Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean wants to scream with frustration. He wants to stamp about and smash things; or go out and find something that’s well and truly evil, something that will give him a good fight, and beat it until it dies a painful bloody death. He doesn’t do either of those things, of course; after the Mark, he’d promised himself that he’d try to keep better control over his temper. But oh does he want to.

Because they’ve been left with no choice. They have to take Lucifer’s child home with them. Once again, they have to open up the only home they’ve ever really had to someone - something - else, something that probably wants to hurt them.

And he can see the way Sam is looking at the - the Jack in front of him. Sammy’s doing his best, of course he is; but Dean knows him far too well to be deceived. He’s afraid. The creature is, despite the apparently human body, the son of the archangel who had spent an eternity torturing Sam. His brother can try to hide it all he wants, but he’s terrified; and Dean can’t bear it.

He wants to scream.

***

By the time they arrive at the Bunker, the kid, the Jack, has Sam won over. Dean can tell - he can read Sam like the back of his hand. The kid’s little stunt, where he’d saved Sam and Dean from the ridiculous new King of Hell, was enough to convince Sam of the kid’s good intentions.

“He saved us, Dean,” Sam’s pointed out, face earnest and soft; that look Dean has seen directed at so many creatures over the years, from puppies to birds with broken wings to Amy Pond. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not, but it always hits Dean right in the gut. “He’s good, Dean, I know it.”

Needless to say, Dean remains unconvinced. The kid is the biggest risk to the planet they’ve come across for a while, and Dean is not going to stop looking for a way to take him out. But in the meantime, he’s safest with the Winchesters, so Dean has to suppress a shudder as he watches the spawn of Lucifer walk down the stairs into their home. He can’t help but feel violated, again, letting something evil and untrustworthy inside; but what choice do they have?

“Come on, Jack,” he hears Sam say, as he leads the way inside. “Let’s go find you a room.”

“I don’t sleep in the room with you here?” The kid’s voice is, seemingly, innocent; genuinely curious. Bullshit, Dean thinks; the kid is playing Sam.

“Nope, we’ve got plenty of space here,” Sam explains patiently. “We can find you a room of your own. Give you some time to yourself.”

“Is it normal for people to sleep in rooms alone?” Jack asks. He sound slightly alarmed.

“Yes,” Sam replies, with that little laugh that he’s starting to use whenever Jack asks questions. It’s as if he’s endlessly amused at how cute Jack is. Dean almost growls, because Jack isn’t cute.

“But you and Dean always share a room?”

“Not here, kiddo. Here we have our own space, just like you will.”

Four years later, and Dean still isn’t used to sleeping without the sound of Sam’s breath nearby. Worst mistake he ever made, taking his own room, he thinks; not for the first time.

“Dean and I spend so much time together that when we get back here, it’s nice to have some space of our own.”

Bullshit, Dean thinks again, even more forcefully, and slams the Bunker door behind him. Jack visibly jumps, and Sam’s accusing look follows Dean as he hurries through to the kitchen.

***

Within a couple of hours, Sam has the spawn of Satan neatly settled into their home. Dean cooks, because experience has taught him that if he doesn’t, Sam will only eat salads; but watching Sam explain the Bunker to Jack at the table is too much for him, and he retreats into his room as soon as he can. Sam can teach Jack all about washing up.

His memory foam still remembers him, and Dean sighs as he settles into it, a little of the tension in his body bleeding out as he sits back. Within a couple of seconds, he’s got Zeppelin blaring through his headphones, eyes closed and head tipped back. Its a relaxation method he doesn’t allow himself elsewhere; the Bunker the only place he feels safe enough to so completely dull one of his senses.

So to say he’s startled when someone bangs into his bed is an understatement. He rears up, reaching under his pillow for a gun that isn’t there, before he realises that it’s Sam.

His brother smiles at him, amused, while Dean pulls his headphones off.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. Sam should know better than to disturb him like that.

“Sorry,” his brother says, completely insincere. He pushes around Dean’s bed, heading towards the closet.

“What the hell are you even doing?”

“Looking for some old clothes for Jack. We’ve both got some stuff he could have.”

“What?”

“Jack needs some extra clothes, Dean. He’s not like Cas, he can’t just have one outfit.”

“So you want to play dress up with him?”

Dean’s irrationally furious at the thought, even though he knows there are some old t-shirts in his closet that are too small for him now, and they’re just going to waste. He’s spent his whole life sharing his clothes with Sam, handing them down to his little brother when they get too small, and he can’t bear the thought that now Sam is treating Jack in this little-brother way.

“I’m sure he can dress himself. But he needs clothes.”

Sam’s tone is disapproving, and he starts to rummage through Dean’s clothes anyway. Dean glares at Sam’s back, trying to decide if he really wants to start a fight over this.

“What about these?” Sam pulls out a couple of old band t-shirts. They’re old and ratty and Dean knows one at least has a hole in the shoulder; but he’s had them since he was in his early 20s and they’re indelibly associated with memories of that time, from before Sam went to Stanford. “Not those,” he manages to bite out.

Sam gives him a sharp look. “Well, which then? We can’t afford to buy him a whole new wardrobe.”

Dean shoulders Sam out of the way and pushes through the clothes in his closet. Picking up a couple of shirts he hasn’t worn recently, he shoves them at Sam.

“Fine, these.”

Sam looks at the shirts he’s been handed, mouth twitching upwards.

“Ok, thanks.”

He walks towards the door.

“I’ll just go play dress up with Jack now.”

The pillow hits the door just as it slams shut, and Dean flops back on his bed, any sense of relaxation entirely gone.

***

He huddles in his room until the next morning, only sneaking out for a quick piss when he’s heard Sam go to bed. He snags the bottle of whiskey off the table at the same time; he might be trying to drink less now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a small glass before bed.

So he should be as fresh as a daisy when he wakes up the next morning, having eaten well, only had one drink and slept somewhere safe. The last part of that is the problem, he thinks, still grumpy; he didn’t sleep at all, too worried about how they would take Jack out in an emergency.

It’s hard to continue that train of thought when he finds Jack at the breakfast table in the kitchen, knees pulled up so his bare feet rest on the chair as he inhales lucky charms. Dean takes in the way the kid’s jeans are rolled up around his ankles - clearly a pair of Sam’s - and then sweep up to note that the boy is dressed in one of Sam’s plaid shirts. He looks so like a mini-Sam, a mini-Winchester, that Dean’s heart swoops; fury at the way he’s being accepted into the family warring with guilt as he thinks of Adam, all combined with the long-suppressed desire for a son, because Jack resembles the age Ben would be now.

Jack shoots him a wary look. “Good morning,” he says, earnestly.

Dean just grunts at him, snagging the lucky charms out of his grip and finding his own bowl. He’s all set to retreat back to his room when Sam bustles into the kitchen.

