Title: All Work, No Play

Summary: Jack accidentally lets his powers loose around Sam. Needless to say, Dean isn't happy. Set after 13x02 "The Rising Son" Big Brother!Dean. Protective!Dean. Hurt!Sam. Scared!Guilty!Jack.

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys or the show.

Warning: Spoilers up to episode 13x02 "The Rising Son". Rated T for bad language, graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, blood loss, abandonment issues, guilt and suicidal tendencies/thoughts.

Dean was exhausted. He was soul-achingly tired and he knew that no amount of sleep or alcohol was going to fix that. He had been running on fumes for the past three days now, dreaming of Cas and Mom and Lucifer and startling awake to the sound of his own heartbreak as he relived the death of the few people he had allowed himself to get close to. His own little version of Team Free Will 2.0 and they were all gone now. Because of him.

Sam was trying to get him to talk about it, of course. But Dean's coping mechanism was on a strict timeline and he wasn't even anywhere close to the stage where a heart-to-heart or a tearful confession was in the realm of viable possibilities. Right now he was still stuck in a mixture of denial and resignation, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the only friend he's ever had was finally dead for good and that their long lost mother was stuck somewhere in Bizarro land with the devil.

Good times.

He was lying on his memory foam, trying to find some rest when he heard the crash. Shooting up in bed, his hunter instincts kicked in when he heard the ruckus coming from the library, a blast of wood followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the bunker's floor.

"Sam," Dean realized and then he was out of the bed, out of the room, running down the hallway so fast his brain could barely pick up with the speed of his movements. And that right there- that was familiar. The panic that struck every goddamn time Dean knew that his brother was in danger, that Dean might be minutes, seconds away from losing the only person he had left in the world. The only one he had ever truly had. "Sammy!"

He stumbled to a halt in the doorway between the mapping room and the library, wishing like hell that he'd possessed enough functioning brain cells to grab his gun or the angel blade or something- anything- to defend himself with. But where Sam was concerned, rationality haDd never really been his forte. As soon as his brother was in distress or in pain, Dean no longer thought with his brain. Instead, emotions took control. Not that it would have mattered. After all, the devil's spawn had made it more than obvious that he couldn't be defeated with blades and bullets.

Dean took in the scene in front of him, Jack on the floor, crouched over what appeared to be Dean's unconscious little brother, a tone of old books and notes in Sammy's neat handwriting littering the ground around them. Sam's head was angled to the side unnaturally, his brown hair falling into his closed eyes and fanning out across the hardwood floor. There was a trickle of blood on his temple, right beneath a nasty-looking gash. And that was it, Dean saw red.

"Get away from him!" he ground out, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears as he rushed forward and crouched down next to his younger brother, finally reaching Sam's sprawled out body in the middle of the library's floor.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I said get back!" Dean snapped at Jack, who had still hovered close as if he could somehow go back in time and undo whatever the hell he had done to Sam. The kid actually flinched back at that, eyes wide and – god help him – watery as he blinked down at Sam, torn between trying to make things right and listening to Dean's order. His fingers were shaking where they hovered over Sam's head and shoulder. There was blood on them from where Jack had doubtlessly tried to cradle Sam's face and Dean felt sick at the thought of having Sam anywhere near that thing when he was unconscious and unable to defend himself. "You touch him and I'll find a way to end you. And when I say end you, I mean that I'll make it stick, you hear me? Now back the hell off!"

A myriad of emotions flickered across the kid's face before he slowly, reluctantly took a step back.

Dean looked back down at his brother and reached out to check for Sam's pulse first.

"You're a dumbass," he said harshly, worry and adrenaline making his tone harsh. Sam shifted on the ground, limbs uncooperative and movements slow and uncoordinated as he blinked his eyes up at Dean, clearly dazed from the hit he had taken.

Over Dean's shoulder, Jack was still lingering close, watching in a mixture of awe and relief as Sam slowly came to again.

"I thought we were clear on the whole 'no-sudden-moves' around Rosmary's baby thing, huh? What the hell where you thinking, Sam?" Dean continued his rant as he squatted beside his brother, remembering the instant fear and panic he had felt just seconds ago when he had heard that crash, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. Dean had instantly known what had happened.

Jack was a powder keg with a short fuse. They had both agreed that they would be careful around him, that they wouldn't say or do anything that could cause another surge of uncontrolled angel power from the kid. But Jack was also a goddamn teenager and it had become pretty clear to them in the past few days that they couldn't be careful enough where the boy's emotions were concerned. Who knew Satan's son could be so sensitive? Life had a way of being ironic, sometimes.

