Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jack knew only a few things for sure. He knew that when the sun came up they had to go outside to the coop to feed the chickens and collect the eggs (but if he overslept his father would do it for him); he knew that all day there was lots of work to do on the garden and time to sit and take care of his lessons; he knew that sometimes his father went into town but he wasn’t to go with him, in fact he was to never leave the wooden fence lining their property, and he knew that his father loved him more than anything in the world.

Those truths were useful to him at age five, almost six, just as much as he knew how rain fell or how many months it took a caterpillar to turn into a butterfly, but he couldn’t deny a desire to know more. There were, he knew, people out there outside of his father and himself, more creatures than the chickens and the cat and the birds that flew across the sky or the ants that marched across their kitchen floor in the summer. There were other places, full of people, even other children like him, he knew this from picture books and stories and videos and faded photographs. The mention of them made his father always stiffen, but could always lead to some soft worded and rambling story. There were stories about angels and demons and everything in between, and always at the center of it all: a tall man with green eyes and steady but firm hands.

Jack had never met that man, though after all the stories he felt like he knew him. He had no memories of anyone, save his mother. He liked to think those memories pressed at the corner of his brain, she had held him, his father had told him, she had made it longer than she was meant to due to his father’s grace sustaining her, long enough to hold him and care for him for almost a week following his birth. He thought he could remember her, her brown hair falling in his mouth as she smiled down at him. He wasn’t sure if that was a memory of a memory though, being told the story so many times, or if it came from the oft watched home movie his father had taken of the two of them, saved to his laptop with all the videos his mother had made him before he was born. He liked to think it was real, it helped.

Jack missed her, he knew, but even more so he was curious. Something deep within felt insatiable. He wanted to see the world, he wanted to save people like his heroes, like Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter or the green eyed man that his father had loved. He wanted to, even at five, put his stamp on the world and shape it to his image. His father often told him he was meant for bigger things, that he was special and fated to reach heights he couldn’t even dream of yet. But his father always seemed a little sad when he said those things and Jack knew he would miss him. Sometimes he felt torn up over that, a strange part of his heart yearning for more while the other horribly wondered who would care for his father when he was gone? He would end up crying then, just out of the blue, and promising his father he would never leave him.

“You’re going to have to one day,” his father admitted, as he sat him on his knee and wrapped him tightly in his arms. “You’ll want to and you’ll be so big I won’t be able to stop you, not for the right reasons.”

“But you’ll be so sad, daddy,” Jack cried out and his father wiped his hair from his forehead, gentle and steady. “I don’t want that to happen.”

“I’ll never be far away, Jack,” his father told him. “I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.”

“I think I’ll need you forever,” Jack said and his father smiled.

“You feel that now… I felt it for years. But one day I had to leave my home behind too,” his father said and Jack looked up at him curiously.

“Why did you?” Jack asked.

“I had grown too big, my world view was too narrow. And there were things I wanted to find, to experience, that I wouldn’t have found safe at home, obeying my father, letting my brothers take care of me,” his father explained. “It was scary and it was hard, and at times I wished I hadn’t. At times I got badly hurt, but it was worth it.”

“How was it worth it?” Jack couldn’t believe anything was worth getting hurt. Especially if his father wasn’t there to patch him up and kiss it better right afterwards.

“I found love, love that was worth it all, worth any pain it might have given to me,” his father told him, with the ever familiar hazy look in his eyes. “And from that love...I got you.”

Jack thought for a long moment. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t think I’d want to love anyone more than you, daddy,” Jack said and his father laughed.

“It won’t be more, it’ll be different,” he elaborated. “You’ll want it when it happens.”

“But it won’t happen soon?”

“No, not soon at all, you’ll be my sweet baby for a very long time, safe and home with me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” his father replied and kissed his forehead. He picked him up then, shifting him onto his hip and inspecting his face to see if his tears had fully dried. “Let’s fix you some lunch.”

Jack smiled and nodded and his father carried him from the porch into the house. He was happy there, safe and warm, the nice smell of fresh baked bread and soil and laundry detergent that always clung to his father. But he couldn’t help himself but gazing out at the wide world around him, keeping an eye on it and its mysteries that called out to him.

It had been almost six years since he’d seen him last. Dean wanted to pretend they hadn’t been a hellish six years, that he’d kept it together. But he couldn’t deny the reality. He had been, he knew, unbearable to be with. That was why, he assumed, Sam had broken off and moved in with Rowena in her Greenwich Village place about a year in. Whatever that situation was, Dean couldn’t really get a read on it, but knew it involved crystals, witchcraft, the two of them playing detective for NYC’s monster crimes, and probably a crazy amount of sex that he desperately didn’t want to think about. His brother was quite happy though, he had to admit. He wouldn’t get in the way of that.

Crowley, too, had gotten sick of him, “dumping” him pretty early on, with a heaving sigh and an admittance that he would call. They still saw each other from time to time, but more in the same way he saw Jody or Donna or Garth or the Banes, not with the regularity of before. He would call him in a crisis though and Crowley would always answer. Some bonds couldn’t be broken.

The most painful abandonment was from his own mother. It had been hard for things to be the same after the British Men of Letters incident, everything had been unbearably weird between them both. She had begun to hunt on her own, moving around, linking up with some old contacts of hers. There was also some guy, he was dimly aware of, named Kirk or something that she had known in high school who was in and out. He tried not to think about any of that; not how she had grown sick of him nor betrayed him nor that she seemed to be doing better than he ever was. Everyone seemed to be doing better.

He was obsessed. Rightfully so, he had to admit. Wherever Cas was he was at best just brainwashed at worst kidnapped and tortured. He needed Dean, desperately. Dean thought he could feel him crying out to him and dreamed of awful fates awaiting him. He tried to pretend half those dreams weren’t memories of pain he had inflicted on Cas with his own hands.

It didn’t make sense, he told himself, Cas wouldn’t leave him. Not Dean who had taken care of him, who had always been there, who Cas had been devoted to despite reason. He wouldn’t follow some knocked up sicko and her baby god and leave him behind. It was deranged. Whenever Dean even thought about it his head hurt, he felt like breaking something or himself. Sometimes he’d get to a deep place of self loathing, the obvious answer for Cas’s disappearance becoming clear to him, and then he’d choose the Winchester family antidepressant of choice and drink himself into a stupor. When he’d wake up the next morning he’d be as convinced as ever that Cas was an idiot who couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself. He needed Dean, needed him to show him how to get through this awful world that would only take advantage of him and his goodness. Dean had seen it happen so many times before and he wouldn’t let it happen again. Not on his watch.

When he had finally figured it out, the house in the middle of nowhere, the last place anyone had seen Jimmy Novak or Kelly Kline alive, he had driven all the way to Washington on even less sleep than usual. He had almost crashed the Impala, falling asleep at the wheel. It had been a last minute save that had stopped him from hitting the barrier of the highway and ending the car if not his own life. He had passed out at the motel in town then, knowing he was too dead on his own feet to be of any use. When he woke up he headed up towards the address, stupid for taking no back up, but no one had even agreed to come. Sam was too busy, Crowley thought it was pointless, and his mother… he could barely talk to his mother. All he had was a gun, his angel blade, a stomach full of whiskey, and his unassailable nerve. That had always been enough, he reasoned.

He kicked down the door of the house, which he clocked in his head as quaint, well maintained, if a messy lawn, and far too quiet. He stalked through it quietly, checking his blindspots as he went. His heart was pounding in his throat, prepared for the best or the worst or another dead end. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him and turned quickly, his gun raised. What he saw froze him in place.

It was Cas, and of course it was. He was standing there, his dark hair slightly longer and pulled back with a bandana, his suit traded in for white linen pants, a stained grey t-shirt, and a large knitted pale yellow cardigan over that, bare feet, and blue eyes gazing at Dean with such fear he felt his own heart break right then and there. That fear captured his hold for so long that it took him a full thirty seconds before he processed what was in Cas’s arms. It was a little boy, probably five or six, long honey blonde hair, sweet chubby cheeks, wearing overalls and a striped t-shirt, clutching tightly to Cas’s sweater and gazing at him with identical fear in his own blue eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” was all Dean could get out. Cas tucked the child tighter to himself at the sound of Dean’s gruff voice.

“Don’t hurt him!” Cas shouted and Dean gaped at him. “You’ll have to kill me first.” It was only then that Dean realized his gun was still quite literally blazing. He lowered it then, tentative and overwhelmed.

“I wasn’t going to…” Dean began but didn’t know what to say. What had he been going to do? He barely knew for sure himself.

“Who are you?” The boy asked and Dean took a step back then. “Daddy, who is he?”

“Daddy?” Dean exclaimed. Cas blushed slightly and turned into the child.

“He’s… an old friend,” Cas explained. “Why is he so angry?” The little boy continued and Cas pursed his lips.

“He’s just confused, it’ll all be alright,” Cas consoled him. He looked at Dean then, meeting his eyes with a hard stare.

“Is that…?” Dean asked. Cas nodded.

“This is Jack,” Cas said plainly.

“Lucifer’s kid,” Dean replied, blunt and awkward, his tongue stuck in his mouth.

“Kelly’s son,” Cas told him and then paused. “My son, now.”

“Your son?” Dean repeated. “Cas, you don’t mean that all these years you’ve been playing house with a nephilim?”

“I can assure you I’m not playing at anything,” Cas asserted. “I’ve been raising him as best as I can. I know I am far from what you or anyone would deem an ideal parent, I know how flawed you see me, how everyone sees me. I’ve made nothing but mistakes before now. But Jack… he’s so dear to me. I have been doing as best I can.”

“Shit,” Dean let out. Jack squinted at him.

“Daddy, he’s using words we’re not supposed to use,” Jack tattled. “Is he going to get in trouble?”

“I think he’s already in trouble,” Cas told the child and then looked back at Dean. “What have you come here for?”

