Nephilim Kisses: Jack Kline X Reader

Chapter 2: A Fighting Chance

Over the next few weeks, you and Jack grew ever closer. Dean and Sam continued to hunt while Jack chose to stay back with you more and more. Every once in a while, before they left for a hunt, Sam would pull Jack aside and try to convince him to come with. Most times he adamantly refused, eagerly waiting for the bunker door to slam shut behind the Winchesters so he could rush back over to you and help you with lore. You loved spending time with Jack, even if he distracted you more than he helped you.

You were working late at the table in the war room one night, your eyes glazing over and refusing to focus on the words swimming across the page in front of you in ancient languages. Your eyelids dipped lower, taunting your brain with the soft kiss of sleep, when the door to the bunker slammed open.

The Winchesters had promised you that no supernatural being could harm you as long as you were in the bunker, but that didn't stop you from jumping out of your skin as your half-asleep brain fumbled for the gun you kept tucked into the waistband of your jeans.

The Winchesters staggered through the door, Sam's arm wrapped in a piece of blood-soaked plaid fabric torn from his shirt in a makeshift tourniquet. Dean was limping too, a fresh cut on his forehead matting the hair to his face.

"Hey, (Y/N), Jack,— whoa!" Sam held up his one good hand in surrender as soon as he saw your firearm. "(Y/N), it's just us. Since when did you get a gun? Is that one of ours?"

You tucked the gun away quickly, avoiding Dean's gaze. You were sure to get a scolding later once he found out that you'd not only been visiting the range and practicing shooting in your free time, but you'd also purchased your own handgun. Your handgun wasn't as sleek as the ones in the movies; it was pre-owned and weathered, but anyone who saw you with it knew you meant business. Besides, its constant weight against your hip gave you a much-needed sense of comfort. Working with Dean and Sam had forced you to keep your head on a permanent swivel, always in tune to your surroundings, but at least the gun provided you with that extra layer of protection.

"It's not important," you said in response to Sam's question, hurrying to help the younger Winchester hobble inside.

Jack emerged from his bedroom, his brow furrowed as he examined the lore book in his hand. Sam groaned as you helped him sit and Jack looked up, his ocean eyes widening when he saw the state of the Winchesters.

"Sam! Dean! What happened?"

"Just a bad vamp's nest," Dean answered, "one of the biggest we've ever seen. No matter how much we hit and swung, they just kept comin'. We had to come back to patch ourselves up, and we have to head out again as soon as possible. They've still got hostages."

Dean's eyes flicked to yours, and you were surprised by the lack of disapproval you found there. "(Y/N)'s always been able to hold her own, but now that we know she can hold a gun too, I have no problem asking her to be backup."

Your heart soared. Dean wasn't angry. Here was your chance to finally prove to yourself that your time in the bunker hadn't been wasted, to test the skills that you'd only been practicing in theory. There was only one problem.

"Dean, there's no way you and Sam can go back into the nest looking like that, even with Jack and I as backup. Sam can barely walk. We'll have to call Cas to heal you."

There was a moment of silence as you watched an unspoken conversation occur between Sam and Jack. Wincing through his pain, Sam raised an eyebrow at Jack. The young hunter looked absolutely panicked, and shook his head slightly in response.

"We don't need Cas," Dean said, apparently oblivious to this exchange. "We'll just have J—"

"Dean," Sam said flatly.