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“Heya, Sammy,” Dean slides his cellphone to his ear, cutting off the beginning beats of “Smoke on the Water.” “Hey – buddy!” Dean turns his attention back to Micah, who, in Dean’s very brief moment of distraction, is now attempting to pick up the jug of orange juice with both of his tiny, wobbly hands. “Wait for dad, okay?”
Dean crutches across the floor, presses his finger against the screen, and tells Sam, “Hold up. Imma put you speaker.” Dean places the phone on the table and deftly steadies the jug so there isn’t an early morning mess. Miracle looks up briefly from where he’s stationed himself under Micah’s chair, ready for the cleanup brigade.
“That’s it, bud. Good job!” Dean tells Micah as he and his son pour the juice into Micah’s waiting cup. Dean one-handedly screws the sippy cup lid onto Micah’s cup, and Micah accepts it with a wide smile.
“Sorry, Sam,” Dean says once Micah is gulping his juice, both hands clasped tight around the cylinder, barely coming up for air. “What’s up?”
“Dean?” Sam’s voice comes through the speaker, clipped and hurried. “Are you, ah, good this morning?”
“Um, yeah?” Dean says. He eases into a chair at the kitchen table, left leg held out straight in his brace and crutches propped against the wall. “Easy, sport,” he reminds Micah, putting a hand on his tiny shoulder to get him to take a break. “Your juice ain’t going anywhere.”
“Is it okay – if I, ah, come over?” Sam says tentatively. It occurs to Dean that Sam doesn’t sound quite right. His voice is tense. He sounds worried or – or maybe scared. Dean’s immediately on alert. His pulse speeds up with the rush of ready adrenaline, and he snatches ahold of his phone, taking it off speaker.
“Of course,” Dean says at once. “Is everything okay?” Sam comes over with Junior and baby Maura every Tuesday and Thursday so they can pool their resources; watching three kids under three-years-old is made only slightly easier with two adults. But today is Monday, so, although Sam is obviously always welcome, it is odd that he wants to come over.
“Everything’s fine,” Sam says on a hard exhale. And it’s not. Dean knows immediately that it’s not. “Everything – really, Dean. Everything’s okay. It’s just – it’s something I need to talk – I need to show you in person, okay?” Sam sounds wrong. His nose is all stuffed up, like he’s been crying.
Dean struggles to get his thoughts under control. “Sam is – is everyone okay?”
He can barely say it. Someone’s dead. Jody or Donna or Claire, Kaia, Patience, or Alex – or someone’s hurt. Someone’s sick. Someone’s dying. Sam has cancer. Or, God, what if it’s Little Dean or Maura? What if Eileen and Cas got into a car accident on the way to work? What if Ella –
“Sam –” Dean says and there’s an unmistakable edge of panic in his voice.
“I promise, Dean,” Sam says, a little steadier. “We’re all okay. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes with the – the kids. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean squeaks.
Sam ends the call. Dean sits there breathing hard. He’s cold and hot at the same time. Fever flushed and sweating but shivering bone deep. It’s another apocalypse. If someone was dead or dying, Sam would have told him over the phone. Only this makes sense: Sam’s caught wind of another threat that only he and Dean can combat. There’s something coming. Chuck has his powers again. A demon insurgence has overthrown Rewena’s rule. Some monster is seeking revenge on the Winchester family.
And Dean should have known. God fucking dammit, he should have known. It never lasts. Peace isn’t in the cards. Happily ever after is a fucking joke. Dean doesn’t deserve a happy ending. It’s all gonna get yanked away. Just when things were good – really, really good – it’s gonna get pulled out from under him. It’s been almost three years. And three years is all he’s gonna get. They’re gonna – they’re gonna take Dean’s family away from him again. Cas and Micah and Ella and Sammy, Eileen, Junior, and Maura –
Miracle yips in Dean’s face, and his wet tongue drags against Dean’s cheek. Dean phases back in enough to notice Mir’s front paws are on Dean’s lap, putting his nose directly in front of Dean’s face as he tries to drag Dean back from the near panic attack.
“H-hey, boy,” Dean says, breath hitching. He buries both hands in Mir’s thick, long fur. “Hey.”
Mir nestles his nose into Dean’s neck and wiggles, licking him a few more times. Dean pats him. He’s shaking hard. He takes a few deep, stuttering breaths.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Thanks, Mir. Good boy. I’m alright.”
Dean shifts his weight on the chair, and Miracle hops off him, but he stays nearby, nuzzling against Dean’s palm. Dean scratches him on the top of his head, gulping air. He’s okay. Fuck. He’s okay.
