Chapter Text
So tell me I
’m a waste of love
Tell me that I’m not enough
Say you hope I see the truth
That I won’t find no one like you
Tell me you don’t care no more
When you know I can’t let go
Beat my heart all black and blue
’Cause it ain’t half as bad as
What I put you through
Chapter 1
The shrill of his phone broke through his restless sleep. Dean fumbles with the phone, swiping away to answer it without having to open his eyes.
“Hello.”
“Dean!” the deep, unmistakable voice of the person he does not want to think about, at whatever-the-fuck time of the morning it is, almost shouts at him. He pulls the phone back, ready to hit that red end call button, when the voice keeps talking. “Don’t you dare hang up on me.”
He finally gives in and brings the phone back to his ear. “What?”
“Jack’s missing,” his almost ex-husband speaks the words no parent ever wants to hear.
Cold fear grips his heart, and he lurches to a seated position in bed. “What?” Dean asks again, with less anger and more confusion this time.
“I-I, I don’t know. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in his bed and, and he’s not. He’s not. And, and, when I went to check his room he wasn’t there, and I called his cell and he didn’t answer. And I don’t know... what... to... what to...”
Dean is out of bed before his husband has even finished his panic-riddled speech. He heads to his wardrobe to grab some clothes.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, take some deep breaths from me.” He can hear Cas gasping for breath on the other side of the line.
“Dean... I...”
“It’s going to be okay. Take some deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out your mouth.” He coaches Cas through calming his breath, leading by example as Dean grabs the jeans he was wearing early that day and tugs them on. He grabs a clean T-shirt and pulls it over his head.
By the time he is descending the stairs, he can’t hear Cas’ breathing anymore. Which is a good sign that he has calmed down enough to get more information out of him.
He grabs his car keys, glancing at the clock on the microwave.
2:14 AM
“I’m on my way over. Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”
“He was supposed to be home. He should be home. He was out with his friends-”
“Which friends?” Dean interrupts.
“I-I don’t... I can’t... remember. I don’t know.”
“Okay, slow down.” The last thing he needs is for Cas to break down in another panic attack. “Was it Stacy & Max?”
“No, no, I don’t think so.”
“Cas! I need more information. Where was he?” Dean has reached Baby, who was parked outside the small duplex he has been renting.
“Uh, he was going to the movies.”
Dean starts the car and reverse out of his allocated spot. “So, was he taking a girl? Or a guy?”
“Jessie! He was going with Jessie.”
“Who the fuck is Jessie?” Dean has never heard this name before. He thought he knew all of Jack’s friends.
“How do you not know who he is? Jack’s been talking about him incessantly for six months!”
Dean grumbles and hits the steering wheel. “Don’t you turn this back on me. You are the one that lost track of our sixteen-year-old son!”
“Well, maybe if you spent any amount of time with him, Jack would have mentioned him to you.” Cas is just as defensive as Dean, both taking their respective roles in the divorce that is splitting their family up.
“You couldn’t even remember who he was going out with TONIGHT! So don’t you go tryin’ t’sit on any high horse.”
“I am tired, Dean. So fucking tired all the time. I fell asleep on the couch. It just took a while for my brain to get back online, so forgive me for my momentary lack of memory recall.”
“Fuck!” Dean screams in frustration, hitting the steering wheel again. Thoughts of hurting his car are nowhere, his head clouded by his missing son. “I’m two minutes away. Call him again. Call Jessie.” He hangs up and presses the accelerator down further.
Less than two minutes later, he screams down the driveway that leads to their family home. The white colonial / beach-style house comes into view, and Dean tries not to let his heart hurt at the sight of the home he is no longer welcome in. With Baby back in her usual spot, he flies out the door and races up the porch steps. He opens the front door and finds Cas pacing in the lounge with his phone up to his ear.
Once again, Dean’s heart aches at the sight of his husband. His hair spiked up out of control, probably from running his hands through it repeatedly due to stress. He is still in his work clothes, which are now wrinkled from sleeping on the couch.
“Is he answering?” Dean asks, in lieu of a hello.
Cas shakes his head. “I’ve tried both of their cells multiple times & neither have answered.”
“Have you tried tracking him with... what is it... Find my Friends?”
“Yes, of course, Dean. That was the second thing I did after calling him. His phone must be flat or turned off. I couldn’t find him.”
“Do you know which cinema he was going to?”
Cas’ eyes unfocus for a second, and Dean gives him a second before Cas shakes his head. “He didn’t say.”
“God dammit,” Dean swears before turning down the passageway and practically running towards Jack’s bedroom, the first door on the left. The room looks so familiar, clothes scattered all over the floor, bed unmade, posters all over the walls, the smell of teenage boy hard to miss. He turns to his desk and looks at all the papers there, looking for something. He’s not sure what, but sure he will know it when he sees it.
