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Dean had point blank refused to let Jack come on any hunts with them. Which Sam could understand; no one needed spontaneous bursts of raw angelic power when they were trying to save lives. But that did make actual hunting a lot harder since they had to do all the ground work research they could from the safety of the bunker.
It was when they were investigating a string of bloody murdered in a small town outside Oregon that Jack turned up in the doorway to the library in bare feet and with an earnest look on his face.
“I’d like to help.”
Dean took one look at the kid and opened his mouth but Sam got in there before Dean could cut the Jack down.
“Sure you can Jack. Pull up a chair.” It wouldn’t do any harm to have another pair of eyes reading over the lore. Sam kicked the chair opposite him out from under the table and nodded for the kid to take a seat. Tentatively, with sidelong glances at Dean’s cloudy face, Jack stepped into the room and lowered himself into the proffered chair.
Sam swivelled the book he was reading around on the wooden table top and slide it over in front of Jack. “Read this,” he said before standing and grabbing a yellow legal pad and pencil from the drawers behind him. “Make a note of every mention of sacrificial lore. Anything that mentions alters, goat’s blood or ritualistic killings. When you’re done we will go through the pages together and see if anything fits.”
Jack accepted the notepad and pencil with a grateful smile that Sam couldn’t help but return.
They read in companionable silence for a while, only the sounds of Jack scratching away in pencil on his notepad permeated the air.
When Sam’s back started to cramp up from being sat in one place for too long he leant back in his chair, twisting in his seat and arching his back until he felt the satisfying pop of his spine, earning himself a muttered whine of “Dude”, from Dean. With a satisfied sigh Sam settled back down into his chair and glanced over at Jack.
The boy’s face was drawn into a solemn frown of concentration as he read over the ancient text in front of him. Reading was obviously something else Kelly had passed on to Jack as his eyes scanned over the text on the page quickly and proficiently. The pencil lay discarded on the yellow paper for the moment as Jack scanned the pages for anything relevant. He looked the picture of concentration though he seemed to be fidgeting. When Sam looked closer he noticed that Jack had his hands clasped tightly together on his lap just below the edge of the table and he was prodding at his palm, digging his thumb into the fleshy inner side of his hand.
“Jack,” Sam called, breaking the boy out of his contemplative stare on the book. “Your hand ok?” he asked nodding to where the boy was still cradling his palm. Dean looked up from his own book to frown at them.
“Yes it's fine,” Jack responded easily, his eyes clear and wide. “Why?”
“You keep rubbing it. Did you hurt yourself?”
“Oh no. I'm just thinking.”
Sam looked at Jack’s open face for a while, trying to see if there was any hint of deception or avoidance. But it seemed that the mimicry of Dean’s behaviour hadn’t expended to downplaying injuries just yet. With a nod Sam leant back in his chair with his book sharing a quick glance with Dean before he buried his nose in its pages once again.
--
Later that evening, when Sam had gone to wash his hair or whatever, Dean was left alone in the library with Jack. Dean didn’t really need to be in the library and would have preferred to be curled up on his bed watching TV right about now but Jack was still sat there at the table pouring over any book Sam had out in front of him.
And as uncomfortable as Dean felt with the son of Satan he felt more uncomfortable leaving the little critter unsupervised in their top secret Bunker.
So there Dean sat clicking through tabs on his laptop, a glass of whisky in hand and keeping one eye firmly on the boy.
After Sam had first pointed it out Dean couldn’t help but notice Jack fiddling about with his palm. He seemed to do it for a few moments every time he was about to write something down. And from following his eyes tracking the page Dean deduced that it happened whenever he was re-reading something.
“You're doing it again,” Dean blurted out when he noticed the kid pressing his thumb into his palm the next time. He hadn’t meant to say anything but maybe the whisky and constant adrenaline running through his veins had made an effect on his brain to mouth connection.
Jack blinked up at him from the book, his pupils altering to suit the change in light and distance. “What?” the boy asked, ever polite.
“The hand thing,“ Dean grunted gesturing to the kids clasped hands with his tumbler. “It's like you're trying to shove your thumb through your palm.”
Jack frowned down at his clasped hands and then up at Dean, as if it was Dean that was being odd. “Yes,” he answered slowly. “I was thinking.”
“Right,” Dean drawled taking a sip of his drink. “And that involves self-mutilation? Quit it would ya?”
With that dismissal Dean went back to his computer, idly flicking through the local news reports.
“Sorry,” Dean heard Jack mutter, still sounding confused. “Did... it's what Sam does. When he's thinking.”
It took a few moments for that statement to filter through Deans half drunk and distracted mind but when it did he felt the familiar sensation of ice trickle into his chest constricting his heart.
