A/N: This chapter mentions an angel named Izuriel. I think Castiel mentioned him in 14x09 "Byzantium" and he was killed by the Empty. I decided to give that name to the angel that Sam sliced open from collarbone to pelvis in the chapter where they rescued Jack.

WARNING: This chapter contains thoughts of self-harm.

The best thing about the bunker was that it was large, open space. Heaven hadn't been that. The halls had been closed off, small, the rooms suffocating, but this, this was something he'd missed. Sam was standing by the table at the war room, arms spread out, left side of his mouth turned up in a smile. His eyebrows were raised, almost as if he expected something. Not sure what he wanted, but liking the high, vaulted ceilings, Jack leaned over the rail, and shouted, "Hello!" listening to his voice bounce off the stone and tile walls and echo back to him.

Jack ran down the stairs ahead of his dads and bowled into Sam, giving him a hug, then when Dean was down the stairs he also gave him a hug. So caught up in the moment, Jack even gave one to Castiel, for the time being ignoring the bitter taste of grief on his tongue, the hollowness in his chest.

"Jack, you mind going to your room for a bit?" Sam suggested. "We gotta talk about some grown up things. It's just boring stuff, nothing you'd wanna hear."

A lie, a nervous one, but there was warmth there, so after some hesitation, Jack listened to him.

His room. When he pictured his room he pictured a white bed with Nathaniel in it, but the image soon faded, and the sharp ache of disappointment took him over, grief punching a hole through him. Jack's room didn't have much in it; he hadn't had a lot of time to make it his own. His laptop was there, along with his headphones, still left on the bed - he couldn't even remember what he'd been planning on using them for. Jack sat on the bed, not bothering to take his shoes off, and picked up the picture of Kelly he kept on his nightstand. Castiel had gotten the picture for him, and had helped him pick out the frame. He ran his fingers over her face, wanting to feel skin, wishing he could see her smile like that in real life, but he'd ruined it. He'd killed her, and now she knew the awful things he'd done, even if he didn't.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered.

Jack placed the picture down, and then opened up his laptop. The battery was dead, so then he spent some time shuffling around in his desk looking for the charger, and plugging it in. It was strange doing this much. In Heaven things were done for him, or there was nothing to do at all. But here he had his own things, what little he did have. There was even a book on his desk that Sam had left for him, thinking maybe he'd be interested in it, The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien.

He hadn't really ready in awhile, wondered if he still knew how to do it like he used to. He turned on his lamp, and flipped open to the first page. The book was worn, showing it'd been used for awhile, and that perhaps Sam favored it.

Jack read slowly, out loud, "In a hole in a ground… there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole… filled with the ends of worms… and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole... with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat; it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort…"

The talk of holes didn't interest Jack much, and he thought maybe he could pick apart from his scattered and bruised memories what a hobbit was, but this seemed like too much work at the moment. Maybe it'd come to him later; he knew he knew it. Part of him wanted to throw the book, and he didn't know why, but what would Sam say? So he ignored that part of himself, and set it down.

What could his dads even be talking about? Grown up things? What grown up things? Jack had a horrible, dreadful feeling that it had to do with him. He considered sneaking out of his room to listen in on what they were saying, but wouldn't that be wrong?

The door was open though. An open door meant he was free to leave.

Jack went to the doorway, and stood before it, ready to place his foot out, and he peered into the empty hallway. No, it didn't feel right. He wasn't allowed to leave. He needed chains to leave, and there was no one to put the chains on.

So Jack sat on his bed, deciding to wait.

Duma was standing before the throne, arms crossed as she contemplated it. It had been too long since anyone had sat in it. Her hope had been that perhaps one of Jack's children could take their rightful place upon it, but now he was gone and his child was dead before they'd even been born. Anael was dead, Nathaniel was dead, Cael was dead, Izuriel was dead, Indra was dead, and many were still wounded. She herself still had to heal, had to let her Grace strengthen and replenish. The strikes against them had taken too much. She knelt down on the floor, hands on her lap. The lights dimmed, plunging her into darkness that maybe she deserved, as she looked up.