The computer monitors suddenly come to light when Dean accidentally bumps the mouse. It occurs to him that any information he needs is probably on the computer. He shakes the mouse again to bring the login screen up.
Password?
Dean glances around the monitors, looking for a post-it note or something that might have the right answer. He hears Cas enter the room behind him.
“What’s his password?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“For fuck’s sake, Cas, he’s a child. He needs supervision, especially on a computer. He could be talking to anyone.”
“He is YOUR son as well. Do you know what his password is?”
Dean has nothing. He has no idea what the password would be. But to be fair, the computer is here and not at Dean’s shitty little matchbox duplex he is currently living in. It is probably the main reason Jack hates every minute of every second weekend he spends there.
“Well, what could it be?”
He looks around the room, trying to get into the mindset of a sixteen-year-old boy again. It has been over two decades since he was that age, and he’s so busy at work that he barely has any time to keep up with current movies, bands, and celebrities. There are a variety of posters on the walls, primarily superheroes, Marvel, if Dean’s got the right fandom.
“Who is his favorite?” Dean asks, pointing at an End Game poster.
“Um Spider-Man, I think.”
Dean types that in and hits enter. Wrong password.
He types in the other characters he recognises from the movie. Each time. Wrong Password.
He tries the movie’s name. Wrong password.
He tries other names from the posters. Stranger Things, The Boys and Fortnite. All Wrong password.
“For fuck’s sake,” Dean swears, clenching his fist together and trying his best to refrain from hitting the goddamn computer that refuses to let him in. He doesn’t even know what some of the posters are. Are they movies or bands or fucking tv shows?
“Here, let me try.” Cas shoves him on the shoulder to get him to vacate the seat. Dean can’t help but give him a death stare for his rude behavior. He stands anyway. He’s out of suggestions.
Dean can hear Cas typing away, hitting enter and having no more success than Dean. Frustration is boiling inside his body and he has to get it out somehow. He needs to DO something. It suddenly occurs to him they should probably call the police. They have lost their child. He has only had his licence for a month and could have totalled his car, be lying dead or injured in a ditch and they are uselessly trying to get into a computer.
He is about to suggest that when he hears, “yes!” He spins around and sees Jack’s computer screen come to light.
“Oh, thank god,” Dean says as he kneels next to the office chair Cas is sitting on. His knees protest, but he ignores them. Multiple windows fill the screen, all open at the same time. A dark window open with what looks like Facebook shows multiple chats lined up down the side. One of them has Jessie as the title.
“There,” he points. They both lean in to read the words. Cas scrolls up the messages trying to spot the name of the cinema they went to. There is nothing mentioned—another dead end.
Cas clicks in the text field and quickly types a message to Jessie.
‘Is Jack with you?’
‘Did you get home safely?’
Jessie isn’t active, and no ‘Read’ appears on the screen. They wait silently, hoping for something.
When nothing comes through, Dean remembers again what their next step should be. “We need to call the cops.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right,” Cas says, refusing to take his eyes off the screen.
Dean pulls his cell from his pocket and unlocks the screen, ready to open up the calls.
A sound, like a bubble popping, comes from the computer—a message. In the center of the screen is a pop-up box. There is one box in the middle that says ‘Open Me.’
His blood runs cold in his veins and they sit frozen. What kinda - What is going on?
Dean’s hand shakes as he takes control of the mouse and lingers it over the button. As soon as he clicks the button, the screen opens up full screen of a video. Both men jump back as their son’s face fills the screen, his bright blue eyes the same as Cas’ stare back at them. In his mouth is a black gag that is tied to the back of his head.
“Fuck!” someone says. Dean is not sure who says it. Maybe they both say it.
A distorted voice suddenly fills the room and sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. “Mr. and Mr. Winchester, you’re here!”
Both men freeze, and neither reacts to the greeting. Dean is trying to take in the details of the video. Jack is sitting on a wooden chair, with his hands tied behind his back. The background is pretty dark, but it looks to be like a barn, maybe. Someone has Jack. Oh my god, SOMEONE HAS JACK! Dean’s thoughts spiral until Cas finally says something.
“What do you want?” Cas asks. His deep voice is threatening and sends a thrill down Dean’s spine.
“Well, I want lots of things in life. World peace, ending world hunger, stopping climate change, all very important issues, don’t you think?” The piece of shit holding their son is playing with them.
“What do you want with our son?” Dean says, anger lacing each word.
“Oh, Jack? Yes. Well, Jack here is perfectly safe. I haven’t hurt you, have I, Jack?”
Jack looks away from the camera before looking back at his fathers. He shakes his head. Doubt fills Dean, knowing that Jack could have been forced to say that.
“There. He’s fine. And it will stay that way unless you don’t follow my instructions.” The voice pauses for a moment, but neither Cas nor Dean say anything, waiting for the demands that seem imminent. “I trust you want your boy back?”
