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Jack's eyes snapped open. He looked over at the clock on his bedside table—its fluorescent arms bathing the room in a soft green glow.
3 am. He'd slept four hours again. It was just another way he didn't fit in. He tried to sleep more, get the average eight hours that humans needed, but his body would always refuse to let him sleep any longer.
He sat up. He could hear the hum that was always in the background of the bunker, old heating and ventilation systems that ran constantly. Maybe he should try watching more of Clone Wars, or move onto the next volume of "A Comprehensive Survey of Hauntings, and Paranormal Spirits", but he didn't want to. It had only been a couple of weeks since his first hunt. Sam had almost died. He would have died, if Jack hadn't used his powers at just the right moment. If he'd been just a second too late...
He screwed up his eyes and shook his head violently, trying to clear the image from his mind. He could feel his powers rising up in response and he clamped down, pushing them back down. He was panting when he finally got them under control.
He stared blankly at the clock Sam had gotten him. No-one would be up now, even Dean was usually asleep by this time. He was meant to stay in bed—Dean had yelled that at him when he'd been surprised by Jack going into the kitchen at a similar hour. But Sam had said he'd wanted to help Jack, maybe he would listen.
Jack was as quiet as he could be walking over to Sam's room, his heart pounding from fear of Dean catching him. When he reached Sam's door he carefully pushed it open and slipped inside straight away, the tension only leaving him when he was safely inside.
"Sam?" he said softly.
There was no reply. He could see a bare foot sticking out from under the covers and he stepped a little closer until he was at the side of the bed. Sam was lying on his back, one leg bent and the other flat against the mattress. His right hand was resting on the pillow beside his face, fingers slightly curled. His hair was spread out on the pillow and his face was slack and relaxed. Jack took the opportunity to stare at Sam, at how unguarded he was. Whenever Sam was awake he always had this tension in him, his attention on Jack even when he wasn't looking at him directly, like he thought Jack was going to do something if he let his guard down.
"Sam," Jack repeated. He touched his fingers to Sam's shoulder and shook him slightly. There was no response, and so he shook him more strongly. Sam's head rocked side to side but he just sighed and didn't wake up.
Jack straightened up, his eyes moving across the room. Sam's room was plain—entirely unlike the motel room with its explosion of color and texture—and tidy, everything put away except a book and a small bottle on the bedside table. Jack picked up the bottle, shook it gently to watch the white tablets inside shake, but the label didn't help him understand what the tablets were for. The book’s title read 'The Drama of the Gifted Child' and it looked like it might be interesting—Jack didn't know much about children, but he didn't want to read right now.
Jack bent over the bed again and shook Sam by his shoulder.
"Sam? Wake up. Sam?"
Sam's brow creased and he haphazardly reached his hand out, slapping Jack on the arm. He mumbled something and gripped Jack's arm for a second before letting go, his fingers brushing down Jack's forearm until it rested in his open hand. Jack waited but Sam didn't do anything else. He left Sam's hand there, the contact felt nice. He'd seen people do this—children gripping their parents' hands, and young men and women swinging their hands together while walking.
The bent over position Jack was holding was starting to feel uncomfortable, and he crawled onto the bed, crossing his legs. He laced his fingers with Sam's and smiled.
He scooted forwards a little.
"Sam," he whispered. It was pointless talking. He was sure now that Sam wasn't going to hear him, wasn't going to wake up. He did anyway. "Can I stay here? While you sleep?"
He watched closely but Sam's expression didn't change, his face remaining smooth and relaxed.
Jack settled down on his side, keeping their hands clasped, and pulled the covers over them both, their faces close together. His eyes darted all over Sam's face, taking the first opportunity he'd had to look at Sam, at anyone, that close up. The tiny moles dotting Sam's face, the shades of brown in his hair splayed across the pillow, the delicate brush of each individual eyelash.
Then he shuffled closer, and he must have jerked Sam's arm, because Sam's brows creased together in a frown, before he turned over on his side, tugging on Jack's arm and pulling Jack right next to him. Sam's free arm flopped over Jack's shoulders as he shifted his body until he settled into the new position.
