#^ anti-aging thing is a joke i know they want to be perpetually stuck at the age of 25

[paandaan]

i don't think people who are obsessed with anti-aging realize how ashamed you feel when your coworkers think you're still in your mid-teens ... and of course then, there's the dynamic that comes with people thinking you're young and subsequently naive and innocent and god knows what i have been called when im not in the room - it's both like, how people treat kids/teenagers in general (incapable, stupid) and also how it's so difficult to make room for yourself when people still view you not as an adult ...

#and ive been told that multiple times #tune.txt #this isnt some self deprecating post im just observing things #it's just not work its almost everywhere - theres so much to it like i don't think people understand #it's not taking children/minors seriously it's not taking women seriously it's not taking into account that both groups are allowed to #express in the same space without being made to feel idk - i can't find the word for it right now - inconsequential maybe - yeah like what #they say and/or do is meaningless and doesn't hold much opinion #^ anti-aging thing is a joke i know they want to be perpetually stuck at the age of 25

[godofplumsandthunder]

Twisted Fate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cancer, both Bucky and reader have cancer, Major Character death, brief hospital terms mainly reffering to cancer treatment. References to amputation.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @eurynome827​ 2k celebration. I got a lovely quote of lyrics from Hadestown, which I wanted to do something that was based off of the musical, but I couldn’t figure anything out. Then I had a big anniversary come up and this was came out instead. It’s very angsty, I cried a lot, and well I hope you like it.

The low, steady hum of the fan fills the awkward silence. The psychiatrist, newly assigned to the case, still doesn’t feel comfortable. “Case number 32557038” was widely known in the health care center. The whispers and rumors floated their way down the hall, past the copy machine, filling the office with this chilling tale. Some regarded it as a terrible series of bad luck, others thought it was an act of some benevolent God, pouring his rage on this poor couple. Dr. Breynord, after reading the notes on the file, Breynord knew that this case was perhaps the worst case of bad luck she ever saw in her career, and, maybe it was her stubbornness or naive belief in medicine, but Dr. Breynord was going to help this poor man get the peace he so desperately needs.

“James,” Dr. Breynord’s voice breaks the silence of the office, “I’ve read what my colleagues had to say about your case, but, I’d like you to tell me what has happened if you feel comfortable.”

Shifting in his seat, James sighs, with a small nod of the head, he starts at the beginning.

Bucky Barnes was used to change. Granted, it was other people’s change, but it was still change nonetheless. The poor folks that sat next to him each clinic visit changed, his caretakers changed, it seemed as if the whole world changed around him, while he was stuck in some perpetual hell. Every day dragged out in the same dull, and nauseating feeling, and at times, Bucky felt he was in an endless loop, forsaken by some deity he didn’t believe in. But, for however long Bucky has left in this fallen and cruel world, he’ll remember when you walked in, shattering the miserable purgatory he was banished to, he’ll always remember the day you changed his life.

It happened during his first transfusion session after his surgery. His arm, still wrapped in bandage, IV tubing leading straight to his heart, pumped his body full of liquids, as he waited for the toxic poison to enter his body. He always found it ironic, the “medicine” that was supposed to save his life, that was too dangerous for the nurses to touch with their bare hands, was willingly flushed into his body. Hair loss, mouth sores, and muscle aches were the better side effects. He can’t help but think about what is coming, especially as he sees his nurse, Thor, come over with the freshly made batch of poison [STRIKE THROUGH], chemotherapy as his doctor would want him to call it. Hanging the bag on his IV pole, Thor looks over at Bucky, giving him the “I’m going to go on a rant about something you should care about” look. 

“Now James, we’re getting a new patient today. It’s their first transfusion. They’re going to be sitting in the pod next to you. I swear to the gods, I best not hear another complaint about your attitude.”

“Me? An attitude? No, I think you got me confused with someone else. I’m the brightest little ball of sunshine here!” Bucky can’t help but chuckle. It’s not his fault he wasn’t a “warrior”, blasting “Fight Song” 24/7, as he sips on a kale smoothie with coffee suppositories shoved up his ass. T

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Barnes,” Thor shakes his head as he cleans up his station, “don’t think I won’t throw your bald ass out of here. That cancer sob story, won’t work on me.” 

