Dean was at his desk, coffeemaker taken to pieces in front of him, when Jack popped into his room.
"Dean!"
Dean jumped. The screwdriver he had in one hand slipped, jabbing into the meat of the other. He swore, grabbing it and glaring at Jack.
"God, do I ever wish you hadn't learned how to do that," he said. "D'you wanna ask me another question about your...equipment?" He nodded below Jack's waist. "'Cause I'm pretty sure we bought you a book about that."
"No," Jack replied urgently, "I think there's something wrong with Sam."
Dean was on his feet immediately, chair clattering backwards, screwdriver gripped like he'd hold an angel blade. "What?"
"Well, I haven't seen much of him for a...couple of days now," Jack began. "I just checked on him. He's in his room, and he's got about a hundred books in there with him, and he's taking notes and muttering to himself and it looks like he hasn't slept in - "
"Oh." Interest and concern immediately draining away, Dean sat back down, went back to the coffeemaker. "Yeah, he does that. Research is his kink. His safeword's 'Dewey decimal.'"
"What's a…'kink?'" Jack asked uncertainly, as Dean smiled at his own joke. The smile dropped.
"Read that book." Dean paused suddenly, the coffeemaker's pump in his hand. "Wait a minute. We don't have a case." He looked up at Jack. "We decided to take a week or two off 'cause he got his bell rung so hard on the last one. So what's he researching?"
"I'm not really sure," Jack said. "The books I saw were on the apocalypse? And the Antichrist. And it looked like he had some poster - "
Dean was up again, kicking the chair aggressively aside this time and grabbing Jack's arm. "Fuck. Okay, we gotta go, now."
Jack stared at him, frightened and bewildered. "I-I don't understand - "
"Explain in the car," Dean responded shortly, grabbing his wallet and keys off his dresser and dragging Jack out of the room.
"Where are we going?"
"We're leaving. Gonna head into Lebanon. Or better yet, next town over. Few towns over. We'll see a movie, o-or we'll get a room, or fuck, I don't know, go camping or something. But we're gonna stay gone a couple days. Might take that long to blow over." He paused a second. "I hope it only takes that long to blow over."
"What about Cas?" Jack asked, a rill of panic surfacing in his voice.
"No time," Dean answered. "If Sam's already got the posterboard out, Cas is just gonna have to take one for the team. Probably done something recently to deserve it, anyhow."
"But - " Jack stumbled along after Dean. "Dean!" He tried to dig his heels in, but Dean just yanked him back into motion. Finally, Jack blinked out of his hold, reappeared a couple yards away. "Wait!"
Dean stopped, stared at him. "I really wish you hadn't learned how to do that," he repeated, and grabbed for Jack again. Jack once again vanished, popped instantly back into existence outside Dean's reach, angry and terrified at the same time.
"I'm not going anywhere with you 'til you explain exactly what's going on. Right now," Jack stated, stabbing a finger at the ground. The way he'd seen Dean do before.
Dean scrubbed a hand back through his hair, shaking his head and swearing.
"Fine. Okay. Whatever. But we're gonna have to walk and talk." He gestured, took off at a speedwalk. Jack fell in reluctantly beside him.
"What about all my stuff?" he asked. "If we're gonna be gone a couple days, I need to grab my - "
"I'll buy you a new one," Dean interrupted. "Whatever you need. There's no time."
"But why?" Jack pressed as they wove through the hallways. Taking a long, circuitous path, he noticed, around Sam's room, and the library. "What's going on? You're really freaking me out, Dean."
"Good," Dean replied. "You should be freaked out. I'm freaked out." He glanced at Jack, sighed, forcibly uncranked some of the tension in himself. "Sorry. I guess it ain't that bad. Sam's just in one of his…" He paused. "Look, I'm not sure what it is exactly, but it happens every so often. Been a while since the last one, actually. Was wondering when it would hit again."
"What?" Jack asked for what felt like the dozenth time.
"Okay. So." Dean gestured as he walked. "You know how...the lore. When we're reading all the legends and descriptions and everything. It never matches up exactly with reality, and what we're actually hunting. Usually, it's way off. But even if it's close, it's never word-for-word. Right?"
"Yeah," Jack agreed slowly. He hadn't been on many hunts, but he'd seen enough to know that.
"And you also know how Sam's the most type-A, anal-retentive geek to ever...retain anally?" Dean pressed.
