Hey guys! Here is a one-shot for you! Was rewatching S13 and kind of wanted to do something set early in the season where Jack does something to prove to Dean that he's not totally evil.

Also, I just want to let you know that my posting may be a little sparse for a while because I've just been busy on multiple projects that are taking more of my writing time. But I will post something every week, I just will probably not be posting both Mondays and Fridays like I usually do for a little bit. I do have another story for the Katabasis verse that I will start posting next Monday though :)

Also! I finally got a Tumblr! (which I'm totally blaming Aini NuFire for :P) and you can find me there at lady-wallace . I'm probably going to be posting writing updates and sneak peeks of my current projects there, so if you're interested in keeping updated on my work and sharing fics and fan art and headcanons with me, feel free to follow ^_^

Good Inside

A Supernatural Fanfic

Dean cast a frantic glance over to the passenger seat as he shoved his foot further into the gas pedal. Sam groaned as they hit a bump and slumped further against the window. The sleeve of both his jacket and his flannel shirt were torn to shreds, fully exposing the deep wounds eking blood and staining his skin red.

"Sam, you hold on," Dean growled, hands tensing on the wheel until his knuckles were white. Sam didn't reply, and Dean shook his head, swallowing hard. "Sammy, come on, man. Don't do this to me."

They'd just completed a hunt with some crazy-ass monster Dean had never seen before. It sort of seemed like a chupacabra, except its bite seemed to be poisonous because as soon as it had chomped down on Sam's shoulder, the hunter had started to feel increasingly bad until he had simply collapsed.

What was worse, they still had no idea what the son of a bitch was, so Dean had no idea how to help Sam, what kind of antidote to use.

Or how much time his brother had.

Dean's jaw tightened and he slammed his fist into the steering wheel until it hurt, then tried to get his emotions under control again with a shaky breath. It wouldn't do Sam any good, he reminded himself. Right now he just had to focus on getting him home and comfortable, and then he would hit the books. Within the vast library, the men of letters had to have something on what had poisoned Sam.

He let out a breath as they made it to Lebanon and he glanced over to Sam again. "Almost home, Sammy," he said even though there was still no reply. Sam made no sound except the occasional moan and labored breaths.

When the bunker came into view Dean drove faster than he probably should into the garage and screeched to a halt, yanking the keys from the ignition as he threw his door open and hurried around to the passenger side.

He barely caught Sam as he opened the door, reaching out a hand so his brother didn't spill out onto the concrete floor.

"Hey, come on, kiddo," he said gently, tapping Sam's cheek. "We're home now, but I can't carry you all the way to your room. You gotta help me a little."

Sam moaned and shifted, his face scrunching in pain, but his eyes fluttered. "Dean?" he asked.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, taking his face between his hands and leaning close. Damn, the kid was burning up. "Listen, I need you to get on your feet. I'll do most of the work, just gotta get you up, okay?"

"'Kay," Sam nodded and Dean took his arm, wrapping it around his shoulders, before he wrapped his other arm around Sam's waist and heaved. Sam helped as much as he could, but he could barely keep his feet once Dean had pulled him up and Dean grunted as he hefted his brother more upright, trying to keep him from collapsing.

"Okay, okay, I got you, let's take the stairs easy and then it's not far to your bed."

The stairs were hard to maneuver, but they made it eventually, and Dean opened the door to the main bunker with relief. Sam was leaning almost his whole weight against him now, his head drooping against Dean's shoulder, his breathing getting more and more labored by the minute.

"Just a little further, Sammy, don't give up on me now, little brother," Dean grunted, hitching Sam's arm further around his shoulders.

The noise must have alerted Jack of their return because as soon as Dean got to the dormitory wing, the kid's door opened and he stepped out. Dean cursed under his breath. The son of Lucifer was the last thing he needed right now.

"Sam..." Jack started, then stopped, eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Dean, what happened? Is he okay?"