Jack had been mimicking his actions, trying to figure out how a human should sit, eat and drink. Sam had found it hilarious. Dean had found it annoying. But apparently he had also been watching Sam.
“He's not thinking,” Dean said without looking up from the screen.
“What do you mean?”
“When he is doing that with his hand,“ Dean clarified. Dean could feel Jack’s intense stare on him but couldn’t look up and meet it. Instead he stared at the words on his screen not understanding or taking in a single one of them. “He isn't thinking. He's... he doesn't realise he is doing it so just... don't.”
“Oh,” Jack mumbled and Dean hoped that the kid left it there but since when was Dean Winchester ever that lucky. “What is he doing then?” Jack asked.
Dean heard him but really didn’t want to be having this conversation period, let alone with the son of the asshat angel that caused this problem in the first fucking place. So instead he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the laptop and tried to get the wobbling words on the screen to make sense.
“When he is pressing his palm,” Jack continued not heeding Dean’s silent warnings to let it go. “You said he isn't thinking but he looks like he is.”
“Why don't ask your dear dad that now quit asking questions and read the lore,” Dean snapped angrily. He looked up long enough to see Jack’s open face morph into his typical face of sandess mixed with confusion. Cursing internally Dean turned back to the screen but after a few minutes of re reading the same sentence Dean swore and shoved himself violently away from the desk.
“Screw this,” he muttered without a backwards glance, “I’m going out.”
--
Sam walked back into the library a little while later, his damp hair pushed away from his face, to see Jack in exactly the same place he had left him hunched over a book. But glancing around there was no sign of Dean.
“Where's Dean?” Sam asked as he padded into the room.
Jack glanced up at his entrance. “He went out. I think I upset him.”
Sam titled his head and looked down at the boy. “What makes you think that?”
“I... asked him a question that I don't think I was supposed to.” Jack dipped his head hiding his eyes. “He got angry and then he left.”
Sam frowned as he came forward, taking the empty seat next to Jack’s. Sam just couldn’t understand why Dean could think the kid was evil and beyond help, not when a simple misunderstanding made him seem so small and young. Softening his voice Sam dipped his head, trying to catch Jack’s eyes. “What did you ask him?”
“I asked him why you squeeze your hand when you are thinking.”
It shouldn’t have felt like a punch in the gut but it did. All the air left Sam’s lungs at once and he grimaced, trying to keep a tight control over his face.
“I... Uh, you noticed that?” His hand twitched, unintentionally going to press his palm but he fought the urge squeezing both hands into a fist instead to keep them still. “And what did he say?”
“That I should ask my dad,” Jack answered, now turning his wide innocent eyes on Sam. “Did he mean Lucifer?”
Sam opened his mouth. And then closed it again. What could he possibly say? Especially when Jack was looking at him with such openness as if Sam, of all people in the world, held the answers. Suddenly the weight of this responsibility and this young life felt heavy and solid on his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he answered in the end, because the truth was always the best place to start. “Yeah he did.”
“Why would Lucifer know?”
“He wouldn’t actually,” Sam answered truthfully. “He… he and I spent a long time together a few years ago. He… it wasn’t very pleasant. And when I came back I had a hard time figuring out what was real and what wasn’t. The hand… it was something that helped me figure out that I was alive and awake. That this world was real.”
“And do you still have trouble?”
“Not really. Not in the same way at least.” When Jack just looked at him with confusion in his eyes Sam took a deep breath. “I spent a long time with your dad, with Lucifer. Longer than you, or even Dean, could ever really comprehend. The reality that I had with him became my world for longer than this one will ever be,” Sam gestured around at the towering walls of books that surrounded them. “So sometimes I have to remind myself that this is real. That this is my world now.”
“So when you squeeze your hand,” Jack responded slowly as if he was trying to file the answer away in his brain, “you are reminding yourself that this world is real?”
“Exactly.” Sam smiled and patted the kid on the shoulder. His fingers were twitching now with the unconscious urge to twist into his palm but he kept the still. He needed to retreat to his room, just for a minute, to resettle himself.
“I still don’t understand,” Jack said before Sam could fully stand up from his chair. “Why would that make Dean angry?”
Sam sighed and settled back down. “You remember what I told you about Dean?” Jack nodded. “Dean thinks that it is his job to protect everyone, including me. When I was with Lucifer that was a time when Dean couldn’t protect me. And the hand… that is a reminder that there was a battle that he couldn’t fight for me. And that upsets him and frustrates him and he turns that into anger. But it isn’t anger at you so don’t worry.”
Jack frowned as he thought that over and Sam waited. Soon the kid looked up at Sam and nodded, his face solemn and earnest. “Okay,” he said.
Sam smiled and patted his shoulder again. “Don’t worry,” he said as he stood from the table. “Dean will be back later. In the meantime let’s finish this reading and I will make us some food. You hungry?”