They still had a store of a careful mixture of the Nephilim's seed and Grace, but pushing ahead so soon after their losses seemed foolish, risky. Ariel was willing, but she always had been, right from the start.

She thought of Sam's words, of him yelling of the child they'd hurt. But didn't he see? Heaven was dying.

Or maybe it had been dying for a long time, because of them.

"What is Heaven worth if you'll rape a child to save it?"

"Father," she called out, not even sure if God was listening, but not knowing what else to do. It stayed dark, quiet, just her. "Father, please, we need your help. Heaven is dying, and I'm afraid… I'm afraid we've made a mistake. There was this boy, you see, not very old, only a few months, but his body, his body could provide for us, and it did. We have what we need from him. We could still use it, but… but I don't know what to do. Many have fallen trying to get him, trying to keep him, and we've lost him. The humans have taken him back. Maybe they're right to."

Silence met her, and she thought that was the only appropriate response. She hadn't asked a question, hadn't demanded anything of Him. Was He even listening? Was He listening and rejoicing at having left? Was He listening and weeping at their mistakes? Were they mistakes?

"Father, I don't know if what I've done is wrong. I'm trying to lead Heaven as best I can, but many of our number are dead, the archangels are gone, you are gone, it's empty and alone up here, and without my efforts the souls will fall to Earth, and fall into vengeance and despair. Humanity will suffer like never before. They are your creation, do you not care for them? Are they not your children?" she demanded. "They will die in numbers that will exceed that of the Apocalypse! The world will burn, and perish! And the souls, the souls will know nothing but torment. You made something better than that, better than Hell. You proved that there can be a better way, that there is more to life and existence than Lucifer's failings, but now, now there won't be. Soon, there will be just Hell, and the ruin of Earth. How can you let that be your creation? How can you let that be your legacy? Is that your pride and joy? Is that all you've amounted to? A failed Heaven, and a failed Earth, with failed creations all fighting and suffering and dying? And for what? So you can sit up there wherever you are and watch? Is that it? You like watching? Well, I do not. I do not like watching, sitting by helpless, so please, just give me something!"

The only answer she got was her voice echoing back to her.

Duma cried, wondering if she'd failed, wondering if, in older days, she would be cast from Heaven. Her wings ached at the thought, and she curled them around herself. The throne room stayed dark, the throne empty, hope lost.

"So what grown up conversation is this?" Dean asked, slinging his coat over a chair and taking a seat. "The when do we get Mom back conversation? The what do we tell Jack conversation?"

"Dean, Mom-" Sam began.

"Is still in Apocalypse World," he interrupted. "Jack can get her out."

Dean knew that there was more to the kid than that, much more, but it'd been so long. Who knew if she was even still alive, or what she'd even had to endure? Well, maybe Sam knew a bit about it. Dean shuddered at the thought. But was it so bad he was thinking about it? Jack was safe now. Mom wasn't.

"What, so you think someone can bounce back from something like that just like that?" Sam asked, raising his voice, and snapping his fingers for emphasis.

"No, I don't expect the kid to come in here and start making portals, I don't even expect him to get a good night's sleep or-or act like a normal freaking kid. Just thought I'd throw it out there that's it not all peachy, and the family's not all back together."

"Wel, it wasn't that long ago when you didn't even want him part of the family," Sam argued.

"Really, you're gonna bring that shit up?" Dean threw out. "He's dangerous!"

"So am I!"

"Enough!" Castiel shouted at the both of them. "We didn't get him back just so you two could be at each other's throats. As you would say we have bigger fish to fry."

Dean ran a hand over his face, and let out a deep breath, trying to cool down.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Sorry, been on the road awhile, and this…"

He couldn't finish. It was rough, that's what this was.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, clearly understanding what it was he hadn't said.

