Chapter Text
Eight weeks later, Dean finds himself tied up again. This time (unfortunately) not by Cas.
The Lamia, who’s taken the form of a thirty-something beach-wave blonde, stalks closer to Dean where he's been trussed up, rusty chains and all, from the branch of a tree. And seriously? Beach waves in the woods? And blonde? This chick doesn't know Dean at all. Not that he'd been particularly fussy in the past, but - well. She’d have been closer with brunette.
“It's a shame you tried to kill me,” she drawls, swaying her hips and licking plush, painted lips. Still trying to seduce. Even to the last. “We could have had so much fun.”
“What, before you juiced me like a lemon?” Dean quips, “Not really how I like to do things, sweetheart.”
“No,” she says, scowling. “It isn't, is it? Tell me, where's that delicious brother of yours? I've heard you rarely travel apart, but I…” The Lamia sniffs the air, button nose scrunching in distaste, “I can't smell any other humans around here anywhere.” Her grin is broad. Teeth bared. “I suppose I have you all to myself. Lucky me.”
“Think again.”
The Lamia whips around, her smug face falling as she sees Cas standing behind them in the clearing, angel blade ready. A lighter in his other hand.
“Who said anything about other humans?” Dean quips, chains rattling as he adjusts himself. As much as he knew he wasn't in danger - Cas had been waiting at Trapper Peak for a moment just like this - he'll be glad to be free of these chains. They're not the soft bonds Cas has used on him a few times now. They're heavy and rigid and relentless and every part of his wrists, from bone to flesh, fucking hurts.
The Lamia's expression curls into a snarl, and before either Dean or Cas can say another word, she transforms. Her face morphs and contorts, black fur sprouting on every available surface of skin, and she bares long, black fangs paired with equally lethal claws. She darts at Dean, fast and with definite intent to kill, but Cas is faster.
He throws his angel blade with pinpoint accuracy. It buries itself in the Lamia's back, and even though that isn't enough to kill her, it gives him the time to strike a match and drop it on the ground, igniting the circle of holy oil they'd prepared for this very moment.
Encircled in flame, the Lamia has nowhere to go.
Her screech is ear-piercing. Desperate and angry. And it's the last noise she makes before Cas bodily throws her into the flames.
Dean watches, wide-eyed, as heat flares up around them. Cas’ strength will never not impress him. He'd gotten so used to the mojo-less, underpowered angel from before that displays like this only serve to remind Dean just how goddamn powerful he is.
He sighs as the Lamia's body shrivels and dies. Legs and arms curling in on themselves like a dead spider’s.
“It feels like cheating with you here, angel. I almost feel bad for her.”
Cas fixes Dean with a look, the firelight dancing with the shadows on his face.
“Say that again.” He says slowly, stalking towards Dean in almost exactly the same fashion the Lamia had moments ago.
“Uh, I almost feel bad for-?”
“No. When you called me…” Cas trails off. His throat moves as he swallows. But Dean knows. He also knows the tell-tale blue-glow dawning in Cas’ eyes, and what'll come next if he's good.
“Angel.” He breathes, and laughs at the way Cas’ entire posture seems to grow at the word. “My angel. You like that, huh?”
Cas stands tall, chin lifted as he rakes his gaze down Dean's extended body.
His eyes narrow at the bruises on his wrists, and it only takes a second for him to raise two fingers in a halberd and place them against Dean's shoulder.
He groans as Cas heals him. Familiar ambrosia quieting his mind and sucking the pain out of his arms and wrists.
Thing is, after two months on the road with Cas and being fed Grace daily, Dean knows what he likes now. He knows what feels the best. And there's something about being healed that just adds a whole extra level of kick to it.
“Fuck, heal me again.” Dean moans when Cas pulls his fingers away. Closes his eyes as the last of the pain seeps out.
He steps back. Frowns at Dean.
“There's nothing left to heal. Once these chains are off”-
“Then cut me.” He says it before he has the chance to breathe. To think. To register the weight of what he's asking for. Cas’ expression smooths into one of abject horror, and he stares at Dean, blinking.
