Supernatural Legacy Chapter Masterlist
SEASON ONE MASTERLIST SEASON TWO MASTERLIST
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Supernatural Legacy Chapter Masterlist
SEASON ONE MASTERLIST SEASON TWO MASTERLIST
New chapter drops every Tuesday
Other ways to read this story:
Wattpad
Blog
Follow me on Instagram for chapter announcements and teasers
Instagram: spnlegacyfiles
Season 3 Announcement!
Hello everyone!
I hope you enjoyed the second season of Supernatural Legacy! The story isn’t over! Season 3 is currently being worked on, but I will need some time to get it going. But I will not leave you high and dry until then, so…
There will be a mini-series releasing starting next week!
I mentioned jokingly months ago (on Wattpad) about how funny a Nellie Winchester and Leon Kennedy team-up would be (you can tell that I wrote that while watching game plays of Requiem). Well, this is now officially in the works! We are getting a Supernatural Legacy x Resident Evil crossover! I have been working long and hard on this series and I am excited to share it! I know it is a bit of a niche choice, but I genuinely love the idea I came up with for this short series.
I will note that this mini-series will not disrupt the current and future storylines of Supernatural Legacy. It will take place between seasons, canon-wise.
Note: Yes. This cover is AI-generated. While I normally create my own book covers, I am not THAT good with Photoshop LOL. I also work full-time, so creating a video game-like cover is something I don’t have time to do on my own. I think that image generation does have its place in the creative space (for those of us who can’t draw) to help writers visualize their characters and certain things, but overall, keep AI out of art!
S2 Chapter 24 - Learning to Live Again (Season Finale)
Some people come into your life slowly. Quietly. Not with grand declarations or impossible promises, but with steady hands, shared mornings, and the kind of patience that teaches you how to feel safe again. As Nellie begins imagining a future beyond survival, the lines between friendship and something deeper start to blur in ways neither she nor Jack can ignore forever. But healing doesn’t erase fear overnight. And sometimes, the hardest thing about being loved is believing you deserve it in the first place.
Word Count: 22.3k
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TW: ANGST with a happy ending. brief description of SA via a memory. use of the word rape. use of mild language.
The week after that night feels different. Not dramatically. Nobody wakes up suddenly healed. Nothing magically disappears. But something in the house softens. Like everyone can finally breathe a little easier. Nellie especially. The trauma still whispers to her constantly. Still tells her: too broken, too difficult, too damaged to stay for. But now, those thoughts no longer sound completely true. Because Jack stayed. Even after she gave him an out. Even after she practically handed him freedom. He stayed. That realization settles deep inside her in ways she can’t fully explain yet. The shame doesn’t disappear. But for the first time since Aberiel, it begins losing some of its power.
So, she starts trying again. Not forcing. Trying. She starts spending more time outside the guest room. At first only for short stretches: coffee in the kitchen, helping Eileen fold towels, sitting quietly in the living room while Dean watches cartoons before school. The family notices immediately. None of them make a big deal out of it. They simply let her exist there naturally. Which helps more than they realize. She still insists on helping around the house sometimes. Not desperately now. Not like she’s trying to earn permission to stay, more because she’s trying to remember how to feel normal again. Eileen lets her help with small things: cutting vegetables, sorting laundry, wiping counters, organizing groceries. Sam gently shoos her away whenever she looks too tired. And Jack is somehow both the worst and best about it, because he notices immediately when she’s overdoing things.
“Nellie.” That soft concerned tone every single time. And somehow, she always knows exactly what he means. “You’re swaying,” or “You haven’t sat down in like an hour,” or “You’re exhausted.” The thing is, he never says it accusingly, never treats her like she’s fragile. Just like someone worth taking care of. That still does something dangerous and warm inside her chest every time.
There are still difficult days. Days where she changes clothes two or three times because nothing feels right on her skin. Days where mirrors become unbearable again. Days where she barely talks and spends hours curled up with her headphones on listening to music because it quiets her mind. But those days slowly become less frequent. And when they happen now, she no longer feels completely alone inside them.
Dean becomes one of the biggest unexpected helps. Mostly because he treats her exactly the same. Trauma doesn’t exist in his worldview the way it does for adults. To him, Nellie is still Nellie. So eventually he starts tugging her back into things.
“Movie night?” “Will you color with me?” “Can you help me beat Jack at Mario Kart?”
At first, she says no softly. Too tired. Too emotionally heavy. But gradually, she starts saying yes. And every single time she does, Jack notices. The first movie night nearly destroys him emotionally. Not because anything dramatic happens. Because she falls asleep halfway through the movie with Miracle curled against her leg while Dean rambles endlessly beside her. And she looks peaceful. He spends most of the movie pretending not to stare.
As the days continue, Eileen slowly transitions back into the master bedroom. Not abruptly. Carefully. Because Nellie’s nightmares haven’t disappeared. But they’re manageable now. Less violent. Less disorienting. And more importantly, she no longer panics at being alone afterward. Sometimes she still wakes shaky and nauseous. But now she grounds herself, puts on music, drinks water, sits outside briefly, or quietly talks herself through it. The progress is slow. Hard-earned. And she is incredibly proud of her for it. Even if it breaks her heart too. Because as Nellie stabilizes emotionally enough to process things properly, she starts asking questions. Real questions. Questions she had been too ashamed to say aloud before.
One evening while they fold laundry together, she quietly asks, “Is it normal to hate your own body afterward?”
Another night she admits, “Sometimes I still feel him touching me even when no one’s there.”
Eileen handles every confession gently. Steadily. Never shocked. Never disgusted. Never pitying. Just loving. She explains the responses carefully and every time Nellie realizes that she isn’t crazy or ruined. She’s traumatized. There’s a difference. That realization slowly becomes life changing. Though some details still break the woman’s heart privately after her niece falls asleep. Especially the quieter confessions, like how Aberiel liked watching her cry, how he treated fear like affection, how she stopped feeling like her body belonged to her. She cries privately about those conversations more than once. But she also sees something hopeful underneath them, that Nellie wants to heal. That matters.
And Jack? He sees all of it. The improvements. The regressions. The effort. And somehow every single thing only deepens his feelings. Not in a dramatic way. Not obsession. Something quieter. More devastating. Because watching Nellie fight her way back toward herself, even if slow, makes him admire her more than ever. He notices when she laughs easier, when she joins conversations voluntarily, when she sits closer to people, when she reaches for comfort instead of isolation. And every tiny step forward feels monumental to him. Especially because he knows how hard each one is. There are moments now where she seeks him out naturally again. Asks what he’s reading. Helps him cook. Hands him tea after he has been exhausted with playing with Dean. And every single one of those moments settles warmly inside his chest like something precious. Because after weeks of believing he was hurting her, she choosing his presence again means everything. Even if neither of them says it aloud yet. Not yet. For now, their healing exists in small things. Shared movie nights. Quiet kitchens. Books left beside each other. Coffee made automatically. Gentle concern. Lingering glances. They are slowly beginning to find their way back to each other, without either of them fully realizing it.
• • •
The house is still dark when Nellie wakes. For one disoriented moment she lays there staring at the ceiling of the guest room, listening to the quiet hum of the house around her. No screaming. No panic. No violent terror clawing its way through her chest. Just exhaustion. She had dreamed again, not one of the truly horrible ones, just enough to leave her emotionally restless and unable to settle back into sleep after waking around five in the morning. So, after laying there for nearly twenty minutes trying unsuccessfully to drift off again, she finally gives up. Carefully, quietly, she slips from bed and pulls on one of her oversized sweatshirts she stole from Sam before padding down the hallway. The house feels peaceful this early. Safe. That realization still surprises her sometimes. She slips out onto the back porch just as the first traces of dawn begin softening the horizon. The air is cool. Still. Nellie exhales slowly and settles into one of the porch chairs, pulling her knees loosely up beneath herself.
A few moments later she hears soft nails clicking against the floor behind her. Miracle pushes his way through the cracked door and immediately climbs into her lap like he belongs there. Honestly? He probably thinks he does. She smiles faintly for the first time that morning as she settles him comfortably against her chest and starts absentmindedly petting him. The dog sighs happily. And for a little while she simply watches the sunrise. No overthinking. No spiraling. Just quiet.
Inside the house, Jack wakes not long afterward. His sleep schedule still isn’t fully normal either. Too many weeks of listening for distress. Too many nights of emotional exhaustion. He pulls on a sweatshirt and quietly heads toward the kitchen to start coffee before everyone else wakes up. But as he passes the kitchen window, he pauses. Nellie sits outside on the back porch with Miracle curled comfortably in her lap. He immediately stills. Instinct takes over first. He watches carefully for signs of distress, but there are none. She’s just sitting there, watching the sunrise quietly while absentmindedly scratching the terrier behind the ears. Peaceful. Or at least as peaceful as she’s been in a long time. Relief settles softly through his chest. He stays there watching for maybe a second too long before finally forcing himself to move again.
A few minutes later he quietly slips out onto the porch carrying two mugs. She glances up at the sound of the door opening. Something warm flickers across her tired face immediately when she realizes it’s him. He carefully hands her the mug she likes without needing to ask. She notices that too. She always notices now.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
He nods and leans lightly against the porch railing instead of sitting immediately. “How’re you doing?” The concern in his voice is gentle. Natural. Never intrusive.
She shrugs slightly, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. “Couldn’t really sleep anymore.”
His expression softens immediately. Bad dream. He can tell without her saying it outright. But he also notices that she isn’t panicking, so that matters. So instead of pushing, he simply asks, “You okay?”
She looks back out toward the sunrise. After a moment she nods faintly. “Yeah. Just wanted to enjoy the quiet for a bit.”
He understands that completely. The early morning quiet in Lawrence feels different than the bunker. Softer somehow. Less haunted.
He nods once. “Well…” He gestures lightly toward the kitchen. “I should probably start breakfast before Dean wakes up and decides cereal counts as nutrition.”
That earns the faintest amused breath from her. He immediately treasures it internally. He starts turning back toward the door when her voice stops him.
“Jack?”
He pauses instantly, turning slightly.
She looks down into her coffee mug for a moment before speaking. “Thank you.”
He blinks softly. “For what?”
She shrugs faintly, still not fully meeting his eyes. “For all of this. You’ve done a lot.”
He immediately feels warmth rush into his face. “Nell…”
“No, I mean it.” Her voice stays soft. “You didn’t have to.”
That hits him hard because she still genuinely doesn’t understand that to him, staying was never a burden.
She finally glances up at him then and there’s something painfully sincere in her expression. “I know it’s been hard. But… I really admire you for it.”
That absolutely destroys him. He physically has to look away for a second because suddenly his entire chest is full of butterflies and emotion and warmth all at once. Nobody has ever said something like that to him before. Especially not her. He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, visibly flustered now. “It’s not—” He laughs softly once, embarrassed. “I mean… I didn’t mind it.” Which is true. Every second of exhaustion was worth knowing she was safe. He finally looks back at her again, expression gentler now. “I like helping. And I’m just glad you’re doing okay.”
Something soft shifts across her face hearing that, like she still doesn’t fully understand how someone could care about her this steadily.
He immediately feels himself getting too emotional standing there. Too aware of her looking at him softly in the sunrise light. Too aware of how much he likes her. So, before he completely embarrasses himself, he clears his throat lightly and gestures back toward the kitchen. “I should probably save Eileen from Dean’s breakfast choices.”
That finally earns a genuine small smile from her. And God, he will probably remember that smile for the rest of the week. “Probably,” she agrees quietly.
He gives her one last warm look before heading back inside, leaving her to enjoy the quiet morning.
She watches the door close behind him. Then looks back down at her coffee. At the exact way he made it without asking. At the warmth still lingering from the conversation. Without even realizing it, she smiles again.
• • •
The house is quiet by the time Dean is finally asleep upstairs. The kind of quiet that only comes after a long day of warmth and noise. Nellie had helped Eileen with dinner that evening while Jack and Sam handled getting Dean through bath time and pajamas, a process that somehow always turned into chaos. Now the dishes are done. The lights are dimmed low. Miracle is sprawled asleep near the living room couch. And for the first time in weeks, the evening feels almost normal. Almost. Nellie sits curled into one corner of the couch with a blanket over her legs and a book resting loosely in her lap. She isn’t really reading anymore though. Mostly just listening to the soft conversation around her. Jack sits nearby in the armchair opposite her, one leg tucked beneath him while he absentmindedly flips through his book that hadn’t really been read.
Sam and Eileen exchange one of those married looks from the kitchen. The kind that asks now? He clears his throat softly. “Hey,” he says gently. “Can we talk to you guys for a minute?”
Nellie immediately looks up. Her stomach tightens almost instantly. Not panic exactly. But nerves. Because serious conversations lately usually involve recovery, trauma, or difficult truths.
The Winchesters move into the living room, sitting together on the other couch. Neither looks upset. Sam leans forward slightly. “We wanted to ask you both something important. Are you planning on returning to hunting once you are ready to move on?”
The question settles heavily over the room. Jack immediately glances toward Nellie. Because ultimately, this decision affects her most.
For a long moment she says nothing. She looks down at the blanket in her lap thoughtfully. Then quietly, she answers, “If you asked me that a couple weeks ago… I would’ve said I was done. After everything with Aberiel, I didn’t really see the point anymore. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. And honestly? Aberiel would’ve come for me eventually anyway. Me hunting just brought him down sooner. And if I quit, there are still gonna be things like him out there. There are people out there who can’t protect themselves from monsters. But maybe I can.” The sentence lands quietly in the room. Because that’s the first time, she’s spoken about her abilities like that since the attack. Not curse. Not burden. Purpose. “I don’t want what happened to me to become the thing that stops me from helping people,” she admits quietly.
He feels something ache warmly in his chest hearing that. Because despite everything, she’s still Nellie. Still kind. Still brave. Still trying to protect others. Even after all this.
Sam studies her carefully for a long moment, then looks towards the young man. “What about you?”
Jack immediately looks conflicted. Not about hunting. About her. “I…” He exhales softly. “I don’t like the idea of her getting hurt again.”
The honesty in his voice makes her glance over at him. He notices immediately and looks slightly embarrassed by how emotional he sounded. But he continues anyway. “After everything, it scares me. But I understand why she wants to keep going.” He looks back at her now. And there’s so much trust in his expression it almost hurts her heart. “She’s good at this. And she helps people.”
She feels warmth bloom quietly in her chest.
He shifts slightly in his seat. “So, if she wants to keep hunting, then I’m hunting again, too.”
Sam’s expression softens visibly. “Okay. Then you do this slowly.”
“No rushing back into hunts,” Eileen adds. “You both still need time.”
Jack nods immediately. Honestly relieved someone else said it first.
He gestures lightly toward them. “You’ve both spent over a month focused entirely on survival and recovery. You need to rebuild strength again. And honestly? Getting back into balance with your abilities will probably help too.”
Nellie nods slowly. She knows he’s right. Her abilities still feel slightly uneven. Overreactive emotionally sometimes. Like they’re relearning stability alongside her.
Eileen leans forward slightly then. “There’s also some practical things we think would help once you do start hunting again. When you start taking cases again, it is probably separate motel rooms would probably be a good idea for a while. I know it isn’t cost effective, but just for a bit would be helpful.”
Sam immediately adds, “Not because we think Jack would ever cross a line.”
Jack nods firmly before either of them can continue. “Of course.” Immediate agreement. No hesitation whatsoever.
That visibly relaxes Nellie. Because somehow the suggestion doesn’t feel infantilizing. It feels considerate. Like they’re acknowledging the reality of trauma without treating her like she’s fragile glass.
Her aunt’s voice softens further. “You don’t have to force yourself back into old routines before you’re ready.”
Her throat tightens unexpectedly at that. Because a small, frightened part of her had worried she’d eventually be expected to just be normal again. To stop struggling. Stop needing adjustments.
Sam gestures lightly. “And if eventually you feel okay sharing rooms again? Then you revisit it.”
Jack nods immediately again. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
The sincerity in his voice hits Nellie hard, because there’s genuinely no disappointment there. No frustration. Just support. Something warm and emotional settles heavily in her chest then. Not pity. Not pressure. Safety. And for maybe the first time since everything happened, she realizes that they aren’t trying to drag her back into who she was before. They’re helping her figure out who she can safely become now.
• • •
The conversation about hunting changes something in Nellie over the next week. Not dramatically. But noticeably. It gives her something she hadn’t really allowed herself to think about since Aberiel: a future. Not just survival. Not just healing. Life afterward. And somehow that changes the atmosphere around her completely. She starts trying again in a different way now. Not because she feels obligated. Not because she’s terrified of being a burden. But because she genuinely wants to feel like herself again. And everyone notices.
She still has difficult moments. Those don’t magically disappear. There are mornings where she wakes quiet and heavy from nightmares. Days where she changes clothes at least once. Moments where she still flinches from mirrors unexpectedly or goes distant during conversations because some memory surfaced without warning. But now, those moments no longer consume entire days. She recovers from them faster. And more importantly: she lets people help her through them instead of isolating completely. That alone feels monumental to Sam and Eileen. Especially because Nellie begins participating in life more naturally now. Not forcing herself. Choosing to.
She starts helping Jack cook dinner again most evenings. At first only small things: cutting vegetables, washing dishes, keeping Dean entertained while Jack cooks. But eventually they begin slipping back into old rhythms without even realizing it. He reaches for ingredients before she hands them over. She automatically moving out of his way in the kitchen because they already know each other’s patterns. Quiet commentary while cooking. Shared teasing. Normal. It feels normal again. And honestly? That almost hurts him emotionally the first few times it happens. Because for weeks he genuinely thought they might never get this back.
One evening Dean complains dramatically about broccoli. Nellie immediately deadpans, “You literally tried to eat dirt last week.”
The boy gasps in betrayal. Jack nearly chokes laughing. And Sam and Eileen exchange silent looks across the kitchen because: there she is. That sharp quiet humor. That dry delivery.
She notices the looks immediately and flushes slightly. “Don’t make it weird.”
That only makes him laugh harder. And for the rest of the night, he can’t stop smiling whenever he looks at her. Because he absolutely starts looking at her more again. Not obsessively. Not in a way that would make her uncomfortable. Just… admiringly. Like he still can’t fully believe she’s here. Healing. Laughing again. Living again. He watches her when she reads on the couch, laughs with Dean, absentmindedly hums while cooking, explains why color has metaphorical significance in one of her books, sits outside with coffee in the mornings. Not because of how she looks physically — though he obviously thinks she’s beautiful — but because he genuinely loves who she is. The way she exists. The way she cares. The way she thinks. The way she’s fighting to reclaim herself despite everything. To him, that’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And it absolutely wrecks him emotionally sometimes.
The funniest part to Sam and Eileen is watching Jack attempt subtlety. Because he is trying so hard to remain respectful. Especially after everything. If Nellie gets quiet? He gives her space immediately. If she looks overwhelmed? He gently redirects conversations. If she looks tired? Suddenly there’s tea nearby or he’s telling her to sit down while he handles dinner. And every single thing he does screams I love her. Even if he hasn’t actually said the words.
Eileen catches Sam watching Jack one evening while the younger man pretends to focus on washing dishes while very obviously listening to Nellie explain a book she’s reading.
The Winchester mutters quietly, “He’s got it bad.”
She nearly smiles into her coffee. “Mmhm.” Because honestly? At this point everyone in the house knows. Everyone except maybe their son and Nellie.
Though even she’s starting to suspect something now. Especially because she notices things too. Like: Jack always remembers how she likes her tea. He notices headaches before she mentions them. He knows when she’s overstimulated. He quietly shields her from crowded spaces. He checks if music is too loud. He automatically grabs her favorite snacks at stores. And for the first time in her life, being known doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels safe. Wanted. Loved. That realization terrifies her a little sometimes. But more than that, it warms her.
• • •
Dinner that evening feels warm. Comfortable. Dean is halfway through an animated story about something that happened at school while Miracle sits hopefully beneath the table waiting for someone to “accidentally” drop food. Nellie is actually participating in the conversation tonight instead of simply listening. That alone still quietly amazes Sam sometimes. She’s teasing Dean lightly. Rolling her eyes at Jack’s terrible attempt at helping with spelling homework. Arguing with Eileen over whether garlic bread counts as a vegetable. It feels startlingly normal.
And because of that, Sam finally decides to say something he and Eileen had been discussing privately for days. He glances toward his wife first. Eileen gives a tiny nod. So, he looks toward Nellie and Jack. “We’ve been thinking,” he says casually, setting his fork down. “And honestly? We think you’re both almost ready to head back to the bunker.”
The table stills slightly. Nellie blinks. Jack immediately looks up too.
He continues gently, “Not immediately. But maybe another week here first. Relax a little more before getting back into hunting.”
For a second, she just stares at him. Then something bright and startled flickers across her face. Excitement. Real excitement. But then just as quickly, hesitation settles in. She looks down at the table. “Are you sure?” The question is quiet. Vulnerable. Like she genuinely doesn’t trust herself enough to know the answer anymore.
Eileen’s expression softens immediately. “You’ve improved a lot,” she says gently.
He nods in agreement. “And honestly? At some point healing plateaus if you stay hidden away too long. There’s only so much recovery you can do sitting inside this house. Eventually you have to start living again.”
Jack watches her closely, noticing the subtle shift in her expression as she considers it. Hope. Nervousness. Determination. All tangled together. And honestly? Seeing that look on her face makes him ridiculously happy. Because for weeks she barely wanted to exist. Now she’s thinking about the future again. Thinking about life after this. He loves that. Loves her for it. And that realization hits him so hard and suddenly that it almost physically startles him. Because they’re going back to the bunker. Back to their real lives. Back to what they had before. Except, they can’t. Not really. Not for him. He suddenly realizes with painful clarity that he cannot go back to pretending his feelings aren’t there. Not after everything. Not after almost losing her, watching her fight her way back to herself, staying beside her through every horrible night, seeing her smile at him again. His feelings aren’t small anymore. Maybe they never were. But now they feel impossible to hide. And now he isn’t nervous because she makes him flustered anymore. He’s nervous because telling her could change everything. If she doesn’t feel the same, what happens then? Would she still want to live with him at the bunker? Still want movie nights? Still want quiet mornings drinking coffee together? The thought of losing her friendship makes his stomach twist painfully. But somehow the idea of never telling her feels worse now. Because she deserves honesty. Even if it hurts him.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur for him after that realization. He responds automatically when spoken to. Helps clean up dishes mechanically. His thoughts keep spiraling. Eventually, while Nellie gets distracted by Dean insisting she help him build some ridiculous pillow fort before bed, He quietly approaches Sam near the sink. “Uh…” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Can we talk?”
Sam glances over once. Already knowing. “Yeah,” he says easily.
A few minutes later they head toward the home office while the chaos of Dean’s bedtime negotiations continues elsewhere in the house. Once the door closes behind them, Jack immediately starts pacing slightly. Sam leans lightly against the desk, arms folded comfortably. Waiting him out.
He exhales shakily once. “We can’t go back like nothing changed.” He runs a hand nervously through his hair. “I thought maybe I could just… Not say anything. But now? She deserves to know.”
Sam watches him carefully. He looks genuinely distressed now.
“What if she doesn’t feel the same?” he asks quietly. There it is too. The real fear. Not rejection itself. Losing her. “What if it makes things weird? What if she doesn’t want to live together anymore?”
The Winchester’s expression softens immediately because the concern is so deeply Jack. “Well first,” he says calmly, “I appreciate you coming to me about this. And honestly? I think you’re right. You can’t really pretend things haven’t changed anymore. But, you need to be prepared for different responses.”
He nods immediately. “I know.”
“She might only see you as a friend. She also might not be ready to talk about feelings like this yet. Even if she does care about you.”
He absorbs that quietly. Because honestly? That possibility scares him too.
“Nellie’s still figuring herself out again.”
“I know.” And he really does. He’s watched her rebuild herself piece by piece.
Sam watches him carefully for another moment before asking, “So why tell her now?”
“Because she deserves honesty. I don’t want her to think I expect anything. I don’t. But I also…” He laughs softly once, nervous. “I don’t think I can keep pretending anymore.”
That honesty earns the faintest smile from him. Because honestly? Everyone in the house already knows. He pushes gently off the desk then. “When you tell her, make sure she understands she doesn’t owe you an answer. And make sure she knows your friendship matters first.”
“That’s easy,” the young man replies quietly. Because it’s true. Nellie being in his life at all matters more than anything else.
He studies him for another long moment. Then finally says softly, “For what it’s worth? I think whatever happens, you’ve already proven you’re someone safe for her.”
That hits Jack directly in the chest. Because honestly? That matters more to him than any possible confession outcome. He is grateful for the conversation with Sam. The problem is that none of that actually makes him less nervous. If anything, it somehow makes him more nervous. Because now the possibility feels real. Now he knows he’s actually going to do it. And unfortunately for him, he is absolutely terrible at functioning normally when emotionally overwhelmed.
So that night he barely sleeps. He lays awake on the cot in the home office staring at the ceiling while his brain replays every possible version of the conversation. What if she gets uncomfortable? What if she thinks he only stayed because he liked her? What if she feels pressured? What if she panics? What if he words something wrong? What if she never feels safe around him again afterward? That last thought nearly makes him nauseous. Beside the cot, Miracle lifts his head sleepily at some point during the night before climbing up beside him uninvited. He absently pets the terrier while staring blankly upward.
“Thanks,” he mutters quietly when the dog settles against his side heavily.
Miracle sighs dramatically like he says, “You’re emotionally exhausting.”
He almost laughs despite himself. Eventually he falls asleep sometime close to dawn.
The next couple days are honestly pathetic. At least according to Jack. Because he keeps almost telling her. Almost. There are multiple opportunities. Too many opportunities. One evening they’re alone in the kitchen washing dishes together, he almost says it. Then Nellie smiles at him over something stupid Dean said earlier and suddenly his brain completely shuts down. Then there’s a late-night conversation on the back porch where she talks quietly about wanting to see the ocean someday. He almost tells her then too. But she looks peaceful. And he can’t bear the possibility of changing that expression if things go badly. So once again, nothing. By the third day he’s genuinely frustrating himself. Because he knows he needs to do this before they leave. Before they go back to the bunker pretending nothing changed. But every time he sees her happy, he becomes terrified of ruining it.
Finally, opportunity presents itself in a way Jack can’t really escape from. Dean is at school. Sam is working from home today. Eileen is buried in her own work. The house is unusually quiet. Jack had been folding laundry in the living room when he notices the back porch door cracked open. Through the glass he sees Nellie sitting outside in one of the porch chairs. Reading. Her legs are curled slightly beneath her. One of her oversized sweatshirts slipping loosely off one shoulder. A mug of tea beside her. Peaceful.
Jack pauses. Immediately his heart starts pounding. Because somehow this feels like the moment. Quiet enough. Private enough. Safe enough. He stands frozen in the hallway for almost a full minute arguing with himself internally. You need to do this. What if this ruins everything? She deserves to know. What if she doesn’t want you there afterward? His stomach twists painfully.
Nellie glances up briefly from her book and notices him through the doorway. Her expression immediately softens. And she gives him one of those small quiet smiles that always completely destroys his ability to think clearly. “You okay?” she asks softly.
He nearly loses all nerve instantly. But then he remembers nearly leaving. The almost goodbye. The way she looked relieved seeing him still there that morning at breakfast. Honesty matters. Even if it’s terrifying. He exhales slowly. Then finally steps outside onto the porch. “Yeah,” he says quietly. His voice already sounds nervous. “Can I…” He swallows hard. “Can I talk to you about something?”
The porch suddenly feels far too warm.
Her expression softens further immediately. “Of course.”
He sits rigidly across from her, every nerve in his body feeling painfully alive and like he might actually pass out.
She notices immediately how nervous he is. Her expression softens with concern. “Jack?”
His throat feels tight. He rubs nervously at the back of his neck before finally blurting softly, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for like… three days.”
That earns the faintest confused smile from her. Which somehow makes him even more flustered.
He exhales shakily, then finally starts talking. “When Aberiel first started showing up, I remember feeling scared. But not just scared because he was dangerous. I was scared for you. And then when he took you…” His voice cracks slightly. That alone tells her more than the words do. He swallows hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that broken before. But then seeing you come back, watching you heal, that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through.”
Her chest tightens painfully. Not because he’s blaming her. The exact opposite. Because every word sounds full of care.
He exhales slowly, then asks carefully, “Do you remember the djinn hunt?”
She blinks softly, surprised by the sudden shift. “Yeah. What about it?”
He shifts nervously in his seat. “In the dream…” He pauses. “Everything felt normal. Or at least what I thought normal was supposed to feel like. The dream-you was… different.”
“How?”
He immediately flushes. “She was more…” He gestures awkwardly. “Friendly?”
She stills.
He rushes onward before he completely loses nerve. “And at first, I thought that was just part of the dream trying to make me stay. Which it probably was. But after I woke up, I realized something. I liked that version of us.”
The porch suddenly feels very still.
Jack’s expression turns almost painfully vulnerable now. “And then I realized, I think I already wanted that before the dream.”
Nellie stares at him silently.
He keeps talking now, words finally spilling freer the longer he goes. “After that I started noticing things more.” His cheeks are visibly pink now. “The way you laugh at your own jokes before anyone else does. The way you explain books when you really love them. The way you pretend you don’t like being taken care of but secretly relax when someone helps. And you care so much about people. Even after everything that’s happened to you.”
She looks away slightly at that.
“I don’t mean that in a pity way,” he says quickly. “I just mean…” He struggles briefly. “You’re still kind. And I think you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.”
She genuinely doesn’t know what to do with hearing that. Because she still feels fragile so often. Broken sometimes. Yet he says it with absolute certainty.
He finally looks directly at her then and suddenly all the nervousness strips away into raw sincerity. “I really like you, Nellie. More than just my best friend.”
She just stares at him. Her expression solemn. Unreadable. Because Jack Kline — sweet, gentle, endlessly patient Jack — had just sat there and bared his soul to her like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like loving her was simple. Like she was something good. And she genuinely doesn’t know how to process that. Her chest feels tight. Too tight. Because all she can think is why? Why would someone like him want someone like her? He is kind, steady, good. He is warmth in kitchen lights. Tea after nightmares. Gentle hands. Soft patience. Safety. And she’s a psychic freak, a hunter, a girl held together more by stubbornness than stability. A girl who was touched and used long before Aberiel ever found her.
Her thoughts start spiraling violently. Maybe this is why he stayed. Maybe he pitied her. Maybe he felt responsible for her. Maybe he thought she was too broken to survive without someone helping hold her together. And underneath all of it, the old poison starts rising again. Her mother’s voice telling her, “Girls like you are only good for one thing.” The disgusting mutters from drunken boyfriends as their hands wandering over her clothes while they touched themselves. The way they looked at her like she was something consumable. Then Aberiel. His voice in her ear. His hands on her body. His lips too far up her thigh. Calling it worship. Calling her beautiful while violating her over and over again. The obsessive affection. The possessiveness. The way he acted like loving her gave him permission to use her.
Her breathing starts turning uneven. Because Jack cannot possibly mean this. Not truly. Not when he could have someone untouched. Someone normal. Someone who isn’t ruined. Someone who deserves romance. Not her. Not a girl who still sometimes panics changing clothes. Not someone who cries in showers. Not someone who still feels contaminated some mornings.
He watches her expression slowly collapse inward and his own stomach drops instantly. “Nellie…”
She stands abruptly.
He immediately rises too, startled.
She shakes her head quickly. “No.” Her voice is strained.
His heart twists immediately. “No?”
“You shouldn’t…” She struggles visibly for the words. “You shouldn’t feel that way about me.”
He blinks in confusion. “What?”
She looks almost panicked now. “You should’ve left.”
That hits him like a punch. He stares at her. “What are you talking about?”
“That night,” she says shakily. “When I told you to go. You should’ve left and moved on.”
Now he’s genuinely confused and hurt. “Nellie, why would I do that?”
“Because this—” She gestures vaguely toward herself now, visibly emotional. “This isn’t fair to you.”
“What isn’t?”
Her eyes shine with tears now. “You deserve someone better.”
He looks genuinely stunned by that. “What?”
“I mean it.” Her voice cracks. “You deserve someone normal.”
“Nellie…”
“No.” She’s breathing harder now, panic rising. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.” His voice stays heartbreakingly gentle. That almost makes this worse. Because he’s still being kind. Still trying.
“You can’t understand!” “Why not, Nell—"
“Aberiel raped me, Jack!” She freezes immediately. She can’t believe she just said it out loud. Actually said it. To him.
Jack goes completely still. Not because he’s disgusted. Not because he suddenly looks at her differently. But because the sheer depth of pain behind that sentence devastates him instantly.
He knew what Aberiel did was horrific. He knew there had been abuse of that nature. But hearing her finally say the word aloud, it breaks something inside him.
Nellie sees the shock on his face and immediately interprets it wrong. Of course she does. Humiliation crashes through her violently. “Oh God—” She backs away instantly.
He snaps out of his stunned silence immediately. “Nellie, wait—” He steps toward her automatically. Wanting to comfort her. Wanting to tell her that that doesn’t change anything. That she isn’t ruined. That none of this makes her unlovable. But the moment he moves toward her, she flinches hard, like she expects impact. He stops right away, horrified at himself despite knowing why she reacted that way.
She looks equally horrified by her own reaction, tears spilling down her face now openly.
Before he can say another word, she turns and bolts into the house, the back door slamming shut. Only a few seconds later Sam and Eileen appear from inside, both alarmed by the obvious emotional explosion they just heard pieces of. They stop immediately when they see Jack standing there. He looks wrecked. Absolutely heartbroken. Tears in his eyes. Hands shaking slightly.
He looks toward them helplessly and all he can manage to say is, “I told her.” His voice cracks violently.
Sam immediately steps toward him while Eileen’s face crumples with heartbreak. Because they understand instantly what happened. Not every detail. But enough.
He drags a shaking hand down his face before tears finally spill over fully. “She—” His voice breaks hard. “She thinks—” He can barely get the words out.
She gently reaches for his arm, grounding him enough to keep talking. He looks devastated in a way neither of them has ever really seen before. Not because of rejection. That part barely even matters right now.
“She thinks that what Aberiel did makes her unlovable.” The pain in his voice is immediate. Raw. Like that realization physically hurts him. “That’s not— That doesn’t matter to me.” His breathing grows uneven again as he struggles to process the image now permanently burned into his head of Nellie crying while saying those words like they condemned her.
Eileen’s eyes shine immediately with tears too.
He starts talking quickly now, rambling emotionally because he can’t hold any of it inside. “She looked terrified after she said it,” he says brokenly. “Like she thought I was gonna hate her or something.”
The thought alone sounds unbearable to him.
Sam exchanges a quick look with his wife. Then she immediately moves toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go talk to her—”
“No,” he says gently but firmly.
She pauses.
His expression softens. “You stay here with Jack.”
She nods immediately.
He squeezes Jack’s shoulder once before heading quickly toward the guest room while his wife carefully guides the young man back inside. He barely seems aware of moving. She settles him onto the living room couch while he continues trying unsuccessfully to pull himself together. Miracle immediately jumps up beside him like the emotionally intuitive dog he somehow always becomes during crisis.
He grips the terrier absently while she sits beside him. “She thinks she’s ruined,” he says hollowly.
Her heart breaks hearing it. “She isn’t,” she says immediately.
“I know that.” And that’s what’s killing him. Because Nellie genuinely believes it. He wipes harshly at his face, visibly distraught. “I thought maybe she didn’t feel the same. I was ready for that.” His voice cracks again. “But not this.” Not hearing the girl he likes confess her violation like it made her fundamentally unworthy of affection.
She gently rubs his shoulder while he struggles through the emotions. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He immediately shakes his head. “But she flinched. I tried to go to her and she—” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
“I scared her.”
“No. You didn’t.”
But Jack still looks unconvinced.
Meanwhile, Sam reaches the guest room. He knocks softly first. “Nellie?”
No response.
He waits a moment, then knocks again. “It’s Sam.”
Still nothing.
He tries one more time, giving her every possible chance to answer voluntarily. But the silence feels wrong. So finally, he carefully opens the door. The room is empty. The window beside the bed is pushed open slightly. He exhales sharply. Of course. He turns instantly and heads back down the hallway fast enough that Eileen stands immediately when she sees his expression. Jack looks up too, panic flooding his face instantly.
“She’s not there,” he says quickly. “The window’s open.”
Jack grabs instinctively for his jacket. “I’ll go—”
He stops him immediately. “No.”
“But—”
“Let me go to her, Jack. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
The young man looks physically torn apart by staying behind. But he nods shakily anyway.
Sam heads outside quickly. The front yard is empty. The street quiet. He checks down the sidewalk first. Nothing. Then realization hits him. The garage. A memory flashes immediately: finding Jack in the Impala after he almost left. He exhales softly. And sure enough, when he opens the side door to the garage, he sees someone curled into the passenger seat of the Impala. Nellie. Crying silently, completely folded into herself. His chest aches instantly. Because she looks exactly like someone who believes they just ruined the best thing they’ve ever been given. He approaches slowly. Doesn’t rush her. Doesn’t force conversation. He just carefully slides into the driver’s seat beside her. She doesn’t even look up at first. She just keeps crying quietly into her sleeves.
For a long while, he says nothing, letting the silence exist. Lets her feel it. Because he knows if he pushes too fast right now, she’ll retreat deeper into herself. Eventually her crying starts slowing. Not stopping completely, just softening enough that he thinks she might actually hear him now.
So finally, quietly, he asks, “How’re you feeling?”
She doesn’t answer. She curls tighter into herself instead, forehead pressed against her knees. He waits patiently. No pressure.
Eventually she speaks, but not to answer his question. “You and Eileen have to care about me because I’m family. But Jack doesn’t. He should’ve left. He should leave now.”
That hurts to hear. Not because he thinks she means it, but because he knows she genuinely believes she’s protecting Jack from herself. He exhales slowly before speaking carefully. “Eileen and I do care about you because you’re family. But not because we’re obligated to. We love you, Nellie. You’re family because we chose you too.”
Her breathing hitches faintly.
He glances toward her carefully. “You know, you’re honestly more like our daughter than our niece at this point. You’re like the best big sister we could’ve imagined for Dean.”
She squeezes her eyes shut hard. Because hearing good things about herself still physically hurts sometimes.
He lets that sit for a moment. Then she finally whispers, “Why would Jack even like me? He could find someone better.”
He expression softens immediately. “Nellie—”
“If he wasn’t stuck in the bunker with me all the time… I’m basically the only girl he’s around.”
He leans back slightly in the seat, studying her carefully. “What if that’s not why? What if he likes you because he genuinely enjoys you? What if he likes your personality? Your interests? The way you two live together? You really think Jack spent months reading through your entire book collection because there weren’t other books available?”
That actually catches her off guard slightly.
“He willingly sat through four different black-and-white movies because you said they were important to cinematic history.”
A tiny, embarrassed breath leaves her.
“He lets you infodump lore at two in the morning,” Sam continues. “And somehow looks more interested the longer you talk. He likes living life with you. Whether that’s on hunts. Or researching in the bunker. Or drinking coffee in the kitchen. What’s wrong with that?”
Nellie stares down at her hands for a long time. Then finally, so quietly Sam almost misses it, she says, “My mother says girls like me are only good for one thing.”
He entire chest aches hearing it. Because there it is. The poison. Not Aberiel originally. Older than that. Childhood deep-rooted damage.
Her voice shakes now. “That’s how men look at me. Like a toy.” Tears slip down her face again. “Aberiel knew that. That’s why he kept doing it. He knew I already believed that about myself.”
Silence settles heavily. Then he says gently, “Jack has never looked at you that way. He’s never treated you that way either. When he showed back up over a year ago and I suggested you two become hunting partners, I never would’ve done that if I thought he was dangerous. I knew him and I knew you two would work well together.”
A tiny sad breath escapes her. Because they do. Always have.
He gestures lightly. “You hunt well together. You live together well. You take care of each other. And if Jack was anything like those men? You would’ve known a long time ago. Because people like that don’t stay gentle when nobody’s watching.”
That sentence lands directly in her chest. She looks down again quickly.
“Even now, he’s not upset because you rejected him. He’s heartbroken because you think what happened to you made you unlovable.”
She visibly breaks at that. Because that’s exactly it.
His voice grows even gentler now. “Nell… that boy has loved you in a thousand quiet ways for a long time. He knows how you take your coffee. He knows what music calms you down. He packed your favorite books without being asked. He stayed up night after night outside your door because he was worried about you. And when he almost left? He didn’t stay because you caught him. He stayed because he realized leaving wasn’t helping you. He thought he was doing the loving thing by giving you space. But then he saw what leaving would actually do to you and he couldn’t do it. Jack doesn’t love you because of what you can give him. He loves you because you’re you.”
The tears come back. Not the violent panic from earlier. This is softer now. Exhausted. Like she’s emotionally wrung out. Sam doesn’t rush her. He simply reaches over carefully and gently pulls her into a hug. Loose enough that she never feels trapped. Secure enough that she can feel she’s loved. She folds into him almost immediately. And that alone breaks his heart a little. Because she still so badly needs someone safe to lean on. He rests one hand lightly against the back of her head while she cries quietly into his shoulder. No judgment. No pressure. Just warmth. Just safety.
The Impala feels strangely sacred in moments like this. A place where people fall apart honestly.
Eventually her breathing evens slightly. Not calm. But calmer. Sam gently asks, “If you took away the trauma for a second… If none of the bad memories were screaming at you… How would you feel about what Jack told you?”
For a long moment Nellie says nothing. Then finally, very quietly, she replies, “I’d be happy.” She curls slightly tighter into him before finally looking up, tears still clinging to her lashes. “He’s my best friend. And I feel safe with him.” There it is. The real truth beneath all the trauma noise.
His expression softens immediately.
She wipes at her face weakly before continuing. “When Aberiel first took me, I was scared. But I knew Jack would come find me. He never left me behind on hunts. So I knew he’d come for me.”
He closes his eyes briefly. Because Jack absolutely did. To the point of destroying himself trying. He exhales softly before speaking. “Jack barely ate or slept those two weeks. He was running himself into the ground trying to find you. And when we finally rescued you from the waypoint, the only reason Jack stopped fighting Aberiel was because Cas physically intervened. That boy wanted to make sure Aberiel could never hurt you or anyone else again. It honestly scared me a little. Because he’s not violent by nature. It was a miracle he didn’t kill Aberiel that night.”
She looks down shakily at her hands.
He hesitates briefly before continuing softer, “And those nights after your nightmares? The really bad ones? He used to fall asleep outside your door.”
Her head snaps up. “He what?”
“He wanted to make sure you never felt alone. Even if you never knew he was there.”
Her composure breaks again quietly. Not panic. Just overwhelming emotion. Because suddenly all those mornings where she woke feeling strangely comforted all those nights the house somehow felt less empty, Jack had been there. The entire time.
He gently squeezes her shoulder. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. But, I think you should probably go make things right with him.”
She nods shakily. “I know.” He starts to pull back slightly but she quietly asks, “Can we just stay here another minute?”
The vulnerability in the request hits him directly in the chest. “Of course, sweetheart.” And he pulls her close again without hesitation. Holding her carefully in the Impala while she slowly works through the wreckage inside her head. Trying, in every way he can, to be the father she needs in this moment. After a couple more quiet minutes, he gently squeezes her shoulder. “You ready?”
She exhales shakily. Not fully ready. But enough. So, she nods.
He climbs out first, then helps her out carefully even though she doesn’t really need the assistance anymore. Still, she accepts it anyway. The walk back to the house is quiet. The evening air feels cool against her flushed face. Nellie’s stomach twists harder with every step toward the front door. Because now she has to face Jack. And somehow that feels more terrifying than anything else tonight.
Sam opens the front door quietly. The moment they step inside, Jack looks up. He had clearly been waiting. He’s sitting on the couch with Miracle curled beside him, Eileen nearby trying unsuccessfully to distract him with quiet conversation. But the second he sees Nellie, he stands immediately. And her heart breaks. Because he looks devastated. Eyes red. Face exhausted. Hope and fear tangled painfully together. But what hurts most is that he doesn’t move toward her. Doesn’t rush her. Doesn’t corner her. He just stands there looking at her like if she tells him to back away, he will, even if it destroys him. That alone almost makes her cry again.
For one terrible second neither of them knows what to do. Then she quietly walks over and sits down on the couch next to him, he follows suit. He visibly stills in surprise before carefully sitting again too. Like he’s afraid any sudden movement might scare her away. Sam and Eileen stay silent nearby. Watching. Giving them space without actually leaving.
She looks down at her hands for a moment, then finally looks toward him. “I’m sorry for running out.”
He immediately shakes his head. “Nellie, it’s okay—”
She gently cuts him off. “No.” Her voice is soft but firm. “Just… let me say this first.”
He quiets immediately, listening completely.
She swallows nervously. “I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that. And it was just…” She exhales shakily. “A lot.”
He nods carefully. Not defensive. Just understanding.
She twists her fingers together nervously. “But I understand why you told me. We’re going back soon. And things are already changed. So, I understand why you didn’t want to pretend anymore.” The sincerity in her voice nearly undoes him.
He swallows hard before quietly saying, “I also understand if you don’t feel the same. I mean—” He gestures awkwardly. “I’m okay just being friends if that’s what you want.” The sentence sounds painful even though he means it honestly. “And if living together makes you uncomfortable, I can leave the bunker.”
Her head snaps toward him immediately. “Stop. Don’t say things like that.” She takes a shaky breath. Then finally says softly, “I like you too.”
He completely freezes.
Her cheeks flush faintly but she keeps going, voice quieter now. “I think I have for a while now. I just…” She struggles for the words. “Everything that happened made it hard to separate what was trauma and what was actually me feeling things. But if none of that had happened, I think I would’ve been really happy hearing what you said.”
He looks like his heart just stopped.
She gives a tiny shaky laugh. “And honestly…” Her eyes shine with emotion again. “I am happy. You’re my best friend, Jack. Nothing about this feels scary because it’s you.”
His eyes immediately fill again.
She takes another shaky breath. “I’d be willing to try if it was with you.”
That absolutely wrecks him emotionally. Not dramatically. Just pure overwhelming warmth and relief crashing through him all at once. She notices instantly. And somehow seeing how genuinely happy he looks makes something unclench painfully inside her chest.
He laughs softly once in disbelief. “You mean that?”
She nods shyly, a tiny smile finally touching her face.
He looks moments away from crying again honestly. “We don’t have to rush anything,” he says quickly. “At all. We could just…” He gestures awkwardly. “Test the waters? Then you could still heal and know the truth.”
That earns the smallest genuine laugh out of her. Because that phrasing is painfully Jack. She nods immediately. “That sounds nice.”
And suddenly both of them are smiling through tears.
Sam quietly wraps an arm around his wife’s waist watching from nearby while Eileen looks openly emotional. Because after everything, seeing these two find each other again feels almost miraculous.
Jack looks at Nellie carefully then. Still cautious. Still respectful. “Can I hug you?”
Her eyes immediately fill again. Because after everything that was taken from her, after all the control stolen from her, he still makes sure she chooses every step.
She nods softly. “Yeah.”
He moves carefully, slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind. Then gently pulls her into his arms. The hug is warm. Safe. Tender. Nothing demanding. Nothing possessive. Just Jack. She melts against him almost immediately, tears slipping down her face again as she hugs him back. And he honestly looks overwhelmed just holding her, like this alone is enough to make him happy. He eventually pulls back. Not abruptly. Slowly. Reluctantly. Like he already understands instinctively that even good things can become overwhelming if held too long. Still, his hands linger lightly on her arms for just a second before he fully lets go. And the moment he does, he looks at her. Really looks at her. His eyes are still wet with tears, but now there’s something else there too. Relief. Wonder. Happiness so genuine it almost looks unreal.
She looks back at him for a second before something finally breaks through all the fear and heaviness inside her. She smiles. Not the small hesitant smiles she’s been giving for weeks. Not the forced ones. This one is real. Bright. Warm. Alive. The biggest, truest smile she’s had since being rescued. And he honestly looks stunned by it. Like he’s witnessing something sacred. Because to him? It might be one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. She notices immediately how hard he’s staring and flushes slightly.
He just shakes his head softly like he can’t help it. “You’re smiling.” The sheer awe in his voice immediately makes her laugh softly through the lingering tears.
Sam and Eileen finally decide that’s probably enough emotional staring for one afternoon and gently rejoin the conversation. Eileen sits down in the armchair nearby smiling warmly at both of them.
“Well,” Sam says with obvious satisfaction, “that went significantly better than the running away part.”
Nellie groans immediately in embarrassment. “Sam.”
Jack actually laughs weakly beside her, still visibly emotional.
Eileen smiles softly. “I think testing the waters is smart. There’s clearly mutual feelings here, but you’re also still healing.”
Sam nods in agreement. “And honestly,” he adds, “it’ll probably help easing back into bunker life too.”
Jack nods immediately. “That’s what I was thinking.” The bunker had always been theirs together: shared routines, shared responsibilities, shared space. Trying this slowly gives them room to adjust naturally instead of throwing labels and pressure onto everything immediately.
Eileen smiles warmly at her niece. “And it gives you time to get used to someone liking you this way.”
That sentence lands softly but importantly. Because that part still feels unreal to Nellie sometimes.
He notices immediately the complicated emotion flicker across her face. So before she can spiral again, he quietly says, “We already have everything I want.”
Everyone looks at him.
He immediately flushes slightly but keeps going anyway. “I mean…” He gestures awkwardly. “The things we already do. Hunting together. Living in the bunker. Research. Cooking. Movie nights.” His cheeks pinken further the longer he talks. “Doing chores together. Reading. Getting coffee.”
Nellie’s eyes shine again instantly.
“You’re already my favorite person to do life with.” He glances down nervously. “I still want all of that. I just also happen to like you.”
The honesty in the statement makes her tear up again immediately.
He notices and instantly panics slightly. “Was that too much?”
“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head. Her voice trembles softly. “It’s just… I never imagined life after Aberiel sounding so…” She struggles for the word. “Lovely.”
The entire room goes quiet. Because that sentence means so much more than she probably realizes.
He looks genuinely overwhelmed hearing it, his face flushing deep red again. “I mean every word,” he says softly.
Sam watches the two of them sitting there looking at each other like the rest of the room barely exists and honestly feels a little emotional himself. Because these are basically his kids at this point. He watched Nellie survive hell, Jack nearly destroy himself trying to save her, and both of them slowly fight their way back toward each other. So yes. He’s proud. Ridiculously proud. Of course, he’s also still Sam, which means eventually he ruins the emotional moment slightly on purpose. He leans back with a smug expression. “You know,” he says casually, “it’s actually about time.”
Both Nellie and Jack blink at him.
He grins. “Eileen and I were getting close to placing bets on how long it would take you two to figure this out.”
His niece immediately looks horrified. “You WHAT?”
Eileen looks entirely unapologetic. “To be fair,” she signs calmly, “you are both incredibly stubborn.”
Jack looks deeply embarrassed now. “We were not.”
The Winchesters both stare at him, he immediately realizing his mistake. Nellie actually laughs fully this time. A real laugh. And his expression softens instantly hearing it. Because honestly? After everything, he’d sit through a thousand teasing conversations if it meant hearing that sound again.
Eileen soon excuses herself to go pick up Dean from school and Sam disappears back toward his office to finish some work, the house grows quiet again. Not awkward quiet. Just new. Jack and Nellie are suddenly very aware what has shifted. And now they were trying to figure out what exactly came next. She wipes lightly at the lingering tears beneath her eyes while he keeps sneaking nervous glances toward her like he still can’t fully believe this conversation actually happened.
The silence stretches just long enough to become noticeable before he awkwardly clears his throat. “So…”
She immediately smiles a little because he sounds painfully nervous again.
He rubs at the back of his neck. “What would you like to do now?”
That question alone softens something in her chest. She thinks quietly for a moment.
He speaks again before she can answer. “I mean…” He gestures awkwardly. “We were planning to go back to the bunker in a few days. But we could stay a little longer if you wanted. Only if Sam and Eileen don’t mind. And only if you want to.”
She studies him for a second before her expression softens. “A couple extra days might be nice. It’d probably help us get used to…” She gestures vaguely between them.
His cheeks instantly turn pink. “…this?”
He nods quickly. “Yeah, I’d like that.” The happiness in his voice makes her chest warm.
They lapse into another softer silence afterward. Not uncomfortable this time. Just thoughtful. Then Nellie glances toward him again. “Did you really sleep outside my door?”
Jack immediately freezes, then blushes hard. “…Sam told you that?”
She nods once.
He looks deeply embarrassed now. “Yeah,” he admits quietly.
She studies him carefully. “But why?”
“You already know why.”
“I mean besides the obvious reason now. You could’ve just stayed in your room.”
He grows quieter at that. For a second, he just looks down at his hands. Then finally says softly, “I knew you needed space. But I also didn’t want you to feel alone. Even if you never knew I was there.” He gives a tiny, embarrassed laugh afterward. “I actually fell asleep out there a lot. There were a couple of mornings Sam had to wake me up.”
Now she’s blushing too. Because the image is unbearably sweet. Jack curled outside her door just to make sure she wasn’t alone. She looks down briefly before saying quietly, “Thank you for not leaving. Even after I told you you could.”
He shakes his head immediately. “I just wanted you safe and healing.”
She smiles again. A real one. Then suddenly another thought hits her and she narrows her eyes slightly.
He notices immediately. “What?”
She tilts her head at him. “Were your feelings the reason you almost put Nathan into the ground?”
He immediately groans. “Oh no.”
She laughs softly. “That’s a yes.”
He drops his head into his hands briefly in embarrassment. “To be fair,” he mutters, “he was awful.”
“He was awful.”
Jack looks up again, expression darkening slightly at the memory. “He was honestly lucky I didn’t shoot him.”
That earns a startled laugh from her. “Jack.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” she says through another laugh. “And for the record, I was close to killing him myself. But I guess we’ll have to settle with killing his ego.”
Now they’re both chuckling softly. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But enough that the heaviness in the room finally starts lifting. Eventually the laughter fades into something softer again.
Nellie studies him carefully. “Are you really okay going back to hunting? Or are you only agreeing because I want to?”
Jack answers immediately. “Of course I’m worried. But I was already worried before Aberiel. Hunting’s always dangerous. But I still like doing it with you. And honestly, you were right. He would’ve come after you eventually either way. So, quitting wouldn’t actually change what happened. It just means we’re smarter now.”
She nods slowly. “More careful.”
He agrees immediately. “Exactly. And we won’t be doing it alone.”
That sentence settles warmly between them. Because that’s what this has always really been. Not just hunting partners. Not just friends. Two people choosing each other, even after everything. They’re slowly settling into something that had already existed long before either of them said it out loud. And honestly? It feels natural.
Then suddenly the front door bursts open. “NELLIE! JACK!”
Both of them jump slightly as Dean barrels into the house after school with all the unstoppable energy of a five-year-old. Eileen follows behind him carrying his backpack and lunchbox, immediately amused seeing both Jack and Nellie looking suspiciously emotional on the couch.
The little boy either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He immediately throws himself toward the living room excitedly. “You guys missed it!” he announces dramatically. “We got to hold worms in science today.”
Jack immediately smiles despite himself. “Wow. That sounds terrifying.”
“It wasn’t terrifying! It was epic!”
Nellie laughs softly again.
Dean pauses mid-ramble, immediately lighting up hearing it. Then without hesitation he grabs both their hands. “Mom says you two have to help me with my homework!”
Neither of them even gets a chance to object before he starts dragging them toward the kitchen table. Jack glances toward Nellie with a helpless amused look. She just smiles.
The boy’s after-school energy consumes the next couple of hours completely. Which honestly helps. Because while Jack and Nellie are both incredibly happy now, they are also painfully aware of each other in a brand-new way. And Dean’s chaos keeps either of them from overthinking too hard. He immediately ropes them into helping with his activity sheet at the kitchen table, dramatically explaining every answer like he’s solving world peace instead of kindergarten math.
Jack takes the assignment very seriously. Nellie, meanwhile, keeps catching herself smiling at the way he leans in attentively to help Dean sound out words. At one point he glances up and catches her staring. She immediately looks back down at the worksheet. He blushes faintly. Dean notices absolutely none of this. Thankfully.
After the worksheet is done, Dean insists they play for a while before dinner. So, Jack ends up on the living room floor helping construct an elaborate block fortress while Nellie watches fondly from the couch beside Eileen. And honestly? Seeing him relaxed and laughing with the little boy feels strangely healing. Not because it’s dramatic. Because it’s normal. Warm. Safe. Domestic in a way she never really imagined for herself before. Eventually she heads into the kitchen with her aunt to help with dinner while Jack remains trapped in block tower negotiations with Dean.
“You can’t put the dragon there,” he insists seriously.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s evil.”
The young man considers this carefully. “That’s fair.”
From the kitchen Nellie laughs softly hearing it. Eileen notices immediately. Not just the laugh. The difference. There’s a quiet lightness in Nellie now that had been missing for weeks. Not cured. Not magically healed. But lighter. More present.
She hands her vegetables to cut before gently asking, “How’re you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
She gives her a knowing look immediately. “Nellie.”
That earns a tiny embarrassed smile. The girl looks down at the cutting board for a moment before finally admitting softly, “I think…” Her cheeks warm slightly. “I think I’m the happiest I’ve been since being rescued.”
Her face softens instantly. “I’m really happy for you. You were both painfully obvious.”
She hides her face briefly in embarrassment.
From the living room Dean suddenly shouts, “JACK CHEATED.”
“I did not cheat,” Jack argues immediately.
“You moved the wizard!”
“He was strategically repositioned.”
Nellie laughs again despite herself. Eileen watches her niece carefully then. Really watches her. And seeing her niece laugh freely again after weeks of silence honestly feels emotional.
Dinner itself becomes an exercise in sweet mutual awkwardness. Because now both hunters are hyperaware of every tiny thing they already do for each other. Jack automatically hands her the pepper before she asks for it. Nellie gives him her extra sides. They both realize it at the same time. Then immediately avoid eye contact. Sam nearly chokes trying not to laugh. Eileen looks equally entertained. Dean remains blissfully unaware while explaining an extremely important schoolyard conflict involving crayons. At one point he gets up to refill her water out of habit. He pauses halfway through pouring because now he’s suddenly wondering: Was that too much? Should he ask first now? Are things different?
She notices instantly. “Jack,” she says softly. “You can still do normal things.”
Sam immediately looks away to hide his grin.
He blushes hard but visibly relaxes. “Okay.”
The warmth between them afterward becomes softer. Easier. Not forced. Just two people slowly realizing they don’t actually need to reinvent their relationship completely.
After dinner, Dean successfully convinces everyone into movie night through sheer determination. Which somehow results in the entire family squeezed into the living room with blankets and a dog exhausted from sleeping most of the day. The boy wedges himself directly between Jack and Nellie on the couch like this was always the intended arrangement. About halfway through the movie, he falls asleep leaning against her while clutching one of the throw blankets dramatically. The room grows darker and quieter after that.
And somewhere during the movie, she starts catching Jack looking at her. Not intensely. Not in a way that makes her uncomfortable. Just softly. Fondly. Like he still can’t fully believe she’s there beside him. The first few times she catches him, he immediately blushes and looks away. Which somehow only makes her blush too. Then eventually she starts sneaking glances at him too. He notices immediately. And the second their eyes meet in the dim living room, both of them smile instinctively. Small. Shy. Happy.
Sam watches this happen from the recliner and honestly has to physically stop himself from teasing them immediately. Eileen merely signs toward him, “Leave them alone.” He reluctantly obeys. For now. Because honestly? After everything they endured, seeing them sit there quietly smiling at each other in the dark feels worth protecting for just a little while longer.
Eventually movie night winds down, the credits rolling softly across the television while the house settles into nighttime quiet. Dean is completely asleep, sprawled dramatically across both hunters like he personally fought in a war today.
Sam stands first with a quiet groan. “Alright, buddy,” he murmurs, carefully lifting his son into his arms.
Dean barely stirs, immediately curling against his father sleepily.
Eileen smiles softly at the scene before looking toward the two. “Don’t stay up too late.” The look she gives them afterward is knowingly amused.
Nellie immediately flushes. Jack looks equally embarrassed. Sam absolutely notices. As he starts toward the stairs carrying Dean, he glances back once toward the young man and gives him the smallest knowing wink imaginable. Jack freezes completely. Because he both understands exactly what Sam means and absolutely does not know what to do with that information.
She catches the interaction immediately. “Was that a threatening dad wink or a supportive dad wink?”
He whispers urgently, “I genuinely don’t know.”
That earns another soft laugh from her.
Sam grins victoriously before disappearing upstairs with Eileen and Dean.
Soon the house is quiet again. Just Jack and Nellie left downstairs. For a second neither of them moves. Then slowly they start cleaning up blankets and cups together out of pure habit. And somehow even that feels different now. Softer. Warmer. Eventually they make their way down the hallway together. The guest room door comes into view and both of them slow instinctively, because this is where they split off for the night. She turns toward him softly. He immediately stops too.
For a second, she just looks at him, then quietly says, “I’m really sorry about how today started.”
His expression softens immediately. “Nellie—”
“I mean it.” Her voice is gentler now. Steadier. “I didn’t mean to run.”
He shakes his head immediately. “It’s okay.”
She looks uncertain.
“It really is,” he reassures softly. “You were overwhelmed. And honestly…” He gives a tiny awkward shrug. “Considering everything you’ve been through, I think your reaction made complete sense.” The sincerity in his voice loosens something painful in her chest.
Then she grows quieter again. Nervous.
He notices immediately. “What?”
She hesitates before finally asking softly: “Are you sure about this?”
“This?”
“Knowing what Aberiel did to me… That doesn’t change things for you?”
His heart aches instantly. Because he knows this question probably haunted her long before today.
“And you’re not…” She struggles slightly. “Doing this because you feel bad for me?”
He looks genuinely saddened hearing that. He steps a little closer instinctively, careful not to crowd her. “Nellie. It didn’t change my feelings at all. I don’t see you as disgusting or used.”
The emotion in his voice feels almost painful now. “I see you as my best friend. And someone who survived something horrible. You don’t need me to fix you.”
That sentence lands directly in her chest. Because that’s exactly what she was terrified of: becoming someone’s broken project. But he doesn’t look at her that way. At all. He just looks at her like she’s still Nellie. Her eyes grow wet again but this time her smile is shy. Warm. Then suddenly she pauses with a strange sheepish expression.
“What?”
She bites back a tiny laugh. “I just realized I have absolutely no idea how my dad is gonna react to this.”
Jack immediately goes still. Then awkwardly clears his throat. “Actually…”
She narrows her eyes instantly. “What does that mean?”
He looks deeply embarrassed now. “The night I almost left? He talked to me. He’s the one who convinced me to stay.” He pauses, his voice softening. “He told me about finding your soul.”
She stills immediately.
He watches her carefully. “He said you wanted to stay with him, but he talked you into coming back. And then he basically told me I was an idiot for trying to leave. He said you deserved to experience life with me.”
She just stares at him for a second. Completely speechless. Then finally she laughs softly in disbelief, covering part of her face. “Oh my God.”
He grins shyly. “So hopefully that means he approves?”
She laughs harder now trying to imagine this conversation happening between her terrifying father and emotionally devastated Jack. “That had to be horrifying for you.”
“It was deeply stressful,” he confirms immediately.
Now they’re both smiling again. Warm. Happy. And somehow unbelievably normal despite everything. Eventually the laughter fades softer.
She looks at him one last time before opening the guest room door. “Goodnight, Jack.”
The way she says his name now makes his entire chest warm. He smiles instantly. “Goodnight, Nellie.”
She slips into the guest room still smiling faintly. And he heads toward the home office feeling lighter than he has in a very long time. Not because everything is magically fixed. It isn’t. Healing will still take time. There will still be hard days. But now? They’re finally walking toward that healing together.
• • •
That night had felt lighter. For the first time in weeks, Nellie had fallen asleep with warmth in her chest instead of dread. Jack liked her. Really liked her. And somehow, he still looked at her gently after knowing the truth. That feeling stays with her as she drifts asleep.
Until the dream changes. She’s back in the waypoint. Not fully awake. Not fully asleep. That horrible in-between state she’d existed in during the final days of her captivity. Her body feels heavy. Weak. Barely responsive. The rot had been bad by then. She remembers now how often she drifted in and out of consciousness near the end, too exhausted and spiritually damaged to stay fully awake for long. But dream-her is aware enough to feel. And that alone is horrifying.
She feels soft fabric beneath her skin. The warmth of the bed. The terrible familiarity of his hands. Aberiel. He’s touching her again. His fingers slide across her stomach slowly, reverently, like he’s handling something precious instead of violating someone helpless. She feels the ghost of it even inside the dream. It makes her stomach turn violently. Then his mouth. Kissing slowly down her neck. Across her chest. Hands caressing her body while he murmurs softly to himself. The same disgusting “worship” he always called it. The same obsessive affection that made her feel less human every time he touched her. Dream-Nellie tries to move, but can’t, that helplessness crashing over her all over again. And he just keeps touching her. Undressing her slowly. Like this was intimacy. Like this was love. She feels tears slipping down her face in the dream.
And then, something changes. Because this time she hears something she somehow hadn’t fully processed before. He is talking. Not directly to her. To himself. His voice low and possessive as he kisses lower down her body. “He could never worship you properly.”
Her stomach twists.
His hand strokes possessively across her thigh. “He could never understand what you are.” Another kiss. Another caress. “He would only ever touch you like something temporary.”
Her breathing grows uneven inside the dream. Because suddenly, she realizes he’s talking about someone. Someone specific.
He laughs softly against her skin. “As if he deserves to even look at you.”
And then it hits her. Hard. Jack. He’s talking about Jack. Her unconscious mind hadn’t fully understood it before. Hadn’t connected the pieces through the haze of trauma and exhaustion and violation. But now? Now she understands. Aberiel knew. He knew Jack cared about her. And suddenly so many things make sickening new sense. The possessiveness. The marks. The obsession with her body. Not just lust. Not just fixation. Aberiel wanted ownership. He wanted to stain her with himself. To make her feel ruined. Claimed. Untouchable to anyone else. Especially Jack. The realization crashes into her violently as the dream continues.
His mouth moving lower, hands spreading her thighs. His voice is full of twisted satisfaction. “He’ll always know I had you first.”
Nellie wakes with a sharp gasp. The room is dark. Safe. But her body doesn’t know that yet. Her breathing comes hard and panicked immediately as she jerks upright in bed. Her skin crawls violently. She can still feel him. The phantom sensation of his mouth and hands clinging to her body like something rotten buried beneath her skin. And now the realization behind it all makes everything worse. He wanted to hurt Jack too. Not physically. Emotionally. Possessively. Aberiel wanted her to feel tainted forever. Wanted Jack to look at her and only think of him. The thought alone makes her feel violently sick.
She clamps a shaking hand over her mouth as tears spill immediately down her face. She feels disgusting. Contaminated. Used. Like Aberiel somehow reached into this one good thing she’d finally found and poisoned it too. A broken sob escapes her before she can stop it. And suddenly the happiness from earlier feels terrifyingly fragile beneath the crushing weight of the nightmare, like she’s been dragged backward weeks.
She has to get out, out of the bed, out of the room. She stumbles out of the guest room, shaking as she holes up in the bathroom. All the warmth from earlier feels distant now. Corrupted. Her hands tremble as she turns the shower on, sliding into the tub. The water soaks through her clothes completely, fabric clinging heavily to her body, but she barely notices. All she can feel is him. His mouth. His hands. Those horrible words. Aberiel’s words loops endlessly in her head now.
“He’ll always know I had you first.”
She lets out another broken sob. Her nails drag across her skin again. Hard. She scratches at her collarbone first. Then her arms. Then her thighs through the soaked fabric. Trying to get rid of the feeling. Trying to claw herself out of her own body. But she can’t. She can still feel phantom touches everywhere. And now every memory feels poisoned by the realization that Aberiel wanted this, wanted her to feel ruined forever. Wanted Jack to see her and think of him. The thought makes her stomach twist violently again. She throws up into the shower floor, crying harder afterward when she realizes she doesn’t even care. She feels disgusting anyway. The happiness from earlier slips through her fingers no matter how hard she tries to hold onto it. She had been happy. For a little while she really believed maybe she could still have something good after all of this. Now she feels filthy for even wanting it.
Down the hallway, Miracle suddenly starts barking sharply outside the bathroom door.
