The weeks followed in similar pattern. John found them a house on Michigan Avenue, not far from school, and sometimes the brothers walked. John in this life did his best to keep his promise to Jimmy and Castiel, making sure to always keep his sons as his first priority. The first time around, Jimmy figured, they had probably never moved out of the motel. John probably hustled pool and cheated at cards to keep them in money instead of finding work at a construction site. They probably spent only weeks here instead of months. The Winchesters still moved around a lot, following the hunt, but Dean might get a chance to graduate high school this time. He liked school, liked making friends, while the Dean in Castiel's memories had always spoken disparagingly of such matters. And this John would never think of missing Christmas, not even for the most important hunt he'd ever come across.
He could afford it, now that he had Castiel—and even Jimmy—to back him up and help him out. The other John had been alone and desperate, unwilling or unable to trust the few hunters he met who could have supported him, flailing for a way to protect his boys from the monster that had killed his wife, not to mention all the other creatures in the night. This John had an angel on his side, and his life was better for it.
All of their lives were better now. Except for Jimmy's. At least he assumed so—the one thing Castiel had managed to hide from him was what Jimmy's life would be like if none of this had happened. Castiel had excised it from it own memory somehow, saying that it would only cause Jimmy pain and be of no use in stopping the coming Apocalypse. Jimmy knew, though, that without Castiel his life would be better.
He tried not to resent the angel. It wasn't his fault, not really. Not...entirely. Sometimes it was hard, though.
Like the time Jimmy went grocery shopping at the corner market down the street. He was just there for milk and eggs on this crisp Saturday morning, planned to make French toast for his brothers when they finally dragged themselves out of bed. This early on a weekend, the shop was all but deserted, cool under the fluorescent lights. The only shoppers were Jimmy and an elderly lady kneeling by the milk case pulling out every single gallon to find the one with most distant expiration date. The teenage clerk at the counter watched over them with a dull, sleepy gaze, chin propped on one hand, occasionally yawning. Jimmy got his eggs, then stood a few feet back from the lady, trying not to fidget while she took her time with the milk.
She was humming "Onward, Christian Soldiers," Jimmy recognized, and he smiled gently and began to hum along without realizing it, his gaze softening and his arm falling limp at his side, no longer fidgeting. That was one of the nice things about this part of central Illinois. So many people knew the hymns.
The lady finally found her jug of milk and began to laboriously replace all the others. Jimmy set his eggs aside and knelt down to help her with a swift, "Here, let me get that for you."
She grinned and sat back, letting him work. "Oh, what a polite young man! You don't see much of that around these days. No, you certainly don't."
Jimmy gave her a little smile and ducked his head, continuing to work. She reminded him of... She reminded him of something, someone. It was nice.
He finished with the milk and held on to the last jug for himself, then pulled himself to his feet and gave the lady a hand up. She grunted as he pulled her up, holding his hand with a crushing grip. Once straight, she stared at him, eyebrows wrinkled. "Oh my... Do I know your parents, sonny?"
He stared back at her, eyes suddenly wide. "N-no, I don't think so."
"Who are they? You certainly do look familiar. Are you sure I don't know you from somewhere? Maybe it's your grandparents."
Mrs. Kriegel. She had taught him Sunday School when he was in third grade. Jimmy took a step back, suddenly afraid, though he didn't know why. "No...I just moved here with my dad and my two brothers. My father is John Winchester...I don't have a mom."
"But I could have sworn..." Mrs. Kriegel squinted at him, then fumbled for the glasses on the chain around her neck, lifting them to her eyes to get a better look at him. Jimmy backed another two steps away. "I'm sorry, young man, but you do look an awful lot like... Why, you look like little Jimmy Novak, gone these many years."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. My name is Winchester." Jimmy turned and hurried toward the clerk, in a rush to get out and get away. Mrs. Kriegel mumbled behind him, stuck in old memories, and he just wanted to leave.
He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember. Jimmy barely gave the clerk time to ring him up, just shoved a few dollars at him and blurted, "Keep the change!" He hurried down the sidewalk as fast as he dared without danger of breaking the eggs, his mind almost blank with terror.
He didn't want to remember.
