Work Text:
it's a brave new world dawning
CLARK
“It wasn't your fault,” Clark says. His voice is unsure, yet gentle and kind.
He's not sure what to make of this kid. Sure, he's weird -- super weird -- and showed up completely out of the blue naked, but he's nice, innocent and naive in a way (and possibly amnesiac.) But it doesn't excuse the fact that he has magical freaking powers. Which is absolutely fucking cool.
“There’s no such thing as ‘weird.’ Everyone is normal in their own way.”
And plus, he's seen weirder things than this.
Jack grins like a kid at Christmas at this news, tousled dark blonde hair falling in front of his blue eyes, before his smile slides off his lips slowly. “I wanted to . . . apologize,” he begins, face scrunching up briefly as if he's not sure if it's the right word, “Sam drove me over here. I had to beg him.”
That's the thing about he likes about Jack, he thinks. He's . . . refreshing, a new cool drop in the ocean, ready to be explored and unique than any other fish in the sea. “Well, tell your dad thanks.”
“He's not my father,” Jack says quietly and Clark wonders if he's said the wrong thing. The lights above them flicker briefly in response before returning to normal. “None of them are.”
Clark hesitates. He wonders what could happen to him for bringing up a potentially sore subject for him. But he's curious and the words rush through before he can stop it. “Where's your dad, then?”
Jack frowns. “It's--”
“Complicated?” The Hispanic boy finishes for him, shifting forward on his bed. Jack nods. He tries not to wince at the pain in his side and coughs a hoarse laugh. “Guess we both got daddy issues then.”
“Humans are complicated,” Jack replies as if agreeing with him. “They are but a ball of emotions and life. You hold grand design and many possibilities before yourselves. Your father . . . just didn't follow the right path. Like mine.”
A small smile can't help but tug at the corners of his lips. “Right.”
“I got you a Nougat.” And sure enough, the Nougat bar materializes from his jacket pocket and he hands it happily to Clark. Their fingers overlap for a moment and Clark’s breath hitches. His heart begins to beat frantically and he struggles to calm himself down.
“Thanks, man. So, uh, are you by any chance, a science experiment?”
Jack looks almost offended as he greedily bites down into the bar. “I am of grace. I am of blood. I am my father's son. I am my mother's son. I have gestated in my mother's womb and she gave me life. I live and breathe and now walk the Earth. And the whole world fears my being and what I can do. They fear . . . I will end them.”
God help Clark Barker for liking this strange, magical boy. He'll be the death of him, he's sure of it. And he doesn't give a fuck.
JACK
He is Nephilim, the last of his kind, son to Kelly Kline, her humanity surging through his blood and his father, his father is Casti-- no, Luc-- Castiel, and is an Angel, the last of his Grace flowing through his body and heart.
He can remember his mother's face and grips it tight in his mind before it can fade away. That's the thing about being human, Sam says, your memory won't stay intact forever. The mind will deteriorate over time. But he wonders if that's the same case for him.
Where is my father?
He's dead.
He mourns Kelly and Castiel because they were him and he was them, they raised him themselves and yet they died, while he breathed; he mourns others he does not know personally, their names rattling off off his tongue wordlessly: Mary, Jess, John, Bobby, Adam, Jo, Ellen, Kevin, Benny, Charlie, Eileen, and Crowley among countless others.
He's never known them but he's felt loss, and it engulfs him, Sam and Dean, and it claws at his insides.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
All dead.
All gone.
And for a moment he considers sinking into the dark abyss and joining his other father over in the other world, never to resurface again. But then he remembers and understands that there's other sides to humanity and embraces those so-called flaws and he promises to bring them peace, once and for all.
Clark is in pain. He tries his damnedest to hide it but it fails. Jack can see it etched in his eyes -- oh, those eyes, oh yes that beautiful shade of blue taken from the sky and melting in his dreams -- and the white bone from clenched knuckles. He doesn't need to see it, but he knows.
He can feel the ghost of kisses remnants that he's never had, never tasted but it stays with him and never leaves and he wants -- he so desperately craves it oh the temptation -- and then he wonders, is this what you do to help take away the pain? Is this what the ghosts of the dead, of the past, of the universe is trying to tell him?