The noise jolts Jack awake immediately. He sits up disoriented in the home office while the terrier whines anxiously. He rubs tiredly at his face before noticing the empty hallway light spilling beneath the office doorway. Confused, he gets up. The moment he steps into the hallway, he hears the shower running. At first, he relaxes slightly. Just Nellie. But then beneath the water, he hears crying. Not quiet crying. Broken crying. He freezes instantly. His stomach drops hard. For one terrible second, he just stands there helplessly staring at the bathroom door while the dog continues whining anxiously nearby. He wants to help. God, he wants to help, but he can’t just walk in there. And she sounds bad. Really bad.
He runs a shaking hand through his hair before making a quick decision. He quietly heads upstairs and knocks urgently on Sam and Eileen’s bedroom door. There’s immediate movement inside. A moment later Sam opens the door looking confused and worried. “Jack?”
“Could Eileen maybe check on Nellie?”
His expression sharpens immediately. “What happened?”
Jack swallows hard. “She’s in the bathroom crying.”
He immediately turns back toward the room and goes over to his wife’s side, gently waking her. Within seconds all three of them are downstairs. Jack hangs back slightly while Eileen approaches the bathroom first.
She knocks gently. “Nellie?”
No response. Only the sound of the shower and crying.
Her face falls immediately. “Nellie, honey, I’m coming in.”
Still no answer. Thankfully the door isn’t locked.
She carefully opens it and immediately her heart shatters. Nellie is sitting fully clothed in the shower. Soaking wet. Curled inward. One hand scratching frantically at her own skin while she cries so hard, she can barely breathe. There’s vomit near the drain. And she looks completely wrecked.
“Nellie.”
The girl startles violently at the sound of her voice. For one awful second, she looks disoriented enough not to recognize her. Then realization crashes back in. “Eileen…” Her voice completely breaks apart.
She kneels beside the tub immediately. “Oh sweetheart…”
Nellie shakes her head rapidly. “No. No no—” Her breathing spirals harder. She scratches at herself again and her aunt carefully catches her wrist.
“Hey,” Eileen says softly. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
She lets out another devastated sob. “I can still feel him.”
Outside the bathroom, Jack physically flinches hearing that through the running water, but he and Sam can’t make out the rest of the conversation. Sam’s face tightens immediately. The two men exchange a worried glance before instinctively stepping farther back down the hallway, giving the two women privacy.
Inside the bathroom, Nellie curls tighter into herself. “He knew,” she cries brokenly.
Eileen keeps her voice calm. “Knew what?”
Her breathing stutters violently. “He knew Jack liked me. That’s why he did it— Like he knew that there was a chance he would fail the ritual. He wanted to ruin me for him.” The realization sounds like it’s destroying her all over again. “He kept talking about him. I didn’t understand it before but now I do—”
The woman’s heart breaks hearing the panic and disgust in her voice.
“He wanted Jack to think I belonged to him.” She starts crying harder. “And now Jack knows what he did and I just—” She chokes hard on another sob. “I feel disgusting.”
Eileen immediately shakes her head. “No.”
Nellie sobs harder. “I can still feel him touching me.”
Her eyes sting but she keeps herself grounded. “He is gone,” she says gently but firmly. “He cannot hurt you anymore.”
“But he still did it.”
Silence. Painful silence. Because no one can deny that part. Eileen carefully reaches over and turns the shower off. The sudden quiet fills the room heavily. Nellie immediately curls tighter inward. The woman grabs a towel nearby and drapes it carefully around her shoulders. “You had a trauma response tonight,” she says softly.
The girl shakes uncontrollably. “It feels like everything got worse again.”
“That doesn’t erase the healing you’ve done.”
“It feels like it does.”
“You’re safe,” she keeps reminding gently. “You’re home.” She then opens the door and pokes her head out. Her expression immediately softens seeing both Jack and Sam still waiting anxiously in the hallway. “Could one of you grab Nellie some clean clothes?”
Jack moves instantly. “Yeah.” He’s already halfway to the guest room before Sam can even respond.
The room is dim and still messy from earlier in the evening, blankets tangled from where Nellie had rushed out in panic. He heads straight for her duffel bag, kneeling beside it and carefully pulling out some soft clothes: loose sweatpants, a large sleep shirt, a sweatshirt, and clean socks. His hands hesitate for a second before he reaches toward the bed and grabs the stuffed dog too. He remembers how tightly she clung to it during those first awful weeks. How she still slept with it on hard nights. He swallows hard around the ache in his throat before heading back to the bathroom.
Eileen opens the door just enough to take the clothes from him. When she sees the stuffed dog tucked under his arm too, her expression softens painfully. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
He just nods. He catches the briefest glimpse past her shoulder of Nellie curled inward beside the tub, wrapped tightly in towels and shame. Then the door closes again. He steps back beside Sam looking wrecked. For a moment he just stares at the bathroom door before quietly asking, “Did I cause this?”
Sam immediately shakes his head. “No.”
But his face tightens anyway. “She was happy earlier,” he says softly. “And then I told her all of that and now—”
“Jack.” The Winchester’s tone turns firmer. “This is not your fault. She was always going to have nights like this.”
He looks down. “But I caused all the emotions from yesterday.”
Sam understands why he thinks that. But he also knows trauma doesn’t work that neatly. “You didn’t hurt her by loving her. She had a trauma response.”
Jack rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Those memories were already there.” And that’s the awful truth of it. The happiness probably made her feel safe enough for her brain to finally process another piece of what happened. Trauma healing was never going to be linear.
He places a hand briefly on the boy’s shoulder. “You being here isn’t making her worse. You staying is probably one of the only things helping her through this.”
His eyes sting immediately hearing that.
Before he can respond, the bathroom door finally opens again. Eileen steps out first, guiding her niece gently beside her. Nellie is now dressed in dry clothes, oversized sleeves pulled over her hands slightly. Her hair is damp. Eyes swollen red. Expression exhausted and ashamed. The moment she notices Jack standing there, embarrassment floods her face instantly. He visibly wants to go to her. But he stays where he is. Giving her space. Still, he can’t hide the concern in his eyes. And she notices. That somehow makes the shame worse.
Eileen gently guides her toward the guest room. Jack quietly moves aside to let them pass. But instead of heading toward the home office afterward, he simply sits down outside her bedroom door. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Nellie stops immediately. Her expression crumples slightly. “Jack…”
He looks up at her softly. “You should go back to bed.”
The embarrassment in her voice is painful. Like she hates that he saw any of this.
He just shakes his head lightly. “Get some sleep.” Simple. Gentle.
She looks like she wants to argue. Probably tell him he doesn’t have to do this. Doesn’t have to stay. Doesn’t have to care this much. But she’s too emotionally exhausted. So, instead she just lowers her eyes and quietly slips back into the guest room, her aunt following behind her. Before closing the door, she looks back once toward him sitting there in the hallway with tired worried eyes. He gives her the smallest reassuring nod possible. Then the door shuts quietly.
Sam looks down at the young man, Miracle immediately curls against his side protectively. He can’t help smiling a little at the sight despite everything. “You’re staying there all night, huh?”
Jack looks toward the door. “Probably.”
He sighs softly, fondness clear beneath the exhaustion. Then he gives the boy’s shoulder one last squeeze before heading back upstairs.
The house settles again afterward. Quiet. Jack leans his head back against the wall, listening carefully. At first, he can still hear muffled crying from inside the room. Soft. Broken. But nowhere near as violent as before. Eventually it starts quieting. His eyes slowly begin drooping too. Exhaustion finally catching up to him.
He’s halfway asleep when the guest room door opens quietly again. Eileen slips out softly into the hallway. She pauses immediately seeing him still there. Asleep sitting upright against the wall, Miracle curled tightly beside him. Her expression softens painfully. Without waking him, she quietly walks to the hallway closet and pulls out a blanket. Then gently drapes it over his shoulders. He stirs slightly but doesn’t fully wake.
She crouches beside him briefly. “She’s okay,” she whispers softly.
He nods sleepily anyway, even half-asleep still listening for her.
She watches him for another quiet moment before heading back upstairs, leaving him asleep outside the door once more, still keeping watch even when Nellie never asked him to.
• • •
Jack wakes up at his usual time despite the terrible sleeping position. His neck hurts. His back aches. One of his legs is completely numb from the angle he apparently fell asleep at. But honestly? He doesn’t care. The first thing he notices is that the guest room is still quiet. No crying. No panicked movement. No shower running. Just silence. Relief settles heavily in his chest at that, even as sadness lingers underneath it. Because he hates that last night happened at all. He hates that after everything good yesterday, trauma still managed to sink its claws into her that deeply.
He rubs tiredly at his eyes before carefully shifting Miracle off his lap. The terrier grumbles sleepily but eventually allows it. He stands slowly with a wince. Definitely not comfortable. Still worth it. He stares at the guest room door for one more second before making a decision. Normal. Nellie needs normal. Not pity. Not everyone staring at her sadly. So, he does exactly what he’s done every morning for weeks now. He heads for the kitchen.
Eileen is already awake. The coffee pot is nearly done brewing and she’s leaning tiredly against the counter, clearly having not slept much after everything. She looks up the moment he walks in. Her expression immediately softens seeing him. She signs him a quiet good morning. He signs one back automatically before reaching for a mug.
She glances toward him knowingly. “How’d you sleep?”
He gives a small, tired laugh. “Decently.” Which is probably generous considering he slept against a hallway wall. Still, he pours himself some coffee anyway. For a few quiet moments neither says anything. Then he finally asks softly, “What happened last night?”
She studies him carefully. “It was a nightmare,” she admits gently. “I think yesterday just brought up a lot of emotions. The good and bad kind.”
That hurts because he knows she’s right. The confession. The happiness. The vulnerability. The fear. All of it cracked something open emotionally. And trauma tends to hit hardest once someone finally feels safe enough to process it.
She seems to read exactly where his thoughts are going. “This wasn’t your fault. She probably would’ve had a night like that eventually anyway.”
He wraps both hands around the warm mug quietly. “It just feels connected to me.”
Her expression softens further. “I know.” And honestly? It is connected. But not because he hurt her. Because loving someone after trauma is terrifying. Especially when that trauma involved violation and possession. “She’s going to have dreams like that for a while.”
He visibly aches hearing it. But he nods. Because he already suspected that. “What happens when we go back to the bunker? You and Sam won’t be there.” There’s genuine fear beneath the question. Not fear of Nellie. Fear of failing her.
She sets her mug down before answering. “Nellie’s had nightmares for years. The difference now is the content. She already has coping methods, routines, as you know. So mostly? You keep doing what you’ve already been doing. Giving her space when she needs it. Treating her normally. Being steady. But there may be moments where she does need you to step in.”
He immediately looks worried again. “How do I know?”
She smiles faintly. “You’ll know.” And honestly? She believes that completely. Because despite how nervous Jack constantly is about messing things up. His instincts with Nellie have consistently been gentle and correct. “You two just need to talk about boundaries and what helps.”
“That makes sense.” There’s another quiet pause. Then Jack looks genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry I woke you both up.”
Eileen immediately shakes her head. “Jack, you did exactly the right thing.” She reaches over and squeezes his arm gently. “She’s lucky to have you.”
His face immediately flushes faintly.
Dean shuffles into the kitchen rubbing at one eye, his dinosaur pajamas crooked and hair sticking up wildly from sleep. He pauses blearily in the doorway, immediately spotting Jack. Without hesitation, he walks straight over and climbs into the young man’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He automatically steadies him with one arm while balancing his coffee carefully with the other. “Morning,” he says softly.
The boy yawns dramatically. “Mornin’.” He blinks around the kitchen for a moment before asking sleepily, “Where’s Nellie?”
His expression softens instantly. “She’s still sleeping. So we should probably let her rest.”
That seems acceptable enough to the five-year-old.
Jack glances toward the hallway for a moment, clearly thinking. Then an idea occurs to him. “You know what might make her feel better when she wakes up?”
“What?”
“We could make her some drawings.”
Dean gasps like this is the greatest idea he has ever heard. “Yes!”
He laughs quietly. “She always likes your drawings.”
That completely seals it. The boy scrambles off Jack’s lap immediately and darts to the cabinet where the art supplies are stored. “I need crayons!”
Within minutes the kitchen table is completely overtaken by paper, crayons, and markers. He aggressively organizes colors with all the intensity of someone preparing military strategy. Jack watches fondly before finally sitting beside him. Eileen quietly starts pulling breakfast ingredients from the fridge while watching the scene unfold. And honestly? The sight is painfully sweet. Jack suggesting they make Nellie drawings because he wants her to wake up to something soft and normal after such a hard night. Not because anyone asked him to, just because caring for her has become instinctive.
Dean immediately starts narrating their artistic mission. “I’m drawing Miracle breathing fire.”
Jack nods seriously. “That’s important.”
He suddenly narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You have to draw too. No escaping.”
Eileen immediately hides a smile behind her coffee mug.
The young man sighs in fake defeat. “Okay.”
He cheers victoriously. “You should draw dragons again.”
“Why dragons?”
“Because Nellie likes them and you’re good at drawing them.” Simple as that.
Jack laughs softly under his breath before obediently starting another dragon sketch.
Eileen catches sight of it while cracking eggs into a bowl. It’s actually really good. He notices her looking and immediately ducks his head in embarrassment. She just gives him a warm knowing smile.
A little while later, Sam finally comes downstairs looking tired but awake enough for coffee. He stops immediately at the sight before him. His son surrounded by crayons. Jack hunched over a drawing with surprising concentration. His wife making breakfast while clearly entertained by both of them.
He raises an eyebrow. “…What exactly happened here?”
Dean gasps dramatically. “We have a VERY important mission.”
He immediately nods solemnly. “Of course you do.”
The boy proudly holds up a drawing. “We’re making Nellie feel better.”
That makes his expression soften instantly. He glances toward Jack immediately understanding what’s happening here. The young man just shrugs awkwardly without looking up from his dragon. Sam can practically see the thought process: last night was awful, Nellie will feel embarrassed, so today needs to feel normal and soft. Honestly? His heart hurts a little watching it. Because Jack loves her so quietly sometimes. He grabs himself coffee before wandering closer to inspect the drawings. “You know,” he says casually, “you’re getting pretty committed to these coloring sessions.”
Jack immediately looks embarrassed.
Dean points accusingly. “He likes drawing for Nellie.”
He flushes hard.
Sam grins instantly. “Ah. There it is.”
He groans softly. “Sam.”
Eileen laughs quietly from the stove.
Sam claps him lightly on the shoulder anyway. “I’m just saying, this is very sweet of you.”
He looks deeply offended by the teasing while simultaneously continuing to carefully color the dragon wing. Which completely ruins his argument.
Dean, blissfully unaware of the emotional subtext of literally anything, proudly announces, “Nellie’s gonna love these.”
And honestly? Jack really hopes he’s right.
The boy ends up drawing far more than just a couple pictures. At first, it’s Miracle breathing fire, then apparently a “battle dog,” then several stick figure family portraits that become increasingly difficult to interpret. By the time Eileen finally steps in, there are at least twelve drawings spread across the kitchen table.
“Okay,” she says gently but firmly, “we need enough room to actually eat breakfast.”
He gasps dramatically. “But the art isn’t finished.”
“It never is,” Sam mutters into his coffee.
Jack laughs softly. “Come on,” he tells Dean, helping gather crayons. “We can finish later.”
He reluctantly agrees.
The young man helps him organize the crayons back into their containers while Eileen clears space on the table. The completed drawings get stacked carefully on the counter nearby, ready for Nellie whenever she wakes up. He glances toward the pile more than once while helping set the table. He really hopes they make her smile after last night.
Breakfast itself is quieter than normal. Not tense. Just careful. Everyone instinctively keeps their voices lower so they don’t wake Nellie.
Dean notices this eventually. “Why are we whispering?”
“Because Nellie’s sleeping,” Eileen explains softly.
He looks mildly horrified. “She’s gonna miss breakfast.”
She smiles patiently. “I already set food aside for her.”
That seems to satisfy him somewhat. Then, because he is incapable of leaving silence alone for more than thirty seconds, he turns toward Jack very seriously. “You know Nellie is a zombie in the morning, right?”
Jack bites back a smile. “Is she?”
He nods gravely, as if the young man hadn’t shared a bunker with his cousin for over a year. “She loves sleeping.”
Sam snorts quietly into his coffee because that is objectively true.
He continues confidently, “Sometimes she just stares at walls before coffee.”
Jack laughs softly now. “I’ve noticed.”
He points dramatically. “See? Zombie.”
From across the table Eileen catches the young man smiling fondly at the description and has to hide her own smile behind her mug. Because honestly? It’s sweet watching Jack adore even Nellie’s exhausted morning habits.
Breakfast finishes not long afterward. Sam heads upstairs to get ready for the day while Eileen starts cleaning the kitchen. Dean, however, immediately latches onto his next mission. He grabs Jack’s hand. “Cartoons.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.” The answer is immediate and absolute. “We gotta wait for Nellie.” Like this is perfectly logical reasoning.
He glances toward Eileen helplessly. She just smiles knowingly. “Have fun.”
And just like that, Jack gets dragged into the living room for morning cartoons. Dean sprawls dramatically across the couch while Miracle curls nearby. He sits beside the little boy, tired but calmer now than he was a couple hours ago. The classic animated chaos on the television fills the quiet house while morning sunlight spills softly through the windows. Every once in a while, he glances unconsciously toward the hallway. Toward the guest room. Still worried. Still listening for movement. But for now, the house feels peaceful again.
At some point later that morning, Nellie finally wakes up. For a moment she just lays there staring at the ceiling. Her body feels heavy. Emotionally drained. But rested. Surprisingly rested considering how horrible the night had been. And once she really thinks about it, she realizes she hadn’t had another nightmare after Eileen helped her back to bed. No panic. No memories. No waking fear. Just sleep. Her thoughts drift immediately toward the hallway outside her room. Toward Jack. And before she can stop herself, she thinks Maybe it was because he was there. The thought makes warmth creep instantly into her exhausted face. She buries part of her face into the pillow immediately afterward, embarrassed with herself. That’s ridiculous… Probably. Still, the warmth lingers anyway.
Eventually she forces herself out of bed and heads quietly toward the bathroom. The mirror becomes her first mistake. She freezes slightly seeing the angry red marks scattered across her skin from where she scratched herself raw the night before. Along her forearms. Near her collarbone. Faint marks climbing above the collar of her sleep shirt. Shame curls immediately in her stomach. Last night suddenly feels painfully real again. She quickly looks away before she can spiral. Brushes her teeth mechanically. Splashes water on her face. Runs nervous fingers through her still messy hair. Then escapes the bathroom before she can stare at herself any longer.
She starts toward the kitchen automatically, expecting quiet. Instead, she hears familiar cartoon audio drifting from the living room. She pauses, then slowly follows the sound. The sight waiting for her softens something inside her chest instantly. Dean has somehow convinced Jack into morning cartoons. The little boy is sprawled dramatically across the couch beneath a blanket while Jack sits beside him, looking surprisingly invested in whatever animated disaster is currently happening onscreen.
Miracle notices her first. The terrier immediately hops off the couch and trots toward her happily. She smiles faintly despite herself and bends slightly to pet him. Only then does Jack glance over automatically toward where the dog went and jumps slightly when he sees her standing there. She realizes with embarrassment that she’d apparently just been standing behind the couch silently for who knows how long. He looks relieved first. Then concerned. Then soft. All within about two seconds. She suddenly becomes painfully aware of how rough she probably looks. Messy hair. Sleep-heavy eyes. The faint red scratching marks visible above her collar and down her arms. She awkwardly rubs one sleeve over her wrist instinctively.
Dean immediately lights up. “NELLIE!” The sheer enthusiasm makes her smile a little. Then the boy squints at her dramatically. “You look like a morning zombie.”
The young man snorts softly beside him.
She lets out a tired laugh. “That’s mean.”
“It’s true,” he says proudly.
Jack shakes his head fondly before looking back toward Nellie. “Come sit down.”
She hesitates slightly. “I was gonna get coffee first—”
“I’ll get it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“You look like you’d walk into the wall trying to get to the kitchen.”
The deadpan seriousness in his voice catches her completely off guard. She laughs tiredly despite herself. Even Dean giggles. She nods in surrender and slowly moves around the couch. The second she sits down, the little boy immediately crawls halfway into her lap while continuing to ramble about the cartoons. Apparently, there’s now an extremely important plot involving a duck and “illegal space lasers.” She listens sleepily while petting his hair absently.
Jack disappears into the kitchen. A moment later Eileen looks up from the counter and immediately softens seeing her niece awake. She signs her a gentle good morning. Nellie signs one back tiredly.
She studies her carefully for a second before signing, “Want breakfast?”
The girl hesitates before shaking her head lightly. “Not really hungry.”
She doesn’t push. Just nods knowingly.
A minute later Jack returns carrying a mug carefully in both hands. Nellie immediately notices he made it exactly how she likes it. Of course he did. He gently hands it to her without making a big deal about it. Their fingers brush briefly. Both immediately blush slightly. He settles back onto the couch afterward while she wraps both hands around the warm mug. And despite the lingering shame from last night, the exhaustion, the ugly heaviness still sitting inside her chest, this feels normal. Safe. He doesn’t stare at her differently. Doesn’t treat her delicately. He just keeps softly existing beside her while Dean rambles between them. Still, every so often she catches him glancing toward her quietly. Checking. Making sure she’s okay. Not overwhelmed. Not slipping away again. And yes, his chest aches seeing the marks on her skin. Because he knows exactly how bad the panic must’ve been for her to hurt herself like that. But he also sees something else. She still got up this morning. Still came out of her room. Still sat beside them. Still chose to keep trying after such a horrible night. And honestly? He thinks that might be one of the bravest things he’s ever seen her do.
About halfway through the cartoons, Dean suddenly gasps like he’s just remembered something critically important. “The pictures!” Before anyone can stop him, he scrambles off the couch and races toward the kitchen.
She blinks sleepily after him over the rim of her coffee mug. Jack already knows exactly what he’s talking about.
A few seconds later the boy comes running back holding the entire stack of drawings against his chest triumphantly. “We made these for you!”
Her expression immediately softens. “Did you?”
He climbs back onto the couch beside her and practically shoves the stack into her hands.
She sets her coffee carefully on the table before taking them. And despite how emotionally drained she still feels, the sight alone warms something aching inside her. She takes her time going through them one by one while he excitedly explains each drawing in significantly more detail than the pictures themselves require.
“This one is Miracle fighting a dragon.”
She studies the crayon chaos seriously. “Obviously.”
“And THIS one is all of us fighting monsters.” Then he excitedly points to another page. “That one is you and Miracle.”
“Why does Miracle have wings?”
“Because it’s cooler.”
Jack quietly hides a smile beside her.
She continues flipping through the pictures slowly. Each one softens her expression more. Not because they’re masterpieces. Because they were made for her. After last night, after waking up feeling disgusting and ashamed, being handed something so innocent and loving feels almost painfully healing.
Dean suddenly remembers something else. He snatches one drawing from the stack and shoves it directly toward Jack. “Show her yours.”
He immediately flushes. “Dean—”
“You HAVE to.”
Nellie looks over curiously.
He looks deeply embarrassed now. “It’s not really important.”
The boy gasps dramatically at the betrayal. “It’s the BEST one.”
He sighs softly in defeat before finally taking the paper. He hesitates for a second before handing it toward her shyly. It’s another dragon. But unlike Dean’s wonderfully chaotic creations, Jack’s drawing is detailed and careful. The dragon is curled protectively around a castle with stars sketched behind it. And somehow, it feels gentle. She stares at it quietly for a second too long. Because after the nightmare last night, after feeling owned and tainted and ruined, this drawing feels like the complete opposite of that. Protective. Soft. Safe.
She looks up at him slowly. And he immediately sees it. The relief in her eyes. The quiet emotion there. He suddenly feels shy all over again.
“It’s just a drawing,” he mumbles awkwardly.
But she shakes her head softly. “No. It’s really pretty.”
He blushes instantly.
She carefully adds it back into the stack with Dean’s drawings like it belongs there equally. Then she looks at both of them. “Thank you.”
Her cousin beams proudly. Jack just smiles softly. But her eyes linger on him a second longer than necessary before she finally looks away again, embarrassed in about twelve different ways now. He notices immediately. And he understands. She’s still sorting through a lot emotionally. Still learning how to exist inside these new feelings without shame swallowing them. So, he doesn’t push. Doesn’t tease. He simply reaches for the remote and quietly turns the cartoons back on again. Then settles back into the couch beside Dean and Nellie while Miracle curls sleepily against her legs. The morning sunlight spilling across the living room makes everything feel warm and slow and safe.
At some point Sam passes through on his way from upstairs. He pauses immediately seeing the scene before him. Dean sprawled dramatically between Jack and Nellie. Cartoons playing softly. Miracle asleep. Nellie clutching coffee while visibly fighting sleep again. Honestly? It’s sweet enough to physically hurt him a little.
He smiles softly. “Morning, zombie.”
She immediately rolls her eyes without opening them fully, contemplating flipping him off. “Go away.”
He laughs quietly. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting up.”
“She probably is,” Jack says softly.
She lightly kicks his foot without any real force behind it.
Dean gasps dramatically. “Fight, fight, fight!”
Now even she laughs quietly. And as she settles deeper into the couch surrounded by warmth and familiar voices, she realizes she feels better than she expected to after last night. Not fixed. Not magically healed. But steadier. And for now, that’s enough.
• • •
The next several days pass far more gently than the weeks before them. Not perfectly. But gently. And after everything, that feels almost miraculous. Nellie still has nightmares sometimes. There are nights she wakes tense and shaky, memories lingering unpleasantly at the edges of her mind. But none spiral into the kind of terror that night in the bathroom became. No more sobbing on the shower floor. No more scratching herself raw. And honestly? She quietly chalks part of that up to happiness. Not overwhelming happiness. Not magical healing. Just warmth. The kind she never expected to have after everything. Because now she knows. Jack likes her. Really likes her. And somehow that knowledge settles into her life naturally instead of disrupting it. He doesn’t suddenly become overbearing or possessive. Doesn’t hover. He’s still Jack. Still respectful. Still patient. Still careful with her space.
But now? Now she notices everything. The way he automatically makes her coffee before she asks. How he quietly hands her pain medicine after a headache before she even realizes one is forming. How he always walks slightly closer to the road when they’re outside. How he unconsciously grabs the heavier grocery bags first. How he listens to her ramble about books and music like it’s the most important thing in the world. None of it is new. That’s the thing that affects her most. He was already loving her quietly before either of them said anything. And now that she knows? She sees it everywhere. And she loves it far more than she admits aloud.
Jack notices things too. He notices her smiling more. Talking easier. How she slowly starts lingering beside him again naturally instead of hesitating first. He notices the return of little things he missed desperately. Her dry humor, her teasing, the way she hums absentmindedly while helping Eileen cook, how she starts reading beside him again instead of isolating herself. Most importantly, he notices she’s beginning to look like herself again. Not completely healed. But no longer disappearing. And honestly? Seeing her slowly come back to herself feels like one of the greatest reliefs of his life.
By the time the day finally comes to leave for Lebanon, the entire Winchester house feels strangely emotional about it. The duffel bags are packed. The Impala is loaded. Sam had apparently gone out early that morning to fully fuel the car and check it over himself before handing the keys back to Nellie with a pointed, “Drive safe.” Which mostly translates to Please don’t reenact your father’s driving habits. She, of course, treats the Impala with near religious respect anyway.
Eileen packs containers of food into a bag for them before they leave. “You two are not living on gas station food for the first week back,” she says firmly.
Jack immediately accepts this like law. Nellie laughs softly.
Dean, meanwhile, takes the departure the hardest. “You should just stay forever,” he says sadly while clinging dramatically to his cousin’s waist.
She smiles softly and crouches slightly despite the awkward angle. “We’ll visit again soon.”
“And call,” Jack promises seriously.
He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Every day?”
Sam snorts. “Absolutely not every day.”
He looks personally betrayed.
Eileen laughs quietly before pulling her niece into a long careful hug. “I’m proud of you,” she says softly against her shoulder.
Nellie visibly fights emotion at that.
Then Eileen hugs Jack too. “And you,” she adds, smiling warmly.
He immediately blushes slightly.
Sam, meanwhile, pulls both of them into one final serious conversation near the car. “Take it easy. No jumping into hunts right away.”
“We know,” Nellie assures.
“And when you do start again,” he says pointedly, “slow and steady.”
Jack nods immediately.
She rolls her eyes fondly. “Yes, dad.”
He points at her. “I’m serious.”
“We know,” she says softer this time.
Then he glances knowingly between the two of them. “And if either of you need relationship advice—”
Both immediately look horrified.
Eileen outright laughs.
He grins smugly. “I’m just saying.”
“We’ll survive,” she mutters.
Jack looks deeply embarrassed beside her.
Dean suddenly yells from the porch, “ARE YOU TWO BOYFIREND AND GIRLFRIEND?!”
Both immediately choke on air while Sam nearly doubles over laughing.
“DEAN,” she cries in horror.
“What?” the little boy asks innocently.
Eileen covers her face trying not to laugh too. Jack looks seconds away from combusting entirely.
Eventually — after hugs, goodbyes, and the little boy demanding approximately six more promises to visit — they finally climb into the Impala. Nellie slides into the driver’s seat with visible affection, hands settling comfortably against the wheel. Jack watches her quietly for a moment as she adjusts the mirrors. There’s something healing about seeing her here again. In the Impala. Alive. Safe. Choosing life.
She catches him staring eventually. “What?”
He smiles softly. “Nothing.” Which is obviously a lie.
She rolls her eyes lightly before starting the engine. The familiar rumble fills the air beautifully. And for the first time in a long time, the road ahead doesn’t feel terrifying. Just uncertain. But maybe hopeful too. The Impala slowly pulls out of the driveway. All three Winchesters wave from the porch while Miracle barks excitedly beside them.
The drive back to Lebanon takes about four hours. Jack offers several times to drive. Nellie refuses every single one. Not stubbornly. Almost happily. Because for the first time in weeks, sitting behind the wheel of the Impala feels right. Familiar. Safe. The steady rumble of the engine beneath her hands feels grounding in a way she desperately needed. He notices it too. The subtle confidence returning to her posture. The way she relaxes more with every passing mile. How she absently taps her fingers against the steering wheel to songs playing softly through the speakers. It feels like pieces of her are settling back into place. And honestly? He could happily sit in the passenger seat forever if it means seeing her like this.
They stop once for gas and coffee. She even teases him lightly when he comes back carrying too many snacks. “You panic-bought trail mix again.”
He looks mildly offended. “It’s practical.”
“You bought three bags.”
“What if we wanted options?”
She laughs quietly. And the sound alone makes the entire drive worth it.
By the time they finally pull into the bunker garage, both are tired but relieved. Home. The word feels strange now. Not because the bunker stopped being home. Because everything attached to it feels heavier after what happened. Nellie shuts off the Impala slowly and rests her hands against the steering wheel for a second. Last time she was here, Aberiel broke in, kidnapped her, destroyed the safety of this place. And the last time she returned here afterward, she’d been physically dead from rot, weak enough Jack had to carry her inside. The memory makes her chest tighten slightly.
Jack notices immediately. Not dramatically. Just the tiny hesitation as she steps out of the car. The way her eyes briefly scan the garage like she’s expecting something terrible to still be waiting there. He quietly comes around the car carrying a couple bags. Their eyes meet and he gives her a small encouraging smile. Not pushing. Not pitying. Just there. She exhales softly and nods once before following him inside.
The bunker greets them with familiar quiet. Their footsteps echo softly down the halls as they carry bags toward the library. When they finally step into the main room, both pause instinctively. The library still looks mostly normal. Comfortably cluttered. Warm lighting. Books everywhere. But there are remnants if you know where to look. One of the tables in the corner is still partially broken from the fight. The shattered lightbulbs from that awful night had long since been cleaned up and replaced during those desperate weeks searching for her. Still, the ghosts of it linger. She stares quietly at the damaged table for a moment too long.
He notices but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gently shifts the moment forward. “You should go unpack.”
She blinks slightly. “What?”
“I’ll handle the kitchen stuff.” He nods toward the bags from Eileen. “I wanna check the fridge and see what we need anyway.”
She immediately looks like she’s about to argue that she can help. He catches it instantly.
“You drove four hours.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know. But you should still take it easy.” The gentleness in his voice makes it impossible to really argue.
So, she compromises by grabbing his duffel bag too. “I can at least take this to your room.”
He immediately looks flustered by the simple gesture. “Okay.”
And just like that they split off naturally down familiar hallways.
She drops his duffel carefully just inside his room before continuing toward hers. When she finally opens her own bedroom door, she stops. Everything is exactly how she left it. The blankets. The books stacked near the bed. The old CD jewel cases. The familiar dim lighting. Safe. Her throat tightens unexpectedly at the realization. Because despite everything, this room still feels like hers. Not Aberiel’s. Not trauma’s. Hers. She slowly unpacks, movements growing steadier as she settles her things back into place. Clothes folded away. Books returned to shelves. CDs stacked neatly again. Finally, she places the stuffed dog back in its usual spot on the bed. And somehow that small act makes the room fully feel like home again. By the time she finishes unpacking, some of the nervous tension in her chest has eased. Not disappeared. But eased.
She gathers the dirty laundry from her bag before remembering Jack’s duffel still sitting outside his room. Without thinking much about it, she grabs his laundry too and heads toward the laundry room. The routine feels strangely comforting. Sorting clothes. Starting the washer. Hearing familiar bunker sounds around her again. It feels normal. And after the past month? Normal feels precious. Once the laundry is going, she heads toward the kitchen. Jack is standing in front of the open fridge looking deeply judgmental about whatever expired item he’s holding.
She smiles faintly. “I started the laundry.”
He immediately looks over. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
That simple answer warms him embarrassingly fast. He gives her a soft smile anyway. “Thanks.”
She grabs a notepad from the counter before hopping up onto one of the stools. “What do we need?”
He starts listing things while still cleaning out the fridge. “Milk. Eggs. Probably vegetables.”
“You bought three bags of trail mix already.”
“Once again, I argue that was strategic.”
She laughs quietly while writing. And just like that, they fall back into rhythm effortlessly. Shopping lists. Laundry. Cleaning out the fridge. Quiet teasing. Domesticity settles around them naturally. Not forced. Not awkward. Just familiar. And somewhere between the grocery list and the humming washing machine in the distance, both of them realize something important. They really are home.
• • •
Dinner that evening feels strangely peaceful. The bunker kitchen is quiet except for the soft clink of silverware and the distant hum of the laundry still running somewhere down the hall. Eileen’s packed meals had made dinner easy, which both of them appreciated after unpacking and settling back in all afternoon. Nellie sits at the small kitchen table wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts, legs curled slightly beneath her chair while she picks at the food more comfortably than she had weeks ago. Jack sits across from her. And occasionally, one of them catches the other looking. Then both immediately look back at their plates like nothing happened. It’s painfully sweet.
Eventually, though, his expression grows a little more thoughtful. “Nellie?”
She looks up from her food. “Yeah?”
He hesitates slightly. “What should I do,” he asks carefully, “when you have really bad nightmares?”
She stills slightly. Not upset. Just surprised by the question.
He immediately keeps going softly. “I mean…” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck. “I don’t wanna make things worse. I don’t wanna scare you.” He doesn’t say I don’t ever want you looking at me and seeing Aberiel again. But she hears it anyway. And honestly? The consideration alone makes warmth ache quietly in her chest. Because even now — even after confessing his feelings — his biggest concern is still her comfort and safety.
She thinks quietly for a moment. Then finally replies, “If I’m asleep, you can come wake me up. Just maybe don’t get too close.” She gives him the faintest teasing smile. “I don’t wanna accidentally punch you.”
He laughs softly in relief. “That’s fair.”
“I hit Sam once a couple years ago.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Seriously?”
“He deserved it,” she says automatically. “He snores like a freight train.”
That makes him laugh harder. The sound warms the kitchen beautifully. Then he asks more quietly, “What if you’re already awake?”
Her teasing softens immediately. She understands what he’s really asking. What if she’s panicking? Spiraling? Hurting? She lowers her fork slightly before answering honestly. “You can still check on me. But… I’ll probably just tell you what I need.”
His expression remains completely attentive. “Okay.”
The sincerity in his voice makes her chest ache a little. Because he’s treating this carefully. Not fearfully. Like helping her is simply something he wants to learn how to do correctly. She looks down at her plate for a moment before speaking again quietly. “I appreciate how you’ve been handling all of this. This… us.” She gestures vaguely between them. “You’re really patient with me.”
His expression softens so much it almost hurts to look at directly. “Nellie.” The gentleness in his voice immediately makes her blush slightly. “All I care about is you being yourself again. Because that’s who I fell for.”
Silence. Then both of them flush instantly. She looks down at her plate so fast it’s almost comical. He suddenly becomes deeply interested in his mashed potatoes. The bunker kitchen feels very warm all of a sudden. But beneath the embarrassment and awkwardness, there’s something else too. Something steady. Safe. And as they quietly continue eating dinner together, they realize this new step between them doesn’t actually feel unnatural at all. It just feels like them.
• • •
Later that evening, the bunker slowly settles into quiet. The laundry gets folded and put away. The kitchen cleaned. The grocery list stuck to the fridge with one of Nellie’s old magnets. The familiar rhythm of bunker life returns so naturally it almost hurts. It feels like coming home after surviving something catastrophic. Not untouched. But alive. Jack and Nellie eventually end up lingering awkwardly in the hallway outside their rooms after showers, both clearly not wanting to immediately separate for the night now that things between them had changed. The hallway lighting is soft and dim. She stands in oversized sleep clothes, damp hair falling around her shoulders while she hugs one arm around herself loosely. He looks nervous again. Not scared nervous. Just emotionally overwhelmed nervous. Like he still can’t fully believe she said yes to trying this with him. Neither really knows what to do with this new softness between them yet. And honestly? It’s adorable.
He finally clears his throat awkwardly. “Well…”
She immediately has to fight a smile because he already sounds nervous.
“Goodnight,” he says. Then instantly continues talking. “I mean— sleep well. But not in a pressure way where now you have to sleep well because I said it and then if you don’t—”
She bursts into tired laughter immediately.
He closes his eyes briefly in complete defeat. “I’m making it worse.”
“You really are.”
He groans softly and drags a hand down his face. “I had a normal goodnight prepared in my head.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
He points at her dramatically. “You’re making fun of me.”
“You’re making it easy.”
That earns another embarrassed laugh from him.
And honestly? Seeing him like this — flustered, warm, happy — makes something inside her ache in the gentlest way possible. Because she spent so long believing no one could ever look at her softly again. And now here he is, looking at her like she’s something precious.
Eventually the moment settles quieter and he smiles at her softly. “For real though, goodnight, Nellie.”
The sincerity behind it warms her chest instantly. “Goodnight, Jack.”
They separate after that, both still smiling slightly to themselves. He disappears into his room while she slips quietly into hers.
But the second the door closes, something changes. The warmth lingers. But uneasiness creeps in too. Because suddenly all she can think about is the last time she slept here. The last time she woke up in this room, Aberiel was standing over her bed. The memory crashes into her hard enough her stomach twists instantly.
She stands frozen in the middle of the room for a moment. Her eyes slowly scan everything. The bed. The lamp. The bookshelves. The CDs. All familiar. All hers. But now touched by memory too. A quiet anxiety curls beneath her ribs. She realizes quickly she doesn’t want darkness tonight. That alone feels strange. Before all of this, she always slept with her room completely dark. Now? The thought makes her chest tighten. So, she reopens the bedroom door, something she’s never done before. Then she turns on one of the bedside lamps, letting warm golden light spill softly across the room. Better. Not perfect. But better.
She crawls slowly into bed afterward, stuffed dog tucked tightly against her chest while she stares toward the open doorway. “You’re okay,” she whispers quietly to herself. And logically? She knows she is. The bunker is warded. Aberiel is locked deep in Heaven’s prison. Jack is only a hallway away. Still, her body hasn’t entirely learned safety again yet. Her mind drifts briefly toward grabbing one of her books and reading until exhaustion finally takes over.
“You always did hate sleeping alone after rough hunts.”
She doesn’t jump. She just looks toward the doorway. And there, leaning casually against the frame with a soft familiar smile, is Dean Winchester. Her breath catches instantly. “Dad.” The word leaves her like something fragile.
Then she’s moving before she can stop herself. Out of bed and crossing the room instinctively. Dean reacts too. His arms almost open automatically, like muscle memory, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Then both of them stop at the exact same moment. Reality crashes painfully between them. No touching. Not anymore. Her face crumples slightly. His smile falters too. God, he misses hugging his daughter. Her eyes immediately fill with tears.
He recovers first, smiling softly despite the emotion clearly hitting him too. “Hey, Nells.”
She lets out a shaky laugh through tears. “I missed you so much.”
His entire expression softens. “I know.” The gentleness in his voice nearly destroys her. Because he sounds like her dad. Exactly like her dad. Warm. Protective. Steady. She wipes quickly at her eyes while he steps further into the room. “I was there, you know,” he says quietly. “Mostly stayed hidden. Had to make sure my baby girl was okay.”
That almost breaks her all over again. She sits slowly back onto the bed, hugging the stuffed dog close while he sits in the desk chair she always kept beside her bed for him. “I wasn’t okay for a while,” she admits quietly.
He nods immediately. “I know.” No disappointment. No discomfort. Just understanding.
She lowers her eyes. “There were moments I didn’t think I was ever gonna feel normal again.”
“But you kept trying anyway.”
“It was hard.”
“I know. But look at you. You’re still here.”
The words hit deeply. Because there really were moments she almost wasn’t. Moments she wanted Heaven more than life. He knows that. They both do. And somehow that makes this moment feel even more precious.
“I’m proud of you,” he says quietly.
Nellie immediately tears up harder. Because after everything, her father is proud of her.
Dean watches her carefully for another second before his expression shifts knowingly. “Probably helped having angel-boy hanging around.”
She immediately flushes bright red. “Dad.”
He grins instantly. “Oh, there she is.”
She groans into the stuffed dog.
He laughs softly. “Kid, you should’ve seen yourself looking at him tonight.”
“I was not looking at him.”
He gives her the flattest look imaginable. “Nellie Deanne Winchester.”
She immediately loses the argument.
He smirks triumphantly. Then after a moment his expression softens again. “So.” He leans back slightly in the chair. “How’s that feel?”
Her blush deepens instantly because she knows exactly what he means. She stares down at the stuffed dog in her lap for a long moment before answering honestly. “…Good. Really good.” There’s wonder in her tone now. Like she still can’t fully believe this is real. “He makes me feel safe. And happy.”
That one gets him emotionally. Because after everything Aberiel stole from her, after all the fear and shame, his daughter still found happiness again. He exhales slowly. “Good.”
She looks at him nervously then. “What do you think about it?”
He immediately snorts. “Oh, I got opinions.”
She laughs softly. “Obviously.”
He points at her. “If he hurts you, I’m haunting him.”
“Dad.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re dead.”
“And?”
Honestly? Fair. She shakes her head laughing softly while he grins proudly.
His expression gentles again. “Jack’s a good kid.”
She smiles automatically at that.
He notices instantly. “Yeah,” he says knowingly. “That look right there? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
She hides her face immediately. “Oh my God.”
He laughs harder now. Then after a moment he quiets again. “He looks at you right.”
That sentence settles deeply inside her chest. Because he sees it too. The patience. The softness. The care. Not possession. Not obsession. Love. Real love.
He sighs dramatically afterward though. “Still weird though.”
She peeks at him. “What is?”
“My daughter dating.”
“We’re not technically dating dating.”
He points immediately. “Still weird.”
She laughs again, quieter this time. And for the first time since returning to this room, she feels completely safe inside it again.
Eventually exhaustion starts catching up with her. He notices immediately. “You’re fading.”
“Mhm.”
“C’mere. Get comfortable.”
She settles fully beneath the blankets while he settles into his chair as well as he can as a spirit. “I’ll stay till you fall asleep.”
Her throat tightens immediately. “You don’t have to.”
He smiles softly. “I know.” That answer means everything.
So, Nellie curls against her pillow while Dean stays beside the bed talking quietly with her. About random things mostly. His ridiculous hunting stories, things that Sam has done, Jack being painfully awkward. She laughs sleepily more than once. And slowly, the fear leaves her body completely. Because tonight she isn’t alone. Tonight she is someone’s daughter. Someone loved. Someone protected. And when her eyes finally drift closed, she falls asleep feeling safe enough to rest.
A Fun Author's Note
Hey guys! I was planning to release another chapter this week, but working full-time kinda ruined that, so I will be releasing the SEASON FINALE on Tuesday as originally planned. I will also be posting updates regarding Season 3 news following the release of Chapter 24. Until then, I wanted to share some fun little Easter eggs and explanations from this season.
Before we go into that, I wasn't too sure if I had talked about this before, so here is a fun fact about this story. I have a minimum of six to seven seasons of content planned (it could be longer once I start writing more). This means this story will not end anytime soon. But there is a planned end, but it will be a few years before we get there, depending on reader engagement (although I will probably continue writing despite that, LOL). The reason there is a planned end at some point LONG AWAY down the line is to fit the canon of the original show, specifically with the series finale (we don't talk about that, though). I try to remain as canon-accurate as possible while having a bunch of creative liberties. Clearly.
Additionally, I have been writing this story for almost a year now. June is the one-year anniversary! Members of the Jellie Fan Club, get your kazoos out! 🎉 I had actually been working on this story for a year before I actively started writing and posting it online. This means I have a personal, private Wiki page of all my notes and blurbs. And let me tell you, it is extensive. So we will have so much content to cover! I am also open to ideas from readers, so let me know!
Chapter 6, "Fire Escape," is inspired by the Stephen King TV mini-series "Rose Red," about a parasocial psychology professor who leads a team of psychics into the decrepit mansion known as Rose Red to uncover the horrifying secrets of those who lived and died there. In the show, the interior of the house appears to change or increase in size, yet only from the inside. It is a fun watch, and I highly recommend it!
Chapter 11, "Going to the Movies," is inspired by the various golden-era Hollywood films and 80s slashers I watched for free with ads on YouTube while writing the first half of Season 2. This is definitely me telling you not to sleep on free YouTube movies.
Chapter 13, "Contro Todo Mala," the spiritual plane that Nellie travels on to destroy the Evil Eye, is heavily inspired by the Further from the "Insidious" films.
Chapter 14, "Hide and Seek," is inspired by the movie "Cobweb" and by a video game character from the indie game "Lost in Random."
Chapter 18, "Dressed to Kill," is heavily inspired by the James Bond films, specifically "Casino Royale." This, by far, was my favorite episode to write for this season.
In Chapter 19, "Home Sweet Home," we see Nellie introduce Jack to the 2004 film "The Phantom of the Opera." This is hands down my number one favorite movie of all time, and I know it isn't as beloved as the Broadway version (which I enjoy, too), but I literally grew up watching it with my mom. This scene was definitely a bit selfish on my part because it is my dream to show this movie to someone I am dating. Still, in the one relationship I had, I never felt like I could share my interests with the guy, since they made fun of everything I did and liked more than complimented me (not gonna lie, someone like Jack is a bit of a dream guy of mine, I guess you could say LOL). I know it is a unique movie and isn't really a movie you watch with a guy you like, but to have someone want to watch a movie I love because I love it, even if they won't like it, is a delusion I will hold onto.
On the other hand, the reason I referenced The Phantom of the Opera in this chapter is that it served as a foreshadowing device for Aberiel. Even though Nellie clearly didn't like the angel, both Aberiel and Jack reference the characters in the movie and their views of her. Aberiel is The Phantom, and Jack is Raoul (I have always been a Raoul girlie, thank you, Patrick Wilson). The angel believed he owned Nellie because he knew her growing up and grew an obsession with her. Meanwhile, Jack wanted her always to have freedom and choices, loving her for who she is.
Another little Easter Egg from Chapter 19 is Nellie's phone call with Father O'Donnell. The priest comments that she must have a special guardian angel watching over her. Nellie connects this to her father, but we see in the next chapter that it was a literal angel and not a good one.I hope you enjoyed these fun notes, and I am excited to release the Season 2 Finale on Tuesday!
S2 Season Finale Teaser
Sam and Eileen exchange one of those married looks from the kitchen. The kind that asks now? He clears his throat softly. “Hey,” he says gently. “Can we talk to you guys for a minute?” Nellie immediately looks up. Her stomach tightens almost instantly. Not panic exactly. But nerves. Because serious conversations lately usually involve recovery, trauma, or difficult truths. The Winchesters move into the living room, sitting together on the other couch. Neither looks upset. Sam leans forward slightly. “We wanted to ask you both something important. Are you planning on returning to hunting once you are ready to move on?” The question settles heavily over the room. Jack immediately glances toward Nellie. Because ultimately, this decision affects her most.
Chapter 24, the season finale, is out next week!
S2 Chapter 23 - The Space Between
Some wounds heal quietly. Others settle deep beneath the surface, waiting for the moment the body is strong enough to finally feel them. As life inside the Winchester house begins slipping into something dangerously close to normal, Nellie and Jack both find themselves retreating in opposite directions, each trying to protect the other while silently unraveling themselves in the process. Because sometimes survival doesn’t leave scars you can see right away. Sometimes, it leaves distance. And sometimes the cruelest part of healing is realizing love alone can’t stop someone from hurting.
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TW: ANGST! brief description of potential self-harm (trauma response) and suicide. use of mild language.
Jack sleeps on and off through the night in the home office. Not deeply. Not peacefully. But enough. The small cot creaks every time he shifts, and several times he wakes disoriented before remembering where he is. Lawrence. Nellie safe down the hall. Alive. That thought steadies him every single time. Miracle curls tightly against his side with a content sigh. And honestly, the warmth helps. Whenever he wakes up anxious or unable to shut his brain off, he just absently pets the dog’s fur until his breathing evens out again. It reminds him of simpler things. Safe things.
Eventually morning comes and Jack finally gives up on sleeping entirely. He gets dressed quietly and steps out into the hallway. Instinct immediately pulls his attention toward the guest room door. He almost walks over. Almost cracks it open just enough to check on her. But the door is shut. And after everything, he refuses to invade her space. So instead, he keeps walking toward the kitchen, trying to focus on what he promised Sam and Eileen. Helping. Being useful.
The kitchen is still quiet and dim when he enters. He immediately starts the coffee pot before leaning tiredly against the counter watching it brew. The smell fills the room slowly. Comforting. For a few peaceful minutes, the only thing he lets himself think about is coffee measurements and breakfast possibilities instead of Nellie.
Sam eventually wanders downstairs looking similarly exhausted despite the sleep. He pauses seeing the young man already awake. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
He moves immediately toward the coffee pot. Both men settle into the familiar rhythm of tired conversation while the house stays mostly quiet around them, discussing household chores and Dean’s schedule. They are soon interrupted by the sound of small fast footsteps.
“Jack!”
Both men look up just in time to see Dean barreling into the kitchen in dinosaur pajamas. The little boy immediately lights up seeing Jack. “You’re here!”
He can’t help smiling faintly despite everything. “Hey, buddy.”
Dean immediately looks around excitedly. “Is Nellie here too?”
The men share a quick look before Sam answers carefully, “Yeah, kiddo. She’s still sleeping though.”
The boy gasps dramatically. “She’s home?!” And before either of them can stop him, he takes off toward the hallway.
Normally this would be completely harmless. But not now, not like this. Even with Sam’s long strides and Jack moving fast behind him, the five-year-old still reaches the guest room first. The door is cracked slightly open. Dean pushes inside before either adult can stop him.
Then freezes. Completely. Eileen is already awake sitting quietly beside Nellie’s bed. The room is soft and calm. But Nellie still looks sick. The rot remains scattered visibly across her skin. The bruising. The weakness. She doesn’t look like the cousin Dean remembers.
The little boy’s face immediately crumples in confusion and fear. “Nellie?”
Eileen stands quickly but calmly. “Hey, sweetheart,” she says gently while moving toward him. “Remember when Mommy told you Nellie was really sick?”
His eyes fill immediately. “Why does she look like that?” The heartbreak in his little voice nearly kills everyone in the room.
She gently guides him backward toward the hallway. “She’s healing, but she needs lots of rest and quiet right now.”
He tears up harder. “Is she gonna die?”
“No, buddy,” Sam says immediately from the doorway. Firm. Certain. “She’s home now.”
He still looks scared though. So, before the panic can build further, Jack steps in smoothly. “Hey,” he says gently while crouching slightly beside the boy. “I actually need your help.”
Dean sniffles. “With what?”
He puts on the most serious expression he can manage. “Breakfast.”
That catches the little boy instantly. “I get to help?”
“Absolutely.”
Dean immediately grabs slightly onto Jack as he carefully steers him away from the room. Eileen mouths a quiet thank you toward him over the boy’s head. He just nods faintly before leading the little boy back toward the kitchen.
“What are we making?” Dean asks excitedly, the worry dissipating.
Jack glances toward the fridge thoughtfully. “Well,” he says seriously, “I think pancakes might be too advanced.”
He gasps dramatically. “I can do pancakes!”
“Then I guess you’re on pancake duty.”
He lights up instantly and starts eagerly dragging a chair over to help or more accurately, Jack cooks while the boy enthusiastically creates chaos beside him. The five-year-old chatters nonstop while standing on the chair and stir pancake batter, most of it splashes onto the counter. Lets him “help” crack eggs despite getting shell pieces everywhere. Lets him arrange fruit slices into smiley faces on plates. It keeps the house feeling normal. Or at least trying to.
Sam eventually carries a cup of coffee to the guest room for Eileen while Jack flips pancakes one-handed and catches Dean trying to sneak chocolate chips directly from the bag.
“Hey.”
The boy gasps dramatically around the handful already in his mouth. “I’m just checking.”
He actually laughs softly at that. The sound surprises him a little. Because it feels strange hearing laughter after the last few weeks. Still, the entire time, part of his attention stays fixed on the hallway on the guest room door. Wondering if Nellie woke up. Wondering if she managed to sleep after the nightmare in the car. Wondering if she’s hurting. Every instinct inside him still wants to check on her constantly. But he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps moving, makes breakfast, gets Dean settled at the table, cleans syrup off tiny hands and dinosaur pajamas afterward. The little boy keeps him occupied enough that the ache in his chest dulls slightly. Not gone. Just quieter.
Eventually breakfast finishes and Sam heads outside briefly to take a work call while Dean disappears into the living room with cartoons. Jack finishes cleaning the kitchen then finally heads upstairs, mostly just to check on what Dean had been entertaining himself with for the past few minutes. As he reaches the foot of the stairs, he spots Eileen standing near the linen closet in the hallway, searching for something from the shelves. The guest room door behind her is cracked open. And without meaning to, he looks inside. Nellie is curled tightly on the bed, the blankets twisted around her. Face pinched painfully. Body tense. Even from the hallway he can tell she’s hurting badly. He freezes instantly, his chest dropping hard.
Eileen notices immediately. She quietly closes the closet door partway before speaking softly, “She’s okay.”
His eyes stay fixed toward the room. “She’s in pain,” he says quietly.
She nods gently. “Pain spike.” She pulls a heating pad from the closet shelf. “She got some medication a little while ago. This’ll help too.”
He swallows hard. Every instinct inside him screams to go help her. To sit beside her. Bring her water. Do something. But he already knows from the softness in Eileen’s expression that she’s gently telling him not to. Not because he’s unwanted. Because Nellie’s overwhelmed right now. Too vulnerable. Too raw. And Eileen understands things Jack doesn’t. So, he stays where he is.
“Did she sleep okay?” he asks, the question coming so soft it almost sounds embarrassed.
Her face softens immediately. “Yeah. The drive probably exhausted her.”
Relief flickers briefly across his face at that. Even one decent night of sleep feels important now.
She gives him a small understanding smile. “She knows you’re here.”
That catches him slightly off guard.
She doesn’t elaborate though. She simply squeezes his shoulder lightly as she passes him then disappears back into the guest room with the heating pad.
He remains standing alone in the hallway for a few moments afterward. The guest room door closes softly. And even though being this close to Nellie hurts right now, knowing she’s alive inside that room still feels like something sacred.
Inside the guest room, it remains dim and calm. Nellie is still curled tightly on the bed, one arm wrapped around the stuffed floppy dog while the other rests protectively against her stomach. She looks miserable. Pale. Achy. Exhausted. The rot has faded some more since yesterday, but it still shadows her skin in ugly dark patches.
Eileen quietly plugs in the heating pad before moving back to the bed. “Here,” she says softly.
The girl shifts weakly enough for her to gently slide the warmth against her stomach. The second the heat settles there, she exhales shakily. Not relief exactly. But comfort. Something easing the pain a little.
Eileen settles into the chair beside the bed afterward. She doesn’t interrogate her. Doesn’t push. Just talks. Easy conversation. Normal conversation. Like this is simply another quiet morning at home. She talks about Dean insisting pancakes required chocolate chips. About Sam nearly burning the coffee because he was distracted. About work emails piling up. Grounding things. Safe things. Nellie listens quietly with tired eyes half shut. Still emotionally shaky. Still fragile. She remembers what happened. The fear. The captivity. Aberiel. But the worst parts still feel strangely distant in her mind right now, blurred at the edges. Eileen knows that won’t last forever. Eventually those memories will surface fully. And when they do, that will be the hardest part of recovery. So, for now, she lets her niece exist in this quieter in-between place. No pressure. No digging into trauma. Just safety.
Eventually she stands and moves toward the duffel Jack packed. She unzips it carefully and pulls out a small stack of books along with several CDs and the handheld player. She brings them over and sets them gently on the bed. “Jack packed these for you.”
Nellie looks surprised at that. Really surprised. She slowly studies the books first. Then the CDs. Her fingers lightly brush over familiar album covers. Creedance Clearwater Revival. Debussy. Bon Jovi. Tchaikovsky. Even ABBA. And the books, none of them are heavy. None emotionally devastating. Comfort reads. Favorites. Things safe enough to sink into without hurting more. Chronicles of Narnia. Sense and Sensibility. Le Morte d’Arthur. Shakespeare. Even a collection of poems.
Her expression softens faintly. “He picked these?”
“Sure did. I guess him reading your entire library paid off.”
She goes quiet after that, looking down at the stack in her lap. There’s something almost emotional in her expression. Not overwhelmed. Just quietly touched. Because Jack knew exactly what would comfort her. Even now. Even after everything. Eventually she murmurs softly, “I’ll try later.”
Her aunt nods immediately. “No rush.”
She shifts slightly with a pained wince before curling more tightly around the heating pad. The stuffed dog remains tucked against her chest. “I’m still tired,” she admits quietly.
Eileen reaches over and gently brushes some hair away from her face. “Then sleep.” Simple. Soft. No expectations.
She nods faintly. Within minutes her eyes begin drifting shut again while her aunt remains nearby quietly working on her laptop and keeping the room calm and safe around her.
• • •
Later that afternoon, the house settles into a softer kind of quiet. Nellie is still asleep, Eileen remaining with her while working remotely from the guest room. Sam is finishing up some work emails in the living room when Dean wanders into the kitchen carrying an armful of crayons, markers, and coloring books. The little boy climbs into a chair at the kitchen table with absolute determination.
Jack glances over from where he’s drying dishes. “What’re you doing?”
He gasps dramatically like the answer should be obvious. “I’m making Nellie better.”
“With crayons?”
He nods very seriously. “She’s sad and green.”
Jack has to bite back a laugh at that. It’s so painfully earnest that it immediately softens something heavy in his chest.
Dean spreads paper all across the kitchen table before aggressively digging through crayons. “I’m making her pictures, so she feels happy. She always likes my pictures.”
Jack dries his hands slowly while watching him. The little boy is completely focused. Tongue sticking out slightly while choosing colors. It’s adorable. And strangely healing to witness after weeks of fear and grief. Eventually he wanders over and sits beside him.
The boy barely looks up before saying, “You should make one too.”
“What?”
Dean shoves a piece of paper toward him along with a small pile of crayons. “Nellie likes pictures.” The confidence in his voice makes it sound like undeniable fact.
He can’t help smiling faintly. “I don’t really draw.”
He looks scandalized. “You can color.”
Jack laughs quietly despite himself.
The little boy returns to his masterpiece before thoughtfully adding, “You should draw stuff Nellie likes.”
He glances sideways. “Like what?”
Dean gasps again like he is asking impossible questions. “Dogs.” He thinks hard. “Or dragons.”
“Those are very different things.”
“Nuh uh. Dragons are just magic dogs with wings.” Honestly, that logic tracks for a five-year-old.
Jack eventually gives in and picks up a crayon. At first, he just doodles absentmindedly. Nothing specific. Just trying to humor Dean. But after a while he realizes something strange. It’s calming him. The repetitive motion. The quiet scratch of crayons against paper. The little boy humming happily beside him. It settles the constant anxiety in his chest just enough to breathe easier. So, he keeps going. Eventually shapes start forming without him really thinking about it. A curled sleeping dragon. Soft looking instead of scary.
Halfway through shading the wings, Sam walks into the kitchen and pauses immediately at the sight. Dean and Jack sit side-by-side surrounded by crayons and paper like an exhausted older brother entertaining a kid on a rainy afternoon. The domestic normalcy of it nearly catches him off guard.
Dean immediately lights up seeing him. “Dad! Look!” He proudly holds up three aggressively colorful drawings. One is apparently Nellie, one is Miracle, one looks vaguely like a dinosaur on fire.
Sam nods solemnly. “These are masterpieces.”
“I know! They’re for Nellie!” Then he points dramatically toward the young man. “And Jack’s making one too!”
Jack immediately looks embarrassed. “It’s not—”
The Winchester walks closer and catches sight of the dragon sketch. His expression softens instantly. “That’s really good actually.”
He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s just a doodle.”
Sam lightly smirks while pouring himself coffee. “You’re coloring with a five-year-old, man.”
“Dean recruited me.”
“Sure he did.”
Dean gasps in offense. “I did!”
He laughs quietly and ruffles his son’s hair before heading toward the counter.
After spending most of the day indulging Dean’s imagination and keeping himself busy, Jack ends up making dinner. Partly because he likes cooking. Mostly because staying still too long lets his thoughts spiral back toward Nellie. The kitchen fills with warm smells while evening settles over the house. Sam occupies his son in the living room while he cooks, though “occupies” is a generous term considering the little boy is currently insisting that Miracle is secretly a dragon cursed into dog form. Miracle himself remains curled up on the couch entirely unimpressed by the accusations.
“He breathes fire at squirrels,” Dean insists seriously.
Sam raises an eyebrow. “He barks at squirrels.”
“Dragon barking.”
Jack chuckles quietly while stirring pasta sauce.
The terrier huffs dramatically from the couch like he’s offended by the lack of respect.
Eventually dinner is finished. Simple comfort food. Jack plates everything carefully, automatically making two extra plates for Eileen and Nellie. He hesitates briefly staring at Nellie’s plate. Then adds smaller portions. Something manageable. He carries the plates toward the guest room carefully. And suddenly, he feels nervous. Ridiculously nervous. Like he’s about to embarrass himself somehow. He manages to knock softly on the closed door.
A moment later Eileen’s voice calls gently, “Come in.”
He carefully steps inside. The room is softly lit now. Nellie is awake. Not fully sitting up, but more alert than earlier. The heating pad rests across her stomach while she lays against the pillows with the stuffed dog tucked against her side. He immediately notices the handheld CD player, one earbud still in her ear. Butterflies explode painfully in his chest. Because she used them. The things he packed for her.
Eileen looks relieved seeing the food. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Jack gives a small awkward shrug while setting the plates down carefully. Nellie slowly removes one earbud while watching the exchange quietly. The second her eyes meet his, he immediately feels awkward.
He lifts one hand in a tiny wave. “Uh. Hi.” God. Why did he say it like that? Embarrassment immediately floods him.
She blinks at him softly before quietly replying, “Hi.” Her voice is still tired and rough.
He rubs nervously at the back of his neck. “How’re you feeling?”
She shrugs slightly beneath the blankets. “Okay.” But she keeps breaking eye contact afterward. Looking away. Then back. Then away again. Still fragile. Still uncertain.
Jack understands. Or at least tries to. He doesn’t push conversation further.
Before the silence can stretch awkwardly though, the guest room door suddenly bursts open. Dean rushes in holding a stack of drawings dramatically against his chest. “Nellie!” Then he visibly remembers she’s sick and the volume drops immediately. “Oh.”
Nellie stiffens slightly seeing him. Her eyes widen before she instinctively turns part of her face away, like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself. Jack’s chest tightens painfully. Because she clearly hates being seen like this. Weak. Rotting. Changed.
The boy either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I made you pictures,” he announces proudly while approaching the bed.
She looks frozen for a second.
“They help people feel better.” He pauses before adding reassuringly, “And I don’t care that you’re green.” The sincerity in his little voice nearly breaks everyone in the room. Because he says it so simply. Like none of this changes who Nellie is to him. She’s just Nellie.
Sam appears quietly in the doorway behind his son, watching the interaction carefully. And all three adults immediately notice the internal battle happening across her face. The guilt. The shame. The overwhelm. But also love for her little cousin. Dean climbs carefully onto the edge of the bed just enough to spread the drawings out beside her. She slowly looks down at them. Colorful chaos covers the pages. Miracle breathing fire. Stick figure family portraits. A very lopsided dragon.
Dean immediately starts explaining every single drawing in exhaustive detail. “This one’s you and me fighting vampires — Oh! And this one’s Miracle before he got cursed into a dog — And this one’s—” He suddenly grabs another page excitedly. “And Jack made one too!”
Jack immediately goes red. “Dean—” But it’s too late.
The little boy proudly holds up Jack’s dragon drawing. Nellie looks genuinely surprised. Then something softer flickers briefly across her exhausted face. Touched.
He wants the floor to swallow him whole. “It’s stupid,” he mutters embarrassed.
“It’s not,” she says quietly before she can stop herself.
The words catch him completely off guard. And for one tiny second, the room feels lighter.
Then Eileen notices the overstimulation creeping in. Too many voices. Too much attention. Too much emotion. So, she gently intervenes. “Hey, buddy,” she says softly to her son. “I think Nellie needs some more quiet time.”
Dean immediately looks concerned. “Oh.”
Sam steps in smoothly. “C’mon. Let’s go finish dinner.”
He nods reluctantly “You need to look at them every day to get better,” he tells his cousin seriously. Then he climbs off the bed and lets his father guide him out into the hallway.
Jack lingers one second longer. Just long enough to see Nellie still looking quietly at the drawings resting beside her blanket, then he quietly follows the other two out of the room, the door closing softly behind them. Back in the kitchen, dinner resumes around the table. Dean chatters happily about how his drawings are definitely helping Nellie heal already. And while Sam listens with tired amusement, Jack quietly holds onto the image of her looking at his drawing like it mattered.
Eventually, the boy abandons the table halfway through dessert because he suddenly decides he absolutely has to build “the coolest block tower ever created.” Sam had tried to point out that it was already nearing bedtime. He countered that masterpieces couldn’t wait. So now he’s sprawled across the living room rug surrounded by colorful blocks while occasionally announcing updates about his architectural genius. Meanwhile, Jack and Sam clean up the kitchen together. It’s strangely domestic. Comfortable in a way Jack hasn’t felt in a long time. The sink runs softly while dishes clink quietly. For a little while, neither talks much.
Eileen slips quietly into the kitchen carrying Nellie’s mostly empty plate.
Jack immediately looks up. “How is she?”
Her expression softens. “She ate some. We started small. She’s still on the nutrient drip for a couple more days though. We don’t want to overwhelm her stomach.”
Sam nods immediately in agreement.
Jack just looks quietly relieved she managed food at all.
“Thank you,” she says with thankfulness. “For dinner and everything else today.”
He immediately shrugs awkwardly. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
But Eileen knows better. She sees how hard he’s trying. How carefully he’s stepping around Nellie’s needs despite how much he clearly wants to be closer to her. So, she gives him a gentle smile before heading back toward the guest room. “She’s resting again,” she says softly before disappearing down the hallway. The kitchen grows quiet once more afterward.
Sam dries another dish before finally glancing sideways toward Jack. “You’re doing good.”
“With what?”
He gestures vaguely around the house. “All this.”
Jack looks confused for a second. Then downplays it automatically. “I’m just helping.”
“Exactly.” He leans lightly against the counter afterward. “I know this can’t be easy. This recovery’s gonna be hard work. For all of us. But especially for her. And you’ve been really good to her through all this.”
The words hit painfully harder than Sam realizes. Because immediately Dean Winchester’s voice crashes back through Jack’s head. Back off. She needs people around her who make her feel safe. His chest tightens.
Sam mistakes the sudden quietness for emotion instead of hurt. His expression softens slightly. “And for what it’s worth,” he adds carefully, “the way you care about her… that matters.”
