The story I found is very different from what you are used from me. For starters, it isn't R-rated, but PG-13. And secondly, it's not slash, hell, there's not even mention of anything sexual. But it's the most adorable story I've read, and I just had to rec it to you guys.
Castiel has disobeyed, chosing his friend Dean over his Heavenly brothers. As punishment Gabriel sends him back in time...as a child! That's right. Castiel, a once big, strong angel now finds himself trapped in a mini-version of himself with hardly any power. He is cornered by demons in a barn, and takes them out. Or so he thinks, because later we discover that he didn't have enough juice to actually kill them and they come back.
It's right after the flash of angelic light, that John stumbles upon the boy. He's confused by this little boy, bleeding and standing over several demons. Not to mention, highly suspicious. Despite his doubt about the child, he takes him home.
Little Sammy instantly takes a liking to the small angel, but not Dean. Dean doesn't trust him, at all. If his initial greeting by shoving a shotgun in Castiel's face is anything to go by, I think it's fair to say this isn't the relationship Castiel had hoped for.
Poor Castiel is heartbroken about the fact that his best friend doesn't like him in this time. He's willing to do anything to get 'back' in his good graces. It's not an easy road, but slowly he does become part of the family.
Even despite his curiosities, like not sleeping and his perpetual confusion over the most common affairs.
Castiel believes he is send back for a reason, and tries his hardest to change the drastic events in 'his' brothers lives, so that they will not jumpstart the Apocalypse. When they come face to face with Azazel, the Winchesters can no longer deny that everything the little angel said was true. He's even willing to offer up his life, as long as the family will do things differently now.
Whether or not it's necessary, you'll just have to find out.
Here's a little taste of this amazing story;
The thing in the car park yelps in panic when Dean cocks the shotgun, there’s a crash of glass bottles against the gravel but then John is yanking the shotgun out of his hands.
Dean jumps in shock, glares between the car park and his Dad.
“What the hell, Dad? Something followed you, hurry up and –“
John’s firm hand settles heavily on his shoulder and Dean stops.
What happened to ‘shoot first, ask questions later’?
He shakes his head, not understanding and looks back into the car park seeing only the Impala and the other parked cars of the motel residents. He swears to himself, thinking whatever it was had escaped.
“Castiel,” John barks and Dean squints through the poor light of the overhead streetlamps. “It’s all right. Come on out.”
Dean’s eyes widen and he looks into his father’s face. “Dad?”
“Dean.”
John squeezes his shoulder, eyes serious and Dean forces the thudding in his chest to slow down. It’s a physical ache to calm the adrenalin, the muscles in his chest and arms straining as he pulls back, but he’s learned not to argue with that voice.
“Trust me,” John says, softer this time, “It’s all right.”
Dean stares as a small child, younger than Sammy, shuffles into the light. Brown messy hair, blue eyes and dirty, he looks like his parents had dressed him for church in a small but ill-fitted suit with a cream overcoat thrown on as an afterthought. That must have been a long time ago. His clothes are stained in mud and blood.
Dean feels an awful dread settle in the pit of his stomach that he can’t explain, but this kid… this kid….
He shakes his head, knowing that this is a bad idea. “Dad….?”
But John isn’t looking at his son anymore. John jerks his head towards the open motel doorway.
“Hurry up and get inside, boys.”
Castiel’s wary gaze flits between John and his son and he quickens his shuffle to an awkward run. Dean backs into the room before him. Glancing inside, he sees Sam hovering by the television where their Dad had swept him before stepping out to intervene and he quickly steps into Castiel’s path.
Castiel barely comes up to Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s prepared for when the boy slams into him head-on with a stunned ‘mmph!’. Dean catches him before he can fall backwards.
“Take your coat off,” Dean mutters, conscious of Sam who was probably peering around to see what’s going on.
Castiel pouts in confusion, brows furrowed and Dean glances at his Dad for permission.
John understands, nodding and Castiel whines in complaint when Dean shoves the coat off of his shoulders, rolls the bloody garment up under his arm and is thankful to see there’s only mud visible on the rest of him.
“All right, come on,” Dean says reluctantly and steps aside.
Looking severely put upon, Castiel trundles inside and John takes the bloody overcoat from Dean when he follows. Dean casts one last look into the car park and locks the door behind them.
