Chapter Text
Sam Winchester felt a tingle at the back of his neck. One second, he was slowly drifting off in the passenger seat of the Impala; the next, there was a tug in his mind urging him to turn around. His time on the road with Dean — first looking for their father and, now, for the yellow-eyed demon — had taught him that however wary of his psychic abilities he may be, it’d be damn foolish not to listen to them when they arose. So, he turned.
The young man wasn’t sure what he expected to see in the usually-empty backseat, but it certainly wasn’t a boy who was too small to be in grade school yet. Sam’s eyes quickly swept over him. The boy had shaggy golden hair and bright blue eyes that were staring directly at Sam, undaunted. His clothes looked clean and new, if ill-fitting. He looked as if he didn’t have a worry in the world, which Sam imagined was normal for little kids, but probably not for ones who were in a stranger's car.
“Uh, Dean?” Sam said hesitantly, “We have a stowaway.”
“Sorry?” Dean asked, disbelieving, eyes still on the road.
“Hi there,” the younger Winchester said softly to the boy, “I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean. What’s your name?”
The child blinked and then turned to look out the window, distracted by the passing trees blurring green.
“Well, this is just great,” Dean mumbled. He immediately started running scenarios through his head of how the boy got in the car and what the hell they were going to do with him.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Sam said, then asked again, “What’s your name?”
“Jack,” he said, looking back at Sam.
“Hey Jack,” Sam smiled gently, “How long have you been here?”
“With you?” Jack asked. Sam nodded. “Just got here.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look. They hadn’t stopped the car in hours.
“Christo,” Sam said.
The word had no effect on the child. He just tilted his head and gave Sam a quizzical look. So, Sam thought, not a demon, apparently. He’d already ruled out ghost, as there were no cold spots and the boy seemed very much alive. Werewolf, vampire — most things, really — were also ruled out on the basis that none of them could simply teleport. And none of them have ever been so keen to make small talk, or look four years old.
“How did you get here?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack said, then repeated, “Just got here.”
“Where are you from? Do you know how we can talk to your mom?”.
“My mom’s in heaven.” Jack’s face did seem to scrunch up into a frown when he said that, although his voice delivered the words like the unshakable truth they were.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. “Our mother died when we were young too. Who’s looking after you?”
“Castiel,” Jack said. After a beat, he added, “That’s my dad. I can call him.”
“Do you know his phone number?”
Jack looked confused, like he didn’t understand what those words meant. Sam fished his own phone out of his pocket and held it up for Jack to see.
“A phone? Like this?”
“I don’t think he has one of those,” Jack said.
“What about your address?” Dean asked.
Once again, Jack looked confused.
The brothers exchanged another look as they saw their options dwindling right before their very eyes.
“Are you from Norfolk?” Dean asked, since that was the last town they’d been in.
“I’m not sure,” the boy answered. “I don’t think so.”
“Alright, where do you think you’re from?”
Jack thought about it very hard. “Um, there was a Pirate Pete’s Jolly Treats.”
Dean shook his head slightly in disbelief. He knew the kid was young, but he also knew that at a young age he could tell someone he was from Lawrence, Kansas. “What’s that, a candy store?”
“No, I think it’s a restaurant,” Sam said. “A chain. Not in the midwest, though. More like… west coast.”
Dean sighed. “Kid, you might just be a long way from home.”
Jack shrugged. Then he yawned.
“I’m going to sleep,” he announced, promptly lying down and closing his eyes. His little body barely took up half of the Impala’s enormous backseat. Within seconds, his surprisingly loud snores filled the car.
“Dean,” Sam whisper-shout.
“I know!” he whisper-shouted back. “Does he set off your spidey-sense?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Sam replied. “Strongly. I don’t know what, but there’s something about him.”
“Yeah, like how he mysteriously appeared in our car,” Dean said roughly. “Do you think this has something to do with the yellow-eyed demon?”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “Do we drop him off at a police station or something?”
“Well, if he’s a monster of some sort maybe we should take him to Bobby,” Dean said.
Sam considered this. “Maybe. But it’s not like no one’s looking for him. He has a dad.”
“Who might be another monster. And is definitely not as cute and cuddly.”
“Still. We can’t be,” Sam lowered his voice, “kidnappers.”
“Not with that attitude,” Dean winked. He quickly muttered “joking!” after Sam leveled a glare at him. “We’ll talk more at the motel.”
“Fine,” Sam acquiesced, shooting the kid curled up in the backseat another look. What are we getting ourselves into?
The three of them made it to the nearest motel within the hour. Jack had slept the whole way, while the Winchesters had silently deliberated about their situation, Sam diligently keeping his eyes on the slumbering boy. At this point, the sky had darkened and the outside air had turned cool. As Dean parked the car, Sam woke Jack up.
“Hey, Jack,” he called softly, but loud enough to cause the boy to stir. “Time to get up, buddy.”
