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Chuck’s pitiful cries have long since faded into the distance, drowned out by the triumphant roar of Baby’s engine, when Dean finally lets out a low, shaky breath.
They… they did it. Chuck’s done.
They’re free.
But that only makes the empty spot next to Jack in the backseat feel that much bigger, that much more excruciating to look at.
Cas should be here.
They make it all the way back to the Bunker before Dean manages to muster up the courage to broach the subject.
“Jack?”
The kid pauses, halfway through taking off his seatbelt, and meets Dean’s eyes in the rearview. It strikes Dean, again, how much more… centred he seems. Like he finally understands his place in all this.
“Yes?” He says, a faint, tired smile on his face.
Dean swallows, his throat suddenly tight. “I know you said… you said you’re gonna be hands off. And I get that, it’s… it’s what we did this for. All of this. But couldn’t you…”
His voice fails him for a minute. The car is silent.
“Bring him back?” He whispers. ”Please?”
Jack’s face falls, a gut-wrenching mixture of pity for Dean and pain of his own, and a hot wave of fresh tears threaten to spill over Dean’s cheeks.
“Dean,” Jack says gently, his voice wracked with sadness. “I… I can’t. I want to, you know how much I want to. He was…” The kid trails off. He sniffles. “He was my dad. But there’s a balance that I restored when I took Chuck’s power, a balance he’s been ignoring for far too long. It has to be maintained. And I have to draw the line somewhere, Dean. If I start giving in, where will I stop?” He deflates. “I won’t be the next monster you have to put down,” he says softly.
Sam’s shoulders slump next to him, and Dean turns around to face the kid. “C’mon, Jack, that can’t be it,” he pleads. “There’s gotta be… there’s gotta be something we can do.” Jack opens his mouth, misery rolling off him in an almost tangible wave, but then he stops. He looks like he’s listening to someone whispering in his ear.
“Jack? What’s up?” Sam says, having turned around to look at him too.
All of a sudden, a smile breaks across his face, and Dean’s heart gives a wild thump.
“Amara has something she thinks will work. And I think… I think she’s right.”
— - —
Dean sits in the library, an untouched drink on the table next to him, thrumming with nervous energy. Both he and Sam had been flooded with text messages as soon as they got back to the Bunker, from everyone who Jack had just restored: Jody, Donna, Garth. Bobby, Charlie. Claire.
Eileen.
Sam had tried to stay focused as they responded to everyone, as Jack explained what he’d meant in the car; but he’d been distracted, checking his phone obsessively even after the flurry of explanatory texts and phone calls had died down. So, after a bit of internal debate, Dean had sent him off to go check on her.
Because as much as Dean hated to admit it, a few extra hours wasn’t going to change anything. Cas isn’t going anywhere, so why shouldn’t Sam get to have his moment? He’s not any less deserving of a happy ending than Dean is. He’s more than earned this.
Sam was obviously torn, and Dean had almost had to push him out the door. But he’d finally given in, caving under the combination of another text from Eileen and a final brusque reassurance on Dean’s part. He’d promised to be back as soon as possible, but Dean had told him to take his time.
And now Dean is waiting.
“Dean.”
Dean looks up, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Jack. I mean,” he amends cautiously, “unless, you want something else, now that you’re…”
Jack shakes his head vehemently. “No. I’m still me, just… a little different.” He smiles brightly. “Like a Pokémon. I evolved.”
A weak snort of laughter bubbles up out of Dean’s chest, and Jack comes to sit next to him with a pleased look on his face. Dean runs a finger over the rim of his glass, thinking.
“How much is this gonna change things, Jack? With you bein’ the head honcho and all.”
Jack tilts his head a little, and Dean tries not to let how Cas the movement is steal his breath away. “Heaven is weak. For a while, I imagine I’ll need to be there often - doing repairs, so to speak.” Then Jack gets a hopeful look on his face, and scoots a little closer to Dean. “After that, though… I would still like to stay here when I can, if you’ll allow me. You, Sam, and Castiel are my family, Dean. I still love all of you very much.”
Which… Dean puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes. “Hey. You’re always welcome here. Jack, I’m… I’m so sorry about everything I said to you. It wasn’t true, I don’t… I was going crazy.”
Jack shakes his head, smiling. “It’s okay, Dean. I see, now, how much of a hold Chuck had over all of us. I understand.”
And fuck, is this what parents feel like when they realize their kid’s gone and grown up on them while they weren’t looking? Because Dean hasn’t felt this proud of someone since, since…
Since Sammy, he guesses.
“Well, hey,” he says thickly, standing up. “You’re not a real Winchester ‘til you’ve defaced some property, so let’s go. You still got that Swiss Army knife I gave you?”
Jack nods his assent and pulls it out, and Dean shows him how to carve his name into the smooth, varnished wood of the table, under Mary’s spiky scratches.
When Jack’s finished, Dean pulls the kid into a hug. “There. You’re in it for good, now.”
Jack beams, but then he looks back down at the table. “Shouldn’t… shouldn’t Castiel’s name be there too?” He says, his voice ticking up at the end of the sentence.