Micah lets out a distressed, formless cry, and Dean snaps out of his panic, turning immediately to his son, who’s wiggling in his chair, arching his back, and pushing up on the table. He’s not crying, but it’s a near thing, and he obviously wants help getting out of his booster seat and onto the ground.
“Sorry –” Dean says at once. He pushes up with his good leg and leans over so he can unbuckle Micah’s seat and lift him onto the floor. “Sorry, buddy.”
Dean’s not one of those parents who uses phrases like “use your words.” Dean gets that he’s supposed to encourage clear communication over throwing tantrums, but Micah is using his words. He’s talking in whatever way he feels able, and Dean’s going to hear him.
Micah seems entirely pleased to be on his feet, and he races into the living room. Television comes after breakfast; this is an indisputable fact in Micah’s short life.
“Paw Paddo!” Micah yells from the living room, demanding Dean turn on his talking animal show. It’s one of the few words in his slowly returning vocabulary, other than “Ehwa” for his sister, “Ma!” for Miracle, and “Daddy” for either Cas or Dean. It never fails to make them melt.
Dean grabs his crutches and hauls himself to his feet. There’s a shivery, unsteady feeling in all his limbs, but he’s okay. He’s not going to fall apart. There’s nothing quite like a kid to force you out of your head.
Dean turns on the tv for Micah, who, as usual, plops down two feet away from the screen among his pile of stuffed animals and favorite yellow blanket. Usually Miracle sits with him, but the dog stays tight by Dean’s side as Dean hovers by the window, waiting for Sam to pull up.
Mir is attuned to Dean’s rapid heartrate, so Dean knows he’s still on the edge of panic. He runs through whatever breathing exercises Mia’s taught him that he can remember, urging himself to loosen the tense muscles in his shoulders and neck. Sometimes stress can trigger a pain response, which can be the beginning of a vicious cycle of pain and panic, and Dean doesn’t want that to happen. Whatever Sammy’s dealing with – Dean needs to be on the top of his game.
It’s a pretty day out: clear blue sky and warm. The kind of day that would have ended up with Dean and Micah on a blanket in the yard, playing fetch with Mir, waiting for the bus to drop Ella off after her second week of school. Maybe grilling up the chicken in the fridge when Cas got home from work.
But now Dean’s not sure. Whatever bad news Sam brings, Dean’s certain the day’s not going to end with a picnic. Too late, Dean thinks that he should have grabbed a weapon. Should have checked the fucking wards – but the nearest weapon is the angel blade Dean keeps hidden under the arm of his wheelchair. Or there’s the gun Cas keeps locked in his bedside table. Jars of holy water under everyone’s beds. A padlocked gun cabinet in the garage –
Sam’s silver minivan – something Dean’s teased him endlessly about for looking like a soccer mom – pulls into the gravel driveway.
There’s someone in the passenger seat. That’s the only thing Dean fully registers before he works his way as quickly as possible to the front door, brace thumping on the floor with every step.
“Mir, sit,” he orders. Miracle immediately does what he says, settling in the middle of the living room. “Stay with Micah. Micah, buddy, you just watch your show.”
Micah spares Dean barely a glance before he turns back, trance-like, to Paw Patrol. Dean doesn’t know what kind of subliminal messages they put in cartoons, but, whatever it is, it works.
Dean opens the door. Sam’s already got one long leg out of the van. He says something to whoever’s in the front seat, and then he jogs across the lawn to the front door. His face is splotchy red. He’s definitely been crying. He’s a little out of breath. His hair is pulled back from his face in an honest-to-God manbun, but Dean’s way too freaked out to tease him.
“What the fuck, Sam –” Dean starts in a hushed voice.
“I’m sorry,” Sam interrupts him. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t want to freak you out, but I couldn’t tell you over the phone. I – Cas and Eileen are coming back from work. They’re picking Ella up from kindergarten –”
“Sam, what the hell is happening?”
“It’s – Dean I had to bring him here – you had to see for yourself,” Sam swings his hand wildly toward the car, and the passenger door opens.
A young man steps out. Sheepish and golden-haired. A tentative smile on his face. Eyebrows puckered over the bridge of his nose. And he raises one hand.
“Hello,” Jack says uncertainly.
“J-Jack?” Dean says.
Jack drops his arm, but he doesn’t move closer. It is undoubtedly Jack. It’s been three years, but he looks exactly the same as he does in the picture in the living room: gangly and doe-eyed, round face and mouth the shape of Cas’s. Nervous smile and hunched shoulders.