“To save you,” he admitted and knew how idiotic that sounded.

“Well, as you can see I’m not in need of any saving,” Cas clarified.

“That thing is… it’s powerful,” Dean began. “It could end the world.”

“So could Sam, at one point in time,” Cas argued.

“That was different,” Dean said.

“How was it different? Jack is my child, he’s under my protection. I love him more than anything. If you try to harm him I’ll kill you,” Cas stated. His voice was more level than Dean could’ve imagined such a declaration could be.

“I’m not gonna…” Dean trailed off. He didn’t know what he was going to say. Afraid of any promise that might come out. Jack tugged on Cas’s ear with his fingers causing Cas to yelp slightly.

“I’m hungry, daddy, can we have the grilled cheese now?” Jack whined and it was then that Dean noticed the burning smell coming from deeper in the house. Cas’s eyes widened.

“Crap…” he swore under his breath and rushed off in that direction, Dean following close on his heels.

The crisis was averted before the smoke alarm went off, but the sandwich was charred beyond recognition. Cas had whipped up another as Jack happily sat at the table and doodled. Dean, for his part, stood stock still in the doorway watching it all. In the face of the burning grilled cheese, Cas’s deathly threats seemed to be temporarily put on hold. Dean couldn’t truly fathom how much he still trusted him. They mostly let the cooking go in silence, with Dean answering little questions from Jack along the way. He only addressed one thing to Cas, as he served the sandwich up.

“You’ve gotten good at that,” Dean admitted. Cas looked up at him.

“I’ve had years of practice,” he explained and Dean nodded.

After Jack’s sandwich was consumed Cas gently led him to his bedroom and Dean overheard him quietly instructing him to put his headphones on and stay on his computer until Cas fetched him. After that he closed the door and reentered the kitchen, staring at where Dean sat awkwardly at the table. Cas clearly only allowed himself to pause for a moment though, before he was padding over to the sink and working on the dishes.

“Do you want anything? I can fix you a tea or a sandwich, let me get the kettle on,” Cas began.

“I’m fine,” Dean assured him and tapped his leg against the floor. “We gonna pick up where we left off?”

“You discussing murdering my child?” Cas asked bluntly and Dean swallowed hard.

“Fuck Cas, you don’t have to say it like that,” Dean replied. “All I was doing was pointing out that he’s a threat. Trying to be logical. I don’t wanna hurt the kid myself I’m just saying, this is pretty damn apple pie.”

“And?”

“Well isn’t that suspicious?” Dean asked and Cas cocked his head at him.

“It’s suspicious to you that I’m happy? That I’m successful at being a human? Not languishing in squalor like I was the last time?” Cas questioned and Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“Cas, you aren’t human,” Dean corrected. Cas smiled softly.

“I am now,” Cas told him. “When Jack was born...I was with Kelly, helping her through her labor. But it got hard, it was terrifying. I knew she wouldn’t survive, that was her choice, but she was in agony, more than I could bear to watch and Jack… well I began to worry if he would survive himself… something was going wrong and we both could tell. And then I understood it, the birth of a nephilim, it requires great sacrifice from both parents. And I knew the sacrifice I had to make. I used my grace to ease Kelly through the labor, taking as much of the pain away as I could, taking some of it on I suppose you could say, and I burnt out what was left of it to ensure Jack was born healthy and strong. He came out so small and it took awhile, it took these terrifying moments to get him to cry and breathe. But then it was all worth it, I mean all of it, Kelly and I both knew. She lived until almost the end of the week. It was a blessing neither of us could have imagined.”

“Fuck…” was all Dean could say. Cas looked stoic as usual, not misty eyed or overwhelmed but Dean felt a guilt rise up in him. Cas had faced all that alone. Pain and loss and suffering, the fear of losing a child, the reality of losing his friend. And his grace… Dean thought, not for the first time, how much he should’ve been there, to have stopped him, to have talked some sense into him.

“That was it for my grace. I’ve been fully human ever since. And as for Jack, when she died, her last thoughts were for him to stay safe and hidden and young-”

“How did you know her last thoughts?” Dean asked. Cas sighed.

“Angels are telepathic beings, Dean. Jack and I have a deep psychic bond, he had one with his mother too, for the little time she was alive,” Cas elaborated.

“He can read your mind?”

“Only when he touches me and only if I want him to. It’s not invasive, it's… just another form of communication. I don’t know how to explain it,” Cas told him. “Anyway, he sensed her last thoughts and used them to create a sort of barrier around the property, it’s what keeps us safe. No one can get in but us. And he hasn’t used his grace since then, his powers seem to be projected out of him, tied up with the barrier. One day, I suppose, he’ll grow big enough to leave and get his powers back as he goes. But for now, he’s just a human child, albeit one with wings that grow bigger by the day. But you can’t see those of course.”

“So he’s harmless?” Dean cut in. Cas nodded. “It could just be a trick.”

“To what end, Dean?” Cas replied. “He’s had plenty of opportunities to do evil, I’m human, no obstacle to him. He could do as he liked. He chose to bind his own powers, to protect us, to keep out everyone including Lucifer or his demons. And frankly, Jack isn’t even six yet. He’s bright but he doesn’t exactly have the capacity to be a mastermind on that level. He’s only just beginning to figure out how to get me to push his bedtime back.”

Dean sat with that information for a while as the kettle hissed on the counter and Cas went to perfunctorily pour two cups. He placed one in front of Dean and set a box of herbal teas on the table for Dean to choose from. For his part, he grabbed an Earl Gray and stuck it in to be polite. He couldn’t stand tea, certainly not after the whole debacle with the Brits. He’d at least fake it though, for the sake of this whole insane situation.

“How did I get in?” Dean finally said. “If he made a barrier, an impenetrable one, how’d I even get in? Because I shouldn’t be able to.”

“I’ve been wondering that for hours,” Cas admitted. He stirred his own tea, a bright looking orange, and then looked back up at Dean. “I have to assume it’s because he let you in.”

“That’s not a very rock solid security system you got there, Cas,” Dean drolled.

“Well, I mean, it was you,” Cas said softly and Dean raised an eyebrow at him in response. He sighed and turned away, dealing with something on the stove. “I’ve… he’s heard about you a lot. From me. I think he knew you wouldn’t hurt him… hoped you wouldn’t.”

That hit Dean like a truck. He sat there for a moment staring at the chilling tea before him. He didn’t know why the idea devastated him somehow, shocked him even more. Of course Cas would tell his son about him, he only had so much to tell, Dean assumed. But he didn’t like to picture it. Or maybe, he considered, he liked it far too much.

“So you did keep us in mind from time to time?” was what Dean asked him, words laced with an accusation. Cas stiffened and turned to face him.

“Of course I did. I think you know by now I couldn’t forget you if I tried” Cas replied, voice hard and insistent. Dean gripped his chair tightly.

“That’s mighty interesting Cas, sure didn’t seem like it at the time,” Dean spat at him harshly. “I didn’t really get that impression when I woke up in that playground with no clue where the fuck you were.”

“I’m very sorry about that, I’m sorry about all of this,” Cas told him, looking down. Dean jumped to his feet then, advancing towards him.

“Why did you go like that? Never calling, never writing, not even once? Fuck, Cas for all I knew you were dead!” Dean yelled at him. Cas took a step back, flinching and Dean was aware, dimly in the back of his head, that he seemed afraid but nothing in Dean was stopping.

“I was scared,” Cas admitted. Dean grabbed him by his shoulders then, tight and intense and Cas was rigid in his grip.

“Scared of what? What the hell did you have to be scared of?” Dean questioned him, a brutality taking over his body. What the fuck kind of right did Cas have to be scared? The very idea made him angrier than he could articulate and he didn’t know at who.

“Scared you would hate him! Scared you would look at him and see him as nothing but a manifestation of another of my many mistakes! Scared of this, of exactly this!” Cas shouted back at Dean. “I was always a disappointment to you and Lucifer...that was all me! Ruining everything yet again! I thought you’d do this- hate Jack - hurt Jack because of my mistakes!”

“That’s not good enough! You betray me? Run off with some chick you barely knew? To raise the devil’s bastard? Why? Why couldn’t you tell me where you were?” Dean demanded, shaking him.

“I was scared!” Cas repeated.

“You keep saying that! You had powers! Jack has powers! You could’ve fought me off!”

“I could never have hurt you! I didn’t know- even for Jack- I didn’t know! I can’t hurt you!” Cas rebuked. Dean shook him again.

“Why?!” He screamed. And he had been wondering for years about that very question. Why couldn’t Cas hurt him? What always stopped him? Why had he once been willing to lay his life at Dean’s feet in the face of his uncontrollable anger? He was seeing red suddenly, remembering that fight, all that happened, all Cas had let him do to him and he was almost as angry as he had been then.

“Ever since I pulled you out of hell- I’ve just needed to be close to you- to protect you-”

“Why?!” Dean repeated, Cas seemed to be on the verge of tears but he didn’t care, couldn’t care. He needed his answer.

“And with this- with this I thought you’d hate me for sure- and I didn’t want to lose you!” Cas explained, babbling and almost out of control. Dean shook him one more time, hard and fast.

“Why?! Why any of this Cas?! Ever?!” Dean cried.

“I loved you!” Cas screamed back at him. He dropped to his knees then, his face covered in his hands, dissolving into tears. “Oh god, I love you.”

The anger left Dean then and he stood there, stock still, watching the weeping angel at his feet.

“Are you satisfied? Have you humiliated me enough? I’ve said it,” Cas sobbed. “I’m not ashamed of it and you can’t make me be. I’m not ashamed of Jack, of what I’ve become, how I’m nothing now, and I’m not ashamed of loving you. I’m not. I won’t be! No one can make me!”

“Cas…” Dean got out, unable to say more than the man’s name as he watched him fall apart. “I’m so...”

