Chapter Text
Dean knew that his relationship with Jack was… unconventional, to say the least. Even by his standards, he knew that he treated Jack like absolute shit when he was born. And while he still felt at least a little justified (though he wouldn't dare say that to Sam or, God forbid, Cas), he had been trying to make a genuine effort to connect with the boy and repair their bond.
So, that was how they found themselves in the Dean cave watching Fern Gully, which had been a favorite of Sam’s when he was little. Whenever they were at a hotel that had some decent channels and it was on, his younger brother would literally beg for Dean to allow him to stay up and watch it. Dean would always let him. Back in those days, Dean just wanted to give Sammy any modicum of happiness that he could provide. And maybe that’s why Sam turned out to be such a kale-loving, exercise-freak hippie.
Dean shook himself out of those thoughts. It wasn’t worth dwelling on his childhood or thinking of the little boy that Sam had been. Dean had learned that it was always best to wall that off, to not touch those memories with a ten foot pole, and it had worked. And anyways, this was Dean’s idea. Hell, he saw how Cas would look at him any time he interacted with Jack. He looked at him like he was a rabid dog, who was one wrong snarl away from being put down. And god, if that did not feel accurate. Dean hadn’t felt normal, hadn’t felt human in a long time - maybe since he went to hell, or maybe the mark of Cain, or Michael. Honestly, he couldn’t even tell ya when the change happened. But it had. And that is what was important.
Sometimes, when he really wanted to hurt himself, he thought about those looks that Cas gave him and he had the sickening realization that it was the same look he used to give John. When his father would come back from those long weeks gone and those late nights out with whiskey on his breath and violence in his hands. When John Winchester - not his father, never Dean’s father. It had helped Dean to separate those two figures: John Winchester, the amazing hunter who carried brutality with him like a coat; so easy and comforting to shrug on. His father, who used to read him bedtime stories and rock him to sleep - would come back from a shitty hunt and try to talk to Sam with that stale, sharp stink on his breath, Dean would look at him the same way.
Dean couldn’t stop the half-snort of dead amusement that escaped him at the thought as it flashed in his mind. Cas was right to worry, to watch him as if he was sizing up where he should shoot first.
Cas’ head snapped to him at the noise, a questioning look on his face, but Dean just shook his head, unwilling to voice his thoughts and not wanting to interrupt the movie.
Dean and Cas were sitting in the two recliners while Jack sat on the floor in a pallet of blankets and pillows. They had done this a few times now, and at first, Jack had sat in the other recliner and Cas had leaned against the back wall. He wouldn’t allow Dean to be with Jack alone, but Dean didn’t really mind. If anyone had treated his chi- Sam like Dean had Jack, they wouldn’t be breathing, let alone watching movies together.
But that layout didn’t work too well, because Jack whined about being disconnected and too far away from the TV. He would always get up to go sit directly in front of the screen and then complain about how uncomfortable the floor was. After the second time, Dean went shopping. He didn’t know what came over him, but he bought an excessive amount of pillows and blankets and stuffed animals and a basket to put all of it in. He had just the faintest memory of Sam doing something very similar when he was tiny, but being unable to do anything for him with those thin, shitty hotel blankets with stains and cigarette burns. He had hated his brother going through that, but he had also hated the feeling like he was failing as a protector and that he was helpless. So, call him overindulgent, but he got as much as he could fit into his cart thanks to those unlimited credit cards.
Jack was now nestled deep into that pile of blankets and pillows, one of the stuffed animals tucked right under his chin. It was a rabbit that had a crooked smile and long, floppy ears - which Jack had a habit of chewing on when he was stressed or happy or just decompressing. Dean hadn’t even really meant to buy it, just saw it in a bin marked for sale and felt bad for it. He threw it in the cart as a last minute thing, expecting it to stay at the bottom of the basket in the Dean cave and never be seen again. But he had brought it home and Jack latched onto it immediately. He had shoved it into his chest, smushing the poor stuffed animal's face while he beamed up at Dean, then declared that its name was BitBit. When they had finished watching the movie for that week (Three Men and a Baby), Dean started collecting everything to put back into the basket. He went to grab BitBit, but tears welled in Jack’s eyes and he softly said, “please… don’t take him from me. He’s my friend. He’s safe.” And, well, what the fuck was he supposed to say to that.