“Sam?” Dean turns desperately to his brother. He’s fucking losing it. He’s losing it. He’s having a Goddamn hallucination.
“It’s him, Dean,” Sam says hoarsely. “I did all the tests. It’s him.”
“H-how?” Dean asks, unable to look at Jack, like he’s become the sun incarnate, too bright to stare at directly. Instead, he fixes his gaze on Sam’s reassuring, red-rimmed, hazel eyes.
“I-I don’t know,” Sam says breathlessly. “He showed up at the Bunker. He called my cell when there wasn’t anyone there.”
Distantly, Dean’s chest pulses with a small pang of pain, when he wonders why the kid maybe didn’t feel safe calling Dean first. Dean remembers the last words he said to Jack before he disappeared into bright sparks, angrily demanding he bring Cas back to them. Frustrated and scared and desperate. He remembers earlier than that, too: Jack overhearing Dean say that the kid wasn’t family, that he wasn’t on the same tier as Sam and Cas.
Dean’s lost count of how many times he’s closed his eyes during a quiet moment, prayed to whatever might be listening that he was sorry. So Goddamn sorry, Jack.
It’s the guilt, more than anything else, that makes Dean drag his eyes back to the kid again. Jack hasn’t disappeared.
“Jack,” he croaks. He takes an unsteady step forward. Sam catches his elbow, giving him something to lean on.
Jack steps forward. In several long paces, he’s crossed the lawn, and then Dean is hugging him. Both his crutches land on the ground when he flings his arms around Jack’s scrawny shoulders. Tugs him in so tight and close it’s hard to breathe. Jack’s arms come up around Dean’s back after a second, like he wasn’t expecting to get hugged.
Dean breathes with difficulty. The kid even smells the same. A little electrical, like ozone, but fresh and earthy, too. And – fuck. Fuck. It’s been three years. Jack was God. And then Cas explained how Jack disseminated his power into the universe, or whatever, and became noncorporeal, likely just another soul in heaven. And now Jack is here. He’s here, and Dean’s still not entirely sure he’s not dreaming.
He tugs away from Jack, clasping both hands hard on the kid’s shoulders and stares at him. Stares at his clear blue-gray eyes and swoop of blond hair.
“What the hell, kid?” Dean demands, shaking him a little, unable to fight back the wave of terrible emotion cresting in his chest.
Jack’s bright, open face dims slightly at the tone of his voice. It makes Dean ache.
Dean’s not angry, he reminds himself like Mia coached him. Anger is a secondary emotion. He is reacting to something he doesn’t want to feel. He is – deep breath, find his center – he is scared. He is confused. He is hurt. Regretful and grief-stricken. And he is happy. Terrifyingly happy.
He immediately pulls Jack back into a hug. Less intense this time. Just firm, comforting pressure, like he does for Ella when she wakes up screaming from nightmares. Like Cas does for him when he rides out a bad muscle spasm.
“I’m sorry,” Dean chokes over Jack’s shoulder. He can feel the kid trembling in his arms. All skin and bones. “God, I’m so sorry, Jack.” He holds him tight, and it occurs to him that Jack’s not the only one who’s crying. Dean’s chest jerks under the pressure of the tears overflowing down his cheeks.
He’s not sure how long he and Jack hold onto each other before they pull away. Sam’s watching the whole scene with fresh tears of his own. He offers Dean a watery smile before he hands him back his crutches.
“Thanks,” Dean rasps.
“I – I better get the kids and Moose out of the car,” Sam says. His voice is wrecked. “Dee’s gonna start screaming.”
Sam jogs back to the van to let himself into the backseats to release Junior, Maura, and his chocolate lab. Jack sniffs loudly and wipes his nose on his sleeve, looking for all the world like Micah after he’s finished crying.
Dean drinks him in: the red puffiness around his eyes and tiny tremble in his smile as he says with a little awe, “Sam has kids, now.”
Dean’s mouth spreads into a smile so big it cramps his cheeks. “Sure does. Come on, get in here. You gotta meet someone.” Dean limps through the open front door, leading Jack into the house.
Miracle’s been a good boy, staying exactly where Dean told him to, watching over Micah, but the entrance of a stranger into the house is too much to ignore. He’s off his haunches and trotting over immediately.
“You kept him!” Jack exclaims, delighted, and he crouches to offer Mir his hand to sniff. Miracle responds happily to him, and immediately licks his knuckles, getting in close so Jack can give him a proper rubdown. “I knew he’d been sent to protect you.”
“Well, he’s done a damn good job,” Dean says.
