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“Are you hiring?” Jack asked the tall man behind the counter.
“You lookin’?” The man wore a red flannel shirt over a white T-shirt and jeans. It went with the whole “rock-and-roll-meets-lumberjack” vibe of the shop—which was kinda weird for an ice cream shop. Even the name on the sign above the menu—Winchesters—seemed like it belonged more to a gun store than a place kids would frequent. A neon jukebox in the corner was playing AC/DC’s “Back in Black.”
But Jack needed money, so he couldn’t be picky. “What’s the pay?”
The guy—his name tag read “Sam”—rolled up his sleeves, revealing a patchwork of tattoos on his forearms. Circles and swirls, strange symbols and glyphs. “How old are you, kid?”
“Nineteen,” Jack said. That was a lie, but no one needed to know his real age.
Sam eyed him as if he knew Jack was lying. “Have any experience? Got your food handler’s permit?”
“Yes, and yes,” Jack said. Both of those things were true. Well, the permit had been forged, but he had it, so it counted.
Another man strode through a door marked Employees Only, carrying a stack of boxes of plastic spoons. He was also tall, though not as tall as Sam. He wore a leather jacket and biker boots.
“He here about the job?” he asked, nodding at Jack while dropping the spoons on the counter.
“Yeah, but—” Sam started.
“Great. You’re hired, kid. Can you start today?”
“Dean, I don’t know—” Sam said, holding up his hand as if to prevent Jack from leaping over the counter and grabbing a scoop.
“What? He looks like a good kid,” Dean said. “It’s ice cream, dude. I think he can handle it.”
Sam sighed heavily, then turned to Jack. “Aprons are in the back. Payday is Friday. Welcome to Winchesters.”
Jack gave a hesitant smile. He thought there would be more to it than that. A background check, maybe. The need to show a picture ID. References. Not that Jack was complaining. Like his permit, most of his history and identification had been forged. That’s what you had to do when you had nowhere else to go.
The jukebox switched songs, and “Livin’ on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi started playing.
Jack’s smile grew larger. He’d take that as a good sign.
- - -
Two hours later, Jack stood on the other side of the counter, black apron tied around his waist, metal scoop in his hand. Sam stood next to him, pointing out the flavors.
“Salt and Caramel. Devil’s Delight. Hellhound Crunch. Crossroads Cookies-n-Cream. Moose Tracks. Squirrel’s Swirl—that’s got nuts in it, so don’t serve it to kids with allergies.”
“Those are, uh, interesting names,” Jack ventured. “What about chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?”
Dean laughed from where he sat at a nearby table, laptop open. “You knockin’ the family business, kid? On your first day?”
Sam waved Dean off. “Our dad opened this shop; he was the one who picked the names. And the décor.” He gestured to the walls covered with records, concert posters, and photos of famous musicians—Elvis, The Rolling Stones, Led Zepplin, Robert Johnson.
“Dad made us promise not to change a thing when he gave us the keys,” Sam added.
“Not that we wanted to,” Dean said. “The man had perfect taste in music.”
The jukebox clicked over to “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.”
Sam gave Jack a look that suggested he might have wanted to change a few things.
“Oh, yeah, um, that’s cool,” Jack said. “So, when do we open?”
Dean laughed again. “We are open. Have been all morning. Can’t you see the crowds?”
“We usually get busy later in the day,” Sam said. “After school.”
“Right,” Jack said.
“Are you in school?” Sam asked, a little too casually.
Jack’s shoulders tensed. He knew he’d avoided the inevitable questions too easily. “I was homeschooled,” he said.
“College plans?” Sam turned and leaned against the counter.
Jack shook his head. “Taking a gap year. You know—see the world. Travel.”
“And your first stop was Lawrence, Kansas?” Dean shook his head. “I mean, yeah, it’s a nice place, but, dude . . .”
In truth, this hadn’t been Jack’s choice at all, but when all the angels had fallen out of heaven, you kind of had to make do with where you landed.
“Have you guys traveled much?” Jack asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from himself and his secrets.
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.
“We’ve taken a few road trips,” Sam said. “Back roads. Small towns. Off-the-beaten-path kinda stuff.”
“A little camping,” Dean added. “A little hunting.”
