Chapter Text
Eliot sees him first.
It’s a normal, lazy afternoon, the three of them—Eliot, Max, and Stacy—loitering outside the movie theater, simultaneously wasting and savoring their summer break. The streets are empty with most of the adults of Lebanon, Kansas, at work. But when the laughter between the two girls stops like breaks squealing on a car, Eliot knows Max and Stacy have seen Jack too.
Jack.
The last time Eliot saw Jack, Jack’s eyes had glowed an eery gold.
And then he sent a knife straight into Stacy’s stomach.
It seemed like an accident. Except Jack had been screwing around. He has some kind of freaky power, like an X-Man, and no matter how much the three of them pleaded, he wouldn’t stop.
And Eliot’s friend got hurt.
The last thing he said to Jack was to stay away. But the truth is, for the past year, Eliot’s mind often wandered to the strange boy with glowing eyes and wild stories about monsters.
“He better not come over here,” Stacy mutters.
Jack’s definitely seen them because he’s looking at everything but them. The run-down front of the pawn shop. A fly that flits around the stop sign with its paint flaking off. His own sneakers, which look like they’ve been purchased from a farm supply store.
But then Jack’s shoulders rise, like he’s taking a final breath before jumping into the sea.
And he starts to cross the street.
Max has been holding Stacy’s hand. She releases it and stands. “Oh hell no.”
Eliot steps in front of the girls. Because he’s a boy? And it’s chivalrous to protect them? He doesn’t know why he does it. He’s the most likely of the three of them to get his ass kicked.
Jack stops a couple of yards from them on the sidewalk. His arms hang at his sides, but he smiles gently before raising a hand in a wave. “Hello,” he says politely. “I want you to know I understand you are angry with me.”
“Because you’re a psycho freak who stabbed Stacy,” Max says.
“I told you to stay away from us,” Eliot says, hoping he sounds brave. But Jack fights things like ghosts and vampires, can move things with his mind. Eliot could be thrown through the ticket booth behind him. Eliot imagines his bones snapping in his body with a blink of Jack’s eyes.
“Are you here to hurt us?” Stacy asks quietly. She never used to be so quiet. But after last year, she’s changed.
“No!” Jack winces, and he hangs his head. “I was out for a walk when I saw you. And I remembered what I did. I mean, it isn’t like I forgot. I have been thinking about it a lot.”
“You stabbed her,” Max says.
“It was an accident, but that doesn’t excuse it. I was . . . different then.”
“So, what, you think everything is okay now because you did some soul searching?”
Suddenly Jack’s eyes light up. “Yes! That’s it exactly. I am so relieved you understand.”
“Screw you,” Max says.
Jack’s face twists in confusion, like the guy really doesn’t understand how this went wrong. Max hooks her arm through Stacy’s, tells her they’re leaving. They’re getting up when Jack asks them to wait.
He takes another breath when he has their attention. “Stacy—all of you—I need to tell you that I am sorry. I am really, really sorry. I regret hurting you. I will do anything to make it better.”
“You know what you can do to make it better?” Max says, walking up to Jack. For a moment, he looks hopeful, but then Max sticks a middle finger right in his face. “You can drop dead. Apology not accepted.”
“Please stay away from us,” Stacy says as Max grabs her hand and marches them up the street.
But Eliot lingers. Last year was terrifying. Like, scarier than the time Sam and Dean saved them from that ghost. But there’s something about Jack that makes Eliot feel like they’ve just kicked a puppy that’s been abandoned by its humans.
Jack looks small and helpless. Not like someone who can move mountains with his mind.
“Eliot!” Max shouts. “Are you coming or what?”
“I’ll be right there,” Eliot says, pulling his sock hat further over his ears even though it’s a hundred degrees out.
Eliot joins his friends in trash talking “that psycho” and saying “can you believe that,” but two blocks up the street, he looks back.
And Jack is still standing there like a lost toddler.
Eliot can’t stop thinking about it, even when they get to Max’s house. Even as they pass their phones around to share funny TikToks. Even when it becomes obvious that Max and Stacy want him to leave so they can make out.
