#its just mainly like .. Scenarios of purposefully ignoring one over the other

[error84]

think the newest disclaimer im going to add to certain websites is please do not imply i love one over the other when it comes to the two obvious roller coasters . because it makes me so uncomfortable and honestly just really sad!!!!!

[ayellowcurtain]

Like troubled water running cold

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - TW: Violence (it’ll be in between the “-” parts) 

Constantin finally manages to convince Ismail to go back to his house. Ismail is amazing at choosing perfect outfits, but they can’t spend another day sharing all of Constantin’s clothes. And he just needs to make this official already. Constantin wants Ismail completely out of his parents’ lives. So he needs to grab all his belongings from their place and move to Constantin’s house for good.

It’s not going to be easy. It’s not easy already, with Ismail being a brat, giving him the silent treatment since he decided they would go today to pick up all his things. The chances of it all going wrong are so high, Constantin is ready for the worst case scenario. Ismail left after a big fight with his mom when his dad wasn’t home. He ignored every phone call or message since then.

Ismail’s relationship with his parents has always been bad, and it only got worse since he came out. Constantin can’t help but think what their reaction would be if they knew about him and Is. Trying to explain how they have sex not just with each other but, sometimes, with guests would probably make Ismail’s parents so pissed and disgusted. Fucking conservatives.

The taxi drive back to Ismail’s place is long and quiet. Ismail is in the worst possible mood. Constantin tells him how they need to be quick and he doesn’t get an answer, again, but he doesn’t hold it against his best friend, knowing how hard it is for him to come back, even though he’ll never admit it.

It’s completely dark when they get there, standing in front of the old house, all lights off inside, which is a good sign, the sign they were hoping to see. Ismail still has his keys, but Constantin steals it from his hand, getting inside first.

Everything is like he remembers: in the same place since they were kids, smelling bad, like a house that doesn’t know what open windows or doors are. It’s not in bad taste, but Ismail’s grandmother probably bought all the furniture eighty years ago and she was rich. And his parents didn’t care one bit to organize, clean, or redecorate, ever. They did learn pretty quickly how to spend all their money and go bankrupt.

Constantin stops staring at the house he used to visit daily when Ismail walks by him, purposefully bumping his shoulder against Cons’ as he rushes upstairs where he used to sleep.

When he gets to the bedroom, Ismail is already carelessly throwing all his clothes into one of Constantin’s empty bags they brought with them. For once he’s not being careful not to crumple his fancy silky shirts or scarfs. He’s not making jokes or flirting or anything. Ismail is scarily quiet and serious, not wasting a second, needing to get out as fast as he can. So Constantin doesn’t try to make conversation either, opening the empty suitcase he brought upstairs and putting it on the bed, opening Ismail’s mini closet, folding everything in half, with the hangers and everything, putting inside the suitcase, just trying to use every space wisely so he can fit everything.

He’s so on edge that he doesn’t know how long it takes them to put everything away. Ismail is dragging the bag on the hallway floor to his bathroom when they hear the door downstairs being closed, the lights turning on.

“Ismail?” The male, disgusting voice asks, still downstairs, and Constantin shoves the last few pieces of clothes inside the suitcase, closing and locking it before putting it on the floor. Ismail is emptying his drawers directly inside the bag and Constantin puts the suitcase close to them, closing the bag too because they don’t have more time. Ismail can buy his skincare products all over again.

The closer they’re to the door when they run into Ismail’s parents, the better. He won’t let anyone touch Ismail ever again. They need to go.

Ismail grabs the suitcase and starts walking downstairs, Constantin can see how purple his pale fingers are getting from holding it too tightly. He puts the bag over his shoulder and follows Ismail. His mom is close to the door, finally finding her son at the stairs. Constantin can see Ismail’s dad shadow to the left of the stairs.

“Where do you think you going?” he asks Ismail and he doesn’t answer, but his mom stops in front of him, her hands on Ismail’s shoulders.

Constantin can’t hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t look amicable. When he stops at the last step, hearing how loud the conversation is starting to get, he feels a heavy hand trying to hold the bag with Ismail’s clothes.

“He’s not taking anything from here.” The dad argues, trying to make Constantin give the bag back.

-

“This is not yours! Don’t touch me!” Constantin pushes the man’s hand away from his arm, holding the bag with Ismail’s clothes tighter so his dad can’t grab it. He’s not thinking about how much bigger the man is or how quickly this is escalating. The huge hand that was squeezing his is now pulling the bag from his hands like its nothing. And the next thing Constantin knows, he’s punching Ismail’s dad in the face with all the strength he has in his body. His anger filling his every thought, desperate to get out of there, to be somewhere safe with Ismail. He’s not about to let them win again. Ismail is not staying and so he needs his stuff back.

Constantin is not new to fighting, but he won’t win this one easily, so he holds the man to leave very little space and time for him, punching him again and again.

There are arms everywhere, punches hitting him and him hitting something soft enough for his brain to understand it’s someone, but he can’t think or see what’s going on, he just hopes he’s getting his punches in that ugly face hard enough to make his point clear. He’s not leaving Ismail.

-

Before he can understand what’s going on, he’s being pushed on his feet again, being pushed out of the old house, grabbing the bag on the floor on his way out. Everyone is screaming and he’s saying how Ismail will never step inside that house again. They’re both outside somehow, Ismail is collecting some of his things from the dead grass, grabbing his suitcase, shoving everything inside.

Constantin’s hand is hurting so bad it feels like his heart is pounding inside of it, he can barely move his fingers. He brushes the back of his hand over his head where he feels something slipping and he looks at it, finding his blood staining his hand.

“Shit.” The door is slammed behind them and Constantin walks closer to his best friend, helping Ismail close his broken suitcase enough for them to find a way to go home, “Are you okay?”

He puts his hand on Ismail’s shoulder, trying to make him look up, but Ismail is barely listening, sighing, standing straight and brushing his curls back, away from his eyes.

He’s mostly okay from what Constantin can tell in the dark, his clothes are messy, but that’s it, and Constantin sighs in relief, looking around. It’s late and this is a shitty neighborhood, they have no car or bike and way too many things to carry.

“I have no money on me. You?” Constantin tries to search for his things, his phone and wallet still in the hidden pocket inside his jacket, but he has no actual money.

Ismail pats his clothes in search of something and when he finds it, he shows Constantin the wallet. Not his pink, shiny wallet. A very masculine, old one.

“Did you steal this from your dad?”

Ismail shrugs, dragging the suitcase to the sidewalk, out of his parents’ property, “You two were busy arguing, I knew we would need money for a fucking taxi.”

Constantin shakes his head, finally starting to walk away from the dead front yard they used to play on when they were little. They walk in silence to the main road a few streets down to find a cab. They walk slowly to the main street while Ismail is asking for a car. Everything hurts, but Constantin doesn’t tell Ismail. They’ll worry about that when they’re home.

Constantin puts everything inside the trunk as soon as the black car parks in front of them, while Ismail sits inside, lying to the driver about how Constantin is a famous biker that had a bad accident earlier. Ismail is talking to the driver all the way back home and Constantin mainly listens. His best friend can get over things very quickly, he’s ridiculously good at being practical, but today’s situation wasn’t a normal one. And no matter how much he tries - and succeeds - hiding how he feels, Constantin knows the fight messed up with them a little bit.

As they get home, Constantin walks in first. His parents are gone for the weekend, but he checks anyway, calling their names, not hearing a sound as a response. He drops the bag in the hall for him to deal with later and takes his shoes off, watching Ismail do the same, kicking his boots off his feet. The adrenaline of punching a guy he hates so much has worn out of him and now Constantin is a minute away from falling asleep standing up if he doesn’t get to his bed quick enough, but he’s also very dirty and with dry blood pulling his skin all over his head and hands.

He needs a shower, but he goes to his bedroom, sitting on his bed for a minute before the shower, grunting, feeling so fucking tired, he can only manage to move his eyes, following Ismail. He’s looking at Constantin like he’s a broken puppy while taking his jacket off. Constantin is so tired he can’t even argue, ask Ismail to stop being weird.

Instead, Ismail walks around his bedroom, getting inside the bathroom, coming back with the first aid kit.

Constantin barely moves, but he does let Ismail do whatever he needs to be at peace with himself. He cleans the cut Constantin felt earlier close to his hairline first and thoroughly. Constantin can see when he puts the dirty cotton pads carefully on Cons’ thigh not to get the sheets dirty and then moves on to his right hand, sitting next to Constantin on the bed, carefully cleaning every knuckle.

“You should wash it.” Ismail looks up through his long, dark, thick lashes and Constantin is struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I won’t.” He manages to say somehow, thinking about lying down, sleeping for twelve hours, at least.

“I’m aware.”

Constantin nods his head, looking at Ismail, even thinking about lying down sounds like a lot of work.

“Can you take my shirt off?”

Ismail smiles a lot like he normally would, already pushing Constantin’s button-up shirt down his shoulders, big enough where neither of them has to worry about the buttons, moving on to the white shirt underneath it, his always freezing cold hands with long, strong fingers touching his skin instead of the shirt as he pushes it up and out of Constantin’s head.

Once finally free of his dirty shirt, Constantin melts down, finding his mattress. It feels extra soft and comfortable tonight.

“Pants too?” Ismail asks, already unbuttoning his old black jeans, Constantin puts his feet flat against the mattress, lifting his hips to make his best friend’s work a little easier. Any other night he would love to find a way to make this sexual because they’re so good at it, but tonight he just nods his head, already turning his body to the side while Ismail is still holding his calves as he struggles to pull the jeans completely off of him.

Constantin is slipping into the most delicious sleep when he feels a weight on top of him, Ismail’s comforting smell, even with so much sweat coming from both of them.

“Thank you for today. I love you.” Ismail plays with his hair and Constantin smiles, ready to feel that for the rest of the night.

“I won’t ever let you go. I love you.” Ismail kisses his whole neck slowly and Constantly falls asleep as he feels the weight moving away from him, “bring...your things here.”

He can’t wait for the answer, too tired to care.

