#actual baby Jack Kline

[sunshine-zenith]

My @dadstielminibang art for MiracleOfWinchester’s fic, Reaching Haven

Go read it! Go go go go gogogogo

[winchestergifs]

Jack in Every Episode ✫ 13.3 Patience

Jack, don’t let anyone tell you who you’re supposed to be. Because who you’re supposed to be isn’t fate, it isn’t me, it isn’t your father. You are who you choose to be. And I know you’re gonna be okay. You are gonna be amazing. You have an angel watching over you.

[soullessjack]

lord knows I do not have the capacity to explain it right now but I have so much disdain for how heteronormative and nuclear this fandom is hellbent on making destiel and lord knows I have an even bigger hatred for how jack is used to fuel it.

[wormieapple]

i want a baby jack fic where jack is turned into a baby and when it gets fixed and he’s back to being an adult he’s like “that was awful i hated that” because fuck u that’s y

[monsterfuckermilligan]

it’s very important to me how my therapist (attachment trauma specialist) who works with a lot of adoptees and ffy is also obsessed with supernatural. and agrees that jack is not adopted, and it’s important to his storyline that he isn’t. it’s so frustrating trying to explain to people that adoption isn’t about ‘what’s in their hearts’ or some other bullshit, because adoption isn’t about love, it’s a legal process that tfw don’t partake in. they never try to to erase his lineage or require it for there to be love. jack keeps his last name! jack has a picture of kelly at his bedside! jack gets the freedom to meet his first family, including lucifer! he gets to make his decisions about that even after he argues with cas about it! he is not adopted y’all just don’t know how else to describe their relationship because of the romanticization of adoption in ‘found family’ media and the fact that most non-adopted people have no idea what adoption actually is.

[quietwingsinthesky]

domestic destiel with baby jack except that dean wants to kill himself the entire time because he feels like he’s trapped and can’t keep going through these motions that he doesn’t feel

[thegirlwithmanynames]

fatherhood

It’s been a long time since Claire Novak had parents. That’s just the way the world works; some kids grow up in a loving family, spoiled by mommy and daddy until their teeth rot out of their skulls, and some kids’ moms and dads get creatively murdered by feathery jackasses of the Lord. Nothing to see here - life goes on, and the world keeps slowly turning.

Except for when Claire gets an unexpected visit from a stranger, and everything falls apart.

-

a study of Castiel and Claire, largely inspired by 15x15 Gimme Shelter.

read on ao3

She’s a cobra, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Just one more second and she’ll have it right where she wants it, prey perfectly lined up for the kill. Just one more second, and she’ll be home free.

A melody rings out in the darkness, and a bright white light illuminates her position.

“Fuck,” Claire Novak curses under her breath – as if trying to be quiet will help her now that her goddamn phone’s given her away. The vamp she’s been watching snarls as it turns towards her, and her ringtone won’t stop fucking ringing, and her phone’s buttons are slipperier than they’ve ever been, her fingers fumbling to decline the call as she scrambles to her feet.

“Hello? Claire, honey, is that you?”

Fuck. As if her luck could get any worse.

“Mommy’s worried about you, huh, sweetheart? Better say your goodbyes now before I drink you dry,” the vamp sneers, showing its teeth. It’s gaining ground, nearly blocking the abandoned warehouse’s rickety doors.

What a goddamn disaster.

“Do you need backup?” comes Jody’s urgent question over the line, all business now. Never mind that Claire’s a state away and can handle this on her own, thank you very much, and would have been out by now if Jody hadn’t called in the first place.

“Don’t have time to talk right now, Jody,” she replies, eyes trained on the vamp that’s now listening in with a dangerous and amused smirk on its face. It lopes toward her slowly, confident, predator chasing prey. Claire’s machete weighs heavy on her back.

“Ooh, on first name terms, are we?” it taunts. “Maybe Mommy won’t miss you so much after all.”

The words still sting, even if in not the way the vamp intends. It’s been so long since she’s deliberately thought of her mother, how Amelia left, how they found each other, how she –

Well. Not important now.

“Not like anyone’s going to miss you either, bloodsucker,” she counters, and takes a step closer.

“Wanna bet?” The vamp grins, all monster, baring its teeth at Claire’s forward movement and taking its own step toward her in response.

“Claire,” Jody’s voice warns.

The exit’s blocked now. No way out but through.

Claire knows what she needs to do.

“Try me,” she says, and the vamp’s eyes glint in the faint moonlight coming through the warehouse windows.

“Who are you, little girl?” it lilts, amused. It takes one step forward, and Claire tenses. “You’re nothing, nobody. Mommy and Daddy aren’t here to save you. It’s just you and me.”

Her heartbeat pounds in her ears, sickeningly loud. There might as well be lead in her arms. Her face is on fire.

Taunting, the vamp takes another step, baring its teeth once more. “And all I see is dinner. So tell me, bitch. Who the fuck are you?”

Quicker than she’d have thought possible, the fire spreads through her body, burning through the lead in her muscles, setting her heart aflame. Fuck strategy. Fuck everything except sending this bloodsucker to hell, where it belongs.

It happens in a flash. The machete makes a satisfying sound as it hits bone on its way through neck, and the vamp’s head rolls away from its body with its horrifying smirk still on its lips. She’ll have to wash the blood from her hair later, she notes absently. Her muscles are still taut, rage still beating a steady pulse through her body.

“I’m Claire Novak,” she spits. Her machete shakes in her hand. “I’m the one who kills you.”

***

The blood rushing through her ears takes another few moments to subside, and when it does, Claire realizes dimly that the faint tinny noises splitting the air aren’t actually faint at all.

“Claire! Claire, are you okay?! Claire, answer me!”

Jody’s voice sounds frantic. It grounds her, slowing her heartbeat to a more acceptable rhythm. A worried Jody is a completely different kind of beast to conquer. Claire isn’t sure she’d be able to handle that right now.

And besides. Jody shouldn’t have to worry about her.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Claire mumbles, switching the machete to her left hand so she can push the right through her blood-matted hair. Still holding up pretty well, she thinks – her own curler never stands up this well to a hunt. She’d plan to thank Alex when she gets back, except Alex didn’t exactly know that Claire had stolen her curler to do her hair that morning, so that option’s out. Maybe she’ll log into Alex’s account and leave the company a review.

Great product!!! Love the way I can go through my whole day and my curls never deflate. My hair holds up great after salt-and-burns, butchering vamps, shooting werewolves, and even killing the nastiest ghouls. Five stars!!

She snorts lightly, shaking her head at the idea. Thankfully, Jody doesn’t pick up on it.

“You’d better be fine,” Jody says through the line, firm now, the anxiety gone from her voice. Claire knows better, though. Jody’s had to get good at hiding it, but Claire worries her. She hates it and loves it and hates that she loves it at all. Guilt caves her chest in just a little bit. “Did you forget our agreement? Or did you decide that we’re beyond writing a quick text letting each other know where we’ll be before heading off on a hunt?”

“Well, it’s not like you ever text me to let me know,” she snaps, but even with the annoyance in her voice, the bite isn’t there. It’s habit now, like double-checking her weapons before heading out. She knows that Jody knows she doesn’t mean it.

I’m okay, she thinks in Jody’s direction. I’m safe.

“I may not text you, but I sure as hell do text Donna – ”

“So I’ll text Kaia, then,” she says. Her voice wavers upwards just slightly, just enough to give away her grin. “Or Alex. Ooh, or maybe Patience. Sound good?”

“All right, smartass,” Jody replies, and Claire can hear the smile break through her voice too. Score. “This conversation’s not over, okay? We’ll get to it when you get back. Where are you now?”

“Lincoln,” she says, pulling her phone from her ear and bringing up Google Maps, “but it’s late, and Google says it’ll be three and a half hours, so I’ll probably stay in a motel tonight and head back in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan. You’ll keep me posted on the way back?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves her machete dismissively, even though Jody can’t see it. Pressing her head hard to her phone to keep it shoved between her shoulder and ear, she finally sheathes the weapon against her hip. With a sneer back at the vamp’s disembodied head, she turns on her heel to face her original hiding place. “Any reason you called in the first place, Jody? Or did you just want to turn my hunt up to hard mode?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she winces. Maybe not the nicest way to phrase it. Jody’s been good to her. Claire’s not as young as she used to be. Time to grow up.

“’Cause it didn’t work – still easy as pie. Nothing to worry about.”

Nice save, Novak.

“Har har,” Jody answers sarcastically, but her voice doesn’t sting with hurt, so Claire figures she’s in the clear. Slinging her bag over her back, she heads out toward the creaking warehouse doors. “Nothing big, just, uh. We’ll be having a visitor! Tomorrow, actually! He’ll probably be here before you get back, depending on when you’ll get in.”

“Uh-huh,” she says absent-mindedly, pushing through the doors with some effort. God, she’s tired. “You can just say Dean’s coming by to detox – ”

It’s still raw to think about why Dean’s been drinking so much lately, so she steadfastly doesn’t, and the sentence ends there. Her eyes dart to her car, parked and safe in the bushes not far away. Just like any other hunt. Everything’s normal.

“It’s, uh, actually not Dean.”

“So, Sam? Is he bringing Eileen?” Claire’s been dying to meet her ever since she’d heard about her, but, well, God had sort of gotten in the way. Still, she’d been brushing up on her ASL, even if it was a little more basic than she’d have liked. She always loved trading hunting stories with other badass girls on the road.

“It’s not Sam either,” Jody says, slowly, and for the first time, Claire picks up on a note of hesitation in her voice. She’s stalling. Why is she stalling?

“Who’s coming, Jody?”

Her car keys nearly slip from her hands at Jody’s answer.

When Claire’s fingers clumsily fumble the catch, the blare of the car’s alarm drowns out any other coherent thought, numbing her for the whole drive over to the motel. Check-in, payment, settling in. Static in her limbs all along the way, body asleep but still moving, no better than a stumbling corpse.

Her body – unclean, disheveled, alone, empty – occupies the space atop the covers of the single bed. Claire Novak is nowhere to be found.

She closes her eyes, but the static only grows louder.

---

The trip back to Sioux Falls is definitely somewhere in the top ten worst drives Claire’s ever taken.

Usually, the long drive is half of what makes a hunt so exciting. In a house with anywhere between two and ten other people in it at any given time, a drive is a chance to hear yourself think. Or not think, if it’s been that kind of a week. Just Claire and the open road; a hand on the wheel, the wind tossing her hair back over the seat, singing along to whatever playlist best suits the vibes of the trip.

But this time? She might as well pick up some hitchhiking penguins for how much it’s the polar opposite.

Three and a half hours pass, silent except for the sound of the engine. Landscapes streak past her windows, but Claire just drives, watching the road and not seeing a thing.

The longer it goes, the louder the static becomes; first in her hands, then spreading up her arms, in her chest, in her head. This time, though, it doesn’t numb her. Instead, her fingers tap a disjointed, nervous beat against the wheel; her breaths come uneven and ragged as she fights against the growing tightness in her chest; the grinding of her teeth rivals the engine for volume in her head.

