Butterflies and Hurricanes

Part 3: Jim


Robert James Winchester was often a source of pity for most of his relatives.

“He cannot fly, for only God’s wrath abides in his being,” the heavenly choirs whisper.

While the humans say, “Poor kid has the social skills of an angel.”

Jim, for the barer of his first name still lives and calling himself ‘Jimmy’ leaves a sour twist to his parent’s spirits, tries to understand why he deserves his relative’s sorrow.

He is no more diminished than his sister, who is at much more of a disadvantage than he, without a scrap of fang to her grace. With his blade, slightly shorter than a full angels, and his bristling claws, Jim is more equipped than a human to survive a confrontation, and Death could not take him through the wearing of time.

“We are like fire,” Castiel said, when his son sought his council. “God’s love burns as brightly as his wrath. Your mother and sister have souls of water. Their rage is fearsome, yes, but by existing they refresh and soothe. Wings are a source of joy for angels, a gift to fan our hearts when they grow too wild. We must always be on guard, so as not to burn those close to us. You more so than others.”

Usually, Jim felt ambivalently about his supposed nature. However, now, he wished he could naturally bring comfort to those in need.

Mary coughed, clutching her coffee across from him at the kitchen table.

“Are you ok?” Jim’s attention snapped to his sister.

She rolled her eyes nonchalantly, only bringing to light the dark bags beneath and the pale complexion on her sallow face. “‘Course I am, Jim-bob.” She sipped her drink, grimacing when she burnt her tongue. “Can you tell mom that I’ll be out today?”

“You should not be flying. Your grace is weakened.”

“I was going to take the car,” she said defensively.

Jim stared at his sister intently as she shifted. “Would you be willing to do the shopping? Mom has been much distressed by Dad’s condition, and the rest of the garrison has returned to heaven in order to help the rit zien with their investigation.”

“How is that going, by the way?”

“While initially confounded by the existence of a disease which could effect celestial beings, the rit zien have adopted human methodologies of epidemiology in order to discover the plague’s source and a cure.”

Mary sniggered into her cup. “Glad the headless chickens finally started calming down.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, it took most of them falling ill themselves. However, they determined that the plague only causes an angel to be unable to regain their energy. Those who are more conservative in the use of grace have suffered less.”

“Bunch of babies. It’s not any worse than when everyone at Camp Chippewa got mono.”

Jim stirred a spoon in his cereal bowel. “How is Ben handling the influx of cases with half of the forces depleted?”

“He’s pissed he had to put building the Roadhouse on hold. Abner and Gadreel refused to leave when things started to get bad. There was a demonic attack,” her voice stuttered. “Gadreel can’t even fly anymore. His vessel Tamone has had to keep them going.”

“I have seen similar cases. Remiel has not resurfaced in many weeks.”

The nephilim shared a glance, air thick with the unspoken worry over their father, who had been confined to bed indefinitely.

Mary stood to place her dishes in the sink. “I’ll try to give Ben a call later. See if he needs any help setting up warding schemes.”

“Demonic activity has been on the rise to test out defenses,” Jim agreed, as his sister left.

The nephilim continued to eat his cereal, not feeling a need to fill the silence as the only remaining occupant of the kitchen.

A faint hum of electricity reverberated sub-vocally through the air. Jim glanced at the ancient lighting fixtures, making a note to ask Grandpa Henry whether the design specifications of the Bunker were still in existence, and whether they detailed whether the wiring needed to ever be replaced.

He stood to put his bowl in the sink, when a sharp tap to the small of his back knocked his breath away. Whirling around, hands curling into claws, he tried to spot the disturbance’s cause.

A waiver of power, like a sapient mote of light, snaked through the folds of reality. Jim frowned. He made to run towards the door, but the energy lashed out.

He clutched his chest gasping. The tendril of power sank its barbs into his grace, catching, and pulling the unwilling nephilim away.

The space smelled musty and cramped, like old whiskey and paper. Hard floors pressed against Jim’s bare feet, and processed air currents licked against his tanned shin, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

Three presences shifted into being a few feet away, as his senses re-oriented themselves from the sudden discombobulating tug through the ether. Jim did not have the same instinct his heavenly family harbored for navigating translocations, instead taking after his mother’s physical unease for sudden flights.