“Dean, I won't”-
“Calm down, Cas, it doesn't have to be deep.” Dean barks. His body thrums with anticipation. He needs this. He nods at the angel blade loosely held in Cas’ hand. ‘Cause he can't point. “Use that.”
Cas looks at the blade. Tightens his fist around the handle. His jaw goes tight as he regards Dean.
“I know what I'm askin’ for Cas.”
“You’re asking me to hurt you.”
Dean shrugs. Flashes his teeth. “Wouldn't be the first time. I know you like me tied up like this. Filled up on your Grace. It's no different really. C'mon, man. I like it. C'mon.”
The fire sends sparks spitting towards them. Dean kind of wishes one would land on him so it would give Cas something to heal, ‘cause he thinks he's asked for too much this time. Pushed it too far. Then Cas raises his blade and presses the deadly tip to Dean's ribcage.
Dean's still wearing a white button-up. The Lamia roughed him up a little before she tied him up. A couple of buttons are missing and his tie's lost to the depths of Bitterroot forest along with his blazer. So when he looks down and sees a tiny, red blossom of blood begin to show on the polyester, he scoffs.
“You can do better than that, angel. I won’t break. Trust me.”
Cas narrows his eyes. Indigo in the firelight. Tilts his head, and presses. This time, Dean hisses when the blade penetrates deeper. It hurts, but only for a second because then Cas is flattening his palm against the crimson bloom and the salve of his Grace is back. Tumbling under the surface of Dean's skin like nectar.
“Ugh, fuck yeah." Dean says, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to taste copper. “More… C'mon.”
Cas rips what's left of Dean's shirt off with his other hand. The white rags hang off Dean's shoulders, tickling his sides, and his chest and torso are exposed to the elements and the ravenous ministrations of Cas’ tongue.
He feels like princess Laia in her slave arc. All he needs is a fuckin’ mini-skirt and space-buns and the deal's sealed. Though Cas doesn't make much of a Jabba. No fuckin’ way. And Han Solo would never be this dirty.
Cas runs the tip of his blade from Dean's armpit right to his hip in a long, shallow cut. Blood wells in scarlet pearls. Trickling hot and thin down his side. Then Cas' tongue is there, a million times hotter and thicker than the pain. Lapping up the blood and healing him as he follows the long, sharp line right down to Dean's hip. All that's left is the blood and the ecstatic tingle of freshly healed skin in the blade's wake.
“Oh my God, fuck - Cas”- Dean gasps as the sensations go straight to the bulge in his slacks. “Why've we never done this before?” He sighs as the Grace thrums through his entire body like a pulse. A second heartbeat, invigorating him more with every pump.
“You never asked.” Cas growls against the flat of his stomach - more toned now they've been hunting again. He carves a scarlet pattern on Dean's abdomen, his tongue following the blade so closely that Dean's nearly worried the angel will cut himself.
He doesn't, of course. He's too precise. He cuts and heals Dean like it's a fine art. Carving nonsense symbols into his skin and licking them clean before the worst of the pain even has a chance to register. The sharp, hot sting and bone-deep pleasure begin to blur into one. So closely linked in Dean's mind that he can't differentiate pain from pleasure.
It doesn't take long for Cas’ tongue to find its way down to Dean's fly. He keeps his blade above the waistband of his pants, not cutting but running the lethal point tantalisingly across hip-bones and the dusty light trail of hair leading down Dean's navel.
Cas unzips his fly with his teeth, eyes never leaving Dean's as he stops him from swaying on the chains with a firm hand on his waist. The other, holding the blade, comes to rest on the small of Dean's back.
It's happening so fast, and he's so hard already that he doesn't have the time or the mind to react. To stop him.
He never does.
Cas frees Dean's erection from his boxers. Watches his dick curve upwards towards Dean's stomach. Engorged with Grace and want.
Dean is legless in the angel's grip. His weight would be hanging entirely on the chains were it not for Cas supporting him, and he’s once again given no choice but to marvel as his entire being seems to be held up by a single hand on his waist and then, Cas’ mouth gently folding over his cock to engulf him whole.
He’s surrounded by heat and glorious sensation as Cas, on his knees, takes him right up to the hilt. Swallows him down, his throat convulsing around his dick until he sees stars.