But he did, oh he did. He remembered everything that happened that night. It had been an ordinary evening, the Novaks after dinner, Dad reading his thick magazines full of big words, Mom working on her crochet project. She had been making a baby blanket, blue and pink and yellow, little squares... Jimmy had been doing his homework, dawdling as he usually did, unwilling to finish and go upstairs for bed. The lamps in the living room were warm and yellow, and everything was comfortable and quiet, and Jimmy wasn't sleepy, he wasn't, he...
Jimmy rubbed the back of his wrist over his eyes, denying the tears, fingers aching from carrying the milk jug while he walked. He didn't want to remember.
Jimmy.
Castiel. And his voice was gentle. Castiel's voice was almost never gentle. He didn't really know how to be gentle. But he tried, for Jimmy and his brothers. For their family, he tried.
Jimmy. I am sorry.
"Don't be sorry!" Jimmy spat. "Don't be sorry! The world will be better because of this! We're going to keep it from ending, keep everyone safe, keep people from hurting and suffering and dying. So many people! What does it matter if my parents had to die for that to happen? What does it matter? It doesn't matter, not at all, not even a little tiny bit!"
I am sorry, Jimmy.
A scraggly young maple stood in their front yard, and all of its leaves were red now, though not many had fallen. Dean and Sam were looking forward to raking those leaves, turning them into piles to jump into and scatter. They liked playing, they liked... Jimmy stumbled to the tree and turned to lean his back on it, scraping down to sit on the ground. He let the eggs and milk rest where they'd fallen and buried his head in his hands.
They matter, Jimmy. You matter.
"You wouldn't have thought so, once. The first time around. I was just a tool to you then. Just a body for you to wear like a suit."
I was wrong.
Jimmy had felt the jolt, that night, felt something pour into him like liquid fire, instantly banked to nothing. He hadn't felt anything after that, hadn't known what it was. Hadn't even thought about it, considering what happened next. But he knew now what it signified—Castiel traveling backward in time, thumping into his vessel in an earlier moment instead of carrying the older body along as he'd meant. All of it had been completely against his will. The angel had been injured by the journey, had been unconscious for months, and then when he woke...
Well, it was all in the past. Or the future, whatever. Castiel was trapped in Jimmy now and they both had to deal with it.
I never meant for this to happen, and I am sorry.
"I know," Jimmy murmured. He knew everything Castiel felt.
But the fact remained that Castiel had brought a demon along with him on that journey back in time, and the demon had killed Jimmy's parents.
X~*~X
Jimmy dreamed of smoke and fire that night. He knew it wasn't one of Castiel's dreams—those were bright and confusing, unless they were of the event that had made him choose to throw himself backward in time, the final battle that ended with an adult Sam grinning with bloody teeth, Lucifer shining golden from his eyes, and adult Dean dead on the ground with intestines hanging from his gut like broken rope. No, this dream was Jimmy's, of the line of demarcation that separated one half of his childhood from the other.
It had been sudden, like a bomb, or a war. One moment Jimmy and his parents were quiet and at peace, and then the room was full of smoke, a roaring, choking wave of smoke that was somehow a physical thing with physical power. An invisible force threw Jimmy's mother and father against the wall as he instinctively rolled under a table and covered his head, staring in horror, watching the blood burst out of his father's mouth, watching his mother scream and writhe in agony.
Jimmy's heart thumped against his chest, loud and aching, eyes so wide they hurt. He didn't understand what was happening, he didn't know what he could do. This wasn't supposed to happen, this was never supposed to happen. "Mom!" he screamed. "Dad!"
They didn't answer him. They couldn't. Fire poured from the walls and engulfed them both and Jimmy screamed until he couldn't scream anymore.
Thud. Jimmy landed on the floor, his heart racing and his breath rushing in and out. The room around him was cool and dark, no fire, no smoke. Sweat coated his skin, rapidly cooling in the night air. In moments he would be shivering, but for now all he felt was heat. Sheets and blankets tangled around his legs like shackles, and he trembled in their grip, paralyzed and unable to free himself.
Dream. It was just a dream.
"Jimmy?" Dean's voice from the other bed was sleepy and low. "You okay?"
I'm fine, Jimmy tried to say, but nothing came out, his throat choked and dry, scarred by ashes and fumes seven years gone.
Castiel, take control and tell them I'm okay.
