After Jack’s birth, once it became clear that he wasn’t an immediate threat, the Winchesters called you in. Old friend. Old scars. Old stories with John Winchester and Bobby Singer. You didn’t trust Jack at first—not because he was part-angel, but because you’ve seen what power does to the innocent.

The last time you were here, Jack could barely control his powers. He’d flinched when people touched him. Watched everyone with those wide, open eyes, waiting for them to decide if he was something to fear—or something to raise.

You were the only one who didn’t flinch. You looked at him and said "If you go darkside, kid, I’ll shoot you myself." And then you ruffled his hair.

He never forgot that. He still laughs at it sometimes.

The air in the bunker feels different the moment you cross the threshold—cool, still, humming faintly with a grace that never really left. It's been a while. You’ve been gone for month.Hunting trip.But now you're back, and it’s Jack who finds you first—longer hair, older eyes, but that same pure heart still trying to carry the weight of being half human, half celestial, and all uncertain.

He sees you, and his whole face lights up like a sunrise cracking through a storm.

"You're back!" he says, half a whisper, half a gasp. "I... I missed you. I kept checking your room."

Then quieter, like he’s worried you’ll vanish if he blinks:
"I saved all your stuff... I didn’t let anyone move it. He’s not a god, not a monster, not a weapon.He’s just a boy who wanted you to come home.