A/N: So Destiel happens in this chapter, and in this story I've been trying to throw in hints that Dean and Cas are pretty close for quite awhile. Now that I've traumatized Castiel as well, I figured having him open up to Dean about it would be a good way to deal with his trauma, and since I am a Destiel shipper, I'm going to write the ship. Oh no, does this mean this is now a romance story? No, of course not. It's just one part of a combined whole. At this point, to make Jack's recovery work and how everyone else is dealing with it, I'm trying to focus on all of Team Free Will 2.0, especially since they're a family unit. So this story is still Jack-centric (honestly, I've been doing stuff on the side with the rest of Team Free Will for a while in this story anyway, like the stuff with Anael, so I don't know why this would be a problem). I just don't want to leave any of the characters behind, especially since they're all struggling with different things. This is my story, and I'm not here to argue ships with anyone, but don't worry, I am in no way interested in a full-on romance story. I can't stand those.

Sam assured the rest of his family that Jack was safe, and then he went to his room, but he wasn't going to sit around doing nothing. No, he couldn't do that. He searched through his phone, his notes from cases from a few months ago, and he practically kissed the piece of paper with the hastily scrawled number on it when he found it.

Hurriedly, barely daring to breathe, Sam tapped the number into his phone. It was late, but he had to try anyway.

It went to voicemail, so he hung up and tried again.

Voicemail once more, so Sam left a message, reminding her of who he was, saying it was urgent, and what number to call him back at.

With nothing else to do, Sam got out his laptop, and started research on Stockholm Syndrome, because that feeling he'd had back in Jack's room, that helplessness while he'd screamed and cried, he never wanted to feel it again. He wanted to know what to say, wanted to know how to help him, wanted to know if he was even pushing him in the right direction.

There might not be a light at the end of this tunnel, but Sam was going to make one.

Cas was drinking with Dean. They were still on their first bottle of scotch, and hopefully wouldn't get to their second. They'd opened it up after they'd heard Jack screaming, but Castiel could hear the conversation, and knew that he was safe. Safe, but not okay. No, not that. Of course, not that. Castiel couldn't even get drunk, but he wished he could. Dean was trying very hard. They sat beside each other in the kitchen, legs touching.

Dean had yet to start slurring his words, maybe wouldn't reach that point. Castiel considered taking the alcohol away from him. They had a kid to take care of.

"How's your arm?" Dean asked.

"You asked that three minutes and fifteen seconds ago," Castiel informed him, taking a sip straight from the bottle before passing it to Dean.

His friend grinned at him.

"It's all healed now."

"Mm… You know, you left some bruises on my leg."

"I did?"

"Mm. Yeah, when you were holding onto me while I was stitching you up."

Castiel immediately reached out his hand to heal him, and Dean brushed his arm aside.

"No, no. No. It's fine."

"Dean, if you're hurt-"

His friend gave him a very odd look, and then took a very purposeful sip from the bottle, lips wrapped tightly around it. Castiel swallowed roughly, not sure what to do with that look. Maybe before this he would've known, but now, sex was hard to think about.

"You know, I heard Sam say you'll tell Jack about sex," he informed his friend.

Dean groaned, and rolled his eyes skyward, as if he was praying. In fact, Castiel then felt his consciousness nudging at his in that familiar way it often did when he prayed to him. He wondered if his friend was even aware he was doing it.

"God, that sucks," he groaned. "Sex. Why me?"

"You like sex," Castiel reasoned.

It was true. He knew Dean did like it. Castiel wasn't sure he quite saw the appeal of it, at least, not with random people. With someone he was close to, like maybe Dean, perhaps, but… It wasn't something on his mind. It was at the moment, had been a lot recently, but it was bitter to him now. He tried to enjoy Dean's stares like he used to, tried to meet his gaze with the same heat, tried to enjoy the lingering looks on his lips as they spoke, but it felt like some part of him had been crushed. Castiel wanted to voice all this to Dean, even ask for help with it, but he didn't know how. He didn't even know how to tell Dean about what the angels had done in that room. He didn't know the words for it. Maybe Dean did, but Castiel just wasn't smart enough, not when it came to things like this.

"I sure do," Dean drawled, breath heavy with liquor.

Castiel rolled his glass between his hands, staring at the bit of amber-colored liquid at the bottom.

"Do you think it's possible to… to get hurt without actually getting hurt?" he asked, and then winced when he realized how stupid that had sounded.

"You mean, like you see or hear something bad?"

"I suppose."

