Book Two Part 1

[maychorian]

Book Two: These Wandering Blues

They moved around all the time. It shouldn't have been a surprise to Jimmy that they eventually ended up here. Pontiac, Illinois. Pontiac Township High School.

Seven years later and almost nothing had changed.

Jimmy didn't know what he was doing going to school, anyway. He already knew what he was doing with his life, and nothing high school could teach him was going to be the slightest bit useful. His life had been mapped out for him from the moment Castiel showed up in his head that day when he was locked in the closet listening to the rain patter down outside. Had been from the moment his parents had died in smoke and fire, really. His former life—any potential future he might have had, any dreams and desires and hopes—had all been eaten by a demon, and his body was given over to Heaven now. That was the way it was and that was the way it would be.

He didn't even need the knowledge, English and calculus and biology and history, any of it. He shared his brain with a freaking angel. Whether he wanted to or not, he already knew just about everything. Sometimes it was almost too much for his puny mortal mind, sometimes it was like bright white lights in his head, burning and burning, always there. But he'd learned to live with it. Castiel did his best to protect him, to tamp the fire and keep it tamed, but sometimes it shone through anyway, the infinite glory of the ages. Even in the pain, it was amazing, and Jimmy didn't blame Castiel for any of it. It was just a little much, sometimes, that was all. And it rendered any human education he could receive completely and totally useless.

You should be a child for as long as you can, Castiel chided him. This is healthy and normal and good.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. We've been over this, dude. I'm seventeen. Besides, anything childlike in me was consumed long ago. And what do you know about healthy and normal, anyway? You're a freaking angel.

Castiel shut up in his head, but it was sort of a resentful silence, Jimmy thought. Sometimes Castiel was more of a nagging dad figure than John Winchester could ever aspire to be. It was starting to get annoying.

So Jimmy Winchester sat in homeroom, waiting for another boring, useless day at school to start. He leaned his head on his hand and flipped through his big, leather-bound Bible, a present from Dean and Sam on his last birthday. They had been so excited to give it to him, had spent months preparing, asking Pastor Jim to find a nice one, then pestering Dad to take them by Blue Earth sometime before the big day.... He hadn't had the heart to tell them that he wasn't sure he wanted it anymore. It had been years since he had stopped asking if they could try going to church in whatever flyspeck town they'd stopped at for the moment. He could have kept getting by with Gideons whenever he got the rare urge to look again at the holy book that reminded him so strongly of his parents, his lost life.

But this Bible... It was nice, it really was. Big and thick, nice big concordance in the back, silky red ribbon to mark his place, pronunciation guides and wide margins for notes and interesting footnotes and the words of Jesus in red. They'd even gotten the front engraved with his name and just... It was sweet, it was really sweet. So he read it.

Having the knowledge of an angel in your head kind of messed up the enjoyment, though. At least Castiel was politely silent on this subject, didn't point out the inaccuracies and omissions. It still left a bad taste in Jimmy's mouth, knowing what he knew.

Something jostled Jimmy's seat. "Oh, sorry."

He looked up at the shy voice, saw a girl bending over from the seat across the aisle, stretching for a pencil that had dropped near Jimmy's shoe. She looked up at him with her head bent near the floor, long blond hair swinging over her shoulder, gathered away from her forehead in a simple black clasp. She smiled, slowly, just one side of her mouth, still stretching her pink-nailed fingers for the pencil. "'Scuse me. Don't mean to bother you."

Jimmy stared at her, cleared his throat, and then his foot twitched involuntarily, sending the pencil rolling toward the girl's fingers. She lifted it delicately between thumb and forefinger and straightened up, still facing him. She smiled, ducking her chin against her shoulder to watch him from across the aisle. "Thank you."

Jimmy looked down at the Bible on his desk, then back to the girl. He gave a firm nod by way of welcome, completely tongue-tied.

Why couldn't Castiel take over in these situations? He was so much better at talking to...normal people. But no, the angel was stubbornly silent in his mind, insisting that he do this, that he "be a child." Naturally.

Jimmy wasn't good at this. Dean made friends everywhere they went, even if he forgot them the second they put that town in the rearview mirror. He always had someone to play with, someone to hang out with and talk movies. Sammy connected with one or two kids of like interests and formed a study group. (At the age of eight, for pity's sake. That kid was going to be something amazing if Azazel didn't succeed in ruining his life.) Jimmy sat in the corner and avoided making waves. It was how he survived.

But this girl was pretty, and nice, and attractively dressed in a light green sweater and long jean skirt, and she was smiling at him.

For lack of any better ideas, Jimmy sighed and went back to reading Ephesians. He leaned his burning cheek on his hand, though, and couldn't resist peeking through his fingers to see what she was doing. She was still looking at him.

Nuts.

