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The wooden door should look different.
Black, charred. It should smell of blood and death. Dean grabs the handle and expects it to burn his hand but it doesn't. Instead, it's like any other door handle, cold and dead. Just like... Dean brutally cuts off the thought and swings the door open to the storage room.
He feels bile rise in his throat and his damn heart is galloping faster than a horse. He slams the door shut.
Jack looks up from his books and copious notes strewn across the table. He frowns, although there is compassion in his voice as he speaks. “Dean. Do you need to rest more? I told Eileen and Sam I'd call for them when I'm ready and –“
“I'm fine, Jack.” The lie tastes like ash in his mouth but it's better to lie than to nourish that emotion that desperately beats at the cage of his heart, trapped under pain, and grief and anger. Dean knows anger. Grief is too close to... He knows anger, It's an old lover, and Dean knows her body well. He's embraced her and melded them together until he doesn't know where she ends and he begins.
As Dean comes up to Jack, he sighs and looks at him. “It is important that you believe, Dean.”
Dean feels his anger rise again. And maybe it's not the smartest thing to go off on God or his son for that matter but this is Cas they're talking about and just the thought of him causes Dean's words to seize up in his throat. A flush of panic washes over his body and he looks further into the room expecting the black tendrils of darkness to claim him too. Tearing his eyes from the room, Dean looks at the knife that rests on the table instead. The knife that will kill him. Sort of. “I do believe,” Dean bites off. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't, alright?” He refuses to look at Jack.
“Dean.”
Dean lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
“Look at me.”
Dean finally does so, reluctantly. Looking at Jack, he sees his son. It's simple as that. His heart calms a bit as love for Jack swells in his chest. He loves the kid so damn much but what he asks of him... no what God asks of him. He can't do it. It will destroy him. Dean refuses to acknowledge the burn in his eyes and wipes angrily at the tear that escapes and cascades down his cheek. “I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you.” Dean crosses his arms and looks down again.
Jack reaches out and touches Dean's arm gently.
Dean exhales again and finally looks at Jack. There's nothing but compassion there, and understanding. Swallowing, Dean whispers. “It's not fair that you're using your God-mojo on me, kiddo.”
“I'm not,” Jack answers softly. “It's just that you're not used to all this love and compassion and still see it as a kind of weakness. And while you think you are worthy of it, you know it really, you're still hesitant to experience it physically in this world. But you are worthy, Dean. Don't let fear stop you. Fear is the opposite of love.”
“I didn't know we were psychoanalyzing me.”
Jack shakes his head but a small smile plays on his lips. “That wasn't Freud, that was me using my God-mojo on you.” He turns serious. “But I need you to believe, otherwise this won't work. And I know when you're lying.”
Dean sighs in frustration. “What do you want from me? I told you that I'm believing! I'm the freaking Monkees, that's how hard I believe.” Grabbing the knife, Dean points the tip at Jack. “Let's go. I'm ready.”
Jack lowers Dean's hand. “Come here.” Taking a few steps away from the table, Jack sits down cross-legged on the floor. He taps a hand on the stones when he sees that Dean hesitates. “I heated up the stones for you.”
Dean rolls his eyes but does as Jack bids. “I'm not that old, Jack. I can handle cold stones.” But as he sinks to the floor he admits to himself that the warmth of the stones does feel good.
“It's important that you believe, Dean,” Jack starts, “because that's the key. And love.” He smiles at Dean, as if Dean should know what he's talking about.
“So what, belief is a part of the spell?”
“Yes. Or rather hope.”
Clenching his fists, Dean digs the nails into the palms of his hands. “Of course, I hope. Like I said I wouldn't be here if I didn't – “
Jack interrupts him. “What's the opposite of fear?”
“We don't have time for this hippie mumbo jumbo.”
Jack crosses his arms and waits.
Dean feels a weight press against him. It's like a hug at first but as the silence stretches on he feels that gentle hug turn into a vice. It's almost crushing.
“I'm waiting.”
“Are you using your God juice again?”
“I'm just enhancing the weight of my expectations until it's a physical manifestation that you feel in the room. So technically no.”
Dean pushes down the wave of dread that threatens to overwhelm him when he thinks about his answer and all that it entails. So he just says it. “Love. Or so they say.”
“Yes.” Jack smiles as if that explains everything.
“Oh, I have plenty of love to go around. We done with this kumbaya shit now so we can do what we came here for? And when are Sam and Eileen gonna get down here?”
Jack's smile falters and he turns serious. “I think I've gone about this the wrong way. Sometimes the best way is through. Listen. You will never save Cas if you're like this.”
Dean's face instantly hardens. “Like what? You told me that this would work. You said –“
Jack places a hand on Dean's knee. “I'm sorry. That was maybe too blunt.” He pauses for a minute. “Do you remember when you hated me?”
Taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation, Dean objects. “I don't know if I hated you, Jack, that's a harsh word.”
Jack stares at Dean. “You did. You thought I was the son of Lucifer, and you blamed me for Castiel's death. I heard you and Sam talk about it. An inter dimensional can opener. ” He smiles at Dean reassuringly. “I was hiding, but I heard you. It's OK, you were going through a lot. All I knew was that Castiel was my father and that he had died. And that you thought it was my fault. Although I had never met Castiel, I knew through Kelly what love was because she had loved me. And through her words about Castiel and his actions, I knew that he loved me too. In that instant, at that moment when you blamed me for Castiel's death, I thought about him. With love, and regret but also hope. Most importantly hope. I hoped that it wasn't too late. I hoped that I could save him.” He stops and looks at Dean as if Dean should understand.
