Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun is setting through the windows of the office building. There’s no doubt it’s a beautiful view, but Castiel Winchester-Novak can barely make out the trees outside through his blurry vision after spending the past few hours nose-deep in coding. It’s a Saturday — normally a day off for the highly demanded manager of the programming team — but there was an emergency for a large client preparing for a launch party that evening, and they were a big enough fish that Castiel felt the need to take on the fix personally.

He takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose, massaging it gently. Once his eyes start to regain focus, Castiel stretches his arms out, wincing at the pop in his shoulders as he does so. He’s been hunched over his computer for far too long. The fix that he had hoped would be simple enough ended up taking hours of his day.

With a long sigh, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Immediately, he sees the unusual number of notifications. Six missed calls and eighteen unread texts. All from his husband.

Castiel jolts up out of his seat. He knows exactly what they’re about.

Where the fuck are you?

Are you still at work?

Jack’s looking for you

I hope you have a good excuse for this one, Cas

He sees the time for the first time since signing off of work. Six thirty-four.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Castiel mutters under his breath, desperately sliding his belongings from his desk into a bag.

How could he have been so careless? This fix was only supposed to take a few hours, at most. That’s what he told Dean and Jack as he left the house this morning. He was supposed to head straight to Jack’s high school End-of-Year Festival afterward, where Jack had a “surprise” to show him and Dean.

Castiel looks up the school’s event calendar as he speed-walks to the car. The school is only a twenty-minute drive away; maybe he can still make it. He finds the event poster on the school website’s landing page, and the time is listed in a cheerful, colorful bubble font.

10:00 am - 6:00 pm

“Fuck.”

The first thing Castiel does when he steps into the house is apologize to his son.

He finds Jack in the kitchen, browsing through a magazine with Dean. It looks to be for an outdoor brand, but Castiel doesn’t wait to find out details.

“It’s okay, Dad.” Jack waves off his apology. “I was sad you couldn’t make it, but I understand. You’re busy.” He turns around and heads to his room, taking the stairs two at a time.

Dean sighs and flips closed the magazine that Jack is suddenly no longer interested in.

“Dean,” Castiel starts, voice weary.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. Today was really special for him.” Dean shakes his head. He leans back. The wooden chair creaks under him. “You’ve been working a lot.”

A wave of frustration flares up.

Everything he does has been for Dean and Jack.

When Castiel was still an entry-level programmer, he had a fairly basic nine-to-five schedule. The pay was adequate, and Castiel was able to spend plenty of time with his family. But as Jack got older and more active in extracurriculars, Jack spent less time at home, and it often fell on Dean, who works as a mechanic from the garage on their property, to drive him to all the different activities.

Aside from being a wonderful, fully engaged co-parent, Dean is an amazing husband. He runs a lot of the household, from the cooking to the daily tidying up. Castiel tries to do his fair share, but he can’t help but feel like he isn’t pulling his weight. When the opportunity for a higher paying managerial role came up in his company, it felt like a tangible way that Castiel could support his family. What Castiel wasn’t aware of was the amount of extra hours of work that came with this new role. Perhaps he does go above and beyond for his team, but Castiel was eager to prove himself. He has always been a hard worker, and this is the one thing he knows he can do for Dean and Jack. Yet somehow, things always seem to backfire on him.

Dean must sense Castiel’s brewing emotions. He sighs again and changes the subject. “Were you at least able to salvage the project?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, thankful for the distraction from his flooding emotions.

“Good.” Dean nods. He walks toward the fridge. “Jack and I already ate, but I can heat you up some leftovers.”

Another regular occurrence since the promotion.

“I can do it. Why don’t you rest,” Castiel suggests. He places his hand on Dean’s to stop him.

“Trying to butter me up, sunshine?”

“Is it working?” Castiel asks, hopeful.

“I don’t think I’m the one who needs the buttering up.” Dean shakes his head, his lips pulled in a thin smile. He drops his hand from the fridge, though, allowing Castiel to take over.

A small groan escapes Castel’s throat. “I know. I’ll figure out a way to make it up to him.”

“You know,” Dean lifts his index finger to his chin. “I think I know what would really make his day,” he says with an air of nonchalance as if he’s just now thought of something.

Castiel knows Dean well enough to recognize that Dean has not just now thought of whatever he is about to say.

The first camping trip of the year is an annual extravaganza that has always been a Dean and Jack activity. Castiel will tag along occasionally throughout the summer, but his new role at the company makes it difficult for Castiel to be out of cellular range for a full weekend.

Just a reminder that I will be unreachable this weekend. For any emergencies, please contact Hannah. I will respond to any non-emergencies when I am able.

Castiel hits send on the email and tucks his phone back into his back pocket.

“I think that’s everything we need,” Dean says, punctuating his sentence with a slam of the trunk.

“Did we get the fishing cooler?” Jack asks. He jiggles the front door to ensure it’s locked.

“Yes, I put it in the backseat,” Castiel replies. “Did you bring extra sunscreen?”

Jack rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch in a smile. “Yes, Dad.”

“Even if the clouds are out, there are still UV rays,” explains Castiel. 