[dogwhistleproject]

The Truth About Dogwhistles Part 1

Before taking this Topics in Pragmatics: Truth course, I had never heard of the term “dogwhistle” before. And knowing now what they are, I have been and will forever be more aware of what people, specifically politicians, say and by the end of this blog post, I hope you will be too. 

Firstly, let me go through what exactly a dogwhistle is. Dogwhistles communicate a specific message to an intended audience that is not received by the majority of the audience. An interesting aspect about dogwhistles is that once something is identified as a dogwhistle, its dogwhistle effects cease to be. 

An example of this is when George W. Bush uttered the specific phrase, “power, wonder-working power,” during the State of the Union Address in 2003 (Politics 101, 2017).

[Start at 21:14]

To those that aren’t a part of the Christian community, this specific phrase probably doesn’t invoke any particular thought or idea. However, to those Christian individuals who are familiar with the popular evangelical hymn, “There is Power in the Blood,” they can identify the phrase, “power, wonder-working power,” and immediately receive a different message than the rest of the audience. They understand that Bush is one of them; he speaks their language, and shares their identity.

Jennifer Saul, in her essay, “Dogwhistles, Political Manipulation, and Philosophy of Language,” identifies four different types of dogwhistles: overt intentional, overt unintentional, covert intentional and covert unintentional (Saul, 2018). The previously mentioned example of a dogwhistle would be an example of an overt intentional dogwhistle. In this case, it is overt because the particular subset of Christians who heard it immediately knew that Bush was sending them a message. It is intentional because Bush purposefully used the phrase, “power, wonder-working power,” to relate to this specific subset of the audience and gain their support.

Another example of a dogwhistle is when George W. Bush outright claimed he would not appoint anyone to the Supreme Court who would condone the Dred Scott decision during the Second Presidential Debate on October 8th, 2004 (PBS News Hour, 2020).

[Start at 1:18:30]

Anyone who knows about Dred Scott, is obviously against the Dred Scott decision, as the 1857 Supreme Court decision made slaves remain property of their owners even in free territories.

You might be thinking to yourself as many people did, “Why did he feel the need to oppose Dred Scott if everyone is already opposed to Dred Scott. He is not saying any new or relevant information.” The answer as it happens lies in the fact that Bush wanted to send a direct private message to a specific group of the audience: those that are anti-abortion. Dred Scott is actually code for Roe v. Wade. Let me explain. Dred Scott has previously been compared to Roe v. Wade various times. The Dred Scott decision denied black men and women the status of being free and declared them “non-persons (Noah, 2004).” In Roe v. Wade, fetuses are also called “non-persons,” because of the fact they have not yet been born. Anti-abortionists claim the legal consequence of Roe v. Wade is the death of fetuses (Noah, 2004). By Bush saying that he is against the Dred Scott decision, he is also saying, only to a particular subset of the audience, anti-abortionists, that he is against the Roe v. Wade decision, and is therefore, against abortion just like them.

What kind of dogwhistle do you think this is? If you thought it was an overt intentional dogwhistle, you would be right! Just like the previous example, Bush is directly targeting a specific group of people and that specific group, anti-abortionists, were aware that Bush was sending a private coded message to them. It is intentional because Bush was intentionally trying to send this message to this particular group. He knew that when he would talk about his opposition to the Dred Scott decision, he was really referring to his opposition to the Roe v. Wade decision.

Next, let’s talk about covert dogwhistles. These are not as clear as overt dogwhistles. These are dogwhistles in which the audience it is targeted for, fails to recognize it, and isn’t aware they are being swayed a particular way. Saul posits that covert dogwhistles are based on this idea of “racial resentment (Saul, 2018).”

In today’s day and age, overt racism is not widely acceptable. However, there still lingers this racist belief system that black people are inferior. Saul writes, “Racist resentment includes four main claims: ‘blacks no longer face much discrimination, (2) their disadvantage mainly reflects their poor work ethic, (3) they are demanding too much too fast, (4) they have gotten more than they deserve (Saul, 2018).’” Covert dogwhistles communicate racist messages in order to sway racially resentful people’s opinions.

We can see an example of a covert dogwhistle when we take a look at the Willie Horton advertisement George H. W. Bush used during his campaign against Michael Dukakis (llehman84, 2008).

The advertisement doesn’t outright mention race at any time, however, using a picture of Horton, who is black, was enough to sway voter’s opinions of Dukakis. Before the ad was aired, Dukakis was ahead in the polls, however, after airing it, Bush began to lead in the polls (Saul, 2018). A specific group of voters, racially resentful ones, were influenced by this ad without being aware of it. The relationship between racial resentment and voting intentions was strongly influenced by the advertisement. The more times the ad was played, the more likely that racially resentful voters would favor Bush (Saul, 2018). This would be an example of a covert intentional dogwhistle because Bush and his team knew exactly what they were doing when they made and aired this ad; they wanted racially resentful voters to favor Bush and sway towards voting for Bush. It is covert because people seeing the ad didn’t outright know what the ad was trying to do.

Can covert dogwhistles become overt dogwhistles? Sure they can! Jesse Jackson called the Willie Horton ad “racist.” Once he said this, people were able to notice what Bush was trying to do and the dogwhistle lost its power. After this, Dukakis started to rise in the polls again. But it was too late in the game and Bush won the election (Saul, 2018).

All of the examples of dogwhistles we’ve seen have been intentional. What does it mean for a dogwhistle to be unintentional? An example of a covert unintentional dogwhistle was when reporters and TV producers would replay the Willie Horton ad over and over again, essentially making the effects of the original ad more widespread and powerful. It is covert (before Jesse Jackson called it racist) because racially resentful individuals were not aware that they were being swayed towards voting for Bush. It is unintentional, however, because there is no evidence to suggest that any of the reporters and TV producers intentionally wanted to sway voters to vote for Bush by playing the ad over and over again, although there may have been some. Saul called this an “amplifier dogwhistle,” because it greatly increases the spread and reach of the original dogwhisle and what they are trying to say.

The only dogwhistle we haven’t discussed yet is overt unintentional dogwhistles. An overt unintentional dogwhistle would be someone using a common dogwhistle that targets a particular subset of individuals, but the person who used it was unaware of it being a dogwhistle. They either said it by mistake or it was a coincidence. An example of an overt unintentional dogwhistle can be seen in the following scenario. “Yahoo,” is a term used by some to mean an ignorant, uneducated person.

A yahoo can also be called a hick or a hillbilly. A frustrated person can reasonably say, “Some yahoo stole my pen at work,” and everyone would reasonably think that “yahoo” referred to an uneducated person right? Well, not necessarily.

Back in 2016, some people (racist ones) on Twitter started using the word, “yahoo,” as a dogwhistle for Mexican people. They also used other words to refer to other minority groups including, “google” for black people, “skittle” for Muslim people, “skype” for Jewish people and “bing” for Asian people. Racist Twitter users started using these coded terms for racial slurs in order to avoid censorship (Chen, 2016). 

An example of an overt unintentional dogwhistle could be someone tweeting, “Some yahoo stole my pen at work,” not being aware that “yahoo” is being used as a term for Mexican people, and just wanting to show frustration that some stupid person stole their pen. It would be overt because a specific subset of individuals, racist ones that are using “yahoo” as a term for Mexican people, will believe that that person wants to say that “some Mexican person stole my pen at work,” and shares similar ideologies and uses the same words as them. It is unintentional, however, because the person has no idea that the term is being used to mean that.

The following tweet could be seen as an example of an overt unintentional dogwhistle if there was a reader of the tweet that thought the person’s usage of “yahoos” was meant to refer to Mexicans.

Here we see one person, @fourfoot, calling people who don’t understand what Brexit means, “yahoos” meaning to say that they are stupid and uneducated. This person does not mean to use “yahoos” to refer to Mexicans, but if someone who does use “yahoos” to refer to Mexicans, sees this tweet, they may think that they share the same ideologies as them. We even see this other person, @banalyst, warning against the use of the term “yahoos” for fear that it may be taken to be the slur for Mexican people.

Now that you are all experts on the different types of dogwhistles and we have taken a look at various examples of different types of dogwhistles, we can examine more ambiguous examples. Let’s talk about Trump, shall we.

[Continued in Part 2]

[soft-sarcasm]

byun baekhyun: the pretense of perhaps.

Pairing: byun baekhyun x reader.

Summary: you only wanted to think of the reasons as why this shouldn't have happened, maybe then coming to terms with the fact that it had would be easier to manage.

Genre: angst, Marriage!Au, Businessman!Baekhyun

Word count: 4+k.

a/n: this was originally a Baekhyun drabble that spiralled so completely and thoroughly out of control that I had to just make it a scenario of its own. I'm not exactly sure where this idea came from or the emotions around it but I do know that I listened to Urban Zakapa's 'I Don't Love You' at least three times. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it and please excuse any word/ spelling errors.

Perhaps in a different life, it wouldn't have hurt as much.

Perhaps in a separate timeline where you were just a nameless observer in the background of the lifelessly joyous end of year office party, simply watching a beautiful man converse with an equally beautiful woman in such closeness that one could even mistake them for potential lovers.

Perhaps in another world where you didn't know the sound of the melodic laugh that escaped his lips between sips of Martini almost better then you knew your own.

Perhaps in a parallel dimension, there was a version of you that wasn't wallowing in your own pitiful loneliness and longing, the frost of your forgotten drink spreading from your fingers to the edges of your soul while he leaned closer.

Perhaps if you were a better person, you would have marched over to him and told him to stop.

But seeing as you weren't a better person and this was niether a different life, seperate timeline, another world or even a parell dimension, you didn't. Instead, you simply watched as she laughed and then he laughed until they were both laughing that you would think their voices were born to live in harmony. You took shaky sips of your thanklessly alcohol-less drink and attempted to pretend that sight of the merry couple on the other side of the purposefully dim room wasn't causing the ache that was currently splintering the already fractured organ that rattled in your chest.