Jack caught the look Dean shot toward the Employees Only door, and the look that Sam shot Dean, but he didn’t mention either one.
The bell above the door jangled as a pair of teenagers sauntered in.
The guy wore a football jersey; the girl had on a tight T-shirt and shorts. She giggled and wrapped her arms around the guy. “I want a double scoop.”
They stepped up to the counter, and Sam stepped back, rubbing a hand over his tattoos. “You got this,” he murmured to Jack. “I’ll be right back.”
“But I—” Jack started, but Sam was already gone, the Employees Only door swinging shut behind him.
Jack whirled to Dean, but he had snapped his laptop shut and was staring at the couple. A coiled energy circled around him; he wasn’t moving, and Jack couldn’t help but think of a jungle cat waiting for its prey.
“Hey,” the guy said, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “My girl wants a double scoop. You gonna help us or what?”
“Oh, uh, sure . . . sure,” Jack stammered. “What can I get you?”
The girl made a big show of looking at each flavor, reading off the names, and laughing at each one. “Can I have a sample of Apocalypse Almond Crunch?”
Jack dragged a small spoon through the container, making sure to get a little bit of almond, chocolate chunk, and caramel swirl in one bite.
She licked the spoon clean with her bright-pink tongue, her eyes sparkling. “I want that one.” She pointed at Jack, and a sudden uncomfortable chill ran down his spine.
“You got it, baby,” her boyfriend said, and suddenly several things happened at once.
The boy sprang over the counter at Jack, his hands outstretched, his mouth open in a silent roar as fangs descended over his teeth. His eyes turned bloodred.
Then Jack stumbled back though he didn’t remember moving.
Then Dean was between him and the boy—the vampire, Jack’s brain supplied in surprise—and a silver blade with a serrated edge cut through the air.
Then two distinct thumps sounded as the vampire’s body and head hit the ground in quick succession.
Then Sam barreled through the Employees Only door, a bottle of water in his hand, which he threw overhand toward the girl. The water splashed across her chest and neck, and she shrieked. Her eyes rolled to pure black.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—” Sam intoned, and the girl shrieked again, but this time, black smoke poured out of her mouth instead of a scream.
The smoke spiraled out of the shop, and the girl’s body slumped to the ground.
Jack instinctively ran around the counter, sliding to his knees next to her. With the demon gone, the girl was no longer possessed, and, as an angel, his training was to help humans in need. He reached for his powers, only to come up empty.
When would he learn? With Heaven’s door closed, he was cut off. He was practically human himself these days.
Sam scooped up the unconscious girl into his arms and followed Dean into the back room. A trail of blood marked where the vampire’s body had been dragged out of sight.
The whole attack had lasted less than a minute, though it felt to Jack like it had taken hours.
He swallowed hard as the adrenaline rushed through him. His body shook, and he realized he still held the ice cream scoop in his hand.
- - -
Dean flipped the Open sign to Closed on the door and pulled the blinds down. He turned off the jukebox as Sam helped Jack into a booth, then brought three bowls of chocolate ice cream to the table.
“You did good, kid,” Dean said, sliding along the bench next to Sam before claiming a bowl and a spoon.
“I didn’t do anything,” Jack said.
“Exactly.” Dean grinned. “You didn’t get in the way.”
Sam clasped his hands on the table. “You have questions. Ask them.”
“Who are you guys?” Jack blurted.
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and a small smile.
“We’re the Winchesters,” Sam said.
“We kill the things that go bump in the night,” Dean added, his mouth full. “And we’re damn good at it.”
“And you . . . own an ice cream shop?” Jack shook his head.
Dean laughed, his voice rich and deep. “You got a better way to pay the bills, kid? Saving the world doesn’t exactly come with dental benefits.”
“And do monsters come here often for”—Jack gestured to the bowls on the table—“ice cream?”
“Dad built this place where several powerful ley lines cross as a way to lure them in. Saves us from having to make too many trips across the country to hunt them down.” Dean shrugged. “Though I’ll never turn down a good road trip.” His spoon clattered in his empty bowl.
Sam rubbed at the tattoos on his arm again. “What about you?” he asked, his eyes locking with Jack’s.
“What about me?” he asked in a small voice.
