abraxaslogs | [Open] Call Me Little Sunshine

Jack's answer is a long, pregnant silence.

Two or three seconds in, Dean blinks. A second later, he blinks again. There's almost certainly a meme with exactly that expression.

"I'm- I'm sorry, what?"

Look, he was expecting a confessional, sure. Expecting a bomb to get dropped. A bomb, singular, one bomb. That was like an entire freakin' London air strike in one go, and he's-

Processing. He's processing. Give him a minute.

Apparently out of all of it, the first thing he feels worthy of incredulously addressing is, "Four?"

Did you say four years old? Because this kid's twenty if he's a friggin' day, so again: what?

Those few seconds of silence were deafening. Jack could feel his anxiety rising. He hadn't felt this way since his early days. When he knew Dean hated him, when he wished so much he had been normal and not what he is so Dean would accept him.

Here he is, feeling like he's back at the start, but with what feels like a lifetime of memories that they no longer share.

"Yeah..." He spoke softly, pushing the thoughts away. "I'm not human." Well, that was an oversimplification. "I'm a nephilim, the world wasn't safe for me to be born normal, I was born this way." Which is probably why Kelly died in childbirth.

The urge to pull the bell to have the carriage stop was rising again. So he went back to squeezing his own fingers. "I help you, Sam and Casteil hunt."

I'm not human — there's a flicker of an expression on his face that reads I got that part; it's wiped away almost immediately at nephilim, replaced once again with pure, unadulterated disbelief.

Eloquently, articulately, and with great enthusiasm:

"What?" Sorry kid, he's a broken record right now, this is just. A lot. He holds up a hand as though to emphasize an extremely important, profound point — and then kindly informs Jack, "We're in a wagon."

...give it a second, he's working up to a full-blown rant, that's just the starting line.

"We're in a wagon in a magical fantasy land desert, and somehow... that is the least insane thing about everything I'm hearing right now. I'm- you're- I-" Emphatic hand gesture. This.

Okay, reel it in, Winchester.

There's a little bit of visible grappling with his composure, a deep inhale, a silent goosfraba with his eyes closed. He opens them, and tries again, more slowly.

"You're- a four-year-old nephilim. Hunter. Toddler. That I'm-" he points to himself. Can't bring himself to say the word raising. In conclusion: "This is a wagon."

What he means is: this is entirely too much information to have come to light in the back of a fucking wagon.

Edited 2022-11-29 02:02 (UTC)

He knows that look. Biting his lip to let Dean work through whatever he wanted to say. He was terrified of Dean hating him again, but this Dean was younger. And he has a feeling, no matter what he says, he has to start back at the start and be patient.

Though today, he doesn't know if he has it in him. Sometimes thing's hurt, and he had to man up. Dean had told him that before, and right now he was trying his best.

"...Is it a wagon?" He spoke as if the sentence didn't fit the moment. Sure, he had thought it is a carriage with no top, but what kind of farm has Jack ever been around? "I'm not a toddler." He made a bit of a face.

Reel it in, Kline. Don't get upset.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." He more muttered than spoke, looking away from Dean. Looking back to the passing land around them. "Just forget it."

Oh, crap. Well, there comes the guilt almost immediately. It dawns visibly across his features along with a sizable helping of resignation, like he's begrudgingly letting the regret sink in despite how much he'd like to carry on being a dick.

"No- it's- just. Hang on," he sighs, holding up one hand while the other scrubs tiredly at his face. Fingertips press into his eye sockets, then drag down along the stubble of a slightly too long five-o'clock shadow. When he's finished with that, it lifts to gently join the other in a gentle gesture of surrender. "You don't have to apologize, it's good you told me now instead of- pulling a- you know. Us move."

AKA sitting on a deep and impactful truth just because it's a hard pill to swallow, only for it to come up later at the least opportune moment to bite them in the ass.

"I'm just- I'm processing."

He peels his eyes open again, and finally levels Jack with a serious, productive question.

"What year are you from? How far in the future does all this go down?"

Jack was still looking away. Letting blocks fall in place. Realizing just how awkward all of this was. Not just for him, but for those closest to him as well.