“Morning Dean,” his brother says, as annoyingly cheerful as their spawn-of-Satan house guest. “Sit down and I’ll pour you a coffee.” There’s a warning in his voice that Dean doesn’t dare disobey, so he thumps down onto one of the chairs. Coffee appears before him a couple of minutes later, though; so it’s not all bad.

Jack watches Dean as he eats. If the kid thinks he’s being subtle, he has a lot to learn. Long lashes flash at Dean out of the corner of his eye, and he sees Jack adjust his grip on his spoon when Dean does. It’s all he can do to resist growling at the kid.

“We’re going to Target today, Dean. You coming, or can I take the car?”

Sam is such a little bitch. Dean can either go shopping with the happy family, or he can let Sam drive the car. Sam knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’ll drive.”

“Good. We’re leaving in half an hour.”

****

Target is the kind of special hell that all giant stores specialise in. It’s full of rude, entitled people, nothing is where it should be (in Dean’s opinion) and there’s far more choice than needed. Give him a simple army and navy store any day.

But Target is their nearest budget clothes store, and so Dean spends more time there than he’d like. Apparently Jack needs a lot of stuff other than the hand-me-downs he’s already got, and Dean resigns himself to a long visit.

“Underwear,” Sam mutters. “Hairbrush. Suit.”

“Suit?” Dean queries.

“Yes, suit. If he’s going to come on hunts he needs to look the part and he certainly won’t if he has to roll the ankles up.”

“Come on hunts?” Dean’s not sure when the last time his voice hit that high pitch - it might have been when he was around Jack’s supposed age. But bringing Lucifer’s son on hunts? Absolutely no fucking way.

“Yes, come on hunts.” Dean knows that tone - its Sam’s “we’ll discuss this later” tone, and he ignores it at his peril. Sam jerks his head irritably at Jack, just behind them, indicating that this is not a conversation for his ears. Dean glares; but he also wants to get out of Target as quickly as possible (he’s sure the dog is watching him), so he lets Sam win. For now.

Jack trails around the shop behind Sam for the rest of the visit, listening attentively and pausing obediently when Sam holds clothes up against him. He’s finally dispatched to try on a bundle of clothes that actually need to fit (including the suit), looking back for Sam with slight alarm.

“I’ll be just here,” Sam calls encouragingly, and Dean almost growls.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, trying to keep the hostility out of his voice (and probably failing).

Sam gives him a look that is very, very Sam. “He needs clothes. He needs the basics to live. Like it or not, we’re responsible for him, and we have to provide until he can do things for himself.”

“Yeah, responsible for making sure he doesn’t explode and take out half the planet,” Dean almost shouts, feeling like he’s about to explode himself. “Not responsible for helping him decide on boxers versus briefs.”

“I bought him boxer briefs,” Sam says, lip twitching, and that’s it, Dean’s had enough.

“I’m waiting in the fucking car.”

***

The ride home is tense, Dean casting aggravated looks at the shopping bags surrounding Jack. Once they’re back at the Bunker, he stomps off to one of their uncatalogued store rooms, hoping to spend the afternoon in peace, and maybe even come across more vintage porn. It’s an oddly calming task, he’s found in the past; sorting through what the Letters had thought important enough to store. Every time he’s done it (admittedly not nearly as frequently as Sam), he’s found something completely fascinating - even if he’s failed to find more copies of Voluptuous Asian Lovelies since that first day.

Today is no exception - he finds a spell that will definitely be useful when taking down wraiths; and a story about a rogue demon turned serial killer that genuinely makes him shudder. There’s also a wicked-looking knife in a warded box; he carefully sets that one aside for further inspection.

Altogether, he’s in a better mood when he heads back into the war room, carrying the spell for Sam to examine. Sam’s always keen to find ways of killing monsters from a distance; Dean understands, but he still prefers the hands-on method himself. Its infinitely more satisfying.

His happiness is shattered when he sees Sam and Jack sat at the table. Jack is practically in Sam’s lap, their heads bent together over something Dean can’t see. Fire flies through his veins at the thought of anyone but him being that close to Sam.

“So this is Mordor,” Sam is saying, above the roaring in Dean’s ears. “They have to head here to destroy the ring. It’s a wonderful book - I think you’ll like it.”

“Ok, if you think I’ll like it, Sam.” Jack’s voice is laced with hero worship. He takes something out of Sam’s hands, face turned towards Sam and beaming smile just visible to Dean. Sam laughs and ruffles the boy’s hair, before standing up.

“Dean,” Sam says, as he turns around. “I didn’t see you there.” He sounds exactly as he normally does, but Dean can’t help but wonder if he’s covering up guilt for being so close to Jack, or for treating the nephilim in a way he knows Dean would find far too friendly.

“Are you making dinner?” Sam asks hopefully.

“There’s frozen pizza,” Dean says curtly. “Make your own.”

Sam’s face falls, but Dean hardens his heart. He stalks towards the kitchen, throws a couple of burritos in the microwave, and is heading back to his room before Jack’s even closed Sam’s copy of Lord of the Rings.

***

Dean hates eating in his room - despite years of motel living, he’s become accustomed to personal space that doesn’t smell of stale food; but he hates watching Sam with Jack even more. Settling down on his bed, he demolishes the burritos and pulls out his guns, ready to give them an overdue clean.

The mindless task numbs his brain, as always. Dean’s hands fall into the complex rhythm easily, shuffling the parts about with unthought grace. He snaps back into reality as footsteps pound down the hallway to his room.

“Dean,” Jack pants, skittering into the room. “Dean!” His hair is wild with distress, and he almost crashes into Dean’s chair as he slides to a halt.

“What the fuck, Jack?” Dean asks, irritated and not a little worried.

“Something’s wrong with Sam!” Jack exclaims, and Dean is out of his chair in a flash. They might be safer from outsiders in the Bunker than they are anywhere else, but the Bunker holds a number of hazards in its own right, and it would be just like Sam to pick up some kind of cursed object in his endless quest for knowledge.

Jack sprints from the room, Dean hot on his heels, and they pound down the corridors until they arrive at the big Men of Letters bathroom. Its locked, and a little steam is seeping from underneath the door.

“What, Jack?” Dean demands. Jack gestures at the door.

“Sam was making terrible noises,” he says, “And I couldn’t get the door to open.”

A horrible suspicion is beginning to dawn on Dean, but he has to make sure.

“What kind of noises?” he asks, but his question is answered before Jack can speak. There’s a low, drawn out moan that’s obviously Sam, unmistakably engaged in a certain kind of activity.

Dean can feel himself flush. He’s no expert on the noises Sam makes, but his brother sounds like he’s having a very good time.