Bucky goes back to his phone, already feeling the effects of the chemo. No matter how many anti-nausea meds they fed him, Cisplatin always makes him sick. So, he had the right to act like a grumpy old grandpa. While he scrolls through his social media feed, seeing all the accomplishments, brags, and just shit of his friends, Bucky hears your sniffles, as you make your way down to the end of the Oncology clinic, taking a seat next to Bucky. Even if Thor hadn’t given him the heads up, he would have known you were fresh meat. One infusion, his mom asked him how he could tell. It was easy for Bucky, it all had to do with the eyes. A cancer diagnosis shatters you. It kills all hope, light, and goodness that’s in you. You turn completely numb to the world, to the point where your own wailing and sobs feel muted. Bucky saw all of that in your eyes. Behind the puffy, redness, saw the shards of hope, the fear of the unknown. Before you could reach your seat, you stumble, spilling your possessions that you carried all over the floor. Bucky watches quietly as you quickly pick up your items, collapsing into the chair next to him. 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a hand, only have the one,” he wiggles his stump, and he's met with silence. Talk about a rough crowd, he thinks, his nephews love his stumpy jokes. “So,” Bucky continues, “what are you in for? I’m a sarcoma, in the arm.” You sniffle as you turn your body to look at this new man.

“Leukemia,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. It takes a real effort to say it out loud because then it makes all of this real.

“That’s good then,” the “sarcoma” man says to you, and Bucky can see the confusion, and pain on your face.

“How is that good? How is cancer good?”

Using his arm, Bucky points around the room, giving you a tour of the room.

“See him, that’s Riley, he has an inoperable brain tumor. That young kid, with the Switch? His name is Peter, his body is chemo resistant. So yeah, leukemia is good. If you haven’t learned it yet, not all cancers are made equal.”

“Oh,” you barely make out. What were you supposed to say to that? 

=====

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he actually enjoyed having your company. Your treatments lined up and so you both got to know each other well. Bucky enjoyed having someone close to his age that understood his problems. And it also didn’t hurt that you had such a great personality, you got Bucky’s dark humor (and it went without saying that you understood it was his way of coping), and you looked great. Not many people can rock a bald head. And Bucky has seen his fair share, and he can say with confidence, you rocked it. Not covering it up with caps, scarves, or wigs. Because why should you hide away? For the first time since his diagnosis, Bucky had a purpose. So, while his immune system allowed him to leave the house, he picked up a bouquet of fake flowers (neutropenia life, am I right?) and a box of chocolates to take with him to the next transfusion. When he got to the clinic, Bucky was a bit worried to see that you weren’t next to him. Instead, there sat Barb, 75 years old with breast cancer. 

“Oh sweetie, are those for me?” Barb looks at the flowers in Bucky’s hand. 

“No!” He snaps, as closes the curtain that surrounds his chair. He hears some huffs and complaints from Barb, but frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Bucky only has one thing on his mind: you. 

“Are you alright? You’re not here at Club Med” Bucky texts as quickly as his one hand would let him. Dropping his phone, Bucky stares at it all while the nurses prep him. And because of damn, HIPAA, none of the nurses can tell him where you’re at. Minutes turn into hours, and by the time Bucky’s infusion ends, you still haven’t responded to him or shown up at the clinic. 

“Hope you’re okay. Call or text me. I'm worried” Bucky sighs, realizing how much you made his chemo treatments more bearable. How your laugh could make him forget of the poison he had to take, or how the light in your eyes could make him forget, even just for a bit, how much his arm stump was hurting. You were a drug, more potent than any he’s had before, and Bucky was becoming addicted. He’s picking at the hamburger he got for dinner, not having much of an appetite when his phone goes off. Seeing it’s from you, he rushes to answer. 

“Y/N! I… Where were you? I missed you today. I had to sit by Barb and…” The sounds of your cries cut Bucky off. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, Buck. I… Got some bad news today.” 

