#a soul in tension that's learning to fly. condition grounded but determined to try. (chapter i)

[lasthymn]

@qapsiel || you have no idea what i'm about to do to you. || :D

jack spends time with sam first. assuring the younger winchester that his brother is safe and protected by the very angel that they've loved and trusted all of jack's life and years beyond. they hug and hold one another. walk and take warmth and comfort in the roadhouse that is nowhere near done. just like dean winchester's life. only just finding its new beginning. sam was, rightfully, terrified of losing his brother. the person he loves with a love so deep they would bring worlds crashing down to keep one another safe was nearly ripped from him. again. permanently. and that same love, amplified by the love that bottomless love that castiel has for the hunter and the devotion that jack has for them all, is what brought him to shatter his own sacred rule.

only after sam, who would only rest once eileen understood what was happening and that he wanted to spend the night there and would be home in the morning, drifted off in the guest room closest to the hall where dean and castiel were did jack venture out in search of his father. who he finds with dean. together. dean is sleeping and doesn't budge when jack quietly enters their bedroom. speaks volumes for how safe he feels. all things considered. exhaustion surely won that battle. they can heal the physical but the mind? that can do so many things to the body.

jack doesn't hesitate at the door like they might've expected him to. instead, he approaches castiel and comes to a stop beside him. a hand rests upon his father's shoulder and not wanting to wake dean--he speaks to the part of castiel that can hear him without voice. no sound needed in their exchange. he won't ask him to leave the hunter's side. i think there's a lot for us to talk about. not all of it tonight, of course. you've been through enough. but.. first? are you okay? is dean?

[deetvar-moved]

tell me, everything you love about Deet'var. Tell me why you cherish her. Babble about her as much as you'd like

We’re going to be here a while so might as well also make a manifesto of sorts.

So Deet’var, she’s one of the four Angelic Knights of Silesia. Fancy title implies a serious military position in the Silesian Corps, a general would be the closest analogy. We know that Fury and Mahnya are especially close to Levin, so it would make just as reasonable sense that Deet’var would be close enough to him. There seems to be no contention to Levin’s marriage with Fury in canon (Mahnya even encourages it). Given how isolated Silesia is to the rest of Jugdral; it seems the only people the Royal Family marries into is the nobles of Silesia OR the incredibly high military officers of Silesia Pegasus Corps or Mage Corps. So Deet’var is not off the table. Now let’s talk about the framework of Daccar and Silesia. Levin left Silesia roughly 1 year before Sigurd’s campaign so it’s possible Rivough attacking Darna and Isaach suppressing Rivough could be close enough time wise possible to cause relative unease among Silesia. Regardless why Levin left, it leaves a power vacuum assumed to be taken up by his uncle Daccar. There seems to be no indication that Levin abdicated so he is technically first in line even though his actions are very much “I don’t want it.”Either way Chapter 4 times, Grannvale effectively rules 3 nations (Agustria, Verdane, and Isaach. Levin is back with an accused traitor and his army in his back pocket. Also a good number of people want him to become King. Yeah I can see why this is a bad idea. So the framing of Daccar acquiring help from Grannvale to become King and also get back the “traitor” Sigurd makes sense. Yeah Daccar is probably overall just a scumbag who wants to rule but the case of why people would follow him over Levin and go onto a Civil War makes sense. Anyway yadda yadda, Levin and Deets find some mutual common ground in their respective philosophies. Questions of pragmatism, loyalty, and such. Try to make this life my own, fly along with me. SO BASICALLY this ship is all about the narrative repercussions of what happens when you got 2 people on initially opposite side of the political argument have a kid and circumstance results in said kid having deal with her identity as framed by both her parents. All she wants is to be seen as herself, is that so bad?A soul in tension that's learning to fly, condition grounded but determined to try. 

[lasthymn]

@murderdeals || most cliche lines of dialogue || accepting!

