#winged!jack

The problem with raising a child who is half-angel is that Sam does not have access to all the information he would need to do it right. Cas is better equipped than him or Dean, but Jack is still the kid of an archangel, above Cas’s paygrade. In the end, that’s why Lucifer gets visitation rights (which in reality translates to ‘why Lucifer crashes on their couch and is impossible to get rid of.’) He’s the only one left who knows how to wrangle a child whose temper tantrums could easily make people explode.

(It’s not that Jack wants to hurt anyone. It’s that there’s a reason you don’t give toddlers guns, and that’s because they’ll figure out how to shoot long before they figure out why not to.)

Sam is still wary of Lucifer, but that’s a hard feeling to hold onto when he’s comparing the guy who wanted to burn the world to the ground to the guy making a lightshow on the Bunker’s ceiling for Jack to distract him from a nightmare. If there’s only one thing Sam knows, it’s that he’s going to give everyone a second (third, fourth, fifth…) chance. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise, couldn’t face his own reflection knowing he’d been afforded that much and couldn’t extend it to someone else. Maybe Lucifer doesn’t deserve that, or to be in Jack’s life, or even to still be alive after everything he’s done, but Sam’s world has never revolved around fairness. They’re here. Jack exists. Lucifer is trying. That’s what matters.

He knows how Dean looks at him. Like it’s all going to go to Hell again. Sam doesn’t know what Dean would have done if Lucifer hadn’t shown up and claimed parental rights, how Dean would have treated Jack without the threat of an archangel’s wrath hovering in the background, but they’re knee-deep in parenting the antichrist now. A kid isn’t something they get to back out on because he’s gotten inconvenient. If nothing else, Lucifer gets that. Sam thought he wanted some sort of legacy, a final fuck you to his own father, but Lucifer… he really did just want a kid. He wanted someone to raise and protect and watch grow, and to know that he’s turning out alright despite (or even because of) Lucifer’s own influence.

If Sam was wrong to let the devil in, then he’ll pay the price. But he’s not so sure that’s going to happen.

Lucifer and Jack are both early risers. That’s easy to do when you either don’t sleep or only need a few hours every couple of days. Sam is still human, and he can’t function without coffee. He stumbles into the Bunker’s kitchen and the tail-end of a conversation.

“-thought they would take care of themselves,” Jack is saying before he hears Sam and turns to greet him. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Good morning, Sam,” Lucifer echoes. Sam glowers at him because it's early, and he should not have to deal with the devil before eight.

“Morning,” he gives them. He goes straight to the coffee maker. Strangely enough, there’s already a pot waiting for him. It’s fresh, too. Lucifer continues whatever they were talking about.

“They don’t. You don’t expect the human parts of you to take care of themselves. Why would the angelic be any different?” It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to sort out that Lucifer’s upset, not angry, which is the first place Sam’s half-asleep brain goes to. He glances at Jack to check, but where Sam tensed up at Lucifer’s firmer tone, Jack is completely relaxed. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s never had a parent who prefaced shouting matches with disappointment. “Your wings are delicate, especially now. You have to preen them, or they’ll start to hurt.”

“What does that mean?” Jack asks. Lucifer frowns.

“This shouldn’t be new information to you. Castiel could have taught you this. Why didn’t he-“ Lucifer stops himself, his gaze flicking towards the darkened doorway that leads to the rest of the Bunker. Castiel has his own room here, now. It seemed a little weird for Lucifer to have one picked out and not him. Lucifer’s expression goes from confusion to realization to concern, and then he quietly says, “I can handle that later.” He turns back to Jack. “Preening is how you keep your wings clean. I can’t teach you to fly without them being in a good state.”

He tosses it out casually, but Jack hones in on it in an instant. If the half-smile on Lucifer’s face is anything to go by, that was intentional. “You promise?” Jack says.

“Cross my heart,” Lucifer responds, and when Jack tilts his head and frowns at the saying, he adds, “I promise.”

“So, how do I do it? Preening?” Jack pouts. “I don’t have to get in the shower, do I?” Jack is not a huge fan of showers. Dean thinks he’s being overdramatic when he says that the water hitting him feels like tiny knives. Sam, who has started paying more attention to the way Jack avoids certain sounds or textures, isn’t so sure.

“No. You should probably be careful manifesting your wings anywhere in here. Except around Sam, of course. He can take it. Dean’s eyeballs might explode.” Sam jolts at hearing his name. He’s been passively absorbing everything up until now.

“What does that mean?” he asks. Lucifer waves a hand.

