[ the night after the world faded away, the library's no more quiet that it usually is, the sound of sam's fingers tapping against his laptop, the glass clinking of dean's whiskey bottle touching down on the table (or the floor), and rustling of pages being turned in old tomes. yet, it feels more empty, like the air is lighter, like something's just missing. because it is - they all feel it. castiel is gone.
for a long while, dean's binge drinking is a spectator sport, sam mostly trying to ignore it, but jack keeps watch on him, glancing over now and again, perhaps to make sure he's still breathing and doesn't need to be rolled onto his side, once he's sprawled onto the floor. at some point, sam leaves, either to try getting some shut eye, or grabbing some food to inhale, and jack slips from his seat at the table, pacing over to one of the lounge chairs to pick up a blanket flung over the chair back. kneeling next to the intoxicated, groaning pile of hunter on the library floor, jack spreads the blanket out to cover him and sets a glass of water from the table down next to the empty whiskey bottle (now knocked over on its side). a gentle hand on dean's shoulder shakes him lightly, jack murmuring where he's knelt down next to him. ]
Dean.
[ please hydrate, dad. please take care of yourself, dad. or at least let jack take care of you, seeing as sam's preoccupied, and dean's other typical guardian - castiel - is, well. 'gone'. that was it, 'gone'. dean said he'd summoned the empty, but jack has a creeping feeling he knows how. the deal - the question is, what happened between cas and dean that finally made castiel allow himself to be truly happy?
he has an inkling. maybe it's that intuition castiel always told him he'd had, maybe it's some part of his powers and what he's becoming, or maybe he's just been watching these men circle around each other, drawn into one another's orbit, long enough that it isn't that difficult to guess. maybe he just knows his father. whatever it was, it left dean wrecked in a way jack's never seen him before, and something in his chest aches for the both of them. ]
Can I ask you something? [ legs folded under him, head bowed down nearly to dean's level, the kid's almost lying on the floor with him, his voice quiet and careful. ] About... Cas?
( cas is gone. cas saved him. (again. again. how many fucking times is it now? why can't dean ever save anyone when it's actually important?)
goodbye, dean echoes in his mind, the last thing cas said to him on an infinite and torturous loop. drinking helps dull that familiar voice, the one he wishes he could call back from the place of no return. (he almost believes it, too, because maybe knowing cas is really gone this time is easier to swallow than the hope that he might come back, that dean might be able to save him.) but they're out of options at the moment — stuck on an empty planet with nothing but dusty books and a bunker full of tennessee whiskey he's intent on imbibing until he can't feel a damn thing.
because that's always been his problem, hasn't it? he feels too damn much, all the time. good or bad. (you're the most caring man on earth.) and right now the depths of his despair are unknowable, even to him. cas may as well have dragged him into the empty with him, because that's exactly how he feels — only, he thinks, if he'd gone with cas, at least they'd be together. at least they could have sorted this out side by side, like they always have. but cas saved him, again, and some deeply ironic part of him wants to laugh and cry at the same time: it's not unlike purgatory, when cas shoved him through that portal, sacrificed himself so dean could live (something else he learned from dean, always ready and willing to take one for the team). and maybe that was all just a test, some fucked up lesson trying to convince him to let cas go. but he's never been very good at letting anything go, easier to push it all down and swallow it with another shot of jack.
he's long past shots — long past any sensible person's tolerance and still going. he doesn't want to think anymore, doesn't want to see cas' face in his head, the tears in his blue eyes like ripples on a lake. he can't fucking stand it, can't stand himself most of all. (cas wouldn't want him to, but he should have fucking known dean would blame himself. when has he ever not? if cas hadn't loved him, he'd still be here. if cas hadn't loved him, maybe the space in his chest reserved for cas and cas alone wouldn't feel so damn cold. so damn empty.)
the warmth of a blanket barely registers, his name as distant and foggy as his mind feels. he blinks sluggishly, groaning as he shifts to face jack — jack, who knew about the deal and never said anything, because cas didn't want him to. there's a bubbling resentment in his chest but he pushes it down just like he pushes down everything else. his eyes finally focus on the water jack set out for him and he mumbles something incoherent that might have been thanks before it got garbled from the intoxication. he reaches out to clap a lifeless hand on whichever part of jack is closest, a gesture that loosely translates to i know you're concerned, but i'm fine. he brings the glass of water to his lips as if to say, see? totally fine.