Dean walks into the living room. Micah isn’t watching his cartoon anymore. Instead, he’s sitting stiff and uneasy on the floor, thumb in his mouth and blanket clutched in his fist. His eyes are huge when they find Dean’s face, obviously terrified over the fact that there’s an unexpected stranger in the house.
“Hey, Mikey,” Dean says at once, moving closer so Micah can stand up and clutch at his pant leg. Dean wishes he had the dexterity and balance to bend in half and pull his son into his arms, but he puts his hand in Micah’s bushy hair, trying to translate a sense of calm. Micah doesn’t do well meeting new people.
Jack looks up from Miracle’s fur. He stares, wide-eyed at the little boy attached to Dean’s leg.
“Hello,” Jack says uncertainly.
“Jack, this is Micah,” Dean says softly. “Micah, this is Jack. Your – your big brother.” Your big brother, Cas explained to Ella and Micah carefully when they asked who Jack was in the pictures. He’s not here anymore.
Jack’s mouth drops. His eyes dart from Micah to Dean in disbelief. “I have a little brother?”
Dean’s breath catches in his throat. “Yeah,” he gasps through the feeling. “Yeah – a, ah, you got a little sister, too. She’s coming with Cas and Eileen.”
Jack’s face splits into a wide grin. His eyes glisten with tears again.
“Oh, wow,” he says.
There’s a loud bark and then Moose rushes through the door, immediately circling Miracle and Jack, sniffing everything excitedly. He’s almost two and still very much a puppy. Usually, Dean considers Miracle to be full of energy, but, compared to Moose, he’s serene. Sam bustles in after Moose, arms full with wriggling toddler Dean and a baby carrier with one-month old Maura.
“Up, up, up!” Micah squeaks, upset, tugging at Dean’s jeans. Moose normally makes him laugh, and he always loves seeing his littler cousins, but clearly the heightened emotions and unexpected visit have ticked all his bad boxes.
“Okay, okay, buddy,” Dean says, maneuvering backward so he can fall into the armchair next to the couch. He immediately pulls Micah into his lap, where the little boy curls into a tight ball, stuffing his face into Dean’s belly. Dean runs his hand in comforting circles over his back, hushing him quietly as everyone else settles around him.
Sam lets Junior on the floor. The little towhead hobbles over to Micah’s abandoned pile of stuffed animals and drops within the circle, grinning widely. He’s wearing a red, white, and blue striped shirt with the overalls Cas embroidered with a yellow bee on the front pocket.
“Moose, sit,” Sam orders, and the dog does what he says, not before he lets out another thundering bark. His tail keeps wagging, hitting the floor with rhythmic thumps. “Good boy,” Sam says wryly, patting him on the head until Moose’s tongue lolls out.
Sam sets Maura’s carrier down under the coatrack and carefully unbuckles his daughter, transferring the small bundle of yellow and purple polka-dotted onesie to his shoulder. Dean will never get over how absolutely tiny his niece is compared to his gargantuan brother.
“Did I scare him?” Jack whispers, eyes on Micah in Dean’s lap.
“No,” Dean says hastily. “Definitely not. He’s okay. Really. He’s just shy. Come ‘ere.”
Jack straightens out and approaches cautiously, eyes glued to Micah. Dean, himself, can’t look away from Jack. He never thought he’d see him again, and the thought sticks in Dean’s throat until it’s hard to breathe.
What happened is at the forefront of his mind. What happened? Jack was God and then Jack was, for lack of a better term, dead. Or, at least, in heaven. Why is he here, now? Is it real? Or is it just another cruel trick of fate? They’ll have him for just a few hours before the universe rights itself. Or maybe this really is just a hyper-realistic dream. Dean is having a psychotic episode brought on by post-traumatic stress. Maybe he’s lying feverish in some hospital bed. Maybe this is a stroke. Maybe he’s dying.
Unbidden, Dean thinks about crossroads and buried boxes, but Cas wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, and Dean won’t even let himself consider it.
“Hey, buddy,” Dean whispers into Micah’s hair. “Hey, it’s okay. Jack’s a friend. You wanna say hi?”
Jack sits, cross-legged at Dean’s feet. Dean sees his throat work as he swallows. He looks so much like Cas. Dean had forgotten how much. Dean’s eyes sting, and he resigns himself to the fact that he’s just going to be crying off and on for the rest of the day.
Micah stirs enough to peak through one eye at Jack. He nibbles at his bottom lip.
“Hi, Micah,” Jack says quietly, reverently.
Micah twists his head to stare questioningly at Dean, and Dean smiles his encouragement. “Yeah, you can say hi, bud.”