"Just stay out of my way," Dean growled, hauling Sam past the kid and to his room. He kicked the door open and hauled Sam inside, practically carrying him the last few steps to the bed and lowering him as gently as possible down on the mattress. When he looked up, he saw Jack standing at the foot of the bed, looking somewhat hesitant.

"I said, stay out of my way," Dean said firmly.

Jack backed up a step, but didn't leave. "I just want to help," he nearly pleaded. "Sam's hurt."

"Yeah, he is, which is why I don't want you anywhere near him," Dean snapped. Yeah, that was a little harsh, but he had no idea what this kid was capable of, and he was the son of Lucifer after all. Even if he did try to heal Sam or whatever, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't explode Sam in the process.

Jack flinched slightly and hugged himself. "Can I at least get you the first aid kit?"

Dean's jaw tightened, but he refrained from yelling at the kid again and jerked a nod. "Fine. Hurry."

Jack ran off and Dean turned his full attention back to Sam.

"Okay, kiddo, let's take a look at this wound; probably not as bad as we thought," Dean murmured to Sam as he started to ease the younger man's jacket and flannel off. Sam hissed and shifted on the bed as the fabric brushed his wound and Dean gritted his teeth but finally peeled the fabric off Sam's limp body and simply ripped through what was left of the sleeve of his t-shirt to expose the wound. He felt sick as he finally saw it in full light.

The wound consisted of several punctures from the thing's teeth, but what was worse were the dark red veins spreading out from the wound, indicating there was indeed venom or poison involved.

"Dammit," Dean whispered, running a shaking hand over his face as he stood there staring at the wound. What the hell was he going to do with this?

Jack hurried back into the room then with the large duffle they kept first aid supplies in clutched in his hands. He brought it to the bed and then stood there, staring with wide, frightened eyes at Sam.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Hunting accident," Dean replied gruffly, snagging the bag from Jack and setting it on the foot of the bed to begin riffling through it. "Now go find something else to do."

"Dean, I can help," Jack said almost pleadingly.

"Can you heal him?" Dean demanded.

Jack's breath caught in his throat. "I…don't know. I never tried…"

"Then there's nothing you can do. Get out."

"But—"

"Get out!" Dean roared, shoving the kid in the shoulder and causing him to stagger back a step. Jack looked startled, but he hurried from the room. Dean saw his eyes glisten slightly, but didn't have time to feel bad.

"D'n," Sam murmured, eyes slitted open when Dean turned back around. "Be nice."

Dean glowered, but shook his head. "Just rest, Sammy, don't try to talk."

"Hurts," the younger man said softly, eyes squeezing shut.

"I know, I know, little brother, but you're gonna be fine."

Dean cleaned the wound as best he could, even using some holy water, but it didn't look like it was doing anything in particular so Dean, defeated, taped some gauze lightly over the wound and then bent to remove Sam's shoes and pull a blanket over him.

"Be right back," he said, touching the side of Sam's neck reassuringly. However, as he did, he realized just how warm Sam was getting, a sheen of sweat appearing on his brow and in the hollow of his throat as a fever set in with a vengeance.

Dean swallowed hard and hurried into the library, grabbing every book he could find that might have something useful to him and returning to Sam's room with his arms full. He felt rather than saw Jack peeking from his own room, but Dean chose to ignore him. As long as the kid stayed out of his way that was all he cared about.

Dean threw the books onto the desk in Sam's room and sat in the chair there so he could keep an eye on Sam while he researched. There were a few long moments of frantically flipping through pages, weeding out the books that weren't helpful, which soon became an undignified pile on the floor as he discarded them. All this time, Sam lay comatose, or very nearly so. Except that sometimes he would twitch or moan in discomfort as the fever burned through him.

Dean took more and more frequent breaks to cool his brother's forehead until he simply moved his chair over and continued his research at Sam's bedside. Pretty soon he had exhausted all the books he had plucked out and slumped back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his eyes wearily.