Jack wets his lips and leans forward hesitantly and presses his lips to Clark's, pressing one hand to his wound and draws. Clark lets out a small grunt of pain, but curls his other hand into Jack’s hair, pulling him closer before he brings him in for another kiss. It's . . . strange, he thinks, he's not sure how to feel, but all he knows is that he likes it. A lot. It's intimate, yet it's inviting, beckoning him in further and he struggles sloppily to copy Clark's movements. He tastes like gelatin, suspiciously almost like the red one he likes so much.
Jack feels Clark's pain shoot up his arm before it desiccates and slowly pulls away. He's breathless and he opens his eyes to see Clark staring back at him, pupils dilated. “Damn,” Clark breathes, lowering his hands. “Um, wow. That was definitely. . . one hell of a kiss.”
The Nephilim blinks. His cheeks feel hot and he's aware that he's probably blushing right now. “Was I not supposed to do that?”
Clark clears his throat. “Well, it's . . . different,” he admits. “People don't go around doing things like you can.” A pause and Jack’s worried he's screwed it up (no, fucked, that's what Dean says.)“But I liked it. A lot.”
Jack smiles and lets out a breath he didn't know he's been holding. He leans in for another kiss but he's interrupted by an awkward cough. Both Clark and Jack turn toward the door to see Sam standing there, fidgeting and looking embarrassed.
“Um, Jack. We're uh, leaving. You ready?”
___
He learns.
Maybe it's not much, maybe it is, but he learns. He learns how be human. It takes time but he gets there. Dean slowly begins to warm up to him and Sam's proud of him. He meets Missouri and Patience, the Wayward Sisters, his sister, Claire, and even the prophet Donatello and Sheriff Donna Hanscum.
“You can't say “fuck” Jack,” Sam tells him while they're at Jody’s. “It's rude.”
Jack stares at him for a long time before his lips curl into a smirk, knowing full well every bad habit he picks up is because of them or Clark and says, “Go fuck yourself.”
He learns to fly and Clark meets with him over time at Pirate Pete’s Jolly Treats (“Seriously, they need to change that sign,” Clark grins) and it begins to lead into something more. He asks before, just to make sure Jack knows what's he's getting into. It begins simple as usual, then extremely more familiar as it goes on, and then shirts are tugging off, then jeans, then boxers. Jack loves it. He loves the feeling of Clark's skin against his, the rhythm they build together, the “oh, God yes fuck me” moans he and Clark both make, and the pleasure he achieves by doing so, the little satisfied grunt Clark makes when they both finish. And after they clean up, he finds that he likes being the little spoon when they cuddle.
But all in all, he's not really sure what all this is. Are they boyfriends? Friends with benefits? He glances over at Clark sleeping next to him. Does he really deserve this slice of happiness? Because of him, Sheriff Barker had gotten hurt. Because of him, Clark had gotten stabbed by Miriam and almost died and bled out onto the floor of the police station.
Because of him . . . Cas and Kelly died.
“I remember when the bad woman burned. I remember the universe screamed,” he'd told Sheriff Barker. He remembers Dagon screaming as her essence went up in smoke.
The universe fears me and what I can do. I hurt people.
__
Jesse Turner makes an appearance for the first time in twelve years. He's grown since the last time the Winchesters had seen him, now twenty-three years old and a lot more rugged but still holding onto those same piercing green eyes.
Jack's heard rumors about the Anti-Christ and from the way Jesse’s looking at him, so has he.
“Jesse, where the hell have you been?!”
Jesse’s voice is softer than he imagined but it radiates such power and then, Jack understands why. The Cambion goes onto explain something about their mother and Cas still being alive, Asmodeus still being alive, and apparently Michael and Gabriel are also alive and it's all just one big --
“Clusterfuck.”
It takes him a moment to realize he's the one who had said that aloud, with Sam giving him a look and Jesse rolling his eyes, not looking amused at this interruption. The man’s eyes drop to the place where the Anti-Possession tattoo lies underneath his shirt. The unspoken has been said, Jack understands what he needs to do.
__
Something is wrong.
Jack can feel it deep down in his bones, but he's too drunk on power to do anything about it. His father, Castiel, is back. It had nearly drained him completely using his powers like that, reality-jumping from Mystery Inc. to the Empty, to resurrecting his father's soul, which they said was impossible.