He’s surprised when he reaches for his shotgun, but his Dad stows it under the pillow of the third unused bed instead. He slides Castiel’s soiled overcoat into his duffel bag out of sight. John’s eyes are stern and Dean snorts a breath of frustration, hands fisting at his sides, he glares at their visitor instead.
Inside the considerably warmer motel room, Castiel is standing in the middle of the carpet, arms in their overlong-sleeves softly bouncing against his sides. He keeps looking between all his company and Dean thinks he sees the beginnings of a small, tentative smile.
It pisses him off.
“Dad,” Sam pipes up and Dean puffs up with a smirk because he knows that tone, he knows that face on his brother that’s so carefully, pointedly blank as he looks expectantly from Castiel to their father. That’s the face before the tantrum, the face that would normally sweep Dean into damage control, but today he thinks he’s going to let Sammy introduce himself.
Sam points outright at Castiel. “Who’s this?”
John looks between the three boys in the motel room, but Dean notices with some chagrin that his Dad is focusing on him.
“Boys, this is Castiel.”
Castiel’s lips don’t quite make it into that smile Dean can see brimming, but he looks hopefully between the brothers. Dean’s eyes narrow when Castiel’s gaze lingers on him and those blue eyes are quickly averted.
“Castiel, this is Sam and Dean,” John’s voice is level and Dean just wants him to spit out the order he knows is coming.
“What’s he doing here, Dad?” Dean interrupts when Castiel opens his mouth and quickly shuts it.
John’s look is not approving. “Castiel needs our help, boys. We’re going to help him get back to his family.”
“You sure you’re not an orphan?” Dean quips, gleeful at the dark look his father turns on him out of the corner of his eye. He can already feel the hit that’ll eventually find the back of his head, but, whatever. He can pay for it later.
Dean’s taken aback when Castiel’s face falls and he looks at his feet. “I think I am.”
“Why?” John asks.
Castiel can’t quite hold John’s gaze. “It – my brother told me father was dead.”
“What?” Sam blurts and Dean thinks that this is probably one of those conversations where he should cover Sam’s ears.
“So… you’ve got a brother,” Dean says loudly, intent to muffle Sam’s quiet horror, “That means you’ve still got family.”
Castiel’s fumbling with his sleeves, twisting the cuffs over and over in his tiny hands held almost to his chin. “But -- m-my brothers are no longer my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Dean raises his eyebrows at the new plural, wondering why this kid speaks so weirdly, but his father gives him no cues and then there’s an uncomfortable, familiar hiccupping whimper and he realises that Castiel is sniffling against his sleeves.
“O-oh, come on,” Sam startles and quickly goes to Castiel’s side. Sam’s not much taller than Castiel and he hovers awkwardly as the smaller boy hides his face in his dirty suit sleeves. When the whimper becomes a keen, Sam holds Castiel’s shoulder and clumsily pats the patch between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Dean deflates: Sammy, you traitor.
Dean jumps in shock, glares between the car park and his Dad.
“What the hell, Dad? Something followed you, hurry up and –“
John’s firm hand settles heavily on his shoulder and Dean stops.
What happened to ‘shoot first, ask questions later’?
He shakes his head, not understanding and looks back into the car park seeing only the Impala and the other parked cars of the motel residents. He swears to himself, thinking whatever it was had escaped.
“Castiel,” John barks and Dean squints through the poor light of the overhead streetlamps. “It’s all right. Come on out.”
Dean’s eyes widen and he looks into his father’s face. “Dad?”
“Dean.”
John squeezes his shoulder, eyes serious and Dean forces the thudding in his chest to slow down. It’s a physical ache to calm the adrenalin, the muscles in his chest and arms straining as he pulls back, but he’s learned not to argue with that voice.
“Trust me,” John says, softer this time, “It’s all right.”
Dean stares as a small child, younger than Sammy, shuffles into the light. Brown messy hair, blue eyes and dirty, he looks like his parents had dressed him for church in a small but ill-fitted suit with a cream overcoat thrown on as an afterthought. That must have been a long time ago. His clothes are stained in mud and blood.
Dean feels an awful dread settle in the pit of his stomach that he can’t explain, but this kid… this kid….
He shakes his head, knowing that this is a bad idea. “Dad….?”
But John isn’t looking at his son anymore. John jerks his head towards the open motel doorway.