The current situation was not helping at all with your state of unease and near paranoia, especially as you glanced around at the office worn faces dressed in what you could only assume was their version of 'party wear' and recognised no one. You shifted from one heeled foot to the other, trying to take small intakes of your beverage as possible so that you wouldn't lose your only distraction. Discomfort had settled over you like a second layer of fabric to completement the outfit that already clung to you.

Baekhyun had promised that he wouldn't leave your side even for a moment tonight, especially as he knew your afflicition when it came to being surrounded by people you didn't know in a situation you couldn't control. His promise had been kept for an entirety of 13 minutes, a miserable record in fact, and then suddenly there was no grip on your waist, leaving you defenceless as your shield trapped off in the opposite direction. It had taken you a few moments of wandering the conference room-turned-venue to finally spot him leaning carelessly on the bar, words of charm leaving his mouth like a song that he had been humming his entire life. You weren't even sure why he had been so insistent on you coming in the first place, his excuse of 'I love having you with me' falling flat in the face of your current seperation. The stretch of dull grey carpet between where you stood attempting to use one of the small tables as a shelter and his position of half-leaning on the counter next to him and half-leaning in to whisper something you knew would turn your stomach might as well have been a mirthless ocean with how unreachable he felt.

"They make quite the pair huh?" Was the purposefully coy start-up that was so unexpected that you startled back at the intrusion, blinking wildly at the person that now joined you at your small island of lonliness. The man who stood next to you close enough that your shoulders were near touching was impossibly good-looking and for a dazzled moment, you mindlessly wondered if Baekhyun's work hired their employees based on looks alone. But then you realised in your previous overview of the room that there had been no one who even came close to comparing with the tall structure of fathlomessly black hair and a sharp bone structure that was only met by the razor-edge of his eyes that observed you in blatant interest that no, it was only him.

You were so busy admiring him that you had near forgotten his opening statement, but then it whisped back into your disracted mind and you felt your heart shudder as you blinked the haze of your eyes, "Sorry, what?"

He simply nudged his head in the direction of where Baekhyun stood, the manicured hand of his conversation partner now resting on his arm, "Those two, they're two of our youngest supervisors. They're quite the pair no?"

"Do they work together often?" You tried your best to smoother the senseless pain in your voice with casual indifference.

"Oh yeah, all of our supervisors have to." He nodded towards them together, "They're somewhat of a celebirty couple around the office due to how much they've accomplished since she started working here a few months back. Personally, I find it a bit nauseating."

The gulp of your drink you forced down your throat did nothing to ease the lump that had formed there, instead, it just made actually swallowing that much more painful. This new knowledge was no comfort to you because instead of just being some passing face in the office or someone he had only spoken to once, he knew this woman, knew her so well that people at their work even though they looked good together. And you couldn't blame them, even you could notice how their aesthtics complimented each other.

"I'm Yixing by the way," The man beside you suddenly informed, extending his hand to you and you tried your best to keep your grip as steady as possible as you met the gesture. "What department do you work for by the way, I don't think I've ever seen you around."

"Y/N," You returned his introduction before shifting from one numb leg to the other, "And I don't work here, I teach Psycology at Seoul University."

This seemed the shock Yixing and you lapped at the distraction because it was so much easier to look away from them when you had Yixing's golden brown eyes looking at you, "Wow, I don't think I've ever met a Professor so young or so attractive might I add. How do your students ever concentrate?"

You scoffed at the frothy compliment, "That was awful."

"Yeah but it caused you at least some amusement and that's what I'm aiming for," Yixing shrugged back from the shove you reached to give his shoulder, grinning as you couldn't fight down a smile of your own.

"Well, I hope that's all you're aiming for," You warned because you could tell by the lean in Yixing's stance that clarification was needed, "I'm taken."

"Then I'll be Liam Neeson," Yixing crooned, seemingly undettered, "Your relationship status doesn't suddenly mean that you're unable to have a conversation does it."

You forced yourself to not look over to your left, instead steeling yourself forward and taking another sip, "I guess not."

Yixing was a wonderess diversion, so much so that you willed yourself to ignore the sometimes overly suggestive comments and focus mainly on the relief of having something else to focus on until Baekhyun deemed it time to leave. He was roughly the same age as Baekhyun and yourself, having worked at the same company for only less a year after being moved over from their sister branch in China. He was charming and looked at you in away you had missed more then words come summon which made it easy to forget that you most likely shouldn't be basking in the attention in the way you currently were.

"-But all the while, I kept yelling what I thought I was 'please get out' when it turns out I was saying 'please fuck me out,' no wonder the man didn't want to leave." Yixing finised describing the end of a particularly rocus tale of one of his first expierences at a sauna when he came to Korea, "That's why I get from learning the majority of my Korean from a college roommate."

You were struggling to keep yourself composed despite the near cackles that rumbled from your chest, "This is why I'm always scared to speak in other languages, I mean what if one day I'm just trying to order some food and accidentally tell the waiter I want him to eat me out?"

"Done that," Yixing deadpanned and the artifical solemn in his tone was enough to have you both rendered into a fit of barely controlled giggles.

Your face remained cracked in a grin even as you and Yixing seemingly calmed down, both of you ignoring the glowers from the painfully middle-aged couple whose less conspicuous rendezvous was being distrubed by your banter. Their glares were quickly forgotten as you and Yixing were sent into another spur of this time hopefully quieter snickers.

Suddenly, Yixing's attention was snapped to something behind you and before you could turn to face it, a hand was on your arm, "Are you ready to leave darling?"

It was as if someone had turned off the heat and you were abrutptly being submerged in a bath of ice, your joints locking under your weak skin at the warm grip that now resided on your waist.

If Baekhyun's hold on you surprised Yixing, he didn't show it, simply taking a sip of his drink before greeting him in the way collegues usually greeted each other, with an overt amount of politness with a hint of disdain, "Baekhyun, always good to see you, how are you?"

"Great, thanks," Baekhyun replied far too brightly and you felt your mouth fill with cotten, "I see you've met my wife."

Now Yixing did look surprised, but only just and his eyes made a small flicker to the hand you had unintetionally kept clasped around your drink all night, the two metal bands that resided there suddenly biting into your skin. "Yes, we've been having a wonderous conversation. I don't remember you ever saying you were married, or if you did, that your wife was quite so lovely. You're quite lucky."

"Aren't I?" Baekhyun crooned and you almost felt repulsed at the way his grip tightened on you.

You had no reason to feel ashamed, you had told Yixing straight away that you were not single so there was no guilt to be felt. Instead, you were weighed down by the knowledge that if Yixing, who had worked with Baekhyun for the better part of a year, didn't know that Baekhyun was married. You couldn't help but think Yixing's comment was more so for you then Baekhyun by the way he was looking at you with such sympathy, as if he too was remembering the way you had both witnessed their closeness and he felt sorry for you. That did hurt.

When had your life become so downright cliche?

Jealousy was not something you had ever tolerated or even contemplated. You either trusted your partners completely or you weren't with them. Even tonight, when Baekhyun had abandoned you to sout out another woman and left you stranded at his work's end of your function that he had begged you to attend with him, there had not been any jealousy to find. Only sadness and loss, the sort that you just begun to push down during your conversation with Yixing but now had returned in full form. But while you never tolerated jealousy yourself, you knew how to spot it in the swirl of Baekhyun's gaze.

"I'm ready to leave when you are Baekhyun," You attempted to distract your husband away from his scrutinisation of Yixing by answering his previous question.

Baekhyun turned to you, his stare suddenly becoming something near lovesick and you startled at the sight because that's how unfamiliar it had become, "Well then let's leave now my love."

You nodded in agreement, Baekhyun giving you almost no time to even wave goodbye to Yixing as he guided you in the direction of the exit and you had to raise your voice so that he could hear you, "It was lovely meeting you Yixing."

"Same to you Y/N," Yixing stated and you wished you hadn't glanced the look of sorrowful understanding and apology in his eyes as you left because it made you feel all that much worse.

The mortification of it followed you all the way outside where you and Baekhyun waited in silence for your car to brought around by the valet, it was awful to know that Yixing had made the deduction to feel sympathy for you so quickly. That your reason for pain was so obvious that it didn't even take an explaination for a near stranger to understand.

Your interaction remained completely wordless as you slid into the vehicle, you taking up your resident spot at the wheel as it was clear that you were the only one sober between you and Baekhyun by the way he almost tripped over his feet on his way to the passenger side. There was also the wafting smell of rum that instantly filled the car as he took his seat beside you, instantly unbuttoning the top of his marroon shirt and slumping into the leather. You had to take a breath to simply focus yourself until you deemed yourself ready to drive, the emptiness of the late-night city mirroring perfectly that of the hollow that seemed to form in your chest.

You were near frantic as you wrestled yourself out of your jacket and heels once you had crossed the threshold of your shared apartment, Baekhyung shuffling slowly in behind you though you were to busy fleeing in the direction of your bedroom before he had even finished closing the door. You rid yourself quickly of your dress-shirt and trousers, barely sparing the moment to throw on a t-shirt before you were escaping to the en-suite bathroom for some clarity.

It was easier to focus in a place that was so entirely and completely saturated by Baekhyun, especially as you picked up the whispering rustle of him entering the bedorom behind you. The blisteringly bright lights were almost enough to blind you as the bounced off of the plain white marble and sterling silver but you focused more on scrubbing the artificial face you had painted on for tonight's occassion. Your reflection was pitiful as you rubbed the clensing foam into your skin, the silver liquid pooling at your tear-line enough to have your movements quickening into a near fury.

The lukewarm water you bathed your skin in did little to wash away the hurt that was burning your chest like soap getting caught in your eye and you found yourself wishing for the mundane pain if only to have something to combat the ache. Water and residel marscara dripped from skin like tears and you were glad you had them to conceal the ones that threatened to escape at the sight of Baekhyun's reflection scrutinising your own from his place propped up against the doorframe.

"Why didn't you tell Yixing you were married?" His voice was painfully mediated, not a single influx of deviation, but the calm clashed painfully with the storm in his eyes.

You let out a dry laugh, reaching for a towel to pat your face, "If you must know, I told him I was in a relationship after he approached me."