He looks back to Dean when he hears that 'No' pass his lips. And just like that he felt the betrayal of hope blooming. Not that he was ever upset at feeling hope. Hope was a good feeling. An amused expression crossed his features. Almost guilty in a way. "I probably would have if we hadn't ended up here." He may not have been born with Winchester Stupid, but he'd certainly grown into it. "It's just weird, you know?"

He asked in that same earnest way. "Take your time, I'm told it's a long ride." He admitted. "It was 2020." He spoke easily, having told the blonde, Jo. Earlier in the day. "I can't tell you how far in the future, I don't know when you are from. I can tell you're younger, though." And that Dean has more beard than stubble at this point. For some reason, that seems odd.

Winchester Stupid is unfortunately contagious like that. Brought down an entire god damn angel of the lord. Tragically not restricted to just people who share the same gene pool. Poor Jack never really had a chance.

"2020," he echoes, a soft an absent mumble under his breath. Gentle disbelief, but mostly distracted while he quickly runs through a few mental calculations. Jack's four years old. It was 2014 for him, or at least it was in those years that shoved themselves into his brain a few months back. A quick split of the difference leaves him with- "Two, maybe three years?"

Depending on the month.

That's how long he's got between what he remembers last, and when he first meets this kid.

Jesus Christ, that's practically no time at all. Two or three years is a blink. Two years down the road and suddenly he's raising a kid? Which turned out, just, so well with Ben the first time, right? Bridging that gap between who he is now and how little he could've possibly gotten his life together in that span of time — he's in no place to be raising anybody, he's a freakin' mess, he's-

Holy crap, wait a second.

"I'm still alive in 2020," the revelation hits and - yes, just being alive is surprising in and of itself, but that's not what's getting him. He rolls his sleeve up quickly, baring his forearm to Jack. Brandishing the Mark, putting it on display while he demands, "Do I have this? You know what this is? Do I still have it when we meet?"

There's no way, right? Cas, Sam, they wouldn't let him within a mile of this kid if he's still losing his shit to the Mark. Which means he's either gotten rid of it, or he's learned to get it under control.

He really never did. Between the Winchester Stupid, and the devil's blood. He was doomed from the start. Kelly's DNA had its work cut out for it.

Jack made a noise of acknowledgement as he looked back to the passing plants and tried to enjoy the bumpy ride. This was important, and he needed to give Dean time to process, so just focusing on the world around him helped. "Mmm?" He looked back to Dean and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess? If you're from 2018. You are definitely older in my time. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you."

Jack can't help but smile, the way that lights up his face when Dean comes to that realization. "Of course, you are." Though, he did think of Cas' words of dying and coming back being a rite of passage. He's snapped from his thoughts as Dean rolls up his sleeve. He sees the mark and his smile fades, a look of confusion. "That looks really bad." He spoke, a touch of worry.

Lifting his hand to place an inch or two over it. Looking very focused like he was trying to do something. But his powers were cut off, and even if they weren't even at home, Jack couldn't have healed the Mark of Cain. "No." He finally said, dropping his hand. "I've never seen that before."

At least Dean got some good news.

Of course you are.

He exhales slowly. It isn't quite... relief that he feels, but it's something. It's space in his chest, where previously things had been tensed so tight he couldn't even breathe. It seems like these days, the best he can hope for is to just buy himself another temporary inch of breathing room until that gets strangled out all over again.

He'll take what he can get.

"Okay. It's alright, that's- fine. It doesn't matter." Not to this kid, and not right now. His eyes open again, new resolve steeling them, something decisive settling into his posture. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna get you back to the inn, we're gonna get you set up with the dungeons and dragons starter pack. Get you a room. Get me a drink. Then we'll sit down and go over the details. Sound good?"

Rolling with the punches and taking the tiny victories, these were the ideologies he had been raised on. The little victories and the lives saved were worth everything, even when the world felt like it was crushing down on him.

Which, despite him trying to act fine, he certainly did feel like the world was crushing down on him.

He looks back to Dean once again when he speaks. Rapt attention on his every word. "The Dungeons and Dragons starter pack?" Had he ever had time to play? Probably not, but he'd learn it soon enough. "A drink sounds good, yes." He nodded after a second. "But we are heading the wrong way, aren't we?" He really had no idea where he was or where he was heading. He had caught the first wagon he saw going by just to explore.

[Open] Call Me Little Sunshine

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