It’s only when she pulls onto Jody’s street that she realizes that she’s even made it to Sioux Falls in the first place. The familiar environment isn’t even the giveaway – it’s the Impala, parked unassumingly in the driveway, that does it.

What?!

Claire slams the brakes, parking less than gracefully in front of the house. Jody might kill her for it later, but it’s not like that’s gonna make a difference if she’s going down swinging in about ten minutes anyway.

Wonder if Patience could tell me exactly how long it’ll take before everything goes to hell.

“Where is he?” she demands as the door swings open. Jody turns to look at her from her spot at the kitchen sink.

“Well, hi to you too,” she shoots back, but Claire can tell that she’s not feeling it. It’s habit, saying the words because she always does. Jody’s eyes are too full of pity, and Claire doesn’t need anyone’s fucking charity, and the explosion feels like it’s already happened and it’s just racing toward them like shockwaves from a bomb.

Alex, dishtowel in hand, looks between them knowingly and shrugs as she makes to leave. She doesn’t say a single word, which is just fucking like her, until she claps Claire on the back as she heads up the stairs.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Rambo.”

“Shut up, Nurse Piccolo,” Claire shoots back reflexively, and finally closes the door behind her as she heads further into the house. Her eyes dart to the living room as she passes, but it’s empty. “Where is he, Jody?”

“Out back,” Jody finally relents, tilting her head toward the window. Before Claire can even think about moving to head out, though, Jody’s firm hand lands hard on her shoulder, grounding her in place. It rankles, her muscles immediately tensing defensively. What gives her the fucking right? “Claire, try to remember it’s not his fault. He just wants to talk. Just hear him out, all right? Hear what he’s got to say.”

Her blood rushes in her ears, white noise growing louder and louder.

“Great pep talk, but in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not actually my mom.” Her voice is rough and dry as sandpaper. She feels like she’s running cold and sweating bullets all at the same time. “I can handle this myself, thanks.”

She ducks and gives a hard jerk forward, ripping herself out from under Jody’s hand.

Alone, a voice whispers in her ear as she stalks out the door and slams it behind her.

The figure in the back garden is crouched down, looking at the dead flowerbed where Jody, Kaia, and Donna planted chrysanthemums this past spring. Back when Kaia had just come back from the bad place, and Claire’s heart had been full to bursting as she leaned against the side of the house and watched them work. Back when everything was good, she’d gotten a semblance of her life back, and she didn’t have any of this shit tearing her apart any time she so much as breathed.

His fingers brush the dried leaves almost reverently as he stands, and Claire snaps like a broken rubber band.

“What are you even doing here?” she says coldly, folding her hands over her chest.

The figure turns, and for the first time since she’d heard about his very existence, Claire sees the face of Lucifer’s bouncing baby bundle of joy staring back at her.

He’s smaller than she expected, only a few inches taller than her – less, even, in her combat boots. His hands are fidgeting now, pulling at the bottom of his jacket like he’s trying to make a good impression on the first day of kindergarten. He’s even dressed like a fucking Winchester, all the layers minus the flannel, like he’s trying to prove a point.

But the most infuriating fucking thing is that he’s standing there, innocent as a goddamn baby, and all she sees are Dad’s eyes looking back at her. Dad’s eyes, and Castiel’s stupid, unwarranted concern in the lines of his face.

And isn’t that just the fucking cherry on top?

Her fist moves before she even has the chance to process what’s happening. But – surprise, surprise – he catches it mid-swing, his palm closing over her fingers, before it can come too near his face.

“Hello,” says Jack Kline, still holding Claire’s fist in one hand while he raises the other in a small wave.

He’s got a gap between his two front teeth. Jesus Christ.

In the second that Claire’s still frozen, he must decide that he’s not done being stupid today, because he opens his mouth again. “My name is –”

“I know who you are,” she snarls, ripping her fist from his hand to hold it at her side, glaring back at him without quite looking at his face. “I said, what the hell are you doing here?”

Even without looking, she can just about hear his eyebrows knit together in confusion and concern. Every frantic beat of her heart sends pain lancing through her chest. She can’t fucking deal with this right now, she needs to hit something, she needs to get so far away from this –

“I wanted to meet you, Claire Novak.”

It’s like some excited kid blew out their birthday candles with all the breath in their little lungs. The fight just goes out of her, runs down her back like melting ice skating its way down her spine, until instead of being wound up with tension, Claire’s just fucking exhausted. What’s even the point anymore?

“Don’t know why,” she says under her breath, shifting her weight onto one hip and tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“Because I thought you could help me,” Jack answers earnestly, evidently having heard her grumble and chosen to ignore the reason she didn’t say it out loud to him in the first place.

Claire can’t help it. She snorts derisively, folding her arms over her chest for the second time.

“What could you even need my help with?” she asks, even though realistically there isn’t a good answer to that question. “You’re half-angel, aren’t you? Nephilim. And now you’re literally God, so. You can do whatever the hell you want to do.” She pauses for a second. “And you’ve got Sam and Dean if you need anything else. You don’t need me.”

Jack takes a second, letting her words sink in – clearly it hadn’t been what he was expecting to hear from her. Good. Let me keep him on his toes. Time to dance, kid.

But then he tilts his head just slightly to the side, eyes narrowing as he processes what she’s said, and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Unbidden, the corners of her eyes start to prickle, tiny stabs from the smallest knives, and her fingers dig marks onto the leather of her jacket sleeve in a desperate grip. Fuck. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it –

It’s impossible. The kid looks so much like Cas that it’s hard to believe they don’t share any DNA. The past two months of strategic hard work and fragile walls carefully built up around her heart shatter in the seconds it takes for Jack to speak again. Fuck.

“That’s true, but this isn’t something that being omniscient can really resolve,” he muses as Claire fights the urge to scrub at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I think Sam would like to help, but I’d be worried that what I want to ask would be too difficult for him to deal with. And Dean is…” He falters for a moment. “I don’t think Dean likes me very much right now.”

“The Impala’s here, isn’t it?” she says, latching onto the distraction with only the slightest waver in her voice. “Can’t be that mad at you.”

“I drove it here,” Jack answers simply. Claire’s eyes widen despite herself.

He what?!

“You – you drove –”

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly. The ends of his lips twitch upwards again. “I don’t like flying when I’m on Earth, not if I don’t have to. So I took the Impala from the bunker’s garage since I’ve already practiced driving it.” The smile flickers for just a moment. “I didn’t tell anyone I took it, though. I didn’t want Sam and Dean to know I was here. Do you think it’ll be missed? I didn’t think I’d be too long.”

The information whizzes in through one of Claire’s ears and right out the other. All except –

“You stole the Impala?”

Jack’s hand flies to the back of his neck, rubbing it up and down in an embarrassed move that reads so Dean that it nearly punches the breath out of her again. “I just wanted to come by and ask you a question.” He squints thoughtfully, and the gut punch does hit this time. “I think they would have let me take her.”

This time, she can’t help swiping angrily at the sides of her eyes with her sleeve. Fuck this. This conversation’s all small-talk and pain and it needs to be done yesterday.

“So what are you here for then, huh? What was worth stealing the Impala for?” she says. Her voice only cracks once, which is pretty much a win with how hard she’s losing grip on her sanity. She still can’t even look right at him.

His eyes widen a little, betraying his surprise at the sudden reversal of the conversation. He opens his mouth but then pauses, clearly thinking over whatever he was about to say.

What he does say isn’t any better.

“The last case that Cas and I went on was to investigate this religious group at a community center,” he says, and Claire’s ears start ringing. “Well, the case itself doesn’t really matter. But we had to pretend to be new members of the group and the pastor asked us to share our journey during prayer.”

Jack pauses, and the way his fists clench at his side looks like he’s gathering up the courage to continue. “Cas talked about losing his sense of purpose and not really knowing what to do anymore. But he said that he found himself again in becoming a father.”

Claire can’t help but flinch at the word. She takes a step back, unsteady on her feet, and lets out a watery, incredulous laugh. “Must’ve felt good, huh, wonder boy?”

He tilts his head just like Cas again, just more fucking fuel for the fire.

“Well, yes,” he says slowly, like he’s testing out the words. “But he wasn’t my dad first.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, another disbelieving laugh slipping through her lips. Her head shakes a no without even a conscious thought to do it. “He wasn’t my dad just because he stole my dad’s body. You’re wrong.”

Her words taste strange coming out of her mouth. She’s not lying – she misses her dad more than anything. She still remembers the last time she saw him, the look on his face, bruised and bloody, looking up at her in desperation as he begged her to take him instead. Claire remembers her fear, her horror, her despair at the thought of her dad leaving again; she remembers Castiel’s calm decisiveness and – even though he was her, even though he was about to take her dad away from her forever, even though he was the world’s number one, top tier, give-the-guy-a-fucking-medal type of jackass – his clumsy attempts to soothe her inside her own head.

There’s nothing to fear, Claire, he’d thought with no small amount of uncertainty, pulling up her most comforting memories to try to make her feel better. The smell of her favourite teddy bear squished into her face when she was cozy, wrapped in her blankets; Christmas around the softly-lit tree, singing carols with her mom and dad; the triumph in her dad’s eyes when she finally got the right answer on the hardest math equation she’d ever had to do. The memories hadn’t helped at all – they’d actively made it worse. He was so fucking stupid. But somehow, he was still trying. Your father will live. He will be serving a greater mission. You will see him again someday, in a better place. Don’t be afraid.

For years afterwards, she’d thought of that whenever she prayed to Castiel to bring him back. He had tried to make her feel better. He couldn’t be all bad. He was going to bring her dad back.

It didn’t take long after her mother started drinking herself to sleep every night for Claire to give up on that idea.

Castiel, douchebag of the Lord, hadn’t even thought twice before he as good as took both of her parents away from her.

She’d tried thinking of that when Sam had called, two months ago, to gently tell them that Cas was gone. She’d tried to remember the anger and the disgust and the absolute, endless hatred at what he’d done to her family. It wasn’t hard; those feelings still fought their way past her carefully constructed barriers around that time in her life whenever she let herself think about it. The problem was, that wasn’t all there was anymore.

He’d broken her out of the foster system, even though he was the world’s worst liar, even if he’d had no idea what the hell he was doing, even if he was doing it more out of guilt than anything else. He’d remembered her birthday, and gotten her a gift – even if it was just a stupid toy from Hot Topic. He listened for her prayers. He texted her with a frankly excessive amount of emojis, and no matter where he was or what either of them were doing, he always made sure to send her good morning and goodnight texts.

Dad had been kind, gentle. He’d kiss Claire’s forehead before bed every night, and even when she’d gotten older, he’d still sometimes make the time to read her bedtime stories. He’d help her when she got stuck on schoolwork. If he ever had to leave for a conference, he’d always bring her a little something from wherever he’d been, just to remind her that she was always in his heart no matter where he went.