Jimmy glanced to the front of the classroom. Mrs. Whitley was sitting at the desk, going through papers. They had already covered the administrative tasks of the day and now it was basically free time. They weren't really supposed to talk, but other kids had their heads down in low conversation, anyway.

Jimmy had never expected to be one of them. Even if he felt like flaunting the rules, which he usually didn't, it wasn't like he had anyone to talk to.

Another quick glance through his fingers, which he hadn't moved from his face. She was still watching him, tilting her head slightly to the side as if to study him better.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

And now he couldn't stop staring at her. Great. Jimmy dropped his hand from his face and wordlessly flipped up the left side of the book so she could read the lettering on the front. That was usually enough to chase a pretty girl away—he was so obviously both a weirdo and a Jesus freak.

But her smile only broadened. She turned sideways in her seat as much her desk would allow, and he saw the glint of the gold cross resting in the hollow of her throat. "You're new to town, aren't you? Do you have a church yet?"

He nodded slowly, then shook his head.

"Wanna come to mine?"

Jimmy felt his eyes widen. He nodded quickly, before he forgot how.

She smiled again and ducked her head. Was this what he looked like from the outside when he did the very same thing? But it looked...it looked cute when she did it.

"What's your name?"

Well. Now he was going to have find his voice. Jimmy looked down, kicked the leg of his desk a couple of times, then finally looked back at her. "Jimmy," he whispered.

Her smile was so broad and beautiful that he felt practically blinded by its brilliance. "I'm Amelia."

It was much nicer than the white light of Castiel's power, that was for sure.

~*~

Jimmy walked out of school in a daze, hunching his shoulders under his jacket against the brisk autumn wind. Today...hadn't sucked. This was such a massive departure from the norm that he really wasn't sure what to do with it.

It turned out that he and Amelia had a couple of other classes together besides homeroom. Jimmy couldn't remember what they were, not that it mattered. He rarely paid attention to whatever class he happened to be in at the time, depending on Castiel's innate geekiness and compulsive attention to detail to carry him through. It was like having a pocket calendar in his head, always reminding him of what he needed to do next, which homework assignment to turn in, how many minutes till the bell, and on and on. That gave him plenty of time to daydream about Amelia and how pretty and sweet and nice she was, even when he couldn't see her, so, for the first time in several years, Jimmy didn't really mind Castiel's constant nudging.

You really should be more responsible for yourself, Castiel said, because he hadn't mentioned it in, oh, a whole half hour or so.

Quiet, you, Jimmy replied, giddy and reckless, if only in his own mind. I'm having a good time at school for once. Don't ruin it, okay?

Castiel mumbled something in Enochian and subsided. The poor angel still blamed himself for Jimmy's problems, every last one, so he was almost as glad as Jimmy was that he'd finally found something about school to make him happy. Grudgingly, of course, but he was glad. Every small goodness in Jimmy's life eased Castiel's guilt, however lightly.

Jimmy detoured to shuffle through a twisted pile of leaves in the parking lot, just because he could, dark red and orange and gold sliding over his worn sneakers with a rustle like pages in a book. The breeze was cool and brisk, the sun a bright disc above. He felt like singing and dancing, clicking his heels in the air, hugging his brothers and his dad, kissing the world just because it had someone as wonderful as Amelia in it.

He finally reached his little red Ford Tempo, got inside and started the engine. He'd saved up for a year for this little junk heap, doing odd jobs wherever he could. Dad had supported the project, even contributed a few dollars from hustling, and he was the one who had checked out a dozen different used cars in the Chicago area before settling on this one. He'd actually been kind of over the top about it, insisting that Jimmy let him find a good deal for him, something reliable and worth the money. He had whittled the seller down a few hundred bucks, too. Which wasn't that much of a surprise, honestly, considering that this was John Winchester. He could be scarily intense about whether they were having hamburgers or meatloaf for supper, let alone finding a car for his adopted kid.

It even had a tape deck. Jimmy popped in the Peter, Paul & Mary album Uncle Bobby had given him and drove down Indiana Avenue, singing along at the top of his lungs with the windows down. It was only a few minutes to the elementary school Dean and Sammy attended , so he took a long-cut to prolong the journey, got a couple of songs out of the deal. He really loved Peter, Paul & Mary. It was his car, so his little brothers were not allowed to whine about his music, but he liked having a couple of songs to himself.

He reached the elementary school's parking lot and found Dean and Sammy waiting on the grassy edge, Sam sitting with his backpack propping him up, scribbling in a notebook, while Dean sprawled beside him, flat on his back staring up at the sky. Both little faces popped up at his honk, and they gathered their stuff and hurried over to get in the car.

