A/N: I've had this written for awhile, and it was inspired from 13x07 "War of the Worlds". Also, my sister has been begging me to write it. It's going to get insanely dark with rape and torture (oh look, my MO), so don't read it unless you're chill with that in fiction. And also, I'm not sure how it's going to end, and I haven't written it for awhile, so just keep that in mind. I have four chapters of it right now, so I'll try to post one every day.
He'd hurt them. He'd actually hurt them. Jack had wanted to leave to avoid bringing harm to his family, but he'd done so just as he'd said goodbye. Sam, Dean, and Castiel were all better off without him.
Leaving had been easy just as it'd been difficult. Easy because he knew he was the problem. He was a danger, to them, and maybe to everyone else. To save them, he'd do anything, even if it meant never seeing them again. That's what was so hard, the thought that he'd never enjoy another moment with his family. All he knew was the three of them, no one else. He had already learned a lot from them, but there was so much he still didn't know.
Life alone was teaching him that.
Jack didn't need to eat much, but after the first few days he was hungry, and apparently going up to people and asking for food was only sure to get him disgruntled and annoyed looks. He didn't understand. Humans were good. So why weren't they helping him?
On his first day a man named Tucker who drove a big truck had given him a ride out of Lebanon, dropping him off in a city he'd told him was called Denver. He hadn't talked to the man much, though he was sure he could learn some things from him. Jack currently didn't care much for humanity and all their wonders and strange ways of living. He just wanted to get away. Besides, maybe if he said the wrong thing he would be seen as a threat. Humans sometimes reacted to threats by trying to attack them, and Jack knew he would attempt to defend himself.
And he'd kill them.
Just like he'd killed that security guard.
But if he didn't say much then maybe he would have less reason to use his powers.
Sam. Sam had said he needed to work on his powers. Sam had powers. Though Jack had never seen him use them, he trusted what he said; that he'd get better with practice, through focusing.
He'd work on them. He would. But he'd wait until he was far enough away.
Though the trip to Denver had taken hours Jack still didn't feel like he'd put enough distance between himself and his family. But that was as far as Tucker would take him, so Jack thanked him.
He decided he could try and find someone else.
But no one was willing.
He wandered around the city, getting kicked out of shops he found with interesting things in them when the clerks realized he had no money and no intention to buy anything.
When Jack happened across a bookstore, he thought of Sam. With no goals, other than to lay low so as to not cause trouble, he wandered in.
There were rows and rows of shelves, the books sectioned off based on genre - fantasy, sci-fi, young adult, romance, mystery, thriller, and many others. Sam had introduced him to fantasy and science fiction, so he started heading over to those two sections - which lay next to each other - thinking maybe he could find something interesting. But he passed the romance section on the way. The covers portraying pictures of flowers or mirrors and dazzling young men and women caught his eye.
He knew the definition of the word romance, but it was never anything Sam, Dean, or Castiel had discussed with him, not even about the relationships in the movies he had seen. But some of those relationships had not made sense to him, like Anakin and Padmé. He understood Padmé's love, even when Anakin had become Darth Vader, understood how it broke her heart - a phrase which he learned to not take literally - but he didn't understand Anakin's love. Anakin's love, even when it came to others, was violent, driving him to kill to try and protect those he cared about. But didn't Sam and Dean do the same thing? No, that was ridiculous. Anakin did it out of revenge. But could love and romance be violent in such a way? Jack didn't know. Even with the movies he didn't know much in that area and he was curious.
So he went over, picking up a book that portrayed a woman in a red dress on the front, her face not shown, a man in a suit was standing behind her, his hand resting over her collarbone in a way he found intriguing. Jack stared at it, leaning closer as he tried to understand what that touch meant. His hand looked dangerously close to her neck, which he knew could not be a good thing. But her stance was relaxed. Did she trust him, perhaps? Was his touch some sort of sign of intimacy? Or maybe it showed his power over her and she knew to give into it. But… that didn't seem to fit. Did it?