They all look up at the perfectly blue skies.

“What ever would we do without you, Cas.” The laughter seeps into Dean’s voice.

Castiel grumbles, “My point still stands.”

The drive is long, but they’ve always been good at road trips.

Dean curates the playlist — a hand-selected mix of classic rock with an occasional modern pop song mixed in “for Jack” (Castiel has caught Dean dancing to the “pop girlies” in the kitchen on a few occasions). Castiel and Jack lazily play the license plate game; they played it on every road trip as Jack was growing up. He was so proud to learn the fifty states as a child, and when Castiel suggested this game, it kept him engaged for a full four-hour trip. Dean later grumbled about Jack not getting a nap in that day, but Castiel holds the memory close to his heart.

They still play it. While they aren’t as dedicated to finding all fifty states in each trip, it’s stayed a tradition for the two of them during road trips.

“Washington,” Jack says, pointing at a beat-down Subaru Outback. “I haven’t seen a Washington plate in a while.”

Castiel nods. “Perhaps this is the trip where we finally see Hawaii.”

“You say that every time,” replies Jack. Castiel can hear the smile in his voice.

This is good. Things are good.

When Dean suggested that Castiel come along for this trip, he wasn’t certain it was a good idea. He worried the teenaged Jack would see it as too obvious of an attempt to get back in his good graces. Not to mention the work he would need to catch up on after the weekend.

Castiel peeks at his phone. He turned notifications off for his work email (a deal he made with Dean), and he fights the urge to open the app. He glances over at Dean. Dean’s eyes are on the road, but his lips are stretched in a thin frown.

“You doing alright there, Cas?” Dean asks, pointedly.

Castiel tucks his phone back in his pocket.

“Amazing,” he grumbles.

The campsite is near the end of a long dirt road that branches off to other camping grounds throughout the forest. Dean drives his beloved Impala slowly up the road, carefully making his way around the numerous potholes. It takes them twice as long as it should, but Dean wouldn’t dare risk damaging his dear Baby. Every year, Castiel suggests Dean drive his car, but Dean insists that the Continental is not fit for road tripping.

Castiel feels every bump in the road as Baby makes her way through the forest. They left home early enough that it’s still early in the afternoon. The high sun shines through the trees and their leaves, lighting up the car with speckles of bright yellow beams. Castiel lifts his hand under the rays, examining how the light quivers with the rustling trees. The light seems to spill through his fingers.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, they pull up to a small clearing in the lush green forest. There’s enough space for two or three tents, a fire pit, and several trails that lead off from the site. A small wooden sign indicates that there’s an outhouse and washing area in the distance, while another trail looks to lead to a public hiking trail and the lake.

“Why don’t you guys go fish while I set up camp?” Dean says just as they start unpacking the trunk.

Castiel gapes at Dean’s suggestion. Jack looks just as perplexed.

“Does Dad know how to fish?” Jack asks. His eyes dart toward Castiel. Castiel doesn’t miss the knit of his brow.

The question is likely Jack’s most diplomatic attempt at figuring out Dean’s intentions, which Castiel would think are obvious.

“Dean,” Castiel tries, but he’s pinned by a strong waggle of Dean’s eyebrows. Castiel has never been skilled at reading body language, but he can read this one clearly.

This is what you came for.

Not the fishing, Castiel purses his lips, attempting a reply with a jerk of his chin. Dean narrows his eyes at him and crosses his arms. He leans back against Baby for additional emphasis on his disapproval.

Fine! Castiel sighs. He looks over at Jack, who is looking back and forth between Dean and Castiel. He tilts his head with a furrowed brow. Castiel shrugs at him, hoping for a “what can I say, your Dad is strange” smile.

“Dean taught me many years ago. It’s been a while, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me,” he says.

Jack smiles back and nods, confused, but no less good-natured. “The fish here are pretty easy to catch. We can definitely manage dinner for the three of us.”

They dig out the fishing equipment as Dean continues to pull out the rest of the camping gear.

The path to the lake is a short hike from the campground. The narrow, but well-maintained trail is surrounded by lush greens. They’re at the cusp of spring and summer, and the wildlife is flourishing around them. So are the mosquitoes.

“I forgot to bring the bug spray,” Castiel grumbles as he swats at another mosquito that lands on his arm. The fish cooler slips from his shoulder and bumps against his knees. With a grimace, Castiel readjusts his stance. He shouldn’t complain — Jack is carrying a more awkward load between the chairs and the fishing poles.

“Here.” Jack tosses him a small bottle from his pocket.

Castiel squints down at the bottle.

“Citronella oil,” Jack explains. “I know you aren’t a fan of the smell of bug spray.” He smiles.

It still catches Castiel by surprise sometimes that Dean and he raised such a thoughtful human. Jack is fifteen this year, still a child yet so close to adulthood. It feels like just yesterday that he was still so young, sniffling because of an itchy mosquito bite.

Castiel dabs some of the oil onto his wrist. The scent is strong but pleasant. He repeats the motion with his other wrist.

“Rub it together, and then a bit on your neck. Like perfume,” Jack instructs, modeling the action.