Dean lets out a litany of curses, language dissolving into noise when Cas continues to use his blade and his Grace to further Dean's pleasure.
He barely feels the first cut on his back. He's so overcome. The next is deeper. Right above his kidneys. A drawn out, jagged drag of the blade which sends a gush of blood down the curve of his back. Soaking his trousers. Making the cheap material stick to his thighs.
Cas’ palm heals him as fast as he's cut. No damage done. Not really. He might be a little light-headed from the blood-loss when this is over, but it's a small price to pay.
The blade traces every vertebrae of Dean's lower spine. Circles his hips. Teases the edge of his shoulder blade. Shallow and deep cuts in equal measure, soaking Dean in blood and sweat as the angel sucks and heals. Sucks and heals.
He’s losing track of the sensations. His body is amped up. Powered entirely on Grace. Trying to focus on a hundred different sensations at once. Cas’ tongue. The blade. The blood soaking the rags of his shirt. Cas’ hand which had been holding him so still, dipping below the waistband of his trousers. Trailing over the curve of his ass. Lower, lower -
“Fuck!” Dean cries out. Jerks back as he realises how deep one of Cas’ fingers has actually gotten. A firm, blunt pad pressed up against his hole.
Suddenly, all the sensations stop. He glances down. Knows he's covered in a sheen of sweat and his face is flushed and his pupils might be as wide as Cas’ but he can't - that's not -
Cas quirks a brow. Pulls off Dean's dick with a soft pop.
“No?” Is all he asks. His entire palm flat against one of Dean's cheeks. So much sensitivity for such a small space.
Dean shakes his head, breathless. “No.” He manages. “Not that. N…not that.”
Cas nods, and resumes sucking Dean down like he was never interrupted. Rhythmic, calculated motions infused with Grace. It doesn't take Dean long to forget the sensation of Cas getting so close to - there. Putting a finger in his ass. Dean's gotta draw the line somewhere, ‘cause he's not - that's not -
But it doesn't matter right now. There's no more cutting. The angel blade has been dropped to the ground, forgotten. All of Cas’ actions are entirely focused on Dean's dick. He licks and sucks and pulls and teases, drawing noises from Dean he didn’t know he was capable of making.
Even after months of this. Nearly every day a handjob or a blowjob or a fuckin’ - sometimes Cas just has to look at him with his eyes glowing - and the fucker still manages to surprise him.
The chains are hurting again. But not enough. Still, somehow, not enough. Dean’s practically lifting himself off the ground as he strains against them, his body moving on instinct to fuck deeper into Cas’ throat. But the angel's huge hands hold him steady, bracing his thighs so he can impale himself on Dean's cock without interruption.
It all comes to a head when he raises his knuckle and presses firmly against the smooth stretch of skin behind his balls. He hasn't done that yet and it -
Fuck, it's incredible.
Dean comes down Cas’ throat, body jerking and chains jangling as he nearly blacks out from the force of his orgasm, the noises he's making stripping his throat bare as pure, Grace-filled ecstasy overwhelms him.
Cas sucks him down, pulls out every last drop from Dean until he’s so oversensitive he’s trembling. When Cas pulls off him, it’s almost reluctant. He squeezes the inside of Dean’s thigh, smirking when he jolts with the oversensitivity, and finally lets him go.
The chains fall from Dean's wrists, cloven in half, and he falls forward into Cas’ arms, completely uncaring of what's happening around him.
The fire flickers down to glowing embers. The air is cold, a bite of winter in the air, but Cas’ Grace is warm and all consuming. Maybe it’s because of what they just did. Maybe it’s ‘cause this is one of the few times they’ve fooled around outside the weird swanky sex room, but Dean lets Cas hold him a little longer than usual. Doesn’t jerk out of his grip when the angel traces small, feather-light circles between his shoulder blades and ghosts a could-be-kiss between his neck and his shoulder. It’s just a press of lips. Lips which have been in far more incriminating places. It’s okay. It’s - this isn’t worse.
“Good?” Cas rumbles in his ear, the register of his voice vibrating through Dean's whole body.
“Yeah.” Dean gives a choked-off laugh. “Real good, Cas.”
Yeah. Dean might even say he's never felt this good in his life.