Dean doesn’t trust himself to speak. After a minute, he gives a single, jerky nod.
Jack presses the Swiss Army knife into Dean’s hand. “I think you should do it. You can surprise him when he gets back.”
And they don’t even know if this is gonna work or not, there’s no reason to be throwing around the word “when” like it’s a sure thing. Dean knows that, Jack knows that. So either Jack… believes that Dean and Sam can pull this off, or he’s trying to give Dean some kinda hope.
Dean clears his throat, ignoring the sting in his eyes. “Yeah. Good idea, kid.”
He starts in on the “C”, nestled up under the rest of the initials where it belongs, with Jack’s hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder.
— - —
The Empty is black.
Not the nuanced black of a dark night, or of the inside of your eyelids when you’ve closed your eyes to go to sleep, true black. Black so flat and featureless that Dean has absolutely no sense of direction, no sense of what kind of space he’s in. It’s deeply unnerving.
“Cas?” He yells, as loud as he can. The sound only seems to travel a few feet before petering out. “Cas?”
The scant light coming through the portal at his back, at least, reminds him he still has a way out. But they have no idea how long it’s gonna stay open, and it’s already been five minutes.
“Cas? Cas!”
Sam shouts a warning, and Dean turns back to see the edges of the portal stutter ominously, then go still again. Shit, they’re running out of time.
“Cas! Castiel, you son of a bitch, where are you?! I’m tryin’ to get your ass outta here!”
Tears of frustration burn Dean’s cheeks as he takes a half step back towards the portal, towards Sam’s outstretched hands. He’s so close, he’s just gotta… he has to find Cas.
What’s the point in leaving without him?
But then, out in the darkness, something shifts— and the faintest shadow of a whisper reaches Dean’s ears.
...Dean?
“CAS!” Dean yells, charging towards the patch of darkness ahead of him that’s slowly shifting, changing, solidifying into folds of fabric and mussed hair.
He doesn’t quite believe it until his hands close over Cas’ shoulders and a pair of blue, blue eyes meet his.
“We’ve gotta go, Cas, come on,” Dean gasps, dragging Cas up and pulling him back towards the portal. Cas is barely conscious, stumbling over nothing and leaning heavily on Dean, black shadows sloughing off him like sheets of liquid. Sam shouts encouragement, the portal guttering like a dying flame, and just as he hauls them through to sprawl on the floor of the barn it closes with a sucking squelch, the black slime folding in on itself and winking out of existence.
Dean scrambles to his knees, rolling Cas onto his back.
“No, no, no,” he cries, cupping Cas’ face between his hands as his relief does a sickening 180 back to terror. Because Cas’ eyes are glowing with Grace, and when he opens his mouth to breathe Dean’s name Dean can see light rising up the back of his throat, too.
“No, you asshole, you’re not allowed to die. You hear me?” Dean’s voice is cracking with emotion, raw and desperate. “You can’t die now, I just got you back. Cas, c’mon.”
One of Cas’ hands comes up to snag Dean’s sleeve, his eyes roll back… and he breathes out, the light fading away. Grace seeps out from underneath him, a puddle of light that spreads and spreads and spreads, and finally dissipates into the ground.
Cas blinks up at Dean. “You’re real.”
Dean sobs a laugh, helping Cas sit up and dragging him into a hug. “‘Course I’m real, dumbass. You were the one who told me we were.”
Then Cas’ arms go around him to hug him back, and Dean can’t hold it back anymore.
When he finally breaks away, Sam’s disappeared; probably gone out to the car already, and Dean is so goddamn lucky to have a brother that knows him this well.
He puts a hand on the side of Cas’ neck, his eyes roaming greedily over the familiar planes of his face. “What was that with the Grace, man? Are you alright?”
Cas smiles faintly. “Yes, Dean. But… I believe I am human.”
“That’s not so bad, is it? You’re alive.”
Cas’ smile fades. “Yes, but… how? What happened, did…”
Dean swallows. “We stopped Chuck. Jack, uh, Jack took his power, left him human. He’s gonna live the rest of his sorry life as one of us. Serves that motherfucker right, if you ask me.” He pauses. “He wanted… he wanted me to kill him. But I didn’t. I’m not— I’m not a killer.”
Cas looks at Dean in awe, his eyes suddenly shiny with unshed tears. “You listened.”
“Yeah, well. That was a pretty good speech, as far as goodbyes go.”
A tear slips down over Cas’ cheek, and he smiles again. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. That wasn’t my intention. It’s never been my intention.”
And this, this is it. This is Dean’s chance. His heart is jackhammering in his throat as he brings his other hand up to Cas’ neck, cradling his jaw in both hands. Cas goes still, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face.
“Cas, that— that thing you wanted, that you thought… that you were, so sure you couldn’t have…” Dean says, low and vehement.
He takes a breath.
“It’s yours,” he whispers, leaning forward to press his forehead against Cas’. “All yours.”
They’re both crying when Dean kisses him, the salt of their mingled tears sharp and bright on his tongue. It’s like paradise, like coming home, like the final puzzle piece fitting into place.
Now they’ve won. For real.
And it’s time to write their own story.