There was a brief scuffle for shotgun, which Dean won as usual, and Jimmy's car was full of young chatter and bright, fresh faces. They always had plenty to say, plenty to tell him about what they'd done that day. The breeze combed through their hair as Jimmy drove back to the motel.

Dean propped his feet up on the dashboard, smearing dirt which Jimmy was going to make him clean up later, his backpack jammed into the footwell below. The twelve-year-old scowled when the tape switched over to another track. "Dude, you know this song is about drugs, don't you?"

"It is not," Jimmy said. On another day he would have been scandalized by the suggestion, but today was too bright and pleasant and sweet and wonderful and amazing. "It's about an awesome dragon who lives by the sea and has awesome adventures with an awesome kid who is his best friend."

Dean waved a small hand in arrogant dismissal. "Nope, it's all about the Mary-Jane. Trevor told me."

Trevor was Dean's new best friend at this school. Jimmy hadn't formed an opinion about the kid yet. Now he thought that he probably hated him.

All he did now was point an imperious finger at his little brother. "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Dean scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, but he shut up. At least he had the good sense not to kick the dashboard or anything. Jimmy would have had him on dish duty for a week.

"What did you do today, Sammy?" he asked, turning his attention away from the bratty little brother to the good, sweet, nice little brother who never caused problems.

Sammy leaned over into the front to tell him, holding onto the edge of Jimmy's seat with both hands and chattering in Jimmy's ear. Sounded like it had been a good school day for all of them. Jimmy flipped on the turn signal and let the words wash over him.

He waited till they got their things inside the motel room before dropping the bomb. "We're going to church this Sunday."

Both boys turned to face him, mouths hanging open and eyes wide. Dean's backpack dropped from his hand and thumped to the floor.

"What the hell?"

"Don't swear, Dean." Jimmy brushed past him to set his books on the kitchenette counter. "And leave those muddy shoes by the door or you'll be scraping it out of the carpet with a butter knife."

Dean did his usual muttering about "a freaking motel room" and "there's a maid and everything," but did as he was told. Sammy, though, still stood by the door, staring at Jimmy. "We've never gone to church before. Except Pastor Jim's, I mean."

Jimmy sighed and slumped, turning to face his littlest brother. It was true—the Winchester boys' religious instruction had been sadly neglected. Infrequent visits with Pastor Jim and the little he'd taught them from Sunday School lessons and parents seven years gone were no substitute. He had done his best, but that was hardly likely to be enough, was it?

"We're going now," he said.

"Why?" Dean asked, hazel-green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You quit with that stuff like five years ago. I thought the Bible we got for you was all you needed. You said so. What made you change your mind?"

Jimmy hesitated. And he who hesitates is lost.

"You're blushing!" Dean stared unabashedly, even taking a step forward to get a better look. "You're...you're like totally red now, Jimmy! What the he...ck?"

"I want to go to church," Sam declared. He stuck out his chest a little and gave Dean a narrow look, daring him to disagree.

Dean did everything Sam wanted almost all the time. He gave the younger boy a pleading tilt of the head, then sighed. "Okay. We're going to church."

Jimmy nodded in relief. "Okay. Who's got homework?"

~*~

On Sunday morning, though, the whining started up all over again. Dad was gone on a hunting trip, which meant Jimmy was in charge. Usually that was enough for Dean, but not today. He couldn't find his nice shirt and when he did it was all wrinkly and ties were stupid and made it hard to breathe and he didn't need to comb his hair it was fine for gosh's sake and why were they out of Lucky Charms and this whole thing was stupid and it was too early and he wanted to go back to bed and Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, right, so you weren't supposed to go anywhere, just relax and lay off with the comb, Jimmy, geez and church was boring anyway and this was going to blow so hard and he didn't want to sit on a hard bench for hours. And on and on and on.

Jimmy sat on the rickety table and held Dean trapped between his knees, combing his hair by brute force. He dipped the comb in the cup of water by his thigh and swept it through the gold-touched brown, again and again, slicking it down nicely despite Dean's squirming and continuous chatter of objections. Sam had already combed his own hair—he polished up bright as a new penny, that kid—and Jimmy loved him for it, he really did. And now he was even trying to polish their shoes, which was an extra level of devotion that Jimmy had never asked for or expected.

"What about wards?" Dean demanded. "We can't go hang out for hours in a place that doesn't have wards. A freaking movie theater won't be consecrated ground."

"It's still a church," Jimmy said. "So there will still be some blessing hanging around it. But yeah, I already checked it out and warded all the windows and doors, like I do for our schools and where Dad works when he finds a place. I did a holy oil prayer ritual too. It's as consecrated as it can be without decades of worship soaking into the ground."

Dean yelped when Jimmy's comb caught in his hair, and Jimmy sighed and tried to gentle his touch. "Listen, Dean, it's not gonna be that bad. We won't be sitting on rock-hard pews, for one thing. This isn't like Pastor Jim's church."

