A/N: Written for week six of SPN Hiatus Creations. Prompt: Jack Kline.
WARNING: This story contains self harm.
"Cas, I can't find Jack."
A few days had passed since Castiel had gotten Sam and Jack back to the bunker, a few days since Lucifer's death, and a few days since Michael had taken Dean. They'd been searching for him, keeping track of the news, hoping they wouldn't see any world ending events. It was unclear how MIchael would bring about subjugating humanity, but so far nothing had happened. There hadn't been any angelic signs, and Castiel was getting nothing but the usual worried chatter from angel radio. The demons seemed restless as well now that they lacked a leader or even someone who ranked high enough to take the throne. So even though Sam and Castiel felt lost and pained without Dean, things had yet to break.
Castiel was in the war room, trying to figure out where Dean - no, MIchael - might be. Mary and Bobby were beside him, looking at a tablet, trying to help. Castiel closed Dean's laptop, which he'd been using for the search.
"He's not in his room?" he questioned.
Sam shook his head. "I wanted to check on him since he had locked himself in there all day yesterday."
"I'm sure he's fine," Mary responded. "I know that to you boys Jack's still a child, but he can handle himself."
Bobby nodded, adding, "Probably woulda died without him. I've never served under anyone better."
Mary and Bobby had talked to them about Jack's feats of bravery, about his hardships, and before Michael had shown up Dean had told them about the nightmares.
Castiel knew his son had guilt and hurt inside, but he knew there was courage and strength as well. But he could see why Sam was worried. He himself was worried.
"We should still look for him," Castiel said. "He's not used to being human."
"And MIchael might want him," Sam reasoned.
So they broke off into pairs - Sam with Castiel, and Mary with Bobby - to find Jack. Sam and Castiel headed outside to look for him while Mary and Bobby did a quick search of the bunker.
Castiel tried to tell himself that his son was okay, but in his gut, he knew something was wrong. It might've just been him, but the cool spring air was heavy with it, the dark gray clouds above crackling with tension. Sam seemed panicked, almost, and Castiel understood. They couldn't lose anyone else. They just couldn't.
Jack was in a field he'd found a mile or two away from the bunker. The yellowed grass was still wet from the morning dew, but he had sat himself down in it anyway. It didn't matter. The wind was stronger out in the field and Jack felt a little chilly without a jacket and in short sleeves. He figured he deserved the discomfort.
He didn't like being human. It felt like someone had taken a knife and carved out part of him, leaving him empty and hollow. Now Jack didn't feel like himself, but he figured he didn't want to be himself. He'd hurt people, he'd killed people, and he'd failed countless others. As a human he couldn't do any of those things. Well, he could still fail people, but at least he wouldn't be responsible for hurting them. Still, he just felt wrong. Jack didn't know who he was or who he wanted to be, but he felt dark and empty inside.
He looked down at his hand, at the knife he held in it. He'd stolen it from Dean's room. The hilt was made of polished dark wood, and it was slightly curved, making it easier to hold. The blade itself was wickedly sharp, gleaming steel, and weighted on one end to probably ensure it could easily slide deeply through flesh.
Pain is a normal human experience, Jack told himself as he hefted the knife in one hand. A drop of rain fell onto it, sliding down the metal towards the hilt.
Jack brought the knife to his left forearm and sliced through himself as thunder sounded in the distance and rain began to fall.
Blood welled up on his skin and he stared at it as his arm stung. He hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting, but it was shocking to him that his blood looked normal and untainted.
He started feeling numb as he observed his blood drip down into the grass, which was already growing wet from the rain.
The drops were cold, and they came down slowly, pattering against Jack and the leaves on the trees that were around him.
His arm tingled.
Jack cut himself again, feeling like he had to, feeling like he deserved it.
As a human the experience was different than the other times he hurt himself.
This time he wasn't healing, just bleeding. And that's what he wanted.
Jack cut himself again, going higher up his arm. And as he was about to do it one more time he heard a cry of his name.
Sam and Castiel were rushing over to him from the trees to his left, the rain plastering their hair down and making their clothes look darker.
