#samknitchester

Sleep was another area where Jack differed from his chosen family. Like Sam, he needed to sleep in order to function, but the duration of his sleep was always much shorter than even Dean professed to need. Alone in the Bunker, with Sam having taken Dean elsewhere on a case by themselves, there was little to do but sleep or attempt to learn more about humanity or other supernatural forces through the books, or teach himself to use the computer that Sam had given him. The video of his mother was one he watched several times, the memory of the shifter woman embracing him wearing his mother’s image a balm to the ache that still pulsed inside Jack from her loss. Sam’s kindness and candor had patched over the rawness enough that he knew with that perceptiveness that belied his actual age that the unseen wound would heal. In time.

Time was something that seemed precious and rare to Jack, what with the pressure of Dean’s grief and anger pushing Jack on one side and Sam’s gentle but occasionally insistent encouragement on the other. Sam had backed off, but Dean had not, and that had probably been a factor in Sam choosing to remove Dean from the Bunker. He had done his best to ensure that Jack knew he could call him at any time, and had in fact called twice a day during their absence to check on Jack. It helped him feel a little less alone, even if it couldn’t quite erase the feeling of being left behind.

And then Sam and Dean were back, and Castiel was alive and with them, and Jack was finally meeting his (chosen) Father face to face. He could See the bond between Castiel and Dean, sharp as a shard of crystal and as solid as a length of chain tethering the two together like a ship to its anchor, though which one was the ship and which the anchor… He shied away from that thought, not wanting to contemplate the way that bond made him feel so uncomfortable, and focused instead on the bond between Castiel and Sam. That bond was just as strong, but it was almost completely different. It grew between the two like a tangle of vines, alive and vibrant and practically singing in soft contentment as it flexed and stretched from one to the other and back again. And when Castiel reached out to Jack, the Nephilim could feel the beginnings of a bond like the one connecting him with Sam.

It was those bonds he followed when nightmares of Asmodeus pulled him from sleep, shivering and shaking with the fear that Castiel was gone, held prisoner and being hurt the way the demon Prince had so casually attempted to hurt Sam and Dean and the Prophet. His feet carried him silently along the cold floors of the Bunker from his room and down the halls until he reached the room Sam had told him was his. The door was open, and light flickered within although no sound immediately perceivable escaped to the hallway beyond. Hesitantly, Jack stepped closer to the doorway, feeling the pulse of an extra layer of that itch touch him briefly before retreating, and looked inside.

The television was on, showing scenes of Earth, landscapes that Jack had never seen and creatures he had never imagined existed. It was captivating, and so he almost missed the rustle from the bed across the room. When he turned to look, Castiel was there, sitting against the headboard in flannel pants and a plain white T-shirt. Sam lay curled up beside him, his head resting on the pillow, one arm draped over Castiel’s nearest leg, his back to the door in what struck Jack as a strangely vulnerable position until he realized that Castiel being there, protecting Sam, was what allowed him to be vulnerable in a way that he never seemed to be otherwise.

“What is it?” Castiel asked softly, his voice pitched to barely a murmur, though notably not a whisper.

“Nightmare,” Jack answered, attempting to match his pitch to Castiel’s. “I’m sorry… I just needed to see… to be sure…”

“You needed reassurance that we were still here and unharmed,” Castiel said, nodding in understanding. “Sam occasionally has the same reaction to his nightmares, as did I when I was human.”

“You were human?” Jack couldn’t help but ask. He had thought Castiel had always been an angel, or at least that was the impression he received from Sam.

“Briefly, for a time,” Castiel said with an expression Jack thought might be chagrin. “When I was cut off from Heaven for going against the Archangels’ plan to bring about the Apocalypse, and again when Metatron stole my Grace as part of the spell which ejected the angels from Heaven. I’m afraid I… did not handle the change well.”

“You did better than you think,” a sleepy murmur drifted up from where Sam was still curled at Castiel’s side. The human blinked his eyes open before scrubbing one hand down his face and half-turning towards the door. “Hey, Jack. Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, amazed at how quickly Sam could guess why he was there. Then again, if Castiel spoke the truth, nightmares were a familiar thing to his (Dad) human guardian. “Asmodeus,” he clarified.

“Vision, or just fears?” Sam asked, coming more awake.

“Fears,” Jack blurted out, and hoped that he was telling the truth, that what he had dreamed would not come to pass.

“Ah,” Sam nodded. He glanced up at Castiel, and the two shared a speaking look uncannily like those Jack had seen pass between Sam and Dean. Then Sam was shifting away from Castiel, making space between them on the bed, and waving Jack over. “Come on, then, get in. The proximity will help your mind chase away the fear.”

He sounded so sure of that statement that Jack found himself shuffling further into the room. The itch pulled briefly at his skin before seeming to snap back and away towards the door again, and the sudden loss nearly made him flinch. It was followed swiftly by a soft, radiating warmth that he recognized immediately, and the last bit of distance to the bed was covered with more speed than grace. Neither Sam nor Castiel said anything about it, just gently drew him into the middle of the bed. Sam shifted again so that his back was to the door and pulled Jack close, warm arms wrapping around him and holding him against a solid chest with a steady heartbeat.

“Just relax,” Sam murmured from somewhere above his head. “Hear my heartbeat, feel my presence… feel that warmth and spark of Castiel’s Grace behind you. We’re here. We’re safe… and so are you. We’ve got you, Jack. Right here, right now… everything is okay.”

Jack closed his eyes, letting the low words wash over him and through him, He felt the pulse of Castiel’s Grace behind him, skittering and sliding like rain. He heard the steady thu-thump of Sam’s heart beside his ear, the soft swish and hush of his breathing. He felt the warmth that was more than physical envelop him, cradling him more deeply than even those strong arms could.