The young man’s throat tightens hard. Because Sam means it kindly. But it still feels wrong somehow now. Like he’s caught painfully between two fathers who love Nellie more than anything. One telling him his feelings are gentle and good, the other telling him to stay away. He forces a small smile anyway. “Thanks.”
The Winchester nods once, satisfied enough with that answer, not noticing how heavy his eyes look afterward.
Later that evening, Jack helps get Dean ready for bed. Which mostly consists of convincing the five-year-old that pajamas are necessary for survival and that brushing teeth is not in fact government propaganda. The boy chatters the entire time. Mostly about tomorrow’s plans. “We should build a blanket fort.”
Jack helps tug dinosaur pajama sleeves straight. “Sounds serious.”
“It is serious.” Dean climbs into bed dramatically afterward while Miracle circles twice before hopping up beside him. “And Nellie can watch movies with us when she feels better.”
His expression softens painfully. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The boy yawns hugely before pointing at him. “And you gotta sleep too.”
He chuckles softly. “Bossy.”
Dean grins proudly. Then within ten minutes he’s asleep. Jack quietly turns off the light and slips out of the room. By the time he heads downstairs again, exhaustion has settled heavily into his bones. Still, he knows things will ease slightly once the weekend ends and Dean goes back to school during the day. Quieter. More routine. More room for Nellie to heal peacefully.
He washes up and changes quietly for bed afterward. As he passes the guest room door, he slows instinctively. The light beneath the door is dim now. He wants desperately to knock softly. To wish Nellie goodnight, to ask Eileen if she needs anything. But he stops himself. So instead, he keeps walking back to the home office. Miracle immediately follows him inside. The little terrier hops onto the cot before Jack even fully lays down, curling tightly against his side like he somehow senses exactly how emotionally exhausted the young man is. He absently pets the dog’s fur in the darkness. The house around him is quiet now. Safe. Nellie sleeping only down the hall under Eileen’s loving eye. And despite all the relief that should bring, he still falls asleep with Dean Winchester’s voice echoing painfully in the back of his mind.
• • •
The rest of the first week settles into something fragile and strangely domestic. Not normal. None of them are naïve enough to think things are normal again. But safe. And after two weeks of terror, possession, and dying slowly in abandoned celestial ruins, safety itself feels sacred. The house falls into routine quickly. Every morning, Sam leaves early for work after helping Dean get ready for school. Eileen stays with Nellie while Jack handles most of the household duties without ever being asked. Laundry. Cleaning. Cooking. School pickup. Groceries. The rhythms become natural frighteningly fast.
Jack discovers that parenting a five-year-old is somehow more exhausting than hunting monsters. Dean talks constantly. Asks impossible questions. Needs snacks every forty minutes. Insists Miracle secretly understands English. And somehow, despite the exhaustion, he genuinely enjoys it. Especially after school pickup.
Dean always comes barreling out of the building excitedly waving whatever activity sheet or art project he had done that day. And every single time he spots the young man waiting for him, his face lights up. “Jack!” Then comes the nonstop talking all the way home.
By the third day, he has memorized Dean’s favorite dinosaur, his current least favorite kid in class, which cartoon characters are “secretly evil,” and why peanut butter sandwiches apparently taste better cut diagonally. The noise helps. The unpredictability helps. The normalcy helps. And deep down, he knows something else too: every moment he spends helping with the little boy is another moment Eileen can fully focus on Nellie. That matters to him more than anything.
Meanwhile, Nellie sleeps. A lot. Sometimes she sleeps all night and still falls asleep again after breakfast. Sometimes she wakes for a couple of hours only to curl back beneath the blankets again, exhausted beyond words. Her body is recovering from something catastrophic. And somehow, despite how disturbing the rot originally looked, it slowly begins fading day by day. The sickly green tint leaves her skin first. Then the dark patches shrink smaller and smaller until only faint remnants remain. By the end of the week, most of the visible rot is gone entirely except for a few lingering marks around the harsher grace burns that heal into pale scars. The trembling in her hands lessens too.
Her appetite slowly improves. The first few days are rough. Soup. Toast. Tea. A few times she gets sick afterward, shaky and embarrassed while Eileen calmly helps her through it without making it into a big ordeal. But eventually her stomach begins tolerating more. Jack notices of course. He starts adjusting meals without being asked. Smaller portions. Lighter foods. Things easier on her stomach. Eileen notices him doing it quietly. So does Sam. Neither says anything.
The pain spikes are worst during the first several days. Sometimes Nellie wakes curled tightly around herself breathing through clenched teeth while Eileen gets the heating pad and medication. Those moments always scare Jack when he hears about them secondhand. But by the middle of the week, the spikes begin reducing both in frequency and intensity. And slowly, she starts moving again. First, it is just sitting upright longer. Reading. Listening to music through her headphones while Eileen works quietly nearby on her laptop. Then it is standing long enough to shower mostly on her own, even if Eileen still waits nearby just in case. By the end of the week, she can walk short distances around the house without much help. Slowly. Carefully. But independently. And every tiny improvement makes Jack visibly relieved. Even if he tries not to show it too much.
One afternoon, he comes downstairs carrying folded laundry. He pauses at the guest room door before knocking softly. “Come in,” Eileen answers quietly.
He steps inside carefully.
Nellie is awake, sitting propped against the headboard with one of her books open in her lap. Seeing her upright instead of asleep still sends immediate relief through him every single time.
“You didn’t have to fold everything,” she says softly when he sets the clothes down.
He shrugs awkwardly. “I was already doing laundry.” Which is true.
She looks through the folded clothes quietly before pausing at one of the oversized shirts he packed from the bunker, her fingers lingering briefly against the fabric. Then she looks back up at him. “Thank you.”
His stomach does the stupid fluttering thing again when she meets his eyes. He hates how easily she can still do that to him. “You’re welcome.”
The room falls quiet afterward. Not uncomfortable. Just soft. Eileen watches the exchange quietly from her chair by the window while pretending to focus on her laptop.
Eventually he gestures slightly toward the book in Nellie’s lap. “You like it?”
She glances down at the pages before nodding faintly. “You picked good ones.”
Something warm flickers briefly across his exhausted face at those words. Then, before he can linger too long, he quietly excuses himself and heads back upstairs before his emotions get too obvious. Nellie watches him go longer than she means to.
• • •
At night, the house settles into quiet routines too. Sam and Eileen begin noticing something strange as the days pass. Emotionally, Nellie isn’t reacting the way they expected. Not fully. Yes, nightmares happen occasionally, she startles easier, she’s quieter than normal, more withdrawn physically. But not shattered. Not yet. In fact, most of the time when she wakes from nightmares, the dominant emotion is relief. Relief that she’s home. Relief that Aberiel is gone. Relief that she can open her eyes and see familiar walls.
At first Sam thinks maybe she’s coping better than expected. But after watching her abilities closely over several days, he realizes something else entirely is happening. Her abilities have always been unusual internally. Quiet on the outside unless hunting. But internally? Constantly active. Especially during rest and recovery. She has always healed faster in sleep. Always stabilized emotionally through exhaustion. And now they are protecting her. Subconsciously. Holding the worst of the trauma behind some internal psychic barrier while her body recovers enough strength to survive processing it. The realization unsettles Sam deeply. Because he understands exactly what it means. This peace is temporary. The dam is holding. But eventually, once she grows stronger physically, it may break. He tells Eileen quietly one evening while Dean sleeps and Jack finishes dishes downstairs. She immediately understands. And both silently agree on something:
They will not tell Jack. Not because they want to hide anything from him. But because he already watches her like someone terrified, she might disappear again. If he knew what was likely coming emotionally, he would spend every second anxiously waiting for her to fall apart. And right now? For this brief little stretch of time, they want him to have hope, even if it won’t last forever.
The house almost begins feeling functional again. Not healed. Not whole. But alive. Dean’s laughter echoes through the upstairs hallway. Jack cooks dinner while Sam helps with activity sheets. Miracle wanders between rooms seeking attention from everyone. And sometimes late at night, Jack catches himself pausing outside the downstairs guest room door while carrying laundry or tea, listening quietly to the soft sound of Nellie turning pages inside. And every single time he hears it, relief settles warm and aching inside his chest. Because she’s alive. She’s healing. And he still has no idea that while her body is recovering, her mind is only beginning to unravel.
By the end of the week, the house has fallen into enough routine that mornings no longer feel tense and uncertain. Healing still hangs over everything. But not the frantic kind anymore. The quieter kind. The kind built out of coffee pots, blankets left folded on couches, little footsteps upstairs, and someone always moving softly through the kitchen before sunrise. That morning, Eileen wakes to movement beside her in the guest room. For one brief second, concern spikes through her automatically. But then she sees her niece sitting up in bed instead of curled tightly beneath the blankets asleep, the morning light filtering through the curtains catches against her face softly. The rot is nearly gone now, leaving only a few pale marks remain around the harsher grace burns. She looks tired still, but alive and present.
Eileen studies her niece carefully. “You okay?”
She nods faintly before looking toward the window. “Can I sit outside for a little while?” Her voice is quiet from sleep. “I just…” She hesitates. “Want fresh air.”
Her expression immediately softens. After a week mostly confined to the guest room, the request itself feels huge. “Absolutely.”
She slowly pushes herself upright fully. She can walk on her own now, though long stretches still wear her out quickly. Eileen still walks beside her anyway as they head through the quiet downstairs hallway and toward the back porch. Not hovering. Just nearby. The early morning air is cool and soft through the back door as Nellie steps outside slowly and immediately exhales. The reaction is subtle. But real. Like her body itself had been craving sunlight and open air. The backyard is peaceful this early. Morning dew still clings to the grass. Birds chatter softly somewhere in the trees. The sky glows pale gold with sunrise. She lowers herself carefully into one of the porch chairs and tilts her face toward the warmth of the sun. For the first time in days, she looks almost peaceful.
Inside the house, Miracle suddenly lifts his head from where he’d spent the night curled against Jack in the home office. The terrier pauses then immediately trots from the room once he realizes Nellie is awake. Eileen smiles faintly as the dog noses open the back screen door and makes his way onto the porch. “Naturally,” she murmurs.
Miracle heads straight for the girl without hesitation. Not frantic. Not overwhelming. Just purposeful. Like he understands she still needs gentleness. Her face softens immediately when the little terrier places his front paws against her knee expectantly. “There you are,” she says quietly.
He huffs happily and settles beside her chair after receiving proper attention.
Her aunt watches the interaction carefully. Animals really do know sometimes.
Not much later, Jack wakes to an empty spot beside him where the dog had apparently abandoned his duties as emotional support companion. He rubs sleep from his eyes before checking the time. Not bad, especially considering how badly everyone slept the first few days here. By the time he makes it downstairs, Dean is already awake too. Which means the house immediately loses any remaining morning quiet.
“Jack!” The five-year-old barrels into the kitchen still wearing dinosaur pajamas. “I’m starving.”
He snorts softly while opening the fridge. “You said that yesterday too.”
“Because I was.”
Within minutes Jack is moving around the kitchen making breakfast while the boy talks nonstop about something involving superheroes and whether dragons could legally attend elementary school. He is halfway through plating the scrambled eggs when the back porch catches Dean’s attention through the glass door.
“Oh!” The little boy immediately lights up. “Nellie’s awake!”
Before he can fully react, Dean is already darting toward the back door.
“Hey — breakfast first—” But the moment he reaches the doorway, he stops.
Outside, Nellie sits curled comfortably in the porch chair with Miracle beside her while Eileen talks quietly nearby, morning sunlight spilling across the porch around them. And something about the sight hits him square in the chest. Because she looks lighter somehow. Like for one small moment she isn’t trapped inside recovery.
The boy immediately launches into conversation the second he steps outside. “Nellie look!” He holds up a toy ball dramatically, miracle instantly springing upright.
“Oh no,” Eileen mutters knowingly.
Within seconds, he has started playing fetch with the terrier across the backyard while simultaneously talking at Nellie about approximately six unrelated topics. She actually laughs softly once when Miracle completely misses the ball and runs in the wrong direction. The sound catches Jack entirely off guard. Not because it’s loud. Because he hasn’t heard it in days. And suddenly he realizes he’s standing there staring. Heat immediately crawls up his neck. So instead of continuing to awkwardly linger in the doorway, he quietly retreats back into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, he has made two cups of coffee automatically. Then hesitates. Before making Nellie’s lighter than normal. Just in case. He carries the mugs carefully out onto the porch afterward. Eileen accepts hers gratefully. Nellie looks faintly surprised when he offers the second cup toward her.
“I wasn’t sure if coffee would upset your stomach,” he says quickly. “So, if it does, I can make tea instead. Or something else.”
She wraps both hands carefully around the warm mug. “It’s okay. Thank you.” She gives him a small smile. It’s tired. Quiet. But genuine.
The butterflies in his chest are immediate and humiliating. He smiles back before he can stop himself. “Yeah. Sure.” Smooth. Really smooth.
Her smile twitches slightly wider at his awkwardness. And for one brief fragile moment, things almost feel normal again.
He quickly escapes back into the kitchen before he embarrasses himself further.
Behind him on the porch, she watches him disappear back inside while absently warming her hands against the coffee mug. And Eileen notices the look on her niece’s face immediately, a warmth forming in her chest at the sweetness before her.
• • •
The beginning of the second week brings something that at first feels almost hopeful. Nellie starts leaving the guest room more often. Not constantly. But enough that the house slowly begins adjusting around her presence instead of around her recovery. She sits at the kitchen table some mornings while Jack makes breakfast for Dean before school. Sometimes she curls up quietly on one end of the couch in the living room with one of her books while Eileen works nearby. Occasionally she helps lightly around the house despite Sam and Eileen repeatedly telling her she doesn’t need to. Small things. Folding towels. Drying dishes. Helping Dean with homework worksheets.
The rot is almost entirely gone now. Only faint pale scars remain scattered where the grace burns had been worst. Her strength has returned enough that she walks independently now. Showers alone. Moves around the house without needing Eileen hovering nearby every second.
And because she’s sleeping less during the day now, she feels more present. More awake. More like herself. At least from the outside. Eileen even quietly considers moving back upstairs to the master bedroom soon. Not because her niece is fully healed, but because she finally seems stable enough physically.
Jack notices the improvement constantly. And every single small thing still fills him with relief. Seeing her standing at the kitchen counter pouring tea herself. Hearing her quietly answer one of Dean’s endless questions. Watching her pause to pet Miracle while walking through the living room. It feels like watching someone slowly return after nearly losing them completely. And because of that, he doesn’t notice at first when things begin changing. Because the shift happens quietly. Subtly. Exactly the way Sam feared it would.
Her abilities eventually stop buffering the trauma. Not suddenly. Not violently. Just gradually. Her body is stable now. Strong enough. Survival mode is ending. And emotional processing can no longer stay buried behind exhaustion and psychic self-preservation. The dam begins cracking. At first, no one really notices. Not externally. Nellie still eats dinner. Still talks softly when spoken to. Still sits downstairs sometimes. But internally, something has shifted.
One evening early into the second week, she stands alone in the bathroom after showering. The room is still hazy with steam. The mirror fogged around the edges. For several quiet moments, she simply stares at her reflection. Half dressed. Sleep pants hanging low on her hips. A plain sports bra covering her chest while still exposing enough skin for her to see what remains.
The rot is gone and bruises are gone. Only faint marks remain scattered across pale skin where the grace burns had scarred worst. Physically, she looks almost normal again. That’s the problem. Because standing there looking at herself, she doesn’t feel normal. She doesn’t even fully recognize the person staring back at her.
And suddenly the memories don’t feel distant anymore. Not muffled by exhaustion. Not softened by relief. Clearer now. Hands on her skin. His voice in her ear. Being trapped in her own body. Being looked at like she belonged to him. Like she existed to be consumed. Her stomach twists violently. Something ugly and cold settles deep in her chest. Different. That’s the only word her brain can fully form around it. Different now. Like some essential part of herself died somewhere during those two weeks in the waypoints. And what came back is wrong somehow. Damaged. Difficult. Contaminated.
Her eyes drag instinctively across the visible skin of her reflection again and immediate discomfort spikes through her so hard she almost physically recoils. The feeling comes suddenly and sharply: being seen. The thought of anyone looking at her for too long suddenly feels unbearable. Violating. Even standing alone in front of the mirror makes heat crawl beneath her skin with awful intensity. Before she can spiral further, she quickly grabs her oversized sleep shirt from the counter and yanks it over herself then immediately reaches for a sweatshirt too. Even though the house isn’t cold. Even though no one else is there. Layers suddenly feel safer. She avoids looking back toward the mirror as she leaves the bathroom entirely.
By the time she returns to the guest room, her breathing has steadied enough that she thinks she can hide it.
Eileen looks up from her laptop briefly when Nellie enters. “You okay?”
She doesn’t hesitate, just nods automatically. “Tired.” It isn’t entirely a lie.
The woman studies her for one quiet second longer before giving a gentle nod. “Okay. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night.” She immediately climbs into bed, turning her back toward the room. Toward the door. Toward being perceived at all. She curls tightly around the stuffed dog against her chest as
Eileen eventually shuts off her laptop and settles into the second bed nearby. The room falls quiet. Dark. Still. And only then — once she’s certain her aunt can’t see her face — do silent tears finally begin slipping down her cheeks. She presses her face harder into the stuffed animal to muffle the sound of her breathing as shame twists tighter and tighter inside her chest. Because for the first time since coming home, relief is no longer the loudest thing she feels.
• • •
The rest of the second week unfolds slowly enough that, at first, it is hard to pinpoint exactly when things begin getting worse. Nothing dramatic happens. No screaming. No violent breakdowns. No sudden collapse. Instead, Nellie starts quietly disappearing. At first, it’s subtle enough to dismiss. She talks a little less at breakfast. Stays out for shorter stretches before retreating back to the guest room. Listens to music through her headphones more often instead of joining conversations. Smiles when her cousin shows her drawings or talks about school, but the smiles never quite reach her eyes anymore. And the longer the week goes on, the heavier her silence becomes.
Jack notices it first in the evenings. The house will be alive around her: Dean talking loudly from the living room, the TV humming softly, Sam discussing work with Eileen in the kitchen. And Nellie will simply sit there among them looking strangely far away. Not dissociating exactly. Just absent somehow. Like part of her never fully returned from those waypoints.
The changes involving her body become harder to miss too. One morning he sees her come downstairs wearing a sweatshirt despite the warm weather outside. At first, he thinks maybe she’s cold. But then later that afternoon she changes into another oversized sweatshirt entirely after accidentally brushing water against the first one while washing a dish. Then later that night, Eileen quietly notices discarded clothes piled beside the bathroom sink. Three separate shirts. Nellie had apparently changed multiple times before settling on one she could tolerate. No one comments on it. But everyone notices. Especially once mirrors become involved.
Sometimes Nellie catches sight of herself accidentally while walking past reflective surfaces and immediately looks away again. Other times she stares too long. Like she’s trying to figure out whether the person staring back is still really her. Showers become harder too. Longer. More emotionally draining. There are evenings Eileen notices her niece emerge from the bathroom looking pale and shaky despite insisting she’s fine. And increasingly, she begins covering herself constantly. Layers. Oversized clothes. Sleeves pulled over her hands. Flannel buttoned nearly to her throat. Even inside the warm house. Even beneath blankets.
By the end of the week, the emotional changes become impossible to ignore. She apologizes constantly now. For everything. Even when no apology is needed.
“Sorry.” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” “Sorry, I’m okay.” “Sorry.”
Her appetite drops again slightly. Not dangerously. But enough that Eileen notices unfinished plates more frequently.
And perhaps worst of all is the staring. Sam catches it first one evening after work. She is sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around herself while music plays softly through her earbuds. But she isn’t reading. Isn’t listening actively. Just staring blankly toward nothing. Completely lost somewhere inside her own head. It takes him saying her name twice before she blinks and startles back into the room. The look in her eyes afterward unsettles him deeply. Because for one awful second, she looked unreachable.
That night after Dean is asleep, he quietly finds his wife in the kitchen while she rinses dishes. “She’s getting worse.”
Eileen doesn’t look surprised. Just tired. “I know.”
He leans heavily against the counter, voice low so it won’t carry downstairs. “I think the buffering is gone.”
She nods slowly. Nellie’s abilities had protected her through the first week, held the trauma back long enough for her body to stabilize. But now? There’s nothing left holding the emotional aftermath away anymore. “She’s processing it now.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. And somehow this part feels worse than the physical recovery did. Because there’s no spell for this. No ritual. No hunt. Just time. Patience. And pain.
Jack notices too. God, he notices. At first, he tries helping the only way he knows how. Tea. Meals. Quiet check-ins. But the more withdrawn Nellie becomes, the more terrified Jack grows of overwhelming her somehow. Dean’s earlier warning still echoes painfully in the back of his mind. And she suddenly looks so fragile now. Not physically anymore. Emotionally. Like one wrong thing could shatter her completely. So, he starts pulling away. Not because he wants distance. Because he thinks distance is kindness.
One afternoon she walks slowly into the kitchen while he is cleaning dishes. The moment he notices her, he dries his hands quickly. “I was just finishing up.” Then quietly leaves the room.
She freezes where she stands, the kitchen suddenly feeling much colder. She tells herself he probably had something else to do.
But then it keeps happening. When he brings her tea, he sets it down gently and leaves before conversation can linger. When he makes food for everyone, he asks Eileen what Nellie wants instead of asking her directly. When she enters rooms, he stops staying as long. And the questions disappear too. No more:
“How’s the book?” “Did you sleep okay?” “What music are you listening to?”
Nothing overtly cruel. Nothing dramatic. Just absence. Careful, respectful absence. To Jack, it feels like the right thing to do. He sees her discomfort, her distance, the way she avoids being perceived. And he thinks that she needs space, to not crowd her, to not make this harder for her, even if every instinct inside him screams to stay near her. So, he keeps helping quietly instead. Laundry. Cooking. School pickup. Tea left outside her door. Love translated into usefulness.
But Nellie doesn’t see it that way anymore. All she sees is someone slowly backing away from her. And because shame has rooted itself so deeply inside her now, her brain immediately supplies the reason. He sees you differently now. The realization settles cold and poisonous inside her chest. And every time he quietly leaves a room after she enters it, that belief grows stronger.
As the week continues, the misunderstandings begin layering themselves quietly over everything. No one says the wrong thing intentionally. That’s what makes it hurt so much. One afternoon, she pauses in the downstairs hallway after returning from the bathroom when she hears her aunt and uncle talking softly in the kitchen, neither of them realize she’s nearby.
“She’s more fragile now than she looks,” Sam says quietly.
Eileen sighs tiredly. “I know. We just have to be careful.”
“She’s not ready yet.”
“It’ll probably get worse before it gets better.”
The words are gentle. Concerned. Protective. But trauma twists them into something ugly before they can settle properly in the girl’s mind. Fragile. Not ready. Worse before better. The meanings distort immediately. Broken. Difficult. Too much. She backs away from the hallway before either of them can notice her standing there. Her chest feels tight the rest of the evening.
After that, she starts trying harder around the house. At first Sam thinks it’s a good sign. Healing. Normalcy. But Eileen notices the pattern underneath it almost immediately. She starts insisting on helping with things even when she’s visibly exhausted. Folding laundry. Drying dishes. Helping Dean clean up toys. Trying to help cook dinner despite her hands still trembling slightly if she stands too long. One evening Jack walks into the kitchen to find Nellie quietly wiping down already-clean counters.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says gently.
She immediately shakes her head. “No, it’s okay.”
“You should rest.”
“I’ve rested enough.” The words come out too quickly. Too defensive.
He stills slightly.
She keeps wiping the counter without looking at him. Like she can somehow earn her place there through usefulness. He suddenly understands exactly why she’s doing this. The realization breaks something painfully soft inside his chest. Because she thinks she has to deserve staying here. Deserve being cared for. And he wants so badly to tell her you don’t have to earn anything. You never did. But the second emotions start entering conversations now, she visibly retreats.
So instead, he just quietly takes the rag from her hands. “I can finish it.”
She immediately looks guilty. “Sorry.”
God. That word again. He softens instantly. “You don’t have to apologize.”
But she’s already backing away emotionally again.
The distance between them grows in tiny painful increments after that. So small neither fully notices it happening. Until suddenly it’s everywhere. Jack stops lingering in rooms. Nellie stops initiating conversation. Both start speaking through Eileen or Sam unintentionally. The house notices. Even Dean starts asking occasionally, “Why doesn’t Nellie hang out with us anymore?” No one ever quite knows how to answer him.
A few nights later, the first real breakdown comes. Not loud. Not dramatic. Quiet devastation. Nellie stands in the bathroom after showering, staring at herself in the mirror again. The scars. The lingering marks. Her own skin. And suddenly all she can hear is Aberiel’s voice.
Beautiful. My little star. Mine. Her stomach turns violently. She tears her eyes away from the mirror only to catch sight of herself again in the reflection of the shower glass. Wrong. The feeling slams into her so hard she can barely breathe. Wrong wrong wrong. Before she fully realizes what she’s doing, she’s back under the running shower water sitting curled against the tile floor. Sobbing. Scratching harshly at her own skin like she can somehow tear the feeling out of herself. Her breathing spirals unevenly. She feels contaminated. Unclean. Like her own body no longer belongs to her. Eventually the panic burns itself into exhaustion and she finally returns to the guest room, her eyes are swollen red, and her body feels hollowed out completely.
Eileen looks up immediately from her laptop, concern flashes across her face instantly. “Nellie?”
She avoids her eyes entirely. “I’m okay.” The lie barely even sounds convincing anymore.
Her aunt starts to stand slowly. “Do you want to talk about—”
“No.” Too quick. Too tight. She immediately grabs her handheld CD player and earbuds from the nightstand before curling tightly onto the bed with her back toward the room again. Shutting herself away.
Eileen watches her quietly for a long moment afterward. Heart aching. Because she knows exactly what this means now. The trauma is no longer surfacing in cracks. It’s flooding in.
• • •
The scream tears through the house hard enough to jolt Jack awake instantly. For one disoriented second, he has no idea where he is. Then he hears it again. Nellie. Not just crying. Screaming. He is out of the cot before his brain fully catches up, nearly tripping over Miracle as the terrier startles awake barking sharply. The young man throws open the home office door and runs into the hallway at the exact same moment Sam comes thundering down the stairs. Another scream echoes from the guest room. Raw. Terrified. Animalistic. Sam reaches the door first, pushing it open fast. Jack follows immediately behind him and freezes.
Nellie is thrashing violently across the bed tangled in blankets while Eileen desperately tries grounding her. “Nellie— hey— sweetheart wake up—”
But she doesn’t seem fully awake. She’s sobbing so hard she can barely breathe, clawing at the blankets around herself like she’s trapped. “No— no no no—”
Sam immediately moves forward without hesitation. “Nellie.” His voice is calm. Steady. Gentle. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed. “Nell, hey. Wake up. You’re safe.”
For one brief second it almost seems to work. She gasps sharply and jerks upright. But the moment her eyes lock onto her uncle, pure terror floods her face. Not confusion. Not disorientation. Terror. She recoils so violently she nearly falls backward off the bed trying to get away from him. “Don’t—!” Her voice breaks into panicked sobbing. “Please don’t touch me!”
He immediately stills.
She scrambles backward across the mattress shaking uncontrollably. “I won’t run anymore — I swear! I won’t try again — please—” The words slam into the room like a physical blow.
Jack feels sick instantly. Because this isn’t random fear. This is memory. This happened.
Sam looks utterly shattered. For one awful moment his niece is looking at him like he’s a monster. Like he’s the thing that hurt her. “Nellie,” he says softly, heartbroken. “It’s Sam.”
But she’s too trapped inside the nightmare to hear him. She’s crying so hard now she can barely form words, trying desperately to make herself smaller against the headboard.
And he understands immediately what he needs to do. He backs away at once, hands lifted slightly. Giving her space. Because even if she isn’t seeing reality right now, her terror is real.
Eileen immediately moves into the space her husband vacated. “Nellie.” Her voice stays calm and grounded despite the horror of the situation. “Look at me, sweetheart. It’s Eileen.”
Slowly, Nellie’s eyes begin focusing properly. She blinks hard, looks at her uncle again, then Jack. And horror floods her expression all over again. Not because she’s scared now. Because she realizes what she just did. The room goes deathly quiet except for her uneven breathing. “Oh God…” Her voice cracks apart.
Sam’s heart visibly breaks right there. “You’re okay,” he says immediately. “It’s okay.”
But she is already spiraling into another panic attack entirely. Humiliation. Fear. Memory. Reality crashing together violently.
Jack finally moves instinctively toward the bed. “Nellie—”
The second he speaks, she flinches backward hard enough to physically recoil. Like she expects to be grabbed. The reaction guts him instantly. Not because he thinks she’s afraid of him specifically, but because now he understands something he had spent weeks trying not to fully imagine. Whatever Aberiel did, it was worse, so much worse than he consciously allowed himself to picture. The realization freezes his blood.
She curls tighter against herself sobbing openly now, panic fully overtaking her as she grips handfuls of blanket in trembling fists.
Eileen immediately looks toward the men. “Out.” Not harsh. But firm. “She needs space.”
Sam nods instantly. He reaches for Jack’s arm, pulling him back toward the doorway.
The young man resists for half a second. “Sam, she needs help—”
“And we’re making it worse,” the Winchester replies quietly.
He looks wrecked. Helpless. But he lets Sam pull him from the room anyway. The moment the guest room door closes, Nellie’s muffled sobbing becomes somehow even worse through the wood. He stares at the door like if he focuses hard enough he can somehow fix this.
From upstairs comes a small sleepy voice. “Dad?”
Sam closes his eyes briefly. “It’s all good, Dean. Let’s go back to bed.” He immediately points toward the hallway. “Jack, don’t go back in there.” Then he heads upstairs quickly to calm his son before he gets frightened too.
Jack stays standing there alone in the hallway. Completely still. The house suddenly feels suffocatingly quiet now except for Nellie crying behind the closed door. His chest tightens painfully. He sinks down against the hallway wall outside the guest room door, staring blankly ahead while Miracle quietly curls beside him. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe he staying this close has been selfish. Maybe he’s been crowding her without realizing it. Making things harder. Making her feel trapped. The thoughts spiral brutally through his exhausted mind. And the worst part is, he genuinely doesn’t know anymore.
A while later Sam comes back downstairs after settling Dean. He pauses when he sees the young man still sitting there outside the door. The young man looks pale. Shaken. Eyes glassy with emotion he’s trying hard not to show. The terrier presses against his leg silently.
He sighs softly before walking over. “Nellie’s gonna be okay,” he says quietly.
Jack doesn’t look away from the door. “She’s clearly not okay.” The bluntness in his voice hurts. Because he’s right.
He leans tiredly against the wall nearby. “No,” he admits quietly. “She’s not.”
“She’s been getting worse all week.”
“We know.” The answer comes gently. Not defensive. That somehow makes it worse.
The young man finally looks up at him. “Then why didn’t we stop it?”
The question isn’t logical. Sam knows that immediately. Jack iss exhausted. Emotional. Terrified for her. Still, he answers honestly. “Because this part…” He pauses heavily. “This part can’t just be fixed overnight. She’s processing what happened to her now. Really processing it. We knew eventually it was gonna hit.”
He looks back toward the door again, toward the sound of quieter crying still slipping faintly through the walls. And God, he wants to help her so badly it physically hurts.
Sam sees it all over his face. “You should try to get some sleep.”
He shakes his head immediately. “I can’t.”
“You need rest too.”
He presses his lips together hard before speaking again. “I’ll go in a few minutes.” His voice comes out rough. “I just…” He stares at the door helplessly. “I think I’d feel better staying here a little longer.”
The Winchester’s expression softens painfully. Because despite everything — despite the fear and confusion and heartbreak twisting through the house — Jack is still sitting outside her door like a guard dog. Not because he expects anything from her. Not because he thinks she owes him. But simply because somewhere inside his exhausted grieving heart he still wants her to know she isn’t alone.
At some point during the night, exhaustion finally overtakes Jack completely. Still sitting outside the guest room door, back against the hallway wall, Miracle curled tightly beside him. The last thing he remembers is listening to the muffled sound of Nellie crying quietly on the other side of the door and wondering helplessly how someone was supposed to survive something like this.
Then nothing.
A gentle hand on his shoulder slowly pulls him awake.
“Jack.”
He startles hard immediately, blinking upward disoriented before realizing Sam is crouched beside him in the hallway. Morning light spills softly through the downstairs windows now.
His stomach drops instantly when he realizes where he is. Still outside the guest room. He straightens too quickly, embarrassed flooding his face. “Sorry — I didn’t mean to—”
Sam immediately shakes his head. “Hey. It’s okay.”
He rubs tiredly at his face, exhaustion sitting heavy beneath his eyes. Sam is already dressed for work. Tie loosened slightly. Coffee mug in hand. He must have come downstairs and found him there.
He glances automatically toward the guest room door. Closed. Quiet. “How is she?”
He sighs softly through his nose before leaning back against the wall beside him. “She finally got back to sleep. All we can really do is keep doing what we’ve been doing.”
The young man swallows hard. “She looked terrified.”
“I know.” The answer comes immediately. Soft. Heavy. He lowers his voice slightly. “She’s probably gonna wake up embarrassed about it too.”
That hurts Jack almost as much as the panic itself. Because of course she would. Nellie already apologizes for existing half the time now. The idea of her waking up remembering she mistook her uncle for Aberiel, he can’t even imagine how horrible that must feel.
Sam seems to read the thought on his face. “So we don’t make it into a big thing,” he says gently. “We just… keep things normal.”
Normal. The word feels strange after the night they just had. But Jack understands what the Winchester means. No hovering. No pity. No treating her like she shattered in front of them. Just consistency. Safety. Routine. He nods slowly. “Okay.”
Sam pushes himself upright then offers a hand up. He takes it automatically, his whole body aching from sleeping against the hallway wall. Miracle stands too with a sleepy stretch. He glances once toward the guest room before looking back at the young man. “She’s still here,” he says quietly. “That matters.”
Jack’s throat tightens unexpectedly. Because somewhere deep down, part of him spent the entire night terrified she was emotionally slipping somewhere none of them could reach anymore. He nods once. Then does exactly what he’s done every morning for the last two weeks. He moves. Toward the kitchen. Toward breakfast. Toward routine. Even with his chest feeling unbearably heavy.
A little while later, the kitchen slowly fills with the familiar sounds of morning. Coffee brewing. Pans heating. Cabinets opening. He moves through the routine automatically now. Eggs. Toast. Fruit for Dean’s lunch. His hands know what to do even while his mind stays stuck replaying the night before over and over again. Please don’t hurt me. The words make him feel sick every time they repeat in his head. Because now he knows with horrifying certainty that Aberiel didn’t just scare Nellie. He conditioned fear into her. Deep enough that even safe hands became dangerous in nightmares. He grips the edge of the counter hard for one brief moment before forcing himself to keep moving.
Nellie doesn’t come out of the guest room at all that day. Not for breakfast. Not when Dean leaves for school. Not even later in the afternoon when sunlight fills the downstairs windows warm and bright. The door stays shut. And even though no one says it aloud, the whole house feels quieter because of it.
Eileen gently tells Jack sometime around lunch that she’ll handle bringing the meals to her that day. “Just for today,” she says softly. “I think she’s embarrassed.”
He immediately nods in understanding. Of course she is. That somehow hurts worse. Because after everything Aberiel did to her, Nellie still somehow manages to feel guilty for frightening them. “She doesn’t need to apologize for any of that.”
“I know,” she replies gently. And she does know. But trauma rarely listens to logic.
He doesn’t argue after that. He just quietly steps back. Again. Because stepping back feels like the only thing he’s allowed to do anymore.
Because of this, Eileen notices him getting quieter too. Not immediately. Not dramatically. But over the past month, beginning with the search, then the rescue, then the weeks in Lawrence, something in Jack has slowly started dimming. He still helps constantly. Still cooks. Still cleans. Still picks Dean up from school. Still folds laundry and repairs loose cabinet hinges and remembers everyone’s coffee preferences. But he’s exhausted now in a way sleep isn’t fixing. Emotionally worn thin. And every time Nellie pulls away from them, he accepts it immediately no matter how badly it hurts him. Bless him. He keeps trying so hard to do the right thing. Even when it’s breaking his own heart quietly in the process.
Over the next few days, Nellie slowly starts rejoining the household again. Physically present but emotionally distant. She sits in the living room sometimes with her earbuds on and her book open in her lap, though Eileen notices she rarely turns pages for long stretches anymore. At meals she picks quietly at her food and apologizes if she leaves too much behind. She speaks only when directly spoken to now. And even then, her answers are usually short. Soft. Like talking itself costs too much energy. The hardest part is the eye contact. She barely makes any anymore. Not with Sam. Not with Eileen. And especially not with Jack. Because every time she accidentally looks at him now, she immediately notices how tired he looks. The shadows beneath his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. How quickly he leaves rooms now. And shame twists tighter and tighter inside her chest every single time.
One afternoon, Dean climbs onto the couch beside her while she sits curled beneath a blanket pretending to read. Children notice things adults try politely not to mention. “Nellie?”
She looks up slowly. “Yes?”
“Why are you so quiet now?” The innocent question lands like a knife.
She freezes completely. Because she genuinely doesn’t know how to answer. How do you explain to a five-year-old that your own mind feels unsafe now? That speaking feels exhausting because every thought has to crawl through shame first? That some terrible thing happened to you and now you don’t recognize yourself anymore? She swallows hard. “I’m just tired, buddy.”
He studies her with heartbreaking seriousness before nodding slowly like he’s trying very hard to understand. “Okay.” Then he immediately launches into a completely unrelated story about something that happened at school.
And she listens quietly while guilt burns hot beneath her skin. Because even now — even confused — he still just sees her as Nellie. Not ruined. Not difficult. Just her. And feels like she is an imposter in her own body.
Nellie spends a lot of her time watching. Observing. Because being trapped inside her own head means she notices everything. Her aunt and uncle’s patience. How carefully they phrase things around her. How gently they check in without pushing. They never make her feel unwanted. Never make her feel like a burden. But somehow that only makes the guilt worse. Because they’re trying so hard. And she keeps getting worse anyway.
But it’s Jack she watches most carefully. Even while avoiding looking directly at him. She notices how often he keeps himself busy, how quickly he leaves rooms, how tired he always looks now. And slowly, trauma begins translating all of it into something poisonous. He’s exhausted because of you. You’re trapping him here. He used to laugh more. He used to stay. Now he leaves every room you enter. The thoughts settle deeper every day until eventually they begin feeling less like insecurity and more like fact. Because he still helps constantly. But now his help feels distant. Tea left quietly beside her. Meals dropped off with soft brief words before he disappears again. Laundry folded neatly at the edge of the bed. Care without closeness. She convinces herself she understands why. Because who wouldn’t eventually grow tired of this? Of her? She’s too much work now. Too fragile. Too damaged. Too exhausting.
Every time she sees him forcing himself to keep moving through chores despite the sadness in his face, the guilt grows sharper. And the worst part is, she misses him terribly. Not just his help. Him. The way things used to feel before all of this. The easy comfort. The natural closeness. The way he used to linger and talk to her about books or music or weird little observations about the world. Now every interaction feels careful. Measured. And she tells herself over and over that this distance is probably healthier. Probably kinder.
• • •
The table feels almost too normal for everything that has happened. Dean chatters like the world hadn’t been shattered only a couple of weeks ago, because to him the world is still simple and bright, a universe made of pancakes and crayons. Sam and Eileen let him talk, grateful for any noise that isn’t crying or nightmares.
Nellie sits gingerly at the table, Miracle curled under her chair like a furry shadow glued to her ankles. She picks at her food with slow, careful motions. Jack sits across from her. It’s one of those days where he looks exhausted physically and emotionally and seeing her be a shell of herself isn’t helping. She can’t help glancing at him. He looks… older. Not older in the way humans age, but in a way she’s never seen on him before. There’s a hollow around his eyes, shadows pulled dark and bruised from too many nights on a cot and too many hours pretending he isn’t breaking apart. His hair lies flat, like he’s stopped trying. His cheeks look sharper. His hands tremble when he picks up his fork.
Sam notices. Of course he notices. He watches them both with the kind of subtle, quiet concern only he can manage. “Jack, are you gonna fall asleep into your soup?” he asks, trying to keep things light.
The young man gives him a tired smile that doesn’t stay long. “Only if Dean would find it funny.”
“I would!” the boy announces with a laugh like he already pictured it happening. He turns toward his cousin. “Wouldn’t it be funny, Nellie?”
She forces a small warm smile and nods. She swallows against the guilt thick in her throat.
It isn’t long before Jack speaks again, barely above a murmur. “Excuse me. I just… I’ll be back to clean up.” He pushes his chair back quietly and heads for the hallway with quick controlled steps.
The absence he leaves behind feels so heavy the entire kitchen goes still for one long heartbeat. Nellie’s fork slips from her hand. The clatter makes her flinch sharply, breath hitching.
Eileen reaches toward her slowly, gently. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer for a moment. Then she shakes her head faintly. “May I be excused?”
Sam nods immediately. “Of course.”
She stands with her shoulders curled inward like she’s trying to disappear and makes her way back toward the guest room.
The Winchesters exchange sad looks while their son stares around the now emptier table in confusion. They stay seated, both knowing Nellie and Jack need a moment before anyone tries anything.
Once they get Dean to finish eating, so they don’t throw off the already delicate balance in the house, Sam decides to check on his niece first. He finds her sitting on the bed staring blankly at the wall, a heaviness settled over her that she’s been carrying for days now.
“You good?” he asks softly.
She nods too quickly. Too automatically. Curling tighter into herself while trying desperately to stop the thoughts spiraling through her head.
“Nell? You’re lookin’ a little green. Want some ginger tea? I can—”
“Sam?” Her voice cracks on his name.
He stops instantly. “Yeah?”
She takes a shaky breath, eyes burning. “You don’t have to make him stay,” she whispers.
He blinks like he isn’t sure he heard correctly. “Jack?”
She nods without looking at him, staring hard at the blanket gathered in her hands. “He shouldn’t feel obligated,” she murmurs. “To stay. Or help. Or… or pretend. He’s allowed to leave. Really. You can tell him.”
His chest tightens painfully. He crouches beside the bed, brow furrowing. “Why would Jack feel obligated?”
She swallows hard. Because I’m broken. Because Aberiel touched me and held me and whispered things I can’t scrub out of my skull. Because I flinch when people get too close and Jack… Jack shouldn’t have to deal with someone who can’t even look at him without remembering— Her breath catches sharply. “He doesn’t even want to be around me anymore,” she chokes out finally.
His stomach drops instantly. “Nellie, that’s not—”
“He won’t even look at me,” she whispers, hugging herself tighter. “And I get it, okay? I get it. I’m… I’m not easy to look at right now. I know what I look like. I know what I am.”
“What you are,” he interrupts fiercely but gently, “is family. And hurting. And none of this—none of what happened—is your fault.”
Nellie turns her face away in shame. “He doesn’t need to see me like this. Tell him he can go. I won’t be mad. I just…” Her voice breaks again. “I don’t want him to feel trapped.”
Sam’s heart breaks in a way he hasn’t felt since losing his older brother. He wants to tell her everything. How Jack barely sleeps. How he keeps himself moving just to avoid falling apart. How he spent weeks bleeding anxiety and guilt and grief over her. Instead, he reaches out slowly, carefully, resting his hand over hers. “Nell,” he says softly, “Jack isn’t going anywhere. I promise you that. But he’s giving you space because he doesn’t want to hurt you.”
Something like shock flickers through her expression. “But—”
“No.” He squeezes her hand gently. “You didn’t fail anyone. You didn’t scare him off. He cares about you more than you realize.”
Her lip trembles hard, but no words come out.
“Get some rest,” he murmurs. “We’re all right here. And nobody’s leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”
She curls back toward the pillow trembling, trying hard not to show how badly she’s crying. But he still sees the tears slipping silently down her face.
He lingers in the hallway afterward, hand braced against the wall like he needs the support. The quiet in the house feels heavier than ever. When he finally walks back into the kitchen, Eileen is wiping down the counters with slow thoughtful movements. Dean sits at the table humming to himself over a coloring book, crayons scattered everywhere in a comet-shaped arc. Miracle lies beneath the chair like a sentry pretending to rest while still keeping watch.
She looks up immediately. She reads the grief in Sam’s posture before he says a single word. “She okay?” she signs softly.
“Not really.” He swallows hard. “She told me to tell Jack he’s allowed to leave.”
She freezes.
He lowers his voice further so their son won’t overhear. “She thinks he’s disgusted with her. Thinks she failed him somehow. She thinks she’s ruined after everything Aberiel did. And Jack…” His voice cracks. “He thinks he’s the problem. That being around her hurts her. He’s tearing himself apart trying not to make her uncomfortable.”
She crosses the kitchen immediately and wraps her arms around him. He exhales shakily against her shoulder. It’s rare he lets himself lean on anyone this openly. But right now the weight of two hurting kids feels unbearable.
“They’re both drowning,” she murmurs softly. “She’s scared of her memories. And he’s scared of hurting her by caring.” She pulls back slightly to look at him. “We’re gonna get them through this. Both of them.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Feels like we’re watching them break.”
She shakes her head. “No. We’re watching the part before healing. And we’re not letting either of them go through it alone.”
Behind them, a crayon rolls off the table. Dean crawls after it, giggling completely unaware of the grief hanging through the house.
Sam manages the faintest smile. “He keeps this place bright.”
Eileen glances toward the guest room hallway, sadness returning immediately. “We just have to make sure Nellie doesn’t forget she deserves that brightness too.”
“And Jack?”
Her gaze drifts toward the closed home office door. “Jack’s heart is too big for his own good. But it’s also exactly the kind of heart Nellie needs when she’s ready.”
He exhales slowly, holding onto the promise in her words like a lifeline. “We’ll take care of them.”
“We always do.”
What neither of them realizes is that Jack heard the beginning of the conversation while coming back to help clean up like he promised. He knows he shouldn’t listen. He tries not to. But then he hears it.
“She told me to tell Jack he’s allowed to leave.”
He freezes instantly outside the kitchen doorway.
Sam’s voice cracks softly on the words. Eileen sighs with quiet heartbreak.
“She said he doesn’t have to stay and help anymore,” he murmurs.
Jack’s throat closes painfully. He steps backward automatically, body shaking hard now. He knows he shouldn’t be listening. But the words cling to him anyway. He closes the office door and almost collapses face-first onto the cot like every night since Aberiel. Since Nellie’s memories shattered open like broken glass. Instead, he tightens his grip on flannel until his knuckles whiten.
Because she told Sam he was allowed to go. His breathing hitches sharply, trembling hard enough he has to force the sounds back down his throat before anyone hears. His vision blurs. He wipes furiously at his eyes with the heel of his hand. If she doesn’t want him here, then staying would just hurt her more. This feels like proof he should have listened to Dean sooner.
He doesn’t let himself think after that. That’s the only reason he manages to pack the duffel at all. If he stops long enough to really think about leaving — about Nellie, about this house, about what the Winchesters became to him — he knows he won’t be able to move. So he acts on instinct instead. Quietly. Automatically. A few clothes shoved into the duffel. Books. The handful of things he unpacked into the home office during the past weeks. Miracle watches the entire time from beside the cot, head tilted uneasily. At one point his hands shake badly enough that he drops one of the books while trying to zip the bag closed. The sound feels deafening in the quiet room. He freezes immediately, listening for movement elsewhere in the house. Nothing. The house stays quiet. He swallows hard and forces himself to keep moving. Because if she doesn’t want him here, then staying would only make him selfish again. By the time he shoulders the duffel, his chest hurts badly enough he can barely draw a full breath. Still, he makes himself walk toward the door.
The hallway feels unbearably long. Every step heavier than the last. As he passes the guest room, he slows involuntarily. The door is partially shut. Quiet behind it. For one awful moment, every instinct inside him screams to stop. To knock. To explain. To tell her he never meant to make things harder. But what explanation would even matter now? She asked for freedom. And he has always loved people by leaving when he thought they’d be better without him. So, after one long painful pause outside her door, he keeps walking. Behind him, Miracle follows silently. The little terrier’s nails click softly against the floor, increasingly agitated. He manages to step outside before the first tears finally spill down his face. Cold evening air hits him immediately. His breathing shakes violently now. He descends the porch steps slowly, gripping the duffel strap tighter and tighter over his shoulder like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
He’s halfway down the front walk when he hears the front door open behind him. He freezes instantly. Slowly, he turns. Nellie stands barefoot in the doorway wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts. Miracle had apparently pawed at the door enough whining for her to investigate. And now she’s staring at him. At the duffel bag over his shoulder. At the fact that he was leaving. The realization hits her immediately. He sees it happen in real time across her face. The hurt. God. It’s so obvious.
Jack opens his mouth instinctively, but no words come out. Because suddenly he realizes something horrifying. She looks devastated. Not relieved. Devastated.
She swallows hard, then gives a tiny nod like she’s accepting something she expected all along. “I didn’t mean to stop you.” Her voice sounds frighteningly calm. Too calm.
He feels his stomach drop.
She grips the sleeves of her sweatshirt tighter over her hands. Then softly, with her heart visibly breaking behind her eyes, she adds, “I hope you do well.” The sentence nearly kills him. Because she genuinely thinks this is what he wants. Freedom from her.
And before he can process any of it, before he can speak, she turns and walks back inside the house, the front door closing quietly behind her. Leaving him standing frozen on the front walk, completely shattered.
For a moment, Nellie simply stands inside the door with her hand still resting against the knob, frozen and unable to fully process what just happened. Jack was gone. Actually gone. Miracle whines softly beside her, pacing once toward the door before looking back up at Nellie anxiously. The terrier clearly doesn’t understand why one of his favorite humans just walked away upset. Neither does she. Not really. All she knows is the hollow feeling rapidly opening inside her chest. Because despite everything she told herself — despite trying to convince herself this was better for him — watching him leave hurt so badly she feels physically sick.
Footsteps approach quickly from the kitchen. “Nellie?”
Sam appears first, Eileen right behind him. Both stop immediately the second they see her face.
She looks pale. Shocked. Like someone just ripped the floor out from under her.
Eileen’s expression tightens instantly. “What happened?” Neither of them saw Jack leave.
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her breathing suddenly turns shallow. Too fast.
Sam steps forward immediately. “Nellie?”
Still, she says nothing. Then abruptly, she bolts, straight down the hallway toward the bathroom. Both exchange one alarmed look before hurrying after her. They barely make it inside before she collapses to her knees in front of the toilet and violently throws up, dinner coming back up almost instantly. Her whole body shakes hard with it. Eileen is beside her immediately, gathering her hair carefully away from her face while Sam kneels nearby helplessly watching his niece fall apart. She keeps retching even after there’s barely anything left. Her body trembling violently, crying between breaths.
“Oh sweetheart…” Eileen whispers softly.
Eventually the heaving slows enough that she can finally lean weakly back against the bathtub. She’s crying openly now. Ashamed. Panicked. Heartbroken.
Sam crouches carefully a few feet away. “What happened?”
She presses trembling fingers hard against her mouth. For a moment he genuinely thinks she can’t answer. Then finally, in a tiny broken whisper, she says, “He’s gone.”
Both Winchesters stare at her in confusion for one second. Then his stomach drops. Jack. Oh no. Realization slams into him instantly. Jack must have overheard the conversation in the kitchen. Specifically, the worst possible part. He closes his eyes briefly in frustration at himself. Of course, Jack would misunderstand that. God. The kid already thinks giving people space is the same thing as loving them properly.
He immediately starts rising to his feet. “I’m gonna go find him.”
“No.” Nellie’s response comes immediate and panicked.
He pauses.
She wipes roughly at tears still pouring down her face. “He deserves the chance to leave.”
The sentence physically hurts to hear. “Nell—”
“He shouldn’t be stuck here because of me.” Her breathing starts quickening again. “He deserves freedom.”
He feels heartbreak and exhaustion crash together hard inside his chest. Because she genuinely believes this. And Jack — stupid self-sacrificing Jack — would absolutely leave specifically because he loves her. Not because he wants freedom from her. Because he thinks leaving is what she needs. He crouches back down carefully. “Nellie, I just wanna make sure he’s okay.”
Her face crumples harder immediately. “He looked so sad.”
God. The way she says it. Like his sadness matters more to her than her own.
“He’ll be okay,” he says softly. “But right now both of you are vulnerable and hurting and misunderstanding each other.”
She shakes her head harder. “No no no — I shouldn’t have said anything—” Her breathing spirals again. Fast. Uneven. Panic attack.
Eileen immediately moves closer beside her. “Hey. Breathe.”
Nellie curls inward tightly against herself. “I ruined everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” she says firmly.
But her niece barely seems to hear her. “He looked at me like—” Her voice breaks violently. “God, I hurt him—”
Sam sees it clearly now. She thought letting Jack leave was kindness. And seeing his face when he actually did shattered her. “Nellie.” He keeps his voice calm and grounded. “He cares about you.”
Her face twists painfully. “Not like this.” The self-loathing underneath the words is devastating.
Eileen gently reaches for her hand. “You are not too broken to be cared for.”
That only makes her cry harder. Because deep down she truly believes she is.
• • •
Jack stands motionless on the front walk long after the front door closed behind Nellie. The sound is soft. Quiet. But it feels final enough to split him open. He can still see her standing there beneath the porch light: oversized sweatshirt swallowing her frame, eyes shining with hurt she tried desperately to hide, voice trembling even while she told him he was free to go. “I hope you do well.” The sentence replays over and over in his head like punishment. Because she’d sounded sincere. Like she truly believed leaving her was what would make him happier. His chest hurts so badly he almost physically can’t breathe through it. He’d imagined rejection before. Imagined heartbreak. But not this. Not she steps aside for him while looking completely devastated by it. His grip tightens painfully around the strap of the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Everything inside him is screaming to turn around. To go back inside. To explain. Instead, he stares blankly out toward the road. He should keep walking. So why can’t he move?
“What do you think you’re doing, Jack?”
The voice cuts through the silence sharply enough to make him jump. He spins around instantly. Dean Winchester stands near the edge of the yard. Hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. Face tense. Eyes tired in a way that goes beyond death itself somehow. He looks wrecked. Not angry in the usual explosive way. This is something quieter. Heavier. A father carrying too much grief.
His face crumples immediately at the sight of him. Because emotionally he’s hanging by threads now. “She told me I could leave,” he says weakly. “So I’m leaving. Backing off. Just like you told me to.”
The words hit Dean like a punch. He sees it happen instantly. The regret. God. He actually looks hurt hearing his own words thrown back at him. For a second he just stares at him silently. Then he exhales hard through his nose and drags a hand over his face. “That’s not what I meant.”
Jack’s expression twists. “It sounded like it.”
He visibly winces. And somehow that hurts too. Because he never looked uncertain around anyone before all this. Now he just looks tired. Human. Full of regret. “If you walk away right now, you are proving every single awful thing trauma’s been telling her correct.”
The young man stills.
He steps closer, voice growing more emotional with every word. “She already thinks she’s too broken to keep around. She thinks she’s too damaged. Too difficult. Too much work. And if you leave now all she’s gonna think is that she isn’t worthy of staying for.’”
Jack’s entire face crumples. Because that is the exact opposite of what he wants her to believe. “I don’t want to hurt her,” he whispers brokenly.
Dean’s expression softens immediately. “I know. That’s the whole damn problem. You love her enough that you’re willing to break your own heart if you think it protects her.”
The young man looks down immediately because yes, that’s exactly what this is.
He laughs weakly to himself and looks briefly up toward the night sky like he’s exhausted by all of it. “You two are so busy trying not to hurt each other that you’re destroying yourselves instead.” The raw honesty in the statement leaves Jack speechless. He runs both hands over his face roughly before speaking again. “That stuff I said to you in the bunker… I was outta my damn mind.”
Jack finally looks back up at him.
His eyes are already glassy. “My daughter was dead, Jack.” The pain in his face is unbearable. “And Cas had just told me what happened to her. What Aberiel did.” Rage flashes briefly through his expression so violently it almost looks dangerous even now. “I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t stop any of it. So instead of dealing with that like a sane person, I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
Jack stares at him. Because Dean Winchester apologizing like this — fully vulnerable, fully sincere — feels almost shocking.
He shakes his head weakly. “You were sitting there beside her bed holding her hand while I was losing my damn mind. And I punished you for caring about her.”
The young man wipes hard at his face. “I should’ve listened.”
“No.” Dean says it immediately. Firm. “You should not have listened to me.” The conviction behind it startles Jack. He exhales shakily. “I’m the one who found her soul. And… she didn’t wanna come back.”
The sentence punches straight through Jack’s chest. “What?”
“She wanted to go to Heaven with me.”
He feels physically sick hearing it aloud.
The Winchester looks devastated remembering it. “She was done, man.” His voice cracks harder now. “She thought life was only gonna keep hurting her. I had to sit there holding her while she told me she didn’t wanna live anymore. Again.”
Jack feels tears spill faster down his face. Because suddenly every moment over the past weeks reframes itself brutally. The silence. The withdrawal. The shame. Nellie wasn’t just traumatized. Part of her genuinely believed life itself no longer belonged to her.
Dean’s voice grows quieter. “She kept talking about how tired she was. And all I could think was that she was my little girl.”
That finally breaks something in the young man completely.
He looks back at him. “I told her she still had life left to live. I told her Aberiel didn’t get to decide what her story ended as. And I told her she deserved more than survival. And the thing is…” He pauses, like the next part makes him vulnerable too. “She doesn’t just deserve life. She deserves the chance to actually live. To laugh again. To feel safe. To love people without thinking she’s ruining them.” Another heavy pause. “She deserves the chance to experience life with you.”
Jack just stares at him. Completely stunned. Because suddenly everything Dean is saying means something impossible: Dean trusts him. Not tolerates him. Not accepts him reluctantly. Trusts him.
Dean continues roughly, “You know why? Because every single thing you’ve done since she got hurt has been about her.” His voice thickens emotionally. “You stayed beside her body when everybody thought she was gone. You helped carry her through recovery. You took care of my family. You backed away the second you thought she needed space even though it was killing you. Seeing you were leaving tonight didn’t even surprise me, because sacrificing yourself for people is kinda your thing. But loving somebody isn’t always leaving them.” He steps closer. Raw now. Open. “Aberiel wanted to own her. He wanted control. Dependency. Submission. But you? You just want her happy. And that’s exactly why she’s safe with you.”
The young man’s face breaks completely then. Because yes. That’s all he’s ever wanted. Even now. Especially now.
“She already believes everybody leaves eventually. So, if you walk away tonight? You’re teaching her she was right. So, please stay. Stay for my daughter.”
Jack bends forward slightly then, overcome completely, hands shaking against his face as he cries openly now. The Winchester doesn’t rush him. Doesn’t mock him. Just stands there beside him quietly. Understanding. Finally, after a long time, Jack slowly lets the duffel bag slip off his shoulder and hits the ground softly beside him. Dean exhales shakily in visible relief.
• • •
Eventually, between Sam’s steady grounding and Eileen’s quiet reassurance, Nellie’s breathing steadies enough for them to help her back to the guest room. She looks exhausted by the time they settle her onto the bed again, completely drained. Eileen grabs her a glass of water while Sam pulls the blankets gently around her shoulders. She immediately curls toward the wall clutching the stuffed dog tightly against her chest. Small. Fragile. Still crying quietly. He watches her from the doorway for a long moment afterward, heart aching. Because this isn’t really about Jack leaving anymore. It’s about what she truly believes about herself. That love is temporary. Conditional. Exhaustible. That eventually everyone realizes she’s too difficult to stay for.
And now she thinks she just watched that fear become real.
He quietly slips out of the guest room and closes the door softly behind him, Eileen staying with Nellie. She had cried herself into exhaustion curled around the stuffed dog, devastated in a way that made his chest ache to witness. For a moment he just stands there in the hallway rubbing tiredly at his face. Tonight went horribly wrong. And somehow all of them ended up heartbroken.
He heads toward the front door first, thinking maybe Jack only made it to the porch. But when he steps outside, the yard is empty. Except for one thing. Jack’s duffel bag. Packed. Abandoned near the walkway. Relief immediately flickers through him. Okay. So he didn’t actually leave. Still concerned, he grabs the duffel and heads toward the garage. Maybe Jack went walking to clear his head. Wouldn’t be the first time someone in this family dealt with grief by disappearing into the night for a while.
He enters the garage quietly and reaches toward the light switch then pauses. The Impala sits parked along the far wall, where he had parked it two weeks ago. Someone is sitting inside on the passenger side. Jack. Relief settles heavier now. Slowly, carefully, he walks over and opens the driver’s side door before sliding into the seat beside him. Jack doesn’t look up. He’s still crying silently. Face pale. Eyes red. Hands clenched tightly together in his lap. The sight hurts. Because he has watched this young man spend weeks carrying everyone else while quietly breaking himself apart in the process.
For a while neither of them speaks. The garage stays still around them. Then softly, he says, “You didn’t leave.”
The young shakes his head faintly. His voice sounds wrecked. “I couldn’t do it.”
“What made you try?”
“I thought… I thought my being here was hurting her.” He wipes hard at his face. “She said I deserved freedom. She thought she was trapping me here. And after everything lately, I thought maybe I was making things harder for her.”
“What stopped you?” Sam asks quietly.
His face crumples instantly. “The look on her face.” The answer comes immediate. Raw. Broken. “She looked so hurt.” He stares straight ahead now, tears sliding freely down his face again. “And I realized if I left, it would prove every awful thing trauma’s been telling her. She already thinks she’s too broken to stay for. And I never want her to feel that way. I never want her thinking she’s too damaged or too difficult to be loved.”
God. He has to look away briefly because the sincerity in Jack’s voice is devastating. After a moment he speaks quietly. “You know what I think? I think you’ve spent the last month trying so hard not to hurt Nellie that you forgot she gets a say in caring for you too.”
Jack blinks at him slightly stunned.
Sam continues gently: “You keep treating your feelings like they’re dangerous. But Jack… your care for her has never been the problem.”
His face twists painfully. “She flinched away from me.”
“She flinched away from everybody. Even Eileen. Trauma doesn’t separate safe people from unsafe ones perfectly. Especially not when somebody’s scared and disoriented. But what she’s doing now? That’s shame. Fear. Survival mode. Not rejection. You know what I saw tonight?”
He shakes his head weakly.
“I saw a girl completely heartbroken because the person she loves was walking away.”
Jack freezes.
Sam watches the realization hit him slowly. Not just emotionally. Physically. Like his body almost doesn’t know how to process hearing it aloud. “She cares for you, Jack. It is because she cares about you that she thinks she ruined your life or that you’re exhausted because of her. Trapped because of her. When really you stayed because you wanted to.”
“I do want to,” he whispers immediately.
“I know.” He leans back slightly in the seat. “Listen to me carefully. This trauma? It’s not gonna disappear overnight. She’s probably gonna have nightmares for a while. She’s gonna have bad days. She’s gonna panic sometimes. She’s gonna withdraw.” Every word hurts Jack to hear. Sam sees it. But he continues anyway because Jack deserves honesty. “And there are gonna be moments where she pushes people away because she thinks she’s protecting them. But healing isn’t linear. And none of this means she’s broken. What happened to her was violence. But the way she survives it? That’s who she actually is. She’s still kind. She still worries about everybody else. She still loves people even while she’s hurting. That girl in there?” He points lightly toward the house. “She is fighting every single day to stay here.”
Jack’s eyes burn again.
“And you being here?” he says softly. “You’re part of why she keeps fighting. That doesn’t mean you have to fix her.” His tone grows more fatherly now. “You can’t. But you can stay. You can be patient. You can remind her she’s safe. You can love her consistently enough that eventually the trauma stops sounding louder than the truth.”
Jack looks wrecked hearing it. Because God—that’s all he wants.
The Winchester smiles faintly then. “And for the record? Eileen and I would’ve drowned this month without you.”
He immediately shakes his head. “No—”
“Yes. You helped raise my kid for weeks. You kept this house running. You carried responsibilities most people twice your age would struggle with.” His voice thickens slightly. “And you did all of it while your heart was breaking. You don’t have to earn your place here either, you know.”
That hits the young man hard. Very hard. Because somewhere deep down, he’s been trying to earn permission to stay too.
Sam lets the silence settle for a moment before speaking one last time. “If you really love her… then don’t leave her alone with the lies trauma’s telling her.”
The garage goes quiet again afterward. Jack wipes at his face shakily before finally whispering, “I’ll do anything if it helps her heal.”
He believes him completely. And sitting there beside him in the Impala, the same car that carried Nellie half-dead back from the waypoint, he realizes something quietly important: Jack isn’t just staying because he loves Nellie. He’s staying because somewhere along the way, she became home to him too.
By the time Sam and Jack finally leave the garage, the house is quiet again. The emotional storm of the evening has exhausted everyone. Jack carries his duffel bag loosely at his side now instead of over his shoulder like he’s preparing to disappear. Miracle trots eagerly beside him the second they step throw the door, tail wagging hard with visible relief now that the young man is actually coming back inside.
“See?” the Winchester says quietly. “Even the dog was worried about you.”
He lets out a weak breath of laughter through lingering exhaustion. The sound is small. Fragile. But real. And after tonight, they count that as a victory.
Sam pauses near the hallway and looks over at Jack. “Get some sleep. You’ve had one hell of an evening.” That’s an understatement.
Jack nods faintly. “Okay.” He starts toward the home office, Miracle immediately following at his heels again. But halfway down the hallway, the guest room door opens softly. Eileen steps out carrying an empty water glass. She stops the second she sees Jack standing there with the duffel bag still in his hand.
Relief floods visibly across her face. “Oh thank God.”
He immediately looks guilty again. Like he somehow caused more problems.
She doesn’t hesitate. She walks straight over and pulls him into a tight hug. Not suffocating. Just warm. Immediate. Protective. He freezes for one startled second before hugging her back automatically. And suddenly he realizes how badly he needed that too.
She squeezes him gently. “I’m sorry,” she says softly.
He immediately shakes his head against her shoulder. “No, don’t—”
“I mean it.” She pulls back enough to look at him properly. “We were so focused on Nellie that we stopped noticing how much this was hurting you too.”
His eyes immediately sting again. Because honestly? No one has really said that aloud before. Everybody acknowledged he was helping. But nobody really talked about the emotional cost of it. Until now.
Her expression softens heartbreakingly. “You’ve been carrying a lot.”
He looks down immediately. “I wanted to help.”
“I know.” The tenderness in her voice almost undoes him. “And you did help. More than you realize.”
“I love doing it if it helps her.” The honesty slips out before he can stop it.
Her eyes soften instantly because she hears the deeper meaning beneath the sentence immediately. She gently squeezes his arm. “You don’t have to disappear to prove you care about her.”
He nods faintly. Still emotional. Still exhausted. But lighter now somehow. Because tonight changed something. Not in Nellie yet. That road is still going to be long and painful. But inside Jack, something steadied. Dean’s apology. Sam’s reassurance. Both of them seeing his love for Nellie not as dangerous, but as something good. Something safe. That matters more than he can even fully process right now.
She gives him one last gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Get some real sleep.”
He nods again. “I will. Goodnight, Eileen.”
“Goodnight, Jack,” Sam says softly from nearby.
She smiles gently. “Goodnight.”
Jack finally heads toward the home office again, Miracle trotting close behind like a loyal shadow. Once inside, he sets the duffel bag down slowly beside the cot. Unpacking it can wait until morning. For a long moment he just stands there in the quiet room. Emotionally exhausted. Heart aching. But no longer hollow in the same unbearable way as before. Nellie pushing him away wasn’t rejection. It was fear. Shame. Trauma convincing her she needed to make herself smaller so people wouldn’t abandon her first. And he intends to stay long enough to prove those fears wrong. Even if it takes months. Even if it hurts sometimes. Even if he has to love her patiently from a distance while she heals. Because he would rather wait years to tell her how he feels than rush her before she’s ready. He wants her healthy. Safe. Happy. The confession can come later. For now, he just wants her to survive long enough to believe she deserves good things again.
He finally changes into sleep clothes and lowers himself onto the cot. The terrier immediately curls beside him with a content huff. He reaches down automatically to pet the dog gently in the dim room. Then, for the first time in weeks, despite the heaviness still lingering in his chest, he feels something close to hope.