Cas never pretended like he could make up for what he’d done, because he knew there was no way he could. He never acted like she owed him anything. He didn’t hold anything against her even when he probably should have. He apologized, and didn’t expect her to forgive him or want anything to do with him afterwards.

He’d tried to comfort her.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, couldn’t have been James Novak even if he had tried. He would never be able to fill the empty void Jimmy had left in Claire’s life, the space that Castiel himself had created in the name of Heaven’s great plan.

That didn’t mean that, with all the shit they’d been through in the last few years, he couldn’t have slowly become – in the strangest, most incomprehensible, most fucked-up of ways – something like a father to her.

It’s the first time she’s let herself even consider the thought.

Jack meets her eyes uncertainly in the silence, somehow looking nothing like Jimmy Novak and everything like Castiel all at once.

It’s still for a moment, all except for Claire’s lungs working overtime to catch a breath, until a small noise pierces the air. It happens again and again, unpredictable and erratic, and there’s a second where she half-wonders where it’s coming from before Jack moves to extend a hesitant hand out toward her and abruptly stops himself in mid-air, unsure what to do next.

Oh. That’s me.

It’s only then that Claire tastes the saltwater on her lips; only then that she realizes that she’s been shaking with sobs she’s only barely been able to hold back. She’s still standing, but it’s a close call, if she’s gonna be honest with herself. And she might as well be, now.

“Claire?” Jack tries gently, hesitantly. With that, it’s like the blood in her veins catches a spark, lighting her up in an uncontrollable blaze. She doesn’t need his pity. She can’t stand him tiptoeing around her like she’s some sort of fucking wild animal, can’t stand his small voice when he talks to her, can’t stand him looking at her with his eyes –

“How does Dean even look at you?”

It tumbles out of her mouth in a rush, a tangled mess of thorns that she can’t stop herself from throwing in his face, and the worst part of it is that it’s true.

Jack’s the one who flinches this time. He takes a step backwards, and he opens his mouth like he’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out. Claire doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry.

“You look so much like him, you know that?” is what she settles on saying, and he flinches again, looking away. She laughs humourlessly. “Nobody told me. I hear all kinds of stories about the new kid – the special-est little boy – Cas’ son, but no one thinks I might wanna know that he doesn’t look jack shit like his biological dad down under – no, he looks just like mine.”

Jack’s eyes widen in something half like surprise, half like horror. His lips part silently, but she beats him to it.

“And you know what the funniest part is?” she continues, voice growing louder. “The funniest part is that sure, it fucking hurts to see bits and pieces of him in your face. But you know what I realized? Even with all that, it’s not really Dad you look like.”

She looks up at him, into those piercing blue eyes that she’s only ever seen on one other person, and holds his gaze, however shaky it might be.

“Dad’s been gone twelve years. That wasn’t his body anymore. That was Cas.”

Her breaths are ragged, her fingers trembling, but she can’t stop now that she’s started. It’s like a boulder rolling at top speed down a hill, a chemical chain reaction rushing to explode. “He never moved like Dad did, never smiled like him even though it was the same face. You’re just like him. I look at you and all I can see is his stupid face – ”

It feels like she’s falling apart.

“They’re both gone. They’re – they weren’t even – ” Another sharp, dead laugh bursts from her chest. “How good of a father was either of them? When my dad gave us up, gave up his family because a voice in his head told him he was special? When Cas – when Castiel left, and couldn’t look me in the eyes, and started over with a different, better kid so he could be a real dad?”

“He talked about you all the time.”

The words are soft, but somehow they still stab Claire like a silver dagger to the heart.

“What?”

“Cas talked about you,” Jack repeats, this time a little louder. “He didn’t pretend like you didn’t exist just because I lived with him and you were living here.”

All she can do is blink. Her throat tightens, each dry swallow burning its way down her chest.

“I don’t know what a father is supposed to be,” Jack says simply. “I don’t know if Cas was a good one, to either of us. He left me behind, too. And it’s my fault he’s gone.”

Claire looks back at him, standing there unsteadily, and – for the first time, the only time in this whole exchange so far – Jack looks real.

“That’s not – ” she tries, but he shakes his head.

“He made a deal to save me. I’d rather not be dead, I guess, but Cas made himself unhappy so he could stay here, and when the time came, he left without saying goodbye.”

She remembers Cas driving slow beside her as they talked, Cas putting himself between her and whatever danger was threatening them this time, holding her when her heart was shattering and she didn’t know what she was even feeling. Her phone burns a hole in her pocket with one last “Good morning 🌞, Claire” that she thought she’d have more time to answer.

“I just wanted to know what he was like,” Jack says, and it takes Claire a second to realize that he’s still talking to her. “With you.”

The silence hangs heavy between them. They look at each other, a growing chasm at their feet that neither can cross alone. Claire feels it cracking in time with her heartbeat as she looks back at Jack’s open expression, and she makes a choice.

“He was an idiot,” she says, throwing a rope over the aching canyon to cross the distance. Jack, wide-eyed, holds to it like a lifeline, hanging rapturously onto her every word. “He had to pretend to be my dad once and it was like he’d never met a real person in his life. I don’t think he knew how to exist around a teenager.” She pauses, and for the first time today, Claire Novak feels a small smile tug at the edges of her mouth. “He gave me a Grumpy Cat plushie for my eighteenth birthday.”

“Really?” Jack tentatively offers a smile back. “He got me Marvellous Marvin the Talking Teddy for mine.”

“Are you serious?” Well, fuck. This time, though still incredulous, Claire’s laugh is genuine. “Man, he has one idea and he sticks to it, huh?”

“Sounds like it,” Jack answers, and he lets out a small laugh too.

“He didn’t know what he was doing most of the time, but… he was trying, I guess,” she says slowly, finally trying to put a name to the wall crumbling to pieces around her heart. “We were both trying, even though it was probably the most fucked up relationship in the world. Sometimes I still don’t know how I feel about everything.” Her shoulders sag with exhaustion, but she still manages a shrug. “Right now, mostly, I miss him.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, voice breaking on the word. When Claire looks, really looks at him, she can see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes like she’s looking into a mirror. “Same here.”

It’s a split second decision, but somehow, it still feels like the moment she makes it stretches into forever.

Before she really knows what she’s doing, Claire takes a step forward, and then another, and one more. When she’s close enough, she takes a deep, shaky breath and lets it out into a long sigh.

“C’mere,” she mumbles, and pulls Jack toward her. He stumbles, startled, but before long his arms gently close around her just like how she’s holding him, two kids in the world’s most awkward hug.

When she hears a small sniffle from right beside her ear, though, she knows she made the right choice.

“Thank you,” comes his small voice, and his fingers squeeze just a little tighter into the leather of her jacket. “Thank you, Claire.”

“All right, all right,” she answers, voice thick in her throat. Be cool, Novak. “Can it, beanstalk.”

Jack laughs again, breathless and a little watery.

Nailed it.

***

When they’ve both run out of stories to share, the silence between them isn’t nearly as loaded as it was at the start. They’re sitting at the edge of the flowerbed, typing their numbers into each other’s phones, when a car door slams shut at the front of the house.

It’s Claire that looks up first at the sound, her brows furrowed.

“I don’t think Jody was expecting anybody today,” she says, but before she can think it through, Jack freezes beside her.

“Jack?”

“Thank you, Claire,” he whispers, handing her phone back and gently taking his as he stumbles to his feet. “If you ever want to talk, you can always text me. I’m pretty sure there’s service in Heaven.” He frowns for a moment, considering. “If texting doesn’t work, you can always pray to me. I’ll always be able to hear you.”

“Whoa, what’s with the curtain call?” she says as she stands, dusting the dirt off her jeans. “What’s going on?”

It’s then that she hears voices floating out of the open kitchen window, and it doesn’t take long to put the rest together.

“It’s Sam and Dean,” Jack whispers anyway, unnecessarily. “I told Jody not to tell anyone except you that I was coming, but Sam must have noticed the Impala was missing. I can’t stay.”

“You don’t want them knowing you’re here?” Claire asks just as quietly.

He’s back to tugging on the hem of his jacket with a hand, his eyes darting fast as lightning between Claire and the kitchen window. The breath he lets out is shaky, and he can’t quite make eye contact with her anymore.

“I don’t know how to save Cas,” he admits, and even though she’d figured it had to be something like that, the disappointment still stings, somewhere deep down. “I can’t yet. I can’t see them until I’ve found a way.”

It doesn’t really make sense – dumb as the Winchesters can be, would they really hold something like this against Jack? – until she hears the clinking of glass and the sound of the front door again, and suddenly it all clicks into place, right alongside the worry and sadness in Jack’s eyes when she’d mentioned Dean’s name earlier. She nods without a word, but taps her phone back as her own reminder.

A wave of relief breaks over Jack’s face, and he nods back, a small smile on his lips and a hand raised in a wave goodbye. He’s gone a moment later, and Claire’s left standing there, alone, looking at the back door.

She knows what comes next, even though she’s had enough of feelings for one day, thank you very much. But this is how Cas has left his family, and there’s no use crying over spilled milk about it.

Time to pick up the pieces.

“…we’re not trying to smother him,” Sam’s voice is saying as she walks past the side of the house. “I just – we just want to know if he’s okay.”

“He’ll be back when he’s ready, Sam,” Jody’s voice answers, gentle from lived experience, and Claire’s heart stumbles over a beat from the tidal wave of guilt washing over her.

Despite that, she keeps walking, steps steady even when nothing else in the world is. It’s not long before she makes it to the front yard and catches sight of a figure leaning, slouched, against the Impala.

The bottle Dean’s holding is hanging loosely from his fist at his side, and he’s turned away from her so she can’t see his expression. It’s been awhile since Claire’s seen him around – Jody must know better than to put them in close range after what happened two months ago. Still, she feels something like déjà vu as she sees the defeat in his slumped shoulders, hears the beer clinking against the door of the car.  

It only takes another second for it to hit her like a freight train. She’s seen this movie before – she knows how this one plays out. Even though they couldn’t look more different, for one long, heartwrenching moment, it’s her mom standing there by the car, about to leave her behind for another doomed wild goose chase.

Sorry, Clairebear, Mom’s gotta get going now. Be good for Nana, okay? Mom and Dad are gonna be back soon.

She’s pretty sure Rotten Tomatoes would rate it into the negatives, as far as endings go. Claire may not have been able to escape it for herself, but she’ll be damned if she lets Dean take up the starring role in the hotly anticipated sequel.

And, well, fuck. It’s enough that she’d been surprise cast into the little horror show her life had become. Jack shouldn’t be forced onto the casting couch from hell either.

Dean’s silhouette slumps a little further as he lets out a sigh, and Claire’s resolve cements itself deep in her chest.

As she moves closer to the Impala, two things become clear to her. The first is that she can tell now that Dean’s watching the setting sun, looking at the horizon without seeing much of anything. His jaw twitches and his lips move soundlessly, almost as if he’s trying to say something, but no words make it out.

The second is that the keys to the junker the two of them drove here are still in its ignition.

Well, fuck it.

