They find him in an alley, his body unceremoniously dumped on the damp ground. A few strands of dirty blonde hair cover his eyes, and he is still.
Sam’s in shock, and he freezes; he can’t moved, rooted to the spot - - and it’s like Dean understands that, and springs into action immediately.
He sprints to the place where Jack lays, dropping down onto his knees, his hands shaking. “Jack,” he says, and he thinks he’s speaking at a normal level, but it comes out as no more than a whisper. He clears his throat, tries again. “Jack!”
Sam watches in horror, the blood drained from his face. He manages three shaky steps forward.
Dean swallows hard, and finally, very slowly, presses his fingers to Jack’s throat...and is surprised - and relieved - to find a strong, steady pulse. “He’s just knocked out,” he manages, his voice wavering. “He’s alive, Sammy.”
Sam nearly collapses on the ground as the panic that had taken a rigid hold of him finally subsides. “Alive?”
Dean brushes Jack’s hair out of his eyes, and quickly assesses him for injuries. He doesn’t appear to be bleeding; just out cold. Carefully, he slides his arms under Jack’s body, and lifts him, rising with his limp form, bridal style.
“Come on,” he says to Sam, “let’s get him back to the bunker.”
-
They both keep watch over him; Sam refuses to leave, and Dean refuses to leave Sam. At about 2:00 AM, Jack finally stirs.
He tries to sit up, blinking in confusion.
Dean presses a hand to his chest. “Easy, kid,” he says soothingly, using that same voice he used to use on Sam. “C’mon, take it easy.”
Jack looks at him, his face tense with fear, seemingly ready to bolt.
“Hey,” Sam murmurs, and he reaches across to grab Jack’s wrist, rubbing his thumb over his skin. “Hey, don’t be scared. We’re not going to hurt you. And you’re safe, okay? We’re not mad.”
Jack’s face crumples, his shoulders shaking. He’s crying.
“Hey, hey.” Dean’s closer, so he wraps Jack into his arms, holding him close.”It’s okay.”
Sam doesn’t let go of his hand, and eventually he, too, hugs Jack, whispering softly into his ear.
-
Turns out, someone mugged the kid. That’s it - - and when the perpetrator saw that he didn’t have any cash, cards, or valuables...he unleashed his anger, and beat him unconscious. Fear had stunted Jack’s powers, and he just just had to take it until the sweet bliss of forced sleep overcame him.
Sam’s gut turns. So, nothing supernatural, then - - just people, being awful. “I know we’re not your favorite people,” he says, and he’s sitting beside Jack, one hand on his arm. “But you can’t do that again. You can’t run away. You have power, yes, but...you’re still vulnerable. We - we don’t want anything to happen to you, Jack - and next time, it could be worse.”
Jack nods, his crying down to just sniffling, now. “I’m sorry. His voice is ragged.
“It’s okay,” Dean replies, rubbing Jack’s shoulder. “We’re just - we’re glad you’re safe. Me, Sam, Cas...we’ve been worried sick.” In his mind, he’s already killed Jack’s attacker in five different ways.Â
“Get some rest,” Sam finally says, and he moves to stand.
Jack latches onto his wrist. “Stay. Please?” His eyes are wide, fearful.
Dean gives a slow, barely imperceptible nod to Sam.
Sam swallows thickly. “Of course.” He turns, and easily, he envelops Jack in the wide space of his arms, holding him like a child.
The kid’s asleep in an instant.
Dean stands up. “I’ll go make us something, okay?” He moves past Sam, squeezing his shoulder gently, as if to say, See - everything’s okay now.Â
Sam grabs Dean’s hand, suddenly, and it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
Dean stares at him, his gaze intense. “Sammy?”Â
Sam brushes his lips across Dean’s knuckles, and then lets go, his face warm.
There’s a moment of quiet, and then a hint of a smile ghosts across Dean’s lips. “Yeah,” he whispers, “me, too.”
He disappears from the room, and Sam’s left to contemplate Dean’s words while the solid presence of Jack grounds him.