• • •
Jack wakes sometime in the middle of the night without really knowing why. For one disoriented moment he just stares at the dark ceiling of the home office while Miracle snores softly curled beside his legs. His body simply doesn’t know how to rest normally anymore. Not after weeks of listening for screams. For footsteps. For signs Nellie needed help. Sleep has become shallow and temporary. He exhales quietly and carefully slips off the cot, so he doesn’t wake the terrier. Miracle barely lifts his head before deciding he’s far too comfortable to follow and immediately settles back down with a sleepy huff. He almost smiles at that.
The house is silent as he pads down the hallway toward the kitchen for water. No crying. No panic. No nightmares. Quiet. That should feel comforting. Instead, it just makes his chest ache. Because it means she is probably finally asleep after crying herself into exhaustion earlier. And Jack hates knowing he caused part of that pain tonight. Even if he genuinely thought leaving would help her. He fills a glass of water slowly in the kitchen, standing there for a moment afterward just staring blankly at the dark counter while the events of the evening replay over and over in his head.
He eventually heads back toward the home office. But when he reaches the guest room door, he stops. The hallway is quiet. Dim. The door closed softly like always now. He stares at it for a long moment. And suddenly he remembers the night of her worst nightmare. Sitting outside this same door because it was the only way he knew how to help without overwhelming her. Back then he thought maybe his presence nearby could somehow make things safer. Tonight — after almost leaving — he realizes maybe he still wants her to know the same thing. I’m still here. Even if she never consciously knows it.
Before he can overthink himself out of it, he quietly lowers himself to the floor beside the guest room door. Back against the wall. Glass of water forgotten beside him. The house remains still around him. He closes his eyes. And for the first time all night, the panic in his chest eases slightly. Because staying, even like this, feels right. Eventually exhaustion overtakes him again. By morning, Jack wakes stiff and sore against the hallway wall. His neck hurts. One arm is half numb. His back protests immediately when he shifts. And honestly? He doesn’t care. Because the night stayed quiet. No screaming. No panic attacks. No crying through the walls. That alone feels worth sleeping on hardwood floors for.
He quietly gets to his feet before anyone else wakes up, grabbing the forgotten glass and making his way toward the kitchen. Routine settles over him almost automatically now. Coffee. Breakfast. Dean’s lunch. The familiar motions calm him. By the time Sam comes downstairs dressed for work, the young man already has breakfast halfway done. He pauses briefly in the kitchen doorway when he sees him. And something in his expression softens immediately. Not pity. Something closer to relief.
“Morning,” he says gently.
Jack glances over and gives a small tired smile. “Morning.”
A little later Dean comes thundering downstairs full of chaotic morning energy and immediately launches into talking before he’s fully awake. Jack listens while finishing breakfast, occasionally responding softly enough to encourage the little boy’s rambling. For a little while the house almost feels normal again.
Then midway through breakfast, Nellie appears in the kitchen doorway. The entire room stills slightly. Not dramatically. Just instinctively. Because she looks exhausted. Not physically weak anymore. Emotionally devastated. Her eyes are swollen from crying. Dark circles beneath them. Shoulders curled inward beneath an oversized sweatshirt. She freezes the second she notices Jack standing in the kitchen. Like she genuinely didn’t expect him to still be there. And for one awful second, he sees panic flicker across her face, followed immediately by confusion, then something softer. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Doesn’t crowd her. Doesn’t explain. He simply pours a cup of coffee the way she likes it and sets it carefully at her usual spot at the table. Then he gives her a gentle smile. Small. Warm. Steady. And sits back down with his plate while Dean immediately resumes excitedly rambling about a dream involving dinosaurs driving monster trucks. The normalcy of it fills the kitchen softly.
She stays standing there for a moment longer, still staring at him. At the fact that he’s here. Still. Not distant. Not leaving. Just… here. And suddenly something painful shifts inside her chest. Not fully. Not healed. But cracked. Because for the first time since all of this started, the lies trauma has been whispering to her begin to weaken slightly. Too broken. Too exhausting. Too much work. Jack had packed his bags and he still came back. She slowly sits down at the table, her hands trembling slightly around the coffee mug. Relief settles so heavily in her chest it almost hurts. And for the first time in weeks, she lets herself believe just for one small fragile moment that maybe she isn’t impossible to stay for after all.
S2 Chapter 23 Teaser
Sam eventually wanders downstairs looking similarly exhausted despite the sleep. He pauses seeing the young man already awake. “Morning.” “Morning.” He moves immediately toward the coffee pot. Both men settle into the familiar rhythm of tired conversation while the house stays mostly quiet around them, discussing household chores and Dean’s schedule. They are soon interrupted by the sound of small fast footsteps. “Jack!” Both men look up just in time to see Dean barreling into the kitchen in dinosaur pajamas. The little boy immediately lights up seeing Jack. “You’re here!” He can’t help smiling faintly despite everything. “Hey, buddy.” Dean immediately looks around excitedly. “Is Nellie here too?” The men share a quick look before Sam answers carefully, “Yeah, kiddo. She’s still sleeping though.” The boy gasps dramatically. “She’s home?!” And before either of them can stop him, he takes off toward the hallway.
Chapter 23 is out this week!
S2 Chapter 22 - Carry Her Home
Some wounds don’t end when the danger does. Sometimes, survival is only the beginning. It is messy, painful, and far more fragile than anyone wants to admit. As Heaven makes a desperate attempt to save Nellie’s soul, the people waiting for her are forced to confront a harder truth: bringing someone home doesn’t mean they come back unchanged. Because love can pull a person back from the edge of death, but it can’t erase what they survived to return from.
Word Count: 17.5k
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TW: ANGST! brief discussions of SA and suicide. use of mild language.
Jack can’t stop shaking. He kneels beside Nellie in the dirt while tears stream openly down his face, one trembling hand hovering helplessly over her body. Wanting to touch her. Wanting to hold her. But afraid to. Because she already looks so fragile. So cold. And something inside him keeps screaming that touching her now feels wrong somehow. Like he already failed her enough. Sam stays kneeling on her other side, just as wrecked. His hand rests against her hair gently, thumb brushing shakily against her temple while he silently grieves. Neither of them speak for a while. The forest remains painfully quiet around them.
Jack finally breaks first. “I never told her.”
Sam looks over slowly.
“She didn’t know.” The words crack apart halfway through.
His eyes burn again immediately. Because God… Jack loved her so quietly. So carefully. And now he’s sitting beside her body grieving all the things he never got the chance to say.
“She just…” He swallows hard. “Showed up one day and became part of everything.” The Impala. The bunker. Movie nights. Coffee in the library. Hunts. Home. And now she’s gone just as suddenly.
The Winchester reaches over instinctively and grips the young man’s shoulder gently, trying to comfort him, trying to ground both of them. But he looks too far gone emotionally now. Like he’s drowning beneath the grief.
Then wings flutter softly through the clearing. Castiel appears nearby, immediately stopping when he sees the scene. Sam slowly shakes his head once. No pulse. No breathing. Gone. Grief washes visibly across Castiel’s face. He kneels beside Nellie carefully. For a long moment he simply looks at her. At the rot spreading beneath pale skin. The grace burns. The bruises. Something haunted settles deep into his expression. He pauses, his brow furrows slightly. He slowly raises one hand above Nellie’s chest, blue grace flickers softly between his fingers. Jack instantly stiffens. For one irrational second, he almost wants to knock his hand away, protective even now. Because she already suffered enough from angelic hands touching her. But then he sees the angel’s face.
Finally, Castiel slowly lowers his hand again. His expression looks heartbroken still, but something else exists there now too. Disbelief.
Jack’s breathing catches painfully. “Cas?”
He looks between both hunters quietly. “Nellie is not dead.”
Sam stares at him immediately. “What?”
He carefully looks back toward the girl. “Her body has entered a death state,” he explains softly. “But her psychic frequency…” He hesitates slightly. “It still maintains a loose tether to her soul. When Aberiel’s possession was broken, the separation effectively killed her physical form.”
“But?”
He looks back toward them both. “But her soul did not fully cross over.”
Hope slams violently back into Jack so fast it physically hurts. “She can still come back?”
“I believe so.”
He immediately looks back toward her, like he’s terrified she’ll disappear again if he blinks.
Sam still looks stunned. “How?”
Castiel’s expression darkens slightly. “She is an Aether. Her frequency aligns naturally with celestial energy. The grace overloaded her and now she exists between states now. Neither fully alive nor fully gone.”
Jack grips Nellie’s cold hand immediately. “We can fix it.” The certainty in his voice surprises even himself.
The angel studies him quietly before nodding once. “There may still be a way to guide her soul safely back. We need to get her back to the bunker. She is vulnerable right now.”
Sam finally nods slowly. Still overwhelmed. Still grieving. But hope has returned now too. Fragile. Terrifying.
Jack already moves closer carefully, sliding one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees before lifting her from the cold ground. She feels terrifyingly light. Cold too. Not human cold. Wrong cold. Sam’s jacket stays wrapped securely around her weakened body while he holds her against his chest like if he loosens his grip even slightly, she’ll disappear again. Sam quickly opens the Impala’s back door for him, both guiding her into the backseat. The space feels too small suddenly. Too fragile. Too important. He starts pulling away afterward automatically, glancing toward the passenger seat, like he should sit up front, like that’s where he belongs. But his eyes keep drifting helplessly back toward her. Toward her pale face. The rot. The shallow stillness of her body. The front seat suddenly feels unbearably far away from her.
Sam notices immediately. “Jack. You should stay with her.”
He blinks slightly.
“She still needs someone watching her. Even if her soul isn’t fully there.”
Jack nods immediately, like he was just handed the most important task in the world. “Okay.” The answer comes soft. Instant.
Sam helps him get settled carefully into the backseat. Nellie remains stretched across the seats beneath the jacket, her legs resting along one side while Jack carefully gathers her upper body against his chest. Supporting her gently. Protectively. Like handling something sacred. He adjusts the jacket higher around her shoulders afterward before brushing shaky fingers through her hair. His movements stay painfully careful.
Castiel watches from outside the car silently. And something heavy settles in his chest. Because he knows things Jack and Sam still do not. When he scanned her earlier, he saw flashes. Fragments of memory. Fear. Violation. Enough to understand what Aberiel did to her while she was trapped with him. For one brief moment, he almost tells the boy not to hold her so closely. Not because he would ever harm her. Never that. But because Nellie herself may not be ready for closeness when she returns. May panic. May recoil. May relive things. But then he looks at Jack again, at the way he cradles her like she is the most precious thing in existence. Not possessive. Not selfish. Just terrified of losing her again. And right now, she isn’t occupying her body fully anyway. Jack needs this, needs something tangible to protect after two weeks of helplessness.
Sam shuts the back door carefully afterward before moving toward the driver’s seat.
“She is stable for now,” Castiel tells quietly. “But not permanently.”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “We know.”
“I am returning to Heaven. I will continue searching the archives for anything involving soul displacement, grace corruption, or psychic tethering.”
Jack barely looks up from Nellie. “Please hurry.” The words come out rough and exhausted.
The angel’s face softens slightly, then disappears in a flutter of wings.
Sam finally puts the Impala into drive. The tires crunch softly over gravel as they pull back onto the empty road toward Kansas. Several hours away. Several hours too long. Neither of men speak for a while. The car hums softly through the darkness while exhaustion settles heavily over everything. He should feel relieved. They found her. After two weeks of searching and dead ends and panic and fear, they found her. But every time he glances into the rearview mirror, he sees his niece motionless in Jack’s arms looking frighteningly close to dead. And the relief dies all over again. Because they still might lose her.
In the backseat, Jack carefully adjusts the jacket higher around her shoulders again. Protective instinct. The satin slip still peeks through in places beneath it and something about seeing her dressed like that twists painfully inside his chest. It feels wrong. Too intimate. Too vulnerable. He gently keeps the jacket wrapped securely around her body both to cover her respectfully and because she’s still so cold. God. She’s freezing. Even through his own clothes he can feel it. He swallows hard while staring down at the rot spreading beneath pale skin. Up close it looks even worse. Dark green-black patches stain her throat, collarbone, arms. Grace burns branch raw and angry beneath candlelight bruising. She barely looks alive at all. He holds her more carefully somehow; one hand supports her against his chest while the other rests shakily against the side of her face. Tender. Terrified. He cannot understand how someone could do this to another person. How someone could claim to love her while destroying her body piece by piece. The thought alone makes anger and grief twist violently together inside him.
Sam glances into the mirror again after a while, seeing the young man staring down at her like she’s the only thing keeping him breathing. “Jack, you should try to rest.”
Jack immediately shakes his head. “No.”
“You’ve barely slept in days.”
“I’m fine.” The lie sounds exhausted.
He doesn’t push harder. Because honestly, he wouldn’t sleep either. Not with his niece’s soul somewhere out there untethered and drifting. He watches quietly as the boy pulls the jacket more securely around her again even though she can’t feel warmth anymore. Or maybe she can. Maybe somewhere deep down her soul still knows she’s being held safely. He clearly hopes so. Because despite the terror and grief hollowing him out, he keeps taking care of her anyway; one trembling hand cradles her against his chest while the other carefully holds her ruined hand between both of his. The skin there is cold. Painfully cold. Rot creeps over her fingers and wrist in dark spreading patches. He doesn’t care. Doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t hesitate. He just holds her tighter, like he’s trying to share warmth with someone already halfway gone. Tears slip silently down his face while he stares at her. Not dramatic sobbing. Just quiet devastation. The kind too deep to make noise. Sam looks away briefly toward the road because seeing it hurts too much.
Jack brushes his thumb softly over Nellie’s knuckles. “She just got her life back.” He stares down at her face. At the dark lashes resting against pale cheeks. At the green-gray tint spreading beneath her skin. At lips that no longer breathe enough. “She got to be happy. And what did she get for it? A monster who said he loved her.”
Silence fills the car afterward except for the sound of tires against asphalt.
He keeps looking at her like he can somehow force her soul back just by loving her enough. Like if he stares hard enough, she’ll open her eyes. His hand trembles against hers. “You’re supposed to still be here,” he whispers softly.
The words nearly break Sam completely. Because Jack sounds so young suddenly. Not hunter hardened. Not powerful. Just a grieving boy holding the girl he loves while praying she isn’t truly gone. He glances back through the mirror again. Sees the young man lean forward carefully until his forehead rests gently against her hair. Still crying silently. Still holding her like something precious. If they lose Nellie now, they may lose Jack too.
• • •
Heaven feels restless. Not chaotic. Just tense. The moment Castiel returned with Aberiel bound in celestial restraints, word spreads quickly through the corridors and archives. A rogue angel. A forbidden possession. A human soul trapped between life and death. He personally locked Aberiel away beneath layers of warding deep within Heaven’s prison. The angel did not scream anymore. Does not fight. He only asks one thing before the final seal closes: “Is she safe?”
The question twists something dark and exhausted inside Castiel. Because even now, Aberiel still believes he loved her. So, he leaves without answering. There are more important things now. Nellie. He moves quickly through Heaven afterward, delegating trusted angels toward the archives. “Anything involving soul displacement, psychic tethering, and grace corruption in human vessels.”
The angels scatter immediately.
Castiel barely finishes speaking to one archivist before another angel approaches carefully. “Dean Winchester is requesting you. He appears distressed.”
He finds Dean beside the Impala almost immediately. The car sits parked along a dirt road beneath an endless golden sky. The Winchester paces beside it hard enough to wear grooves into the road itself. The second the angel appears, he turns sharply. And Castiel immediately understands why the other angels looked concerned. He looks terrified. Not angry. Not reckless. Scared.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” he says immediately. “Did you find her?”
The angel says nothing for half a second too long.
His face drains instantly. “Cas.”
“We found Nellie.”
Relief crashes briefly across his face, until he sees Castiel’s expression fully. “What happened?”
He hesitates carefully. “She was heavily corrupted by prolonged grace possession.”
“Is she okay?”
“…She is technically deceased.”
Dean freezes. The world around them seems to stop breathing. “No.”
Castiel keeps speaking carefully. “The separation from Aberiel—”
“No.”
He backs away hard like the words physically hit him. “No no no—”
“Dean.”
“You said you found her!” His voice cracks violently now. “You said—”
“We did.”
He looks absolutely shattered. Hands dragging hard through his hair while panic and grief crash together visibly across his face. “My daughter is dead?”
“She is not fully gone,” Castiel replies quickly. "Her psychic frequency still maintains a loose tether to her soul.”
Dean stares at him. Trying desperately to understand.
“She exists between states.”
Hope flickers violently back into his face. Tiny. Fragile. “She can come back?”
“Yes. If we act quickly.”
He exhales shakily like his lungs finally work again. “What are you doing to fix it?” Protective father mode crashes back hard now.
The angel almost feels relieved seeing it. “I have several angels searching Heaven’s archives for anything involving soul restoration and grace poisoning.”
He immediately steps forward. “Let me help.”
Castiel shakes his head once automatically. “Dean—”
“I’m serious. That’s my kid.” The desperation there hurts to hear.
“There may be something you can do.”
“Tell me.”
He looks toward the endless Heaven roads thoughtfully. “Nellie’s soul is untethered but not fully crossed over.”
“So?”
“You are already dead. And your soul has adapted to existing between spiritual states.”
Understanding slowly dawns across Dean’s face. “You want me to find her.”
He nods once. “She may be lost somewhere between the Veil and Heaven. You are likely the person she would follow willingly.”
“I’ll do anything. Absolutely anything.”
Castiel places one hand against the Winchester’s shoulder firmly. “We still need to stabilize her body first.”
He nods immediately.
“But once we do,” he continues quietly, “she will need guidance home.”
Dean’s face hardens with fierce determination instantly. “Then I’ll bring my girl back.”
• • •
The bunker’s garage door rumbles open slowly. Jack is already moving before the Impala fully stops. He carefully gathers Nellie back into his arms and carries her through the bunker corridors toward the infirmary. The fluorescent lights make everything look worse. So much worse. The rot spreading beneath her skin looks horrifying under the bright bunker lighting. The grace burns look angrier. Deeper. And now fully inside the light, Sam can see the dark bite sized bruises clearly too. He suddenly wants to kill Aberiel himself despite Heaven’s prison.
Jack gently lays her onto one of the infirmary cots like she might break apart beneath roughness. Then immediately starts moving around the room. Focused. Needing something to do.
He grabs chalk from one of the cabinets and kneels beside the cot. Sam watches silently while he carefully starts drawing stabilizing sigils along the bedframe and nearby wall. His hands tremble slightly from exhaustion while he works. But the symbols are precise. Familiar. He watched Nellie draw them hundreds of times over the course of them hunting together. Now he recreates them from memory desperately trying to keep her body together long enough for her soul to come home.
When he finally finishes the last sigil, Sam speaks carefully. “Hey. Can you grab some clothes for her?”
He nods immediately. “Yeah.” He hurries from the infirmary without another word.
He waits until he’s gone before carefully pulling the jacket aside enough to look at Nellie properly. The bruises. The marks. The state of her body. Rage and heartbreak twist violently together inside him. “Sweetheart…” His voice breaks quietly. He gently brushes tangled hair from her face before forcing himself to focus. Practical. Protective. Dad mode.
Jack returns a few minutes later carrying folded sweatpants and one of her oversized sleep shirts clutched carefully in his arms. Of course he picked comfortable clothes.
His throat tightens. “Thank you.” He pauses a moment, looking at his niece, before looking back to the young man. “Could you give us a little privacy?”
He freezes slightly. Not offended. Just worried.
Sam keeps his voice soft. “She’d probably want that.”
Understanding immediately settles across Jack’s exhausted face. “Of course. I’ll go make coffee.”
The second he reaches the kitchen, the panic finally hits him full force. He braces both hands hard against the counter while the coffee brews. Breathing too fast. Chest tight. Seeing Nellie laid out on that cot. Dead. Covered in rot caused by angelic grace. It nearly shattered him. His best friend. The girl he likes. She did not deserve any of this. He presses shaking hands briefly over his face while forcing himself through the panic attack quietly and alone. Eventually the coffee finishes brewing. Eventually he calms enough to breathe again, and he carries two cups carefully back toward the infirmary.
When he steps inside, Nellie has been changed and tucked carefully beneath blankets. The dress nowhere to be seen. Sam sits beside the cot in one of two chairs he pulled close to her bedside. Waiting. Watching over her. Jack hands him one of the coffees silently before sitting in the second chair. Then both men settle into the heavy quiet together beside her motionless body. The stabilizing sigils glow faintly along the cot frame and walls, soft gold against bunker concrete.
He keeps watching them. Like if they dim even slightly, he’ll lose her.
Neither of them speak for a long while. They are too exhausted. Too emotionally wrung out.
Eventually Jack breaks the silence quietly. “Should we be helping?” He stares down into his coffee cup. “Researching or… something.” His voice sounds restless. Desperate to move. To fix. To do.
Sam exhales slowly. “Jack.”
He’s already looks like he’s preparing to argue, but the Winchester gently shakes his head first.
“If there’s information that can save her, it’s gonna be in Heaven’s archives. Castiel’s doing what he can. And he’s got angels helping him.”
The boy’s jaw tightens faintly, like sitting still physically hurts him. But eventually, he nods once. Quiet again. His eyes drift back toward Nellie almost immediately. Toward her pale face against the pillow. The rot still visible above the blankets. The terrifying stillness. Then very quietly, “What if we fail her again?”
His chest tightens immediately. “Jack—”
“What if we can’t bring her back?” The words sound fragile. Like he’s finally saying the fear out loud for the first time.
He sets his coffee down slowly. “Don’t focus on that. She still has a chance because we got her out.”
Jack nods faintly, but his eyes stay fixed on her. “I don’t know what to do with myself if she doesn’t come back.” The honesty in the words hurts. “When I came back, she was the reason I stayed.” The bunker. The hunts. The movie nights. The coffee. The life he built here. Nellie existed at the center of all of it without even realizing. “And I never even got to tell her.”
The silence afterward feels heavy but not uncomfortable. Shared grief. Shared fear.
Then Sam carefully says, “If she comes back, you probably shouldn’t tell her right away.”
Pain flashes visibly across the young man’s face instantly. Heartbreak. He hates causing it. But he continues carefully anyway.
“You saw how Aberiel looked at her. She’s gonna have a lot to work through.” He chooses his words carefully. “She’s probably gonna be scared. Unstable for a while.”
Jack looks back toward Nellie immediately, toward her body laying fragile beneath the blankets. The thought clearly destroys him. Because he wants to tell her. Wants her to know how loved she is. But not at the cost of hurting her more. Not ever. His eyes lower toward his hands. “If I waited this long, I can wait longer.” He reaches out slowly and gently takes her cold hand again. “For now, I just want to help her heal.” No selfishness. No expectation. Just love. Quiet and devastating and patient.
He looks between the two kids sitting there beneath the bunker lights. And somewhere deep down, he thinks maybe Nellie surviving this might depend on that kind of love more than any ritual Heaven finds.
• • •
Heaven’s archives stretch endlessly around Castiel. Towering shelves, ancient records, forgotten celestial texts older than humanity itself. Most angels move quietly through the halls tonight under his direction, gathering anything remotely connected to soul tethering, psychic corruption, or prolonged grace exposure. Stacks of books and scrolls already cover the long archive table before him. But nothing feels right. Some texts discuss possession recovery. Others describe soul retrieval after celestial damage. None of them account for Nellie. Because she is not normal. He sits heavily at the table while flipping carefully through another ancient record. If they make the wrong choice, they lose her. There will not be a second attempt. The realization weighs heavily against his grace. Several angels quietly approach throughout the night bringing more findings. He reads every single one. Nothing fits. Nothing explains why her psychic frequency still clings loosely to her soul despite bodily death. Nothing explains how to stabilize the imbalance caused by Aberiel’s prolonged possession.
Then slowly, a thought forms. Aether. He immediately rises from the archive table. The regular celestial archives contain almost nothing on Aethers because even Heaven barely understands them. Most angels dismissed them as myths. Stories. Unprovable anomalies buried between Men of Letters folklore and fragmented celestial records. But he now has access to the restricted records. The restricted archives sit deep beneath Heaven’s primary library halls, locked away behind old warding and celestial seals. Knowledge considered dangerous. Incomplete. Potentially catastrophic. He breaks the seal immediately. The heavy doors groan open. Dust and ancient grace spill outward into the corridor. Inside, the archive remains dimly lit and nearly untouched. Only a handful of texts regarding Aethers exist at all.
He gathers them quickly, reading them in absolute silence. About Aetheris. About psychic neutrality. About celestial-demonic equilibrium. And slowly, understanding settles coldly into his chest. Nellie’s existence as an Aether naturally places her frequency between grace and demonic force. Balanced, or as balanced as a human can possibly become. But she already leaned more heavily toward angelic grace by nature. Her abilities. Her frequency. Her emotional alignment.
Then Aberiel happened. A prolonged angelic possession by an unstable celestial being overloaded her soul completely toward grace. Too much. Far too much. Her frequency destabilized under the imbalance until separation from him effectively killed her body. Castiel stares down at one specific passage for a long moment afterward. Then slowly closes his eyes. Because he finally understands what they need to do. And he hates it immediately. To restore balance, Nellie’s frequency must be pulled back toward equilibrium. Toward neutrality. And the only force powerful enough to counteract severe grace corruption is demonic influence. He exhales slowly. No wonder nothing in Heaven’s normal archives helped. The solution does not exist solely within Heaven. It requires Hell too. The irony feels cruel. To save her soul, they will need to introduce controlled demonic energy into her corrupted frequency without allowing it to consume her entirely. A dangerous balancing act. One mistake could damn her soul permanently.
He grips the ancient text tighter, because there is another problem. Hell. Under Rowena’s rule, access became heavily restricted years ago. Far more organized. Far less chaotic. Unauthorized entry rarely succeeds anymore. Especially by angels. But if this is truly the only path, then they have no choice.
Dean drives because if he stops moving, he thinks he might lose his mind. The Impala tears recklessly down endless Heaven roads beneath gold-white skies while he grips the steering wheel hard enough his knuckles whiten. He knows Nellie is technically still alive. Sort of. That should comfort him. Instead, it terrifies him more. Because she is suffering somewhere between life and death and he cannot fix it. Cannot protect her. And Dean Winchester has never handled helplessness well.
When Castiel finally appears in the passenger seat, he nearly jerks the wheel. “Son of a— Cas.”
The angel says nothing immediately.
He notices that right away, dread settling hard into his stomach. “What?”
Castiel looks exhausted. Haunted. “There is something you should know.”
“What happened?”
He hesitates carefully. Because he does not want to say this. Not to Dean. Not about his daughter. But he deserves the truth about what happened to his daughter. “She was not only possessed. Aberiel developed a fixation on her long before the abduction. He believed she belonged to him.” His voice lowers further. “And during the two weeks he held her… his behavior escalated.”
Dean stares ahead at the road silently, jaw tightening harder and harder.
He chooses his next words carefully. “There was repeated physical violation.”
The car swerves slightly, the Winchester gripping the wheel harder.
He looks away briefly before finishing the hardest part. “It is highly likely he forced intimacy upon her repeatedly.”
Silence. Complete silence. He says absolutely nothing. And somehow that is worse. He stares at the angel. Actually stares. Like his brain physically cannot process the words. Then suddenly, the Impala screeches violently sideways across the Heaven road. He slams it into park so hard the entire car jerks. He’s out of the driver’s seat immediately. The angel follows fast.
He paces away from the car in huge violent strides with both hands gripping his hair. “No.” His voice cracks instantly. “No.”
Castiel stays quiet. Because there is nothing to say to this.
He suddenly whirls around. “That son of a bitch touched her?” The raw fury in his voice shakes the air itself.
He says nothing.
Dean laughs once. Sharp. Broken. Then rage detonates fully. “I’m gonna kill him. She was already hurting. She already went through enough growing up and that sick bastard—” He cuts himself off abruptly. Like the thought physically hurts too much to finish. His eyes shine wet now with furious tears. “She’s my little girl.”
The words nearly break Castiel too.
His breathing turns ragged. “She’s my little girl.” He keeps pacing. Fast. Furious. “I should’ve protected her.”
“You could not have known.”
“I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE.” The shout echoes endlessly across Heaven’s empty roads. Dean’s face crumples for one terrible second afterward. Not hunter. Not soldier. Just a father. Broken. “She was probably scared. And alone.”
The angel closes his eyes briefly. Because yes, he knew she was.
Dean suddenly kicks the side of the Impala hard enough to dent it. Then another. Then another. Pure rage with nowhere to go. “I’m gonna rip him apart.” His voice drops lower now. More dangerous. His eyes look dark. Cold. Terrifying. “I learned things in Hell, Cas. I’ll peel grace outta him inch by inch. I’ll make him beg for death.”
And Castiel believes him. Absolutely. Because Dean Winchester tortured souls in Hell for decades. There are parts of him still capable of horrifying things when pushed far enough.
And this is his daughter they are talking about.
His breathing shakes harder suddenly. Then the anger fractures briefly beneath grief again. “She trusted people.” The words come softer now. Heartbroken. “She finally got a chance to actually live. And this is what happens?”
The angel steps closer carefully. “Dean.”
He wipes furiously at his face. “I should’ve there.”
“You still can.”
That makes him pause.
Castiel waits until he fully has his attention. “I found a possible way to save her.” He quickly explains the Aether records. The imbalance. The overloaded grace poisoning her soul. Dean listens intensely now, focused entirely on one thing: saving Nellie. When he finally explains that they need demonic influence to restore equilibrium, Dean exhales shakily. “So, we need Hell.”
“Yes.”
He laughs bitterly once. “Course we do.”
The angel hesitates briefly before continuing. “Rowena may help us.”
“She owes us.”
“She does.” He studies the Winchester carefully. “But I will likely need assistance convincing her.”
Dean looks genuinely offended by the implication he wouldn’t help. His voice hardens immediately with fierce certainty. “If Hell’s what saves her, then let’s go to Hell.”
Castiel teleports them to one of Heaven’s admin hallways. The gate to Hell sits deep beneath the older structures. Ancient. Sealed. Layered in enough warding to make even him pause. Rowena closed unrestricted access years ago after taking the throne. No wandering demons. No rogue souls. No unnecessary traffic between realms. Order. Dean stands beside him in tense silence while the angel works through the seals. The massive doorway hums with old celestial magic while Enochian symbols burn gold beneath Castiel’s hands. Two trusted angels now stand nearby keeping guard, neither looks thrilled about opening access to Hell again. Dean doesn’t care. All he cares about right now is his daughter. Everything else feels secondary, even his own discomfort standing this close to Hell again barely registers beneath the fear eating him alive.
Castiel presses more grace into the seal. The gate groans violently. Ancient locks snapping one by one. Finally, the doorway tears open, sulfur and heat rushing upward instantly. The Winchester’s jaw tightens automatically at the familiar smell. Hell.
The angel looks toward him once. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
They descend together into the main corridor of Hell. It feels very different now than it used to. Still dark. Still dangerous. But organized. Structured. Less chaotic torture pit and more functioning kingdom under Rowena’s rule. Demons wandering the halls stop dead the second they notice Dean Winchester and Castiel walking through Hell itself. Shock ripples immediately through the corridor. Because neither of them should be here. Especially not together.
One demon near the stairwell actually laughs nervously. “Well, this can’t be good.”
Dean barely looks at him while walking. His mind remains entirely elsewhere. Rage simmers constantly beneath his ribs now. He already has a growing list in his head of exactly how he plans to torture Aberiel if he ever gets access to Heaven’s prison.
Another demon steps partially into their path. “Hell’s closed, Winchester.”
He grabs the demon by the throat instantly and slams him against the wall hard enough to crack stone. The corridor erupts into tense silence. “You move,” he says coldly, “or I rip your damn head off.”
The demon visibly panics.
Castiel immediately steps in before he fully spirals into violence. “Dean.”
His grip tightens once before finally releasing the demon roughly.
The angel steps forward instead, grace flickering faintly around him. “Take us to Rowena immediately.” The command rings with pure heavenly authority.
The nearby demons hesitate nervously. None of them particularly want to argue with an acting administrator of Heaven standing inside Hell itself.
Eventually one demon swallows hard and gestures down the corridor. “This way.”
Hell’s central court looks almost regal now. Dark red stone. Black iron pillars. Flickering firelight reflecting across polished floors. And at the center, Rowena MacLeod lounges comfortably upon her throne like she personally designed the aesthetic of damnation itself. She looks up slowly as Castiel and Dean approach. A flicker of surprise crosses her face then amusement.
“Well,” she says lightly. “This certainly isn’t a social call.”
Dean doesn’t waste time. “We need your help.”
She immediately sighs. “There it is.” She rises gracefully from the throne. “You boys only ever visit when something’s gone terribly wrong. I was starting to like retirement.”
Castiel steps forward first. “There is a human soul in critical danger.”
She waves one hand dismissively. “Darling, do you have any idea how little that narrows things down in Hell?”
Dean’s patience already frays visibly.
The angel continues carefully. “She is an Aether.”
That gets her attention instantly. Her expression sharpens. “A real one?”
“Yes.”
Now Rowena looks intrigued despite herself.
He quickly explains. The possession. The prolonged grace exposure. The imbalance destabilizing Nellie’s soul. She listens carefully at first. But the moment Castiel mentions needing demonic influence to restore equilibrium, her face hardens again.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Dean stiffens instantly. “Rowena—”
“No.” She steps away from the throne now. “You’re asking me to expose Hell’s influence to an already unstable soul.”
“She’ll die otherwise,” Castiel says firmly.
She spins back toward him sharply. “And if this goes wrong?” she snaps. “Do you have any idea what could happen?”
He stays silent.
She laughs humorlessly. “Exactly. An unstable Aether carrying both grace corruption and infernal influence? That could tear her soul apart entirely.”
“She’s already dying,” the Winchester says roughly.
“And I sympathize,” she replies immediately, “but I run a kingdom now, not a charity.”
His expression darkens. “You owe us.”
She scoffs. “I have repaid many debts already.”
“You owe me,” Dean says harder now.
Her eyes flash dangerously. “And I recall being the one who made sure Hell was sealed off,” she snaps back. “I’d call us rather even.”
Tension thickens instantly through the throne room. Castiel steps carefully between them before Dean’s temper detonates fully. “If we do nothing,” he says quietly, “she will fade permanently.”
She exhales sharply through her nose. “And if we do this wrong, you may condemn her forever.”
Dean finally steps forward then. Not angry this time. Desperate. “This is my daughter.”
The room stills immediately. Even the nearby demons go quiet.
Rowena blinks once. Actually surprised. “You have a child?”
His face tightens painfully. “She’s twenty-three. She finally got a chance to actually live her life.” His throat works hard. “And now some obsessed angel tortured her until it killed her.”
Her expression shifts slightly.
He keeps going before pride can stop him. “She’s a good kid.” His eyes shine now despite how hard he fights it. “She saves people. She protects people. And she didn’t deserve any of this.”
Castiel watches the Queen of Hell carefully, seeing the exact moment her resistance weakens. Because beneath all the power and sarcasm and manipulation, she understands parental love better than most.
Dean takes another step closer. “If there’s even the smallest chance to save her…” His voice lowers roughly. “Please.” The word hangs heavily in the room. A genuine plea from Dean Winchester.
She looks genuinely affected now. Quiet for several long seconds. “Oh, Fergus would absolutely mock me for this.” She sighs dramatically before looking toward the angel. “You’re both impossible, you know that?”
Relief flickers instantly across Dean’s face. But Rowena immediately points one sharp finger at him. “This is incredibly dangerous.”
“We know.”
“And if this goes poorly, it may worsen her condition.”
He nods immediately. “We still have to try.”
She studies him one last long moment. “You really love her.”
He looks almost offended by the question. “She’s my kid.”
Something warm and sad flickers briefly across her face. Then she nods once. “Very well. I’ll help personally. But. Her body must be brought here.”
He stiffens immediately. “To Hell?”
“Yes.” Her expression turns serious now. “The rebalancing ritual requires direct infernal current. It cannot be replicated elsewhere.”
He hates every part of that. Bringing Nellie’s fragile body into Hell feels fundamentally wrong. But if it saves her then nothing else matters. “Okay,” he says immediately.
Rowena looks toward Castiel afterward. “Bring the girl to me quickly. Before her tether breaks for good.”
The trip back up feels heavier somehow. More urgent. Castiel reseals the gateway personally the second they step back into Heaven, ancient warding burning gold across the entrance while celestial locks slide back into place one by one. No demon will be slipping through that opening tonight. Dean barely watches, his mind remaining entirely fixed on Nellie, on the fact that there is finally a chance to save her. A dangerous chance. But a chance nonetheless.
The angel turns toward him once the final seal settles. “I am returning to Earth.”
He nods immediately. “To stabilize her body?” he asks.
“Yes.” His expression grows serious. “Rowena will need her prepared before the ritual can begin. And you need to find her. Her soul is still wandering between states. You are the person she is most likely to follow back.”
“Will I know when it’s time?”
“You will.”
He exhales slowly. Then without another word, he disappears downward toward Earth. The bunker greets him with silence. He manifests carefully inside the war room, keeping himself invisible instinctively. Sam is here. And while he wants desperately to speak to his brother, he knows he shouldn’t. Right now, only one thing matters: Finding Nellie.
But before he starts searching, he drifts instinctively toward the infirmary. He immediately wishes he hadn’t. The sight nearly destroys him. Sam sits slumped in one chair beside the cot, clearly asleep despite how uncomfortable the position looks. Exhaustion finally won. Jack sits in the second chair closer to Nellie. Still awake. Sort of. His head keeps nodding forward aggressively before jerking back up again, fighting sleep with everything he has left. Then his eyes land fully on Nellie and everything inside him fractures. She looks like a corpse. Not metaphorically. Literally. The rot crawls visibly beneath pale skin in horrible dark green-black patches. Grace burns spread raw and angry over her shoulders and throat. Her lips look colorless. Dark bite sized bruises are scattered among the corruption. Rage detonates instantly through him. Pure violent fury.
“That son of a bitch…” Dean actually turns away sharply for a second because looking at them hurts too much. His daughter. His little girl. He wants to put his fist through the wall. Wants to tear Heaven apart until he gets access to Aberiel. Wants to make that angel suffer for every bruise left on her body. But his hands pass uselessly through the nearby shelf when he tries. Spirit. Still dead. Still powerless. The helplessness nearly chokes him. Finally, he forces himself to move.
He searches the entire bunker first. Every hallway. Every room. Every hidden corner. Nothing. No trace of her soul. Which means— He already knows where to look next. His stomach sinks heavily. Texas. The last place she truly existed before Aberiel possessed her. Her childhood home. The place all her worst memories live. He closes his eyes briefly before disappearing from the bunker. When he reappears outside the old house in Lockhart, Texas, the air immediately feels wrong. Heavy. Sad. The house sits abandoned beneath weak moonlight exactly as it did during the rescue attempt. Overgrown yard. Broken porch. Dark windows staring back like empty eyes. He slowly walks toward it. And deep down, he already knows he’s going to find her here.
The house feels exactly the same. Cold. Heavy. Wrong. He stands in the dark foyer for a long moment after arriving, staring into the silence. He hadn’t stepped foot in this place since before Nellie found Sam two years ago. Before hunting. Before the bunker. Before she finally started living instead of surviving. Back when she was still just a frightened little girl trapped inside this house.
The memories here cling to everything. He can feel it immediately. The fear. The loneliness. The hurt. It sits in the walls like rot.
He slowly starts upstairs. Every creak beneath his boots makes something twist painfully inside his chest because he remembers Nellie telling him stories about this place. About hiding in her room. About locking her door. About trying to stay quiet enough not to draw attention. God. He hates this house. He reaches the top floor and slowly approaches the open bedroom door. The room still bears damage from the fight during the rescue attempt. The broken doorframe. Splintered wood. Cracks in the wall. But underneath all of that, the room still looks painfully bare. A bed. A dresser missing a drawer. The closet door still absent. No warmth. No personality. Just survival. His chest aches.
Then he sees her. Nellie sits curled against the far wall beside the bed in a satin slip dress. Her knees are drawn weakly toward her chest while her gaze stays fixed blankly toward the floor. Zoned out. Not crying. Not moving. Just… existing. His heart cracks instantly. Because she looks young like this. Not hunter hardened. Not sarcastic. Not stubborn. Just hurt. For a horrible moment she doesn’t even notice he’s there.
Dean slowly steps into the room. “Nellie.”
Her head lifts slowly at the sound of his voice. The second she sees him, her lip trembles. And he expects relief. God, he wants relief. Instead, he sees shame as her eyes lower.
He steps into the room slowly. “I’m here to help you.”
She says nothing.
He stops a few feet away from her. “Your body’s still holding on. Cas found a way to bring you back.”
The silence stretches heavily for a few moments. “I don’t want to go back.”
He freezes.
Her voice sounds hollow, broken all the way through. “I just wanna to go to Heaven with you.”
The words nearly gut him. Because God, part of him selfishly wants that too. His little girl there with him. Safe. Untouchable. No more monsters. No more pain. No more hunting. But that would mean she’s dead. Actually dead. And he cannot accept that. Not for her. Not when she barely got the chance to live. “Nells…”
She curls inward harder. “I’m tired.” The words come out tiny. Not dramatic. Not angry. Just exhausted.
He sees then how deep this trauma goes already. She doesn’t just look hurt. She looks done. Like most of her already gave up.
Dean slowly kneels down closer to her instinctively. And Nellie flinches. It’s small. Barely noticeable. But he sees it. Her body recoils automatically before she can stop it. Like she expects him to grab her. Touch her. Hurt her. He feels something inside himself shatter instantly.
“Oh, baby…” His own eyes burn now. He stops moving closer immediately. Giving her space. Giving her control. Because she deserves that much.
She keeps staring at the floor. Ashamed. “I couldn’t stop him.”
His chest aches violently. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“He said he loved me.” Her voice cracks apart.
He closes his eyes briefly. Because hearing those words come out of her mouth makes him want to rip Heaven apart brick by brick until he reaches Aberiel.
Her fingers curl tightly into her sleeves. “That’s all people see when they look at me.”
His head lifts sharply. “Nellie—”
“To use,” she whispers shakily. “To touch. To…” Her face twists painfully. “Like I’m not even a person.”
He feels physically sick hearing it. Because this didn’t start with Aberiel. This started years ago. With her mother’s boyfriends. With fear. With surviving. Aberiel just carved the wound deeper.
She looks devastated now, like she’s confessing something filthy instead of describing abuse done to her. “I should’ve fought harder.”
“No.” His voice comes sharp immediately.
She flinches slightly again at the sudden intensity.
He softens instantly. “No, sweetheart. No.” Tears slip down her face silently as his own eyes blur now too. “You survived.”
She shakes her head weakly. “I let it happen.” The self-hatred in her voice nearly destroys him.
“You did not let anything happen,” he says fiercely.
She doesn’t look convinced. She looks lost inside herself. Wrapped so tightly in trauma and shame that she can’t see anything beyond it.
He exhales shakily. “You have so much life left, Nellie.”
Her expression barely changes.
“If you stay here…” His voice cracks. “Then he wins.”
That finally gets her attention slightly.
He swallows hard. “He took enough from you already.” Tears gather harder in his eyes now. “I’m not letting him take the rest.”
Her lip trembles.
Dean thinks about all the little things she still deserves. Books stacked beside her bed. Coffee in the bunker kitchen. Music drifting through the library while she writes in her hunting journals. Movie nights. Laughing at Sam. Arguing with Jack over stupid cases. Living. Actually living. “You deserve all of it.”
Nellie keeps crying quietly against the wall. Small broken sounds like she’s trying not to fully fall apart in front of him. His chest hurts listening to it. Instinct takes over before he even thinks about it. He reaches toward her automatically to wipe away her tears then freezes. His hand doesn’t pass through her like it should. It rests against her face. Warm. Solid. He stares. She does too. For one stunned moment neither of them move. Then realization hits both at the exact same time. They’re both souls here. Which means— His breath catches painfully. Because he has never gotten this before. Not truly. Not since learning she existed. Every conversation. Every moment. Every “I love you.” Always separated by death. He was never able to hug her. Never able to hold her. Never able to comfort her physically when she cried.
She stares at him with wide tear-filled eyes. He sees the conflict flicker across her face immediately. Fear. Her body remembering Aberiel. Remembering unwanted hands. Unwanted closeness. She almost recoils instinctively. Then something softer breaks through it. Recognition. Choice. Because this is her dad. And she wants him. The second that realization settles, she throws herself into his arms and he catches her instantly. And God, it nearly destroys him. He pulls her tightly against his chest immediately while she clings to him like she’s drowning. Like a terrified child after the worst nightmare imaginable. He cradles the back of her head instinctively.
“It’s okay,” he whispers shakily. “I’ve got you.”
She sobs harder into him.
He realizes she’s probably needed this for years. Not just now. Not just after Aberiel. Years. To be held safely. Loved safely. Wanted safely. Tears spill down his face freely now too while he rocks her gently in his arms. He hates this. Hates that this is what finally allowed him to hold his daughter for the first time. Death. Trauma. Pain. But he still tightens his hold around her anyway. Because he is not wasting a single second of this. She curls impossibly closer against him. Still shaking. Still hurting. But not alone anymore. He eventually settles more comfortably against the wall, keeping her tucked tightly against his chest while waiting for the signal from Castiel. Waiting for the moment he’ll have to lead her home.
He brushes one hand slowly through her hair. “You need to go back.”
She tenses faintly against him. “I don’t know if I can.”
He closes his eyes briefly. He knows that feeling. Knows exactly what it sounds like when life becomes too heavy to carry anymore. He remembers saying those same things when he was younger. After Hell. After losing Sam. After everything. And hearing his daughter say them now feels unbearable. “Yes you can,” he says softly.
Nellie shakes weakly against his chest. “What if I can’t fix myself?”
Dean’s heart breaks all over again. “Baby…” He presses his cheek gently against the top of her head. “You don’t gotta fix everything overnight.”
She grips tighter at his jacket.
He keeps holding her carefully. Protectively. “You’re allowed to hurt,” he whispers. “You’re allowed to heal slow.” He swallows hard around his own emotions. “I want you to live, Nellie. I want you reading those nerdy books in the bunker library.” A shaky laugh escapes him. “I want you listening to your music too loud while you write in those journals. I want you arguing with Sam. And making coffee at three in the morning. You deserve more life than this.”
She buries her face harder against his chest. He feels the exact moment she starts wanting to believe him. Even just a little. And so, he keeps holding her there in the middle of that awful room. Holding her like he can somehow pour all the love she deserves back into the broken places inside her. Soaking in every second of the hug before he loses the ability to do this again. Because once she goes back, he’ll become untouchable to her all over again. But for now, his little girl is finally in his arms.
• • •
Time blurs strangely in the infirmary. The bunker lights remain too bright. The air too cold. The silence too heavy. Sam and Jack stay beside Nellie the entire time. Neither really leaves except to grab coffee or food or wash exhaustion from their faces for five minutes before returning immediately to her bedside. Even sleeping becomes accidental. Sam had drifted off first at some point, chin against his chest while sitting in the chair beside the cot. Exhaustion finally won. Jack lasted longer. Pure anxiety and devotion keeping him upright. But eventually exhaustion won over him too. He sits slumped sideways in the chair, head resting against folded arms on the edge of Nellie’s cot. Sam’s chest aches immediately seeing it. The poor kid looks wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes. Face pale with exhaustion. Still wearing the same clothes from the rescue.
He quietly gets up afterward and heads toward the kitchen. He returns later with reheated leftovers and fresh coffee. Jack wakes slowly when he gently nudges his shoulder. For one terrible second panic flashes across the boy’s face before he fully wakes and sees Nellie still laying there. Still breathing shallowly. Still tethered.
Sam hands him a plate. “You need to eat.”
He immediately shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Jack.”
The younger man looks exhausted enough to cry again.
He softens slightly. “She’s gonna need help when she comes back.”
That gets through. Jack finally takes the plate reluctantly.
“She’s gonna need you awake,” he continues quietly. “And standing.”
He stares down at the food for a second before finally forcing himself to eat a few bites. Not because he wants to. Because she would need him. Sam watches him carefully while sipping his coffee. Neither talks much. The room remains quiet except for the occasional rustle of blankets and the faint hum of electricity.
Later, both hunters are jolted fully awake when the sound of wings echoes in the infirmary. Castiel appears with two other angels stand behind him.
Jack is already half out of his chair before the grace fully settles. “Cas?”
The angel looks tired. But focused. Purposeful. “We have a plan.”
Hope slams violently through the room.
Sam immediately stands too. “What kind of plan?”
He approaches the cot slowly while looking over Nellie’s body carefully. “The grace corruption destabilized her Aether balance. To restore equilibrium, we must counteract the overload.”
Jack’s brow furrows. “With what?”
He hesitates only briefly. “Demonic influence.”
Silence crashes hard into the room.
The Winchester stares. “You’re taking her to Hell?”
“Yes.”
Jack looks immediately toward Nellie, protective instinct flashing hard across his exhausted face. “That’s safe?”
“No,” Castiel answers honestly. “But it is necessary.”
Sam rubs tiredly at his face. “How the hell did Rowena agree to this?”
A flicker passes briefly across his expression. “She is repaying a favor to an old friend.”
Both hunters go still, knowing what the angel means.
Castiel looks back toward Nellie again. “I will stabilize her body as much as possible before transport. Without worsening the corruption.” The two accompanying angels step forward slightly then. He gestures toward them. “They will create and guard the gateway.”
“We should do that in the dungeon,” Sam suggests.
“Agreed.”
He looks toward Jack. “Can you take them down there?”
Jack visibly doesn’t want to move away from Nellie. But then he looks back toward Castiel, toward the possibility of saving her, and finally nods. “Yeah.” He gestures for the angels to follow him, clinging tightly to hope for the first time since finding her body in the waypoint.
Sam watches him go for a moment. The exhaustion in the kid’s posture hurts to look at. Then the door swings shut behind them. Castiel immediately moves toward Nellie’s cot. His grace glows softly blue between his fingers as he begins tracing careful stabilization sigils through the air above her body. The rot reacts subtly. Dark patches shifting faintly beneath her skin before settling again.
He watches anxiously. “Is this helping?”
“For now.” The angel’s expression remains focused. “It is slowing the deterioration without further destabilizing the balance.”
He nods quietly. Then silence settles heavily again, until Castiel finally speaks.
“There is something else you should know.” He keeps his eyes on the girl while speaking. “When I first scanned her at the waypoint…” He hesitates slightly. “I saw fragments of what occurred during her captivity.”
His jaw tightens automatically. Because deep down, he already knows. But hearing confirmation still feels like getting punched directly in the chest.
Castiel’s voice lowers further. “Aberiel forced intimacy with her. There were multiple assaults.”
The room feels colder suddenly. Sam braces one hand hard against the edge of the cot while staring at Nellie’s still body. His niece. His kid. And God, she already went through enough growing up. The memories hit him immediately. Nellie quietly admitting that some of her mother’s boyfriends touched her when she was younger. Nothing violent. Not then. But enough to leave scars. Enough to make her flinch around certain men for years. But this? This was worse. So much worse. He feels sick.
“She’s never gonna recover from this,” he whispers hoarsely.
The angel looks genuinely grieved. “She may. She will still need extensive emotional recovery.”
He nods immediately, protective instinct already taking over. “What do we do?”
Castiel pauses thoughtfully. “In light of the nature of her trauma…” He chooses his words carefully. “It may be wise to involve Eileen heavily in her care.”
Sam immediately understands why. A woman. Someone safe. Someone gentle. Someone Nellie already trusts deeply.
“She may struggle with male proximity for some time,” he continues quietly.
He looks back towards his niece again, toward the marks scattered across her throat. Rage twists hard through him.
“She probably won’t remember everything right away. But she will eventually.” The certainty in the angel’s voice hurts.
Sam exhales shakily through his nose. “We’ll take her to Lawrence. The bunker’s probably gonna trigger the hell out of her right now. Too many memories tied to this for right now.” The rescue. The fear. The nightmares that will come afterward.
“And Jack?”
His expression softens slightly despite the exhaustion. “He’ll go where she goes.”
The angel nods in agreement, finally lowering his hands from above Nellie’s body then. The stabilization sigils around the cot glow brighter briefly before settling into a steady pulse. He studies her one final moment. “She is ready.” He slides one arm carefully beneath Nellie’s shoulders and the other beneath her knees before lifting her gently from the cot. Her body barely moves. Too light. Too cold.
Sam immediately rises from the chair. Jack appears in the infirmary doorway at almost the exact same moment, clearly having hurried back upstairs the second the angels finished below. The exhaustion on his face vanishes instantly when he sees the angel holding Nellie, hope and fear crash together violently across his expression.
“Is she okay?”
“As stable as possible,” Castiel answers carefully.
He immediately falls into step beside them as they head toward the dungeon, Sam following close behind. The hallways feel eerily quiet this late at night. Only the soft echo of footsteps and the faint hum of angelic grace drifting upward from below. When they finally reach the dungeon, the temporary gateway is already open. It glows deep crimson-gold between carved Enochian symbols on the floor while the two angels stand guard nearby. Heat rolls upward from it faintly. Hell. He visibly stiffens at the sight, then immediately focuses back on Nellie instead.
Castiel slows near the gateway, then turns slightly toward the hunters. “You both need to remain here.”
The Winchester’s face tightens immediately.
Jack’s expression drops outright. “What?”
His voice stays calm but firm. “Rowena is already extending significant trust by permitting this.”
Sam understands almost instantly. Hell has rules now. Boundaries. And Rowena is already breaking several of them by allowing Heaven to bring a dying soul down there for infernal influence.
Still, he hates it. “You sure this is the only way?”
“Yes.”
Jack steps closer immediately. “I’m coming too.”
Castiel looks at him directly. “No.”
His exhaustion suddenly sharpens into frustration. “She’s gonna wake up scared.”
“She may not wake immediately.”
“That’s not the point.” The words crack harder than he probably intended. He looks wrecked standing there beneath the dungeon lights. Bruised. Exhausted. Terrified. “I’m not leaving her alone down there.”
The angel’s expression softens slightly, but his answer does not change. “Jack. You are exhausted. Emotionally and physically.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. This ritual will be unstable. Potentially dangerous.”
The young man still doesn’t back down.
His voice lowers further. “You are fully human. And after the last two weeks, I will not risk you collapsing in Hell.”
Jack looks furious for a second. Not truly at Castiel. Just at the situation. At helplessness. At being unable to protect Nellie again.
Castiel continues softly. “I believe she will come back alive. She needs you alive too.”
His face crumples slightly then. Because God, he wants to go with her. Wants to stay beside her every second until she wakes up breathing again. But deep down he knows the angel is right. He can barely stand upright anymore. Eventually he nods once. Tiny. Defeated. “Okay.” The word sounds painful.
Sam quietly grips the back of his shoulder once in support. Then both hunters look toward Nellie one more time, still motionless in Castiel’s arms. Still terrifyingly still.
The angel adjusts his grip carefully before stepping backward toward the gateway. “I will return as soon as possible.” Then with one final flicker of grace, he disappears through the gateway.
Hell’s main court feels quieter than usual. Not peaceful. Hell could never truly be peaceful. But subdued. Controlled. The demons lingering along the edges of the throne room keep their distance the second Castiel steps through the gateway carrying Nellie in his arms. Even they seem unsettled by the sight of her. The rot. The grace burns. The unnatural stillness. Rowena stands near the center altar surrounded by carefully arranged ritual ingredients and ancient spellwork carved directly into the black stone floor. Candles flicker deep crimson around the room. Ancient sigils glow faintly beneath them.
She looks up immediately when Castiel arrives. For the first time since agreeing to help, her expression loses all traces of sarcasm. “Oh, dear.”
He gently lowers the girl onto the altar. Every movement remains careful. Protective. The stone beneath her looks harsh against her ruined body. He hates this. Everything about this feels wrong to him instinctively. An angel bringing a dying human soul into Hell, preparing to infuse infernal influence into her body. Every heavenly instinct inside him rebels against it. But his loyalty to the Winchesters has always outweighed blind obedience. Always. And she deserves to live. That matters more.
Rowena slowly approaches the altar afterward. She studies the girl carefully. The rot catches her attention immediately. “So much grace corruption…” she murmurs softly. Her fingers hover carefully over one of the darkened patches without touching it. “I’ve never seen poisoning this severe in a living vessel.”
“She is no longer fully living,” the angel says quietly.
Her expression tightens slightly. “Yes,” she murmurs. “I can feel that.” She studies her another moment longer. Then visibly grows more surprised. “And yet her soul still clings.”
Castiel nods once. “It is her psychic frequency.”
She exhales slowly through her nose. “Her Aether asset explains the tether.” Even still, the fact Nellie Winchester survived this long at all borders on impossible. She moves around the altar afterward preparing the final components of the ritual. Dark powders. Infernal sigils. Candles mixed with celestial warding. The combination looks deeply unnatural. Because it is.
He remains beside Nellie the entire time, watching carefully. Guarding. His eyes drift repeatedly toward the bruises visible above the blanket line. The marks Aberiel left behind. Rage flickers quietly beneath his grace every time he sees them.
She notices eventually. “You care for this girl.”
He doesn’t look away from the girl. “She is family.” The answer comes immediate. Certain.
She nods faintly like she understands more than she lets on.
As she begins tracing final sigils along her arms and throat, Castiel quietly adds, “Once her body stabilizes enough, Dean will guide her soul back.”
“He’s searching for her now?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.” Something almost soft flickers across Rowena’s expression before disappearing again. She finishes the last sigil near the girl’s sternum and steps back slightly. “The ritual will create a temporary infernal circuit through her frequency. I’ll allow controlled demonic influence to pass through her system and then back out. Enough to restore equilibrium without allowing corruption to root permanently.”
“And if the balance fails?”
Her face darkens slightly. “She dies complete.”
Castiel’s grace flickers uneasily at those words.
“You knew this was dangerous.”
“Yes. I did.”
“But worth attempting.”
He looks down toward Nellie again. “At any cost.”
For a moment she simply studies him quietly. Then finally she steps toward the center of the ritual circle. Candles flare brighter instantly. Infernal magic hums low through the throne room floor. The demons watching from afar begin retreating farther back instinctively. Even Hell reacts uneasily to the spell forming. She raises both hands slowly, ancient witchcraft curls through the air around her. Then she begins chanting. Dark crimson magic rises from the sigils beneath the girl’s body while Castiel remains stationed beside the altar like a sentinel. Watching every breathless second.
• • •
Dean sits against the wall with Nellie curled tightly against his chest. Neither of them wants this moment to end. For the first time since learning she existed, he actually gets to hold his daughter. Really hold her. Not watch from a distance. Not speak through some invisible barrier between life and death. This. Her trembling in his arms. Her face buried against his chest. His hand moving slowly through her hair while he comforts her softly. It feels painfully precious. And unfair. Because it took her dying for him to finally have this. She clings to him just as tightly. Despite everything Aberiel did to her, this feels safe. Her dad. The one person she always wanted growing up. The person she imagined would save her if he had known about her sooner. And now he’s here. Holding her together while she falls apart.
He keeps whispering soft reassurances into her hair.
“You’re okay.”
“I’ve got you.”
“You’re safe.”
His voice carries that rare softness only a couple of people ever truly heard. The kind he hides from the world. She listens to his heartbeat while he holds her. Trying to memorize it. Because deep down she knows this moment cannot last forever.
Then suddenly, he feels it. A pull. Subtle at first. Then stronger. Like a tether tightening somewhere deep in his chest. His expression shifts immediately. She notices and she knows too. He closes his eyes briefly. Because he hates this. Not sending her back. He wants that more than anything. But losing this. Losing the ability to hold her.
She grips him tighter instantly. “I could just stay with you.” The words come out heartbreakingly small.
His chest aches. “You could.” God, part of him wants to let her. To take her to Heaven where she’s safe. Where nobody can hurt her anymore. But that isn’t living. And she deserves to live. Even if healing will hurt. Even if recovery will be hard. She deserves more than ending her story here. He gently cups the side of her face. “Not today, sweetheart.”
Tears immediately spill harder down her face. His own eyes burn too.
“One day?” she asks weakly.
He nods slowly. “One day,” he promises. “A real long time from now.” He brushes her tears away gently with his thumb. “But right now? You’ve still got a life waiting for you.”
She looks terrified. He understands. Going back means remembering. Healing. Surviving.
But he also sees something else now beneath the fear. Wanting. A small fragile desire to live. And he holds onto that immediately.
“You won’t be alone,” he tells her softly.
She clings tighter again before finally nodding faintly against him. He exhales shakily. Then, still holding her securely in his arms, he pushes himself to his feet. She keeps her arms wrapped around him while he starts toward the bedroom door. Toward the hallway. Toward the pull leading them out of the house. Out of the memories. Out of the grief. And down toward Hell, where her body waits for her to come home.
• • •
The ritual circle dims slowly beneath Rowena’s feet. The infernal current that had been threading through Nellie’s body finally begins receding back out through the sigils carved into the black stone floor. Candles flicker violently one last time before settling. She lowers her hands carefully, breathing slightly heavier now from the effort. “It’s done.”
Castiel immediately steps closer to the altar. The rot still remains across the girl’s skin. The dark patches and grace burns haven’t vanished. But they no longer look aggressively alive. No longer spreading. The corruption has stabilized. He exhales quietly in relief.
A familiar presence enters the throne room. Dean walks into Hell’s court carrying Nellie’s soul in his arms. The sight feels almost surreal. Dean Winchester rarely cries. But there are tears still streaking his face now. And yet despite the grief and exhaustion, the tenderness in his expression while looking at his daughter softens the entire room. She clings tightly to him still, her face buried against his shoulder, like she’s afraid the moment he lets her go, she’ll lose him again.
He approaches the altar slowly. Carefully. Almost unwillingly. Because now comes the hardest part.
Rowena studies the pair quietly for a moment before speaking softer than usual. “It should be safe now.”
Nellie lifts her head slightly at that. Fear immediately fills her face again. “I don’t wanna go back.” The words crack apart.
His expression crumples instantly. “You have to, sweetheart.”
She grips him tighter. “They’re gonna look at me different.” The shame in her voice hurts everyone in the room.
Castiel lowers his gaze slightly. Even Rowena’s expression softens faintly.
He immediately shakes his head. “No.”
She looks terrified now. “What if I can’t fix myself?”
He gently cups the side of her face. “Remember, baby, you don’t gotta fix everything right away.”
Tears spill harder down her cheeks. “And I don’t wanna leave you.”
That one nearly breaks him. He pulls her closer briefly, holding her tightly against his chest one last time. “You’re not losing me. I’ll still visit.” He smiles weakly through tears. “Still annoy the hell outta you.”
A tiny broken laugh escapes her at that.
He brushes her hair back carefully. “And one day, I’ll get to hug you again.”
She starts crying harder at that.
He presses one final kiss against her forehead. Slow. Lingering. Then, with heartbreaking reluctance, he lowers her gently onto the altar beside her physical body. The second her soul touches the vessel, grace flickers violently through the room. The sigils beneath the altar flare. She gasps sharply, her eyes closing in pain. Her body arches slightly as her soul slips fully back into place. Then, a deep breath fills her lungs. Alive.
The room stills instantly afterward. Nellie, now back in her body, remains unconscious. Weak. Cold. Bruised. But alive. Actually alive. Dean stares at her body for a long moment like he can barely believe it. Relief crashes through him so hard his knees almost weaken. But grief still lingers there too. Because she’s alive and now she has to heal from all of this. Still, she gets the chance. And that matters.
He slowly looks toward Rowena afterward, emotion thick in his voice. “Thank you.” The sincerity catches even her slightly off guard. “I mean it.”
She studies him quietly. Normally she’d deflect with sarcasm. Tease him. Make some dramatic remark. But seeing him like this — not hunter, not killer, just father — changes something.
So, her response comes genuine. “She deserves the chance.”
He nods once, eyes shining again.
Castiel steps forward afterward. “You have my word. The gateways to Hell will remain sealed as before.”
She gives a small approving nod. “See that they do.”
He carefully gathers Nellie back into his arms. This time her body feels different. Alive. Fragile. Weak. But alive. Dean looks at his daughter one last long moment before stepping back. His hand hovers briefly near her hair even though he can no longer touch her now that she’s fully alive again. His face tightens painfully. Then finally, he disappears back toward Heaven. The angel watches him go briefly before turning toward the gateway home, with Nellie safely in his arms.
• • •
The dungeon feels suffocating while they wait. Sam stands near the temporary gateway with his arms crossed tightly, staring at the glowing tear between realms like he can somehow force Castiel to come back through it faster. Jack paces. Constantly. Back and forth across the stone floor. Too anxious to sit. Too exhausted to keep standing still. Every couple of minutes his eyes flick toward the gateway again. Waiting. Hoping. Terrified. The two angels guarding the portal remain motionless near the sigils lining the floor. The only sounds are Jack’s footsteps and the low hum of infernal energy drifting upward from the still-open gateway. He watches the young man carefully. The kid looks like he’s running entirely on fear at this point.
Grace flares and Castiel steps through carrying Nellie in his arms. Both hunters move immediately. Sam reaches them first while Jack stops dead for half a second at the sight of her. Breathing. Nellie is breathing. Not shallow. Not dying. Actually breathing. The rot still spreads across her skin in dark patches, but it no longer looks aggressive and consuming. The grace burns seem calmer too. Less angry. Alive.
“She stabilized,” the angel says quietly.
He exhales hard like he’s been holding his breath for days. “And she’ll live.”
Jack breaks instantly. A sharp shaky breath leaves him before tears spill down his face without hesitation. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Relief crashes through him so hard his knees almost buckle. “She’s alive,” he whispers brokenly. He steps closer carefully after that, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, she’ll disappear again. His eyes stay fixed completely on her face. Alive. Actually alive.
Behind them, the two angels begin disabling the temporary gateway. The glowing sigils dim one by one until the dungeon finally loses that infernal heat lingering in the air.
The Winchester wipes quickly at his own eyes before focusing again. “Let’s get her upstairs.”
Castiel carries her back through the bunker carefully. When they reach the infirmary, he gently lowers her back onto the cot, Jack immediately adjusting the blankets around her instinctively. Sam moves quickly into practical mode afterward. Medical supplies. Fresh IV lines. Nutrient bags. Now that Nellie’s body is truly alive again, they can actually treat her instead of simply trying to preserve a corpse.
“She is still extremely weak,” the angel says carefully as the IV is adjusted. “Her body endured significant damage. The rot should continue receding slowly now that equilibrium has been restored. But recovery will take time. You should wait until she wakes before moving her. Transporting her immediately may worsen the instability. Allow her body to rest after the ritual.”
Sam nods in agreement.
The young man looks exhausted enough to collapse now that the adrenaline is finally fading. But he still refuses to sit far from her.
Castiel looks between the hunters. “I will check in periodically. Just pray if she takes a turn.” A rush of air breathes through the room and he is gone.
Sam finishes adjusting the nutrient line before finally looking over at Jack. “She’s stable,” he says quietly, almost like he’s reminding himself too.
Jack nods faintly without looking away from Nellie.
He studies him for a moment. The kid looks emotionally wrecked. Relieved. Terrified. All at once. “I’m gonna step out and call Eileen. Let her know Nellie is safe. Get some things figured out before we head back to Lawrence.”
The boy nods again. “Okay.”
He squeezes his shoulder once as he passes him. Then he disappears out into the hallway, leaving Jack alone with Nellie for the first time since she came back alive. Jack slowly settles back into the chair beside her cot and just looks at her. Relief still crashes through him every time he sees her chest rise and fall. Alive. She’s alive. The bruises and rot still hurt to look at. The lingering grace burns make his stomach twist. But she’s here. Not gone. Jack reaches up carefully and gently brushes some hair away from her face. Slow. Careful. Making sure not to disturb the IV line running into her arm. Then he lightly takes her hand in his again. Her skin feels warmer now. Not healthy. But warmer.
He swallows hard. “You scared me,” he whispers quietly. His thumb gently brushes against the side of her hand. “I thought… I thought we lost you. You gotta wake up eventually, okay? Sam’s already making plans and everything.” A tiny shaky laugh escapes him. “You’d probably hate how worried everyone is.”
“Don’t do that shit.”
He startles violently. He looks up instantly. Dean stands near the doorway, but something is wrong immediately. He looks furious. Cold fury.
He blinks in confusion. “What?”
Dean’s eyes flick toward where the young man is holding Nellie’s hand. “Back off.”
The words hit hard enough that Jack physically stills. Confusion spreads across his face immediately. “What do you mean?”
The Winchester steps further into the room. “You heard me.”
He stares at him, completely caught off guard. “I was just sitting with her.”
“She’s been through enough.” The sharpness in his voice cuts straight through him.
