Disclaimer: I still don't own anything related to Supernatural.

...

Dean,

I imagine the hardest part will be the fact that I'm not myself anymore. I won't have the same experiences, the same memories. I'll still be me, but I won't be the same me.

I hope that makes sense. I wish your language had better descriptive pronouns.

But I'm leaving you a loophole. If things are getting hard, you can go to Missouri. I told her to come by when I was twelve years old; I thought I might be ready by then. But if you need me before that, go to her. I'll be able to handle it.

I can't tell you what all she'll do because I don't think she entirely understands it herself. But she knows what I am asking of her.

She may be very old by the time you decide to go to her, especially since I know how you feel about bringing people into the life, so you may have to track her down. But the latest you can wait is twelve years; I told Missouri to find you if you haven't come by then, and Sam says she can get you to do whatever she wants. Maybe that's why I went to her, because I knew she could hold you to the promise she made me.

Please give her a chance to do what she can for me. In her defense, she thinks this is not one of my better plans. You have that in common with her, I think.

But I will see you soon. I promise. In twelve years or less.

~Castiel

….

"Where are we going?"

Cas sat in the front seat, assembling and disassembling his gun over and over again. It was a nervous habit he had picked up from Dean over the years, and Dean was not sure whether to feel proud or guilty. Dean smiled over at the kid, who was twelve years old and gangly by now, and just patted his shoulder. "Well, Castiel asked me to give you a present when you turned twelve."

"Yeah. Like he cares what happens to us," Cas frowned. He crossed his arms and glared out the window. It was amazing how, even when he had completely started over with a brand new life and a new family, he still managed to find his way back to pouting and self-loathing. Dean had always said Cas was a child, but this was something else entirely. Was it Dean's fault? Had he taught Cas how to hate rather than experience life?

"Give him a break, Cas. We closed the gates of Heaven. There's only so much that Castiel could do after that," Dean said. They had this conversation a thousand times before, and still Dean could not convince Cas that his old personality wasn't as bad as the kid seemed to think he was. But there were some things Dean just couldn't change.

"That's no excuse. You said Castiel always came when you called, but he won't come for me. He didn't come to save Mom."

Dean frowned. It was hard to watch this, the slow deterioration of all the fairy tales Dean had tried to set up for Cas. He had tried so hard to protect him, had hoped that he could keep him from the truth about monsters and hunting by painting him a picture that was better suited for children. He didn't want Cas to grow up the way he did, always worrying, always checking under the bed. But it was even harder to see Cas turning into Dean.

Dean just hoped he wasn't turning into his father.

"Sometimes," Dean started, then shook his head to try again. "Sometimes the bad guys win, Cas. But it's not your fault or anybody else's fault."

"Ben says it's my fault."

Dean only barely resisted the urge to slam on the brakes. As it was, he turned so fast that his neck actually hurt (but then, his muscles and bones were a little more tired than they used to be). "When did he tell you that?" he demanded.

"A month ago," Cas said, looking down at the floor of the Impala. "When we were working that vampire case together."

Dean frowned. He remembered the case because it was one of the few Ben had brought him in on. It had been nine years, and still Ben had never really forgiven him, not completely. Ben worked on his own as often as possible, but the nest had been too big for him to handle, and he knew when he needed help. And he knew that Dean would always come when he called, too.

Ben had every right to carry a grudge—but to tell Cas something like that? He may have been older, but he was only twelve. How could Ben put something like that on Cas's shoulders?

Cas must have known that Dean was fuming inside because he piped up quickly, "I don't think he knew I was listening. I think he thought I was asleep."

Dean frowned. That didn't excuse Ben's behavior.

Cas gulped. He could tell he had said something wrong, so he tried to change the subject. "How come Sam's not coming with us?"

Dean laughed. For the past nine years, it had been the three of them in the Impala, just like it used to be, except Cas was smaller. But Sam had some "personal crap" to take care of, and Dean had learned not to ask about things like that, not after Dean had used that excuse a thousand times before. "He's working on something on his own," Dean said.

"Why aren't we helping him?"

"Because he wants to do this alone." Dean smiled. Even though Cas was older now, he still hadn't lost his curiosity. It was that curiosity that got Cas into trouble with Heaven in the first place, that drew him to the Winchesters, to humanity, to his Fall. Some things didn't change just because Cas changed species.

"Okay." Cas stopped playing with the guns and looked up at Dean. "Where are we going?"

"Kansas."

"What part?"

"Lawrence."

"That's where you're from, right, Dean?" he asked.

"Uh-huh."

Cas scrunched up his nose—that was his confused face. "I thought you said you didn't want to go back there."

"Well, if I had my way, Missouri would've met us somewhere else, but she's getting old now," Dean said. And it wasn't so bad going back to Lawrence, not anymore. It still stung, and it still brought up memories that he wanted to keep buried for the rest of his life, but it didn't terrify him like it was used to. Maybe it was just that he was older, or maybe it was that he had killed Azazel himself and finally ended that stage of his hunting career.

"Missouri?" Cas repeated. Dean could practically see the cogs turning in that little head. "The psychic? Why are we going to visit her?"

"Castiel left your present with her, I think," Dean said. "I'm really not sure, but that's where Castiel sent me, so that's where I'm going."

Cas shook his head. "I still think you give him too much credit. I thought blind faith wasn't really your thing."

Dean frowned but said nothing. He couldn't decide if he should tell Cas who Castiel the angel really was or let him go on thinking that they were two separate people. Cas had spent so long hating the idea of the angel that Dean couldn't bring himself to tell the kid that this fallen hero of his childhood was actually living somewhere inside him. He didn't want to pop the kid's bubble. If he could keep Cas's innocence intact for as long as possible, that was what he would do, even if it meant fudging the truth a little bit.

