#lsba

Jack had the old rifle slung over his shoulder. While the five rounds wasn't practical for the crowd combat of Croats they'd faced lately, the rifle served its purpose for things like patrol and target practice. Thinking of which, Castiel had missed their target practice the morning before. Jack knew why; Dean had come back to the camp.

Dean, the ever elusive Winchester. Jack hadn't had a one-on-one opportunity with the 'fearless' leader before they'd moved camps and once they had started moving, Dean had insisted on going out on a foolish solo mission for some supplies. Stress, Jack had assumed, had gotten to the elder Winchester's nerves.

Dawn peaked through the trees. The gray of morning twilight blushed with the soft light of morning. Jack loved this in-between time. A few minutes of quiet. A reflective time without the dark. When ghosts stayed in their graves and Jack couldn't be haunted by his mistakes. Instead, he could hope for the future at a time like this.

As Jack wound through the path up to the cabin he shared with Ianto, he saw Dean standing on the sagging porch. Jack gave the man his usual cheerful grin as he walked up the final steps. He snuck a peak in the window. Ianto wasn't around.