Looks like today’s theme is bad decisions, she thinks wryly.

It takes less than a minute for Claire to create a group with Sam and Jody’s numbers in it and text them a quick apology, and then she’s sliding her phone into her back pocket as she draws close enough to grab Dean’s arm.

“All right, old man,” she says, and pulls hard.

Startled, Dean comes away from the Impala with a grunt. It takes a second for his eyes to find Claire’s, and another for them to focus enough to make sense of what he’s seeing.

“Hey, kid,” he says, and fuck. His voice might as well be sandpaper. She can see him trying, though – in another moment, he manages to rearrange his expression so it looks passably like a smile if she squints real hard. The look on his face makes her chest feel tight with an emotion she can’t name. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Sure has,” she answers, and, putting all her weight behind it, she yanks him in the direction of the passenger seat of the Men of Letters’ courtesy car. Dean stumbles, but just like she’d been hoping, he trips toward the door. “Don’t worry, though. We’re about to have a really long catch-up sesh.”

***

It’s an hour and a half into the drive back to Lebanon that Dean finally starts sobering up enough to fully understand what’s happening.

“You left Baby back in South Dakota?!”

“Oh, calm down, princess,” Claire says with a roll of her eyes. Drama queen. “Sam’s the only one you’d let drive her back, anyway. It’s not like you were sober enough to do it.”

The silence that falls over the car is the most awkward it’s been between the two of them since the mini-golf incident all those years ago.

Dean slumps back into the passenger seat with a heavy sigh, and when Claire makes no move to continue, he goes back to staring sightlessly out the window at the twilight, slowly slipping away into darkness to the tune of a soft pattering of raindrops on the roof.

They’re driving down a dimly lit two-lane, a wall of clouds casting pitch darkness on the highway, when Claire speaks next.

“You’re gonna have to talk about it at some point, Dean.”

He snorts derisively without looking at her. “Yeah? So what, you’re about to go all Doctor Phil on me now that we’re trapped in a car for another hour?”

“Fuck no,” she says emphatically, knuckles bone white on the steering wheel. “We are not having this conversation.”

“ ’s different when it’s on you, huh,” he mumbles into his jacket, and Claire stares out at the blackness where the road ends, just outside the faint outline of the car’s headlights. Another long silence steals over the two of them, and Claire drives on.

“I’m not the one that needs to hear it,” she says, finally.

Dean doesn’t answer – at least, not aloud. His shoulders hunch further inward, and she resolutely pretends not to hear his jagged, uneven breathing piercing the dark.

They don’t speak again until they’re less than twenty minutes out from the bunker.

“It’s not like I don’t see it,” Dean murmurs, barely audible over the sound of the engine.

“See what?” comes Claire’s careful answer, taking a corner a little more sharply than she should have.

“Sammy,” he says incomprehensibly, and before she can even begin to process what’s happening, he’s putting his head in his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “He thinks I’m like him.”

“Like –”

“No,” Dean snaps vehemently before she can even say his name. “Not him. Like John.”

“John?”

“Turning into Dad,” he says, so quietly Claire almost doesn’t hear it. The streetlights of Lebanon pass over his face, from the black of night to warm yellow to black again, and silently, Claire pretends not to notice the shimmer of tears on his cheeks.

---

It’s too late to drive back to Sioux Falls by the time Dean’s stumbled into bed, but before he passes out cold on top of the sheets, he tells her to pick a room and make herself comfortable.

It’s not like Claire’s turning down the offer; she’s just too wired to sleep, her brain whirring at a hundred miles a minute, trying and failing not to feel the emotions stuck in her throat. There are no bedtime stories tonight, nothing to distract her in a blank room that’s been unchanged for seventy years. Tonight, the static’s gone, replaced with restless adrenaline and a heart on the verge of collapse.

It doesn’t take much tossing and turning for Claire to make the executive decision that trying to sleep is pretty much useless right now.

Even though she really doesn’t need to be – an elephant stampeding outside his door wouldn’t have a chance of waking Dean right now – she’s light on her feet as she slips out of the room and down the hallway.

Dean’s is the only door that’s closed; through one that’s half-open, she catches a glimpse of one of Sam’s bags strewn across his bed, at least a dozen books scattered across his sheets, his desk, the floor. There’s another nearly empty one next, except for a few plaid shirts hanging in the open closet and a glasses case by the bed. Through another, posters litter the walls, there’s a pair of headphones folded up on the night table, and a tank lies empty on the desk. So it goes.

The room after that has its door flung wide open, so really, it’s practically begging for her to take a closer look. On first glance, it’s just the same as every other room; double bed, a night table on either side, a desk, a closet. Nothing looks any different from what her room looks like, or at least not until she overbalances on her heel-turn back toward the door, throws her arm out to steady herself, and feels her hand meet fabric instead of wood on the desk chair.

It’s just a regular army green jacket, like any number of the ones Dean’s worn around before. There’s the corner of what looks like a thin rectangle of black plastic just peeking out of the pocket facing her – if she had to guess, it looks like one of the millions of cassette tapes she’s seen Dean stash away in a mangled box tucked under the Impala’s front passenger seat.

Is he using this as a second room?

Nothing else looks lived in, so it takes her until she finally turns to leave again to notice the tiny blue triangle of fabric caught on the edge of the upper desk drawer. Now that doesn’t look like anything of Dean’s– he doesn’t usually wear much blue – so, against her better judgment, she pulls the drawer unstuck to see what it is.

The first thing that she processes is that it’s not all blue; the fabric alternates diagonal blue and white stripes from one tip to the other.

The second is a memory.

As the fabric nearly slips from her hands, Claire sees it knotted messily, feels her fingers tugging it one way and then the other to tighten it up; hears her own voice, loud and dissonant, echoing in her ears.

Not that you care, but I like you better in a tie.

She’s gone before she even realizes she’s moving.

When the cool, quiet night air hits her face, it feels like her mind finally comes to a stop. Ever so slowly, Claire lowers herself to sit, cross-legged, on the cold concrete of the bunker’s roof; the moon stares, uncaring, down at her through the incoming clouds, lighting up the slight shake in her hands, her trembling fingers still gripping the stupid tie. If she looks closely enough, she can see the usual bright dot that she knows means Jupiter directly above the crescent. Absently, she wonders if Jack is looking at the same sky; if he’s seeing the same stars in reverse, a mirror image, if he’s looking down at them from above.

The planet turns, the galaxy spins, and Cas is still gone.

“Hey, Cas,” she murmurs to the air, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re a real fucking asshole, you know that?”

Looking down at the tie in her hands – the ghost of a memory that someone couldn’t bear to salt and burn and let go – Claire takes in a deep, shuddering breath and then exhales slowly, on a countdown like Kaia taught her one day after she came back from therapy, lying down on her bed with their fingers entwined. It’s only after a few repetitions, once her heartbeat slows, that she finds her voice again.

“Dear Cas, who art in Heaven,” she starts, and then snorts past the lump suddenly blocking her throat. “Well, not anymore, I guess. Um. I’m gonna start over, okay? Sorry,” she adds, suddenly self-conscious.

“Dear Cas, who art in something called the Empty, according to Sam. You’re probably not able to hear this, but, um, figured it never hurts to try.” She cringes, squeezing her eyes shut. “Ugh, this is so fucking stupid.”

What can you even tell your kind of father figure who, if you’re playing the odds, will never even hear a thing you’re saying?

“Fuck you, Cas,” she says instead, ignoring the way her voice wavers. “You left us all behind. Jack thinks it’s his fault you’re gone. Dean thinks it’s his instead. And you know what? I don’t even know if either of them is right, because you never said anything, you fucking asshole, you never told anyone!

“I’m not – not stupid enough to blame myself. I already knew I made it hard for you to stay. If it – if it was my fault, you’d have left a long time ago.” She takes another uneven breath in a doomed attempt to steady herself. “But you never cared that I made your life hell. The only thing you ever thought about was how you ruined mine.

“And I don’t – look, Cas, I don’t know if I can ever forgive and forget,” she pleads desperately, and fuck, it doesn’t matter how hard she’s trying, she’s still going to cry. “You have to understand that. That was my family, Cas.”

She falters, looking up at the stars again. The cold air prickles her skin, smelling faintly of incoming rain. The tie still trembles in her hands. “But so were you.”

There’s no answer but the clouds swallowing up the last of the moonlight, leaving her alone in the darkness, and the little that’s left of her composure shatters.

“How the fuck am I supposed to feel?” she shouts into the night. “You tell me, if you know so much – if you’re calling the shots – fucking tell me!”

It’s like the air changes, even though she knows there’s no one listening. A sudden breeze whips her hair across her face; it catches, sticking in the tears streaking down her cheeks. Her whole body shudders with silent sobs.

Somewhere far away, a clap of thunder shakes the earth.

[shallowseeker]

It’s kind of a gross misstatement to say Cas was simply a bad friend during the season 6 arc. Dean was also a jackass. He refused to even listen that Cas had his own problems to contend with in heaven and just insulted him (Baby in a Trenchcoat) or took him for granted and prayed when he needed some angelic boost like the time travel. It was only after months of this that Dean finally had a half-ass “Hey Cas, if you need any assistance with your heavenly war, let us know”. Dean and Castiel are both equally at fault for the initial breakup.

I'm not sure why I'm getting this particular question, but yup, I agree that the situation was complex.

One of Dean's legendary coping mechanisms/neuroses is to get prickly and mean when the going gets tough, and I love to talk a lot with regards to both the fighting/hunting and the parenting of Jack Kline.

For Dean and Cas, they're both deliciously Going Through It (TM) in season 6 in different ways, Cas dealing with paranoia via the fallout of Heavenly betrayal and Dean with his complicated feelings of displacement into civilian life.

I sort of miss the days of TV when people got to screw up this badly with one another, but not in such a way that it’s bludgeoning, mean-spirited cynicism, hehe. (((For example, I struggle to think of a modern era of SPN where Bobby's frustration and worry over Dean would boil out in this horrifying way: "You sorry--you're not a person," when in actuality, he's desperately begging Dean not to die, and it's coming out all wrong. Or Dean's indirect forgiveness of Cas, that Cas picks up on immediately by tone alone: "Bottom of the ninth...I'd rather have you, cursed or not.")))

But if we're talking about season 6, Cas is controlling most of the means of communication from the get-go, and the power is definitely weighted in his favor. He sets the tone for it as soon as his big heart leads him to abruptly flit from the car to go and rescue Sam. BUT it's also no accident that Dean's narrative nickname for Cas is SUPERMAN. A perfect, invincible superhero. Dean took him for granted, hero-worshipped him, and conceptualized him as perfect... something Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets reflects back in an off-key manner: "I thought he was perfect...he was a monster (and hurt my child)." The truth with Dean and Cas is not either extreme, however. ("That nifty metaphor has holes:" Cas was trying to save Sam from the get-go, on multiple occasions.) It's the humanity that's in the middle.

It's lovely! And to me, it feels so real, too. Maybe someone else can chime in, but I don't have any huge, complicated feelings about this except that I really, really like the disillusionment period on both sides!