“Erm, Sam’s fine, Jack,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“He’s in pain,” Jack insists, big eyes looking at Dean imploringly. “We have to fix it.” For a hysterical second, Dean wonders if Sam specifically taught Jack how to make those puppy eyes.

“He’s fine. Come on, this is private.” Dean starts down the hallway, but Jack shows no sign of following. He’s still fixed outside the bathroom, apparently listening for more hints on Sam’s wellbeing.

“Jack,” Dean says sharply. He walks back and grabs the boy’s arm, hustling him down the corridor. “Come with me and I’ll explain.” Jack, the most powerful being they’ve possibly ever come across, easily allows himself to be pulled along, apparently content now that Dean has promised further information.

***

Dean leads Jack all the way back to his bedroom, reasoning that the last thing he wants is for Sam to walk in on this conversation. It’s awkward enough as it is.

“Sit,” he says as they enter, gesturing towards his desk chair and dropping down on the bed. A quick second of burying his head in his hands is all he allows himself, before he sits upright, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jack, how much has Sam explained to you about the birds and the bees?”

“Birds are the creatures that fly,” Jack says proudly. “My mother loved them. The blue ones, in particular.” His voice goes a little softer, and Dean’s heart twists as he thinks about Mary, and how little time they actually had with her.

“And bees,” Jack continues, hesitantly. “Bees…” his voice trails off, as if can’t quite place bees, and Dean has the wholly unwelcome thought that surely Cas would have spoken to Jack about bees before he was born, given that time that Cas had shown up naked and covered in bees. Dean shudders - that is the least helpful memory for this discussion.

“Bees!” Jack says brightly. “Bees are the insects that sting you, but they’re very important so you have to be nice to them, and they make honey.” He looks at Dean as if waiting for praise, and this time, Dean buries his head in his hands for as long as he thinks he can get away with it.

Clearly, it’s too long, because it prompts Jack to ask about Sam again. “Are you sure he’s ok? Should we go back and check on him?”

“Absolutely not,” Dean says firmly, fixing Jack with stern glare before the boy could rise. “No.”

“Fine.” Jack’s pouting a little, and Dean wishes for Cas with all his might in that moment, wishes that Cas was here to give the talk to the boy he’d apparently claimed as his son.

“Jack, the birds and the bees, it’s a euphemism for something else.” Dean takes a deep breath. “Has Sam talked to you about sex at all?”

“Sex is how people and animals procreate,” Jack recites, dutifully.

“So you know how you came to be?” This is Dean’s final hope that he won’t have to explain this in greater detail. Please let Sam have explained this already, he thinks.

“I grew in my mother’s stomach.”

Dean wants to scream into a pillow.

“Right,” he says, voice terse. He can feel the tension in his own shoulders. “That’s certainly true. But there’s a bit more to it than that.”

Jack looks at him intently, ready to absorb new knowledge.

“When a man and a woman like each other very much,” he begins, feeling like an afterschool special, “Or two ladies, or two dudes, or two ladies and a dude,” he flashes back to a particularly fond memory for a moment, before mentally shaking himself. “When two people like eachother very much, they want to be close to each other, to touch each other. More than they do with other people. That’s how sex starts.”

“Like you and Sam?” Jack asks.

“No,” Dean almost yelps. “Absolutely not like me and Sam.”

“But you and Sam like to be close.” It’s not a question.

“Not that kind of close.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well. When those two people want to be close, it means they want to have sex. To be naked together, usually; to be alone.” Dean is struggling; he’s finding this hard to articulate without slang and without resorting to ‘the man’s penis goes into the woman’s vagina’, which he doesn’t think really fully expresses the complexity of the situation, and which Jack probably knows anyway.

“You and Sam are naked together sometimes.”

“What?” Dean splutters, completely taken aback.

“When you changed the other morning, in the motel, you were naked and together.”

Dean takes a deep, steadying breath.

“That’s not the same. The two people need to have certain feelings for each other that Sam and I don’t have.”

“What kind of feelings?”

“Sexual feelings.” Dean has the distinct impression that he’s trapped in one of the outer circles of hell, but he doesn’t know how to escape this conversation. Telling Sam had been infinitely easier than this.

Jack just cocks his head, clearly confused.

Maybe he can just show the kid porn. Leave him with the laptop and a list of websites til he’s worked it out.

Sam would kill him. And porn will hardly teach Jack about consent.

“Ok,” he starts again. “Sex is a feeling that feels really, really good. It’s a private thing, usually done between two people, but you can do it with more people or you can do it on your own; but most importantly its a private thing. People like doing it a lot.” He voice comes out in a rush as he tries to think of the right words, and he can see the questions building up inside Jack. “So just now, Sam was doing sex alone. Which means it’s private time.”

Jack is silent for a second, but Dean’s sure it’s only while he works out which question he wants to ask first.

“But if it feels so good, why was Sam in so much pain?”

“Sometimes when people are really enjoying themselves, they make a lot of noise, and you can mistake that noise for being in pain, when really they’re enjoying themselves.” Really, really enjoying themselves, based on what he just heard.

“So even if you are having sex by yourself, you could end up with a baby?”

Dean would swear Jack looks slightly jealous at the thought that Sam might somehow be producing a little brother for him right now.

“No. It takes two people - a man and a woman - to make a baby, and even then it only happens sometimes.”

“So why do people do sex on their own if they can’t make a baby?”

Deep breaths, Dean thinks. “Firstly, you don’t ‘do sex’, you have sex. Secondly, I just said: because it feels good. C, having sex by yourself has a special name.” He might as well go all out, he thinks wildly. “It’s called masturbating - though that’s a bit formal. Mostly people call it jerking off.”

“So Sam was,” Jack pauses to think about the new word. “Masturbating?”

“Sam was jerking off,” Dean says firmly.

“Is that normal?”

“Yes. Everyone does it. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a lying liar who lies.”

“Do you do it?”

Dean feels himself flush, which is ridiculous. “Yes,” he bites out.

“How does it work?” Jack looks so innocently curious that Dean feels utterly creepy having this conversation, however much he knows it’s necessary. “How does...jerking off… work?”

“You touch yourself until it feels good.” When Jack seems about to ask more questions, Dean adds, “I’ll find you a video.”

“Ok,” Jack says brightly. But then his face falls.

“So Sam doesn’t want to do sex with anyone else? That’s why he does it alone?”

Dean’s chest tightens at the thought of Sam having sex with someone. Piper was the last, the girl in the back seat.

“Sometimes people don’t find anyone they want to have sex with,” Dean explains. “But they still like the feeling, so…”

“But if its so good, surely you want to do it with everyone?”

“No. It doesn’t work like that. And that’s actually a very important point,” Dean starts, seeing an opportunity to give Jack the same portion of the talk he’d once given Sammy. “You only have sex with someone if they absolutely, clearly, 100% want to do it too. If they’re even at 99%, you stop. And no means no.”