But Castiel is alive. He's alive and he's home. He's finally home. They're both home.
So why does something feel wrong?
“There you are, boy,” and Jack knows the voice instantly. It's Asmodeus, not a speck of pristine white clothing out of place. Sam and Dean shout in warning, raising their guns to shoot, but a wave from Asmodeus’ hand flings them aside. Cas rejuvenates and unleashes a blast of power, but that proves unlethal as Asmodeus smirks.
You're not the one I need, Castiel, Asmodeus thinks, tuning Angel Radio onto full blast. Jack screams, covering his ears, shutting his eyes as he drops to the hard floor, the wood clacking underneath his knees, curling his body into a fetal position as best as he can to block out the voices. STOPSTOPSTOP
The lights above them shatter and pop with each loud squeal of chatter, which Asmodeus gladly turns up to the max.
“DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Castiel shouts.
There's a loud thud and Asmodeus gives a cold, mirthless laugh. He grips Jack's hair, dragging him to his feet. “Funny,” he says. “That's what the other boy said too.”
His body grows cold as the words sink in.
That's what the other
That's what
That's what the other
Boy said
Too.
Jack snaps. He's refusing to believe-- no, Asmodeus is lying. He's fucking lying. His eyes shoot open, flaring golden, Lucifer’s power and Castiel’s grace roaring through him as he pushes it out and he howls and he thinks Asmodeus is afraid when he gets blasted off his feet and vaporized tenfold, but his eyes and smile tells him otherwise.
Sometime between his rage, the brothers have stirred and risen. Their eyes meet as they watch him breathe heavily. Someone's shouting his name but he doesn't know who and--
He can't focus and he needs to, oh God he needs to-- The house begins to rumble, the windows shattering, the floor breathing to life underneath his feet.
He runs.
“Jack, wait!”
The brothers are calling after him, calling after him but he runs. He runs as fast as his legs will take him and the world outside begins to buckle from his appearance.
Clark. Clark. Clark. Please be okay. Please be okay.
He doesn't know how long he runs, but he does.
“You never had ice cream before?”
Jack shakes his head.
There's an expression on Clark's face he can't identify but he's got a hint of a smile on his face. “Oh man. We got a lot of work to do. Well, which one do you want?”
“All of them?”
Clark stares at him, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, that's um . . .” he stutters. He glances up at the board above him, fishes out the thing called a wallet and rummages through it. Then his shoulders rise and fall, which he later learns is a shrug. “Fuck it. Sure. Why not?” He slaps a green paper on the counter. “Give me every scoop you got.”
The server raises his eyebrows, glancing between the two boys. “Every . . . scoop?” he asks in disbelief.
“Yeah, man. Every scoop.”
The server shares a glance with his co-worker who shrugs and makes a hand motion with her fingers.
Two silver spoons, four bowls and twenty ice cream flavors later, Jack declares he likes ice cream. “It's cool. Sweet. I like chocolate and strawberry.”
Clark grins and Jack can't help but smile back. There's a bubbling sensation rising through his body and he likes it a lot and wishes for it to stay.
__
Clark's an amazing person, even if he's a bit broken.
He teaches him a few things here and then and doesn't seem to mind answering Jack's questions and even shows him the beautiful sounds called music. His sense of humor and attitude is what makes him Clark and Jack loves every bit of it. He becomes fascinated by Clark's hair in the long run. It's so long and black and he loves the way it feels under his fingers. And oh, his kisses. That's something he could die for.
He hasn't told Sam and Dean about Clark yet. (Though he suspects Sam already knows.) He's not so sure why, but he feels like it's not the best time to bring it up, what with Lucifer still running amok in the alternate universe and with them trying to get their mother back. Jesse’s given him a lot more information about the world and its contents and promises to be in touch if they ever need him again.
“I mean, you're not the weirdest thing I've seen, Jack. I've seen some shit in this town. Probably saw a ghost too. I don't know.”
Jack's quiet for a moment. “So . . . you're not mad I'm like this? Different?”
“Why would I be mad?” Clark asks. Then realization sets in his face and he looks down toward his scar. “I mean, the whole Lucifer thing is a big nope from me, but Jack . . . You're Nephilim, practically freaking Adonis and you've got super powers. What's not to like about you? You're good. You're kind. You're you. And that's what I love about you.”
