Important:

First, thanks for your patience. This isn't dead, I've just had a helluva lot going on for the last few months.

Second: I might be changing my pseudonym soon since Wanting Memories is actually my professional name. So there's a heads up on that if it occurs. If anyone has any opinions on the matter, please let me know.

Thanks all! Carry on.


Dean didn't really expect Angelman to visit tonight. Mommy and Daddy had let him stay up extra late tonight so that he could watch the ball drop, but the small child had fallen asleep on the couch anyway. He'd missed the music, but Daddy had nudged him awake in time to watch the illuminated ball slowly descend onto New York City. Dean imagined it must be what Angelman would look like if he appeared as the Christmas angel did before the famous manger scene.

It was the New Year, and that meant the angels were probably very busy getting the earth turned over for the change. Dean imagined that every year changing was like a pancake being flipped on a skillet. Only that the earth never burned, but just needed more and more cooking as more and more batter was added to each side. So the angels were surely in charge of the turning of the seasons as well as the turning of the years. Because of this, young Dean was certain he would not be seeing Angelman tonight.

Now he lay in his tiny bed with Teddy, his familiar security in the face of a night without Angelman—a night was he was surely very busy at work. Because he had a significant nap on the couch earlier, sleep was not coming to him quickly, and he stared at his ceiling and the shadows of the street lights through the tree. It used to be that those shadows would scare him, but Dean was no longer afraid of the dark places in the night.

His angel shone too brightly to allow anything bad to hide in the dark.

He rolled over in bed, away from the window, then saw a sudden flash as the shadows from the tree limbs disappeared briefly. The small boy sat up straight in bed, clutching his poor teddy bear, and looked wide-eyed out the window. A familiar, yet strange figure stood under the streetlamp, but Dean had no time to squint his eyes to focus because within seconds the figure was now beside his bed.

At first, Dean pulled back from the stranger's presence, frightened of the unknown. His little hands clutched the covers as if the blankets themselves could protect him from this perceived threat. Then, the small child watched as the figure slumped down onto his knees and leaned against the bedside, as if woozy.

The boy peered over the comforter at the man, then recognition crossed his features. "Angelman!" Dean moved to his hero without the slightest remainder of caution.

Angelman was not okay—that much was clear. For one thing, he was dull, with no light causing a warm glow to spread out from his features. For another, the man was doubled over gasping, with one shoulder against the mattress for support. Dean immediately dropped to the ground in front of his angel, who now wore different clothes too. Had something happened? Was their trouble when the world was turned over?

Small hands reached out to the man's face, and Dean cupped Angelman's strong jaw in an awkward embrace. "Angelman, are you sick?"

Angelman coughed with those rough growling vocals that Dean originally confused for a monster. "I'll be fine in a moment. Time travels take an awful lot from me."

Dean didn't really understand, but he assumed it had something to do with the New Year. He ran his fingers down Angelman's cheeks, subconsciously checking for tears or cuts. Already caring for others, Dean smoothed the palms of his hands over roughened five o'clock shadow, then across his angel's eyebrows, evening out the drawn expression.

Where was his glow? The boy rubbed his cheek against the man's shoulder as he pulled closer for a full hug. Did he lose his glow because he was sick?

He knew he needed to be quiet and let Angelman get better before bothering him, but he couldn't stop himself from checking on his friend. "Can I help?"

"You already are," he spoke as if he'd been choking on something moments before, but his eyes were no longer pulled shut in pain. So, that was good. The man reached his hand up to Dean's head, where he ruffled his hair. "Your soul is so bright in person. Being near you calms me."

The child beamed at his friend, then pulled him closer for a full embrace, his arms clutching around the man's neck. "Then don't leave," Dean provided as a solution.

Huffing softly in an almost laugh that the boy would eventually become very familiar with, Cas pressed a soft kiss to the boy's temple. "Would that I could. I will make sure to visit more often." And he meant it—until he would save the boy's mother in the fall. Then he doubted the timeline would allow him the luxury. It was fine. With Mary alive, John would remain a devoted father rather than a devoted hunter, and the boys would grow up as they had always wished—normal.

He felt the small one pull back from him, then once again cup his jaw between his hands as he stared through his vessel and into his very being. Castiel was familiar with this expression of affection from the adult hunter, and it would seem it was something naturally within the man from the get-go. No one had taught him this was the way he should love. He'd learned it on his own, or it was instinctual. Castiel didn't care. He enjoyed it while he could, and only hoped that the Dean from his timeline would remember him after he'd righted his past from the demon's influence.

He had more pressing concerns tonight though.

"Dean," the angel spoke, his eyes darting between the wide green orbs before him.

"Yes Angelman?"

Cas took Dean's small hands in his, pulling them from his own face to hold them between the two of them. "It is necessary that I have your permission for something, and I want you well enough informed before you agree."

The wording might have been too much for the boy, but it miraculously was not. Dean nodded his head solemnly, his brown hair bobbing slightly with the action. "I'm listening."

Ancient as he was, the celestial being couldn't help but smile at this child's cooperation and attentiveness. Dean was indeed a special human naturally, and his young, undamaged and unbridled soul glowed fiercely in his vision.