“Of course I did the spell right, Dean,” a long suffering voice said, breaking through the high whine which rang through the nephilim’s muffled ears.

“Well, that’s not Mary,” a deeper voice countered.

Jim cracked open his eyes. Souls, familiar save for their lack of scars and experience, shone through two tall male bodies, which looked startlingly familiar. Looming behind them, a pair of chain spun wings ponderously rattled, as the attached angel examined the spell circle’s occupant.

Looking down, Jim puzzled out the chalked in ruins and Enochian syntax which spread out around his feet.

“You used a grace identifier, not a name,” Jim stated. “My sister has been recovering from her travels, so when your summoning reached out, it took the stronger of the only two nephilim on our earth.”

“That was my doing,” the angel, Gadreel, said, as the two hunters cut off mid rant to stare at him. “I felt it unwise to try to speculate Mary’s true name in order to make the spell more keyed to her.”

The nephilim tilted his head. “I see, and since our graces share similar patterns-”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating,” Dean cut in, “But I think we should get to the reason that we called.”

Jim frowned at being interrupted.

The tallest hunter rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him. I’m Sam,” he said, sticking out a hand.

“I am Robert James Winchester,” Jim said, shaking it with mechanical precision. “Please refer to me as Jim.”

“I am Gadreel, and my vessel is Tamone,” the angel said, inclining his head.

Dean’s grin could have relit the sun. “And if you’re Mary’s brother, that means I’m your daddy!”

The nephilim considered the enthusiastic reflection of his mother’s soul, barely contained in the hunter’s body, as it reached out to embrace him.

“I suppose such a comparison could be made,” he agreed, relenting to the soul’s silent wish, and embracing this version of his parent.

Dean floundered, and quickly pushed out of his son’s arms. “Woah, man hugs only!”

Jim tilted his head, unseen multitude of arms still being clutched by the ecstatic hunter’s soul. “I apologize,” he intoned, chalking the man’s discomfort as a strange quirk of this dimension.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean said gruffly. “Right, so we tried to call your sister, because a bunch of angels have been getting their smite on here on earth, and we’re calling in the calvary.”

“While I would normally not be adverse to assisting,” Jim said, “Now was not an ideal time to summon me.”

“Is everything all right?” Sam asked, brows drawn together.

“Demons have been testing the Association of Letter’s defenses. Our forces have been depleted, and, though susceptible to the recent illness plaguing my family, my battle prowess would be a great contributor to our safety.”

“Oh.” The brothers looked sheepish. “Can’t you just fly back?”

“No,” Gadreel and Jim said at the same time.

“I do not have the same abilities as my sister.”

The Winchesters shared another glance.

“Could we...un summon you?” Sam proffered.

Gadreel hummed ponderously. “Such spells exist, however I have no more than a cursory knowledge of them.”

“Guess we’re hitting the books,” Dean sighed. “And until then, Jim, can you help us with our heavenly problem?”

The nephilim considered the logical viability of the proposition, and nodded. “Of course, you are family.”

The summoning had taken place in an abandoned barn, which in another time and place was the location of the first meeting of Dean and the angel Castiel. The barn was not too far from the Singer Salvage Yard, so the hunters and angelic beings managed to travel there by the early evening.

Sam and Dean, exhausted after days of spell preparation and handling supernatural fallout around the country, went to bed immediately.

Jim did not strictly require sleep, so retired to the car strewn yard with Gadreel.

“You are different from how you exist in my home.”

The angel carefully shrugged, as if unsure if he was using the movement correctly. “Mary expressed some similar sentiments when she facilitated my escape from heaven.”

“You were not released here?”


Jim let his sixth set of hands brush through the angel’s tattered wings. “I grieve for the injustice wrought upon you.”

The prisoner’s head tilted, unable to comprehend the sentiment. “You are empathetic, and very human, like your sister.”

“Did you know her well when she visited?”

“I hold her and your family more dear than my own.”

“I thank you, but must add that you are amongst our family as well.”

“You bestow upon me great honor. I only hope that my having watched over the Winchesters since your sister’s departure can repay my debt to... our family,” Gadreel said, chains rattling as his wings twitched upwards in pride.

“You have my thanks again for guarding them,” Jim intoned, inclining his head.

“How are Mary and Ben?”