*
Sam calls Dean that night to let him know Jack's coming down in a few days. Indefinitely, this time. It's an eighteen hour drive from Idaho to Sioux Falls where they've decided to have Thanksgiving dinner a few days early. Dean's nervous as he sets off on the long drive down, while Cas is doing a crappy job next to him of hiding how excited he is to see Jack.
They stop off at a Target on the way and Cas convinces Dean to purchase a horrific yellow hoodie for Jack - says it's his favourite colour.
“At least we'll never lose ‘im.” Dean mutters at the checkout, “Kid's gonna be visible from space in this thing.”
“Awh,” the cashier coos, listening in to their conversation, “How old's your kid?”
Dean rolls his eyes as Cas leans forward and replies,
“He's four. He's been away on business. We're very excited to see him.”
Then the cashier sees the hoodie coming up with the rest of the junk they need for the road and her face goes from innocently confused to freaked. She holds the ugly yellow thing up by the hood and checks the label.
“Four. Right. You want me to get you fellas a smaller size, or…?”
“No. He likes his clothes oversized.” Says Cas, and Dean has to hide his grin in his fist as the cashier scans the rest of their shit with the occasional perplexed glance between Cas and Dean.
The rest of the journey goes by pretty smooth. And when they stop at a junction and Cas brushes his fingers against Dean's outer thigh while he reaches for a soda, sending a sliver of Grace shivering through his system, neither of them says anything.
Claire opens the door to Jody's place, her face dawning with shock when she lays eyes on Dean.
“Woah, glow up alert!” She exclaims, mouth open in disbelief as he stamps the mud off his boots on the mat. “Drop the skincare routine, gramps. You get botox or something?”
Dean rolls his eyes and ruffles her hair. ‘Cause she hates that. She shoves him off weakly, giving him a half-hearted elbow in the ribs.
“Shuddup, Barbie.” He gripes. “Where's Jody?”
“Slaving away in the kitchen with Kaia. You might wanna go and rescue one or both of ‘em before they combust over stuffing.”
She rounds on Cas and smiles, allowing herself to be wrapped in a hug. Dean’s heart goes a little weak at the sight, knowing how far they’ve come. He leaves the hallway to give them some privacy and greet everyone else. Sam and Eileen are en route and Jack hasn't shown his face yet.
Later, when Dean goes to the bathroom to clean up, he allows himself to take a good long look in the mirror.
And, yeah. He can't deny it. He does look good. His skin has a healthy glow he's not seen in - maybe ever. He looks his age, he thinks, but, like. The best possible version of it. The lines on his face have decreased in depth. The permanent frown around his eyes and mouth eased somewhat. He looks… relaxed. Sun-kissed and healthy. Should be the opposite. He’s been hunting. Covered in blood and soil and ash more days than not. Instead, he looks like he's been following Sam's diet and working out and drinking gallons and gallons of water every day. He does none of those things. His blood content is more whiskey than water and the only working out he does is digging up graves.
The only ingredient responsible for his “glow up” is good ol’ fashioned Grace.
Claire isn't the only one who expresses a reaction to him. Jody's eyebrows fly up into her hairline at the sight of Dean and she gives him a full once over, hands on hips, before pulling him into a tight bear-hug.
Sam and Eileen are similarly shocked, and Dean doesn't know what answer to give them when they ask what the hell he's been doing. He hadn't prepared for this. Hadn't realised he was so - different.
When Jack arrives in the interim between daylight fading and dinner, everyone's attention is diverted. Dean's grateful for it, even though his stomach ties itself in odd knots when he sees Jack emerge through the door, only to be immediately engulfed by as many pairs of arms that can get to him.
“We missed you.” Sam tells him emphatically. “You've done great, kid.”
Dean hangs back. Waiting for his turn. Tapping his fingers on his thigh.
“Did you get a haircut?” Asks Kaia, tufting up the front of Jack's silky blond bangs.
“No.” He replies, “Does it look nice?”
“Real nice, Jack.” Claire tells him, hugging him.
And Dean - doesn't get it. This isn't - it's not a huge deal. No one acted like this when Jack returned from the friggin’ dead. Or when he came back from some of the worst hunts they'd ever been on or - ever. It feels like too much for this small life thing they're doing now. There's no stakes. No real reason for them to be all over each other like this.