“We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.” - Pema Chödrön

Love isn't baggageless perfection. It's understanding, forgiveness, resilience.

DEAN (in the dream state, to MARY): I hate you. (Deans voice breaks as tears run down his face) I hate you. And I love you. 'Cause I can't – I can't help it. You're my Mom. And I understand...'cause I have made deals to save the ones I love more than once. (Mary continues to look away but seems to hear him) I forgive you. I forgive you. For all of it. Everything.

[naked-covered-in-bees]

my jack kline hot (?) takes:

jack isn't a human child he's half archangel not actually a toddler with a toddler brain and angels are not born babies.

it's fine that he's god.

cas would be fine with him being god- it's at least along the lines of what he expected. i think cas would feel bittersweet about it the same way any parent is when their kid moves on.

i like to think he has a god self and a human self and they can split apart (along with amara) trinity-like. it's the human self who comes down to visit while the godself and amara are upstairs.

jack bonds with dean and they play a lot of red dead redemption.

jack loves superman comics.

[ohwowimlonley]

DAY EIGHTEEN

Jack Kline + oral fixation kink

[warnings - fluff, clueless!jack, oral fixation]

[word count - 697]

[kinktober list]

Jack has always had an issue with focusing. It’s never become an outright problem - one that must be solved immediately - but his mind is almost always wandering. 

Another quaint foible of his is that his mouth is always moving, an unrelenting slew of completely useless information and questions tumbling from it. 

You have recently learned the trick to solving these problems. The Winchester brothers haven’t learned this yet - you doubt they would humour the concept if they found it out - but it’s become your go-to for when you need him to absorb a great deal of information.

-

“Jack, honey,” you nudge him, ever so gently with the tips of your fingers on the curve of his shoulder, rousing him from his television-induced daze and snapping his attention to you, “can we talk about something for a minute?”

“Sure!” He always talks like this; as if a puppy were endowed with the ability to speak, you can almost see his fictional tail wagging. It never fails to make you grin like a madman, flattered by his sheer excitement of just the prospect of conversing with you. 

Despite this, his attention soon drifts back to the colourful display on the tv. You almost roll your eyes, but it is your own fault (there’s no way of keeping his attention when Scooby Doo is playing).

“Jack,” you lilt, stroking your nimble fingers over his clothed shoulder as you reach over for the remote. You shut the tv off, much to Jack’s chagrin, and turn him to face you, “I need to talk to you, okay? So you need to listen to me. D’you think you can do that for me?”

To anyone else, you might sound condescending, but Jack seems to enjoy the light tone to your voice. He bobs his head along to your words, though you’re not entirely convinced he’s actually absorbing any information.

“Okay, so, I was thinking, since the boys are out for the weekend, we might want to give the place a good tidy,” you suggest, carding your fingers absentmindedly through his soft locks. 

Again, his attention seems to float away with the sensation of your nails scratching at his scalp. He leans into your palm, following the pleasant itching like a cat when you catch the right spot behind its ear. You want to feel frustrated with him, but it’s just so difficult when he acts innocently, with his wide, vacant eyes boring into your own.

“Jack, honey,” you drop your sweet tone a tad, letting him know you want his full focus, “I know you find it hard to listen sometimes, but let’s try really hard, okay?”

He nods firmly. He’s determined this time; he will not get distracted.

Two minutes later, he’s back in wonderland.

“Baby,” you sigh. Jack looks back to you, then frowns.

“I’m sorry,” he insists. He wants to pay you attention. You know he does. He just… can’t, “I am sorry, I- I-”

“Shh, I know,” you soothe, pushing your hand over a thick patch of his hair and smoothing it down onto his forehead. You lean over, press a kiss over the makeshift fringe, “how about we try something to help you focus?”

“Like what?” He cocks his head, ever the curious boy.

“Well,” you stall, blinking harshly and fending off the warmth rising in your cheeks, “maybe I should just show you, is that okay?”

He doesn’t even pretend to consider your offer before nodding enthusiastically. You shuffle closer to him, your thighs overlap his. You carry on talking, but, as you do so, begin slipping your fingers up his chin and pull his lips apart, then his teeth. The pads of your fingers push down on his tongue, allowing the young man to suckle gently at the length of your finger. His eyes close contentedly, and his forehead drops to your shoulder. He nods along to most of your statements, humming garbled sounds around your fingers to indicate his approval of your suggestions.

It may not be the most conventional way, but you’ve found the perfect way to seize Jack’s full attention. And, if you like it a little too, no one has to know.

Taglist - @jexnrey @samiam0907 @jessmooneya @tiredmf @baddiewivdafattie @art3mas @bella-738 @aphrodites-flowers @alexloveskili @downbadforvecna @dcwrites1 @masterofmunsonspuppets @youreyesaretherealtruthtellers @m-rae23 @rubesred @visionsgoodgirl @loudwombatmugkid @garfieldsladybird @rubes2323 @maddy-potter @trixcate @depressedjoey @sunnysolsstuf @clover723 @anamariel2301 @01-angela @kozumewhore @britlord @zemossugarbaby @bunnyweasley23 @slashersluttt @ilovejimhopper

[sunshine-zenith]

Baby in a trench coat

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

my love is mine oh mine my love oh mine nothing in the world means more to me than my love my oh mine

my love, is mine, oh mine, my love, oh mine, nothing in the world means more to me than my love, my, oh mine https://ift.tt/I3sMNmP by azicasgaypanickingfandomtrash After months of mourning the loss of his angel, after not even getting to say a proper 'goodybe' or getting to say 'I love you' in return, Dean wakes one morning to find Amara at his bed, taking in his grief stricken appearance and warning him that his thank you for saving the world is on it's way, and that it's something he'll actually like. Sleeping as he's instructed to, he wakes up to find a happier state of events then when he last opened his eyes,w oken by a baby crying. Words: 2135, Chapters: 1/15, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Jack Kline, Amara (Supernatural) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Fix-It, Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child (Supernatural), Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), Baby Jack Zimmermann, Minor Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Law Student Sam Winchester, Castiel is a Little Shit, Teasing, Flirting, dean winchester can't speak, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Sam Manson is a Little Shit, gabriel calling dean 'deano', Lovey-Dovey, Awkward Dean Winchester, Smooth Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Infant Jack Kline, Amara as God (Supernatural), amara is a beautiful goddess, Title from a Mitski Song, i'm obsesessed with this song atm and refuse to apologise, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Eventual Smut, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Humor, gabriel is a wild card and I fucking love him for that, open mouthed kisses, Forehead Kisses, Sleepy Kisses, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, let me live in delusion please, Gentle Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is So Whipped, Gabriel is like hades if sam is persephone, Smug Castiel (Supernatural), Flirty Castiel (Supernatural), Nicknames, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mourning Dean Winchester, Amara Brings Castiel Back From the Empty, Amara Brings Jack Kline Back, Grief/Mourning, Depressed Dean Winchester via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/tK75wQa July 28, 2024 at 05:58AM

[soullessjack]

Also just since my one jack-psychosis post made its rounds i’d love to add on these things for extra salt in the wound:

-> “jack smiles, so happy to be so needed, so loved.”

-> “they’ll never want to be friends again.” [“and that’s important to you?”] “they raised me. taught me to be who i am.”

[quietwings-fics]

my love, my heart, don't cry

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Jack & Lucifer) Additional Tags: Protective Lucifer (Supernatural), Lucifer is Jack Kline's Parent, Alternate Universe, Jack Kline Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Minor Character Death, Violence, Crying, Blood and Injury, Psychic Bond Wordcount: 1911 Summary:

Even leaving Jack alone for a few hours is dangerous when the whole world wants him dead.

Notes:

For day 24’s prompt: “I thought they were with you.”

Lucifer turns the milk bottle over in his hand. It’s identical to all the others in the row behind it, but the bottle cap is a different color than the ones beside it and the label says skim milk where the other says whole milk, and he has no idea what the difference is. Is there one? He casts about in Nick’s memories, but the milk his vessel’s lost child drank came from an entirely different source than a grocery store, one that Lucifer and Jack… don’t have. 

He’s not even sure if Jack needs milk. He’s only a month old, yes, but he dogs at Lucifer’s heels around their well-warded cabin on growing legs he hasn’t gotten used to yet and is constantly asking questions. Nick’s baby didn’t do that. Most human babies, Lucifer’s figured out, actually stay babies for longer than a few days.

Most babies do not spend the first week of their life being hunted, hurt, nearly stolen away from Lucifer. 

Lucifer takes the bottle. If it isn’t right, than he’ll come back and get another one. It isn’t like money is a problem. He doesn’t plan on paying for anything. He places the milk down in the bag he’s carrying, next to the medicine he swept off the shelf without reading what any of them were really for and the squishy rubber toy turtle he found right past the mountain of different dog foods. Jack always needs more toys. 

He can feel his son’s grace no matter how far away he is. Their connection never wavers. It hasn’t since the first time Lucifer picked him up and held him, when Jack was still small and crying. He’d been almost as scared of the world he’d been born into as Lucifer was of hurting him. Nowadays, that fear has faded a little. He’s proven to himself that he can take care of Jack, and more importantly, that Jack knows Lucifer loves him. 

It leaves room for a much worse fear to take root: that one day, Jack will be taken away from him and there will be nothing Lucifer can do. That’s why he only ever leaves Jack alone for a few hours at most to get him the necessities his human half needs, whether that’s food for dinner or tissues when he gets sniffly. He keeps a careful watch over Jack’s grace in the back of his mind, but today, he’s been happy and calm, responding to any of Lucifer’s calls with bright chirps. 

Lucifer moves down the next aisle. His bag is heavier than usual. He might have taken too much medicine, but last night, he couldn’t stop thinking about whether or not Jack could get sick. His human half is full of unanswerable questions that terrify Lucifer, and looking down the barrel of a flu he doesn’t know how to handle, he’d rather have half a dozen pills all claiming to lessen fever than nothing on his side at all.

He stares down cereal mascots, trying to decide which one Jack would like best. There’s a little green man that Lucifer finds suspicious and something that claims to be a honeybee that’s gaze makes him uncomfortable enough that he turns the box around before he continues perusing. He taps a cardboard tiger. Jack might like that one. 

He’s standing in the cereal aisle with the box in hand when he feels Jack’s grace spike in fear. He doesn’t have time to react before he feels pain vividly tear through him. The box Lucifer is holding explodes from being squeezed too hard, scattering cereal all over the floor. The lights in each aisle pop and shatter, making other patrons yelp as Lucifer tries to breathe. He raises his wings without a care to the attention he’s attracting and with one powerful sweep, he’s gone.

Lucifer can’t land inside his and Jack’s cabin. He warded it against angelic flight to keep his son safe, but now he knows he’s going to rip up that sigil with his bare hands. Jack needs him now, and every moment’s delay sends more of his pain racing down their connection. He’s screaming for Lucifer so loud that Lucifer’s scared other angels might hear him, too. Unless that’s who’s hurting him. 