" danger is my middle name. " from Crowley lol

blue eyes narrow in confused thought. lips form around words that don't quite hit them on queue. jack is thinking. mulling this statement. this demon over before he makes any sort of hasty conclusions about whether or not he's telling the truth about this second name of his. a hand comes up. fingers curl towards his palm. one after another. until only his pointer is remaining upright. a gesture that he has learned means hold on a second, as dean would say. or if pointed in a direction means things like go to your room. or sit down right now. or get to this precise spot over here before you're hurt.

which is silly because he could protect the person ordering him around very easily. most of the time. if he is CAREFUL. so careful. like protecting a little butterfly. too much power in that protection could damage their wings beyond repair. beyond fixing. well. yet. he hopes.

oh! or! it could mean a ton of other things that make one single motion of a finger mean so much that it's very hard to understand unless it's accompanied by an order. he's getting better at reading these things, though. much better. because he wants to understand the people he loves. or. even. say. this demon with his strange middle name.

finger up! he has his moment to ask. "i didn't know demons could have a middle name. i suppose there's no reason for them not to. if they want. what is your last name, crowley danger? should i have a middle name? i don't think i do. no one's ever told me. i should ask castiel. maybe he can give me a middle name." finger down?! crowley danger, you can continue.

[lasthymn]

@qapsiel || action prompts for leaning || accepting!

[ hair ] sender leans in to fix receiver's hair

it's the middle of the night. there's a silver blue glow coming from the television. the monotone voice of a narrator fills the room. he finds it soothing. it's a good voice. he sounds nice.

fingers curl and uncurl against the insides of his ankles. sitting crisscross applesauce on the sofa, blue eyes peeled to the television set. he seems to be absorbing everything he's watching. whether or not that's good or bad? welp. that's up to the question of what is on television. and that'd be what was playing when he switched it on. the first 48. a murder documentary show detailing what happens in the first 48 hours after a killing takes place. a worried expression is stamped on his brow. confusion settles in deep with a frown.

"this isn't what people should do to each other. they were only doing their job when the perp decided to take their money. he didn't have to kill them. but these people are have 48 hours to use science to find him and bring him to justice. and they do it every time.. at the last minute. just like---," us.

palm digs into his eye socket, the heel of his wrist used to chase away the tired that's seeped into his bones. the sofa budges when cas joins him. his hair's a mess from shifting all around. it hangs in his eyes when he turns his attention to the angel sitting beside him. gentle fingers reach towards his brow. jack doesn't budge when cas starts fixing his hair. a warm smile chases the thoughtful expression. turns it into nothing but adoration. "thank you..." the gesture's mirrored. long fingers swipe through castiel's hair at the top of his head. "there. now yours is fixed, too.."

his head tilts to the side. gaze wandering over cas's. "is there something on your mind?"

[lasthymn]

jack carefully puts the articles of clothing near the pillows and sits where the bed was patted. hands folded into his lap, blue eyes touch castiel's with a gaze that is nothing but relief and love. a warm, honestly warm to his bones, smile follows his father's advice. that's when he separates his hands and moves one to gather castiel's into his palm. he holds on and gives it a reassuring squeeze. his face loses that starry-eyed innocence that often makes his gaze glisten and his appearance (although already youthful) even moreso.

in that moment. what he is. who he is. and far more wisdom than his brief time on this planet should allow anyone touches his features. makes them serious. solemn. yet? none of it is dark. or lost. just. he wants his point to get through. wants castiel to know that it is nothing against sam or dean and especially him that he seeks comfort in other means when his mind gets busy. not all the time. sometimes going directly to them is all he wants. or does. but there are times? just like those that exist for them where he has to deal. on his own.

why?

well.

his free hand comes to cover the back of castiel's and he holds that hand with both of his so gently. "castiel. father." his fingers curl against battle-worn skin. "please don't take the distance that comes to me as anything wrong. or anything that you or my family isn't capable of handling in my eyes. i know you are. i know you are there for me and want nothing more than to help me shoulder any burdens i might feel." he bends in. his head rests against the side of castiel's shoulder. jack closes his eyes as he tries to piece together what he's trying to say. "you have all spent my entire life worrying over me. in one shape or another. now? there are times when you are so happy with me. i need those. i need less burdens on the people i love. less worry. less sadness. and if that means i shoulder some of my own worries just like you or dean or sam and the others do? then it's okay.. i can handle it. you have to let me protect you, too."