he's still floating in the in between of consciousness and blackout drunk when he realizes jack is asking him something. his eyes are glazed, having trouble focusing, but his blood turns cold at the sound of cas' name. it's sobering, uncomfortably so. his face creases hard, and at first it almost seems like he hadn't heard, or that maybe he just won't respond. but, eventually, he considers what cas meant to jack (what cas ultimately sacrificed for him, too). cas loved them both. he wouldn't have made the deal or sealed it otherwise. )
He's gone, Jack. What more is there to know? ( maybe he's stalling. or maybe he just can't bear to say it out loud. )
[ if any of that was supposed to reassure jack that dad #3 is fine, dean's missing the mark by a long stretch. intuitive as jack's always been, most of the time, dean's a mystery to him, but sometimes, like now, it's painfully clear.
jack isn't family still rings, bright and stinging and crippling, in the back of his mind, but he's come to see dean through castiel's eyes over the short years of his life. melded with cas once, before he was born, the love there was bright, like a beacon, a lighthouse on a battered coast. cas loved dean down to the individual atoms and molecules that he'd carefully pieced back together from hell. whether or not dean felt the same, jack could never tell - deciphering dean winchester has always been a difficult puzzle for him, but he tries.
careful, his hand covers dean's on the shoulder it landed on, and jack brings the other to pillow under his head where he's lying parallel to him on the cool library floor, a clock ticking away on a distant wall, the bunker otherwise silent. ]
Castiel, he said— [ saying his name hurts, a rawness in his throat, and jack misses him more than he can say. so much of what he knows about the universe, about life and free will and family and love he learned from castiel, and from sam and dean, but cas he knew before he was even truly alive. he was his first father, his guardian, his safe place, his home. what he meant to dean, jack will never completely know, but he knows the miserable ache and emptiness that's left behind, sees it clearly in attempts dean's making to look totally fine. if castiel can't be here to help dean keep his head above water, jack will do the best he can. ] He said he's still far from happy, that he didn't think it'd happen any time soon.
[ 'it', whatever 'it' was, that happened in a room with dean, cas, and death. whatever made cas so happy, so fulfilled, whatever castiel gave himself permission to finally do, to feel... jack thinks he knows, but dean has to say it. whisky won't drown it out of his head, he has to get it out. jack's voice goes soft, a whisper between them, the empty whisky bottle, and the library floor. it sounds almost like an apology. ]
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fixing 15x19!!!
for a long while, dean's binge drinking is a spectator sport, sam mostly trying to ignore it, but jack keeps watch on him, glancing over now and again, perhaps to make sure he's still breathing and doesn't need to be rolled onto his side, once he's sprawled onto the floor. at some point, sam leaves, either to try getting some shut eye, or grabbing some food to inhale, and jack slips from his seat at the table, pacing over to one of the lounge chairs to pick up a blanket flung over the chair back. kneeling next to the intoxicated, groaning pile of hunter on the library floor, jack spreads the blanket out to cover him and sets a glass of water from the table down next to the empty whiskey bottle (now knocked over on its side). a gentle hand on dean's shoulder shakes him lightly, jack murmuring where he's knelt down next to him. ]
Dean.
[ please hydrate, dad. please take care of yourself, dad. or at least let jack take care of you, seeing as sam's preoccupied, and dean's other typical guardian - castiel - is, well. 'gone'. that was it, 'gone'. dean said he'd summoned the empty, but jack has a creeping feeling he knows how. the deal - the question is, what happened between cas and dean that finally made castiel allow himself to be truly happy?
he has an inkling. maybe it's that intuition castiel always told him he'd had, maybe it's some part of his powers and what he's becoming, or maybe he's just been watching these men circle around each other, drawn into one another's orbit, long enough that it isn't that difficult to guess. maybe he just knows his father. whatever it was, it left dean wrecked in a way jack's never seen him before, and something in his chest aches for the both of them. ]
Can I ask you something? [ legs folded under him, head bowed down nearly to dean's level, the kid's almost lying on the floor with him, his voice quiet and careful. ] About... Cas?