I will not. The angel sounded ticked off. It is not true.
"Wha's gon' on?" Sammy's voice now, muffled on the other side of Dean in their double bed. Great. Now both of his little brothers were awake.
"I'm...okay," Jimmy choked out.
Rustling from the other bed, still sluggish and sleepy, and Dean thudded down to the floor next to him. "Aw, Jimmy..." The kid sounded sad, but not surprised.
This scene was all too familiar, really. It played out for the Winchester boys at least once or twice a month. The only question was which boy would be on the floor.
Dean helped Jimmy get untangled, grabbed his arm to help him up, pushed him into bed. It wasn't right for someone so young to be taking care of everyone around him, but Dean took to it so naturally, as if there was nothing else he'd rather do... And Jimmy was too weary, too frightened, too grief-stricken to refuse his help.
Jimmy curled up on his sweat-damp pillow, shivering now, throat still clogged and dry. Dean smoothed the covers over him and patted his shoulder. "No more dreams, okay?" It was half order, half plea.
Jimmy nodded and listened to Dean climb back into his own bed.
No more dreams, Castiel echoed. But he was no more capable of shutting them out than any of the humans in the room.
X~*~X
When they'd been in town for a month or so, Jimmy and Castiel made the rounds. That was what Jimmy called it, anyway—revisiting all the buildings they had protected when they first moved here, refreshing the wards, saying the prayers, performing the rituals. It was what they did to keep the family safe. John kept an eye and ear on the news for monsters and ghosts, Dean made sure they all got enough to eat at every meal, Sammy worried rather too much about anyone who was away even for a few hours, and Jimmy and Castiel kept the wards.
They made the rounds on a crisp, clear Friday afternoon, full of the rush of autumnal breezes and alive with the rustling of falling leaves. Sammy was with one of his study groups and Dean had something going on with friends, so Jimmy had the house to himself while John was at his job. Usually Jimmy relished such rare opportunities to be alone, but today he had work to do. They went around the house first, checking the sigils on the windows and doors and walls, painting holy oil on the lintels and praying blessings down on the Winchester family. Jimmy fell into the routine of it, as relaxed and at peace as he ever felt. No demons would touch his brothers and father here, no matter what had happened in the past. Here were allowed only goodness and light...and the busted-up angel who rode inside Jimmy's skin.
Next, Jimmy drove to the middle school. He was the most thorough with this building, as it was where Dean and Sammy spent most of their time. So many windows and doors, so many oddly shaped corners and walkways. Castiel painted the symbols with their hands, carefully tracing the marks already made, and Jimmy hummed with their voice in absent hymns and prayers half-spoken, half-silent. On the edges of dulled angelic senses they could feel echoes of their little brothers' presence, Sammy's voice eagerly answering a teacher's question, Dean's sticky fingers trading desserts with another child at lunch. It made Jimmy smile to know that they were so very much themselves, his brothers, Dean and Sam, young and innocent and free of cares unfit to childhood.
Jimmy lit an incense stick and waved it slowly back and forth as he walked around the school, chanting a Greek home blessing and invoking the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. It wasn't quite authentic—the incense wasn't in a censer, he hadn't brought the other materials along, and Jimmy wasn't a Greek Orthodox priest—but the blessing was worth saying even so. The chant rolled off his tongue in mellifluous syllables, round and low and powerful. He'd always liked the sound of the Greek language.
Let us pray to the Lord. Lord have mercy. God our Savior, the True Light, Who was baptized in the Jordan by the Prophet John, and Who did deign to enter under the roof-tree of Zacchaeus, bringing salvation unto him and unto his house: do You, the same Lord, keep safe also from harm those who dwell herein; grant to them Your blessing, purification and bodily health, and all their petitions that are unto salvation and Life everlasting; for blessed are You, as also Your Father Who is from everlasting, and Your All; Holy, Good and Life; creating Spirit, both now and ever, and to the ages of ages. Amen.
Unfortunately, the sound of his own voice was just loud enough that Jimmy was not aware of the other young, murmuring voices until he rounded a corner and all but ran right into them.
"Holy mackerel!" he yelled, falling back and throwing up his arm to cover his eyes. That was the hand holding the incense stick, though, so he got a nose and mouth full of thick, pungent smoke along with his shock and consternation. The thread of the blessing completely deserted him, and even Castiel seemed to be flailing inside his head, though he quickly regained control, his spirit radiating waves of pure amusement.