"Yeah, it's possible. Happens to a lot of the vics we talk to. Maybe nothing bad happened to them, but they still gotta deal with what they saw, what they heard. You still gotta deal with it. This is about the crap with Nathaniel, right?"

Castiel looked away, which must've been answer enough, because Dean went on, "It's okay-"

"No, it's not. He even touched him where I could see! And he… And he… Dean, it's disgusting."

"Look, that's not what I meant. All I'm saying is it's okay to feel messed up because of it. I know it's gross. This shit's all fucked up, and there ain't no way around it except through."

"Dean, they-they..."

"I know what they did, Cas."

"No, you don't! There's this thing in my head that won't leave, and I don't even know how to tell you about it."

"Then give it to me."

"What?" Castiel asked, taken aback, staring at Dean with wide eyes.

He thumped his chest. "Come on, give it to me."

"Why would you even want to do that to yourself?"

Didn't Dean understand how much it hurt?

Dean pushed the bottle and glasses aside, and took Castiel's face in his warm hands. His touch was soothing, but it felt like a betrayal to his son, his son who had been hurt through getting touched.

"Cas, please," he pleaded. "I don't want you to be alone. You were gone, Jack was gone, and yeah, I had Sam, I always have Sam, but you, you were up there, witnessing things that I'm not even sure I have the stomach for. And I've seen Hell, but angels, sometimes they're a special brand of creepy."

He pressed his own hand against Dean's, keeping it there, as he asked, "Then why do you want it?"

"The way I see it, when we all go through something, it separates us, drives us apart because we can't share those experiences, and it closes us off from one another. Sometimes I feel like I don't know anybody, and like none of you know me. I don't want that for you. The angels, they don't want you, and you don't want them. But I want you."

Castiel stared into Dean's eyes, trying to figure out what was happening, if this was what he thought it was, if it was what he'd been hoping for, but he couldn't tell, was too nervous, too hurt.

"Dean, what are you saying?"

His friend blushed and murmured, "Sam did always say I'm not as good at smooth-talking as I think I am. He's probably right, too."

"Dean?"

Before Castiel knew what was happening, Dean's lips were against his, and they were every bit as soft and warm as he'd imagined. The kiss was desperate, pleading, begging for him to let him in, and Castiel wanted to reciprocate, had wanted to for years, felt it burning in his blood, and aching in his chest, but there was something in him that told him no.

Dean pulled away, tears building up in his eyes, and then he looked down, clearing his throat.

"Sorry, I thought… Um… Yeah, think about the uh, the mind-memory thing, and uh… Yeah."

He got up, and made to leave.

Cas went after him.

"Dean!"

"Forget it."

"Dean."

He grabbed his friend, and pressed him against the wall, arm against his collarbone. Dean inhaled sharply, barely breathing, and Castiel could feel the way his heartbeat thudded powerfully in his chest.

"You think I don't care about you, Dean Winchester? You couldn't be more wrong. I have cared about you even when my superiors disapproved, even when they tried to carve it out of me. You have done so many very dumb things, and yet you are the human that I keep coming back to. First you were my charge, my mission, but you are no longer that, and I. Am still. Here. I have bled for you, I have died for you, I have sacrificed just to be by your side, so don't you dare think that I don't care about you."

"But-"

"What, I didn't kiss back? That's what I'm trying to tell you. What I heard and saw up there, it hurt me, it changed something in me that I don't know if I can get back. What was my home, it has fallen into ruin."

"Then let me be your home."

Castiel couldn't breathe, suddenly forgot how to, and he was able to kiss Dean, things feeling right for just a mere moment in time. The tension between them came together, and instead of clashing and breaking, it thrummed, like waves meeting and joining, building till Castiel was trying to bruise him with his lips, and Dean was trying to get his arms up to hold him. Deciding to let him, he cradled his head in one hand, thumb against his cheekbone near his ear, and Dean opened his mouth, and Castiel felt as though he was inhaling him. His friend, or whatever he was to him now, his family, his home, this wonderful human being, was holding onto him for dear life, hips pressed right up against him, fingers nearly bruising his skin.

It was as if he couldn't get enough of him, and he had to hold him closer, had to be part of him, and Dean had no problems with Castiel putting his tongue in his mouth. He knew this action was very human, but he had shed the layers of his brethren, had turned from their ways, had been betrayed by them when they'd hurt his child. Dean had fought for what Castiel believed in, had stayed true and righteous, while God's first creations had not. So this act, this human act, was meant to be, with all its sloppiness, its desperation, its wanton desire, and Dean tasted like nothing Castiel could've ever imagined. It wasn't just the blandness of the molecules he was made up of, but him, the tired, broken, loving man that he was.

