A/N: Hi, friends! So, if you're new here, first of all, welcome, welcome, new friends. It's nice to have you. Make yourselves comfortable and if you need anything, don't hesitate. There are snacks over there. The drinks are in the fridge. And buckle your ass in because I decided to write something crack-y. For those of you coming back from A Family Forged in Fire and When the Fire Goes Out, I've already told you about this. How I was going to write something somewhat Destiel-ish. Well, I'm rambling here. I'm running on a little bit of sleep and a whole lot of caffeine, so let's see where this dumpster fire is going to take us. *throws floo powder* DIAGON ALLEY! *poof*

After a long week of cracking monster skulls, every hunter deserves a little rest and relaxation. The truth remained the same for a certain pair of brothers and the angel on their shoulder. Each one of them had their own away of unwinding after a hunt (this one in particular was a wendigo case in southern Vermont. The highway patrol thought they knew what they were doing. To no one's surprise, they didn't.). Sam had gone straight to bed once they returned to the bunker and indulged in his stash of melatonin tablets. Castiel had some business to tend to in Heaven. However, he wouldn't be gone long. He didn't like to stray too far from Sam and Dean.

With his brother attempting to catch up on sleep and his angel ascending to a higher place, that left Dean on his own. Not that he minded. He's been alone before. He could do it again. It wasn't his favorite thing, but if there was one thing Dean Winchester excelled at, it was persevering. By persevering, that meant getting back in his beautiful baby and getting a drink or two. Dean wasn't stupid. He knew when to cut himself off. He wouldn't put the Impala in that kind of danger on purpose. Not when he has control over it.

Since he and his brother found their cozy hole in the ground, Dean had become somewhat of an expert on the local bars of Lebanon. He knew which ones were ok and which ones to stay away from. Some of which he found out weren't the good ones the hard way. There was one nestled in the heart of downtown where the beer was always cold, the local bands were always good, and the bartenders were always quick. Dean pulled up a stool at the far end of the bar facing the door. He could never be too careful. The bartender knew the tired look on Dean's face all too well. And a glass of whiskey was placed in front of him.

Honestly, Dean would give anything to be laying in bed, but he knew how long sleep would elude him. Sitting in the bar sounded like a better use of his time. His little brother slept like a baby back home. His best friend was taking care of things upstairs. In the strangest way, life was good for the brothers Winchester for a change. Dean would be able to sleep soundly knowing there would be one less monstrous son of a bitch breathing in this world. And going by the statuesque blonde that had just walked into the bar, Dean's heroism was about to be rewarded. She wasn't Dean's usual type, but she'd do.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. This woman stood at the bar for only a few minutes and she had Dean completely mesmerized. Her bright blue eyes, her hourglass hips. He had to have her if only for tonight. In typical Dean fashion, he tried his best to play it cool. First, find out what she's drinking. She didn't look like the type to go for whiskey. Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as the bartender put a dark, bubbly liquid in front of her. Maybe he had her all wrong. That couldn't have been whiskey, could it? Did he misjudge her?

Dean's eyes followed the bartender to find him putting back a bottle of Captain Morgan. Ok. Not a whiskey girl, but she could get down with rum. Probably rum and Coke? Diet Coke. With a figure like hers, she wasn't drinking regular soda. The woman sat at the bar by herself. No wedding ring. Was she waiting on some friends to show up? Dean let her go for a little while longer, aimlessly scrolling through his phone, checking his news sources for the next possible case. Half an hour had gone by before he looked back up at the woman again. She still sat all alone. Dean flagged down the bartender, ready to make his move.

"Another whiskey?" he asked.

"No," Dean shook his head, "I'm good. Thanks. Maybe you could send a rum and diet Coke down to the woman over there."

"Can do," the bartender carried out Dean's order, making sure to tell her who sent it for her. Yet, Dean still played on his phone, keeping his distance.

"You know," her soft, gentle voice caught his ear, "It'd be rude of me to not say thank you."

"You're welcome," Dean shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket.

"How'd you know what I was drinking?" she took the empty barstool.

"Lucky guess," he shrugged, laying the charm on thick, "What's your name, pretty eyes?"

"Really?" the woman scoffed, "That's all you got?"

Dean had been a little caught off guard. Although, the chase was what made things fun after all, "What would you rather me call you? Your royal highness?"

"A little too dickish," she stopped him, "Back off a bit."

"Sorry," he had no idea what suddenly came over him. This one woman had Dean with his tail between his legs. What kind of spell was she casting over him? She didn't strike Dean as a witch. Then again, she didn't strike him as the type for rum either, "Hi. I'm Dean."

"There we go," she praised, "I swear. Mommy should've taught you some better manners."

"So?" Dean asked nicely this time, "What's your name, if I can't call you pretty eyes?"

The woman took his hand, "Freyja."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Freyja," Dean regained his footing, "Could I get you another drink?"

"I really shouldn't," Freyja turned him down, moving her hand to Dean's thigh. Out of reflex, he tensed up, "That doesn't mean we can't get a little better acquainted, does it?"

"No," he cleared his throat, "Not at all. I shouldn't have anymore either."

"Tell you what," she spoke seductively, leaning in closer, "Why don't you and I go back to your place and get to know each other?"

