Work Text:
"What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”
Dean looked away from the stage he’d been staring at, willing the music to start so that he could sit through enough of it for Sam and Castiel to let him go home. He did a double-take when he recognized the woman pulling up a chair at his table. “Cassie? What the hell are you doing in Kansas?”
“What any good journalist does, following a story,” Cassie said. “Guy showed up in Cape Girardeau earlier this month ranting about the end of days and that God was dead. Said he’d been shot in a graveyard out this way. I didn’t pay it much mind, thought the cold was just messing with his mind, but my editor wanted me to go check it out. He didn’t think the guy sounded crazy.”
“Yeah, well…” Dean took a sip of his whiskey. Cassie knew enough of the truth to at least have an open mind, but even within the hunting framework she had, this story was nine kinds of crazy. “What do you think?”
“Until I got here and saw you, I just assumed crazy, but… with you involved? I’m more willing to believe that something weird happened here. God getting shot…” Cassie shook her head and shrugged. “Is that why you’re here? Investigating an odd shooting?”
“No, actually, me and Sammy live near here.” Dean took another sip of whiskey and flagged the waitress for another round, pointing to Cassie to indicate one for her too. “If I tell you what happened, will you believe me, or call me crazy and tell me to get the hell away from you?”
“I’ll believe you,” Cassie said with a huge smile. “That ghost truck kinda reset the bar for unbelievable.”
“Alright.” Dean waited until the new drinks arrived and the waitress was gone again. “Not quite sure where to begin, though. The beginning’s a long way from the actual story.”
“How about you start with what happened, and we can work our way backwards, then?” Cassie suggested. “Did, or did not, God get shot in a cemetery near here?”
“He did. Sam shot him.” Dean grimaced at the memory. “God is… the old God is dead. Thing is, the fucker lied to us about what the gun would do. It was supposed to kill the shooter too. Instead, it transferred God’s powers to Sammy.”
Cassie blinked a couple times. Dean couldn’t blame her. He’d been there witnessing his brother’s apotheosis, and he still didn’t believe it. “You know, I promised to believe you, but… where did you get a gun that would kill God?”
“From God himself. He gave it to me to kill Jack, and told me it’d kill me too. I couldn’t go through with it, so God decided to take Jack out himself, and that’s when Sam grabbed the gun and shot him.” Dean tried not to let his thoughts drift to what would have happened if he’d gone through with shooting Jack. Would he have died, like Chuck said? Sam had a theory that God’s power was too bound up in the universe to just disappear, and that it had found a new home when its old one died. Chuck might or might not have been the original God. Nephilim had died before, so Jack’s death wouldn’t cause that kind of cosmic imbalance. Dean might have died, or might have absorbed Jack’s power, and he wasn’t okay with either outcome.
“And Jack is…” Cassie prompted, drawing Dean out of his thoughts.
“Sam’s adopted son, apparently.” Dean didn’t bother trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. One of Sam’s first acts as the new God was to restore Jack’s soul from the spark that was left to him, returning Jack to his full power and health. Dean would’ve preferred to see him dead, but there was no way Sam or Cas would go along with that. At least as God, Sam would have the power to keep Jack in check. “He’s a Nephilim. Son of Lucifer. Sam and his angel boyfriend decided they wanted to play dads, and it took.”
“Wow. Aren’t you just the supportive uncle,” Cassie said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Dean chose to ignore it. He couldn’t just forget that the kid had killed Mary. “Lucifer, as in the Lucifer? Ruler in Hell instead of servant in Heaven?”
“Yeah, that asshole. He’s dead now, too.” Dean finished off his current round of whiskey. “He’s also the reason I’m here tonight.”
“Lucifer is?”
Dean blinked. “No. Jack. With no great looming threats hanging over us, like a wrathful God or an asshole archangel, Jack decided he wanted to learn to play piano. He’s playing tonight, and I’m doing the supportive uncle thing.”
“Not very well,” Cassie said. Dean bristled. He was here, wasn’t he? Okay, he’d just received his fourth shot of whiskey and Jack hadn’t even started playing yet, but what were you expecting? He didn’t belong here. He belonged in the kind of bar that blared classic rock or country, not the kind of bar that had live music. Besides, as Sam was so fond of pointing out, it’s not like whiskey did much to him anymore. “You wanna be a supportive uncle? Start by not talking shit about your brother’s adoption of him.” Dean just rolled his eyes. “Angel boyfriend?”
“Yeah, Castiel, he’s our best friend, showed up to help us stop Lucifer the first time we had to deal with him and kept sticking around. Him and Sammy fell in love, and then when Jack turned up… still not convinced Jack didn’t put some kind of whammy on him, but doesn’t matter, too late to do anything about it now.”
“Now that’s kinda sweet… Sam finding love, I mean, not you thinking their son whammied him. I’m glad to hear it.”
Now that, Dean could agree with. He was just about to say so when Jack took the stage. Here it went. Kid was going to play lame songs and Dean was expected to applaud. It started out that way, but then… Jack started playing Free Bird. Which, still kinda lame, but better than what he’d expected. When he played Zeppelin’s “The Rain Song”, Dean had to admit this was better than he’d expected. It was still mostly lame, but Jack included some pretty cool stuff… and, somehow, finished with an epic cover of “The Immigrant Song” that had no business rocking as hard as it did.
“Looks like you might have found some appreciation for your nephew after all,” Cassie teased as Dean turned away from it. “‘Immigrant Song’ your whammy?”
“Yeah, looks like.” Dean finished off his whiskey. “Still not gonna forgive him for some of the shit he did, but it’s better.”
“Wow. You haven’t changed a bit.” Cassie dropped some cash on the table and got to her feet. “Just as full of shit as ever. Thanks for the info about my investigation. Have a good Christmas, or whatever holidays hunters celebrate.”