Dean acquiesced and left the room quickly, a sort of burning feeling in his throat and hand on his chest to try to make the sharp pain right under his collarbone stop. He practically ran to his room before he could shout at the boy. His throat ached and his jaw grew heavy with all the words he wanted - no, needed, to say. He felt like there was poison in his stomach and he had to vomit up those acrid, disgusting things to get it out of him even if that meant pushing it on someone else. To tell the nephilim that he shouldn’t say those things, admit to weakness, crave softness and comfort. To tell him that the world was harsh and awful and bad and that if it saw him with those pansy ass tears and faggy stuffed animals, it would rend him to shreds and laugh about it. But those weren’t his words. They were his fathers and they had been etched so deep into Dean’s psyche and soul that not saying it felt like it might actually kill him. Like he might actually choke on them. But he didn’t say anything, he went to his room and punched the wall until there was blood on his knuckles and a red schmear on the bricks.
And now, he could see Jack with BitBit and barely even think about his father or wonder what had happened to any of his old stuffies that might have survived the fire.
Dean once again shook his head, trying to return to the current moment. It had been an issue recently, the way he would float from place to place with his mind in the past, and would come to barely recollecting how he had gotten where he was. But the movie was coming to an end. Zak had just decided that he had to go back to the human world and Crysta was saying those magical words: “What was done, now undo. Return you to the form that’s true.” There were still a few minutes left, but Jack was already fighting his sleep, long blinks that would leave his eyes shut for a few long minutes before shooting open and repeating again. Dean let the movie play out for the rest of it, but started collecting loose blankets, pillows, and toys, placing them back in the basket.
When the movie completely finished - with the closing shot of a forest starting to grow back and the fairies flying around - Jack was completely passed out, mouth slightly open and snoring softly. Cas, all watery eyes and gummy smile, looked a little helpless about the idea of waking Jack up. He started to take a step forward, hand outstretched like he was about to gently shake the boy awake.
“Wait,” Dean whispered, making the ex-angel halt in his tracks, “I’ve got this. Let me do this.” Cas looked at him for a long moment, but then nodded and backed up. Dean let out a breath and then started pushing his arms under Jack’s back, scooping the blankets with him. He stood up, grunting softly as his knees cracked, and cradled the boy against his chest. Jack let out a quiet yawn as an eye blinked open.
“Dee..” he said, his voice so young and small, “gonna go bed?” Dean started carrying Jack back to his room. He knew that the boy was barely even awake, that this was a semi-aware state and Jack would have no memories of it in the morning. But still, he responded, “Yeah, buddy. I’m gonna bring you to your bed. Tuck you and BitBit in for the night so you can get some rest.”
Jack just hummed and snuggled in closer to Dean, his face now tucked into Dean’s neck, BitBit gripped tightly in his hands. Cas trailed behind them, barely breathing, watching - always watching.
They got to his room and Cas pulled back the blanket. Dean, trying not to wake the nephilim, took off the blankets from the pallet that he had wrapped up the boy in so he wouldn't overheat. Jack let out a noise of discontent for a few seconds where the cold bunker air made him shiver, but then Dean was pulling the blankets on the bed over him, all the way up to his neck. He looked over the sleeping boy, satisfied that Jack had BitBit and was now comfortable for the night and then turned to walk away. Cas gave Jack a gentle kiss on the forehead before turning the light off and letting the soft blue of the nightlight light the room. As they went to exit, a sweet, tired voice stopped them.
“Dee… ‘g’night kiss?”
Shuddering slightly at the vulnerability in the tone, Dean inhaled sharply and his shoulders tensed. Cas stared at him, unmoving from where he stood in the doorway. Dean took a few seconds to relax his muscles and nodded gently. He walked back over to the bed, leaned over slightly and looked at the half asleep boy. Dean put his hand on the boy’s head, brushing over his hair softly before leaning down to place a short little kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight Jack,” he said quietly. He had gone to move but at the last moment, he leaned down and did the same for BitBit, “Goodnight to you too, BitBit.”
And maybe it was stupid, but Dean remembered when Mary would do that for him before he went to bed when he was small and how relieved it made him when she would say goodnight to his stuffies as well. It was comforting to know that the adults he loved knew how important this creature - or toy, or friend, or whatever - was to him. He hoped that it gave Jack the same comfort.
When he pulled back, Jack was already asleep again, but there was a soft, barely-there smile on his face.