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swlbarnes · 5 years

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Soul - Jack Kline x Reader

Summary: Castiel always insists that it is impossible for humans to perceive the physical form of a soul. After spending time with Jack, you swear Cas is wrong.

Pairing: Jack Kline x Reader, Father figure!Castiel x Reader

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: canon typical violence, light torture, some slight angst, fluff, danger to reader, danger to characters, blood, fatherly castiel (is that a warning? idk), basically there’s some good stuff and some bad stuff, but overall it’s fluff! slight canon divergence, vague early season 14 spoiler, but the main Jack plot in season 14 doesn’t apply here

A/N: I had this idea like FOREVER ago bc of that shot of jack asleep in the back of the impala (gif below), and i just got around to writing it bc school is garbage (pls stay in school). Hope it’s alright! Feedback is always greatly appreciated!

gif creator here, give them love!

Soul /sōl/ noun - the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life.

You often found yourself asking Castiel the most random of questions about the universe. What was the beginning of the world like? What did the Bible completely get wrong? How have things changed over time in Heaven? Who thought the platypus was a good idea?

Most of all, though, your questions seemed to focus on one thing: souls. You were absolutely enamored by the subject. Something about them felt so incredibly intriguing, and after having seen the change in Sam Winchester when he happened to lose his soul, you wanted all the information you could get. Having an angel friend to answer your questions was exactly what you needed.

“Cas,” you spoke his name softly, intent on not destroying the peacefully quiet nature of the bunker’s library at 4 o’clock in the morning. The pair of you were up researching for a hunt after you found yourself unable to fall asleep. You insisted that instead of having Cas use his grace to help you sleep, that you could use your time to get some work done. The seraph reluctantly agreed.

“Yes?” He hummed in acknowledgement. His eyes lifted from his book in front of him just slightly to meet your gaze.

“What does a soul look like?”

Castiel let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his seat and pushing the book away just enough to show that you had his attention. A small smile quirked at the corners of his mouth at the question. This was far from your first time asking it. You questioned him relentlessly about every topic you could think of, but no matter what, you always came back around to the same question. What does a soul really look like?

And every time he gave the same answer: “They look like light.”

Sometimes you took this at face value, just glad to hear him say it again, but sometimes, like this particular night, you needed to hear more. You gave him a nod of encouragement, urging him to continue speaking. He took in a breath and cast his eyes over the room momentarily. His hands clasped together in his lap, and the small, relaxed smile remained on his face. He loved answering your questions and you could tell. There was always a childlike excitement to you when he would offer you a new piece of information. You would take his words and hold them close to you, eager to commit them to memory. You knew secrets of the universe that other people could never even dream of knowing. It felt nice to take you under his literal and metaphorical wing to teach you the things you wanted to know.

“Souls tend to shine differently depending on the person. You can tell so much about someone based on their soul alone. This is why demons are so easy to spot: their souls are so twisted that they become something so much different than the purity of a human soul,” he elaborated, his eyes trailing over the swirls of the wood grain on the table top.

You leaned forward slightly. “But surely not all human souls are so… pure,” you pointed out. He nodded.

“You’re correct. Many human souls find themselves being twisted in their life on earth as well, but never to the extent of a demon’s, of course.”

“But demons manifest themselves as black smoke. So, does that mean that the purity of a soul is based on how bright it is?” You continued to pester. You trailed your nails along the edge of the table subconsciously.

Castiel shook his head side to side. “No, not at all. It’s less of it being one rule for all and more of just a… feeling. Much like you are often able to tell the intentions of a fellow human with a glance, souls are much the same. Some souls are dim, but that does not mean that they aren’t beautifully pure,” he informed you. His voice remained level and patient, as it always did when you started a line of questions. You smiled at his tone. You were always grateful for the care he took in these situations. He never made you feel bad for your questions or your lack of knowledge, something you wished that your old school teachers had taken lessons in.

Your gaze travelled down to the pages of the lore book still open in front of you. The old weathered paper was yellowed and tattered with time. The top right corner of the page you were on was creased from someone who knows how long ago that dog-eared their spot in the text. You fought the urge to grimace at the foul treatment given to the book and focused instead on posing your next question. “What does… my soul look like?”

This was another familiar question, but still, Cas humored you. He trailed his eyes over your face with a thoughtful expression before he opened his mouth to reply. “Your soul is… complex. It shines bright, and has a slight, dare I say, twinkle to it. Like a star.” He paused to cast you a proud, fatherly smile. “You’re the team’s North Star, forever helping to guide us home.”