"'t was an accident," Sam explained slowly, his voice soft and slightly slurred as he reached for his face, feeling the alarming fee flow of blood from the gash on his forehead. It had begun to slide over his temples and all the way down to his neck. Sam hissed when his fingers touched the wound, eyes scrunched close with pain.

"Don't touch it." Dean slapped Sam's hand away, decidedly ignoring the fact that the very first thing coming from his brother's lips after he got thrown into a damn bookshelf and knocked unconscious, was a defense toward his attacker. "How's your head?"

Sam was reaching for the wound again and Dean intercepted his reach, not wanting for his kid brother to assess the damage before he got a chance to do so himself. "Do you know where you are? What year it is?"

Sam shook his head and then winced as more blood drained from his laceration and pooled in the slight dip of his throat while he continued to lie on his back, his hand squirming in Dean's grasp.

"Hey. No spacing out on me, ok? I'm gonna need you to answer those questions."

"I'm good," Sam replied wryly, his voice rough and his skin pale. "No concussion."

Dean studied him for another moment before he roughly squeezed Sam's hand in a silent warning. "Stay down, okay? I'm gonna get something to stop the bleeding."

"It's not that bad," Sam tried to reassure, even when it was clear from his sluggish speech and the way he hadn't even attempted to get himself into a sitting position, that it wasn't good, either. Blood was coating half of his face at this point and Dean had a hard time looking at Sam, the rage inside of him welling when he felt Jack's unwavering gaze on him.

"I could help," Jack suggested hesitantly, approaching Dean with a hopeful look on his face. "I can—"

"Don't you think you've done enough?" Dean hissed, ignoring the look of hurt that crossed the younger man's face. Dean released Sam's wrist and with a shaky sigh, reached for Sam's blood-covered face. Sam flinched and bit his lower lip to hold back a hiss of pain. "Dean…"

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean soothed, his expert fingers smearing blood as he gently swiped a thumb over his little brother's cheek. Sam sighed shakily, relaxing into the touch and it was a clear sign of just how hurt he was to let Dean do this in front of a near-stranger.

"Sam…" a second voice rang out, approaching from the left. Dean glared warningly in Jack's direction. "Sam, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to harm you. You're my friend."

Dean's protective streak instantly flaring at Jack's words. "He's not your anything, you hear me? You two are not even the same species."

"Dean," Sam hissed out. "Stop it."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Jack, his gaze unwavering and cold. "If you wanna help, fine. Go get the first aid kit from the bathroom."

The kid blinked back at him, momentarily lost in his own guilt and Dean's hurtful words, but he seemed to recover quickly and a minute later he was gone, disappeared down the hallway in search of the med supplies.

Sam shook his head. "Why are you being like this? He's just a goddamn kid, Dean."

"He's Lucifer's kid," Dean corrected coldly. "And he just sent you crushing into a bookshelf because you startled him. Sorry I'm not rooting for Damian, there."

Sam opened his mouth – doubtlessly to protest – when his face turned suddenly even paler than before, his eyes panicked and wide as he reached for Dean, grasping his brother's flannel shirt and clenching it hard as his body was wrecked by a harsh coughing fit.

"Woah. Okay, easy, take it easy," Dean soothed, squeezing the kid's fingers where they were grasping his shirt. "Easy, Sammy. Let's sit you up, okay?"

Dean gently lifted Sam's upper body from the ground to be able to snake his arm around his brother's broad shoulders. Together, they managed to get Sam into a sitting position on the floor, just as Jack returned with the supplies. "I'm not sure if this is what you were asking for but—"

Dean snatched the first-aid kit from Jack's grasp one-handedly while still keeping a firm hold on his brother with his other one, a skill he had perfected over the years. One hand was to get the work done, the other one was for reassurance.

Sam hissed when Dean pressed clean gauze to the gash on his forehead. "S-sorry," he rasped out, when the worst of the pain had subsided, leaning into Dean's touch as his brother grasped his shoulder and steadied him where he sat.

"You're fine," Dean assured calmly, thumbing at Sam's neckline and pretending not to feel for a pulse beneath the blood-slicked skin. It was a bit rapid but still there, still steady. Good. "Just fine."

"Sam's body," Jack mused next to them, obviously eavesdropping. "It's… fragile."