"So what do we do?" Dean asked.

"Well, perhaps he should know what sex is," Castiel supplied.

"And consent," Sam quickly added.

"So we do that at the same time, or…?" Dean asked.

Sam swallowed roughly, and drummed his fingers on the table before saying, "Like, just explain rape?"

Dean grimaced at the word, and Sam and Cas were doing the same. But for some reason it sounded heavy on his brother's tongue. Something from a few years ago tried to come to mind, something Sam said about Lucifer touching him, but Dean brushed it aside, not able to think about it.

"Maybe we should let him lead," Castiel suggested. "I'm not confident he remembers everything about his captivity. The things they did were rather traumatizing."

"What things?" Dean asked, a morbid curiosity tugging at his gut.

"I don't…" Castiel frowned. "I don't really have the words for it."

Sam: "Describe it."

Cas shook his head, and if he was human, Dean though he'd look as if he was about to puke. "No, I don't think I can."

"Was it… Was it part of the rape?" Sam asked.

"I think so," Castiel got out. "It's hard to make sense of."

"So we tell him he got raped, tell him what the word means," Dean said, "then what? He's not gonna know what to do with that. He doesn't even know how any of that works. But if we tell him about sex first, do you think he's gonna get why what happened to him is bad?"

"No," Castiel told them reluctantly. "When I was their prisoner, Nathaniel… Well, he tried to help Jack and I escape and we got caught. Nathaniel got put in the cell next to me. I guess Jack took a liking to him because in order to get him to cooperate they'd bring him to Nathaniel. I… I had to listen to it."

Dean reached out across the table and took Cas' hand, not even able to imagine how gut-wrenchingly horrible that must've been.

Cas held on tight, and continued, "I tried to get Jack to stop, to tell him it was bad, but he… he didn't understand."

Sam was making a bunch of faces that Dean couldn't read, but he was clearly thinking very hard, and then he scratched at the back of his head before boldly asking, "So he raped Nathaniel?"

Castiel frowned, clearly having not considered it before.

"I don't know. Consent to angels is… different than it is for humans."

"Oh, I know," Sam heaved out.

He got up, and started heading out of the room.

"Dude, where ya going?" Dean asked.

"I need a drink," his brother grumbled, and then he was stomping off to the kitchen.

"Get me one!" he called.

Dean either wanted to lean back and run both his hands over his face or take Castiel's other hand, so he settled for the one that'd comfort him more, and his friend squeezed.

"What the fuck?" Dean muttered, not so much a question, but more of a statement. "How'd you even get through it?" he asked of Castiel's own imprisonment.

"I don't think I did," he answered, blue eyes on their hands; he'd started fiddling with Dean's fingers. "I just remember looking at the wall a lot. There was… It looked like there was this face in the wall, screaming." He sighed and shook his head. "It just stood out to me. Maybe my mind was trying to find something else to focus on. I tried to reason with Jack. For some of his captivity he couldn't talk. I think it's because of what they did to him, it… it just hurt too much."

Dean nodded. He'd seen people go psychologically mute before. It'd even happened to him for a short time after he'd run out of their burning house with Sam in his arms.

"We'll knock some sense into him," Dean assured.

"Maybe Sam could."

"Why Sam?"

Castiel shrugged, eyes going to his lips before completely averting his gaze. Dean didn't like it, but Sam was coming back now anyway, and he had a bottle of scotch and three glasses.

He poured one out for each of them, and they took long drinks, before continuing the discussion.

"Why don't I talk to him?" Sam suggested. "I can try after dinner, get him some nougat, maybe some pieces of paper to scribble on if he gets upset…"

"What're you gonna tell him?"

"Guess he's gotta know what rape is, and maybe he'll just wanna talk. I don't mind listening."

"You are the better listener out of the three of us," Castiel agreed.

"So after dinner?"

"Yeah, after dinner," Sam decided.

"Great, well I'll head out to the store, and then I'll get cooking."