"How do you know? Have you been there before?"

"No, but A...a friend of mine told me all about it. It's not your regular church. For one thing, it's in a movie theater."

Dean stilled, leaning against Jimmy's thigh. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's non-denominational—not Catholic or Presbyterian or Baptist or Lutheran or Methodist or anything, really—and they rent a movie theater on Sunday mornings when it's not being used for movies. That's kind of cool, isn't it?"

"I don't know what those words mean," Dean said, "but yeah, I guess that's kinda cool. Can we stay for a movie later?"

"Uh. Sorry, Deaners. We don't have the extra cash right now." Jimmy hadn't yet found a job in this town, and the money Dad had left was just enough for rent and food and gas for the Tempo. "But you know what else? They'll have snacks!"

"Movie snacks?"

"No, coffee and donuts and orange juice. In the lobby before the service. My friend told me. And we don't have to bring anything, just ourselves. It's a gift for their visitors."

"Okay, that's kind of cool," Dean said grudgingly. "Think they'll have the cream-filled kind?"

Those were Dean's favorites. Jimmy smiled and carefully smoothed the hair over the kid's ear. "I don't know. I guess we'll have to go and find out."

Dean mumbled something, careful to be quiet enough that Jimmy couldn't catch it. "What was that, kid?"

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"Right."

Jimmy slicked down one last cowlick, then sat back a little, signaling that Dean could finally move away. The younger boy hopped away the second Jimmy let up the pressure, raising a hand as if to touch his hair, then stopping himself at the moment.

"Are we good?" Jimmy asked. "Are you gonna be a gentleman, just for a few hours at my friend's church?"

Dean looked at him over his shoulder, green eyes wide and guileless. "Yeah. We're good. I'll be the classiest guy you ever saw. As long as they have the cream-filled kind."

Jimmy rolled his eyes heavenward, but accepted it for the concession it was.

By the time they headed for the car, though, Dean was dragging his feet again. He had come up with another two dozen reasons not to go, and Sammy was starting to be persuaded, too. He almost always went along with Dean when he was like this, and Jimmy couldn't really blame him much, because it was Dean. Even stupid freaking Castiel went along with Dean most of the time, unless he judged it to be against Dean's own best interests.

Sam wanted to go, Jimmy knew that—Sam had always had more faith than Dean, even before he found out about the existence of Castiel through the simple act of asking why Jimmy was so weird. (Jimmy and Dean had kept their promise to each other to always answer Sammy's questions as truthfully as possible.) But Dean was so obviously dreading the experience that Sammy now wanted to spare him. And that was just... C'mon. They were talking about going to church, for Pete's sake, not camping out in a Wendigo's lair or something equally disgusting.

The two boys ended up standing by the car, as if blocking Jimmy from getting in. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a single force arrayed against the enemy, staring up at Jimmy with the full force of their huge, pleading eyes. It was ridiculous.

Jimmy stood with his back to the motel door, having just locked it, and stood looking at his little brothers with a kind of despair. Why did they have to do this to him? Once, just once, just one freaking time, Jimmy would really, really like someone to take his side.

Just once.

I'm on your side, Castiel said. You should go. We should all go. It will be a good thing for all of us.

Jimmy tilted his chin up and gave Dean and Sammy the sternest John Winchester-like face he could. "That's enough. We are going to church."

Their eyes widened slightly, and they scrambled to get in the car.

Huh. Good to know that one worked.

~*~

This church wasn't so bad, Dean guessed. The theater carpet was kind of sticky, and the whole place smelled like stale popcorn and sweat, but Jimmy hadn't been lying about the donuts and juice. Two long folding tables stacked with the promised treats lined one side of the lobby, and Dean had spotted them and headed for that way the instant they came in the door, dragging Jimmy and Sammy behind him.

The place wasn't full at all, and there weren't a lot of old people, but not many kids either. Dean shifted from foot to foot on the squishy carpet, balancing his Bavarian-cream-filled thing on his styrofoam cup. Sammy stood next to him, trying to be all prim and proper in his nicest outfit and polished shoes, but he couldn't help fidgeting no matter how hard he tried. He was just a little kid.

Dean grinned and nudged Sammy with his free arm, almost making him tip over and spill his juice, but Sammy caught his balance and righted himself with an indignant ”Hey!”

Sammy immediately looked to Jimmy, expecting back-up, but their big brother wasn't paying any attention to them at all. He was looking into the sparse crowd, eyes constantly darting here and there. He kept wiping his hands on his pants, too. Dean watched him, eyes narrowed, unsure of what to make of this.