“Who—or should I say, what—are you?” Sam said.
“I’m nothing,” Jack said, but it didn’t come out as convincing as he wanted it to.
Sam didn’t say anything. Neither did Dean, and even though he was slouched against the back of the booth, that same sense of coiled energy surrounded him.
Jack swallowed. “I am . . . I was . . . I mean—” He felt like he was on dangerous ground with nowhere to go.
Sam leaned forward. The hairs on his arm were standing up, and one particular tattoo seemed to glow with a soft golden light. “You’ve been touched by heaven. So, what? Prophet?”
“Angel,” Jack whispered. It didn’t seem wise to lie to these men anymore. Not with their weapons and their speed and their skills.
Neither Winchester moved, but the air between them suddenly tightened with tension.
“Impossible,” Dean said quietly. “None of them survived the Fall.”
Jack shrugged. “I did.”
Sam shifted, turning to face Dean. The two men held a lengthy, wordless conversation between themselves.
Finally, Dean looked at Jack with an unreadable expression. “Castiel?”
Jack hesitated. If he had felt like he’d been on dangerous ground before, it was a thousand times worse now. He glanced down and shook his head. “I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry.”
Dean growled—literally, like an animal—and then stalked from the booth to the back room, the door banging closed behind him.
“Give him a minute. He’d been hoping—” Sam waved off whatever he was going to say next and returned his focus to Jack. “So. You fell. I’m assuming your powers were stripped away, which is why you didn’t clock the vampire or the demon. You still have any grace?”
“How do you know so much about angels?” he asked. “I thought we had done a good job of staying hidden from humans.”
“Dean and Cas—” Sam began, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Look, if you don’t have your grace, you’re gonna need help. We can help you.”
Jack huffed out a soft laugh. “Why do you think I wanted a job? I don’t have anything—no powers, no grace, no history, no background. I’ve been scraping by for I don’t know how long, trying to figure out what to do, but it’s impossible. I’ve spent my entire existence helping people, but I can’t even do that anymore. Do you know how hard it is to walk among humans when you aren’t human yourself?”
Sam’s eyes were hooded. “I have some idea.” He flattened his hands against the table. “How can we help?”
Jack shook his head. “You guys might be good at killing monsters, but no one can get me back to heaven or get my grace back.”
Sam was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Wait here,” and disappeared into the back.
Alone, Jack reached out and pulled a bowl of ice cream closer. He took a bite; the chocolate melted on his tongue.
He should leave. He should just walk out the door and never come back to this monster-trap run by two monster hunters.
He took another bite of ice cream.
But they had taken a chance on him. Protected him. And maybe having two monster hunters as friends could be a good thing.
Before he knew it, Jack had finished his bowl, and he reached for the last one.
Sam walked back in, a yellow cigar box in his hands. Dean was close on his heels. The Winchesters sat at the booth again, and Jack quickly pushed the empty bowls aside.
“We have a deal for you, kid,” Dean said.
Sam rested his hand on the yellow box. “We can provide you with all the history and identification you need to pass as a human. We can get you a place to live. You can still work here—”
“Though you’ll need to get inked up both as an early-warning, monster-detection system and for protection from said monsters.” Dean pulled his sleeve up, revealing tattoos that matched Sam’s.
“In short, we’ll do everything we can to make your transition from angel to mortal as easy as possible,” Sam finished.
Jack looked between the brothers warily. They were promising a place to stay. Stability. Security. It was tempting. “And what do I have to do?”
Dean leaned forward. “You have to help us find Castiel.”
“I told you, I don’t know where he is.”
“You don’t have to,” Sam said. “The ley lines I mentioned—they not only work to pull monsters to us, but they also work to send power out. The longer you stay here, the more your ‘angel-ness’ will trigger the energy of the ley lines, sending out a message.”
“Like a plucked guitar string,” Dean added. “If Cas is anywhere along those lines, he should feel it and follow it back here.”
“If anyone can get you back to heaven,” Sam said quietly, “it’d be Cas.”
Jack felt a whisper of hope for the first time since the Fall. “All I have to do is work here, and you guys will take care of the rest?”
The Winchesters nodded.
“Then yes,” Jack said. “I’ll do it.”