And then it's Cas’ turn to greet Jack, and the too-much-feeling becomes all-encompassing as the angel embraces his son and kisses the top of his head, cradling him like he's a fuckin’ lilyflower. Like he might break. Like he's not literally God.
Jack closes his eyes, smiling so hard his face might break, and presses himself up against Cas, thin fingers threading together at the back of Cas’ trenchcoat.
Dean's not sure, but he thinks Cas’ eyes might even glisten a bit as he holds Jack in his arms. These two guys. An angel and God. Hugging in Jody's hallway like - like Jack's been at college for a year and they haven’t seen him in months and they're proud of him.
Don't they know what they look like?
A bitter, ugly lump rises in Dean's throat as he watches. He makes himself go into the kitchen. He can say he smelled smoke. Can say something needed putting in the oven.
Whatever.
“Hi, Dean.”
“Oh, hey kid!” Dean calls over his shoulder as he dons oven mitts and hauls some veggies out the oven. Just to check them. They're doing exactly as well as he'd expect. “How's tricks?”
“I didn't learn any tricks. But I have restructured the plane of heaven. I'm going to purgatory after Christmas.”
Dean snorts. Throws off the mitts. Finally turns to Jack. Sees him standing in the doorway, pale hands stuck in his jacket pockets as he rocks backwards and forwards on his heels. Smile tight and apprehensive, like he's - like Dean makes him nervous.
Like Dean's someone he should be wary of.
The bitter lump threatens to re-emerge, and Dean swallows hard.
“Purgatory, huh? You talked to Cas about that? Me and him, uh… We know it pretty well.”
Jack nods. “Yeah, I - I was hoping I could talk to you. If you're not too busy.”
“What? Now?”
“No, but while I'm here. If that's okay. Did you know Jody's getting a dog?”
Dean blinks. Forgot how much of a kid Jack actually is. One subject to the next in the blink of an eye.
“Nope. Didn't know.” Says Dean.
Then it's quiet. Dean wonders if Jack has a concept of awkwardness. Realises he probably doesn't, if he's as much like Cas as he thinks. “So, how about we go for a drive tomorrow?” Says Dean, “Talk about purgatory then?”
“Yes!” Jack exclaims, like he'd been waiting for the question. “I'd like that! Thanks, Dean.”
Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when Jack exits the room. Flat feet flapping against the kitchen tiles.
This is gonna be a long Thanksgiving.
Dean takes his beer outside after dinner. The clouds are a streaky, pale pink smudge against the darkening sky. Dead leaves crunch underfoot as Dean sits on the curb outside Jody's house. His knee doesn't pop. He also finds he isn't cold, despite the heavy chill settling over South Dakota, coating it in glistening frost.
He lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks. Thinks about Grace. Wonders what makes it so - yeah. That. Wonders why he’s different for the hundredth time.
Dean tenses as he hears the crunch of boots in the leaves behind him. Relaxes a little when he sees it's Eileen who's come to settle down next to him.
“You don't mind, right?” She asks.
“Not a bit.” Dean smiles, and lifts his bottle to clink ceremoniously with hers.
They drink in silence for a minute. Watch the last of the light sink over the flat horizon before the stars pop into view. One by one until there's a galaxy above their heads.
“How're you not freezing your ass off?” Eileen shivers. She's bundled up in Carhartt. One of Sam's old jackets. One of the few which survived the apocalypse(s).
Dean's in a button down. Sleeves rolled up to his forearms. It's new. Crisp around the collar.
He shrugs and throws her a grin. “I run hot.”
She laughs. “Alright, wise guy. I'm sure that works on the ladies in town but not me.”
He huffs out a laugh and swigs. Watches the sky. The liquid tinkles and fizzes in the bottle. Eileen goes still beside him, her breath puffing out in swirly clouds.
“How're you doing, Dean?” She asks out of the blue, and Dean - he gets that churning feeling in his gut. The kind which tells him something bad is coming.
“Yeah. Good.” He replies. The image of nonchalance. “You?”
She watches his face. Reads his lips.
“Alright. Sam's worried about you.”
Dean laughs. Shakes his head.