Castiel hands the bottle back to his son. “Thank you, I didn’t expect so many mosquitoes. Summer’s barely here.”

Jack looks around. He waves off another bug. “It’s been a warm year. And we’re close to water.”

“You’re right.” The sun manages to find its way through the trees, and Castiel narrows his eyes in the direction of the lake. “It is unseasonably hot,” he grouses. The comment has Castiel focusing on the heat, which suddenly feels all the more oppressive. He tugs at the neck of his t-shirt, letting some air in. It doesn’t help.

“Yeah, but—” Jack gestures at their surroundings. He grins, crooked just like Dean. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Castiel blinks. Once, twice — he looks around.

Within the layers of green leaves, he sees splashes of color. Wildflowers that line the forest bed. Lighter moss climbs up the trees, giving depth to the green. The sun that bothered Castiel just a few moments ago dances across the plants.

Castiel listens.

As hot as it may be, there’s a breeze that passes through, rustling the leaves. There are birds, high above their heads, chirping at each other. He can hear a creek in the distance — its water trickling down from the lake they’re headed to.

Castiel breathes. In. Out.

The air is clean, and Castiel identifies the faint scent of soil, plants, perhaps a recent rainfall, and now the citronella.

Jack watches him quietly, his crooked grin softens. “Isn’t it?” he asks again.

“You’re right,” Castiel agrees. Tension melts out of his shoulders, and he readjusts the strap of the cooler. It doesn’t feel as heavy as it did a few moments ago.

“It’s one of my favorite trails. There’s so much to see,” Jack says. “Last year Dad and I went off the trail for a bit. We foraged for mushrooms.”

Castiel frowns. “Is that safe?”

“We’re still alive, so I guess I did alright.” Jack’s smile widens once again.

“You sound just like your father,” Castiel grumbles. It feels reckless of Dean to allow that, but it isn’t surprising.

Jack laughs as he elaborates, “We studied wild mushrooms of the area before the trip. Don’t worry.”

Castiel thinks back on this time last year. He was about six months into his new job, still adjusting, and was exhausted each day. Still, he recalls a few nights where he came home to Dean and Jack peering at a computer screen together, Jack taking notes as they discussed the nature in the area.

“I think you’d really like it too,” Jack says. “Maybe we can look for mushrooms tomorrow. It was raining last week, so I bet there are a lot around here! We can roast them over a fire. That’s what we did last year.”

It’s the earnest enthusiasm in Jack’s voice that brings a smile to Castiel’s face. He tries to think back on the last time they actually spent time together, one-on-one. Somehow that memory is harder to conjure up than the image of Dean and Jack sitting in front of their laptop at the dinner table.

“You’re right. That seems like a useful skill to have,” Castiel replies, ignoring the growing pit in his stomach.

They’re here now.

The next patch of the trail is steep (Jack assures Castiel it’s the only part of the hike with a quick spike in elevation), and the two make their way up in silence. It gives Castiel time to take Jack’s advice and focus on the scenery around him. He can hear the crunch of the gravel beneath their boots. The birds continue to sing around them, a mix of chirps and calls that are reminiscent of laughter. Perhaps they’re making light of Castiel’s heavy breathing. He has been slacking on his exercise recently.

Castiel looks up, trying to find the source of this ridicule, but instead is taken by the clear skies that he sees between the trees. The blue is vivid behind the sun-drenched green. Castiel takes a deep breath.

A nostalgic scent catches his attention as his gaze drops back to the trail. He sees bright clusters of red and yellow at a short distance.

Red yarrows.

The memory of a young Jack holding a small bunch of red yarrows flashes through Castiel’s mind. It’s a resilient plant that has a strong aroma. Castiel used to pick them on their hikes when Jack was much younger. Jack would carry them in his small hands and inhale the thick, floral scent. Castiel used to tell him about butterflies and pollinators that the yarrows would attract.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

“Dad?”

Castiel hears Jack call after him, but he’s only half-listening. His feet bring him to the side of the trail, toward the thick bushes. The flowers aren’t too far away. He just needs to get past some of the bushes in front of them. He steps into the undergrowth.

“Dad!” Jack’s voice is sharper this time. He’s worried, Castiel can tell, though he’s not sure why.

Castiel tries to reassure him, “I’m just trying to — shit!” He’s cut off by a piercing sting on his wrist.

“Those bushes have thorns! Didn’t you see them?” Jack asks, a deep frown spreading on his face.

“I was distracted,” Castiel agrees, looking past the bush at the vibrant red yarrows. He looks at his hand. The razor thin cut from the thorns begins to redden, and blood begins to bubble up to the surface. Great. Castiel sighs.

“I’ve got some Neosporin and a bandaid. We can wash it off with drinking water.” Jack rummages through his backpack.

“Citronella, Neosporin… you’ve prepared well for this trip,” Castiel says. He feels an odd mix of pride and embarrassment; clearly he’s failing as the adult in this situation.

Jack grins. “Dad taught me well.”

