Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Sam, I prayed to Castiel,” Jack informed him as he started shaking, feeling much too cold. “H-he should be c-coming, right?”

“He might not,” Sam told him, still staring at the spot where Dean had been. Jack had been staring at that spot too, but now he closed his eyes, feeling much too tired. “We have to take care of ourselves for now. Can’t rely on him. We… we don’t know what happened back at the bunker.”

Sam started moving away from Jack, grunting as he did so, and Jack pulled weakly on his sleeve.

“It’s okay, Jack. I’m not leaving you.”

Jack nodded at that. He’d been leaning on Sam, but now that he’d moved he found himself sliding down from his position against the wall and onto the floor.

He blearily opened his eyes and saw Sam taking off his belt. Before he could ask what he was doing, Sam was wrapping his belt around him, above the stab wounds in his hips, and once it was through the buckle, he pulled it tight, and Jack felt like he was getting squeezed. It didn’t help that the pain had spread up there as well, and now this pressure was making it worse. But he didn’t question it. He trusted Sam. Besides, Jack was too tired to learn anymore. He didn’t want to, not after what Lucifer had shown him.

Then he saw Sam taking off his plaid shirt, ripping it into strips, and those strips went around him, over the stab wounds, knotted tightly like bandages. He did the same for his chest, which wasn’t bleeding nearly as much. The dirtied part of the fabric, the one with the white stuff on it, Sam tossed aside, swallowing roughly. Then he pat him gently on the shoulder, and told him he had some things to take care of.

Jack watched him, not sure how he was even moving, though he did so slowly and stiffly, a sound of pain leaving him with nearly every step. He cried out as he kicked at the pew close to the altar, over and over again, and the old wood gave way into splintering shards. He did it till there was a pile of it, and then he collapsed to the floor, on his hands and knees once more. The sight made what had happened before flash through his mind, Lucifer in Sam, and Jack felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t roll onto his side though, was too weak to do so.

“I’m okay, Jack,” he told him in a quavering voice. “I’m okay.”

Jack didn’t believe him, but he had a feeling that if he said anything Sam would argue. He closed his eyes, his mind wandering as he heard some other sounds, and heard Sam crying out. He heard him kick Lucifer’s body as well, letting out a scream.

Then Sam was by him again, but he was grabbing the books from the pew near Jack. Jack tried to reach out for him, could feel his presence, wanted him even closer to him so he could be held, so he could hold Sam.

“Castiel…” Jack murmured, hoping his father could hear him, that he was on his way, that he was alive.

“Just me, Jack,” Sam responded in his hoarse voice. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you.”

“But… you… You’re hurting.”

“You’ve lost more blood than me,” he explained. “I’ll be fine.”

Sam didn’t sound fine. There was still agony in his voice, but it was almost like it’d been numbed somehow. He heard a whimper from his dad, farther away now, and then the sounds of paper being ripped up.

“What are those books?” Jack asked, not even sure why it mattered to him at the moment.

More ripping and tearing.

“The gospel,” Sam answered. “Stories about God’s son Jesus.”

That was the last Jack heard for awhile, darkness and cold taking him even as he was shivering.

He awoke to a crackling noise, to warmth that seemed to be emanating a few feet away. Sam was taking the bandages off, pushing his jacket aside and lifting his shirt up. For a few seconds, Lucifer pulling down Sam’s jeans flashed through his mind, and he opened his eyes wide in a panic. But then he met Sam’s strong gaze. It was just his dad.

“This is gonna hurt,” he told him. “But you have to be brave for me, okay?”

Jack nodded, fear waking him up even more. He didn’t know what was going on, but he trusted Sam, even as Sam told him to open his mouth and put a piece of wood in it that he must’ve stripped of splinters. When he told him to bite down, he did so. His dad left for a second, going over to the altar, and Jack followed him, tilting his head. But he couldn’t keep his head up, so it just fell down to the floor. He grabbed what looked like a candlestick, and then brought it over to what Jack now realized was a fire. The wood from the pew was burning, as were the pages from the gospel, and smoke was steadily filling the old church. Without a breeze it hung heavy in the air, even with the doors on the other end now open. Jack couldn’t really see out them, thought maybe there was some dirt, a patch of grass, light. It cast a beam on Lucifer’s dead body. The fire was over the shadows of his wings, a desecration of the sinful archangel, and Jack thought it was fitting.

Sam went over to the fire, and held the candlestick in it till the end of it was red. Jack frowned when he then came over to him, holding it.

“I have to stop the bleeding,” he explained to him. “You’ve already lost a lot of blood, okay? This’ll help, but it’s not gonna feel like it. You can even hate me for a bit afterwards. I’d understand.”

Jack nodded and Sam placed one large hand against his torso, underneath the wound on his chest, and Jack realized it was to hold him down. Then the hot metal was against his skin, against the already agonizing wound, and he was screaming around the wood in his mouth, biting down on it. He felt his teeth digging into it ever so slightly. He bit down until his jaw hurt, and he had to keep biting because the fire was still there, eating at him. Tears ran down the sides of Jack’s face, into his hair. The pain left, only for him to feel it again on the right side, and he was struggling beneath Sam, trying to get free, screeching around the wood. It seemed as if his dad was struggling as well, his limbs shaking, and Jack felt guilty, knew it was his fault. All of this was his fault. Fire. Nothing but aching, searing fire. And then it was gone.

