Sam and Dean got a call from Jody a few days after Jack had left. Though Sam usually liked talking to Jody and always appreciated her company, he nearly groaned when he saw her name pop up on his phone. She might have a case for them, and Sam wasn't in the mood for a case. Neither was Dean, and he was sure Castiel wasn't interested either.
Still, he closed his laptop, and answered in a tone he hoped sounded cheerful, "Hey, Jody!"
Dean, who sat across from him in the war room looked up from his laptop at that, and Sam put the phone on speaker, placing it on the table.
"Hi, Jody," his brother greeted.
"Hey, guys. I got some news for you. I put word out with some of my police buddies, and I think I found your boy."
"Y-you did?" Dean asked hesitantly.
"Got some shots of someone on a traffic cam that matches the description you gave me."
Sam perked up at that, but he held in his smile, knowing that hoping too much could be dangerous.
"Great! Where is he?" he questioned.
"Last night he was seen leaving Denver, Colorado, and then there was nothing until a few minutes ago. Someone was taking him to a playground, I think."
"A playground?" Sam repeated, not yet understanding why Jack would go there.
Dean straightened in his chair, a grave expression on his face, and then what might be going on dawned on Sam as well.
"Dude," Dean began, "a playground."
Sam's stomach clenched, and for a few seconds he forgot they were on the phone with Jody.
When he remembered that she was saying, "...want to go to a playground, but it looked to me like he was sleeping."
"And you said he was with someone?" Dean questioned.
"Yeah," she responded. "He was a young guy, blond hair, chiseled jaw. Know anyone like that?"
"No," Sam answered. "Hey, Jody, do you mind sending us any pictures of him you have? It might help us figure out what's going on."
"Sure thing. Want me to keep a lookout for him too?"
"No, no. We'll take it from here," Sam told her. He didn't want Jody to get involved in this any more than she had to. If his suspicions were right, things might get dangerous and fast.
"Thanks, Jody."
"No problem, boys. You take care of yourselves, and just call me if you need anything."
Jody hung up, and then Dean hurried up out of his seat and left the room, presumably to get Castiel. While he was gone, Sam got a text from Jody. He opened it, looking at the pictures she'd sent him. It was indeed Jack that he was looking at. He was still in the same clothes he had left in, and they looked clean though they would surely be dirty by now. Jack himself looked clean. Maybe he was doing better off on his own than they had predicted he would. The man driving the van he was in was lean, his hair neatly combed, and he had a face that Sam thought might belong on a statue, partially because of the lack of emotion that marked the grave features.
Seeing Jack asleep next to someone who was a stranger to him made his heart go up into his throat, but he let out a long breath, telling himself to not jump to conclusions.
Two sets of footsteps approached quickly, and he turned towards the library, seeing as Dean led Castiel over.
"You get the pictures?" his brother asked.
Sam held out his phone to him in response, which was snatched from his hand. Castiel peered at the screen just as Dean did.
"That's Nathaniel," Castiel said instantly.
"Who?" Dean asked.
"Nathaniel. He's a seraph, low-level. He never really participated in any of the battles that have gone on in Heaven recently. In fact, I thought he might've run off and hidden himself away. He always seemed cowardly."
Dean scoffed. "Cowardly? The dude just kidnapped the son of Satan."
"We don't know if that's what happened," Sam said, though his words felt untrue. He ignored the flicker of emotion that went through him from Dean's last word. He had to focus.
The angels had tried to kill Jack and that had failed. So any reason for Jack to be with an angel couldn't be good, and he didn't yet trust that the boy had developed his father's skill at manipulation. He wouldn't have been able to make Nathaniel work for him.
"Sure, 'cause the angels are all just warm and cuddly when it comes to the kid," Dean snapped.
Sam stood. "Look, maybe something else is going on here."
Castiel took Sam's phone from Dean and gave it back to him as he said earnestly, "I know you're trying to hold out hope, but this doesn't look good, especially with where they're headed."
"Heaven," Sam stated.
"What do we do?" Dean asked. "We have to get him back."
"I know," Castiel responded, now turning to his brother. "Which is why I'm going after him."
"Well you're not going alone."
"Dean-" Cas began, before Sam cut him off.
"We'll go with you, as far as we can. Jack may look to you as a father, but he's our family too. He's all of our responsibility."
"It could be-"
"Dangerous?" Dean finished.
Castiel rolled his eyes, clearly not liking being interrupted by each brother.
"So? We do dangerous all the time." Dean came forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're not leaving us out on this one."