Lucifer doesn’t want to kill his siblings, but for laying a finger on his son, he will break them down to their atoms. 

He breaks the door down. He’s still holding his bag of groceries as he steps inside, a white-knuckled grip around the straps. The shadows of his wings rise to cover the room as he burns with fury. 

They are not angels. They’re humans. Hunters, with guns loaded with the mangled blades of his dead brothers, bullets that are so broken that they can only whisper syllables of the names of angels they once belonged to. Someone taught these men how to kill angels, and now there’s a bullet lodged in Lucifer’s son, and he has never been as dangerous as he is right now.

They shoot him, too. An archangel glanced by the bullet of a melted blade? It hurts, but Lucifer pulls it out with bloody fingers and throws it to the ground. It clinks against the wooden floor as Lucifer advances.

“Jack,” he says, so gently, as his son cries, “close your eyes for me. Cover your ears, little angel.” Jack does, squeezing his eyes shut and raising his hands to block his ears. There are tears streaked down his face. Blood reflects the glow of his grace where the bullet is buried in him. Lucifer makes sure he won’t see what’s about to happen.

It only takes three minutes for there to be no more hunters in Lucifer’s home. The cabin will smell strongly of blood for a week. Jack will find an ear under the couch when he’s looking for a toy in a few days, half chewed-on by a hungry mouse.

When he’s done, Lucifer cleans himself up and kneels down next to Jack. Jack’s eyes start to open, but Lucifer covers them with his palm. “Not yet,” he says, and when he removes it, Jack’s keeping them shut tight again. He whimpers when Lucifer goes to pick him up. “Shh. Shhh. I’m going to fix it.” There’s only one bedroom, Jack’s. Lucifer doesn’t need to sleep, and when Jack has nightmares, Lucifer comes to comfort him rather than Jack seeking him out. Lucifer has last count of how many times Jack has fallen asleep on top of him. 

Now, they’re getting Jack’s blood all over the sheets. Lucifer soothes him as best he can, but until he gets the bullet out, the pain isn’t going to stop. Jack hiccups, clinging to Lucifer. He’s so much older than Lucifer wishes he felt like he needed to be and still so small, still and always Lucifer’s baby. Lucifer kisses his forehead. “This is going to hurt. I’ll try to be quick.” 

“Just make it stop,” Jack wails. He buries his face in Lucifer’s shoulder, shaking. “Make it stop, make it stop!” Lucifer can feel Jack’s pain like its his own. He wishes he could put Jack to sleep until this was over, let the merciful embrace of unconsciousness wash over him while Lucifer patched him up, but Jack will fight him without meaning to if he tries and make things worse. 

Lucifer lifts Jack’s bloody shirt away from his stomach. There’s a nasty gash where the bullet tore through. Lucifer has to resist the urge to heal it up. What if Jack needs all that blood? What if he’ll die without it even if Lucifer can get the bullet out? But his grace needs Lucifer’s attention as much as his human body. The bullet has to go. 

Jack screams when Lucifer touches his wound. “I’m sorry,” Lucifer tells him as his son shakes and Lucifer has to hold him tight against his shoulder to keep him from wriggling away from the pain. Jack’s muffled sobs hurt the most. “I’m sorry, I know, I know.” Lucifer tries to be quick, but when he finds the bullet broken inside of Jack, he has to keep digging around inside his son to get each shard out. Jack goes limp, the pain too much for him to handle. Lucifer exhales shakily and turns his head to press his face into his son’s hair. Even that smells like blood. “I’m so sorry,” Lucifer whispers. Jack doesn’t struggle. He only shivers weakly and cries.

Lucifer’s hand is coated beyond the wrist in blood and clinging fat and other things he never wanted to see. The bullet lies in pieces across the floor, but it’s out. It’s out. Lucifer works his grace through Jack, mending the damage he had to make worse to retrieve the shards. He kisses the side of Jack’s head, apologizing more as he knits up torn muscles and skin and repairs punctured organs. His anger has burned out to ash, leaving only paralyzing fear as he begs, “you’re okay. You’re okay, Jack. I’m here. Please be okay.” 

He holds Jack as he crawls back up the bed, cuddling him close and wrapping his wings around his baby. He never should have left him alone. There’s a whole world out there that wants Lucifer dead, and maybe he deserves it, but Jack is trapped in the crossfire of that. Lucifer pets his hair as Jack’s shivering slowly stops.

“How did they break in?” Lucifer asks. He’s not expecting an answer. He just has to say something to feel like he can prevent this from happening again. He’d thought he’d covered their tracks well enough. At best, he’d considered that maybe Sam and Dean might find them. They always managed to be frustratingly persistent. But other humans, other hunters? Where did he go wrong? Where was he not careful enough?

“They didn’t break in,” Jack whispers. His voice is scratchy from crying, and he doesn’t move away from Lucifer to speak, leaving his words muffled into Lucifer tear-soaked shoulder. “I- I thought-“

“Jack?” Lucifer felt cold all of a sudden.

“They knew who you were and who I was, and I thought they were your friends. They said you told them where to find me. That I should let them in so that-“ Jack sucks in a breath. “And they shot me, and I thought I was going to die, and you weren’t here.” Jack sobs. “I just wanted you here to make them stop.” 

“I came,” Lucifer says. “I heard you, Jack. I can always hear you.” 

“It hurt so much.”

“I know.” Lucifer’s gaze drifts across his own scarred wings. He wraps them more tightly around Jack. “They can’t hurt you anymore. No one will.” And though Lucifer means it with every fiber of his being, he doesn’t know if that’s a promise he can keep. Jack going through this kind of pain, or worse, ever again is a nightmare, but all of Lucifer’s life has been one long bad dream. Jack has been the only bright spot.

No matter what Lucifer has to do to keep him safe, he won’t hesitate. If he has to burn the world down to build one that Jack can live in without fear, he will. Nothing else matters.

“I love you,” Lucifer says. Jack sniffs. There are mangled corpses rotting a floor below them to keep him safe. 

“I love you too, Mama,” Jack says. Lucifer kisses his temple. 

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[ladylilithprime]

Luck And Marriage Are What You Make Of Them

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Word Count: 5204

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel), background Donna Hanscum/Amelia Novak, background Kevin Tran/Channing Ngo

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, References to Past Events, Autistic Cas and Jimmy, V-Shaped Polyamorous Wedding, Trans Woman Amelia, Selkie Donna Hanscum, Oh Gods The Tags On This Fic Are Insane

Summary: A V-shaped polyamorous wedding was bound to have some quirks and peculiarities to it. This is even more true when two of the three are magically created twins and their soon-to-be husband is a prince of one Realm and a king of another. They've got this, though-- not even rain can slow them down.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 26: Rain

Read on AO3

ISN'T IT A bad omen to have rain on your wedding day?" Charlene Novak asked nervously, glancing out at where the curtain of gray drizzle was coming down beyond the edges of the pavilion. The fact that there even was a pavilion felt like a stroke of luck considering the wedding was being held outside on a beach and the venue hadn't changed despite the weather forecast.

"Considering the season, the location, and the guest list, Mom, the rain was explicitly planned for," Jimmy told her with a wry little smile for her and Michael. He was apparently the twin designated to meet them, as he was wearing board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that Charlene had never seen before and Cas was nowhere to be seen. As if somehow reading her mind, he added, "Cas is in the dressing room tent helping Sam with his hair. Charlie's supposed to come get me when they're done and it's time to get dressed."

"Oh, is Charlie your Best Man?" Charlene asked, trying not to think too closely about the bad luck associated with seeing your bride before the wedding. None of them were brides, after all, and that was honestly the part Charlene was having the easiest time wrapping her head around about it all.

"She's certainly our best something," Jimmy said after a moment's hesitation. Right, Charlie was the name of their female coworker. "I'll make sure to introduce you when she comes out. She'll be able to help you navigate the rest of the guests. Nobody should start anything, but we've got a lot of powerful people and volatile personalities under one waterproofed canvas roof."

"And a promise to behave and keep any extra-familial drama to themselves is only gonna last until an hour into the reception," a slender redhead in a pale blue wrap dress said as she seemed to materialize at Jimmy's elbow. Charlene jumped, but Jimmy didn't even seem fazed. "I heard my name. Hi, I'm Charlie Bradbury, human hacker and barista extraordinaire."

"Michael Novak, and my wife, Charlene," Michael spoke up on automatic as he usually did when they attended events together. Charlene noticed the way Charlie narrowed her eyes, but Michael was apparently distracted by-- "Would you be the one to ask about the... car?"

"That's Sam's niece, Baby," Charlie said, which didn't make a whole lot of sense. The car was the faerie's niece? Surely she meant the car belonged to his niece, not-- "Yes, she's a sentient car, it's a long story, and she's very nice to people who treat her like a person despite her shape. She's actually one of the reasons the wedding is being held outside since she's the flower girl and DJ." While Charlene was attempting to process that, Charlie turned to Jimmy. "Cas is just about done and wants your help with the ribbons, and then you both need to get gowned up."

"Going," Jimmy nodded, then looked back at Charlene. "Stay close to Charlie, keep Dad out of trouble, and Cas and I will both come say hi afterwards."

And then he was gone, leaving Charlene blinking and Michael humphing quietly. Charlie just smiled brightly and gestured around the pavilion interior at the slowly assembling guests. "Anyone in particular you'd like to be introduced to or would you rather find your seats and save introductions for the reception?"

"How about just giving us an overview of who's who for the time being?" Charlene suggested when Michael kept silent.

"As you like," Charlie chirped, rocking on her heels in the sand. She spun around slowly, eyes tracking over the crowd, then nodded to herself and began pointing out different people. "Well, Baby's Dad is Sam's older brother, he goes by Dean these days and is acting as Sam's Best Man." The man she pointed to was dressed in jeans and a blue button down shirt under a leather jacket. He might have looked completely normal if not for the pointed ears and long blonde hair that had been braided back into something resembling a mohawk. Next to him was another pointy-eared blonde man wearing a cloak in a darker blue, and a blonde woman with long blonde curls wearing a silver and blue diadem. "He's talking to their younger brother, who goes by Adam, and their mother, the Cerulean Princess... she'll probably say to call her Mary, but it's best to wait for her to tell you which of her nicknames to use."

"Princess?" Charlene repeated faintly, scrambling to remember if Jimmy or Cas had said anything about that in their phone calls or letters and coming up blank. "Does that make Sam and his brothers princes?"

"It does, and Sam will be wearing his official circlet for the wedding, but none of them really like to draw attention to their rank here in the mortal realm," Charlie told her with a shrug. She swiveled and pointed to a serious-looking dark-haired man who might have been normal except that he was dressed a lot like the faerie princess. "That's Sam's dad, the Cerulean Knight, also known as Saint John the Divine. Yeah, that John. He's human but left the mortal realms with Mary after his bestie was killed for political reasons and earned his immortality in the fae realms. And the guy he's talking to is the current reincarnation of that bestie. I think he said his name this time around is Chuck, and he really does prefer that to the whole 'Christ' thing."

