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.

Castiel has to say is, "Driving is very slow."

Dean glares at him and lets them into the room.

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."