Sam put a hand on his other shoulder. "We just got you back, and we're not gonna lose you again."
Castiel sighed, and Sam could tell it held some affection.
"Alright," he agreed. "Alright. Let's go to Heaven."
Jack was in a white room when he woke up. It was empty except for a bed, which was also a stark white; even the wood had been painted that way. He was lying on it, looking up at the lights that were much too bright. This wasn't Nathaniel's house. This…
Nathaniel.
He'd attacked him.
Jack was up and off the bed in an instant, looking for Nathaniel, for any adversary, all his senses on high alert. He was alone, but raw emotion still bristled underneath his skin, waiting to be released.
Maybe it was better that he was alone because he started screaming, and something was forced out from him, some sort of golden energy that soon encompassed the room, blowing out the lights, which defied science and turned back on again. The energy bounced off of the walls, only to be redirected back at him. But the energy didn't hurt him. It was taken into him again, only to be released once more.
With the way the room was reacting to this violent tide of energy, the lights were flickering, sparks flying, and Jack would be shrouded in darkness before he was illuminated again, only for it to repeat like a cycle.
Where was he, where was he? Where was Nathaniel? What had he done to him? What was going to be done to him? Why was he there?
He had to get out, he had to get out.
The thoughts didn't form in neat sentences in his head. They were pounding, beating, bright colors, colors that he was sure humans couldn't even see. They screamed of panic, of anger, of the need to escape.
Even as he screamed he took in a door directly across from him, but it hadn't opened due to his powers, so he knew it wouldn't open if he tried the handle. Jack didn't know why or how, but he was stuck.
He screamed until a blinding pain took over his head, screeching voices in his ears. He fell to his knees, the energy he'd released into the room curling back into him, feeling similar to a quick inhale, but deeper than that. The lights flickered once more before remaining on. He held his hands over his ears, not understanding the scraping, incisive words he heard, but they seemed powerful, commanding.
Someone came into the room, a man, and he glanced up at him through watering eyes that were still glowing gold. Not a man. An angel. He desperately looked behind him, but the door was closed again.
The voices stopped, the pain ceasing instantly, and Jack fell forward, holding himself up on his elbows, panting.
"Where am I?" he asked quietly, feeling all of his emotions die down till exhaustion overlaid everything.
"Heaven," the angel answered.
"Are you going to kill me?"
He laughed, and he smelled wrong as he did so.
"Of course not. Heaven needs you."
Jack looked up at that, trying to sit back on his feet.
"What?"
"I'm not repeating myself. I know you heard me."
Jack's eyes went to the door again, and he sorely wished it was open.
"Why?" he asked. "Why me?"
"Because you're powerful, Nephilim."
He said the last word like the N was capital, denoting a name of some sort, but it felt degrading.
He rose to his feet, anger coming to life in him again.
"My name is Jack."
The angel took a step forward, something Jack didn't like.
"I don't care," he said. "Now, boy," - he shoved him a little - "get on the bed."
Jack screamed again, feeling threatened by his tone, by the shove he'd given him. He unleashed his power in a wave, feeling it coursing hot within him. The angel was lifted off the white, marble floor, a look of shock on his face. He remained there for a few seconds and then he was thrown against the far wall, a loud crunch meeting Jack's ears through his screams.
Those ear-splitting voices attacked his head again, somehow even louder than before, and he collapsed onto his side. The pain cut him off from his powers, and he tried clawing his way through it to reach them, but he couldn't. More angels entered the room, helping the other one to his feet, healing his broken back in golden and blue light, and Jack shouted at them, wanting them to stop hurting him, wanting them to let him go. He started sobbing, desperately telling them through his blinding tears that he was sorry.
Then they were gone, and the impenetrable door was closed once again.
The angels stopped yelling in his head and he curled into a ball on the floor, continuing to cry.
He didn't understand.
If they wanted him to help them, why were they treating him this way? Was it because they were scared of him? Was it because they were evil?
A terrible coppery taste came up in his mouth when he thought back to when Asmodeus had captured him. Though his time with him had been short, he'd treated him much better than this.
Jack didn't want that. He didn't want the demons to be the good guys in his story. He didn't want the angels to be the bad guys. He didn't want the humans to be the bad guys either. But the humans had been rude, and the angels had hurt him. Maybe Jack was the bad guy in all of their stories.
Jack didn't want to be the bad guy.