“Don’t you dare be sorry for me! I’m not sorry! I love you. I love you. You can hate me or kill me but you can’t stop me,” Cas told him. He looked up at Dean and his blue eyes were shining and defiant and then Dean sunk to his own knees in front of him. He reached out for him. Cas seemed to shirk from his touch for one moment, but let Dean go to him eventually, running his fingers through his hair as Cas continued sobbing into his hands.

“I don’t know why I…” Dean began again and then stopped himself. Didn’t know why what? Why he’d yelled at him? Grabbed him? Forced a confession out of him they had both always known was waiting, silent behind his lips? Spent years searching for him only to push him away at his first chance? Didn’t know why he felt there was something wrong with him every time he had looked at Cas or god forbid touched him?

There was a pattering of feet then and Dean heard the door creak open and turned to see Jack standing there, a worried and uncertain expression on his little face. Dean felt shame twist his stomach. He’d done this to Cas with his child in the next room. What had he been thinking? It was such an awful violation he couldn’t put into words, his tongue choking on the apology.

“Daddy?” Jack quietly called and Cas reached his head up and looked at him. “I heard yelling…”

“I’m alright,” Cas told him, sounding far from it. Jack gave a wary glance up at Dean.

“Did he hurt you?” Jack asked. He glared at Dean. “You’re not allowed to hurt my dad.”

“I-” Dean started but Cas cut him off.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Cas insisted. He reached his arms out towards Jack then. “It’s alright, sweet boy, don’t be worried.”

Jack ran to Cas then, sinking into his embrace. Cas held him close and stroked his hair as Dean felt an immense jealousy. He wasn’t sure where it came from, maybe that he couldn’t remember ever having been held like that or maybe because beforehand Cas had only ever reserved that type of love and care for him. Cas looked up over Jack’s head after a moment and made eye contact with Dean. He seemed suddenly calmer and stronger, more in control. Dean remembered the angel in the barn who had smiled at a knife to the heart. Cas’s eyes were unsmiling but just as steady as before.

“I think you should probably go now,” Cas said. Dean felt his heart squeeze in his throat.

“I don’t-'' Dean said and desperately wanted to ask him not to make him leave. Cas seemed to understand and his eyes and mouth softened ever so slightly.

“Not forever, just for now. I just can’t see you anymore today,” Cas admitted and Dean nodded.

“Alright,” Dean agreed, his best attempt at stoicism coating his voice. He pulled himself together as if to head towards the door. “I won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Thank you,” Cas replied.

“I’m staying at a motel in town,” Dean told him. “And my number’s the same if you need me.”

“Okay, mine is as well,” Cas added.

“Well, goodbye,” Dean said, mentally preparing for his drive back to town, for the feeling of defeat that would overcome him as he sank into his bed that night. Jack wriggled around in Cas’s hold to face Dean and waved a small hand out at him.

“Bye!” Jack called. Dean nodded and turned towards the door. As he reached the doorway Cas called out to him.

“Dean!”

Dean turned around again to face him.

“Can you just maybe… just call me if you ever think about me?” Cas asked, the former hardness in his eyes giving way to that rare vulnerability and Dean was struck by how unsteady and young he suddenly looked. He looked just as he had sitting there in that ratty hoodie when Dean had thrown him out. “You can always come by, if you call ahead.”

“If I called you every time I thought of you I would barely do anything else,” Dean admitted before he could stop himself. He left then, hurriedly, terrified to get a response.

Dean stayed true to his word. He was back the next morning, telling Cas someone needed to clean out his gutters. He worked at it while Cas and Jack made pancakes in the kitchen. He took one for the road once he was done and kept down a snarky comment on how Cas might have mixed up the salt and the sugar.

He was back two days later claiming the faucet seemed leaky and spent a whole day fixing and unfixing it just to keep up conversation with Jack who climbed up onto the counter and watched him work, swinging his small legs off the edge and explaining the plots of his favorite picture books in detail to Dean. Cas had come by with lemonade and a critical look but mostly gotten out of his hair.

He fixed their broken fence posts a week later and changed all the light bulbs the weekend after that. He spent an entire two weeks repainting the exterior of the house as it was chipping like no tomorrow and another week doing the whole insides, going over in the chipper yellow that Cas favored. They mostly kept out of each other’s hair, he assumed Cas found it understandably hard to see him, and he saw more of Jack than he did of Cas. He tried to be wary of him but it was hard with the little boy barrelling into his legs to greet him when he came by and hitting with a million rambled questions that he needed answered right away. He had begun to bring things along for him even, leftovers from his meal at a diner or some book he’d picked up in town or an action figure he saw in a shop window. Things Cas always said Jack had to say thank you for and eyed suspiciously once they were handed over but the child seemed to instantly cherish, collecting proudly in his room. For his part, Jack was often handing him little drawings or clay figures he’d made during the day that Dean would grunt out a thanks to and then tuck them safely into his memory box.

Cas himself would bring him mediocre attempts at cooking and distant conversation. That was alright, Dean decided, anything was alright. He was never far, keeping an eye on things and sometimes Dean bristled from the lack of trust. After all, he was keeping up his end of the bargain, not telling anyone, even Sam, that he had found them. But then he remembered the fight in the kitchen and the sobbed out confession and his prior threats towards Jack, and he knew he didn’t have much ground to stand on.

“Why do you always go home?” Jack asked him one sunny Tuesday afternoon, playing with the cat in the laundry room as Dean tinkered with the washing machine.

“What?” He questioned, not turning from his work.

“We have three bedrooms. You can always stay here. But you always drive away. I don’t know why.” Jack explained. “You never stay for dinner. I wish you would. Daddy makes good pasta.”

“I’ve had your dad’s cooking, kid, I’m good without it,” Dean nonchalantly replied, playing down how the kid’s request made him feel.

“Oh…” Jack said, deflated.

“It’s not… it’s not that I don’t want to stay,” Dean explained. “It’s just, I’m giving your dad some space, you understand?”

Jack sighed a little and was quiet for a minute, raising a toy over the cat’s head. Then he turned back to Dean, a contemplative look on his face. It was a strange moment and Dean turned to face him then, shocked by how wise beyond his years the kid could look.

“You’re the only person he’s ever let me see,” Jack quietly told him. “I think you’re special to him. And I miss you when you go.”

“Well… I miss you too kid,” Dean admitted, half under his breath.

“Then can you stay?” Jack asked again, expectantly. Dean shook his head.

“That’s not up to me,” he said, and there was clearly a firmness in his tone that let Jack know he had to get back to his work.

Cas brought it up to him later that evening as he was leaving.

“Jack likes having you around,” Cas told him, standing on the porch as Dean stood by the Impala.

“Yeah, well, the kid’s starved for company. You certainly keep him on some pretty tight apron strings,” Dean joked.

“The world isn’t safe for him,” Cas said stiffly. “You know that better than anyone.”

“I know,” Dean agreed. “I like talking with him too.”

“Good,” Cas replied. “I’d hate for you to feel obligated.”

“This isn’t a burden, Cas.”

“I’m glad.”

They stood staring at each other for a second and then Cas took a step forward.

“One of your buttons needs mending,” he quietly told Dean. Dean looked down at his flannel.

“Huh, guess you’re right,” he replied, examining it. The button was nearly off and it was torn up a bit around it.

“I can fix it, if you want,” Cas offered. Dean met his eyes.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“Least I can do. After all the work you’ve done here, I think I owe it to you,” Cas explained. Dean shook his head.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Then I want to. Please,” Cas asked, an insistence to his tone. Dean sighed and shrugged it off.

“Don’t get your feathers in a twist,” he complained and handed it to him.

“I’ll get it done as soon as I can,” Cas promised. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Ain’t no thing,” he told him.

“I promise, Dean,” Cas swore and Dean nodded, feeling held by his gaze.

“I’ll see you around?” Dean said, heading into the driver’s seat.

“Of course,” Cas assured him.

Dean drove off then, keeping an eye on him in the rearview mirror as long as he could. A part of him, some desperate quiet part, again knew he should ask to stay. But he had become far too skilled at ignoring that part of himself.

Cas had already tucked Jack into bed that evening when he heard the knock at the door. There was a long nighttime routine to get through, reading him Corduroy, arranging his stuffed animals just so, turning on his nightlight and off his overhead light, lying next to him quietly in the darkness, telling him he loved him and would see him in the morning, and finally a kiss upon his head and both his cheeks. It had taken a lot out of him to not stand in the doorway and watch him once he left his bed, but he had learned from bitter experience that that only led to Jack cajoling him into conversation and bedtime being pushed even later. He missed those moments though, his last look at his precious little boy before the morning. Sometimes Cas didn’t want to let him out of sight for even a second, he was so dear to him.

With that all done he went downstairs, fixed himself a cup of chamomile tea, put on some Joan Baez, and sat down to get some mending done. He picked up Jack’s green shorts he had torn a hole in the knee of and considered starting on them but then he noticed Dean’s flannel peeking out of the pile. He picked it up and carefully, with anxiety as if he could be seen, he brought it to his nose and inhaled. It smelled, as he expected, like motor oil and whiskey and blood. Jack’s clothing always smelled like the pineapple baby shampoo he used for him and the dirt he seemed to always be smearing all over himself. Cas had to admit these were his two favorite collections of smells in the world.

He set it down after a moment and got to work. It had been so long since he had seen Dean and the past month had thrown him off kilter. Not a word had been exchanged between them about his confession in the kitchen and the idea tied his stomach into knots. Dean was still there though, he reminded himself, still helping in his own way and making Jack love him almost as much as Cas did himself. Blessings and curses, Cas thought, as he had gingerly considered a drawing Jack had done of his house and his family the other day, with a scribbled Dean sandwiched between Cas and their cat.

The knock was quiet and first and then loud and insistent. His heart froze. It couldn’t be Dean, he assumed, not at this hour. He didn’t know who else it could be, who could get through the barrier, it had held so well for so long. He reached for his phone in his pocket and texted Dean with one hand “Poughkeepsie.” He then pulled out his angel blade and held it at the ready. As if on cue, the door broke down.