Jack froze. He was held close to Sam, his nose almost touching Sam's throat, hair brushing Sam's chin. Sam's arm was heavy round his shoulders. This was—it was only one arm but this was a hug, wasn't it? He carefully threaded his other arm underneath Sam's, resting it over Sam's waist. He moved in until their bodies were touching from top to bottom. A real hug.
He'd never been this close to another person. It felt like the space between his body and Sam's was electrified. He swallowed, his cheeks feeling hot. He wondered if his mom would have held him like this. She never would now. He closed his eyes and pretended that he was Sam's son. Sam, who always reassured him that he was good, but still looked at him warily. But if he was Sam's son, he would look at Jack with the same love he'd felt from his mother. Sam wouldn't doubt Jack; he'd just know that Jack was good.
He wanted it to be real. No-one touched him like this in the day. Like this, he couldn't sense any guards around Sam, he was completely open.
He moved his hand up, splaying his fingers against Sam's wide back, and nudged in closer until they were pressed together from chest to crotch. The contact felt so good. He didn't know how to describe it—it was completely new. He felt secure and safe, the feelings coiling in his stomach and building up until he just had to tighten his arms, squeezing Sam to him.
He pressed a smile into the hollow of Sam's throat. He knew he was bad. He should be dead. But this, here, it just felt good. Holding and being held like this—he felt like he could be good.
There was something pressed against his stomach: long and solid. Jack shifted from side to side experimentally, feeling it roll against his abdominal muscles, and realized it must be Sam's penis. Jack's dick was starting to harden, rising upwards as blood rushed to it. This had only happened a couple of times before, when he'd woken up. He never did anything, just waited till it went down. But this time he pushed back, his stiff dick pressed against Sam's thigh.
It felt good. The wide sturdy form of Sam's thigh against his crotch was comfortable and reassuring. He hooked one leg over Sam's calf, the other pushing further between Sam's legs, and that was an even better angle. That strange ache built up inside of him as he lay still. It was different to when he woke up like this; now, with Sam's thigh between his legs, he felt an almost unbearable urge to do something, to see where this feeling was leading him.
He squirmed in even closer, squeezing his muscles around Sam's leg, and there was an answering burst of pleasure, undiluted and pure. His mouth dropped open and a noise escaped him. He rolled his hips, his hard cock rubbing against Sam's thigh, and he felt it again. He kept moving and that wonderful warm feeling built and built, electricity setting his nerves on fire.
The bed springs were squeaking as he jerked his hips, riding Sam's thigh and clutching at his shoulders. His gasps sounded loud in the dark.
"S-Sam...!"
He couldn't control it, that ache in him needed to be fulfilled. Things were getting wet and slippery but he didn't stop to see what it was, couldn't stop. Everything was tensing up, as he continued rubbing against Sam, taking his pleasure in that wonderful friction. He'd never felt anything like this before. He needed this to never stop, needed Sam's body. Everything narrowed down to Sam, and how good his body felt against Jack’s, his hard physicality, and oh please, mother, oh oh Sam—
He bucked as the ecstasy came to a head, grinding shakily as stars burst behind his eyes, feeling like he was emptying his soul through his dick.
The intense pleasure slowly drained out of him, leaving an exhausted glow. He let go of Sam's shoulders and pushed himself away, getting his sensitive crotch out of contact. He lay on his back and laid his hands on his stomach, breathing heavily. His underwear felt wet and sticky.
A smile cracked his face and he laughed, once.
"Sam, I don't know what just happened," he said.
He turned his head and looked at Sam's sleeping face. He couldn't stop smiling. It was the best thing he'd ever experienced. Better than nougat. Better than watching Clone Wars. Better than the hug he'd gotten from Mia.
He lay there for a while, enjoying the lingering tingling, the way his over-sensitized cock brushed against the material of his underwear every time he breathed—painful but somehow good. His breathing slowed and his body relaxed as he let himself feel everything.