“What's he gotta worry about?”
She sucks in a breath through her teeth. Stamps her feet.
“We talk, you know, and he - I'm sure you're not surprised he told me about… before.”
Dean tucks his heels against the curb. Grinds the leaves under them.
“Before you and Cas came back, you mean.”
“Yeah.” She confirms. Voice soft and low. “I think if there’s anything worse than being dead, it's what you both went through. Losing everyone.”
Dean sniffs. “Yeah.” He says, voice thick. “But it's better now. He doesn't have to worry. I really am good. You can tell him that. Doubt he'll believe it from me.”
Eileen tips her head as she searches his face.
“Yeah, you have been… different. I gotta be honest, Dean, I have my own theory.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Dean waits. Hopes she can’t hear his heart punching through his chest.
“My family's from Philly originally. You ever been?”
Okay. This isn’t where he thought this was going. “To Philly? Sure. Done a couple hunts there. Cas and I were there a few weeks ago. Just passed through though really, why?”
“Then you probably don't know much about Kensington.”
“Uh, I've heard of it.”
Eileen nods. Places her empty bottle by her feet with a soft clink.
“Yeah. It's pretty infamous nowadays. Cheapest Fent on the market.” She sighs. “Eight years ago, my brother went missing there. Me and my dad searched all over for him. We found him eventually. Off his face. A zombie. He didn't want to come with us. We forced him into rehab but it - didn't work. You have to want to stop, you know? And he died out there. And I - I couldn't believe that's what got him in the end. The world was falling apart around us and he died with a needle in his arm.”
Dean reaches out. Lays a hand on her Carhartt padded shoulder.
“Jesus Christ, Eileen. I'm so sorry. Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck.” She agrees. She picks up her bottle and peers inside. Huffs when she remembers it's empty and starts peeling the label. “I couldn’t live with myself if I had to watch someone I love go through that again. I'd do anything to stop it.” Eileen looks at him. Significance burning in her dark eyes. And Dean - it dawns on him. What she's getting at.
He barks out a laugh. “Shit, Eileen. You think I'm on drugs? That's what this is about? You think I'm using?”
Her expression doesn't change. He throws back the rest of his beer, weirdly relieved. ‘Cause no one's ever got him so wrong before.
“Well, I'm not sure what lasting effects Grace has on the body, but if the last few months are anything to go by I'd be willing to bet withdrawals won't be fun.”
Dean's empty bottle rolls onto the ground. Comes to a stop next to Eileen's.
“What did you say?”
A hubbub of laughter drifts out from the house. Sends chills down Dean's spine. He's feeling the cold now. Every mote.
“I might be deaf, Dean, but I'm not blind. You have your tells. Just like my brother did.”
Eileen's gaze on him is heavy and so fucking sad he has no idea what to do.
“Tells?” He spits. “What fucking tells?”
She sighs. “You're defensive for one. Your worst fear right now is that I've found you out and I'm gonna find a way to take it away from you, right?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“I first noticed it when we were doing the salt ‘n burn at the ice-rink. You got real defensive over Cas using his Grace and I - I knew something was up but I didn't know what. And then - after that - you were sick, Dean. When Cas went away you got sick and angry and I just kinda knew. And now it's just the same. Just like my brother. You're here, but - not. Glassy eyed and distant. All you can think about is the next hit. Right? I’m sorry, Dean but it's just the same. I can see”-
“You don't know shit, Eileen.”
Dean isn't sure when he stood up. Her eyebrows knit together. Eyes huge as she looks up at him.
“I'm not judging you”-
“Sure as hell sounds like it”-
“I'm not!” She cries. “I just wanna help you”-
“There's nothing to help me with.” Dean snaps, pointing at her. “That’s the problem with us hunters, huh? Everything's a case. A problem to be solved. But not me. Got it? I'm sorry about what happened to your brother. I really am.” Dean's voice is low. Thunderous. Heart pumping a mile a minute. “But I ain't him. This isn't that. I'm not shootin’ up poison in some back alley.”