A twinge of guilt at Castiel’s heart. Mushroom foraging, camping safety, preparedness. The list of what Dean has taught their son while Castiel was hunched over a computer in a cramped office continues to grow. He manages to feign a smile. “So he has.”

“I guess you’ve rubbed off on both of us.” Jack grins and pulls out a small bottle of sunscreen. “Let me know if you want to reapply.”

“Oh.” The vise around Castiel’s heart loosens. He’s used to Dean and Jack (more so Dean) brushing off some of his more nagging idiosyncrasies.

Jack doesn’t seem to notice the shift in Castiel’s energy. He looks around the edge of the trail where the thorny hedges sit.

“What were you doing off the path, anyway?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“The red yarrows,” Castiel replies. He points at the flowers, a few feet behind the bush. “Do you remember? We used to pick them when we went hiking. You’d end up with a small bouquet of them by the time we got back to Baby.” His lips curl at the memory.

Jack follows Castiel’s fingers with his eyes. He stares at the yarrows; his gaze is full of emotions that Castiel can’t quite read. 

He used to be able to read his son like the back of his own hand.

“Maybe you were too young to remember,” Castiel says, hoping he doesn’t sound too disappointed.

“No,” Jack interjects, a hint of urgency laced through his voice. “I remember. The scent is hard to forget. They attract butterflies and bees, while keeping the deer and rabbits at bay, right?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.” Castiel’s chest fills and his eyes feel hot. Everything feels hot. “You’ve got a good memory,” he manages to say.

“Maybe we can pick some on the way down,” suggests Jack. “You know, a consolation prize in case we don’t catch enough fish for dinner.”

Castiel huffs a deep laugh. “We’ll need more than wildflowers to avoid the wrath of a hungry Dean.”

As they start back on the trail, Castiel takes one last passing look at the red yarrows and tries to engrave this feeling into his heart.

After another twenty or so minutes of quiet hiking, the trees begin to thin out and open into a clearing that houses a wide lake. The water is clean and blue, sparkling under the high sun, and Castiel can make out small schools of fish that swim in the shallow waters. The banks are rocky; Castiel can readily imagine Dean and Jack competing to see who can skip a stone the furthest when they come here each year.

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel breathes out quietly.

Jack grins beside him, taking in the view.

While Castiel could sit and do the same for hours, he is well aware that they have a job to do.

There are a few people around the lake, but it’s still early enough in the season that there are plenty of spots available along the shore.

“Where do you recommend we set up?” Castiel asks. He starts to lower the cooler on his shoulder and begins to list out their next steps, “If we start now, we have a solid few hours to fish before we need to hike down. Plenty of time before sundown and dinner. We also need to clean the fish before dinner so we don’t want to get back to camp too late—”

“Dad,” Jack interrupts him, voice teasing.

Castiel pauses and looks at Jack, who’s staring back at him. His eyes glimmer with incredulity.

“Like you said, we have plenty of time. The fish aren’t in a hurry, they aren’t going anywhere, so no reason for us to rush either.”

The logic isn’t quite there, but there’s a confidence in Jack’s voice that is oddly convincing.

“Worst case, we don’t catch any dinner. That’s what we brought back-up dinner for,” Jack winks (although it’s more of a squint — Jack’s never been able to wink properly). 

Castiel inhales deep into his lungs. The air is thick with the scent of the lake — a mix of wet grass and earth.

Perhaps he’s right.

Jack seems to take note of Castiel’s slowed pace. He gently tugs at Castiel’s arm. “We should take a picture! Who knows when you’ll next come fishing.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to!” Castiel tries to explain. “You and Dean are a lot better at it.” He doesn’t mean to sound defensive, but can hear the nagging tone in his voice.

“Yeah, but you aren’t always able to come camping with us either.” Jack shrugs.

The words pierce through Castiel. He frowns. “I’m just —”

“Busy,” Jack completes his sentence before Castiel has a chance. “I know.”

Castiel stills. He isn’t sure how they got here; Jack was chattering on excitedly only a moment ago.

“All the more reason to commemorate this moment, right?” Jack shakes off his dampened tone and flashes his teeth in a wide smile.

He pulls out a small polaroid camera, his birthday gift from last year (apparently he and his friends were going through a “retro phase”), and asks a nearby couple to take a picture of the two of them.

He makes it seem so easy, stopping a stranger and asking them for help. Just like Dean.

“Over here, Dad! The lake needs to be in the background.” Jack beckons him over to the rocky banks.

Castiel walks up to Jack, trying and failing to recall the last photo they took together. Neither he nor Dean are photo people, though they used to take more when Jack was still young. Jack would occasionally take polaroids of the family, but Jack is rarely in his own photos.

He stops a good two feet away from Jack, unsure how much closer he should stand. The space doesn’t seem to deter Jack, who waves and points a bright smile toward the camera. Castiel barely has time to look at the lens when the flash goes off.

Isn’t it customary for people to count down before taking a photo? Castiel frowns, hoping he hasn’t ruined Jack’s picture.

“Thank you,” Jack calls to the couple as they continue on their hike. He begins shaking the polaroid in his hand. “Alright, now I’m ready.”