He stopped crying after a few minutes, and then he picked himself up off the floor. He took in a shaky breath, and now, since he was less emotionally charged, less panicked, he realized he was in the clothes he'd been wearing before, and they were clean. So Nathaniel had stuck to his word. Jack appreciated it, glad he had some piece of his family with him, even if it was just as simple as what he was wearing. He didn't have his shoes though, or his socks, and the floor was cold against his feet.
He walked over to the bed, contemplating it. Why had that angel told him to get on it? He didn't understand.
The hair on the back of Jack's neck rose, and he looked around the room, having the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Maybe he was. If he were the angels he'd probably watch himself too, would want to observe the strange creature to see what it did, to make sure it cooperated and didn't hurt itself.
As he sat on the bed, he realized something, something a few characters in the movies he had watched had experienced.
He was a prisoner.
But why? Was this because he'd killed that security guard? That was all he had done wrong before being in this awful, white room.
No. He remembered how Dean had treated him at first, remembered the things he'd heard him and Sam argue about.
It was because of what he was. It was because of who his father was.
Lucifer. This was his fault.
He was the bad guy. He had to be. Surely with the way Sam smelled whenever he was mentioned it meant something. No one was ever that afraid and in pain without a decent reason. Maybe Lucifer had hurt him. But why? There was something different about Sam, some essence that marked him as… special. Dean too. But Sam, he…
Jack didn't understand it but sometimes he looked at Sam and thought of Lucifer.
A strange ache grew in his chest as he realized Sam must do the same, must see Lucifer in him.
He remembered Sam's face when he'd called him father, mistaking him for Castiel. He had seen him as a strong, warm presence, but Sam had seemed to think it meant something else. Had he thought he'd mistaken him for Lucifer? Why would that be?
He wasn't Lucifer. Jack knew that for a fact. But he was connected to him in some way he couldn't make sense of, but it hurt Sam, and he didn't like that.
All of it was Lucifer's fault.
Maybe Jack wasn't the bad guy. Maybe the angels weren't the bad guys either.
Maybe all of that suffering he'd seen and even the bit he had endured, all had one cause, almost like Sauron in The Lord of the Rings.
Lucifer was like Sauron, like Darth Vader, like Lord Voldemort. The bad guy. He was the bad guy.
Jack hated him.
Then he thought of how powerful he must be to bring about such evil in the world, to make someone as brave as Sam agonized and afraid.
Jack feared him.
And Jack, Jack was told he was more powerful than him, told that he would go darkside, that he would cause mayhem and destruction. But he was also told that he would bring peace, that he could choose to be good, like the decision Frodo had made after the ring had corrupted him, like the decision Harry Potter had made once Voldemort had gotten inside his head, like the decision Luke Skywalker had made when Darth Vader had asked him to join him. But those choices had all seemed so difficult, so… tiresome.
Could Jack be like them?
Could he be like Sam and Dean and Castiel? Could he be like his mother whose presence in his life he missed so dearly?
Or was he more like his true father than he thought?
Jack was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the door had opened till it was too late. It was closed again, and Nathaniel stood before him, now in a gray suit.
Jack wanted to yell at him, to hurt him, but he held back, knowing he would be hurt. Though pain was a necessary part of life, he could minimize it if he had to.
Did that make him weak? Did it make him less? Was he less good that way?
"I'm sorry about Cael. He can be rude sometimes."
Cael, which had been pronounced like the name Kyle, must have been the angel whose back he'd broken.
Jack didn't care about Cael's well-being, but he knew that wasn't what would be described as normal, so he asked, "How is he?"
"Healed, now, though he's angry."
"He scared me," Jack admitted. "You scare me."
"But, Jack," Nathaniel began, "I helped you. I washed your clothes, I let you clean yourself. I gave you food, water."
"And then you brought me here after knocking me out," he reasoned. "I don't want to be a prisoner."
"You're not a prisoner. More like, a uh… special guest."
"Then let me out," he insisted.
"I'm afraid I can't do that."
Jack turned away from him, the urge to hurt him growing.
"Then I'm a prisoner," he reasoned.
"Jack, we…" Nathaniel sighed after he trailed off. "It would be easier if you cooperated."
"I don't. Care," Jack told him. "My family taught me that helping people is right, that it's good. But they help those who deserve it. I don't think you and the other angels do. So I don't want to help. I just… I just want to go home. Please, Nathaniel. Just let me go home."
"We need you."
Jack let out a frustrated yell, getting to his feet.
"You all keep saying that and then you never explain! What do you need? Is it so bad that you have to keep it from me?"
"No. What we need from you is complicated. It will take time to figure out how to make this work."
"And you don't care if I say no."
