Archive of Our Own ^beta

As much as Sam hates all nighters, he's depressingly used to them. There were a few a lifetime ago in Stanford, but mostly he's accumulated them in the last five or so years. 

Tonight, he's three coffees and five false-positives deep when his midnight alarm hits. The one he set after Dean got taken and his sense of time got even more skewed. He has a facial recognition software running, scanning camera footage from any system Sam can hack into. He's waiting for the sixth ping of a potential sighting of Dean when Jack shuffles into the library. The boy’s in the pajamas that he'd been wearing when Sam had checked on him before saying their goodnights around nine. Since then, he’s wrapped himself in two of Dean's flannels. Sam would’ve guessed that Jack would have gone for the old robe Dean’s commandeered—it’s by far softer—but then he remembers that Cas has it folded at the bottom of his duffle bag. 

Sam tries not to think about the trench coat that traveled cross-country in the trunk of the Impala. 

Jack’s face is pale except for the dark coloration under his eyes, and Sam knows he hasn't been able to get to sleep yet tonight. 

"Hey buddy," Sam welcomes softly, pulling out a chair beside himself so Jack can join him. 

Jack raises his hand halfheartedly from where he still stands at the entrance of the library, but he doesn't respond with a cheery "Hello". This is what really sets Sam on edge. 

Jack's favorite human tradition is greeting others, probably because it was the first one he mastered. He loves saying "Hi" to strangers and waving at dogs. 

The fact that he isn't indulging in it now, or at least pretending to, is incredibly concerning. The second human tradition that Jack mastered was masking his emotions. Or maybe that one is just a Winchester special. 

Jack stares at, or maybe through, Sam a long time before joining him at the table. 

"What's going on?" 

Jack shrugs, slumping against the table and resting his head on top of his arms there. He's facing Sam still and from this close, he can see the glassiness of Jack's eyes. 

"Well I'm right here if you want to talk about anything," Sam promises, rubbing Jack's back comfortingly. "And you're welcome to stay as long as you want. Is it alright if I keep working?" 

Jack nods, his body relaxing further when he realizes that Sam isn't going to make him talk, and the father goes back to typing. 

Whenever he needs a moment to think or is waiting for something to load, he cards through Jack's hair or runs his fingers lightly over Jack's back. Little reminders that he's there and that he loves his son. 

Eventually, another doppelganger pings his system and Jack sits up to peer at the screen. "Is that Dean?" he asks, brow furrowed. 

"No. Just another look alike." 

"Oh." Then, without prompting, "You said I should come to you if I want to hurt myself." 

Sam's fingers freeze on the keyboard. "I did, I'm glad you chose to find me." He glances at his son out of the corner of his eye. The boy is rigid in his seat, gaze firmly on the table. 

"We can just stay here and I can keep working if you just don't want to be alone. Or we could listen to some music, watch a movie, if you want a distraction. I could make you some hot chocolate or a sandwich, or really anything.” Sam pauses, giving Jack space to respond. When he doesn’t, Sam prompts, “What would be most helpful for you right now?”

Jack fiddles with the sleeves of the outer flannel. It’s red and the button on the right cuff is barely hanging on. Usually, Dean would have fixed that by now, not that he’d ever admit to mending his (and Sam’s) clothes, but the shirt is only vaguely familiar. One he doesn’t wear much. Sam wonders why Jack chose this one over any of the others in Dean’s closet, all in stasis until they find him. 

“We could text Cas, see if he’s able to talk with us.” The angel texted a couple hours ago letting them know that he had checked into a motel outside of Detroit for the night. There’s an annual meeting of Pagan gods in Toronto the next day and Cas is aiming to get some information about Michael out of them. Sam doubts that Cas is resting and is likely preparing for the meeting in the morning. He'd be more than willing to chat with Jack. 

Still, Jack shakes his head. 

“That’s okay, we don’t have to,” Sam assures. “Do you want to talk about what’s making you feel like this tonight?” 

“I…” Jack frowns at his lap. "Dean said he'd kill me once."

Sam swallows down the bile that immediately rises in his throat. "He- what?"

"He said he'd kill me if I ever hurt anyone—which I haven't, not recently, I promise," Jack rushes to add, more concerned about Sam knowing that he hasn't hurt anyone than recounting that Dean threatened him. "But I just… Dean said he'd do it."