“Ol aziazor elasa,” Jack replies, brushing his hand against Clark's cheek. He presses a long kiss on his lips as he grips his wrists, breathing in his scent.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
“JACK!”
A voice throws himself out of his memories and he blinks. Baby is behind him when he turns, Sam and Dean in the front, Castiel standing beside the back door.
“Get in the car. We'll take you to where you need to go.”
He nods, breathing shakily and listens. He practically dives into the backseat with his father clambering behind him and then Baby's squealing, her tires roaring underneath her.
“Clark,” he chokes out. “I need to get to Clark. Take me to Clark. Please.”
Dean doesn't need to be told twice.
When they arrive, he stumbles out of the car like a madman, falling to the dirt before scrambling to pick himself again. He rushes toward the front door, which is no longer there, ripped off its hinges. He carefully makes his way in, stepping over the damage that's exploded in there. As he edges closer toward the kitchen, he's met with the sight of Christine Barker out of uniform and three dead angels lying strewn in the dark hallway, a wound on her head and in her stomach, wrists and neck slashed, and an angel blade resting in her hand on the floor.
Bile rises up in his throat and he forces himself to keep it down. “I'm so sorry,” he whispers. He bends down next to her, fingers gently closing her eyes and picks up the angel blade from her hand. “I'm so sorry,” he repeats. He mourns the woman who's been like a second mother to him, the first woman who's shown him kindness when they first met. He rises, fist clenched.
“I'm gonna check outside. Make sure none of those bastards are still hanging around,” Dean growls.
“I'll check upstairs,” Sam replies.
“Jack.” Castiel calls to him but all their voices are so distant, so distant and so far away, he doesn't pay attention.
He grips the angel blade tight in his hand, heart pounding in his chest as he heads deeper into the house, afraid of what's he's going to find.
And then he sees it. No, he sees him. Clark.
The angel blade clatters to the floor and he rushes toward Clark, leaping over the wreckage of the living room to get to him. “Clark,” he gasps. “Clark.”
No. No. No. Nononononono.
How could've this happen? He had precognition. He was careful. How could he not foreseen this coming?
There's an unfinished angel sigil drawn on the floor in blood.
You're okay. You're okay.
He holds Clark's face between his hands, trying to rouse him. Wake up. Wake up! He refuses to believe that--
You're not dead. You're not dead.
“You're not dead,” Jack pleads. He chants it over and over. You're just sleeping. But he knows deep down, Asmodeus was right. Clark. A sound escapes from deep within him as he cradles Clark in his arms, rocking back and forth. Clark. He's wearing the red jacket he'd first met in him stained with an even darker red pooling underneath him, wearing one of Jack's shirts, his black hair shining in the moonlight and his face --
Clark.
“You're okay. You're okay.”
His face is so, so pale that this empty vessel doesn't even look like Clark anymore. And his eyes are closed and he thinks he might've been sleeping if it weren't for the telltale sign in his chest. He presses Clark against him, holding him tight, pressing a kiss on his forehead and then Jack gives an anguished scream.
He screams to the heavens, to Chuck, to everyone in the world. The universe hears his mourning, his grief, his rage and he sure as hell hopes his father will hear him in the other world because he wants him to know. He's coming for him, whether he wants it or not.
The Nephilim screams until his voice gives out and then he breaks. His eyes are leaking, leaking and next thing he knows, his father is holding him, trying to comfort him.
“My eyes are leaking,” he says.
“You're crying,” Castiel explains gently. “It's okay to cry.”
It's okay to cry.
It's okay to cry.
__
“I can bring him back,” Jack insists. He's angry, hurting so, so much that he wants to strip his skin into bone. His hands are red with Christine’s and Clark's blood. Tears have dried on his cheeks and he's absolutely furious at everything, harboring all his anger toward Lucifer. He vows vengeance for Clark.
“Jack--” Castiel tries.
“You came back. They came back,” Jack jabs a finger toward Sam and Dean, trying to get past his father to grab Clark’s body off the funeral pyre, “so Clark can come back too. They all can come back.”
“Jack, it doesn't work that way--”
“WHY NOT?!” Jack screams. He can feel the pulse of his power rising again and he knows his eyes are glowing and insane, his rage growing by the second. The atmosphere around them heats up with an unearthly eerie yellow color.