There was a clang as Sam put the candlestick down, and then he was removing the piece of wood from his mouth. He ran a hand through Jack’s slightly sweaty hair, giving him a small smile.

“The worst part is over,” he told him.

And then he was undoing his belt and helping Jack sit up, and Jack ended up leaning against him. He felt bad doing so. He should be the one taking care of Sam. Sam was the one who’d gotten tortured, or… or whatever that had been. Lucifer had said the word sex , but he still didn’t know what that word meant. Had sex been what he’d done to Sam? Was sex a form of torture? He didn’t get it. But he didn’t like it either, knew that Sam didn’t like it.

Jack then tried to move away from Sam, and whimpered as he realized he couldn’t, that he didn’t have enough energy, and Sam wrapped an arm around him, and pulled him close, rubbing his back. He rested his chin on the top of his head, and Jack started crying again, grabbing onto his black t-shirt.

“I-I d-d-don’t… understand !” Jack sobbed out. “I do-don’t understand!”

Jack thought Sam was going to say something comforting, but he felt the rumble of his deep voice in his chest as he just said, tone seemingly devoid of all emotion, “Neither do I.”

And they both knew they weren’t talking about Dean and Michael. They were talking about Lucifer. Jack was glad that Sam was holding him against his chest so he couldn’t see the body of the monster that had given him life. He still wasn’t sure he wanted that life anymore. He hadn’t known that anything could hurt so badly, could be so… confusing . And how was Sam not sobbing? How had Sam taken care of him? Jack felt so pathetic. He was a mess from watching what had happened to his dad, and even with his dad surely being worse off than him, he was the one taking care of Jack. Jack wanted it to be the other way around, but he didn’t know what he could do.

A few minutes passed with him sobbing. He pressed himself against his dad more, making him grunt, so Jack pulled back, wiping the tears from his face.

“Is it your rib?” he asked him.

Sam gingerly put a hand to it, nodding.

“Is there… is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head.

“But what about-”

He cut him off, “No. I’ll…” He sniffled and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, showing that he had been crying while holding Jack. “I’ll be fine. The bleeding’ll stop eventually. It always does.”

“Where do you think we are?” Jack asked. “Do you think my father will find us?”

“If he’s alive, he’ll find us.”

He pat Jack gently on the back. “Okay, I gotta get up, see if I can find some water.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Sam eyed him, and Jack clenched his jaw, trying to harden his eyes. He was fine. He had to be. He wanted to help, and he didn’t want to be left alone with Lucifer’s body. Though he was dead he still didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

“Alright, I’ll help you walk.”

Without saying anything, Jack also decided that he would help Sam walk. However, before he could get up himself, his dad was standing and going over to the altar. After grabbing what looked like a large metal bowl, he came back over to Jack, helping him off the ground.

So they stood side by side, an arm around each other, and they half-limped, half-dragged each other out of the church. Jack felt like he’d collapse without Sam, but he was also pulling Sam towards him, trying to take some of his weight. He knew each step caused his dad immense pain, probably more than Jack. That’s what he was telling himself at least. He figured it was good that he at least didn’t hurt in the way Sam did. Jack didn’t know how anyone could handle that, didn’t know how his dad was.

Jack started laughing when they were outside, the sun shining on them, the wind blowing gently. He’d just realized something.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday,” Jack explained, knowing Sam was probably questioning what he’d been thinking about.

“Maybe we should do something,” Sam told him. “Get a cake or whatever.”

He sounded like he was trying to be hopeful, like he was pretending nothing was wrong, and at the moment, Jack greatly appreciated it.

Once they were outside, Jack just saw tall grass, some dirt, a patch of gravel - which they were currently standing in - and a few gnarled trees. He didn’t recognize where they were, and he wished he still had his wings so he could fly them home. Jack felt like he was getting stabbed all over again just thinking about it. Except this time, instead of agony following in the blade’s wake, he was left with a profound sense of emptiness that had been carved out of his very being.

A few birds were singing, and Jack hated them. Those birds were happy, and he’d been happy, happy that Lucifer was dead, and his dad must’ve still been happy. But what they’d been through had ruined it, losing Dean had ruined it. It was just the two of them and they were hurting together.

Aside from the birdsong, Jack heard something else. A gurgling, bubbling sound. Sam looked down at him and smiled.

“Guess finding water won’t be as hard as I thought.”