Dean half expects questions about how to quantify the concept of wanting to have sex, but it seems Jack has other things on his mind.

“I’d like to see that video now, please,” he asks.

Dean buries his head in his hands again.

***

It takes him a while to find a suitable video for Jack, and he sends the kid out of the room while he does so. Jack doesn’t need to see the darker side of the internet just yet. Dean ends up lining him up a couple of videos, because given the kid’s endless curiosity, one probably isn’t going to be enough.

Jack seems to understand the ‘private’ part of the conversation they’ve just had well enough, and retreats to his new room with Dean’s laptop, leaving Dean at something of a loss. Sam’s clearly already in bed (probably exhausted after the good time he was having in the shower, Dean thinks with a smirk), and so Dean heads to bed as well, just wanting the evening to be finished so that he can move past one of the most excruciating conversations of his adult life.

***

Jack doesn’t come out of his room at all the next day.

Dean relates their conversation to Sam. Far from being embarrassed about what had prompted Jack’s panic, Sam laughs so hard he falls off his chair.

When he can finally speak again, he does at least give Dean some credit for having the talk. “He had to know. Better to find out from us.”

Dean remains unamused.

***

Jack’s day of apparent self-exploration seems to result in little outward change. Dean deletes his browser history; too scared to look and oddly, unwilling to impinge on Jack’s privacy.

Or at least, for the first day or so, Dean thinks there is no change in Jack. But it doesn’t take him long to realise that there is one crucial difference; and that’s in the way that Jack looks at Sam.

There’s always been a level of adoration there, annoyingly. Jack seems to see Sam as some kind of replacement for both mother and father, Kelly and Cas. He looks to Sam for explanations, for comfort and most importantly, for approval. Dean doesn’t like it, but he begrudgingly understands; after all, Sam’s approval is important to him too.

All that is still there, in the way that Jack’s eyes follow Sam whenever they share space. Dean tries to stop it, to distract Jack’s attention in any way he can; but even when he’s talking to the kid, half of Jack’s attention is on Sam. It makes Dean want to growl.

But now there’s something else there, behind the adoration. It takes Dean a while to figure it out, because its so incongruous to the way he thinks of Jack, but it’s heat. Jack looks at Sam with want; and it makes Dean’s blood boil.

***

Sam is completely oblivious to what’s going on. He lends Jack his laptop far more frequently than Dean thinks he should, given what the kid is probably using it for.

“You should probably start with Phantom Menace,” Sam tells Jack one afternoon, as he scours the local paper for a case. “But then you’ll never watch the rest. So start with A New Hope and we’ll go from there.”

“Do you want to watch with me?” Jack looks absurdly hopeful; he’s clutching the laptop to his chest, bright eyes wide as he looks at Sam.

“Not today, buddy. Gotta keep on with this. But maybe this evening we can all watch the next one.”

From his spot on the other side of the table, Dean snorts. He has no intention of joining in with some kind of family movie night. Sam’s so used to it now he doesn’t even shoot Dean a bitch face. Jack looks wounded, but Dean doesn’t meet his eyes, so he turns his gaze back to Sam.

“So I can take the laptop then?” Jack pauses. “To watch the film, of course.”

Dean might be in his late thirties now, but he remembers being a teenager. And Jack might not be a typical teenager, but Dean will be damned if he doesn’t recognise that exact tone. There’s no way that Jack is going to watch Star Wars.

“Of course,” Sam says, apparently oblivious. He’s already focused back on the newspaper, so with a last longing look in his direction, Jack heads off down the hallway.

When he’s out of earshot, Dean swings his legs up on the table. “You realise he has no intention of using that laptop to watch Star Wars, right?” Sam doesn’t even look up, engrossed in his research.

“I’m just saying, Sammy, you might wanna think about watching episode 4 again if you really wanna have your creepy movie night.”

“What?” Sam asks, clearly not having listened at all. He brushes his hair back out of his eyes as he raises his head, and Dean’s hit with that familiar juxtaposition of wishing Sam would just cut the damn hair all off mixed with wanting to run his hands through it and scratch at Sam’s scalp like he had when Sam was a kid.

“Jack is going to use your laptop to look at porn,” Dean enunciates slowly.

“What?” The tone is slightly different this time, more disbelieving.

“I know you think the sun shines out of the kid’s ass, but there’s no way he’s watching Star Wars right now.”

Sam looks hurt. “But I thought he’d like it,” he says.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. “He probably will. But he’s just worked out how his dick works. You remember what that was like.”

Sam flushes, and Dean’s taken back to when Sam had made the same discovery. He hadn’t exactly been subtle about it; but then subtlety had hardly been an option with their motel lifestyle. Dean can’t resist a little jab.

“I remember when you worked that out. The noise. The smell. The crusty socks. It went on for months. I remember Pastor Jim having to sit you down and have a chat with you about hygiene.”

Sam looks utterly appalled. “I didn’t know you knew about that!”

“Well. He asked me first if Dad had talked to you… but I said no, and you wouldn’t really talk to me about it; so Jim stepped up to bat.”

Sam buries his head in his hands. “Everytime you think you’re over how mortifying it was to be a teenager it comes back to bite you in the ass.”

“Well, now you know what Jack is going through, and what he’s looking up on your laptop. Have you taught him how to clear his browsing history?”

“Oh fuck,” Sam says. “Fuck knows what he’s looking up.”

Dean doesn’t have the heart to say that Jack is probably searching out porn that looks like Sam. There’s plenty of it out there; he’s come across a few videos in his time. Not that he’s ever looked at them.

Instead, he just laughs while Sam glares at him.

***

Against his better judgement, Dean somehow finds himself embroiled in family movie night. Jack is so horrendously embarrassed when Sam asks him about the movie that Sam looks hard pressed not to laugh.

“Well,” he says gently, “its been awhile since I saw episode four, I wouldn’t mind watching it now if you don’t mind seeing it again?”

Jack looks so pathetically grateful, mixed with a huge dose of smugness that somehow he’s avoided detection, that Dean can barely control his laughter.

“I don’t mind watching it again,” Jack says earnestly.

“Ok, we can watch it in my room,” Sam suggests. “My bed is more comfortable than these chairs.”

“Ok!” Jack’s delight is audible.

Dean pauses as he heads for his own room. He really, really doesn’t want to watch Star Wars with mini-Anakin. He busies himself as Sam and Jack bustle down the hallway, Jack with the laptop and Sam bringing some snacks and a couple of beers. Dean takes their dishes into the big kitchen, debating with himself.

He’ll just check in on them, he thinks.