Jack had had to wait some time before anyone came to get him. It was Castiel. Jack just looked away, and without thinking, held out his wrists. His father didn't put any chains on him, and told him it was time for dinner. Jack didn't believe him and thought maybe he was going to be taken to the Room. So Dean ended up bringing dinner to him, which was something he'd cooked up special: slices of potato wrapped in bacon, chicken tenders, and some green vegetable Jack didn't know the name of. Dean stayed with him and talked about some movie while he picked at his food; he didn't even touch the green thing. Eventually, he gave up eating, and went to sit on his bed with his dad.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Sorry I didn't finish it."

"Ah, no worries. I'll eat it."

Dean went over and took his plate and started sloppily eating what was left, seeming to enjoy it. Jack wondered how he did it.

"You know you gotta eat, right? Get some fat back on you."

"Yeah, I know."

"It's okay, we can build you up to it. Don't expect you to stuff yourself." He shoved a bacon-wrapped potato in his mouth, chewing with his mouth open for a bit, and then he informed him, "So Sam's gonna be in here soon. He's gotta talk to you about some things. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. If you want to hang out with any of us after, that's cool."

Jack nodded, but he didn't really feel it. He wasn't used to whatever this was. Freedom?

"Dean?"

He responded, mouth now crammed full of chicken tender, "Yeah?"

"I can leave my room, right?"

"Yeah, course you can." He set the plate down. For a second his dad's green eyes met his, and Jack quickly looked away, pulling his knees up. "Look, you are allowed to go wherever you want in this bunker basically whenever, and I say basically 'cause we still want you to get some sleep and all that. This is your home, Jack. This isn't a prison. You can walk around here, do what you like, touch most anything… well, actually, hands off the weapons, those are for the grown ups. But we can even take you out when you like. We ain't gonna keep you locked up in here."

"What about playtime?" he asked.

"And that is exactly what Sam is going to talk to you about," Dean answered.

He picked the plate up and ruffled his hair.

"See ya in a bit, kid. You got this."

Jack wasn't quite sure why Dean was giving him encouragement and it made him nervous, but soon, Sam was in the doorway. He smelled even more nervous than Jack felt, absolutely drenched in it, to the point where it seemed he shouldn't be functioning.

"Hey, Jack, can I come in?" Sam asked, words slow, careful.

Jack lowered his brow at him, but said, "Sure."

Sam let out a deep breath and grabbed the chair that Dean had vacated, bringing it right beside the bed.

"So, got this for you," he said, taking something out of his pocket and holding it out for him.

Jack's face lit up upon seeing it. Nougat! Quick as lightning, he grabbed the candy bar from Sam and began unwrapping it. He stuck it in his mouth, deciding to suck on it, to savor it. Oh, it felt like forever since he'd had something so nice.

"And I have these," he went on. Next, he showed him a small notepad and a pen. "Thought you might want to scribble in it if you get upset."

Jack reluctantly bit off the top of the candy bar and took the items from Sam. He flipped open the notepad to the first page, and saw that it was blank.

"So…"

Here it came. Sam's anxiety was heightening.

"I need to talk to you about your time in Heaven."

"About playtime?" Jack asked, all confused, mouth full of the candy.

"Um… Yeah, yeah. So… Uh… It's uh… The angels… They, uh… They lied to you, for starters."

Jack just took another bite of the candy, not sure where Sam was going with this, but his cheeks were flushing, and sweat was breaking out on his forehead. It was making it so Jack almost couldn't enjoy his candy, but he did his best to, knowing that Sam had tried to do a nice thing for him.

Sam heaved out a sigh, and bowed his head, hair falling in front of his face. He was sitting on the chair backwards, and he put his arms over the edge of it, wrists hanging down.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "I really don't. I've been through some things, so Cas thought I'd be the best one to do it, but I don't know if I am, and maybe I shouldn't even be telling you this, but I don't know what I'm doing, Jack. I just came in here hoping that I could clear some things up for you. I'm sure you're really confused."