They followed the noise, which led them behind the church, where the trees grew a little thicker and there were more rocks. They almost fell traversing the rocks, his dad especially, but they made it to a fast-moving stream that snaked all the way back behind the church and out of sight. Sam started sinking to his knees in the patch of grass and dead leaves by the stream, Jack doing the same. As Jack began washing his blood off of his hands, Sam dipped the bowl in the water, and once it was filled he set it aside. He leaned down, body shaking as he did so, and put his hands in the water, washing his face. Jack then copied him, thinking if his dad was doing it it must be the smart thing to do. He made sure to cup his hands together under the water like Sam did, following a few seconds behind him, and then he leaned over and splashed it into his face. He opened his eyes as it dripped off of him, turned to Sam and saw that he was now running a wet hand over the blood on his face, scrubbing at it, and then placing that hand in the water again to keep doing it. Jack followed suit, the sleeves of his jacket soaking up some of the water. His dad looked at him, and gave a soft laugh when he realized Jack was copying him motion for motion, and Jack gave him a smile.

Sam ruffled his hair, and then said, “Let me help. You missed a spot.”

So now Sam was cleaning Jack’s face, rubbing at the blood above his upper lip and on the edge of his nose, being careful of the scab that was already there. Once he finished with that, he set to getting his hair wet, cleaning out the sweat, so Jack did the same.

The water was cold, and looked like it’d probably be refreshing. His mouth and throat felt very dry. He cupped some water in his hands and started bringing it to his mouth. Sam’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, and the water splashed back into the stream.

“What?” Jack asked. “I’m thirsty.”

“That’s why we have this,” Sam answered, picking up the bowl beside him. “Water’s probably not safe to drink without heating it first. There’s nothing I can use to get it to a boil, but getting it hot should help a bit.”

Then his dad started rising to his feet, and Jack reached out to help him, letting out a whimper as he did so since the quick motion pulled at his wounds. He hadn’t realized Sam was going to get up so quickly, thought he’d like to clean up more.

“What about where Lucifer hurt you?” Jack asked, knees shaking as he got to his feet while carefully supporting his dad.

“Later,” Sam answered.

“But-”

“Jack, I want privacy for that.”

“Oh.”

Once back in the church, after skirting around all the blood on the floor Jack sat as close to the fire as he could. He was facing the doors, his back to the altar, and through the flames he could see Lucifer’s dead body.

Sam was holding the bowl nearly in the fire, his hands gingerly on the edges of it so he wouldn’t burn himself.

“What do we do about him?” Jack asked.

Sam glanced over at Lucifer, and he saw a huge smile alight his dad’s face. But then it was gone in a second and he looked down into the water, and it seemed like he was studying his reflection.

“Nothing. He’s dead.”

Another smile, this one smaller.

“And Dean?”

Any trace of happiness was wiped off of Sam’s face, and the pain faded away. It was like there was nothing there, and Jack couldn’t understand what it was. It was as if his dad had gone emotionless, but there was still something there, way deep down. There had to be.

“I don’t know. If Castiel finds us we’ll figure something out.” There was a long pause and then he eventually said, “We have to.”

As Sam did that Jack curiously lifted up his shirt to look at the stab wounds. He wasn’t bleeding from them, figured that’s what Sam had helped him with earlier when he’d burned him. And he wasn’t angry. He’d just been scared and hurting and bleeding out, but now he just ached immensely. The wounds were charred, a dark red color that was nearly black. Sam hadn’t touched the one on his chest, but the bandage only had a little blood on it, and that wound hadn’t been as deep, so he supposed he’d be alright. But what was stopping Sam from bleeding? He figured if he looked at his jeans there’d be a dark red stain on them. Why was his dad not taking care of himself?

A hiss from Sam drew him back, and he quickly lowered his shirt, looking at him. He was placing the bowl on the patterned marble floor, and then he crawled over to Jack, wincing. Once he was seated by him, he clenched his jaw, looking like he was trying to hold in his voice.

He undid the knot he’d made with the strip of his shirt, and then told him, “Jacket and shirt off.”

Jack listened to him without question, and as he did so, Sam was ripping off a section of his sleeve. He dipped it in the water and then brought it to Jack’s chest, cleaning him. The warm water felt nice against his skin, but he flinched from it entering the wound, and the pressure made him sore.

“Jack,” his dad began quietly, not looking at him as if he was scared of what he was going to say, “I need you to promise me something.”

“Yeah, anything,” he answered, his gaze on Sam as he washed him up, the piece of his wet shirt growing red.

“What happened to me, you can’t tell anyone, okay? Not Castiel, not… not Dean. Not my mom, or Bobby. No one.”

“But he hurt you,” Jack reasoned, furrowing his brow. He didn’t understand why Sam was telling him this. Why wouldn’t he want his family to know? They could take care of him.

“I know. I know, but… they don’t know. Only you know.”

“Has he… has he hurt you in… other ways?” Jack questioned, almost too worried about all this to know the answer.

Sam swallowed roughly and then turned away from him, placing the piece of shirt down next to him.

“Yeah, Jack. Your father-”

“He’s not my father,” he growled out. “You are. Dean is. Castiel is.”

Sam lowered his head. “Right. Lucifer. Where he was before, in Hell, it wasn’t a good place. He was in a Cage that God made. And… And I was in that Cage, too.”

Jack sharply turned his head to him, not understanding. “What?”