Her face crumples. “Dean…”
“So what if Cas has been givin’ me a little juice every now and again?” He splays his arms wide - a challenge - and backs away from her. “I'm stronger with it. We get through hunts twice as fast and you know what that means? More people get saved. I ain't doin’ this ‘cause I'm”- he scoffs around the word - “ addicted. Okay? We're saving lives, Eileen! That's all it's ever been about.”
A lick of guilt curls uncomfortably in Dean's chest at the lie. But it's still kind of true. He is a better hunter with a dose of Grace in his system.
“And we've only got a few spots left to plot for yours and Sam's little outpost project. Me and Cas? We did all that. All of it in two months. And we're - I'm not doin’ anything wrong.”
He feels sick. His heart's in his stomach. The beer and food sits in his gut in an undigested lump. He breathes hard as Eileen stares up at him. The icy air burns his throat. He could swear his knee is starting to twinge again.
“I'm not doing anything wrong.” He asserts, ignoring the shake in his voice, and marches back to the house before Eileen can say another terrible word.
*
Dean feels the ill effects of Eileen's confrontation all night. His insides go cold whenever he looks at her. He flicks his gaze away before they can make eye contact and makes sure not to look at Cas either. Can't raise any more suspicion than he already has.
Dean excuses himself to Jody's guest bedroom (a sofa-bed in the corner of the basement) while everyone else is still up playing Blackjack. He's feeling much the same the next morning, and it's not until Jack appears next to him after breakfast that he remembers the talk he promised him.
“C'mon, kid.” He sighs. “Let's go for a drive.”
Jack hops in the passenger seat with his hands stuffed under his thighs while he kicks his feet and scuffs the floor mat.
Dean resists the urge to tell him to stop. He doesn't wanna - doesn't wanna spook him. Knows Jack's already afraid of getting shouted at and Dean doesn't need that shit today on top of everything else.
Jack stares out of the window as Dean drives. Whipping his head this way and that to gaze at truck stops and farm houses and crops like he hasn't been on this same route dozens of times.
“Dean! A petting zoo! Can we go?” Jack blurts. Practically fuckin’ bouncing in the seat.
“Uh, sure. Maybe next time.”
Jack's face falls. And Dean's struck again by just how similar he is to his dad. Downturned puppy-dog eyes crestfallen as they pass the little farm with colourful signs attached to the gate.
Dean sighs. “Wouldn't you want Cas to come along? I'm sure he'd like to pet the animals too.”
Jack's whole body lifts and he watches Dean hopefully. The haunt of his smile is so like Cas’. There's trepidation there. He's unsure. But he looks a damn sight happier than the last time he was alone with Dean. It twists a peg in Dean's heart. Makes him turn his eyes back to the empty stretch of road and flex his fingers around the wheel.
“Yeah.” Jack agrees. “I want Castiel to see the guinea pigs.”
Dean quirks a brow at him.
“You've been there before, haven't you?”
Jack nods, flashing Dean a sheepish smile.
“It's great though, Dean. You'd like it. We can all go together. You, me and Castiel.”
“What about Sam?”
Jack shrugs. “Well, sure. If he likes.”
Dean chuckles and shakes his head. Weird fuckin’ kid.
“So, purgatory, huh? What's the deal there?”
Jack falls back in the seat with a whole body sigh.
“I dunno.” He offers.
“You dunno?”
“Mhm.”
Dean clicks his tongue. “Real reassuring, Jack. You got no plans at all?”
Jack gives a noncommittal shrug, eyes fixed on a far away point on the road to nowhere.
“Nothin’? What'd you do with heaven?”
Jack puffs up his cheeks and blows out. He opens the glove compartment and starts picking out mix-tapes from Dean's disorganised cluster. Fiddles with the rectangles of plastic, a pout on his lips.
“A lot.” After looking at the label on each tape, he places it in his lap. Right side up. One on top of the other in neat piles. “Like, a lot a lot. And now I gotta do the same to purgatory. And hell. And limbo. And”-
“Alright, I get the message.” Dean interrupts before the kid gets teary. “It's a lot of work, huh? Cas said he was helping though.”
Jack's face falls again, and he stares at the tapes in his lap.
“That's the thing. He basically did it all, Dean. I-I didn't know what to do. I feel so bad.” He sniffs. Starts putting the tapes away. Tidy as anything. “I haven't told anyone.”
