#and i would just die to see michael having his paternal guiding hand in his coming out

[dumbass-hyperfixations]

I started watching 911 recently (and I’m not gonna lie, it’s mostly because of Buck’s coming out because I wasn’t gonna start watching yet a show with a very potential queerbait in the middle of an otherwise very diverse and interesting looking cast) and I’ve been loving it, and even though I’m only on season 3 now, I really want to contribute with an idea on how the show could start up Eddie’s own coming out journey (which is hopefully in the cards)

Now, I don’t know how much closer Michael Grant gets to everyone else on the show (since I’m on season 3, I haven’t really seen him interact much with anyone but Bobby and Hen from the 118, and idk if that changes or if his relationship with other characters deepens over the years), but I would really like him to be present at Chimney and Maddie’s wedding. And maybe Tommy and Buck are being cute on the dancefloor, and then the camera pans to Eddie, who is seated to the side with Marisol, looking at the pair a little wistfully (just enough for us to know that maybe sitting there with Marisol isn’t exactly what he wants to do). And then, the camera would go to Michael, noticing Eddie’s look, and Marisol’s sort of dejected and bored expression. And he sees a couple that not only appears unhappy with each other, but also sees a whole lot of himself in Eddie.

So, as the wedding reception is coming to a close, Michael is at the bar as Eddie comes by, looking for one more round as the bartender announces the last call. And as he waits for the drink, Michael strikes up a conversation with a bit of small talk (again, idk if they’re close enough to have a deep conversation right off the bat), and then goes, “hey, did Bobby or Athena ever tell you why we got divorced?”

And Eddie stumbles over the answer a bit awkwardly, like yeah, it was because, well, um, you know, because you’re …

And Michael chuckles, putting him out of his misery with a “a flaming homosexual? Yeah. No sense in beating around the bush about it. At least not anymore. You know, I was so deep in denial I never even kissed a man until I was in my fifties?”

“Really? So you’ve … only been with women until you came out?” Eddie asks and Michael nods. “And you’re sure you’re not bisexual?”

To which Michael laughs and reassures him that no, not bisexual, just a very very repressed gay man. Then, he drives his not-so-subtle point home by saying:

“And even still, I don’t have many regrets about my life. I got two incredible kids out of it, and I can’t imagine my life without them. My only regret, though, is that I spent fifteen years with a woman I couldn’t love the way she loved me, and I wasn’t even man enough to give her a chance to look for someone better. Fifteen years. That’s a hell of a lot of time to take away from someone.”

And while he speaks, we see Eddie glance across the room, to Marisol fussing over Chris. And, inevitably, to Buck laughing along with something Chimney said on the other side of the room. And when he looks back at Michael, he sees a very knowing expression on his face.

“What are you trying to say?” Eddies asks, still guarded as hell, to which Michael chuckles.

“Nothing, man. I guess I just officially entered my lonely gay drunk at the bar days. But if I can pass a little wisdom. If can already you feel it in your gut that you’re not with the right person, maybe don’t be like me and spend the next fifteen years trying to figure out what you already know.”

And then he leaves, and BOOM, Eddie is forced to realize things he would much rather keep repressed.

[lovedsammy]

I wrote this up really quickly so it’s not proofread or anything. But that pic of Sam sitting at Jack’s bedside from 14.08 really motivated me to write something for once, so... here you go?  

-

“So, what can we do?” 

“Watch over him. Stay by his side. As he dies.” 

The last three days have been like something out of a nightmare, Sam thinks. It’d started the second Dean had called him, and Sam could barely hear him over the panicked yells of “Jack’s sick, Sam! He’s coughing up blood and he’s passed out and - I don’t know what to do. I need you here. Jack needs you here!” 

Sam barely remembers getting back home at all, just running down the bunker stairs two at a time with his heart in his throat to Jack’s room. He’d been in a daze, seeing Jack’s prone form, his white shirt still stained with droplets of blood. Cas arrived a few moments later, and Sam had reluctantly followed Dean out to let Cas try and do what he could. 

But it hadn’t been enough. None of it had. Angelic healing, the hospital, the Archangel grace from Gabriel, Rowena... nothing. There was no quick fix it, no miraculous solution. 

Jack was dying. 

Jack’s gotten progressively worse over the past forty eight hours, and he’s been unconscious for most of them. His chest still rises and falls, but it’s too slow, much too slow, for Sam’s comfort. In the stretching, painful hours of silence, he lets his mind drift.  

He’d never really thought about becoming a father, of ever having children of his own. Maybe only briefly, a few times here and there in the middle of the night if he let himself imagine it long enough. Perhaps in another life, with Jessica, had things not gone the way that they had. Even with Amelia, the desire had not been there. Sometimes, he’d told himself that he just wasn’t father material, not in the way that Dean was. He was so screwed up - how could he ever hope to be a good role model for a kid? And with the way his life was, the constant danger... well, he’d learned what not to do, considering his own messed up childhood. He couldn’t provide for a child in the way that they’d need, in the way that they deserved. 

He’d never expected this boy - Lucifer’s son - to enter and warm his heart in the way that he had. In the beginning, he’d simply hoped to guide him, to keep him on the correct path, to be for him what others hadn’t been to Sam. To be a friend. A teacher. A protector. Sam hadn’t considered the possibility that those lines could blur, merge, and be filed under the same umbrella. That those intentions could, to everyone but him, be considered paternal. 