“Hello, baby brother,” Lucifer said and held his archangel blade towards his throat. Cas raised his own blade in response. “I really wouldn’t do that if I were you. I may not be at full power but we have the place surrounded. And you’re gonna do what I say.”

As if on cue, three demons came in through the door and began to head up the stairs behind Cas. His already racing heart sped up. They were heading towards Jack.

“How did you find us?” Cas asked his brother who laughed harshly.

“All the trips Dean-o was making, it wasn’t hard,” he told him. “Deteriorated your little warding enough for me to slip through. Of course Asmodeus had an APB put out to all the demons working for him as opposed to that rat Fergus. Perfect window, I’ve gotta say. Just too bad Dean isn’t here now too, I’d enjoy squelching your little cockroach in front of you. Well, another day I guess.”

“What do you want?” Cas spat at him, Lucifer pushing his own blade closer towards his jugular as he spoke.

“My son,” he demanded. Cas shook his head.

“You’ll have to kill me first,” he promised. Lucifer laughed.

“Oh I’m going to kill you, Castiel,” he said, a wide grin on his face. “But first you’re going to give me my son. You’re going to tell him that he can trust me and to go with me. That I’m his real father, and you were very wrong to take him from me. You’re going to tell him to do everything I say, tell him that I’m a good person.”

“Never,” Cas told him. Lucifer grabbed his chin with his other hand then, and forced his face closer.

“You know my first plan was to just storm in here, smite you, and take my son without even asking nicely,” Lucifer explained. “But then, of course, I realized that wouldn’t work. See, I’ve been inside you, Castiel, I know the type of things you probably taught my boy. Stories about what? Heroes and villains and damsels and Dean Winchester riding to the rescue? Right and wrong? Even taught him I was evil and that he couldn’t trust me? You probably turned my own son against me. So, I realized there was no way he would go along with any sort of plans I might have. And then I thought, well, I don’t need the brat, I can just take his grace and get the power up and move on. But of course, that’s messy, and keeping him around would certainly be more useful in the long run. I mean who doesn’t love a father/son duo, right? So here’s the deal, and it’s a very generous deal here, Castiel. You do what I say and convince my son to trust me or I take his grace myself and you watch as I bash his fucking brains out, how does that sound?”

Cas was silent. There was no other option, he knew that. His only hope was Dean getting there in time and as much as he loved the man it was things like this that he was always late for. The prospect of it all welled up inside of Cas. He wouldn’t cry though. He wouldn’t give Lucifer that satisfaction.

“After that you’ll kill me?” Cas asked. Lucifer sighed.

“Sad to say,” he replied.

“I accept,” Cas told him and Lucifer grinned.

“You know I’m an angel not a demon but I think this might be necessary to seal it. I won’t go for the lips though, I’m aware who you were saving that for,” Lucifer said and kissed Cas on the cheek. He wondered how it could feel more like a slap than anything else. He’d received enough slaps that had felt like kisses, it was strange to feel the reverse. “Let’s get this done then.”

He led him upstairs to Jack’s bedroom where he found his son held by Enochian handcuffs and surrounded by demons, yellow eyed Asmodeus standing in the corner smiling at Lucifer.

“Daddy!” Jack cried out. Cas looked over at Lucifer who gave him a nod. Cas stepped towards him.

“It’s going to be alright, Jack,” Cas said and Jack shook his head.

“What’s going on? Who are they?” Jack asked.

“They’re… they’re friends,” Cas said.

“They’re scary. They hurt me,” Jack told him. “They twisted my arm.”

Cas looked up in fury but then back down at his son with gentle eyes.

“That was an accident. They’re very sorry. But everything is good because...because…” he tried to think of what to say. He took a deep breath and glanced again at Lucifer who was staring at him unfeeling. “Because they’re going to take you away to somewhere much better. And really wonderful things are going to happen.”

“Where?” Jack asked him. Cas reached out to touch him then, savoring the softness of his hair and considering how this was maybe his last chance to feel it. He gently brushed it from his face.

“Somewhere much nicer than here. A very special place,” Cas said. “You’ll like it very much. They’re taking you to… they’re taking you to your father’s house, Jack.”

Jack’s eyes widened.

“But you live here?” He said and Cas forced himself to smile again and shake his head.

“Jack… I’m not your father,” Cas said firmly. “I took you from your real father before you were born. I hid you from him. And now he’s come to take you home with him.”

“That isn’t true! You’re lying!” Jack insisted but Cas remained firm.

“I’m not lying, I’m telling you the truth. I did a really bad thing when you were a baby. I stole your from your real father, but he looked for you for years because he loved you so much and now you’re going to go with him. And everything will be set right,” Cas said and Lucifer walked over then, bending down in front of Jack.

“Hi Jack,” he said and the boy looked curiously at Cas who gave a nod. “I’m your dad.”

“He is Jack,” Cas repeated. “And I’m very sorry I ever kept you from him. It was very very wrong of me. And now you’re going to go with him and be a very good boy. You’re going to do everything he says and learn so much. Just as it should be.”

“But...I don’t want to leave you,” Jack replied, anxiety twisting his face.

“We’re going to have so much fun Jack,” Lucifer promised. “I’m going to take really good care of you. And we’re gonna see the stars and anything you want. We can have dessert for dinner every night.”

“Can… can daddy come?” Jack said considering it, clearly confused and overwhelmed. Cas felt his heart breaking.

“Not daddy, Castiel,” Lucifer corrected.

“Well, can Castiel come?” Jack asked. Lucifer paused as if considering it.

“In a little bit, Jack,” he told him, ruffling the boy’s hair. “He just needs to finish up some things here.”

“I have to say goodbye to Dean first,” Cas elaborated. “And then I’ll be right with you.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise, Jack,” Cas said. Lucifer took the handcuffs off him then stood up and held out his hand. Jack looked at it and then at Cas.

“Go with him, Jack,” Cas told him. “It’s what I want and it’s the right thing. I never should have taken you in the first place. Do it.”

Lucifer wiggled his fingers and hesitantly Jack to his hand. Cas flinched, seeing the way Lucifer tightened his grip around Jack’s fingers, holding him in place without the boy even realizing it. He looked at Cas again, tears welling in his eyes and Cas knelt beside him and wiped them away.

“Don’t cry, this is good, I promise, it’s all so good,” Cas insisted.

“But you’re going to come soon?” Jack asked one final time.

“Yes,” Cas got out and then stepped away. Lucifer looked down at him.

“Thank you for taking care of him for me,” he said. Cas nodded stiffly. “Come on Jack, we have so much to do.”

“See you soon!” Jack called, looking uncertain and frightened, the salutation phrased more as a question, but mostly he looked calm. That was good, Cas thought, if he was calm he stood a chance. Jack picked his hand up and waved at him. Cas waved back. Then with a flutter of wings they were both gone.

Cas felt all of the air leave his body. He hadn’t, he considered, even gotten to hug him one more time, hadn’t been allowed to hold or kiss him. The injustice of that worked its way through him and he tried to conjure up anger and a desire to fight but found none, just a hollow pit and a vague fear at what was to befall him. The demons looked at him hungirly. It didn’t matter. It was all over for him. He had failed. He couldn’t care less if Dean got there in time anymore. Maybe it would be good if he was late.

“I guess we have a mess to clean up here,” Asmodeus drawled. “I’ve got a nice idea. A little throwback. Your brother and I planned it together.”

The demons dragged him to the bannister, his body slack and unresisting, and tied him tightly to the front of it in a sitting position, the wood hard and uncomfortable against his back. He watched them, craning his neck as they made their way through his house, overturning furniture, breaking what they could, and dousing the place in gasoline. It reminded him vaguely of the Stynes and the way they had doused the bunker in the same way, attempting to burn all of Dean’s happiness. He remembered too, how he had been thrown into the rubbish heap that time as well. He had no question in his mind what fate they had in store for him and he did not even flinch when a demon splashed some gasoline across his face as well, the bitter taste getting into his mouth and nose, making him choke. He was just like the house, he understood, a part of Jack’s memories that had to be left in the past, burned away to make way for his new life with Lucifer.

“It’s almost done,” Asmodeus said. “One more detail though,” he added and then slashed his blade across Cas’s stomach. He cried out in agony. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Dean Winchester’s whore dies the same way as his mother. Lucifer said you’d like that.”

“You know how this story ended the first time,” Cas told him, keeping himself calm. “He’s going to kill you.”

“Maybe,” Asmodeus considered. “But you’ll burn first.”

The demons left then and Cas heard the drop of the match on their way out and the crackling of the fire as it began to work its way through the house, eating alive all his loves and his memories as it would soon eat him.

Dean had been asleep when the text had been sent but as soon as he had seen it he had floored it up towards the house by the lake. When he had pulled up all he could see was the burning house looking like something out of his nightmares. Oh God, he thought, oh God.

He ran in then, ignoring the heat and the smoke and the way the wood burned his hands. He was screaming their names. Until his throat was raw. The house was in a full fledged inferno and he knew none of it was salvageable. Distantly he wondered what had happened to the cat or the chickens and then pushed it from his mind. Cas and Jack were both nowhere to be seen and his blood ran cold. Finally he heard a rasping voice call his name from up the stairs and he ran up and found him.

Cas’s face was pale and covered in ash. He was choking on smoke, his shirt soaked through with a dark substance that even in the fire light he could tell was blood. He seemed barely conscious, his blue eyes fluttering open and closed and his head lolling against the bannister. The flames were creeping towards him, just beginning to catch on his clothes and Dean was quickly stamping them out as best he could, smelling gasoline in his nose as he came close to Cas and feeling violently angry when he understood what they had done.

“Dean…” he rasped again and Dean knelt beside him, taking his hunting knife and cutting him free quickly, desperate to make his hands work. Cas was barely responding to his touch.