When he gets to Sam’s room, the door is open enough for him to peer in. To his dismay, he’s just in time to see Sam settle back against the head of the bed, the reflection from the opening credits flickering across his face as he finds a comfortable spot. The bed is so narrow that Jack is pressed against his shoulder, their legs touching all the way down, and Jack looks utterly delighted.

“You’re gonna love this,” Sam says.

“I’m sure I will, Sam,” Jack replies, equally enthusiastic, although Dean is sure they’re talking about different aspects of the evening. He shifts slightly, managing to get even closer to Sam.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Dean says, surprising even himself. “I wanna watch.”

Sam beams at him. “Come on then.”

Dean drags the desk chair across the room and settles it next to Sam, thinking, not for the first time, that they really need to buy a couch.

To give him some credit, Jack really does try to pay attention to the movie. Dean can see him trying, can see him sneak looks at Sam and then determinedly look back at the screen. But Dean’s spent his whole life with half his attention on Sam and he can easily spot the signs in someone else.

About halfway through the film, Jack starts to shiver ostentatiously. Dean glares at him suspiciously; its not at all cold in Sam’s room.

Sam’s so entranced in the movie that it takes him a moment to notice, but then his new mothering instinct kicks in.

“Cold?” he asks softly. Jack nods, big eyes blinking at Sam, who reaches down as if he’s about to pull the covers up. Quick as a flash, Dean grabs one of Sam’s hoodies from the back of the door and tosses it to the kid.

“Here,” he says gruffly. He’s sure that Jack spent at least some of his ‘porn time’ reading articles on ‘How to get your man to cuddle you’ from Cosmopolitan.

Jack looks startled, but as soon as Sam’s attention is back on Luke and Leia, Dean catches him taking a surreptitious sniff of Sam’s smell in the hoodie, and knows he was right. He also feels vindicated in his decision to watch the movie; Sam has no idea how Jack feels about him, and needs to be protected.

Despite his lack of attention, Jack is positive about the movie when it’s over. “Are there more?” he asks brightly.

“Yeah, 2 more old ones, and then three prequels, and then a new one,” Sam says, smiling.

“Can we watch another one?”

“Tomorrow, kiddo, I’m tired.”

Seeing an opportunity, Dean sheppards Jack out of the room. Sam follows, heading towards the bathroom.

“Good night, Sam!” Jack chirps. Sam laughs, and to Dean’s utter horror, he pulls Jack in for a rough hug.

“Good night, Jack,” he replies, as Dean gapes, open mouthed. He can’t remember the last time Sam hugged him. “Night Dean.”

Dean glares at both of them and storms off to his own room.

***

Dean tosses and turns again that night. His mind buzzes from topic to topic, thinking about his mother, and then when that gets too painful, flitting on to Cas. That loss is painful too, not least because Dean wishes that Cas were here now to help guide Jack, and contain him if need be.

Trying hard to move away from his grief, he thinks about Sam, always his go-to happy place, and his growing relationship with Jack. Dean can protest all he likes, but he knows that it’s now going to be almost impossible to remove Jack from their lives. Sam’s attached, and he’s never met anyone as stubborn as his brother.

His mind turns to the mild comedy of the past few days, and how glad he is that he’ll never have to be a teenager ever again (barring any further mishaps with witches and de-aging spells). Jack has a lot more to learn, and if Dean has to tolerate his presence, he’d at least like to get some amusement out of it.

He chuckles to himself as he thinks about the likely contents of Sam’s browser history. As he rolls over onto his back, he can’t help it when his mind starts to think about that in more detail.

Dean has a wide-ranging taste in porn; he’s never been with a man, but he’s never minded looking at two guys together if it hits his other kinks. As a result, he’s come across more than a few videos in his time where he’d barely have to squint to imagine one of the men as Sam; and even a few where the other man has looked a bit like Dean himself. He’s always shut those tabs down immediately; but the brief images he’s seen remain burned into his memory nonetheless.

The fact that those particular memories have a tendency to pop up at the most inopportune moments is something that Dean doesn’t allow himself to think about.

And he definitely doesn’t want to think about why even a hint of a thought about them has resulted in his dick getting hard. Even if a quick orgasm would be the easiest and most direct route to a good night’s sleep. He knows full well that if he jerks off right now, he’s going to come with a certain name on his lips; and experience has taught him that the crushing guilt he’ll feel in the morning is absolutely not worth the sleep.

So he deliberately thinks again about their mother, trying to imagine what her advice would be on the Jack situation; hoping that sleep will come eventually.

***

Sam still hasn’t found a hunt for them by the next morning. Dean’s twitchy, even before he has his coffee; he loves having the Bunker as a home base but he hates staying there for more than a few days.

“Ok, there’s nothing on,” Sam admits. “But I’m sick of being here. Maybe it’s time to explore? Go sightseeing?” He peers hopefully at Dean and Jack, sitting silently around the breakfast table.

Both their heads spring up, but Dean suspects his expression is somewhat different from the look of excitement on Jack’s face.

“Yes, please!” Jack exclaims.

“Dean?” Sam asks.

Thing is, Dean’s just not sure about taking a nephilim out of the Bunker and into the real world. There are so many things that could go wrong. He can’t express that pre-coffee, so he just grunts at Sam.

“So, I came up with a list of options,” Sam begins. “There’s a zoo, there’s-” He doesn’t get past zoo before Jack shoots up out of his chair.

“Zoo, please!”

Sam laughs that enchanted little laugh. “Zoo it is.”

***

Somehow Dean finds himself at the wheel of the Impala an hour later, heading down the highway with no greater purpose than a trip to the zoo. He’s torn between his ever-present feeling that they are missing something, that there’s a hunt somewhere out there that they should be on; and annoyance at the fact that he would love this trip to be just him and Sam, spending some quality time together.

Instead, they have Jack in the backseat, who spends the entire journey leaning forward so that his arms are on the back of Sam’s seat, asking questions about all the animals they might see.

By the time they arrive, Jack has come to the happy conclusion that his priority is to find the penguins, and Dean has managed to refrain from scratching his own eyes out. Sam smiles at him as he unfolds his long legs from the car, but then he’s gone, powering after Jack as the kid runs towards the entrance.

It’s a hellish day. The Winchesters pay little attention to the days of the week, but it must be a Saturday, because the zoo is full of screaming children, all demanding balloons, face paints or both. Jack isn’t much better; Dean has to drag him away from a woman painting a butterfly onto a little girl’s face.

Oddly enough, though, Jack doesn’t really like the penguins. He seems disappointed in their size and lack of flying ability. It’s not until they get to the lions that Jack finds his favourite animal.

“They look like you,” he tells Sam breathlessly, torn between looking at the lions and looking at Sam. “Their hair, its beautiful, like yours. And they’re fierce, like you.”