                                CASTIEL FOLLOWS IMMEDIATELY. Sugar so shortly before bedtime is probably a bad idea — at least that's what the books on child rearing have all agreed on — but Jack seems happy about the nougat, and anyway, he doesn't need regular 8 hours like your standard human, so he should still be fine tomorrow morning. (But this does make Castiel wonder if Dean's terrible diet is one of the reasons he has such an irregular sleeping rhythm. Maybe Castiel needs to ensure he doesn't eat any candy before bed anymore. It will make him cranky at first, but sleep is important for humans.) 

                               Sitting on the edge of the bed, Castiel watches, amused, as Jack half disappears in his closet, and the gentle smile still stays firmly in place as his son confesses to kind of having stolen the various clothing items from Sam, Dean, and Castiel himself. It gets a little sad around the edges when Jack admits the reason behind this theft, though. It's good that he found something that helped him through these rough patches, but Castiel would have preferred to be there for him instead of his dress shirt. 

                                "Jack," he says, gently patting the mattress to his right to invite the Nephilim to sit down. "It's okay. You didn't hurt anyone by taking these clothes. I'm glad they made you feel better, but if anything like that happens again? If you feel… disconnected again? Just talk to us. We're there for you, Jack, and we want to help you. I know it's hard. You didn't get a chance to grow up like a normal child, to learn things slowly."

[lasthymn]

@ceocrowley || a meme continuation || from here.

fingers lace together behind his back as jack rocks back and forth on his heels. beaming from ear to ear with a wide smile, he flicks his gaze across crowley's dark eyes with a look of happy expectation. yes! he nods! they are going to go somewhere neat! jack knows just the spot. a little place in vaadhoo island. the sea of stars, they call it. and it's beautiful. peaceful. where he's been for the past month. walking the beach. running his fingers through the water. learning all about the life contained in the ocean there. how it decorates the beach and makes it look as if the sky has dipped down to kiss the sand.

the agreement is all he needs. there's only the briefest of pauses before jack closes the distance between the pair. taking hold of the demon's hand--there's a warmth that floods between the two. and as though the world just falls away and recreates itself in the blink of an eye--they are standing on a boardwalk upon the shores of the ocean. exactly where it came to mind for jack to steal them away to. it's seamless. effortless. a joy that he has perfected in his time alone. to explore this world that he loves and now? he wants to share part of that adoration with someone he cherishes. sea water and night air fill their senses. the old wood creaks underneath their feet but is strong and steady. across the shoreline, bioluminescent plankton glow and blink as the waves ebb and flow. a warm breeze blows their hair about. jack gently lets him go and turns to point over the water. "this is a place they call the maldives. i love it here. have you ever seen something so beautiful?" holidays are forgotten. that's not what this moment is about. it's them sharing something he found. on his own. and loves.

[lasthymn]

@qapsiel || a meme continuation || from here.

jack happily leans into the hand upon his shoulder. one arm loops around the back of castiel's calf and he gently holds it near as if that's keeping a piece of him close as close can be. the back of his head rests against the side of the sofa closest to the cushion. love, happiness, calm radiates from him. he's where he will always consider to be home. and it shows. he's damn near glowing. an uneven--happy grin curls the corners of his mouth. squints his eyes. crinkles his nose. "i didn't come just to leave as soon as i said hello. of course i'll stay." that doesn't mean he's not excited about a treat he waits until he is home, or utterly homesick, to indulge in. "yes! candy! soon. i can wait. first.. i need to know how you, dean, sam, cain and even miracle and mister crowley danger are doing." a thoughtful frown. "i haven't visited anyone in a while. i should fix that. do it more often.." more of a spoken inner thought. a mental note of something to correct.