Jack was silent for a long couple of seconds as they passed the kitchen. Moving as quietly as possible, since it was very close to the library. Sam wasn't in there, he could tell, but Dean didn't seem like he was in the mood to rely on his senses.
"He...labeled everything in the storeroom, once," Jack said slowly. "Including the stuff he wasn't sure about. And then he alphabetized it. I don't think he slept much that weekend."
"Uh huh," Dean agreed. It sounded like he was prompting Jack.
"What's that got to do with lore, though?" Jack asked, frowning. "Sam likes research, like you said. He likes figuring stuff out. Shouldn't he - "
"You ever watch a movie with him?" Dean interrupted.
"Of course."
"One based off a book?"
"Yes…"
"Where they didn't follow the book exactly?"
Jack frowned again. Then his eyes widened.
"Oh. Oh."
"Yeah," Dean agreed grimly. "We need to go."
They went, Dean keeping Jack clipping along with a hand between his shoulder blades. They were practically running by the time the door to the garage was within sight. Jack could smell Dean's sheer, giddy relief, the shock of somebody who couldn't believe they were getting away with what they were. His heart was galloping in his chest, and Jack's picked up to match, beating against Dean's palm. And then -
"Dean," Jack said urgently, a second before Sam was suddenly there.
"Oh, good. Glad I caught you two."
Dean jumped again, swearing very, very loudly. He whirled to face Sam, almost unconsciously putting himself between him and Jack, and glared.
"Don't do that. I got forty years of bacon in here - " He pointed to the left side of his chest. " - and the kid already scared me once today."
Sam was neither amused nor apologetic. "Uh huh. Can you guys come to the library real quick? There's something that's been bothering me." He paused. "A lot of things, actually."
Dean eyed Sam. He looked like absolute hell. Bags like bruises under his eyes, cheekbones the kind of prominent that indicated three or more missed meals, hair a greasy mess. Dean thought there might be gum in the upper right quadrant - he saw something pink, at least. The buttons on the flannel he was wearing (too tight across the shoulders...wait a minute, was that Dean's shirt?) were in the wrong holes. Dean had only ever seen him look like this when he was dealing with delusion Lucifer, Trial flu, or something that just didn't quite match up.
Dean felt, briefly, pretty awful for not taking care of him. But then it occurred to him that Sam was in his mid-thirties and there was nothing currently going on with him. He shouldn't have needed somebody to tell him to eat his vegetables and brush his teeth.
"Yeah, uh, actually, we really need to - " Dean tried, pointing to the garage. Sam talked over him.
"It won't take that long. C'mon."
Jack watched Dean, in real time, size up Sam, consider putting him in a headlock until he passed out, and then abandon the idea as he realized he was no match for his younger brother's current psycho-strength. He looked helplessly at Jack, who just stared back as Sam led them to the library, which looked a lot like four dozen werewolves had hit a spontaneous full moon inside it. Books everywhere, loose paper, shelves overturned... Dean sucked his teeth, looking around.
"Worse'n I thought," he muttered to himself.
"What?" Sam glanced quizzically at Dean.
"Nothing." Something occurred to Dean. "How'd you even know we were leaving, anyway?"
"Cas told me," Sam replied.
Dean immediately zeroed in on Castiel, who was sitting at one of the long tables with his hands folded in front of him.
"Go ahead and sit down," Sam instructed, waving a hand. "I'm getting set up in the briefing room, I got a few more things I gotta try and put together first."
Jack took a seat next to Castiel. Dean didn't. As soon as Sam was gone, he slammed both hands onto the solid oak in front of Castiel.
"What the fuck, dude?" he demanded in a furious snarl. "We were out! We would've made it if it weren't for you!"
"You were going to leave me," Castiel replied acidly. "Alone. With him."
"You left me alone with him last time!" Dean shot back. "Or the time before that, or something. Whatever, they all start blurring together after a while."
"You'd just chased him through the bunker with a hammer," Castiel answered. "You deserved it. Not to mention that you sang karaoke with Crowley, after you'd been telling me for years you'd take me 'eventually' - "
"Okay, again," Dean growled, "for the last time, I didn't do anything with Crowley. He wouldn't get up on the stage with me 'cause he was jealous of my awesome - "
"Maybe it won't be that bad," Jack interrupted, optimistically.