Dean nearly vomits into his mouth, but Sam seems pleased at the praise, if a little embarrassed. He smiles down at Jack with both his rarely-seen dimples, and Dean’s stomach twists.

From the lions, they head over to the fairground area. The games are all ridiculously easy, and Dean stalks off to buy a beer, sure that it would be immoral even to try and win. Sam seems equally unconvinced, and Dean leaves him trying to encourage Jack to visit the insect house (spiders are a big no, as far as Dean is concerned).

He hangs about by the bar for a little while, surrounded by other equally disaffected men, most of them fathers taking a little break from childcare responsibilities.

He must take longer than he thinks, because when he gets back, Sam is handing Jack a large stuffed lion, and Jack looks so thrilled Dean is genuinely worried he might faint from excitement. It would be typical for them to have acquired the world’s only fainting nephilim. Jack looks between the lion and Sam with unconcealed joy, and then throws his arms around Sam in a tight hug.

Dean watches as Sam’s face lights up with the easy affection. He waits with bated breath for Sam to let go, but it never happens. Sam just turns them so that his arm is wrapped around Jack’s shoulder, the boy pulled close against his side; and Jack leans all his weight into Sam.

Anyone looking at them would think that they were a couple with a slightly greater than average age difference, Dean thinks bitterly. People are supposed to mistake him for Sam’s boyfriend, not a kid who barely looks legal.

Throwing his plastic beer cup into the nearest bin, he heads back to the Impala. Sam will work it out.

***

Two hours pass before Sam and Jack arrive back at the car. Sam looks pissed.

“Where have you been?” he demands.

“Here,” Dean responds sullenly. Jack looks between them, mouth turned down in displeasure, before settling into the back seat with his lion.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sam says, and then takes a deep breath. “Just drive us home.”

No one talks on the drive back to the Bunker.

***

By the time they get home, the tension is so thick that the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck are standing up. Jack is utterly silent, arms wrapped around his lion in a grip that threatens strangulation to the unfortunate animal, and Sam’s shoulders are so tense Dean’s worried the seams on his shirt are going to pop.

Sam’s out of the car and down the stairs before the car has even stopped moving. Jack scrambles out to follow him, and it’s all Dean can do not to gun the car forwards as the kid is climbing out.

Driving the car around to the garage, he forces himself to take his time locking up and making sure Baby is ok. There’s a furious tic pouding behind his left eye that intensifies every time he thinks about Sam’s arm around Jack, but worse than that is the sick feeling of dread in his stomach when he thinks about how angry Sam is. Dean can’t bear Sam being angry with him, despite all the arguments they’ve had in their lives; every single one rips him to shreds inside.

He cleans off Baby’s windscreen, tops up her wiper fluid and check her tire pressure, but there’s only so much procrastinating he can do. Eventually, he gathers his courage and heads into the main part of the Bunker.

Sam and Jack are in the kitchen, but Dean only works that out through a process of elimination. They’re sitting at the table in complete silence, Jack shovelling pasta into his mouth with painful swiftness while Sam picks listlessly at a salad. Sam’s head is down, and for once, Jack’s is too; the boy staring at his plate with all the concentration he usually reserves for Sam.

Dean steps into the kitchen and both heads look up. Jack immediately returns his gaze to his plate, slurping the last bit of pasta into his mouth as fast as possible. Sam returns Dean’s stare, the air between them crackling with angry energy.

The moment is only broken by Jack stumbling to his feet and dumping his empty plate in the sink with a clang. He shuffles out of the room at speed, and Dean can hear his steps pouding down the hallway towards his room, showing more social awareness in those five minutes than Cas had in his whole time on earth.

Sam stands too, toting his almost full plate to the bin and dumping the salad into the garbage. The lid crashes down and Dean actually jumps, so on edge that his teeth hurt.

“Sam,” Dean starts, as Sam turns around.

“Don’t, Dean.” Sam pushes past him and goes to leave the kitchen.

“Sam.” Dean tries again, heart hurting in his chest, voice just this side of pleading.

“Dean, I can’t bear to talk to you right now. I can’t bear to be around you. I’m sick of the way you treat Jack and the way you’re refusing to accept that he’s part of our family now.” Sam’s voice wavers. “I just… I can’t. I’m going to take Jack and we’re going to go to a motel for a few days. Don’t follow us.”

And with that, Sam leaves, slamming the door so hard that it feels as if the whole Bunker rattles.

***

Of all the scenarios Dean had imagined during the awful car ride and wait in the garage, Sam leaving hadn’t even crossed Dean’s mind. He’d thought there would be a screaming match, that Sam might hit him, that they’d solve their issues the way they always had: with fire and fury. He’d never expected ice.

Through the rushing in his brain, he knows that he can’t allow this. He and Sam have been apart so few times in their lives, and it’s never ended well for Dean; it’s always left him teetering on the edge of utter despair, barely able to put one foot in front of the other to survive.

He can feel a tickling at the edge of his brain that says, this is not Stanford, this is not Cold Oak, this is not Purgatory. Sam is not walking away forever, just until he’s had a chance to cool down. But that small, sensible voice is drowned out by the panic filling the rest of his mind, and he can only conceive one course of action: stop Sam leaving.

Determined, he almost stumbles as he whirls out of the kitchen, speeding towards Sam’s room.

***

Sam has his duffle out on the bed, and he’s throwing clothes in without even looking at them. Half of the clothes aren’t even making it into the bag, but slopping over the side onto the bed, or the floor below. There’s a minute tremble in his graceful hands, and Dean is filled with dismay at having caused his brother this level of distress.

He pauses awkwardly in the doorway, trying to decide the best course of action, trying to find the words to fix this. Words have never been his forte, though, least of all at times of crisis. Nothing comes to mind except the one word he’s lived his life by.

“Sam.” His voice is just this side of pleading, and he knows it will only take the slightest nudge to tip him over into begging.

Sam doesn’t even look up, just slams a shirt into the bag. “I told you to leave me alone.”

Dean winces, fingers curling tight around the doorframe.

“Sammy, please don’t leave.” Dean takes a deep breath. “I’ll be better. I won’t do that again.”

Sam straightens, but he still doesn’t turn around. “Do what, Dean? Do you even know what you’ve done?”

Dean knows exactly what he’s done, and more importantly, why he’s done it; but it’s not something that he can exactly admit to his brother. “I was rude,” he tries instead.

Sam snorts; an ugly mocking sound that makes Dean’s stomach shrivel. “Sure. Rude.” The sound of the zip rends the silence. “You can think about how you were rude while we’re gone.”

Sam’s tone leaves no doubt that he thinks being rude was the least of Dean’s crimes, and Dean can only agree. Throwing the duffel over his shoulder, Sam makes for the door.

“Move, Dean.”