You cast your eyes downward, hoping the way your hair came down around your face was enough to hide your reddened cheeks and meek smile. You reached a hand up to trail a finger along the edges of your book. The worn leather of the binding was soft beneath your fingertips, and the scent of old pages wafted around you like a blanket in the serenity of the library. “I wish I could see souls,” you commented in passing, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

Cas was quick to recognize the wobble of your form and the half closed position of your heavy eyelids. He stood from his seat and made his way around the table, placing a hand on your shoulder and coaxing you upright. “Humans can’t see souls, and I promise that if there was a way for you to do so, you would be the first person I would tell.” With that, he led you down the maze-like halls of the bunker and into your bed. He brought the covers up to your chin, giving a light chuckle as he heard your soft snores before he was even able to shut the door behind him.

A year or so had passed since that night. Things finally settled down, and for once you could feel at peace. The bunker now consisted of the two Winchester boys, your fallen angel mentor, an ex-trickster archangel, and the son of Lucifer himself. Things were… good. There was just one thing…

Castiel had lied to you.

He had told you that humans could not see souls. That humans were incapable of comprehending the visual aspects of a soul. And you swear to every higher power you know, he lied to you. He must have. It was the only explanation.

These thoughts paraded around your mind, your brain’s mess of emotions a swift contrast to the atmosphere of the Impala you were sat in the back seat therein. Your eyes fixated on the nephilim sat by your side. Jack’s body leaned limp against the car door, his hand placed with his palm against the window to act as a barrier between his cheek and the icy glass. The sun was setting just on the other side of his window. The sky was streaked with endless shades of pinks, yellows, and oranges, spreading out in wisps that curled lazily around the surrounding landscape. Your ears were filled with the soft guitar riff of Dean’s favorite Led Zeppelin cassette. The scent surrounding you was that of old leather, whiskey, gun powder, and a swirling mixture of both Sam and Dean’s favorite colognes - in other words, it smelled like home.

You fixed your attention on Jack’s form. Your gaze swept over him, taking in every detail you possibly could. You noticed the way the tips of his fingers twitched in his dreaming state. You noticed the slight part of his lips as he let out soft, even breaths. You noticed each little freckle that dotted his skin. You noticed the way that his favorite red jacket was tugged up to tuck into his neck, as you knew he loved how the fluffy fabric felt comforting against his skin. You noticed it all.

Most of all, you noticed the way the light of the sunset behind him framed his form. The remaining rays trickled in through the car window, casting a gentle glow around his silhouette. The orange tendrils of light curled along his hair and tinted his dark brown curls a lighter, more fiery blonde color. The slant of his cheekbones was far more distinct in this lighting. The shadows of his face were dark and impressive, but somehow his features maintained his tender nature. In fact, you swore you could make out the shape of a halo at the crown of his hair. Everything about him and the way the sunset curved around him felt so celestial, so strong. Yet still he retained an air of care and love about him. He just looked so… Jack. And it was incredible.

“What do you mean you’re scared of the dark?” Dean asked in a teasing tone. An annoyed scowl formed in your lips and your arms wound around your own torso as you sought out as much comfort as you could get.

“Oh, shove it Winchester. We’re all scared of something. You wouldn’t be so cocky if we were in an airplane right now,” you shot back. You tried your best to hide the shake in the back of your throat, but you knew by the eldest brother’s deep chuckle that you hadn’t done as well as you had hoped.

“That’s because a plane crash will kill ya, and you just have to go down without a fight. Seriously, you’re a hunter, how are you afraid of the dark?”

You shuffled around from your place in one of the plush couches of the library. The darkness surrounding you curled its claws around your neck and began to squeeze, but you just shook your head in an attempt to fight it off. “I know what’s in the dark. I think we have more reason to hate the dark than anyone else does,” you insisted. You could practically see the stupid smirk on his face, and you wanted nothing more than to punch it right off.

Your knees tugged themselves up against your chest so you could wind your arms around them. Gazing into the endless darkness was unsettling no matter what, but to make things worse, you didn’t know what was really in the bunker. The last time something got out, the Wicked Witch tried to destroy Oz, and you weren’t too keen on fighting both your fear of the dark and another old fairy tale on the same day. Nope. Definitely not. You were much more comfortable sitting right where you were on the couch with your back pressed against the wall and your feet up off the ground so nothing could grab you from somewhere in the emptiness.

The sounds of shuffling coming from the winding corridors caused you to jump in fright. “Wh-who’s there?” You stuttered out, turning your head from one side to the other as if you could see who - or what - was making their way over to you.