The child sat up slowly and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. The two men got out of the car and Sam opened the door for Jack, which he crawled out of. Once out of the car, Jack immediately took Sam’s hand in his. Dean pumped his eyebrows up in amusement. The trio went inside to the front desk, booked a room, and got situated in it. Then, the questions for Jack began again.
“We may ask some difficult questions,” Sam started, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to answer them.”
“Okay,” Jack said, “Can I watch TV?”
The child was ambling around the room, picking things up and going through drawers at random, full of curiosity.
“Sorry kid, not right now,” Dean said.
A grumpy expression flooded Jack’s features, though the brothers chose to ignore it at the moment.
“Can you tell me about your mom?” Sam asked.
“She loved me very much. She died when I was born.”
“I’m sorry. What about your dad?”
“He protects me,” Jack said firmly. He nodded his head to emphasize the words.
“I’m sure he does,” Sam said sincerely, “And I’m sure he’s worried about you. Do you know where he might be?”
“He goes to a lot of places. Do you want me to call him?”
“How will you call him if he doesn’t have a phone?” Dean asked.
“We have another method of communication,” Jack said, the phrase clearly being something he picked up from his dad. The five-syllable word stumbled out of his mouth.
“What’s that mean?”
“I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about it.”
“Aw, it’s okay, kid,” Dean said. “You can trust us.”
Jack mimed sealing up his lips and throwing away the key.
The men sighed.
“You can tell us, Jack. We’re not gonna hurt you,” Sam said.
Jack put his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Listen, we have to —” Dean started to say, but trailed off as Jack curled in on himself and the lights began to flicker ominously.
“Hey, it’s okay, buddy,” Sam said soothingly, but the damage was already done.
“No more questions!” Jack declared, yelling in that tiny voice of his. Behind tightly shut eyelids, his irises glowed yellow.
With a final flicker, the lights went out. Every object in the room began to quiver, and, not for the first time that day, the Winchesters were struck with the thought that perhaps they were dealing with something, someone, out of their depth. Dean began to call out to his brother but was silenced by a gust of wind that suddenly appeared, adding to the chaos of the small motel room. The lights flickered once more, and in their quick flash of light, Sam and Dean could see that a new figure had entered the room, eyes glowing blue.
With a gravelly voice, the figure boomed, “You have my son.”
Dean was right. So far, Jack’s father wasn’t nearly as cute and cuddly and his kid. Although, Dean had begun to rethink his previous description of Jack. Once the figure — Castiel — appeared, the room came to a standstill. Dean saw movement in the darkness, and as his eyes adjusted, he realized that Jack had flung himself at Castiel, clinging to his leg tightly. Dean analyzed the figure during the split second it took to grab his gun. The newcomer looked normal enough, almost like an accountant. Suit and tie, trenchcoat, glowing eyes. The usual get-up. He glared at Sam and Dean, although Dean decided to not take that personally, seeing that they did have his son and, currently, two guns aimed at him.
Castiel brandished a silver blade in one hand, and with the other hand, he reached down to pat Jack on the head awkwardly. His eyes began to dim, and with a snap, all the lights came back on. In full visibility, the absurdity of the situation crossed Dean’s mind. Ghosts, vamps, and demons, he could handle. Weird children and their weird fathers were an entirely new challenge.
“What are you two?” Dean demanded gruffly.
Castiel barely spared him a glance before hiking Jack up to sit against his hip in a move that reminded Dean of his own mother. In any other situation, Dean would think that holding your kid while in a hostile environment was idiotic, but Dean could sense that Castiel had let his guard down because he didn’t see the Winchesters as legitimate threats. He didn’t need any psychic abilities to infer that; it was written all over the man’s demeanor. Castiel looked at Jack expectantly.
“You can’t disappear like that,” Castiel said not unkindly, although his voice didn’t soften a bit as he spoke to the young child. “It’s much too dangerous."
“I didn’t mean to!” Jack whined. “And they aren’t dangerous.”
Dean tried not to let the knowledge that neither member of this father-son duo thought him to be the least bit threatening damage his ego.
“It’s alright,” Castiel hushed the boy, then turned back to Sam and Dean.
“Oh good, I almost thought you’d forgotten about us,” Dean said.
“Apologies,” Castiel said simply. “We’ll be leaving now.”
“Not before you tell us who you are,” Sam said.
“Is that so?” Castiel mused. Even with a child in his arms, he managed to exude power and intimidation.
“If you don’t want to be shot full of lead,” Dean said. “Or silver. Pick your poison.”
“I’m no threat to you, Winchesters,” Castiel said.
“How do you know our name?”
“Bye-bye!” Jack waved, and before Dean could blink, they were gone. Simply vanished. Sam and Dean looked at each other in stunned silence.
“What the hell just happened?”
If Castiel had been asked two days ago what he thought he’d be doing in the near future, he wouldn’t have a definite answer, but it’s likely that all of his guesses would have been obscenely incorrect. Although angels are quite knowledgeable beings, they don’t know destiny beyond what is written. There was no way for Castiel to have known that he’d find himself caring for the very Nephilim child he was tasked to kill. He hadn’t intended to spare the child or its mother. He hadn’t intended to betray heaven in a split-second decision, but he did know that he now intended to help Jack grow to maturity and help the world, whatever that entailed.
