As soon as they get home to the bunker, Dean heads for his room and the bottle of whiskey that's calling his name. Today had been a friggin' nightmare and all he wants right now is a little numbness. Riding home in Baby had fried his last nerve, what with Sam and Jack both casting him wary side glances like he was a bomb about to explode any second, the silence broken only when Jack started apologizing profusely for letting the shifter trick him. Dean had cut him off gruffly, not wanting to think about any of it, especially not about why the powerful nephilim had even let someone wearing Dean's skin come at him with an iron poker in the first place. Why he'd just stood there while 'Dean' bashed him upside the head with it. He'd banished the thoughts and all conversation by cranking the stereo up, the crashing sounds of 'Highway to Hell' drowning out everything.
But he's thinking about it now as the warmth of the whiskey burns it's way through his gut, can't help but hear Mia's voice repeating in his head. He's terrified of you. He'd scoffed at the time; sure the kid was nervous around him, but terrified was a bit of a stretch for something that could probably blow him apart with a snap of his fingers, if the kid was anything like his dear old dad anyway. But he hadn't, hadn't raised a finger to defend himself from the shifter, simply because it looked like Dean. And Dean finds himself flashing back to another angel, one with brilliant blue eyes that also let Dean do whatever he wanted, allowed himself to be berated and thrown up against walls because he could never hurt Dean. Now Dean's forced to acknowledge that maybe the kid is more like his chosen father than he'd like to admit.
But of course he'd known that already, it was part of the reason he was so angry at Jack, why he couldn't even bring himself to look at him. After losing Cas, the last thing he needed was another baby angel following him around, staring at him with nervous, hopeful eyes, waiting for his approval. Especially one who'd gotten Cas killed in the first place. So he'd been gruff with the kid, shut him out, pushed him away. Threatened to kill him. And when those wondering eyes became shuttered and dull, when that brilliant smile began to appear less and less often, when the kid finally stopped asking questions with that aggravating furrowed brow and tilted head, Dean had been friggin' ecstatic. Because at least that was one less knife twisting in his gut.
You're angry, Dean. Damn right he was angry, he'd lost nearly everything in an instant. And as far as he was concerned, Jack was on the hook for all of it. But maybe it was time to acknowledge that the kid had lost everything too. His mom, his chosen father, even his biological father, they were all gone. The kid was alone and Dean knew alone. How it tears at your insides until you'd do anything to fill that hole, accept anyone or anything just to dull the ache. Jack had latched onto them both, but only Sammy had shown any caring toward him. Still the kid tried to prove himself to Dean, tried so hard to prove he could be good, that he wasn't useless. And wasn't that just like Cas too?
The whiskey's gone now, there hadn't been much in there to begin with, and Dean considers opening a new bottle but decides to get a beer instead. The last thing he needs right now is another hangover. So he heads to the kitchen and of course the first thing he sees is Jack standing at the sink with a glass of water. The kid glances at him, then quickly lowers his eyes and looks away. He doesn't raise the glass to his lips, appears frozen with tension until Dean closes the fridge and turns to him. Mia was right, he's terrified of me. The thought might have brought him gratification before, but now it's just another twisting knife.
Finally Jack risks another glance at him, offers a soft "Hey," before looking away again as though prolonged eye contact would burn him. He remains stiff as Dean slowly approaches him, swallows convulsively when Dean stands next to him, looks like he's bracing himself for... something. Dean doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to fix this, or if he should even try.
He finds himself offering his father's favorite line, the one that would have him flushing with pride after a difficult hunt. "You did good today, Jack." But the effect isn't what he hopes for, and the kid only tips his head slightly in his direction before going back to staring straight ahead, brow furrowed in confusion. Dean wonders if it's too late, maybe he's pushed the kid too far for them to start again. He doesn't know what else to say though, so he turns to go, giving Jack an absent minded pat on the shoulder on his way out. Something makes him turn back at the doorway and he catches a ghost of that brilliant smile softly curving Jack's lips. Maybe it isn't too late for a fresh start after all. Dean finds himself matching that smile before shaking his head and continuing on his way. It's time he and Sammy had a talk.
Just a little one-shot that I had to write because this episode just gave me so many feels that I couldn't even. Please excuse any run-on sentences or extraneous commas, I find myself addicted to both. It's also been a LONG time since I've written anything so apologies if it seems a bit clunky. Hope you enjoyed!