"Not particularly."
"Then…" Jack faltered, not sure he had the courage for what he was going to say next, but Castiel could probably do it, Sam and Dean could probably do it. He straightened, looking Nathaniel straight in the eye, and he said, "Then get on with it."
Nathaniel's lips drew into a thin line, and then he came over to him, pressing his fingers to Jack's temple.
He was in the bunker, on the bed in the room he'd chosen: 22. Dean was walking by the door, already dressed for the day. He stopped in the doorway as Jack sat up.
"Hey, glad you're up. I'm making pancakes."
"Pancakes?" Jack asked, not knowing what that word meant.
Now Sam was there, most likely having just come from his room next door.
"Yeah, pancakes," he said. "They're a type of food. Dean's great at making them. You hungry?"
Jack nodded, and Dean beckoned him over. "Come on, then.
When the three of them got to the kitchen Castiel was already there, making a bitter drink for Sam and Dean that Jack had learned was called coffee. He'd tried it once and he didn't particularly like it.
Castiel gave him a warm smile and then took a seat across the table, carrying over a mug with something white and fluffy on the top.
"Here," his father offered to him as he sat down across from him.
Jack frowned at it. "I don't like coffee."
"It's hot chocolate."
"Hot chocolate?" he asked carefully, testing out the words as he said them.
"Since when do we have hot chocolate?" Sam asked, sitting down beside Jack and taking a sip of his coffee.
"I went into town last night and bought some. I thought Jack might like it." Jack took the mug. It was pleasantly warm in his hand. "Go on," his father urged. "Try it."
Jack brought it to his mouth and gingerly took a sip. Sweet warmth was on his tongue, and he liked it a lot. The white on top was smooth and just as delicious.
He smiled as he put the mug down.
"This makes me happy," he told them.
"Good," Dean said from where he stood by the stove. "We want you to be happy."
"Jack, you, uh…" Sam started.
He turned to him, furrowing his eyebrows. What was he trying to say? Sam smiled in amusement, and then Castiel said, "You have whipped cream on your face."
Whipped cream. That must be what the white topping was.
He wiped over his lip with his thumb, figuring it would be there, and it was. He sucked it into his mouth, enjoying the creamy taste once more.
He looked at his mug, and realized there wasn't as much whipped cream as he wanted.
"Can I have some more?" he asked.
"Sure thing," Dean responded, going over to the fridge and grabbing a can with red and white on it. It had a red cap, which he took off, before pressing a nozzle and putting more whipped cream on his hot chocolate. Jack took the can from him, observed it for a bit, and then tilted his head back, and sprayed the whipped cream into his mouth.
He closed his mouth and smiled when it was full, which set his family into a fit of laughter for some reason, but he liked it. They were happy. He was happy.
Black. There was just black. Jack couldn't see a thing, and whatever he'd been experiencing before quickly faded. Sam, Dean, Castiel… They weren't here. There were no pancakes, or hot chocolate, or whipped cream. No laughter, no joy, no comfort.
He knew his eyes were open, but still he couldn't see. Was something covering his eyes? He felt… bare, and with some contemplation he realized his clothes were gone. That didn't bother him, though he knew it would bother humans. Did it mean something that they would be bothered? Was it some instinct? Or perhaps it was something to do with vulnerability. Jack considered this, thinking that it could be smart to take what a human might feel in this situation into consideration.
Did this mean that he was in danger?
There was something cold around his wrists and ankles. He thought it might be metal, and when he tried to move, the metal pulled at him. It was secured to something other than him.
The bed. He was on the bed. The metal could be secured to the bed.
What was happening to him? Had Nathaniel conjured up that reality inside his head? Had he done this to him?
No. Not just him. There was more than one angel in the room. He could sense them, but he couldn't tell how many there were.
"I don't understand," Jack said to them, pulling at his restraints again, both with his body and his powers - the latter of which was of no use as well. He was starting to feel nervous. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because we need you to lie still," a female voice answered.
Jack wanted to ask them why, but he didn't think they would tell him anything.
He didn't know what was going to happen to him, didn't know why. But he did know one thing.
Only villains in movies restrained people like this.
Lucifer wasn't the only bad guy he had to worry about. The angels were the bad guys too.
A/N: Reviews would be nice, guys! It doesn't have to be long. You could put that you liked it, or maybe any thoughts you had while reading it, how you think I'm doing with writing Jack (seriously, this story is my first time writing him), any ideas as to where you think the story is going, what you think of the angels. You could slam your head against the keyboard and hit send, even.