no subject
goodbye, dean echoes in his mind, the last thing cas said to him on an infinite and torturous loop. drinking helps dull that familiar voice, the one he wishes he could call back from the place of no return. (he almost believes it, too, because maybe knowing cas is really gone this time is easier to swallow than the hope that he might come back, that dean might be able to save him.) but they're out of options at the moment — stuck on an empty planet with nothing but dusty books and a bunker full of tennessee whiskey he's intent on imbibing until he can't feel a damn thing.
because that's always been his problem, hasn't it? he feels too damn much, all the time. good or bad. (you're the most caring man on earth.) and right now the depths of his despair are unknowable, even to him. cas may as well have dragged him into the empty with him, because that's exactly how he feels — only, he thinks, if he'd gone with cas, at least they'd be together. at least they could have sorted this out side by side, like they always have. but cas saved him, again, and some deeply ironic part of him wants to laugh and cry at the same time: it's not unlike purgatory, when cas shoved him through that portal, sacrificed himself so dean could live (something else he learned from dean, always ready and willing to take one for the team). and maybe that was all just a test, some fucked up lesson trying to convince him to let cas go. but he's never been very good at letting anything go, easier to push it all down and swallow it with another shot of jack.
he's long past shots — long past any sensible person's tolerance and still going. he doesn't want to think anymore, doesn't want to see cas' face in his head, the tears in his blue eyes like ripples on a lake. he can't fucking stand it, can't stand himself most of all. (cas wouldn't want him to, but he should have fucking known dean would blame himself. when has he ever not? if cas hadn't loved him, he'd still be here. if cas hadn't loved him, maybe the space in his chest reserved for cas and cas alone wouldn't feel so damn cold. so damn empty.)
the warmth of a blanket barely registers, his name as distant and foggy as his mind feels. he blinks sluggishly, groaning as he shifts to face jack — jack, who knew about the deal and never said anything, because cas didn't want him to. there's a bubbling resentment in his chest but he pushes it down just like he pushes down everything else. his eyes finally focus on the water jack set out for him and he mumbles something incoherent that might have been thanks before it got garbled from the intoxication. he reaches out to clap a lifeless hand on whichever part of jack is closest, a gesture that loosely translates to i know you're concerned, but i'm fine. he brings the glass of water to his lips as if to say, see? totally fine.
he's still floating in the in between of consciousness and blackout drunk when he realizes jack is asking him something. his eyes are glazed, having trouble focusing, but his blood turns cold at the sound of cas' name. it's sobering, uncomfortably so. his face creases hard, and at first it almost seems like he hadn't heard, or that maybe he just won't respond. but, eventually, he considers what cas meant to jack (what cas ultimately sacrificed for him, too). cas loved them both. he wouldn't have made the deal or sealed it otherwise. )
He's gone, Jack. What more is there to know? ( maybe he's stalling. or maybe he just can't bear to say it out loud. )
no subject
jack isn't family still rings, bright and stinging and crippling, in the back of his mind, but he's come to see dean through castiel's eyes over the short years of his life. melded with cas once, before he was born, the love there was bright, like a beacon, a lighthouse on a battered coast. cas loved dean down to the individual atoms and molecules that he'd carefully pieced back together from hell. whether or not dean felt the same, jack could never tell - deciphering dean winchester has always been a difficult puzzle for him, but he tries.
careful, his hand covers dean's on the shoulder it landed on, and jack brings the other to pillow under his head where he's lying parallel to him on the cool library floor, a clock ticking away on a distant wall, the bunker otherwise silent. ]
Castiel, he said— [ saying his name hurts, a rawness in his throat, and jack misses him more than he can say. so much of what he knows about the universe, about life and free will and family and love he learned from castiel, and from sam and dean, but cas he knew before he was even truly alive. he was his first father, his guardian, his safe place, his home. what he meant to dean, jack will never completely know, but he knows the miserable ache and emptiness that's left behind, sees it clearly in attempts dean's making to look totally fine. if castiel can't be here to help dean keep his head above water, jack will do the best he can. ] He said he's still far from happy, that he didn't think it'd happen any time soon.
[ 'it', whatever 'it' was, that happened in a room with dean, cas, and death. whatever made cas so happy, so fulfilled, whatever castiel gave himself permission to finally do, to feel... jack thinks he knows, but dean has to say it. whisky won't drown it out of his head, he has to get it out. jack's voice goes soft, a whisper between them, the empty whisky bottle, and the library floor. it sounds almost like an apology. ]
What changed, Dean?