They pulled into Missouri's place half an hour later. The house really hadn't changed much, although it didn't look as neatly kept as it used to. But that was to be expected. Missouri was getting old now, and Dean hadn't seen her for a couple decades now, so he could only assume that she wasn't doing so well for herself. After all, she should probably have died of old age by this point. It was her sheer stubbornness that was keeping her alive, Dean would bet.

They knocked on the front door, and the familiar, high voice answered. "The door's unlocked, sugar!"

Dean pushed open the door and peeked inside. She hadn't changed the place hardly at all. All the decorations were just like he remembered them, right down to the awkward room where her customers would wait.

"I cleared my day for you," Missouri explained as she came rolling out from around the corner. Her hair was gray, her skin was wrinkled, and she needed a wheelchair to get around, but other than that, she really hadn't changed much. "I figured you would wait until his twelfth birthday before you came to see me. If you hadn't come today, I would have come to get you."

Cas looked at Missouri, his head tilted to one side. He seemed to recognize her, but he did not say anything about it.

Missouri wheeled herself over in front of Cas and studied him. "Well, didn't you grow up handsome?" She smiled at him and held out her hand. "You probably don't remember me, but we're gonna change all that very soon."

Dean raised both his eyebrows. "What?"

"Don't you worry your head, Dean," Missouri waved her hand at him. "You just sit down on the couch out here, and I'm just going to borrow your little angel for an hour or two."

Dean could feel his fists clenching, even though this was Missouri he was dealing with. After all, this was Cas, and he wasn't going to leave him alone, no matter how old or grown up he thought he was.

Missouri rolled her eyes at him. "Don't swear," she said. When Cas looked questioningly up at her, she explained, "He was thinking it."

Cas grinned. "I like her," he whispered to Dean.

"Of course you do." Cas always liked people who could put Dean off his balance, knock him down a peg. Ever since he got over the stage of his life where he thought Dean hung the moon—which, Dean had to admit, was his favorite part of raising the kid—he liked Sam, Benny, Garth, anyone who knew enough about Dean to tease him or deflate his ego.

Cas looked expectantly up at Dean, and that was when Dean realized the kid was waiting for his permission to go with Missouri. He sighed. "Fine. If you two want to have a private powwow, I guess I'll stick with Cas's plan. It's his life, after all."

Cas looked confused, but he didn't question Dean. He didn't do that when other people around because he knew it made it hard for Dean to do his job when he was distracted. (He was getting older, after all, and he had to work a little harder, concentrate a little deeper.)

Missouri motioned for Cas to follow her through the beads that hung down over the entrance to her workrooms, and Dean sat himself down in the waiting room. He waited a full two minutes before he put his feet up on the coffee table; he remembered Missouri telling him off the last time.

There wasn't really much to do. He didn't have Sam there, and Benny was off on his own again. Ben didn't talk to him anymore. And he'd already read the local papers for anything to do while they were in the area, but he couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. But that was par for the course. Since they closed the Gates of Hell, there had been much less to do. So many hunters had been born from the insanity that was the Apocalypse and the demon activity before and after it, and now there were hardly enough hunts to go around between them.

But Sam and Dean could always find work, and when they couldn't, they could find pleasure. They had taken Cas to Disneyworld a couple years ago, and that had probably been the highlight of the kid's life since they lost Lisa.

Dean frowned. He made it a point not to think about Lisa too much.

He shook his head and took out the journal he had been working on—the hunting journal. He knew he'd probably kick the bucket before Cas did, and he wanted the kid to be plenty prepared. He'd been working on this thing for years now, and he took it out whenever he got the chance.

He spent the better part of an hour working on the journal. At the time, he was writing about the Apocalypse, about angels and demons and what they had been through in the insanity leading up to Sam's nosedive into Hell. He knew that most of this stuff wouldn't be helpful to future hunters, since demons no longer walked the earth—well, except Crowley—and the angels certainly didn't have much to do with this planet anymore. But Dean felt like someone should know what had happened, and maybe they'd be prepared when this stupid planet found a way to open itself up to danger all over again. Dean wouldn't be surprised.

He had just finished writing about killing the Whore when the lights started to flicker. He looked up, narrowed his eyes, but couldn't decide if he should be worried. He was at Missouri's house, after all, and she would have sensed if something evil was around.

But then he heard Cas screaming downstairs, and he didn't even bother to put the journal away in case some unsuspecting customer came in and started looking it over. He was through the beads and down the stairs in a matter of seconds, holding Cas's old angel blade in one hand and a gun in the other and breathing heavily.

Cas was lying on a cot in the middle of the room, and Missouri was sitting next to him, patting his hair and trying to shush him, to reassure him. Dean stuffed his weapons back in his jacket. "What are you doing to him?" he demanded.

Missouri waved him away. "Hush now. He's starting to remember."

Dean opened his mouth, but she shushed him again before he could say anything. He frowned at her, but it was hard to argue with Missouri; he had never been able to before, so why should he be able to now?

Cas had stopped screaming, though. He was covered in sweat, and so was Missouri, but he was starting to relax again. His eyes had been closed, but now he turned his head and opened them—slowly, carefully. His eyes took in everything—Dean, Missouri, the room—before he let a slow smile creep over his face. "I knew you would keep your word, Missouri," he said. The voice was the same, but he sounded, somehow, older.

Dean stared at Cas for a long time before understanding set in. "Cas?" he asked quietly. He took a step forward, and Missouri wheeled herself out of the way.

Cas just nodded. "Hello, Dean."