Laughter drew his attention away from the cover, and he glanced over at the science fiction section diagonally across from where he was. There were two teenage boys there, casting glances at him, their eyes gleaming with an emotion he wasn't sure he'd seen before. He didn't understand the scent he was getting from them either, but it was prickly, maybe unfriendly. Laughter was a sign of humor and joy though, so why did the way their emotions smelled not add up? Was that what joy smelled like? Jack wasn't sure, realized he hadn't smelled it much while with Sam, Dean, and Castiel. All three of them were terribly pained and often sad, even when they pretended not to be.
He heard them whispering, talking about him, how he must have been some sort of sissy or pansy for looking in the romance section. Jack didn't know what those words meant, but he didn't like them. Rather than get angry at them, or even at the older man who they looked a lot alike who stood farther down the row of books, Jack put the book down, and left the store, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He wouldn't hurt them. He wouldn't.
Night fell, and he wasn't yet in need of sleep, but it would be nice to have a place to rest. The crowds that had not been present in Lebanon were overwhelming to him here. There were so many sights, so many different people, and all their emotions were mixing together in a massive tangle, giving him a headache. And the tall buildings that had drawn his eye at first now seemed ominous and imposing. Jack didn't understand how humans could live like this, so close to each other. Didn't they like their space? Sam and Dean certainly liked it, and lots of space was something Jack had grown used to as well. The city was smothering.
Amongst the people milling about noisily, all with their own destinations in mind, Jack spotted something, a brightly lit neon sign spelling out Blue Eye Lounge. He knew that the word lounge was indicative of the word leisure and that meant rest. That sounded rather nice at the moment. So Jack crossed the street, cars honking noisily as he did so, and some insults he'd heard Dean say and worse were thrown his way. He didn't know why, but there was so much pervading his senses that he didn't take the time to stop and try to understand. He kept walking, making his way to the dark door underneath the sign.
It wasn't as noisy in the lounge, or as crowded. Maybe wherever he was wasn't very popular, or perhaps more humans liked to congregate there at a different time. He stood near the door for a few seconds, taking in the counter with drinks behind it and stools in front, booths and couches taking up the room in a way that must have been some form of organization. The lights were dim, and low music that he didn't know if he liked yet was playing.
Jack looked at the drinks again in their different shaped bottles, and he realized he was thirsty. He hadn't had something to drink since before he'd left the bunker. There was an older woman wearing a black apron behind the counter who seemed to be tending to other people there, so Jack knew she was the person to go to. He took a seat at the counter, and in a few seconds the woman was across from him, asking to see his ID.
"I don't have an ID," Jack responded, remembering that the letters stood for identification card, and he knew he didn't have one. He didn't have any records at all, which Dean had assured him was a good thing in his case, but now it was bringing about a problem.
She raised her eyebrows, leaning against the counter, and Jack could tell she didn't quite believe him.
"No ID, hmm? Did you lose it or something?"
"I never had one."
"Look, are you over twenty-one or not?"
"Over twenty-one what?"
"Of age. Years of age."
Now understanding what she was asking, Jack smiled and said, "I'm three months old."
Apparently the woman hadn't liked that, and thought he'd "taken something", whatever that meant. She had kicked him out of the lounge, so Jack wandered again.
He'd sit down in the quieter parts of the city, in the streets that were smaller. They smelled dirtier, and were grimier, but at least it wasn't as loud. He realized he was getting dirty, that his clothes were getting dirty, and as that happened, people were less inclined to talk to him when he asked for food or water.
It occurred to him that he could break one of those machines he saw people getting money from out on the street. But that would be wrong, that would be stealing, so he didn't do it. He told himself that he wasn't desperate yet.
Jack saw other people who seemed like him. They were hungry, tired, had no home to speak of or family to help them. Well, Jack knew he did have family to help him, but he didn't want it. They weren't safe around him.
He talked to a few of those sad people, and he tried to discreetly heal the ones who complained of different hurts and ailments. But he wasn't able to help, not like Castiel could've.