Jimmy and Castiel didn't get nervous. Not unless something massively dangerous was going on, and usually not even then, because in times of crisis Castiel usually took over. The angel was as calm as any superhero, steady and almost blank-faced in the face of danger. The only times he got even a little upset was when it looked like Dean or Sammy or even Dad might be in trouble, and then he moved almost faster than the eye could follow and made it stop, whatever it was. No matter what it was. Castiel was scary like that. And cool, very cool, in all senses of the word.

Dean still didn't get what made Jimmy insist on going to church here, of all places. If he was going to start that up again, Dean would have figured on some big brick building with stained glass and a bell in a tower. Jimmy was traditional like that. But he'd wanted to come here. Because of his friend? And he was nervous, really nervous. Why? Dean didn't get it.

A couple of adults had tried to engage Jimmy in conversation, welcome him and his little brothers to the church. When they asked if Jimmy wanted to come into the “sanctuary,” though, Jimmy just shook his head and said he was waiting for someone.

At last, Dean saw her coming—a blond girl about Jimmy's age, followed by a younger girl with sandy gold hair and a sour expression. The older girl's face lit up when she saw them standing there, and Dean flicked his eyes over in time to see Jimmy's face light up in response. It was...blinding, almost. Jimmy didn't smile like that, not ever. He didn't grin, it just wasn't in him. But he sure was grinning now.

The girl had been walking quickly, but now she slowed down, ducking her head, still smiling, and made a beeline straight for Jimmy. “Hi, Jimmy,” she said, almost breathless. She spared barely a glance for Dean and Sammy, preferring to stare at Jimmy.

And Jimmy was doing the same, watching her like there was no one else in the room. “Hi, Amelia.”

“Hi,” she said again.

“Hi,” he said back.

Oh, God. Dean almost choked on his delicious donut, which was a real shame. Oh, God, he liked her. It all made sense now.

“Jimmy,” Dean said, brushing Jimmy's sleeve with the side of his own donut. A little glaze slid off onto the pristine cloth and that was too bad, but the cause was worthy. “Hey, Jimmy. Pay attention to us.”

Jimmy looked down at him, a quick glance, too fast to realize what Dean had done with his donut. “Oh. Amelia, these are my brothers, Dean and Samuel.”

“Sammy,” Sammy said.

“Oh. Nice to meet you.” Amelia ducked back a little and pulled on the younger girl's arm, forcing her forward. “This is my sister, Deirdre. She's thirteen. That's about your age, right, Dean?”

Deirdre scowled at them all indiscriminately. Dean stared back with wide eyes. She was...really pretty. Really pretty. Maybe Jimmy was on to something with this family of girls.

“Nice to meet you,” Deirdre said. Dean had never heard anything more sarcastic in his life.

Oh yeah. She was definitely Dean's kind of girl. Or she would be, if Dean knew what his kind of girl was. Maybe Deirdre could help him figure it out.

“Let's go into the sanctuary, okay?” Amelia sugested, pointing the way toward Theater Two. “Dad's going to start the service soon, and we actually have a live worship band this week!”

Oh great. That meant even more of Jimmy's super-boring Jesus music. Dean sighed and dragged his feet, but followed the group when Jimmy's hand on his elbow threatened to dislodge his juice.

This was going to suck. A lot.

~*~

Jimmy didn't know any of the modern “praise” music, and he found most of it very repetitious, dull, and bland. He didn't blame Dean for squirming in his seat, bored and restless, though Sam stared wide-eyed at the three-piece band on the movie theater's narrow stage and Deirdre at least hummed along, bobbing her head desultorily but with a modicum of sincerity. Amelia, though...she seemed transported by the music, lifting her arms and swaying back and forth, eyes closed and face radiant in worship. Jimmy missed a lot of the words on the distant projector, more interested in watching Amelia's face. She was so incredibly beautiful. (And he could follow the songs well enough without looking, anyway, the words uniformly predictable, the musical progression almost too easy to figure out after a lifetime of loving hymns and folk songs.)

He started to sink into the familiarty of the Sunday service, fundamentally identical to hundreds he had attended as a child, no matter how this church tried to embrace “contemporary” and “non-traditional.” Amelia's father, Andrew Graves, was the pastor, and he spoke from familiar passages and never strayed into the controversial or profound. It was all right; Jimmy didn't mind. Simple was nice, sometimes. It was kind of funny how Pastor Andrew kept using movies and TV shows for his illustrations, though. Sometimes Jimmy thought he was kind of stretching, but it was interesting to listen to.

Inside him, Castiel's presence began to calm too, despite how he nearly constantly shivered with a nameless, useless anxiety and sense of urgency. Castiel could never be still, never be quiet, not even when Jimmy himself desperately needed peace and rest. Castiel was always thinking about the future, trying to push his senses outward in ways he was no longer capable of, trying to rebuild the Grace long ago fractured and mangled by the claws of a demon. He was always trying to escape the frail prison that Jimmy's body had become for him. It hurt and frustrated them both, yet the angel never stopped trying.