At Jack’s enthusiastic nod Sam chuckled and retreated to the kitchen. It wasn’t until he was in the corridor walking towards the kitchen with at least four doors between him and the library that he gave into the urge and pressed hard onto his palm.
--
Later that evening, once Jack was asleep in the room he had chosen for himself, Sam was sat in the library. He had a book on ancient Sumarian rituals open in front of him but he hadn’t read any pages in a good few minutes.
The ancient whir and tinkering of the Bunkers various machines was soothing to Sam and his mind was wandering. Thoughts about this case, his day, about Jack and Dean and Cas and Mom… and Lucifer… always Lucifer… ran through his head slowly and unhurried as he tried to organise his mind.
He blamed his lack of sleep for the jolt that ran through him when a white plastic bag was dropped onto the hardwood table top in front of him. His hands flew apart from where they had been twisting together and unconsciously went for the gun under the desk. Looking up he saw Dean frown down at him before his brother’s eyes flittered away and he busied himself with taking off his jacket, folding it neatly onto the back of a chair.
“Dude,” Sam sighed, breathing deep to calm his jack knifing heart.
“I didn’t exactly sneak up on ya,” Dean growled as he threw himself into the chair opposite Sam. “You were off with the fairies.”
Sam waited until Dean had sat down and pulled the box of pie out of the bag with a fork before he broached the subject.
“Where did you go?” he asked when Dean had a chunk of pie on the way to his mouth. It was a tactic he had learnt long ago, especially when dealing with a touchy subject. It meant that Dan couldn’t respond with that first reactive retort and instead had to wait until he had chewed before he could. Normally that time was enough for Dean to swallow down his reactive and defensive anger and give a more honest answer.
Predictably Dean’s eyes frowned at Sam in obvious displeasure but he swallowed and sullenly responded, “For a drive,” with a shrug.
Sam smiled ruefully and nodded, he had thought as much. “Jack was worried that he had upset you.”
Dean snorted derisively around another mouthful of pie. “Of course he did. He is the son of Satan. His entire existence upsets me.”
Sam bit down on his immediate response to that as this was not the time, and Dean was not in the right mood for the second round of that talk. Instead he took a breath.
“He told me what you talked about. You didn’t need to take it out on him. He was just asking. It was an easy mistake for him to make.”
Dean just grunted and shovelled another forkful into his mouth. Sam shook his head and returned to his book ceding this one to his brother.
A few minutes passed with the boys sat in silence before anyone spoke again.
“I hadn’t noticed.” To Sam’s surprise it was Dean that had broken the silence. Sam looked up to see Dean frowning down at his pie as he continued. “I hadn’t really noticed that you still do that. I suppose I got so used to it that I stopped and I didn’t notice that you still… do it.”
Sam nodded and looked down at the table top. He had thought as much and to be honest he didn’t really notice he was doing it himself anymore. It was such a deep routed action that his body did it automatically now anytime he needed it.
“Do-” Dean started before stopping. Sam could see his brother try to formulate what he wanted to say before he opened his mouth again this time looking straight up into Sam’s eyes. “Do you still have trouble? With…. Reality? With Lucifer?”
Sam held back a snort because that wasn’t a fair reaction to his brother’s obvious worry for him. But he had meant what he said those years ago when he had told Dean he wondered if he would ever be alright again. Because he had come to realise in the time since that he would never be ‘OK’ by anyone’s definition. His life now was about dealing with the fact that he wasn’t OK and learning to be Ok with that.
Instead Sam looked straight back and didn’t hide his eyes like he so desperately wanted to. “Sometimes,” he answered honestly. “It has been a rough couple of years. And it hasn’t been easy with Lucifer running around topside again.” In their intense stare Sam could see Dean’s eyes sadden at that. Sam shrugged and gave into the urge to look away. “But it is always going to be hard Dean. I just have to try and find ways to deal with it. And I do.”
“Yeah you do,” Dean muttered softly. Sam risked a glance up through his hair and found Dean staring back at him, a look full of affection and pride on his face in only a way that Dean could ever do. Sam offered Dean a weak smile which Dean returned with a small nod, his own gaze going back down to his half eaten pie.
“You want a slice?” Dean asked offering the white box out to Sam. Sam saw it for what it was; Dean’s equivalent of an olive branch. Smiling Sam took the offered box while Dean stood. “I’ll go get you a fork.”
When Dean had disappeared into the halls in search of a spare fork Sam looked down to see that his thumb was digging into his palm once more. Stifling a sigh Sam pulled his hands apart and clenched them into fists. Maybe he would never be Ok. Maybe he would always be half considering that this crazy life he led was some fevered dream. But right now he had his brother, and some pie, and the rest they could figure out.