They walk a few minutes longer to find a quiet, unoccupied beach along the lake. There’s a small makeshift firepit, likely built by reckless college kids or teenagers, next to a large log that people no doubt use as a bench. Castiel is glad Jack brought the chairs. He doesn’t think his aging body could handle sitting on a log all day.

Jack takes the lead in setting up. He fills their cooler with water while Castiel sets up the chairs, then attaches the line to both poles. Castiel tries to help; he has a vague recollection from when Dean taught him years ago, but Jack waves him off with a laugh.

“It’s good practice for me,” he says.

It’s just another thing that Castiel can’t help Jack with. 

We’ll add it to the list. The now-familiar unease creeps back into his body.

Castiel watches along nervously while Jack ties on the hook with care. Castiel may not remember the step-by-step instructions to set up his fishing site, but he definitely remembers the pain of pricking his finger with the hook. It doesn’t seem to worry Jack at all, though, and he moves along to the bait quickly.

“Here.” Jack hands Castiel a fishing pole. “Ready?”

Castiel looks out at the lake. There isn’t much of a wind today, and the water surface is still except for the occasional jump of a fish or dive of a bird. He takes another deep breath.

It smells like a warm, late spring day by the lake with his son. He lets that feeling spread within him.

“I suppose so.” Castiel smiles.

They both cast their lines into the water. Thankfully Castiel’s muscle memory kicks in for that part. He’s rusty, but he doesn’t completely embarrass himself. Jack takes notice as well.

“Nice, Dad.”

The encouragement warms Castiel’s chest. Who knew that a compliment from a fifteen-year-old could mean so much at his age. To be noticed by Jack. To feel connected to his son.

They both put their poles in the rod holders Jack secured into the shore.

“As we’ve established, it’s been a while for me,” Castiel starts, his mood lifting. “What do we do next?”

Jack looks up at him through his bangs (he’s probably overdue for a haircut). His eyes crinkle. He sits down and stretches out dramatically in his camping chair. With a long exhale, he breathes out, “Now… we wait.”

Castiel looks at the two poles that stand completely still, side by side. He slowly takes his own seat.

“Now we wait,” he repeats quietly.

Jack rummages through his backpack. “Do you want a beer?”

“You brought beer? You’re fifteen. Why?” Castiel narrows his eyes.

“It’s what Dad likes to drink while he fishes and I didn’t know he wouldn’t come up here when I packed. I swear it isn’t for me.” Jack laughs as he hands over the beer. “I’m having a root beer.”

He tips his root beer bottle toward Castiel in a practiced motion. Castiel wonders if this is a tradition he shares with Dean. Castiel mirrors him to clink their bottles for a small cheers. They settle in, looking out at the tranquil water as they sip their drinks. The fishing rods remain still, and neither of them speak.

Instinctively, Castiel reaches for his back pocket, only to find it empty.

“Your phone?” Jack asks. There’s a tension in his voice that wasn’t there earlier.

“I think I left it at the campground, actually,” Castiel replies. He doesn’t remember taking it out of his pocket, but he has an inkling that a sneaky, meddling husband might have something to do with it.

“Do you need it? I can keep watch if you need to go get it.”

Castiel glances at his son. Jack’s voice is even, but his lips are pulled tight as if to fight a frown.

He breathes in. Then out.

The humid lakeside air fighting with the crisp mountain air above.

In. Out.

The hot sun on his arms. A thin layer of sweat trying to cool beneath his t-shirt.

In. Out.

The chirping of the birds. The rustling of the gentle breeze.

He looks across the lake and nestles deeper into his chair. 

“No,” he replies. “I have everything I need right here.”

Castiel is rewarded by Jack’s most dazzling smile of the day.

The fish refuse to bite.

It isn’t a bad thing. It forces Castiel to slow down and be present in the moment. He’s conscious of every breath he takes.

The conversation has died down, but somehow it doesn’t feel like distance. They sit side-by-side, father and son, connecting to the nature around them. It’s the comfortable silence that Castiel is used to sharing with Dean. He remembers a time that he did so with Jack as well, but he’s barely spent any quiet time with Jack recently, and he had forgotten how relaxing this could be.

Castiel is pulled out of his thoughts by a loud splash in the distance.

“Look over there!” Jack exclaims.

Castiel follows Jack’s line of sight and sees a massive raptor at another one of the banks, expertly pulling apart its most recent catch.

“Is that an eagle?” Castiel asks, eyes wide. He’s never seen one up close.

Even from a distance, it’s easy to tell that the bird is huge.

“Wow. No wonder the fish aren’t biting. They’re probably keeping away from the eagle,” Jack whispers, as if he’s worried that his voice would scare the eagle away.

“I don’t blame them. What a majestic creature.”

“You’re pretty lucky, you know? We don’t get to see eagles often!” Jack nudges Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel huffs and readjusts himself in his chair. “Maybe this is nature’s way of telling me to unplug more regularly.”

“Yeah, totally.” Jack’s voice is brimming with delight.

It’s contagious, filling Castiel’s chest with a tenderness that he didn’t realize he’s been missing. This is exactly what Castiel needed — this exact moment. He can almost hear Dean in his head.