“Where are you?” He asks. He knows you’re alone, and speaking from experience, you never want to be alone when you get bad news. He knows from experience.

“Buck…” you sigh, “It’s fine. Really.” 

“Please, Y/N, I know what it’s like to be alone after getting this kind of news. Please, let me be there for you.” Breaking further down into tears, you cry at Bucky’s actions, actions of love. 

“I’ll send you my address,” Bucky gathers the flowers and chocolates as he rushes to your apartment, breaking a few traffic laws to get there faster. When he gets there, the image of you, opening the door, eyes swollen from crying breaks his heart. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Bucky sweeps you into his arm, as he closes the door behind, “tell me what’s going on hun.” 

You both sit on the couch, the bag with the flowers and chocolate lay at your feet, as you stay in Bucky’s embrace. 

“I’m… I’m dying Buck!” You manage to say in-between odds. “Dr. Fair... gave me three months to live. There’s nothing else they can do.” You break down in his arms, that last straw finally breaking, as you tell your newfound best friend, the person you were supposed to beat cancer with. Bucky tries his best to remain strong, to be the rock, the foundation you need, but you’re not the only one that is losing a friend. You sit in each other's embrace, as you mourn. You cry for all the missed opportunities, laughs, and memories that won’t be made. 

“What am I going to do,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. 

Kissing your head, Bucky pulls you in closer, “we, are going to make these three months, the best three months you’ve ever had.”

Bucky lives up to his promise, spending every hour he isn’t in the hospital with you. The time you spent together changed your relationship. Neither had to officially say the words to make your relationship official. It was just you, and Bucky. Holding each other close, as the tempest waged on, trying to beat you into submission. You go on walks in the park, picnics, and one night when you both had the energy, went skinny dipping. Your logic being, what are the cops going to do? Arrest two cancer patients, with one of them being terminal? You threw caution to the wind and simply lived. Lived, breathed, and loved. Things seemed to be perfect until reality hit.

Your body wasn’t keeping up. Your cancer was spreading faster than they predicted. The doctors couldn’t give you an explanation as to why the cancer was spreading so fast. It shouldn’t have been. Soon, home hospice came, to try to make you more comfortable. And like the good partner he was, Bucky spent every minute by your side. That’s why, when you felt the inevitable coming, you felt your body give in to the tiredness of fighting, you grab Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you, James Bucky Barnes,” you weakly say, giving him one last affirmation, as you went to sleep, for one last time. 

As Bucky wakes up from his nap, feeling your cold body, he tries to ruse you back awake. Once he realizes what has happened, the last bit of humanity inside of Bucky snapped. He lets out a blood-curdling scream, as tears stream down his face. He strikes your face, pleas escape his mouth. Pleas to you, to a God he has long stopped believing in. His body shakes, his tears wetting your hair, as he holds you for one last time. 

=====

“Oh James,” Dr. Breynord grabs herself a tissue before handing Bucky the box of tissues. “I truly am so sorry to hear that. I want you to know that I am here to help you get happy again, and to heal.”

Bucky sighs and turns away from the doctor as he wipes his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t listen to me.” 

Breynord was surprised that this was Bucky’s complaint. The other doctors had warned her that Bucky could be sarcastic, standoff-ish, and even flat-out rude to them. Breynord thought she did a good job listening to his story, what did she miss.

“I… I don’t think I understand what you mean, James.”

Bucky lets out a heartless, empty laugh, “you want me to be happy again. I’m never going to be. Not only do I have to live with the guilt of surviving, when she died, in my arms, but I’ll also never find another soul like hers. We had a connection, you know. It felt like we met before. When I held her in my arm, and her arms would wrap around me, it felt like I had the whole world in my arms. I didn’t need anything else when I had Y/N.” 

“So tell me doc, what’s the point of carrying on?”

#eury2kchallenge #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky angst #cancer #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #oneshot

[monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my]

McDonald's! McDonald's!