"Sure," Baekhyun scoffed, the sound so brittle that it had your bones near shaking in a mixture of fury and pain, "I'm sure that's exactly what you did, I mean why else would he be flirting with you when you so obviously made yourself unavailable?"

"Well I'm glad to know what you think my company's worth," You gritted out, your teeth slashing down on the inside of your cheek in an attempt to not say the other thousand-and-twelve horridly petty things you could have said in hopes to somehow to soothe your mangled pride, "We were just talking."

Baekhyung matched the softness of your admittance with a harsh cackle as he steeled his chest behind a cage of crossed arms, "I would love to see what you think is flirting if that was your version of just talking."

Your finger scrambled for purchase, digging into the marble as a new anger spread through you at his indignation, as if you were somehow the one in the wrong and the words spilt from you like water from an open tap, "Probably something like what you were doing with that woman."

You almost took satisfaction in the mixture of surprise and something almost shameful that crossed Baekhyun's face as he bristled, attemtping to clear himself of any sign of wavering, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" You were close to laughing now because this was all just too laughable, all of it, his face, your ignorance, it was all just so funny. "Because I could ask you why you hadn't told Yixing you were married, or anyone else it seems."

"It never came up in conversation," A cheap deflection and one that you were definitelty not buying.

"And my martial status did?" You snarked, suddenly feeling slightly more in control by the way Baekhyun's clear lack of defence as you whirled to face him so that you would be conversing with something more tangible than a reflection, "Yixing tells me you've worked with him for almost a year, I guess it's easy to assume that one's relationship status is more likely to come up in a minute long conversation rather than one over the course of an entire fucking year. Right?"

Your husband seemed to be at a loss for words, looking positively stupid as he tripped and trampled over his own tongue, "It isn't- it didn't- I wasn't-"

"You weren't what Baekhyun?" You had to swallow the sob, closing your eyes only if for a moment to keep your emotions in check before you turned around to face him, desperation smoothing over the frustration in your voice, "You weren't standing at my side like you promised me that's for sure, you weren't with me all night even after you promised me in all of your mithering for me to come with you that you wouldn't leave me even for a second. You weren't next to me even when you knew I didn't want to go in the first place, fuck why did you even ask me to come with you? To make me watch? To make me finally understand all the hints you've been putting out for months?"

"What are you talking about?" Baekhyun stuttered, utterly bewildered and took a step towards you but you instantly repelled backwards.

The knives of conclusion scraped your throat as you let out a mirthless chuckle, "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about Baekhyun. I mean, your collegues don't even know you're married for christsake!"

"How does that have anything to do with what's going on right now?" He demanded and you wished he would stop acting, stop pretending.

"Don't you see Baekhyun, it has everything to do with it." Your fingers dug so visciously into the palms of your hands that you were almost sure they were on the cusp of breaking and you forced yourself to meet Baekhyun's gaze of confusion, "You didn't even tell the people you work with, that you see every day, that you were married. And whether you were conscious of it or not, that means you didn't want to have to admit to it. It's a clear sign that you're avoiding this marriage, that you're trying to run away from it."

"The fuck I am!" You were almost startled by Baekhyun's outburst, "I don't care how much you think you know about the human psyche or whatever but that's utter bullshit, you can't just take the fact that I didn't tell anyone I work with that I'm married as me running away from our marriage."

"Maybe not," You admitted, an unsettling calm resting on your shoulders which was almost more frightening because that meant that there was no more fighting to be done, "But charming another woman surely does. Does she know you're married Baekhyun, did you tell her you were in a relationship or did you do it in the same way I supossedly didn't tell Yixing?"

At the mention of the woman who had held captive your husband's unabibded attention the entire evening your stomach curled. You wanted nothing more than to say that she was the cause of all of this so that you would finally have something, someone else to blame rather than yourself. But then you would be lying straight in the face of the truth that yours and Baekhyun's problems had been growing roots long before this woman had ever even entered his life.

Perhaps it had been you taking up the job you had been scrambling for your entire life but had also made you less available to Baekhyun that had started the chain reaction that had led you to here. You knew Baekhyun was someone who thrived and survived off of the attention of those around him, that you should have known that despite how much you loved each other that he wouldn't be able to help himself searching it out somewhere else if he couldn't find it at home. Baekhyun was right, you knew about the human psyche, you knew how it was so fundmentally human to not be even conscious of your straying if you were feeling neglected.

And to his credit, Baekhyun hadn't been the only one retreating from your relationship. You too had been creating a distance of your own whether it was intentional and perhaps your had been a bit too flattered by Yixing's attention.

How did things get this bad?

"Before you ask," Baekhyun's voice, though it boomed through the bathroom and split open the silence that had fallen over the space wavered, "I'll tell you outright, I've never cheated on you."

"I know you haven't, I wasn't going to ask," You admitted because if there was one thing you knew for certain it was that Baekhyun was no cheater, "But that's not the point Baekhyun."

The crack in his words was enough to make you want to sob, "Then what is the point? What's the point of any of this? I thought I did everything right- I thought-" Your own tears fell in empathy to the ones that streaked down Baekhyun's cheeks even as he attempted to rub them away, "-When did everything go so wrong?"

And there it was, denial gone Baekhyun had finally come to the conclusion that you had detirmined long ago but had been pushing away in hope, in blind and misguided hope that perhaps you were misjudging something. That maybe you were just imaging the way he had been pulling back and pulling away, only to then later smoother you in an enslaute of affection that you knew was more fueled by guilt than by actual love. No, Baekhyun had never cheated on you, but he wasn't in love with you either.

"It doesn't always work," You stated though the words sounded idiotic even to your own ears especially as Baekhyun let out a chuckle that lacked humour and possessed ample agony.

"But it was meant to work for us, right?" Baekhyun questioned in a near plea, eyes searching for a reassurance you would never be able to give, "This can't be the end, can it?"

You stepped foward to reach for Baekhyun's cheek, your vision blurred with tears of your own even as you brushed own from just under his eye and gave him that smile, the kind that people give other's when they both come to the realisation of the same heartwrenching truth.

Perhaps in a different life, it wouldn't have been the end.

Perhaps in a separate timeline, where you were just completely different people who met in a completely opposite sort of way and fell in love in turn.

Perhaps in another world in a parallel dimension, there was a version of you and a version of Baekhyun who never even met each other, who simply brushed past each other on the street and continued on, seeing nothing and feeling nothing.

Perhaps if you both were better people, things would have been different.

But perhaps is a word that comes far too easy, especially when one is walking away.

[anniehowsback]

House of the rising...

SPN fic: R, 9K words, post 12x23, Sam POV, h/c, mainly Sam Dean Cas and Jack, heavy on the speculation based on spoilers, including a gratuitous wet-shirt-scene.

Trigger warnings: show typical violence and self harm, major character death (but resurrection!)

Dawn was breaking by the time he made it back outside.

Sam had collected himself before opening the door, unsure of what he’d find, but the scene was simply quiet and beautiful, with that early-morning-glory vibe of a lake lying at the foot of the mountains. The sky was lighting up, the stars were fading in the background, and mom was gone and Castiel was lying dead in the dirt.

Sam took a shaky breath and walked over to his brother.

Dean was sitting on the ground, holding Cas’ body propped up from behind, arms wound tightly around him. Sam could see the top of Dean’s bowed head, but his face was hidden, buried in Cas’ shoulder. He was humming ‘Hey Jude’ so softly under his breath that Sam thought he might be imagining it. By contrast the angel’s (his friend) head had lolled awkwardly to the side, and his face had gone slack, eyes open and unmistakably dead.

Sam stood over them for a long moment, staring at the point where the rift had swallowed mom and Lucifer.

Trapped in a hellish world with Lucifer. Of all the things he’d wished he could have in common with his mother, things to talk about and bond over, this was not a scenario he had ever even considered.

He refocused his attention closer, and squatted down next to his brother and their dead friend. Dean ignored him until Sam reached out and closed Cas’ eyes.

(read it on A03)

With a deep breath, Dean looked up and uncurled a little. Sam was surprised to see that his brother appeared to be calm and his face a little pale, but was apparently entirely dried-eyed.

“You ok?”, Dean grunted.

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “You?”

Dean nodded.

“We… need to bury Kelly,” Sam tried, and Dean nodded again.

“Pyre. Deserves a proper send off.”

“We’ll have to make one for Cas too.”

Dean didn’t reply immediately, tightening his hold for a second. Sam was afraid an argument was about to come up, but then Dean nodded a third time, looking perhaps resigned and dejected, or even defeated. He lowered Cas back down to the dirt, in the middle of the ragged scorch marks of now-gone wings, and let Sam pull him up to his feet.

They set to work silently. They had built pyres so many times by now that they didn’t even need to talk to each other to coordinate. They could tell the best place at a glance, and they knew the type of wood needed, and how much. Sam scoured the woods for some longer branches needed for the outer structure, while Dean hauled all the firewood staked by the house.

The early morning dew made everything around him shimmer, but it was shit for firewood. A pretty, useless sight. Heh, Sam smirked to himself. Pretty useless. No one to share it with. So many dead because he had trusted the Brits (Eileen, god, Eileen). Mom gone and probably being tortured that very moment and never coming back. Everything was wet. They were going to light the pyre with their friend on it and it was going to smoke and hiss and-

A sob broke out suddenly out of Sam’s throat while he was smack dab in the middle of the trees, alone. He hadn’t expected it, but once he started he simply kept going. He cried, on and off, through the entire process of building the pyre. Dean never shed a single tear.

They wrapped Kelly up in the bed linens, and even put the fresh flowers they found around the house with her. After lighting her up and standing respectfully for a moment, they went back to work for Cas.

Jack observed them from a window the entire time. Dean asked if they were going to have a problem, but Sam said no, not for now, so they left him be.

Before wrapping Cas up in one of the sheets, Sam asked Dean if he wanted to keep the trench coat. Dean was taken aback by the question, and for a moment his calm demeanor wobbled. He looked at Sam, stricken. “I can’t. It’s his.” Sam didn’t argue the point, and they just finished their work.

They stood guard and kept both fires burning until all that was left were ashes, which they then swept into the lake.