Dean and Castiel both turned to look at him, with expressions like a pair of French soldiers in 1916 who'd just heard the newest recruit suggest playing volleyball with the guys right across no man's land.
Sam returned then. The bags and Dean's shirt and what Dean was even more sure now was gum remained, but the harried distraction was gone. He was beaming from ear to ear now.
"All right," he announced, bringing his hands together in a brisk clap and rubbing them enthusiastically. "I'm ready. Let's go."
The bunker's briefing room was basically a big conference room, table in the middle and ancient projector in the back. They didn't use it all that much, since there wasn't a point. Dean, Castiel, and Jack filed into the room, led by Sam. Dean looked around with mounting horror as he took in what Sam had been putting up in here. The trifold poster boards. The scale models. The flowcharts, the timelines. The…
"You didn't tell me about the fucking dioramas," Dean hissed to Jack.
"I didn't know he was building them!" Jack was bewildered, Dean's fear bleeding into him. "Why would he even make those?"
Dean set his jaw. "Sammy was...the kinda kid who was really into science fairs growing up. Like, really."
"And he didn't get to go to many," Castiel added. "It seems to have irreparably stunted his emotional growth."
"Yeah, stunted," Dean agreed, shaking his head. "Can you imagine what that must be like?"
Castiel just stared at him, mouth tight and brow heavy.
Sam, thankfully, seemed totally oblivious to their conversation, humming as he made sure everything was just so. The three of them took seats while he worked, as far away from him as they could possibly get, Castiel and Dean slotted protectively in on either side of Jack. It was a couple tense minutes before Sam spoke.
"I appreciate you coming," he started. Dean rolled his eyes. "This won't take long, I promise, but I've been doing some research, and...so. Get this."
He bent over. The table momentarily blocked him from view, and Dean and Castiel craned their necks, reluctant to let him out of their sight for long. Jack glanced back and forth between them. Sam straightened up again a second later, grunting as he brought three binders thicker than most law books with him.
"First I'll just pass out these guided outlines and we can go over it all together."
He came around the table, put one in front of each of them. The wood shook each time a binder hit it. Jack opened his as Sam returned to the front of the room, began to leaf through it. Things started to sink in for him when he realized the table of contents was over forty pages long.
"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered to one side of Jack. To the other, Castiel mumbled something in Enochian that quite literally made the pages curl at the edges.
"Now," Sam announced, pulling his own binder out and opening it apparently at random. There was a manic edge to his smile that was less an edge and really more the whole goddamn thing. "If you'll open up to page six hundred and - "
"Okay, stop. Stop. Nope."
Dean stood, shaking his head, raising his hands. Sam stared at him, blinking, then pointed to the binder.
"Dean, I need you to - "
"No." Dean interrupted again, firmly. "We're not doing this."
Sam was still staring, still blinking, completely taken aback. His eyelids, Jack noticed, were moving slightly out of tandem.
"What's the problem?" he asked, concerned.
"This," Dean stated. "We're not doing it."
Sam looked at Jack, then at Castiel, then around the room. His tongue pushed into his cheek. "But...it'll be quick."
"No, it won't, Sam," Dean said flatly. "It'll be a week-long fucking trade show convention of your crazy, with a parade in the middle."
Jack saw Sam take affront to that, head jerking back like he'd been slapped. "You - "
"No."
"Okay, fine, forget the outline," Sam declared, tossing the binder over his shoulder. From the sound it made, it might very well have put a hole in the floor. "But can you at least let me play the slidesh - ?"
"No, Sam." Dean interrupted yet again, sounding completely fed up. "I said no, okay? We're not doing this again."
That seemed to take Sam aback. "What d'you mean, again? You don't even know what this is about!"
"You've got your panties in a wad 'cause Jack's technically the Antichrist, but he's a Nephilim, and also he wasn't heralded by all the signs in Revelations 'cause all that already happened, and oh, yeah, also, the real Antichrist, who was actually just a cambion - yeah, I know what that is, Sam, pick your damn jaw up, I'm a fucking hunter - also already happened." Dean paused for breath. "And we might wanna see if we can track him down and check up on him, now I'm thinking about it. But did I miss anything?"
Sam stood there for a long, long moment before finally, quietly saying, "Lucky guess."