With his longer legs, Sam made it to him first, and he knelt by his side, taking the knife from him. Without looking he handed it off to Castiel as he inspected his arm. His father put it away in his coat.
"Jack, what the hell were you doing?" Sam asked, voice heavy with some emotion Jack didn't understand. Now that he could no longer smell human emotion he was having a hard time reading his family.
"Hurting myself," he answered simply, not ashamed by it.
Why should he be? He deserved it, didn't he? It made sense to him that he'd do it, and Dean had seen him do it before.
Castiel gently shoved Sam aside to look at his arm.
"Sam, call Mary. Let her know we found him."
Sam nodded and then went into the trees to make his phone call.
A flash of lightning left a purple bar in Jack's vision, slicing through they sky and the rain. His father ran his hand over his arm, a beautiful, pure light emanating from it. Jack watched as the cuts seemed to sew themselves back up, and only a bloody mark was left, his skin now whole again. Thunder sounded and Castiel held his hand in his.
"Jack, I've been human before, and-"
Jack pulled his hand out of his and looked away. He didn't know why, but he started crying, his throat aching like there was a lump in it, the corners of his eyes stinging.
"T-this isn't about that!" he shouted at him. "It's about Dean, and Apocalypse World, and Michael, and-and…" He started sobbing too hard for him to continue and his father began rubbing his back to comfort him. Sam was at his other side now, gripping his shoulder, his thumb gently massaging him. "I-it's ab-about everything!" he cried, hunching over and burying his wet face in his hands.
He didn't like that his father had healed him, that his dad had taken the knife from him. He just wanted to hurt himself again. That pain made more sense than the pain he was feeling inside.
"We miss Dean, too," Sam said. "But we'll save him. We always do."
"And we weren't in Apocalypse World for as long as you were, but we know you survived it," Castiel added. "You're here now, with us, and you're going to be okay."
Jack didn't feel like he was going to be. Sometimes he still had nightmares about his family burning, like Michael had made him think when he'd been torturing him. Sometimes he dreamt he was covered in blood that wasn't his own. But sometimes in his dreams he saw the smiling faces of his family: Mary, Castiel, Sam, Dean.
He sniffled, tried to control his sobs, and he looked first to Castiel and then to Sam, their faces filled with affection, but also sadness, loss, hurt that Jack felt this way.
"Can I talk to-to Mary?" he got out.
Sam nodded, and Castiel instantly responded, "Of course."
They helped Jack to his feet, and started leading him back.
"We'll get you back to the bunker, get you dry. Mom's been worried about you."
Jack saw a white streak of lightning through the trees, and thunder rumbled around them. It might've been his imagination, but Sam flinched. Jack wasn't too sure because he was too busy flinching as well. The loud sound made him remember the explosions of Michael's angels crashing to Earth, people screaming as he was showered with dirt, fear gripping him.
He was drawn out of it when Castiel put a hand on his shoulder, telling him, "You can talk to us, Jack."
"Yeah," Sam agreed.
"If you feel like hurting yourself again, come tell one of us."
"Am I in trouble?" Jack asked, having to raise his voice as the rain began to come down harder, soaking them to the skin. As far as his question went, he realized that his dads could now be talking to him about that, that maybe he was in trouble. He'd never seen either of them hurt themselves, hadn't seen Dean do it, so maybe it wasn't normal. Maybe it made him bad.
There was just the heavy pattering of the rain for awhile, and then Sam answered, "No. No, we're just trying to look out for you."
"We love you, Jack," Castiel assured. "We're here for you."
The three of them found a path that led directly back to the bunker, and when Jack recognized they were almost home, Sam said, "Maybe after you talk to Mom we can take you out to lunch, okay?"
Jack beamed at them, and his stomach rumbled at the mention of food; he hadn't been able to get himself to eat something since yesterday morning.
"That sounds fun," Jack told them.
And then they were home, and with his parents by his side, and Mary already waiting for him with open arms, Jack felt just a little bit lighter, a little bit more whole.
Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.