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry I’m so late I came as quickly as I could oh god Cas I’m so sorry,” Dean told him as he worked.

“He’s gone,” Cas said and Dean noticed then that he was crying, tears making clean tracks down the ash on his face. “Lucifer took him. He took him, Dean. He took my baby. He took Jack.”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Dean insisted and gathered Cas into his arms, preparing to take him from the house. “All that matters is getting you out.”

“No use in that, I’m already dead,” Cas muttered, his head falling into the crook of Dean’s arm. Dean shook his head and made his way down the staircase.

“You can’t die Cas,” he told him as he ran down the flaming stairs. “You promised you’d mend my flannel.”

Cas laughed but it sounded like choking. Dean grimaced. They were almost at the doorway, he told himself, Cas just had to hold on a little while longer. Cas didn’t seem to be listening to Dean’s prayer though, growing limper every second. When they crossed over the threshold Dean took huge gasping breaths of the cool night air. He slumped to his knees, holding Cas gently in his arms. He looked down at him then, his burning house flickering in his blue eyes. Oh Cas, Dean thought.

“Who did this to you?” Dean asked him desperately, as if that would fix anything.

“Lucifer and Asmodeus- a prince of hell- they came, they took Jack, Dean you have to-“ Cas rambled.

“I’m going to make them pay, we both are,” Dean promised him. Cas gripped his face tightly suddenly, pulling him to make eye contact.

“Listen to me you have to-“ Cas began.

“Cas, look, save your breath, I’m gonna get you to a hospital, I’m gonna-“ Dean rambled and then stopped himself. “You can’t die.”

“You have to get him!” Cas demanded but Dean was barely listening.

“Cas, you can’t die, I love you,” he burst out. “I love you, I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”

Cas shook his head, crying. Dean had thought that would be enough but it seemed to barely get through to him.

“You have to save Jack, please Dean, you have to. You have to promise me,” Cas begged. “You have to take care of him. He has no one now, it has to be you. Promise me.”

“I will,” Dean said and kissed him quickly, his lips reaching Cas’s own, hoping he could give him something, love, breath, hope, to keep him alive. Cas kept looking paler and paler. “I promise.”

“I do love you, you know,” Cas told him, his voice sounding far away and small. “And I still don’t regret any of it, I just-“ he started to cry again. Dean wiped at his face.

“Please don’t cry,” he pleaded. Cas kept crying.

“I want to see him, I want to hold him, where is he?” Cas asked and Dean realized he was losing his grip on everything, barely there anymore, and it terrified him.

“Cas, stay with me, we’re gonna get him back, alright?” Dean promised him but Cas’s eyes were distant and dangerously unfocused.

“I want my son. Please, let me have my son, I-“ Cas stopped, and a bit of recognition seemed to enter his eyes, and then a calm. “You’ll care for him?” He asked again. Dean nodded.

“I’ll protect him with my life,” he swore. Cas smiled.

“I love you. Be good to him,” Cas told him, and then Dean felt his body fully go limp in his arms. He knew what had happened. It was obvious. He’d seen it a million times, a million times with Cas alone. He suddenly wasn’t holding him anymore. All he had in his arms was what was left behind. He wanted to scream or cry out, shoot himself in the head or charge into the burning house. He didn’t do any of that, instead he stayed with the body and held him as long as he could. He realized distantly that he’d never really held him before.

In the morning, when the inferno died down, he had to figure out his next steps. He couldn’t burn Cas, not after that. So instead he rummaged through the wreckage for some still intact wood, and drove down to the local hardware store for nails. He constructed the coffin in quick time, it wasn’t polished but it would serve, he decided, and he felt that Cas would like that it was built from his own house. He’d have to like something. Once it was done he picked Cas up, his body heavy in death and gently laid him in it, using his own shirt as a pillow for his head. Next to him he put a flashlight and a knife, just in case, he thought.

He buried him deep, not afraid of him coming back to haunt him and very afraid of him being disturbed. He did his work quickly and dutifully as he shoveled the dirt on top, ignoring how it felt to know he’d never gaze on the man inside again. Then he marked it with a wooden marker that he had painstakingly carved into “Castiel, loving father” and placed it on top of the soft soil. As a final touch he picked Jack’s favorite flowers, sunflowers, from what was left of the garden and set them on top. He gazed at the marker and the lake and the still smokey blue sky and only then allowed himself to cry.

He felt he would cry his entire heart out of his mouth and into the coffin beneath him. It wasn’t fair, it didn’t make sense, and it was completely his fault. He would burn Lucifer alive, he thought, burn him and his prince of hell. Douse them in holy oil and set them ablaze, he swore it. If there was one thing he could do it was get revenge and he would make it sweet and merciless.

He let himself cry for what felt like half an hour before he got himself up, dusted himself off, and headed toward his car. He understood it then. He had work to do.

The first person he called was Sam, though really the call was to Sam and Rowena as she was listening in on the phone, commenting every few seconds on what to do next. The plan was clear to meet at the Bunker as soon as possible with the two promising to take the next flight out. Crowley was the one he called next and he admitted he was already sort of aware of the Lucifer situation and would also meet at the bunker and deploy his demons as best he could for help. The final call was his mother who was very quiet on the phone as he explained what happened, unable to gloss over the details of just exactly how Cas had died, and then she gently told him she didn’t think she’d be much help. He couldn’t help but agree with her, for better or worse.

They did all meet at the bunker with one surprising addition: Claire. She greeted him at the doorway with an angel sword and a can do attitude a day before everyone else showed up.

“Your mom told Jody who told me,” she said plainly. “I want a fucking crack at Satan he’s ruined my life just as much as he ruined yours.”

“Go home, no way I’m putting you in harm’s way,” Dean told her. She rolled her eyes.

“You’re not my dad,” she rebuked him, beginning to follow him down the steps. “I’m the same age you were when you fought a prince of hell the first time. Jody told me so.”

“Jody signed off on this?” Dean asked her.

“Jody doesn’t control me Dean, like I said, I’m twenty six. I’m not a kid anymore,” she said and he wanted to shake her over the nonchalance in her voice.

“Jody mention to you how that all turned out for me? Fighting a prince of hell? Wasn’t pretty,” Dean remarked, heading towards his ever faithful bottle of Jack Daniels where it waited on the war table. Claire hopped up onto the table and glared at him.

“You won though. And Sam and you fought the devil when he was my age too,” Claire added. “I’m not afraid, Dean,” she then said seriously. “Not to die or anything. I know you think that’s kid talk but it’s not. I’ve faced death as much as anyone, I know what it’s made of. It isn’t pretty and it isn’t peaceful and it certainly isn’t brave or glorious. I’m prepared for it though. I want to fight. I want my revenge. And if…” she paused for a moment and he hadn’t seen her look so overcome with emotion since she was eighteen, “if that little boy is all that’s left of Cas… then I want to get him back. By any means necessary.”

Dean considered her for a moment, how she was an awful mirror image of his own twenty six year old self. He knew if he left her behind, as his own father did, she’d do nothing but follow him anyway. With that, he shook himself off and met her blue eyes, Cas staring back at him through them.

“If Cas knew I let you do this he’d kill me,” Dean said.

“Cas is already dead,” Claire shot back.

It was decided then. From that point on Claire was his shadow, sitting beside him at their war councils as plans were devised, making little comments in agreement with him and asking questions of her own. He caught her about in his flannel or jacket when her stuff was in the laundry and agreed to not make a comment. At night, when all the guests had gone to bed, she sat up with him and shared his whiskey.

Sam didn’t comment on it, just made casual conversation about how she was, if she had a girlfriend, and telling her he was glad she was there to help. Dean overheard one awkward conversation between them about future college plans for her that she turned deadly cold in the middle of and chuckled to himself. Chip off the old block, he caught himself thinking. It was the first time he’d smiled in weeks.

Crowley seemed to give her a wide berth as she was clearly hostile to him. He had told Dean he thought she was halfway feral one evening to which he had responded with a sharp “good.” Crowley couldn’t understand her and she didn’t like him. It was best that way, Dean thought, and it was certainly what Cas would’ve wanted.

Rowena did, in fact, take him up on it one night. It was a rare moment when they bumped into one another in the library, nights spent searching for spells and ways forward, terrible dead ends. They’d been giving each other a lot of distance as he still didn’t know how to talk to her while knowing about her whole thing with Sam. The two of them were far from quiet and he was halfway to giving them a warning about it.

“She’s the spitting image of you both,” Rowena offered, brand new tenderness to her voice. He turned to face her on the other side of the library. She was in a pale pink slip and a silky robe, her bright red hair falling out of a long braid. He had never found her beautiful before then but she truly was, lit in the lamplight of the library. He didn’t know where the gentleness was coming from towards her but he was suddenly glad she was with his brother. It made sense, he thought, considering how hot and cold she burned. He furrowed his brow though and acknowledged none of his sudden familial emotions.

“She’s not mine,” Dean said. Rowena laughed musically.

“Ach, sure she isn’t,” Rowena responded. “I'll say, she’s far more yours than Fergus has ever been mine.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Dean told her. She sighed and closed the book she was holding.

“Well, she certainly worships you. Poor misguided thing. Just like the angel in that way,” Rowena said and then paused, gaging his looks. “I am sorry about that, darling. I know he meant more to you than you can put into words.”

“Cas was my best friend,” Dean insisted. Rowena raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve known many “best friends” in my days, you know. I’m far older than I look though a lady never gives away her age,” Rowena told him. “I think we both know what that really means. It doesn’t do you any good now to pretend about it. And it’ll be even worse if you deny it to his boy once we get him back.”

“Don’t be so sure we’ll win,” Dean huffed. Rowena smiled. “I’ve had enough time to know you and your brother are the side to bet on,” Rowena admitted. “What? Do you think I’m only with him for his massive forearms and rugged good looks? I'm a pragmatic girl, I always have been. I like to play for the winning team,” she said and turned as if to go before stopping and running her tongue over her teeth. “Though I must admit, my son calls your brother “moose” but I think a more apt name for a certain appendage of his might be horselike.”

