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“Sam?” Jack asks, head tilting up to make eye contact. He’s not sure if he’s standing too close, ( “Personal space, kid! Geez,” Dean would say), but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. “Why don’t we have mirrors in the bunker?”
Sam attempts a smile, but it wavers. Jack doesn’t like it. There is something wrong with Sam that Sam doesn’t like talking about. Dean and Cas don’t talk about it either, but they look at him weird sometimes. When they talk about demons, or when someone pulls out red wine around them, or when they have to be in a small space for a little too long. “Do you want a mirror in your room? Dean can take you into town to get one. Maybe you two can even buy some new headphones, so you can watch Netflix after Dean and I go to bed. But only for a couple hours - I don’t want you staying up all night watching TV. It’ll rot your brains, you know.”
Sam pats Jack on the back. His hands are shaking when he steps away. Jack knows he’s upsetting Sam, but he really wants an answer. And he knows that Dean and Cas don’t like to talk about whatever is wrong with Sam. Jack wonders if they’re the reason he’s like this. Dean might be. He’s violent and mean and doesn’t think much about other people’s feelings. And he looks guilty around Sam, sometimes. He looks the way Jack feels when someone brings up Kelly.
“Sam, wait.” Sam does. One step away, arms wrapping around himself protectively. Does he think Jack is going to hurt him? “I just want to know. Why doesn’t the bunker have mirrors? Is it something I’m not allowed to know?”
Sam takes a breath. His arms fall back to his sides, but Jack notices that they stay tensed. Ready to fight. “It’s complicated. I just- I just can’t be around mirrors. I can’t… It’s not something I-I- that I like talking about. I’m sorry.”
“Like how you don’t like small spaces, and Dean doesn’t like dogs, and Cas doesn’t like brain surgery in medical shows?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess. Something like that.”
“Do I have things like that?”
“I don’t know. I hope not, because it kind of sucks. But if you do, you can always come and talk to me about it. I’ll try to help you.”
“Thanks, Sam. I wish that you didn’t have things like that. I don’t like it when you feel bad.”
Sam nods jerkily. His leg twitches like he wants to leave. “Thank you. I’m sorry that they get in your way.” He hesitates a moment. “I really think that you should get a mirror for yourself. I don’t want you to have to worry about my problems.”
“Do you think Cas and Dean can take me tomorrow? I don’t like it when Dean drives, but he doesn’t really like me, much.”
Sam’s face twists up. “Yeah, I’ll talk to them. If Dean is being mean or hurting you in any way, you can tell me or Cas, okay? He shouldn’t do that.”
Jack nods. He knows that Sam wants to get away from him, but he kind of hates it when Sam leaves him. Maybe being alone is one of his things. It’s scary, sometimes.
“I’m about ready for bed, what do you think?” Sam asks. He must see the discomfort in Jack’s face. “I can tuck you in, if you want.”
“Okay. But please don’t tell Dean.” Dean already thinks that Jack is a baby. He’s too sensitive, too young, too dumb. If he found out that Jack still liked getting tucked in, he would be an asshole about it. Sam doesn’t like it when he uses that word, but it’s true.
Sam nods. He understands. Jack feels kind of sad that he does, because it means that Dean is mean to him, too.
They walk to his bedroom together, and Sam makes Jack’s bed while Jack changes into pajamas. He thinks it’s weird that Sam is making the bed that he’s about to get into, but Sam likes to do things a little weird sometimes. Jack does, too.
“Do you want to say a prayer?”
“Okay. Can it just be for my mom?”
“Of course.” Sam kneels at the side of Jack’s bed and leans against the straightened sheets with his head bowed low. Jack joins him, copying his position.
He closes his eyes. “Dear Mom. I missed you a lot today. I hope you’re happy in Heaven. Sam said Heaven is complicated, but Cas said that most people are happy in Heaven, and that Sam and Dean are just weird.” He hears Sam let out a stifled laugh. “I love them all a lot, and I think you would like them, too. I think that’s all I have to say, for now. I don’t know if you hear these, but Sam says it’s good to talk about your feelings, even if it’s just for you. Cas agrees. I think Dean does, too, but he doesn’t say so. Um. Goodbye, for now. I love you. I hope I get to see you again one day.”
He opens his eyes and turns to Sam, who is whispering a prayer very quietly under his breath. Jack can only make out a few words. Things like “protect” and “safe” and “Lucifer”, which is said with a gasp. It’s almost like he’s in a trance, completely unaware of Jack watching him.
And then it’s over. Sam stands and helps Jack up. He lifts the blankets for Jack to crawl under, then pulls them up to his chin. “Goodnight, Jack. I love you.”
“You’ll be here when I wake up?”
Sam brushes Jack’s hair with his fingers. “Of course I will. We can make breakfast together.” He leans down and kisses Jack’s forehead. “If you need anything, just wake me up, okay? I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
***
“You want me . To take him . To go get a mirror .” Dean repeats slowly. He knows it’ll annoy Sam, but that’s what he deserves. “Are you out of your mind? I’m not taking that time bomb anywhere in my car. And we’re absolutely not going to get him a mirror that you’re going to see when you’re having one of your little tea parties and flip out over.”