The image was burned in his brain of his little brother and his friend's little sister leaning against the wall beside the dumpster, their lips locked together, and there was no getting rid of it. Once seen, some things could not be unseen.
"My eyes!" he squeaked. "Dean, you're too young!"
Actually, I believe his first kiss is happening somewhat later in the timeline this time around, Castiel said, and oh, his amusement wasn't helping a thing.
Shut up, Jimmy responded with all the maturity he could muster at the moment.
"Jimmy?" Dean's voice squawked in outrage, too. "What the heck are you doing here? Go away!"
Deirdre made a noise that Jimmy thought must be what teenage eye-rolling sounded like. "This is stupid."
Jimmy lowered his arm far enough to see that Dean and Deirdre were still standing there, staring at him, way too little space between them. Then he raised his arm again and turned around to flee. "I'll see you at home!" he called over his shoulder.
"Your brother's kind of a prude, isn't he?" Deirdre's voice floated behind him as he trotted away.
What about the blessing ritual? Castiel asked.
We'll finish it later.
But what about...
We'll finish it later, Castiel! Just...shut up!
Yep, the angel was still vastly amused. Jimmy would be ticked at him if he could spare the energy.
X~*~X
Sometimes, in some things, usually very small, Jimmy got what he wished for. They took walks together after church almost every Sunday, Jimmy, Amelia, sometimes with their siblings and sometimes alone. After they took the equipment back to Grace Baptist Church, sometimes they walked around the neighborhood there. Sometimes the Graves family invited the Winchester boys back to their home for Sunday dinner, and sometimes when John was gone they went, and they walked. Sometimes there were "youth group" activities around town with the tiny church, the group consisting of little more than their two families and perhaps two or three other teenagers. At school Amelia had other friends, small social groups Jimmy still felt no part of, but these Sunday walks were just for them.
Jimmy lost track of time that way, walking with Amelia, talking of almost everything under the sun, laughing, joking, enjoying, letting crisp autumn air burn in his throat and nose and puffing it out in dragon-fumes of steam. Feeling human. Alive. If Dean and Deirdre weren't there to whine about wanting to go back, if Sammy wasn't there to tire and insist on a piggy-back ride, he could lose all sense of time's passage until evening shadows began to stretch across the pavement and he glanced up to see just how far the sun had fallen in the sky. Castiel was silent in his mind, indulgent, for once unconcerned with schedules and forever looking forward to what came next. For the first time in this half of his life, Jimmy had a friend, and the angel who lived inside him was content. If Amelia noticed when their walks went on too long, she didn't mention it. Perhaps she was indulging him, too.
It was his own fault, then, for not paying attention to where they wandered, for not realizing where they were, what street they were passing down. Until suddenly, one gray, cool Sunday evening soon after Halloween, Jimmy looked up and realized where his feet had taken him. His froze, breath catching in his throat, eyes widening until they burned. Castiel had been somnolent in their mind, all but soothed to a slumber he never needed by the familiar contentment of the walk, but now he startled and bristled, fierce and bright, a pulsing of angry light behind Jimmy's eyelids. He knew where they were, too, and if ever an angel of the Lord could hate and despise a place, a single point on the map, Castiel hated this one.
Amelia had been talking about something...music, movies, Jimmy no longer remembered...and now her voice faltered and trailed away. "What... Jimmy? What are you looking at?"
Jimmy remembered this house. He remembered his first day here, the social worker's hand on his shoulder pushing him gently away, setting him adrift in a wide, trackless sea that she didn't know hid a shark in its depths. He remembered the dread filling his belly as he reluctantly left the safety of the school bus and stepped toward the door, knowing what would greet him inside. He remembered awkward meals, his foster mother trying to soothe and keep her husband happy. He remembered how it never worked, not really, not for long.
He remembered the first time Mr. Baker had hit him. How shocking it was, how much it had hurt. He had been frozen then, too, a nine-year-old boy completely unable to move, paralyzed by terror. Later he learned that that was the best way to deal with it, to just stand still and take it, because it was worse if Mr. Baker had to chase him. Once it started, it didn't stop, not until Mr. Baker was done.