“Get out of my library,” Dean barked and she laughed and went off. He shook his head in the darkness and considered her freeness. He imagined being that free about Cas, talking like that with Sam, Cas gossiping with Rowena, Dean telling people in town that Cas was his lover. He even imagined taking Jack places and saying “yeah, this is my boyfriend’s kid,” and grinning with pride when they called him cute. He let his brain go so far as to picture leaving Claire to babysit Jack while he took Cas out somewhere nice before his heart clenched at his memory of the reality of it all and he drowned himself so deep in drink he thought he might never swim to the shore.

The next morning, true to her word of them being the winning team, Rowena (with Crowley’s help) presented them with a plan. Free Gabriel, who had apparently been Asmodeus’s prisoner the whole time, bind Lucifer with a spell, and then stab him with an archangel blade. They would raid Needham Asylum where they all were being held.

“Impossible odds,” Claire said when the plan was finally laid out in full. She grinned and unsheathed her angel sword, the glitter of it in the light catching her blonde hair and cocky smile. “I love it. Let’s beat the devil.”

Jack felt sick and lonely all of the time. His father (or so he tried to think of him, when he pictured a father all that came to mind were blue eyes and soft hands and an ever ready kiss on his forehead) was rarely around, only stopping in to talk to him about strange things like world domination or learning to use his powers to smite people. Jack didn’t know how to explain that he barely knew how to use his powers himself. He would spend hours barely able to levitate a pencil on command. His father seemed disappointed by that, often snapping at him and then hurriedly apologizing.

He was mostly left to his own devices then, with demons to play with him and offer him whatever he wanted. He couldn’t tell them that what he wanted was to go home. He had dreamed of seeing bigger things, being a hero, exploring the world, but by then he wanted to take that all back. He wanted to be in his small world again, safe and happy as he had been. He dreamed of going back to his house by the lake with his cat and his chickens and most of all with Castiel. He couldn’t believe what was said of him, his father’s insistence that he was bad or had stolen him. It didn’t ring true. It couldn’t be. He would cry himself to sleep over it and then dream of him hazily at night, his smile calling out to him among his nightmares. He knew they were worried about him as he was sleeping too much and eating too little but he didn’t care. He wanted to feel as sick in his body as he felt in his own heart.

He had long ago lost track of how long he had been held there. There were no windows in his little room and he desperately missed the way the bright morning sun used to flood into his room back home. He had, however, a sinking suspicion in the pit of his stomach that Castiel wasn’t coming back to him any time soon. When he began to get close to that reality something began to bubble up in him, something strange and volatile and then he could make objects soar across the room and glasses shatter. His father gazed at him in pride then and he cried himself to sleep.

He was curled up in his bed trying to sleep when he heard someone slip into his room. He jumped up and pulled the blankets to his chin as he saw the figure illuminated in a dim light. It was a girl with long blonde hair and a leather jacket, a familiar look on her face and eyes just like his own. He stared at her and her back at him.

“Jack?” She asked him and he nodded. She stepped closer and he reached out and grabbed her arm with his hand. He received a flood of images and when he pulled away he understood. She knew his father, knew Castiel, thought of him as halfway a father herself. He smiled at her then. He assumed his dad must not be far behind. “I’m Claire.”

“Did my dad send you? Did Castiel?” Jack asked and she chewed her lip.

“Ummmm…” she said and then turned and called out, “Dean! He’s in here!”

Dean rushed in after her and Jack grinned even broader. Dean was here! The green eyed hero from all his father’s stories was here and all was going to be alright. They would go home and they would certainly have Dean for dinner now that he’d rescued him, his dad couldn’t argue. Dean would find all sorts of new things to fix in their house and Claire could stay too. Jack couldn’t wait to show her the chickens and how to feed them. He knew she’d love it. Dean stared at him, blinking in the darkness. He took a step forward.

“Jack…” he began and Jack jumped off the bed.

“Dean! You came! Daddy must be on his way isn’t he! I never believed him about not being my real dad! I knew it was a lie and that he was gonna come and now you’re here and we can all go home!” Jack babbled excitedly. He watched Claire and Dean exchange a strange look.

“Yeah, uh, listen kid,” Dean said, bending down. Jack ran towards him then, throwing his arms around his neck. As soon as his skin made contact he received another rush of images. A house on fire, screaming, his father tied up amidst the inferno, blood and smoke everywhere, his father crying and asking for him, his father going limp, a small grave under the shade of their favorite tree- Jack pulled away. He looked up at Dean, something awful brimming in his eyes. Dean looked down at him, guilty and sick. It couldn’t be true, Jack thought, it couldn’t be true.

“No...no...no no!” Jack shouted. Claire bit her lip and turned back to Dean.

“What did he just do?” She asked.

“He’s sort of...Cas said he’s telepathic. I’ve never seen him do it. It’s only if there’s some sort of bond,” Dean muttered.

“So it’s because we’re sort of family?” she concluded. Dean nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

“Where is he?” Jack demanded and Dean only shook his head.

“I’m so sorry Jack,” he said softly. Jack wanted to scream.

“You were supposed to save him!” Jack shouted.

“I- I know,” Dean said desperately. “I know I can never- but we have to go now Jack, we have to go before something happens-”

“No! No! I want him! Bring him back!” Jack demanded. Dean and Claire began to shush him when the door burst open again.

“Dean!” A tall dark haired man called out before he was blasted out of the way. Lucifer stood there then, staring at them all. Jack gazed at him in fear and anger.

“Nice try there, you guys! You almost got me!” Lucifer said and Jack couldn’t understand how someone could be so evil and smile so blindingly while doing it. “Cute plan, but you really thought that second hand salesman who couldn’t even keep a handle on my throne, his slut of a mother, and my useless little brother were going to be a match against me? Me? Dad’s favorite? Lord Satan himself? I mean come on, all this from the guys who beat the Darkness? That’s adorable how optimistic you are. Almost as adorable as it’s going to be when I smite each and every one of you.”

Jack saw a red headed woman run towards the door behind him, followed by two short dark haired men who stopped in their tracks as they saw Lucifer. Dean and Claire both drew their blades and stepped protectively in front of him.

“You killed him,” Jack said to Lucifer. “You told me you were my father and then you killed him. And now you’re going to kill them too.”

Lucifer sighed and turned to him.

“Listen, Jackie, it’s hard alright? To do good you gotta do a little bad? Doesn’t that make sense?” Lucifer asked him but he didn’t blink. “I am your dad for real kiddo, that wasn’t a lie. And come on, I mean, you wanna be like them? They’re losers and pretty soon they’re gonna be dead losers. That’s all Castiel was. He was just a meatsuit for me to jump the bones of to hightail it out of hell and get on with the real plan. He was disposable. You don’t wanna be like that. You’re a chip off the old block. You’re like me. A winner.”

“No,” Jack said defiantly, stepping forward, Claire and Dean unable to stop him. “I’m not. I’m nothing like you.”

“This is just a… a little youthful rebellion. Good for a bit but now it’s time to grow up, you hear me?” Lucifer told him. Jack shook his head.

“No. I want my dad back, my real dad,” Jack said, thinking those words would bring tears in his own eyes but finding only anger, unquenchable anger.

“Well, too bad, he’s dead. And soon they will be too,” Lucifer glibly stated. Jack screamed then.

“NO!” He shrieked and with that something came out of him, something overwhelmed with rage and grief and love. He could only see red and gold light came out of his body. “YOU WON’T HURT ANYONE AGAIN!”

The room was blinded by a golden light, all its inhabitants thrown against the walls. When it cleared Lucifer was lying unconscious on the floor. No one moved for a second, and then the shorter of the two men went and knelt beside the body, his longer hair getting in his face as he did it. He looked up.

“He’s alive,” the man said. “He’s human.”

“He can’t remember who he is,” Jack said quietly. “I took that from him.”

“Did you do this on purpose?” The short man asked. Jack shook his head.

“No. I just wanted him to be unable to hurt anyone but I-” Jack paused. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Well,” the man said, “shit.”

“He’s a bloody miracle,” the other short man said and he heard murmurs of assent. Jack turned to Dean who was staring at him in shock.

“Can we get him back now? Can we get daddy back?” He asked him. Dean’s mouth was set hard. He shook his head.

“Jack… he’s gone. He isn’t coming back,” Dean told him. It was then that Jack burst into tears, fully and completely like the little boy he had spent the last few weeks trying so hard not to be. All the strength and anger was gone. Dean ran towards him and caught him in his arms suddenly, holding him close, hugging him as he’d never hugged him before. Jack wrapped his arms tightly around his neck. Dean patted his back, rubbing it like his dad used to do and the familiarity of the gesture only made him sadder. He felt safe with Dean, he loved him, but it wasn’t the same. He knew it then. It would never be the same again.

Dean had killed Asmodeus before getting to Jack. Claire and him had ganked most of the demons as Crowley and Sam were rescuing Gabriel and Rowena was preparing the binding spell. He had fulfilled his plan of revenge from before, of burning him alive. He’d taken a leaf out of Cas’s book and tossed a holy fire molotov cocktail at him, revelling in the way the demon screamed and went up in flames, his flesh bubbling and his eyes glowing yellow. It was a nice clean revenge and the flames reflected in Claire’s blue eyes just as they had in Cas’s as he lay dying. He was glad Jack hadn’t been there to see that but he knew he would never have been able to shield Claire from it, not when she wanted to see it so desperately.

He felt violently angry sometimes, that Lucifer got off scot free, able to live a peaceful life, not even haunted by the guilt of his actions. Sometimes he had wonderful fantasies of finding where the man was and killing him himself. But it had been Jack’s great act of mercy, his proof that he was good and Cas had raised him right and Dean wouldn’t deprive him of that despite how badly he wished to. It seemed so unfair though. Lucifer living human and content, Cas gone forever. He didn’t know what sort of a god would fucking allow that.