It was morning when he slipped out of bed and back to his own bedroom. His pajama pants were stuck to his crotch with gloopy white stuff, and several hairs ripped off when he pulled the pants off. He grabbed another pair and slid them on before walking to the bathroom for a shower, dropping the old pants in the laundry basket on the way like Sam had taught him.
The water was hot and felt good as it beat down on his body. He took his time, washing everywhere and using Sam's shampoo and conditioner on his hair, until the room was full of steam. He wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped part of the mirror clear before he shaved, moisturized, and brushed his teeth. Finally, he combed his hair carefully to the side.
The warm feelings flooded him when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast. Dean was leaning against the kitchen counter and Sam was sitting at the table, a newspaper and coffee in front of him. He looked radiant—hair tucked behind his ears as he read, long legs stretched out in front of him.
"Sam!" said Jack, a grin splitting his face. He headed straight for Sam and dropped into his lap, legs open around Sam's torso.
"Jesus!" exclaimed Sam, and suddenly Jack was upended to the floor as Sam jumped up.
"What the fuck?" said Dean, straightening up.
Something gripped Jack's heart and strangled it. Everything in him was cold.
"What was that?" Dean demanded.
Jack opened and shut his mouth once, before he said in a tiny voice, "I'm sorry."
Sam appeared to be trying to control his breathing. "No, I'm sorry. You just … surprised me."
"You sat on Sam's lap," said Dean slowly.
"I'm sorry," said Jack again. "Is that rude?"
Dean touched the tips of his fingers to his temples, closed his eyes briefly, then pulled his hands away, his palms opened and raised upwards like he was searching for something.
"It's fucking weird," he said.
Sam took a step forward, extended his hand, and helped Jack stand up. "It's a little … it's not something most people do. Not unless they're..." he started to say then appeared to change his mind. "Yeah, you shouldn't really do it."
Jack nodded. His eyes felt tight and hot and he wanted to leave, but Sam had already poured him out a cup of coffee. He sat at the table and didn't say a word until he'd finished his coffee and eaten the cream cheese bagel.
"We're going into town," said Sam.
Jack nodded.
"We'll just get some groceries. You can come or—"
Jack shook his head quickly.
"All right."
Jack stood up, taking his plate and cup to the sink and starting to wash it. He kept his back turned, listening to Sam and Dean get ready, and waved his hand when Sam said goodbye, not moving until he heard them walk away and the door of the bunker slam closed.
*
He kept his distance from Sam after that. He didn't understand, but he'd done something wrong. Some people could touch Sam like that but not him. Maybe he'd been doing it wrong all along but no-one ever told him until now.
No-one ever touched him, he realized. Maybe he was wrong, like Dean said, and no-one wanted to. Maybe his mom wouldn't have wanted to touch him either, if she'd lived.
The thought made him want to cry, and so he did—alone in his bedroom at night while everyone else slept.
A few days later he was sitting in the library, trying to concentrate on a book on Hauntings, when Sam walked in and cleared his throat. Jack stood up and looked at him with wide eyes.
"Hey Jack. Look, uh … I didn't mean to freak you out before. Hey, it's okay—" Jack didn't know what his face was doing but Sam looked alarmed. Sam stepped forward, and then his arms were around Jack.
Jack froze. Sam patted him on the back, and he melted. His arms came up and he leaned into Sam's warmth, his strong body. He closed his eyes and let himself be embraced.
"This is okay?" he asked after a moment.
There was a soft puff of air in his hair as Sam exhaled.
"Yeah, this is okay," he said.
Jack smiled.
He let himself touch Sam after that, shyly coming for a hug in the mornings, and before Sam and Dean went out, and when they came back. As often as he could. Dean glowered at him sometimes and he didn't really know why. Maybe he was doing it the wrong amount? But Sam didn't say no and it felt good, so he closed his eyes and ears to Dean's glares and mutterings.
His worries gradually eased, and then he dared to go back to Sam at night.