“You were there...”
“Yes. But do you – “
“You...” Dean gets up and takes a step back from Jack. He starts pacing back and forth before finally stopping. “You woke up Cas,” he says softly and suddenly he's filled with shame and regret again. About how he had treated Jack.
“I'm not telling you this just so you can beat yourself up, Dean.”
Dean swallows hard. “Look, Jack, I'm sorry that – “
“I'm not telling you this because I want an apology either, Dean. I don't. It's not easy being human. And it's not easy being a parent. You make mistakes. Again and again. But you try again, and again and every time you do better. Until the cycle isn't a cycle anymore but a spiral. Knowing you and Sam, and Castiel. You thought me what it means to be human. What it means to fight, to love and what it means to never give up. To hope. That's why I need you to hope. And this will make you vulnerable.” Jack does a motion with his hand and the knife flies into his palm. He grips the handle. “And it will hurt.”
Dean sits down again, opposite Jack. “More than the knife?”
Jack nods. “More than the knife.”
Rubbing a shaky hand over his face, Dean lets out a breath again. Holy fuck. Jack had saved Cas. Hope he had said. “Your hippie speech, was that God or Jack talking?”
“That was us talking.”
Dean lets out a snort and eyes the knife. “Don't think too highly of yourself.”
“Do you understand now, Dean?”
Dean nods. He thinks he does. “Yeah, yeah. I think I do kiddo. So, what do I need to do?”
“Just hope.” Jack smiles and turns to the door. “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
At that moment, Eileen and Sam enter. “You good, Dean?” Sam looks at him worriedly.
It shouldn't surprise Dean. He's not been in this room since Cas died and he hasn't been... good. “Yeah, as good as I can get.”
Eileen flashes him a smile. “We're ready to start with the sigils, Jack.”
“Sigils?” Dean asks.
“Just a new ward that Jack has been working on. To stop unwelcome guests.” Sam was already starting on the wall, making shapes that Dean didn't recognize.
“Stand up, Dean.”
Dean mutters a curse and gets up. Hope. Hope. He thinks about that fateful night. The night Cas left him. The night he had died. The night Dean learned that Cas had loved him. That he had loved him for years. And not only loved him but that he'd loved the world because of Dean. Because of his love and goodness. Cas loved him.
Now it was time for Dean to say it back.
Jack squeezes Dean's arm. “Just think about him. And have faith.”
Exhaling, Dean nods. “I can do that.”
“Ready?” Jack lifts a finger and touches Dean's forehead lightly.
A chill goes through Dean, starting at the base of his spine and as it flows higher it increases in intensity. Soon, Dean feels like he's vibrating and the cold seeps into his very core. Jack blinks in and out of existence. Everything feels muted. He can't see anything nor hear anything and the cold gets hotter and it's burning, burning his being and it pulls a scream from him. Suddenly something erupts at his forehead and it's blinding, so bright and Dean shuts his eyes against the light but it doesn't help. The light is all around him and he can't escape, he can't –
“Dean.”
Dean opens his eyes at that voice. He recognizes that voice. That's Jack. Jack. His maker. No, that feels wrong. It's Jack. His son.
“Alright. That was intense.”
“How do you feel?” Jack asks and Dean recognizes the concern in his voice.
Dean turns and looks at Sam and Eileen. He makes his eyes flash blue.
Thank God, it worked, he hears Sam think. Blinking again, Dean turns his attention to Jack again. “It worked.” He allows himself to smile. But it doesn't come as easy. Everything feels... muted. Dean touches his forehead. It still hurts. “No wonder Michael was such an asshole. With this kind of headache, I'd be grumpy too.”
“Ready for the next step, Dean?”
Nodding, Dean cracks his knuckles. “I'm ready. Just tell me when.” Dean exhales and thinks about Cas. His gummy smile. The way his eyes lit up when he was showing Dean that stupid car of his. How they softened when he talked about Jack. The way his hands would touch him gently when Cas healed him. The way he'd grumble when he had to wear cowboy hats and how he still did it. For the case. For Dean. He thought a thousand thoughts about Cas, thoughts creating a tapestry that was imbued with love, frail, gentle thoughts held up by the thinnest of thread wove out of hope. Cas.
Jack nods. “Bring Castiel home, Dean.” He plunges the knife into Dean's heart.
Cas! Dean screams.
Hot fire explodes in his chest and he staggers backward. Briefly, he notices the worried look on Sam and Eileen's faces but then his world is pain again. Bring him home! Jack's voice echoes inside his head, and it's so overwhelming, so laced with power that Dean falls to his knees. He clutches at the stones, his nail scratching for purchase and his voice is raw and he summons all the grace he can muster. He needs to lash out, needs to make this pain stop.
Suddenly.
Darkness.
Silence.
WAKE UP!
Dean's body jolts and as he opens his eyes, darkness still surrounds him. Slowly, he gets up and looks around. There is nothing. As far as he can see, there is emptiness and darkness. He's all alone.
“Cas?” Silence greets him. Dean touches his arm, a primal need to make sure that he's there, alive and present. He fills his next word with all the love, all the painful hope he can muster. “Cas!”
And there it is. In the darkness, the pitch-black void of nothingness, he can see something. A flicker of lesser black. And Dean just knows. He knows it's Cas. I'm coming for you, Cas. I'm coming.