Micah slowly, sloppily, takes the fingers he was chewing on and puts them to his forehead. He pulls them away in a quick sign for hello.
Jack beams. “You know ASL?” he asks enthusiastically. “Eileen was teaching me before…before…” his face falls for a second before he pulls his smile back on, and Dean’s heart aches. Because it’s been three years. Three fucking years. And Jack probably feels the length just as keenly as Dean does. “My name is Jack,” he says, carefully finger-spelling J-A-C-K. “I’m your – I’m your big brother.”
Jack makes both hands into an L. He holds his left hand to his chest and brings his right to forehead, thumb to his hairline. He mimes tipping a baseball cap and pulls his right hand down to meet his left.
Micah looks at Dean again, nose wrinkled in confusion, and Dean laughs. He ruffles Micah’s hair. “That’s right, peanut. He’s your big brother.” The idea fills Dean’s heart with so much joy, it’s like a swelling balloon in his chest.
Sam’s staring at them from the couch, where he’s cradling Maura against his chest with one arm and petting Moose with the other hand. He catches Dean’s eye and offers him a wobbly smile.
There’s the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, and, even though it’s only been about a half-an-hour since Sam called, Dean knows it’s Eileen and Cas, who must have broken every traffic law known to man to make the forty-five-minute ride from the college to Ella’s school to the house so quickly.
Dean hears two doors slam and the rush of footsteps toward the door. Moose looks up from Sam’s lap at the commotion and barks. Miracle trots over to the door like a proper guard dog. The door slams open, and Cas charges forward, face red.
“Dean –” he nearly trips over Miracle, and he spins wildly to keep his footing. “Dean, is it true – is it true – Jack!”
He stops dead in the hallway, and every ounce of color drains from his face, so quickly Dean’s positive Cas is going to faceplant on the floor. Dean jerks to get up, but the move is just reflexive – no way is he going to do anything but land on his ass if he attempts to catch Cas. Anyway, Micah is still on his lap –
But Cas steadies himself, and when he ends up toppling, it’s in a controlled fall to his knees so he can gather Jack into his arms where he’s still sitting on the floor.
“Jack,” Cas whispers desperately. His hands turn to claws in Jack’s shirt. Jack’s head falls onto Cas’s shoulder. What little of Cas’s face Dean can see is flushing with color again as he begins to cry. Dean sees his shoulders shake and hears him let out a muffled sob against Jack’s shoulder.
Eileen comes through the door at a slightly more controlled pace, but her face is white, as well. She’s gripping Ella’s hand tight in her own.
“Oh my God,” she says, when she sees Jack kneeling on the floor in his father’s arms.
“What’s happening?” Ella demands. “What’s happening? Who is it? Aunt Eileen, what’s happening?” Ella tugs on Eileen’s arm, but Eileen has her other hand to her mouth, biting her knuckles to keep back tears.
“Ma!” Little Dean says from the floor, breaking into a smile when he sees his mother. Sam gets up from the couch, shouldering Maura again, and crosses the floor. He slings an arm comfortingly around Eileen’s shoulder, pulling her close to his side as they both watch Cas and Jack clutch each other on the floor.
Dean knows it’s something sacred: Cas and Jack’s reunion. It’s something Dean won’t interrupt. He can hear Cas whispering frantically into his son’s ear in what sounds like Enochian. Maybe a prayer of thanksgiving or a blessing.
“What’s happening?” Ella demands again, pouting a little about being ignored.
“Come here, baby girl,” Dean tells her, waving her over. Ella crosses the room carefully, giving Cas and Jack a strange look. She clambers over the armrest of the chair like a mountain climber, dangling one leg on either side.
Cas and Jack finally detach. Cas pulls away only far enough so he can clutch Jack’s face, one hand on either side, and press a kiss to Jack’s forehead. Dean can see Cas’s face is blotchy and swollen. His eyes are wet. Dean can only think of one other time when Cas cried this hard, and that’s a day he tries very hard not to remember or talk about – unless he’s feeling comfortable enough with Mia.
Eileen is finished waiting, and she steps forward to engulf Jack in a hug of her own. She’s laughing through her tears, and her laughter makes Jack laugh, too. Cas puts his face in his hands, but he’s laughing, as well, in the hysterical, wild way that involves crying, too.
Dean reaches out with the spare arm he’s not using to keep Ella steady on the armrest. He finds Cas’s shoulder, and squeezes it. Cas lets one of his hands drop so he can grip the back of Dean’s hand. His palm is damp with tears. His fingers are shaking.
