Jack Kline's Sister

Chapter Eight: Byzantium

Author Note: Another really long chapter, but you probably figured that. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, everyone, it means a lot to me! Don't forget to tell me what you think and if you have any constructive criticism, suggestions, or questions, please let me know!

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  Monica sat by Jack's bed, pressing his hand against her cheek. Once more she tried to heal him, though she knew it was pointless. Her brother was dying.

She hadn't cried, hadn't screamed. Hadn't even talked. She just sat next to him, feeling his pulse grow weaker.

He sat up once. "Maybe...maybe this is how things are supposed to be," he said, looking down at her.

The tears had started then, and before long her face was soaked.

"Don't give me that meant to be crap." Dean was still as angry as ever.

Monica had tried to avoid him for the most part. It was as if seeing her was a reminder that Jack was dying, that she was useless as far as he was concerned.

"This isn't part of some damn plan," He continued.

"Dean," Castiel said. He and Monica locked eyes for a moment.

Jack began to cough again, and instantly Monica squeezed his hand harder. Her eyes were bigger than dinner plates. Dean left the room, and a moment later Castiel followed.

Monica glanced at Sam, who gave her a kind look.

Jack touched her hair once, smoothing the dark curls out of her eyes. "Don't worry," he said, though he must have known it wasn't possible. "You're going to be okay."

She shook her head. "No."

"Yes." His voice grew firmer. "Monica, I can't be your only reason to want to live. You have to have faith in more things than me. You have to believe in more than me, okay? Promise me you'll keep living."

Monica blinked back more tears. "I promise."

Jack managed a small smile. "Good." He closed his eyes again.

Suddenly she felt something dark run through her body. Jack's energy was...fading. No. No. Not yet. Not now. The tears ran faster now. She couldn't tell Sam what was happening. She didn't have the strength or the breath to explain it.

Jack was gone.

Monica went to her room. She couldn't be around anyone right now. Her emotions were coming fast, and if someone was in the way, it could end badly.

Her hands had already started shaking, her palms glowing. She extended them to her sides and let it flow. The walls cracked, anything glass exploded, and anything wood splintered. The room was filled with a blinding white light, and then she screamed. It was a scream of grief and rage and pain, high and shrill and agonizing to the listener.

And then Castiel stepped into the room, and everything stopped.

"Monica." He took a careful step closer to her. "What are you doing?"

"There are reasons I could never have a home, Castiel. Anytime I'm grieving, or mad, or...anything else, this happens. I've tried to contain it, but that never ends well." She locked eyes with him. "He's gone." Her voice broke.

Castiel held out his arms. Monica fell into him, sobbing uncontrollably. "He's gone."

Cass stroked her hair softly and held her. There was nothing to say.