Sam curls up in his chair, like he’s trying to escape Dean’s words. Tough. “He wants a mirror. I want him to have a mirror. I’m not like Dad; I’m not going to make his life revolve around my trauma. I want to be a better parent than that.”
“You’re not his parent. And don’t you act like Dad was some kind of monster, forcing us to work around his issues. He was protecting us. This is different.”
“He screamed at me because I looked too much like Mom when I wore white. It wasn’t just– It doesn’t matter, Dean. Just go get him a mirror. I’ll be okay.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I’ve been working on it.”
“No, you haven’t.”
Sam shakes his head. But Dean is right. Because if he was working on it, Dean would know. If he could look into a mirror without losing his mind and locking himself up in his room for three days, Dean would know. Dean has to know these kinds of things.
“I have. I’ve been going to this group–”
“You talk about this shit to people? What, you just waltz in and say ‘Hi, I’m Sam, and I got tortured by Lucifer himself. Oh, I’m sure your problems are important, too, but you’ll never be as fucked up as I am.’ Really?”
Sam bites on his thumbnail. His hands are shaking in a way that makes Dean think he might’ve gone too far. “No, obviously. I’m not… I’m not stupid. I just needed- I just thought it would help if- I lie, okay? In the group. I lie about it. It doesn’t matter. If Jack wants a mirror, get him a mirror.”
“I’m just worried about you, Sammy.”
“Well, don’t. I-I-I’m not some kind of… fucked up victim, like you think I am. Why are you fighting me on this? Don’t you trust me to know my own head?”
The truth is, Dean doesn’t. Ever since Lucifer got out of the Cage, Sam has been off the rails. He painted over every mirror in the bunker like a damn serial killer, packed up a little go-bag that he thinks Dean doesn’t know about, started showering at least twice a day, and freaking imprinted on Lucifer’s kid like a mama duckling. Sam is staring at him through angry eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
“Sure, okay. But you don’t go near it without me. You’ll freak the kid out.”
Sam clenches his hands into fists in his lap, then releases them. “Okay. Sure. Just go with him. And bring Cas.”
“Cas can’t go. He’s doing something in Heaven.”
Sam pushes his hair back, frustrated. “Will you be nice to him? He doesn’t like being around you without Cas around.”
“I don’t like him.”
“I know. But I can’t get him a mirror. You’re doing this to protect me. Please?”
Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to his laptop. “Anything for you, princess.”
He can feel Sam smiling at the back of his head. It’s not like Dean wasn’t going to do it. The minute Sam asks for something, he knows he’s going to get it. Because Dean won’t apologize for almost killing Sam when he had the Mark, and Cas won’t apologize for letting Lucifer out of the box. This is the closest thing Sam’s gonna get, and he seems alright with it.
They stay like that, Sam curled up in his chair reading some book about primordial gods and Dean trying (and failing) to figure out Facebook. It feels a hell of a lot like home.
***
Jack looks at himself in each mirror. He doesn't really know how to pick one, and Dean isn’t being much help. He wishes it was Sam here with him, instead.
“Should I get this one?” Jack waves his hand in front of an oval mirror with a gold frame. It looks fancy. Sam would like it, he thinks.
Dean crosses his arms, closing himself off. He’s just like Sam, only shorter and more… growly . “Whatever you want, kid. Kinda girly, though, isn’t it?”
“Sam said it’s okay to like girly stuff.”
“Of course he did,” Dean grumbles under his breath. He’s not very nice about Sam, sometimes. But Sam doesn’t seem to mind. It even makes him smile a little. Jack doesn’t get it – when Dean is mean to him , Jack wants to run as far as he can and hide from Dean.
Jack looks at himself in the mirror. It looks fine. He’s still not sure if it’s the right one. He needs help. “I wish Sam was here.”
“You need to get off his di–” Dean stops. Amends himself. “You need to leave him alone sometimes. He can’t spend every waking second with you.”
“But Cas is always busy, and you don’t like me.”
“You need to get some friends your own age.”
“You don’t like it when I go out alone.”
Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, kid, can you just pick a mirror? You can write all your little feelings in your diary. This isn’t my job.”
“Sam said it’s healthy to talk about your feelings.”
“Yeah, like he’s so good at that. Is this the mirror you want?”
Jack touches the frame again. The metal is cool to the touch. He really does like it. Dean puts it in the cart and takes it to the checkout line. Jack wants to hold onto the cart handle, because big stores are a little uncomfortable for him, but he doesn’t think Dean would like it very much.
“Why doesn’t Sam like mirrors?”
“You should ask him that.”
“I did. He didn’t really answer.”
“So he probably doesn’t want you knowing. Sometimes, you just don’t get to know. Okay?”
“But you do know?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I’m his brother. I take care of him.”
“I try to take care of him, too. I want to–”
“That’s my job, not yours. You don’t need to worry about it. Okay? Just leave him alone.”
Jack shuts up. He doesn’t know why Dean doesn’t like him. Maybe it’s for the same reason that Sam is afraid of him. He wishes he could be anyone else in the world.
