Nephilim Kisses: Jack Kline X Reader

Chapter 4: Human Things

You woke up with Jack's body still curled around you protectively, radiating an unnatural heat. He was twitching adorably in his sleep and mumbling incomprehensibly. You wiped the sandy grains from the corners of your eyes and stood.

What had happened last night? Had it been a dream?

But no, you were a researcher, and your memory was excellent. (Unlike Dean, who could never remember if he'd had lunch that day and always decided to have a second and a third, just to be safe.)

You remembered the brilliant golden eyes of the Nephilim lying on your bed, sometimes gazing at you and sometimes shifting just out of reach to universes and knowledge beyond your grasp. You remembered the ocean. Drowning, then swimming. You remembered his kiss.

You glanced down at Jack as he shifted, pulling the blankets tighter around himself.

"I don't sleep much," he'd told you once, his brows furrowing as if trying to fathom why humans bothered to sleep at all. "It doesn't help." Whatever he'd done last night must have taken a lot out of him because he was snoozing as soundly as any ordinary human.

You checked the alarm clock on your bedside table. There were no numbers on the screen, only red lines blinking rapidly in confusion as if they too had fallen asleep. You grabbed the clock, shook it, and walked to the door with it. The further away you got from Jack, the more the numbers started to look like numbers again. You frowned, placing the clock near Jack's head. The clock immediately malfunctioned. Could a Nephilim really be so powerful? What wasn't Jack telling you?

You left Jack to sleep in and went to the kitchen in search of breakfast.

"Look who rises from the dead," Dean quipped, and you jumped.

Dean was sitting at the table in the bunker's kitchen, a bottle of beer half-raised to his mouth. He wore the typical Winchester plaid and raised one eyebrow at your startled expression.

"Sorry Dean," you yawned. "Jack just puts me right to sleep."

Dean held up a hand in disgust. "I don't want to hear what you two did! Gross! I don't tell you." 

You tapped the face of your clock one last time, finally sending the numbers glitching back to their senses. You were shocked by what they read.

"It's 5 at night? But it was almost midnight when Jack and I fell asleep!"

"Yep, and you slept through the whole day," Dean said.

"Why didn't you wake me up? Didn't you need help on that case?" You opened the fridge, hoping the boys hadn't eaten all your leftovers. 

"Nah, you and Jack have been working hard enough lately. I figured I'd let you sleep. Besides, Sammy and I are big boys. We can handle a case or two on our own."

You nodded, pretending to look interested. Dean could tell by your distracted expression that something was off. Usually, you never missed a case, and if you did, you always wanted to hear stories about what had happened in your absence.

Dean was the best storyteller by far. He always made the monsters seem scarier and more vicious than they were in actuality, with infinitely many teeth and a vengeance against humanity. It was nothing that the story's hero, Dean, couldn't handle, of course, along with the help of his reluctant sidekick, Sam. You'd never expected Dean to be one to paint himself as the hero when it came to hunting, but he never lied to you. If he fucked up and someone got hurt in the process, he told you so. His priority was saving people, yet he certainly didn't mind the hunting of things. You could tell by the wild look in his eyes, the way he leaned forward as if ready to burst into action, that he loved the hunt. He always had.