Cas laughs harder. And now Sam’s laughing, and Junior starts shrieking, delighted, from his ring of stuffed animals. Dean’s chest aches so hard he’s momentarily afraid he’s going to have a heart attack, but he’s laughing, too. Micah giggles quietly. Ella smiles widely and shakes the frizzy pigtails Cas spent twenty-minutes putting in this morning.
“What’s happening!” she screeches, half-way exasperated and half-way amused.
“You know who that is?” Dean takes pity on her, pointing to Jack, who’s once again using his shirt as a tissue.
“That’s Jack!” Ella suddenly declares. She bounces on her perch, and Dean tightens his hold around her waist. “He’s from the pictures! That’s Jack! He’s our big brother, Daddy Cas said! Are you our big brother?”
Jack looks at her, eyes bloodshot, all teeth as he grins. “I’m your big brother.”
“Wow!” Ella launches herself off the armrest and into Jack’s arms. She winds her legs and arms around him in as large a hug as she can muster. “Hi, Jack! Hi! I’m Ella! You wanna play? I got toys and games! And my own room now because Mr. Bobby came in summer to build an es-ten-shun.”
“An extension, that’s right, Ella Bee,” Cas agrees gently, voice husky. He gives Dean’s hand another squeeze before he wipes his face. He hovers beside Jack on the floor, obviously unwilling to move too far away.
Eileen swoops in to pick Junior up and put him on her hip, who’s hiccupping with laughter, still.
“Jack,” she says. “We’re so happy you’re back. But how…?” she lets her sentence hang, voicing the question all of them have been turning over since Jack appeared.
Jack’s face becomes solemn as he begins the explanation. Jack left earth with every intention of giving up his powers. He believed no single entity should have the authority to create and destroy worlds. But, after rescuing Cas from the Empty, there was more to put right in Heaven then he anticipated. Time is different up there, he explained. You could travel a road for fifteen minutes and find 60 years had passed on earth.
He never meant to be gone so long. After he dissolved the walls of Heaven and allowed souls to mingle with their loved-ones, established what order he could over the remaining Angels, and released his power into a hereafter self-contained, self-regulating universe, he spent a little time with Kelly. It was her, ultimately, that urged him to return to earth and his family.
For all intents and purposes, Jack is human now.
“I think I feel like I’m a teenager,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Does that mean I have to go to high school?”
It makes everyone laugh again. There’s a festive atmosphere in the room, now. Micah has warmed up to the idea of Jack, and he and Junior take turns somberly presenting one stuffed animal to him after the other. Jack patiently examines each one, offers his thanks, and collects them in his lap.
“You can come to school with me!” Ella suggests, bouncing up and down on her tip-toes. “We learn our letters and numbers. Like one-plus-one-equals-two and my name is E-L-S-B-E,” deep breath, “T-H. And we draw! I’ll show you what I drew! Aunt Eileen, my backpack is in your car!” Ella races out of the front door, and Eileen follows her, laughing.
Sam is jogging Maura up and down in his arms, pacing as she starts fussing, tiny fists swaying in the air like she’s Rocky Balboa. Someone let Moose out so he could work off some of his energy by running laps around the house, but Miracle is content to settle himself by Dean’s feet, probably because he’s still sensing Dean’s elevated heartrate and confused about what it means. Cas is sitting on the floor beside Jack, head resting against Dean’s chair. Dean has his hand tangled in his partner’s hair. He’s so happy, he can’t look at it properly; he’s afraid it will crumble if he starts searching for cracks.
“They’re all up there,” Jack says quietly, searching out Cas, Dean, and Sam’s eyes in turn. “M-Mary and Maggie and all your other friends. I never met your old Bobby or Charlie or Kevin, but they’re up there, too. And I met an Ellen and Jo and Ash and Jess. And they love you a lot. They – they told me to tell you that. They love you a lot.”
Dean blinks hard, going misty again. Cas hides his face in the armrest.
Ella bursts back into the room, brandishing purple paper with crayon-drawn dinosaurs. Eileen comes after her, sparkly green Tinker Bell backpack slung over one shoulder. Junior takes one look at his mother, drops onto his butt on the floor, and begins to wail.
Jack looks alarmed, but everyone else is very familiar with toddler tantrums, by now, and Eileen merely grins at her son.
“Uh oh, little man,” she says. “You missed your nap?” She picks him up.
Maura hears her brother crying, and she starts crying in earnest, as well. Micah looks from one crying cousin to the other and his own eyes start watering. Micah outgrew late morning naps a while ago, and Dean usually puts him down around three, but he can tell it’s been a morning full of overstimulating emotions.