I actual posted this a few days ago on AO3 but I’ve been lazy about posting it here, I thought I’d try writing something a little more comedic in tone than what I usually write (even though it has angst by nature of when the story is set).

AO3 Link

Post 13x01 - On the way back to the bunker the Winchesters stop for dinner at a McDonald’s with the day-old Jack. The nonsense you’d expect ensues.

Sam felt like a cosmic joke.

Not in the general constant way that came from his life being an actual, honest to goodness, vastly pre-planned since de-railed cosmic joke, but in the way that he could imagine Chuck standing on a stage in a c-list comic club pitching his current predicament in a nervous voice to a tough crowd.

"So, uh... two brothers and Lucifer's newborn son who just happens to look like a… I-don’t-even-know-what-ager, are on a road trip…"

Sam almost snorted and rubbed at his eyes tiredly, if he was laughing at that he was, well and truly sleep-deprived. It had been a very long very draining forty odd hours filled with loss and death and… and all the other shit their lives entailed, he wanted nothing more than to eat something and pass out.

Dean looked exactly the same as he had when they entered the car hours earlier, staring straight ahead, dead quiet, not even one of his old tapes crooning from the speakers.

And Jack…

Sam glanced behind him expecting to see the boy still sitting stiffly watching both men, but was surprised to see him face squished against the window, eyes closed and breathing deeply, out like a light.

So Nephilim slept...

It dawned on Sam they didn't know the first thing about the kid. Despite what age the boy appeared it was still terrifying to have someone's hours old child depend on you for safety and survival when you had no idea what their needs were.

Was he hungry too? Did Nephilim eat? Sam almost smacked himself. He and Dean could deal with skipping a meal or two to make good time on the road, but it was just wrong to make a kid go hungry.

"Dean?" his brother ignored him staring out at the dark road.

Sam, sighed, "It's been hours, do you… do you want to swap places?"

Dean almost never wanted to switch but it was enough to make Dean raise his eyebrows and get his attention.

"I'm fine," he said gruffly.

"You're not... ready for a break?" Sam said carefully.

Dean shot him a look, "we stopped for a piss break like an hour ago, your bladder isn't that small."

Sam huffed he guessed he'd have to spell it out, "look, Dean, we’ve been running ragged for two days straight, the only calories you’ve consumed was a friggin’ big gulp, and we have a kid in the back seat, we need food, we need sleep…”

Dean shot his brother a sharp look probably about to make another rude comment about said kid, but Sam shot the look right back.

He knew his brother was in a bad place, hell he was in a bad place, he felt like as soon as he let himself think about Cas or Mom or even freaking Crowley he’d fall apart but that didn’t mean he was okay with Dean taking everything out on him, or Jack.

Dean sighed.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Sam couldn’t talk his brother into stopping for the night but he did at least manage to convince Dean to stop somewhere for food.

Judging by the enthusiastic nodding Jack gave when Sam asked if he was hungry, Nephilim, unlike the angelic side of their family tree, did in fact eat.

The only place nearby that was open at half-past ten was a twenty-four-hour McDonald's off the highway.

They decided to actually go inside the restaurant for once since it was nearly empty and no one working the late shift would ask questions about two strange men carting around what looked like a perpetually confused college freshman.

And anyway it didn’t matter how old Jack looked there was no way Dean was letting a twenty-hour-old kid eat in Baby.

Sam made sure Jack's coat was closed enough to hide the bloody hole in his before they headed inside. Dean told the kid to sit down and not do anything in one of the corner booths as they went to actually get the food, but Jack didn't seem to mind, he just keep looking around with a kind of cautious curiosity.

Like all fluorescent lighting and brightly colored window cling ads were the most fascinating things he’d ever laid eyes on.

It made Sam's mouth twitch upward despite everything.

"Do you think the Anti-Christ eats McNuggets?" Dean said bluntly.

Sam shot him a look, "kids like them so it's probably a fair bet, yeah…"

"You're not his nanny Sam, until we..." Dean lowered his voice to a whisper, "until we figure out how to deal with… it, I'm not going to play house or get attached, and you should probably do the same…'

Sam bit back a response that he wasn't planning to let Dean kill a kid who at this point had done nothing wrong, how he thought Jack could be the only way they’d get their mother back. He knew after everything that had happened that if Dean killed the newborn Nephilim it would push him over an edge he wouldn't come back from.