They left the place at dawn the following day. In less than forty-eight hours they had lost half their family, and gained a nephilim. The drive back was uneventful. Sam couldn’t help but feel that it was simply the calm before the inevitable shit-storm.

If the first time they had driven to the lake cabin they’d been frantic to beat Lucifer to the punch, the second time… Sam wasn’t sure what the hell was going on the second time, but Jack had said something about having figured out the ‘grip of death’ and how to break it, and Dean had hauled them all off right back to that damn lake. Sam had actually gotten nauseous, but whether it was from the reckless driving or the worry over this being a massive misunderstanding (and they’d had more than their share of them with Jack over the past few weeks) he couldn’t say.

Misgivings aside, when they’d reached the lake Dean had frog-marched Jack right to the edge. The nephilim had dipped his hands with a smug flourish, and the entire body of water had lit up.

And then nothing.

Several moments passed, and then Jack’s face crumpled and he started crying in frustration, working himself up into a tantrum. Dean, meanwhile, was absolutely furious, and had stomped right off, so it was Sam who noticed the dark blob appearing in the middle of the lake, slowly making its way to the shore.

“Hey!”, he yelled, catching both their attention. Early morning mist was still rising from the trees all around them, and rolling across the lake, but within moments the dark blob coalesced into a dark head, and started to move faster in their direction.

Dean waded out until the water was up to his knees, and then froze into place, waiting.

Sam held his breath. Please, he thought. One more miracle. Please.

As soon as he reached shallow waters, Castiel stood up, water pouring down from his sodden clothes, alive. He walked purposefully towards Dean and they hugged, hard and long, before they both stepped back onto the pebbled beach.

“Hi Sam,” Cas greeted, voice even more wreaked than what Sam remembered. Sam pulled him into a tight hug of his own, even though his friend was wet and icy like a drowned corpse. He could feel him breathing and, when he paid attention to it, he could even feel a heartbeat through the water-logged clothes.

Cas was white as a sheet and his lips were blue. The fact that he wasn’t shivering wasn’t necessarily a good sign.

Dean grabbed Cas by the wrist. “You’re going to freeze to death, and then we’ll be back to square one.”

“That’s easily avoidable,” Cas replied, shaking him off. He shrugged out of his trench coat and his jacket in one go, dropping them to the ground, and went for his tie before either brother could say anything. His white shirt was plastered to his body, effectively transparent. Sam couldn’t see any wounds, or any remnant of wounds. He did note that Cas had a lot more muscle mass than he’d given him credit for up until now.

Dean was gaping.

It seemed that all the adulting was falling to Sam these days. “Let’s get you inside and dry you up,” he cajoled. “Both of you.”

“What about my mom?”

The three of them turned to watch Jack. The nephilim was looking expectantly at the lake, and then back at Castiel. “Is she coming?”

“You must be Jack,” Cas greeted, stepping towards him. Their eyes lit up for a moment, blue and gold, as they regarded one another warily. “Your mother’s soul is in heaven. There’s nothing here but remnants of her physical body. I’m sorry, but that’s not enough to bring her back.”

“How come you came back, then?”

Castiel glanced at the Winchesters before attempting an answer. “My Grace was spent here. And I heard the call.”

“Wait, you what??” Dean stepped forward, jamming his finger in Cas’ chest. “I’ve been praying-!”

“I know.”

“You… and you only answer now?”

“I wouldn’t have answered the summons at all if it wasn’t for your prayers. But I couldn’t pull myself back together on my own, Dean. I don’t have that kind of power. No angel does.”

“Right,” Dean breathed, anger dissolving, and something suspiciously close to tenderness spreading across his face. “Well, if I’m freezing, you must be fucking miserable. Let’s do a little B&E and warm up.”

“We don’t usually do this, Jack,” Sam felt the need to clarify.

After all this time where Dean seemed to cycle between only two moods (homicidal rage and apathy), now that Cas was back he declared a season of celebration. Out drinking at a different bar every night, flirting with every woman that so much as looked either in his or Cas’ direction, and quickly sleeping his way through all the willing ones he could charm. Sam had grown exasperated with his antics before the week was out, but would tag along just to keep Castiel company while Dean was being an asshole.

Dean kept pushing women at Cas, and when the angel inevitably failed to follow through, he’d claim a duty to satisfy the lady, and off they’d go.

Castiel was clearly growing more and more uncomfortable with each instance, but Dean was determined to get him laid. “You’re a virgin again, Cas! You get to make up for the crappy first time you had with that reaper!”

“I’m really not interested in carnal congress with human women, Dean. The risk for an angel is too high, as we’re reminded daily.”

Jack was… well. Sam wasn’t thinking about it just now.

Some type of trade fair had blown into town, bringing lots of strangers to their usual watering holes. Dean was busy ‘teaching pool’ to a blonde in a power suit, while Sam and Cas nursed a Belgian beer courtesy of a guy who was really into marathon running. He was telling them about the various places he’d travelled to to run, Cas occasionally remarking that he’d seen them as well, while Sam listened with interest. The guy didn’t have much range, but he was nice and had a good sense of humor.

At a certain point he made Castiel smile with a detailed recount of the Tokyo marathon he’d run two years previously, and Sam noted the guy suddenly leaning way more into his friend’s direction, and basically cutting Sam out of the conversation. Thinking this was likely to be a better ‘teaching experience’ than any Dean had thrown his way recently, Sam quietly stood up and went to sit at the bar on his own.

One moment he was chatting amicably with the bartender, and the next Dean was standing right next to him.

“Where’s Cas?”

Sam looked back at their table, now deserted. “I left him with Steve maybe half an hour ago? I dunno man.”

“Steve? Who’s Steve?”

“One of the salesmen of the group?” he gestured vaguely around the bar, packed with people in suits. “He was really into Cas, I just gave them a little room.”

“Oh! Of course! Leave him with ‘Steve the salesman’! Did you at least check him?”

“Dude, it’s Cas. One, he just needs a glance to see true faces, and two, he can take care of himself.”

“Let’s… not go there.” Dean pulled out his cell and checked it. “He’s still around here somewhere. Come on.”

“Dean, let him-“

But Dean had already taken off and Sam, fearing for Steve, shot right after him.

Their search ended five minutes later, after making sure the toilets and the back lot where empty, or at least empty of their friend (Sam was pretty sure he’d spotted the woman Dean had been flirting with in the company of another guy). They found Cas and Steve out front, leaning against the Impala and looking up at the stars. They had darker beer bottles now, and Castiel was pointing out stars to Steve, who was hanging on his every word.

“There you are!” Dean greeted with false cheer. “Who’s your friend, Cas?”

“Dean, this is Steve. We were comparing the view of the Milky Way from here to the one in Australia.”

“Out in the Bush,” Steve added, immediately straightening and sizing Dean up. “I ran a high-endurance 24h hyper-run there last winter. Goes through the night.” He gave Dean a firm, salesman handshake and held direct eye contact. Dean grinned, dimples showing.

“Cas has a remarkable memory for detail,” Steve continued warmly, shooting Cas a little admiring smile.

“That he does,” Dean agreed, going from a grin to a full-toothed smile and clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Cas, who, as far as Sam had seen, had been enjoying himself but had also been essentially oblivious to Steve’s flirtations, was starting to look uncomfortable.

“I mentioned the Impala and Steve suggested we come see it,” he said, a little defensively.

“Yes. I’m not much for cars myself, but even I can tell it’s a real beauty.”

“Dean is a wonderful mechanic,” Cas said, brightening up. “He’s fixed my truck, and plenty of other cars. He can fix anything on wheels.”

Sam saw Steve’s face fall slightly.

“Interesting. So… wanna show me your truck?”

“Oh. I, hum, lost it.”

Before Steve could ask how exactly one ‘loses’ a truck, Dean plucked Cas’ beer out of his hand, took a swig, made a face, and handed it back. “Yeah, and we’re leaving, so… nice meeting you, Steve.”

“Dean, I’m-“

“I could give you a lift, if you wanna stay,” Steve tried urgently, reaching out a hand.

Castiel looked at the proffered hand and put his beer in it. “Thank you, but it’s better that you don’t drive me where we’re going. It’s supposed to stay a secret.”

“Oh god, let’s just go,” Sam groaned, by now embarrassed on behalf of all of them. “Sorry dude. Better luck next time.” He clapped Steve on the back and nudged him out of Dean’s way. Dean smirked at him again, before hopping into the driver’s seat and revving up the engine unnecessarily.

They left Steve standing alone in the middle of the parking lot, staring dejectedly after them and holding both his and Cas’ unfinished fancy beers.

Dean stopped suggesting bars after that.

Sam’s plan was to get up early for a jog, then a nice long shower before anyone was up and about, followed by one of Dean’s hot breakfasts.

Instead the moment he stepped out of his room he found a streak of symbols painted in blood all along the hallway, and several lightbulbs dead and blackened.

“DEAN!”

His brother staggered out of his room, instantly waking up as soon as he saw the bloody mess.

With a silent nod, they armed themselves and started sweeping the bunker noiselessly. They found Jack in the war room, sitting cross-legged on the table, looking mighty confused. Underneath him there was an intricately designed protective circle, also in blood.

“Castiel said to wait here for him. Can I get up now?” He pouted, bored.

“When was this?”

“About six hours ago? A little after you guys went to ‘sleep’. So lame.”

“Stay put,” Dean growled, making Jack roll his eyes but slumping back down obligingly.

They found more symbols on the front door, and in the kitchen. The ones outside the shooting range were fresher. Finally they reached the garage, where they found Cas slumped in front of the outside doors. They were covered with glistening runes, and the stink of blood was wafting around the entire room.

Cas was in his shirtsleeves, arms soaked in red from the elbows down. He was also about as white as Sam had ever seen him. Even his lips had absolutely no color to them.

Dean immediately put his gun away and ran to their friend’s side, hands going for the face as Cas blinked lethargically up at him. Sam held his guard until Cas spoke.

“You’re safe. I put the wards up in time.”

“Cas! What’s happening?”