Around the corner, the flame of a lit candle made itself visible, the light it emitted casting a soft golden glow over the surrounding few feet. “Dean? (Y/N)?” The soft, familiar voice of the nephilim called as he rounded the corner, candle in hand. Your heart jumped at the sight.

“Jack!” You cried out gratefully. You instantly flung yourself off of the couch, the balls of your feet barely hitting the floor with each step before you leaped forward again, all the way up until you made it to the man. You ducked underneath the candle and wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging him close to you in search of comfort.

The air in his lungs was exhaled with a huff upon impact. He raised the candle above his head to ensure the flame wouldn’t catch on your hair or clothing before he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders in a comforting - yet confused - manner. “Are you alright?” Jack asked with an edge of worry in his tone. You nodded against his chest.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just… don’t like the dark. And Dean is mean to me.” Your accusation brought forth a cry of offense from Dean, which in turn caused you to chuckle into the material of Jack’s shirt, which you were still clinging to as if your life depended on it. Jack looked up to Dean in an ever-so-serious accusatory manner.

“Sam is working on getting the power back on still. He said he’s almost got it, but I should come check on you in case you were worried,” the nephilim explained, turning his gaze to you once again. You cast him a small smile and took a step back.

You coughed to clear your throat from the awkward silence that followed, much to Dean’s amusement. He indicated this with a rather unflattering snort that you would have demolished him for in other circumstances. Instead of tearing into the older hunter, you peered upwards at the man in front of you. “Well, thank you for coming to make sure we were alright. I don’t know how much more of Dean’s teasing I can take, especially when it’s too dark for me to even take a swing at him.”

A smile bloomed on Jack’s lips, and your expression brightened to match. He lowered the candle again, now that you were a safe distance away. You instantly found yourself mesmerized by the way the shadows shifted across his skin, accentuating the hills and valleys of his face in different ways based on where the flame sat.

The soft orange glow flickered in his irises. The light was just bright enough to illuminate his face, chest, and shoulders, but the rest of his body seemed to fade into the darkness all around you. A few strands of chestnut hair were still visible, and the light brought forth more details of his natural highlights than you had previously noticed. Overall, he looked warm and safe, and you found yourself shuffling to remain close to him with each movement. You would later insist to Dean that this behavior was a result of you wishing to remain close to the light, but deep down you knew what the true source of your comfort really was.

“They’ll never find you, y’know,” the young janitor insisted as he strolled leisurely around the empty space. Well, to be fair, this wasn’t really the janitor. The real man was likely off in some remote location with a slit throat like all the other poor vics you had come across in the coroner’s office on this particular case. No, this man was the shapeshifter you and the team had been hunting for the past week.

You weren’t entirely sure how you had gotten caught. Your plan was foolproof, at least it was all the way up until it wasn’t. Perhaps it really was never the best idea for the whole team to split up and have each of you going off on your own, but there were simply too many possible hotspots the shifter could have shown up to and not enough hunters to adequately cover them all. You were all hoping to figure out who the latest face claim was tonight, and had no intentions of moving in on the creature. Apparently it had far different plans.

All you could remember was an ear ringing thud against the back of your head before you woke up tied against one of the rickety support beams in an old abandoned warehouse close by where you had been conducting your personal search mission. An hour and a half had already passed, and you found yourself running low on snarky quips to fire back. The backhanded commentary about the cliched locale ran out of steam about thirty minutes ago, and he really wasn’t giving you much else to work off of.

This had clearly worn you down, and you wanted nothing more than to get back to the motel room, shower off the blood and dirt clinging to your skin, and collapse into bed. Of course, your idiotic friends would have to actually find you and save you before that could happen.

“If you were really that confident in them not finding me, then you wouldn’t feel the need to constantly remind me how hopeless it is,” you pointed out, shrugging nonchalantly. “But, whatever, that’s just psychology or whatever. I’m sure the world renowned Winchesters will be completely fooled by you, some random back alley shifter with a thing for the dramatics.”

The noise that ripped from the man’s throat could only be described as a growl; it was a bit too human to be an animal, but just animalistic enough to not feel human either. All in all, it was utterly unsettling, and you found your feet shuffling around in discomfort. “Shut up,” he snarled. His lip curled upwards to bare his teeth, an act that seemed out of place when the pearly whites being revealed were the dull, omnivorous ones of a human being. You quirked a brow in question.