That night in the church, with Jack in Lucifer’s grip and powerless, Sam had finally understood. He’d felt a fear that was unlike anything before, and he’d faced Lucifer for a millennia, always scared, always a tick away from breaking apart. Sam knew terror well. They were more than acquaintances by now. But seeing Lucifer strike Jack, pummeling the boy until he was a curled mess on the floor, bloodied and whimpering, Sam had realized that he could know terror even more still. And he knew then that Jack wasn’t just another kid to him. Not Lucifer’s. Not even just Cas’s. Jack was his. 

So when he’d gathered himself up from his place on the floor where Lucifer had unceremoniously dropped him, he’d felt as wild and ferocious as a lion. His chest and shoulders had expanded and he’d made himself seem bigger, tougher. A snarl had rumbled from his throat. In one swift motion, he’d grabbed Lucifer’s shoulder in a vice-like clasp and spun him around. Sam had known that the hit was coming before Lucifer even struck him, but he hadn’t cared. He’d almost smiled through the pain. Better me than Jack. Focus on me. Not him. And then Lucifer had decided to twist the proverbial knife, to try and make them kill one another. Yet again, Sam had thought that he’d experienced and knew every single way that Lucifer could ever hurt him - but there was always still new games to play, new ways to inflict pain.

“I need to find my father. He’ll protect me.” 

“Jack, that’s not.... that’s not really what Lucifer does.”

That’s just what Lucifer did. 

He would never forget the look on Jack’s face when Sam had offered the nephilim the blade instead. “Kill me,” Sam had told him, desperate for Jack to do it, to live, to get his power back and finally beat the devil. Instead, his heart had lurched as Jack turned the blade onto himself, gazing at Sam with such childlike, loving eyes that it felt as if Sam had been stabbed clean through. 

“I love you,” Jack had whispered. And Sam’s heart stopped. It had taken him by surprise so much that, in all of the chaos of Dean showing up bearing Michael, and Jack being safe, Lucifer finally dying, and then Michael taking over Dean - he hadn’t yet said it back. 

It’d been his intention to, during those few weeks after. But he’d either been too busy, whether it was trying to track down Dean or becoming the grudging leader for the hunters from the other world. In all of that mindless static, he’d been neglecting Jack. He’d tried to keep the boy safe as much as he could, even without physically being with him: prohibiting him from going out on cases, having him seek tutelage under Bobby and Cas, make friends with the hunters. 

Because protecting your children, in any way that you could.... that was what fathers did, wasn’t it? And as Jack’s father, he’d needed Jack to stay safe. Even if the countless responsibilities he’d had was creating a tangible rift between them, one that Sam had been hopeful he could still seal.

“We’ll talk later, all right?” He’d told Jack after they’d started to talk one night. But then Nick had woken up, and they’d never finished that conversation. And now it felt like it was almost too late. 

Because Jack was dying. 

Rowena had done everything that she could. They all had. They’d explored the numerous leads and methods at their disposal, but they’d all been dead ends. Jack was going to die, within weeks if not days. 

Sam had failed him. 

A father’s job was to protect his son. 

And Sam had failed. 

He’s been at Jack’s bed side for two days, barely having moved. Dean and Cas come to find him (and a lot of times join him) more times than he can remember just to remind him to eat, or drink, or sleep. And Sam does none of those things. His back aches from how long he’s been bent forward, hovering over Jack like the guardian he was supposed to be. Sam’s hands are clasped in front of his face almost in prayer, but the position is only a mockery of it. He doesn’t really pray anymore, not often. He’s exhausted his faith. All he can do now is try and be there for his dying child. 

Sam’s been trying to hold himself together since that phone call, and he’s almost reached his limit. Tears are always at the rim of his eyes but never falling, because if he lets them, he doesn’t know if he’ll stop. And Jack needs him to be positive, to be strong, right now. Jack doesn’t need to see just how much Sam is suffering. Sam can spare him of that, if he can do nothing else. 

The guilt is honestly almost as plentiful as the grief. Because he should’ve known. As Jack’s father, he should’ve known that there was something wrong with him. He should’ve seen the signs. He should’ve paid more attention. He should’ve been there. 

That’s what he tells Cas when the angel comes to join him later. 

“Sam, don’t do this to yourself. You’ve been taking care of him since he was born,” Cas tells him vehemently, kindly. “You’ve been there for him more than anyone, including me. You were the first person he ever saw, and the first one to treat him with gentleness and love. You were the first father he knew. He chose me, but I wasn’t there for him at those critical hours - don’t defend me for not being able to,” Cas raises a hand to silence Sam’s protest. 

There’s a long pause, and then Cas speaks again. 

“Being dead was something I couldn’t control. I know that. But it still matters. It mattered to Jack, who’d just lost his mother and needed a father. It mattered that it was you who found him, who took him in, and loved him unconditionally when Dean wouldn’t and when no one else would. You shaped Jack into the young man that he is. You’ve done so much for him - it just so happens that this is the one thing you - we - can’t fix for him.” 

Sam closes his eyes, the pain overwhelming. He knows he’s not the only one suffering, that Dean and Cas are, too. Cas even more so. Cas had called Jack their son. Cas is losing a child, too. 

“I can’t lose him, Cas,” He chokes. 

Sam had lost Dean more times than he could count, and every time it fractured more and more of him. He’d lost Cas. He’d lost his mother. He’d lost his father. He’d lost friends and loved ones and even people that he didn’t know but always tried to save. But losing a child... how does anyone come back from that? How could he? 

Cas’s hand falls on his shoulder, fond and comforting, and just as brokenly. “I know.”