His brow furrows. “I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Something in the way he says it makes Jack freeze. There’s grief underneath the anger. Rage too. Protectiveness so intense it almost feels dangerous. He slowly stands from the chair. “I’m not trying to hurt her.”
Dean laughs once bitterly. “Then don’t make this harder on her.”
Confusion spreads harder across his face now. “What are you talking about?”
He gestures sharply toward his daughter. “She needs safety right now. Space. Stability.”
“I was just holding her hand.”
“And she doesn’t need complicated feelings thrown at her too.”
The words land hard enough to physically hurt. Jack’s expression falls slightly. Because now he understands. Dean knows.
The Winchester looks away sharply for a moment like hearing it aloud makes something in him boil over. When he looks back, his eyes are glassy with anger and heartbreak. “She just survived hell.”
Jack’s throat tightens painfully. “I know.”
“No. You know she got hurt. You don’t know what that bastard did to her.” The sheer fury in his voice makes Jack still completely. His breathing grows uneven now, like he’s barely keeping himself together. “She doesn’t need someone wanting something from her right now.”
He immediately shakes his head. “I don’t want anything from her.”
Dean scoffs bitterly. “Bullshit.”
“I like—” He stops himself hard. The word hangs there unfinished anyway.
He closes his eyes briefly like that hurt him too. “She is barely alive,” he says roughly. “She’s hurting. Bad.”
The boy’s eyes burn instantly. “I know.”
“She’s gonna wake up scared. And she doesn’t need pressure.”
“I would never pressure her.”
He studies him for a long moment. Then finally says the thing that breaks Jack completely. “If you really care about her, then back off.”
Jack physically recoils slightly, like the words actually hit him.
Dean’s own face tightens immediately afterward. Because part of him regrets saying it the second it leaves his mouth. But he’s too emotional. Too angry. Too terrified for Nellie. And too deep in father mode to separate any of it cleanly.
Jack looks shattered standing there. Because all he hears is: You are wrong for loving her.
He looks away first. “She needs time. And she needs people around her who make her feel safe.”
The young man’s voice comes painfully small. “I thought I did.”
God. That nearly breaks him too. Because he knows Jack probably does make her feel safe. But right now, Dean can’t separate his fear from anything else. So instead of answering, he disappears, leaving the infirmary silent again.
Jack slowly sinks back into the chair beside Nellie’s cot. But this time, he scoots farther away from her, like being near her feels wrong somehow. He stares at her unconscious face, emotionally torn apart. Because he respects Dean. That is her father. But God, he likes her so much it physically hurts. And after almost losing her forever, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to just stop feeling that.
• • •
The bunker settles into an exhausted quiet over the next several hours. Nellie remains unconscious, breathing steadily. Somehow that still feels surreal. Jack stays nearby the entire time. But something about him changes after Dean’s visit. He still helps. Still checks the IV bags and nutrient drips whenever Sam changes them out. Still quietly checks the stabilizing wards around the cot to make sure they stay active. Still watches over her. But he stops hovering. Stops instinctively reaching for her hand. Stops brushing her hair back. Now he keeps a careful distance.
Sam notices. At first, he assumes it’s exhaustion finally catching up to the kid. Honestly, they both look terrible. He eventually tells him quietly, “You need sleep.”
Normally the young man would argue, would insist he’s fine, that he can stay awake longer.
Instead, he just says, “Okay.”
The immediate agreement catches him slightly off guard. But he chalks it up to relief. Nellie’s alive now. Stable. Jack can finally let himself crash a little. So, he just nods and tells him he’ll wake him if anything changes.
Jack leaves the infirmary quietly afterward. But as he walks down the hallway toward his room, his steps slow automatically near Nellie’s door. Part of him still wants to go inside, to sit there with her stuffed dog and wait until she wakes up. But Dean’s voice echoes sharply through his head. Back off. His chest tightens painfully. So instead, he forces himself to keep walking. He shuts himself into his own room and lays heavily down on the bed. The exhaustion in his body feels crushing now that adrenaline is gone. But sleep still doesn’t come easy. His mind keeps replaying everything. Her on the altar in the waypoint. Her dead in Sam’s arms. Dean telling him to stay away from her. He stares at the ceiling feeling strangely hollow. Because he understands. At least he thinks he does. She went through something horrific. And if Dean thinks his feelings would make things harder for her, then maybe he’s right. That thought hurts worse than almost anything else.
Eventually exhaustion drags him under anyway. When he wakes several hours later, he looks slightly less like he’s about to collapse, but only slightly. He quietly heads back toward the infirmary immediately.
Sam glances up when he enters. “Sleep?”
“A little.” Jack moves toward the IV stand automatically, checking levels and lines. Still helping. Just quieter now. More restrained.
He watches him for a moment. Then eventually says carefully, “Cas warned me recovery’s probably gonna take a while. He said there were a lotta things that happened while she was with Aberiel.” The wording stays vague intentionally. Respectfully vague. Because whatever exactly happened to Nellie belongs to her to share if she ever wants to. But he still needs Jack prepared. “She’s probably gonna wake up scared. Emotionally all over the place.”
The young man nods faintly.
“She might not even remember everything right away.”
That makes his chest tighten, but he still stays quiet.
Sam continues carefully, “She’s gonna need patience. Stability. Time.”
Jack finally looks toward her again. “She can have all the time she needs,” he replies softly. And he means it with everything in him.
He studies him carefully. The distance the boy keeps now reads to him as respect, like he understands she may need emotional breathing room while she heals. And honestly, Sam appreciates it. He sees someone trying to put her first despite his feelings. What he doesn’t realize is that every inch of distance hurts Jack deeply. Because all he wants is to sit beside her again. Hold her hand again. Tell her how relieved he is that she came back. Instead, he stays carefully back. Afraid that loving her too openly might somehow become another burden she has to carry.
Time becomes slippery in the bunker. Without sunlight, neither hunter is fully sure if it’s morning or night anymore. The infirmary remains dim and quiet while she sleeps. Still healing. Still weak. Sam sits in one chair beside the cot while Jack occupies the other farther back near the wall. Not as close as he used to sit, even now. Jack had eventually gone to make food mostly because he needed something to do before he climbed out of his skin from anxiety. The result sits mostly untouched between them now. A couple plates, cooling coffee, half-eaten toast. Neither man is particularly hungry. The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable. Just tired.
Suddenly, Nellie’s breathing changes. Both their heads snap up instantly. Jack freezes in his chair while Sam rises immediately. She shifts weakly beneath the blankets, her brow furrowing and body tensing slightly. Then slowly, her eyes crack open. Disoriented. Glassy.
He moves carefully toward the cot. “Nellie?”
Her gaze darts frantically around the room, panic already beginning to bloom like she’s expecting someone else to be standing there. Someone dangerous. Her breathing quickens slightly while her unfocused eyes land on her uncle standing beside the bed. “Dad?” The word comes weak and cracked.
It hits Sam right in the chest. Because she looks so small saying it, so lost. His expression crumples instantly even as relief crashes through him. “I’m here, kiddo.”
She stares at him another moment through the haze. Still disoriented. Still halfway trapped in whatever nightmare her brain expects her to wake back into. Then reality slowly catches up. The bunker ceiling. The infirmary. Sam. Not Aberiel. Relief and devastation hit her at the exact same time. A broken sob tears from her throat instantly.
He immediately reaches for her hand gently, not crowding her, not touching too much. Just grounding. “You’re okay,” he says softly. “You’re safe.”
She grips his hand tightly, actually shaking now. Her eyes flood with tears while she tries to breathe through the panic and confusion.
He keeps his voice calm and steady. “You’re home.”
Jack stays completely still in his chair. Every instinct inside him screams to go to her. To comfort her. To tell her she’s safe. To be the one holding her hand. But Dean’s words still echo painfully in his head, so he remains where he is, even though it physically hurts.
Nellie finally focuses enough to really see Sam; recognition settles more fully into her face. Then her eyes flick around the room again nervously. Looking for him. Aberiel.
He notices immediately. “He’s gone,” he assures gently. “He can’t get to you.”
Her breathing shakes harder for a second then finally begins slowing. Her body still looks weak. Exhausted. But alive.
Jack feels his eyes burn watching her. Because she’s awake. After everything, she’s awake. She finally glances toward him then, really seeing him for the first time. He immediately straightens slightly in his chair instinctively. But he still doesn’t approach, doesn’t want to overwhelm her.
For one terrible second, he worries she’ll look afraid of him too. Instead, relief flickers softly across her exhausted face and that alone nearly undoes him completely.
Sam gently squeezes her hand once. “You scared the hell outta us,” he says softly.
Her lip trembles slightly. Her voice comes out barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
His face breaks instantly. “Oh, sweetheart. No.”
The young man has to look down at the floor for a second because hearing her apologize after everything she survived hurts too much.
She keeps hold of her uncle’s hand while she cries quietly, not the violent sobbing from before. Just exhausted tears slipping silently down her face, like her body barely has enough strength left for even this.
Sam stays beside her calmly, thumb brushing gently against the back of her hand in grounding reassurance. “You with me?” he asks softly.
She nods faintly. Her eyes look glassy with exhaustion.
He studies her carefully for a moment before asking, “How do you feel?”
The question almost seems too big. She blinks slowly then her face crumples slightly. “Everything hurts.” Her voice comes out rough and weak. “And I’m so tired.”
God. His chest aches hearing it. Because she sounds exactly like someone who has survived something horrific and simply has nothing left. He gives her a soft sad smile anyway. “You can rest.”
Her eyes drift shut briefly before reopening again, still fighting sleep enough to stay grounded.
He carefully brushes a strand of hair away from her face. “We’re gonna take you back to Lawrence. Get you somewhere quieter. Eileen’s gonna help us take care of you.”
At the mention of her aunt, something in Nellie visibly eases. Safe. Familiar. Good.
He notices immediately. “But only if you’re okay with that.”
She nods weakly almost instantly. “Okay.” The word barely makes it out before her eyes start drooping again.
He squeezes her hand gently. “You can sleep while we get things ready.”
Another tired nod.
“I’ll wake you up before we leave, alright?”
“Okay…” She’s already drifting again before the sentence fully finishes. Her grip loosens slowly around his hand while exhaustion drags her back under. Within another minute, her breathing evens out again. Asleep.
Sam stays there quietly for a few moments longer just watching her. Alive. Awake. Sleeping safely. Healing. It still feels unreal. Finally, he glances back toward Jack. He had stayed silent the entire time. Still sitting farther back near the wall. But the relief on his face when Nellie looked at him without fear had been impossible to miss.
He slowly stands and moves away from the cot carefully so he doesn’t wake her. “We should start getting packed.”
The boy nods immediately, still looking toward her.
He hesitates briefly before adding, “Can you pack her bag?”
That finally pulls Jack’s eyes away from her. And for one small second, something uncertain flickers across his face. Like he’s wondering if he should. He swallows once then nods. He slowly rises from the chair. His eyes drift back towards her one more time as he leaves the infirmary. Still asleep. Still breathing softly.
He doesn’t go to her room immediately. He tells himself it’s because he still needs to pack his own things first. But really, he’s delaying. Because after the older Winchester’s words, stepping into her room suddenly feels different. Like crossing some invisible line. So instead, he heads to his own room first and packs quietly. A couple changes of clothes. Some toiletries. A few books he’d left stacked beside his bed. His movements feel mechanical. Distracted. Eventually there’s nothing left to avoid.
He stands in the hallway outside her room for several long seconds before finally pushing the door open. The room greets him with familiar stillness. Usually, this place feels comforting. Safe. Like Nellie somehow exists in every corner of it even when she’s gone. But now he feels like he’s trespassing. Dean’s voice echoes again in his head. Back off. He swallows hard. Sam asked him to do this, he reminds himself. This is helping her. Nothing else. So, he moves quietly into the room.
He starts with clothes. He hates how weird it feels to know exactly which ones she reaches for when she wants comfort. Oversized sweatshirts. Soft sweatpants. The old faded Led Zeppelin shirt of Dean’s that she found in still hanging in the closet and wore constantly around the bunker. His chest tightens slightly folding it. He remembers her curled up in the library wearing it while reading. Trying not to smile at him when he teased her about falling asleep on the books again. He forces himself to focus. He carefully packs enough comfortable clothes for several days before moving toward her bookshelf.
He crouches slowly in front of it and pauses. Her books are worn in that deeply loved way. Sticky notes. Bent corners. Little annotations in the margins. He runs his fingers lightly along the spines while choosing carefully. Nothing too dark. Nothing likely to trigger memories. He picks novels he knows comfort her. Poetry collections she rereads when anxious. A couple classics she always gravitates back toward. Then he moves toward her CDs. A small sad smile flickers briefly across his face seeing the collection. Classic rock mixed beside orchestral pieces and old piano recordings. Very Nellie. He grabs several favorites automatically along with her portable CD player. Because he knows how often music calms her. How she disappears into it when emotions become too much.
Finally, his eyes land on the stuffed floppy dog sitting near her pillow. Well-loved, slightly worn, still waiting for her to come back. He picks it up carefully. And for a second his composure almost cracks again. Because he remembers sitting in this room clutching it while thinking she was gone forever. He exhales shakily before tucking it gently into the duffel last. Then he gathers both bags and heads toward the garage.
Sam already has the Impala ready by the time Jack arrives. The backseat has been arranged carefully. Blankets. Pillows. A small nest of comfort for Nellie to lay against during the drive to Lawrence. “Thanks for packing for her.”
Jack nods quietly. “No problem.”
He opens the trunk while the young man loads the bags inside. Then before shutting it, he pauses. He pulls the stuffed dog back out. Sam watches silently while he carefully places it in the backseat instead, resting gently against the blankets where she will see it immediately when she wakes up again, like something familiar waiting for her. He lingers there a second longer looking at the setup. Protective instinct aching painfully in his chest as he quietly shuts the door.
Jack is the first one back into the infirmary. The room is dim and quiet again, Nellie still asleep beneath the blankets. For a moment he just stands in the doorway, hesitant, because now being alone with her feels strangely complicated. He steps inside quietly anyway. His hands instinctively move toward the necklace around his wrist. The angel wing pendant, then to the disc amulet hanging against his chest. He freezes slightly. He had almost forgotten he was still wearing them. He slowly pulls both off. His fingers tighten around them briefly. Because somehow wearing them had made him feel closer to her during those horrible days searching for her. Grounded.
But now they belong back with her.
He moves carefully toward the cot, trying not to wake her. She looks pale against the pillow. Still weak. Still marked by everything she survived. But softer now somehow. More like herself. He carefully leans over just enough to gently clasp the necklaces back around her neck without disturbing the IV lines or moving her body too much. The wing pendant settles against her chest, the disc amulet rests behind it. And instantly, she looks more like herself again. The sight nearly hurts. His throat tightens painfully. He almost reaches for her hand afterward. Almost. He stops himself mid-motion and slowly pulls his hand back. He steps away from the cot instead because caring about her this much suddenly feels dangerous. Complicated. Painful. But he forces himself to focus on what matters. Helping her heal. Getting her safely to Lawrence. That’s enough. That has to be enough.
A few minutes later Sam returns carrying an empty bag and extra medical supplies. Jack immediately moves to help without being asked. Together they carefully break down what they’ll need for the drive and pack it into the bag.
Once everything is ready, Sam finally moves toward Nellie’s bedside again. He gently touches her shoulder. “Nellie.” His voice stays soft. Careful.
Her brow furrows slightly before her eyes slowly open again, disoriented and sleepy.
He gives her a small reassuring smile. “It’s time to head out, kiddo.”
She blinks tiredly, still exhausted beyond belief.
He keeps his distance respectful while speaking. “Think you can walk?”
She tries to sit up, immediately struggling. He carefully helps steady her without crowding too close. She finally manages upright with visible effort, breathing shakily. Then she tries to stand and nearly collapses instantly; her legs simply give out beneath her.
He catches her immediately before she can hit the floor. “Easy, easy.”
She looks frustrated and exhausted all at once.
He keeps one arm securely around her while asking softly, “Can I pick you up?” Giving her the choice. Always the choice.
She nods weakly after a second.
So, he carefully lifts her into his arms. Protective. Gentle.
Jack grabs the medical bag and follows close behind them through the bunker. When they reach the garage, he carefully opens the back door of the Impala. He notices the stuffed floppy dog sitting among the blankets and quietly picks it up out of the way. Sam settles Nellie carefully into the backseat nest they prepared. Blankets tucked securely around her. Pillow beneath her head. The makeshift IV equipment adjusted carefully beside her.
Once she’s settled, Jack hesitates for just a second, then carefully offers her the stuffed animal. She looks surprised seeing it, like she didn’t expect anyone to think about something so small right now. She slowly takes it into her arms. “…Thank you.”
He gives her a tiny, tired smile. Soft. Careful. “I’m glad you’re back.” The words come painfully sincere.
She looks at him quietly for a moment, then nods faintly, like she doesn’t fully have words for that yet. Exhaustion quickly starts pulling at her again afterward. She curls slightly around the stuffed dog beneath the blankets and lets her eyes drift shut. He watches her for one lingering moment before finally forcing himself away from the backseat, even though every part of him wants to stay there beside her. Instead, he slides into the passenger seat.
Sam gets behind the wheel and starts the engine. They wheel out of the garage and out onto the road towards Lawerence. It feels strange being back in the Impala after everything that happened over the last two weeks. Wrong almost. The last time they drove like this, Nellie’s body had been lifeless in the backseat while Jack held her and tried not to fall apart. Now, she’s alive, curled beneath blankets in the backseat sleeping with the stuffed floppy dog tucked against her chest.
The Winchester drives quietly through the dark highway while Jack sits in the passenger seat beside him. Neither talks much. The radio stays off. The silence isn’t awkward. Just exhausted. He catches the young man glancing back toward Nellie constantly through the rearview mirror. Checking her breathing. Watching for movement. Like some part of him still can’t fully believe she’s alive and fears if he looks away too long, she’ll disappear again. Jack tries to be subtle about it. He fails miserably. Sam pretends not to notice. Honestly, after the last two weeks, he can’t blame him. The kid nearly destroyed himself trying to find her. And now she is finally here. Safe. Or at least safer.
The miles pass quietly. Eventually Jack glances back again automatically and immediately stills. Nellie’s face twists slightly in her sleep. Distress. Her breathing grows uneven.
He turns more fully in his seat. “Sam.”
“What?”
“I think she’s having a nightmare.”
Sam looks into the mirror just in time to see his niece tense beneath the blankets. Her grip tightens hard around the stuffed animal, breathing quickening. “No, no—” The words come out weak and half asleep.
Panic immediately flashes across his face. He starts pulling the Impala onto the side of the road. By the time he fully parks, she wakes violently.
She jerks upright with a sharp gasp, breathing heavily and disoriented. “I need out—” Her voice sounds panicked and strained. She fumbles weakly for the door handle.
Jack is already moving before Sam even fully unbuckles. He jumps out of the passenger seat and quickly opens the back door before she can stumble out onto the pavement. The second she is out of the car, she throws up. Mostly bile and water. Her whole body shakes violently afterward. He instinctively steps forward, then hesitates, Dean’s words still sitting painfully in his chest. So, when Sam reaches them, he automatically backs up to give space.
He gently helps his niece sit down against the side of the Impala, one arm stays loosely around her shoulders without trapping her there. Grounding. Protective. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
She keeps shaking, tears welling in her eyes immediately from embarrassment as much as panic. “I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely.
That nearly breaks both men.
He immediately shakes his head. “Hey. None of that.” He doesn’t ask about the nightmare. Doesn’t make her relive it. He just stays beside her calmly while she works through the panic attack. Slow breaths. Gentle reassurances. Space when she needs it.
Jack lingers a few feet away feeling utterly helpless. Because every part of him wants to kneel beside her too. To comfort her. To tell her she has nothing to apologize for. But Sam already has her. So instead, he stands there quietly hurting for her, watching her tremble against the side of the car while trying desperately not to cry harder from humiliation. Eventually the panic attack starts easing. She slumps slightly afterward looking completely drained.
Sam carefully helps her back to her feet. “You good to get back in?”
She nods weakly.
He guides her carefully back into the backseat nest of blankets and pillows. “Try to rest,” he says gently while helping settle the blankets around her again. “And if you need us to pull over again, we pull over. Okay?”
She nods again, still not looking at either of them. She curls tightly around the stuffed animal afterward and hides her face against it, like she wants to disappear.
He quietly shuts the door once she settles again. When he climbs back into the driver’s seat, neither he nor Jack speak for a long moment. But both are thinking the same thing: She feels like a burden. And after everything she survived, they hate that she feels that way even a little. Sam starts the Impala again and pulls back onto the highway. The road stretches dark and endless ahead of them.
By the time they reach Lawrence, it is deep into the night. The neighborhood sits quiet and still beneath the soft glow of streetlights. Most of the house lights are off when the Impala pulls into the driveway. Only the porch light remains on. Waiting. Eileen, Miracle on her heels, steps out onto the porch the second she hears the car, relief immediately floods her face seeing them finally home. But the second her husband carefully gets out carrying Nellie, that relief breaks into heartbreak. She looks so small in his arms. Weak. Pale. Still marked by fading rot and grace burns. Jack quietly moves toward the trunk and starts pulling out the duffels while Sam carries his niece toward the porch.
Eileen immediately comes down the steps to meet them. Her eyes soften painfully seeing Nellie clutching the stuffed floppy dog weakly against her chest. Still half asleep. Still clinging tightly to her uncle. She carefully touches the girl’s arm. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
She looks at her weakly and nods once. Eileen’s face tightens slightly at how exhausted and fragile she sounds when she whispers, “Hi.”
“I’ve got the guest room ready,” she says softly.
Nellie nods again before curling closer into Sam instinctively.
He carries her into the house carefully. The familiar warmth of the home settles around them immediately. Soft lighting. The quiet ticking of a clock somewhere. Comfort. Home. Jack follows behind carrying both duffels and the medical equipment while Eileen leads them down the hall toward the guest room. The room looks exactly like it always does when they visit. Except now there’s extra medical equipment beside the bed, additional blankets, bottles of medication.
He gently lowers his niece onto the bed while his wife helps settle the blankets around her. The terrier initially jumped on the bed, just like normal, but gives them a look of betrayal when Sam shoos him off. He didn’t seem to understand that one of his favorite humans is hurting that much that maybe his presence in the bed could be a trigger. The second Nellie looks around the room properly, her face crumples slightly, tears immediately well in her eyes.
The woman notices right away. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She grips the stuffed dog tighter, her voice coming out small and ashamed. “I didn’t think I’d ever be here again.” The raw honesty of it hurts everyone in the room.
Eileen immediately sits carefully beside her and gives her a light side hug. Gentle. Giving her room to pull away if needed. But the girl leans into it slightly instead. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Meanwhile Sam quietly begins setting up the IV and nutrient drips beside the bed again, practical motions hiding his own emotions. “You’re safe here,” he says gently while adjusting the lines. “So just rest.”
She nods faintly, already exhausted again.
Jack lingers quietly near the doorway watching the whole interaction. It hurts seeing how embarrassed his best friend looks simply for surviving. Like she’s apologizing for existing.
Once Sam finishes setting up the equipment, Eileen finally stands and turns toward Jack. Her voice lowers gently as she signs along. “I’m going to be staying in here with Nellie while she heals.”
He immediately nods in understanding.
“I set up a cot for you in the home office, if that’s okay.”
The words still sting slightly anyway. Because usually when they visit, he and Nellie share this room. Late night conversations. Reading books in the comforting togetherness of silence. Now even standing too close feels complicated. But he forces a small nod. “Yeah. That’s fine.” Because of course it is. Nellie needs safety more than he needs closeness. He quietly sets her duffel on the second bed. “There’s some comfortable clothes in there. And books. CDs too.”
She gives him a grateful look. “Thank you,” she signs.
He nods once before quietly leaving the room. He heads down the hallway toward the home office and drops his duffel beside the small cot Eileen prepared. The room feels unfamiliar compared to Nellie’s presence beside him. Even here — in the place they both considered home — something still feels heavy inside him. Miracle had followed him into the room, jumping on the cot and staring at the boy to see if he was also going to be shooed away from here. The dog settles, pleased that at least one of them allowed him to stay.
Eventually Jack returns toward the guest room again anyway, unable to stay away completely. He stops quietly in the doorway. Eileen is gently tucking the blankets more securely around her sleeping niece while her husband lowers the room lights. The scene looks heartbreakingly soft. Protective. Safe. She notices the boy lingering there but doesn’t comment on it. Eventually both Winchesters step carefully out into the hallway, quietly shutting the bedroom door behind them.
Sam exhales tiredly before speaking. “So.”
Jack immediately straightens slightly.
He rubs exhaustedly at his face. “I’ve gotta go back to work in a couple days. I’ve been gone too long. And Eileen’s gonna be handling most of Nellie’s care while she recovers.”
She adds gently, “I work from home, so I can stay with her around the clock.”
“But,” he continues, “that also means we’re gonna need help around here.”
Jack immediately replies, “Okay.”
He looks faintly amused despite everything. “I didn’t even ask yet.”
The boy blinks slightly before realizing.
Eileen smiles softly for the first time all night.
Sam continues. “We’ll need help with the house. And with Dean.”
He nods immediately again. “Yeah. Of course.” And he means it instantly. Helping with the five-year-old. Cooking. Cleaning. Whatever they need. Anything that helps Nellie heal. Anything that keeps her safe. Anything that lets him stay nearby without making things harder for her.
Sam visibly relaxes slightly hearing the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you, Jack.”
He shrugs faintly. “It’s not a problem.” But privately — deep down — it also feels like penance somehow. Like this is how he follows what Dean told him. Stay back. Don’t complicate things. Help her heal. Even if it hurts. And if loving Nellie now means caring for her quietly from the background, then that’s exactly what he will do.
S2 Chapter 22 Teaser
Jack can’t stop shaking. He kneels beside Nellie in the dirt while tears stream openly down his face, one trembling hand hovering helplessly over her body. Wanting to touch her. Wanting to hold her. But afraid to. Because she already looks so fragile. So cold. And something inside him keeps screaming that touching her now feels wrong somehow. Like he already failed her enough. Sam stays kneeling on her other side, just as wrecked. His hand rests against her hair gently, thumb brushing shakily against her temple while he silently grieves. Neither of them speak for a while. The forest remains painfully quiet around them. Jack finally breaks first. “I never told her.” Sam looks over slowly. “She didn’t know.” The words crack apart halfway through. His eyes burn again immediately. Because God… Jack loved her so quietly. So carefully. And now he’s sitting beside her body grieving all the things he never got the chance to say. “She just…” He swallows hard. “Showed up one day and became part of everything.” The Impala. The bunker. Movie nights. Coffee in the library. Hunts. Home. And now she’s gone just as suddenly.
Chapter 22 is out this week!
S2 Chapter 21 - The Point of No Return
Some rescues come too late to leave people unchanged. What begins as hope quickly turns into something darker as the search for Nellie stretches from days into weeks, each failure carving deeper wounds into the people trying to bring her home. While Jack and Sam chase fading traces across empty roads and abandoned sanctuaries, Nellie finds herself slipping further from the person she was, trapped inside something that calls itself love while slowly destroying her piece by piece. Because some monsters don’t need claws to consume you. Sometimes, all they need is enough time.
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TW: ANGST! canon-typical violence. brief depictions of abuse and nonconsensual touching. allusions to SA (no detailed scenes). use of mild language.
Two days pass without answers. The bunker slowly turns into exhaustion, desperation, and ritual ash. Every table in the library is covered now. Maps. Old Men of Letters records. Handwritten sigils. Angel lore texts so old the pages crumble at the edges. Nothing helps. They search abandoned angel waypoints first. Old sanctuaries hidden beneath churches. Collapsed celestial meeting grounds left forgotten after the Fall. Ruined convents where angels once gathered in secret. Empty. Every single one.
Castiel searches Heaven between attempts. He disappears for hours at a time before returning with the same grim expression and more bad news. No sightings. No grace disturbances. No signs of Aberiel. The angels assisting him are trusted. Careful. Ancient enough to know how dangerous this situation has become. Still nothing. It terrifies him more than he says out loud. Because Aberiel should not be able to stay hidden this effectively for this long. Especially not while emotionally unstable. But he does. And Nellie remains gone.
The rituals become more dangerous after the first day. Hunter methods stop working. So, they move into older territory. Obscure Men of Letters rites. Frequency tethering. Even dream walking attempts. Forbidden psychic resonance rituals Sam clearly hates pulling from storage. One of them nearly blows out the bunker lights entirely. Another leaves Jack coughing blood into the sink afterward because he insists on anchoring part of the ritual himself. Still nothing.
Every failure lands visibly harder on Jack now. Sam notices. Of course he does. He barely sleeps unless physically forced to. And even then, it’s short. Restless. Broken. He is found passed out at the library table twice. The first time, he wakes up disoriented and immediately reaches for another journal before he’s even fully conscious.
The second time, Sam simply closes the books himself and tells him, “Bed. Now.”
Jack argues both times. Weakly. But he still goes. Mostly because Sam uses the same voice Dean used to use when arguments were already over. Eating becomes another fight entirely. He forgets. Or doesn’t care enough to notice hunger anymore. Sam practically shoves food into his hands between rituals.
“Eat.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re human.”
“We don’t have time.”
“You’re not useful unconscious.”
Sometimes he obeys. Sometimes he just stares blankly at the plate for too long before forcing himself through a few bites.
Everything hurts now. His ribs still ache from Aberiel throwing him across the library. His eyes burn from exhaustion. His chest physically tightens every single time another ritual fails. Because every failure means Nellie is still alone with him. He tries not to think too hard about that part. He fails constantly.
Castiel returns from Heaven again sometime near dawn on the third day. Wings thunder through the bunker while Jack sits hunched over another ritual diagram with dark circles beneath his eyes and bloodshot exhaustion pulling hard at his face. Sam looks up immediately from the lore books spread across the map table. The angel already looks troubled.
“No progress?” he asks quietly.
He shakes his head once. “The archive searches continue. Aberiel has concealed himself exceptionally well.”
Jack laughs once softly through his nose. Humorless. “Great.”
Castiel’s eyes shift toward him carefully, but the young man doesn’t look up from the ritual notes. “I found another frequency extraction rite. But it’s unstable.”
Sam immediately frowns. “Jack—”
“It could work.”
“It could kill you.”
He finally looks up then, the raw desperation sitting in his expression hits both immediately. “If it finds Nellie, then I don’t care.”
Silence settles heavily into the library. Sam’s chest tightens painfully. Because this is exactly what he feared would happen. Jack is unraveling slowly right in front of them. And Nellie still hasn’t come home. Sometime near the middle of the third night, he finally forces the young man to sleep. Not asks. Forces.
“You’re done,” he says firmly after catching him nearly falling asleep over another ritual text.
He rubs tiredly at his face. “I’m not tired.”
“You just read the same line three times.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hallucinating words now. Go to bed.”
He looks ready to argue again. Then another failed ritual circle smolders uselessly across the map table behind them and whatever energy he has left seems to finally drain out of him. “Wake me up soon,” he mutters quietly.
“I will.”
Jack disappears down the hallway after that, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Sam stays in the library. Researching. Cross-checking symbols. Waiting for Castiel to return from Heaven again.
Hours pass quietly. Then eventually he glances toward the clock and realizes enough time has passed that Jack should probably be awake again before his sleep cycle gets any worse. So, he heads down the hallway toward Jack’s room. Only, he isn’t there. The bed remains untouched.
He immediately frowns. “Jack?”
No answer.
He checks the library first even though he knows Jack isn’t there because he’s been sitting in it the entire time. Nothing. The archives. Storage rooms. Kitchen. Armory. Empty. A familiar unease starts creeping slowly into his chest, because grief and exhaustion make people do strange things. He walks back down the hallway toward Jack’s room again when he notices something. Nellie’s bedroom door sits cracked open slightly. He pauses, then quietly pushes it open further.
Jack sits on the edge of her bed. Still. Silent. The floppy stuffed dog rests loosely in his hands. The thing looks worn now. Soft fur flattened in places from of being carried around and slept with. His five-year-old son had proudly handed it to her wrapped in crooked tape and too much wrapping paper while Nellie cried hard enough Eileen had laughed at her from the kitchen. Sam remembers that Christmas clearly. Now the toy rests in Jack’s hands while exhaustion and defeat hollow visibly through his expression. And suddenly he understands exactly why the young man came here. Because this room still carries the familiar Nellie scent of a vanilla candle, lavender detergent, and whatever else still lingered from when Dean lived here. Because her books still sit stacked messily near the nightstand. Because her jacket still hangs over the desk chair. Proof she should be here. Proof she isn’t.
Jack startles slightly when he notices Sam standing there. Immediately embarrassed. Like he got caught doing something deeply private. He starts standing too quickly. “Sorry, I just—”
“We’re ready to try another ritual.”
He pauses, still clutching the stuffed dog awkwardly in one hand.
Sam doesn’t tease him. Doesn’t comment on the room. Doesn’t make him explain. Because he can see that Jack is terrified. Not dramatic terror. The quiet devastating kind.
He nods faintly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
The Winchester studies him another second. The exhaustion. The grief. The determination underneath all of it. Then finally nods once himself. “Okay.” He quietly steps back out into the hallway, leaving the door partially open behind him.
Inside the room, silence settles again. Jack slowly sits back down on the edge of the bed. The stuffed dog remains clutched carefully in his hands. For a long moment, he just stares at it. Thinking about she is alone somewhere terrified. Thinking about her panic attacks. Thinking about the way she looked right before Aberiel took her. His chest aches hard enough to hurt. He grips the stuffed dog tighter. Then quietly, like a promise to himself more than anyone else, he whispers, “We’re gonna find you.”
• • •
Nellie loses track somewhere after the second sunrise. Maybe the third. Time feels strange trapped inside the old house. The curtains stay mostly closed. The clocks downstairs no longer work. The air smells faintly like old wood, dust, and lingering grace. And Aberiel remains constant through all of it. Always there. Always watching. Always soft. That somehow makes everything worse. He brings her food several times a day. Simple meals. Warm meals. Meals he remembers she liked when she was young. Soup when she looks pale. Toast when she refuses heavier food. Tea when her headaches get worse. She barely touches most of it. Not because she isn’t hungry, but because accepting care from him makes her skin crawl. But the angel never gets angry when she refuses to eat. Only concerned.
“You need strength.”
“You are exhausted.”
“You should not punish yourself.”
His voice always stays gentle. Like this is kindness. Like this is love.
She keeps her responses minimal now. Short. Flat. Careful. Because she quickly realizes something horrifying. He notices everything. Every emotion. Every reaction. Every glance. So, she starts forcing herself still. Smaller. Just like she did before becoming a hunter. She hates herself for it. But freeze is safer than fight sometimes. Especially when fight keeps ending with pain. He sits beside her often. Too close. One hand brushing carefully through her hair while she tries not to panic. Fingers smoothing slowly along her back while she silently digs her nails into her palms hard enough to ground herself. Whenever panic attacks hit, he mistakes them for distress he is helping soothe.
“You are alright.”
“You are safe.”
“I am here.”
She wants to scream every time. Instead, she stays rigid and tries not to give him anything more than he already takes.
But she still tries escaping. Again. And again. And again. Hunter instinct refuses to fully die.
The first attempt happens through the bathroom window downstairs. The second through the back door while Aberiel is distracted. The third ends badly. She barely makes it halfway across the yard before grace slams violently into her spine hard enough to drop her into the dirt. Afterward, Aberiel drags her back inside while she struggles and kicks despite the pain ripping through her body. He tells her she is hurting herself. That she is forcing him to do this. Then comes punishment. Sometimes physical. Sometimes grace. Sometimes both.
By the end of that day, Nellie is curled tightly on the bedroom floor trembling from pain while bruises darken across her ribs and shoulders beneath Dean’s old shirt. Blood lingers faintly at the corner of her mouth. Her entire body aches. Her hands clutch tightly around the necklaces resting against her chest. The rune-covered disc amulet. The angel wing pendant her father gave her for her birthday. The only things that still feel remotely safe. She squeezes them hard enough the edges bite painfully into her palm. Please. The prayer barely forms silently in her head anymore. Cas. Dad. Jack. Anybody. Please.
The angel stands near the doorway watching her. Still angry. Not explosive anger. Worse. Controlled disappointment. “You continue resisting.”
She says nothing, her breathing shaking unevenly instead.
He approaches slowly. Nellie immediately curls tighter around the necklaces instinctively. His eyes lower toward them. Then without warning, he grabs them.
She gasps sharply. “No—”
He yanks both necklaces free hard enough to snap the chains.
Panic detonates instantly in her chest. For the first time in days, she begs. “Please,” she chokes out immediately. “Please give them back.”
He looks down at the necklaces resting in his hand. The angel wing pendant glints softly beneath the dim bedroom light. His expression hardens faintly. “They are tethering you to people who have failed you.”
She shakes her head violently. “No — please—”
“You cling to attachments that continue placing you in danger.” The words hit like knives.
Nellie pushes herself weakly upward despite the pain screaming through her body. “I won’t run again,” she blurts desperately. “Please just give them back.” The desperation in her own voice humiliates her instantly.
Aberiel’s expression softens slightly at her distress. Which somehow makes it worse. “This is for your own good.”
She feels tears spill hard down her face. “Please.”
He kneels carefully in front of her. “Sometimes, good things must be removed for correction to take hold.” Then he stands. And walks toward the door carrying the necklaces with him.
She stares after him in horror. “No—!”
The bedroom door shuts quietly behind him. Locking. Leaving her alone. Silence crashes heavily into the room afterward. She curls slowly back into herself on the floor, shaking hard now from pain and panic and grief. Her fingers clutch desperately at the empty space beneath her throat where the necklaces used to rest. Gone. The last physical pieces of safety she had left.
The panic attacks become harder to hide after a while. She tries. God, she tries.
She forces herself quiet whenever her chest tightens. She bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood just to stop herself from hyperventilating. She curls inward and focuses on numbers and breathing patterns and anything that keeps her grounded. But trauma lives in the body whether she wants it to or not. And Aberiel notices everything. One attack starts after he touches her wrist too suddenly. Nothing violent. Just unexpected. But suddenly she is back in old memories again — hands grabbing too quickly, voices too close, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes and sweat. She sits curled tightly near the headboard trying desperately to breathe through the panic clawing violently up her throat. Her whole body shakes. Tears slip silently down her face despite how hard she fights them.
The angel appears beside her only moments later. Concern immediately floods his expression. “Little star.”
She flinches weakly when the bed dips beneath his weight.
He reaches toward her slowly. Carefully. Like approaching something fragile. His hand slides gently through her hair while the other settles lightly against her back. “You are alright.”
She squeezes her eyes shut hard. Don’t react. Don’t give him anything. But the comfort makes everything worse somehow. Because her body remembers false gentleness too.
He continues stroking slowly through her hair while whispering soft reassurances she barely hears through the roaring panic in her ears. Eventually exhaustion drags heavier than fear. She curls tighter against herself trying not to throw up from the nausea twisting through her stomach.
At some point, she falls asleep. When consciousness returns, the first thing she notices is warmth. Not blanket warmth. Body warmth. A firm arm rests wrapped around her waist. Breath ghosts softly against the side of her neck. She freezes instantly. Horror crashes violently through her chest as awareness catches up. She is half reclined against Aberiel’s chest on the bed. Held. His arms around her like this is natural. Intimate. Wanted. Her stomach turns sharply.
He notices her stirring. “You are awake.” His voice stays low and gentle, like this is comfort.
Her entire body locks rigid.
He tightens his arm slightly around her waist. “You are safe. Continue resting.”
No. No no no— Panic spikes violently through her chest again but her body refuses to move properly. Freeze. Always freeze.
Several long minutes pass in suffocating silence while Aberiel slowly brushes his fingers through her hair. “I wish I could have saved you earlier.”
Nellie stares blankly ahead.
“You did not deserve the suffering of your childhood.” His words settle painfully against old wounds she already spends every day trying not to drown in. He lowers his face slightly closer against her hair. “My little star. Made for me. I will ensure this world never hurts you again.”
“No,” she whispers weakly.
He either ignores it or doesn’t hear it. Then she feels soft lips press briefly against her temple. Something inside her snaps immediately. She jerks hard enough to partially break free and slaps him across the face. The crack echoes sharply through the bedroom. Silence. Then immediate terror floods her chest. Because she knows what comes next. He turns slowly toward her. Not explosive rage. Worse. Cold disappointment.
He grabs her face sharply. “Do not deny my kindness with violence.”
Grace threads violently through her body. Pain detonates instantly beneath her skin. Nellie gasps sharply despite trying desperately not to react. Her muscles lock painfully. Nerves burning hot beneath flesh. But she refuses to scream this time, refuses to give him that.
His expression immediately softens again when he feels her shaking. The grace fades. “I am sorry.” Like always. Always sorry afterward.
He pulls her tightly back against his chest before she can move away again. “You provoke my anger,” he murmurs softly against her hair. “But I do not wish to hurt you.”
She goes completely still in his arms. Frozen from pain. From disgust. From fear. Tears slide silently down her face while Aberiel holds her like something precious.
• • •
The ritual circle burns out uselessly. Again. The final candle flickers once before extinguishing itself, smoke curling lazily upward into the stale bunker air. Nothing happens. No frequency spike. No grace disturbance. No sign of Nellie. Silence crashes heavily into the library afterward. Jack stares blankly at the dead ritual circle like he can somehow force it to work through sheer desperation alone. Castiel slowly lowers his hands, exhaustion and frustration visible even through his usual calm. Sam exhales sharply through his nose and drags both hands down his face. Another failure. The tension in the room feels unbearable now.
He turns away first, pacing hard toward the bookshelves while running frustrated hands through his hair. “We’re missing something.”
The angel remains near the ritual table, grace flickering faintly around his fingers before fading completely. “I agree.”
Sam starts pacing too. Restless energy. Hunter brain trying to force connections together before panic fully takes over. “Okay,” he mutters tiredly. “What do we actually know? We know Aberiel knows how to hide from Heaven. We know he’s using old concealment methods from that hidden angel order.”
Jack leans heavily against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed tightly. “We checked abandoned waypoints.”
“Churches,” the Winchester continues. “Old sanctuaries. Angel meeting grounds.”
“Hidden celestial structures,” Castiel adds quietly.
“And we’ve tried basically every tracking ritual short of black magic.”
Jack mutters bitterly, “Give me another hour and I might consider black magic.”
Sam ignores that. “He’s obsessed with Nellie,” he continues instead, trying to think out loud now. “Not Heaven. Not power. Her.”
The angel nods once. “He watched over her as a child.”
The words hit the room differently this time. Sam suddenly stops pacing. Completely. A realization slams visibly across his face.
Jack notices immediately. “What?”
He slowly looks between both of them. “We’ve been looking at this from the angel side.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve mostly been checking places important to angels. What if we’re supposed to be looking for somewhere important to both of them?”
Castiel’s expression shifts immediately. Understanding.
He points toward him sharply. “You said Aberiel watched her growing up.”
“Yes.”
“There’s one place Nellie would’ve been constantly as a kid. Texas.”
Jack’s eyes widen sharply.
The angel immediately nods once. “It is logical.”
Sam starts moving again immediately. “He’s obsessed with protecting her. That house would matter to him.”
“And it would be familiar territory for concealment.”
Hope flashes across the young man’s face so suddenly it almost hurts to look at after days of watching him unravel. “She’s there.” He is already moving before either of them respond. He practically bolts toward the hallway leading to the armory. “I’m grabbing weapons.”
Sam watches him disappear around the corner. And honestly? Seeing actual life return to Jack for the first time in days eases something quietly painful in Sam’s chest. Because for the last forty-eight hours he has looked like someone slowly drowning. Now finally, he looks like a hunter again.
The armory door creaks open just as Jack finishes shoving another bundle of supplies into a hunter’s duffel. Extra rounds. Holy oil. Silver knife. Salt packs. Completely unnecessary if Nellie is actually in that house with only Aberiel. But his hands need something to do. Movement keeps panic from swallowing him whole.
Sam leans quietly against the doorway for a second watching him work. The young man moves quickly. Too quickly. Nervous energy practically vibrating through him now that they finally have a lead. Hope. Dangerous thing. “Jack.”
He glances up briefly before continuing to zip the duffel shut. “We should bring warding chalk too,” he mutters quickly. “And maybe restraints because if Aberiel’s unstable then—”
“Jack.” This time the Winchester’s voice cuts through enough to make him pause. He steps further into the room. “This could be a dead end.”
The words land hard. His jaw tightens faintly. “I know.”
Sam studies him carefully. Because he does know. That’s the problem. Jack is already emotionally bracing for the possibility that Nellie might not be there. Or worse, that they’ll find her too late. Still, despite that fear, he keeps moving around the armory grabbing blades and supplies like slowing down for even one second might break him apart. He reaches out and catches his wrist gently. “Hey.”
Jack finally stops moving. The exhaustion sitting under his eyes looks even worse beneath the harsh armory lights.
“You need to stay sharp,” he says quietly.
“I am.”
“No. You’re scared.”
He looks away. Because yeah. Terrified.
Sam releases his wrist slowly. “I know you wanna save her. And I know you’re not being selfish about this.”
That gets Jack’s attention immediately. Because somewhere deep down, part of him has been afraid of exactly that. That his feelings are clouding everything. Making him reckless. Making him dangerous.
He sees it written all over his face. “You wanna protect her,” he continues quietly. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“The problem is that when we get there, you need to think like a hunter first. You can’t let panic run the rescue.”
He rubs tiredly at his face. “I’m trying.” And he means it. God, he means it. But this is harder than any hunt he’s ever been on. Because every instinct inside him right now screams: protect her. Get to her. Make sure she’s alive. And separating that from hunter instinct is becoming almost impossible.
Sam steps closer again. “I know.”
Jack looks down at the angel blade still clutched tightly in his hand. “What if she’s scared?”
The question cracks something painfully open in the Winchester’s chest. Because Nellie is scared. He knows she is. He keeps his voice steady anyway. “Then we bring her home.”
He nods once. Small. Tight. Then he grabs the duffel again. This time slower. Trying to breathe through the panic instead of drowning in it.
Both hunters return to the library, Castiel already waiting near the map table. His expression immediately tells them something important. Hope. Careful hope. He looks between both of them. “If Aberiel is there, remain alert. He is unstable.”
Jack’s jaw tightens faintly. “Yeah,” he mutters darkly. “Got that already.”
He folds his hands behind his back. “You cannot approach this emotionally.”
Sam shoots him a brief look at that. Jack notices. Doesn’t comment. Instead, he just adjusts his grip on the angel blade tucked into the duffel and nods once. “Let’s go.”
Grace erupts around them instantly. The bunker disappears in a violent rush of wings and cold air, quickly replaced with the evening Texas humidity. It hits immediately as the three of them appear near the edge of a quiet residential street beneath dark early morning skies. Jack looks up sharply. The house sits near the end of the block. Small. Worn down. Almost painfully ordinary. A faded FOR SALE sign leans crookedly in the overgrown yard while weeds crawl high along the cracked front walkway. The porch sags slightly. Several shutters hang unevenly. Most of the windows stay dark. No one has cared for the place in years.
Jack stares at it silently. He’s never seen her childhood home before. Never seen pictures either. Not surprising. She almost never talked about this place. And now standing here, he understands why. Something about the house feels heavy. Wrong. Like years of fear soaked permanently into the walls. Sam studies it quietly beside him, jaw tightening faintly.
Castiel steps slightly closer toward the property line before raising one hand subtly. “There.”
Jack follows his gaze. At first he sees nothing. Then he spots symbols, Enochian sigils burned faintly into the window frames. Along the porch supports. Across the outer walls almost invisible beneath peeling paint. Concealment wards. Dozens of them. His pulse spikes instantly. “She’s here.” Not a question.
“I believe so.” Even without directly sensing Aberiel’s grace, the amount of celestial warding covering the property makes the answer obvious. This is it.
Jack immediately drops the duffel onto ground and starts digging through it quickly. Angel blades. Holy oil. Warding chalk. Sam grabs his own blade while checking the edge automatically out of habit. The young man’s movements grow sharper now. Focused. Tense. Hope and fear colliding violently together beneath the surface.
Before either of them can move toward the house, Castiel speaks again. Both hunters pause. The angel’s expression remains solemn. “Due to the changes within Heaven following Chuck’s defeat…” He hesitates briefly. “I would prefer Aberiel be taken alive.”
Jack looks up sharply.
Sam crosses his arms slightly. “And you think locking him up is enough after this?”
His jaw tightens faintly. “He must answer for his actions.”
Jack grips the angel blade harder. “He kidnapped her.”
“I am aware.” He looks between both of them carefully. “If possible. I wish to return him to Heaven alive.”
Neither hunter look thrilled about that. Honestly? The former Nephilim looks one bad sentence away from stabbing Aberiel on sight. But both of them understand why things are different now. Jack defeated Chuck. Rebuilt Heaven. Changed the rules. Execution is no longer Heaven’s immediate answer to every problem. Even now. Even here.
Castiel’s eyes lower briefly toward the angel blades in their hands. “But, if necessary… they will work.”
They approach the house slowly. Carefully. Every hunter instinct in Sam’s body screams that this could still go horribly wrong. The closer they get, the clearer the sigils become beneath the weak porch light. Symbols line the windows and doorframes in nearly invisible layers, concealed beneath dirt and age. Enough warding to hide an angel from Heaven itself. The angel steps onto the porch first while Sam reaches into his jacket for a lock picking kit. He works quickly; quiet clicks break the silence before the lock finally gives way. The door creaks open slowly.
Castiel enters first. Grace flickers faintly around him while he scans the house. The living room sits mostly empty. Dust coats nearly every surface. Old furniture remains shoved against walls beneath white sheets. The air smells stale and abandoned. Jack immediately notices more sigils burned faintly into the walls. Dozens. Some old. Some fresh. Aberiel has turned the entire house into a concealed prison. The staircase stretches upward into darkness near the center hallway. The kitchen glows faintly from a single overhead light still left on somewhere deeper inside. Everything stays quiet. Too quiet.
Sam lowers his voice. “We clear downstairs first.”
Before they can move forward, there is a creak overhead. Everyone freezes instantly. Another sound follows. Shuffling. Then suddenly— “Cas?! Jack!!” Nellie’s voice cracks sharply through the silence upstairs. Panic floods instantly through her voice.
Jack’s heart nearly stops.
Louder movement crashes upstairs. Then abruptly muffled.
He doesn’t think. He bolts immediately for the staircase.
“Jack—” Sam barely gets the warning out before the young man is already taking the stairs two at a time. Hunter instinct completely overridden now by pure adrenaline and fear. Both he and the angel follow close behind.
Her yelling grows sharper somewhere down the upstairs hallway, then abruptly muffled. Jack reaches the hallway first and immediately pinpoints the room. Last door on the left. The bedroom door is shut. Something heavy crashes inside.
“Nellie!” He slams his shoulder hard into the door. The wood bursts inward violently.
All three men freeze in the doorway. Nellie stands pinned tightly against Aberiel’s chest near the far side of the room. A knife presses against her throat. One of her arms twisted painfully behind her back. She looks pale beneath the dim bedroom light. Weak. Bruises darken visibly along her exposed arms and collarbone while exhaustion hollows sharply beneath her eyes. Jack’s stomach drops violently. Sam’s expression immediately hardens with quiet fury beside him.
Her eyes lock onto them instantly. Relief crashes visibly across her face so fast it almost hurts to witness. Then she sees her uncle and something in her expression breaks slightly. “Sam…” Her voice shakes hard.
Aberiel tightens his grip on her immediately. Possessive. Protective. Dangerous. His expression twists the second he sees Castiel standing there. Anger flashes sharply beneath his otherwise calm exterior now. “You should not have come here.”
Jack barely hears him. Because all he can see are the bruises on Nellie’s body. The fear in her eyes. The knife against her throat. Every instinct inside him screams to move, to get her away from him, to kill him. But Sam’s earlier warning pounds hard through his head too. Think like a hunter. Not emotion. His breathing turns uneven anyway. Because she looks terrified. And hurt. And she keeps glancing toward him like she’s trying to convince herself he’s actually there.
Castiel steps forward, authority rolling sharply through the room with him. Ancient. Cold. Heaven itself pressing against the walls. “Aberiel of the Seventh Choir, you will release her.”
His hold tightens protectively around Nellie. “She is safer with me.”
“She is terrified of you,” Sam says coldly.
Aberiel barely acknowledges him. His entire focus stays fixed on the other angel now. “You do not understand.”
“You have violated Heaven’s laws repeatedly. You have abducted and harmed a human soul under Heaven’s protection.”
“She was suffering.” The words crack out with sudden intensity now, Nellie visibly flinching. “She suffered her entire life while all of you abandoned her.”
Jack’s jaw tightens sharply. “You’re hurting her right now.”
“She was not protected. Not truly. Not until I came along.”
The knife shifts slightly against her throat as his grip unconsciously tightens, a thin line of blood appearing instantly.
His heart lurches violently. “Nell—”
She winces sharply.
Aberiel immediately softens again. “I am sorry,” he murmurs quietly toward her. The gentleness after the violence makes them all feel physically sick.
Castiel steps forward another inch. “You will come with me willingly or Heaven will force your imprisonment.”
The angel’s expression twists sharply. “No.” Grace flickers violently through the room. “She belongs with me.” The words land like something rotten.
Nellie visibly recoils in his grip. Disgust flashes openly across Sam’s face. Jack looks ready to kill him.
Castiel’s expression hardens into something colder now. “She does not belong to you.”
Aberiel’s eyes lower briefly toward her. Fond. Possessive. Wrong. “She was made for me.”
She jerks violently at the words. “Don’t—”
He pulls her tighter instantly, the knife cutting deeper against her throat.
Jack moves without thinking. “Hey—hey, stop!” He catches himself halfway forward.
She gasps shakily in pain.
His voice cracks immediately. “Please don’t hurt her.”
Aberiel slowly looks toward him fully for the first time. Really looks at him. And something shifts in his expression. Recognition. Understanding. Jealousy. His eyes narrow faintly. “She does not belong to you.”
His jaw clenches hard. “She’s not yours either.”
Something colder flashes across the angel’s expression then. A dangerous kind of anger.
And in that single moment of distraction, Castiel moves. Grace explodes violently through the room as he lunges forward. Nellie screams as Aberiel shoves her sideways out of the direct line of grace. The knife clatters across the floor. Jack and Sam surge forward immediately, but the angel recovers impossibly fast. Grace detonates outward hard enough to crack the bedroom walls. Sam gets thrown backward into the doorway. Jack nearly reaches her, then Aberiel grabs her again. Hard. Protective rage twists visibly across his face now.
“You will not take her from me!”
She struggles violently in his grip. “Get off me!”
His grace suddenly surges brighter. Wrong. Too bright.
Castiel freezes instantly. Realization flashing across his face. “No.”
His tightens his hold around her from behind. “If she cannot remain with me willingly,” he says sharply, “then I will do what is necessary.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “Wait—”
Grace slams violently through her body. She screams. The sound tears through the room hard enough to freeze all three men instantly. Her body arches painfully as golden light floods beneath her skin.
Jack surges forward immediately—
Sam grabs him hard. “Jack!”
“Let me go!”
Castiel stares in genuine horror now. Because this isn’t possible. Angels require consent. They always have. It is law. Nature. Creation itself. And Nellie is very clearly fighting him. Aberiel forces himself into her anyway. Her scream breaks apart into choking sobs as grace overtakes her body violently from the inside out. Then suddenly it is silent, her body going unnaturally still. When her eyes open again, grace burns behind them. Wrong. Foreign.
He looks shaken to his core. “Aberiel…” Even he sounds horrified now.
Her head slowly turns toward them. But the expression isn’t hers anymore. Grace flickers violently beneath her skin. Then wings thunder through the room and she disappears. Gone.
Jack stares blankly at the empty space where Nellie had just been standing. His brain can’t fully process what he just watched happen. Sam slowly pushes himself upright from where Aberiel’s grace threw him against the doorway. Castiel remains frozen near the center of the room. Actually frozen. Horrified.
Jack is the first one to break. “No.” The word comes out small. Shaking. Then louder. “No!” His breathing turns uneven instantly. Panic climbing too fast now. “She didn’t say yes!”
The angel finally looks at him. And somehow the fear in the angel’s expression makes everything worse. Because he is scared.
He runs both hands through his hair harshly. “What the hell was that?!”
Castiel swallows hard. “I do not know.”
Sam stares at him sharply. “You’ve never seen that before?”
“No. Angels require consent from their vessel. It is law.”
Jack’s chest tightens violently. “But he still did it.”
“Yes.”
Sam’s jaw tightens hard. “What happens to her now?”
The question hangs heavily in the room. Castiel hesitates. And that hesitation terrifies both hunters instantly. “I am uncertain.”
The young man looks seconds away from spiraling completely. “Cas—”
The angel’s expression darkens further. “Forcible possession should not be possible.” His voice lowers slightly. “And because it should not occur… I do not know what consequences it may have upon her soul. It may damage her physically. Mentally. Spiritually.”
Every word lands like a knife. Jack’s eyes shine sharply now. He looks furious. Terrified. Heartbroken. All at once. “No,” he whispers.
Sam immediately steps closer toward him. “Jack.”
But his breathing keeps worsening. Because Nellie already looked hurt. Already looked terrified. And now something unnatural is happening inside her body. He forces himself to focus anyway. Hunter. Think. He looks sharply toward Castiel. “Can you track them now?”
The angel closes his eyes briefly. Grace flickers faintly around him as he reaches outward again. Searching. Searching harder this time. Then slowly, he shakes his head. Nothing.
Jack looks devastated. “How?”
“Aberiel is concealing himself through her now. Their frequencies are indistinguishable.”
He presses both hands hard against his head for a second trying desperately not to lose control completely. Panic claws violently through his chest. They found her. They had her. And now she’s gone again.
Sam notices the edge Jack is standing on immediately. “Breathe.”
He barely hears him. Something catches his eye near the far side of the room. Small. Half hidden near the bed. He slowly crosses toward it and stops. It’s Nellie’s rune-covered disc amulet and the angel wing pendant from Dean, both chains snapped clean through. His chest aches so sharply it almost physically hurts. Because he knows what those mean to her. The disc amulet she wears every single day to conceal her on hunts. The pendant her father gave her because even dead he still wanted her protected. And Aberiel took them away from her. He kneels slowly and picks them up carefully into trembling hands. The broken chains tangle loosely between his fingers. For a second, he just stares at them silently. Then grips them tightly against his palm, like holding onto the last piece of her he still physically can.
He swallows hard against the tightness climbing into his throat. “We’re finding her.” Not hope anymore. A promise.
• • •
Grace tears violently through the abandoned waypoint as Aberiel arrives. The structure looks almost cathedral-like beneath the dim celestial light. Ancient stone arches stretch overhead. Cracked stained glass glows faintly from residual grace still humming through the walls. Dust drifts slowly through cold air untouched for years. The place feels holy. And wrong. Nellie’s body stumbles forward the second Aberiel leaves it then collapses, unconscious before she even fully hits the floor. He immediately catches her. Concern flashes sharply across his face as he gathers her carefully into his arms. Her body hangs limp against his chest. The forceful possession clearly took something from her. He looks genuinely distressed by that realization.
He lifts her gently, carrying her deeper into the waypoint toward a sort of living quarters that rests beneath the old chapel alcove. Soft blankets. Candles. Carefully prepared. Like he planned this long before tonight. He lowers her onto the bed with impossible tenderness. Then pauses. His eyes lower toward the blood staining the collar of her shirt from the knife wound at her throat. Grace flickers softly through the room, the cut healing instantly. Then with another flick of grace, her clothing changes. The torn shirt and jeans vanish completely, replaced by a simple pale slip dress that falls below her knees, white softened with gray. Delicate. Almost old-fashioned. The fabric gathers softly around her sleeping form against the blankets.
He stares at her quietly afterward. Something reverent settles across his expression. Like he is looking at something sacred. “You are beautiful,” he murmurs softly. His fingers brush carefully against her cheek. She doesn’t stir. Still unconscious. Still exhausted.
His gaze softens further. “My little star.” The words almost break beneath emotion. He kneels slowly beside the bed and smooths loose strands of hair gently away from her face. “So much suffering. So much fear. But I will end it.”
The waypoint remains silent around him except for distant humming grace echoing faintly through ancient stone.
He leans closer. “You will never be taken from me again.” Something possessive sharpens quietly beneath the softness now. “I will make us one soon. Then no one will separate us.” The conviction in his voice sounds terrifyingly sincere.
He bends down slowly afterward and presses a kiss against her forehead. It lingers. Too long. Like worship. Like devotion twisted into something deeply wrong. He breathes softly against her hair before finally pulling back slightly. Then gently, he gathers her unconscious body against his chest and reclines back against the bed with her held close in his arms. One hand settles along her back. The other slowly strokes through her hair. Comforting. Possessive. Wrong. “You may rest now,” he whispers softly.
• • •
The bunker feels heavier after they return from Texas. Not just exhausted. Haunted.
Nellie was there. They had found her. They had almost gotten her back. And now things are worse. Much worse. Jack sits at the library table turning Nellie’s broken necklaces over restlessly in his hands while Sam and Castiel discuss possibilities near the map table. The angel wing pendant catches faintly beneath the overhead lights every time it shifts between his fingers. He hasn’t let go of them since they found them upstairs.
Castiel’s expression remains grim. “We will likely need to conduct a physical search moving forward.”
Sam exhales tiredly through his nose. “Meaning?”
“Aberiel understands we located him once.” He folds his hands behind his back. “He will likely continue moving her between concealed locations.”
Jack immediately stands. “Then we go.” His voice comes out too fast. Too sharp. He’s already moves toward the hallway leading to the garage before either of them answers. “We start checking every waypoint, every abandoned sanctuary, every—”
“Jack.” Sam’s voice cuts through sharply enough to stop him halfway down the room. The young man turns immediately. Tense. Frayed. Barely holding himself together now beneath the quietness. “We need a plan.
He looks at him like the words physically hurt. “Nellie doesn’t have time for a plan.”
“That’s exactly why we need one.”
He shakes his head immediately. “We almost had her.” The devastation beneath the words hangs painfully in the room. Sam’s own chest tightens. Because, yeah, they did. But hunter panic gets people killed. And right now, Jack is running almost entirely on fear.
Castiel steps forward slightly. “Sam is correct.”
Jack laughs once softly through his nose. Humorless. “Great.”
“If we approach Aberiel recklessly now, he may further destabilize Nellie’s condition.”
The reminder visibly rattles him. Especially after hearing what forcible possession could do to her. Still, he starts moving again anyway. “We need to go now.”
Sam steps directly into his path this time. “And go where?”
He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. Because he doesn’t know. He just knows Nellie is out there terrified and hurting and every second feels unbearable.
“If we go in blind, we could get her killed.”
“That’s why we need to move.”
“No. That’s why we need to think.”
Silence slams heavily between them. Jack looks furious for half a second. Then suddenly just… scared. Young. Terrified. “She’s alone with him.” The words nearly break on the way out.
Sam’s expression softens immediately. “I know.”
Castiel steps closer. “I will return briefly to Heaven,” he says quietly. “I will organize additional search parties and monitor celestial disturbances.”
Jack immediately looks back toward the hallway again. Like he physically cannot stand still anymore.
“Jack,” the Winchester says. “Take a few minutes.”
“I don’t need a few minutes.”
“Yes,” Sam says firmly. “You do.”
He looks ready to argue again. Then finally exhales sharply through his nose and looks away. Not angry. Never really angry. Just overwhelmed. Terrified.
Castiel’s grace begins flickering faintly around him again. “I will return shortly.” And then he is gone.
Jack stalks off down the corridor. Fast. Restless. Trying desperately to outrun panic clawing through his chest. He wants to hit something. Break something. Put his fist through one of the bunker walls just to get the pressure out of his chest. Because every second right now feels unbearable. Nellie is gone again. Possessed. Terrified. And he couldn’t save her. The panic and guilt twist together so violently inside him he almost can’t think straight. So instead of going to the training room, instead of doing something stupid, he finds himself standing outside her bedroom door again. Because he knows one thing for certain: if he’s in here, he won’t destroy anything. He pushes the door open slowly and immediately regrets it. The room feels painfully empty without her. Still. Quiet. Wrong. The blankets remain half tangled from the last night she slept here. A sweater hangs loosely over the desk chair. Books sit stacked messily beside the bed exactly where she left them. Everything looks lifeless without her in it. He swallows hard. Emotion rushes up his throat so quickly it nearly catches him off guard.
He looks down immediately instead. Only then realizing how tightly he’s gripping the necklaces in his hand. The broken clasps dig painfully into his palm. He exhales shakily through his nose before slowly crossing toward her desk. He pulls open one of the drawers. Small tools sit inside organized carefully beside old pens and scattered notes. Nellie always fixes things herself. Jack remembers her once repairing Dean’s broken toy truck with the exact same little toolkit while muttering insults under her breath the entire time. The memory almost breaks him. He sits down heavily in her desk chair and carefully starts repairing the chains. Tiny movements. Focused movements. Something useful. Something he can actually fix. Unlike this. The clasps finally click back together after several quiet minutes. He stares down at them resting in his hands afterward. The rune-covered disc amulet glints softly beneath the desk lamp. Without fully thinking about it, he slips it over his own head. The metal settles cold against his chest. Then he carefully wraps the angel wing pendant around his wrist twice like a bracelet, just like he did on the undercover job. Wearing it properly feels wrong somehow. Too personal. Too important. But this way, it feels like keeping part of her close.
He rubs tiredly at his face afterward and looks around the room again. At her books. Her jacket. The half-finished notes scattered across the desk. Like maybe if he stares hard enough, she’ll suddenly walk back through the door. Instead, silence answers him. His chest aches. Eventually he drifts slowly toward the bed again and picks up the floppy stuffed dog resting near the pillows. The toy looks ridiculous honestly. Soft ears. Crooked little face. Well-loved enough the fabric has started to flatten in areas. He sits heavily on the edge of the bed holding it carefully while staring blankly ahead.
“Jack.”
He startles hard. He looks up instantly. Dean stands near the bedroom doorway. Faded slightly around the edges like always. Leather jacket. Worry carved deeply into his expression.
And suddenly something inside he feels like it caves inward completely
“You gotta be careful,” Jack says quickly, voice rough. “Sam’s here.”
Dean glances briefly toward the hallway before nodding once. “I know.” He looks exhausted. Furious. Heartbroken. “I heard what happened.” Cas told him. Of course he did.
He grips the stuffed dog tighter. “I couldn’t save her.” The words crack slightly.
“Jack—”
“It’s my fault.”
“No. You did everything you could.”
He shakes his head immediately. “She got taken right in front of me.”
“And you fought for her.”
“It wasn’t enough.” The devastation in his voice nearly hurts to hear.
Dean studies him quietly for a long moment. “If anybody can find my girl, it’s you, Sam, and Cas.”
Jack’s throat tightens painfully. Because Dean sounds like he’s trying to convince himself too.
He looks away briefly after that, exhaling quietly through his nose. “I just wish I could do more.” His eyes shift back toward the young man again. “Keep a level head. I’ll do what I can on my end.” Then he is gone.
Just in time, because only a minute later, Sam appears in the doorway. He pauses immediately seeing him sitting there on the bed holding the stuffed dog.
Jack quickly wipes at his face. “Sorry,” he mutters roughly. “For snapping earlier.”
“It’s alright.” He quietly crosses the room before sitting beside him on the bed.
For a second neither of them speak. Then he gently pulls the young man into a hug. And that is finally breaks Jack completely. He grabs onto the Winchester immediately, burying his face hard against his shoulder as the first real sob tears out of him. Sam just holds him tighter. Steady. Grounded. Like he’s holding together someone already halfway shattered.
• • •
Consciousness returns slowly. Heavy. Painfully heavy. Nellie stirs against something impossibly soft, satin sliding faintly against her skin as awareness crawls sluggishly back into place. Everything hurts. Not sharp pain. Worse. Deep aching sickness. Her muscles feel weak. Her joints stiff. Her chest tight and burning every time she breathes too deeply. Like the worst flu she has ever had mixed with something wrong beneath her skin. She groans softly and forces herself upright anyway. The effort alone leaves her dizzy. She braces weakly against the mattress breathing unevenly while the room slowly comes into focus around her.
The place looks beautiful in a deeply unsettling way. Ancient celestial carvings stretch across pale stone walls. Candles flicker softly from iron holders. Faded stained glass throws muted colors across the floor. The abandoned waypoint feels almost chapel-like. Holy. Cold. Wrong.