“You wanna go with Junior, peanut?” Dean suggests softly. “He can bed down in your room, okay? You wanna show him where that is?”
Micah suck in his lower lip and nods. Eileen sticks out her hand, and Micah immediately latches onto it, dragging his yellow blanket behind him.
Just like Ella told Jack, Bobby did come by over the summer to help Cas and Sam put up an extension to the house with another bedroom and a multipurpose room that Dean and Cas had thrown a bunch of miscellaneous stuff into, like Dean’s physical therapy equipment, several bookshelves full of the books Cas borrowed from the Bunker’s library and always forgot to return, and a desk for Cas’s computer when he needed to work on grading.
That can be Jack’s room, Dean realizes with a burst of warmth in his chest. Dean turns back to look at Jack, who’s watching the littler kids disappear into Micah’s bedroom with Sam and Eileen before Ella gets his attention by dumping herself into his lap and nestling in to show him what she did at school that morning.
“I suppose I should prepare something for lunch,” Cas says, standing abruptly. His voice is still tremulous; it’s that, plus the fact that Cas heads toward his and Dean’s bedroom at the opposite side of the house instead of directly into the kitchen, that tells Dean he’s leaving for somewhere private to do more crying.
“I’ll go help him,” Dean excuses himself. Loath as he is to leave Jack, he wants to make sure Cas is okay. Jack is their kid – his and Sam’s as much as he is Cas’s. But it’s always been different with Cas. This is definitely going to hit him harder than it will the others.
Dean follows Cas into the bedroom. He shuts the door behind him. Cas is in the en suite bathroom. Dean can hear the faucet running; he’s probably washing his face. Dean settles on Cas’s side of the bed, waiting patiently.
Cas steps out of the bathroom, face scrubbed clean, and he takes one look at Dean propped against the bed before his face crumples again. So much for washing off his tears.
“Bring it in, man,” Dean says, opening his arms. Cas falls immediately against him. His body shakes in Dean’s arms as he begins crying in earnest. “It’s okay,” Dean says.
It occurs to him that, in the three years since they lost him, Dean’s never seen Cas properly grieve for Jack. Not like this. He’s always put on a brave face. Always talked big about Jack’s essence being all around them. Always smiled softly and sadly when he came up in conversation. Dean’s never seen him fall apart like this.
“He’s okay,” Dean says, rocking Cas in his arms. “He’s back. He’s alright. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
Dean’s been getting better at the hugging thing. He hugs Sam and Eileen hello and goodbye every time they visit, which is a lot. And the kids, of course, he hugs all the time. There’s nothing quite like being a dad that will break down all your barriers about physical contact. It’s like Dean’s trying to catch up for all the hugs Dad didn’t give him by giving his kids more.
He holds Cas now, and just lets him cry. Passes a steady hand up and down Cas’s curved spine. Lets him sob himself out on Dean’s shoulder.
Finally, Cas detaches himself.
“Thank you,” he croaks.
Dean tugs him back in for a very wet kiss.
“I love you,” he tells him seriously, making sure to find Cas’s beautiful blue eyes when he says it; his eyelashes are sticky and clumped from tears.
“And I you,” Cas whispers, dropping another kiss onto Dean’s lips.
“Take whatever time you need in here, okay?” Dean says, grabbing his crutches again. “I’ll get lunch.”
Dean leaves the bedroom, shutting the door so Cas can have some time to compose himself. Eileen and Sam are back minus the three little ones, so it was evidently a successful nap trip, likely settling Maura in the bassinet kept in Ella’s room for just these occasions, and Micah and Little Dean on Micah’s twin mattress on the floor. Ella got the bunkbed in the bedroom switch, and Micah has so far refused to sleep in his new toddler bed, despite the Buzz Lightyear decorations; so that’s become storage space for Micah’s ever-growing stuffed animal collection.
Dean heads into the kitchen, deftly maneuvering with his crutches to the fridge for a block of cheese and jug of milk and to the cabinet for a box of macaroni and flour for the roux. An unexpected lunch party of five adults and three little kids who eat solid food calls for Dean’s famous mac and cheese. He’s graduated from Kraft over the years.
And there’s the chicken for later, he thinks happily. Turns out the day is going to end with a picnic, after all.
He’s got the milk and flour simmering into a thick sauce on the stove and another pot of water waiting to boil for the pasta when he hears Jack clear his throat behind him.
“Hey, buddy,” Dean says. Seeing Jack standing in the doorway makes Dean smile reflexively.
Jack shifts from one foot to the other, fiddling with his fingers like Dean’s see Cas do when he’s nervous.