Sometimes, in the strangest, most unsettling dreams Jimmy had ever experienced, Castiel tried to fly. It always ended in a rending crash, the two of them awake and panting, staring at the ceiling and clenching the sheets in their fists, sometimes with a trickle of blood painting Jimmy's upper lip. It hurt and it was stupid but Castiel couldn't help it.

It turned out that having a wounded angel inside of you was kind of like being a jar full of broken shards of glass that glowed hot and bright and painful as the sun. They rubbed up against each other constantly, they shared too much, and it was intensely uncomfortable for them both. But there was nothing either of them could do to change it.

But now, as the band played one of the few hymns in their setlist and all the people in the theater sang along, Castiel settled, bit by bit, into the contours of Jimmy's spirit. Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control... Without looking hard at all, Jimmy could see Castiel's bright, confusing memories of heaven, of his brethren, of raising his voice in songs of praise to God the Father with a hundred thousand other angels. The memory was awash in peace and harmony like nothing anyone on earth could ever imagine. It was too much for Jimmy to look at, overwhelming to his young, human mind, and he shrank back from it mentally. After a moment Castiel noticed his discomfort and shielded him as best he could, but it was impossible for them to truly keep secrets from each other.

The memory was beautiful, indescribably gorgeous, but a rush of melancholy poured over them both. It reminded Jimmy of his own memories of his parents, a time in his life now tinted gold in his mind, impossible and gone. Neither he nor Castiel could ever go back. Their lives were here now. They were Winchesters.

A demon had started this, killing Jimmy's parents, shredding Castiel's grace. But they had chosen this, too, in the end. Dean and Sam and John...they belonged to Castiel and Jimmy now, and both were determined to do whatever it took to protect this little broken family no matter what it cost them.

The spell of momentary peace had shattered, though the band continued to play and the people sang on. Even Sammy sang, knowing the words to this one from seven years of living with Jimmy, and Dean reluctantly nodded his head and tapped his foot. A shudder passed through them both, from Castiel to Jimmy, and the human sat up straighter in his seat.

What is it?

It's...nothing. I thought I sensed...

What?

Never mind. It's gone now. My senses are far from reliable, in any case.

After the service, the five of them stood in the aisle, talking. Dean was trying to flirt with Deirdre, which Jimmy did his best not to watch, even out of the corner of his eyes. He had seen in Castiel's memories of the future the man Dean would become, almost preternaturally handsome and very charming to many of the women he met, but the kid wasn't there yet. He had only recently gotten over the “girls have cooties” stage. He seemed to be very, very over it now, though.

“What—what are you doing after church?” Jimmy asked Amelia, trying not to get his hopes up. Maybe they could just...go for a walk, or something. A walk would be great. He just wanted to be with her.

She smiled at him the way she always did, eyes crinkling up, cheeks rosy-bright. “We're going to help Dave pack up the drum kit and take it back to Grace Baptist on the other side of town. Dale and Margie will take care of their guitar and bass, but the drum kit is a pain and we can't leave it here.”

“We'd love to help,” Jimmy offered immediately. Without turning his head, he saw Dean's outraged glare. “Okay, I would love to help, and my brothers will come along because they have to.” He glared at Dean in return, moving only his eyes so that he still faced Amelia.

“I'd love to help, too,” Sammy said, and Jimmy gave him a smile. Sammy was a such a sweetheart, most of the time. It was hard to believe that he had demon blood swimming in his veins.

They ended up helping with most of the clean-up, packing up the music and sound equipment, carrying the folding tables out to someone's van, running a vacuum over the lobby carpet for crumbs. Then they followed behind the van in their car to the baptist church to help unpack. And Dean could just sit in the car and wait if he was going to be such a snot about it, that was all Jimmy had to say.

Some of the parishioners at Grace Baptist were still standing around in small groups at the front of the building, chatting. Jimmy's eyes scanned over them reflexively as he walked toward the back, the kick drum in its case bouncing off his leg. And then it was his turn to shudder.

What is it? Castiel asked, sharp and urgent.

N-nothing. I thought I saw...but it couldn't have been.

Are you sure? Be sure.

Jimmy halted and turned to stare at the church-goers, scanning each face. It wasn't there now. He wasn't there now. It was just a memory, a random firing of synapses, that was all.

I'm sure. I didn't see anything.

Castiel let it drop, as Jimmy had let the other matter drop back at Amelia's church. But they could not keep secrets from each other. Both knew what the other had thought he'd seen, thought he'd sensed.

But it couldn't have been. Not at church. Not on consecrated ground.