Then she realizes isn’t wearing her clothes anymore. Her breath catches sharply. A pale satin slip dress drapes softly over her body instead, simple in design yet somehow horribly intimate against her skin. The fabric pools around her knees while thin straps rest against bruised shoulders. She immediately folds her arms tightly over her chest instinctively, humiliation and panic churning violently together in her stomach. At least Aberiel isn’t there.
The thought barely settles before grace flickers softly through the room. She freezes. The angel appears near the foot of the bed. Relief dies instantly. She scrambles backward across the mattress despite how badly her body protests the movement. Everything aches harder now. Her limbs feel almost too heavy to properly obey her.
He notices immediately, concern softening his expression. “The possession weakened you.”
Nellie says nothing. She just keeps backing away until her shoulders hit the headboard. Trying desperately to make herself smaller. Safer. Her arms remain crossed tightly over herself.
His eyes linger on her for a moment with something heartbreakingly affectionate. Like this is tenderness, like this is love. “I have a plan,” he says softly.
He approaches the bed slowly before sitting carefully near her legs. The mattress dips beneath his weight. Too close. Always too close. He places one hand gently against her leg through the satin fabric. She immediately tenses hard. He looks up into her eyes with quiet devotion. “I am preparing a ritual for us.”
Fear floods sharply through her chest. “No.”
“So, no one will ever separate us again.” His thumb strokes lightly against her knee. “To make us one.”
She shakes her head immediately. “No.”
His expression barely changes. Like he expected resistance. Like resistance is temporary. “You will understand soon.”
“No!” She kicks weakly at his arm.
The movement barely hurts him. But something dark flashes briefly across his face anyway.
Grace slams through her body instantly. She cries out sharply. The weakened state from the possession makes the pain so much worse this time. Her entire body seizes painfully as burning agony rips through muscles already exhausted and aching. Tears spring instantly to her eyes.
He removes the grace almost immediately afterward. Concern replaces the anger just as quickly. “You should not fight me.”
She curls inward against the headboard, trembling hard.
Aberiel reaches carefully toward her face. She flinches violently away. Pain flickers briefly across his expression at the rejection. “Soon you will no longer hurt. You will want for nothing.”
His hand brushes gently through her hair despite her visible fear. “And no one will ever harm you again.” The words sound horrifying coming from him. Because he truly believes this is mercy. Grace suddenly flickers brighter around him again.
Her eyes widen instantly. “No—”
He catches her carefully before she can scramble away, then forces his grace back into her body. Pain detonates violently beneath her skin. She screams. The waypoint shakes faintly around them as it overtakes her again from the inside out. Then wings thunder violently through the abandoned chapel and both disappear.
• • •
A week passes after the first rescue attempt. Seven days of searching. Seven days of failure. Seven days of Nellie remaining trapped somewhere with Aberiel. The exhaustion settles deep into all of them. Castiel moves constantly between Heaven and Earth now. One moment gone in a rush of wings. The next appearing beside the Impala on some empty roadside with new locations to check and old celestial records in hand. Most of the leads go nowhere. Abandoned gateways. Collapsed waypoint entrances. Pocket dimensions long since emptied after the Fall. Duds. Every single one. A few still carry traces of recent angelic grace. Enough to prove Aberiel had been there. Enough to prove they keep missing her by hours. Sometimes less. And every single near miss slowly eats Jack alive.
The Impala becomes home for most of the week. Miles and miles of empty highways stretch beneath tired headlights while Sam drives through the night toward another possible lead. Jack rides shotgun almost constantly now. Research books scattered across his lap. Maps folded messily at his feet. Angel blade resting beside him. He barely sleeps unless someone forces him to.
And Sam does force him. Because otherwise he simply won’t stop.
“You need rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been awake thirty hours.”
“She’s still out there.”
Every conversation circles back to that. He eventually starts pulling into motels without asking anymore. Sometimes Jack sleeps a few hours. Sometimes he hears the young man pacing the motel room long after midnight instead.
The vulnerable moments happen quietly. Hidden. Jack thinks no one notices. Like when he disappears into the motel bathroom and stays in the shower too long because it muffles the sound of him trying not to cry. Or when Sam wakes during the middle of the night to see him sitting silently at the edge of the second motel bed turning Nellie’s necklaces over restlessly in his hands. The disc amulet now hangs around his neck permanently. The angel wing pendant remains looped around his wrist. He fiddles with them constantly. Thumb brushing against the pendant whenever panic spikes too hard. Fingers gripping the amulet during bad moments like it physically anchors him somehow.
The hunting itself becomes routine after several days. Research. Drive. Investigate. Search. Repeat. Jack does well during those parts. Almost frighteningly well. Focused. Sharp. Hunter instincts fully engaged. But outside of active searching, he slowly starts falling apart. Quieter now. Withdrawn. Sometimes Sam catches him staring blankly out motel windows with dark circles hollowed deeply beneath his eyes. Sometimes he goes silent for entire drives. Sometimes the Winchester hears him whispering prayers under his breath when he thinks no one is listening.
Castiel visits whenever he can. Usually appearing beside the Impala somewhere lonely and empty with another possible lead. Every single time Jack looks hopeful at first. Every time. And every time the hope dies a little more afterward when the lead turns into another dead end. The angel looks increasingly troubled with each passing day. Because the longer Aberiel remains merged with Nellie, the more dangerous this becomes.
“She should not be surviving prolonged possession,” he admits quietly one night beside the Impala after another failed search.
Jack visibly pales at the words.
Sam immediately cuts in. “But she is surviving.”
He hesitates. “Yes.” Not reassuring enough. Not even close.
The fear grows worse after that. Because now they aren’t just searching for Nellie. They are racing whatever damage Aberiel is causing inside her body and soul. And everybody knows it. One night near the end of the week, Sam wakes sometime after three in the morning. Years of hunting make sleep light even now. He blinks tiredly toward the second bed automatically. Empty. Again.
He exhales quietly through his nose and rubs at his face before sitting up slowly. The bathroom light glows faintly beneath the closed door. At first, he assumes Jack is just showering again. Then he hears it. Shallow breathing. Uneven. Too fast. A panic attack. His chest tightens instantly.
He gets up quietly and crosses the room before knocking softly against the bathroom door. “Jack?”
Silence. Then another shaky breath from inside.
He carefully opens the door anyway.
Jack sits on the bathroom floor beside the tub with his knees pulled halfway to his chest. His hands grip tightly at the necklaces around his neck and wrist while he tries desperately to regulate his breathing. He looks up sharply when Sam enters. Immediate embarrassment flashes across his face. “Sorry,” he rasps quickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was already awake.” Not entirely true but close enough.
He drags a shaky hand down his face trying hard to pull himself back together before Sam can fully see the damage. Too late for that.
The Winchester crouches down carefully in front of him. “Hey. Look at me.”
He tries. His breathing immediately catches again. Panic still gripping too tightly around his chest.
Sam keeps his voice calm and steady. “Breathe with me.”
He shakes his head weakly. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” He waits until Jack finally manages to focus on him fully. “In through your nose.”
The young man obeys shakily.
“Good. Hold it. Now out.”
Again. Again. Again.
Eventually the worst of the panic begins loosening its grip enough for Jack to breathe without gasping. His hands still tremble badly around the necklaces though. Sam notices how tightly he’s clutching them. Like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.
“This is stupid,” Jack mutters.
“No,” he says immediately.
He wipes roughly at his face. “I should be helping.”
“You are helping.”
“I’m falling apart.” The words crack painfully.
The Winchester’s expression softens instantly. Because God, Jack looks exhausted. Not just tired. Destroyed. Like he’s been holding himself together through sheer force of will for an entire week and his body finally can’t keep carrying all of it.
Jack looks away quickly afterward, ashamed. Then suddenly tears spill hard down his face before he can stop them. “Sorry.”
“Jack.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice shakes badly now. “For waking you up.”
Sam moves immediately then, pulling him gently forward into a hug without hesitation. The former Nephilim folds instantly like the contact finally gives him permission to stop pretending he’s okay. He grips hard onto the back of Sam’s shirt while silent sobs shake through him. Sam just holds him tighter. One hand rubbing slowly up and down his back like he does for his son when he’s had a bad day. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”
Jack shakes his head hard against his shoulder. “No, she’s not.” And there it is. The real thing underneath all of it. Nellie. Always Nellie.
He eventually calms enough that the sobbing fades into shaky breathing again. Exhaustion settles heavily over him afterward, drained completely empty by the panic attack.
Sam keeps a hand against the back of his neck gently. “You need sleep.”
He immediately looks guilty again. “We should keep searching.”
“We will. But not tonight.”
He eventually manages to get him back into bed after another few minutes. Jack curls onto his side almost immediately, still clutching the necklaces loosely against his chest. Within minutes exhaustion finally drags him unconscious. Sam stays sitting awake on the edge of his own bed afterward. Watching the kid sleep. Watching how even asleep he still looks tense. Afraid. His own eyes burn suddenly. Because his niece is still out there somewhere dying piece by piece. And Jack is practically destroying himself trying to bring her home.
• • •
The week passes in fragments for Nellie. Grace. Pain. Cold stone ceilings. Different rooms.
Aberiel keeps moving her. Every couple of days another waypoint. Another abandoned celestial pocket hidden from Heaven and Earth alike. Another room prepared for her long before they arrived. Sometimes ancient chapels. Sometimes forgotten sanctuaries. Sometimes spaces that barely look human at all, filled with softly glowing sigils and humming grace woven directly into the walls.
And every single place contains the same things: a bed. Candles. Ritual markings. And Aberiel. Always Aberiel.
He possesses her every time they travel now. The process hurts worse each time, like her body is slowly being hollowed out from the inside. When he leaves her body afterward, she collapses immediately every single time. Unable to hold herself upright anymore. The angel always catches her before she hits the floor. Always gentle. Always careful. He carries her to wherever he prepared for her to rest and lays her down softly against blankets or cushions like she is something fragile and precious.
By the second day, Nellie notices the change in her skin. A faint green tint beneath the pale. Sickly. Wrong. At first, she thinks maybe it’s just the strange lighting inside the waypoint. Then she notices the spots. Tiny dark green patches blooming slowly near her collarbone and ribs like mold spreading beneath skin. By the fourth day they grow larger. Darker. Almost black-green around the edges. Lichen-like patterns spreading slowly beneath her flesh. Her veins darken too from the grace poisoning. Her body starts failing quietly after that. Numbness comes first. Fingers tingling. Legs heavy. Arms refusing to cooperate properly. By the third day she struggles to stand on her own at all. And by the fourth, she can barely move without help.
Somehow, Aberiel doesn’t seem to notice anything is truly wrong. Or maybe he refuses to. Because every time he looks at her, his expression remains filled with the same awful reverence.
“You are beautiful.”
“My little star.”
“You are radiant, my sweet Nellie.”
The words make her feel sick now. Because she finally understands what this is. This isn’t obsession alone anymore. It is love. Twisted. Possessive. Horribly sincere. The realization terrifies her more than the violence ever did.
The first couple nights she wakes to find him holding her against his chest. One arm wrapped securely around her body while he strokes slowly through her hair. Like comforting a frightened lover. By the third night, he lays beside her fully. Angels do not sleep. But Aberiel still remains there beside her for hours simply holding her while she drifts weakly in and out of consciousness. Watching her. Touching her. Whispering softly to her when she wakes frightened. And his hands start wandering more now. At first subtle. A hand lingering lower against her back. Fingers brushing too slowly across her shoulders. His touch drifting dangerously close to places that make panic rise violently inside her chest. She tries moving away every time. But her body barely obeys anymore. Sometimes she cannot move at all. The helplessness destroys her and he mistakes it for acceptance.
His affection grows bolder after that. Kisses against her temple. Her cheek. Her forehead. One brushing horrifyingly close to her mouth. Nellie cries almost every single time. Silent tears slipping sideways across her face while she weakly turns her head away as much as her failing body allows. He always notices the tears immediately. And always misunderstands them. His thumb wipes gently beneath her eyes while concern softens his expression.
“It is alright,” he whispers softly. “Love can feel overwhelming.” The words hollow her out. Because he genuinely believes this is love. That he is comforting her. Protecting her. Saving her. Meanwhile she feels herself slowly disappearing piece by piece.
By the end of the week the mold-like growths spread heavily across her body now. Dark green-black patches stain her ribs, shoulders, thighs. Her skin feels cold constantly. Pale beneath the spreading rot. Breathing hurts. Moving hurts. Existing hurts. And still the angel looks at her like she is untouched perfection. Like a spotless sacrifice laid carefully at an altar. Something holy. Something made only for him. She lays weakly against silk sheets one night barely able to keep her eyes open while the angel strokes gently through her hair beside her. And for the first time since this began, she can feel the hope dying inside her. Not all at once. Slowly. Quietly. Like the rot spreading beneath her skin.
By the start of the second week, Nellie can no longer move on her own. Not really. Her body barely responds anymore outside of weak trembling and shallow breaths. Dark green-black patches now bloom heavily across pale skin like mold devouring something left too long in the dark. Grace burns spread alongside it now, angry raw marks branching across her body. The pain never fully stops anymore. Her skin feels feverish and freezing all at once. Her muscles ache constantly. Even breathing burns faintly in her chest. And the satin — God, she hates the satin. Too soft. Too intimate. The pale slip dress clings gently against damaged skin every time Aberiel moves her, making her feel horribly exposed beneath his attention. Like he dressed her this way on purpose. Like he wants her delicate for him. The thought makes nausea twist constantly through her stomach.
One evening, he leaves her body after another move between waypoints, and she somehow remains conscious this time. Barely. The second he separates from her, her legs give out completely. He catches her instantly.
“My sweet star.” The words brush softly against her hair while he gathers her into his arms.
She wants to fight him. Wants to claw at him. Scream at him. Run. But her body no longer belongs fully to her. She hangs weakly against his chest instead while tears sting helplessly at her eyes.
He carries her through another abandoned celestial chamber lit softly by candles and residual grace before laying her carefully onto the bed near the center of the room. The mattress sinks beneath her weak body. She stares blankly upward breathing shallowly while he hovers above her. Watching. His eyes travel slowly over her body with something horrifyingly reverent. Like worship. Like devotion. The attention makes her skin crawl so violently she wants to rip herself apart just to escape it. She closes her eyes tightly, trying to disappear from his gaze.
Aberiel mistakes the motion for exhaustion. “You may rest,” he murmurs softly.
He gently maneuvers her weaker body farther toward the center of the bed before climbing beside her himself. The mattress shifts beneath his weight. Then his hand returns to her face. Soft fingers brushing slowly across her cheek. Down her neck. Over trembling shoulders. Her breathing shakes harder. A few tears escape despite how hard she tries stopping them. He notices immediately, concern softens his expression. His thumb brushes beneath her eye to wipe the tears away, then pauses. Slowly, he leans down and kisses them away instead.
Her stomach twists violently. “Please no…” The protest barely leaves her mouth above a whisper.
He continues anyway. Soft kisses trail slowly down her cheek. Her jaw. Her neck. Tender. Careful. Horribly intimate. Both of his hands rest against her body now. One caressing slowly down her arm while the other slides gently along her waist. Then higher. Touching her chest, massaging softly like affection. Her breathing turns panicked immediately. Her body barely responds beyond weak trembling beneath him. He pulls closer against her afterward, his body partially tangling with hers against the sheets. Not rough. Not violent. That somehow makes it worse. Because he treats this like love. Like romance. Like she should want this.
His fingers trace carefully across one of the spreading grace burns near her collarbone, sadness flickering briefly across his face. “You will not suffer these much longer.” His lips brush softly against her temple. “I will free you from sickness.”
She cries silently beneath him.
The hem of the satin dress shifts higher against her legs when his hands settle against her hips. Holding. Possessive. One hand slowly drifts downward afterward. Over her hip. Her thigh. Gentle strokes massaging weak trembling muscles. Then fingers meet bare skin beneath the dress. Her breath catches sharply as bile nearly chokes her. His hand slowly starts sliding farther upward along her inner thigh. Panic detonates violently inside her chest. But her body won’t move. Won’t fight. Tears spill hard sideways into her hair while weak frightened sounds catch uselessly in her throat. He only holds her closer, still whispering soft reassurances against her skin. And somewhere deep inside herself, she keeps praying desperately for someone to find her before he takes even more from her.
• • •
The second week wears all of them down. Everything starts blending together after a while. Roads. Motels. Waypoint ruins. Empty churches. Dead ends. Sam drives for hours at a time now mostly in silence while Jack stares out the passenger window clutching books, maps, and Nellie’s necklaces like they are the only things keeping him tethered to reality. The Impala smells like exhaustion and stale coffee. Neither of them sleep enough. Neither of them eat enough. But Sam still forces both things whenever he can. Because if he stops managing the basics, they will completely fall apart. And he cannot afford that. Not now. The fear never really leaves him anymore either. Not fully. Because they would know if Nellie died. Wouldn’t they? Castiel would feel it. Something cosmic would shift. Her frequency would disappear completely. That’s what he keeps telling himself every single night. But every time they approach another abandoned waypoint, a horrible thought still creeps into his chest anyway. What if this is the place? What if this time they open the door and finally find her too late? The fear follows him constantly after that first rescue attempt. And somehow the fact that they never find her body almost becomes worse. Because it means she is still out there suffering. Still trapped with him.
Jack deteriorates slowly beside him throughout the second week. Not dramatically. Quietly. Like pieces of him are being stripped away one by one. He talks less now. Sometimes entire drives pass without him speaking once. The dark circles beneath his eyes worsen. His face grows sharper from stress and lack of sleep. The softness that usually exists in him almost completely disappears beneath constant fear. Some days Sam catches glimpses of the old him still there. Small moments. Offering to drive. Making coffee. Researching with obsessive focus. Then another lead falls apart. And the light dies again.
Occasionally frustration finally breaks through the quietness. One abandoned waypoint contains fresh grace residue but no sign of Nellie. Jack snaps hard enough to throw an old chair across the room. The wood splinters violently against stone walls. Then he immediately looks horrified with himself afterward and apologizing. Sam says nothing. Just quietly helps him continue searching the room. Another dead-end leaves him punching the wall hard enough to bloody his knuckles. Another ends with him disappearing into a motel bathroom for nearly an hour afterward. Every failure cuts deeper now.
Castiel continues checking in between Heaven and Earth. Always tired. Always worried. The angels searching under him are trying. Both hunters knows they are. But Aberiel keeps staying ahead of everyone and Nellie’s condition remains unknown. That uncertainty starts becoming its own kind of horror.
One night during the second week, Sam stands outside another abandoned church while Jack searches inside for hidden sigils. Castiel appears beside him in a flutter of wings, his expression answers before words do. Nothing. Again.
He drags tired hands over his face. “We’re running out of places.”
The angel stays silent for a moment. “There is something you should prepare for.”
His stomach drops instantly. “No.”
Castiel looks genuinely pained. “Sam.”
“No.” Because he already knows where this conversation is going.
“Prolonged possession of this nature should not be survivable.”
“She’s surviving.”
“For now.”
The words nearly hollow him out. Sam looks away sharply toward the dark church entrance where Jack disappeared moments earlier. “He can’t hear that.”
The angel follows his gaze quietly. “I am aware.” Because Jack is already barely holding himself together.
He exhales shakily through his nose. “We’re getting her back.” He says it firmly. Like a fact. Not hope.
Castiel studies him sadly. “I hope you are correct.”
His jaw tightens hard. “We are not losing her.”
Inside the church, something crashes loudly. Both men immediately turn toward the sound.
And Sam already knows before he even walks inside that it’s another dead end. Another piece of Jack breaking apart.
• • •
The rest of the second week becomes a blur of sickness, pain, and unwanted affection. Aberiel grows bolder with every passing day. More comfortable. More possessive. Like the closer Nellie gets to dying beneath the weight of his grace, the more convinced he becomes that she already belongs to him completely. He talks constantly now about the ritual. About oneness. Devotion. Love. About how once they are joined fully, no one will ever separate them again.
“You will never be afraid again.”
“You will never be abandoned.”
“You will never hurt again.”
The words make her feel sick every single time, because his version of love feels like being buried alive. And there are moments now that go farther than anything her mother’s boyfriends ever did. Not violent in the way she once feared. Worse. Tender. Reverent. Like worship twisted into violation.
Her body slowly stops belonging to her at all. The rot weakens her more every day. Sometimes she cannot even lift her head properly anymore. Sometimes her legs refuse to move completely. Sometimes she can only lay there trembling weakly while the angel touches her like something sacred. The soft pale fabric against ruined skin, thin straps sliding off bruised shoulders, skirts riding upward whenever he gathers her against him. And Aberiel always notices. Always looks. His eyes linger openly now across her body with a hunger that makes panic crawl violently through her chest. Sometimes the dress slips low enough she cannot cover herself. Not because she doesn’t want to. Because she physically cannot move fast enough anymore. He takes advantage of every moment. Hands drifting too slowly over exposed skin. Mouth lingering too long against her throat. Kisses pressed against bruised collarbones and trembling thighs. Dark marks begin appearing among the spreading rot. Along her neck. Her shoulders. Her chest. The insides of her thighs. Bruises made by affection. She hates them more than the mold-like patches consuming her skin. Because the marks are intentional. Claiming. Like he wants proof of himself left all over her body. Sometimes she vomits afterward. Weakly turning her head over the side of the bed while bile and water burn painfully up her throat. Usually after he whispers something too intimate against her skin. Or after his hands wander somewhere that leaves her shaking afterward.
Aberiel always reacts with concern. Always. He holds her hair back carefully. Wipes her mouth gently. Whispers soothing things while she trembles in humiliation and disgust.
“You are overwhelmed.”
“It is alright.”
“You are adjusting to love.”
Love. The word starts making something inside Nellie fracture apart every time she hears it.
As the end of the second week approaches, she barely recognizes herself anymore. Her skin has gone pale beneath green-gray sickness. Dark rot spreads heavily over her body now. Grace burns stay angry and raw across weakened flesh. She feels cold constantly. Cold and tired. So unbearably tired.
At first, she prays constantly for Sam and Castiel and Jack to find her. She imagines the bunker. The Impala. Sam’s banter. Jack making coffee while pretending not to hover. Castiel appearing with that awkward little nod on the rare occasions he checks in. She clings to those thoughts desperately. Until eventually, the pain becomes too much. The violation becomes too much. The fear becomes too much. And somewhere at this time, she starts wanting something else instead. Not rescue. Rest. Death begins feeling softer than this. Kinder than this. Because if she dies, maybe she can finally go be with Dean in Heaven. The thought starts comforting her more than survival does. And that terrifies her too. She wakes less and less now. Consciousness slipping away for longer stretches each day. Sometimes hours. Sometimes nearly entire days. And every time she drifts deeper into unconsciousness, a small exhausted part of her hopes maybe this will finally be the last time. Maybe next time she opens her eyes, she’ll see Dean instead of Aberiel.
• • •
The motel room sits in exhausted silence. The television glows faintly on mute across the room. Streetlight bleeds weakly through the curtains. The air conditioner rattles unevenly near the window. Neither of them are truly sleeping. Jack’s panic attack eventually lulled him into unconsciousness sometime after one in the morning, exhaustion finally forcing his body to shut down. Even asleep he looks tense. One hand still loosely grips the necklaces against his chest.
Sam sleeps lightly beside him. Twenty minutes here. Thirty there. Never fully resting. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees his niece dying somewhere alone with Aberiel. Or worse, she’s already long gone. The thought jolts him awake again every single time.
When he opens his eyes again, Castiel stands near the motel window. Grace flickers faintly around him. He immediately sits upright hard enough to make the mattress creak. His stomach drops instantly. “Cas?”
Jack stirs sharply at Sam’s voice.
The angel looks exhausted. But for the first time in days, hope flickers faintly beneath it. “We believe we found him.”
He sits bolt upright instantly. “What?” His voice sounds rough from sleep and panic.
Castiel steps further into the room. “Aberiel has been moving Nellie between concealed celestial spaces to avoid detection, as we suspected. But he has also been gathering ritual components.”
Sam’s face tightens immediately. “What kind of ritual?”
He hesitates just slightly. “A binding ritual. If completed, it would permanently tether Nellie’s soul and frequency to Aberiel. He intends to make the possession irreversible.”
The words hit Jack like physical violence. Two weeks of fear suddenly become something worse. Permanent.
The Winchester immediately swings his legs off the bed. “Where is he?”
“Nearby. One of Heaven’s scouts finally detected concentrated grace fluctuations tied to the ritual.”
Jack is already moving before Castiel even fully finishes speaking. Throwing on boots. Grabbing weapons. Angel blade. Duffel. Pure adrenaline wipes exhaustion straight out of him. “We need to go now.”
“We do,” he agrees. “The ritual preparation is nearing completion.”
The young man pales visibly at that. Sam notices immediately but keeps moving too. Hunter mode takes over fast now. Weapons. Holy oil. Keys. The room erupts into sharp hurried movement.
He stuffs books and weapons into the duffel with trembling hands while Castiel explains directions rapidly. “A concealed waypoint approximately forty miles east,” the angel says. “Ancient. Had been abandoned long before the Fall.”
Sam grabs the Impala keys from the nightstand. “Can you get us there faster?”
The angel shakes his head once. “The warding around the waypoint is unstable. If I attempt direct transport, Aberiel may detect us immediately.”
Jack shoulders the duffel harshly. Fear radiates off him almost violently now. Because Nellie is still alive. But barely. And if they are too late, they lose her forever.
Sam steps directly in front of him for half a second before they leave. “Hey.”
He looks up immediately.
“We do this smart.”
He nods once instantly. But the Winchester can still see the panic underneath. The desperation. The terror.
Castiel disappears first to monitor the waypoint from a distance while the hunters hurry out toward the Impala. The motel parking lot feels freezing despite the summer night air. Jack climbs into the passenger seat clutching the angel blade tightly enough his knuckles whiten. Sam starts the engine. The Impala roars awake and they tear out of the parking lot into the darkness, racing the clock.
• • •
Nellie hasn’t been awake in two days. She remains fully unconscious every time Aberiel leaves her body now, limp and cold in his arms while the rot continues spreading slowly beneath pale skin. Her breathing grows shallow. Uneven. The grace burns along her body deepen into angry branching marks that pulse faintly beneath dim celestial light. Any normal angel should have realized by now that something was terribly wrong. But Aberiel is too blinded by devotion. Too consumed by the ritual. Too consumed by her. He mistakes her unconsciousness for weakness brought on by the nearing completion of their oneness. And worse, part of him finds it easier this way. Because she no longer cries. No longer begs. No longer recoils from his touch. He tells himself she is finally at peace. The lie settles easier inside his fractured mind every hour.
When he arrives at the next waypoint, the place looks almost like a ruined cathedral hidden outside reality itself. Towering stone arches disappear into darkness overhead. Cracked stained glass filters pale celestial light across worn marble floors. Ancient angelic sigils glow softly beneath layers of dust and abandonment. At the front of the church stands a massive altar. He looks at it with quiet awe. Perfect. Grace flickers violently through the church as he finally leaves Nellie’s body again. She collapses immediately against him, completely limp. He carries her carefully down the aisle like a groom carrying a bride toward a ceremony. The imagery would horrify anyone else. But he only feels reverence. Love. He reaches the altar and slowly lays her atop the cold stone surface, the dress spilling softly around her weakened body while dark rot stains visible skin beneath flickering candlelight. She looks deathly. Cold. Still. Barely breathing. And somehow, he still sees beauty before anything else.
His fingers brush lovingly across her cheek. “Soon,” he whispers.
Then he begins preparing the ritual. Candles ignite one by one throughout the cathedral. Sigils carved into the floor glow brighter beneath spreading grace. Ancient angelic instruments and bowls are arranged carefully around the altar. Every movement precise. Excited. Hopeful.
He moves through the church with growing anticipation now, speaking softly to unconscious Nellie while he works. “No more fear. No more pain. No more separation.” He truly believes he is saving her. That once the ritual binds them together permanently, all her suffering will end. His excitement blinds him completely. So focused on the ritual. So focused on finally making her his forever, that he never senses the hunters and angel rapidly closing in on him at last.
• • •
The closer they get to the waypoint, the heavier the air becomes. Even inside the Impala, Jack can feel the faint pressure of celestial grace bleeding through the night. Wrong. Ancient. Powerful. Castiel appears in the backseat halfway through the drive, grace flickering faintly around him. Sam keeps driving. Faster now. The road narrows into forest while the angel begins quietly outlining a plan.
“The waypoint is unstable,” he says. “And Aberiel will likely react violently once he realizes we are there. My intention remains to imprison him within Heaven.”
That immediately earns silence from both hunters. Tense silence. Because neither Sam nor Jack particularly want Aberiel alive anymore. Not after two weeks. Not after what he’s done to Nellie.
Sam finally exhales through his nose. “We focus on getting her out first.”
“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “But Aberiel must be contained quickly before he attempts another possession.”
Jack stares hard out the windshield, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
He continues carefully. “Sam, I would prefer you assist me in subduing him while Jack retrieves Nellie.”
The young man immediately shakes his head. “No.”
Both men look back toward him. Jack finally turns around in his seat slightly. “I’ll help Cas.”
Sam frowns immediately. “Jack—”
“I mean it.” His voice stays quiet. Steady. But there’s something sharp underneath now. Controlled desperation.
The angel studies him carefully. “You should focus on Nellie.”
He swallows once hard. “Trust me,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t.”
Sam’s expression softens slightly with realization, because he understands immediately. Jack wants to tear Aberiel apart. And he knows it.
He drags a tired hand through his hair before continuing. “Of course I want to get her out of there.” His voice tightens painfully. “I’m not going to be useful to her in this state. If I help you take him down, then I can focus on that.” Channel the anger. Channel the fear. Hunter. Not emotion.
The Winchester watches him carefully from the driver’s seat. Proud and heartbroken all at once. Because despite how badly Jack is unraveling emotionally, he’s still trying to protect Nellie the best way he can. Even now.
Jack finally looks toward Sam. “You should get her out.”
His chest tightens immediately.
“You’re her family. And if she’s awake, she should see you first.”
He goes silent. Because God, Jack really loves her. Maybe neither of them has said the word yet or even admitted to it. Maybe the young man barely even admits it to himself. But he sees it clearly now anyway.
Castiel looks thoughtful for a moment before finally nodding once. “Very well.”
The closer they get to the hidden waypoint, the heavier the air becomes. By the time the Impala stops along the empty stretch of forest road, the pressure of angelic grace is almost suffocating. Jack is the first to step out. The woods around them stand unnaturally still. Silent. Even the air feels wrong.
“He is here,” the angel says tightly.
Jack already has the angel blade in hand. Holy oil rests heavy in his jacket pocket beside the lighter. He feels sick. Terrified. Ready to kill something. Anything to get Nellie back.
Castiel steps toward what looks like empty air between two dead trees. “The gate is concealed. Once I force it open, we move quickly.”
Sam nods in agreement.
He places one hand against the invisible barrier. Grace erupts violently outward. The woods shake faintly around them while Enochian symbols flare blue through the darkness. The hidden gate resists hard. His jaw tightens as he forces more grace into it. Jack can barely stand still now. Every second feels unbearable. Suddenly, the air tears open. A violent ripple spreads outward between the trees as reality itself splits enough to reveal dim candlelight beyond.
“Go!” the angel commands.
Both hunters move immediately, Castiel close behind. They step through and enter a cathedral-like foyer. Cold stone. Dust. Ancient celestial carvings lining cracked walls. The abandoned church hums faintly with ritual grace. Candles flicker somewhere deeper inside.
Jack’s pulse pounds violently. They move cautiously through the foyer toward the sanctuary entrance, angel blades ready. They freeze the moment they step into the open room.
Nellie lays motionless atop the altar at the front of the sanctuary, pale satin spills around her weakened body beneath candlelight. For one horrible second, Jack genuinely thinks she’s dead. Because she looks like a corpse. Green-black rot spreads visibly across exposed skin. Grace burns crawl along her arms and throat. Her body looks frighteningly thin beneath the slip dress. Cold. Still.
Sam’s breath catches sharply beside him. “Nellie…”
Then they see it. A shallow breath. Relief crashes so violently through Jack it almost knocks his knees out. Alive. She’s alive. Barely.
Sam immediately starts toward the altar. Heartbroken already from the sight of her. Jack forces himself to keep moving too even though seeing her like this physically hurts. Because this is Nellie. His best friend. The girl he— the thought fractures apart before he can finish it. Castiel stays alert beside him scanning the sanctuary sharply for Aberiel. His eyes keep catching on the details anyway. The bruises. The dark marks scattered across her skin mixed among the rot. The way the satin dress hangs wrong against her body. Something inside him twists violently with protective horror even without fully understanding why.
Grace flickers sharply beside the altar. Aberiel appears instantly, calm anger settling across his face. One hand grips a ritual dagger, the other clamps possessively against Nellie’s shoulder. She shudders weakly in pain beneath the touch. All three men freeze immediately. Because one wrong move could kill her.
The angel looks at them almost sadly. “You should not have come.”
Castiel steps forward carefully. “It is over, Aberiel.”
“No.” The answer comes immediate. Certain. He looks down toward her with horrifying affection. “You are too late.” His fingers brush gently through her hair near the altar. “The ritual is nearly complete.”
Jack grips the angel blade so hard his hand aches.
He smiles faintly. “She will finally be safe.”
“She’s dying,” Sam says coldly.
Aberiel’s expression flickers with irritation. “She is becoming one with grace.”
“She’s rotting.”
Something dangerous flashes briefly behind his eyes then. But it disappears the second he looks back toward her again. Like even anger softens in her presence. “My little star,” he murmurs quietly. “They do not understand.”
Jack feels physically sick hearing him talk to her like that.
Castiel keeps inching subtly closer. “Aberiel. Step away from her.”
“No. She belongs with me.”
Jack moves slightly before he can stop himself. Aberiel notices instantly, something ugly shifting across his face. He knows exactly how Jack feels about her. The realization twists something cruel and petty loose inside him. He suddenly leans down over Nellie and kisses her with a possessive passion. Claiming.
The entire church erupts instantly. Jack lunges first. Castiel moves at the exact same time. Grace explodes violently through the sanctuary as both angels collide hard enough to crack stone beneath them. The ritual dagger flies from Aberiel’s hand. Jack slams into the rogue angel with every ounce of fury and fear he has left inside him. Not reckless. Not sloppy. Hunter precise. But fueled by something far deeper now. Sam immediately breaks sideways out of direct sight, moving fast toward the altar while the fight erupts across the sanctuary. Grace detonates around him in violent bursts of gold and white. Stone cracks. Candles extinguish. Ancient pews splinter apart.
Jack fights like a man possessed. Like someone trying to tear apart the thing threatening his entire world. Sam sees it clearly while slipping around the chaos. There is not one selfish thing in Jack’s movements. Not revenge. Not pride. Only desperation to save her. Protect her. Bring her home. He reaches the altar.
Up close Nellie looks even worse. Cold. Too cold. The rot crawls visibly beneath pale skin now. And she weighs almost nothing when he carefully gathers her into his arms. Far too light. His heart breaks instantly. “Nellie…”
She doesn’t wake. Doesn’t react. Just breathes shallowly against his chest.
He immediately turns and runs toward the gateway, towards escape. Behind him the fight continues violently. Jack drives Aberiel backward again while Castiel attempts to bind his grace.
Then the rogue angel spots Sam carrying Nellie away and everything changes instantly. Pure rage twists across his face.
“No!” The word echoes thunderously through the waypoint. Grace explodes outward violently enough to shake the entire sanctuary. “She is MINE!”
Jack gets hit full force. His body slams hard through a row of wooden pews, splintering them apart beneath him. Pain tears sharply through his ribs instantly. The bruising from the bunker had never fully healed. Now it feels like someone cracked them all over again. He gasps harshly against the floor, then immediately forces himself back up anyway. Because Sam has Nellie and Aberiel is trying to get to her.
The rogue angel moves fast. Jack throws himself directly into his path again before he can reach the sanctuary entrance. Aberiel grabs him hard by the front of his jacket and slams him backward against one of the stone pillars. The entire church shakes.
“You do not understand!” he snarls.
Jack shoves hard against him despite the pain shooting through his chest. “She’s not yours!”
His eyes burn violently. “She was made for me! I watched over her for years.” His grip tightens painfully. “I protected her when no one else did.”
“You kidnapped her!”
“I love her!” The confession sounds horrifyingly sincere. Aberiel looks almost offended that the young man cannot understand it. “She needs protection.” His voice breaks sharply with obsession. “She needs devotion. Care. Someone who understands her suffering.”
His rage spikes harder. “She needed freedom!”
The angel slams him back against the pillar again hard enough to blur his vision. “I know her better than you ever could.”
He shoves him backward finally. “No. You know how to control her.”
That hits. Something ugly flashes across Aberiel’s face. “She is safe with me.”
He almost laughs despite the pain. “She was terrified of you.”
Grace explodes again. Castiel slams back into the fight before Aberiel can retaliate further. The two angels collide violently across the floor while Jack grabs his dropped angel blade and forces himself upright again despite the agony ripping through his ribs.
Meanwhile, Sam bursts through the hidden gateway carrying Nellie in his arms. Cold night air hits immediately. The forest outside feels almost unreal after the suffocating grace inside the cathedral. “Nellie—hey—”
She doesn’t respond. Her head lolls weakly against his shoulder while her shallow breathing barely brushes against his neck.
He hurries toward the Impala as fast as he can, carefully lowering her onto the ground beside the passenger side of the car. The second he pulls back enough to really look at her, his heart breaks. The rot spreads everywhere now. Dark green-black patches crawl visibly across pale skin exposed by the ruined slip dress. Grace burns branch angry and raw over her shoulders and throat. And then he notices the darker, bite sized marks scattered among them. Along her neck. Her chest. Her thighs. Bruises. Not from fighting. He immediately yanks off his jacket and carefully puts it on her, protective instinct taking over fully now. Dad mode. She shivers weakly beneath the added warmth but still doesn’t wake.
He gently brushes hair away from her clammy forehead. “You’re freezing, Nell.”
Panic claws hard through his chest. Her breathing remains frighteningly shallow. Too shallow.
“Nellie,” he says softly. “Come on, sweetheart…”
Nothing.
The forest trembles faintly from the waypoint fight still raging beyond the hidden gateway. He looks back toward the trees briefly. Toward Jack and Castiel still fighting inside. Then back down toward his niece. And fear settles deep into his bones, because she does not look survivable anymore.
Inside the waypoint, the church shakes around them. Broken pews burn. Grace crackles violently through cracked stone walls. Stained glass rains down in glittering fragments from overhead. Jack can barely breathe from the pain in his ribs. But he keeps fighting anyway. Because Aberiel is not getting anywhere near Nellie again. Castiel drives the rogue angel backward with bursts of grace while Jack quickly digs the flask of holy oil from his jacket. His mind races. Hunter instinct. Think.
Aberiel shoves the other angel hard enough to send him crashing into the altar steps before turning immediately toward the sanctuary exit again.
Jack steps directly into his path. “You know what?” he spits through ragged breaths. “You were never protecting her.”
The rogue angel freezes.
He keeps going. “You are too weak to protect her.”
Pure rage twists across Aberiel’s face instantly. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know she hates you.”
Grace explodes outward violently. He stumbles backward intentionally now, leading the angel, baiting him. “She cried every time you touched her, didn’t she?”
Aberiel lunges, stepping directly across the trail of holy oil Jack spilled seconds earlier. The hunter immediately flicks the lighter. Fire erupts around the angel instantly, the ring igniting in a violent burst of orange and gold. He slams into the invisible boundary with a furious scream as holy fire traps him inside.
Castiel rises slowly from the shattered altar steps. His expression hardens into pure heavenly authority as he approaches the trapped angel. “Aberiel of the Seventh Choir,” he says sharply.
The rogue angel looks absolutely feral now. “She belongs with me!”
“No. You violated Heaven’s laws. You violated a human soul.” Grace flickers violently around him now. “You are under arrest by the authority of Heaven.”
Aberiel struggles violently against the ring. “She needs me!”
“She needed freedom.” Castiel raises one hand. Grace engulfs both angels instantly and then they disappear. Silence crashes heavily into the ruined church afterward.
Jack just stands there for half a second. Bruised. Bleeding. Exhausted. Then immediately turns toward the gateway. He stumbles through the hidden entrance back into the forest clearing outside. Cold air hits him instantly. The Impala sits nearby beneath weak moonlight. Sam kneels beside Nellie near the passenger side. Too still. He slows immediately. Something feels wrong. Very wrong.
“Sam?”
No answer.
He hurries closer despite the agony in his ribs. “How is she?”
Then Sam finally looks up. And Jack’s entire world stops. Because Sam Winchester is crying. Tears streak openly down his face while he kneels beside his niece in complete helplessness.
His heart drops violently into his stomach. “No.”
The Winchester looks back down toward Nellie again, not speaking.
He falls hard to his knees beside her instantly. “No no no—” His shaking fingers grab for her wrist. Nothing. No pulse. Panic detonates violently through his chest. He presses trembling fingers against her neck. Nothing. No heartbeat. He immediately leans over her, starting to position his hands for CPR.
Sam catches his wrist weakly. “I tried.”
He looks at him like he didn’t understand the words.
“Jack…”
“I can fix this.” His voice breaks violently. “She can’t be dead.”
“I tried.”
Jack shakes his head immediately. “No.” Tears spill hard down his face now. “No, we got her out — we stopped him—” His voice cracks apart completely. “She’s supposed to be safe now.”
Nellie lays motionless in Sam’s jacket. Cold. Pale-green. Still. The rot stretches visibly beneath moonlight while the forest remains horribly silent around them.
He grabs weakly at her hand anyway. Like holding onto her can somehow force her back. “We were too late,” he whispers brokenly.
S2 Chapter 21 Teaser
Jack turns away first, pacing hard toward the bookshelves while running frustrated hands through his hair. “We’re missing something.” The angel remains near the ritual table, grace flickering faintly around his fingers before fading completely. “I agree.” Sam starts pacing too. Restless energy. Hunter brain trying to force connections together before panic fully takes over. “Okay,” he mutters tiredly. “What do we actually know? We know Aberiel knows how to hide from Heaven. We know he’s using old concealment methods from that hidden angel order.” Jack leans heavily against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed tightly. “We checked abandoned waypoints.” “Churches,” the Winchester continues. “Old sanctuaries. Angel meeting grounds.” “Hidden celestial structures,” Castiel adds quietly. “And we’ve tried basically every tracking ritual short of black magic.” Jack mutters bitterly, “Give me another hour and I might consider black magic.” Sam ignores that. “He’s obsessed with Nellie,” he continues instead, trying to think out loud now. “Not Heaven. Not power. Her.” The angel nods once. “He watched over her as a child.” The words hit the room differently this time. Sam suddenly stops pacing. Completely. A realization slams visibly across his face. Jack notices immediately. “What?” He slowly looks between both of them. “We’ve been looking at this from the angel side.” “What do you mean?” “We’ve mostly been checking places important to angels. What if we’re supposed to be looking for somewhere important to both of them?”
Chapter 21 is out this week!
S2 Chapter 20 - Be Not Afraid
Some things watch from a distance for so long that they forget how to let go. What begins as a strange feeling at the edge of Nellie’s senses slowly turns into something harder to ignore; something familiar, patient, and far too close. And as the bunker’s safety begins to fracture around them, Nellie and Jack are forced to face a dangerous truth: not everything that claims to protect you knows when to stop.
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TW: ANGST! canon-typical violence. brief descriptions of abuse and nonconsensual touching. use of mild language.
The bunker falls into routine again. Not peace. Their lives will never be peaceful. But routine. Hunts. Research. Laundry left sitting too long in the dryer. Coffee brewing at ungodly hours. Music echoing softly through the halls while old case files cover the library table. Normal. Or as close to normal as hunters ever get. The vampire nest in Nebraska takes three days to clear out. By the time Nellie and Jack stumble back into the bunker, they smell like smoke, dead things, and motel soap that never fully washes blood out of skin.
She drops face-first onto the library table with a groan. “I think I died somewhere in Iowa.”
He glances up from where he is shelving lore books. “You said that in Nebraska too.”
“Because I was also dying in Nebraska.”
“You got tackled through a wall.”
“One wall.”
He raises an eyebrow. “It was load-bearing.”
She lifts her head enough to glare at him. Her braid has mostly fallen apart during the drive home, brown hair loose around her shoulders now. There is dried blood beneath one fingernail she missed while washing up. “You’re supposed to be supportive.”
His mouth twitches slightly. “I drove six hours while you drooled on the leather.”
“I did not drool.”
“You definitely drooled.”
“I hate you.” The words carry no heat. They never do.
He looks back down at the books before she can notice the smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. It happens too easily around her now. That’s the problem. Somewhere between hunts and late-night research and diner breakfasts at three in the morning, he stops being able to separate friendship from whatever this becomes. And she, to his knowledge, has absolutely no idea. Which honestly makes it worse. Because she trusts him completely. He knows the shape of that trust by heart now. The way she passes him weapons without looking because she knows he will catch them. The way she falls asleep during long drives without hesitation. The way she instinctively moves toward him during hunts without realizing it. Simple things. Dangerous things.
He spends months trying to bury the feelings quietly enough that they won’t ruin what they already have. Because losing her entirely sounds a hell of a lot worse than loving her silently.
• • •
The ghost case in Missouri nearly ends badly. Jack catches Nellie halfway down the staircase after the spirit hurls her across the second-floor landing hard enough to splinter wood beneath her shoulder. The ghost screams somewhere inside the walls, lights bursting overhead one after another. She hisses sharply through her teeth as he steadies her against him.
“You okay?”
“Fantastic,” she breathes. “Pretty sure my ribs are in six different places, but fantastic.”
His jaw tightens as he looks toward the dark hallway where the ghost disappears. The air still crackles with leftover energy.
Behind him, she nudges his arm lightly. “Hey.”
He looks down at her.
“I’m okay.”
There is something quiet in her voice when she says it. Like she already knows exactly where his thoughts go. You should’ve moved faster. You should’ve stopped it. He exhales slowly through his nose. “Still checking your ribs later.”
She snorts softly. “Bossy.” But she doesn’t step away immediately either.
• • •
Rain hammers softly somewhere above the bunker while Led Zeppelin plays low through an old speaker near the map table. Nellie sits cross-legged on top of the table cleaning one of her pistols beneath the warm overhead lights, sleeves shoved to her elbows. Jack disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes before returning silently.
She barely looks up as he sets a fresh cup of coffee beside her along with a bag of beef jerky. “You’re creepy,” she mutters tiredly.
He sits back down at the library table, opening the lore book in front of him. “You forgot to eat dinner.”
“That sounds like a future me problem.”
“It became a current you problem four hours ago.”
She looks down at the snack before shaking her head faintly. “You enable me.”
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.” Still, she immediately opens the beef jerky.
He hides his smile behind the lore book.
The map room settles back into comfortable silence after that. Rain. Music. The soft metallic click of Nellie reassembling her pistol. Then suddenly, she stills, her fingers freezing against the gun slide.
Jack glances up at the silence. “What?”
She frowns faintly toward the hallway leading deeper into the bunker. For a second, she looks distracted. Almost distant. Like she’s listening to something far away. “…Nothing,” she says eventually, though uncertainty lingers in her voice. “Thought I felt something.”
He straightens slightly. “What kind of something?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know.” The feeling vanishes already. Warm. Familiar. Watching. Like static brushing lightly against the edge of her thoughts. Then nothing. She shakes it off after a second and returns to cleaning the pistol.
But he keeps watching her quietly from across the room. Something about the look on her face unsettles him more than he wants to admit.
• • •
The case in Colorado is a wendigo. Which honestly would be easier if the thing stopped dragging bodies into abandoned mine shafts like some kind of cryptid hoarder. Nellie crouches near the edge of the tunnel entrance, flashlight cutting across old blood smeared into the dirt floor while cold mountain air drifts through the trees behind them. “Tell me again why monsters always pick the creepiest places possible.”
Jack checks the shotgun shells before sliding them back into his coat pocket. “Atmosphere?”
Nellie glances back toward him dryly. “You’ve been spending too much time around my dad.” She pauses. Something brushes lightly across the edge of her senses. Warm. Faint. Gone almost immediately. She frowns slightly, looking deeper into the trees.
“What?” he asks quietly.
She hesitates. “…Nothing.” The feeling has already disappeared. Not creature energy. Not ghost residue. Nothing sharp or rotten or violent. Just warmth. Watching. She shakes it off after another second before standing upright again. Probably lingering spiritual residue from the mine. Or maybe she’s just overtired.
• • •
The next hunt takes them to Oklahoma. A farmhouse just outside Tulsa where something has been slaughtering livestock and leaving strange symbols carved into the barn walls. Turns out the symbols belong to a witch who has been sacrificing animals trying to resurrect her dead husband. Typical Tuesday. By the time the hunt ends, Nellie has blood on her jeans and a splitting headache blooming behind her eyes from using her abilities too hard during the confrontation. Jack drives while she sits curled against the passenger door half-awake, headlights cutting through long stretches of empty highway. Then suddenly that feeling appears again. Her eyes open slightly, warm static brushing softly across her senses before fading almost immediately. Closer this time. Familiar somehow. She frowns faintly toward the dark road ahead.
“What?” he asks quietly from behind the wheel.
“You ever feel like someone’s watching you?”
He glances toward her briefly. “Constantly. We hunt monsters.”
“That’s fair.” The feeling disappears before she can focus on it properly. Still warm. Still oddly familiar. And somehow not threatening. Which honestly should worry her more than it does.
• • •
A ghost case in Illinois leaves both of them exhausted and covered in grave dirt after midnight. The spirit attaches itself to an antique wedding ring and spends the last twenty years haunting every person who tries to wear it. Nellie sits on the hood of the Impala outside the cemetery while Jack finishes pouring salt over the remains they dug up. The cold night air bites through her jacket. Then warmth again. She straightens slightly. This time the sensation lingers longer. Not human. Not spirit. Grace. The realization settles quietly into place inside her chest. Angelic grace. Weak residual traces of it anyway. She looks slowly toward the cemetery gates, eyes narrowing faintly. Nobody there. But now that she recognizes it, the familiarity makes more sense. Honestly, it would make sense if Cas has been checking in on them more often lately. Especially with Jack hunting full-time now. He worries constantly even when he pretends not to. The warmth fades again after a few seconds.
Jack walks back toward the car carrying the iron shovel over one shoulder. “You look like you’re having an existential crisis.”
She blinks once before looking over at him. “Maybe a small one.”
“That sounds manageable.”
A faint smile pulls briefly at her mouth. She doesn’t mention the grace. Doesn’t really seem important. If anything, the feeling is strangely comforting. Like someone familiar standing just out of sight.
By the time they return to the bunker two days later, rain hammers softly against the upper pipes while classic rock drifts low through the library speakers. Jack disappears into the kitchen while Nellie drops heavily into one of the library chairs with a tired groan. Her body aches. The hunt is rougher than expected. She closes her eyes briefly and feels it again. Warm static brushing lightly against the edge of her thoughts. Watching. Familiar. Nellie exhales slowly through her nose. Maybe Cas is checking in more often now and she’s only just starting to notice because of how much stronger her sensitivity has become over the years. The feeling fades as quickly as it comes.
A minute later, Jack returns carrying two mugs of coffee and one of the leftover sandwiches from the kitchen. “You forgot dinner again,” he says, setting the plate down in front of her.
She opens one eye tiredly. “I was busy being traumatized by ghosts.”
“That’s not a valid excuse.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
She snorts softly before sitting up enough to grab the sandwich.
He settles into the chair across from her while rain continues drumming softly overhead.
Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, that strange familiar warmth lingers long after the sensation itself disappears.
• • •
The hunt in Arkansas ends with Jack setting fire to a nest of ghouls beneath an abandoned funeral home while Nellie sits on the hood of the Chevrolet Impala trying to scrub grave dirt from beneath her fingernails. The fire crackles violently behind them, smoke rolling upward into the cold night sky. Nellie leans her head back against the window with a tired sigh. Then warmth. Faint static brushes lightly across the edge of her thoughts. Watching. By now, the sensation barely startles her anymore. It comes and goes every few days. Sometimes on hunts. Sometimes in the bunker. Sometimes in motel rooms halfway across the country. Always warm. Always familiar. Always gone before she can properly focus on it. She closes her eyes briefly. Definitely angelic grace. Honestly, it’s almost comforting at this point.
“Thinking hard over there?” Jack asks as he climbs into the passenger seat.
She opens one eye. “Trying to decide if I’m emotionally stable enough for another gas station coffee.”
He snorts softly as he starts the car. “Dangerous game.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who eats expired diner pie without fear.”
“It smells fine.”
“It looked radioactive.”
He smiles faintly to himself as the car rolls back onto the empty highway.
• • •
Three days later, they stop at a diner outside Amarillo after a shapeshifter case leaves both of them running on barely four hours of sleep. Rain streaks softly against the windows while old country music plays low from a jukebox near the kitchen. Nellie sits curled into the booth nursing her third cup of coffee while Jack picks apart a basket of fries across from her.
“You know,” she mutters, “I think we deserve financial compensation for emotional distress.”
He glances up from the fries. “From who?”
“The universe.”
“That seems difficult to sue.”
“I’ll find a lawyer.”
His mouth twitches slightly.
Then her gaze drifts toward the front windows. A man stands outside near the edge of the parking lot. Tall. Dark coat. Still. For a brief second, he looks directly at her. Warm static immediately brushes across her senses hard enough to make her chest tighten slightly. Then headlights pass between them and he’s gone. She frowns faintly.
“What?” Jack asks.
She blinks once before looking back toward him. “…Nothing.” Probably just somebody passing through. Truck stop diners are full of weird people. Still, the warmth lingers strangely beneath her skin for several seconds afterward.
• • •
The sightings continue after that. Small things at first. A figure standing too far back in a crowd outside a motel. Someone watching from the opposite side of a gas station parking lot. The man near the tree line during a salt-and-burn outside Topeka. Every time Nellie looks directly at him, he disappears quickly afterward. And every single time, that strange residual grace spikes sharply through her senses. Warm. Familiar. Watching. It should frighten her more than it does. But every time she reaches for the feeling, it slips through her grasp before she can properly identify it. It’s just there, like standing too close to static electricity before a storm.
The hunt in Iowa nearly turns ugly when the poltergeist inside the abandoned elementary school realizes she can see him directly. Lockers slam violently down the hallway while fluorescent lights burst overhead one after another. Jack shoves the iron crowbar into the spirit’s remains hard enough to pin the box shut while she finishes the Latin rites breathlessly beside him. The building finally goes silent. For a moment, neither of them moves. She then freezes, the warmth hitting harder this time. Close. Very close.
Her head turns sharply toward the end of the hallway. The man stands there. Not a trick of the eye this time. Real. Dark trench coat. Still posture. Calm expression partially obscured beneath flickering lights. Watching them. The residual grace floods through her senses hard enough to make her pulse spike. Then the lights flicker once and he vanishes.
“Nell?” Jack’s voice snaps her attention back toward him. He’s already watching her carefully now, concern etched across his face. “You okay?”
She stares toward the empty hallway for another second before slowly lowering the knife in her hand. “I think something’s following us.”
He straightens immediately. “What? Did the rites not take?”
“No, no. Not that.” She frowns faintly, trying to organize the feeling into words. “I keep sensing residual energy during hunts. And now I’m seeing…” She hesitates. “Someone.”
His expression tightens instantly. “A ghost?”
“No.”
“Demon?”
She shakes her head slowly. “It doesn’t feel malicious.”
That honestly seems to worry him more. Because things that watch quietly are often worse than things that attack immediately.
She rubs tiredly at the back of her neck. “I attract weird supernatural stuff sometimes,” she mutters. “Psychic magnet problems.” Her fingers brush absentmindedly against the disc-shaped amulet resting beneath her shirt. The concealment charm helps. Usually. But not perfectly.
He still looks uneasy. “You said you saw someone?”
“Only for a second.” She exhales slowly. “I can’t get a clear reading on whatever it is. Every time I try, it disappears.”
He glances once toward the far end of the corridor before looking back at her. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
She shrugs one shoulder lightly. “I wasn’t worried.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not.” Something quiet settles in his voice when he says it. Protective. Honest.
She offers him a small tired smile. “I know.”
And somehow that only makes him look more concerned.
• • •
The library slowly disappears beneath open books over the next several days. Lore texts. Spirit indexes. Old Men of Letters records. Psychic manifestation journals Sam organizes years ago and probably regrets keeping. None of it helps. Nellie sits cross-legged in one of the library chairs, glasses sliding low on her nose as she flips through another faded journal. Her socked foot rests absently against the edge of Jack’s chair while he works through a stack of old case files beside her.
The contact barely registers anymore. It happens constantly now. Easy closeness. Familiarity. Trust. Dangerous things.
“You finding anything?” he asks quietly, eyes still scanning the page in front of him.
She snorts softly. “Yeah. Apparently, in 1978, a psychic medium in Ohio thought her microwave was haunted.”
He looks up slightly. “…Was it?”
“She exploded it with her mind.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It kind of answers the question.”
His mouth twitches faintly before he looks back down at the file.
She flips another page. Nothing. No spirits matching the sightings. No entities tied to residual grace. No lore about silent watchers following psychics across state lines. Just dead ends.
She leans back slightly in his chair after a while. “You said it felt familiar.”
She nods faintly. “Kind of.”
“How?”
She hesitates briefly before shrugging one shoulder. “It feels like Cas. Well, not exactly him. Just… angelic grace, I think.” Her brow furrows slightly. “Every time I sense it, it reminds me of him.”
He frowns faintly at that. “Why wouldn’t he just tell us if he’s checking in?”
She huffs quietly through her nose. “This is Castiel we’re talking about.” Fair point.
He glances back down at the lore books, though tension still lingers faintly in his shoulders.
She closes another useless journal with a sigh before tossing it onto the growing pile beside her. “Honestly,” she mutters, “I think whatever this was moved on.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You saw the same guy multiple times.”
“And now I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
She smiles faintly despite herself. “You worry too much.”
His eyes stay on the page in front of him. “Someone has to.” The words slip out softer than intended.
She glances at him briefly. He pretends to still be reading. After a second, she shakes her head faintly and reaches for another file.
• • •
The hunt in Minnesota is supposed to be easy. A rugaru nesting outside a logging town. Quick job. Burn the remains. Drive home. Instead, the thing nearly tears Jack’s shoulder open.
The abandoned sawmill shakes with the sound of splintering wood as the creature slams him hard into one of the support beams.
“Nellie—!”
She turns instinctively and freezes. The man stands just under the awning a couple yards away. The residual grace hits her all at once. Not faint this time. Strong. Warm static floods violently across her senses hard enough to make her chest tighten sharply. The distraction lasts maybe two seconds. But two seconds during a hunt is enough to get somebody killed. The creature lunges again before she reacts. Claws rip across Jack’s shoulder hard enough to send blood spraying across the floorboards. Something inside her snaps violently into focus. Energy explodes outward, slamming the creature backwards into a rusted machine hard enough to cave metal inward with a deafening crash. He recovers immediately despite the injury, grabbing blow torch and putting to the rugaru’s face while she pins it against the wall psychically. The scream barely lasts a second, leaving heavy breathing filling the mill.
Nellie spins immediately toward where the man stood. Gone again. Fear curls coldly through her stomach for the first time since this starts. Because he was close. Too close. “Jack—” She crosses the distance immediately.
Blood soaks through the shoulder of his jacket in thick dark streaks. Jack barely even looks at the injury. “Nellie, what happened?” Not angry. Not upset. Just worried about her.
She swallows hard before pressing trembling fingers carefully over the torn fabric near his shoulder, static rippling beneath her skin and small trail of blood already leaving her nose. He hisses quietly through his teeth as the deeper cuts slowly knit themselves back together under her touch.
“I saw him again,” she admits quietly.
His jaw tightens instantly. “The same guy?”
She nods. “He was standing there watching us.” Her voice sounds thinner now. Uneasy. “And the grace…” She shakes her head faintly. “It spikes hard this time.”
He stays still while she heals the remaining cuts, glancing once across the mill before looking back at her. Protective tension settles visibly into his posture now. “We need to get back to the bunker.”
She looks up. “Jack—”
“No.” His voice stays calm but firm. “We are not having a repeat of Nightshade.”
She knows he’s right and that honestly scares her more than the thing itself.
The drive back to Kansas feels longer than usual. Rain follows them through Iowa. Classic rock hums quietly through the Impala speakers while headlights cut across empty highway and dying gas station signs. Nellie sits curled slightly against the passenger door, elbow against the window, thumb rubbing absently against the edge of the amulet beneath her shirt. Nothing. No warmth. No static. No angelic grace brushing against her senses. That should make her feel better. Instead, it makes the knot in her stomach worse.
Jack glances toward her every so often during the drive. Never long enough to get caught staring. Just checking. Making sure she’s okay.
She notices anyway. “You’re doing the face again.”
He keeps his eyes on the road. “What face?”
“The worried face.”
“I always look worried.”
“That is unfortunately true.”
The corner of his mouth twitches faintly. Silence settles again after that. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy. She looks back out the window. Trees blur past in the darkness outside. For a second, she almost expects to see him standing near the side of the road, watching. Her chest tightens slightly at the thought.
He glances over again. “You prayed?”
“Twice.”
No answer from Castiel yet. That bothers both of them more than they want to admit. The angel always answers, but with his high position and duties, it is hard to know when he’ll answer.
She exhales softly through her nose and closes her eyes briefly. She’s tired, her head hurts, and her chest still feels wrong from the spike of grace inside the sawmill. Every time she replays the fight in her head, she sees the man standing there watching her while Jack bleeds across the floorboards. She hates that she froze. Hates it.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
She opens her eyes again. “Yeah.” It’s automatic. The lie slips out easily now.
He looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he just nods once and keeps driving.
By the time they finally reach the bunker, Nellie feels exhaustion buried deep in her bones. The garage door groans shut behind the Impala. Jack grabs their duffels from the trunk while she heads toward the stairs, shrugging out of her jacket as she walks. The bunker feels colder tonight. She barely makes it into the library before familiar wings flutter softly through the room. Castiel appears near the map table. His trench coat is pressed, tie smartly tied.
“Nellie,” he greets gently.
Relief hits harder than she expects. “Cas.”
Jack drops the duffels beside one of the tables. “We’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know.” The angel frowns slightly. “I apologize. Heaven has required much of my attention recently.”
She crosses her arms tightly. “Why have you been following us?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The grace,” she clarifies. “I keep sensing you.”
Confusion crosses his face almost immediately. “I have only checked on you twice the past couple of months.”
“No. That impossible. I’ve been sensing angelic grace for weeks.”
Now Castiel looks concerned.
Jack steps forward slightly. “There’s also a man.”
His attention shifts immediately. “What man?”
She rubs tiredly at the side of her neck. “I thought maybe it was some spirit attached to me or something,” she admits. “I keep seeing him during hunts. Every time I do, I sense grace.”
“He’s watching her specifically,” Jack corrects quietly.
He looks back toward Nellie. “Describe him.”
“Tall. Dark hair. Trench coat. Just watching.”
Jack’s jaw tightens. “Apparently, he got closer tonight.”
That makes Castiel go still in the way angels do when something suddenly becomes dangerous. “How close?”
She hesitates. “He appeared during a hunt.”
“And you are certain the energy was angelic grace?”
“Yes.” She knows what grace feels like.
He looks down briefly, clearly thinking through something. “Nellie, you do remember me telling you about the group of angels that used to watch you as a child?”
Jack frowns immediately. “What?”
Nellie nods slowly. “I remember. They protected me in secret, right?”
He looks between them. “Protected her from what?”
“From Heaven,” Castiel answers honestly. “From Chuck.”
The room falls quiet again. He stares.
The angel folds his hands carefully in front of him. “When certain angels realize that she is a Winchester… they understand Chuck could potentially use her against Sam and Dean.” His eyes shift toward Nellie. “So, they hide her. They conceal records. Even within Heaven itself.”
Jack shakes his head slightly. “How is that even possible?”
“To be fair,” he admits softly, “you, Sam, and Dean keep Chuck occupied for many years.” That almost sounds dry enough to be humor. Almost.
She looks down at the table quietly. “They didn’t stop everything,” she murmurs.
His expression dims slightly. “No,” he admits. “Only the worst of it.” He straightens slightly.
“When Heaven fell, many angels died. But not all of them.”
Understanding slowly crosses her face. “You think some survived.”
“I believe it is possible.”
Jack frowns immediately. “Then why watch her now?”
Castiel doesn’t answer right away. Which is answer enough. Because if he doesn’t know, then something is wrong. Very wrong. “I will investigate this immediately. There are archives in Heaven I may now be able to access.”
“And until then?” Nellie asks quietly.
“I strongly advise both of you remain inside the bunker.”
Jack nods immediately.
She exhales softly through her nose and looks away toward the dark hallway leading deeper into the bunker.
The flutter of wings echo for a moment, leaving only the low hum of the lights and the distant sound of pipes groaning somewhere deep overhead. She stays where she stands near the map table, arms folded tightly across herself. He watches her carefully from a few feet away. She looks exhausted. Not physically. Not just physically. There is tension buried beneath her skin now. Unease she is trying very hard not to let show. Usually after hunts, she moves. Talks. Makes dry jokes while cleaning blood off weapons or complains dramatically about motel beds and gas station coffee. Now she just stands there quietly staring at nothing. He hates it.
He shifts slightly closer. “You should get some sleep.”
She blinks once before looking over at him. “You literally got mauled by a rugaru six hours ago.”
“You healed it.”
“That doesn’t mean your body magically forgets about it.”
He almost smiles faintly at that. Almost. “Nell.”
Her expression softens slightly at his tone.
“You healed me. And you’ve barely slept since Minnesota.”
She looks away again. “I’m not really tired.”
That is a lie. He knows her well enough now to hear it immediately. “You almost pass out in the car twice.”
“I closed my eyes.”
“You stopped responding mid-conversation.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“You fell asleep holding a French fry.”
She finally huffs softly through her nose at that. “Okay, maybe a little tired.”
His shoulders loosen slightly. “Then rest.”
“The bunker wards need to be reinforced first.”
“Nellie—”
“I know.” She rubs tiredly at her face. “But if this thing is actually connected to Heaven somehow…” Her voice trails off quietly. Neither of them likes finishing that thought.
Jack exhales slowly through his nose. He wants to tell her no. Wants to tell her to go to bed and let him handle it instead. But he also knows Nellie well enough to understand what this actually is. Control. Hunters survive by controlling what they can. Research. Weapons. Wards. And right now? This situation is slipping out of both their hands. Reinforcing the wards will help her feel like she is doing something. So instead, he nods once reluctantly. “Take it easy.”
She glances back toward him.
“I’m serious,” he adds quietly. “You’re already drained.”
A faint flicker of saccharine affection softens her expression briefly. “Yes, mom.”
He rolls his eyes automatically. “Go.”
The corner of her mouth twitches faintly before she finally pushes herself away from the table. But she is quieter than usual as she walks away. Not scared exactly. Just unsettled. It is only after she is gone does he finally allow the fear to settle fully into his chest. Because this isn’t a normal hunt. There is no simple lore entry for: a man of angelic grace watching Nellie from shadows across multiple states. No silver bullet. No salt-and-burn. No easy answer hidden somewhere inside the Men of Letters archives. Just a growing feeling in the pit of his stomach that something is wrong in a way he can’t fix quickly. He leans heavily against the edge of the map table before dragging a hand tiredly across his face. His shoulder still aches faintly beneath the healed skin. But that isn’t what bothers him. It’s the look on her face back in the sawmill. The way she froze. The fear in her voice afterward when she admitted the man has gotten closer.
He swallows hard. Then quietly — almost instinctively — he bows his head. “Dean,” he murmurs softly into the silence. “If you’re around… I could really use your help right now.”
• • •
The bunker wards stretch across nearly every major entry point. Doors. Hallways. Stairwells. Storage rooms. The war room. The garage. Layers and layers of old sigils burn carefully into the structure decades ago by the Men of Letters. Most hunters would never even notice them.
Nellie does. Especially when she pushes energy into them. They glow faintly beneath her fingertips one by one as she moves through the bunker halls alone. Warm white light flickers briefly against concrete walls before fading once the wards settle back into place stronger than before. Usually, it doesn’t take this much out of her. But tonight her abilities already feel stretched thin from the hunt, the healing, the stress, the grace she still can’t fully identify.
By the time she reaches the final hallway outside her bedroom, pain throbs sharply behind her eyes and both nostrils now have blood leaving trails on her upper lip. She presses briefly against the wall, breathing slowly through the sudden wave of dizziness. “Fantastic,” she mutters weakly.