But Dean’s rooted to the spot, unable to make his feet move enough to let Sam pass through the door.

“Let me leave,” Sam says, voice strained. The word ‘leave’ triggers a flash of panic in Dean’s brain, and on instinct, he reaches out to stop Sam, pushing against his chest.

It’s the wrong move. The duffel thumps to the floor and they’re suddenly grappling, fighting in a way they’ve haven’t in years. Dean has no intention of throwing a punch or hurting Sam in any way, but he can see his brother’s frustration building and his arm winding back for a hit. Moving quickly, he spins them until Sam is slammed against the wall, pinning his brother’s arms.

Sam’s writhing against him, trying to get free, twisting and turning as he pushes at Dean. Instinctively, Dean brings his leg up to pin Sam down; its what he’d do in any other fight, but it leaves him flush against Sam. They’re both panting, chests heaving, and there isn’t a sliver of space between them. His thigh is pressed up between Sam’s, hard against Sam’s groin, and the way Sam’s fighting back against him makes it feel way more than it is, like something it shouldn’t; a movement he’s imagined Sam making hundreds of times but always in better circumstances.

Ashamed, Dean pulls back, putting a clear space between himself and his brother. He can feel the heat in his face and his chest is heaving. Mind full of self-loathing, he turns away.

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me,” Sam says. He sounds furious, but so, so vulnerable; voice cracking a little.

“Sorry, Sam,” Dean spits out. His throat is burning, threatening to close up, but he fights to finish the sentence. “Just go, leave, head to the motel. I’ll… I’ll stay here.” Tears pool in his eyes, and he blinks rapidly to dispel them.

Silence hangs heavy in the air, and then Dean’s whirled around by his shoulder, coming face to face with Sam. The spin catches him off guard and he stumbles enough that Sam catches him, holding both his shoulders to keep him steady.

“What the fuck, Dean?” Sam demands. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dean has a million answers for that, none of which he can give. He shrugs, trying to brush off Sam’s angry words, Sam’s hurt; but Sam’s not having any of it. He shakes Dean, hard; staring intently at Dean as if trying to read Dean’s soul.

“Just leave it.”

“No.”

This time it’s Sam who pushes, demanding an answer, an action, anything to resolve what’s happening between them. He shoves Dean hard in the chest, sending him stumbling back a couple of steps, and instinct kicks in. Once again they’re wrestling, moving back and forth until Sam has the upper hand, and Dean’s knees hit the back of the bed. He topples down, Sam falling on top of him, landing with a thump on his chest and knocking the wind out of his body.

If Dean had thought before was bad, this is a million times worse; Sam’s lean, strong body aligned with his, pushing him down and touching him everywhere. Closing his eyes, he waits for Sam to either punch him or spring up, but neither happens; Sam stays settled where he is, unmoving.

“What. Is. Wrong. With. You.” Sam enunciates carefully, stubbornness seeping through. Dean pushes upwards weakly, trying to shift his brother; but he’s too afraid of his body’s reaction to really move against Sam, and it has little effect. Growling in frustration, he ignores Sam’s question, hoping his brother will take silence for an answer.

Sam shifts against him, sliding his body against Dean’s in an attempt to get a better grip so that Dean can’t escape; and that’s it, Dean gives up. He can feel his cock getting hard against Sam’s hip and he shivers, a full body movement that’s so strong that it shakes Sam above him.

Sam stills, and Dean’s heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces.

But before Dean can try to get free, Sam pushes down, rolling his hips just once. Dean’s mouth opens in a gasp as lightning shoots up his spine and heat rushes through his body. His eyes are still screwed closed, and Dean desperately hopes that this mortifying moment will end before it gets any worse.

“Dean?” Sam asks, naked and hopeful; a world uttered in a single word.

Dean can’t quite believe it though; he turns his head to the side even as his hips push up into Sam’s causing a chain reaction.

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam breathes, quiet and shocked, before his mouth covers Dean’s in a soft, shattering kiss. It takes Dean a second to understand, then he’s kissing back, lips sliding together and noses bumping, something that’s both slightly awkward and utterly perfect. A moan rips from his throat, unbidden and honest; and Sam’s hands tighten against his shoulders so sharply his nails almost break flesh.

“Dean.” Sam murmurs his name, pulling back to nip at Dean’s lower lip, his hand cupping Dean’s neck as he shifts so that his leg is pressing between Dean’s. Their bodies align, Sam’s weight settling over him in a way that feels right. Dean takes the opportunity to get his hands under Sam’s shirt, feeling all that smooth skin differently for the first time. He’s just sinking into the feeling, going boneless and mindless, when Sam pulls back. Fear sparks through him; all his age-old worries that he’s sick, perverted, corrupting his little brother swimming rapidly to the forefront of his mind.

“Do you really want this?” Sam asks, sweet and breathless and incredulous. Dean’s so overwhelmed with relief that he can barely answer, but he gathers the wherewithal to nod his head frantically.

“So much, Sammy. So, so much.”

It sparks them both into motion.

Their hands fly everywhere, desperate to touch as much skin as possible as fast as possible. Sam rakes Dean’s shirt up to his underarms, scratching across Dean’s chest with jagged nails, while Dean works his hands under Sam’s belt and down to his ass, squeezing the round, pert flesh he’s been longing to get his hands on for half of his life. Sam’s hips shudder forwards against his when he does that, and Dean works one hand free again to fumble down towards the front of their pants.

It’s hard to concentrate with the kisses Sam’s strewing across his lips, his face, his neck, his ears; his brother frantic as he tries to get his mouth on as much of Dean as he can and Dean just as urgently trying to reconnect their lips; but he manages to get both their flys undone and their pants shoved down past their hips, and he’s inordinately proud of that. The first press of flesh on flesh is possibly the best thing he’s ever felt in his life; or so he thinks until a second later when Sam’s huge hand wraps around both their cocks.

Dean yells out in shock, unprepared for this to feel so much more intense than anything he’s done before. Sam grins down at him, that wicked, dimpled grin that he so rarely sees; but then Sam’s mouth drops open in shock when Dean’s hand skims down his ass and presses against his hole.

Dean wants to do more, to get his fingers inside Sam, to make his brother writhe and pant and moan as Dean takes him apart; to take Sam to the edge and back again and again until Sam’s world only consists of Dean. But that’s not going to happen this time. He can feel pressure building in his body, tingling along his spine and curling through his feet as Sam moves his hand faster and faster. Sam’s rocking against him so hard that the bedframe is knocking against the wall, the aged bed creaking in protest.

Dean hooks a leg around Sam’s hip, pressing them close and rubbing his fingers back and forth across Sam’s ass. They’re in such a fast rhythm now that their mouths can barely connect; they’re just panting against each others mouths, noses brushing and Sam’s hair trailing across Dean’s forehead. Dean tangles his free hand in the hair at Sam’s nape, giving in to a long-suppressed urge to tug and pull; and Sam whines low, feet scrambling against Dean’s as he comes, hot across Dean’s cock.