# # #
Jack hasn’t been on Earth long. He looks and feels like a teenager, but he’s only three, and half of that time he’s been dead or in another dimension. There’s so much about being human he doesn’t get.
But he was pretty sure apologizing was supposed to make him feel better.
But it turns out, it only makes him feel worse.
Last year, he was careless and burned up his soul. Then, four days ago, he got it back, and with it came all of these feelings, washing over him like a tsunami destroying a village.
When he accidentally killed Mary Winchester, he knew it was wrong. He spent days hiding from Sam, Dean, and Castiel. He spent days doing things to win back their approval.
Which only made things worse.
Before, it was like reading facts in a story about someone else. Now, he feels them. The guilt of killing someone he loved twists in his stomach like poison. The shame of knowing he hurt Sam and Dean crushes his heart like boulders. The embarrassment of hiding it burns like acid in his throat.
His feelings are bad enough, but others’ feelings are worse.
Castiel loves him. That’s always been obvious. But it causes tension between Cas and the Winchesters.
Jack feels Sam is trying to forgive him—really forgive him—but can’t, not completely.
And then there’s Dean.
Four nights ago, Jack sat at the table in their kitchen. Tears in his eyes, maybe his first real ones. He pleaded with Dean to forgive him. Dean’s forgiveness became like water to a dying man in a desert. More than anything, Jack needed Dean to say he understood. That it would be okay. That Dean still cared bout him.
But Dean couldn’t even look at him. Hasn’t even looked at him.
Because Dean thinks he’s a monster.
And, after seeing how horrified those kids were of him, Jack’s realizing that maybe Dean is right.
Since Jack’s failed apology, Castiel has hovered while Dean has avoided him. Finally, Cas dropped by his room “just to check in” one-too-many times. Jack needed air. He thought a walk through town would help, but seeing Stacy, Max, and Eliot reminded him that he messes everything up.
Lebanon is tiny, and it’s one public park is in the southern part of town. Jack lies on top of a splintery picnic table, feeling an ant crawl across his wrist as he stares up at the sky. He knows Heaven isn’t exactly up there like people believe, but he wonders if angels are looking down on him. Or if Chuck is—Chuck, who is God, who Jack has to kill.
Some kids are playing basketball on the nearby court, but their laughter hurts Jack’s heart; he wishes he could be so carefree.
“Uh, are you okay?
Jack sits up, and standing in the dry grass is Eliot.
Eliot’s a pale boy. Skinny. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his shorts, and his hair is tucked under his sock hat, which Jack finds strange. Jack thought people wore those hats to stay warm, but it is very hot outside. He doesn’t understand, just like he doesn’t understand what he should say to Eliot’s question.
What would Sam or Dean say?
“I am fine,” Jack says.
“I’ve been watching you for a few minutes. You’re staring up at the sky like you’re wishing you were dead.”
“I’ve been dead. It’s . . . unpleasant.” Jack doesn’t add that if the current Death Billie’s plan works, he’ll die when he kills Chuck. “I’m leaving now, so I’ll leave you and your friends alone.”
Jack pushes himself off the table, and the gravel crunches beneath his shoes. He lowers his head, like it will keep his feelings from swirling—but Eliot steps in front of him.
“Look,” Eliot says, “Stacy and Max are real pissed at you. And I am too. But . . . I also think it was an accident, and I know Sam and Dean help people and wouldn’t live with a total monster—”
Jack isn’t sure about that.
“—but mostly you just . . . seem sad. Like you could use a friend.”
Jack chews his lip. Mary was a friend. People who are Jack’s friends get hurt.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want,” Eliot says. “But I don’t have anything to do this afternoon. You want to come to my house to play Smash Brothers?”
“Who are these brothers and why do they need smashing?” Jack asks hesitantly. “Are they demons? Witches?”
“Uh, no. Smash Brothers is a videogame.”
“Oh, like Super Mario Brothers!” Jack has watched Dean stomp on turtles and little brown mushrooms in his “Dean Cave.” Playing a game seems harmless. And it sounds better than going back to the tension of the bunker. “Yes, I would like to smash these brothers with you.”
“Okay, you definitely shouldn’t say it like that,” Eliot laughs, and Jack smiles and follows him out of the park.