He closed the door quietly behind himself. Sam was lying on his stomach, hand underneath his pillow and hair covering his face. Jack sat down gingerly on the bed. Sam stirred and he panicked. Something in him reached out—he felt Sam's half-asleep mind, his growing alarm—and he soothed it, felt it settle down. Sam's breathing slowed down as his mind quietened.
Jack stared, his heart racing.
"Sam?" he whispered. "Sam?"
There was no answer. He reached out, touched his hand to Sam's mouth and neck. He was still breathing. He was still alive. He was just asleep, like the other night.
Jack hadn't known he could do that.
He hadn't even thought about what he was doing. It had just happened, like blinking or breathing. And maybe he could have hurt Sam just as easily.
He crawled in beside Sam, cuddled in as close as he could, feeling shaken. He tucked his arm beside Sam and the other around Sam's broad back, feeling Sam's body move as he breathed. He felt the steady rhythm of it for a long time, and gradually his alarm started to fade. Sam was fine; he hadn't hurt him.
But he didn't wake him. He'd felt Sam's alarm. Sam had been going to yell at him. Maybe. Or maybe he would have woken up, smiled at Jack, and drawn him in, held him tight against his body.
Jack didn't want to know which it would have been.
He brushed Sam's hair back, tucked it behind his ear. The sight of Sam's peaceful face made him feel calmer. He pushed back his lingering fear, and indulged in their closeness.
He tucked his nose into Sam's neck. His skin smelled clean and fresh. His body was like a radiator against Jack's. It was different to the hugs he got in the daytime. He would spend an hour holding on to Sam if he could, but Sam always stepped back after a few seconds. Sam wasn't saying no now, and after a while Jack started to feel strange.
He felt heated, a restlessness under his skin that urged him to move. He did—pressed in close, his thighs opening like last time and there it was again. That wonderful feeling down there, better than anything he'd ever felt in his life.
He humped against Sam's hip, his fingers clawing at Sam's top as he tried to get traction. It was awkward in this position, and he pulled himself further up, until he was on top of Sam. His knee pressed between Sam's legs and then his cock slid across the tight curve of Sam's ass, before slipping into the dip.
A high sound escaped him. Even with the fabric of their pajamas in the way it was almost too much. His hips rutted into the snug crack, his body folding over Sam's back, and he panted as his body moved without his control. He pushed his other knee between Sam's legs, parting them to let him press closer in.
His hands gripped tightly onto Sam's shoulder, feeling the tacky warmth of his skin and the thought hit him—how much better would this feel if there were no pajamas in the way? If his cock could slide between Sam's ass cheeks, his wetness gliding the way, skin slicking together—
He grunted, body spasming as it hit him, pleasure peaking and spurting from him. He gasped as it drained from him, shaking as he lay across Sam's back. A beautiful feeling of contentment washed over him, and he pushed himself off Sam, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He laughed, feeling giddy, and then pulled in close to Sam, hugging him tightly before letting go.
It was good. It was the best thing ever. And he had it with Sam, whatever it was.
"Thank you, Sam," he said.
He lay there for a moment, before remembering what had happened the last time with the white mess in his pajama pants. He left for his room, stripped his pants and put them in the laundry before collapsing in his own bed, relaxed and content and slipping into sleep straight away.
He smiled at Sam and Dean the next morning, answering happily that he slept well when Sam asked.
The next night he held Sam asleep and stripped them both. Sam's cock was big, bigger than his own, lying flaccid against his thigh. He pushed Sam onto his back, wanting to get a better look at it.
It felt soft when he touched it, the skin so delicate compared to other parts of his body. But when he tentatively circled his fingers around the length it was hard underneath, solid in his grip. He could feel a faint, barely-there scar underneath the head, and he traced it gently, wondering what it was from. He looked down at his own cock, comparing them.
He didn't have a scar—skin smoothing to the end of his dick unlike Sam. But when he tugged at the skin he could pull it back, revealing a round head like Sam's. His cock was starting to stiffen at his curious attentions but he held back, wanting to explore more.