Sam shifted with a grunt and Dean reached out to tug the blanket back into place, but when he did he saw that the nasty red veins that had been a product from Sam's wound had stretched further down his arm and across his chest. Dean peeled the bandage back with shaking hands and saw with growing horror that the puncture wounds were turning black around the edges.

"Oh god, Sammy," Dean breathed and slumped further into the chair, having no clue what to do now. He only knew that he could not lose his brother.

Jack sat in the middle of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees as tears dried in his eyes. He was scared. For Sam especially, but also for himself. He didn't want to be left alone. If Sam died, Dean wouldn't let him stay here anymore and Jack would have nowhere else to go. His mother was dead, Castiel was dead, and his real father was unreachable—not that Jack was entirely sure he wanted to meet Lucifer anyway.

He wasn't sure how he could feel more alone than he did at this moment.

If only he could use his powers for something useful. But he couldn't even move a pencil when Sam wanted him to; how was he supposed to heal when it seemed like his powers could only be used for hurting people?

Still, didn't he have to try at least? Unless trying hurt Sam even worse than he was now, and then Dean surely would kill him. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about finding another place to live.

But maybe there was another way. Dean was doing research to see how to help Sam, maybe Jack could at least help with that. Sam had been teaching him how to research on the computer and at least he couldn't hurt anyone by doing research.

He got up with new purpose, and quietly left his room, heading down the hall toward the library. But as he passed Sam's room, the door was opened a crack and Jack peeked in just as he heard Dean inhale sharply.

"Oh god, Sammy," he said. Jack saw him collapse in the chair beside Sam's bed and bury his face in his hands. Jack frowned as he watched Dean lean forward, talking to Sam even though the younger man seemed to be unconscious.

"You can't do this to me," he growled. "Sammy, you can't. Not now." His voice broke and Jack felt something pang in his chest at the sound. Dean's jaw clenched and he shook his head. "I already lost Mom, and Cas…Sammy, if you leave me, I can't…" His hands clenched into fists and his eyes squeezed shut. "You just can't, you hear me? You have got to fight this, because I'm hanging on by a thread here and I don't have much fight left. You wanna know how I'm doing? Not good. That's how. So get your ass better now or I…."

His voice finally broke completely and Dean seemed to sag, hands covering his face again as his shoulders shook a couple times before he drew a deep breath and reached toward the pile of books again.

Jack slipped away, his chest tight from witnessing Dean's grief. He had to do something.

Once in the library he went to Sam's laptop that was sitting on one of the tables and turned it on, opening the Men of Letters digital database like Sam had showed him and started typing in things he thought would be useful.

There turned out to be an overwhelming amount of info on poisons and venom but Jack undauntedly scanned through all of them, not wanting to miss anything that might be vital to curing Sam.

After a while though he realized there was nothing specific enough, though there were a lot of generic potions for curing poisons. Jack thought that if one of those would work, Dean would have tried it already.

However, another idea started to blossom in his mind. A lot of the research he did talked about drawing the poisons out. Jack wondered if, even if he couldn't heal Sam, he might be able to use his powers to pull the poison from him instead.

The only problem was Dean. Jack wasn't sure the elder Winchester would allow him to even try. Jack wasn't even sure he could do it.

But he felt he had to try. Sam had been kind to him, and he liked the hunter. If there was a possibility he could help him, Jack couldn't just stand by and watch Sam die. He went back to the room and cautiously looked inside.

He was almost relieved to see Dean slumped in the chair, a book in his lap as his head tipped back at an awkward angle. He must have been exhausted. It was better this way though, Jack could work without Dean knowing now.

He didn't like what he saw as he approached the bed though. Sam was flushed and covered in sweat. The cloth that was resting on his brow seemed to be doing little to help as he twitched and let out barely audible moans and whimpers.