“Hurry up and get inside, boys.”
Castiel’s wary gaze flits between John and his son and he quickens his shuffle to an awkward run. Dean backs into the room before him. Glancing inside, he sees Sam hovering by the television where their Dad had swept him before stepping out to intervene and he quickly steps into Castiel’s path.
Castiel barely comes up to Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s prepared for when the boy slams into him head-on with a stunned ‘mmph!’. Dean catches him before he can fall backwards.
“Take your coat off,” Dean mutters, conscious of Sam who was probably peering around to see what’s going on.
Castiel pouts in confusion, brows furrowed and Dean glances at his Dad for permission.
John understands, nodding and Castiel whines in complaint when Dean shoves the coat off of his shoulders, rolls the bloody garment up under his arm and is thankful to see there’s only mud visible on the rest of him.
“All right, come on,” Dean says reluctantly and steps aside.
Looking severely put upon, Castiel trundles inside and John takes the bloody overcoat from Dean when he follows. Dean casts one last look into the car park and locks the door behind them.
He’s surprised when he reaches for his shotgun, but his Dad stows it under the pillow of the third unused bed instead. He slides Castiel’s soiled overcoat into his duffel bag out of sight. John’s eyes are stern and Dean snorts a breath of frustration, hands fisting at his sides, he glares at their visitor instead.
Inside the considerably warmer motel room, Castiel is standing in the middle of the carpet, arms in their overlong-sleeves softly bouncing against his sides. He keeps looking between all his company and Dean thinks he sees the beginnings of a small, tentative smile.
It pisses him off.
“Dad,” Sam pipes up and Dean puffs up with a smirk because he knows that tone, he knows that face on his brother that’s so carefully, pointedly blank as he looks expectantly from Castiel to their father. That’s the face before the tantrum, the face that would normally sweep Dean into damage control, but today he thinks he’s going to let Sammy introduce himself.
Sam points outright at Castiel. “Who’s this?”
John looks between the three boys in the motel room, but Dean notices with some chagrin that his Dad is focusing on him.
“Boys, this is Castiel.”
Castiel’s lips don’t quite make it into that smile Dean can see brimming, but he looks hopefully between the brothers. Dean’s eyes narrow when Castiel’s gaze lingers on him and those blue eyes are quickly averted.
“Castiel, this is Sam and Dean,” John’s voice is level and Dean just wants him to spit out the order he knows is coming.
“What’s he doing here, Dad?” Dean interrupts when Castiel opens his mouth and quickly shuts it.
John’s look is not approving. “Castiel needs our help, boys. We’re going to help him get back to his family.”
“You sure you’re not an orphan?” Dean quips, gleeful at the dark look his father turns on him out of the corner of his eye. He can already feel the hit that’ll eventually find the back of his head, but, whatever. He can pay for it later.
Dean’s taken aback when Castiel’s face falls and he looks at his feet. “I think I am.”
“Why?” John asks.
Castiel can’t quite hold John’s gaze. “It – my brother told me father was dead.”
“What?” Sam blurts and Dean thinks that this is probably one of those conversations where he should cover Sam’s ears.
“So… you’ve got a brother,” Dean says loudly, intent to muffle Sam’s quiet horror, “That means you’ve still got family.”
Castiel’s fumbling with his sleeves, twisting the cuffs over and over in his tiny hands held almost to his chin. “But -- m-my brothers are no longer my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Dean raises his eyebrows at the new plural, wondering why this kid speaks so weirdly, but his father gives him no cues and then there’s an uncomfortable, familiar hiccupping whimper and he realises that Castiel is sniffling against his sleeves.
“O-oh, come on,” Sam startles and quickly goes to Castiel’s side. Sam’s not much taller than Castiel and he hovers awkwardly as the smaller boy hides his face in his dirty suit sleeves. When the whimper becomes a keen, Sam holds Castiel’s shoulder and clumsily pats the patch between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Dean deflates: Sammy, you traitor.
This story is truly amazing. Even if you don't usually like Wee!Castiel - Wee!chester stories, you'll find that this one might surprise you. I was sceptical at first too, but it truly converted me. I LOVE this fic.
To bluebells; Keep up the good work, sweetheart. This was some excellent piece of work.
And that's it. See you soon!
Shirley Out!
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