Talk to him, Cas.

Castiel sighs. Can’t imaginary Dean let Castiel have one quiet, joyful moment with Jack alone?

But he knows imaginary Dean is right.

“Jack,” Castiel starts.

Jack, whose focus was back on the eagle, turns toward Castiel.

“I want to apologize again for missing your school festival. I really am sorry.”

Jack’s lip twitches. “I know,” he says.

Castiel’s heart sinks. Jack has always been so understanding (perhaps to a fault), and he realizes now how much he has taken that for granted.

“I know you do. You’ve always been so patient with me, but this was inexcusable,” Castiel insists.

Jack doesn’t say anything. He drops his gaze from Castiel and drags it across the water, back toward the eagle. Castiel can’t see his face, but his falling shoulders tell him everything he needs to know.

“You know I love you, right?” Jack’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the stillness of the air.

Instinctively, Castiel leans his body toward Jack. “Of course I do. And I love you.”

Jack faces Castiel again, but his gaze stays settled in the distance. He looks almost wistful now, a faint shadow of the beaming smiles from earlier today lingers on his lips. “I know. And I know that you work hard for Dad and me. That you always want the best for me.”

The “but” is hanging heavily in the air already.

“But —” Jack stalls. “I miss you sometimes.”

Nothing could have prepared Castiel for those four simple words. His heart is crushed under the weight of them. Behind Jack, Castiel sees the eagle take off with his meal.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re never home with us.” Jack’s eyes finally meet Castiel’s. A nervous glance that’s protected behind his bangs.

“I—” Castiel can’t find any words beyond another apology, but that feels empty after everything he’s put Jack through.

“It’s okay!” Jack doesn’t let him finish.

“It isn’t okay,” Castiel barely gets the words out around the tightness in his throat.

After a pause, Jack mutters, “Like, I get it.”

Silence falls between them, not the comfortable quiet that they enjoyed just a while earlier. Jack returns his attention to the lake, and without any idea of what else he can say to comfort Jack, Castiel follows suit.

Thankfully, Jack speaks first.

“Do you remember when we used to garden together?”

The question takes Castiel by surprise. Before he started working on weekends, one of Castiel’s favorite hobbies was spending time in their garden. He grew vegetables and flowers, studied each plant carefully so that he gave them the best chance to survive.

Jack was always beside him helping. They would sit together in front of the computer and watch gardening videos. Castiel would show him how best to treat the soil before planting seeds, the best time to plant which flowers, and how to care for them as the seasons changed. They’d never run out of fresh flowers in the house, often filling vases with many of Jack’s favorites.

It’s been over a year since he stepped foot in his garden — much like everything else, it was one more thing Castiel could no longer find the time for. Eventually, the flower beds were taken over by weeds and the planters dried up, filling Castiel with intense guilt for neglecting what was once his sanctuary.

“Of course,” he replies. How could he forget?

It takes a moment for Jack to continue. As if he’s taking deep care to choose each word. “Do you miss it?” is what he finally asks. His voice is barely above a whisper.

It’s the uncertainty in Jack’s voice that breaks Castiel’s heart. The fact that he seems almost embarrassed to ask Castiel that simple question.

“I — yes, I do. I loved that time we spent together,” reassures Castiel. “I still remember all of your favorite flowers, even the more temperamental ones that took us a few tries to grow.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s the main reason I joined the gardening club at school.” Jack’s eyes twinkle as he regains a little confidence.

Castiel nods encouragingly. When Jack told him he joined the gardening club, he was so proud. They may not have been gardening together anymore, but he was happy to learn that Jack was continuing to learn about plants. “Do you ever grow dahlias in your club? I remember that being one of your favorites.”

Jack nods. “And azaleas. It’s fun to see all the color variety.”

“The gardenias always caused us trouble, too.” Castiel chuckles.

“Gardenias are the worst!” Jack groans playfully.

“What else do you grow?”

Jack looks down at his hands. His thumbs fidget as he explains, “I grew all of those in the greenhouse this year. For the school festival.”

“Wow.” Castiel blinks, genuinely impressed. “You chose some challenging flowers to showcase.”

“I grew orchids, too. Your favorite,” Jack adds quietly.

Castiel stills. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Jack agrees. “But I was excited to show you. I wanted to recreate the garden we had at home.”

Today was really special for him.

Dean knew. Dean knew and didn’t tell him how badly Castiel had screwed up. His chest is tight as he flounders for the right word.

How could he make up for such ignorance?

“Jack, I’m so sor—”

A sudden whir prevents him from yet another apology.

“It’s yours!” Jack points at Castiel’s fishing rod. It’s curved with the tension from whatever fish is at the other end of the line.

Castiel jumps up toward the rod and jerks it out of the holder. He wishes he had asked Dean and Jack for a refresher before a fish actually caught, because he begins to fumble with the reel. Apparently his muscle memory ends at casting the line (which makes sense, considering he rarely caught anything when fishing with Dean).