He was still bleeding sluggishly from both forearms, slashed open lengthways with his own angel blade, which laid forgotten to the side. Dean and Sam took Cas’ tie and belt to make tourniquets.

Castiel looked at them blankly, clearly confused. “You’re safe,” he repeated, slowly. “The wards.”

“What about them?” Sam prompted, as they raised his arms above his head, trying to stop the bleeding.

But Cas just blinked hard again. “What?”

“You’re ok, we’re all ok,” Dean started babbling under his breath. He shot Sam a look, then left him there to try and keep Cas stable while he sprinted back into the bunker.

“Hi Sam,” Cas whispered.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam smiled at him, tensely.

“I think Dean is mad at me,” he said with a sigh.

“No, Cas, he’s just worried. We don’t like it when you get hurt, remember? We talked about this before.”

“I had to,” he bristled.

“I understand, but you could have at least asked for help. We’re right here.”

Castiel frowned. “But you are helping me. Why do I have to ask?”

Dean burst back into the garage, carrying their heavy-duty first aid kit and a couple of towels thrown over his shoulders.

“You have got to stop doing this, Cas. You’re going to give me a heart attack,” Dean chided as they each set to work on one of Cas’ arms.

“Sorry,” came the automatic reply, followed by a frown.

They poured disinfectant over the wounds, laid down the clean towels and his arms over them, and cracked open two suture kits they had pilfered from an ambulance at a crime scene a few weeks earlier.

“I’m an angel. I’ve done this countless times before, it’s a sound tactic. It achieves the result.”

“Shut up,” Dean growled. The brothers started stitching up simultaneously.

“Cas, remember when you told me I was precious to you? And that the price of losing me wasn’t worth anything?”

Dean shot him a funny look. Yeah, Sam hadn’t discussed this with his brother, because it was something between him and Cas. Also, he may have been rightfully pissed at Dean at the time. No matter now.

It was still one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him.

“Well, you’re our friend, and you’re precious to us, too. Losing you isn’t worth it either, ok?”

Cas didn’t reply, he just looked equally touched and confused. Sam wasn’t sure he had gotten through to him, but at least he hoped it was a step in the right direction.

Dean looked chastened, even though Sam was dead sure his brother shared his sentiment, and had been saved the trouble of saying it out loud to boot.

Jack wandered in shortly after. “What’s that?”, he pointed to the sigil.

“A protective ward,” Cas replied tiredly.

“Why?”

“It hides us from anyone investigating that power surge from last night.”

“Wait, which power surge are we talking about here?”

Jack shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. One good thing about the nephilim was that he definitely hadn’t learned how to lie yet.

“Cas? Jack?” Dean continued, anger mounting.

“I thought I could take a peek into a parallel universe,” Jack admitted sheepishly. “Look for your mom and my dad. Huh, it didn’t work. Also, you need to buy some new lightbulbs.”

“Our mother is gone, and so is your dad, and good riddance to him!” Dean hissed. “Look at the mess you’ve made!”

“Dean,” Sam chided, just as Jack defensively claimed he was going to clean it all up.

“No, Sam, this is your fault too! You have got to let mom go. Stop putting ideas in his head. Look at what happened to Cas!”

“I make my own decisions,” Cas growled, instantly pissed.

“You died! Now you’ve nearly bled out!”

“It’s not my fault,” Jack cried. “That’s so unfair! I only wanted to help!”

“Stop helping, Jack. You only make things worse,” Dean spat savagely.

Jack went red in the face. Sam thought he was going to burst into tears and throw a tantrum, as usually happened when he got upset, but apparently this time his indignation took over because he stood his ground as tears and snot streamed down his face. “DO NOT!”

He lunged forward and took Castiel by the hands. There was a double, blinding flash of light, blue and gold, so intense that even though Sam had closed his eyes as soon as possible, he was still only seeing white for several long moments afterwards. His face, his hands, all his uncovered skin tingled as if he’d been standing in the sun all day.

He could hear and feel Castiel panting, still sitting between the two brothers.

“Cas?” Dean called, frightened.

“I… huh… huh…”

His eyesight finally came back. Castiel appeared healed, if a little windswept and wide-eyed. In fact, he looked like he’d just received an electric shot. He turned to look in turn at Sam and Dean, a big smile splitting his face in a way Sam couldn’t recall ever seeing.

He blinked, and Cas was gone. A gust of wind shot between the two brothers, and a rustle of feathers, a distinctive sound Sam hadn’t heard in years, echoed faintly.

They got up off the floor. Dean looked around, a little frantically, and called for Cas again. Sam went to Jack, who was still sniffling and hugging himself miserably.

Presently, heralded by a breeze that ruffled Sam’s hair, Castiel re-appeared.

“My wings! Dean, my wings! I can fly again! I never thought-“ he marched up to Jack, and took him gently by the shoulders. “Thank you,” he said with feeling, “but you must never do this again. The wards covered your magic, otherwise you’d have all of the remaining angels clamoring to get at you right now.”

“I don’t want to do it again,” Jack sniffled. He showed them the palms of his hands, blistered and badly burnt. “It hurt.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll make sure of it,” Castiel vowed.

“Cas,” Sam called hesitantly. “Are you-?”

“Whole,” he replied, still amazed. He reached out to the brothers. “Sam, would you like to visit the archives of the Louvre? Dean, would you like to have pie from your favorite place in Wisconsin, every day? I can do it for you, again. I can really be useful-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on!” Dean waved Cas’ hand down, and grabbed him by the elbow. “Don’t you go disappearing on us now, ok? That’s all I’m asking. Please, Cas. Just… stick around? And don’t attract attention from the other angels by flitting all over the place. You can still use the car I fixed up for you. It’s all gassed up and I got the tape deck working again… much better than angel taxi, any day.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said quietly. The angel and his brother shared a long look.

Sam cleared his throat.

“When do I get my wings?” Jack demanded suddenly.

“Nephilim don’t have wings,” Cas relied apologetically.

“That sucks! Why is my life so unfair?”

“Shut up,” said Dean.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel.

Sam just sighed. He could empathize with that sentiment, however misplaced.

“Where’s Cas?”

Dean paused from his meticulous gun polishing session and slowly turned to look at Sam.

“What do you mean ‘where’s Cas’? I thought the two of you were busy teaching Jack how to shoot. Like that kid needs to be any more deadly…”

“No, his hands still ache, so he got himself a book and holed up in his room. I just went by and he’s listening to blues at full volume. Dean, where did he get blues music?”

“There’s a whole collection of vinyls left from the fifties, I told you a bunch of times. At least the Men of Letters weren’t into heavy metal. What about Cas?”

“He said he was going to get something for Jack’s hands, but I haven’t seen him since. This was this morning.”

“Great,” Dean threw down the rag he was using and pulled out his phone. “And his phone’s off. Or out of range. Just peachy.” Without wasting time, he pulled up a geo-tracking app.

“Maybe he’s flying. He seems to have really missed it,” Sam suggested.

“Or maybe he took his car out for a joyride to… the fucking hospital? What the fuck is he doing at the county hospital? And why not Lebanon General?”

“That’s what? Two hours away? Without traffic?”

Dean didn’t pay him any attention. He quickly dialed the hospital, and asked about a James Novak or a John Doe. There was no one on file matching Castiel’s description either in the ER or the morgue, but the receptionist admitted they were having issues with their network, and there were several people still being processed.

“Goddamit,” Dean slammed his fist on the table, seethed for a moment, then pulled a tazer out of the nearest weapons bag and headed down the hallway, brandishing it.

“Dean!”

His brother marched up to Jack’s door and pounded on it. They could hear a throaty female voice crooning about being hard done by a man and somebody stomping around. Finally Jack opened his door a sliver and peek out suspiciously.

“Listen up, Jack. Me and Sam have to go out. Cas is not here, so we’re leaving you alone and in charge of the bunker like a big boy.”

“We are?”

“I’m an adult!” Jack complained.

“You’re not even a year old, Jack,” Sam interjected.

“We’ll be back by tomorrow morning. In the meantime we’re trusting you to hold down the fort, ok? You lock yourself in, don’t go out, and if somebody tries to come in, you taze them.”

He shoved the weapon at Jack, who cradled it in his arms, trying not to use his palms. Dean gently guided his fingers so he could aim and press the trigger, albeit gingerly.

Jack  brightened up considerably. “Supermurgitroid!”

Dean squinted at him suspiciously. “Did you get into my collection of vintage ‘Busty Asian Beauties’ again?”

Caught like a deer in the proverbial headlights, Jack didn’t deny nor confirm. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and took a calming breath. “There’s cans of Spaghetti-Os in the pantry, and a full tub of ice-cream in the freezer. If you finish it you will be sick and I will know. Above all, don’t use your powers while you’re alone. Got that?”

“Yeah, whatever. I could come with you,” Jack said petulantly.

“It’s just research, Jack, and lots of driving. It’s going to be pretty boring,” Sam soothed. “And, I suspect, very unnecessary,” he shot a look at Dean, who ignored him.

“Can we count on you to keep the bunker safe?”

Jack preened.

This is a bad idea, Sam thought.

Twenty minutes later they were loading the Impala in the garage, Jack observing them excitedly.

“We’ll be back by morning,” Sam told him.

“Tomorrow evening at most,” Dean added. “Certainly no more than two days. We’ll call you if we’re late.”

“Wait… you might be gone longer than that? Where’s Castiel?”

Dean slammed the trunk closed. Jack was looking at him anxiously now. “He’s coming back with us, don’t worry.”

Over the years Sam had endured Dean’s ‘creative driving’ too many times to count. Hell, he’d engaged in it himself more often than he’d care to admit. Recklessness and putting lives on the line was always part and parcel of the job, and sometimes staying in your lane in heavy traffic could quite literally make the body count soar, more immediately than any potential pile up.

But that, Sam felt, was for emergencies. Castiel going quiet for half a day?

“Dude might just want some space, Dean.”

“Shut up.”

“And, he can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

Dean slammed a cassette tape into the deck, and cranked the volume as high as it would go. Led Zep blared out of the speakers as the car, impossibly, squeezed between a truck and a minivan.