“Jack,” Castiel begins calmly, one hand on Jack's shoulder to keep him back. “It wouldn't be the same. Bringing them back . . . there's a Balance.”
“And when have you ever followed that Balance?” Jack retorts cruelly. “I don't see you all complaining.”
Castiel is silent. He exchanges look with Sam and Dean, who look like they're about to protest. Dean seems to change his mind and lifts his head, staring past Jack's shoulder. “Jesse.”
Jack turns around. Jesse keeps his distance, hands raised up in a placating manner, green eyes glowing with the faint tinges of yellow in them. “I heard you,” he says. His eyes flick to the funeral pyre behind them, then back to Jack’s. “I'm sorry.”
Sam's voice rings throughout his head. He remembers the night they burned his mother and father.
“You say you're sorry. You hope they're somewhere without, uh, sadness or pain. You hope they're somewhere better. You say goodbye.”
He shuts his eyes, exhaling deeply before opening them again, the yellow glow fading from the atmosphere.
“I wouldn't burn them. Not yet,” Jesse tells them. “Donatello called me.”
__
He creates another Rift, jumping into the world with no sun, Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Jesse in tow.
It's literal Hell on Earth. Monsters lay strewn about, their souls cold and gone, while several human resistance fighters fight for their lives. Jack can sense the pain and suffering in this world and he knows that this is the world has come to without the brothers’ interference. Gabriel and Michael are fighting Lucifer hand in hand, but even he can see they are tired. How long have they been fighting? He sees Mary Winchester lying on the ground, bloody and bruised but unconscious and alive, her sons rushing to her aid as he steps closer to Lucifer.
“FATHER!”
Lucifer turns. Gabriel sees that opportunity to strike but the Nephilim waves his hand, flinging both Michael and Gabriel aside. They've had their chance, the Lucifer from this world is already dead. This is his fight.
“Son,” Lucifer grins, spreading his arms. “You've found me.”
“My name is Jack,” he states clearly, stepping closer. “My mother is Kelly Kline. My father is Castiel.”
Lucifer blinks, then scoffs. “What is this?” Jack hears footsteps approaching from behind him. “Castiel,” he says incredulously, waving his angel blade, “Cas. Cas. Cas. I killed you. I know I killed you. Did Dad bring you back again? Is that what He did?”
“No,” Castiel answers. “Jack did.”
A flicker of unreadable emotion crosses over Lucifer’s face. “You did, son? I'm proud of you. Unfortunately, I'm going to need to depose of him. No hard feelings, right?”
“You don't touch him,” Jack snarls.
Lucifer seems taken aback. In a frustrated voice, he says, “I'm your father, son. I created you.”
“I know,” he tells him. “But you're not and you never will be.”
Lucifer laughs. It's one mixed with sardonicism, disbelief, and anger. Then: “The fuck did you do to my son?!”
He launches himself at Castiel within an eye blink absolutely enraged, but Jack grabs his shoulder and arm before he can, whirling them around and shoves him skittering halfway back. One brave resistance fighter unloads a round of angel bullets into the archangel, shouting, “Eat shit, asshole!”
Jack freezes, because the voice sounds like Clark's. Clark is alive in this world. Next thing he knows, Lucifer’s hands is on his face, digging his fingers into his skull. Jack's veins flare with gold, traveling up his body and he yells in pain, trying to push him off.
“Ooh, Clark,” Lucifer says with amusement, eyes glowing red as he digs into Jack's mind, “You've been busy, I see.”
He continues to dig further, memory after memory flickering through like a projector, claiming them as his own.
“Hey!”
Out of nowhere, Jesse punches Lucifer as hard as he can, catching the archangel off guard and hoists him off of Jack, throwing him as far as he can. “You okay? Can you still fight?”
Groggily, Jack nods, his power retreating back to where it came. Jesse grabs his hand, a surge of power flowing through Jack. “Unleash it,” Jesse orders, eyes glowing silver as he renews the Nephilim’s strength. “End this once and for all.”
“We need to get him back on the other side.”
“Okay,” he pauses. “We can do that. You ready?”
The truth is, what will happen when they finally defeat Lucifer? Will Jack still have his powers or become mortal?