"We ain't doing this again," Dean repeated, then turned to Jack and Castiel. "You guys wanna help me get started on dinner while Sam cleans all this up? Then we can come up with a nice, relaxing activity for everybody to do tonight. One without any sharp objects." He turned to Sam as Castiel stood. "Macrame?"
"But seriously, what do you mean, again?" Sam asked like Dean hadn't spoken, closing his eyes and raising his hands. "I've never done this before. Never. Have I?"
He opened his eyes in time to see Dean and Castiel look at each other.
"When have I done this before?" Sam demanded, flinging his arms wide.
Castiel slowly sat back down. So did Dean, taking a deep breath. He drummed his fingers on the table, looked down, and then back up at Sam.
"Werewolves," he started.
"When you found out I was a seraph," Castiel added.
"Rugarus, changelings, skinwalkers…"
"When you found out there were only four archangels."
"The actual Apocalypse we literally all lived through." Dean glanced at Jack. "Well, most of us. While we were living through it. And kinda busy with other stuff."
"Prophets," Castiel stated. "Words of God."
"Knights of Hell," Dean offered, sounding frustrated. "The Mark of Cain?"
"When you found out I had wings. That was a major one." Castiel raised a finger, looked at Dean. "How long did it last?"
Dean considered. "Well, it tied into the seraph one, and considering it was broken up into, like, sections that happened every time we saw you, for weeks...maybe thirty hours? Forty?"
They both paused for a moment, remembering, and shuddered in traumatic solidarity. Sam just stood there staring at them, mouth open, jaw working, nothing coming out.
"Demons," Dean recalled suddenly. "Ooh. That was another huge blowout. Went to absolute fucking town on Ruby, damn near drove her off." He paused, considering. "Maybe you could've gone harder on that, actually. Got rid of her for good before shit really hit the - "
"None of those count," Sam interrupted firmly. "Those were all just basic...observation. Commentary. Stuff I thought people around me might like to know, because it was relevant, and - "
"We already know, and we don't care," Dean spoke up. "'Cause we're normal. Unlike you."
"Would you fucking stop interrupting me?"
Dean said nothing, tilting his head back and regarding Sam.
"Fine!" Sam threw his hands up. "It's a-a compulsion, or whatever you think it is, but it's only gotta do with hunting! Right? And considering everything tying back into this in our lives, I think I can be forg - "
"You've gotten us thrown outta every single Harry Potter movie by giving a real-time running commentary on what happened in the book," Dean pointed out. "And you're the one who dragged me to all of 'em."
"I watched the rest of Game of Thrones without you for this exact reason," Castiel chimed in.
"Are you serious?!" Sam demanded, and then paused. "Wait. Even the ending?"
"Yes." Castiel's jaw tightened. "Even the ending."
"...what'd you think about it?"
"I don't," Castiel ground out, face stony, "want to talk about it."
Sam looked disappointed, but offered up a nod. "Fair enough."
There was a brief silence. Then Sam seemed to rediscover the thread of the conversation they'd been having before.
"Anyway." He cleared his throat, then gestured triumphantly to all the posters and boards and sculptures. "I've never done this before."
"No, you haven't," Castiel agreed. "This is absolutely a new height to your…" He took close to half a minute to settle on a word choice. "Illness."
"Excuse me?" Sam let out an incredulous little laugh. He looked at all of them, sitting across the table from him. Brother, adopted son, Castiel. Then he straightened. He realized, "You think I'm crazy."
Nobody said anything.
"Well, do you?" Sam demanded.
No one would answer him, or meet his eyes. Not even Jack.
"Okay, give me one time, one, I've acted at all unstable, and it wasn't, again, forgivable."
"I can give you a list," Dean replied. Sam laughed again, derisively.
"Oh, you can, can you?"
Dean looked at Castiel, then back at Sam.
"Would you like it alphabetized?" he asked. "Would that make it more comfortable for you? Actually, no, that's a lotta work, I'm not gonna do that."
"This is a great idea," Sam decided, fresh off sex with Ruby, sipping demon blood as he practiced his infernal psychic powers. "I'm so glad I decided to do this. This will have no negative repercussions at all."
"I don't get what you mean!" Sam said, spreading his arms. "How could drinking gallons of demon blood, letting Lucifer possess me, wrestling one of the most powerful beings in existence to a standstill inside my own head, and then jumping into Hell with him and hopefully also Michael possibly go wrong?"
