You were a witch, and a not very good one. You were practicing in your room when Dean came in—and surprised you, to explain it lightly.

You rushed to the library of the bunker, holding a Baby Dean in your arms. Sam didn’t even glance, stuck deep in his reading.

“Don’t be mad.”

You don’t even have time to explain that Dean, stuck in a toddler form, started to cry, trying to squirm out of your arms.