It never stopped.
Remember also your last day here, Castiel said. His light pulsed in Jimmy's mind, fighting to spread outward, to warm and soothe and heal. He couldn't do it, not really, not all the way, but he never stopped trying. Remember when I woke, when we met, when you trusted me. Remember how I helped you and how we escaped. You are not alone, and that foul excuse for a human being will never harm you again. I swear it, Jimmy. Remember that, too.
"Jimmy? What's going on? Are you okay?"
Amelia's hand slipped into his. They had never held hands before.
Something snapped, allowing him to move again. Jimmy looked down at their linked hands and swallowed against the dryness of his throat, trying to find something to say. Her hand was small and soft and cool. It fit into Jimmy's palm as if it belonged there, young, tender fingers sliding around his palm, covering the tiny scars, the gun calluses. He still couldn't speak, tongue too large and thick.
He slipped backward in his mind, pushing Castiel forward, though it meant that he could no longer feel her so immediately. The loss hurt, but he needed to reassure her more than he needed to be reassured. Tell her I'm okay.
Castiel flared defiantly, but moved forward to take control. "I used to live here," he said.
That's not what I said! Jimmy flailed, panicked. Don't tell her about this!
You are not okay, Castiel responded, fierce in his truth. I will not lie to her.
"In Pontiac?" Amelia asked, eyebrows bent in puzzlement.
Castiel nodded Jimmy's chin toward the house. "There."
Amelia looked into his eyes, trying to understand. Her hand gripped his, tugging it closer, and she wrapped her other hand around it, too. "It's not a happy memory? You seem so...upset."
Castiel looked at the house for a moment, and Jimmy felt a brief flash of the angel's own unpleasant memories of the place. The confusion of waking from unconsciousness inside a younger body, his horror and guilt when he realized what had happened, his pain and sorrow when he couldn't fully heal Jimmy's body, couldn't make everything better, couldn't do what an angel was supposed to do. How alone and helpless and desperate he had felt.
The angel looked back to Amelia, regarding her gravely. "Something bad happened to me there."
Amelia looked at the house, staring for a long, tense moment, as if memorizing everything about it. Then she looked back to them. "Will you tell me?"
No! Jimmy cried. I don't want her to know!
"Someday," Castiel said. "Someday I'll tell you. You deserve to know."
Don't you dare. You stupid freak, don't you dare! It's not your place—you can't do that to me.
Someday you will tell her yourself, Castiel said, infuriatingly calm and cool, certain. It is a human thing to need the support of those you love. And you are still very human, Jimmy Winchester.
Jimmy had been preparing to push forward, to take control whether Castiel would let him or not, but he froze again at the mention of that one word. Wait, you... Love?
You love her.
"Jimmy?" Amelia asked, tightening her grip on his hand, and Jimmy looked into her eyes and knew it was true. His eyes watered, whether from holding them so wide in the cold air for so long or from something else, he couldn't have said.
He barely felt Castiel slipping backward, giving control back to him. "Sorry," he whispered through his tight throat, hating how weak and small he felt.
She let go of his hand, and he instantly missed the warmth of her touch. But it was only so she could lean forward and wrap her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder and holding him close, tight, safe. Jimmy trembled.
He blew out a breath and ducked his head, hiding against her blonde locks, and he hugged her back. For a long time, that was all he could do.
Amelia didn't seem to mind.
X~*~X
"You wanna go to church with us, Dad?" Dean poked his father across the table with his spoon, trying to get his attention.
John blinked and yawned, managing to glance up from his coffee. He had been up late the night before, checking out a possible haunting at St. Mary's Cemetery. "Uhhh, no thanks, sport."
Dean made a face of disappointment, but went back to his cereal without comment. It wasn't like Jimmy hadn't asked him before. John never wanted to go.
"Since when did you like going to church?" John looked at Dean, squinting, peered from him to Jimmy and Sammy. "I thought this was your big brother's idea and he was just dragging you along."
Dean shrugged. "It's not that bad. I like watching Jimmy blush his face off when he's around Amelia. 'Sfun."
Jimmy choked and kicked him under the table, and Sammy laughed, banging his fist next to his bowl hard enough to make milk spurt up. "Yeah, it's awesome! Jimmy and Amelia, sittin' in a tree, kay eye ess ess eye en gee..."