“It was a few years ago. You see, the end of the world started, and I… I let Lucifer possess me. Well, he kinda backed me into a corner. There wasn’t another way. And I… I threw myself in… when he was in me. I was down there for... “ He looked up, blinked rapidly, and Jack thought he was trying to not cry. He reached out and put his hand on Sam’s knee. He flinched at first, but then he relaxed. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I long I was down there - time in Hell is faster - centuries, maybe. It’s not something I talk about.”

“So Dean and Castiel, they know?”

He nodded his head.

“But they don’t know ,” Jack said, thinking he was getting it now. “Why don’t they know? Is it bad?”

Sam nodded.

“But… but it’s not your fault. How could it be?”

His dad gave a harsh laugh and shook his head. Then he sighed. “I’m sure you have questions, and-”

Jack interrupted him, seeing that as an opening. “What’s sex?”

His dad lifted up his head, glowered at Lucifer’s body through the fire, and then he was looking to Jack, his hazel eyes holding emotion again. There was shame there, Jack thought, but he didn’t know why he’d be feeling that.

“It’s… it’s sort of what Lucifer did to me. But… It’s not supposed to be like that, not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be something between two people who… who want it, who are in love, or attracted to each other, or both.”

“You never loved him,” he stated darkly.

“No. I think maybe he loved me once, or tried to, but then he realized I hated him, that I didn’t want anything from him. And then he made me kill.”

“Who’d he make you kill?”

“People who had betrayed me, people I cared about. Nearly killed Dean. But… I won. I beat him. I got him back in the Cage. And… And I don’t know, he-he was mad, he was bored, he was hurting, and I was around.” Sam swallowed roughly before he went on, “Sorry, that doesn’t answer your question. I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

His dad shuddered and then pulled away from him, and Jack’s face fell. He dipped his hand in the water, and then shook the droplets off.

“It’s still warm,” he told him. He stood up, a groan leaving him as he did so, and Jack tried to reach out for him, but Sam jumped at the motion, nearly stumbled, so Jack put his hands in his lap again, looking down. “I’ll be back,” his dad announced. “Stay here.”

And then he started limping out of the church.

“Where are you going?” Jack asked.

“The stream. I need to be alone.”

Without Jack around, Sam allowed himself to crawl to the stream. He didn’t care how pathetic he felt. He’d been trying to act strong for him, but even with the joy that still took over him with Lucifer being dead, he couldn’t forget that he’d managed to hurt him one last time before he’d been killed. And he’d managed to hurt Jack. He’d made Jack see .

The grass and pebbles were rough against his hands, and his aching knees, but walking had been agony, each step murder on his thighs and his ass, his insides throbbing and stabbing. Even now it felt like Lucifer was still in him, still against him. his scent filling his nostrils, and it made him want to throw up.

He was able to make it to a tree a little farther away, bracing himself against it as his stomach emptied itself. He collapsed onto his back after that, and just stared up at the sky. Maybe he could just die there. He didn’t even know if Castiel was coming, if he was alive. And he’d lost Dean. But Jack. Jack was alive, and he had to take care of him.

Jack can take care of himself, Sam tried to reason. He’s done it before.

He’d somehow done it when he had ran away, he’d done it in Apocalypse World. But he hadn’t been human then. Now he was human.

Sam knew that Jack must’ve felt like he was missing part of himself without his powers, but, in a way, he was relieved he didn’t have them anymore. It was part of what had made Jack so frightening. And, Sam knew it was ridiculous, but when Jack had been staying with them he’d had many nightmares of him coming into his room and raping him just like Lucifer had. It was like the emotional part of his brain looked at Jack and only saw his torturer. But Sam knew he was more than that. He was a kid. He was good. He was his son.

So Sam would quit watching the graying clouds floating by overhead, pick himself off the ground, and get himself cleaned so he could go back to him.

It made things much more complicated that there seemed to be nothing around. There was a dead road he supposed they could follow if they ended up being well enough, but Sam knew the longer they stayed there the weaker they’d get. They’d get hungry first. And there was nothing to eat. But he wasn’t sure they could walk far either. Sam certainly couldn’t, and Jack had passed in and out of consciousness too many times earlier for him to be well enough to travel. Maybe the both of them would die there.

He slowly undressed when he got to the stream, each movement hurting, his cracked rib sore and aching. He was swollen there and a bruise was already started to form, the red becoming a dark purple. He probably looked like that inside wherever he wasn’t torn. But he felt like he’d been stabbed, like a knife had been shoved up him to take out his insides, and like it was still shoved up there. There was a deeper part of the stream a little ways out, and Sam figured he could make it there, try and submerge himself. Stepping into the stream proved that the depth of it was deceiving and it was deeper than he’d realized. It already went halfway up his calves. He hated that he’d had to undress all the way, but they were seemingly in the middle of nowhere and the trees would give him cover. He just had to clean away Lucifer’s touch, clean away the blood, clean away his seed.

Sam wanted to clean his clothes as well, but he figured the bloodstains wouldn’t come out, so it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to have to stand around in just his boxers either while he waited for them to dry. He’d just have to deal with it, so he left them at the edge of the stream as he limped over to the deeper end, the rounded rocks hurting his bare feet somewhat.

