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Jack wakes to the metal creak of the infirmary door. He feels sluggish, heavy. He struggles to raise his head, to open his eyes but finds it’s impossible. So instead, he lies there quietly, waiting as someone flops into the seat next to his bed.
“Hey, man.” That someone turns out to be Sam and, even exhausted as he is, Jack’s pleased to hear from him.
“You’ve, uh, been in here for a couple days now,” Sam says. “Cas and Rowena say they’re not sure when you’re gonna wake up but, um.”
Sam shifts slightly, and Jack can picture him pushing his hair back and behind his hears, the way he does when he’s exhausted.
“I just wanted to come and give you an update on where we’re at. I know you probably can’t hear me but it’ll make me feel better so,” Sam gives a self-deprecating chuckle, “bear with me.”
“Rowena thinks she’s got a lead with one of her old coven friends. Something about an alternate spell and a way to tweak the recipe. Turns out, there’s this really cool thing called the periapt of Raphael and supposedly it can heal any type of wound, even ones inflicted by other archangels. Which, okay I know Gabriel’s grace didn’t too much but maybe we just need to boost it a little. I’m gonna head out there tomorrow and trying to figure out what’s going, so I just...”
Jack feels himself drifting off, caught up in the soothing wake of Sam’s rambling. Jack has no illusions about his current condition, and he’s long since made his peace with it. However, chasing impossible solutions appears to be something that brings Sam comfort, and Jack would never begrudge his family that. Sleepily, he hopes that Sam find closure in the knowledge that he's done all he can in the end.
He sleeps again.
--
The next voice Jack wakes to is of his father. Well, his first father, at least. Castiel is speaking to him quietly, and Jack only catches the tail end of whatever he’s been saying, but he sounds agitated.
“-and I promise we’re not going to stop searching for a solution. I told Rowena I would use my grace if I could. You could have it, all of it, if it meant your recovery. But now that won’t even work, it’s not enough- “ Castiel breaks off with a distraught noise that has Jack straining everything he can to try and reach out, to no avail.
“I fought so hard to acquire my grace because I thought that if I had it then I could be useful, then I could be here. But here I am, at almost full strength, yet I feel just as powerless as I’ve ever been.”
Castiel reaches out, squeezing Jack’s hand where it rests on the bed. Jack wants nothing more than to offer any sort of comfort in return, to assure him Castiel that he’s already giving Jack everything he needs. A life, a home, a family. But the most he can do is file it away for later, and hope that Castiel believes him.
Jack isn’t sure if the next part is meant for him, but he catches it anyway as he falls back to sleep. It’s a tired whisper that comes out muffled, as if Cas was sitting with his face in his hands.
“What is the point in being an angel if I can’t protect the things I love?”
Jack falls asleep before he can think of an answer.
--
A warm weight on his arm wakes him next, and he’s so busy focusing on trying to figure out what it is that the low rumble of Dean’s voice startles him.
“So, I don’t know if you can hear me or not, kid. But Sammy said there was a good chance you probably could so, uh. Here I am, I guess.” Dean sounds rough, exhausted, and Jack feels a flicker of guilt knowing he’s probably caused it.
Also,” Dean continues, “I wanted to come check on Cas. Sorry about your arm, by the way. Dude’s been sleeping like, well, like he actually needs it, so I don’t really want to wake him up.”
Oh, that explains. If Jack concentrates enough, he can just make out the shape of Castiel, slumped over the side of his bed, his head pillowed in his arms. He must have shifted just enough to have pinned Jack’s left arm to the bed. Not that Jack minds, of course. It’s not as if he’s doing much else at the moment.
But he’s distracted himself, and he really doesn’t want to miss what Dean’s saying. He strains, refocusing on the hunter’s words in time to catch the tail end.
“-and I guess I never really apologized for how I treated you when we first met.”
Jack starts. That’s certainly not what he expected.
“I mean, yeah, I was upset about Cas. But I was still a dick and you didn’t deserve that. So I guess mostly what I want to say is... I’m sorry, about all that crap. And also, uh, thank you?”
Jack frowns. He may not be Lucifer level, but he certainly hasn’t done anything to warrant being thanked.
Dean’s voice hitches. “I know you’re the reason Cas came back, and I know you didn’t really understand it at the time. But without him, I probably wouldn’t- we probably wouldn’t-” Dean breaks off, shaking his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Just, thanks.”
Dean falls silent, and Jack uses the time to think about what he’s just said. He thinks about volatile Dean had been at the mention of Castiel’s name, how quick Dean had been to shut down any discussion. He thinks about how Dean’s face had lit up in a way that was almost painful when he’d dragged Cas into the bunker to introduce him to Jack. He thinks about the cowboys, and the laughter, and the way Dean and Cas both seemed happier, lighter, when the other was around.
Dean said it didn’t matter, whether Jack understood just how important Cas was to them all. Jack doesn’t think that’s quite right.
It’s probably the only thing that matters.
“Anyways,” Dean breaks the silence, finally, forcing Jack out of his thoughts. “That’s not the point of why I came down here. What I really wanted to say was- you can’t do this to him, kid” Dean shifts, and Jack can feel him curl a hand protectively at the back of Castiel’s neck.
“He’s lost enough stuff and he can’t lose you, too. None of us can.”
There’s a long moment of silence where Jack thinks Dean isn’t going to say anything else. When he does speak again, it’s gruffer, more certain.
“Here’s another human rule for you- bedside conversations are never brought up again.” He sniffs. “So it goes without saying that if you repeat any of this I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Jack tries, really tries. He musters up what little strength he’s managed to gather up for this entire conversation. He focuses as hard as he can.
The hand under Castiel twitches.
Dean shouts loud enough for Castiel to jerk awake.
“What-?” Jack hears him say.
Dean just laughs, a little wetly this time, and there’s a loud slapping sound and a grunt from Cas, like Dean’s just clapped him on the back.
“Your kid is an asshole.”
--
Hours later, after Dean’s dragged Castiel to a real bed and Jack’s woken up several more times, it’s Rowena who smiles at him from the chair near his bed.
The corner of her mouth quirks up fondly, and when she speaks she sounds wistful. “You’ve got some good dads there, laddie.” She pats his knee fondly before moving away.
“You’re lucky to have them.”
Jack smiles.
He knows.