“How were you hurt?” Jack asks, eyes tracking Dean’s crutches and KAFO on his left leg, face dark with worry and something else – something deeper. Like grief. Or regret.
Dean shrugs. “Vampire hunt,” he says shortly. He chuckles, “Tell you the truth, it was kind of stupid. Just a freak accident. Vamp shoved me up against a post and I got impaled by a piece of rebar.”
Jack flinches hard, and Dean’s smile slips. Maybe not so funny then.
“Woulda been a helluva anticlimactic way to go, huh?” Dean jokes weakly. “What? I’ve gone head-to-head with half-a-dozen of the biggest bads – I killed fucking Hitler – and a no-name vamp takes me out?”
Dean guesses it was an unforeseen side-effect of being normal: the sheer unexpectedness of life. Aside from the pain and getting used to his new mobility aids, however, Dean’s completely satisfied with to no longer be Chuck’s main characters.
“I’m glad it didn’t take you out,” Jack says. His chin wobbles. “And – I’m sorry I wasn’t there to heal you.”
“Hey,” Dean says seriously. “Hey, kid.” He spreads his arms like he did for Cas, and just like his partner did, Jack falls immediately into his chest. “It’s not your fault,” Dean says firmly over the kid’s head. “None of this is your fault, you hear me?”
Dean moves so he can take Jack’s shoulders and make the kid look him in the eye. He stares at him unflinchingly. “All that – that stuff that went down with Mary? With Chuck? That wasn’t your fault.” He says it now because, if there’s one thing he’s learned in his life, it’s that there might not be a tomorrow to say it then. “None of the crap you’ve had to go through has been your fault. I wished to God I had someone tell me that when I was your age, so I’m telling you now. It is not your fault.”
Jack’s eyes well with tears. He nods his head and a couple slip down his cheeks. Dean uses his thumbs to brush them away. His kid. His wonderful, beautiful, brave boy. Dean’s never been so proud.
“I – I was messed up, and I said a bunch of shit to you about not being family,” Dean begins. “That’s what it was, okay? Total bullshit. And I’m sorry that I let my own issues hurt you. You didn’t deserve what I put on you. From the very beginning. You didn’t do anything wrong, and all I made you feel like was that you were wrong.”
Dean’s throat goes tight. He has wanted to say these words ever since Jack disappeared. He’s not gonna chicken out now. And, hey, when he has his session with Mia later this week, maybe she’ll give him a gold star.
“I told myself so many times that I wouldn’t become my dad, but that’s all I was with you. I don’t think I can ever tell you how sorry that makes me. So, I get it, okay?” Dean takes a deep breath. He imagines what it would feel like if Dad ever spoke to him like this. It’s something he can’t even conceptualize. “I understand if you don’t want to be around me, or if you feel like you can’t trust me. I understand that. And it’s okay. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I’m gonna do my best to treat you right. And I – I love you. You’re my son. You’re my family.”
Jack sucks in a long, stumbling breath. He nods again. “Okay,” he says tautly. And then he hugs Dean again. Strong and small and Dean swallows the sob that jumps into his throat. Instead, he breathes in his son, holds him safe and warm in his arms, and presses a kiss to the top of Jack’s head.
The water bubbles over and lands on the stove with a hiss. Jack leaps back in surprise, and Dean laughs at the startled look on his face before he moves to take the pot off the range. On his way to grab the box of macaroni, he snags a napkin out of the holder Cas bought from a farmer’s market; it’s in the shape of a bear and the kids have christened it “Grumpy”; Dean has no idea why.
“Clean yourself up,” Dean says gruffly.
Jack takes the napkin and wipes his face. He blows his nose. “Can I help?” he asks.
Dean beams. He points to the pan of milky roux, “Be my guest. That plate of cheese can go in there.”
Jack moves to join Dean in front of the stove, bumping shoulders as he dumps the plate of grated cheese in the sauce and stirs it in. Dean drops the dry macaroni into the pot. And he sneaks a glance at Jack. The kid looks happy. He came from Heaven looking healthy and hole.
Dean can hear Ella chattering with Sam and Eileen in the living room, and Miracle and Moose are both outside, barking at squirrels.
Dean sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and he finds Cas standing in the doorway, smiling at them with a look of so much tenderness, Dean’s eyes go blurry again. He sends Cas a smile of his own.
He loves him, Dean thinks, certainly not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. He loves him. And he loves Jack. His body is filled with so much love for all these people in his house, he feels like he could shatter with it.
He’s surrounded with his family. They’re safe. They’re home. And Dean doesn’t think there is one more thing he could want in this moment.