The shifter twirled the knife in his hand as he made his way over to where you stood. The cool metal of the blade was chilling against the skin of your neck, and you pressed your back into the wooden beam behind you in an attempt to retreat from his threat. “For someone about to die, you sure do talk a lot,” he hissed. You winced against the scent of tobacco and cheap liquor clinging to his breath.

“Well,” you muttered, mustering a smirk despite yourself. “For an evil mastermind who wants to kill me, you sure are taking your precious time.” Perhaps goading a mentally unstable form changing monster into killing you wasn’t the best course of action, but it was the only comeback your brain could think of as you felt the kiss of his knife against your bared throat.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m just letting you simmer for a while,” the shifter hummed. He raised the knife to brush a lock of hair from your eyes before trailing it down the side of your face. Your fists clenched from their place tied behind your back. “That fear in your eyes, the fear you’re trying to hide from me, it’s… thrilling. You act so high and mighty, you act like you’re the one in control here, but all it would take is one… little…” The knife in his hand trailed down the column of your throat and paused just over your heart, where he pressed down the flat of the blade just enough that the edges dug into your skin. “Slip.” On that word, he flicked his wrist, drawing a line of scarlet blood along your chest. You hissed out in pain.

“Oh, screw you, man,” you muttered through clenched teeth. He gave a dark chuckle and ran his knife through the stream of blood trickling down your skin.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a bang sounded from behind him. “Jack, wait!” Sam Winchester’s gruff voice called. The old, dilapidated door of the warehouse opened and slammed against the wall, revealing the young nephilim’s fuming form in the doorway.

“Jack!” You cried out in desperation. His gaze flickered over you momentarily, scanning your injuries and growing darker and darker with each new one he found. At the sight of the knife still being held against your chest, Jack’s eyes went alight.

“Stop!” He shouted, throwing his hand out in front of him and sending golden beams of his grace towards your attacker, who went flying far from gracefully across the empty room. His body slammed into one of the support beams, causing the wood to crack and splinter.

Sam and Dean came barreling into the warehouse after Jack, guns and knives at the ready. Sam wasted no time before rushing towards you, slicing through the rope around your wrists with his blade and catching you in his arms when your legs collapsed beneath you. You sighed and settled into his grasp, turning your eyes to Jack’s squared shoulders as he made his way to the crumpled form of the shifter.

Dean stepped forward to help the nephilim, but with a wave of Sam’s hand, he held his place and watched from afar instead. Jack’s entire body seemed to glow with his grace, his eyes a brilliantly bright gold unlike anything you had ever seen from the man. His jaw was set in determination as he reached a hand down and gripped the shifter’s shirt collar. He dragged the struggling man a few feet to the wall, where he slammed him against the ramshackled wooden planks.

“You should never have touched them,” he spat menacingly. Golden irises swept over the shifter’s body in disgust. The veins in Jack’s arm took up his signature glow as well, the light travelling up to his hand, where it seemed to sizzle against the shifter’s skin. An ear splitting cry ripped from the man’s throat, his legs thrashing wildly in an attempt to escape, but Jack made no move to let go. He simply tightened his grip and continued on. The shadow of two large wings spanned out along the wall, each wing easily seeming to be at least twice as large as Jack himself. They flared out in a way one could only describe as threatening, and for the first time in your life, you could understand the fear others seemed to have when they spoke of Jack Kline. The golden glow emanating from his being sent the hairs along your arms and at the back of your neck standing on end. Never had you seen Jack so… frightening. You tended to spend most of your time around the man cooing over his soft spoken nature and kind smiles. Seeing the full extent of the nephilim’s powers felt like being thrown into a bath of ice water. This truly was a being of immense strength and unimaginable power, and that fact was being thrown in your face quite suddenly.

“Jack!” You called out, voice wavering slightly in fright of the sight of such a cool and collected man in a state like this. He froze at the sound of your voice and turned his eyes to you. His grip loosened ever so slightly and his face fell as he realized what was wrong. He blinked away what he could of his anger and shifted his hand to the man’s forehead, sending one last blast of his grace to smite the shifter on the spot. The body crumpled to the floor, burnt out eyes gazing into nothing.

Jack turned on his heel and made it over to you in a few long strides. His hands reached out and he took you from Sam without a second thought. The golden glow in Jack’s eyes still had not disappeared entirely as he scanned over your injuries. His brow furrowed in unease at the sight of the various bruises and cuts marring your skin. Slowly, he raised a hand up to your cheek and pressed his palm against you. His grace flooded over your body, surrounding you in a warmth and comfort that felt so utterly Jack. Your injuries burned briefly as the grace touched them, but the discomfort was gone as quickly as it came.