"Dean, I know how to keep your deal from coming due," Sam said excitedly, holding Dr. Benton's notes. "We're gonna replace all your you parts with dead people parts. Isn't that awesome? That's totally better than Hell, right? Now get on the table, we should start with your dick."
"Dean will probably be happier as a vampire," Sam decided, standing at the mouth of the alley and staring down it.
"Nah, I don't think I need to cut my hair." Sam shook his head. "I mean, it's not like I'm in a line of work where anybody could conceivably grab onto it during a fight and make a giant problem for me. And also I totally look good like this."
"Dean and Castiel are probably happier in Purgatory," Sam decided. "I should get a dog."
"I don't know what you're freaking out about, Dean," Sam said, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "The hundred-and-eight-degree fever and internal hemorrhaging mean it's working. Now, let's go do the next Trial."
"Are ye shore aboot this, Sam?" Rowena asked. "I dinnae ken, seems like destroying the Mark o' Cain might have a wee consequence or two. I'm very Scottish."
"None of my other plans to save Dean have ever had world-ending consequences," Sam replied. "Let 'er rip."
"Sam, Nick was possessed by Lucifer for a significant amount of time," Castiel said gravely. "There may be...lingering effects."
"Cas, I can't even hear you over how much leeway I'm giving this violent psychopath right now," Sam declared.
"No, you don't get it - Dean," Sam said earnestly as he pinned a boutonniere to Dean's shirt, "I'll be happier married to my stalker."
"This shirt," Sam stated, smoothing the white-and-pink monstrosity down as he admired himself in a mirror, "looks awesome."
"What was wrong with the shirt?" real Sam demanded in the bunker's conference room, cutting into Dean and Castiel's recollection. "What's wrong with my hair? Actually - " He shook his head, cutting himself off. "It doesn't matter, because not only did none of that happen like that, there were explanations for all of it. I was soulless for at least one of those, and all the others...I mean, you're glad I did at least half of it, right?"
"There was actually nothing wrong with the shirt, in the end," Dean replied. "It caught fire real easy."
"Y-you put an angel in me without my permission," Sam accused him, stabbing a finger in his direction. "And you couldn't even spring for a good one. No, you had to stick the divine version of the guard who didn't check on Jeffrey Epstein in me."
"Gadreel was a solution to a problem." Castiel spoke up matter-of-factly. "Which was itself a solution to another problem that we're actually still dealing with, found as we were trying to solve several other problems that…" He paused. "I don't remember how those worked out, actually."
"Oh, that's rich." Sam nodded, smirking. "Coming from the guy who decided to eat every monster that ever died."
Castiel took in a deep breath. "A solution that actually solved - "
"Cas, shut up," Dean ordered. "Sam, cut it out, we're talking about you. It'll be Cas's turn later."
Sam stood, staring at all three of them, arms folded tightly and mouth pinched as he chewed aggressively at the inside of one cheek.
"So," he said eventually, voice like a rubber band stretched almost to the breaking point. "That's really how you see me, huh? You think I'm a lunatic." Nobody said anything. "Well, don't everybody contradict me at once."
"Okay," Jack said, then shrank as Sam, Dean, and Castiel all glared at him.
"You think I'm fucking insane!" Sam threw his arms wide. "Because my life is an absolute shitshow, and I've had to make the best of a whole slew of impossible decisions. Just like all of us. It's not like I ever put my own happiness above literally the entire world."
A pause.
"Okay, I might've done that," Sam said, slowly. "But at least I haven't made the same mistake over and over again."
Dean drew in a deep, deep breath through his nose.
"Okay." They could hear Sam's teeth grinding from all the way across the room. "But I haven't trusted a whole bunch of people who - "
"Quit while you're ahead, Sammy," Dean advised, and Castiel nodded.
"Okay, you know what? Fuck you! Fuck all of you!" Sam flung his hands up. "So what if I've made mistakes? So what if I haven't always made the best decisions? And so what if I like to lay out how the lore conflicts with reality?"
He turned to look at his latest handiwork, examining a timeline that ran around the entirety of the room, about sixty pieces of printer paper taped together, the lettering impossibly small. "It's definitely helpful for hunts!"
He turned to a posterboard. "I could stop anytime I wanted to!"
A mobile. "I'm not crazy!"