He traced the shape of Sam's dick—the ridge under the head, the indented hole at the tip. His fingers drifted down, feeling the long length, the thickness, and the slight curve of it. There was an unruly bush of hair at the base of it, and he combed his fingers through it. It was thicker and curlier than Sam's hair on his head.
Below Sam's cock was his soft sack. He was careful as he touched, feeling two hard balls moving underneath the skin, twitching in response. He trailed his fingers away and then realized Sam was half-hard, cock curving upwards from his belly.
Jack's mouth felt dry as he curled his hand back around Sam's cock. He shuffled in, sitting on Sam's lap as he got closer. He held his cock next to Sam's, squeezed them together, one hand struggling to hold them both. His balls pressed against Sam's, the softest of skin against his own.
Sam's cock stiffened even more next to his own, growing until it stood tall and proud, towering over his own. He brought his other hand in, gripping their cocks in both his hands. His dick looked almost painful, hard and flushed red, his foreskin pulled back as it strained upwards.
He jerked forward, cock moving just slightly between his hands. It wasn't the same angle as he'd done before, not as good with nothing to rut against. It took him a second to realize he could move his hands instead.
The first rubbing motion almost made him yell. It was intense, with only the skin of his hand and Sam's length against him, nothing else in the way. He moved his hands again, pulling up and then down. Sam's cock was big, and his fingers tickled the head of his own cock as he moved his hands higher, all the way up to the tip of Sam's cock.
He jerked his hands up and down, their cocks sliding through the curl of his fingers, pressed tightly together. The friction was delicious, and he squeezed his hands harder, making his vision briefly white out. He blinked, gaze transfixed as a tiny drip of liquid squeezed from the head of Sam's hard cock, slicking his grip.
His legs tightened around Sam's hips. His mouth was open, somehow unable to get enough air in through his nose. His movements were loud in the quiet room—a wet slick-slick-slick and a hard slap as his hands bounced up and down around their cocks.
He was getting close, his hands rubbing pleasure out of him, squeezing him against Sam's hard length. He moved even faster—Sam's cock twitched under his fingers, and a creamy liquid spurted all over his hands. His hands clenched, sudden slickness gliding the way, and then he was coming too, wetness everywhere, mixing together until he didn't know what was Sam's and what was his own.
The high was extreme this time, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as the pleasure fizzed through him. He stared in amazement at the mess all over his hands, their cocks, his thighs. His cramping hands released, and his cock drooped, Sam's cock falling back onto his belly, the stiffness having left both of them.
He lifted his hands, goop dripping from them and then brought one finger to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste it. It was salty and strange but he licked his finger clean. It felt like this was proof somehow, of his love for Sam. It came out when he felt like this, when he felt good, when he felt close to Sam.
Sam's cheeks were pink, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He still slept but Jack was struck by the urge to wake him up, to ask him what this was, what had they done together.
Then the memory intruded of Jack's shame when Sam had pushed him off his lap.
He sat up, his heart lurching unpleasantly. He didn't know. He didn't know if this was good or bad. It felt good but he got so much wrong. He did weird, wrong things and maybe this was one of them too.
But he didn't want to give it up.
He stood up, grabbed his pajama pants and mopped up the mess on himself and Sam. He pulled Sam's clothes back onto him and pushed him back into the position he'd been in when Jack had come into the room.
He padded back to his room, dropping off his clothes in the laundry bin before falling asleep in his own bed.
He smiled at Sam the next morning, and even smiled at Dean. He felt good, and even the prospect of a lonely day with strained interactions and frightening threats from Dean couldn't dent it, because he knew that in the quiet dark alone hours he could have this wonderful thing with Sam again.
Dean didn't smile back, narrowing his eyes and nudging Sam, clearing his throat loudly.
"Uh, Jack." Sam’s mouth made a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Come here a sec."
Jack’s heart skipped a beat, suddenly worried what Sam’s expression might mean. Did Jack do something wrong again? Did Sam know what he’d done last night? He followed Sam nervously into the library, where Sam pulled out two chairs for them in front of his laptop. Jack sat down, mimicking Sam's posture sat across from him.
