Chapter Text
“y’know, you should probably take a break.” sam chides, tossing his jacket aside as the two reach the bottom step, making his way to one of the few tables in the bunker.
“yeah, i’ll take a break when we catch this bitch.” dean grumbles, mumbling to himself about one of the many demons terrorizing them this time.
“what you’re doing, it’s not healthy.”
“i’m fine.” dean insists, ignoring the eye roll and arms thrown out in upsets.
“fine?” sam scoffs. “you’re not fine, dean, you’re working yourself to death.”
“yeah, what of it?” dean rolls his eyes, digging through a discarded pile of research.
sam sighs. he knew it was pointless to argue with dean when he’s focused on something. or, more so, pretending to be in the midst of an argument. though, it never stops him from trying. “please, go rest. have a nap, sleep, do something other than dig through useless papers.”
dean groans, looking up from the “useless papers.”
“we’ve looked through them dozens of times.” sam states, giving dean the obvious reason they were in fact futile.
dean nods, stepping back from the table. he hates to admit it, but sam is right. if he doesn’t slow down he’s liable to get himself or both of them killed. hell, today a was close enough call.
“go shower. take a nap. watch a movie, something, dean. please, relax.”
dean sighs, walking back to his room, defeated. truthfully, as much as he would love to continue to argue, he was too tired. and, a nap did sound quite nice.
yawning, he opens the bedroom door, frowning at the empty space in his bed. the angel who had been occupying it seems to have gone.
no wings. dean thinks, crawling into his bed, abandoning the thought of a shower. can’t have gone far.
it’s true, in cas’ human state, lack of grace, no wings, having been cast out of heaven by metatron those years ago; cas couldn’t have gone far. and, with strict orders to stay home on this trip, castiel really wouldn’t have gone far.
though, dean tries to push the lack of angel aside for the time being. he kicks off his boots, holds a pillow tight to his chest, and flicks on the tv. finding dory plays quietly through the speakers of the television dean found at the thrift store. it’s an older tv, like the ones you find in crappy motels. big boxy shape with the huge back.
after a few rounds of hustling pool, he had enough to buy himself a treat. he thought it would be a nice touch of nostalgia to add to his bedroom back in the bunker. it reminds him a lot of his childhood (or, lack of), watching cartoons with sammy while he waits for dad to come back from his hunt.
it works well, as dated as it is, and dean seems to like it so no one bothers to argue about getting a better one.
as the movie plays, dean seems to get more drowsy, his breathing becomes heavier, his head gets fuzzier, voice becomes much lighter. “cas?” he mumbles softly, feeling the weight of his bed finally shift and strong arms pull him close from behind.
“yes, dean.” castiel says, watching dean turn over in his embrace.
“where were you?”
castiel can’t help but smile as dean buries his weary head into his chest.
“i had a shower.” he says, running fingers through dirty, greasy hair.
he did, dean could tell. he no longer smells of musky, sweaty, dirt. his clothes, his body, he smelled clean. like, pure white. unscented soaps. just, clean.
“you could use one as well.” castiel mutters, taking a quick sniff of his boyfriend, resisting the urge to gag.
“tired.” dean mumbles, holding tightly to castiel.
“i can tell.”
dean nods, breathing in the fresh scent of nothing.
“what are you watching?” castiel examines the talking fish curiously, glancing back to dean as he mumbles, “dory.”
“the little forgetful fish.” castiel recalls, allowing dean to turn back over to see the screen.
“i like dory.” dean states softly, watching the blue tang hop from each exhibit with the octopus.
castiel nods, but doesn’t offer anything else to say. mostly, he watches. observes dean’s behavior with the cartoon.
there’s something about the look on his face. something so, childlike. so, innocent that castiel never had the chance to see before.
during his time as a celestial being, he had learned a lot about humans. and, even more so as he began spending more time on earth.
though, these past couple years that he had spent human, spending time with sam and dean, he learned a lot more. he learned that a lot of humans have different ways of coping with their traumas and everyday stresses. he learned more about dean himself and how he deals.
more often than not, it’s booze and sex, angry outbursts. though, while very rare, castiel will notice dean’s stress leaving through a much different, calmer state. a more child like state —moments, brief glimpses into the side of dean he gets the pleasure of experiencing now— normally hidden by cheap piss joke humor. more filtered.
though now, as the film drags into the credits, and dean’s tired mind fights off his sleep, castiel gets to spend time with what the internet refers to as “age regressed” dean.
castiel had done his research on this topic in case he was ever able to get this side of dean open, and he feels prepared to comfort and relax the man as he mumbles softly to himself.
“over.” dean mumbles, pointing to the tv with a frown, drawing his hand back to rub his tired eyes.
“it is, isn’t it?” castiel says, glancing down at dean. “would you like to watch something else? perhaps scooby doo? you like that show, don’t you, hon?”
“mhms,” dean hums out, nodding slowly. “papa watch scoob?” he asks, voice soft and whiny.
castiel smiles proudly, nodding as he turns on the show. he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it absolutely adorable that dean felt safe enough to call him papa.
a little thing he remembered from his research; often times those who regress would call their caregiver or babysitter some form of a parent-like name. such as “daddy,” “dada,” or “papa.” along with feminine names for female sitters.
“you seem very tired, little one.” cas speaks softly, slowly, gently rubbing the regressor’s back.
another thing he remembered! lots of regressor’s like pet names, and “little one” is one from a list he saw. he hopes dean likes it.
“‘il one…” he repeats back to castiel, looking up with a tired, lazy smile. “das me, papa?”
castiel nods, grinning. “yeah, baby, that’s you! papa’s little one.” he says, kissing deans nose, receiving a soft giggle in return.
“i papa’s ‘il one.” dean mumbles proudly, head dropping back against castiel’s chest.
“that’s right.” cas whispers, watching dean grab hold of his fingers, carefully pulling them closer to his mouth. curiously, he waits, grimacing at the slimy saliva now coating his index and middle fingers as dean sucks absentmindedly on them.
there’s something he did forget; often regressors like to suck on or chew things. he makes a mental note to look into teethers and pacifiers. however, he doesn’t quite mind the feeling after a while. as long as dean feels comfortable.
“you getting sleepy, honey?” he whispers after a few moments of silence from the boy. and, with no answer, he assumes dean has finally lulled himself into sleep.
after a long day, and a brief regression period, dean has finally gone to sleep. looking the most peaceful he has in the last few months.
castiel couldn’t help but feel pride swell for dean. dean felt comfortable enough to allow castiel to see him in such a vulnerable state. and, castiel sincerely hopes he will be allowed look after this version of dean more for longer periods of time in the future.