A sculpture. "This is a great use of my time and energy, and our resources - "
His binder, which Sam picked up from the floor and dropped on the table again, letting it fall open and pointing deliberately at it. "I…"
Suddenly, he stopped. He looked down at the binder. Around at the entire room. His throat worked and he blinked rapidly.
"I…" Sam said, much more quietly. "...am completely fucking insane."
Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. Then Dean stood, clearing his throat, and approached Sam slowly, the way one might a rabid tiger or a molting angel. He put a hand on his shoulder, and Sam let himself be turned into Dean's chest and hugged.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean soothed him. "We all are. And also apparently really, really bad at solving problems. Especially Cas."
Castiel opened his mouth, frowning. Dean held up a finger.
"Later, Cas." To Sam, he said, "We're all crazy. Your whackadoo is just more obnoxious than all the rest of ours 'cause...you get all coked-up Martha Stewart about it."
Sam stepped back so he could look down at Dean.
"I wrote a one-man play about the ascent of the Antichrist, as laid out in Revelations," he stated.
"That's not so bad."
"It had five acts," Sam said.
"Oh. Well…"
"It was a musical."
Dean blinked.
"A rap musical."
"Oo-kay." Dean patted his shoulder. "We can definitely go ahead and burn that...I still got lighter fluid left from your shirt."
"God, I just - " Sam turned, shaking his head as he looked around himself in despairing wonder. "I spent so much goddamn time, a-and energy, and - "
"I know, I know," Dean soothed. "It's okay."
"This is my problem. I get so...hyperfixated. I can't leave a problem alone, even when it's something stupid - "
"Really stupid," Dean cut in sympathetically.
" - and I take it up to eleven, and I just…" Sam seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, my god. I'm insane. I'm insane, and I'm an idiot, which is actually worse, I'm pretty sure."
"No, no, no." Dean pulled Sam into another hug, and petted his hair. Sam almost instantly relaxed, eyelids lowering. "You're smart, Sammy. Too smart for your own damn good. And you work hard, too hard, and this is just what all that spins outta you when it comes into contact with, y'know, literally everything else about our lives."
"Still a waste," Sam mumbled. "I wasted so much...everything."
"No, I bet a lot of this research is gonna be really useful, someday," Dean told him positively. "Think on the bright side: we're probably gonna set off another apocalypse, sooner or later. And maybe you'll be lucky enough that it'll follow the script exactly."
"I'd like that." Sam sighed. "I'd really like locusts with human faces."
"Yep," Dean agreed. "That just sounds awesome."
After a second, he pulled away, but kept an arm around Sam's shoulders as he surveyed the room himself.
"In the meantime," he started, "I bet we could put some of this stuff up somewhere." He paused on a sketch of Lucifer so deep in the uncanny valley it might as well have been archaeologically embedded. Sam was good at a lot of things; drawing was not one of them. "Somewhere it can't watch me. But - "
Dean stepped forward, gently picked up a shoebox diorama. "I mean, look at this. Did you make Jack outta thumbtacks here?"
"No," Sam replied, "that's the Biblically canonical Antichrist. I made Jack outta - "
He froze suddenly, having caught something out of the corner of his eye, and rigidly turned to look at the table where Castiel and Jack were still sitting. Dean practically heard his neck tick like it was on a gear. Castiel was on his phone, and Jack was moving his head and hands in jerky little nibbling motions, like he was combing and cleaning something invisible in front of him, hung over his shoulder.
Sam stared. Time seemed to stand still.
"Sam?" Dean said cautiously, reaching to grab him again. Maybe if he moved quick, he could knock him out - even though Sam's giant skull was pretty much one big bone callus at this point. "Sammy?"
"What're you doing?" Sam asked quietly. "Jack." A pause. "What are you doing?"
Dean dropped his hand, backed up. Like he was going to hide behind the projector full of hand-lettered slides. In Castiel's hands, the phone snapped in half as he realized what was going on and every muscle in his body tensed.
Jack looked up.
"I'm...preening?" he said hesitantly, even as Castiel violently shook his head and waved his hands and mouthed stop in fourteen different languages. It came out as more of a question than a statement.
"What?" Sam's voice was even quieter. "What are you preening?"
"My." Jack paused. But it was like he couldn't stop himself from answering, despite Castiel and now Dean's desperate signaling. "Wings."
Sam's left eye twitched.
"Your...what?"
"Fuck!" Castiel exploded.