"Dean, I would like your permission to place a mark on you."

The boy's eyebrows drew together. "Okay, what kind of mark? Like Mr. Teney's tattoos?"

Cas nodded. "Something like that, only I will hide it under your hair." The angel ruffled his head and Dean giggled lightly.

"Why hide it?"

"Well," he was at a bit of a loss. There was no reason to hide the mark, but he was certain Dean and his parents would not appreciate a permanent marking in a visible place. "It doesn't half to be hidden, but I bet you'd like it to be in the future. When you're deciding for yourself what you want to look like as an adult, I want you to have all the options possible. I suppose I could hide it somewhere else—perhaps your foot?"

Dean shook his head. "No the head is fine." He was very much a child who wanted to please.

Castiel managed to pull himself from leaning against the bed, feeling a bit better from the initial shock of time travel, and he sat on the floor cross-legged. The boy mimicked the motion, sitting down on the carpet across from him, both in the beam of moonlight splashing across the floor from the window.

"This mark," Castiel began, "it is much like a dog tag. Do you know what those are?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It tells everyone where the dog's home is, and who he belongs to."

The angel inclined his head. "That's exactly right. I want to be able to mark you like that. I want all other angels to know where you belong in case you get lost, and it will keep you safe."

"Sounds good." The boy bounced slightly with excitement in front of him.

Castiel held up his hand to quiet the boy and let him know that there was still more. "This mark will be as a claim. No other angel can have you. They may help you, you may pray for their help, and you can be friends with them, but I will be the only angel specifically for you. Do you understand Dean?"

He nodded again. Now came the part that Cas was certain the four-year-old would not fully grasp.

"It also means that you cannot..." He really wasn't sure how to explain it to a child. "You will not be able to…marry another angel."

The boy cocked an eyebrow at him and narrowed his eyes. "I can marry angels?"

"Well," Cas sighed. "Not…normally. However, in special cases people can. If I give you this mark, you will not be able to marry other angels." At the boy's discontented expression, Castiel rushed on. "But you can marry anyone else. Any human." Or shifter, or werewolf, or whatever Dean wanted, but Cas didn't want to tell him about the monsters yet. If ever.

Dean's gaze fell to his lap for a short moment as his young mind sorted through the information that was just dumped on him. Castiel looked out the window, trying to feel for any sign of the other angel—the one in Patrick—but there was nothing yet.

The heart-shaped face seemed to scrunch up, then release as Dean finished his pondering, then returned his gaze to meet his Angelman's. His brows were still drawn very tightly, and it was almost comical on such a young, unmarred face, but Cas did not laugh. He knew the child was analyzing and considering well beyond what should have been capable at his developmental level. And Dean Winchester thought he wasn't smart. Dean Winchester was highly gifted and intelligent, and Castiel wished he could show him this example now.

"Other angels…" the boy murmured.

Castiel blinked, unsure if he should step in, but decided to anyway. "Yes?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at the angel, and Cas wondered how many times he would get to observe that expression before the night was up. "You said I would not be able to marry other angels."

"I did."

The boy's eyes seemed to saturate with color—such a very bold, dark green. "That means I could marry you." It wasn't even a question. Dean seemed capable of grasping the nuances of inferred language already.

"You…could." Castiel was taken aback by the determined set of the child's mouth.

"Then it is cool." Dean nodded decisively.

Castiel sat breathless for a moment, still holding one of the boy's small hands in his. The other—his left—had dropped into his small lap when he'd begun his arduous analysis of the situation.

The angel blinked repeatedly at the small boy, knowing full well that there was no way a four-year-old could make such decisions about his future. About the rest of his life.

And yet, he had to ask. "Dean, do you want to marry me?" It sounded like a proposal, but was a genuine question about the boy's expectations.

Dean smiled warmly, taking back the angel's lost hand, and holding them both firmly. "You are the prettiest, nicest person in the world—well, after Mommy and Miss Missouri and I don't want to marry them."

Cas huffed again, but this time it was born out of surprise. "We shall see, but for now I have your permission to mark you?"

"Yes." Dean stood, ready for the angel to administer anything he might need to in order to accomplish his goal. Castiel, angel of the Lord, followed the boy's example and stood in front of him.

"I am so very pleased Dean," he muttered low as he laid his hand on the crown of the boy's head, weaving his fingertips into the soft locks. Dean only smiled back and closed his eyes, as if awaiting a baptism.

The corner of Castiel's mouth curled up. He shut his eyes as he prepared to gather his grace's energy to focus into the palm of his hand. The mark would take much out of him, and he would most likely need to recover before he could travel back to his proper timeline. Preparing his reserves would help with the energy consumption.

He felt the familiar presence as soon as it entered the timeline. His eyes snapped open in alarm. This angel he could feel was not Patrick. No, it was much worse. Castiel, pulled Dean's small body against him in what could only be described as instinctual, the boy's head barely reaching his hip. He could feel exactly where the archangel was—outside under the tree. The angel clutched the boy to him, and the child only held back just as tightly, but without the desperation.

Raphael, Castiel felt for the first time what it was to feel sick to one's stomach.