The far side of the stream was a little like a pit, and the water went up past his waist. It was cold, and Sam hated it. He’d prefer if it was warm. He hated the cold. Ever since the Cage it had always been something that brought about his worst memories. But now maybe it could help wash the remnants of his newest memories away. Sam didn’t bother to turn and see the blood welling up in the water before drifting downstream.

Dead. Lucifer was dead . Sam started laughing in amazement at the thought, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He felt so much lighter, but at the same time he felt like something heavy was pulling him down. It was like he was being stretched, his emotions being dragged in too many places at once. He wondered if he would eventually snap if they went too far.

Lucifer had raped him in front of Jack.

Dean had killed Lucifer.

Michael had taken Dean.

Sam didn’t know how to feel.

One second he felt elated, the next he was in an excruciatingly dark place, and then the next he was filled with something akin to grief, and after that there was nothing, only for him to feel elated again.

He wasn’t tethered to Lucifer anymore. He was alive, and that had been Lucifer’s doing, but now he was dead and he didn’t owe him anything. But he’d taken something from him again. It felt like he’d taken part of his soul.

But he should have it back now that Lucifer was  dead, shouldn’t he? Why did any of the crap he’d done to him matter if he wasn’t alive anymore, if he couldn’t hurt him anymore?

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, pain alighting in his chest, as his treacherous mind suddenly filled with the image of him turning and seeing Lucifer walking out of the church, coming over to him and into the water to hurt him again. And Sam was already naked. It’d be too easy for the Devil to…

Sam closed his eyes, forced himself to take in as deep a breath as he could.

“He’s gone,” he told himself. “He’s dead.”

He opened his eyes again, turned to glance back at the church, his heart thudding in his chest, and he saw no one.

Sam stood there for a few minutes, just letting the water run by him, and the emotions he felt took turns staying with him longer each time. Happiness, relief, torment, fear, pain, loss, and then he was numb. Over and over it went, the cycle its own form of torture. When he was numb again and shivering he decided to get out of the stream and put his clothes back on. He hadn’t touched himself to scrub anything off, hadn’t wanted to. Sam couldn’t stand touching himself, couldn’t stand the sight of himself. He’d been getting better with it, he really had, and now it was ruined all over again.

He didn’t even know how Jack could look at him.

He thought about Jack as he got dressed, grimacing as he pulled on his dirtied clothes. Standing in the stream had made him feel somewhat clean, but the disgust had traveled underneath his skin, and Sam was dirty all over, inside, and putting on the clothes made it worse just as it made it better. He felt safer with less skin showing. Jack wouldn’t know any of that, probably didn’t understand it. Lucifer had said terrible things to him, some of which had been right, some of which had been wrong, done mostly to hurt Sam, and Sam wanted to explain it to him, he really did, but he didn’t know how, didn’t think he could do it.

But Jack shouldn’t have had to see that. He was too young. There was darkness in him, maybe just as much darkness as there was good, but he still saw him as too innocent to know any of that, to have seen it.

Sam was ashamed that Jack had seen it. He wasn’t even sure how he’d been able to look at Jack afterwards. But his son was hurting, just as he was, so he’d take care of him. He still loved him, and he hoped Jack felt the same. He had said he did, but Sam had a hard time believing it.

How could anyone love him after witnessing that?

Once his clothes were on, now a bit wet from soaking up the droplets on his skin, Sam went back over to the church, telling himself he wouldn’t crawl this time. He had to be standing when Jack saw him. He had to make him feel safe, like he could take care of him.

Sam took a break, leaning against the church, just outside the doors where Jack wouldn’t be able to see him.

Castiel, he thought, figuring he’d try too, I don’t know where Jack and I are. But we’re alive, and we need help. Please, if you’re okay, we need you.

Sam looked around, as if the angel would suddenly show up, but his wings were still damaged from The Fall, so he’d have to drive there. It could take a few hours, or maybe a day or two. Or maybe he was dead and he wasn’t coming. If he was dead, Sam didn’t see any realistic way that they would survive. So he’d try to make Jack as comfortable as he could before the end.

He sighed and went back inside, really starting to hope that his friend wasn’t dead.

Jack was drinking the lukewarm water from the bowl when Sam came back in, his back to Lucifer. He’d put his shirt and jacket back on, even though they were dirtied and his shirt was ripped.. He placed the bowl down after a few sips, looking at the cross with Jesus on it, a crown of thorns on his head, nails through the palms of his hands and his feet. He’d read about Jesus in the Bible, knew that God had brought him into being with the help of the virgin Mary so that he could absolve humanity of their sins.

But the dead archangel behind him had already planted the seed, and he’d still been alive. And he’d gotten out.

But then God had made sure Sam and Dean would be born, born to a mother named Mary, and they would save the world. And they had saved it again. They’d saved it just an hour ago.

But now Jack felt ruined. He had all these thoughts as Sam walked over to him, and he felt safer in his presence. Yet, the thoughts remained, clouds of choking, acrid darkness. But Sam was strong, and he was with him. Jack didn’t see his dad as being weaker for what he’d gone through. He saw him as strong, stronger than ever. He was alive, and he was taking care of Jack until Castiel showed up. He’d looked Lucifer in the eye after he’d hurt him, and he’d stood over his dead body, and he’d smiled about him being dead. Sam was stronger and braver than anyone he’d ever met. He wished he could think the same of Dean, and Castiel, and maybe they were, maybe they’d been tortured too. He wouldn’t know. But maybe none of that mattered. They were good people, and to him, the three of them were all incredibly strong.