But now… wasn't the time.

Sam wasn’t ready to say it and Dean certainly wasn’t ready to hear it.

“That’s still no reason to... Dean?” Sam snorted as Dean ignored him and walked up to the counter to address the bored-looking teen behind the cash register.

“Sam?” a quiet voice made him jump a foot in the air.

“Jack…” Sam breathed heart racing, “you, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” the boy said sheepishly, fiddling with his hands.

“Did you need something?”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed looking deep in concentration for a moment before looking up with a satisfied smile.

“No.”

Of course not…

“Hey hey… I thought I told you to stay at the table,” Dean pointed a handful of straws at Jack accusatorially.

“I got bored.”

“You got…?” Dean snorted, “Whatever, I don’t care, just go back and sit on your ass until we bring the food over.”

Now Sam was annoyed, “you ordered for me?”

“Yeah, don’t give me that look, you always get the same thing anyway.”

“Excuse me sir…” the bored teenager blinked wearily at them, “what dipping sauce did you want with the nuggets?”

Both brothers looked instinctively towards Jack who just looked confused, “Sauce?”

We’ve got, Barbeque, Sweet and Sour, Signature Sauce, Ranch…” the teen trailed off at the blank look on Jack’s face.

They sighed and clearly having stopped giving a fuck by this time of night reached below the counter and plunked two multicolored fistfuls of sauces onto their tray.

Jack’s eyes went wide, “Thank you, you’re very nice!”

“Go nuts kid," they sighed going back about their business yelling at someone behind the counter about a lack of fresh fries..

Jack beamed at the brothers, Dean rolled his eyes looking like he was about to say something but Sam interrupted grabbing two cups from the tray and pulling the boy away before Dean could say something snarky and crush his enthusiasm.

"Since Dean said he has the food," Sam handed the confused Nephilim a paper cup, "I've got a new job for you…"

Jack followed Sam like a duckling over to the drink machine holding his cup gingerly with both hands and just… staring.

Sam felt incredibly awkward doing a simple task with a rapt audience.

"You just…" Sam gestured for a moment then sighed going through the process of filling his cup with ice figuring it would be better to just show the boy.

He got lemonade as it seemed to be the only option that didn't have a thousand grams of sugar and dye and felt oddly accomplished as Jack watched him work the machine with awe.

He carefully finished capping the cup and putting in the straw, and then found himself almost pushed away in Jack’s eagerness to apply his new skill.

Jack painstakingly and carefully filled the cup with ice and then peered at all the spigots looking mildly overwhelmed.

"Just pick what looks good to you buddy," Sam found himself saying amused.

Jack nodded seriously, at this point in the less than a day of what made up his entire life on Earth it was probably very important to him.

He eventually settled on some strangely flavored Sprite with a bright green and orange label smiling triumphantly at Sam as he managed to start the machine.

It took all of four seconds for Jack’s triumph to turn to horror as the soda neared the top of the cup and then proceeded to fizz over.

Oh right… newborns know nothing about carbonation...

Before Sam had a chance to react Jack panicked and in his hurry to pull the cup away managed to slosh a good bit of it over his hands and part of his jacket cuffs.

"Whoa whoa, hold on," Sam reached out to steady the cup and Jack stepped back with his dripping sleeves held out in front of him.

"I… I'm sorry, did…"Jack looked forlornly up at him, "did I do that?"

"Did you…" Sam blinked perplexed, "Oh no no, no that wasn't… the machine is supposed to add bubbles to some stuff. I really should have warned you… um."

The boy stared at him, wet hands still stuck out awkwardly.

"There should be a bathroom you…" Sam sighed setting down both drinks and gently guiding him in that direction, "you'll need to wash your hands before they get all sticky, do you know how to…"

Jack blinked and said as if it was obvious, "mom taught me how to wash my hands."