At some point during the exchange, it seemed that your eyes had closed on their own volition. You allowed them to open once more, and they locked on to the fading light surrounding Jack’s pupils. Neither of you said a word, you just pulled him towards you and buried your face in his chest.

You tugged your jacket closer to your body against the chill of the late night winds. The tell tale splash of yet another rock being tossed incorrectly into the lake could be heard clearly as it echoed through the trees. A chuckle escaped your lips, an the nephilim by the shoreline pouted in response.

“I just don’t get it!” He complained, hanging his head low as he shuffled over to you. Your smile practically split your face at this point.

“Jack, it’s all about the technique. Plus, you have to get the right kind of rock. Make sure the rock is flat. Like…” Your eyes scanned over the rocks all around your feet until you found one that suited your needs. “This one!” You plucked it out of the mess and held it up to Jack for him to inspect. He turned it over in his fingers, brushing over the rock’s surface and giving an understanding nod.

“Okay,” he hummed in acknowledgement. “What next?”

You reached down and grabbed another similar rock that would suit your needs before standing upright once more. “Next, you want to crouch down a little, get yourself closer to the surface of the water, you know?” You do so as you speak, and Jack slowly moves to follow. “Turn to the side…” He shuffled so his side is facing the water. “Now, from here, you need to throw the rock as close to matching the surface of the water as you can, throw it kinda sideways, and flick your wrist.” With a quick flick of your wrist, the rock skids over the water and hops one, two, three times before it finally drops beneath the surface entirely.

You stood to your full height and turned around to face Jack, who had his arm wound back in preparation and a look of utter determination in his eyes. A small smile graced your lips at the sight. The light of the full moon illuminated his features in a soft, innocent glow. This setting felt so much different from the usual yellow tinted bulbs back in the bunker. The natural white light conveyed a sense of purity you had yet to see of him, but once it has been seen, the image will surely never leave you. His hair was pushed back to ensure there would be no distractions during such an important moment. Your gaze followed his arm as he flicked his wrist forward, sending the rock hurtling along the water. The ripples of the stone against the surface distorted his reflection, and you felt a small sense of pride when you saw how it bounced up and hit the water again with a splash.

“I did it!” He cried in victory, jumping up with a look of sheer joy.

You smiled back and nodded, trying your best to match his excitement. This proved to be an easy task, as anything pertaining to Jack and his happiness brought you joy. “You did! That was great, Jack!” You praised. He took a step towards you and pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you in a grateful embrace. Just like that day in the warehouse, you found yourself easing into his arms without a second thought. You slumped against him and pressed your face into his neck, glad to simply bathe in his presence and nothing more. The light of the moon cascaded down upon the pair of you, casting a line of white over the surface of the water. You trailed your eyes down the path of moonlight until your gaze rested on the still rippling reflection of your embrace. A smile settled itself on your lips, and you allowed your eyes to flutter shut.

He wasn’t supposed to run off. He was supposed to stay with the group. Where did he go? Why did he run off? Why did he run off?

Your panicked gaze scanned over your wooded surroundings in hopes of spotting the familiar nephilim, but it was to no avail. This hunt was lasting longer than it was supposed to. The last rays of the day were disappearing and the streams of sunlight that once ran through the treetops were quickly being replaced by a shroud of dark night sky.

A scream of his name bubbled up in your throat, and it took everything in you to force it back down and continue your quiet search. You could hardly even hear the shuffling of the rest of the team around you over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You tightened your grip on the handle of your gun, hovering your pointer finger over the trigger in case of an emergency. The bullets loaded into the gun wouldn’t do much good against the wendigo lurking somewhere in those woods, but you held on to the hope that you would be able to distract the thing long enough to molotov the son of a bitch.

“I just don’t understand why he would go off on his own like that,” you muttered aloud, voice audibly shaking with unease. Dean let out a sigh.

“You know how the kid has been lately. He hasn’t felt the same since he came back without his mojo. He’s probably trying to prove he’s still valuable to the team,” the older hunter explained. He kept his voice as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the bloodthirsty monster hiding in the shadows, but even at such a low volume his baritone seemed to echo endlessly through the trees. You winced at the idea of the wendigo perched atop one of the many branches looming overhead, simply listening to your conversation and waiting for the right time to strike.