“So I prayed to Castiel, too,” Sam said. “He’ll be able to figure out where we are.”

“But you said he might not come.”

Sam sat down by him, a growl leaving him, his jaw clenched as he struggled to not make an even louder sound of distress.

“I know, but… I had to try.” He looked like he wanted to say more, his mouth open slightly, but then he shook his head a little. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. So what were thinking about?”

Jack pointed up at the cross. “Him. You.” As he said the last word, he turned to his dad with a smile. “I meant what I said earlier, Sam. I love you.”

Sam clenched his hand into a fist, but then relaxed it and wrapped his arm around Jack, pulling him close. “And I love you, too.”

“What Lucifer did to you earlier,” Jack began, “what happened exactly? He said… he said you felt good.”

He looked up at his dad, and he was glad he didn’t pull away from him like he had earlier. He spoke, sounding sickened with each word, “I… did. Sort of. He uh… He used his powers, or I guess, the ones he took from you, and he… he made me feel… good .”

“And that’s bad?” he asked, still not understanding all of what he’d seen.

His dad drew in a deep breath, and then looked down at him. There were tears in his eyes. “Jack, if anyone ever touches you when you don’t want it, even if they’re not hurting you, even if they’re making your body feel good, it’s bad. It’s really, really bad. And it hurts. Inside. It hurts your heart, your brain, your soul. And if anyone tries to do that to you, you fight, if you can. But if you can’t, that’s okay too. There’s a word for what Lucifer did to me, and it’s not sex. Sex is… sex is good. It can be good, really good. It’s when both people want it. But I didn’t, so what you saw, what I wish you never had to see, it’s called rape.”

“Rape?” Jack questioned, testing the word out for himself. He decided right away that he didn’t like it. It was fitting of the ugly act he’d seen Lucifer use his dad’s body for.

Sam nodded. “But you can’t tell Castiel. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because it’s not yours to tell. I know that what you saw hurt you. I do. And I’m sorry. But you can talk to me about it, okay? Just… sometimes I’ll need a break, or to take a step back. It’s scary.”

“Are you scared now?”

Jack thought his heart was going to break when his dad nodded.

He buried his head in Sam’s side, wrapping his arms around him, even as it hurt his hips and chest. Jack made sure to not put pressure on Sam’s right side.

Sam ruffled his hair, and he saw him pick up the bowl out of the corner of his eye.

“Come on, I want you to drink all of this. You lost a lot of blood.”

“What about you?” Jack asked, pulling away from him.

“I’ll be fine.”

His dad offered him the bowl, but Jack refused to take it. Sam gave him an affectionate smile, and then took a drink. It would’ve been ideal, in Jack’s opinion, for him to have more, but he refused, making sure he would have the rest.

The day wore on, and Castiel didn’t show. Sam ended up having to break up more of the overturned pew near the altar and rip up more of the gospels in order to keep the fire going, and then as night fell, he painstakingly dragged another pew over behind the altar for Jack to sleep on. Jack was glad of that. He didn’t want to sleep where he could see Lucifer’s body.

“What about you?” he asked as he settled down, having to lie on his back because lying on his side hurt way too much.

“I’m gonna keep watch,” Sam said. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m worried about you.”

His dad gave him a half-hearted smile. “Nah, I’m fine.”

Jack figured he was lying, but he didn’t know what to say, and he was too tired to argue with him. Even as Sam started walking away he already started falling asleep, the wood feeling much more comfortable than the marble floor. The last thing he saw was the cross, Jesus seemingly watching over him, and Sam going to do exactly that.

Sam was screaming in Jack’s dreams. And he wouldn’t stop screaming. And Lucifer was laughing. Jack cried as he heard it all, as he watched it. Their bodies were twined together, and Sam couldn’t move, and Lucifer’s eyes were the golden that Jack’s had once been. It was his fault, and he heard himself shouting that, and then Lucifer was shouting it, and Sam was shouting it. And then Lucifer was touching him and he was touching Sam, and he didn’t know what was happening, and he started screaming.

Jack woke up to Sam’s hand on his shoulder, his fingers warm through his clothing, and he realized that his face was wet.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” Sam soothed, his voice as gentle as he could make it while it was still hoarse. “I’m here, I’m here.”

As his eyes adjusted to the dark shadows he realized Sam was kneeling before him. Jack wanted to hug him and sob, but instead he wiped his tears away, sniffled.

“He was hurting you again,” Jack explained.

“It was just a dream.”

He nodded, and then let out a long breath, relaxing his muscles.

Sam patted him reassuringly, but instead of leaving like Jack had thought he would, he stayed with him.

To break the silence he said something that had been on his mind since Lucifer had taken his powers in the bunker: “I feel like I lost part of myself.”