Maybe Dean's first impression of him was right. He was a dark creature meant only for dark things.
At night when less people were around, Jack began to work on his powers. He'd sit in what he now knew was called an alley, and levitate pieces of trash that he found. He got better at it, able to hold them up higher and higher and for longer times. He started practicing with bricks that had fallen from buildings, even managing up to three at a time, though he couldn't hold that for long.
But after a little over a week Jack got sick of the city, and since no one wanted to take him away from it, he chose a direction and started walking. He walked till the tall buildings were far behind him, till houses were long gone, and there was just grass and trees. He stuck to the road, and just as he began getting a headache, his ears ringing, a midnight blue car pulled up beside him. It was bigger than the Impala.
A young man who felt different than the other humans rolled down the window and leaned over to call out, "Do you need a ride?"
Jack was surprised, and still trying to make sense of his headache, which had suddenly left him. And this was the first he'd seen of human kindness in days. He smiled.
"Yes."
"Alright, come hop in on the other side."
His smile grew wider and he did as the man said.
Jack introduced himself, not holding out his hand to shake, but the man didn't seem to care that he was unclean and grabbed it anyway.
"I'm Nathaniel. So where are you headed, Jack?"
"Away."
"Away?"
He nodded.
"I can do that. But is there anything else you need? I'm on my way home. I can let you get cleaned up, give you a change of clothes."
Jack looked down at his own clothes, clothes that Sam had bought for him.
"Or I could clean those for you if you want."
Jack decided that's what he wanted, but after his few days in the city, Nathaniel with his short, immaculate golden hair and his casual clothes that still managed to look expensive, confused him.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
"You look like you need help," Nathaniel answered as he started driving again. "Any person on God's green earth should be willing to reach out a hand to those in need."
Jack perked up at that.
"You believe in God?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"Even though you haven't seen him?"
"Let me tell you something, Jack," he began in an easy tone, "if humans only believed in what they could see, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere. We believe in love and hate and grief, though we can't see that. So why not believe in God? The universe had to get here somehow, right?"
Jack relaxed in his seat, tension he hadn't even realized he had washing away as he talked to Nathaniel. He knew there was good in humanity, but his trying times had pushed that to the back of his mind. This man was bringing it to the forefront again, and it made Jack happy. This man was good, like his mother.
"He's real, you know," Jack said. "God." He hoped that some confirmation would make this kind man even happier.
"You believe in him, too?"
"What's to believe? We don't believe in facts, we know them. And I know God is real. My father told me all about him."
"Your father must be a good man."
"He is."
With Castiel now on his mind Jack felt more at ease, and he was excited that he would soon be clean.
As Nathaniel drove, the sun setting behind them, he offered to have Jack stay the night. He had an extra bed and he'd cook him dinner too, and even breakfast the next morning.
"Don't you have work?" Jack asked, knowing humans had schedules they had to keep to, jobs that gave them money.
"Kid, tomorrow's Sunday."
"Oh."
Jack had not bothered to keep track of the days during his wanderings of Denver.
Once at Nathaniel's house (which Jack thought was too large for just him) he was led to the bathroom and told to leave his clothes outside the door. The bathroom was smaller than the ones in the bunker, but it was still nice. He tracked dirt in on the white tile, for which he told himself he would apologize later.
It took him a minute or so to figure out how to turn the shower on since it was designed differently from what he knew. The water pressure was lighter, and it tickled his skin in a way that was slightly unpleasant. But Jack didn't mind much since he was getting clean.
He was in there for nearly an hour, steaming up the bathroom. When he got out of the shower and dried up, he realized that he didn't have clothes to wear. He placed the towel on the counter and opened the door to poke his head out. Hanging from the handle was a dark grey robe, almost like the one Dean wore. Jack grabbed it and closed the door to have some privacy while he put it on.