[lasthymn]

@murderdeals || send "you're not what i expected..." for my muse's reaction || accepting!

sunshine illuminates their faces. his arms feel the heat grazing over his skin. he loves the sensation of being out in the open air. underneath the sky. dots of clouds here and there. white, puffy fluffs that occasionally pass by the sun and provide a glimpse of shade before moving on. the air is clean here. not like in the towns or cities that he visits alone. or with his family. there's peace in the solitude and distances out here on cain's farm.

castiel told him about this place before they came here. more than once. he's heard stories about cain. about his creatures. and vegetables. about his bee farm that castiel loves and adores. about the chickens and goats. how the trees are high and alive and stand proud inside fertile soil that's tended to with meticulous care. he was so excited when cas asked him if he wanted to come along on this visit. he said yes in a dozen nods before he could get the word out.

jack is barefoot as he walks along the dirt road cutting through the horse pasture. careful not to step in anything he might not appreciate being stuck between his toes. he can't seem to take his eyes off of a mare that's caught his attention. there's a look of utter adoration on his face for the creature. castiel allowed him some time alone with cain. to get to know him better. and this was only the beginning of their conversation.

'you're not what i expected.' this is not the first time jack has heard this. he doesn't mind being told he's something different than what people originally thought about him. there's yet to be a bad experience along with the words. the mare is now within arms reach. after meeting his eyes for a while, the pair seemed to exchange some sort of conversation that brought jack to a stop. one hand reaches out. fingers touch along her velvet nose. he grins from ear to ear. "tell me, cain. what did you think of me? i wish i could say the same. but castiel has spoken so warmly of you. i can see where he forms the opinion. this place.. your home? it's beautiful. it suits every word he's said.."

[lasthymn]

@sunomaly || send "you're not what i expected..." for my muse's reaction || accepting!

there's a distant sound of children's laughter as they play in a metal and plastic playground. jack was fascinated with it when he first entered the park. how they all flocked to it and not a single one of them hesitated to climb into it's tubes, or slide down the slide, or hang from those bars overhead where they'd swing from one side to the other. even if the sun made them hot to the touch. the children didn't seem to pay it any mind. too caught up in having fun to care about having to shake the burns off their little palms. or pick themselves up from scraping their knees on the woodchip bedding underneath. it was amusing to watch.

that was two hours ago. before he found the pond. with it's ducks quacking like crazy every time a family would toss bread at them. or little pieces of food you could buy out of a dispenser for a couple of quarters. he didn't have any. but one couple was nice enough to give him a slice of bread so he could feed them after they found out it was his first time there.

now? he's an hour into putting the book he'd carried in to read on his knee. closed. all attention is on the woman at his side. how their conversation was intriguing and particularly engaging. she tells him he's not what she expected and jack finds that even more peculiar. his eyes squint in confusion. head cocked to the side like a dog hearing a noise it can't figure out. his smile is accompanied by a breathy laugh. "why? what did you expect?"

[lasthymn]

@carnagebled || send "you're not what i expected..." for my muse's reaction || accepting!

perched with his legs criss-cross on the wall of an abandoned amusement park he was curious enough to be drawn towards in the middle of the night, jack watches aubrey as she tells him he's not what she expected. around them, there's the sound of rotting metal hitting against the same as a soft wind blows around and stirs up noises of decay where once laughter and amusement rides filled the air. those sounds continue for a few seconds as he lets those words sink in.

lips part to draw in a breath. jack nods, giving her a warm--honest smile without judgement. rather filled with a genuine curiosity that makes a spark light up in blue hues that resemble the sky that's long since faded to inky black filled with an infinite amount of stars. "would you tell me what you thought of when you first heard about me? what you were expecting when we met? i'd like to know. this isn't the first time i've been told what you said. everyone's answers are always interesting." a little content noise follows.

aubrey has his full attention. gaze stuck on her in spite of so many creepy but, in his opinion, beautiful things to go look at and explore? he'd rather uncover this mystery first.