The fish, which feels like a giant beast, tugs relentlessly at the line, and Castiel swings his fishing rod side to side, trying not to lose the catch. He’s fighting for his life when he hears Jack snort behind him.

The snort is followed by a few subdued giggles, which soon breaks into full-fledged cackles of laughter.

It’s so unexpected, Castiel loosens his grip for a moment, which is enough time for the lake monster to make an attempt to steal the fishing rod right out of Castiel’s hands. His inelegant yelp only makes Jack laugh harder.

“Jack! I could use some help here!” Castiel tries to sound disgruntled, but he can barely manage when Jack’s laughing so freely.

“You look,” Jack heaves between laughter, “—ridiculous!”

“Jack!” Castiel tries again, trying not to let the fish escape. For all he knows, he’s about to break a world record with this catch.

Jack finally stands up and takes control of the rod. He’s still laughing as he expertly flicks it upward a few times and begins to reel in the line. Castiel sees the exact moment Jack’s eyes light up. He must feel something in the line.

“Got it!”

After a few more tugs, Jack reels up a fish that is medium sized at best.

“That’s it?” Castiel asks, dumbfounded. It felt so much larger at the end of the line.

Jack begins laughing all over again. He laughs with his whole body — shoulders shaking, eyes watering. Castiel can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

It might be at his expense, but Castiel isn’t too proud that he can’t poke fun at himself.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He shakes his head. “So I’m a little rusty. You’re going to have to teach me the basics.”

Jack’s whole body expands with his excitement. “Let me put this one in the cooler and I’ll give you a crash course.”

It takes a couple of hours for Castiel’s form to look even somewhat decent, but Jack is a patient teacher. They both catch a few smaller fishes, which they promptly release back into the lake. While those don’t make it into the cooler for dinner, they give Castiel good practice to reel in catches.

Jack catches the few larger fish that they decide to bring back to Dean. He inspects each one carefully for any visible parasites. Another thing that Dean taught him, which he now teaches Castiel.

“I think we only need one or two more,” says Castiel, looking into the cooler. “It’s getting closer to dinner time, we want to make it back to camp and cook before it gets dark.”

They settle back in for one last wait. 

The wait isn't long. A little less than ten minutes later, Castiel’s reel begins to spin. The tension on the rod is strong, and Castiel can tell that it’s going to be his biggest catch of the day (but for certain this time).

“You’ve got this, Dad!” Jack encourages him as Castiel stands and takes the rod off the holder.

The fish tugs hard against the line, but Castiel is prepared this time. He recalls Jack’s teachings step-by-step and times his pulls and reels. The fish is persistent, though, and doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.

Castiel grunts as he battles the catch. He’s so focused, he doesn’t even notice Jack standing up to join him.

“It’s a big one,” Jack says, eyes planted on the end of the line.

With his attention fully on the fish, all Castiel can do is nod. He digs his heels into the shore to gain more traction, but the fish still manages to pull him an inch forward.

Jack’s hands wrap around the handle, right above Castiel’s. Pressed up against Jack’s lanky body, Castiel can feel the tension in his arms and shoulders that reach at the fishing pole.

“Can I?” He looks up at Castiel, his brow furrows with uncertainty. “Dad used to help me like this.”

“I could use the help,” Castiel grumbles as he takes a step back. He can feel Jack’s shoulders relax against his arm, as if he was worried Castiel would have said “no.”

He wants to talk about it — ask him why he would think that, but any coherent thought is disrupted by another violent tug at his fishing line.

“Pull!” Jack shouts. Castiel follows suit.

Jack is confident and clear in his instructions, leading their movements as a team. It’s unexpected; Jack was never the most outgoing growing up, but his innate leadership skills are starting to shine as he matures. Pride swells in Castiel’s chest.

Now with the help of a second person, Castiel can feel the fish at the end of the line getting tired, allowing itself to be pulled toward the surface.

Jack senses it too. “Okay, reel it in!”

Castiel quickly reels in the line, and after one final tug, the fish breaks the water surface.

Jack gasps.

“Holy shit, Dad! That’s huge!”

“Language,” Castiel chides halfheartedly. In reality, he can’t take his eyes off of the massive creature that just came out of the water. It’s fighting at the surface, still trying to get away, when Castiel comes back to himself and swings into action. “The net! We need the net!”

They finally lift up their catch — a gorgeous rainbow trout.

“Wow,” Jack breathes out.

Castiel can’t help but agree.

“I think it’s the largest fish I’ve caught here! I can’t believe you caught that!” Jack begins to handle the trout, checking to ensure it looks fine to eat.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Castiel says. His voice wavers slightly at the edges. “You’re a wonderful teacher.”

Jack’s smile shines under the lowering sun. He tosses the fish into the cooler before closing the lid and holds a hand up.

“Teamwork!”

Castiel laughs, and gives his son a high five. When their hands make contact, he doesn’t pull it back. He gently holds Jack’s hand in his own, and squeezes.

“Thank you for today,” he says. “I hope you know that I miss you, too. So much more than I even realized.”

Jack shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “Maybe we can go fishing again this summer.”

Castiel crinkles his eyes. “I’d like that.”