"You're kidding," Charlene said weakly, staring at the nervous-looking man with curly hair wearing jeans and a tie-dye t-shirt under what looked like a borrowed royal blue and white choir stole. He looked more like somebody's stoner cousin than Christ the Lord returned to Earth.

"Nnnope," Charlie said, sounding far more gleeful than Charlene felt was warranted. "And lookee there, that's the Archangel Gabriel joining them... but I understand you've met him once before already."

"Never seen any of them before," Michael grunted from beside Charlene.

She managed something vaguely strangled in response, too preoccupied with seeing the angel from the church casually walking up to her sons' fiance's father and his friend and joining the conversation. Whatever he said had the... Christ... smacking his forehead with an exasperated expression as the serious expression on Sam's father's face split into a mischievous smirk that made him look a lot like his eldest son despite the human ears.

"Looks like Gabe just told Chuck that Lucy's arrived," Charlene heard Charlie say as if from a distance. "That's Lucifer, by the way, but his reputation is heavily exaggerated, and he's perfectly charming but he likes to make bets and he's almost worse about contracts than Sam's Unseelie cousins. Oh, if you see a faerie girl who looks like she's part plant, that's Bloddewyn, she brought all the flowers. If she talks to you, just be polite and don't use her name." There was a pause, and then Charlie added in a sympathetic tone, "Too much? Want me to show you to your seats?"

"That might be best," Charlene said faintly. It was too late to turn around and run away, she reminded herself. And she wasn't going to let the upending of her faith or the presence of the literal Devil keep her from seeing her little boys get married.

"This way, then," Charlie said. Charlene fumbled for Michael's arm, feeling a wave of relief when he caught her hand and wrapped it around his bicep before leading her to follow Charlie over to a couple of chairs on the right side of the flower-and-ribbon decorated platform at one end of the pavilion. "You're seated next to Kevin Tran and his wife Channing. They're dragons."

 

WAS IT REALLY wise to leave our parents with Charlie?" Cas asked Jimmy when he stepped into the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind him.

"Eh, probably not," Jimmy admitted with a shrug. "She won't traumatize them too much, though. We made her promise to back off if she noticed Mom dissociating."

"Hard to believe all those years of us being visibly autistic and we never noticed Mom's symptoms," Cas shook his head and beckoned Jimmy over. "Here, help me pin this evenly."

"If she hasn't figured it out by now, it probably won't make a difference for her to know," Sam murmured, holding still as Jimmy and Cas carefully fitted the pins through metal, hair and cloth on either side of his head. "Aside from possibly making her feel worse for what happened when you were four."

Jimmy had to admit that was the more likely outcome. Given the research he and Cas had been doing, they knew that a lot of women from previous generations never got officially diagnosed even after they realized it because the default standard for diagnosis was young boys. Jimmy didn't know exactly how his Irish Catholic mother was raised by their grandparents given that she wasn't on speaking terms with them, but it was entirely likely that it had never even occurred to her that she might be autistic at all, even when struggling to figure out how to help her sons manage their own sensory overloads.

"Charlie was going to put them over by Kevin and Channing, right?" Cas confirmed, glancing up at Jimmy. "If they can get over them being dragons, then those two will probably be the safest people on our side of the aisle. Especially if they're the only ones of the family who came."

"Cousin Anna's out there," Jimmy said with a half-shoulder shrug. "I saw her talking to Donna and Amelia."

That had certainly been an unexpected romance at the time, even if it made perfect sense now. Sheriff Donna Hanscum had stepped up to be foster mom to ten-year-old Matt Pike when he was rescued from his real estate developer father, but she wasn't keen on being a single parent. Amelia, meanwhile, wasn't exactly naturally maternal for all she was willing to give birth now that Sam's magic had given her the right parts, but with Donna there to pick up the maternal slack Amelia was able to relax and just enjoy being able to rub it in the faces of her old bullies that they couldn't say she wasn't a real woman.

A minor commotion from beyond the tent flaps made all three of them start, but only Cas and Jimmy turned when the flap lifted and a brunette woman with black eyes and small curling horns nestled in her hair poked her head in. "Lucy's here."

"Thanks, Ruby," Sam sighed, closing his eyes. "Keep an eye on things and let me know if it looks like I need to remind him that he promised not to start shit with Chuck or Gabe until the reception is well underway."

"Will do, boss," the she-demon saluted and ducked back out.

"We'd better get dressed now so there's less time for Lucifer to forget his promise," Jimmy sighed, letting his hands drop from where he had been absently stimming on one of Sam's small silver-wrapped braids and stepping back to admire his and Cas's soon-to-be husband.

Sam had let most of his glamours drop for the occasion, aside from adjusting the length of his hair to be down to his knees. Cas had done an amazing job styling the chestnut brown waves with braids and beads and silver wires and chains and blue ribbons while still letting most of it hang free beneath the sheer fabric of the veil pinned at two points to the ends of the delicate silver filigree circlet set with blue opals that Sam wore to denote his princely status. In contrast to the marvel of his hair, his wedding outfit was almost plain in comparison, having chosen to wear the white ruffled blouse he had bought on impulse months before with a set of black slit-sided silk harem pants with silver-embroidered cuffs and a blue and silver scarf tied around his waist like a belt. The lack of glamours meant that the expansive array of tattoos and runic wards were on display, visible as shadows beneath the white fabric and clearly defined by the open V of his shirt and peeking out from the slit sides in his pants that ran from ankle to waist. He looked understated but royal and thoroughly edible, making Jimmy think briefly of their plans for after the wedding reception.

"Getting dressed will happen faster without staring at our gorgeous husband-to-be," Cas pointed out, tossing a pile of white cotton jersey knit fabric at Jimmy, snapping him out of his daydream. He stuck his tongue out at his brother as Sam laughed softly, shaking the white cloth out to reveal part one of his own wedding attire.

The white V-necked maxi dress with the ankle length full skirt was not what most people would think of when they thought "wedding dress", but it was soft and light and sleeveless, which made it the perfect garment to go beneath the custom-tailored blue and silver alicorn hide jackets that Sam had gifted them the night they had gotten engaged. Jimmy shrugged out of the shirt he'd been wearing to greet their parents and pulled the dress over his head, then shimmied out of his shorts and tossed them towards the duffel bag in the corner. "Hair?"

"Grab some mousse and tousel it," Cas directed, half-muffled by his own dress. "We've got circlets of our own to put on during the ceremony, so we don't want to be too pristine."

"Got it." Jimmy accepted the spray bottle of mousse Sam passed him, passing it to Cas when he had a decent peak on his fingers, and working it through his hair before fluffing it up a bit. Sam passed him a wet wipe to clean the product off his hands, then helped him into his jacket before turning and helping Cas as well.

"You both look wonderful," he said, looking back and forth between them with a soft smile that didn't even try to disguise the banked heat in his eyes. "If I wasn't so eager to finally be able to call you my husbands, I'd be stealing you away to the Summer Palace already."

"Wedding and reception first--" Cas started, lips twitching upwards in a tiny smirk.

"Honeymoon after," Jimmy finished with a matching smirk. "Now let's go get married."

 

THE CHATTER AROUND the pavilion quieted when the pristinely polished glossy black 1967 Chevy Impala with a bouquet of blue roses and gardenias tied to her front grill with blue and silver ribbons revved her engine pointedly. The radio dial swiveled and then the volume rose, fading in to the soft chimes and flowing winds and strings of Holst's "Venus, the Bringer of Peace". Anyone not already in their seats or equivalent positions quickly found their way to them, and Chuck took his place at the front on the platform festooned in English ivy, white honeysuckle, and wisteria. Gone for the moment was the nervousness and uncertainty, a calm settling over him that made it far easier to believe he was Christ returned to Earth. He extended his hands, and the gathered wedding guests turned to look down the aisle.

With Baby already in position at the front on the left, the first one down the aisle was a spotted seal in a blue satin bowtie, the compromise for Jack not having to wear a suit like a human. He carried two black velvet drawstring bags in his mouth as he made his way through the sand and up the shallow ramp to the right of the platform until he could sit up, head high and eyes bright and attentive. A couple of cameras clicked, but he politely pretended not to notice as he kept his eyes fixed on the tent. Dean and Charlie came next, Charlie walking calmly and gracefully through the sand on Dean's arm. They stopped at the front of the platform and faced each other, performed a complicated ritual handshake, and separated to their respective sides with appropriately attentive expressions.

The next to make their way down the aisle, coming from the back of either side among the guests, were a tall man with carefully styled dark hair in a black suit with a dark blue silk button down shirt and the top two buttons left undone coming from the left, and from the right a well-muscled man in leather armor embellished with gold knotwork motifs with his blonde hair and beard braided and ornamented, a metal hammer hung from his belt. They stared at each other for a moment, and then the blonde man offered his arm and the brunette accepted with a playful smirk that seemed to bode trouble. Whatever mischief was thought up, nothing happened in the walk down the aisle under Chuck's slightly wary gaze, and they separated at the front with polite bows before taking their places, the brunette next to a studiously blank-faced Dean, the blonde next to a quietly snickering Charlie.

Eyes swiveled back to the rear as the tent flap opened and Sam emerged, drawing a few soft gasps from the people who had never seen him so unglamoured before. The intricate warding runes tattooed across his skin in blue had been accented with black to make them stand out all the more in the brief flashes of skin as he glided over the sand down the aisle. The sheer blue and silver fabric pinned drapingly over his long and elaborately braided hair was the wrong color for a traditionally Western human bridal veil, but the symbolism was there. He even carried a bouquet of blue irises, white chrysanthemums, myrtle, alyssum maritimum, and fern. He did not ascend the platform like the others, stopping at the base and turning to look back the way he had come.

Like magnets, the eyes of the assembled guests followed his lead and the tent flap lifted again to allow Cas and Jimmy to emerge together. With their identical clothes and matching solemn expressions it was nearly impossible to tell the twins apart, the hands closest to each other hidden by the bouquet of gloxinias, orange blossoms, forget-me-nots, blue violets, and ivy. Hardly any skin could be seen beneath the white dresses and blue and silver jackets, but it hardly needed to be as their skirts flowed and swished against their legs as they walked. Several people murmured in awe as they recognized the materials or motifs of the jackets, and when they reached the platform they halted as one beside Sam, who turned with them to face Chuck.

To the far left, Baby turned the volume of the music slowly down until her radio clicked off, leaving only the sounds of the rain, the crashing waves, and the calls of the sea birds and nearby kelpies in the wetlands. With all eyes on him now, Chuck cleared his throat and looked out at the assembled guests.

"Gathered friends and family," he said, his clear tenor voice carrying to all corners of the pavilion. "We come together to celebrate the joining of these three true hearts in marriage most eternal." A few people chuckled at the emphasis, and he paused to let them get it out before continuing, "Who stands as family of heart and home?"

"I, Cer of the Summer Court, stand for Seren, as his brother by blood," Dean announced. "By the grace of our shared father and mother, he is my family of heart and home."