The hurt dissipated, the crying, the images in his head, that screaming face in the wall that had become him, it was all gone, replaced with Dean. It was all he knew, the smell of him, the taste, his body flush against his. Before Castiel knew it his hands were under Dean's shirt, grabbing at flesh he had put back together all those years ago, flesh that he knew, but still yearned to lay claim to.

Dean had gotten Castiel's coat off, along with his jacket, and was undoing his tie, and the buttons on his shirt. They broke apart, Dean still wrestling with his clothes. Castiel brushed his nose against his, nudging him back against the wall. It wasn't till Dean's hands had untucked his shirt and had started undoing his pants that Castiel came back to himself. He hissed in a breath, and tilted his head back. A growl left him when Dean came forward and placed a kiss on his neck, sending a shock down his body to where Dean's hands were.

"Dean, we can't."

He gripped Dean, and held him back, which he responded to by growling, slamming his arm up against his collarbone.

"Why not?" he challenged, mouth not even an inch from his, lips parted and tempting.

"Jack. It's not fair to him. He's not going to understand why we can have it and he can't."

"Maybe," Dean began, trying to get his mouth closer, but Castiel only held him away, "we can set an example, show him a healthy relationship."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry, I may have misheard you. Did you just use the word healthy to describe us?"

"Fine, consensual," Dean corrected.

"Ah, that sounds a little better."

"So what do you say? Do you consent to this? Can I be what your family couldn't?"

"They're not my family," Castiel all but snarled.

"Good."

Dean's hands traveled lower again, into his pants, and he grabbed his wrists, pinning them up by his head.

"What?"

"I'm not…" Castiel started before trailing off. He had been staring into Dean's eyes, seeing the heat in the them, but it was overwhelming, so he closed them, pressing his forehead against his. "I'm not ready for that."

He felt Dean's disappointment with his long exhale, and he breathed it in, taking it into himself, coming to a decision, though he wasn't sure how well he could provide.

"There is one thing I can do."

His friend tried to laugh, to seem as if he was relaxed, but Castiel felt the way his heartbeat jumped, the way his breath stuttered, and there was no mistaking the hardness he felt against his pelvis.

"Oh?" he asked him, smiling.

Castiel got down on his knees in response, hands trailing down his body to start working on undoing his jeans.

"Fuck."

"I've never done this before," Castiel informed him, "so I may be very bad at it."

"Oh god, I don't care."

Castiel caressed the skin that was exposed to him, listening to Dean's breathing, watching him arch his hips forward. He placed his hand against the bruises that were left there - a dark purple near his inner thigh where his thumb had been that turned into a blue the farther out it went. He could see where he'd held Dean that night, and he was glad he was holding him here now, for a much more pleasant reason.

Dean had a hand in his hair, fingertips alighting fire in his skin, filling him with bliss, with purpose, and his other hand went to the one at his thigh, pressing down on it. A groan left him. Cas smirked, realizing what Dean was telling him. He put pressure on his bruises, till Dean was breathing hard, leaning his head back, his fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"Would you like more bruises, Dean?" Castiel asked him.

Hurting his friend wasn't something he often thought about. He remembered the times he had hurt Dean, and he sorely regretted them, and wanted to hold him, erase those moments forever, but if little things like this gave him pleasure, who was he to deny him that? Besides, it was very enjoyable having Dean like this. Castiel hadn't realized he was so… malleable.

He moved his hand aside, reaching up to caress his hip, and he kissed the discolored skin, making a shudder pass through him.

"Y-yes," he got out. "Please, Cas."

So Castiel held onto him hard as he used his other hand to maneuver him into his mouth. Dean's legs tensed, his hips arching forward, and he growled, hands snagging in his hair. Saying that Castiel didn't know what he was doing was an understatement. Was he supposed to suck? Lick? Try to fit as much of him as possible? He realized he could fit all of him - really, it wasn't that hard since a gag reflex was a very human thing, and not something an angel had to deal with. He must've been doing something right because Dean was hot and hard in his mouth, even throbbing and twitching occasionally. He stared up at Dean, hands like iron on his hips, as he held him to him, and Dean almost looked to be high, eyes alight with bliss, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. The sight of his lips parted made him hold on harder, and he got a whine in response.

"You know…" Dean panted, "you're actually not that bad at this."

Castiel pulled himself off of him, and took him into his hand, being gentle, until Dean told him he could be more rough.