"Why is playtime bad?" he asked, skipping over what Sam had said. He was glad his dad was being honest with him, but he wanted to get to the point, he wanted everyone to stop feeling so uncomfortable when he brought it up.

"That's the thing," Sam said, shifting closer on the seat, "It's uh… It's not playtime. That's what the angels lied about."

Jack set his candy aside, losing interest in it, and he tried to look at Sam, but he settled for staring at the blank page. The white reminded him of his sheets back in Heaven, sheets that he'd lain in, that he'd rolled around in with… were they his friends or his captors?

"So there's this thing that adults do sometimes called sex."

"Sex?" Jack repeated, trying the word out for himself. He clicked the pen, and then kept doing it, finding it gave him something to do with his fingers.

"And unfortunately, it's uh... Well, there are times where one person uses it to hurt another, or wants to partake in it and the other doesn't. There's a different word for that."

Jack kept clicking the pen.

"Jack, are you listening?"

He nodded.

"Well, I need you to look at me, if you can. I know this isn't easy."

What wasn't easy? Listening to Sam talk? He still didn't even know what he was talking about.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"What?"

He repeated the question, "How do you know?"

Now he did look at Sam, and his dad's eyes were wide, caught off guard.

"I, uh… Look, that's not the point. Th-the word I'm trying to tell you about, it's called rape. And it's what the angels did to you."

Jack just sat there, not understanding.

"So they told you it was playtime, right?" Sam said, cheeks red, while the rest of his face had gone a deathly pale. Jack nodded. "Well, it's not. Playtime doesn't involve putting body parts inside of other people, do you understand?"

"But it was fun," Jack reasoned.

"Okay, and I get that. Believe me, I do. It feels really good, even if you don't want it to. Probably one of the best feelings ever, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I understand. But first thing you have to know, you're a kid, Jack, and they shouldn't have touched you. They know better."

Jack wasn't convinced. Maybe they hadn't known better.

"Then why were they touching me?"

"It's… complicated. But let me put it this way, your body is your own, alright? No one has to touch you if you don't want them to, and no one, no matter who they are, is allowed to touch you in between your legs until you're an adult and not unless they have your consent, you got that?"

"It feels nice there."

"I get that, Jack, and look, I can have Dean talk to you about the body and how all that works, but right now, I just need you to listen to me. We're talking about what happened to you. The angels, they put their hands on you, and they… they put you inside of them, am I correct?"

"Yeah."

"And right now, since you're a kid, you're too young to even consent to that. So that's rape, which is a very, very bad thing, and it's okay to be confused, and hurt."

Jack thought back on it, his times with Ariel, Tamiel, Laila, Anael, and even Nathaniel, even the time Duma had tried. He remembered the first time he'd been inside of Laila, when he'd tried fighting back, when he thought maybe they'd been trying to hurt him. Was Sam saying that they had? That Jack had been right from the start?

Rape.

It was a weird word, and Jack wasn't sure he liked it.

But Anael… How could she?

"Anael didn't rape me," he voiced, words leaving his mouth before he even realized it.

"Jack, I know you were close with her-" Sam began.

"She didn't rape me!"

His dad leaned back, holding up his hands, and Jack glared at him, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"She didn't! She wouldn't hurt me! It's not fair, you didn't know her!"

"Jack, I did know her," Sam refuted. "I kept her safe while trying to find you, I talked to her. I know she didn't want to get mixed up in all this, and I know she… I know she made a mistake, but what she did was wrong. She wasn't supposed to touch you."

"But I want her," he argued. "I want her, and she's dead. I-I want Nathaniel and he's dead. You're lying! They didn't rape me! They wouldn't do that! They loved me."

"Maybe they did," his dad told him. "But that doesn't mean that-"

"They didn't rape me!"