Dean rolls Baby over to the side of the road and puts her in park. He lets the engine run under them. A soothing purr to quiet the aura of distress rolling off Jack in waves.
Dean doesn't speak. He looks at Jack, trying to keep his face open the way Sam and those fuckin’ parenting books taught him.
Don't ask leading questions. You are here to listen, not interject or some shit like that.
Dean puts his best listening face on.
“It took me a super long time to bargain with the Empty. Way longer than I thought.” Jack manages eventually. “If Castiel had been with me then, I don't think it would have taken so long. And I - I had to use threats, Dean. It was the only way it would let Castiel and the others go.”
“What threats, Jack?” Dean asks softly.
Jack scrunches up his nose. Like he's trying not to cry.
“I told it I'd never let it sleep. I told it I'd fill the emptiness with noise. Eternal noise. That really scared it, Dean. And I - I meant it. Isn't that awful?”
Dean barks out a laugh before he can help it.
“Damn, nice goin’. Didn't think you had it in you, kid.”
Jack frowns up at him. “But…”
Dean swings round so he can throw an arm over the back of the seat and face Jack properly.
“Listen, the way I see it? You're God. You can do whatever the hell you like. The Empty is under your jurisdiction, Jack. Whether it likes it or not. Same with the other fucker - uh, I mean - the other guys. They gotta do what you say. Capiche?”
“Are… you learning Italian?” Jack tilts his head.
Dean rolls his eyes skyward. “Do you get what I'm sayin’ or not?”
Jack nods. "Yes. I capiche."
He bites his lip and looks down at his sneakers. They're converse, but they've got ducks on ‘em. Instead of the star in the logo it’s just two dorky fuckin’ ducks. Staring up at Dean as if to say well, what could we possibly do?
Jack lowers his voice to a whisper. “It's just - Castiel said it’s really important not to - let the God thing, y'know, takeover. He says there's a balance and I need to respect it.”
Dean snorts. “Cas said that? Rich comin’ from the guy who smote a church of homophobes and called us his pets." Dean shakes his head at Jack's confused frown. “Forget it, kid, just… look. When I was your age - not four. But. Twenties. Twenty. Whatever. When I was as scrawny as you are now, I thought the whole world was my bitch. Yeah? I thought I was the shit. Y'know, the bees knees. Only person I answered to was my dad. Now what you have is the opposite problem. You shrink in on yourself, Jack. You don't think you can trust your decisions but you can. You got a good head on your shoulders! You just need confidence. And you don't need Cas tellin’ you what you should and shouldn't do, ‘kay? You're God for a reason. ‘Cause you're good enough as you are.”
Jack peeks up at Dean doubtfully from under his overgrown bangs.
“But Castiel said”-
“Forget what Castiel said.” Dean tells him. “Cas says a lot of shit. And he hasn't experienced being a human long enough to really know what he's talkin’ about, okay? But you? You're half human. I am human. And I'm saying…” Dean exhales. What the hell is he saying? “Follow your gut.” Yeah. That sounds okay. That's always good advice, right? “It's done you well so far. You got Cas out the Empty and fired up his Grace all on your own. And not just Cas, right?”
Jack nods. “Angels and humans. But it's humans I need to understand if I'm going to successfully restructure the other dimensions and take proper care of Earth. But Dean. I feel like I don't know them at all.”
“You wanna know more about humans?” Dean says, “Go spend more time with ‘em. Hell, go party with ‘em. That'll teach you a thing or two about the human race and what to do with ‘em when they're dead.”
Jack's drinking in every word. Dean can see it in the way his eyes get huge. Widen around the words with understanding and a newfound glee. He smiles. All big happy sunshine. Nearly as big as the smile he gave Cas yesterday.
Dean swallows hard.
“Yeah. Thanks. I - I can do that. Thanks, Dean.”
“No worries.” Dean shrugs, putting Baby back in drive. “Any time, kid.”
“Can we get ice-cream now?”
Jack bounces on his hands, making the whole damn car shake. Dean's lucky he tuned up Baby's suspension before he and Cas left the bunker.
“In November?”
“Yeah!”
“Sure.” Dean laughs. “Whatever.”
Like he said. Fuckin’ weird kid.