“Of course. What do you want?” Dean growls.
“Excellent!” the voice says, clearly excited that they are going to play his game. “The first rule is, don’t involve the police. I am watching you and if you call them or talk to them, I will know and poor Jackie here will be the one to pay the price. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” they both answer.
“Good. So, other than that, it is quite a simple request. I want you to get twenty thousand dollars together, in cash, and go to an address. I am going to text you, Dean.”
Twenty thousand dollars? Dean rakes his brain, trying to piece together the cash he may have at home and at work. He has some cash, five thousand, maybe, but nowhere near enough. The bank isn’t open tomorrow, as it is Sunday. Panic fills his chest.
“I don’t have that kind of money lying around and can’t get it until Monday!”
The voice tuts on the other end. “Are you sure?”
“I can get you the money,” Cas adds quickly. Dean looks at him, but Cas is focused on the screen.
“Excellent. When you have it ready, go to that address and wait for my instructions. I will be watching.”
The screen suddenly goes blank and Jack’s face is gone. This is really happening. His son has been kidnapped. His son has been kidnapped. His son has been fucking kidnapped. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. His mind is stuck on a loop with his son’s eyes at the center of it all.
Cas suddenly gets up and starts walking towards the door. He hasn’t said a word. “Where are you going?” Dean asks.
“To get the money,” he says, continuing out the door and down the passageway.
Dean quickly gets to his feet, his knees clicking and he limps, trying to catch up.
“We don’t have that kind of cash. I can probably get together a few thousand, five max. But that’s nowhere near enough.”
“Leave it to me,” Cas says.
“What do you mean?”
Cas continues down the hall and opens their his bedroom room. Dean pauses in the doorway, unsure if he is allowed to enter a room that used to be his safe place. The place where he went when the world was too much. The place where he went when he was vulnerable. The place where he made love to his husband. The place where most of the fighting happened, behind closed doors.
“I have the money,” Cas says, heading into the walk-in closet.
“Twenty thousand dollars?”
Beeping from their safe filled the air as Dean tentatively steps through the door. Nothing bad happens, so he takes another, then another. By the time he gets to the wardrobe, Cas has pulled a bag down from the top shelf and is stuffing money into it.
Dean’s eyes furrow and he steps forward to see for himself more clearly. “What the fuck, Cas? Where did all this money come from?”
His husband turns to him, his eyes soft with sadness, but before he looks away, he sees shame. “I have been keeping some money aside for emergencies.”
But twenty thousand dollars? That’s more than they had ever saved in the past. One hell of a big emergency. Or maybe... he didn’t want to think about it, but the thought came anyway. Maybe he was planning on taking Jack away. Away from him. At that particular thought, his breathing hitches, but it is immediately followed by another devastating blow. He has been planning this for a while. “How long?”
Cas continues taking stacks of money out and placing it in the bag.
“How long, Cas?” Dean asks, grabbing Cas’ wrist to stop his movements. They pause and their breathing is the only sound in the room.
“About a year,” Cas admits, still not making eye contact.
Dean lets go and turns away. A year. Cas has been hoarding money. Hiding money from Dean for a year. They have only been separated for four months.
“Why?” Dean asks in a whisper, any louder and his heartbreak would be clearly heard.
The zip from the bag is much louder than it should in the heavy silence around them. He can feel his husband as he gets closer to his turned back and stops a few inches away.
“I needed to prepare. I needed to make sure I had money for Jack and me should we need to leave.”
Dean squints his eyes closed and a traitorous tear leaks from his eye. Cas’ words pierce his heart, like a knife, and it feels like the blade is being twisted back and forth. He knew things were bad for a while, but never that long. It was only really bad in the last month before Cas asked him to leave. Wasn’t it?
It’s no secret that Dean loved his drink. It had gotten worse since he busted his knee at work, but he was not a bad drunk. Not like his dad. Never like his dad. He never laid a hand on either of them. Never.
Dean quickly wipes his cheeks before turning around to face his husband. “I never would have hurt you. Either of you. You have to know that.”
Cas takes a moment, searching Dean’s eyes. “You never physically hurt us, no.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “But I didn’t know how you would react when I asked you to leave.”
“I never would have kicked you out of the house.” The insinuation clear. Dean may be selfish, occasionally, but he was not...
A sudden chirp from his phone broke the tension in the room. He digs around in his pocket before pulling the phone out. An unknown number has sent a set of coordinates. Dean wipes his eyes before shaking the hurt from his head. He needs to focus on Jack and getting him back tonight.
“Got the address,” he says, his voice a little rough. “Let’s go.”
He walks quickly and quietly out of their Cas’ bedroom and down the hallway. Footsteps follow him, but he doesn’t turn around to check. As much as their relationship has fallen apart, he knows they have to get their son back, together.