[lasthymn]

@rebuiltmyself || the most cliche lines of dialogue || accepting!

he's right behind me, isn't he?

they've been planning on surprising sam with a birthday party. because, apparently, surprising someone on their day of birth is a tradition that involves a lot of cake, decorations, gifts and silly things like streamers and little plastic bottles you pull the string on and it sends little ribbons exploding out the end of. all is going according to plan. most of their things they've gathered from stores are in jack's room back in his closet. underneath a blanket. out of sight. definitely not out of mind.

he's already used the glittery, shiny paper in rolls to wrap most of the gifts and fasten little tags on them printing the to: sam, from: whoever's gift it is in elegant print he learned by watching a video on youtube. jack isn't sure he's ever been so excited to spoil someone. sam deserves everything good and happy. and he knows they're going to give him a day full exactly that.

odie and him are already plotting more of the day when he catches sight of sam coming into the room. half asleep. scratching the back of his head before lifting a hand and waving at the two of them. odie doesn't see him and she almost says too much before jack (not so) subtly gestures towards sam who is almost at the fridge.

'he's right behind me, isn't he?'

jack's head bobs and he clears his throat. "hello, sam. good morning." the hunter gives them both his good morning but snatches some sort've shake from the fridge and holds up a finger like he'll be right back before walking right back out. sometimes he's just as bad of a waker-upper as dean is. lucky for them? it's one of those days..

"that was close..," he muses--grinning that they got away with their plan.

[lasthymn]

@sarishim || send "you're not what i expected..." for my muse's reaction || accepting!

they're standing on the edge of a river. jack's hands are buried deep into the pockets of a tan jacket that seems a little too big for his shoulders. something warm for the early morning chill in the air. layered underneath is a sweater. thick wool with a t-shirt that is soft on his skin. because he likes the texture.

fog swallows up the air above the water. surrounds them and makes everything muted and thick. he likes the weather like this. where it's crisp air that you can feel brushing over your skin. a smile greets the angel as he confesses jack isn't what he expected.

a slow dip of his head in a nod. attention kept on gabriel even though his gaze wanders back to the water. "sometimes people surprise us. don't they? it's one of the best parts about them. you really do never know what you're going to get." sometimes it's good. sometimes it's bad. others? confusing.

there's been people that've caught him completely off guard for how they reacted to him initially. but then time changes and, with it, relationships blossom and bloom or wither and fade. either way? it's all part of the human experience. something jack craves down to his bone marrow.

"what were you expecting? if you don't mind me asking..? i'm curious." he walks to the edge of the dock and motions for gabriel to follow. sitting down in spite of the cold wood, he lets his legs dangle off the edge. a little piece of wood chip's plucked up in his fingers. he tosses it in the water before curling his fingers around the lip of their seat.

[lasthymn]

@lupaeus || scenarios that make me chef's kiss || accepting!

9) sender’s muse kills someone to protect receiver’s muse. receiver approaches to gently calm them down.

oh! oh no!

"emma! stop! don't! she---!" jack watches the limp body of the demon fall to the ground. in the last second, it'd let it's vessel go. released in a cloud of smoke that coiled out of the woman's mouth and barely had time to seep into the ground before emma leapt into action. the cruelest fate was received for her efforts. emma had just murdered a woman who he might've saved. who was a victim as much as the demon wanted him, wanted them to be. and he sees that realization dawn upon her paling face. lips hang open as he looks down at the crumpled form of the woman and he can already sense she's gone. there is no bringing her back from the edge of death. she was pushed over it in an instant.

jack wishes he could lie to emma. tell her that the horror on her face was wrong to feel. that she'd released the woman by murdering her but--he doesn't lie well. it makes him sick. sicker than the twisting feeling in his stomach that is HORRIBLE to feel. that makes him swallow hard to stop himself from gagging. emma is backing up. round eyes staring between him and the body. he needs to get her out of here. get her away. get her out of this place so she stops SEEING IT.

the overwhelming want to make her feel safe. to make her understand she was only doing what she felt was right. was necessary. was saving HIM. oh! here comes the guilt. guilt for making her feel like she needed to because he couldn't shake himself free from being AFRAID in that split second where the demon had threatened his family if he didn't listen. how he could turn that fear into anger and stop it from SPEAKING the horrible things it was saying. how he'd stumbled in his convictions in those handful of seconds that she acted on his behalf. and now. now there are consequences for them both and he's so sorry.