The migraine is coming in fully now. She can feel it. Heavy pressure settling behind her skull while exhaustion trembles through her muscles hard enough to make her hands shake slightly. Still, she forces herself to finish the final sigil beside her bedroom doorway. The symbol glows softly beneath her palm then fades. Done. She exhales shakily before finally stepping into her room. For a second, she just stands there motionless in the dim room, shoulders sagging now that nobody is around to see it. Tired. God, she is tired.
She grabs a clean washcloth a dresser drawer and goes over to the communal bathroom. She runs the cloth in the sink and cleans the blood from beneath her nose with cold water. The mirror reflects pale skin, tired eyes, and the faint strain etched across her face. Not great. Jack is definitely going to lecture her tomorrow. Assuming he sleeps at all tonight. The thought twists guilt quietly through her chest. Because somehow this always happens eventually. People around her getting dragged into things they never should touch in the first place. Monsters. Demons. Psychic disasters. Now apparently rogue angels. She shuts off the sink sharply before the thoughts can spiral further.
A few minutes later, she finally collapses onto her bed fully dressed. Her body immediately protests the movement. Every muscle aches. The migraine pulses harder. She reaches automatically toward the stuffed floppy dog sitting near her pillow and pulls it against her chest. The toy looks slightly worn now after its short time in the bunker. She smiles faintly despite herself at the memory of her little cousin gifting it to her for Christmas then curls slightly onto her side holding the stuffed animal closer. The room stays quiet for several minutes. Too quiet. Nellie stares tiredly at the wall. Maybe she should realize something is wrong sooner. Maybe she should tell Jack immediately instead of brushing it off for weeks. Maybe if she had—
“You’re thinking too loud again.”
She blinks slightly. Dean sits near the corner of her bedroom now, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Relief hits her chest painfully fast. “Cas told you?”
He nods once. “Said something weird is going on.” His eyes narrow slightly as he looks her over carefully. “You look like shit, kid.”
She huffs quietly through her nose. “Thanks.”
“You got still got blood on your face.”
“Too tired to care.”
His expression softens slightly after a second, concern settling there quickly instead. “How bad?”
She shrugs weakly against the pillow. “I just overshot a little energizing the wards.”
He stares at her flatly. “Nells.”
She looks away slightly. The silence answers enough.
He sighs softly through his nose before standing and moving closer to the bed. “You got a migraine coming on.”
“Probably.”
“You’re shaking.”
She looks down slightly then pulls the stuffed dog a little closer against herself.
He notices that too and something inside him twists painfully. Because no matter how old she gets, moments like this still remind him how young she really is underneath all the hunter instincts and sharp edges. “How long’s this been happening?” he asks more quietly.
She hesitates. “…A little over a month.”
His jaw tightens instantly. “A month?”
“I couldn’t ever get a clear read on it,” she defends softly. “It didn’t feel dangerous at first.”
“But now it does.”
She doesn’t answer immediately. Which is answer enough.
Dean exhales slowly through his nose before sitting down carefully beside the bed. “I should’ve noticed.”
That makes Nellie look over immediately. “Dad—”
“I’m serious.” There is frustration buried beneath his voice now. At himself. At the situation. At the fact he can’t physically protect her anymore.
She knows that tone. So instead, she shifts slightly closer toward him on instinct. “You couldn’t have known.”
He looks down at her quietly for a second. “Baby, you need sleep,” he says softly.
She swallows tiredly. “I know.”
“I’m staying.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “Dad—”
“So, you can rest without worrying.” The firmness in his voice leaves very little room for argument.
Despite everything, she smiles faintly. He leans back slightly in the chair beside her bed afterward, keeping his attention fixed toward the bedroom door and hallway beyond it. Protective. Watchful. Like he is daring the universe to try touching his daughter again.
Her eyes slowly close shut after that. Still exhausted. Still hurting. But safer now. Sleep comes heavily. She drifts somewhere deep beneath consciousness, body finally forcing itself to shut down after too many hunts, too much psychic strain, too much fear winding tight beneath her ribs. No dreams. Only weight. Warm darkness pulls her under while the migraine dulls into something distant and numb. At some point during the night, she shifts slightly beneath the blankets, still curled loosely around the stuffed floppy dog against her chest.
Then slowly, something pulls her upward again. Not sound. Presence. She stirs faintly, lashes fluttering open against the dimness of her room. Everything feels slow for half a second. Heavy. Her eyes drift automatically toward the chair beside her bed, still expecting to see Dean there. Instead, the man stands near the far corner of her bedroom. Adrenaline slams through her system instantly. Her hand shoots beneath the pillow before she is fully awake, fingers wrapping tightly around the handle of the hunting knife hidden there. The blade flashes upward immediately as she sits up hard in bed.
“Don’t move.” Her voice is sharp and cold.
He doesn’t react. Doesn’t even flinch. He simply watches her calmly from across the room. Tall. Lean build beneath dark layers of clothing. The trench coat looks old. Worn softer around the edges with age. Gray button-up beneath a dark suit jacket. Dark slacks. Black shoes polished clean despite everything. His posture stays perfectly still. Hands folded loosely behind his back. His eyes stay fixed entirely on her; steady, unblinking, and observant in a way that makes her skin crawl. Warm grace floods the room thick enough now that she can physically feel it pressing against her senses.
“What are you?” she demands quietly.
The man’s expression softens slightly. Like the question saddens him. “You already know.” His voice stays calm. Controlled. Gentle in a way that immediately makes her trust him even less.
Her grip tightens harder around the knife. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“On the contrary,” he agrees softly. “I should be here.”
Something cold slides down her spine.
Elsewhere in the bunker, Jack jerks awake instantly. Not naturally. Wrong. A sharp chill rips violently up his spine hard enough to pull him out of sleep immediately. Fear. Not his. Nellie. He sits upright before he fully processes the thought. His heart is already racing. Something is very wrong.
Because he has never felt fear spike from her like this before. Not this sharply. Not this suddenly. But undeniably hers. He grabs the angel blade from beside the bed and moves immediately. By the time he reaches Nellie’s room, the pressure of angelic grace already prickles uncomfortably against his skin. His stomach drops instantly.
He shoves the bedroom door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall. “Nellie—” He freezes.
She sits upright in bed with her knife raised defensively. Standing across from her is a man.
Normally this wouldn’t be that out of the blue. But this very clearly not Dean. He moves closer to her automatically, angel blade already raised. The man’s attention shifts toward him for the first time with a sign of disinterest. Not hatred. Not anger. Dismissal. Like Jack barely matters in the room at all.
Protective fury flashes hot through his chest. “Who the hell are you?”
The man looks back toward her almost immediately afterward, his attention settling entirely onto her again. “I apologize,” he says calmly. “I did not intend to frighten you.”
She stares at him in disbelief. “You broke into my room.”
“You were exhausting yourself.” The statement comes so matter-of-factly that for one brief second neither of them responds.
Jack’s grip tightens harder around the blade. “You need to leave.”
The man finally looks toward him again. His expression remains perfectly calm. “You are placing her in danger.”
He steps forward immediately. “And you’re in her room at three in the morning.”
Warm grace presses harder through the air now. Not violent. Just immense. Ancient. The man’s gaze shifts back toward Nellie once more. Everything about his posture subtly changes when looking at her. Softer somehow. Focused entirely on her. “I am trying to help you,” he says quietly.
She feels fear curl tighter in her stomach at the words. Because he sounds sincere. “Who are you?”
His expression softens faintly. “Aberiel. I am here to protect you once again.”
Jack immediately looks toward Nellie. Once again, Castiel is right.
Her grip tightens harder around the knife. “I’m fine.”
Aberiel’s gaze lingers carefully across her face. “You are not.” The words aren’t cruel or mocking. Just matter of fact. Like he genuinely believes them.
“I don’t need protection,” she snaps.
He tilts his head slightly. “The rugaru would disagree.”
Her jaw tightens instantly.
Jack steps forward before she can answer. “The hunt is under control until you show up.”
The angel’s eyes shift toward him for a moment before return to her. “You exhaust yourself protecting others. You continue placing yourself in unnecessary danger.”
She stares at him in disbelief. “I’m a hunter.”
“You were safer before.” The statement lands strangely in the room.
She frowns sharply. “Before what?”
“Before they taught you violence.”
Jack’s expression darkens instantly. “Okay, we’re done here.”
Aberiel ignores him entirely. Again. His eyes stay fixed softly on Nellie. “I protected you once,” he continues calmly. “I can do so again.”
“I’m not a child anymore,” she says coldly. “Whatever duty you had is over.”
Something almost amused flickers briefly across his expression then. Not mocking. Worse. Fond. Like she says something naïve. Something childish. He shakes his head faintly. “No, it is not.”
“You need to leave,” Jack says sharply. “And I am not going to ask you again.”
The angel looks at Nellie one last time. And for one brief second, the overwhelming grace in the room softens. Not weaker. Gentler. “You are exhausted,” he tells her quietly. “Rest.” Then the room flickers softly and he vanishes. The pressure of grace disappears with him instantly.
He stays exactly where he is for several long seconds, blade still raised slightly while his eyes scan the room carefully. Nothing. No more grace. No movement. Gone. Only then does he slowly lower the weapon. “Nellie?”
She still sits upright in bed gripping the knife too tightly. Not frozen. Just shaky.
He turns toward her fully now, concern immediately replacing the anger in his expression. “Hey.”
She blinks once like she’s pulling herself back into the room.
He notices immediately that the trembling in her hands hasn’t stopped. Residual psychic exhaustion. Migraine strain. Too much power usage in too little time. Not fear. At least not entirely.
“You okay?”
She swallows once before nodding faintly. “Yeah.” The answer sounds thin. “Cas needs to get back down here.”
He nods immediately, already reaching instinctively for the prayer in the back of his mind.
The angel answers almost immediately this time. Wings fill the room in a violent rush of air.
He appears near the foot of her bed and immediately goes still. His expression changes the second he feels the leftover grace saturating the room, concern sharpening instantly across his face. “He was here.”
Jack still holds the angel blade tightly at his side, adrenaline not fully burned out of his system yet. “He got through the bunker wards.”
His jaw tightens faintly.
Nellie finally lowers the knife slightly in her lap, exhaustion pulling heavier at her shoulders now. “He said his name was Aberiel.”
That makes Castiel go very still. For half a second, something grim crosses his expression. Then he nods once. “I found that same name.” He folds his hands carefully in front of himself, though tension still lingers visibly through his posture now. “Aberiel is indeed among the angels assigned to protect Nellie during her childhood. He’s the only surviving member of the group. The others either died during the Fall or were lost afterward.”
Jack frowns immediately. “Then why the hell is he stalking her?”
“I do not yet know.” The answer comes too quickly. Too honestly. And somehow that is worse. He looks toward her carefully now. “What exactly does he say?”
She hesitates briefly before answering. “That he is here to protect me again.” Her grip tightens faintly around the knife still resting against the blankets. “That I’m not safe.”
His expression darkens further. “This is happening faster than expected.”
Jack straightens immediately. “What does that mean?”
Castiel looks toward him gravely. “There are records missing from Heaven’s archives.”
“Missing?” she repeats.
“Stricken,” the angel corrects softly. “Removed intentionally.”
Jack’s expression hardens instantly. “By Aberiel?”
“I do not know.” Again, too honest, too uncertain. He looks deeply troubled now. “The angels assigned to conceal Nellie from Chuck were exceptionally skilled at hiding information. They operated outside standard Heavenly oversight for years without detection.”
She rubs tiredly at her temple. “And now one of them is sneaking into my bedroom.” The words come out flatter than intended.
Castiel does not disagree. Instead, he steps toward the doorway and presses two fingers carefully against the Enochian sigil carved into the frame. Blue grace flares brightly beneath his touch. The entire symbol burns white-hot for several seconds before settling. “I will reinforce every Enochian ward in the bunker personally,” he says firmly. “Aberiel should not be able to bypass them again.”
“Should?” Jack repeats sharply.
The angel looks toward him. There is no reassurance in his expression.
Nellie looks down at the knife still resting against her blankets. Hunter mode still buzzes painfully beneath her skin. Adrenaline. Fear. Exhaustion. The bunker is supposed to be safe. That’s the problem. Hunters survive motel rooms and abandoned buildings and monster nests because those places are expected to be dangerous. But this? This is home. And somehow that feels worse.
He straightens again after finishing the sigil. “I am returning to Heaven.”
Jack immediately frowns. “Right now?”
“I need answers before Aberiel escalates further.” His tightens slightly. “Several trusted angels are already assisting me in searching the archives.”
“And until then?” she asks quietly.
Castiel looks directly at both of them. “Remain alert. Do not underestimate what Aberiel may be capable of.” The warning lingers long after the flutter of wings fills the room again as the angel disappears.
Jack slowly lowers the angel blade completely now, though tension still radiates visibly through his posture. Neither of them moves for several long seconds. Still listening. Still waiting. For the first time in years, the bunker no longer feels entirely safe. Then Nellie abruptly pushes herself out of bed.
He frowns immediately. “Nell—”
She brushes past him without answering. Still exhausted. Still pale. Headache still visibly pulling tension behind her eyes.
He follows automatically. Not because she asks him to. Because there is absolutely no chance he is leaving her alone now. The halls feel different tonight as they walk through them. Every shadow too dark. Every corner too quiet. Hunter instincts buzz beneath skin that is supposed to feel safe here. She disappears into the kitchen. He leans silently against the doorway while she grabs the coffee grounds with hands that still tremble faintly from overusing her abilities earlier.
Normally he would stop her immediately. Tell her to go back to bed. Get some actual sleep. Rest before she collapses. Tonight he stays quiet. Because honestly? He doesn’t think either of them is sleeping again anytime soon. The coffee machine sputters softly to life. She braces both hands briefly against the counter while it brews.
He notices the way she winces slightly at the pressure behind her eyes. “You need to take it easy.”
Her shoulders rise and fall faintly beneath one of Dean’s old shirts she sleeps in. “I’m fine.”
He almost rolls his eyes. Almost. “You’ve said that like twelve times tonight.”
“Maybe eventually it’ll become true.”
Despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitches faintly.
She grabs two mugs once the coffee finishes brewing and slides one toward him automatically before taking her own. Then she heads toward the library without another word.
He follows quietly behind her, worried now in a way he hasn’t fully felt before. Because he has seen her scared. Angry. Grieving. Exhausted. This is different. Quieter. Like her brain is moving too fast underneath the silence. She immediately starts pulling books from the shelves once they reach the library. Angel lore. Men of Letters records. Ancient Enochian translations. Books stack heavily across the table one after another.
He sets his untouched coffee down slowly. “Nellie.”
She barely glances at him while flipping open one of the texts. “What?”
“How are you doing?” The question hangs in the air for a second.
She reaches over, grabs another book from the pile, and shoves it toward him instead. “Cross-reference fallen angel ward bypassing.”
Jack stares at the book. Then back at her. “Nell.”
She finally looks up this time, tired frustration sits visibly behind her eyes now.
“What else am I supposed to do?” she asks quietly. The words hit harder than she intends them to. She looks back down at the open pages in front of her. “I’m not just gonna sit here waiting for him to show back up. I want to know what’s happening.”
He watches her carefully for another second before finally sitting down beside her. “You still need rest.”
She rubs tiredly at one temple. “I know.”
“You’re running on maybe three hours of sleep.”
“And adrenaline.”
“That’s not better.”
A faint exhausted smile flickers briefly across her face before fading again.
The library settles into silence after that. Pages turning. Coffee cooling. Rain tapping faintly overhead. So far, they haven’t found anything useful. At least not yet. Jack sat across from Nellie with one elbow resting against the table, eyes scanning another useless passage about lower-order seraphim while his attention keeps drifting back toward her every few minutes. She looks exhausted. The coffee isn’t helping anymore. If anything, the caffeine only sharpens the strain already pulling at her face. He can see the headache lingering behind her eyes every time she pauses too long reading. Still, she keeps going. Page after page. Like if she stops moving for even a second, the fear will catch up. He understands that feeling better than he wants to.
“Nellie.”
She hums absently without looking up from the book.
“You’re squinting.”
“I’m reading.”
“You’re getting another migraine.”
“No, I’m not.”
He stares at her flatly.
She sighs softly through her nose before rubbing tiredly at one eye. “Okay,” she mutters. “Maybe a little one.”
He slides her water bottle quietly across the table toward her. She takes it automatically. Neither of them speaks much after that.
The bunker settles into deep nighttime silence around them. And eventually, he notices that she is slowing. Not dramatically. Just small things. Her eyes linger closed a second too long between pages. Her hand loosens slightly around the edge of the book. Her posture sags lower toward the table. And a few minutes later, her head finally tips sideways against folded arms. asleep. He watches her carefully for a second. Part of him wants to wake her up and drag her back to bed properly. Another part knows she needs sleep more than perfect sleeping conditions. So instead, he quietly stands, grabs one of the spare blankets folded near the library couch, and drapes it carefully around her shoulders. She barely stirs. He sits back down afterward, exhaustion dragging heavily at him too now. But not enough. Not enough to sleep. Not tonight. He picks his coffee back up instead and settles deeper into the chair for the long haul, keeping watch.
Nellie hadn’t realized she had fallen asleep. One second, she is reading. The next, warm grace floods around her. Panic hits instantly, sharp and immediate in a way it hasn’t before. Because this isn’t residual anymore. This is him. She spins around sharply. The space around her looks wrong. Not the bunker library. Not anywhere real. Darkness stretches endlessly around soft gold light while grace hums low through the air itself. And standing several feet away is Aberiel, watching her calmly. His posture stays perfectly still, hands folded loosely behind his back beneath the dark trench coat.
“I am glad you are resting,” he says softly.
Her fear immediately curdles into anger. “You’re in my head now?”
His expression shifts faintly. Not offended. Almost confused by her hostility. “You are exhausted.”
“Get out.” The words snap sharply through the space between them.
He remains still. “You require rest, Nellie.”
“I said get out.”
Warm grace pulses softly around him. “You do not understand the danger surrounding you.”
She laughs once harshly. “And you do?”
“Yes.” The answer comes instantly. Certain. Steady. That certainty unsettles her more than anger would.
“You’re not my guardian angel,” she snaps. “Your job is done.”
Something faintly amused flickers across the angel’s expression again, like she is a child saying something foolish. “You do not know what is good for you.”
The words make rage flash hot through her chest. “You know what?” she shoots back sharply. “I sure as hell know to involve Castiel.”
At the mention of Castiel, something colder shifts briefly beneath Aberiel’s calm exterior. “He is unnecessary.”
“No. He’s gonna remind you of your place.”
For the first time, his expression dims slightly. Not anger. Disappointment. Like she has failed to understand something important. “You should not fear me.”
She forces herself backward mentally. Hard. Instinct snaps violently into place. The dream-space cracks sharply around her and she wakes with a violent gasp.
Jack jumps upright immediately across the table. “Nellie—”
She is already moving. Adrenaline slams through her body hard enough to erase the lingering sleep instantly. Her hunting knife flashes into her hand. He barely has time to react before she slices sharply across her own palm, blood welling instantly.
“Nell — what the hell—”
She ignores him completely. Dipping her fingers into the blood, she drops hard to one knee beside the library table and begins drawing quickly against the concrete floor. A symbol. Sharp lines. Circular markings. Ancient Enochian. His eyes widen immediately in recognition. Angel banishing sigil. She finishes the final mark before slamming her bleeding palm against the center of it. The sigil ignites instantly. Bright burning gold explodes across the floor. A violent rush of air tears through the library hard enough to rattle bookshelves and extinguish several overhead lights.
Then silence crashes heavily into the room again.
He stares toward the hallway instinctively. Nothing there. His attention snaps back toward her immediately. “What happened?”
Her chest rises sharply with uneven breaths. “He was in my dream.”
His stomach drops instantly. “What?”
Nellie pushes shakily back to her feet, blood still dripping slowly from her hand. “He never left the bunker. He hid himself when Cas comes.”
He looks toward the still-glowing sigil on the floor. A cold knot twists hard in his chest. Because Castiel warns them. Angels like Aberiel know how to conceal themselves. And somehow, even he couldn’t sense him.
She presses her uninjured hand hard against her temple. The headache is roaring again now.
He notices immediately. His concern overrides the panic almost on instinct. “Come on.”
She blinks slightly.
He gestures toward the hallway. “You need to bandage your hand.”
Only then does she seem to fully register the blood still running down her palm. She nods faintly. Still pale. Still shaky. Still visibly on edge.
He stays close beside her as they head toward the infirmary. Neither of them relaxes for even a second along the way. The lights in the room feel too bright after the darkness of the library.
She moves over to the sink, rinsing blood from her hand beneath cold running water while he digs through the first aid kit sitting open across the counter nearby. The cut isn’t deep. Painful, but manageable. Still, blood swirls pink against the drain while she stares blankly at the sink like her brain hasn’t fully caught up to the last ten minutes yet. He watches her carefully while pulling out gauze and alcohol wipes. She looks exhausted. More than exhausted. Worn thin. Physically. Emotionally. Psychically. And still trying to hold herself together through pure stubbornness alone. Normally she would already snatch the supplies from his hands insisting she can patch herself up. Tonight she stays quiet.
The water finally shuts off. Nellie grabs one of the towels nearby and presses it carefully against the cut, drying the blood from her palm. The bleeding has slowed enough now that only faint red still stains the edges of the wound.
Jack steps closer automatically. “Lemme see.”
She holds her hand out without arguing. That worries him more than if she fights him on it.
He takes her hand carefully into his own. Warm. Slightly trembling still beneath his fingers. Butterflies immediately erupt stupidly hard in his chest. Which honestly feels ridiculous considering they have stitched each other up dozens of times. Cuts. Bruises. Broken fingers. Bullet wounds. Burns. Normal hunter things. But lately, every accidental touch lingers too long in his head afterward. And holding her hand like this now while she stands exhausted and trusting beside him? Yeah. Not helping. He focuses hard on the alcohol wipe instead. “This’ll sting.”
She huffs softly. “You say that every time like I don’t know what alcohol feels like.”
He almost smiles faintly. He cleans the cut carefully while she stays unusually still beside him. No teasing. No complaints. Just quiet. He eventually wraps the bandage slowly around her palm once the cut is cleaned. His fingers brush lightly against hers again. Butterflies. Again. God. He ties the wrap off gently before finally letting her hand go. “There.”
She flexes her fingers slightly beneath the bandage before looking up at him. “Thank you.”
Something soft pulls briefly through his chest at the quiet sincerity in her voice.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Of course.”
Silence lingers between them for another second. Then she leans back slightly against the counter with a tired exhale. “We need to call Cas again.”
He nods in agreement, though tension still sits visibly through his shoulders now.
The library still smells faintly like burned grace. The angel banishing sigil remains scorched dark against the concrete floor, though the glowing lines have finally faded. Books sit abandoned across the table exactly where they leave them. Jack stays close beside Nellie as they step back into the room. Then both stop. Castiel is already there, standing near the map table. Still and solemn. Something about the look on his face immediately makes her stomach drop.
“Cas,” she starts quietly.
But Jack speaks first. “Aberiel was still here. He hid himself in the bunker while you were here. He got into Nellie’s dream.”
Something darkens behind the angel’s eyes instantly. For a second, the room seems to go colder.
She crosses her arms tightly across herself, bandaged hand tucked close against her chest. “I banished him. He should’ve been sent back to Heaven.”
Castiel nods in agreement. “Yes.” But he still looks grim.
Jack notices immediately. “What?”
He looks between both hunters carefully before finally speaking. “I found additional records. There is an order of dishonorable discharge attached to Aberiel’s service history.”
The young man frowns sharply. “Discharge?”
“He was removed from his assignment watching over Nellie.”
Something cold twists hard through her stomach. “Why?” she asks quietly.
He hesitates. Just briefly. “It appears Aberiel becomes… overly attached to his duties.” The wording sounds careful. Too careful.
Jack’s expression darkens instantly. “What does that mean?”
Castiel looks toward her for half a second before answering. “He develops an obsession.”
The room goes completely still. Nellie feels panic claw suddenly hard against her ribs. Obsession. The word echoes wrong inside her chest. Her skin crawls.
“He is forcibly removed from the assignment,” he continues quietly. “And demoted afterward.”
Jack looks furious now. Not loud anger. Worse. Sharp. Protective. Controlled in the dangerous way Dean Winchester used to get. “And nobody thought to mention this earlier?” he snaps.
The angel’s expression tightens faintly. “The records were intentionally buried. Much of Heaven’s archive system was damaged after the Fall. Some files remained hidden.”
Nellie stares blankly toward the scorched sigil on the floor. Her heartbeat thuds painfully against her ribs now. Because suddenly everything makes horrible sense. The watching. The familiarity. The way he looks at her. Not like a protector. Like something possessive.
Jack notices the way she’s gone still beside him. “Nellie.”
She blinks once but doesn’t answer.
He steps slightly closer instinctively.
Castiel’s expression dims further. “I am sorry.”
She swallows hard. “He says he’s protecting me.”
The angel goes quiet for a second. “I believe Aberiel truly thinks he is.” That somehow makes it worse.
He immediately cuts in. “She banished him.” His voice sharpens firmly now. “He should be back in Heaven.”
Castiel nods once. “He is and we will handle this.” There is steel beneath his voice now. Cold angelic certainty. “We will stop him before he attempts to return. I will strengthen the bunker wards further and I will personally ensure Aberiel is contained until Heaven determines appropriate punishment.”
Jack looks unconvinced. Honestly, so does Nellie. Because if Aberiel hides himself from Castiel once, who is to say he can’t do it again?
The angel seems to recognize the fear lingering in the room. “I will not allow him near you again,” he promises quietly. Then wings fill the bunker library once more and he disappears, leaving behind silence.
He immediately looks toward her. She hadn’t moved. Still standing near the edge of the library table with her arms folded tightly across herself, bandaged hand tucked against her chest like she is physically holding herself together. Frozen not panicking. Somehow worse. He feels anger boiling hot beneath his ribs. Not at her. Never at her. At Aberiel. At Heaven. At the fact this thing had gotten inside the bunker. Inside her dreams. And underneath the anger is something uglier. Helplessness. Because for once, there isn’t an obvious thing to kill. No clean hunt. No monster nest. No silver bullet. Just an angel obsessed with her in ways that makes his stomach turn.
She finally moved after several long seconds. Slowly. Like her body suddenly weighed too much. She sits heavily down into one of the library chairs and stares blankly toward the floor.
He crosses the room immediately. “Nellie.”
She blinks once but doesn’t look at him.
He crouches slightly beside the chair, trying to catch her attention. “What do you need?” The question comes out rougher than intended. Because honestly? He needs something to do. Needs to help. Fix. Protect. Anything.
She shakes her head faintly. “I don’t know.” The words sound small. Tired. And that scares him more than if she’d broken down crying. Because she always knows what to do. Always has a plan. Always keeps moving. Now she just looks… lost.
He swallows hard against the tightness climbing into his throat. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then we start simple.” He grabs his angel blade from the place he discarded it earlier and hands it to her. “I’m gonna go grab another from the armory.”
That finally gets her attention. She looks up at him.
His voice softened slightly. “Just until I get back.”
For a second, she simply stares at the blade, then slowly takes it from his hand. The metal looked strange against the bandage wrapped around her palm.
“Stay here,” he adds quietly.
She almost smiles weakly at that. “Bossy.” The joke lands hollow.
He forces the smallest twitch of a smile anyway before turning quickly toward the hallway.
The walk to the armory felt too long. Every shadow wrong. Every silence heavy. Hunter instincts still screaming beneath his skin even inside the bunker. Especially inside the bunker now. He grabs another angel blade from the weapons cabinet faster than necessary before immediately heading back. And when he steps back into the library, Nellie hadn’t moved. Still sitting exactly where he left her. It should have reassured him. Instead, something about the stillness makes his chest ache harder. He approaches slowly this time. Carefully. Like he is afraid she might disappear if he moves too fast.
She finally looked up at Jack as he steps closer. The tension in her face hits him immediately. The exhaustion. The fear. The uncertainty. And underneath all of it, something heartbreakingly vulnerable. “I wish my dad was here,” she says in a quiet voice.
His chest tightens slightly. Not because Dean isn’t. Because he understands exactly what she means. Dean would know what to do. Or at least he would pretend to. Loudly. Confidently. Violently. And somehow that always makes things feel less terrifying. He opens his mouth to reply but she suddenly goes rigid beside him. Every muscle tightens instantly.
“Nellie?”
Warmth slams violently across her senses. Wrong. Not residual anymore. Broken. Like something forcing itself through barriers not meant to be crossed. Her eyes widen sharply. “The wards—”
The bunker lights flicker violently overhead. Both jump to their feet instantly. The air pressure shifts unnaturally through the library. Cold rushes suddenly down the hallways hard enough to rattle papers across the table.
“Nellie.”
Her name echoes low through the bunker. The voice seems to come from everywhere at once. Aberiel appears near the far end of the library in a violent flicker of grace, breathing heavily. Like forcing himself through the reinforced wards physically strained him. But the moment he fully straightens, the exhaustion vanishes. Calm again. Controlled. Though something sterner lingers beneath his expression now. Disappointment.
“You are making this more difficult than necessary,” he says quietly.
Jack moves immediately, stepping directly in front of Nellie without hesitation, angel blade raised. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
The angel barely looks at him. His attention remains entirely fixed on her. “You do not understand what is happening. You require protection.”
“I don’t need yours,” she snaps.
His gaze softens faintly. “You do.”
Jack’s grip tightens harder around the blade. “You’re violating your angelic role.”
That finally gets Aberiel’s attention. His eyes shift toward the young man slowly. Annoyance flickers faintly across his otherwise composed expression. “You do not have a place in this matter.”
He steps forward slightly. “The hell I don’t.”
The angel’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I have known her far longer than you.”
She moves closer behind Jack instinctively now, angel blade raised tightly in her hand.
Aberiel notices immediately. And for the first time, something sharper crosses his expression. Irritation. “She still does not understand the seriousness of this.” Warm grace thickens heavily through the room.
He instantly shifts his stance. “Nell—”
The angel raises one hand, grace exploding outward violently.
Jack is thrown backward hard enough to crash through the edge of the library table. Wood splinters loudly beneath him. He hits the floor hard, breath knocked violently from his lungs. Pain shoots sharply through his shoulder as broken books scatter around him.
She immediately moves toward him. “Jack!”
The angel simply walks forward calmly through the destruction. “Nellie. Correction is necessary for understanding.”
Rage snaps violently through her chest. Energy explodes outward. The lights burst overhead one after another as she slams her energy directly into Aberiel. Invisible force cracks violently through the room. Bookshelves shake. Paper flies everywhere. The angel barely moves. The grace surrounding him absorbs most of the impact effortlessly. Her stomach drops.
Jack scrambles back to his feet immediately despite the pain still radiating through his side, the angel blade flashing in his hand as he lunges forward. Aberiel doesn’t even fully turn. He lifts one hand sharply and the young man is hurled violently backward again. Harder this time. His body slams into one of the concrete pillars with enough force to crack stone. Pain explodes across his ribs. For a second, the room blurs. Before he can fully get his footing again, wings thunder violently through the bunker.
Castiel appears in a burst of grace near the library entrance, authority rolling instantly through the room. Cold. Ancient. Heaven itself behind it. “Aberiel of the Seventh Choir. You are—”
But Aberiel moves first. Fast. Too fast. He crosses the distance between himself and Nellie instantly and grabs her hard against him before the other angel can fully raise his grace.
She gasps sharply in shock. “Cas—!”
Grace explodes violently through the room. Then they vanish. Gone.
Jack stares blankly at the empty space where she had been standing. His heart drops so violently it almost hurts. “No.”
Castiel’s expression darkens instantly.
He shoves himself painfully upright again despite his ribs screaming in protest. “Where did he take her?!”
The angel stays silent for half a second too long.
His panic spikes harder instantly. “Cas.”
“This situation has escalated beyond what we initially anticipate.”
He stares at him in disbelief. “That’s your answer?”
Castiel’s jaw tightens slightly. “No.”
Jack drags a hand harshly through his hair before turning sharply toward the ruined library table. Every instinct he has is screaming go after her, find her, protect her. And he can’t do any of those things. “Can you track him? His grace or something?”
The angel shakes his head once. “No.”
“Then track Nellie.”
“I cannot locate her frequency.”
He stares at him. “What?”
“I have attempted already.”
“No, try again.” The words come sharp now. Desperate.
Castiel remains painfully calm despite the panic rolling off Jack hard enough to almost choke the room. “Jack—”
“Try again.”
“Remember Aberiel was part of a concealed order that specialized in remaining unseen. Even from high-ranking angels.”
Jack looks furious now. “So, he just disappears with her and that’s it?!”
“No.” But the angel looks far less certain than the young man wants him to. “He knows hidden places. Locations abandoned after the Fall. Waypoints concealed from Heaven’s direct oversight.”
He starts pacing before he fully realizes he is doing it, pain flaring sharply through his bruised ribs every few steps. He ignores it. “It’s not good enough,” he snaps.
“We don’t know what else he’s capable of.”
And underneath the words, another fear sits buried. One Jack hasn’t said out loud yet.
Aberiel is obsessed with her. The word echoes sickeningly through his head now. He drags both hands harshly through his hair again. “We should’ve stopped him earlier.”
Castiel’s expression tightens faintly. “Jack.”
“No, seriously.” He turns sharply. “He gets into her room. Into her dreams. And now he has her.” His voice cracks slightly on the last words.
The angel’s gaze softens briefly. “If we lose focus now, we risk impeding the search.”
Jack laughs once harshly through his nose. “Little late for focus.”
Silence settles heavily between them for a second. Then Castiel straightens slightly. “It would be wise to involve Sam.”
He looks up immediately.
“He’s family,” the angel continues quietly. “And we will require additional assistance.”
He nods immediately. “Yeah.” He swallows hard. “Yeah, get him.”
“I will retrieve him.” And he disappears, leaving Jack alone inside the wrecked library.
The silence afterward feels unbearable. He stares at the empty space again where Nellie vanished. “Please be okay,” he whispers.
Wings thunder through the bunker again several minutes later. He immediately turns. Castiel reappears with Sam, who looks like he got dressed in under thirty seconds. Flannel half-buttoned. Hair messy. Concern already written sharply across his face. The second he sees the state of the library — splintered wood, scorched sigils, books scattered everywhere — his expression drops further.
He freezes completely, guilt slams hard into his chest the second he looks at Sam. Because Nellie is gone and he failed to stop it. “I’m sorry,” he blurts immediately.
Sam blinks once. “What?”
He runs a shaking hand through his hair. “I try to stop him, I just—” His voice cracks slightly. “I wasn’t fast enough.”
The Winchester’s confusion shifts instantly into concern. “Jack,” he says carefully, “slow down.”
Castiel steps forward slightly. “Aberiel has taken Nellie.”
He stares at the angel for half a second. “What?”
Jack looks away sharply, like he physically can’t stand seeing Sam’s reaction.
The angel expression remains grave. “He breached the bunker wards.”
The Winchester’s attention snaps immediately toward the destroyed library again. “What the hell breached bunker wards?”
“A rogue angel.”
“A rogue what?”
Castiel begins explaining quickly after that. About the angels who once conceal Nellie from Chuck. About Aberiel being part of the group assigned to protect her as a child. About the hidden records. The obsession. The dishonorable discharge. The more he speaks, the worse Sam looks.
Not panicked. Sam Winchester almost never panics anymore. But deeply worried. That quiet terrifying kind of concern he gets when family is involved.
Jack stays near the edge of the room through most of the explanation, pacing restlessly despite the bruising across his ribs screaming at him to stop moving. Every few seconds he glances instinctively toward the empty space Nellie disappears from, like part of him still expects her to somehow reappear. “She banished him,” he cuts in quietly at one point. “He came back anyway. He got into her dreams.”
Sam’s jaw tightens visibly now.
Castiel folds his hands tightly behind his back. “Aberiel’s behavior has become unstable.”
“That’s one word for it,” he mutters bitterly.
The Winchester looks toward him fully now. Jack still won’t fully meet his eyes, the guilt radiating off him is almost tangible. He understands immediately. “This isn’t your fault.”
The young man laughs once softly through his nose. “He took her right in front of me.”
“And you think Dean wouldn’t lose his mind if someone grabs you out of the bunker?” he asks quietly. “You didn’t fail her.”
Jack looks unconvinced. Honestly? Sam doesn’t fully believe the reassurance himself either. Because this situation is deeply wrong. And his niece is somewhere alone with an obsessed angel they barely understand. He forces himself back into focus anyway. “What do we need to do?”
The angel’s expression dims further. “That is the problem. I cannot locate Aberiel. Nor can I locate Nellie’s frequency.”
“How?”
“The order Aberiel belongs to specializes in concealment. Even from Heaven.”
He rubs tiredly at his jaw. “So, what? He just disappeared?”
“No,” Castiel answers firmly. “Nothing disappears completely. But locating him will require more traditional methods.” The implication settles quickly across the room. No angelic tracking. No divine shortcuts. Just research. Patterns. Lore. Instinct. The hunter route.
Jack’s jaw tightens sharply. Because that means time. And right now, time feels like the most dangerous thing in the world.
Sam shifts into hunting mode almost instantly; that sharp transition where panic gets shoved aside and replaced with focus. Research. Planning. Movement. Because hunters don’t survive long if they freeze. He rubs a tired hand across his face before already turning toward the map table. “Okay, if Cas can’t track them directly, then we work angles. Hidden waypoints. Old religious sites. Former angel strongholds.” He starts pacing slowly now too, brain visibly moving faster by the second. “Anything abandoned after the Fall that angels might still know about.”
Castiel nods once. “There are many.”
“Great,” he sighs tiredly. “That narrows it down to basically nowhere.”
Jack still looks pale. Still stunned. Like part of him hasn’t emotionally caught up to the fact Nellie is gone yet.
Sam notices immediately. “We’ll need supplies. Salt, warding materials, extra blades.”
He stares blankly for half a second before nodding faintly. “Right.”
The Winchester holds his gaze carefully. “You can help me grab stuff. Or you can start researching because we’re probably gonna need unconventional methods here.”
He hesitates then finally nods once toward the bookshelves instead. Research. Something to focus on.
Sam watches him disappear deeper into the library before finally glancing toward Castiel. “Cas. Help me grab supplies.”
The angel follows him silently out into the bunker hallway.
The storage room lights buzz faintly overhead while Sam digs through supply crates. Extra ammunition. Salt rounds. Holy oil. Warding chalk. Routine. Familiar enough to almost feel grounding.
Castiel stands quietly nearby holding an old weapons case while watching him carefully. “You have something you wish to discuss.” Not a question.
“Yeah.” He grabs another bundle of Enochian warding cloth from one of the shelves before finally speaking again. “Eileen and I noticed something recently. Regarding Jack.”
That gets the angel’s attention immediately.
He shuts one of the storage crates with a dull thud. “We think he likes Nellie.”
Castiel blinks once. Not shocked exactly. More like pieces quietly clicking together. “…I see.”
He glances briefly toward the hallway leading back toward the library. “He hasn’t told her.”
“That explains certain behavioral patterns.” Then he frowns slightly. “I fail to understand how this assists the current situation.”
“Because right now Jack’s running almost entirely on panic and guilt.” He grabs another angel blade from the weapons rack before continuing. “And if we don’t keep him focused, he’s gonna spiral hard.”
Castiel looks back toward the library thoughtfully now. “He cares for her deeply.”
“Yeah. A little too deeply right now.”
He folds his hands behind his back. “The one advantage we currently possess is that Aberiel does not wish physical harm upon Nellie.”
Sam immediately looks over at him sharply. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, but it is relevant.” His expression hardens faintly. “Aberiel is unstable.”
“Yeah,” the Winchester mutters darkly. “I gather that from the whole kidnapping thing.”
“He believes he is protecting her.”
He pauses briefly at that. Because somehow, that makes this feel worse. Not better.
“He’s still dangerous,” Castiel continues quietly.
“Then we find them before this gets worse.”
• • •
Consciousness returns slowly. Heavy. Pain pulses sharply behind Nellie’s eyes before anything else fully comes into focus. Her body feels weighted down, sluggish from exhaustion and lingering psychic strain. Then she smells it. Dust. Old wood. Faint mildew and cheap jasmine perfume buried deep in the walls. Her stomach drops instantly. Her eyes snap open and her whole body freezes. The bedroom looks exactly the same. Small. Barely decorated. The old crack running down the far wall still visible beside the window. And the closet door is still missing. Her chest seizes painfully.
No.
No no no—
She shoves herself upright too quickly and immediately regrets it as dizziness crashes violently through her skull. Panic surges hard beneath her ribs as she stares around the room she spends years trying to forget. Her childhood bedroom. The place she used to hide when her mother was drunk downstairs or if she invited one of her boyfriends to stay the night. The place she learns how to stay quiet. Stay small.
A voice speaks softly nearby. “You are awake.”
She flinches violently.
Aberiel stands near the foot of the bed. The softness in his expression hits her like something rotten. Warm. Fond. Wrong.
She immediately backs further against the headboard. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
His brow furrows faintly at the anger in her voice. “I brought you somewhere safe.”
“Safe?” she snaps. “You bring me back here.”
He steps forward slowly, carefully, like approaching a frightened animal. “This is where I first meet you.”
The words make nausea twist hard through her stomach. Disgust crawls sharply beneath her skin.
He sits slowly on the edge of the bed despite the obvious terror written across her face. “You do not need to worry anymore. I will care for you now.”
Panic claws harder up her throat. But underneath it, hunter instincts still move. Always. She lashes out instantly, her foot slamming hard into the angel’s chest. The impact actually shoves him backward slightly. She scrambles off the opposite side of the bed immediately and bolts for the bedroom door. Run. Her heartbeat thunders violently in her ears as she flies down the hallway toward the stairs. Almost there— Grace flickers violently in front of her as he appears directly at the staircase. She gasps sharply as she collides hard into him sideways. The impact throws her completely off balance, her shoulder slamming painfully against the wall before she tumbles violently down the staircase. Pain explodes through her skull as she hits the bottom hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. For a second the world spins, her vision blurring sharply.
Aberiel descends toward her looking deeply concerned, like she was a child who falls from playground equipment. “Nellie.”
She scrambles backward immediately across the hardwood floor, one hand shooting upward instinctively. Energy surges then vanishes. Nothing. Her breath hitches sharply. She tries again desperately. Still nothing. The cutoff hits her like ice water down her spine. Panic detonates fully in her chest now, tears burning instantly in her eyes as her breathing turns ragged.
He approaches slowly. “You are injured.”
“Don’t touch me!” Nellie snaps shakily.
“You require healing.”
“Back off!”
But before she can scramble away again, he moves fast. One second, he stands several feet away, the next he is kneeling beside her, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
She immediately fights him. Pushing. Twisting. Trying desperately to break free despite the dizziness making the world tilt sickeningly around her. “Put me down!”
“You are safe,” he murmurs softly. His voice stays painfully calm. Gentle. Like this isn’t horrifying. “You are frightened.”
“No shit!” Tears spill fully down her face now as the panic attack overtakes her completely. Her chest hurts. Her hands shake violently. She can’t breathe right. And worse her abilities are shut off.
Aberiel holds her carefully against his chest while she struggles in his arms. Then grace flickers around them, the world shifts instantly, and suddenly they are back inside the bedroom. He places her carefully onto the bed again. She immediately shoves herself backward toward the headboard, breathing ragged and uneven while tears blur her vision.
He crouches slowly in front of the bed now, watching her carefully. Concern etched visibly across his face. “What hurts?” The question sounds genuine. That somehow terrifies her more.
Nellie stares at him with open fury through the panic attack clawing violently through her body. “Stay away from me.”
His brow furrows deeper. “You are trembling.”
“Get away from me!”
He reaches toward her carefully like trying to comfort her.
She recoils violently. “Don’t touch me!”
For the first time, something like confusion crosses his expression, like he genuinely doesn’t understand why she fears him. “You are distressed,” he says softly.
“You kidnap me!”
“You were unsafe.”
She shakes hard now from adrenaline and panic. No weapons. No abilities. No way to physically overpower him. And he is standing there looking at her like this is care.
“I swear to God,” she chokes out shakily, “Jack and Castiel are gonna find me and you are gonna be so sorry.”
He remains perfectly calm, completely unworried. “They will not reach you here.” The certainty in his voice makes the room feel even smaller.
Her breathing slowly stutters unevenly back under partial control. Not calm. Never calm. But enough to think again. Hunter. Think like a hunter. Panic won’t get her out of this room. She swallows hard against the tightness clawing up her throat before forcing herself to look at Aberiel again. He still crouches near the bed watching her with that same unbearable softness. Like her fear hurts him.
She hates it. So, she changes tactics. “Please,” she says shakily. “Can you just… give me a minute?”
Aberiel’s expression shifts immediately. Relief. Like cooperation is all he wants from her. “Of course.” The gentleness in his voice makes her stomach twist harder. He rises slowly from beside the bed. “You should rest,” he adds softly. “You are overwhelmed.”
No shit. She nods faintly anyway. Anything to get him out of the room.
He lingers another second watching her carefully before finally stepping toward the bedroom door. “I will return shortly.” Then he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.
Nellie stays frozen exactly where she is for several seconds. Listening. The second she is sure he is gone, she moves. She stumbles toward the window, adrenaline overriding the dizziness still pounding through her skull. The old window frame rattles sharply beneath her hands as she shoves hard against it. Nothing. It doesn’t move even slightly.
“No—” She shoves again harder. Still nothing. Panic surges violently through her chest.
She steps back and kicks hard against the glass. The impact echoes painfully through the room. But the window doesn’t crack. Doesn’t even shake properly. Her eyes widen sharply. Then she sees it. Faint, almost invisible against the edge of the glass itself. An Enochian sigil burns lightly into the window, sealing it, keeping her inside.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me—” Rage explodes through her chest. She slams her fist hard against the window instinctively. Pain rips sharply through her hand. The bandaged cut splits back open immediately. Fresh blood darkens the gauze. She sucks in a sharp breath before stumbling backward away from the window. Tears blur her vision again instantly. Her head hurts so badly now she thinks she might throw up. She is trapped. Actually trapped. She sinks heavily back onto the edge of the bed, pressing shaking fingers hard against her forehead while panic spirals violently through her chest again. Think. Think.
She swallows hard before bowing her head slightly. “Cas,” she whispers shakily. “Please.”
Nothing.
Her throat tightens harder. “Castiel, please hear me.”
Still nothing.
Nellie squeezes her eyes shut desperately. “Jack—” Warmth suddenly shifts behind her. Her entire body freezes instantly. A hand moves gently down her shoulder. Slow. Careful. Comforting. She stops breathing.
Aberiel’s voice comes softly behind her. “You are safe.”
The words shatter something violently open inside her chest. Suddenly she isn’t here anymore. Not fully. Memories crashes hard through her mind. A bedroom door creaking open late at night. Heavy footsteps. Beer breath. Hands pretending gentleness before sliding where they shouldn’t.
“You’re okay.”
“Don’t fight.”
“Be good.”
Some of her mother’s boyfriends always sounded soothing first. Always act kind before their hands start wandering to places they shouldn’t. Before threats followed. Before pain.
She goes terrifyingly still beneath the angel’s touch. Not because she wants him there. Because her body remembers this kind of fear too well.
Aberiel, on the other hand, mistakes the freezing for acceptance. His hand continues carefully down the center of her back in slow comforting motions. “You do not need to fear me,” he murmurs softly. “I am here now.”
Tears slip silently down her face. Her chest hurts so badly she can barely breathe. Because every instinct in her body is screaming run. But there is nowhere left to go.
• • •
Hours pass without answers. The bunker slowly descends deeper into exhaustion and frustration as ritual after ritual fails to locate Nellie. Tracking sigils. Frequency searches. Grace summoning rites. Nothing. Every attempt either fizzles completely or leads nowhere useful. Aberiel hid her well. Too well. The library looks worse now than it does after the fight. Books stack everywhere. Loose papers scatter across tables. Half-finished sigils burn into scraps of parchment.
Jack barely notices any of it anymore. He sits buried beneath Men of Letters journals and angel lore texts with sleeves pushed up and hair a complete mess from repeatedly dragging his hands through it. Notes cover nearly every open surface around him in cramped handwriting. He hasn’t really stopped moving since she disappeared. Research. Cross-reference. Another theory. Another ritual. Over and over. Focused so intensely he almost looks sick.
Sam notices. He has seen this kind of obsession before too. Used to be seen from his older brother. Usually when someone they love is in danger. Castiel disappears back to Heaven again nearly twenty minutes earlier to organize searches among trusted angels while he finally steps away long enough to make coffee and throw together actual food. Because none of them have eaten in hours. The kitchen lights buzz faintly overhead while he loads coffee and sandwiches onto a tray. His exhaustion sits deep in his bones now. But worry outweighs most of it. Especially worry for his niece. And honestly? For Jack too.
By the time he returns to the library, Jack is still exactly where he leaves him. Head bent over another open journal. Eyes moving rapidly across old Enochian notes. Three different books opened simultaneously around him. He doesn’t even notice Sam enter at first.
“I think we should retry the summoning sequence using mirrored sigils,” Jack mutters immediately, flipping through several pages quickly. “Or maybe psychic resonance because if Aberiel’s suppressing her frequency entirely then maybe residual trace patterns could still—”
Sam quietly sets the tray down.
He keeps going. “There was also this old Men of Letters case from the eighties involving concealed celestial activity and if we modify the—”
The Winchester gently pulls the book out of his hands.
He blinks sharply. “Sam—”
“Eat.”
“We don’t have time.”
“We do if you collapse.”
Jack immediately reaches for the book again.
He holds it just out of reach. “Jack.”
Frustration flashes sharply across his face now. “We need to keep looking.”
“And we will.”
The young man looks genuinely distressed by the interruption. “Then give me the book back.”
Instead, he sits down across from him slowly. “Look at me.”
Jack freezes slightly at the tone. Not angry. Serious. The kind of voice Sam only uses when something actually matters. He finally looks up. Dark circles sit heavily beneath his eyes now. Fear still visible underneath all the frantic focus.
Sam’s chest tightens quietly. Because yeah, this is bad. But, watching Jack unravel in real time isn’t helping either. “You need to slow down for a second.”
He shakes his head immediately. “No, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Nellie’s out there with that psycho angel and we’re getting nowhere.” The panic beneath the words cracks through clearly now.
Sam stays calm. “We are getting somewhere.”
“Where?” Jack snaps softly. “Because right now all we know is he takes her somewhere hidden and Cas can’t track either of them.”
He lets the silence sit for a second before speaking carefully. “We need to talk about Nellie.”
He immediately reaches for one of the journals again. “I was talking about Nellie before you stole the book.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Something in the Winchester’s tone makes him pause. Slowly, he looks up.
“We’ve noticed a change in you recently.”
His grip tightens faintly around the coffee mug.
“Specifically,” Sam continues evenly, “whenever Nellie’s around.”
Jack freezes slightly. Just enough.
He sees it immediately. The panic in his expression shifts for half a second into something more vulnerable. Caught. He folds his hands loosely together. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
The young man stares at him silently, like he genuinely has no idea how to answer that question out loud. Or maybe no idea how to say it to Sam specifically. Because Sam isn’t just family. He is Nellie’s uncle. Her second father in basically every way that matters now. He suddenly looks very young sitting there beneath the bunker lights. Uncertain. Nervous.
Sam understands immediately. So, he decides to spare him from having to force the words out first. “You like Nellie. More than just as your best friend.”
Jack stares at him for another second. Then slowly he nods once before immediately looking away.
He honestly isn’t surprised. Not anymore. Too many moments over the last couple of months suddenly make perfect sense. He sighs softly through his nose. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
The young man looks back over almost immediately at that. Confused.
He shrugs slightly. “You care about her. That’s why you’re pushing yourself this hard right now.”
“We need to find her.”
“And we will. But Jack…” His expression hardens slightly now. “You can’t get wrapped up in your emotions during this. She could be in real danger right now. And we need you thinking like a hunter.”
He looks down briefly toward the table. The panic and frustration across his face slowly shift into something sadder now. Something more raw. “Are my feelings the reason she gets taken?”
The question hits harder than Sam expects. Because Jack genuinely believes it. He answers immediately. “No.”
He looks unconvinced.
“If anything, your feelings are probably part of why she stays safe this long. You protect her tonight. As much as you could.”
Jack swallows hard. Because deep down? That still doesn’t feel like enough.
“We’ll talk more about this later,” Sam adds softly. “Right now, I just needed to know the truth going into this.”
The young man stays quiet for a moment, then finally nods faintly.
Sam reaches over and shoves the sandwich slightly closer toward him again. “And for the record? I’m okay with it.”
Something in his expression cracks slightly at that. Relief. Fear. Exhaustion. “Thanks.”
He finally pushes the book back toward him. “Now eat something before you pass out.”
• • •
The hours blur together slowly. Nellie sits near the bedroom window staring not at the outside world, but at the sigil burned faintly into the glass, stretching almost invisibly across the edges of the windowpane, glowing softly whenever she tries reaching for her abilities. Every attempt fails. Again. Again. And again. Nothing. Her abilities slip through her fingers like smoke every single time she tries grasping them fully. Suppressed. The helplessness feels horrifyingly familiar. Too familiar. She looks down slowly toward her wrists. The faint scars still linger there. Thin pale markings left behind by the Nightshade coven. Her fingers rub over them absently like she can somehow erase them if she tries hard enough. The memory makes her chest tighten sharply. Restrained. Powerless. Used. Her head still pounds from the fall down the stairs earlier and from spending hours trying to force her abilities back through whatever grace suppression Aberiel wraps around her. Exhaustion drags heavily at her body now.
The bedroom door opens quietly behind her. She stiffens instantly. Aberiel steps inside carrying a plate of food. Warm steam curls faintly upward from it. He approaches carefully like he is afraid of startling a wild animal in the woods.
“I thought you should eat,” he says softly.
She looks down at the plate automatically and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Mac and cheese. Toast. Apple slices. Simple. Cheap. The exact kind of meal she used to make herself late at night after her mother occasionally stocks groceries before disappearing for days again. The kind of meal she used to eat quietly alone in the dark kitchen while her mother slept upstairs after a night of drinking. Her stomach twists painfully. Because somehow that feels more invasive than if he brings her something extravagant.
“You remembered,” she says quietly before she can stop herself.
The angel’s expression softens instantly. “Of course.”
She looks away sharply. The room suddenly feels too small again.
He steps closer before carefully setting the plate down on the mattress. “You have not eaten in many hours.”
She ignores the food completely. Instead, after a long silence, she asks, “When do you start watching me?”
The question seems to genuinely surprise him. Then slowly, a warm fondness crosses his expression that makes her skin crawl. “You are very small,” he says softly. “Only a couple years old when I receive my first assignment.”
Nellie immediately regrets looking at him. Because he looks at her like the answer is precious.
He steps slowly closer again. “I remember the first time you hide beneath your bed during a storm.”
She freezes.
“You think if you stay quiet enough,” he continues gently, “the shouting downstairs will stop.”
Her chest tightens painfully.
He keeps talking. Specific moments. Small details no one else should know. The time she tried sleeping in the bathtub because the bathroom locked from the inside. The nights she stays awake counting ceiling cracks until sunrise. The tiny flashlight she keeps hidden beneath her mattress when she wanted to read in the dark because having the light on invited either her angry mother or one of her sleazy boyfriends. None of the memories are good. Not one. She feels sick.
His expression dims faintly afterward. “My time with you is cut short.” Bitterness slips quietly beneath the words now. “The others fail to appreciate my dedication to my duty.” The softness returns immediately when he looks at her again. “But now I am here once more.” His voice gentles almost reverently. “And you are finally safe again.”
Something inside Nellie snaps violently. She grabs the plate without thinking and hurls it directly at him, food crashing hard against his chest and splatters across the floor. “You sick bastard!”
For the first time, Aberiel reacts sharply. His hand moves fast. The slap cracks loudly through the bedroom. She reels sideways in complete shock. Pain explodes across her cheek. For half a second, she just stares at him. Stunned. Because despite everything, she didn’t actually expect him to hit her.
Hunter instincts kick back in immediately afterward. Run. She bolts toward the bedroom door. He grabs her wrist hard before she reaches it and yanks her backward. She stumbles violently into the wall behind her, pain shooting through her shoulder. She pushes herself upright immediately and tries again when grace slams through her body. Agony detonates instantly beneath her skin. She screams. Every nerve in her body suddenly feels like it is burning alive from the inside out. She collapses hard onto the floor curling instinctively into herself as the pain rips violently through her muscles and spine. Her body tremors uncontrollably afterward. His grace finally releases her. The pain lingers anyway. Sharp. Residual. Horrifying. She stays curled tightly on the floor gasping unevenly through tears.
Aberiel crouches beside her immediately, concern flooding visibly across his face now. “Nellie.”
She flinches violently when he touches her.
He lifts her carefully into his arms anyway and carries her back toward the bed. Her body barely obeys her anymore. Her joints feel heavy. Weak. Stiff with lingering grace trauma. He sits beside her on the mattress and gently pulls her against his chest. She freezes immediately, her lip trembling sharply. Move. Move. But her body refuses.
The angel strokes slowly through her hair. Tender. Comforting. Wrong. “I am sorry,” he murmurs softly. “Your anger causes me to lash out.”
She stares blankly ahead through tears.
“I had to correct you. You are going to be alright now.”
She swallows shakily. “Please,” she whispers weakly. “Let me go.”
He gently shushes her, his arms tightening slightly around her trembling body. “You need rest, little star.”
And Nellie realizes with growing horror, he truly believes he is comforting her. “Cas… Jack… Dad…? Please save me.
S2 Chapter 20 Teaser
By the time they finally reach the bunker, Nellie feels exhaustion buried deep in her bones. The garage door groans shut behind the Impala. Jack grabs their duffels from the trunk while she heads toward the stairs, shrugging out of her jacket as she walks. The bunker feels colder tonight. She barely makes it into the library before familiar wings flutter softly through the room. Castiel appears near the map table. His trench coat is pressed, tie smartly tied. “Nellie,” he greets gently. Relief hits harder than she expects. “Cas.” Jack drops the duffels beside one of the tables. “We’ve been trying to reach you.” “I know.” The angel frowns slightly. “I apologize. Heaven has required much of my attention recently.” She crosses her arms tightly. “Why have you been following us?” “I beg your pardon?” “The grace,” she clarifies. “I keep sensing you.” Confusion crosses his face almost immediately. “I have only checked on you twice in the past couple of months.”
Chapter 20 is out this week!
S2 Chapter 19 - Home Sweet Home
Some moments feel earned. Like quiet after noise, like warmth after cold, like something steady enough to trust, even if just for a little while. In a place that feels closer to home than anywhere they’ve been in a long time, Nellie and Jack allow themselves something rare: a pause. But not everything rests when they do. Some things wait. Watching, patient, just out of sight. Because peace doesn’t always mean the danger is gone. Sometimes, it just means it hasn’t made its move yet.
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The bunker settles into something quieter. Not silent but steady. A low hum through the walls, the lights, the pipes ticking faintly in the distance. The kind of quiet that means nothing is hunting them for once. The armory table is scattered with weapons, but not in chaos; organized, methodical. Salt rounds lined up, blades laid out on cloth, guns broken down and reassembled with practiced ease. Nellie moves through it like muscle memory, checking a chamber, wiping down a handle, setting it aside. She pauses, glancing over the spread.
“Where’s the silver dagger?” she asks.
Jack doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. “Cleaned it already. It’s back in the cabinet.”
She eyes him for a second, then nods once. “Good.”
• • •
The laundry room hums to life not long after. A pile of clothes hits the washer. Flannels, jeans, the usual rotation of road-worn gear. Nellie tosses detergent in without measuring, shuts the lid, and leans back against the machine as it starts its cycle.
Jack comes in with faded flannel in his hands. “Hey, ummm… I may or may not need this fixed. Again.” He holds out the shirt with a sheepish look.
She takes it with an eye roll that means nothing. She holds it out, finding the culprit: the cuff hanging half off on one of the sleeves. “Yeah, I can fix it. But we need to get you some more flannels or you’ll start looking like Raggedy Anne.”
He just looks at her. “I don’t know what you are referencing.”
“It’s an old school doll people used to make out of scraps of fabric.” She holds up the flannel again. “Although, nowadays, this is the fashion.”
He frowns slightly. “I think I’ll stick to having you fixing it. You do a good job.” He feels his face warm up a bit, glancing up at her to see if she noticed.
She clearly hadn’t because she was still examining the fabric to look for any additional tears to fix. “Well, I’m going to start charging you. And buy more buttons.” She turns and grabs the small sewing kit from the shelf and starts rifling through the spools of thread.
He smiles softly. “Deal.”
• • •
The library glows warm under low light. Nellie is curled into one of the chairs, legs tucked under her, a book open in her hands. Her hair falls loose around her face, one strand caught between her fingers as she absently twists it while reading. Across from her, Jack has a stack of lore books open, pen moving steadily across a notebook. He reads, writing occasionally. The he pauses and glances up. She doesn’t notice. His gaze lingers a second longer than necessary. The way her expression shifts with the page, the way she relaxes when she’s pulled into something. Then he looks back down and keeps working. A page turns. The clock ticks. The bunker breathes.
• • •
The kitchen smells promising at first. Nellie stands at the counter, scanning a recipe off her phone, brow slightly furrowed. “Okay, it says medium heat. I feel like that’s vague.”
Jack stands beside the stove, wooden spoon in hand, looking between the pan and her like he’s trying to decode both. “Medium feels subjective.”
“It is subjective. That’s the problem.”
He adjusts the heat anyway. She moves in beside him, adding something to the pan, both of them hovering a little too close as they try to follow steps meant for one person.
“You’re crowding,” he says.
“You’re stirring wrong.”
“I am not stirring wrong.”
“You absolutely are.”
The pan sizzles louder than expected. They both pause, looking at it and then at each other. She huffs a laugh first.
He follows, shaking his head. “We’re good at this separately.”
“Yeah,” she replies, grabbing a spatula to fix whatever he just did. “Teamwork needs work.”
Still, they keep going. Adjusting, correcting, figuring it out as they go. It’s not perfect, but it’s edible. That counts.
The music drifts faintly through the kitchen; something old, something Dean would’ve played, low enough to blend into the background but present all the same. They end up at the table with plates in front of them, testing the result.
She takes a bite, considers it, then nods. “Not terrible.”
He smiles faintly. “High praise.”
• • •
The garage is quieter than the rest of the bunker. Cooler, too. The kind of quiet that feels heavier down here, broken only by the faint hum of the overhead lights and the occasional drip somewhere deep in the pipes. The Impala sits under it all like it owns the space. It probably does.
Jack stands at the front of it, hood up, staring into the engine like it might explain itself if he looks long enough. It doesn’t. He shifts slightly, hands resting on the edge, eyes scanning over parts he recognizes in theory but not in practice. He knows the basics. Gas. Oil. Don’t ignore weird noises. That’s about it. And this feels like something that should not be learned through trial and error. Not with this car.
He exhales, glancing around like someone might magically appear with a manual. Then his eyes flick back to the engine. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “How hard can this be?” He reaches in slightly, stops, and pulls back. Yeah, no. He straightens, already debating whether to grab his phone and look up tutorials or just close the hood and pretend he checked something.
“Planning on breaking it, or just thinking about it?”
He jumps. Actually jumps. He spins slightly, hand bracing against the hood as Dean leans casually against the workbench, arms crossed, looking entirely too amused.
He exhales sharply. “You really need to stop doing that.”
The Winchester smirks. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Jack shakes his head, then gestures vaguely toward the engine. “I was just… checking it.”
Dean raises a brow. “Checking it.”
“Yeah,” he says, then hesitates, honesty winning out. “I know cars need maintenance. Tune-ups. Stuff like that. I… just don’t know how to do any of it.”
He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, pushing off the bench and walking closer, eyes already scanning the engine like second nature. “Yeah, I figured that part out.”
The young man shifts slightly, giving him space out of instinct even though he doesn’t technically need it. “I don’t want to mess anything up. This car—”
“is not something you experiment on,” Dean finishes for him, nodding once. “Good. You’re learning.”
He huffs faintly. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” He looks over the engine again, something almost fond settling in his expression. “Can’t have you desecrating Baby.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.” Then he gestures toward the engine. “Alright, come here.”
Jack steps closer immediately.
“I can’t do the hands-on part,” Dean says, tapping the edge of the hood lightly, “but I can walk you through what you’re looking at. First thing: fluids. Always check your fluids. Oil, coolant, brake fluid. If those go, you’re screwed.”
The young man follows his line of sight, committing it to memory. “Okay.”
He continues, slipping into it easily, like he never stopped doing this. “Then you listen. Car tells you what’s wrong if you know how to hear it. Weird knock? Pay attention. Something feels off? It probably is.”
“That sounds… vague.”
“That’s because it is. You learn it over time.” He gestures again, more specific now. “Start with the oil. Pull the dipstick. Wipe it. Put it back in. Check the level.”
Jack nods, reaching in carefully this time, following the instructions step by step. There’s a moment of silence as he does it. The Winchester watches; not critical, not mocking. Just observing.
He pulls the dipstick out, checking it like he was told. “…Okay. That doesn’t look terrible.”
“Yeah. She’s fine. Still good.”
He nods, a small bit of relief settling in his shoulders. “Good. I didn’t want to be the one to—”
“Yeah, don’t finish that sentence,” Dean cuts in quickly. “Bad energy.”
He almost smiles at that. He slides the dipstick back in, a little more confident now. “So, I just… keep doing this?”
“Pretty much. Check things. Pay attention. Don’t ignore stuff. And don’t let her sit too long without a run. She hates that.”
“You say that like its alive.”
“She is.”
He pauses. Then nods once. “…Okay.”
Dean smirks slightly, satisfied. “Alright, now check the belts. You see any cracks, fraying, anything that looks like it’s about to give up on life?”
Jack leans in, squinting slightly. “I think… this one’s okay?”
He leans closer, inspecting. “Yeah. That’ll hold. Not perfect, but she’s not gonna fall apart on you.”
The young man nods, committing that to memory, wiping his hands absentmindedly on a rag that only half does the job. “That’s good. I’d rather not be the reason—”
“Still not finishing that sentence,” the Winchester cuts in.
He huffs a quiet laugh.
Footsteps echo faintly down the hall before a voice follows. “There you are.”
Nellie appears in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame as she looks between them. Her gaze lands on Jack first, then drops to his hands, his arms, the smudges of grease that definitely weren’t there earlier. “…What are you doing?” she asks, suspicion laced through it.
He straightens slightly, instinctively wiping his hands again even though it doesn’t help much. “Maintenance.”
She blinks, looks at her father, then back at her partner. “…You?”
Dean snorts, arms crossing as he leans back against the side of the Impala, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Hey, he asked for help. Figured I’d make sure he didn’t completely ruin her.”
Jack shoots him a look. “I wasn’t going to ruin it.”
“You were thinking about Googling it.”
He doesn’t respond to that.
Her lips twitch slightly, clearly holding back a laugh as she steps further into the garage. Her eyes flick over the open hood, then back to him. “Okay, just to be clear…” She points at him. “If you scratch her—”
He already knows this is going somewhere.
“I will personally make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.” There’s no real bite behind it. Just enough seriousness to mean it.
He lifts his hands slightly in surrender, grease and all. “I’m being supervised.”
She glances at Dean. He just smirks, proud and unapologetic. “Damn right he is.”
She nods once, satisfied with that answer. “Good.” Then her gaze lingers for a second longer — on the scene, on the two of them — something softer settling in her expression before she looks away. “Well, try not to blow anything up.”
“No promises,” he calls after her.
She scoffs lightly, then points at Jack. “You better wash your hands before you walk into our clean kitchen.” Then she disappears back into the hall.
He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s my girl.”
Jack glances at him, catching the unmistakable pride in his voice.
Dean pushes off the car, looking back at the engine. “Alright, where were we?”
He looks down at his hands, then back at the engine. “…Belts.”
“Belts.”
• • •
Nellie’s room always feels lived in, unlike most of the rooms in the living quarters. Books stacked and restacked in ways that probably only make sense to her. A couple open on the desk. Notes tucked between pages. A duffel half-unzipped near the bed like she never fully unpacks before the next hunt calls them back out again.
Jack sits in her desk chair, turned slightly toward her, one of her books in his hands. He’s not really reading it, just flipping through pages as he talks. “…and then the guy thought it was a shapeshifter, but it wasn’t, it was just—”
“Bad lighting?” she supplies absently.