Dean's thumbs brushed over his ears, and Cas exhaled hard, surprised by the jolt of pleasure that went through him from it, and he reached around to grip at Dean's ass.

His friend chuckled.

"Hmm, didn't know that could feel good, did you? Ears are sensitive, buddy." Castiel was now kissing the red marks on Dean's legs that were a tad swollen, and would bruise in a matter of hours, and he listened to him talk, enjoyed how low his voice was due to his arousal, "You know, maybe I should stop calling you that. What about baby? What do ya think of that?"

"You can call me whatever you want," Castiel informed him before licking the underside of him.

"Mm, the dreams I've had of this moment, Cas…"

He squeezed his leg, fingers pressing against sensitive flesh, and a guttural moan left him, his cock twitching. Castiel had had sex before but he hadn't realized that such little things could be a part of it, that holding Dean to him could feel special, and like he belonged somewhere.

He did his best to be attentive to his friend, his lover, whatever he was - and eventually, Dean's thumbs were caressing his cheeks, his back arched, as he was held at his mercy, murmuring repeatedly that he was close.

"I don't have to finish in you," he heaved out as Castiel diligently continued his work. "Oh god, fuck, Cas!"

He paid him no heed, knowing he most likely wouldn't be bothered by the taste of him. Castiel grabbed Dean's ass, trying to bruise, as he took in all of him, feeling him empty into him with a needy growl.

When he finished, Castiel swallowed, and Dean pulled him up to his feet for a heated kiss.

"Not bad," he commented. "But you forgot about my balls."

Castiel's face flushed red to his ears. "Sorry."

Dean kissed him again, before saying, "We'll work on it."

"And what do we tell Sam and Jack?" Castiel asked, stepping back and righting his clothes, allowing Dean to do the same.

The hunter went over to the table and grabbed the bottle of scotch, eyeing it intently before tilting his head back and having a few swallows.

"We could tell 'em I got really drunk?" he suggested.

Castiel frowned. "But Dean, we just-"

Dean sighed, and sat down, a hand on his face. "I know, I know. Maybe I'm not ready."

"But Dean, the things you said to me." Castiel got before him, taking his hand in his. "Please, I've lost so much. Without you, without this family, there is no place for me. And maybe what just happened, maybe it means so little to you, maybe you're used to it, but that was new a-and different, and perhaps you can show me that sex isn't just a weapon that was used to hurt our son. But I don't want it to be nothing to you. I refuse to be like those girls you hook-up with on hunts because you're bored and they're pretty."

Dean put the bottle aside, and put his hand under Castiel's chin, tilting his head up.

"Is that what you think you are? Just some pretty face? I was losing it without you. I didn't even know how to breathe, didn't know how to carry on. And I'm… I'm scared, I'm absolutely freakin' terrified. We're soldiers, Cas. Soldiers die. It's the only thing we're good for."

"Then we have to take this opportunity and run with it," Castiel argued. "We have to love hard for as long as we can. So much has happened to this family, to us, and I am sick of hiding. I want to love you, all of you, as much as I can before we lose each other. Being up there, it made me realize how alone I am, how alone everyone is."

"We don't have to be alone."

"Then let's do this thing. Let's not hide, or lie, or keep secrets. Sam will understand," Castiel finished with a smile as he thought fondly of his friend.

Sam. He was too good for this world, too kind for all that it had done to him. Castiel cherished each moment with him just as he did with Dean. He loved both brothers equally, if only in different ways.

"And Jack?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I… I want to know how to be a good father, and I'm constantly worrying that I'm doing the wrong thing, that he's lost to us, to me, but-"

"Jack will come back to you," Dean assured. "Come here." He made room for Castiel beside him, and then wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he kissed his head. "I'm not a good dad, and I have shit I gotta make up for, but maybe he needs this, needs a little unity in his life."

Castiel wasn't entirely convinced. Dean hadn't seen the way their son was, how he had acted up in Heaven, hadn't seen the innocence that had been stolen from him, left with an empty hole where a child should've been. No, he was still that. Still that child. Castiel remembered him laughing on the waters of the Axis Mundi. Hope had not yet failed them.

"We'll explain it to him, and we'll just keep things on the downlow with the PDA," he went on.

Castiel didn't know why, but he suddenly had the urge to cry. Everything seemed to have caught up to him, and it felt like he was falling, his featherless wings useless to help him fly, the floor no longer beneath his feet. He grasped Dean, burying his face in his shoulder, and willed his tears back, and even with him at his side, nothing in that moment felt okay.