Ah yes, the mysterious Nephilim fetus telepathy Jack had mentioned before.

"Right yes, go… do that, and I'll wait for you at the table, okay?"

Jack nodded and headed off to the bathroom arms still stuck out. And Sam dealt with the drinks and went to guard the table while thanking Kelly up in heaven.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"Where the hell’s the kid?" Dean said when he arrived with their tray of sauces and food.

"Bathroom, there was uh… a mishap with the soda machine," Sam said sheepishly.

Dean put down the tray with a little more force than necessary and looked around wildly, like he was half ready to draw his gun..

"Seriously?" Sam deadpanned, "dude, would you just chill, he's not going to open up a hell gate in the men’s room."

"You were supposed to watch him," Dean said accusatorily.

"Half of creation wants him dead and we're literally the only living people he knows, where would he even go?'

"You're really buying this lost puppy routine Sam?"

"Ah yes, because we all have such devious plans when we're a day old," Sam muttered dryly.

Dean rolled his eyes, "You know that’s not the same. And this is exactly what I'm talking about Sam, he already has you under his thumb."

"He's a kid not a prisoner, and I'm not going to treat him like one when he hasn’t actually done anything."

"Because waiting until he kills someone is a great idea,”Dean muttered darkly unwrapping his Big Mac and taking a pointed bite.

Sam ignored him, snatching a few of Dean's fries petulantly.

"Really?" Dean huffed with his mouth full, "eat your own food…"

Sam blinked innocently, "I wanted fries, you got me salad, you should’ve asked."

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam snorted a laugh pulling his actual meal off the tray.

"How long has that kid been gone anyway?"

"Uh, ten minutes…?" Sam said sheepishly.

Dean paused, "to wash his hands?"

"It's fine," Sam said, coating his salad with dressing, definitely not concerned.

Dean looked about ready to leap up and make sure Jack hadn't teleported off to destroy Chicago, but thankfully about then the kid finally emerged.

"What took you so long?" Dean asked, annoyed when he reached the table.

"It… it was different than at the house," Jack said playing with his hands nervously, “there were two sinks…”

Dean and Sam both looked at each other in confusion, Sam shrugged, maybe it was a kid thing?

"It's fine, just come sit down," Sam brushed it off patting the seat beside him Jack took it, still eyeing Dean a little warily.

Dean grabbed his fries and did his best to move them out of Sam's reach then pushed the tray with the rest of the food towards Jack.

"Here, McNuggets, fries, eat," Dean said gruffly.

Sam handed Jack his drink he’d salvaged with a little less roughness, the boy thanked him and everything lapsed into awkward silence.

Sam cleared his throat, “so um… I was thinking, in the morning we need to stop at a thrift store or something.”

“Yeah, why?” Dean asked, preoccupied with his food.

“For Jack,” Sam explained, “he only has the one set of clothes, and his shirt already has a big bloody hole in it.”

“Just lend him some of your clothes if it bothers you so much,” Dean balked.

Sam snorted at the image “We’re not exactly the same size, he’d be swimming in them, and besides Jack doesn’t even own his own underwear.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “there’s no point in buying a bunch of crap he’s probably never going to get the chance to-” Dean paused distracted.

He reached over to grab the sauce Jack was struggling to open and tore off the top, “you pull the tab,” he said gruffly.

Jack gave a small unsure smile and went about more cautiously opening more of the sauce packets, “Is your house close by?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s not a house, it’s a bunker…” Dean said bluntly, his voice softened to normal after catching Sam’s glaring at him, “And no, it’ll take a few more days..”

Jack shoulders drooped for a moment before he sighed softly, shook himself and got back to contentedly opening and lining up one of every sauce in a big arc.

Maybe the long hours on the road were tiring him out to… Sam made a note to find something for the kid to do besides nap and sit in awkward silence over the next few days.

“Is it a very big place?” Jack asked after a minute.

“Just eat your McNuggets,” Dean sighed.

Jack looked sheepish but, seeming satisfied with his rainbow of sauces, finally opened his box of chicken nuggets and took one out eyeing it a little warily.