he's gripping her arms, pulling her into him. his hold on her is tight and warm and loving as he wills them anywhere other than here and in an instant--they are. a meadow inside a clearing half a county away. standing on the edge of a river. crystal clear water bubbles behind them from a waterfall. and his hands are cupping her face, fingers stroking her cheeks reassuringly. like cas does to him. a touch so gentle. so flittering and light, it's as if she's crafted from the most fragile glass one could ever touch. one wrong move, it could shatter. "you were only helping. you only did what you saw you needed to do. it's okay. it's okay to make mistakes. i make them all the time. especially when i am trying to help. shhhh. shhhh." imploring eyes widen in non-judgement and UNDERSTANDING. "you wanted to do good. i'm sorry.."

[lasthymn]

relief. hesitant but creeping in slower becoming more solidified by the second. the relaxation of his features shows that he is being lured back into calm. into wanting to stay in crowley's orbit a little longer. not that he wanted to leave in the first place. only thought that since he'd messed up, it would be better to give crowley the space that those around him often crave in order to calm down. gather their wits back together. keep from saying things they regret later. long fingers twitch at his sides. his right hand lifts to itch a patch of skin right above his collar.

brows quirk up. his head tilts. damn near the picture of his father when he's listening to dean or sam go on about something he's trying to comprehend. there stands jack. the embodiment of rapt attention sprinkled with a hint of befuddlement. light eyes dance across crowley's features as the demon compares him to a box of kittens. top lad. a good boy. he smiles. proud. yes, he's worked very hard to be good. to not make mistakes that could wind up devastating in the power he wields. he's made some big blunders in the past. doesn't ever want to do it again. so? hearing he's good? it means something deep. enough that his features remain soft, devoted to every word.

even as crowley begins to compare himself to bad news. which jack assumes means bad things. evil. the way everyone is expected to see demons. but.. they wouldn't exist without god. doesn't that mean they come from god? that, in and of itself, should mean that they are judged by personal caliber. not by stereotype. or expectation of evil deeds. even holy men do those. doesn't make them very holy. can't some demons be good inside of their mistakes? their blunders? their deeds? if done out of nature. or..

jack palms over his mouth, pulling his wits around such big thoughts that he wants to convey perfectly because something tells him if he says it wrong? it will not translate well to the demon who only sees himself as demonic and, thus, bad. right? he takes a few steps closer again. moves to sit on the floor in front of crowley's chair. crosses one leg under the other, criss-cross applesauce as they say. holding onto his ankles--he blows out a breath and gently speaks. "because some of those stories that dean has told me doesn't paint you in the light you think he would always paint you. i know you've helped them. i know you've had good intentions without any need for something to be gained. i know you've even lost things because of your ties to my family."

he squints. thoughtful. "if that doesn't make you somewhat good. what does? i know you've been hurt. you've suffered. long before dean or sam." a pause. he's gauging a reaction. doesn't want to cross a line again. pull the tiger's teeth. "should i stop there? or keep going? i don't want to make you hate me.."

IS THAT POSSIBLE? Jack withdraws, his posture turning into that of a scolded child and Crowley... feels sorry. Sorry?! In what world this is normal, he wouldn't know. But upsetting some boy, especially of sparkly-ass holy origin, should actually amuse him. Give him an ego boost. Now he stands there and forgets about his own anger triggered just a handful moments ago— feels like he kicked a puppy. Not good! Mind you, Crowley loves puppies! So he dips his own head while trying to reason with himself, inwardly, bad-bitch brain battle versus Crowley's-gone-soft brain.

" Bloody hell ", grumbles the demon under his breath. One hand brought to the back of his own head to rub his nape, yeah, mark him down as embarrassed. Did someone spike his drink with human blood or what is this? Well, nah, he'd have to have done it himself. He poured his own glass. Jack announcing that he'll go has Crowley raise his head again, something akin to disbelief pulling his eyes wide open and brows upward for a beat. " Hey, no. Wait a second ", sounds quieter than intended.