"Do you give your brother to be married to his chosen partners?" Chuck asked.

"I do," Dean nodded shortly.

"I, Thor of Asgard, stand for John Castiel and James Constantine, as their brother by choice," the blonde man in armor intoned, drawing a few gasps from the right side of the assembly. "By the grace of the apples of Idunn's garden, they are my family of heart and home."

"Do you give your brothers to be married to their chosen partner?" Chuck asked him, receiving a beaming smile along with Thor's nod and "I do". "And who stands as family of blood and battle?"

"I, Lucifer Morningstar, stand for Samael, as his brother in rulership," the dark-haired man drawled, smirking slightly when Chuck shot him a look. "By the blood and battle through which he claimed his throne of one of the Nine Realms of Tartarus, so do I claim him as my family."

"Do you give him to be married to his chosen partners?" Chuck asked, just a little warily.

"Oh yes, I very much do," Lucifer purred. Guests nearest the platform caught Sam rolling his eyes, and Chuck looked very much like he wanted to do the same.

Luckily, Charlie took her cue to speak. "I, Charlie Bradbury, stand for Cas and Jimmy, as their sister in service. Through the blood and burns and the battles against awful customers, they are my brothers."

"Do you give your brothers to be married to their chosen partner?" Chuck asked her, flinching slightly when she grinned toothily.

"Absofuckinglutely I do!"

More laughter and some further eyerolls, but everyone seemed to have been prepared by Lucifer's deviation and settled down quickly.

"Seren, Samael, Sam Winchester," Chuck intoned, settling the crowd further to pay attention, "do you come of your own free will to be married?"

"I do," Sam said firmly and promptly.

"Whom do you come to marry?"

"These men beside me."

"John Castiel and James Constantine, Cas and Jimmy, do you come of your own free will to be married?"

"We do," the twins chorused in perfect unison.

"Whom do you come to marry?"

"This man beside us."

"Sam, Cas, Jimmy, please ascend and take your places before me," Chuck invited.

The three of them stepped up onto the platform, revealing that all three were barefoot. Sam crossed left and handed off his bouquet to Dean, who made a face at him but took it with a surprising amount of care and delicacy... until one noticed the way he glanced surreptitiously towards the watching guests, particularly one woman with long golden hair that seemed threaded with vines. Meanwhile, Cas and Jimmy handed their bouquet off to Charlie, revealing the silver spinning dragon ring on Jimmy's left thumb and a flash of black tooled and braided leather around Cas's right wrist. Those hands found each other and clasped tight as they turned to face Sam before Chuck.

"Sam, Cas, Jimmy," Chuck began, looking between them. "You come before this assembly, before your families and friends, to join yourselves to each other and unite your families into one. Have you prepared your vows?"

"We have," the three of them said.

"Begin."

To the audible surprise around the pavilion, Cas and Jimmy promptly turned to each other and, their hands still clasped, raised their free hands in fists and bounced them three times before Jimmy's hand went flat while Cas threw out a sideways V. They high-fived over their clasped hands as their guests laughed, then turned back to face a grinning Sam.

"Sam," Cas croaked, then cleared his throat and began again more strongly. "Sam. I looked into your eyes and the world opened before me. I took your hand and gave over my heart. You warmed a chill in my soul that I was unaware of, and every day with you renews that warmth more effectively even than your Dragon's Breath Chai." Several people laughed, Charlie the loudest from that reminder of their first meeting. "I cannot give you my heart, because you already have it and I know it is safe in your care. Instead, I give you the rest of my life, however long that may be, in hopes that I will bring you love and happiness. I promise to support you in your troubles, rejoice with you in your joys, comfort you in your sorrows. Your family will be my family, your children will be my children. From this day forward until we cease to exist, I am yours, and I accept you as mine."

"Way to be a hard act to follow, bro," Jimmy muttered deliberately loudly to the added laughter of the guests, surreptitiously squeezing his twin's hand.

"John Castiel Novak," Sam stated, smiling as his tone softened. "Cas. The first time I heard you speak, I knew what a gift your every word would be. You knew what I was and you were unafraid. You gave me your name and trusted that I would not misuse that knowledge. You took my hand and I felt the light of your soul. I knew then that I would willingly give you anything you asked of me that was within my power to give, and that has only become more true the longer I have known you. Your kindness and compassion, your strength and determination, your bravery and resilience... all of this and more makes loving you more than just easy. It was inevitable. And it doesn't hurt that you have a way with my hair that would take me magic to replicate," he added with a wink and an illustrative toss of his head, making Cas laugh almost too softly to be heard beneath the laughter from the guests. "I will be your sword and your shield. I will be your guide, your friend, your partner, and your lover. Every day I will strive to accept and embrace you exactly as you are. From this day forward until we cease to exist, I am yours, and I accept you as mine."

"My turn to take a swing at this now, no pressure," Jimmy joked, winking at Sam when he laughed along with the crowd. "Sam, Seren, my shining North Star... when I first met you, all I was looking for was a chance to keep my brother safe. I knew that chance wouldn't come without a price and I thought I was ready to pay it, even with my own life." He looked up, meeting Sam's eyes as he said, "Then we found you, and you showed me that my life wasn't a price to pay, but a gift to give, and it's a gift I will always choose to give to you. I will support you as your partner as I have served you as your employee. I will listen to you, offering advice when asked and accepting advice when given. I will tend your wounds, from iron to alicorns, and always kiss them better. I will provide for you and all of our children, current and future, to the best of my ability. I will remind you that your life, too, is a gift to be treasured, and I will accept that gift every day. From this day forward until we cease to exist, I am yours, and I accept you as mine."

"Dayum," someone, probably Gabriel, muttered, prompting a small smattering of laughter as Sam surreptitiously lifted a hand to swipe at his eyes.

"Pretty sure you knocked it out of the park," he said, voice thick with emotion. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and swallowed again. "Jimmy... James Constantine Novak... even before I first held your hand and felt the light of your soul touch mine, I knew your determination and drive to protect those most precious to you. You were afraid and you still bravely stood your ground, keeping up a smile the whole time... despite provocation."

"I said I was sorry!" Charlie huffed in mock-annoyance, prompting more laughter.

"And I forgave you," Jimmy teased back.

"More quickly than many would in your place," Sam chuckled. His laughter faded as he went on, "It made me wonder how such a brave, bright soul could so readily see himself as an imperfect shadow. Jimmy, it was so very easy to fall in love with you, your adaptability, wisdom, and wit... the same compassion and resilience in your twin applied in your own way. Convincing you that I love you was less easy, even knowing I can't lie. Fortunately for me, you were willing to be persuaded," he smirked as Jimmy ducked his head with a blush. "You deserve to be treasured for yourself, and I promise to not only treasure you for all our days and nights, but to remind you when times get hard that you are worth whatever effort is involved. I will stand at your side to protect you and your loved ones, care for your illnesses and injuries, and hold you through joys and sorrows, big and small. From this day forward until we cease to exist, I am yours, and I accept you as mine."

"Good thing I skipped the eyeliner," Jimmy chuckled, taking his own turn to wipe his eyes with the back of his free hand.

"Sam, Cas, Jimmy?" Chuck broke in gently. "Do you three accept the vows which have been given to you?"

"We do," they answered, not quite in perfect unison. No one seemed surprised or inclined to call them on it, and Chuck turned to beckon Jack forward.

"Sam, as a prince of the Summer Court and a King of one of the Nine Realms of Tartarus, your spouses will be your royal consorts," Chuck said as Jack scooted forward and stretched up to pass over the velvet bags in his mouth. "Cas, Jimmy, do you accept these roles?"

"We do," the twins nodded, kneeling at Chuck's direction, Cas going down to his right knee, Jimmy to his left.

"Cas, Jimmy... receive these crowns of mithril silver and Tartaran obsidian as symbols of your places at my side," Sam intoned, drawing both intricately twisted silver and black circlets from their bags. He fumbled his grip a little until he held one in each hand, carefully lowering them onto the twin heads of dark curls. "I crown you both as my consorts at the same time, so that it will be known that you are equal in my heart and you both stand as my partners in all things, from here unto the end of our days."

"Clasp hands with your husbands and accept the bond between your souls as you have accepted the bond between your hearts," Chuck directed him, and Sam eagerly reached out, his left hand to Jimmy and his right hand to Cas. Golden ribbons of light sprang up around their hands, drawing surprised noises from the various humans in the crowd, before settling into a ring of golden runes around their respective wrists that slowly faded into black. Sam helped Cas and Jimmy to their feet, beaming happily as Chuck pronounced, "Bonded together in marriage of sound minds, loving hearts, and immortal souls, from this day forward are your lives entwined together. By Lady Magic and the Light of the Universe... I pronounce you husbands." He pressed his hands together and bowed. "Namasté."

Baby honked her horn happily as Jack barked in joy. The radio crackled until the triumphant strains of Freddy Mercury singing the chorus to "We Are The Champions" rolled out over the cheering assembly as Sam, Cas, and Jimmy came together in a threeway embrace. If this was the rest of their lives, it was off to a fantastic start.

Notes:

Sam's bouquet:

Iris (faith, hope, wisdom, valor)

White chrysanthemum (truth)

Myrtle (love, Hebrew emblem of marriage)

Alyssum maritimum (immortal love)

Fern (magic, fascination, confidence and shelter)

Cas and Jimmy's bouquets:

Gloxinia (love at first sight)

Orange blossoms (innocence, eternal love, marriage, and fruitfulness)

Blue violets (faithfulness)

Forget-Me-Nots (true love, memories)

Ivy (wedded love, fidelity)

Baby's bouquet:

Blue roses (attaining the impossible, mystery)

Gardenia (good luck)

Lily-of-the-valley (sweetness, humility, returning happiness)

Ivy (fidelity, endurance)

Platform decoration:

Ivy (wedded love, fidelity)

Honeysuckle (devoted affection, bonds of love)

Wisteria (welcoming)

[quietwingsinthesky]

Prompt: the archangelcule celebrating Jack's birthday 🙏

Lucifer runs himself ragged all week getting the party set up (and despite the fact that he’s done this for Jack every time he needs it since he came back into Michael’s life, it still leaves Michael surprised and wondering what happened to the boy who only knew how to bite the hand that fed when Michael abandoned him, when did he learn to be gentle and reliable, why did Michael waste all this time not seeing him?) to the point that he looks like he might fall asleep in front of the birthday cake before Raphael nudges him with their elbow, and he wakes up to sing.

They sing quietly — loud noises hurt Jack’s ears, one of many little oddities, but they rearrange their lives around his needs: no vacuuming unless he’s out of the house and no yelling from room to room — while Jack looks like he’s about to jump right out of his seat with how much he wants to blow out the candles. Gabriel scoops him up in one arm after, lets Jack’s tiny hand curl around the handle of the (dull!) cake knife while his lays over it to guide him, and helps him to cut pieces for them all himself.

(birthday 3 sentence ficathon! come toss a prompt!)