“Ben returned to his garrison, and was petitioning for funds to build a hunter gathering establishment with questionable recreation facilities. Mary still suffered from depleted grace, last I saw her.”

Gadreel frowned. “Is that not unusual? I would think her strength returned by now.”

Jim shook his head. “A strange malady has fallen upon my celestial family. It is as though their grace, once used, cannot be replenished. I was assisting in an investigation when this Sam and Dean called me.”

“I apologize that my assisting of the Winchesters in summoning you pulled you from your home at such an inopportune time. I would offer to fly you myself, however...” Gadreel’s hobbled wings twitched.

“What is done is done. I will remain here to assist until such a time that I may leave.”

“Has your journey made you feel any ill effects?”

The nephilim clenched and unclenched his fists ponderously. “No. What fatigue that had been creeping upon me in my own home, seems to have vanished.”

“That is good. You must not have brought the disease to this dimension with you.”

Jim frowned. “Perhaps.”

Angels, parallel universes, and super powered kids. Practically enough to drive a man to drink, not that Dean needed much prompting.

Sam had spent the last week talking Jim through the strange string of demonic and seemingly celestial activity. The nephilim had scowled at the unusual regularity of occurrences, and had spread the happenings out on a map to discover a pattern.

Dean had had just about enough of dusty books and lay lines, and had retired from the salvage yard to a bar a few towns over.

He was just breaking through into the warm fuzzy stage of drunkenness, when a dark haired body collapsed onto the stool next to him. The hunter glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye, and put down his drink.

“No offense, dude, but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”

“Was that an offer?” the stranger leered.

Dean sniggered into his beer. “No offense, you’re not my type.”

“Pity,” the stranger dramatically signed. “I’ll still buy you another drink though, just for the pleasure of your company.”

The hunter stared at the stranger, taking in his rumpled tan coat and hazel eyes. Something niggled at the back of his brain, but he kicked it away. Guy didn’t send off his monster sense, and so long as he kept his hands to himself..... free beer.

“Name’s Dean.” He stuck out a hand.

The stranger shook it, mixed eyes dancing. “Cab Calloway.”

“Parents jazz fans?”

“Pen name.” Cab shrugged, flagging down the bar tender. “I write articles about the strange and fantastic for the Weekly World News, and can’t afford to let my identity out, in case the real creepy crawlies get a hold of it.”

“I dabble in the strange a bit myself,” Dean said, downing his whiskey in a single shot.

“Oh really?” Cab said, leaning in. “Do tell!”

The next morning, Sam gets a call from the tiny town’s lone police station.

The tall man started, grumbled, and sighed, before hanging up and turning to his nephew. “We’ve got to bail Dean out of jail. Apparently he was involved in some kind of bar fight?”

Jim blinked twice, then frowned. “Such activities are not professional when on a case.”

“He’s usually not like this,” the other hunter said, shrugging on his jacket.

Luckily the walk to the station was short, and the officers were happy to let Dean out of the drunk tank once Sam broke out the puppy eyes.

“What happened,” the younger Winchester asked in a scolding tone, once the trio was back in their motel.

“Untwist your panties, Samantha. I made a friend!”

Jim was impressed at how disappointed his parallel-uncle you look.


“He checked out, I slipped holy water into the.... fourth round? Yeah, that sounds about right. Can’t remember if I got his name, but damn if he couldn’t hold his own when that guy caught us card shark-ing.”

Sam only sighed.

“Texting your boyfriend?” Sam smirked over his laptop.

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s a contact!” Dean tucked his phone back into his pocket. “And he found us a case, so shut it.”


Ok, so, this takes place during spn season 4.

Mary and Ben left after Cold Oaks. That’s in May 2007. Season 4 starts in May 2008. Sam never died, and Yellow Eyes is dead thanks to Gadreel, so Dean never made a deal and went to hell. However, the hell gate never opened, and John Winchester is still in hell.

Mary was about 20-ish when she left in S3. Jim is about 20-ish here in S4.

Also, seemingly angelic things have been happening on earth, hence why Sam and Dean tried to call their only other heavenly contact, Mary (since Gadreel can’t fly, thus can’t find out what’s going on in heaven). They get Jim instead. Oh, and the seals start breaking....next chapter.

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