You let out a frustrated huff. “He doesn’t have to prove a thing. We all know he’s a valuable asset to the team. Plus, he’s family.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sam nod his head, his chin length hair swaying with his movements. “Of course we know that, but I don’t think he’s trying to prove it to us. He’s doing this to prove it to himself.”

Your heart constricted at that. Jack didn’t believe he was capable without his powers, and now he was risking his life to make a point to himself. You swallowed the rising lump in your throat and blinked away the sting of would-be tears. This wasn’t the time to get emotional.

Your search seemed fruitless, and soon enough you found yourself unable to see past a few feet in the darkened woods. Castiel’s eyes shone a bright blue, the only light you could make out in the otherwise almost pitch black night. The moon provided little comfort from its place shrouded behind the tops of the trees. A chilling wind swept through the forest floor, sending an unnerving chill down your spine.

“Can you see anything, Cas?” You asked the angel, whose eyes flickered back and forth across the landscape. He furrowed his brow in frustration.

“I can’t find any signs of Jack’s presence. No trail of footprints, no broken branches, nothing to indicate where he might have gone.”

This answer was unhelpful, but exactly what you expected. Jack might be practically human now, but he isn’t a fool. He knows how to cover his tracks like the best of them. Castiel continued to examine the terrain, being the only one of the four of you who could still manage to see. Meanwhile, you followed close behind and tuned your ears in to listen for anything suspicious. It didn’t go over your head that there was still a ravenous wendigo prowling around, and three blinded hunters would surely be a tempting meal to the beast. If it wasn’t stalking Jack, then you had no doubts that its eyes were on you. To be entirely honest, you weren’t sure which option made your stomach turn more.

You had just taken another step forward when you heard the scream. Jack’s voice. Undeniably, that was Jack’s voice. “Help!” He sobbed, the piercing sound bouncing off the trees. “Please help me!”

It took less than a second for you to turn and dash in the direction of the disturbance. The cries of your friends behind you, begging you to stop were drowned out in favor of pushing all of your energy forward. A hand made a grab for your jacket. You yanked the material away in one smooth motion.

Once a set of fingers wrapped around your elbow and pulled backwards, that was when the world came flooding back to your senses. Your body tumbled to the cold dirt floor. Your limbs scrambled to right yourself and continue on, but you were ultimately stopped by a pair of arms curling around your waist and lifting you up and away.

“Sam, let go of me!” You pleaded as you continued to thrash in his hold. His grip only tightened. “Sam, please! I need to save him!”

“I can’t let you do that!” His voice sounded pained, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at that point.

“Why not?” You hissed through your teeth. Frustrations were mounting and anger bubbled up deep within your chest. “We can’t just leave him! He’s gonna die, I can’t lose him! We can’t lose him!”

“God, this is like trying to keep Jack from barging into that warehouse to save them all over again,” Dean muttered. His hands worked to keep you still, and your legs worked double time to kick him away. “Dammit, stop that!”

“No! Let me go!”

“(Y/N), have you forgotten what we’re hunting in the first place?” Castiel butted in. “This is a wendigo, their mimicry of human voices is perfect. We can’t trust anything we hear!” His tone begged you to understand. It told you how upset the situation made him as well. The amount of pain he felt from being unable to save the boy he sees as a son was clearly audible. And it made you even angrier.

“Sam, I’m sorry about this.”

A pause. “Wait, what?”

Without another word, you threw your elbow back to meet his chin. His hold on you released instantly, and as soon as your feet touched the ground, you were off. You could no longer hear their shouts. You couldn’t hear the pounding of your feet against the leaves and branches littered beneath your boots. You couldn’t hear your heaving breaths. All that registered in your mind was the pumping of the blood in your ears and the memories of Jack’s cry for help. Maybe it was the wendigo, but if it was, then it knew Jack. And now you had no doubt in your mind that it planned to go after Jack first. Maybe you were running straight into the monster’s trap, but if there was even the slightest chance that you could kill this thing before it set a claw on Jack Kline, you were going to take it.

Your search brought you to the mouth of a cave. All you could make out was the rock’s shape around a gaping, pitch black hole. Carefully, you tucked your gun in the waistband of your pants and replaced it with your lighter in one hand and your homemade molotov bottle in the other. In a few quick flicks the lighter sparked to life. Upon waving the flame over the ground outside the cave, a few old splotches of blood became very apparent, and your hunter instincts kicked into overdrive. This was the wendigo’s lair. There was no doubt about that.

You took silent steps into the cave. The humid air held the unmistakable scent of rotten flesh and the metallic tang of blood, new and old. You swallowed down the bile that threatened to creep up your throat and continued on. The shake that previously overtook your hands was long gone now, replaced by the deadly, steady accuracy of your rage.