"He shouldn't have said that to you, Jack. And I will never let him hurt you." Anymore than he already has.

Jack shakes his head, looking frustrated, as if Sam isn't getting the point. "He told me that when he found me stabbing myself and it didn't hurt me then but I think it would hurt me now, and I know I shouldn't do it because Dean said he'd be the one to kill me, but I- I just really want to." He's crying by the end of it, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of Dean's flannel.

Sam feels frozen. He knows everyone in his family has a suicidal streak a mile long, but no one ever admits it aloud.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers when Sam doesn’t say anything. “I know I’m not supposed to hit myself and I’m not supposed to kill myself, but I don’t know how to make it all go away.”

Sam’s eyes burn and he places a hand on his kid’s back, needing the reminder that his son is still there. “Make what go away?”

“The- the…” Jack gestures broadly at his body. “I don’t know, the badness. It all feels bad.” 

The father sucks in a breath, trying to think of what to do, what to say. He’s known that Jack has been struggling since before his grace was stolen. But it’s another thing to have the boy admitting that he wants to kill himself and the only reason he hasn’t is because he thinks he doesn’t have permission. 

Maybe… coping mechanisms? Sam goes through his mental Rolodex of alternatives to self-harm, trying to remember something that would genuinely help Jack. “Let’s make some hot chocolate,” Sam suggests instead. 

“Okay,” Jack agrees, confused. He stands but instead of following his dad, he tugs on his sleeve. “Can I have a hug?” he asks quietly, as if ashamed for wanting comfort. 

“Of course, buddy. Anytime,” Sam promises, forcing a smile and pulling Jack into his arms. He rests his head on top of Jack’s, blinking away tears. He pushes as much love and care and warmth into the embrace as he can, wishing nothing more than to take the badness away from his son. 

Eventually, they part and Sam leads them into the kitchen. It’s empty, most of the refugees asleep or at least returned to their rooms for the night. They all seem to take sleeping in their assigned bed very seriously. Probably something to do with not having a safe place to rest their head for the last decade. 

Sam fills the kettle with water and places it on the stove before joining Jack at the table. “When you said before that you want to kill yourself-”

“No,” Jack interrupts, looking surprised at his father’s words. “No, I don’t- No.” He swallows and Sam gives him time to collect his thoughts. “I don’t want to kill myself. I want to- to stab myself, but I think it would kill me, which I know I’m not supposed to do.”

Some of the tension in Sam’s shoulders lessens. “Okay.” He takes a breath. “So you want to hurt yourself and you’re not sure how to do it in a safe way?”

“You told me not to hit myself.”

Finally, Sam realizes what Jack’s been trying to tell him. He’s a good kid, and will do pretty much anything his dads ask him to. He was given specific instructions not to hit himself and not to kill himself, and he’s so young that he can’t think of other ways to self-harm. Sam rests his hands over Jack’s on the table, causing the boy to look up. “I did. I- How about we think of ways that you can safely work through the badness you’re feeling?”

Jack looks so hopeful as he nods. 

The kettle whistles and Sam makes them both a cup of hot chocolate. Jack sips on his while Sam explains some of the different ideas he’d looked up before about how to manage thoughts of self-harm. There are a couple that Jack latches onto to physically replace the sensation, but mostly it comes down to not being alone with his thoughts. They make a list of who Jack can go to when Sam and Cas aren’t around—Mary, Maggie, and Bobby. They talk about challenging the guilt with reminders that he isn’t responsible for everything bad that’s happened. 

Jack is so young it hurts sometimes. Sam remembers being that alone and that scared as a kid. He remembers feeling trapped and like the source of every horrible thing that ever happened in his life. 

And he remembers Dean keeping him safe. Ruffling his hair. Teaching him how to stand tall. 

Sam is Jack’s parent and he learned from the best. 

He stays in Jack’s room until the boy falls asleep and the next night when Jack joins him in the library again, he explains how to hack into traffic cameras and why he’s picked one city over another to check next. He doesn’t ask Jack how he’s feeling because he already knows. Instead, he hugs Jack tight before the boy goes back to bed and promises them both that Jack is loved.