“They’re good I promise,” Sam prompted him gently.

Jack nodded seriously and finally took a cautious bite.

The kid’s eyes lit up and he looked up at Sam, a big smile quickly spreading across his face as he chewed..

Sam was unable to stop himself from smiling back.

"They're good!" Jack declared happily.

Sam chuckled and stabbed a fork into his own food ignoring the look he could feel Dean giving him. “Bite me Dean,” Sam thought. Good things in their life were too rare not to smile at a kid’s obvious joy.

Jack hummed happily to himself as he sampled his fries next but he again ran into a bit of snag when it came to his drink, he put his mouth over the end of his straw-like he saw Sam and Dean do, but then paused and looked perplexed. He pulling the straw out of his mouth and then tried again, still clearly not getting anything. He huffed and pressed his lips together in frustration.

Sam noticed and cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention telegraphed the process for Jack to follow, being sure to make a loud enough slurping noise that the boy realized what he had done wrong despite the disturbed look it earned him from Dean.

It was worth it to see the lightbulb go off in Jack’s head and the pleased mildly overwhelmed look on the boy’s face when he got his first taste of pop.

"Sam," Jack said a little sheepishly after a minute, dipping one of his nuggets in barbeque sauce, "can I ask you a question?"

“Shoot”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed.

Sam kicked himself mentally, “I mean, yeah, sure, of course, ask away.”

Jack nodded, still looking a little confused, “Um, my mom she taught me a lot of things, but I keep finding new things that I don’t… get?”

It made sense, Kelly only had, what?, a few short months? Weeks? Who knew how short of a window between when a Nephilim gained awareness and when they were actually born to teach her son all she could. And while Sam sent a thankful prayer up to heaven for her positive influence (and for her teaching Jack things that would be incredibly awkward to have to teach to a kid that looked Jack’s physical age) he doubted things like why McDonald’s workers wore weird topless hats made the cut.

“Like what?” Sam prompted him gently.

"Like…" Jack looked a little unsure, "why there were two different sinks in the bathroom."

Sam opened and closed his mouth, the answer felt so obvious he had to be missing something, "what do you mean?"

"Well one was normal and had a handle though it didn’t stay turned on," he described, "but the other one,” Jack looked a little uncomfortable, “ It turned on whenever it looked at me…"

Dean nearly choked on his drink.

“When it… looked at you?” Sam asked carefully as Dean hacked up a lung.

Jack nodded looking mildly concerned towards Dean, “Um… yes, and the paper towels did the same thing and so did… what I think was soap?”

“What you think was soap?” Dean said incredulously, clearing his throat.

Jack nodded, “the sink with the handle had a regular bar of soap, but it was in a cage that I couldn’t see how to open to open it so I used the foam stuff the machine by the other sink spat at me.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed then he buried his face in his hands.

“Um… Well I think the foam was probably soap…” Sam blinked deciding to ignore the i ndecipherable cage part, “and the sink, it… it wasn’t watching you… or spitting at you, the sink and stuff like that just have a little machine inside that makes them turn on whenever something blocks the light. It can’t actually see you.”

“Oh…” Jack looked equal parts relieved and disappointed, he shrugged again seemingly satisfied and went back to happily testing sauces.

“Soooo evil,” Sam muttered in Dean’s general direction making his brother roll his eyes and ignore him in favor of his burger.

Jack for his part seemed nonplussed continuing to experiment with his fries and nugget pulling various faces.

He paused after a moment looking genuinely confused, pushing a bright orange sauce in Sam's general direction and pointing carefully with one finger, “this one it makes my tongue feel…” he screwed up his brow, “stingy?”

Sam borrowed one of Jack’s fries to test it himself, “Buffalo sauce, it's spicy…” he explained gently.

“Spicy…” Jack tried the word in his mouth.

“Do you not like it?” Sam asked.

“I don’t…” Jack tilted his head slightly in thought making Sam’s chest feel heavy, reminding him for all the world of Cas.