“No part of me can hurt you to look at,” he says, “and Jack was a part of me, once.” Mercifully, he stops that explanation there because Sam does not feel like they need to explain the birds and bees to Jack this morning. “You could see his wings. You’ve seen mine.” Sam tries not to shudder. He’s seen a lot of Lucifer. None of it was pretty. Lucifer is watching him, and though Sam squashed most of his reaction, enough clearly reached his face that Lucifer catches it. He looks more upset than Sam expected, but as always, it’s brushed off and his focus falls back on Jack. “Technically, you could help, if you wanted to.”

“Help?” Sam and Jack say at the same time.

“It was a bonding exercise in Heaven. Michael used to-“ Lucifer stops, crosses his arms. When he starts again, he’s quieter. “If you had to guess, you’d think Gabriel was the messy one, but he always kept his wings neat and tidy. It was Raphael who had to be made to sit still so that I could comb their feathers back in order.” He takes a breath. Sam knows no version of the archangels except the ones in the aftermath, Gabriel as the trickster, Raphael at war, Michael as the dick he dragged into the Cage with him, but they were Lucifer’s family, once. And now he’s got nothing.

Or, he has Jack. Sometimes, how desperate Lucifer was to be a part of his life makes a lot of sense.

“Angels aren’t made to be alone,” Lucifer says. “We can take care of our own wings for a while, but in isolation, well, speaking from experience…” He shrugs, like this is something that doesn’t matter to him. Sam’s convinced that half the reason Lucifer doesn’t lie is that when he bothers to, he’s terrible at it. “So let’s look after yours and keep them from getting to that state, yeah, kiddo?”

“And Sam will help?” Jack and Lucifer both look to him. Curiosity and a need to help Jack win out over caution, in the end.

“Sure,” he agrees.

Sam’s seen angels manifest their wings in shadow but never as anything tangible before. The closest to that he's ever experienced was back in the Cage, Lucifer's wings cradled around him like there was anything he could do to protect Sam's soul from Hell, and that's a fuzzy memory at best. Now, they all huddle on the floor in Jack's room, his bed (and judging by the amount, Sam's and Lucifer's, too) stripped of blankets and pillows to construct a haphazard nest. Lucifer's and Jack's are softer than Sam knew they could be. Sam's blankets are the outlier, more function than comfort. Sam looks at the walls around them and makes a mental note to buy Jack more things to brighten up the room. Paint. A poster or two. Some glow-in-the-dark stars to stick to his ceiling and walls. He's a child, not a prisoner, and where he sleeps should reflect that.

"Scoot back, Sam," Lucifer says, and Sam moves without thinking, still looking at the walls. When he glances back, Lucifer's settled behind Jack. "Breathe. Try not to hit Sam in the face." Jack laughs. He rolls his shoulders.

His wings don't explode or blind Sam. They softly glow into existence, feather by feather. They're slightly folded at first, but Jack stretches them out. They seem shorter than Castiel or Lucifer's wings, round where theirs were broad. Lucifer catches them at the wrist as they extend, not halting the stretch. They're an off-white color. Jack flaps them a few times. Sam needs a minute to get over the awe of seeing them at all to start noticing the flaws. His feathers are a tangled mess. The wings themselves are mostly clean, but they're also dull, lacking the luster Sam has seen on well-kept birds' wings. Lucifer's hands drift down from the wrist to the tips of Jack's uppermost primaries. Jack's feathers puff up at the contact like hair standing on end, but Lucifer pets them back down, humming soothingly.

"You okay?" Sam asks. Jack's biting his lip. He looks up at Sam, looks down again, and then he says,

"It's... weird. Not bad. Kind of like getting my hair brushed." Lucifer folds Jack's wings back up, checking that it doesn't hurt him to do that. Jack shivers. "But... more."

"You going to help, Sam, or am I going to do all the work myself?" Lucifer asks. Sam moves closer. Jack's wings extend again, waiting for him to touch. Sam reaches out, but he stops, hovering centimeters from the feathers. Lucifer places his hand over Sam's, and when Sam doesn't jerk away from him, he slowly presses Sam's hand down on top of Jack's feathers. Jack gasps. His wing twitches out from under Sam's palm.

"You shocked me!" he says.

"Sorry,” Sam says. Lucifer chuckles, and he guides Sam's hand back down to Jack's wing. This time, it stays steady, though Jack still looks back over his shoulder, trying to see what they're doing.

"Easy," Lucifer murmurs. He's guiding Sam gently, getting both him and Jack used to the contact. "There we go." Jack's feathers are soft and fluffy where they aren't matted down, and even those patches feel like they'll be easy to comb out. Lucifer's hand leaves Sam's, and Sam feels a strange loss at the contact. Lucifer's touch is still calming, after all this time. It's no manipulation or trick. It's just a fact. He slides his fingers between Jack's secondary coverts as Sam watches, very carefully adjusting the feathers. Some, he only runs two fingers over, smoothing out the barbs. He glances at Sam, and Sam nods. He mimics Lucifer's movements with Jack's secondaries. Those feathers are larger, rustling under Sam's fingers. Jack stifles a laugh.