Its too much for Dean, seeing his brother come undone in a way he’s dreamed about for years, and it pushes him over the edge too, Sam slumped across his body, mouth moving lazily against Dean’s neck. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had, even if it’s simple and quick and uncomplicated; just from the feel and smell and weight of Sam above him. He whites out for a minute, comfortable and serene and unworried in a way he’s never been before.

He comes back to himself with Sam still draped across him, head tucked into his neck and their legs tangled together. They’re still on top of the sheets, pants pushed down and shirts pulled up. Dean shivers, sweat cooling on his body where its not covered in human radiator.

“Urgh,” he says, brain and mouth still not connected. “Sticky.”

He can feel Sam’s laugh tickle against his skin, and its the best feeling ever. Dean luxuriates in it, his hand trailing over Sam’s ass where it’s still tucked down the back of Sam’s pants. But when Sam struggles upwards, his heart freezes. Sam stands, pulling his pants up so that they’re buttoned around his hips, and walks towards the door.

“Are you still heading to a motel?” he can’t help but ask.

Sam startles, pausing mid-step to turn around.

“Do you want me to?”

There’s so much worry on his face that Dean immediately feels guilty.

“No, of course not,” he says, rushing to fill the silence. “But… you wanted to.” It’s a lame attempt at solving their previous issues, but it’s an honest attempt and it’s the best he can do.

Sam huffs, but he turns back towards the bed. “I wanted to know what was wrong with you. I still want to know what was wrong with you.” He kneels, settling so that he’s beside Dean.

Dean looks at his brother and tries to summon words as best he can. “I didn’t want you to leave,” he manages. “With Jack.”

Sam stares at him, clearly aware this is code for something but unsure exactly what.

“You and Jack. You were going to a motel without me,” Dean repeats, hoping that this is enough to get his message through.

Sam’s face goes oddly blank. “With Jack?” he repeats. “But not with you?”

Dean nods, averting his eyes.

“Fuck,” Sam breathes. “Is that what this whole thing has been about?”

Dean can feel a flush rising up his neck, even more ridiculous considering his pants have been open throughout the conversation and he hasn’t felt even the slightest bit of shame about that.

“Dean,” Sam says slowly, in his you-are-an-idiot voice. “Are you jealous of Jack?”

He looks steadfastly to the side, refusing to meet Sam’s eye. He’s waiting for Sam to burst out laughing; or worse, to look at him with pity and explain that Sam’s very sorry, but Jack’s just too important now. More important than Dean. What he’s not expecting is for Sam’s hands to cup his face, gently turning his head so that he’s forced to look at Sam.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam says, just as expected; but so sweetly that something painful uncurls in Dean’s chest. Sam dips his head down so that his nose brushes Dean’s. “A complete idiot. You have nothing to be jealous of.” Sam’s kisses him then, just a gentle brush of lips, but it means everything. “Nothing, no one, will ever take your place.”

Dean energetically rolls his eyes, determined to reject the sappiness of the moment; but he feels a tension he hadn’t even realised he was holding leave his body as Sam settles against his side.

***

Sam eventually does get out of the bed, but only to trek to the bathroom for a cloth to clean them up. They’re soon settled under the covers facing each other, Dean taking advantage of the darkness to trail gentle fingers across Sam’s face.

“I can’t believe you were jealous of Jack,” Sam whispers, nipping at Dean’s fingertip.

“Wasn’t jealous,” Dean insists.

“Sure.” Sam’s sarcasm comes through loud and clear despite the murmuring of his voice, and it stings.

“Not my fault the kid has a massive crush on you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Sam says, resting his hand on Dean’s hip.

“He does. He has an epic, first ever, I’ve-just-been-born-into-this-world-and-Sam’s-the-best-thing ever crush on you. He looks at porn of you on the laptop.”

“He doesn’t!” Sam sounds completely scandalised, and Dean can’t help but laugh.

“I wouldn’t suggest looking through his browser history. I bet it’s full of Sam-alikes.”

“He wouldn’t be able to find pornstars who look like me,” Sam says confidently. “Like you, maybe, but definitely not like me.”

“There are plenty out there,” Dean replies without thinking. He only realises what he’s said when Sam’s silent for a moment. “I mean-”

“Have you been looking at porn of me?” Sam asks, laughing. “Is that how you know Jack has?” His body is shaking with mirth, and even through his embarrassment at being caught out, Dean thrills to hear his brother being so joyful.

“No, of course not. Never.” Sam can hear the lie in his voice, he knows, but he can’t make it sound any more sincere.

“Well,” Sam says, booping Dean’s nose gently. “Even if Jack does have a bit of a crush, you have no reason to be jealous. It’s always been you.”

Dean’s only response is to lean in for a kiss, but Sam gets the message anyway.

Epilogue

Jack stands outside the door, beaming with satisfaction. Everything is finally fixed between the Winchesters.

He’s spent the last couple of weeks incredibly confused. Ever since Dean explained to him about sex, and how people do it together, it’s been clear to him that Sam and Dean desperately want to do sex together. (Have sex, Jack, Dean’s voice reminds him in his head.)

Everything else Dean had explained about people being together was true of Sam and Dean, and once Jack had watched some of the videos on Dean’s laptop, he’d quickly recognised the look on Dean’s face when he’d looked at Sam. It had been the same look as so many of the men in the videos.

Sam had been harder for Jack to understand. He’d taken a while to ponder on why Sam hid his feelings so much more, why Sam kept himself more closed off from Dean. He’d briefly wondered if it was the brothers thing, but there were so many videos of brothers online that he’d dismissed that thought pretty quickly. So he’d watched Sam intently, and it had taken a while to come to him: Sam didn’t think he was worthy of Dean’s love or that Dean would love him back.

Jack had found that utterly inconceivable, given how obvious Dean was about his feelings, so he’d come to the conclusion that it was just a lack of confidence on Sam’s side. His own heart was already full of love for Sam, and even Dean, so he’d resolved to do what he could to fix the situation - and building up Sam’s confidence was the main solution.

He’d been a bit worried earlier that his plan had gone horribly wrong. Both Sam and Dean had been horribly angry, and Jack had thought that maybe this was one of those situations where his lack of understanding of human emotions and customs had steered him wrong.

But from the noises he’s heard during the past hour or so, he definitely wasn’t. It’s been silent for a little while now, so he takes a chance and peeps around the door, thrilled when he sees Sam and Dean curled up together in Sam's small bed.

Jack congratulates himself on his successful plan, and heads off to the kitchen to find some nougat to celebrate.