The golden sun casts long shadows through the trees as it begins to set, backlighting their way down the trail that leads back to their campsite. The hike down feels shorter than the way up, which is good because Castiel struggles all the way down with a full cooler on his shoulder. 

When they pass by the red yarrows again, Jack makes a quick pit stop to pick a few to decorate their camp.

They make it back to camp with plenty of time before the sun fully sets. Dean seems to have finished setting up camp long before the two came trudging back with their heavy cooler and packed up equipment. He’s lounging by the campfire with a beer in one hand and a book in the other. Castiel squints at how comfortably laid back he is, his feet up on a neighboring chair.

Supposedly Dean sent Castiel up to fish so that he could spend time with Jack, but perhaps he had an ulterior motive.

Dean looks up from his book and grins. “Any luck?”

“Dad caught a massive rainbow trout! You’d have been so proud!” Jack perks up. He rushes up to Castiel’s side and tugs at the cooler. “Dad, I want to show him!”

Castiel struggles to get it off his shoulder without jostling it too much, but manages to pass it to Jack. 

Dean whistles when he gets a peek inside. “Damn, Cas. I didn’t think you had it in you,” he quips.

“Thankfully I had a very good teacher,” Castiel replies. He shares a knowing smile with Jack.

The moment doesn’t last long, though. Jack quickly turns back to Dean. He’s practically bouncing in place. “I can start cleaning them for dinner!”

“And that is my cue to sit down,” Castiel mumbles, mostly to himself. While he admires Jack’s enthusiasm for the full ritual of catching and preparing your own meal, the process of gutting and cleaning the fish has never been something that agrees with Castiel’s stomach.

“Why don’t you get started without me? I want to chat with Cas a bit and I’ll catch up.” Dean ruffles Jack’s hair.

Once Jack is on his way to the water station, Dean gestures toward the open chair. Castiel takes a seat. He sinks into the chair, grateful to be off his feet. He rubs at his shoulder and groans. It’s not every day that Castiel has to carry several pounds on one shoulder.

“How’d it go?” Dean asks. No additional explanation is needed. Castiel knows exactly what he means.

“Well, I think,” he hedges. He feels closer to Jack than he has in months. “He’s gotten so… mature. When did that happen?”

Dean laughs. “A lot happens when you’re working all the time, man. The kid’s in high school now. He’s grown a lot just over the past year.” 

Castiel knows it isn’t meant to be a jab, but he feels the impact nonetheless. He hums in agreement, trying to hide the sting. “You’re right. He told me about his greenhouse. At the school festival.”

“Ah.” Dean takes a sip of his beer.

“You knew,” Castiel states. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean considers the question. He sighs. “Jack didn’t want you to feel bad.”

Of course it was Jack.

“He’s too kind.” Castiel grimaces as his stomach tightens.

“You want to see photos?” Dean asks, pulling out his phone. He flips through a few folders and hands his phone to Castiel.

The pictured greenhouse isn’t elaborate, but it’s set up thoughtfully to ensure each plant gets the light and climates they need. The flowers are vibrant and beautiful. The photos show a variety of colorful flowers, all familiar. Each were plants that Jack and Castiel used to painstakingly grow in their own garden.

The final photo in the album takes Castiel’s breath away. A gorgeous Stanhopea tigrina in full bloom. Splashes of purple paint over the white petals creating one-of-a-kind designs in each blossom. He zooms in at the petals to admire them closely.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs under his breath.

Dean looks over Castiel’s hand and nods. “He was especially excited to show you that one.”

Castiel can’t believe he missed it.

“These flowers couldn’t have been easy to grow. That takes a lot of work — dedication.”

“Good thing he gets his work ethic from you.” Dean grins.

Castiel doesn’t know how his heart can possibly contain everything he’s feeling. Guilt. Shame. Regret. But more importantly, pride and love for his gifted son.

“Dad! I need your help!” Jack calls from the water station.

Dean stands up, knowing that there’s no way Jack is calling on Castiel for fish cleaning help. “I’ll be right there!” He’s about to walk off, but then stops in his tracks. “Do you need your phone? I put it in one of the bags but I can go get it for you.”

Castiel shakes his head without a second thought. “No. I think you should hold onto it over the weekend.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my husband?” Dean jokes, but his tone is clearly pleased. Castiel lets him have this one, simply rolling his eyes in response.

Dean turns around to join Jack, but before he can walk away, Castiel reaches for his hand. “Dean, would you do me a favor?”

Dean intertwines their fingers, rubbing his thumb gently against Castiel’s. “What’s on your mind?”

“Could you repair the flower beds in our back yard this summer?”

With a wide smile that reminds Castiel so much of Jack’s sun-drenched grin by the lake, Dean leans down to kiss Castiel on his head.

“You’ve got it.”

Castiel leans back in his chair and watches the campfire crackle in front of him. 

He breathes in. Then out.

Dean and Jack are laughing in the distance. Jack squeals, no doubt in response to some unexpected prank by Dean.

In. Out.

Each sound. Sight. Feeling.

Castiel takes it all in, engraving all of it into memory, so that he never loses track of this, ever again.