So I was reminded two days ago that Jack's birthday was coming up and I threw myself into a frenzy trying to write a little something to celebrate. Heaven knows we could all use something halfway happy after that season finale!

Everything was a blur. Before Jack could even blink, he was being ushered outside, past the people carrying a stretcher and bandages inside for Clark.

The big man who'd been in the cell with him—Sammy, the other man had called him—guided him to a bench just outside the station. As they sat, he turned Jack around to face him. Pulled his jacket apart, running his fingers over the hole in Jack's shirt.

Although his hand gripped Jack's shoulder tightly, Jack could tell he wasn't meaning to be rough or cruel. Not like the people—angels—who'd grabbed him in his cell and tried to take him away. Their hands had squeezed and pulled at him, all while their voices stabbed through his head.

No, there was a gentleness in Sammy's fingers. The urgency wasn't out of meanness—he was worried about Jack.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Jack repeated. He wasn't quite sure why Sammy was so upset. The other man he was with had shot at him the second he'd seen him.

Sammy blew out a long breath—it might have been a sigh of relief. He turned away from Jack momentarily, running a hand over his face.

"Are…" Jack hesitated. "Are you okay?" He looked…tired. And scared.

He huffed a short laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." He turned back to face Jack, meeting his eyes with a gentle, earnest expression. "I don't know if you caught it in there, but my name's Sam."

Jack nodded slowly. "Sam," he repeated. Sam. The word sent an inexplicable flood of warmth through his belly. It made him feel…safe.

"I know you're scared, but I'm going to take care of you, okay? You're gonna be okay, Jack." Sam's lips pressed together in a small, sad smile.

No matter what Sam did, he couldn't seem to stop looking sad.

Jack wanted to ask why. He had a million questions—everything intrigued him, from the bricks in the wall to the green of the trees around him.

But it didn't seem right to ask—who would answer him? His mother was dead; he'd watched her take her last breath. (He'd arranged her limp body in a peaceful position, while her empty eyes smiled up at him.)

And his father too, Sam had said. The words were heavy on his lips: He's dead.

Jack stared up at the blue of the sky. Life was fast. And very confusing. Would it be like this forever?

"Listen," Sam said, breaking Jack's dismal spiral into hopelessness. "I told them, in there…what you said. That you were sorry."

Jack looked into Sam's eyes again, into the gentle, quiet sadness that saturated the very air around him.

"Do you know what they said, when I told them? 'It's okay.' They know it wasn't your fault."

A pressure slid up Jack's chest, into his throat. Suddenly he had a hard time swallowing. Clark and his mother. They were kind to him, and in return they were both hurt.

"Is Clark going to be okay?"

"Yeah, they think so. He was lucky. But his mom, she and Dean—my brother—they think we should get you out of here. Get you home."

"Home?" Jack echoed. The word didn't have much of a meaning to him. Home was where you were supposed to feel safe. Loved. That's what his mother had thought, anyway—and she was not here to love him.

"Where we live. Me and Dean."

"Dean." Jack thought hard. "He's...he's the one who tried to hurt me. At first." He still remembered those first moments in the dark. Asking for his father. Then the loud noise. Sam's cry of NO! And Jack had screamed.

Sam laid a hand on Jack's arm. "He was wrong. He…he knows that. He won't do it again."

Jack felt his breathing speed up. "Sam…" He couldn't shake the fear that gripped him. Life may have been confusing, and he might still be very new to it, but he knew what it was to be scared. And Dean scared him.

"Hey," Sam said softly. "It's okay. It's okay. You don't have to be scared of Dean. And if things go right, when we get you home, there's warding, spells, that'll protect you. Angels won't be able to find you anymore. You'll be safe."

It wasn't the angels that scared Jack. "Dean…won't hurt me?"

"I promise. Do you trust me?"

Looking into Sam's eyes, Jack felt a rush of warmth flood his chest. There was something about his face, his voice, about Sam, that made Jack want to trust him. The same thing that had drawn Jack to Castiel.

Sam wasn't an angel like Castiel. He had no power, no ability. But as he smiled softly at Jack, Jack was seized with the overwhelming feeling that with Sam, everything was going to be all right.

"I trust you."

He might have found his father after all.

Thank you for reading! Leave a review to let me know what you think! I'm on tumblr too, hop over and say hi!