"Shut up!" Jimmy poked him, too, not very hard because Sammy was still little and didn't really get it. "Stop singing that!"
"Why?" Dean asked, wide-eyed with exaggerated innocence. "You know it's true. You and Amelia are in looooovvvvvvveeeeee..."
Jimmy tackled him out of his chair. Breakfast was pretty much a complete loss.
John watched them get ready for a church with something like an indulgent smile, or at least as close as John Winchester ever got to an indulgent smile. As usual, Jimmy had to wrestle Dean to the floor to comb his hair, and Sammy was gallantly and heroically above it all. There were the usual arguments about which shirt was better ("But other people in that church don't dress up all fancy, Jimmy!" "We are not other people!") and whether the shoes were shiny enough ("Oh my go...sh, Sammy, leave me alone!" "...Yeah, actually, that's probably good."), and John just let them do their business.
Jimmy sent Sam and Dean out to the car and checked himself in the mirror one more time. He turned around to find John standing right behind him and just about jumped out of his skin, and John raised his hands, his face apologetic. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
Jimmy pressed a hand to his chest, trying to settle his heart. "'Sokay. Just...wasn't expecting you to be there."
"Yeah." John tucked his hands in his pockets. His eyes were big and brown and sympathetic. "So you really like this girl, huh?"
He looked down at his shoes, scuffing it on the floor. "Yeah." He looked back up. "It's not a big deal or anything."
"No, of course not. It's just...I'm glad you're...I'm glad you like it here, is what I'm saying. You don't usually...I'm just glad you like it here." John's broad shoulders lifted in a shrug.
"Yeah." Jimmy looked at his shoes again. He never knew how to act around John, his adopted dad, one of the people Castiel had come back in time to protect.
John waggled his eyebrows, giving him a grin that looked way too much like Dean's. "So, have you asked her out yet?"
Jimmy squirmed and took a step toward the door. "No, not really. I mean...um... We go for walks. With Dean and Sam and her little sister, and um. Sometimes just the two of us."
"Well, that's a good start. But what about dinner? A movie? The school dance?"
"I don't...I don't know if she even dates. Some of those Christian girls don't, and..."
"Have you asked her what she thinks?"
Jimmy just stared at him.
John chuckled. "I guess it's easier to hang out when you have a bunch of siblings around, huh. I'm glad Dean and Sammy are being so kind to you." He paused for a moment, then pulled one of his hands out of his pocket, now holding his wallet. "Here...here's some money. Take them out for ice cream after church. All of 'em."
Jimmy stared at the twenty-dollar bill in his hand. "Dad, you don't have to..."
"I know. I want to." John touched his shoulder, hesitantly at first, just a few fingers, then covering it with his warm, broad palm when Jimmy didn't flinch away. "Listen, Jimmy. I'm sorry I kept ignoring you, those years ago when you kept asking again and again if we could go to church. I know it was important to you and I just...let it slip by. I was...I was angry then, at God, at everything. I felt like He'd let me down when Mary died and even you and Castiel coming to me like that... Well, it wasn't enough to convince me otherwise, I guess."
Jimmy tried to look back him, tried to meet his earnest gaze, but his eyes were getting all blurry and he had to look down again.
"Look, son. I was stupid and selfish. I ignored you every time, and eventually you quit asking. I'm sorry I did that to you. You deserve to go to church if that's what you want. You deserve to have a relationship with a girl and get to know people outside our screwed-up little family. I'm sorry I let your desires fall through the cracks like that, and I hope you can make up the time now."
"I..." Jimmy gulped. "Thanks, Dad."
Dad held his shoulder in a strong, gentle grip, gave it a little shake, then let go. "Have fun with your friends. Ask Amelia about that date. Maybe over ice cream."
"Okay." Jimmy shook his head, dazed, and made his way to the door. His hand on the knob, he turned and caught his father's eyes again. "Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you still mad at God?"
Dad's mouth quirked in a crooked little grin, small but there. "Not anymore. He sent me an angel. No, actually... He sent me two of 'em."
"Thank you."
Jimmy stuffed the bill in his pocket and went out to meet his brothers.
X~*~X
They never got that ice cream.