In a single day, the boy had grown from newborn to small child, and had many abilities manifest. Including, regrettably, teleportation. The fear that Castiel felt when he’d realized Jack was missing was nearly insurmountable — he was afraid that angels had taken him, or demons. It alarmed Castiel that he was already so attached to Jack, even calling him ‘son’ to the Winchesters.
The Winchesters. Of all places Jack could go, he went to the Winchesters, Castiel grumbled to himself. He figured the boy was naturally and unknowingly drawn to Sam; Lucifer’s child to Lucifer’s vessel. It was clear that Jack innately trusted Sam, and perhaps Dean as well. Castiel wasn’t mad at Jack, he could barely even be frustrated at him, but the angel did sincerely hope that he and the Nephilim could stay under the radar despite their appearance to the two stars of the apocalypse. After all, they were two years ahead of schedule.
“You have to be more careful, Jack,” Castiel said. The two of them were seated on a park bench in a quiet Californian town, where it was still light outside.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, his eyes big and watery. Castiel gave him a pat on the head that he hoped was comforting. He had such little experience with humans, especially children. He’d hardly even interacted with humans in the past millennia.
“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“I know,” Jack nodded. “I love you.”
Castiel was infinitely grateful that Kelly Kline was able to teach Jack about love, and other human things, before she passed. Love was a concept that Castiel had thought he’d fully grasped, but now wasn’t so sure.
“I love you too,” the angel said.
He found that although he’d never been a father and had hardly been a son, he was starting to see himself and Jack in those positions. When Castiel looked at Jack, he thought of every nasty thing he’d been told about Nephilim and found that he couldn’t believe any of them. He knew he’d begun to dig himself into a hole that got deeper and more dangerous every moment, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. If necessary, Castiel would protect Jack to his last breath. With the angels and demons that were inevitably on their tail 24/7, Castiel hoped that his last breath wasn’t coming anytime soon. For his sake and Jack’s.
After Castiel had picked up his son from Winchester DayCare, Sam and Dean had booked it to Bobby’s, sleep be damned. They made it there before midnight and recounted their tale to Bobby, who had stayed up waiting for them, with Sam having to correct Dean’s assertions every few minutes.
“The kid was not creepy,” Sam insisted.
“Are you kidding?” Dean said, flabbergasted, “He could’ve starred in a horror movie! Meltdown, lights flashing.”
“And you’re sure he wasn’t a demon?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Saying Christo didn’t do anything, he was too friendly —”
Dean huffed at that. Sam glared and continued.
“ — and his dad’s eyes glowed. Not very demon-like.”
“Eh, demon eyes seem to come in new flavors every year. Black, yellow, white. Why not blue?”
“No, I agree with Sam,” Bobby said. “Glowing doesn’t sound like a demon.”
“Then what?”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to do some of the thinking yourself, for once?”
Dean smirked. “Don’t know, too scared to try.”
“Well, my thought is gods or demi-gods,” Bobby suggested, moving over to his bookshelf to search.
Sam’s face lit up. “The teleportation, the telekinesis —”
“The pompous attitude,” Dean said. “Alright so, how do we kill them? Wooden stake?”
“Hold on,” Sam interjected. “Jack’s just a kid. And Castiel didn’t hurt us. They seemed like… normal people.”
“If they’re gods, then Jack only looks like a kid. Also, if that’s what you think normal looks like, you’re even more freakish than I thought.”
“Screw you,” Sam spat. “And Jack sure as hell acted like a kid too, Dean.”
“Maybe he’s into roleplay, I don’t know.”
Sam huffed in annoyance. “Or it could be an ancient god and his demi-god son who is actually a child.”
“Potato, tuh-mah-to,” Dean said.
“That isn’t even the saying!” Sam exploded.
“Boys, boys,” Bobby came between the two brothers, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’ve had a long day, why don’t you hit the sack and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Whatever,” Sam said harshly.
Dean sent him an angry look that was nothing short of childish.
Bobby glared at them and Sam could almost hear the order of ‘go to your room’ dancing on Bobby’s tongue. He stormed off to the best upstairs guest room, glad to have at least one small victory over Dean, even if it was just the bed with fewer lumps in it.
Bobby turned to Dean, still downstairs with him. “Watch it with your freak comments.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“I hope to God that you just developed an eye tick and that wasn’t you rolling your eyes at me, boy.”
“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, his smirk showing he wasn’t apologetic in the slightest.
Bobby smiled slightly, so small that anyone else would’ve missed it, and said, “Now, go to bed and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”
“Alright,” Dean agreed. “Good night.”
“Night, son.”
Dean stomped up the stairs, feet too heavy and brain too tired to be any quieter. He could practically hear Sam angsting through his bedroom door, but elected to ignore it. It’d just have to be another problem to address in the morning.