" You, uh— " How do you human sans backstabbing or cutting deals again? " Thing is... You are ", he pauses, then gestures at Jack with both hands, quasi shrugging. " Like the personification of good boy. Top lad. A box full of kittens. Some kind of Jesus 2.0, only... " Briefly grimacing, he cants his head to one side, then to the other. " Well, dressed way better. " Casual addition almost comes as a hum: " Blessed be shoes. " That's when he points at himself, both hands as well.

" I, on the other hand? Demon. Personified bad news. Saying I'm a good man is like, you know, pulling a tiger's teeth. Makes it look weak. " Does this come across? If Jack is a lot like Castiel (and damn, he could be his twinsie), metaphors might help. Or do the opposite? You never know with those two. Sighing, Crowley lets his hands drop by his sides again ere clicking his tongue and his eyes darting around. Thinking. This is super awkward.

And finally clearing his throat, the drink he put aside some moments ago gets picked up again as he gleans Jack's face with a pinch of expectation. " Alright. Assuming you didn't mean to pull my teeth, et cetera. What makes you think I'm a good guy to begin with? " One slow-blink later, he cracks a crooked smile. " Sure as hell not the adventurous tales Moose and Squirrel told you. "

[lasthymn]

jack's brows push towards one another and he looks instantly apologetic the second crowley's demeanor shifts and his arm is yanked from the nephilim's light touch. he quickly puts his hand inside his pocket as if to show he's sorry. that he'll not do it again. confused, he swallows hard and rushes to right whatever mistake he made. the distance crowley creates for himself is doubled when jack takes his own measured steps backwards. "no! i didn't.. i," flustered--jack tries to find the right words to say. dozens of languages fill his mind. hundreds of different combinations of apology. or taking back what he said. or trying to ask for some sort've forgiveness for something he's not sure of what he's done that was so WRONG. merely speaking his thoughts and voicing them so that crowley understands what he thinks of him..

..he shouldn't have done that! said the wrong thing. people are so hard to read. demons. angels. humans. they never fail to surprise him. the only one who hasn't is his father, castiel. castiel is easy to understand. makes things simple. because he doesn't change. not really. not how they are. to others, he may. but not to jack. his free hand scratches the blonde hair atop his head. "i'm sorry. upsetting you is the last thing i wanted.. and no. no. you don't have to step up your bad bitch game. i'm sure everyone else thinks you are one." he tries to reassure him. that nothing was ruined. he hopes? did he ruin something?

heart hammering in his chest, jack searches crowley's features frantically as if desperately combing through the pages of an ancient text he doesn't understand in an attempt to reverse some terrible wrong that might set some catastrophe back out of motion. he was just gaining a friend. and now it seems--he's broken that. crowley is so wrong about one thing, however. there is someone watching over him and that someone? is standing right here. still digging at the back of his head with his nails trying to process a very human emotion radiating from a very inhuman companion who thinks he is so far removed from human that he couldn't possible be a good man. even if he is.

"thank you," he bows his chin downwards--lowering his head into a grateful nod. fist balled up into a handful of hair shifting along with the motion before he rights himself. "for your company. i should---" his hidden hand swings from his pocket, gestures behind his shoulder with a jerk of a thumb in that direction. something he learned from sam that means go.

JACK TALKING ABOUT HEAVEN THE WAY HE DOES, CROWLEY TRIES TO IMAGINE IT. For a second here, over another sip of the amber booze pleasantly burning in his throat. Gavin playing guardian angel for him, though, sounds like the fantasy one plants into a kid's head. The demon can't help but huff a quiet laugh. At least the tears threatening to falsely rat him out as softie (false, really?) meanwhile dried. He freezes at Jack's touch, brows furrowing together with mild perplexity— good man? What? Might be a compliment in the ears of most, even the sickest bastards out there. Not so to Crowley. Rings like mockery, rather.

Call it an allergic reaction or whatever, but something across his previously softened mien changes. Something snapping inside of him. Abruptly, Crowley yanks his arm away, glowering up at the taller boy grimaces as if the latter just told him the worst joke ever.

