closed you whisper an old prayer your great-grandmother use to say:

Angel of God,my guardian dear,
To whom his love commits me here,
Be thou always at my side,
To love protect, guard and guide.

That age-old fluttering of wings greets you. And before you stands a trench-coated individual, a stranger now from times past. His baby blue eyes glassy with tears that smear his gaze with melancholic grime. His tie undone and his shoes caked in red mud.

"Hello Castiel," you barely whisper, a gentle smile residing on your face.

"(Name), how are you?" for once the angel actually sounded forcefully polite.

"Ah you know, helping people...hunting things, the family business..." you squeak.

It had been exactly four months since Dean had succumbed to his demonic ways, two since he had drunk himself out with holy water. You and Sam had driven around for a while, but after one desperate hook-up in an inn in New Orleans you had woken up to Dean's bloodcurdling screams, packed everything and left.

Yet, just before you'd slipped away into the night for good you heard Sam's gruff voice say:
"I love you and don't you ever come back."

Harsh. To say the least, but true nonetheless.

"What can I do for you, (nickname)?" Castiel asks, breaking the silence.

Gulp. "Can you send me back to a night where Dean is a baby, just one night, I want to say goodbye..."

Cas faces softens, then declares, snapping his fingers; "Your wish is my command."

--------------------------------------------------In Dean's Baby Bedroom----------------------------------------------

A summer's thunderstorm rages outside, a huge window covered in frilly curtains that float up, filling up with the arid air. Next to it sits a polished wooden rocking chair, and just behind a white shelf with an angel figurine on top. The typical decorative ceramic angel figurine. It was a bit cliché, but sweet. You remembered how Dean use to tell you that his mother would tuck him in the night and say to him "Angels are watching over you," even though ironically, they actually were. But not over Dean exactly, over the righteous man or michael's vessel! He was right, most angels were dicks.

A matching set to the rocking chair, a wooden crib rocked back and forth. Nervously, you approached it on your tip-y toes. Careful not to draw any attention to yourself. And there he was...

Light caramel peach fuzz on his almost bald head and a light sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Serene, breathing softly, big eyes closed. You exchanged a light chuckle at his blue onesie, which said in big comical letters "I WUV HUGZ." It'd be years ti'll he'd exchange it for denim jeans and his father's leather jacket. Years before he'd be sent to Hell, Purgatory even! Before Sammy would leave him for Standford, before he'd kill Azazel with one bullet from the colt. Before he'd meet you.

Hellhounds couldn't reach him here.
Hell, Mary would fight them tooth and nail before she'd let them touch him.

You scooped him up in your hands, calloused from years of hunting, and sat on the rocking chair. Carefully you laid his head against your chest, arm residing tightly under his body. Other hand stroking his forehead. You bounced your heels up and down, rocking the chair backwards and forwards. Without even noticing it, you were humming "Hey Jude".

A strong gust of tepid air gushed into the room, causing Dean's upper-lip to twitch. Thin line of saliva treading down the tip of his mouth. He'd look the same when he was older, down to the drool and everything. You'd spent many nights looking at his face, always stuck, it seemed, at a cheeky joke.

"You're going to grow up so courageously, driving the most badass car around with your little brother...yes, a little brother Dean, you're going to be somebody's big bro!" a sad smile crawls into your lips, "Fighting Demons and Wendigos alike! Friends with angels and demons at times," you chuckle, "Oh and what a lady's man!"

A deep sigh bubbles in your throat. You start rocking a bit faster, just slightly.

"You don't really need to be afraid of planes, you know...and if you are a bit of Metallica always helps..."

Vision becomes a little blurry and before you know it small whimpers escape your lips.
"Just ugh, remember to eat all the Pie you can and don't be too harsh on yourself, please..."

You honestly can't think of what else to say, what else can you tell him that will matter? He'll still lie to his brother, he'll still hate himself, ignore Cas, and he'll still fall for the mark of cain.

Nothing is going to change that.

And so you plant a big kiss on his abnormally large forehead and continue to hum "Hey Jude" a bit desperately to him. Eyelids begin to falter and right before you fall deeply asleep, Dean's eyes flatter open.

Candy apple green.
Glistening in the dark.
Curios.

You grin, and whisper, "Bon Jovi rocks, man...on occasion."

-------------------------------------------------- Back at the motel --------------------------------------------------

Everything aches when you awake. The rough comforter rubbing against your salted cheeks. For a second you can't tell if this is the dream and if that was the reality. In that sweet spot between dreaming and awake.

Castiel sits at the foot of the bed, back slightly turned towards you. You can't really read his expression.

When suddenly, it all comes back to you. Tumbling and thrashing.
Tears burst from your eyes, both your chest and stomach tightening into a tight knot.

Before you know it, Castiel has his arms wrapped around you and the tip of your nose is burrowed in his trench-coat. Then you feel a few teardrops at the top of your head and you know that his crying as well.

And so you stay like that, two lost souls in a bleak, bleak world.