There had been arguing about who should care for Jack. Gabriel had offered that as his uncle and new leader of heaven he was the most equipped. Sam and Rowena had exchanged looks and both remarked that their lifestyle didn’t really “allow for children” and took themselves out of the running. Crowley had suggested himself as well but was greeted with a chorus of harsh nos.

Dean had ultimately won the battle quite easily with the trump card of it being what Cas wanted (though Gabriel had given him a skeptical once over at that and he knew that was another person who would never forgive him for being the death of Cas). Besides, Jack didn’t like being out of his sight, not knowing anyone there besides him anyway. Claire had volunteered to stay and help out to everyone’s surprise, except for Dean’s. He had known she would stay from the moment he saw her lay eyes on Jack. He’d seen the same look in his own eyes at Sammy. Jack clung to her in turn, trusting her almost as much as Dean and communicating with her in quick little psychic touches. He hadn’t really spoken since it had all happened. That hadn’t worried Dean. He knew the kid would speak when he was ready.

They had moved back up to Washington. Gabriel had rebuilt the house for them with his grace. It felt like a poor consolation prize and on some levels Dean wished it had remained as it was, another reminder of his failings. A monument to how every good thing in his life went up in smoke. It was a lesson he’d want Jack and Claire to learn if they thought themselves halfway his children.

Still, he knew Cas would be happy the house was restored and it seemed to calm Jack down, though he kept his silence up. He settled into his old room easily, quietly playing with his dolls most of the day. They had gotten new chickens and a cat that he regarded with love but not the same overflow of it that Dean had seen before. Claire and Dean split up the housework, him better at it than her but knowing they were both falling short of the perfect rhythm Cas had figured out, having known the house inside and out himself. Dean liked to imagine they were at least cooking better meals than Cas ever could’ve but found himself longing for Cas’s overcooked grilled cheese and salty pancakes. He hated the kitchen, though never told Claire why. All he saw was the humiliation he had wreaked upon Cas with his forced confession that first night. The bannister haunted him similarly, seeing Cas’s burning form whenever he stared at it too long. All the wasted fucking time, he considered, all the lost chances when he was too busy being an indignant idiot. He kept that in and poured himself another drink.

He found it hard to look at Jack most days, hard to look at Claire too but not as unbearably painful as looking at Jack. Claire had been right when she had said it the first day she’d shown up to the bunker: all that was left of Cas was in Jack. That could be beautiful but was mostly heartbreaking. Some days he hated him, and that thought was shameful but completely true. Jack was the reason why Cas was gone. It was Jack who Cas had chosen over Dean, over his own life. It was for Jack’s sake he was killed and it was for Jack he had begged when he was dying. He died so Jack could live. It was all Jack’s fault. Well, Jack’s fault and Dean’s fault for always being too damn fucking slow. He hated that he knew he ultimately hated Jack as it was easier to hate him than himself.

Claire had no patience for the loathing, self or otherwise. She called him an old drunk and a sad sack and a deadbeat and told him to take a goddamn shower. She would pick Jack up then and carry him outside to play with him there. Claire was unforgiving and unrelenting and he knew he’d probably drink himself to death or wrap his car around a tree without her. He wouldn’t exactly mind that happening, if it weren’t for Jack. He had one promise left to keep to Cas and if part of that included the punishment of staying alive, so be it. He owed him far more than that.

He chose to keep his distance from Jack when he got like that, knowing if he came too close he was afraid of what he might do. The ghost of his own father still haunted his bones like the one vengeful spirit he could never salt and burn away. Claire seemed able to acknowledge that, her own body just as much of a haunted house, and took it up with him one night.

“If you ever raise a hand to him I'll shoot you,” she said bluntly. He put down his drink and glared at her, snorting in disbelief. “Don’t give me that indignation. I see the way you look at him sometimes. I know how easy it would be to do something like that. I know how you were raised.”

“You don’t know anything,” Dean brushed off.

“Jody told me. And Cas used to imply as much,” she replied. “I know enough. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Do you see me doing it?” Dean asked. Claire stood up then and made to go.

“I see you wanting to. And he can too. Do you want him to grow up as fucked as you are? Because that’s what’s happening here,” Claire remarked and left to go to bed.

Dean didn’t think Jack really wanted him around much anymore anyway. He was quiet and withdrawn and jumpy. Neither of them could get him interested in anything. He would often leave the house early and go to play somewhere on the grounds and reemerge at meal times like a cat slinking in silently to be fed.

Dean had finally heard him speak one morning. He had followed him outside one day to make sure the kid wasn’t getting into trouble or hurting himself. Predictably, the spot Jack was visiting was Cas’s makeshift grave marker. He was sitting criss cross applesauce on top of it and talking softly to the man deep beneath him, drawing little pictures in the dirt as he spoke.

“And tomorrow Claire says we can go into town and get milkshakes and meet her friend Kaia because she’s visiting and she thinks I’ll like her a lot,” Jack was saying. “I don’t know if you’ve ever had a milkshake because you never made me any. It’s ice cream and milk and they mix it together and put whipped cream and a cherry on it. You’d like it I think but say I shouldn’t have too much because it’s very sugary.”

Jack paused as if waiting for a response and Dean seemed to hold his own breath as well.

“Anyway, I think I know why you’re staying away so long. It’s because I trusted the bad man and went with him when he said you weren’t my daddy. And that was really wrong and I think you’re angry about it! Or maybe even sad because I let him trick me but I never believed him! I always knew you were my real daddy! I just didn’t know what to do! I promise. I hope you aren’t sad or think I don’t love you anymore because I do. I really love and miss you and I want you to come back. I need you to.” Jack finished his little prayer with that and sat silently for a moment, staring at the marker and running his fingers over the letters he was just learning to read. Then he launched back into his litany of describing his day to Cas.

Dean crept away, guilty for having stumbled onto the private moment. Guiltier even, that Cas’s kid was in such pain, too much pain for a six year old, and he was doing nothing to stop it. All night he languished over a plan and then finally came to half of one in the morning. He floated it to Claire who gave a typical shrug and said she guessed it was a good plan but found it boring herself and would be too busy with her girlfriend coming to town to come along. He asked Jack his thoughts on it that afternoon.

“Do you wanna go fishing with me, Jack?” He asked him quietly. Jack looked up at him and blinked. “It’s just a real nice thing I like to do to clear my head. It won’t be too much fun but it could be a good way for us to spend a day. You interested? Just the two of us? We can pack peanut butter and honey sandwiches like you love me to make. It’ll be nice.”

Jack nodded slowly and a small smile crept to the corners of his mouth. Dean grinned back as best he could.

“Good, that’s good,” he told him and Jack reached up his fingers to grab Dean’s hand and give a little squeeze. He only made skin contact for just a moment but Dean savored the warmth for as long as he had it.

They went out that weekend, finding a good spot on the lake far from the house and the grave and Dean taught Jack all the basics, how to cast a good line and helped him dig for worms for bait (Jack’s favorite part). Once all that was set up, the day became quite quiet and peaceful, not much happening besides them staring out at the water, sun on their faces and Dean keeping his mind as blank as possible. There were only occasional interludes of them getting bites and reeling their fish out before throwing them back in. Jack seemed to like the mercy of that and waved goodbye every time.

Deep in the afternoon, Dean looked over at Jack.

“I want you to know something, kid,” Dean told him and Jack turned his head to face him. “This isn’t your fault. None of it. Hell, you saved the damn day. You shouldn’t worry what your dad thinks he… he knows how much you loved him. He isn't angry. He would never be angry at you. What happened was horrible and evil but that wasn’t your fault. I promise you. Won’t do you any good to blame yourself either. He sure wouldn’t want that. He loved you more than anything and I know…” Dean’s voice caught but he controlled himself, “I know he’s still looking out for you even now. He’s always with you, alright?”

Jack stared back at him. He didn’t smile but he gave a small solemn nod. Dean turned back to his fishing then, terrified of saying more. It was a good day though, he decided when they headed back that night and found Claire and Kaia putting take out on the dinner table. A good day, and he remembered when Cas had once visited him in his dream of fishing, sunlight shining on his face and concern and the first seeds of love in his eyes. He liked to imagine he had been able to see him like that that day too, just in the corner of his eye, standing on the edge of the water watching over them both.

Cas picked Jack up out of his highchair and carried him outside. They had a big day ahead of them, planting their garden. There would be bluebells and daffodils, hyacinths and tulips and Jack’s favorite: sunflowers. Cas had covered him in sunblock and placed a wide brimmed straw hat on his head to keep him from burning but they were finally ready for a nice day. He loved Jack being this size, just perfect to fit in his arms and beginning to speak in long babbled sentences.

“We’re going to have a nice day you and I, aren’t we?” He asked him and Jack nodded in agreement.

“Yes daddy!” He called to him happily and Cas pressed a wet kiss to his cheek.

“My sweet boy,” he told him. He bounced him in his arms for a moment then savoring Jack’s giggles. He was so precious to him and he wondered if it was selfish of him to hope it might stay like this always.

As he stepped outside the bright morning sun hit his eyes. He shaded them with his free hand to see what was outside and found himself facing a familiar face. Tall, confident, and dressed all in black, a scythe in her hand, he blinked at Billie. His arms felt empty and he realized Jack’s weight was gone from them.

“Hey Castiel, we should talk,” Billie said and he squinted at her as she approached him. “Do you know where you are?”

He looked around himself and nodded.

“Heaven,” he said quietly. “I died. I remember- Jack is he-”

“Your son is fine,” Billie assured him. “He’s with Dean, Lucifer is gone. They’re safe. You have nothing to worry about.”