He heads toward the other Clark, a red bandanna tied around his mouth, his black hair cut short, his shotgun gripped in his hands, blue eyes as hard as steel. This is not the same Clark he knows.
“Clark.”
The other version of Clark looks over him, narrowing his eyes. “I don't know you.”
“I-I know. But we could use your help,” Jack says. “You got any more of those bullets? Unload everything you've got.”
__
It's tempting, wanting to take Lucifer’s offer.
The Devil claims he can bring Clark back. He finds himself faltering, listening and he wants it so much. He wants Clark by his side again. But Clark is dead.
Another Jack appears behind Lucifer, courtesy of Jesse, attacking him. But Lucifer retaliates by plunging his blade into Jack's stomach, which shimmers and fades away. The other Clark unloads the rest of his bullets as he does so, Lucifer’s body jerking with each spray, blood spilling out.
“Jack, now!” Dean shouts, disappearing through the Rift with Sam and Mary following behind.
Jesse and Jack exchange looks and nod in acknowledgment. Together, launching themselves into the air, they plow into the Devil, ripping through the golden Rift with a blinding flash.
It's a long fight after the Rift closes for good. Lucifer rises and punches Sam when he gets too close, Dean is lying on the ground, bloody, unconscious but stirring. Mary is trying to get a hit in with her Enochian brass knuckles. Castiel is using the full blunt of his powers to keep Lucifer at bay, but only he can keep it up for so long. His father’s powers are draining and he needs rest. And soon.
Jesse seems to be having a riot for some reason, but he's determined and Jack has to give him credit for that. He's found out his voice doesn't exactly work on an archangel like he's thought but he keeps trying anyway.
Seething rage pours through Jack, his eyes and veins glowing golden. Unleash it. End this once and for all.
His wings unfurl, spreading out high behind him. He wants his father to know his face will be the last thing he will ever see. His own son, his own creation, destroying him once and for all. His eyes glow even brighter and the world explodes into a shrine of unearthly golden light, Lucifer's scream reaching a howl before it fades away, echoing into nothingness.
Lucifer Morningstar is gone and the universe regains its stars but the world does not grieve this newfound loss.
All except for One.
__
“What will you do now?” Jack asks.
Jesse shrugs, rubbing his aching shoulder. “I'm not sure,” he admits honestly. “I suppose . . . I can go home now. My parents are going to be asking me a shitload of questions but . . . I'll be happy to see them again.”
Jack nods in understanding. There's more silence.
“You feel it too?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“It's funny, right? I thought we'd get our powers stripped when we killed him, but no, we still have them.”
“Just not as strong.”
“Just not as strong, yeah. But I can live with that,” Jesse gives a small smile as he speaks, green eyes shining in the moonlight.
“What else did Donatello tell you?”
The Cambion sighs. “He said that the pyre would be lit. But you wouldn't be the one lighting it. He says you'll know when it happens. Whatever that means.”
“Thanks, Jesse.”
“No problem. You know how to reach me if things go sideways again,” Jesse pauses, his face looking crestfallen for a moment. He reaches out and settles a hand on Jack's arm. “I'm really sorry. About everything's that's happened to you.” He gives another tight smile and lowers his hand. “Tell the others I said goodbye.”
Then Jack blinks and Jesse Turner is gone.
__
“You sure you don't want us with you?” Dean asks.
Jack shakes his head. “This is something I need to do myself. Thanks for the offer though.”
Sam nods. “We'll be right in here if you need anything.”
There's understanding and sympathy scrawled through everyone's faces when he looks at them as he turns to leave. He picks up the gasoline container in his hand and slips the lighter into his pocket.
Outside, the world is quiet, except for the sound of the gentle sloshing waves before him. The funeral pyre for Clark and his mother still stands, ready to be lit and turned into ash.
He murmurs quietly in Enochian, setting the gasoline container down by his side as he sits down, cross-legged.
Ol aziazor elasa. Paid od paid.
When he looks up, the moon and stars have disappeared. Darkness is covering the sky above him, but he doesn't feel worry or dread. He needs no introduction.
“Hello, Jack.”
Jack turns his head. A woman with curly brown hair stands beside him, her head slightly tilted.
“Amara.”
She smiles gently and bends in front of him, brushing her hand across his cheek. A coldness seeps through his spine and he forces himself not to shudder. There's no words to be said; he can see it clearly etched in her dark brown eyes.