"Things must be … strange and new to you. Especially with your body. Right?"
"Yeah," said Jack, surprised. How had Sam known?
Sam tapped the touchpad of the laptop, activating the screen. "You remember how to use the internet?"
Jack nodded, leaning over to look. Large text on the screen proclaimed, "Everything you wanted to know about bodies!", with an illustration of a naked man.
"This is a good place to start," said Sam. "Read it, have a look around the rest of the website and ask me any questions afterwards."
Jack was already scrolling down the page, eyes scanning from side to side. There were diagrams, pictures, answers to questions he hadn't even realized he'd had. And not about ghosts or vampires or things he'd never seen. It was about himself.
"All right?"
Jack looked up, realizing he'd forgotten Sam was still there.
"Yes," he said, and smiled. "Thank you, Sam. This looks very useful."
Hours slipped by without him realizing. Every page had links to so many more articles, so many things to find out, so many things he hadn't known. Some of it didn't match his experience. The website talked about changes like growing hair in new places, or your voice getting lower, but he'd never had that change. He'd been born in an adult body already.
But then he reached the part of the website about Sex. He finally had a word for what he'd experienced with Sam. He knew why his penis got stiff, what the stuff was that came out of it, why it felt so good.
And there was so much more that he hadn't experienced. People could do it by themselves, they could use their mouths on each other, they could put themselves inside the other person.
He gripped his thigh tightly, his body thrumming with excitement. He wanted someone here to share these new discoveries. He wanted to yell for Sam, he wanted his father Castiel to be here, so he could tell them all about these cool things, these amazing things he'd never known about.
He clicked more links, following threads to even more information. And he realized that some of the pages were answers to real questions people had asked. Maybe they would answer his questions too.
The pages started to talk about relationships, about boyfriends and girlfriends and things they would do together. His eyes scanned across the screen as he clicked through more. The word consent was appearing more and more.
His stomach felt heavy, like there was a stone sitting inside him.
He couldn't stop reading, each story more horrible than the last. His body felt frozen and his throat stuck painfully each time he swallowed. His finger clicked the touchpad automatically, through to more linked pages.
He didn't. He hadn't. It couldn't have been wrong. It had felt good. He'd thought it was good—
Lightning flashed in front of him with a loud bang. He flinched, kicking his chair as he jumped back, shading his eyes.
When he lowered his arms the laptop was smoking, the screen black and cracked.
Something was writhing inside him, tearing him up, like he was going to explode from the inside. He could barely keep it contained as he walked out of the library, down to the dungeons, where he knew they kept the weapons.
He grabbed the nearest blade in reach, a long curved machete, and forced it through his chest. It slid past his ribs, splitting muscle, and he pulled it back and stabbed it in again. And again. It hurt but as soon as he pulled it out he felt his body reform again, as good as new. He needed to hurt himself like he’d hurt Sam but nothing worked.
He slashed at himself with a yell. He hacked at his arm, the arm that had hurt Sam, desperate to cut it up and maim it. He needed to make himself useless, powerless, dead.
But his body resisted. Any wounds healed over as soon as they were opened, the flow of blood stopping before it was barely noticeable.
He turned the blade to his face now, slicing his neck, maybe if he cut his head off like a vampire—
"Jack!"
Jack froze, his arm trembling. He turned, saw Sam standing at the door, his face horrified.
"Sam—" His voice caught.
Sam rushed forward, pulling the machete from Jack's limp hands and tossed it to the corner of the room. He patted Jack frantically, feeling for wounds.
"Sam, I'm bad." Jack found his hands gathered up in Sam's, and he didn’t pull away even though he knew he should.
"I'm bad, I'm evil, like Dean said. And I tried to—I tried to, but it doesn't work. I can't kill myself, I can't do it. Sam, please."
"Jack, what, no." Sam's voice was hoarse, his eyes panicked.
"I'm bad," Jack said again, feeling tears slip down his face.