Your venture took you deeper and deeper into the cavern. The farther in you got, the heavier the stench became in your nose, and it took all you had not to gag on each breath. The air was stale and the ground was just damp enough to utter a soft squish each time your boots sunk into the dirt. The cave took a sharp turn, and you pressed your back against the wall before swinging out around the corner with your lighter and bottle outstretched and at the ready. What you saw, however, wasn’t the wendigo, but a clearly winded Jack Kline pressed against the wall where the cave hits a dead end.

His eyes met yours and instantly you saw the fear filling his body. “No, you shouldn’t be here!” He cried out, struggling to his feet with one hand planted firmly on the rock wall.

Your jaw clenched at the sight of crimson staining his left pant leg, the denim clearly torn where the wendigo must have slashed at him to immobilize him. “Where is it?” You growled out. Jack opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short when the sound of skittering claws rang from behind you. You turned around in just enough time to see the beast swipe a hand at you. It sent you flying into the far wall of the space. Your grip on the bottle and lighter tightened as your back slammed against the stone. Pain exploded in your side, and only once you felt the blood soaking into your shirt did you realize it was coming from the large gash along your torso.

The wendigo let out a ferocious snarl as it stalked towards Jack, seeming ready for a meal now that it had stocked up on a new victim to keep for later. Blood trickled down your neck from where the back of your head had connected with the wall, and the pounding sensation sent your vision swirling and fading in and out. You couldn’t see much, but from what you made out of the creature raising its claws to strike Jack down, you were ready to jump into action.

One flick of the lighter seemed to be enough this time, and you barely gave the cloth enough time to catch the fire before you screamed out, “Duck!” and hurled both objects, molotov and lighter combined, in the direction of the monster. Jack dived towards you to the best of his ability with an injured leg. The molotov connected with the wendigo’s calf, the glass shattering and allowing the fire to spread to consume its entire frame.

You closed your eyes against the sudden light and turned to face Jack, who now sat next to you against the wall. Your hand reached out to instinctively cover Jack’s face from the flames, only to find that he, too, had turned to face you. You kept your hand in place on the side of his head. Your fingers curled into his hair and your palm pressed against his cheek in an effort to ground yourself.

Slowly, you opened your eyes to take in Jack’s features. The flickering orange flames illuminated his tousled mop of waves. With the fire placed where it was, only one side of the boy’s face was visible, but from what you could see, his skin was blotched with a layer of dirt. Some patches of skin were also coated in the telltale crimson of blood, while others were tinted a deep purple with an oncoming bruise. A distinct line ran down from his eye to curve around his chin, the path his tears continued to take along his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, a red tint surrounding the blue of his iris. The orange glow of the fire flickered in his glassy pupils. His eyes were wide and his pupils were blown like a frightened animal. His bottom lip pouted out, only adding to the image of a scared little boy being built in your mind.

His frame shook so heavily that you could see the shadow behind him quivering as well. He was scared - no, he was terrified. He was beaten, bruised, clawed, and thrown around, but all you could see was that he was alive. And in a moment of absolute clarity and overwhelming relief, you did the only thing you could think to do. You placed your palms against his cheeks and pulled him towards you into a kiss. He let out a gasp against your lips, but melted into the kiss only a moment later. He shuffled as close to you as he possibly could. His hands clutched desperately at your shirt and tugged every so often as if he wanted you even closer. Your hands drifted to the back of his head and your fingers curled through his hair. You gripped at the roots with just enough force to remind him that you were there, and you weren’t going anywhere.

By the time you both broke away from each other, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were stood over the flaming wendigo. The brothers’ chests heaved with the exertion of their run, and each of the three men wore expressions of mixed relief and understanding. Your cheeks flushed at the sight of the bruise forming on Sam’s chin. Dean let out a huff and shook his head to remind you that you would be getting a lecture for what you had done, but kept his speaking tone soft and clear of judgement for the time being.

“Come on, lovebirds. Let’s get you two patched up.”

You lounged lazily across the couch in what Dean had deemed his “Dean cave.” You had mentioned your favorite movie the other day in passing, and Jack had seemed quite interested in the subject, having never seen the film before. When Sam and Dean went out on a local salt and burn with just the pair of them, you decided that would be the perfect chance for you to introduce the ex-nephilim to your world. After mentioning the idea to Castiel and wondering if he had seen it before, he told you that he knew about it from the information Metatron gave him, but held no personal memories or thoughts on the subject. He seemed glad to join yourself and Jack on your movie night, and you were more than prepared to have a nice, calm night with your favorite celestial beings.