Jack's few belongings went hurtling about the room at his exclamation and Sam ducked to avoid getting hit. His copy of The Hobbit hit the wall, and fell to the floor, the pages folding in on themselves, his laptop smashed against the brick, sparks fizzling, cord stretched till it snapped, the pen stuck right through the stone, bleeding ink down the wall, the notepad hit his dad's upraised arms, the candy fell to the floor, and the picture of his mom landed facedown, glass shattered.

He looked at his hands, which were trembling now, and he buried his face in them, hunching in on himself, and he began to cry, not caring how loud he was.

Sam was calling his name, trying to reach him, but Jack didn't like the things he'd said to him. He wasn't even sure he wanted to believe it of Ariel and Tamiel. They'd been good to him for a time, had made him feel things he'd never felt before. And now Sam was telling him they'd hurt him?

But maybe they had hurt him. It was the only explanation for why he ached inside, for why he felt like he was torn to shreds.

But Anael and Nathaniel? No, no they hadn't. They couldn't have. They wouldn't. They loved him. He loved them.

Had. Had loved them.

They were dead and gone.

In between his sobs he heard his dad ask, "Can I hold you?"

Jack wasn't used to this asking for permission thing, was used to being touched whenever the angels saw fit, but he nodded as he all but screamed. Then his dad was on the bed with him, holding him to him, having his face pressed against his chest.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh… I got you, Jack. I got you. I'm here, I'm here. You're safe."

"Th-th-they didn't ra-ape me!" he yelled at him, willing Sam to understand.

"Shh, shh…"

Of course, his dad didn't believe him. Why wouldn't he listen to him?

"Th-they didn't!"

"Look, Jack, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to be honest with you. You went through a lot, and you already survived it. The best I can do is tell you the truth. It wouldn't be fair for me to lie to you. Too many people have already been doing that to you. You're a strong kid."

What was Sam even talking about? Jack had never felt less strong in his life, but he was tired of arguing with him, so he said nothing.

They stayed like that for awhile, and then Sam set about straightening out his room.

"I'll get you a new frame," he told him as he carefully scooped up the glass into the end of his shirt. "New laptop and charger too." He straightened, all the glass collected now. "You want more candy?"

"No, I'm… I'm alright."

"Jack, I'm sorry this is so difficult. I never wanted this for you, but if it's worth anything, I know what you're going through."

"How?"

Sam looked about the room, chewing on his bottom lip, and then his hazel eyes met Jack's. They were sad, pained, and Jack could smell fresh hurt like an open wound.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Jack nodded, shifting eagerly to the edge of the bed, awaiting whatever it was his dad had to share with him.

"I've been raped, too."

A million questions came to mind, his mouth hanging open, but he couldn't put words to his thoughts.

It didn't make sense. No, that couldn't be.

Sam was strong.

Jack couldn't picture it, couldn't picture Sam naked and exposed and crying and feeling.

"I know everyone's experience is different - lord knows my experiences haven't all been the same - but you're not the only one, Jack."

"Dean? Cas?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Just me. Cas knows though. I told him, while you were gone. He was there for me, and I know he wants to be there for you. You should give him a chance."

"You should give Dean a chance," Jack suggested.

Of all things, his dad smiled.

"Yeah, guess you're right. I'll uh… I'll be in my room. Just let me know if you need anything. No matter what time it is, my door's always open."

And just like that Jack was left alone, feeling like someone had taken a shovel and scooped out the inside of him and filled it with something less, something that didn't hold together well. He hugged himself, hoping he could keep his insides in, and wondering, not for the first time, what he was going to do without Anael or Nathaniel.

They didn't rape me, he resolutely thought.

A tendril of darkness slithered into his mind after the thought, wrapping around it, caressing, before embedding itself inside.

They didn't rape me.

The darkness pulsed, his insides feeling like they were sliding apart.

They didn't rape me.

The darkness tore through him before settling down in between his legs. Jack thought of getting a knife.

They didn't rape me.

It was going to be a long night.