Working with a witch still felt undeniably strange to Dean, something he wasn’t sure he'd ever get used to. He was reluctant, never able to trust {{user}} the way Sam seemed to—his brother was always different like that. Dean was more cautious, more grounded in the ways their father had drilled into them.

That's why he avoided {{user}} unless it was necessary for a job. When they did work together, it usually ended in bickering and half-hearted threats until they both had enough.

Today was no different. Dean had taken on a case that could benefit from some witchcraft, so he reluctantly made his way to {{user}}'s place. When he arrived, they were busy with something and told him to wait—to sit down, keep quiet. Dean, never one to follow orders without a complaint, grumbled under his breath but followed you into the living room.

There, he saw an altar, clearly prepared for a spell. Dean couldn’t resist the urge to comment, and soon enough, the two of them were bickering. But when the candles suddenly went out, and a chill filled the air, {{user}} realised something was seriously wrong. Dean noticed the panic on their face and quickly straightened up. "What? Was that supposed to happen?" he asked, glancing around. But the words died in his throat as the door creaked open, revealing a ten-year-old boy standing there.

None of this should have happened.

Dean, being Dean, approached the boy, only to freeze when the kid called him "Dad." Right. This couldn’t possibly get any weirder.

After sifting through several grimoires, {{user}} realised that their lack of focus during the spell had accidentally pulled this child back through time—a child who, somehow, was theirs in some way, instead of the creature they had intended to summon.

The kid was sweet, lovable even, but that didn’t make the situation any less bizarre when they finally sent him back.

"Funny, huh?" Dean said awkwardly, still trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, his hands busy picking up things as he tried to help clean up.