"Hold still," Lucifer chides softly. Jack's wings are moving, quick flicks and shifts that are off-setting Lucifer and Sam's attempts to fix his feathers.

"I'm trying," he protests. "It feels nice."

"It's supposed to." Lucifer moves to the scapulars, the feathers closest to Jack's back.

"No one touches me much unless I'm in danger," Jack says. "I'm not used to it."

And at that, Lucifer and Sam both pause.

Lucifer's the first to say something, "No, I..." He can't continue. Jack looks back over his shoulder again, frowning. Guilt wells in Sam's chest. He goes over the past few days, or weeks, and what Jack says is right. Castiel is the one who gives him the most physical affection, and even then, it isn't possibly enough for Jack to live off of. Sam's doesn't usually get or give to anyone more than a near-death hug every few months and occasionally pats on the shoulder or back. The fact that Lucifer doesn't give Jack more surprises Sam. Lucifer used to overwhelm Sam with how often he insisted on touching him, constantly leaning into him or stroking his hair, until Sam snapped at him to stop a few times. It all ended after that. Sam would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. But with Jack? Lucifer's always fluctuating between wanting to be involved in every aspect of his life and restraining himself from getting too close. Even if he wanted to give Jack daily hugs or ruffle his hair, would he even let himself? Even this, preening his wings, was excused by necessity, rather than purely being something Lucifer wanted to do to bond with him.

"I guess we're not used to it either," Sam offers, "but if you ever need that... You can ask."

"That's allowed?" Jack doesn't sound sure, and that alone breaks Sam's heart.

"Of course." He vows to do better, to watch how he interacts with Jack and try not to be so distant. It's not an easy thing to promise himself, but for Jack, he can do it.

He sneaks a peek at Lucifer's expression. He's withdrawn his hand from Jack's wing, and he's tensed up. Before he can think better of it, Sam puts his hand on Lucifer's shoulder. When Lucifer meets his eyes, he looks lost. Sam tilts his head at Jack. "You'll do better," he whispers. He slides his hand down Lucifer's arm to his hand and presses it back into Jack's feathers. Jack's wings flap.

Lucifer works on one wing and Sam works on the other. After a while of correcting feathers and combing them into place, Lucifer shows him how wing oil works. Jack chirps in surprise when Lucifer brushes one of the glands, a weird high-pitched not-quite bird noise. Lucifer chirps back. Both of them make Sam's ears ring a little but not hurt. The oil smells caramel-sweet. It's easy to spread over Jack's feathers. As they go, the wings begin to shine more, the off-white turning to pearl. Where the light catches the freshly-cleaned feathers, they glimmer with gold and pink light. Jack flaps and stretches again.

"So, I get flying lessons now," he says, delighted. Lucifer sighs.

"Fine, but take it easy on your old man. I'm not the best flier anymore." Sam makes sure Jack's coverts are all in order one last time, stroking down the length of the wing. Jack chirps again.

"We should preen yours," he suggests. Lucifer freezes.

"That's not a good id-" Lucifer starts.

"Why not?" Sam says. "Angels can't take care of their wings on their own."

"Sam," Lucifer hisses. It's far from anger. It's almost panic. Sam can't blame him. He keeps them well-hidden, from Jack and from Castiel. Sam might be the only one left on Earth who knows just how terrible Lucifer's wings have gotten, which means he's also the only one Lucifer would be comfortable enough showing them to for grooming.

"No part of you can hurt me, right?" Sam's not going to pretend Lucifer's True Form doesn't scare the shit out of him. He also won't pretend that he doesn't want to help him.

Lucifer won't meet his eyes. He passes his hands over Jack's wings one last time before declaring, "You're finished. Stow those away before you end up accidentally blinding Dean." Jack folds his wings against his back. They disappear with a quiet pop like a bubble, and just like that, he could be a normal kid again. Well, normal as any kid who grew halfway up in a day's time. He twists, still grinning. Sam smiles back. Lucifer reaches forward hesitantly and cups Jack's cheek. Jack looks very small like that. Lucifer leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Jack's forehead. Jack's smile falls, not out of upset but pure surprise. He blinks twice, and then he launches himself forward, knocking Lucifer back. It takes Lucifer a minute to wrap him up in a hug, but when he does, Sam sees Jack shiver and burrow further into the embrace. Sam's not sure how welcome he is until there's a hand tugging on his, and Jack's pulling him closer. Hugging Jack means hugging Lucifer, too. Sam's okay with that.

Jack squirms between them so that he can wrap his arms around Sam next. Lucifer presses his forehead to Sam's before pulling back. Sam has one of their hands in each of his.

More than okay.