Cas felt the joy of that wash over him but then it was coupled with a sorrow. On earth somewhere Jack was growing up and he would never get to see that. Dean was walking through everyday with a new dose of grief and pain and he couldn’t ease it. He had been lounging mindlessly in paradise while they were suffering.

“I came here to offer you something. Your son, Jack, he’s quite powerful. Praying all the time for you to come back to him and it’s getting irritating. Pretty soon he’s going to figure out how to really use his powers against me and I’m not looking forward to the outcome of that,” Billie admitted. “However, I can’t bring you back. Not my style and after you killed me that one time? Not super looking to play nice.”

“What do you want then?” Cas asked. Billie sighed and drummed her fingers against her scythe.

“I’m offering you something like life. I need reapers, we’re pretty low and with all your experience as an angel, you’d fit the bill. You can work for me, live eternally, watch over your family even, if you like, while shepherding souls to heaven or hell as commanded. And you’ll have your grace and your power back. There'll be no more fear, no more pain, you won’t feel the loss of this. You’ll be cold and hardworking safe. Won’t that be good? Eternal life? All the power you can desire? And a freedom from any sort of suffering?” Billie offered, and he saw her offer was from kindness, a genuine desire to be fair.

“I wouldn’t be able to see them? Talk to them? Live with them?” He asked. Billie shook her head.

“You’d have too much work to do, I’m afraid. But once you have your grace back you won’t want to. You’ll feel just as you did before you met Dean Winchester. As you were always meant to feel,” Billie assured him. She held out a hand. “Come with me, Castiel. We can get to work right away.

Cas took a step back.

“It’s a very kind offer,” he said. “But I can’t accept it.”

“What?” She asked and he sighed, trying to put it into words.

“I don’t want to live like that. I don’t think it’s living at all. Maybe it is for you, for reapers and angels and demons even, but for me? I know being human had all its pains but it had its joys too, far more joy than pain I think. If I were to forget that joy and that love, well thank you for offering but I have to turn you down,” he explained. Billie’s mouth tightened and her lips pursed.

“Well, then what’s your solution here? Because it can’t go on as it is with your son. I won’t put the planet through another war of cosmic entities,” she insisted.

“Let me go home,” Cas begged. “Let me go back to them. Let me be human and feel pain and illness and everything but let me raise my son and care for Dean. And when I die, let me come back here, and have a human afterlife in peace.”

“You would go back to that?” She asked him. “To that pathetic, fleeting existence? When a world of power and invulnerability waits for you? You would live on a planet that could die at any moment in a body that could fail you any day all for a measly few years of happiness? Being a human is hard. Jack could rebel against you and grow to hate you. Dean could leave you behind. You could end up bitter and alone with no one to save you. You’d risk that? You’d really try that all again?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. But I want to. They need me,” Cas said. She laughed.

“Everyone needs somebody, Castiel, they rarely get it,” she explained sadly.

“I know. But I’m asking you- let me go home to them. I want to go home. I’ll take a terrifying, unpredictable existence over numb certainty any day. I don’t want to be at peace yet, I want to live,” Cas told her. She considered for a long quiet moment and then approached him. She reached a hand out and touched his face.

“You’re such a curious creature, you know that? Everyone always says it but no one fully understands,” she admitted and gave one small chuckle. “This means no more resurrections, you understand? This is the last of it. Tell that son of yours that too. If you fall and break your neck tomorrow I’m not getting involved.”

“I understand. Thank you,” Cas said gratefully. She shook her head and touched her hand to his forehead.

“I will never understand you,” she repeated curiously, a gentle smile on her lips, and in a flash of white light he was gone.

Cas emerged from his coffin just like Dean, with hardship and scraping and a desperate struggle to unshove the lid. He dug his way out of the dirt and made his way right back to life. He took in the sky above him, the flowers at his head, the lovingly carved marker, tracing his own name with his fingers. The gifts in his coffin of the knife and the flashlight had saved him and Dean’s t-shirt serving as a pillow had warmed his heart. Dean, he thought, was already with him, guiding his way back to life. He bent over the lake to examine his own reflection, dirty and haggard looking as if he had slept a hundred years, he used the water to clean himself off and savored the crisp, cool feeling of its splash against his skin. He felt brand new.

He stumbled to his feet then, his legs feeling unsteady like he was struggling to make them work but after a few shaky steps he got the hang of it. He was so close to them and as he got his bearings he broke into a run towards his house, so close but every second apart from it and his family was painful. He heard the chickens cheeping and as he passed the trees he saw the house in full.

And there he was. Jack was feeding the chickens but he turned at the sign of the footfall and his eyes lit up with joy as he saw his father approach. He gasped but made no sound, frozen to the spot. Cas felt that he almost flew across the yard to reach him, picking his son up and sweeping him into his arms, holding him tight to his chest. Jack immediately wrapped his arms around Cas’s neck and held his father just as tightly. Cas didn’t want to let him go, even to see his face, not for anything.

Eventually, of course, he did break away and studied his son’s face, how had he grown, still holding his body in his arms, cupping his face with his hands, drying the steadily pouring tears that he knew were also coming from his own eyes and laughing. Cas felt he could laugh for the rest of his life.

“Daddy...daddy I’m so sorry that I went with him and that I didn’t-” Jack started to ramble but Cas shook his head.

“No, no, you were such a good boy. You did just what I wanted. I promise, shhh, don’t cry baby, I promise. It’s alright now, it’s alright,” Cas assured him and kissed his temple. He pressed their foreheads together then, sending all of his thoughts of love, all of his assurances towards the boy in his arms and in return Jack sent his longing and his sadness during his absence back towards him.

“I missed you so much,” Jack told him and pressed his face into the crook of Cas’s neck. Cas sighed with contentment.

“I missed you too, but now we’re together again, my sweet boy, we’re all together,” Cas promised and he looked up over Jack’s head to see a blonde figure running towards them, long hair flapping in the wind.

“Claire,” he called to her in wonder. “How long have you been here?”

Claire replied by tossing holy water in his face. Cas sputtered for a moment before being greeted with a second splash of borax. Jack shrieked as the cool liquid hit him.

“Arm,” Claire insisted and with a sigh he extended his own. With a silver knife she drew a slash across it, blood trickling down. She examined it for a second and then looked up at him. “It’s really you?”

“It’s really me,” Cas promised her. She threw her arms around him then as well and he jumped back in shock. He hadn’t known how she would react, whether with joy or resentment but he felt only love pouring from the girl. He wrapped her up with his free arm and held her close to him.

“Fuck you, old man,” Claire mutterd into him. “Fuck you leaving us all like that. Fuck you.”

“Don’t curse in front of Jack,” Cas admonished and Claire laughed. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve been helping, Dean?”

“As best I can,” she admitted. “Speak of the devil.”

Dean headed out of the house and then stopped cold. Cas looked at him. Claire was looking between them and Jack’s eyes still seemed to be on his father.

“I already tested him,” Claire called but Dean didn’t move.

“Dean…” Cas eventually said, quiet and reverent. Dean shook his head.

“It can’t be,” Dean whispered. “Oh God.”

“It’s just me,” Cas replied, echoing an old joke. Dean didn’t smile. He just kept shaking his head. “I’m back. I’m here. I’m safe. We’re all safe.”

“You came home,” Dean numbly repeated. Cas nodded.

“Yes. I always come back to you. And you to me,” Cas assured him. Dean walked closer then as if remembering his limbs could move. He came close to Cas’s face and cupped it with his hand. Cas leaned into his palm, comfortable and trusting. “You took care of him. You did just what I asked. I can never repay you.”

“He’s a good kid,” Dean got out. Cas smiled. “I’m not…” Dean paused for a moment. “I’m not ashamed, Cas. Not anymore. And I would never want you to be either. I hate myself for ever-”

“I know,” Cas said, smiling. Dean kissed his smile and Cas melted into him, the child between them giggling and Claire making laughed noises of disgust. This was a better kiss, Cas thought, than one born of death and desperation. This was the kind of kiss he had been waiting for all his life. And he realized this was one of those perfect moments that he had given up his wings for, the type of joy you gladly accept all of life’s pain to achieve.

Claire stayed until the end of the summer. Jack had wanted her to stay longer but had understood that she needed to move on and go back to her old life. (He had cried the night before she left even though he had promised to be a big boy for her). She had assured them she would visit soon, back for Christmas if not even Thanksgiving. His father had mended all of the worn knees of her jeans and the loose buttons on her flannels and knitted her a hideous scarf to keep her warm in the winter that she had taken off as soon as he put it on her but then Jack caught her holding onto tightly and placing in the front pocket of her backpack. Dean packed up her car full of tupperwares of home cooked meals for her to heat up and gave her a shiny new pistol. Jack, for his part, drew her a picture of them all that she had tucked behind the sun visor of her car. Then they had all waved her off and watched her drive off to the next case.

Jack wanted to go hunt with her someday too, and he assumed he would. Dean promised he’d take him on a trip when he was eighteen if he still wanted to and his father gave him worried looks but admitted he wouldn’t stop him. That was alright, Jack considered, he was in no rush.

For the time being he was quite content to wake up early to feed the chickens and collect the eggs with Cas and then come in for a breakfast Dean had made them. He was fine to spend the day out in the garden rooting up weeds or in the living room curled up with his dad learning to sew or sitting on the counter as Dean explained to him the way to cook a perfect egg. Sometimes they would even drive into town together and he knew there was talk about him starting school next fall.

At the end of the day when his dad would tuck him into bed and Dean would watch from the doorway, smiling at them both. Jack loved that one quiet moment of the two of them lying together in the dark, though the moment after when he inevitably had to go was a little hard. It was alright though, he considered, because if he strained his neck just enough he could always catch a glimpse of his dad kissing Dean in the dim hallway light, before they headed off to bed themselves. Jack always thought that was a good image to send himself off to sleep with. He never felt quite so safe and so loved as he did then. He liked to imagine his father felt just the same.