THE FIGHT WAS FINALLY OVER and for jack, it meant lifeĀ was just beginning. life was fickle and since he was no longer worried about godĀ coming down to smite him, he figured he might as well focus on otherĀ things. his powers hadĀ grown stronger, and truthfully, he couldĀ have been the next god, but it just wasnāt for him. he was a kid. he wanted to be a kid. he wanted to explore. and most importantly? he was now in a world where dean was dead and sam had slowly started to gain a life for himself after the death of his brother.Ā
CASTIEL also came to check on him from time to time, but truthfully. he wanted his family. not the one left behind. but the one he had wiped off the face of the earth. if there was one thing jack knew about people? they deserved second chances. his mother. dean. and most importantly, his father. his biologicalĀ one at that. the empty wasnāt his greatest fan, but he knew wakingĀ people up in the empty caused problems. so he had to do this correctly. the ritual was long. it was strenuousĀ and most importantly, he was the finalĀ ingredient. at least his bloodĀ was.Ā
the next several hours were a blur for him. he had gathered everything, including nickās body after he brought it back, slit his hand open, and drizzled a decent amount of his blood into the offering in the middle of the floor. for jack, doing this rightĀ meant not just popping down into the empty and pulling lucifer directly from his slumber. truth be told, if his father wasnāt awakeĀ this wasnāt going to work in the first place. but the sudden appearance of the rift forming in the middle of the floor made him realize he may have actually done this correctly. the REDĀ eyes are what grabbed his attention first as the essence formed into a crudely shapedĀ figure standing before him.
jack didnāt move, instead, he gestured towards the body on the floor. the golden hue in his eyes flashing briefly. if his father tried anything, jack wouldnāt hesitate to send him back. @headofficesā
you know- coming back to life sucks. he almost- key word: almost -doesnāt want to. itās like heās swimming in syrup, or in the matrix, but that one famous scene. you know the one. lots of bullets, a very limber spine. yea, that one. heās sluggish, heavy, hardly able to focus on anything. save for the promise behind that pompous little glare. if thereās anything lucifer is good at, itās reading the room. so he takes his time, his oozy, undulating tar-like form standing his ground for a long time, his own pit of hellfire gaze watching jack carefully, not unlike a cornered animal. watching for a trick, no doubt. a trap. why else would he be here again? ...wait. why is he here again? hasnāt team free will 2.0⢠had their fill of his demise yet? thereās a fetish for that kind of stuff, if heās not mistaken. lets not go there.
the movements are slow, sluggish, like heās thousands of miles underwater, in the deepest part of the ocean, but eventually, those sunken red eyes of his start to leave jacks form and take in their surroundings. had he eyelids, theyād be squinting, questioning. no dumb, no dumber, no castrated attack chihuahua. when the devils attention turns back to his son, to the familiar corps splayed out on the floor, almost like an offering- the ā voice ā that comes out of the slop that is his current, pitiful state, is all kinds of wrong. itās distorted, muffled, so very far away, almost like heās lost out in the endless void of space. which, really, isnāt all that far from the truth, but weāll digress.
ā not good enough to watch from the sidelines anymore? ā different planes of reality or no, nothing can overpower the bitterness in his tone. the tiredness, the sick-of-it-all-ness. ā pass. ā