He still didn't entirely understand the concept of privacy, wasn't sure why it was so important to humans. He didn't understand why they seemed uncomfortable with their own nudity either, but Jack knew if Nathaniel walked by and he had left the door open, he wouldn't have liked it, and it would be rude to make his host unhappy. Jack adhered to the social norms humans found important and he would continue to do so, even if they didn't make sense. Maybe they would eventually. Though, Castiel admitted he was still confused by some things, and Castiel was very smart.
Once he'd wiped off the mirror, Jack ran his hands through his wet hair, trying to get out the knots and parting it in a way that felt comfortable. Deciding that he looked nice enough, he left, following the smell of food to the kitchen.
Nathaniel seemed happy to see him clean, and he gave Jack a glass of water as he sat down at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. Jack wanted to drink it all at once, but he knew from one of the books in the bunker library that that would get him sick, so he paced himself. It was difficult since the water might as well have been the best thing he'd ever had. His stomach started grumbling, and Jack licked his lips eagerly as he eyed Nathaniel working.
"What are you making?" he asked, though he still didn't know a large variety of foods.
"Hamburgers," he answered. "I hope that's okay. I thought maybe some red meat would do you good."
He started thinking of Dean, who he knew really liked hamburgers. He'd even let Jack have one that he'd made once, and it was what humans might describe as heavenly. The use of that word didn't always make sense to him, but he was so hungry he had a feeling Nathaniel's cooking would surely be worthy of it.
While Nathaniel waited for something, he refilled Jack's glass of water, which he had just finished off.
In a few minutes, dinner was ready, and there were even french fries to go along with it. Jack ate slowly, remembering Dean's comment when he'd first had a burger: "You can slow down, you know? That stuff's not gonna disappear."
"So what's your story?" Nathaniel asked when they were halfway into their meal.
Jack swallowed his bite of food, and asked, "M-my story?"
"How'd you end up on the side of the road?"
Jack squinted at him, not sure why he was asking. "I walked," he answered slowly.
Nathaniel laughed a little, and it was different from the way the boys in the bookstore from the other day had laughed. It was light-hearted. "I know. I mean, what circumstances led you to being like that? To wanting to get away? Away from what?"
Then Jack used a tactic he'd often witnessed Dean do when Sam asked him a question he didn't want to answer: he took a large bite of food.
Jack didn't want to lie to him, knew that lying was bad, but telling the truth could put him in danger. But maybe he could lie. He'd seen Sam and Dean and even Castiel lie for good reasons. Was his reason good enough? Jack didn't trust that it was, wasn't sure he was a good judge of morals, especially given who his true father was, so he thought it'd be easier to say nothing.
He lowered his gaze, something he'd seen Sam do when he didn't want to talk. He'd even seen Sam do it sometimes when Jack walked into whatever room he was in, and he always smelled afraid and hurt, something that Jack didn't understand. His thoughts turned bitter with that, growing dark. If Sam, the first person to take him in, was afraid of him every once in awhile, a deep, blunt fear that Dean and Castiel didn't even seem to share, then maybe something was wrong with him. Maybe he was more like Lucifer than he thought.
Thankfully, Nathaniel didn't press him when he refused to talk.
After dinner, Jack got up to leave and find the extra bed Nathaniel had spoken of earlier. He'd last slept seventy-five hours ago, so he was feeling a little sleepy.
"Whoa, where are you going?" Nathaniel asked, turning away from the sink which he'd just put a pan into. "I like your company."
"I'm tired," Jack told him.
"Oh, then in that case, let me show you your room for the night."
Nathaniel walked past him, leading Jack down the hallway and up the stairs. They walked past the bathroom this time, and he opened a white door on the right, letting Jack walk in.
The bed, which was gray just like his robe, was large and looked nice and soft. There was a little dark wooden table to his left with a thin, metal vase on it that held yellow daisies. Jack stepped into the room, and Nathaniel did the same, presumably to say a few last things before he went to bed.
Just as he was turning around to thank him once more, something hit him on the back of the head, and Nathaniel's hand came around, his fingers pressing against his forehead.
Before panic could set in and his powers would instinctively rise up in him, Jack was unconscious, his body slumping to the floor.