He glances up. “Yeah.”
She hums like that tracks. She’s sitting on the floor near her bookshelf, one knee pulled up, the other stretched out, reorganizing the lower shelves. Books slide in and out of place as she shifts them, occasionally pausing to skim a spine like she’s remembering where it belongs. He keeps talking, half about cases, half about nothing. She listens. Mostly. Then she goes still. He notices it a second later; the absence of movement more than anything. He looks over. She’s holding something in her hands, attention completely pulled from the shelf now.
“What’d you find?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at it for a second longer before shrugging slightly. “Nothing.”
He leans forward in the chair, trying to get a better look. “That’s not nothing.”
She exhales through her nose, like she knows she’s been caught, and tilts it slightly so he can see. A DVD case. A little worn at the edges. “This is a movie I used to watch all the time.”
He brows lift slightly. “What is it?”
She shrugs again, already starting to pull it back like it’s not worth the explanation. “It’s not important.”
He doesn’t buy that for a second. “Nell.”
She pauses. Then rolls her eyes just slightly. “It’s The Phantom of the Opera. The film version of the play.” She watches him for a second, trying to gauge if he’s making fun of her. He’s not. So, she relaxes a little. “I used to watch it all the time growing up. Like… over and over. I probably knew half the songs by heart at one point.” There’s a faint smile there now. Nostalgic. Soft. “It’s just”—she starts, then hesitates, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. It was… a thing.”
He leans back slightly in the chair, watching her now instead of the book in his hands. “A good thing?” he asks.
“Yeah, it was good.” She starts to say something else, something more, but stops herself, like she just realized how much she was about to say. Shakes her head lightly. “Anyway,” she adds, setting the case down beside her. “It’s whatever.”
He looks at the DVD then back at her. “We should watch it.”
She snorts. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d hate it,” she says immediately. “It’s a long musical. And a romance.” She says romance like it’s a warning.
He shrugs. “Okay.”
She frowns slightly. “Okay?”
“If you like it,” he says simply, “it’s probably good.” That lands.
She looks at him again. Really looks this time. Like she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious. He is. There’s no hesitation in it. No joking. Just matter of fact. A beat stretches between them. Then she looks down at the case again. Her fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the case. “…You can’t blame me if you get bored,” she says, tone light, casual. Like she doesn’t care. Like this doesn’t matter. It does. A lot more than she’s letting on.
He smiles faintly. “I won’t.”
She huffs softly, shaking her head, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression now, something brighter. Excited. Even if she’s trying not to show it. “Alright,” she says, pushing herself up off the floor and grabbing the case. “But I’m not explaining everything.”
He sets the book aside, standing as well. “You absolutely are.”
She shoots him a look over her shoulder as she heads for the door. “We’ll see.” But there’s a small smile there. And she doesn’t hide it. Not this time.
The Dean Cave always lives up to its name. Dim lighting, worn leather, a TV that’s seen better days but still holds up, and shelves lined with a mix of movies that range from classics to things Dean definitely bought for five minutes of entertainment and never touched again. Nellie sets up the DVD with practiced ease, sliding it into the player like she’s done it a hundred times before. Which she probably has. Jack settles into one end of the couch, leaning back, arms resting loosely, watching her more than anything else.
She grabs a blanket from the side, tossing half of it his way without looking. “You’ll need it. It’s long.”
He catches it easily. “I’ll survive.”
She hums, unconvinced, and finally sits down beside him; not too close, but close enough that the space between them feels smaller than usual.
The movie starts. She is quiet almost immediately. Not disengaged, just focused. There’s a difference. Her posture shifts slightly as she leans back into the couch, eyes locked on the screen. Every now and then, her lips move just barely, mouthing words to songs before they’re fully sung. He notices. Of course he does. He glances at the screen, then back at her. The music swells. The story unfolds. He follows along well enough, but his attention drifts less to the pacing of the movie and more to her reactions. The way she leans forward during certain scenes. The way her expression softens at others. The familiarity in it. Like she’s not just watching it. She’s remembering it.
“This part’s important,” she mutters at one point, not looking at him.
He nods anyway. “Got it.”
A few minutes later, she mutters, “That guy’s annoying.”
He glances over. “Which one?”
She points vaguely. “Him.”
“Helpful.”
She huffs a quiet laugh, not taking her eyes off the screen.
Somewhere in the middle, he realizes something. He doesn’t mind this. Not the music. Not the length. Not even the romance she warned him about. It’s… good. But more than that, he enjoys watching her enjoy it. That’s the part that sticks. The movie moves into one of its heavier moments, tension building between characters, music rising with it.
Nellie shifts slightly, more engaged now. Then she sighs quietly, shaking her head. “I don’t get it,” she mutters.
Jack glances over. “What?”
She gestures vaguely at the screen. “Why people like the Phantom.”
He blinks. “Isn’t he, like… the main guy?”
“That doesn’t make him the right guy,” she shoots back immediately.
He raises a brow, interest piqued now. “Okay. Explain.”
She exhales, leaning back slightly, but her eyes stay on the screen. “Raoul is right there. He’s kind, he’s stable, he actually cares about her as a person and not just whatever the Phantom has going on.”
He nods slowly, following.
“And the Phantom,” she continues, more animated now, “he’s controlling, he isolates her, he manipulates everything around her and somehow that’s supposed to be romantic?” She glances at him briefly. “It’s not.” There’s a small fire behind it now. Not angry. Just certain. “He doesn’t love her. He wants her.” That lands heavier than the rest.
He notices. Doesn’t interrupt.
She keeps going, momentum building just slightly. “Raoul actually chooses her. He respects her. He doesn’t force anything. He just… shows up. That’s what matters.” She stops. Realizes how much she just said. Her eyes flick toward him, a little embarrassed now. “…Sorry,” she mutters, turning back to the screen. “I have opinions.”
He shakes his head slightly, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re allowed.”
She huffs quietly, settling back into the couch, pulling the blanket up just a little.
The movie continues. But he is not really watching it anymore. Not fully. He glances at her again. The way she’s relaxed now, comfortable, unaware of the way her words just lingered, unaware of how much they said. He leans back slightly. Let’s the moment settle.
Eventually the credits roll. Music softens, voices fading into instrumental as the screen fills with names neither of them are really paying attention to. Nellie doesn’t move right away. She’s still leaned back into the couch, blanket pulled loosely around her, eyes lingering on the screen like she’s not quite ready to let it end. There’s a small, quiet kind of happiness in her expression. The kind she doesn’t usually show. Then it hits her. She glances over at Jack. And just like that, there’s a flicker of something else. Something more self-conscious. Like she just remembered she made him sit through all of that.
She shifts slightly, sitting up a bit straighter. “…So,” she says, trying for casual and missing it just a little. “You probably hated it.”
He blinks, caught off guard by that. “Hated it?” he repeats.
She shrugs, already bracing for it. “It’s not exactly your thing.”
He leans back slightly, considering it for a second. Then shakes his head. “No. I liked it.”
She pauses. Actually pauses. “…You did?”
He nods once. “Yeah. I mean, musicals aren’t really my thing.”
She nods like she expected that.
“But it was good,” he finishes.
Her shoulders relax just a little. “Okay,” she says, quieter now.
Then he glances at her, a faint hint of a smile forming. “It helped that you knew, like, half the lyrics.”
She scoffs immediately. “It’s not half.”
“It’s more than half.”
“It’s not more than half.”
He raises a brow. “You were singing along before the songs started.”
“That’s called anticipation.”
“That’s called memorization.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no bite to it. Just warmth. She shifts slightly, tucking her legs under her again, pulling the blanket a little tighter around herself. “Thank you,” she says after a second.
He looks over. “For what?”
“For… humoring me,” she replies, gesturing vaguely at the now-black screen. “I know it’s not exactly your type of movie.”
He exhales softly, shaking his head. “I wasn’t humoring you.”
She gives him a look.
He holds it. “Okay, maybe a little at first,” he admits. “But it was good. And you made it better.”
That catches her off guard. Just slightly. She looks away, a small smile tugging at her lips.
He shifts a bit, suddenly aware of what he just said, clearing his throat lightly. “My movie knowledge would be nonexistent if you didn’t show me stuff like this,” he adds quickly. That’s safer. Easier.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “Wow. I’m expanding your cultural horizons.”
“Apparently.”
She nudges his arm lightly with her elbow. “You’re welcome.”
He smiles faintly. “Thanks.”
The room settles again. The TV screen goes dark. Music long gone. Just the quiet of the bunker wrapping back around them. She leans back into the couch, more relaxed now, the earlier hesitation gone. He sits beside her, just as still. Not rushing to move. Not breaking the moment.
And for a little while, they just stay there; comfortable, easy, like this is something they could get used to.
• • •
The library is quieter than usual. Books are spread across the table, but not in the frantic, all-hands-on-deck way they usually are during a case. This is slower. Easier. Nellie flips through a page, pen tapping lightly against the margin as she jots down a note she’ll probably never need.
Jack sits across from her, half-reading, half-skimming, more out of habit than urgency.
“Pretty sure this one’s a dead end,” she mutters, closing the book with a soft thud.
Jack nods. “Yeah. Doesn’t match anything we’ve seen.”
She hums, already reaching for another one.
Her phone buzzes. The sound cuts through the quiet just enough to pull her attention. She glances at the screen, expecting something random — spam, maybe Isaac — but instead her expression shifts. Not tense. Not wary. Just softer.
She picks up the phone, thumb hovering for a second before she answers. “Hi, Father,” she says, voice easing in a way Jack doesn’t hear often. “Yeah, I’m good,” she adds, nodding faintly as she listens. She glances toward him briefly, offering a small, apologetic smile. “I’m gonna—” she gestures vaguely toward the hallway.
He nods. “Yeah, go ahead.”
She slips out of the chair, moving toward the door, her voice lowering slightly as she continues the conversation. “Just finished a case, actually…” Her tone shifts as she walks; quieter, steadier. Grounded.
He watches her go. It’s subtle. But different. There’s a calm to her he doesn’t see often. Not the focused kind she has on hunts, not the guarded kind she carries most of the time. Something lighter. Like she doesn’t have to brace herself. He hadn’t met Father O’Donnell, only had heard bits from her and Sam. But when those rare calls from him come, it always brings a sense of peace
Nellie closes her door softly behind her, leaning back against it for a second as she listens. The bunker hum fades just enough to make the room feel smaller. Quieter. “Yeah,” she says, pacing slowly toward her desk. “We’ve just been back a couple days. Nothing major right now.”
Father O’Donnell hums softly on the other end. “I’m glad to hear that. You’ve had a rather… full schedule, from what I can gather.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she mutters, a small smile tugging at her lips. She drifts toward the edge of her bed, sitting down as she tucks one leg under her. He doesn’t press. He never does.
“So,” he asks gently, “what have you been up to lately?”
She exhales through her nose, thinking. “Couple cases. Nothing world-ending. Just… people messing with things they shouldn’t. Seems to be a pattern.”
There’s a soft chuckle on the other end. “Human nature rarely changes.”
“What about you? Everything good there?”
“Steady,” he replies. “Which, in my line of work, is a blessing.”
She smiles faintly at that. “Yeah,” she says. “I get that.”
There’s a shift. Not in topic, but in tone. Subtle. Like they both know where the conversation usually goes next. Nellie leans back slightly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “There are moments,” she says slowly, “where things get… complicated.”
“Morally?”
“Yeah. Or just… messy.”
He hums in understanding. “Tell me.”
She hesitates. Not because she doesn’t trust him. Because she does. But because putting it into words makes it more real. “We had to make a call. Not a bad one. Just… not clean.” She presses her lips together slightly. “There were people involved that shouldn’t have been. And I couldn’t control all of it.”
On the other end, there’s no judgment. Just quiet listening. “That is often the burden,” the priest says gently, “of doing what is right in a world that rarely offers clear choices.”
She frowns slightly at that. “Doesn’t feel right sometimes.” “No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t. But that does not make it wrong.”
She exhales slowly, letting that settle. “I just… I don’t like when other people get caught in it. Especially when they don’t have a say.” Her mind flickers briefly to Edward, Nathan, and everything in between.
“That speaks well of you.”
“Or it means I overthink everything.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
That earns a quiet laugh from her. She shifts on the bed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You always say that.”
“And I will continue to say it,” Father O’Donnell replies warmly. “Because it remains true.” There is silence for a moment before he asks, “How are you doing?” Not the general version. The real one.
Nellie pauses. Her gaze drops to the floor. “I’m… okay.”. It’s not a lie. But it’s not everything.
He seems to understand that. “Still carrying more than you should?”
“Comes with the job.”
“And your abilities,” he adds, not unkindly.
She goes quiet for a second at that. “…Yeah.”
“You must remember,” he continues, “that what you carry, what you are able to do, does not isolate you from others unless you allow it to.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Easier said than done.”
“Most important things are.”
She smiles faintly at that. “I just don’t want to get it wrong,” she admits after a moment.
“Get what wrong?”
“All of it. The choices. The calls. The lines.”
“You will.”
“Wow. Encouraging.”
He chuckles softly. “You will get things wrong,” he clarifies. “Because you are human. But what matters is that you continue to try to do what is right. And from everything you’ve told me, you are doing far more good than harm.”
She scoffs lightly. “You’re biased.”
“Possibly,” he admits. “But I stand by it. Clearly, there must be some sort of special angel watching over you.”
Nellie smiles. Soft. Automatic. Her fingers brush absently against the edge of her blanket. “Yeah. Something like that.” In her mind, it’s simple. Familiar. Her father. Her “guardian angel.” She doesn’t question it. Doesn’t see anything deeper.
On the other end, the priest continues, unaware of the weight of what he’s said. “Just make sure you take care of yourself as well.”
She huffs lightly. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all anyone can ask.”
They talk a little longer. Nothing heavy. Just checking in. Grounding. Normal. When the call ends, she lowers the phone slowly, staring at it for a second before setting it aside. The room is quiet again. The bunker hum returning. Familiar. She exhales, some of the tension she didn’t realize she was holding loosens just a little. Then she pushes herself off the bed and heads back out.
• • •
The kitchen is warmer than the rest of the bunker. Not just temperature. Noise, movement, the low clatter of utensils and the steady rhythm of something cooking on the stove. It feels lived-in in a way the rest of the bunker doesn’t always manage. Nellie stands at the counter, chopping something with quick, practiced movements, while Jack hovers near the stove, keeping an eye on the pan like he’s determined not to mess it up this time.
“Okay, don’t burn it,” she says without looking up.
“I’m not going to burn it,” he replies.
“You said that last time.”
“That was different.”
She glances over, unimpressed. “How?”
He pauses. “…I believed in myself less then.”
She snorts. “Comforting.”
Her phone buzzes on the counter. She wipes her hands quickly on a towel and glances at the screen. Eileen. She answers on video without hesitation, propping the phone up slightly so she doesn’t have to hold it. “Hey—” She stops.
He glances over from the stove. On the screen isn’t Eileen. It’s a five-year-old boy, grinning like he just pulled off the greatest heist of his life.
She breaks immediately. “Hey, you,” she says, smile spreading easily across her face. “What are you doing?”
Dean beams. “I called you!”
“I can see that,” she laughs. “Did your mom know you were calling me?”
He shakes his head, very clearly pleased with himself. “No.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh from where he stands. “Hey, Dean,” he says, leaning slightly into view.
The kid’s grin widens. “Hi, Jack!”
“What’s up?”
He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “I miss you.”
Nellie softens just slightly at that. “Yeah?”
He nods. “You haven’t visited in a long time.”
“…You’re not wrong,” she admits.
Dean leans closer to the camera, lowering his voice like he’s sharing something important. “You should come tomorrow.”
She laughs softly. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah! Duh.”
Jack raises a brow slightly. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”
The boy nods confidently. “Yep.”
From somewhere off-screen—“Dean?” Eileen’s voice. Not loud, but enough.
He freezes. Then immediately tries to look innocent. She loses it, covering her mouth as she laughs. A second later, the camera shifts as Eileen appears, taking the phone gently but with a look that says she already knows exactly what happened. She glances at the screen, then at her son, then back again.
“…Hi,” she says, a small, amused smile pulling at her lips.
“Hey,” Nellie replies, still smiling. “Sorry we got ambushed.”
The woman huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly. She signs quickly, her tone light. “He took my phone.”
Dean pops back into frame slightly, not even pretending to be apologetic.
Nellie leans a little closer to the phone. “We don’t mind. He’s right, though. It’s been a while.”
Jack nods in agreement. “We’re not on a case right now.”
“We could come out tomorrow,” she adds. “If that’s okay. Stay the weekend.”
The boy gasps dramatically. “Really?!”
Eileen looks down at him, then back at the screen.
He doesn’t even give her time to think. “Please,” he says, immediately switching tactics, full puppy-dog mode. It works. Of course it works.
She exhales, but she’s smiling. “Okay. That sounds good.”
He cheers quietly, bouncing slightly where he stands.
Nellie laughs. “Guess we’re coming, then.”
She nods, her expression softening just a little more. “We’d like that.”
Jack smiles faintly. “Yeah. We would too.”
Dean leans back into frame again, still buzzing with excitement. “I’m gonna tell Dad!”
“Go do that,” she says, grinning.
The screen shakes slightly as he runs off, the sound of distant footsteps fading. Eileen shakes her head fondly, then looks back at them. “See you two tomorrow, then.”
“Always do,” she replies. She ends the call and sets her phone back on the counter, still smiling. “Well. Looks like we’ve got weekend plans.”
Jack nods, turning back to the stove. “Yeah.”
“Don’t burn it.”
He sighs. “…I’m not going to burn it.”
• • •
The drive into Lawrence feels different. It always does. Less weight. Less urgency. Like the road isn’t leading them toward something. It’s letting them pause for a second. By the time the Impala pulls up outside the Winchester house, the late morning sun is already warm, light spilling across the porch and the quiet street. Nellie barely has the engine off before the front door opens. Miracle bolts out first. The small terrier barks excitedly, tail wagging like he might actually lift off the ground.
“Hey, buddy,” Jack says, crouching instinctively as the dog barrels into him.
She laughs, stepping out of the car. “Hi, Miracle.”
Eileen follows a second later, smiling as she watches the chaos unfold. “You made good time,” she says, her voice warm as she signs alongside her words.
“Yeah. Road was clear.”
He stands, brushing his hands off after greeting Miracle. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she replies, returning the smile easily. “Sam’s at work. Dean’s at his school program.”
Nellie nods. “Figured.”
The house feels lived in. Not in the worn-down bunker way, but in a softer, brighter way. Sunlight through windows, things slightly out of place in a way that means people actually use them. It’s warm.
Eileen closes the door behind them, Miracle already circling back toward Nellie like he hasn’t seen her in years. “Dean has a half day today. I thought it might be fun if you picked him up.”
Nellie lights up immediately. “Yeah?”
Jack nods. “We can do that.”
“I’ll call the school. Let them know it’s you.”
“Perfect,” she replies.
They get settled quickly. Duffels dropped in the guest room, jackets tossed aside, shoes kicked off without much thought. It’s easy. Familiar. By the time they wander back into the living room, Eileen is already in full mom mode. “Have you been sleeping?”
She groans quietly. “Here we go.”
“Yes,” he answers, amused.
“Eating?”
“Yes,” she answers, holding her hands up. “We’re good.”
The woman narrows her eyes slightly. “Any injuries?”
“No,” he replies.
“Clean hunts,” she adds.
Eileen studies them for a moment longer, making sure they’re telling the truth. Then nods once, satisfied. They settle into conversation easily, talking about recent hunts; nothing too intense, just enough to fill in the time.
At one point, Nellie pulls out her phone. “Oh, this!” she says. “From that charity thing.” She flips the screen toward her aunt. A picture of the green dress hanging on the hanger. Even like that, it stands out. Elegant. Expensive. Not something that belongs in her usual wardrobe.
Eileen’s brows lift slightly. “That’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” she replies, softer. “It is.”
Jack, without thinking — “You looked really pretty in it.” The words come out easy. Too easy. And then he realizes a beat too late.
She glances at him, surprised for half a second. Then smiles, simple and genuine. “Thanks.” She shrugs lightly. “That was all Edward. I just showed up.” She moves on. Doesn’t overthink it.
He nods quickly, looking away like the wall suddenly got interesting. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Still.” There’s a faint flush at his ears.
Eileen notices. Her gaze lingers for just a second longer than necessary; tracking the way he avoids eye contact, the way she doesn’t pick up on it at all. Interesting. But she doesn’t say anything. She just smiles faintly instead.
• • •
The school is louder than either of them are used to. Bright, busy, full of movement and noise that echoes down the hallways. Kids talking over each other, teachers redirecting, chairs scraping against floors. It’s controlled chaos, but still chaos. Jack lingers just a step behind her as they walk in. Not uncomfortable, just observing, taking it in. Nellie, on the other hand, moves like she belongs anywhere she decides to be. She approaches the front desk with an easy confidence, resting a hand lightly on the counter.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m here to pick up Dean Winchester.”
The woman behind the desk looks up, polite but practiced. “And you are?”
“Eleanor Leahy.”
The woman glances at her again, just enough to check.
Nellie already has one of her fake IDs out, setting it down without hesitation. Jack watches the exchange quietly. There’s something almost impressive about how natural she makes it look.
The woman checks it, nods, and hands it back. “Alright. He’s in Room 4. Down the hall, second door on your left.”
“Thank you,” she replies with a smile.
They head down the hallway together. Jack’s gaze drifts to the walls lined with drawings, construction paper projects, messy handwriting spelling out things that probably took a lot of effort. Bright colors everywhere. It’s a different kind of world.
She glances back at him once, catching that look. “Overwhelming?” she asks lightly.
“A little,” he admits.
She smirks. “You’ll survive.”
They reach the classroom. She taps lightly on the doorframe before stepping in. The teacher looks up first, recognizing the shift. Then Dean does. He’s mid-motion, talking with one of his classmates, and he just stops. Like his brain needs a second to process what he’s seeing.
“NELLIE?!”
The room reacts to the volume, a couple kids turning, but he’s already out of his seat, running toward her like a missile.
She barely has time to crouch before he collides into her. “Hey, you,” she laughs, catching him easily. “Miss me?”
“Yes!” he says immediately, pulling back just enough to look at her like she might disappear if he blinks.
Jack steps into the doorway behind her, smiling faintly. “Hey, Dean.”
The boy’s head snaps toward him. “Jack!” He looks between them, like he still can’t believe it. “You’re picking me up?!”
“Yeah,” she replies. “Thought we’d surprise you.”
“It worked,” he says, still beaming.
The teacher chuckles softly from across the room. “Looks like someone’s day just got a lot better.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, standing and brushing her hands off lightly. “Eileen thought it would be fun if we picked him up today.”
Dean, meanwhile, just runs back to his desk, grabbing his backpack with zero organization, stuffing papers inside in a way that definitely isn’t how they were before.
“Homework,” the teacher reminds gently.
“I got it!” he says, already halfway done.
Jack steps further inside, grabbing a stray paper that almost gets left behind and handing it over. “Don’t forget this,” he says.
“Oh thanks,” Dean replies, shoving it into his bag.
A couple quick goodbyes later, they’re back in the hallway. The boy walks in-between the two hunters, his hands loosely gripping theirs as he talks. Fast. Excited. Jumping from one topic to the next without finishing half of them. “And then we had to draw and mine was better and oh! we learned about—”
She nods along, laughing when it fits, letting him ramble. Jack listens quietly, a small smile lingering.
Outside, the air is warmer. The Impala sits where they left her. Nellie pauses and crouches slightly in front of her cousin, lowering her voice like she’s about to propose something serious. “I’m gonna allow you to sit up front with us, in the middle. But—” She points at him. “You cannot tell your mom.”
Dean’s eyes widen. Not with hesitation, with excitement. “I won’t,” he says immediately.
Jack leans against the car slightly. “That’s a big secret.”
“I’m good at secrets,” he insists.
She narrows her eyes playfully. “Promise?”
“I promise!”
That’s enough.
A minute later, he’s wedged comfortably between them in the front seat, seatbelt clicked into place, legs barely long enough to reach the edge of the seat. He settles in like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. “This is the best!” he declares.
She laughs as she starts the engine. “Don’t get used to it.”
Jack glances over at the boy. “You comfortable?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yep!” He leans back slightly, looking between them like he’s right where he’s supposed to be.
The engine rumbles to life. And as they pull away from the school, she glances over at the clock on the dash. “Well, it’s lunchtime. How do you feel about going to get food before we go home?”
He perks up immediately. “Yes! I am starving!”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “You’ve got a lot of energy for starving boy.”
“No, I don’t!” Dean defends poorly.
She smirks as she flicks her blinker on. “Don’t worry, we’re going to fix that problem.”
The boy cheers like she just handed him the best news of his life.
The place they pull into is nothing fancy. Just quick, easy, loud in a way that fits the mood. People coming and going, the faint smell of fries hitting the air the second they step out of the car.
Dean sticks close between them as they walk in, already looking around like he’s deciding what he wants. They make it to the counter.
“What do you want?” Nellie asks, glancing down at her cousin.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Chicken nuggets.”
“Of course you do,” Jack mutters.
“And fries,” Dean adds quickly.
“And a drink,” she finishes for him.
“And a toy,” he says, like that’s the most important part.
She nods solemnly. “Obviously.”
Jack shakes his head, smiling as she orders for all three of them, adding something for herself and him without needing to ask. “Got it memorized?” he asks quietly.
“Pretty much,” she replies.
They grab a booth by the window. Dean slides in first, immediately unpacking his meal like it’s a full event. The toy comes out first. Always.
Jack leans back slightly, watching as the boy inspects it like it’s priceless. “What’d you get?”
He holds up a Hot Wheels car proudly. “This.”
She laughs, unwrapping her own food.
Dean barely takes a bite before he starts talking. And he doesn’t stop. “…and then we played outside and I ran faster than everyone and oh! and I have a new friend and his name is—” He launches into a story that somehow includes three separate events at once.
Nellie listens like it’s the most important thing she’s heard all day. Jack does too. Nodding when it makes sense. Asking questions when Dean pauses just long enough to breathe.
“Wait,” he says at one point. “You ran faster than everyone?”
The boy nods immediately. “Yeah.”
She raises a brow. “Everyone?”
“Yep.”
She glances at Jack. “Sounds legit.”
“Definitely no exaggeration happening here,” he agrees.
Dean doesn’t even register the teasing. He’s already moved on. “And we should do stuff when you’re here,” he says, pointing between them with a fry.
“Oh yeah?” she asks. “Like what?”
He starts counting on his fingers. “We can go to the park. And watch movies. And play games. And — and—” He pauses, thinking hard. “And you can stay forever.” That one slips out without hesitation. Simple. Honest.
Her expression softens just slightly. “We can do the first three,” she says gently.
Dean nods, accepting that without question. “Okay.” Then he takes another bite and keeps going. “…and Dad said I might get to show you my new bed and I cleaned my room well, mostly — and—”
She laughs quietly, shaking her head.
Jack leans back, just watching the two of them. Letting the noise, the chatter, the normalcy settle around them. The boy keeps talking. About school. About home. About everything that feels big in his world. And for once, that’s all that matters.
By the time they’re halfway through their food, Dean has slowed down just enough to actually eat. Barely. Still talking between bites. Still bouncing between ideas. Still planning out their entire weekend like he’s in charge of it. Nellie nods along, playing into it. Jack adds in occasionally, offering suggestions that the boy immediately either accepts or improves upon. It’s easy. Light. Uncomplicated. And sitting there, in a booth that smells like fries and soda, listening to a five-year-old map out their plans, it feels like something they don’t get enough of. Something worth holding onto. Even if it’s just for a weekend.
• • •
The front door barely gets a chance to open all the way before— “WE’RE BACK!” Dean’s voice echoes through the house like he’s announcing something life changing.
Nellie laughs behind him as he barrels inside, backpack half slipping off his shoulder. “Careful,” she says, stepping in after him. “You’re gonna take the door off the hinges.”
Jack follows, closing it behind them, shaking his head slightly.
Eileen looks up from the kitchen, already smiling like she expected exactly this level of energy. “I can hear that,” she says, voice light.
The boy runs up to her, bouncing on his toes. “They picked me up!”
“I know. I let them.”
“They got me food!”
“I’m sure they did.”
Nellie leans against the counter slightly. “We spoiled him a little.”
“A little?” Jack echoes.
Dean ignores that entirely.
“How was school?” Eileen asks, her hands moving smoothly.
The boy pauses, thinking about it. “…Good,” he says quickly. Then immediately— “We’re gonna do stuff this weekend!”
She glances between Nellie and Jack, smiling faintly. “I heard.”
Dean is already halfway to the table, dropping his backpack like it weighs nothing.
Nellie watches him for a second. “Hey,” she calls. “Homework.”
He freezes mid-motion. Slowly turns back around. “…What?”
She raises a brow. “Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve got homework.”
He groans immediately, dragging his feet back toward the table. “It’s boring.”
“It’s a worksheet. You’ll survive.”
“I already did school,” he argues.
“And now you’re doing ten more minutes of it,” she shoots back.
He flops into the chair dramatically. “I hate it.”
She snorts, pulling the worksheet out of his bag and setting it in front of him. “You don’t hate it. You just don’t want to do it.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.”
Eileen watches the exchange, amused, as she leans against the counter. “Remember,” she adds, signing as she speaks, “Nellie can help, but she can’t do it for you.”
She gasps lightly, putting a hand to her chest. “I would never.”
The woman raises a brow.
“Okay, I wouldn’t get caught.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh from where he’s standing.
“And if there’s math,” she adds, gesturing toward him, “that’s Jack’s problem.”
Jack blinks. “Hey—”
“You’re better at it,” she says simply.
Dean looks between them. “There’s math?”
She glances down at the worksheet. “…A little.”
He groans louder.
Jack sighs, pulling out a chair and sitting beside him. “Alright. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
He reluctantly slides the paper over.
Nellie sits across from him, leaning forward slightly, already invested. “Okay, first question. What’s two plus three?”
Dean slumps further into his chair. “…Five,” he mutters.
“Wow,” she says, deadpan. “We’ve got a genius.”
He perks up slightly. “I know.”
Jack smiles faintly, watching the interaction more than the worksheet.
“Alright, next one,” she continues.
Dean drags his pencil across the page with exaggerated reluctance. “This is so hard.”
“It’s literally adding,” she replies.
“It’s still hard.”
Jack leans slightly closer. “You’re doing fine.”
The boy glances at him, reassured just enough to keep going.
Nellie taps the paper lightly. “Focus.”
He scribbles something down.
“Is that even a number?” she asks.
“It is,” he insists.
“It looks like a potato.”
Jack laughs quietly.
Dean tries not to smile but fails.
Eileen watches from the counter, arms loosely crossed, a soft expression on her face. Because this is easy. Natural. Like they’ve always fit here. At the table, Nellie leans in, guiding, correcting, teasing just enough to keep him engaged. Jack adds in when needed, explaining something in a way the boy actually listens to. Dean complains the entire time. But he keeps going.
Eventually, the worksheet is done. Barely. Messy handwriting, a couple erased answers, one questionable number that she debates correcting before letting it go.
“Done,” he declares, dropping his pencil like it personally offended him.
She looks it over, then nods. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
“It was,” he insists.
“You survived,” Jack adds.
He considers that. “…Yeah.” He slides out of the chair immediately, energy returning full force now that the task is over. “Now we can do fun stuff!”
She leans back in her chair, watching him go with a small smile. “Yeah. Now we can.”
For a while, Nellie and Jack are completely pulled into it; games that don’t make sense, rules that change mid-sentence, entire storylines built and abandoned within minutes. Dean assigns roles without asking, narrates everything out loud, and somehow expects them to keep up. Miracle weaves through it all at first, barking occasionally, chasing something invisible until eventually he gives up entirely and curls up nearby, choosing sleep over whatever chaos is happening. Smart dog.
Eventually, even the boy hits a wall. Not willingly. But it happens. “I don’t need a nap,” he insists, already half-dragging himself towards his room.
Eileen raises a brow from the doorway. “You do.”
“I don’t,” he repeats.
Five minutes later, he’s asleep. Completely out. But it was short-lived. Because the second he’s up, he’s back. Refreshed. Ready. Determined to drag them right back into whatever world he left behind. By the time dinner starts creeping closer, the energy shifts. Not gone just redirected.
Nellie eventually peels away, slipping into the kitchen where her aunt is already starting prep. “Need help?” she asks.
Eileen glances over, smiling. “Always.”
She joins her without hesitation, falling into step easily; cutting, stirring, moving around the kitchen like she’s been doing it here for years. Which, at this point, she kind of has.
This leaves Jack with Dean. Miracle has fully committed to ignoring both of them in favor of sleep. The front door opens not long after. Sam steps inside, pausing just slightly at the sight in front of him. The young man is crouched near the coffee table, mid-conversation with the boy about something that involves hand gestures and a level of seriousness that doesn’t match the situation at all. The terrier is sprawled out nearby, completely unbothered.
Sam smiles. “…Hey,” he says.
Jack looks up first. “Hey.”
Dean spins around immediately. “Dad!” He runs over, stopping just short of tackling him. “Jack and Nellie are here!”
“So I see.”
“They picked me up from school and got me food!”
“I’m sure they did.”
Jack stands, brushing his hands off slightly. “Hey.”
“Hey,” the Winchester says, stepping further in. “Good to see you.”
“Hey Sammy!” Nellie’s voice cuts in as she steps out of the kitchen briefly, wiping her hands on a towel. She moves in for a quick hug without hesitation.
“Hey, kiddo,” Sam says, returning it.
“Miss us?” she teases.
“Something like that.”
She grins, then gestures back toward the kitchen. “I’m helping Eileen. Dinner’s almost ready.” She gives him a quick smile, then disappears back into the kitchen just as easily as she came.
Sam watches her go for a second. Then looks back at Jack. At his son, already trying to pull the former Nephilim back into whatever game was paused. At Miracle, still asleep. And just shakes his head slightly, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Home. Even if it’s a little louder than usual.
Dinner settles into something warm and familiar, the kind of evening that doesn’t need effort to feel full. Plates pass easily around the table, the quiet clink of silverware and soft conversation filling the space.
Dean is still buzzing, but softer now, leaning slightly into his cousin’s side as he eats. “And then I looked up and they were just there,” he says, eyes wide. “In my classroom.”
Sam smiles. “That must’ve been a shock.”
“It was the best shock,” he corrects.
She nudges him lightly. “Glad we could deliver.”
“You did!”
Jack smiles faintly, watching them. “He figured it out pretty fast.”
“I knew it wasn’t a dream,” he insists.
“Sure you did,” she teases.
Across the table, Eileen is watching. Not the conversation, but the details. Jack reaching for something at the same time Nellie does. His hand pulling back just a little too quickly. The way his eyes flick toward her, then away. Her gaze shifts to her husband. She gives him a look. A subtle one. A hey, are you seeing this? look. Sam is focused on his son, nodding along to whatever story he’s telling.
“…and then I ran faster than everyone—”
“Everyone?” Sam asks.
“Yep!”
Eileen blinks, looks back at Jack, at Nellie, and then back to her husband. Another look. A little more pointed this time. Sam doesn’t catch it. At all. She presses her lips together slightly. Okay. Noted. Back at the table, Jack glances at Nellie again as she laughs at something Dean says. Just a second too long. Something softer in it. He catches himself, looks back down at his plate. She definitely sees that. Her brows lift just slightly and glances at Sam again, who is now asking Dean about his “new friend” from school. Completely oblivious. She exhales quietly through her nose. Of course.
A few minutes later, Jack stands. “I’m gonna grab more water.” He reaches over and takes her glass automatically. Refills it. Brings it back. Sets it down in front of her like it’s second nature.
“Thank you,” Nellie says.
“Yeah.”
Eileen tilts her head slightly, watching that. Then slowly, she turns her head toward Sam again. This time, she gives him a very clear look. Eyebrows raised. Meaningful. Hello?
He glances at her finally and pauses. “…What?” he mouths silently.
She just stares at him, then flicks her eyes toward Jack, then Nellie, then back to him.
He follows the motion, looks, and sees nothing unusual. Just Jack sitting there, Nellie talking, and Dean rambling. He looks back at his wife and shrugs slightly, genuinely confused.
She closes her eyes for half a second and gives a small, polite smile like nothing is happening.
Okay. We’ll talk later. She just quietly files it all away because, clearly, she is the only one in this house with eyes right now.
• • •
The house settles as the evening winds down. Lights dim a little, voices soften, the earlier energy of the day easing into something quieter, slower. Dean fights it at first — like he always does — but eventually, bedtime wins. Mostly.
“Okay,” Nellie says, standing in the doorway of his room with her arms crossed lightly. “Bed.”
“I’m not tired,” he insists, already climbing onto the mattress.
“You were falling asleep in your chair like an hour ago.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Jack leans against the doorframe, amused, watching the exchange.
Dean looks at him for backup. “I wasn’t.”
He considers it for a second. “You were.”
The boy gasps like he’s been betrayed.
She grins. “Wow. Even Jack said it.”
“Okay, fine,” he mutters, dramatically pulling the blanket over himself. “But you have to read.”
“I have to?”
“Yes.”
She glances back toward the hallway, like she might argue, then softens. “Alright. What are we reading?”
He immediately grabs a book from his nightstand and holds it up like it’s the only acceptable answer. “This one.” Then he looks at Jack. “Can you stay too?”
The young man blinks. “Me?”
“You can listen. She’s really good at it.”
Nellie snorts quietly. “Wow, no pressure.”
Jack hesitates for half a second. Then nods. “Yeah. I can stay.” He moves further into the room, settling into the chair near the bed.
She sits down on the edge of the mattress, tucking the blanket more securely around Dean without thinking. “Alright,” she says, opening the book. “Ready?”
He nods, already sinking into the pillow.
She starts reading. And it’s different than how she normally talks. Softer. Slower. Her voice shifts just slightly, adding tone and expression in a way that pulls the story along, giving each line just enough life to keep it interesting. The boy watches her at first. Then his eyes start to droop.
Jack doesn’t look at the book. Not really. He tries, at first, but it doesn’t hold his attention the way she does. He watches her instead. The way her voice changes with the story. The way she smiles faintly at certain lines. The way she smooths the blanket again without even noticing she’s doing it. There’s something gentle in it. Something steady. Something easy. And the expression on his face shifts without him realizing it. Soft. Quietly proud. Like this version of her is something he’s glad exists.
At the door, Eileen pauses. She hadn’t meant to linger, just to check in, make sure bedtime hadn’t turned into something longer, but she stops. Because the scene in front of her… it’s something. Nellie sitting at the edge of the bed, book in her lap. Dean asleep, tucked in. Jack sitting nearby, watching her. Not the room. Not the kid. Her. And the look on his face, that’s what catches. Soft. Unfiltered. Something he hasn’t quite figured out how to hide yet. She doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t announce herself. She just watches for a quiet moment longer before slipping back downstairs.
Eventually Nellie and Jack slip out of Dean’s room; careful steps, a soft click of the door, voices kept low until they’re clear of the hallway. The kind of quiet that comes naturally after a long day: earned.
He glances back once, just to be sure. “He’s out,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “Didn’t even make it past the last page.”
They head downstairs and out to the back porch, where the night air is cooler, calmer. A small light glows overhead, casting everything in a warm, dim tone. Sam and Eileen are already out there.
Sam looks up first. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jack replies.
She gives a small wave. “We survived bedtime.”
Eileen smiles. “Barely?”
“Barely.”
Sam stands, grabbing a couple beers from the small cooler beside his chair and handing them out. “Figured you earned these.”
“Definitely,” Jack mutters, taking one.
Nellie takes hers with a grateful nod. “Thanks.”
They settle in, chairs creaking slightly, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. For a moment, it’s easy. Just adults, catching their breath.
Sam takes a sip, then looks between them. “So… what have you actually been dealing with lately?”
She shrugs. “Same kind of stuff. Spirits, a couple minor possessions. Nothing too wild.”
He nods. “That’s good. I did hear something, though.” That shifts the tone subtly.
Jack straightens just a fraction. Nellie’s expression stills slightly.
“From Isaac,” he adds. “He doesn’t call me unless something’s wrong. And when he does, it’s usually about you, Nell.”
She exhales quietly. “Yeah. That tracks.”
He leans forward slightly. “He mentioned a hunter. Said he was bragging about being hired to take out a psychic hiding in the hunting community.”
Jack glances at her.
She doesn’t avoid it. “Yeah. That was us.”
Eileen shifts slightly beside her husband, attentive now.
Sam nods once. “Figured.”
Nellie takes a sip of her beer, then sets it down. “We got approached by that guy,” she explains. “Name’s Nathan Cross. Said he needed help on a case involving a guy named Lucien Dorsey that I dealt with at the lodge last winter. It involved us going undercover at that charity gala to recover a supposed artifact. Edward Vale helped gain access to the event.”
“Problem was,” Jack adds, “it wasn’t a real case. It was a setup.”
She nods. “Lucien knew I’d come after him if I caught wind of him getting involved with anything of the supernatural again. So, he hired Cross to get ahead of it.”
Eileen’s expression sharpens slightly. “To take you out.”
“Yeah.” The word is simple. Flat.
“So, what happened to the guy?” There’s weight in that question. Because everyone knows that kind of situation rarely ends clean.
Jack answers first. “We let him go.” There’s tension in his voice. Unhidden. “I didn’t want to.”
Sam’s brows lift slightly. “You let him walk?”
Nellie nods. “It was the smartest move.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “How?”
“One less body,” she says calmly. “No hunters breathing down our necks for killing one of our own. No law enforcement questions if things got messy.”
“He’s going to talk. And if he does, hunters are going to come after you. Especially because of what you can do.”
She doesn’t flinch. “I thought of that. I put a silencing sigil on him.”
Sam’s expression shifts.
Eileen tilts her head. “A what?”
“A silencing sigil. Works kinda like a hex. Tied into his ability to speak about me. He can talk about the hunt, what happened, just not about my abilities.”
Jack glances at her, still a little impressed every time she says it.
The woman studies her. “How did you learn that?”
She shrugs lightly. “You deal with enough witches, you pick things up. The shit that Nightshade messed with turned out to be somewhat useful. You know, normally, something like that would need a ritual. Time, ingredients, setup. I don’t.” That quiet confidence sits there. Unapologetic.
Sam leans forward slightly. “How long does it hold?”
“Indefinitely. Unless someone really knows what they’re doing.”
“And can it be removed?”
“Not easily. He’s gonna have a hell of a time trying.”
He exhales slowly. “…That’s impressive.”
She shrugs it off, but there’s a flicker of something. Pride, maybe. Or just relief.
Jack takes a sip of his beer. Then, almost under his breath, “You should’ve let me shoot him.” It’s quiet. But not quiet enough.
Sam glances at him. “Jack—”
“I’m not saying kill him,” he clarifies quickly. “Just… something. Make sure he doesn’t come back.” There’s still edge there. Lingering.
Nellie looks at him. Not upset. Just steady. “He won’t,” she says with a smirk. “Especially not after you nearly dented the marble floor with his body.”
He meets her gaze, holding it for a second. Then nods once, trusting her even if he doesn’t like it. The tension eases just slightly after that. Not gone. But settled.
Sam leans back again, taking another sip. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
“The plight of being a Winchester, Sammy.”
• • •
The house is quiet again. Lights off, doors closed, the soft hum of everything settling into the night. Down the hall, the guest room is still, and Dean is long asleep. In the master bedroom, Eileen moves through her usual routine: pulling her hair back, setting things down on the dresser, the calm rhythm of winding down. Sam is already halfway there, sitting on the edge of the bed, tugging off his sweatshirt, clearly ready to crash.
She glances at him through the mirror. “Did you notice anything?” she asks with her hands.
He pauses mid-motion. “Notice what?”
She turns slightly, more direct now. “Anything different.”
He frowns a little. “About what?”
She watches him for a second. Then clarifies. “About Nellie. Or Jack.”
He thinks about it. Actually thinks. Then shrugs lightly. “No? Should I have?”
She exhales quietly through her nose. She shifts, crossing her arms lightly. “I was noticing something,” she says.
That gets his attention a bit more. “What kind of something?”
“Not bad. Just different.”
“Different how?”
Eileen considers how to phrase it. “The way Jack looks at her. The way he—” she gestures slightly, searching for the word, “—does things for her. Small things. The way he talks to her sometimes.”
Sam’s brows knit together slightly as he replays the evening. “…I didn’t notice anything weird,” he admits.
She gives him a look. “Not weird,” she corrects. “Subtle.”
He leans back slightly, thinking harder now. Dinner. The conversation. Jack getting up—
“…He grabbed her water?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not that weird.”
“It’s not just that. He watches her.”
He blinks. “What?”
“He watches her,” she repeats. “Not all the time. Just… little moments. Longer than normal.”
He exhales, running a hand over the back of his neck. “You think you might be reading into it?”
She just stares at him with a very seriously? stare. “Sam,” she says flatly.
He lifts his hands slightly. “I’m just saying—”
“You need to be more observant,” she cuts in.
That stops him. He studies her expression now. Sees that she’s not guessing. She’s sure. “Okay,” he says slowly. “So, what are you thinking?”
Eileen doesn’t hesitate. “I think Jack likes Nellie.”
The room goes quiet for a second.
Sam processes that. Turns it over. “…Huh.” That’s his first reaction. Not shock. Just consideration.
She watches him carefully. “You didn’t see it?”
“I—” he pauses, thinking again. “No. I mean, I didn’t not see it, I just… didn’t think about it like that.”
She nods slightly. That tracks.
“And Nellie?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “Oblivious.”
That makes him huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That sounds about right.” He leans back against the headboard, arms folding loosely. “You think it’s serious?”
She shrugs lightly. “I think it’s there.”
He considers that, then nods slowly. “I mean, I wouldn’t be against it. Jack’s a good kid. He cares about her. That part’s obvious.”
“Exactly.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You think it’ll go anywhere?”
Eileen’s lips press together in a small, thoughtful smile. “Depends on if he figures it out. And if she ever does.”
Sam huffs quietly. “That might take a while.”
“Yeah…”
They share a look. Somewhere between amused and curious.
Sam reaches over to turn off the lamp. The room falls into darkness. “Those two are going to be the death of us.”
“Definitely,” Eileen replies. “But we’re watching out for them.”
He smirks faintly in the dark. “Apparently you already are.”
• • •
Morning in the Winchester house starts early. The kitchen is already alive. Coffee brewing, something sizzling on the stove, the quiet rhythm of movement that comes from routine. Sunlight spills through the windows, softer than the bunker’s harsh overhead lights, warming the space.
Eileen moves easily between the stove and counter, while Jack stands nearby, actually helping by cutting something, keeping an eye on a pan, doing exactly what she asked without question. Sam leans against the counter, mug in hand, half-awake but present.
“…She’s still asleep?” he asks.
Jack nods. “Yeah. She’s catching up.”
“Or avoiding mornings,” he counters.
“Both.”
They are interrupted by footsteps upstairs. Quick. Light. Very clearly Dean. Sam straightens slightly, already anticipating what’s about to happen. Instead of coming to the kitchen, they hear a door open.
“NELLIE!”
He immediately pushes off the counter. “Oh — no, no, no—” He moves toward the stairs, but it’s already too late.
A muffled laugh echoes down the hallway, followed by a very awake, very excited five-year-old voice.
He slows, stopping halfway. Then chuckles, shaking his head. “…Too late,” he mutters, turning back toward the kitchen.
Eileen raises a brow. “She awake?”
“She’s being attacked.”
Jack smiles faintly at that. “Sounds about right.”
A few minutes pass. Then, there are footsteps again. Slower this time, dragging slightly. And then Nellie appears in the kitchen doorway. Hair messy. Eyes half-lidded. Clearly still waking up. With Dean hanging off her back like a backpack; arms around her shoulders, legs hooked loosely at her sides. “And maybe your snow friend can make it snow and then—” he’s talking nonstop, words tumbling over each other. She says nothing. Just slowly walks forward, absorbing the energy like she hasn’t fully processed it yet. It’s a ridiculous sight.
Sam outright laughs. Eileen covers her mouth, smiling. Jack just watches, amused, a softness settling in his expression again.
“You good?” the Winchester asks.
She blinks slowly. “…No.”
The boy continues talking like she didn’t answer. “And we can play that game again and then—”
Sam steps forward, gently lifting his son off her back before she can walk directly into the counter. “Alright, buddy. Give her a second.”
Dean doesn’t resist, just keeps talking, now redirected at his dad.
Nellie stands there for a second. Still. Processing. Then exhales. “…Thanks.”
He grins. “Anytime.”
Jack has already moved. Quietly. By the time she sits at the table, he places a mug of fresh coffee in front of her. She pauses when she sees it, then glances at him.
He shrugs slightly. “Figured you’d need it.”
She lets out a small, tired laugh. “You figured right.” She takes it, wrapping both hands around the mug like it’s life-saving, and sinks into a chair at the table. Takes a sip. Closes her eyes for half a second. “…Okay,” she mutters. “Better.”
Dean, now free, immediately moves back toward her, still mid-conversation. She doesn’t stop him. Just listens. Nods occasionally. Still waking up, but present.
Breakfast settles into that same warm rhythm as the night before: plates passed, coffee refilled, a five-year-old talking nonstop like he’s got a timer running. Nellie eventually contributes to the conversation in small bursts, but mostly just lets him talk at her while she eats. Jack notices and shifts some of the attention, asking the boy questions, pulling him into side tangents, anything to give her a second to exist without being verbally steamrolled.
“So, wait,” he says, leaning slightly toward Dean, “you said you beat everyone yesterday?”
“Yeah!” he replies immediately.
“No way.”
“Yes way!”
“What about the big kids?”
“…Okay, maybe not them.”
“Thought so.”
She glances at him over the rim of her mug with a small, grateful look.
Sam watches this from across the table, sipping his coffee. He then looks at his niece. “You look terrible.”
She doesn’t even blink. “You look old.”
Eileen snorts quietly. Jack chokes slightly on his drink.
He leans back. “Wow. That’s how we’re starting the day?”
“You started it,” she replies, taking another sip.
Dean looks between them, delighted. “Fight, fight, fight.”
“Can’t. Your mom banned fight club, remember?”
“For a good reason,” Sam adds.
“You’re just scared because I would win.”
By the time breakfast wraps up, Nellie is at least functioning. Still a little slow. But present.
Plates are cleared, Jack automatically stepping in to help without being asked. Sam gathers a few things, Dean trailing behind him until something else grabs his attention. It’s easy. Natural. As dishes are being rinsed and stacked, Eileen glances towards her niece. “I need to run out and grab some groceries. Do you want to come with me?”
She looks up immediately. “Actually, yeah, that’d be nice.”
“Good. We can get out of the house for a bit.”
She nods, pushing herself up from the table. “Give me a few minutes to get some actual clothes.” She heads to the guestroom, stretching slightly as she goes. She moves through getting ready without much thought. Grabbing clothes, pulling a brush through her hair, then pauses. Her dirty blonde hair is long. Longer than she usually lets it get during heavy hunting stretches. She lifts a section of it, turning slightly toward the mirror. She’s dealt with worse. But long hair on a hunt? It’s a liability. Something to grab. Something in the way. Something she has to think about when she shouldn’t. She drops it, already deciding.
A few minutes later, she goes back to the kitchen, running her fingers through it again as she walks into the kitchen. “Hey,” she says to Eileen.
Her aunt looks up. “Ready?”
“Yeah. But, when we get back, could you help me cut my hair? It’s getting… impractical.”
Her gaze shifts to her hair, assessing. “Why don’t we go to a salon, then?”
Nellie pauses. “Why? We can just do it here for free.”
“Sure, but why not pamper yourself for once?”
“Because I’m a hunter. The closest thing to pampering we get is a diner that delivers.”
Eileen rolls her eyes, her hands moving more purposefully. “Just do something nice for yourself for once, Nellie.”
She sighs. “Fine. But if they charge me for some fancy shit I didn’t ask for, I will cause a scene.”
The woman smiles slightly. “Perfect. I know a place that take walk-ins.”
• • •
The salon is bright. Warm lighting, the low hum of blow dryers, quiet chatter drifting between stations. It smells faintly like shampoo and something floral; clean, put together in a way that feels a little foreign to Nellie. She pauses just inside the door. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough for Eileen.
“You okay?” her aunt asks gently.
She huffs a small breath, nodding. “Yeah. Just… haven’t done this in a while.” That’s an understatement. Last time she was in a place like this, she was a kid. Before that, she’d been hacking at her own hair in a bathroom mirror with dull scissors, because asking for a haircut wasn’t worth the argument with her mother.
Eileen watches her for a second, reading more than what’s said. She smiles softly. “It’ll be good.”
They check in, and within a few minutes, Nellie is being guided to a chair. The stylist is friendly. Easygoing. Doesn’t ask too many questions. Just enough. “What are we thinking today?” she asks, running her fingers lightly through the dirty blonde locks.
She hesitates for half a second. Then gestures. “Shorter. Like—” she indicates around her shoulders. “Something manageable.”
The stylist nods. “We can do that.”
Eileen settles into a nearby chair, watching. Not hovering. Just present.
The process starts. Hair washed and sectioned. Clips placed. The first snip is louder than Nellie expects. A thick lock of hair falls away. She watches it drop. Something about that moment hits. Not in a bad way. Just real.
“So,” the stylist says casually, “you travel a lot?”
She nods slightly. “Yeah. Work.”
“That explains the length. Long hair’s a commitment.”
“Yeah. I’m realizing that.”
Eileen smiles faintly from her seat. “She needs something easier.”
“Got it,” the stylist says. “Low maintenance, but still looks good.”
“Please,” Nellie mutters.
More hair falls. Inches. Gone. The weight of it lifting slowly, piece by piece. She doesn’t say much. Just watches in the mirror. Watches the version of herself shift. Eventually, the cut is done. Shoulder-length now. Lighter. Framing her face in a way it hasn’t in a long time. The stylist starts drying it, brushing through the shorter layers, shaping it. She watches the mirror more closely now. Because this is different.
When it’s finished, the stylist steps back slightly. “Alrighty… What do you think?”
Nellie blinks. Actually takes it in. Her hand lifts slowly, brushing through the ends. Shoulder length. Not drastic. But enough. She hasn’t seen herself like this in years. “…Wow,” she says quietly. There’s a small smile there. Real. “I like it.”
Her aunt beams from her chair. “It looks fantastic.”
She glances at her, a little surprised by how genuine that sounds.
“It does. And it’ll be so much easier on the road.”
She nods, still looking at herself. She turns her head slightly, testing the movement, the weight, what’s not there anymore. It feels lighter. Not just physically.
“Good call,” Eileen signs, stepping closer.
She smiles a little wider now. “Yeah. I think so too.” And for once, something simple, something just for her, feels right.
• • •
The front door swings open with the familiar shuffle of grocery bags and the soft thud of it closing behind them.
“We’re back,” Nellie calls, nudging it shut with her foot as she steps inside.
Eileen follows close behind, already shifting the weight of the bags in her hands. “Can someone—”
“I got it,” Sam cuts in easily, appearing from the kitchen and taking a couple from her before she can finish. He gives her a small smile as he does. He pauses as he sees his niece’s new haircut. “Well, look at you, Nell. It looks very nice.”
She smiles shyly as she sets her bags down on the counter with a quiet exhale.
The kitchen falls into a natural rhythm. Groceries unpacked, items sorted, the kind of domestic normalcy that feels almost foreign compared to the road. In the living room, however, things are anything but quiet. Dean is mid-game, narrating something elaborate and ever-changing while Jack sits nearby, trying — somewhat successfully — to keep up. Miracle, wiser than both of them, has claimed a spot on the couch and is pretending none of it exists.
“No, you have to do it like this, not like that—” the boy gestures emphatically, clearly frustrated.
“I’m trying,” Jack replies, half-laughing.
He looks up to protest more but pauses when he spots Nellie in the doorway. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing as he studies her with surprising focus. “…You look different.”
She smirks. “Do I?”
He squints harder, like he’s working through a complicated equation. “I don’t know why.”
She laughs softly, brushing a hand through her hair without thinking. “I got a haircut.”
“Oh.” The mystery is instantly solved. “You look pretty!” he states, completely matter of fact, then turns right back to his game like that was just another observation.
She smiles, a little softer this time. “Thanks, bud.”
Jack had looked up too. But unlike Dean, he doesn’t bounce back so easily. He’d been mid-motion, reaching for something as part of whatever game the boy had constructed, but his hand stalls halfway there. He just stops and looks. It’s not dramatic. Not exaggerated. But it’s unmistakable. He takes in the shorter hair. The way it frames her face now, the way it moves when she walks, the way it somehow makes her look lighter, a little older in a way he can’t quite put into words. For a moment, he forgets entirely what he was doing.
From the kitchen, Sam notices. Immediately. His gaze flicks from the young man to his niece and back again, and something clicks into place with almost embarrassing clarity. His expression shifts like a puzzle piece just dropped where it was supposed to. Beside him, Eileen doesn’t even need to look. She already knows. She glances at her just long enough to catch the realization settle on his face, her expression quietly amused. Now you see it. He huffs faintly under his breath, almost to himself. Yeah, he sees it now.
Across the room, Nellie is still completely unaware of any of this. She runs her fingers through her hair again, a little self-conscious now that she’s been noticed. “Too short?” she asks, glancing between them. “Does it look weird?”
Jack finally blinks himself back to the present, straightening slightly. “No — no,” he says quickly. “It looks good.” There’s a beat, like he realizes that isn’t quite enough. “It looks really good,” he adds, quieter, more honest this time.
She smiles, relieved. “Okay. Good.” And just like that, she moves on. Back to helping Eileen unpack groceries, slipping right back into conversation like nothing significant just happened.
Jack, however, takes a second longer. He looks away, forcing himself back into the moment, back into Dean’s game, picking up where he left off with only the slightest delay.
• • •
The rest of the day settles into something easy. Uncomplicated. Dean keeps them busy for most of it. Games, running around the yard, pulling both Nellie and Jack into whatever world he’s invented that hour. Even Miracle participates for a few brief, enthusiastic bursts before deciding it’s all too much effort. Eileen keeps things balanced, stepping in just enough to make sure the house doesn’t descend into complete chaos and just as importantly, making sure Nellie and Jack don’t slip into work mode out of habit.
“Relax,” she signs to them more than once. Not a suggestion. An order. And eventually, they listen.
By the time afternoon rolls in and Dean is down for his nap — this time without much argument — the house quiets again. A softer quiet than before. The kind that feels like a pause. Nellie takes advantage of it immediately. She settles onto the couch in the living room with one of the books she brought from the bunker, legs tucked slightly under her, posture relaxed in a way she rarely allows herself. Miracle curls up beside her without hesitation, pressed against her side like he’s claimed the spot. She absently rests a hand against his back as she reads. Still. Calm. Completely at ease.
Jack comes in a few minutes later, fresh from finishing something with Sam. He slows in the doorway, stopping. Because the sight in front of him catches him off guard. Nellie, quiet and focused, flipping a page slowly. Her hair falls differently around her face, shifting slightly when she moves. The terrier asleep beside her. The whole scene feels soft. Domestic in a way he’s not used to. He lingers a second too long, just taking it in, then realizes what he’s doing, straightening slightly. He grabs the book he left on the side table and moves into the room, deliberately casual, taking the armchair across from her, settling in and opening his book.
For a while, it’s quiet. Just the occasional shift of a page turning. The soft sound of Miracle breathing. The house at rest. He tries to read. He does. But every few minutes, his eyes drift up. Just for a second. Just a glance. She hasn’t moved much, still curled into the couch, completely absorbed in her book. Her hand occasionally brushes through the ends of her hair without thinking, like she’s still getting used to it. Each time he looks, he lingers just a little too long before forcing himself back to the page. Focus. He tries. He really does. At one point, he shifts slightly in his chair. Glances at the couch. There’s space. At the other end. Plenty of room. He considers it. Just for a moment. It wouldn’t be a big deal. Just sitting there instead of here. Closer, but not— he immediately shuts that thought down. That would be weird. He looks back at his book, turning a page he didn’t actually read.
From the hallway, Eileen passes by with a basket of laundry. She slows when she catches sight of them. Jack in the chair, pretending very hard to read. Looking up. Looking back down. Looking up again. Her niece, completely unaware, relaxed and focused, existing in her own space without a clue. Her lips curve into a small, quiet smile. She doesn’t interrupt. Just watches for a second. Nellie shifts slightly, adjusting her position, and Miracle resettles with a soft huff. That movement pulls Jack’s eyes up again. He freezes for half a second, then quickly looks back down. She nearly laughs.
Nellie glances up just then, catching the movement in the hallway. “Do you need help?” she asks, already starting to shift like she’s about to get up.
She shakes her head immediately. “No. Stay. Relax.”
The girl hesitates, then nods, settling back into place. She returns to her book without another thought.
Jack looks up again. Of course he does. And this time, Eileen catches it directly. He doesn’t notice her. Her smile deepens, just slightly. Then she continues down the hall, laundry basket in hand. Back in the living room, the quiet settles again. Nellie reads. Miracle sleeps. Jack tries very hard to focus on his book. And fails just a little. Every few minutes.
• • •
The rest of the day slips by faster than any of them expect. Especially for Dean. Dinner is easy; good food, quiet conversation, the kind of warmth that makes it feel like time is moving too quickly. The boy, of course, notices.
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he says, frowning down at his plate like it personally offended him.
“Yeah, kiddo,” Nellie says gently.
“That’s not enough time.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “We were here all weekend.”
“Still not enough.”
She reaches over, nudging his arm lightly. “We’ll come back.”
“When?”
“Soon. And next time you’re on break, we’ll stay longer,” she promises.
He considers that. “…Promise?”
“Promise.”
That seems to settle him. Mostly.
Bedtime is an event. Dean tries everything. Dragging it out, asking for another story, another glass of water, one more question. At one point, he disappears entirely.
Nellie stands in the hallway, arms crossed, completely unimpressed. “I have no idea where he went,” she says, deadpan.
Jack leans against the wall, trying not to smile. “Really?”
“Absolutely no clue.”
A muffled giggle comes from inside the guest room. She raises a brow, then walks in. “Wow,” she calls back out. “Still no idea.”
He laughs outright this time.
A moment later, the boy is discovered, dragged out from under the covers of her bed, protesting the entire way. “I wasn’t hiding!”
“Sure you weren’t,” she replies, guiding him back toward his own room.
Eventually he’s down, begrudgingly asleep. The house quiets again. Lights dim. Doors close. The kind of calm that only comes after a full day. In the master bedroom, Eileen is finishing up for the night, moving through her routine as Sam sits at the edge of the bed, pulling off his watch. She glances at him.
“I told you so.”
He looks up, already knowing what she means. “…Yeah,” he admits, a small huff of amusement escaping him. “You did. I don’t know how I missed it before.”
She smiles faintly at that. “Jack is not subtle.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “He’s trying.”
“Not very well.”
“No.”
Her expression shifts, more thoughtful now. “What do you think?”
He leans back slightly, considering. “Well… Nellie has no idea. And Jack’s not hiding it as much as he thinks he is.”
“So… what do we do?”
He looks at her, then shakes his head slightly. “They’re adults. It’s not our place to meddle. They’ll figure it out or they won’t. Either way, it’s theirs to deal with.” There’s logic there. But there’s also something else beneath it. Something protective. Something careful.
She exhales softly, nodding a little. “Do you think Nellie would even… want that?” The question hangs. Not simple. Not light.
Sam’s expression softens slightly. “…I don’t know,” he admits. And that’s the truth. They both know her past. The pieces she’s shared. The things she hasn’t. Growing up in that house. Watching her mother. Living through what she did. Some of it they’ve heard. Some of it they’ve only inferred. None of it easy. “She’s finally free. First time in her life she’s actually… living for herself, not surviving. That might be enough for her right now.”
Eileen nods slowly. Then adds, almost gently, “She does read books with romance.”
“Doesn’t mean she wants it for herself.”
“No. But it doesn’t mean she doesn’t either.” He exhales and leans back against the headboard. “At the end of the day, it’s not our job to push them. We’re not their parents.” But they both know how close that line gets, how often it blurs for those two.
“We’ll handle it when it gets to it.”
“Hopefully soon, because I have a feeling that Jack’s been holding on to those feelings for a while.”
A small smile passes between them. The room settles. The conversation ends. But the thought lingers. Because something is there. Unspoken. Unfinished. And for now, they’re letting it be.
S2 Chapter 19 Teaser
Nellie's phone buzzes on the counter. She wipes her hands quickly on a towel and glances at the screen. Eileen. She answers on video without hesitation, propping the phone up slightly so she doesn’t have to hold it. “Hey—” She stops. Jack glances over from the stove. On the screen isn’t Eileen. It’s a five-year-old boy, grinning like he just pulled off the greatest heist of his life. She breaks immediately. “Hey, you,” she says, smile spreading easily across her face. “What are you doing?” Dean beams. “I called you!” “I can see that,” she laughs. “Did your mom know you were calling me?” He shakes his head, very clearly pleased with himself. “No.” Jack huffs a quiet laugh from where he stands. “Hey, Dean,” he says, leaning slightly into view. The kid’s grin widens. “Hi, Jack!” “What’s up?” He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “I miss you.” Nellie softens just slightly at that. “Yeah?” He nods. “You haven’t visited in a long time.” “…You’re not wrong,” she admits. Dean leans closer to the camera, lowering his voice like he’s sharing something important. “You should come tomorrow.” She laughs softly. “Tomorrow?” “Yeah! Duh.” Jack raises a brow slightly. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?” The boy nods confidently. “Yep.”
Chapter 19 is out this week!
SEASON TWO MASTERLIST
Season One Masterlist
Chapter 1: Not Alone in There
Chapter 2: Let the Right One In
Chapter 3: House Rules
Chapter 4: Death Reckoning (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 5: Water Under the Bridge (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 6: Fire Escape (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 7: House Guests
Chapter 8: A Rose By Any Other Name
Chapter 9: Eyes in the Shadows (Part 1) | (Part 2)
Chapter 10: Mind Over Matter (Part 1) | (Part 2)
Chapter 11: Going to the Movies (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 12: Piece by Piece (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 13: Contra Todo Mal "Against All Evil" (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 14: Hide and Seek (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 15: Living the Dream (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 16: No Vacancy (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 17: Marked by Sound (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 18: Dressed to Kill (Monster of the Week) (Part 1) | (Part 2)
Chapter 19: Home Sweet Home
Chapter 20: Be Not Afraid
Chapter 21: The Point of No Return
Chapter 22: Carry Her Home
Chapter 23: The Space Between
Chapter 24: Learning to Live Again (Season Finale)
New chapter drops every Tuesday
Other ways to read this story:
Wattpad
Blog
Follow me on Instagram for chapter announcements and teasers
Instagram: spnlegacyfiles
SEASON ONE MASTERLIST
Season Two Masterlist
Chapter 1: The Knock at the Door
Chapter 2: Paper Trails
Chapter 3: The Unbinding
Chapter 4: House of the Rising Sun
Chapter 5: Living in the After
Chapter 6: Babysitter's Clubbed
Chapter 7: Inheritance
Flashbacks: Touched by an Angel
Chapter 8: A Flannel of One's Own
Chapter 9: Learning to Fly
Chapter 10: Loose Threads (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 11: Playing House (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 12: Back Where It All Begins
Chapter 13: Blackwater Psalms
Chapter 14: Skin in the Game (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 15: Forgive Me, Father (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 16: The Weight of History
Chapter 17: The Man in the Walls (Monster of the Week)
BONUS: Blood and Birthday Cake (Nellie's Birthday Special)
Chapter 18: Bad Blood (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 19: Let Sleeping Monsters Lie
Chapter 20: Eat, Drink, and Be Scary (Halloween Special)
Chapter 21: Hearts of Coal (Monster of the Week)
Chapter 22: All Trust Begins in Longing
Chapter 23: The Hollowing
Chapter 24: The Cost of Light (Season 1 Finale)
HOLIDAY SPECIALS & ONESHOTS
Holiday Special #1: Silent Night (Monster of the Week)
Holiday Special #2: Good King Winter (Monster of the Week)
Holiday Special #3: I am Home for Christmas
Holiday Special #4: Borrowed Midnights, Part 1 (Monster of the Week)
Holiday Special #4: Borrowed Midnights, Part 2 (Monster of the Week)
New chapter drops every Tuesday
Other ways to read this story:
Wattpad
Blog
Follow me on Instagram for chapter announcements and teasers
Instagram: spnlegacyfiles