Sam braced himself in his seat as best as he could, aided by long practice, and indulged in a sulk. Why Dean had seen fit to drag him out like this didn’t matter much anymore; they were going, and that was the end of it.

Cas, if you’re just minding your own business, heads up ‘cause we’re about to barrel right into it, Sam prayed. Learn to tell Dean when you’re leaving, ok? That’s all I’m asking.

They made it to the county hospital, unsurprisingly, in record time. They probably racked in a whole box-worth of speeding tickets, but their license plate wasn’t exactly tied to their real address. Or their real names.

Anyway.

Cas’s car was still on the premises. After driving around a little, they located it in the underground visitors’ parking lot, looking perfectly normal.

Dean had managed to descend into the cold rage Sam had witnessed time and again in the weeks between Cas’ latest death and resurrection. He methodically parked next to Cas’ car and strode purposefully, stone faced, to the morgue, where he breezed right in on the strength of an FBI badge and attitude, even though they weren’t wearing suits. He checked for himself all the corpses stored there, and when they didn’t find Cas, he swore under his breath and headed to the ER. Sam checked out the three cafeterias and the burn unit, thinking perhaps Cas had been seeking advice for Jack’s hands.

But he was nowhere to be found. Sam, despite himself, was starting to let Dean’s mood, which was edging out of anger and into anxiety, affect him.

“We’re sweeping the building. Meet me on the roof, we’ll work our way down.”

They found a bunch of smokers up top, oddly enough all clustered together. A group of health and admin workers, all listening intently to a woman in scrubs who kept pointing to the helicopter parked not far from them.

“And I’m telling you, I felt like this presence. Just as we were taking off. Only for a moment. And I thought ‘that’s your third shift talking, girl’, and I completely pushed it out of my mind.”

“But then the kid pulls through, and now you’re a believer?” a person in a suit, puffing on an electronic pipe, asked.

“Perhaps the tests at Lebanon General got mixed up,” interjected one with a lab coat.

“No, no, the heart defect had been detected in the first trimester. They had a C-section and surgery all lined up already, but the mother went into premature labor. I’m telling you, I thought the lungs were going to be impossible even before the heart got into it. I hate those situations.”

“Well, that’s NICU for you,” sympathized another one in scrubs. “So the lungs are holding? They’re not a problem?”

“Nothing is the problem! Echo, stats: healthiest premature baby I’ve ever held! I’m telling you, it’s like a brand new child! Back before we got here it was touch and go, and now the mother is nursing. Solve me that.”

The brothers shared a look, and headed back inside.

“Changeling?”

“Do changelings read as normal healthy human babies in medical exams?”

“I have no idea. I doubt there’s many cases in the literature. Demon deal?”

“Could be.” Dean took out his phone, then thought better of it. “Damn it.”

Sam glanced at him, bemused. “Yeah, Crowley was useful in that respect, wasn’t he?”

Dean shook his head, scowling. “I keep forgetting-“

“So you think Cas found a case?”

“We can ask him when we find him. You know, ‘presence’ could mean ghost.”

“A healing ghost?”

They fell silent as they passed a few civilians in the hallway.

“Or witchcraft could do it.”

They found the NICU unit, which was predictably locked down, with rigorous admittance policies. They could spy an open floor plan inside, and relatively few people. No way to go in unnoticed. If Cas was there he had to be invisible. Dean prayed under his breath, but nothing happened.

“We either camp here and wait for the parents to come out, or we gotta find some scrubs and get in there.”

They drifted back down the hall, looking for supply closets. They rounded a corner. Toilets to one side, and one lone door opposite them. As they headed towards it, the door opened and Castiel stepped out.

He carefully closed the door behind him, holding on to the doorknob, and regarded them silently.

“The hell?” Dean strode right up to him and jammed his finger straight into the angel’s sternum. “Where have you been? And why the hell with the radio silence?”

“My phone is dead,” Cas grunted. “We need to get out of here before security sees me. Help me get to my car.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa: slow down, Cas. What’s happening?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Now, will you help me or not?” he growled impatiently. He was drenched in sweat, his hair in a state of disarray that the brothers had long taught him was considered ‘unprofessional’ and would get him noticed. His eyes were red-rimmed and feverishly bright and, as they stood there glaring at one-another, Cas started shaking with the effort of holding on to the doorknob.

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing of import. Can we get going?”

Dean pried Cas’ hand off the door and opened it. It turned out to be a well-stocked supply closet, but otherwise empty. On the back of the door, low to the ground, was an angel-banishing sigil, ready to be activated.

“Cas…” Sam started, but before he could continue, Cas gave a sigh and slid down the wall to the floor in a sort of semi-controlled fall, completely exhausted.

“-are you under attack?”

“No. It was my contingency plan in case I were discovered before I could regain my strength and escape. I’m glad I didn’t have to use it. Or, I won’t if you two’ll help me get out of here.”

“All right, all right, we get the message,” Dean started to sound less pissed and more concerned. He offered Cas a hand up, but Cas shook his head.

“I can’t walk,” he admitted sheepishly. “I used the last of my reserves to listen for your approach and step out to meet you.”

“On it.” Sam walked back down the hall, and headed away from the NICU towards Obstetrics. He tailed a couple who were going in, one in a wheelchair and puffing like a champ while her partner was low-key freaking out, up to a room. In the chaos of relocating the woman to the bed while she battled an oncoming contraction, Sam absconded with the wheelchair.

When he made it back he found that Dean had dragged Cas inside the washroom and was trying to make him look more presentable while he held him propped up to the counter one-handed.

Cas thanked Sam and sank gratefully in the chair, nearly passing out with the relief. They hit the nearest elevator and headed straight for the underground parking lot.

In fits and starts, Cas came out with the whole story. How he was initially simply headed to Lebanon General for some hospital-grade burn lotion, and how once there he had heard the desperate prayer of a mother about to lose her baby. How he had tried to board the helicopter mid-flight, but found it too crowded and had to resort to follow with the car. How even that brief flight, paired with the healing he had performed once he had arrived, had wiped him out, to the point that he had become suddenly visible in the middle of the NICU.

“I wiped the memories of all those present- also an effort. But there’s security cameras, and I’m almost certain someone saw me.”

“Almost certain?”

“I think I heard a prayer… I’m not sure. By that point I was finding it difficult concentrating on anything. My priority was hiding until I could make it back on my own. I figured I needed about two days to recuperate, provided I didn’t have to use my Grace for anything else. Then you came.”

“You had the car.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t leave it: you gave it to me, Dean. But I couldn’t- I can’t drive yet.”

They headed to the Impala, which was parked in a less conspicuous spot.

“And you let your phone die while on a hunt? That’s a rookie mistake, Cas.”

“I wasn’t on a hunt. And it got fried when Jack gave me back my wings, I just… haven’t had the time to replace it yet.”

Per Dean’s insistence, they loaded Cas shotgun in the Impala. Sam made an executive decision and asked for Cas’ keys.

He was glad Cas was going to be all right and that he’d had, all things considered, something positive to call a win in his bag; he wasn’t even annoyed any longer that they’d driven through three counties to pick him up. But Dean was still a bundle of raw nerves, and frankly Castiel had brought it upon himself.

As far as Sam was concerned, it was practical and made tactical sense for him to take the other car, while the two of them could hash it out in the Impala.

Dean agreed immediately, and peeled out of the lot before Cas could offer his opinion on the matter. Sam shook his head and headed for the other vehicle, planning a leisurely drive back.

Dean texted him that he was taking the back road and avoiding the highway. On a whim, Sam followed his brother’s route, albeit at what he imagined was going to be a much slower pace.

After about an hour’s drive, on a stretch of deserted road cutting through a tall, dark fir forest, Sam saw the familiar shape of the Impala stopped to the side, at an angle.

Sam stopped at a safe distance. He took his gun and his angel blade, and stealthily stepped towards the black car. There were fresh skid marks on the road- Dean had hit the brakes and wrenched the car to the side, while doing considerable speed.

He could see Cas’ head, still in the passenger seat, leaning against the window, and what had to be Dean with his hands and his forehead resting on the steering wheel. There were hints of movement from both of them, so they weren’t dead, at least.

As Sam reached the tail of the car he heard the unmistakable sound of a deep, gut-wrenching sob.

He approached on the driver’s side, lowering his weapons, and peeked in the back windows. Cas silently met his eyes with a worried, anguished expression, but he was entirely dried eyed.

Dean was crying. Dean was ugly crying, his entire frame shaking with sob after sob that he was trying to muffle with his arms. He was so caught up in it that he hadn’t even noticed Sam.

Cas gave him a wordless, minute head-shake. Sam retreated. He took the car again, drove it to the front of the Impala, and then approached on foot in full view.

Dean stepped out of the Impala and tossed the keys at Sam.

“You drive her,” he growled. He hadn’t really succeeded in composing himself, red-faced and covered in snot as he was, but Sam didn’t call him on it. “I can’t. I just-“ He stopped himself from looking back at Castiel, squeezed his eyes while he shook his head and stormed to the other car. He peeled away the moment he was sitting in it.

Sam got in the Impala. Castiel, still looking like death warmed over, audibly worked his throat.

“I never mean to cause distress to your brother. Or to you, for that matter. And yet it seems that’s all I’ve been doing, lately.”

Sam sighed. So much for letting them hash it out on their own. He started the car, and started driving again himself.

“This was a long time coming, Cas, trust me. And it’ll be better for Dean, in the long run. We tend to bottle up everything, even if we know we shouldn’t… it’s an ingrained habit. And that’s not your fault. But you do need to understand that we care about you, and that means we worry when we don’t know for sure that you’re all right. We lead dangerous lives. We don’t have the luxury of hearing your prayers to know that you’re still alive and kicking.”

“Yes… Dean said something similar. I suppose I forget.”

“Forget?”

“I consider you my family, my kin. But I forget that you’re not like my brothers, you’re not angels. You’re human. I mean, I know you’re human, but sometimes I just-“ he sighed, a desolate, lonely sound.

Neither of them spoke any further for the rest of the drive back.

