#in the event that you saw the jack and pancackes stuff from months?? ago

[scoutdoesstuff]

Here's the opening chunk of something I've been working on for a good long while now. I've signed myself up for a frankly stupid amount of adulting in the next month or so, so I can't promise when I'll have a real, big kid chapter to post to AO3, but it should be sooner rather than later. I'm liking what I've got so far though, so I thought I'd go ahead and post a little bit.

I don't have much in the way of a tags list (outside of @casenergies pspspsp), but I may be posting chunks of this off and on before I post it to AO3 proper so let me know if you'd like to be added.

Dean drives by the house six times before he gives in and buys it.

He finds it on one of his many drives around Lebanon on days where Jack decides his body should be that of a baby. Jack doesn’t sleep on those days, just wails and wails and wails. The only thing that’ll quiet him long enough to keep Dean from having a breakdown is when Dean straps him into the backset of the Impala and just drives and drives for hours.

Cas is six weeks gone, burned and buried, when Dean finally buys the house.

He pays $50,000 for her, but it was probably too much by at least half. The house could only politely be described as ramshackle. In reality, it’s a shithole. The porch is caved in, the roof went out about a decade ago, the kitchen has vines growing through it, and Dean’s fairly certain he’s going to have to rebuild the stairs from scratch.

But it’s his.

And so is the little field out in the back, with a bubbly creek bisecting it. It hasn’t been cared for in years, maybe since Dean’s been alive, but it’s beautiful. Brush grass surrounds the creek, covering at least half an acre with warm yellows and greens. Flowers dot the grass around both the front and the back of the house, remnants of what was once probably a beautiful garden. It’s a serene little haven surrounded by poplar trees in the middle of the flat, flat lands of Kansas.

It’s where Dean spreads the ashes of the love of his life, alone, weeping like a child.

He’ll have to fess up to Sam eventually about what he’s done, what he’s bought, and what he’s signed himself up to do, but for now Dean sits quietly among the tall grass and the flowers. It is the perfect spot for Cas, Dean thinks, quiet, perfect for thoughtful contemplation of the mysteries of the universe, with just enough natural beauty to quietly soak in what Cas used to call the divine. He’d always say it a soft undertone, like he was sharing a secret with Dean, even years after he’d rebelled from heaven, like there was a wrong way to worship God’s creation.

Cas would’ve loved to have watched the sun rise and set from the spot where Dean decides to place his ashes, nestled between the creek and one of the taller, prouder trees circling the property. Dean’s sure of it. He would’ve stood there stock still and just absorbed the wonders of the universe with a soft smile on his face. Eventually, Dean would’ve gotten sick of him just standing there at random hours of the day and built the stubborn weirdo a bench.

Dean has to work to breathe through the tears while he opens the makeshift urn he’d placed Cas in all those weeks ago at the cabin. He’s never not had Cas come back from some impossible death, but this time feels different. It feels final in a way that Dean just can’t shake, no matter how hard he tries.

In a weird way, Cas’ death feels like Kelly’s, like they died so that the kid could live.

So he’s burying Cas the right way, is the point, in a way that’ll let him see Cas in a flower or a blade of grass ten years from now, somewhere Cas would’ve loved, with a house that Dean can rebuild for Cas’ child. Because Dean can do many things, but raise a baby in bunker will never be one of them.

He hopes Sam can understand. More than that, he hopes Sam is willing to come with Dean and Jack to this place. This isn’t something that Dean thinks he can handle on his own. No, that’s not true. He could if he had to. He’s done worse with less, but he doesn’t want to. He’s tired of being alone, tired of burying people. He wants a soft place to land, something that really feels like home. It’s something he wants for himself, and for Sam, but it’s also something he needs to give Jack.

The kid’s already lost a mother and a father, and he’s not even existed for six months. Dean spends a moment wondering if angels — nephilim — grow up like people do or if they just spring fully formed and ready to function like Athena from Zeus’ head. It’s another thing that Dean can’t help with, can’t understand, and he somehow misses Cas more in that moment. He wishes Cas could’ve stayed not dead for himself, yeah, he’s not unselfish, but he wishes Jack could’ve had a dad that knew what he was going through, understood what it meant to be … whatever Jack was.

Eventually the tears come to a stop, more out of genuine dehydration than any kind of closure, but Dean’s got things to do, so with a blotchy face, Dean rewraps Cas’ urn in the remnants of Kelly Kline’s tablecloth and heads back to the Impala. He’s got some music to face, both with his brother and with the nephilim that’s decided he’s six today.

(Days where Jack is six are some of the most fun Dean’s had in years. They make cookies and watch silly TV shows and Dean teaches Jack how to do finger paint art like when Sammy was still in grade school.)

#my b if there are any spelling errors or nonsense sentences #in the event that you saw the jack and pancackes stuff from months?? ago #it's the same story #god i haven't actually comitted to posting fic in YEARS #this is TERRIFYING #anyway #i'll try to have a whole thing posted soon with an ao3 link and everything #just gotta rewrite a chunk and then we should be good to go #spn #my fic #oh uh #this gets happier by the way #i promise