" I'm a hell of a lot of things, mate. Good guy's nowhere on that list. Never was ", he hisses. Guess who needs a quick refill. That's what Crowley is about to get and thus moves out of Jack's reach, better than feeling like a cornered dog. Might end up biting. And sure as hell regret it after. " Nobody's guarding me from up there. I made sure of that. " He may no longer sound hissy-angry, still grumpy enough to filter every ounce of habitual smugness out. Replace it with spite. And focusing on the scotch he's about to pour into his glass saves him a moment of eye contact, as a treat.

" Suppose you taking me for a goodie-two-shoes is my call to step up my bad bitch game again. "

[lasthymn]

his father is still so full of worry for dean as he sleeps in a deep, restful slumber. in this room? he is the safest person in the entire world. no harm could come within a ten mile radius of dean winchester while in the care of two beings so innately powerful that they could raze worlds and rebuild them together with barely a thought. yes, dean can sleep until his body no longer needs it. no nightmares to touch his mind. no threats. no ghosts to rattle chains with each link formed by every horrible thing that's ever happened to him in the hallways of his soul. down the hall? his brother sleeps that same slumber. protected and warm and calm knowing that dean will be taken care of without question.

castiel doesn't allow the same reprieve from the night's events for himself. not that sleep is required but it is nice. though letting the mind and soul find calm would be the sole purpose of that. dean's color, his clinging to cas even in sleep? those would keep the angel up for hours alone. jack understands the heaviness in castiel's soul. there's far more to it than that. he knows. without a word, jack takes it upon himself to ease at least one of those worries. fingers trail over castiel's shoulders that have held so much weight without question for years upon years. long before world where the winchesters even existed.

they return the squeeze then drop to his hip as rounds to dean's side of the bed. then reach for the hunter's brow and smooth a delicate touch that only earns the slightest flinch before a quiet hum relaxes dean's face. you owe me nothing, castiel. you are my family. what happened tonight was no fair. not when you've only just begun your life. what son would i be if i denied you the single thing you've fought millennia to have? if i turned my back on my father? my family? on your prayer. i love you too much. i'll always love you. and him. gold warmth radiates from downcast eyes illuminating his gaze as he smiles. dean's skin grows warm. vibrant. the hue of a man renewed and full rather than drifting along half-empty. that glowing hue fades when he meets castiel's once more. it is different. it's mine. chuck? he is only a part of what i became. dean and sam could tell you more. but i changed it even after them. love, i think. it's love. for every soul i've met. how it should be. you taught me that. and now it's yours. i will never ask you to be what you once were to him. only that you are happy. and, please, keep YOU and our family safe.

                               THE TERRIFYING HOURS HAVE FINALLY TAKEN THEIR TOLL: The moment Dean's head hits the pillow, arm tightly wrapped around Castiel's hip, he drifts off into a dreamless sleep. It will remain so. Now that he's an angel again, Castiel takes advantage of more than healing Dean's ailments and injuries; he will shelter his sleep from nightmares as well. The lamps in the bedroom are turned off, but the door is ajar, and light from the hallway and kitchen spills into the room, illuminating Dean's soft face. He's still very pale; Castiel didn't go to find some blood for him yet because neither of them wanted to leave the other alone, even after Jack brought Sam over so he could see with his own eyes that his big brother was alive and breathing. Maybe Castiel will find a blood donation center tomorrow, or maybe Dean will have to deal with the dizziness and exhaustion until his body has created enough new blood cells. It could be a little reminder that dying is easy. That he should be more careful and not treat his life like he'll always get a second, a third, a twentieth chance at living it.

                                A shadow falls across the light rectangle on the floor; Castiel looks up to see Jack carefully entering the bedroom to stand next to the bed. His hand is warm on Castiel's shoulder. He looks up at him, a watery smile on his face as he covers Jack's hand with his own, unspoken gratitude radiating off him. It's only because of Jack that he can sit here, back pressed to the wall, with one hand in Dean's hair and Dean's arm slung across his lap. If Jack hadn't decided to intervene… Castiel would be alone now.

                                       Dean is fine, he says, exhausted and mentally still reeling, but it will be alright. It has to be. They still have to have The Talk, but… Castiel is optimistic. Thank you, Jack. I owe you everything. His hand squeezes Jack's briefly. This… grace. It feels different than the one I had before.