“I know.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Jack, I’m gonna be honest. I don’t know what you’re feeling, but I’ll tell you what, Castiel has been there before. He has. He was human for awhile, had his Grace taken from him, and he’s still healing, I think. He doesn’t talk about it, but I bet he’d be willing to talk to you about it if that’s what you needed.”

“Is he dead?”

There was a long pause, and he could tell Sam didn’t know how to answer his question, but he eventually responded, “No. No, you’ll see. He’s gonna come, and he’s gonna take care of you. He’s gonna bring us home.”

After that, Sam left, and Jack fell asleep again.

No nightmare woke him up. Instead, he awoke to the sound of soft voices, and he heard his name mentioned, heard what he’d said earlier being mentioned. Then Castiel was by his side, and Jack couldn’t stop smiling. He practically sank into his arms with relief when he did so, and Castiel hugged him back. As his father held him, he felt all his pain leaving his body and there was a brilliant glowing light that he could see even with his eyes closed. When he pulled away he was healed, and he hadn’t realized just how tense he’d been, hadn’t realized how much the pain had encroached on his mind.

“Sam’s hurt too,” Jack told his father.

“You are?” Castiel asked, his deep voice holding concern.

Since his dad was standing, not blocked by the altar, Jack could see firelight dancing across his face. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

“But-” Jack began.

Sam gave him a sharp look, tilting his head slightly, and Jack clamped his mouth shut.

He didn’t understand it, but Sam didn’t want to be healed. Maybe if Castiel healed him he would know he’d been raped. Even thinking the word made Jack uncomfortable, and it brought a horrifying image up in his mind. Lucifer was thrusting against Sam, and he could’ve sworn he heard the atrocious sound of their skin slapping together.

Castiel seemed to recognize the face Sam had given him, and he frowned, rising to his feet.

“Sam, if you’re hurt, I can heal you.”

Already his father was reaching his hand out to his dad and Sam shuffled back, the muscles in his face tense, his breath held, to keep himself from showing any signs of pain.

“No. I said I’m fine.”

Castiel sighed, but didn’t argue further. After seeing Lucifer not listening to Sam, it warmed Jack’s heart to see his father respecting him like that.

“Look, talk to Jack,” he eventually said, as if he was finishing up an earlier conversation. “I’ll be in the car.” And then his dad was walking away.

Castiel watched him go, his blue eyes wistful, and then he knelt by Jack again. Jack couldn’t help flinching when his father took out his angel blade.

“What…?”

“I know what you’re going through,” Castiel explained. “Losing your Grace, it feels… it feels like you’ve lost something, lost something important. It’s hard being human - tiring, and painful if you’re not used to it. I want to help you.”

“How?”

Castiel drew the angel blade along his throat in response, making Jack jump back.

“No!” he cried out.

It hadn’t been a deep cut, but in the blue-white light of his Grace that emanated from his throat, he saw blood drip out onto his skin.

“Take some of it,” Castiel urged, his voice harsh and pain-filled.

Jack shook his head.

“I can’t! I can’t !”

“Jack, you’re my son. I’d do anything for you. And now I’m doing this.” He shuffled closer, grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “Please. Take some of it.”

His throat began to ache, his bottom lip trembling, and Castiel blurred in his vision. He didn’t want to do this. He greatly missed having powers, missed feeling like he had before, missed being himself. But maybe it was better he was human. He couldn’t hurt people that way.

“I don’t…”

Castiel’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“I don’t want to hurt people,” Jack told him. “I… I kept hurting people, and I couldn’t stop.”

But Sam. He hadn’t hurt Sam the day before, but he hadn’t been able to help him because he’d been human. Maybe Jack couldn’t allow himself to be human. He would do this for Sam. He’d just have to be more careful, and maybe his dad could help him with that like he’d been trying to do before Jack had run away, and had ended up in Apocalypse World.

“You won’t hurt us, Jack,” Castiel assured, leaning forward more, tilting his head back.

It felt strangely intimate leaning closer to him, and he saw Lucifer caressing Sam’s face as he strangled him in his mind. His stomach churned, and the physical distress it left him with made him want his own Grace back more than ever. But he wouldn’t have it back, and he would just have to take from Castiel in this moment since he was offering.

So Jack put his mouth near his neck, and he sucked it in. It felt like life was filling him, like everything had been dull compared to this moment. It felt good and natural, and like there was this living light inside of him. He pulled away after a few quick seconds, not wanting to completely drain his father.

Castiel seemed satisfied and brushed his hand over his neck, healing himself.

“Thank you, father.”

The ride back was long, and the sky had turned gray by the time they trudged inside the bunker. Jack had wanted to help Sam walk, but he brushed him aside.

During the long ride, Castiel had explained what had happened to Dean, that he’d said yes to Michael and was now possessed by him. Sam and Jack had figured that out on their own, but hearing it made Jack feel an intense longing wash over him. He wanted Dean with him, and now he wasn’t sure if that would ever happen again. Sam retreated to his room immediately, brushing aside the affections of his worried mother. Jack let Mary dote on him for a bit, Bobby off to the side, leaning against the wall. But then he too went to shower.