-

When they reached the bunker’s garage they found Cas’ car already neatly parked in its usual spot. Jack came to greet them, in a really good mood, bouncing up and offering to help with unloading the car. Sam took his own duffel, and Cas declined a power-up, since Jack’s hands were still unhealed.

Sam was helping Castiel out of the car, assisted by Jack, when Dean appeared at the far door, looking somber and serious. He locked eyes with Sam and gave him a look that made Sam excuse himself immediately to go talk to his brother.

Jack was only too happy to make himself useful and escort Cas back into the bunker’s domestic quarters. He peppered Castiel with questions that the angel diligently, if tiredly, answered. As their chatter died off in the background, Sam asked Dean what was up.

“We have a problem,” Dean answered grimly.

“Well, you know what Cas is like,” Sam tried.

“What? No, shut up,” Dean said a little too quickly, especially for someone whose voice still sounded wreaked from crying. “It’s Jack. Know what he gave me when I got back?”

He held out the tazer, and Sam took it. It looked perfectly normal and unused.

“Open it,” Dean instructed.

“It doesn’t-“ Sam protested, but Dean took it back and pulled on the barrel, which came right off.

“It’s… not supposed to do that, is it?”

“Nope. And check this out,” Dean showed him the inside: the wires were soldered solid, melted into an unusable mess.

“What did Jack say about it?”

“Nothing. I asked if there was any trouble while we were away, and he said, and I quote, ‘nope daddy-oh, everything cool’.”

“That’s…”

“A lie. A weirdly-phrased human-mimicking lie from an impossibly powerful supernatural creature. Remind you of anyone?”

Sam clicked his throat. He immediately thought of a white suit, an affected twang, and a Colonel Sanders-type mustache.

“I don’t believe it. How is he even getting to Jack? We’re warded! Cas warded us tighter than anything!”

At the mention of Cas, Dean gave a shaky breath. “I dunno, man. Old Yellow Eyes and Lucifer both got to you despite our best efforts. I wouldn’t be surprised if knock-off fast-food snake-oil salesman got his fucking hands on him somehow.” Frustration mounting, Dean mimed strangling someone. “Fucking… Fuckhands McMike.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Ok, there, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe Jack was just playing with the tazer and he broke it. As for the slang, that’s not even Southern. You said it yourself, he’s been looking through your sixties skin mags… apparently he actually reads them.”

“Yeah, sideways,” Dean huffed, unconvinced. He passed a hand over his face, taking a quick look around to make sure they were still alone. “I don’t trust him. And I especially don’t trust him to stay safe. He’s angel enough to get into serious trouble on his own without telling us a goddamn thing. We need to keep a closer eye on him.”

Sam bit back a ‘are we still talking about Jack’ retort since he essentially agreed with Dean and he didn’t want the discussion derailed. Luckily he had just the thing.

“So you know how the Brits bugged the entire bunker,” he asked, taking out his phone and opening a password-protected app.

Dean’s lip curled, but he nodded.

“Before torching their place last June I did a little harvesting. I mean, the idea of remotely checking what was happening inside here seemed-“

“Creepy? Invasive?”

The phone emitted only static as Sam cycled through a list of rooms.

“Useful.”

“Wait… which rooms did you bug exactly?”

Sam pretended not to have heard him. Truth be told, there had been more than one instance in the past few months where he’d been grateful he could check up on his brother at a moment’s notice. He hadn’t mentioned it to Dean because… well, because.

With a final burst of static, the kitchen came through, loud albeit not entirely clear.

“-cannot help you there. I’ve recently discovered I understand even less about human emotions than I previously thought.”

Dean tensed next to him and looked away, but didn’t move.

Jack piped up over the feed. “You mean how Dean was upset when he came back and he didn’t want to say why?”

“No, I know why. Or at least, he told me. But I still have trouble understanding the scope of human feelings. As angels we either feel nothing, or a single, all-encompassing emotion. This mixture that Sam and Dean, and even you, have, it’s… confounding.”

There was the clinking of cutlery on ceramic for a bit, then “but it’s not that. I understand what their feelings are. Sam is curious, and he says he wants to spend time with me, but I don’t think he actually likes me. And Dean avoids me a lot, and he’s tried to kill me in the beginning, but now he makes sure I’m taken care of, so maybe he doesn’t want to, but he likes me. A bit. And they’re both scared of me. You’re the only one I’m sure cares for me and likes me and isn’t afraid of it.”

“…you’ve come up with all of this on your own?”

“Atta boy, Cas,” Dean whispered.

But Jack didn’t admit to any supernatural tampering with his thoughts. He carried on, blithely candid. “I just want them to be more like you. Or maybe I should just be more like you, they like you a great deal.”

“We share a long history, Jack. I fought by their side for a lot longer than what you’ve known them for before they even conceived of me as an ally. I’m sure you can earn the same respect, it just takes time.”

“You think so?” Jack sounded really hopeful. “I mean, when you were dead they really missed you. Dean especially. I thought that was just the way he was, but then I brought you back and he changed completely. He hasn’t even talked about killing me once since that. Maybe you don’t see it because when you’re with him he’s at his best, but when you’re away he’s really down.”

“You shouldn’t eat all of that ice-cream. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Oh, come on!” Dean interjected, looking at Sam for support. Sam shushed him.

But Jack had taken the hint, and changed the subject. “They hurt, don’t they? Your wings.”

The brothers shared a look. That wasn’t something either of them had noticed.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Not physically. Not in any way a human could feel. It’s a uniquely angelic feeling. Metaphysical. I can’t sustain them, you see. I don’t have enough Grace left, and what little there is, I have to stretch to the point of tearing to unfurl them and take flight.”

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t do it, then.”

“It’s not your fault. And I only do it when necessary, certainly not for pleasure. I’ve learned to appreciate the slow pace of human transportation, the lull of a soundtrack, and companionship when travelling. You can’t have that on huh, angel taxi.”

Despite the subject, Sam could hear a smile in his voice. He tried to make eye contact with Dean again, but his brother avoided him studiously.

“I think I know what you mean. Like the fact that no one likes me. And that I’m the only one of my kind. Sometimes I think about it, and then I think about my mom and… it hurts. Not like my hands, but it still hurts.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re alone. Though, I’ll grant you, feelings are maddingly complicated.”

“I wish I couldn’t feel a thing.”

“It’s a sentiment I’m familiar with. But that would be casting away your human heritage. A human heart is what your mother left you.”

“It’s easy for you to say! You’re an angel!”

“Barely. It’s true that Grace mutes my feelings, and perhaps my understanding of others’… but I do feel. And if I could choose, believe me I’d take human emotion over the cold and uncaring distance of Heaven.”

“Why don’t you just get rid of your Grace, then?”

“I can’t. I’m needed, my powers are needed. I prefer being useful to the Winchesters, and to humans in general. And I have to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I can protect myself, and I could even protect the Winchesters for you!”

“I’m sure you could, Jack, but-“

“Yes I can! I didn’t tell Dean because I don’t want him to worry, but an angel got in while you were away. He attacked me and I vaporized him! All by myself!”

The brothers shared a grim look and started moving towards the kitchen.

“’Cause see? I’m a half-breed and you’re… huh that angel called us a lot of nasty things, I don’t want to repeat them. Anyway, we can pick sides, and you can be the human, and I can be the angel and protect everyone!”

“Jack, what are you-“

The static overwhelmed the line, and then abruptly cut off. Sam and Dean sprinted off. Sam could feel the inaudible waves of angel shrieking making his teeth vibrate in his skull. As they rounded the corner at full speed, they saw light pouring out of the kitchen door. Squinting, they pushed forward, calling both Cas and Jack at the top of their lungs.

Inside the room they found Jack standing over Cas, yellow eyes alight and holding in his hands strand upon strand of angelic Grace, shiny and finely spun like blue gossamer. The filaments still connected to Cas’ eyes and mouth, which were alight with his true form. The Grace was unraveling in Jack’s hands, who looked up in horror at the brothers, frozen on the spot.

With a pained cry, Cas materialized his blade and cut the filaments in one stroke. The light on his part dissolved, while the one in Jack’s hands pulsed once and then began to rot, turning dark and gooey like Leviathan ichor. Jack, panicking, tried to drop it, but it permeated his damaged hands, and then disappeared under his skin. Unlike other times, the light in his eyes wasn’t fading.

Dean went immediately to Cas, supporting him and checking him out, leaving Sam, once again, to deal with the larger concerns.

With his hands raised, and trying not to spook him, he approached the Nephilim, now cowering in front of the sink. “Jack? What did you do?”

“That was bad,” Jack whispered, aghast. “I had no idea-“ he looked up then, eyes blazing. “You wanted to do that to me before I was even born! Did you know that’s what removing Grace is like?? Do you even care?”

“It’s different! A different process! I went through it myself-“

“You’ve never cared!” Jack accused with a wail. “Nobody cares about me! You all hate me! My mom is dead! My dad is gone!”

“Join the fucking club, kid!” Dean yelled, still crouching over Cas, who wasn’t entirely conscious.

“No!” Jack retorted, releasing one of his energy waves, knocking Sam on his ass. “I don’t have to! You can’t make me! And if you want me gone, then fine! I know where there’s someone who wants me and who can understand me!”

With a burst of energy that made his nose bleed, Jack opened a rift, identical to the one of the day of his birth.

Sam called him one last time, and Jack spared a moment to look back at him. Instead of a terrifying super-powered abomination, he looked like a lonely, lost boy who didn’t belong anywhere. “I’ve got to find my dad,” he declared, just as he touched the portal and disappeared.

Sam cautiously approached the rift. Following Jack blind wasn’t a good idea, but they couldn’t let him get too far or they’d lose him.

“Don’t,” said Cas, getting up with Dean’s assistance. “That’s a hellmouth. We need to find a way to ward it before anything on the other side discovers it.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning,” said Dean, picking up Castiel’s blade and flipping it to hand it back hilt-first, “that we’re calling in the reinforcements, we’re getting Jack back, and we’re saving the world.” He took out his cell and placed a call. “Jody? We’ve got work to do.”