Dean began to panic. He couldn't take some random woman from the bar back to the bunker. He and Sam had an unspoken rule about that. Besides, nothing would kill the mood like Dean giving her the talk about the monsters under the bed. He had to think on his feet, "We can't…"

"Why not?" Freyja glared.

"My little brother's there," Dean threw Sam under the bus. Sorry, Sammy.

"And?" she cocked her head, "I'm not shy."

Was this chick serious? Was she a voyeur? Or was she looking for a little something extra? Dean loved his brother dearly and he would do anything for him. But getting him involved in his current conquest was not one of those things. She really was looking back to the bunker, but Dean couldn't let that happen.

"No," he laughed off the disgusting notion of a threesome involving his brother, cradling her cheek in his palm, "If we're going to get to know each other, I'm going to want your undivided attention."

"Well," Freyja smirked, "Aren't we a greedy little thing?"

"How about this?" Dean bargained, grabbing his jacket off the chair, "Why don't you and I get out of here and get a hotel room? That way, we don't have to go all the way back to your place."

"I'm not exactly from around here anyway," she told him, "Lead the way, baby."

And lead the way, he did. For the first night in a very long time, Dean had one of the best he's ever had. He'd have to keep Freyja's number on hand. An unattached drifter that would most likely not ask to cuddle. And she could take him around the world any time she wanted. After the fireworks had died down, Freyja laid with her head on Dean's bare chest, tracing around his anti-possession tattoo with her finger.

"So," she wondered, "Where do you want to get breakfast tomorrow morning?"

Dean froze, "What do you mean?"

"We do have this room all night," Freyja pointed out, "I'm not going to make you go back home. Not when we're so comfortable here."

"Look, sweetheart," he backed off, putting her down on the bed, "This was fun, but I have to go."

"Why?" she whined, "Why do you have to go?"

"Because," Dean was blunt. It's the only way she'd understand, "Chances are, you and me aren't going to happen. I knew that going into this and I thought you'd probably feel the same. Looks like I was wrong."

"You're damn right, you were wrong!" Freyja started getting angry, "I've been played a million times over and I thought you'd be different. Turns out you're just like every other whiny, selfish dick that comes into the bar. You will get what you deserve, Dean. I can promise you that. Just go."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Dean grabbed his pants off the chair, "Sorry."

He put his keys in the ignition and took off for the bunker. After the evening's festivities with Freyja, Dean was sufficiently drained and his bed would always welcome him with open arms. Before he could do that, though, he needed a little more peace of mind. Dean looked into the bedroom next to his to find his brother sleeping soundly with his Netflix account lighting up the room. One down. Looks like Cas wasn't back yet. He knew it wouldn't be long, but Dean wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.

The next morning, Dean opened his eyes only to shut them seconds after. Screw this. The boys didn't have anything to do. Everything was radio silent from monster sightings to demon signs to apocalyptic omens. There was even a gentle pitter patter of rain outside. Dean wouldn't hesitate. He went right back to sleep. Screw consciousness.

Meanwhile, Sam had woken up and left his brother to sleep off whatever hangover he knew he had. Luckily, there was a coffee pot in the kitchen calling his name. Sam knew he never had to worry about Dean when he went out to the bars. He knew Dean wouldn't get too stupid. But he also knew better. Waking Dean up would be more of a death sentence than anything else. As the day went on, there was still absolutely no sign of him.

"Hey, Cas," Sam wondered, "Have you seen Dean today?"

"I can't say that I have," Cas thought for a moment or two, "Is he still in bed?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "Maybe."

The angel sat puzzled, "Do we wake him?"

"I think we might have to…" The two of them exchanged glances, nervous about their task at hand. They could do it. They were the two people in the world that Dean Winchester hated the least. When they cracked the door, they both heard Dean groan and grumble on the other side. However, they didn't see him anywhere.

"Dean?" Cas called out in the darkness of his bedroom.

"Cas?" Dean babbled deliriously, "The hell are you doing in here?"

"Where are you?" Sam looked around, afraid to turn on the lamp.

"Bed," Dean nuzzled his face in the pillows, ready to go back to sleep, "Why?"

"Sam," Cas gave him a nudge, pointing toward the small lump in Dean's bed.

"Hey, Dean," Sam worried, "You feel ok?"

"You don't have to yell, man," Dean whined, trying to roll over, but failing miserably, "I'm right here. What the hell…?"

"We're not yelling, Dean," Cas turned the light on, not entirely believing what he and Sam were seeing.

"Holy hell!" Dean freaked, "Why are you two giant?"

"We're not giant," Cas picked Dean up and held him in his arms.

"Dean," Sam stared in pure shock, "Do you feel ok?"

"Fine," Dean assured, "Why? Don't I look ok?"

"Dean," Cas walked with him to the bathroom mirror, "You look awfully young for your age."

That's when Dean realized he had a baby face. And body. And motor functions. When the hell did Dean become a baby?!

A/N: And so, we have a baby Dean. Now, this is going to go on for the entire week. Just a little miniseries for funsies. Now, cut me some slack because this was an idea I came up with at 2AM one morning when I couldn't sleep and it's been burning in the back of my brain ever since. So! I'll see you tomorrow! xx