After his shower, which was long given the time he’d spent standing under the stream of hot water and crying, he went to Sam’s room. He stood outside it for a minute, his heart pounding, the blood rushing in his ears, and the 21 engraved on the door seemed to glare at him. Eventually, Jack worked up the courage to knock.

“Come in,” Sam called from the other side.

He must’ve had a lot of water after getting back to the bunker because his voice sounded much better.

Jack entered, and saw Sam lying on his bed, a book in his hands. He wanted to ask what his dad was reading, but he supposed he’d have to do that another time. That wasn’t what he was here for.

Sam was in his pajamas now, black sweatpants and a dark gray long-sleeved shirt. He’d showered and looked a bit more comfortable, though, he could tell he was tense. Jack came closer and he saw one of his legs twitch ever so slightly.

“You doin’ okay?” his dad asked him.

Jack nodded. He missed Dean, his other dad, and the images that kept playing through his head hurt like nothing else could, but he was showered, and Castiel had said something about making sure there’d be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the kitchen for him. He was home.

Without saying anything else he went right over to Sam. He had planned on healing him without even discussing it, thinking Sam would appreciate it, but before he could reach out and touch him, Sam was sitting up, leaning away from him, hands out as if he had to defend himself.

His hazel eyes held shock, and then guilt and he looked down at his hands as he lowered them. Hurt filled Jack’s chest, clenched his heart.

“Sorry.”

“Can I heal you?” Jack asked, trying his best to ignore what had happened, to forgive Sam.

His dad nodded, lowering his gaze, and then Jack reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead. He’d seen Castiel heal people before, and he’d felt him do it to him, so maybe he himself had picked it up. Jack had never been able to do it before, but now he had to try. More than that, he had to succeed.

He took what Grace he had, pushing it outwards into Sam. It moved differently than the Grace that he’d had before. This didn’t feel like his, felt weaker, but there was no taint to it. He hadn’t felt the darkness in his powers before, but now he had something to compare it to. This Grace almost seemed lighter than his own powers, more pure, maybe. Or it could’ve been his imagination. Sam took in a sharp breath, held it, and then he was releasing it with a pleased sigh.

Jack pulled away, looking his dad over.

“Better?” he asked him.

Sam smiled at him, and he felt warm inside. “Much better. Thank you.”

“Castiel said he’d make some sandwiches,” Jack informed him.

“I’m not hungry. You should get some food in you, though.”

Sam just pat him on the shoulder and Jack said his goodbye.

Jack woke up late in the afternoon, nearly into the evening. Even with the bit of Grace his father had given him he seemed to mostly still be human, and he knew healing Sam had waned some of it. But it’d been worth it. His dad had taken care of him, so he had to take care of his dad.

When Jack trudged into the war room he found Sam and Castiel at the table, which had a blue cake on it. Closer inspection showed that there was some art of a green lightsaber on it, and the words Happy Birthday, Jack . There was an unlit candle in the shape of the number one sticking up from the middle of it.

His parents had been talking with each other, but turned to him when they heard him enter.

“Good, you’re up,” Sam said.

“Good morning, Jack.”

“What’s this?” he asked, a little confused as to what was going on.

“We know you’ve been through a lot recently,” Castiel started as he pulled out a chair so Jack to sit next to him, “but we still wanted to do something for your birthday.”

“And you’ve never tried cake before,” Sam told him. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Where’s Mary?” Jack asked. “And Bobby?”

“They went to get you a gift; one we all agreed upon,” his father answered. “With everything going on we were rather unprepared.”

“That’s alright.”

His dad smiled before he got up and left, heading towards the kitchen. Jack waited in eager anticipation, wondering what he was doing now and why they couldn’t just start eating. Sam came back with a lighter and lit the candle, then Castiel reached across and moved the cake so that it was in front of Jack.

“I’m still not used to human birthday celebrations,” he began, “though I’ve been honored to spend a few with Sam and Dean, so I’ll let Sam explain it to you.”

“So you make a wish, and blow out the candle.”

“Should we wait for Mary and Bobby?”

“They said it’d be okay to start without them,” Sam responded.

Jack excitedly shifted in his seat, leaning closer. “I wish-”

“No, no, no. Don’t say it out loud!” his dad insisted.

Jack stared at the candle, nearly frowning at it. His wish was serious, and he badly wanted it to come true. But he didn’t see how it could. But he had Sam and Castiel with him, two of his dads, so maybe things would be okay, even with the events of yesterday seared into his soul.

He glanced at Sam, glanced at Castiel, now nervous about his wish. He didn’t know what the future would hold for them, didn’t know if he would become fully human again, if his Grace would somehow replenish, if he’d have to eat the remaining angels, if Heaven would collapse, if Hell would fall into chaos, if Sam was going to be alright, if Dean would be alright, if Michael would burn the Earth, if he would be plagued with nightmares till he died. But he knew one thing. He was home. And he knew what he wanted, so he closed his eyes, trying to picture it in his mind.

Once he held it there with perfect clarity, a smile on his face, he thought, I wish that we’ll  find Dean and bring him home safe.

Jack opened his eyes and blew out the candle.