3:00 in the morning. Too early to be getting up, but really, Sam had been drifting in a nightmare, so it was almost a relief when he felt Jack's hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah? Yeah, what is it?" he asked, years of training making him able to pull himself from sleep almost immediately.

"I can't sleep," he complained.

Sam switched his lamp on, and had Jack sit on the bed with him as he tried to shake off the dark cold of the nightmare. His son had changed into his pajamas - plaid bottoms, and a gray T-shirt, and they were too big on him.

"You get any sleep?" he asked him.

He shook his head.

"Have you tried sleeping?

A nod.

"Okay, come on. Let's go to the kitchen. I'll see what I can do."

Dean had gotten to bed, and to his surprise, he and Castiel hadn't finished off the bottle of scotch, and their glasses were even drying on a towel on the counter. The angel was nowhere to be found, but sometimes he liked to keep to himself.

Sam tried to get Jack talking about what was on his mind while he fixed him a mug of warm milk, but he was still morose about earlier. The milk didn't seem to do much, so then Sam tried peppermint tea, which Jack didn't even like much, and he ended up just bitterly looking at him from across the table.

"Do you want to sleep?" Sam ventured, realizing what the problem could be.

His son shrugged.

"Because if you don't, I understand," he went on. "You can't control what happens in your sleep, and that's scary. Your mind does things you don't want it to, you have nightmares-"

Jack cut him off, "And they make me hurt you."

"That was one time," Sam told him. "Don't worry about it."

"But I do worry about it. And it's not just that… the nightmares, they… they feel like they're going to kill me."

"Do you think they will?" Sam asked, trying to figure out what was going on in his head.

"No. I just hate the feeling. Do you get nightmares?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted, getting up to get himself something hot to drink. He couldn't decide between tea or coffee. He knew which one was the healthier choice, but he only cared about Jack at the moment. He settled for coffee, realizing he might not have the luxury of going back to sleep that night; his kid could need him. "Most nights, actually."

"How do you deal with them?"

"I'm not sure that I do. But how about this, I go get my laptop, do a little digging, and see if I can find anything that can help you."

Jack agreed, so Sam went to his room to retrieve his laptop. His coffee was done brewing when he got back, and after adding a little sugar, he sat down at the table, took a sip, and opened his laptop up.

After a few minutes of searching, with Jack picking at his fingers even when Sam kept trying to get him to stop, he thought maybe he found something.

"Hey, Jack, how are you with writing?"

His son answered slowly, "I don't know."

"Well, this article I found says that you could write your dreams out, but instead of writing the bad ending, you write a different one instead, where something good happens."

"Like you save me?"

"Yeah," Sam smiled at him, liking the idea.

Jack was smiling too, but then his face fell in confusion and frustration. "But how do I write something I don't understand? I don't… I don't remember everything."

"And you think I do?" Sam asked, doing his best to keep this light-hearted, while still remaining serious. It was true. Sometimes he didn't remember his nearly two centuries in Hell. It wasn't something the human mind was meant to deal with, and sometimes it would hit him clear as day while he was doing something mundane like walking down the hallway, or brushing his teeth, or cleaning his guns. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and he figured there never would be. "It's okay that you don't. And maybe you want to remember, maybe you don't, but there is one thing you know for certain."

"What?"

"How it makes you feel. So just focus on that."

"What if… What if it doesn't help?"

"Then we'll try something else."

"Alright."

Jack got up from his seat, and started trudging off, shoulders slumped in weary defeat.

"Hey, wait. I'm not gonna let you go off to bed so upset. You wanna do something?"

"Like what?"

"You still got that book I gave you? The Hobbit? We could just relax and read together, or I could read to you."

With Sam's words strength was poured into Jack's weakened body, and so that was how they ended up in Sam's room, Sam all scrunched up on his bed to make room for the kid, reading to him. He got through a few chapters before Jack relaxed enough to nod off. And Sam thought about moving him, putting him back in his room, but he wanted Jack to know where he was when he woke up, to be in a place he remembered falling asleep in, to know he was safe.

Sam ended up having to forfeit the bed, getting sore from trying to fit in such a small space, so he spent the early hours of the morning at his desk, reading to see if there was perhaps a more creative solution to Jack's problem with sleep. He read about a Japanese demon called a Baku that ate nightmares, but he decided to not go down that road. The supernatural world had hurt Jack. It was the human world now that would help him.

Well, maybe not all things human, Sam thought as his phone began to ring, and he saw it was who he'd been expecting.

He left the room, quietly closing the door behind him, before answering.