“My Brother grieves,” Amara tells him, lowering her hand, “my nephew. But He understands. I've come to ease your sorrow.”
His great-aunt presses a kiss on Jack's forehead, leaving him momentarily confused when she pulls away. "I asked before I came to you. Our gift to you," Amara says, her dark black dress writhing with the shadows. And then, he blinks. In Amara's vanishing cloud of darkness, the funeral pyre lights up, bursting into flame. A life cut short, Amara's voice whispers in his mind. You deserve happiness, my child.
Jack gets to his feet, feeling the heat of the flames as they rise higher and higher, Christine’s body becoming charred. Then it happens, and out of that pyre from its very centre, rises Clark, stepping out alive and just as beautiful as the day that he first met him.
And then Jack’s running. He’s running towards Clark and he’s gripping him tight, his arms around him, and Clark's hands are around him, soft as ever, and Jack just can’t stop touching him. He just can't.
Because Clark's alive. He's alive and back home. With him.
“Clark,” he breathes out, “You're okay.”
“I-I re-remember everything,” Clark gasps, voice raspy and hoarse from disuse, clasping his face, his blue eyes shining brighter than ever, fixated on Jack's face. “J-Jack.”
I missed you, Jack wants to say. But instead, he buries himself in Clark's neck as Clark holds him, breathing him in, making sure he's actually here. I love you. I love you.
“P-paid od paid,” Clark whispers to him as they pull away, his clothes on the verge of falling apart, soot covering his body, “Always and forever, y-yeah?”
Jack can't help but smile, laugh and presses a kiss on Clark's lips. “I love you,” Clark whispers.
__
How is he back? Dean asks when they come stumbling into the cabin.
Amara.
Amara, of course. But he can see in Dean’s eyes that he's happy for him and that's all that matters.
Lately, when Jack musters the courage to ask, Clark tells him the whole story.
I remember dying.
Asmodeus had been the one to kill him, but not before tying him and his mother up, torturing them for information as to where to find Jack.
Mom wouldn't tell him. She spat in his face and then broke free. She killed three of them before he . . . I tried to help. I remembered what you taught me but . . . he killed me. And then I woke up, in the white room with Mom. In Heaven. But we didn't remember. Not until the lady in black came.
Clark grieves.
But Jack's there for him and that's all there is.
__
Maybe this world isn't Paradise yet like he's promised Kelly and Cas, but it's home.
The world begins to change; a sign of hope befalling them because Sam and Dean: they deserve it.
(“Boyfriend, huh?” Clark smiles after they fight a hellbent witch determined to end the Winchesters once and all.
Shut up, but Jack grins and leans in for a kiss.)
(“You're so weird,” Claire Novak tells him, rolling her big doe eyes after he sprouts off a literary response, but there's no condescending tone to her voice. She's teasing him, he knows, a sign of love. After all, she is his sister. “By the way, are you guys still coming over tomorrow? Alex wants to talk to you about something.”)
It's Jack’s birthday. He's officially twenty years old, according to the fake driver’s license Jody’s contacts made for him and he runs his fingers over his brand new name: Jack Winchester-Kline.
And he's proud.
“I'm only human, after all,” Clark sings quietly to Jack as they dance and they help but chuckle at the irony.
The cake soon comes out, decorated beautifully by the Wayward Sisters: Alex, Patience, Claire, her girlfriend Kaia, Donna, and Jody. Sam, Dean, and Castiel pat him on the back as he sits down in front of the chocolate cake, congratulating him and he can't help but smile happily. A partially off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” begins, the candles flickering in front of his face and he can't help but think of his mother and wishes that she could be there with him.
But he knows she's proud of him up in Heaven and he thinks he can hear her voice from the video she'd made him. I love you, Jack.
Clark's holding his hand and squeezes it gently and then the chorus of the song nears to an end. “. . . Happy birthday to youuuuu!”
Jack leans forward and blows, extinguishing the candles, which results in elated whoops and cheers.
“Happy Birthday, Jack,” Clark murmurs as Jody serves Jack his slice and then everyone's else. (“Oh, cake,” Dean says happily.)
Happy Birthday.
And when the night end and the stars cease to play, the sun beyond the horizon begins to rise again, signaling the start of a brand new day filled with hope.