"She heard him mutter, 'Can you take away this grief?'
'I'm sorry,' she replied. 'Everyone asks me. And I would not do so even if I knew how. It belongs to you. Only time and tears take away grief; that is what they are for."
― Terry Pratchett, "I Shall Wear Midnight"
Dean Winchester Jr. was three when he first met Jack.
His mother had taken him to the park, her warm hand in his as she lead him to the sandbox. She signed to him, asking if he wanted to play in the sandbox, when his eyes caught the gaze of a teenager with a warm smile. He felt drawn to him, like a comforting presence he had known all his life.
"Dean?" His mother's voice took his focus away and he glanced back to her, smiling at her.
The man was gone when he looked back.
He was six when he first talked to Jack.
His dad had taken him grocery shopping and while the young kid tried to stuff the cart full of sugary sweets that his mother would never let come into their house, he bumped into the kind teen.
"Hi, Dean." His voice was soft, warm and the grin on his lips set the kid at ease. He wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, but there was something about him that Dean felt like he knew. A kindred spirit, perhaps.
"Hi." He glanced back at his father, but he was too wrapped up in deciding which cut of meat to get for dinner tonight.
"I'm Jack," He knelt, getting down onto Dean's eye level. He beamed, warm and bright, "I'm glad I got to see you."
"Jack?" Dean echoed softly, "Daddy knows a Jack."
Jack, an old friend, seen in a few pictures in his parent's room. Jack had lived with his dad and his uncle, but he left.
"Why?" Dean had asked his dad, "Where'd he go?"
He knew his uncle had died before he was born. The concept of death was still confusing to him, made even harder since he'd never known the man that had shaped his dad's whole world. But Jack hadn't died, right? So, there was a chance he could come back.
"Jack is doing his job," His father told him, tucking him into bed, "He's always with us though."
And that had been an end to this conversation.
At least, until now, as he faced the same teen from the picture.
"Yeah," Jack replied, "That's me." He ruffled Dean's hair, chuckling, "You remind me of your uncle. I've seen you race around the playground. You have his fiery spirit."
Dean's ears perked up, "Yeah?"
Jack nodded, "Yeah. Hey, Dean, it was nice to meet you."
"Dean!" He heard his father's voice and his head whipped around, seeing his dad coming over from the butcher's counter, ribs in hand. His father's brow furrowed, "What are you doing over here?"
"I was talking to—" But the aisle was now empty, no sign that Jack had even been there.
"To who?" His father pressed, eyes pooling with concern.
"No one."
His father let the topic drop and together, they finished their shopping.
He's ten when he bumps into Jack as he jogs around the lake.
"Jack?" Dean's voice came out as a whisper. His mother wasn't too far behind him, walking hand in hand with his father, the two laughing as they talked about something out of earshot.
"Hey, Dean," Jack greeted with a fist bump, the teen smiling, "How are you?"
"Fine," The child answered, "Hey, Jack, how come you never say hi to my dad?"
Jack's expression darkened, "I don't want to make him sad."
"Why would he be sad?"
Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Your dad and your uncle, they saved the world, did you know that?"
The kid shook his head slowly, confusion running rampant in his mind, "Saved the world? Like Superman?"
Jack laughed, loud and boisterous, "Better." Then, quieter, "But it took a toll. Your dad lost his brother and I had to go. He's happy now with Eileen. With you. I don't want to bring up bad memories."
The memories were present in their lives anyway.
Dean had seen his uncle's face in faded pictures. He had seen the smile that lasted beyond death and he knew, somehow instinctively, that his uncle may be dead, but he was far from gone and forgotten. There were people living on in photos that Dean didn't know, but he had no doubt that they were part of his family too.
His father had told him once, family don't end in blood.
He reached out, taking Jack's hand in his.
"Dean?"
He pulled the teen down the path toward his father and mother. Insistently, he informed him, "You're family. Dad would want to see you."
Jack hesitated for a moment, but then nodded.
His father stopped suddenly; his face aghast as his eyes widened. Even his mother froze, confusion etched on her face. After what felt like an eternity, his father crossed the gap, wrapping his arms around Jack and holding him tightly.
"Jack?"
Jack grinned, returning the hug, "Hey, Sam."
Dean Winchester Jr. may not have understood a lot about his family, but he knew one thing to be true—family didn't give up or end simply because someone was gone.
No, that love endured.