The room was dark except for the soft glow of the DVD’s menu screen on the flat screen Dean had splurged on a few weeks prior. You were grateful that you no longer had to crowd around someone’s laptop for movie nights, and the dedicated room for relaxation was a necessary add in to the bunker after everything you all had to deal with. You fiddled with the remote in one hand, your arm spread out towards the TV as it hung off the couch.

Castiel sat upright in one of the comfy old recliners placed on either side of the couch. His hands rested on his knees and a soft smile settled on his lips. His cobalt gaze swept over you in amusement and a bit of wonder. “(Y/N),” he addressed into the silent air. As usual in these situations, he kept his tone soft.

You looked up at him, your vision of him upside down from your position. “What’s up, Cas?”

“I was just wondering,” he began, fiddling with his thumbs. “We haven’t had a talk in a while.”

You paused a moment to think. “We have, Cas. We usually have a talk at least once a week. We had one a couple days ago, right?” You reminded him. Your brows were furrowed in confusion. Castiel gave a quick nod.

“Yes, I suppose, but I more so meant we haven’t had a talk about a specific subject in quite a while.” His rephrasing cleared up little in your mind, but from the look in his eyes, he was expecting you to come to some sort of understanding.

Your eyes wandered the room as you continued to rack your brain for a clue. “Do I get any hints? Am I allowed to phone a friend?” You joked casually.

Now it was Cas’s turn to furrow his brows. His gave his signature head tilt as he spoke. “I… don’t see how calling a colleague might help in this situation, but…” He trailed off and shook his head in dismissal. “What I mean is, you seem to have lost interest in the lore on human souls. I simply find it peculiar how you have stopped asking about wishing to see them and wondering what they look like so suddenly. I hope you know that you are not bothering me when you ask things like that.” His tone held an apologetic edge to it, as if afraid that he had seemed to disinterested and had scared you off of the subject. A smile found its way onto your face at the thought. Castiel, angel of the lord, worried he made you feel bad about your interests and curiosity.

“No, Cas, I know. You’re always very patient with me during our talks, and I really appreciate that. It’s just… I don’t know. I guess I kinda… understand it now?” You tried to clear things up, but it came out sounding more like a question than an answer.

“How so?”

You gave a vague shrug. You dropped the remote onto your stomach and picked absentmindedly at your nails, trying to hide the crimson blush creeping up your cheeks in the low light available. Around anyone else you would be certain that they could not see such a thing, but you knew better with Castiel. His vision that night in the woods was proof enough that he could see in the dark without issue. “I guess I just… I understand how you can just… tell what someone is like through something as simple as a light. I understand that feeling of looking at something and understanding how it’s feeling. I used to think that a light couldn’t possibly be enough, that a soul can’t be made up of something so simple, but I guess I figured out how complex it can really be. Complex, but still… really beautiful. And good. And pure. And sure, maybe sometimes it’s a little scary, but at the end of the day, it stands for power and beauty and life, and that’s pretty amazing.” You trailed off of your tangent with a cough. Your cheeks were on fire, and you could practically feel Cas’s gaze burning holes in your head. “Or, like, something like that. I guess. Whatever, it’s not important.”

The angel opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Jack opened the door with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in hand and a bright smile on his face. He raised the bowl in celebration. “I didn’t burn it this time!” He cheered in victory. You grinned.

“That’s great, Jack! Now get over here, and let’s get this movie started.” You raised your head up just enough so he could sit down before dropping it back down onto his lap. He placed the bowl on the coffee table to free up his hands so he could begin running them through your hair.

You wouldn’t notice the way Castiel’s gaze lingered on you both for the better portion of the movie. You wouldn’t notice the way he picked out each little social cue Dean had taught him about romance all those years ago. You wouldn’t notice the pleased smile that would tug at the corners of his lips when he realized that this was real. But you would notice the way Jack’s face would change with each twist of the plot. You would notice the way the dull light from the TV cast a perfectly cut shadow to define his jawline. You would notice how different he looked in the different color palettes present in different scenes. You would notice how the shadows across his face danced and shifted each time he would lean down to plant a random kiss on your lips, cheek, or forehead. You would always notice these things, because that was Jack Kline’s soul. Every little flicker of the light across his skin, every shadow along the curves of his body, every glint in his eyes, everything you saw was a part of who he is. And in your eyes, who he is is the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen.

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