"You're not." Sam's hands came up, cradling Jack's face. "Listen to me. I know you're not."
Jack barely heard him, the words failing to penetrate the thick barrier of self-loathing and guilt. He shook his head.
"I don't want to be evil."
Sam pulled him forward, and Jack was embraced, face pressed up against Sam's chest, arms holding him tight. He pressed in, soaking up the comfort he didn't deserve.
"Lucifer, your birth, your powers, none of it makes you evil. You understand? Your mom didn't think you were evil. And I don't think you're evil either."
Jack shivered, and clung back. Sam's hands stroked his back, rocking them gently as Jack cried.
Jack's eyes were dry and scratchy by the time the tears dried up. He stood there limply as Sam pulled back, brushing his hair from his face.
"Are you okay?" said Sam gently.
Jack nodded hesitantly.
"What was that all about?"
Jack shook his head wildly.
A pause and Sam said, "Okay." He put his arm around Jack's shoulder. "Let's get you a hot drink."
Jack let himself be led out, his whole being drained and exhausted. Sam's embrace was steady and heavy. Somehow Sam believed in him. It should have been a comfort, but instead it felt like a chain dragging him down. If Sam knew what he'd done…
He couldn't tell him. He just needed to stop it. He just needed to be good and Sam would keep liking him. And maybe one day, Sam would love him.
*
Jack tried his best to be good after that. When Sam asked him to practice controlling his powers again he managed to lift the pencil a little bit. Sam gave him a proud smile and Jack desperately soaked in the tiny bit of affirmation.
That night he slipped his pillow between his legs and humped it into the mattress, clenching his teeth around his moans as he remembered Sam's smile. He came but when the high faded he was left sticky and uncomfortable and alone.
He hugged Sam the next morning but he couldn't hold on for long enough. Sam pulled away after several seconds, patting him on the back.
He still wanted it. Even though he knew it was a bad thing.
*
"How long are we gonna keep up this happy family bullshit?"
Dean's voice. Jack paused, standing around the corner of the corridor into the bunker's main room.
"Dean." A sigh from Sam. "We're all he has."
"Fuck that. We're not raising a baby. We're trying to keep a ticking time bomb from going off."
"Someone has to look after him."
"And it has to be us? I know you like to pretend you can save him—"
"I'm not pretending."
"—But I know you. You're terrified of him. He's got Lucifer's blood in him. It's only a matter of time before he snaps and kills us all."
"Dean—"
Jack was already moving, turning and walking back further into the bunker, Sam's reply lost in the pounding of blood in his ears. Eventually he sank to the floor of some dusty corridor, wrapping his arms around his knees.
Maybe this was why he hadn't been able to stop the evil thoughts. Why nothing he did was good enough. Maybe he'd always been evil. He'd killed his mom before he'd even been born and now he'd hurt Sam, still wanted to keep hurting Sam.
Maybe there was no point in fighting it. He couldn't win.
"Jack?"
Jack looked up. Sam was standing in front of him, dressed in his loose sleepwear. Somehow, Jack had lost track of the time.
"Time for bed."
Jack nodded. Sam stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder, making him rock a little with the force. His hand pushed forward a little and Jack went with it, walking down the hallway with Sam.
"You're okay," said Sam.
Jack looked at him quizzically. They'd reached the door of Jack's room. Sam gave him a smile, and for the first time Jack noticed that it seemed strained..
"I'll see you in the morning."
His hand dropped away and he left Jack.
Jack wandered slowly into his room and sat down on the bed. He wasn't tired. The clock on his bedside table moved through the hours quietly, its eerie fluorescent glow the only light in the room. He picked up the pillow and hugged it, closing his eyes, pretending he could feel warm skin, a heartbeat. He wanted someone. He wanted Sam.
3 am.
He stood up, dropping the pillow, and left the room, closing the door behind him. It was dark and silent outside as he tiptoed across the corridor to Sam's room.
He stared at the door for a few seconds before opening it.
He slipped quietly inside.