Sam wraps his huge arms around Jack’s shoulders when they get back. He always feels safe like this, completely protected by Sam. Dean hates it. He glares at them and stomps off to Jack’s room, carrying the wrapped-up mirror in one arm.
Sam ignores Dean. “Did you find a mirror you liked?
“Yup! It’s got a gold frame, and it stands on its own, so I can put it in the closet whenever you want to come into my room.”
Sam smiles and pats Jack on the shoulder. “That’s sweet, Jack. I’ll try to get better at being around mirrors, but I think that’ll help me while I’m adjusting.” He pauses, glances up at the hallway that Dean just went down. “Was he okay?”
Jack hesitates. He doesn’t want Sam and Dean to fight because of him. Sam doesn’t like fighting. “He was okay. I think he’s trying to be nicer.”
“Good. That’s good. Do you want to go help him set it up?”
“Will you come with me? You don’t have to come inside the room, but I want you there.”
“Of course,” Sam says. He follows Jack down the hallway and to his room, where Dean is unwrapping the mirror. Sam waits outside the open door, looking down at his shoes. His hands are shaking again.
As soon as Dean is done, he takes Sam by the wrists and guides him away from the room. Neither of them even look at Jack. He’s on the outside with them. Cas feels that way too, but he never says anything. It’s not fair. Jack spends the rest of the day in his room, watching Netflix on his I-pad and playing games on his phone. Sam says it’s unhealthy to do that, but Sam isn’t here right now.
***
Sam doesn’t leave his room for dinner. Dean didn’t expect him to, but it hurts all the same. He knew that bringing a mirror into the bunker was a bad idea, he told Sam, but no, he just had to insist.
Jack looks sad, as if it isn’t his fault that Sam is having one of his little episodes.
Dean puts the two plates of chicken parmesan on the table. The third is sitting in the oven, wrapped in foil. He’ll probably take it to Sam’s room later and force him to eat.
“Is it my fault that Sam is upset? He said it would be okay to get the mirror, so I thought–”
“Don’t bother. I don’t care.”
Jack picks at his food. He looks just like Sam used to whenever Dad got him to shut up. Dean almost feels bad.
He shovels his own food into his mouth, desperate to be done. He just wants to feed Sam and go to bed. It’s terrible, but he’s sick of having a fucked up little brother and a tiny freak following Sam around like a puppy. He just wants to be alone.
***
Dean knocks on Sam’s door. No answer. He opens it slowly, whispering Sam’s name as he does. “Wakey wakey. I’ve got chicken parm for you.”
Sam stays where he is, lying face down on his bed with one leg curled up. He even sleeps like a girl.
“Sammy. Come on, man. You gotta get up.” He places a hand on Sam’s back. “Sammy?”
He doesn’t wake up. Dean sees the bottle of pills on his bedside table. Did he always have those? Why hasn’t Dean seen them before? Is this an overdose?
“Sam. Sam!” He drops the plate on the floor and shakes Sam. “No. No no no no no no.”
Dean drags him closer and sticks two fingers in his mouth, past his teeth and tongue. He gags against Dean’s fingers. “Come on, Sammy. Come on. Please.”
He pushes harder. Sam gags again. Retches. His eyes flutter open and he groans, trying to push Dean’s arms away from him.
Dean doesn’t move until Sam throws up on his bedsheets. It takes a minute for Sam to catch his breath, all shivery and gasping.
“What the hell, Dean?”
“I thought you OD’d.” He points to the pill bottle on Sam’s bedside table. “You wouldn’t wake up.”
Sam wrinkles his nose and stands. His legs shake, but he doesn’t reach out for Dean, so Dean doesn’t help him. “I just had two. To help me sleep. I didn’t need… Why are you even in here?”
“Brought you dinner. I dropped it, though. Sorry.”
“I didn’t ask for dinner.”
“I’m taking care of you, asshole.”
Sam starts stripping the bed, hands trembling. Goddammit. Dean pulls at the sheets. He’s still going to help. Of course he’s going to help.
“Is… is Jack okay?”
“What?”
“Did I scare him?”
“Does it matter?”
“It used to scare me when Dad… When Dad used to get like this. I don’t want that for Jack. I don’t want him to hate me.”
“You have more reason to hate him than–”
“Shut up.”
“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.”
He is.
“I’m scared that I’m playing into Lucifer’s hands. I’m scared of what he would say, if he knew. I’m scared that we’re shitty parents because we had shitty parents, and he’s going to hate us. That’s what I’m scared of, okay?”
Dean takes the balled-up sheets from Sam to take to the washer. Under different circumstances, he would instruct Sam to clean the bed with a damp towel to make sure the vomit doesn’t soak into the mattress and put a fresh set of sheets on the bed, but Sam is already swaying where he stands.
“You can go to my room.”
“Where will you…?”
“I’ll finish cleaning up here. Just… Get better, okay? Jack can get rid of his mirror. Go to your stupid therapy group. Whatever fixes you.”
Usually, Sam would argue that he’s not broken. He’s okay. He’s fine. But Sam just chews on his nails and stares at the floor. Dean would kill so many people just to see him smile. And according to Sam, that’s a bad thing.