~*~

The weeks followed in similar pattern. John found them a house on Michigan Avenue, not far from school, and sometimes the brothers walked. John in this life did his best to keep his promise to Jimmy and Castiel, making sure to always keep his sons as his first priority. The first time around, Jimmy figured, they had probably never moved out of the motel. John probably hustled pool and cheated at cards to keep them in money instead of finding work at a construction site. They probably spent only weeks here instead of months. The Winchesters still moved around a lot, following the hunt, but Dean might get a chance to graduate high school this time. He liked school, liked making friends, while the Dean in Castiel's memories had always spoken disparagingly of such matters. And this John would never think of missing Christmas, not even for the most important hunt he'd ever come across.

He could afford it, now that he had Castiel—and even Jimmy—to back him up and help him out. The other John had been alone and desperate, unwilling or unable to trust the few hunters he met who could have supported him, flailing for a way to protect his boys from the monster that had killed his wife, not to mention all the other creatures in the night. This John had an angel on his side, and his life was better for it.

All of their lives were better now. Except for Jimmy's. At least he assumed so—the one thing Castiel had managed to hide from him was what Jimmy's life would be like if none of this had happened. Castiel had excised it from it own memory somehow, saying that it would only cause Jimmy pain and be of no use in stopping the coming Apocalypse. Jimmy knew, though, that without Castiel his life would be better.

He tried not to resent the angel. It wasn't his fault, not really. Not...entirely. Sometimes it was hard, though.

Like the time Jimmy went grocery shopping at the corner market down the street. He was just there for milk and eggs on this crisp Saturday morning, planned to make French toast for his brothers when they finally dragged themselves out of bed. This early on a weekend, the shop was all but deserted, cool under the fluorescent lights. The only shoppers were Jimmy and an elderly lady kneeling by the milk case pulling out every single gallon to find the one with most distant expiration date. The teenage clerk at the counter watched over them with a dull, sleepy gaze, chin propped on one hand, occasionally yawning. Jimmy got his eggs, then stood a few feet back from the lady, trying not to fidget while she took her time with the milk.

She was humming "Onward, Christian Soldiers," Jimmy recognized, and he smiled gently and began to hum along without realizing it, his gaze softening and his arm falling limp at his side, no longer fidgeting. That was one of the nice things about this part of central Illinois. So many people knew the hymns.

The lady finally found her jug of milk and began to laboriously replace all the others. Jimmy set his eggs aside and knelt down to help her with a swift, "Here, let me get that for you."

She grinned and sat back, letting him work. "Oh, what a polite young man! You don't see much of that around these days. No, you certainly don't."

Jimmy gave her a little smile and ducked his head, continuing to work. She reminded him of... She reminded him of something, someone. It was nice.

He finished with the milk and held on to the last jug for himself, then pulled himself to his feet and gave the lady a hand up. She grunted as he pulled her up, holding his hand with a crushing grip. Once straight, she stared at him, eyebrows wrinkled. "Oh my... Do I know your parents, sonny?"

He stared back at her, eyes suddenly wide. "N-no, I don't think so."

"Who are they? You certainly do look familiar. Are you sure I don't know you from somewhere? Maybe it's your grandparents."

Mrs. Kriegel. She had taught him Sunday School when he was in third grade. Jimmy took a step back, suddenly afraid, though he didn't know why. "No...I just moved here with my dad and my two brothers. My father is John Winchester...I don't have a mom."

"But I could have sworn..." Mrs. Kriegel squinted at him, then fumbled for the glasses on the chain around her neck, lifting them to her eyes to get a better look at him. Jimmy backed another two steps away. "I'm sorry, young man, but you do look an awful lot like... Why, you look like little Jimmy Novak, gone these many years."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. My name is Winchester." Jimmy turned and hurried toward the clerk, in a rush to get out and get away. Mrs. Kriegel mumbled behind him, stuck in old memories, and he just wanted to leave.

He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember. Jimmy barely gave the clerk time to ring him up, just shoved a few dollars at him and blurted, “Keep the change!” He hurried down the sidewalk as fast as he dared without danger of breaking the eggs, his mind almost blank with terror.

He didn't want to remember.

But he did, oh he did. He remembered everything that happened that night. It had been an ordinary evening, the Novaks after dinner, Dad reading his thick magazines full of big words, Mom working on her crochet project. She had been making a baby blanket, blue and pink and yellow, little squares... Jimmy had been doing his homework, dawdling as he usually did, unwilling to finish and go upstairs for bed. The lamps in the living room were warm and yellow, and everything was comfortable and quiet, and Jimmy wasn't sleepy, he wasn't, he...

Jimmy rubbed the back of his wrist over his eyes, denying the tears, fingers aching from carrying the milk jug while he walked. He didn't want to remember.

Jimmy.

Castiel. And his voice was gentle. Castiel's voice was almost never gentle. He didn't really know how to be gentle. But he tried, for Jimmy and his brothers. For their family, he tried.