Sam's sluggish gaze slid over to Jack and then back at Dean, looking equal parts upset and embarrassed. Which of course, only helped to piss Dean off. He clenched his jaw against the rage that bubbled up at the Nephilim's insensitive words and the resulting expression on Sam's face. The hunter in him wanted to kick the kid's ass for quite literally adding insult to injury, but the older brother in him knew that taking care of Sam was more important at the moment.

"It's called being human, jackass," Dean snapped. "Not all of us can get knifed thirty times and walk away from that without a damn scratch. More proof to the point that you're a freak."

"Dean," Sam panted, sounding angry himself now. "That's enough."

Dean clenched his jaw and told himself that he needed to reign it in. Not because of the way the kid looked at him- like he had just killed his freaking puppy or something, but because of Sam.

After several minutes, Dean let out a measured, controlled breath and removed the blood-soaked gauze from Sam's forehead. The blood flow had been reduced to an oozing trickle under the steady pressure and Sam's forehead wrinkled as his eyes squinted in pain.

"You good to stand up?" Dean asked, frowning at Sam's expression. "You done being a drama queen and ready to get to bed or what?" It was all fake bravado, designed to distract from the actual worry that Dean felt, the fear of losing the only family he had left in the world. The only family he had ever had.

Sam offered up a weak smile in return, recognizing Dean's banter for what it really was. "Yeah," he agreed softly and then his eyes slid over to Jack one last time. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay? This isn't your fault, Jack. It was an accident."

Trust Sam to care about the Nephilim's feelings when he was suffering from the mother of all headaches and a worrying amount of blood loss. Dean rolled his eyes. Only his brother would look into the horrifyingly yellow eyes of this… thing and try to see something good in them. Only Sammy would be able to ignore everything that had ever been done to him by the hands of Lucifer and not feel any residual hate or fear or anger toward Jack.

It was amazing, how pure Sam's soul was, even after everything he had been through.

"Sammy," Dean prompted eventually, nudging the kid's shoulder. "You good to stand?"

Sam glanced up at Dean. "Y-yeah. I think so. Just kinda dizzy," he admitted and then swallowed. He shifted, planting his feet more firmly on the ground to be able to stand. Dean did the same, keeping a firm grasp on Sam's arm as they both rose from the ground and steadying Sam when he swayed slightly. "Easy, man. I got you."

Sam found his footing and Dean gave him a once over, going through his mental checklist for hidden injuries in the meanwhile. "How ye' doing, huh? You good? Let me see that wound one more time…"

Sam swallowed and obediently tilted his head to the side, granting Dean access as he gently cradled Sam's jaw and took a closer look. "Bleeding stopped," Dean reported, gently turning Sam's head from side to side to get to view the damage from all angles. "Looks much better."

"That's… better?" Jack asked, staring at Sam worriedly, his eyes still large and filled with confusion.

Dean's jaw muscle ticked with barely contained annoyance. "Yeah, that's better. Anything that's not bleeding is better. Now back the fuck off, Jack. I swear to god if I find you anywhere near his room in the next few hours, I'll kick your feathered ass into next week."

That, apparently, seemed to do the trick, because with one last, guilt-loaded sigh, Jack was suddenly gone, disappeared from their sight. They both turned around, searching for the teen, but he seemed to have teleported himself out of the room. Maybe even out of the bunker, who knew.

Dean didn't really give a fuck.

For all he cared, the kid could sleep outside somewhere. He wasn't all too comfortable anyway, knowing that thing was probably breathing down their necks while they slept.

"Jack?" Sam called out, clearly freaked out by the kid's sudden disappearance. "JACK!" He whirled around, damn near losing his balance in the process and Dean's hold on Sam's shoulders tightened instinctively, keeping him standing.

"Okay, that's enough," Dean roughly grabbed Sam by the shoulders and steered him away from the library, out into the mapping room and down the hallway that led to their bedrooms. "We'll deal with him after we dealt with you."

"Dean, he could be god-knows-where," Sam protested, his whole body tense and uncooperative. "We need to find him before someone else does!"

"Yeah, or we could let him throw his temper tantrum in peace, where he can't hurt anyone else, rather than putting ourselves in the line of fire."

"He didn't mean to hurt anyone, Dean!" Sam protested fiercely, struggling against Dean's hold.

Dean just pushed Sam inside his room and manhandled him down onto his bed, a stern frown on his face. "It doesn't matter if he meant to or not- it happened! Look, I know you're trying to be the kid's mentor or father figure or whatever, but the truth is that he's a ticking time bomb, Sam. And once he goes off, he's taking us down with him."