“I don’t think I want to feel like anything else is attacking me today…” Jack said tapping a McNugget pensively against its box.

Sam smiled sadly, “I don’t blame you.”

"Do you like spicy things?" Jack asked him curiously.

"I guess, sometimes," Sam said offhandedly turning back to his own salad

Sam heard faint rustling and looked up to see Jack holding out the partially eaten sauce to him expectantly.

"Oh um… thank you," Sam took it sheepishly, not having the heart to tell the kid he had no use for it on his salad.

Jack smiled satisfied going back to his own food.

"Okay," Dean announced after a few more minutes balling up his trash, "we should probably get going…"

“We just..” Sam muttered through a mouth full of salad pausing halfway through to swallow, ( he didn’t want to be teaching Jack bad habits early ) “We just got here.”

“You’re almost done eating anyway, and he’s…”

Jack looked owlishly up from where he was casually dipping a single Mcnugget in every one of his sauces.

Dean blinked incredulously at Jack for a long moment, “anyway… we have a lot of ground to cover and we need to get moving. You remember what happened back at the police station, until we find some way to ward the kid or get back to the bunker sitting still is painting a big blinking target on our back.”

Sam sighed but knew his brother was right, “okay, fine but we can’t wait five more minutes...?”

Dean rubbed tiredly at his face, “Whatever, I’m going to the john before we leave, you can deal with... that.”

Dean got up from the table muttering something that looked suspiciously like, “two sinks?” under his breath.

Sam wished Dean would at least stop talking about Jack like an object to his face.

He turned towards the boy and did a double-take.

“Jack stop, don’t do that you’ll choke.”

Jack stopped trying to hurry by stuffing multiple McNuggets into his mouth at once looking like a sheepish chipmunk.

“I’m not going to take them away from you Jack,” Sam told him gently.

Jack chewed and swallowed before answering earnestly (making Sam feel like he’d made at least one positive foster parent decision and wasn’t completely failing Cas) “I know… but if Dean’s right, I don’t want anyone here to get hurt like at the police station…”

Sam wished he wasn’t so physically and emotionally exhausted so he could come up with a good way to convince the kid that what happened wasn’t his fault but for now he settled on just distracting Jack by asking him what was his favorite out of his sauce rainbow.

Jack’s eyes lit up and he launched into his explanation as he finished up his nuggets and shared his fries with Sam. Sweet and Sour, Honey Mustard, Barbeque, his favorites were all the sweetest sauces to no one’s shock. Still, with the literally and figuratively hellish 48 hours Sam had had, having Jack go on and on pleased with something simple was a nice distraction for the older man to.

Sam nodded along with a soft smile, Jack helping him clean up the table when they finished, continuing to chatter like he was determined to test every adjective he’d learned up to that point to describe his most recent culinary experience.

“And I don’t know what zesty means but that one tasted very confused,” Jack waved and gave the tired late-shift worker a cheerful, “goodbye,” as they made their way out to the Impala sitting on the back bumper to wait for Dean.

“Do you think there’s McDonald’s up in heaven where my mom is?” Jack asked Sam innocently still sipping his drink.

It hurt to hear the kid ask that, but Sam was thankful Jack had at least chosen the least painful recently deceased person to ask Sam about.

“I don’t know, heaven… it’s a place where people can relive their best memories, and I didn’t know your mother well enough to say,” Sam answered honestly.

Jack nodded solemnly but then gave Sam a cheerful smile, “I think if I was in heaven, there would definitely be a McDonald’s there, this place is wonderful.”

It was such a bizarrely bittersweet thing to say, but before Sam had a chance to respond the door to the McDonalds swung open with more force than necessary and Dean stepped out staring at Jack with a look of abject horror on his face.

“Please, please tell me you DID NOT wash your hands in the urinal!”

#SPN #Supernatural #fanfiction #Sam Winchester #Jack Kline #Dean Winchester #humor #angst #Kelly Kline (mentioned) #Castiel (mentioned) #crack treated seriously #Jack is baby #S13 Dean is S13 Dean #Sam got attached in five minutes