Jimmy. I am sorry.

“Don't be sorry!” Jimmy spat. “Don't be sorry! The world will be better because of this! We're going to keep it from ending, keep everyone safe, keep people from hurting and suffering and dying. So many people! What does it matter if my parents had to die for that to happen? What does it matter? It doesn't matter, not at all, not even a little tiny bit!”

I am sorry, Jimmy.

A scraggly young maple stood in their front yard, and all of its leaves were red now, though not many had fallen. Dean and Sam were looking forward to raking those leaves, turning them into piles to jump into and scatter. They liked playing, they liked... Jimmy stumbled to the tree and turned to lean his back on it, scraping down to sit on the ground. He let the eggs and milk rest where they'd fallen and buried his head in his hands.

They matter, Jimmy. You matter.

“You wouldn't have thought so, once. The first time around. I was just a tool to you then. Just a body for you to wear like a suit.”

I was wrong.

Jimmy had felt the jolt, that night, felt something pour into him like liquid fire, instantly banked to nothing. He hadn't felt anything after that, hadn't known what it was. Hadn't even thought about it, considering what happened next. But he knew now what it signified—Castiel traveling backward in time, thumping into his vessel in an earlier moment instead of carrying the older body along as he'd meant. All of it had been completely against his will. The angel had been injured by the journey, had been unconscious for months, and then when he woke...

Well, it was all in the past. Or the future, whatever. Castiel was trapped in Jimmy now and they both had to deal with it.

I never meant for this to happen, and I am sorry.

“I know,” Jimmy murmured. He knew everything Castiel felt.

But the fact remained that Castiel had brought a demon along with him on that journey back in time, and the demon had killed Jimmy's parents.

~*~

Jimmy dreamed of smoke and fire that night. He knew it wasn't one of Castiel's dreams—those were bright and confusing, unless they were of the event that had made him choose to throw himself backward in time, the final battle that ended with an adult Sam grinning with bloody teeth, Lucifer shining golden from his eyes, and adult Dean dead on the ground with intestines hanging from his gut like broken rope. No, this dream was Jimmy's, of the line of demarcation that separated one half of his childhood from the other.

It had been sudden, like a bomb, or a war. One moment Jimmy and his parents were quiet and at peace, and then the room was full of smoke, a roaring, choking wave of smoke that was somehow a physical thing with physical power. An invisible force threw Jimmy's mother and father against the wall as he instinctively rolled under a table and covered his head, staring in horror, watching the blood burst out of his father's mouth, watching his mother scream and writhe in agony.

Jimmy's heart thumped against his chest, loud and aching, eyes so wide they hurt. He didn't understand what was happening, he didn't know what he could do. This wasn't supposed to happen, this was never supposed to happen. "Mom!" he screamed. "Dad!"

They didn't answer him. They couldn't. Fire poured from the walls and engulfed them both and Jimmy screamed until he couldn't scream anymore.

Thud. Jimmy landed on the floor, his heart racing and his breath rushing in and out. The room around him was cool and dark, no fire, no smoke. Sweat coated his skin, rapidly cooling in the night air. In moments he would be shivering, but for now all he felt was heat. Sheets and blankets tangled around his legs like shackles, and he trembled in their grip, paralyzed and unable to free himself.

Dream. It was just a dream.

"Jimmy?" Dean's voice from the other bed was sleepy and low. "You okay?"

I'm fine, Jimmy tried to say, but nothing came out, his throat choked and dry, scarred by ashes and fumes seven years gone.

Castiel, take control and tell them I'm okay.

I will not. The angel sounded ticked off. It is not true.

"Wha's gon' on?" Sammy's voice now, muffled on the other side of Dean in their double bed. Great. Now both of his little brothers were awake.

"I'm...okay," Jimmy choked out.

Rustling from the other bed, still sluggish and sleepy, and Dean thudded down to the floor next to him. "Aw, Jimmy..." The kid sounded sad, but not surprised.

This scene was all too familiar, really. It played out for the Winchester boys at least once or twice a month. The only question was which boy would be on the floor.

Dean helped Jimmy get untangled, grabbed his arm to help him up, pushed him into bed. It wasn't right for someone so young to be taking care of everyone around him, but Dean took to it so naturally, as if there was nothing else he'd rather do... And Jimmy was too weary, too frightened, too grief-stricken to refuse his help.

Jimmy curled up on his sweat-damp pillow, shivering now, throat still clogged and dry. Dean smoothed the covers over him and patted his shoulder. "No more dreams, okay?" It was half order, half plea.

Jimmy nodded and listened to Dean climb back into his own bed.

No more dreams, Castiel echoed. But he was no more capable of shutting them out than any of the humans in the room.

~*~

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