"You don't know that," Sam protested, trying to get back up from the bed but Dean had a hand splayed in the center of Sam's chest, halting him from further movements. His eyes were tracking the blood streaked across Sam's pale skin, smeared across his forehead, cheeks and the side of his chin.

"Stay put," Dean ordered with a warning look shot in Sam's direction before he grabbed a bandana from the back of his jeans pocket and turning on the faucet in the corner of Sam's room. He ran the piece of clothing under the lukewarm water spray until it was soaked and then rinsed it thoroughly.

Dean crossed over to the bed again, a man with a mission, as he gently grasped Sam's chin with his fingers and started to carefully wipe the damp fabric over his brother's face, gently scrubbing at the remnants of the flaked blood on Sam's skin.

"When I had my visions," Sam started suddenly, sitting up in bed and gently pulling Dean's hand away to meet his brother's green eyes. "You never once doubted me or my good intentions. You never believed- not even for a second- that I would go dark side."

"Don't compare yourself to that- that hybrid, okay?" Dean growled and tossed the wet bandana aside. It hit the wall with a dull smack and then landed in the trashcan, leaving a bloodied imprint on Sam's wallpaper. "You're nothing like him, Sam!"

"I'm everything like him, Dean!" Sam countered, exasperated. His cheeks were flushed and his hazel eyes ripped wide with the urgency to make Dean understand- to make him see what this was really about. "He's got no idea what he's capable of and yet everyone keeps telling him that he's dangerous, that he's some kind of freak, a threat that needs to be taken out and neutralized."

"Sammy…" Dean shook his head, not wanting for Sam to compare himself to Lucifer's son, goddamn it. There was a difference between being empathetic and being downright self-deprecating and Sam had just crossed that invisible line.

"Look, all I'm saying is that Jack hasn't done anything to make us assume that he's got bad intentions. Right now, he's just a scared kid with an asshole for a father and a dead mom and powers that he didn't ask to be given, so if that's enough for you to write him off as evil, then you're on your own, Dean. Cause I certainly can't see how he's all too different from myself."

The words were followed by a heavy silence, both brothers silence in the aftermath of their argument. Then Dean sighed and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "We've been down this road before, okay? And it never ends well. We get close to people and we lose them or get betrayed by them, either way, it doesn't end well. And Jack… he may be stuck in a kid's body, Sam. Hell, he may even be innocent. But we can't ignore the fact that he's Lucifer's flesh and blood. I can't."

Sam stared back at him from where he continued to sit on the bed, looking wrecked and exhausted, the clean skin causing the swelling of the wound to be even starker on his ashen face.

Dean wasn't ready to admit how badly it had hurt to lower his protective walls and let mom in again, only to have her torn from his side again so soon after their reunion. He didn't want to talk about how much he missed Cas or about how much it tore him apart to think that Cas was finally, really, gone. And he most certainly wasn't ready to admit that Jack's innocence and angelic ways were way too reminiscent of the way Cas used to look and talk and ask his questions when he had taken his first, tentative baby steps into the human world.

He also knew that even without a single word exchanged between them, Sam understood.

"I'm not asking for blind trust, Dean," Sam eventually said in a much calmer voice. "I just… I think the least we can do is give Jack the benefit of a doubt."

Dean sighed and held Sam's gaze before stepping to the foot of the bed and pulling Sam's shoe off his foot. He didn't bother with the laces, just pulled off the right shoe first and then the left, no words exchanged and none needed as Sam shot him a grateful look from the pillow.

"I'll try," he promised, hoping that would be enough and glancing at Sam to make sure his little brother was not only listening but also watching, so he could see that Dean really meant it.

Sam's eyes met his own and there was a softness in them, an affection that made Dean remember why he got out of bed every goddamn morning, why he was still putting up with any of this, despite all the losses and suffering they had had to endure.

"That's all I'm asking for, Jerk," Sam murmured and apparently, that was all his exhausted body still had the energy for because the next second, his eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly agape, chest rising and falling slow and even as he slept.

Dean stared at his brother for another beat or two, before he grabbed Sam's blanket and draped it across Sam's body. He checked the wound one more time and then dropped a couple of Advil and a glass of water on Sam's nightstand before switching the lights off.

"Bitch," he breathed as he pulled the door closed behind him, surprised to find himself all choked up with emotion in the darkness of the bunker's vacant hallway. He had been caught up with so much anger and grief and disappointment lately that he had almost forgotten how damn lucky he was.

Sam was still here.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

The End.

A/N: Hi guys! Hope you enjoyed the story! If you liked what you read, please drop me a line. Reviews make my day :D