Jack carefully climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged, glancing once more at Dean's sleeping figure before he carefully reached out toward Sam and peeled the bandage from his shoulder.

He felt sick at seeing the wound. Black and dark red, and evil looking. Jack could almost feel the poison running through Sam and that was…good. If he could feel it, maybe he could target it and draw it from the wound after all.

Jack carefully reached out a hand, hovering it over the wound, and closing his eyes. He concentrated hard, but for a long time nothing happened. He tried and tried but his powers weren't coming.

"Please," he whispered. "Please just let me do one thing right."

His hand trembled and he reached down with his other hand to grip Sam's lax fingers; maybe a physical connection would help.

He did realize he could feel the poison running through Sam's veins more clearly with the contact. He closed his eyes again and tried to focus on it; an off-beat pulse through Sam's bloodstream. Jack let out a slow breath and tried to imagine pulling. Shoving that dark substance out of Sam's bloodstream and forcing it from his wound.

His hand grew warmer all of a suddenly and as he opened his eyes he saw a glow from his palm. His breath caught and he almost lost concentration, but he squeezed his eyes shut and regained it quickly.

"Come on," he whispered.

It was working, he realized suddenly with an almost giddy feeling. Something dark and viscous was pooling in the puncture wounds, before it began to drip down Sam's shoulder. Jack watched as the dark veins dissipated. He let out a sudden breathless laugh as he realized that he was actually doing it. He was doing something right!

"What the hell?!"

Jack's concentration was broken suddenly as he was yanked backwards off the bed. He hit the floor before he got his knees under him, looking up at Dean's furious face.

"What the hell are you doing to him? I told you to stay away!"

Jack scrambled to his feet, stepping away from Dean who was bearing down on him, his face dark and dangerous.

"I was just helping, look," Jack said quickly, pointing to the black poison dripping out of Sam's wounds. "I'm drawing the poison out."

Dean suddenly bent over the bed, grabbing one of the discarded cloths to swipe the viscous dark stuff from Sam's wound. His eyes widened suddenly and he turned back to stare at Jack.

"You did this?" he demanded.

Jack nodded and cautiously stepped toward Sam again. "I'm not quite done yet, but it will only take a second. Please."

Dean watched him for another second before he finally stepped back. "Go on," he said gruffly.

Jack moved his hand over Sam's wound again, and closed his eyes, trying to regain his concentration. His heart was pounding and he was nervous with Dean standing there, but it didn't take him long to find his powers again and before long he was drawing the last of the poison from Sam's wound.

"There, it's all gone now," Jack said as Dean leaned forward, cleaning the wound and checking Sam over but all trace of the poison was gone from his veins and the puncture wounds no longer looked infected. Jack looked inward, but couldn't feel the evil foreign substance in Sam's blood anymore either.

"I'll be damned," Dean huffed as he cleaned Sam's shoulder again and taped fresh gauze over the wounds.

Jack stood by a little awkwardly, not sure if he should stay or go. But Sam stirred then, and he and Dean both leaned over him.

"Sammy?" Dean called, reaching out to settle his hand over Sam's forearm.

Sam groaned and his eyes slid open, blinking blearily several times.

"D'n?" he asked, seeming slightly confused.

"Yeah, how are you feeling?" Dean asked him, squeezing his arm.

Sam shifting, frowning slightly. "Sore but…not too bad. You cure the poison?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Actually…Jack did."

He nodded toward the nephillim and Jack felt suddenly self-conscious as Sam turned his gaze to him in a mixture of gratitude and amazement.

"Jack? You did this?" Sam asked.

Jack shrugged slightly. "I finally used my powers for good," he said simply.

Sam smiled and reached out to give his hand a tired squeeze. "I knew you could."

Dean cleared his throat again and came around the bed, touching Sam's forehead much to his annoyance it seemed. "Well, it seems like your fever is mostly gone. How about I get you something to drink? Get you rehydrated."

"Sounds good," Sam murmured, eyes already slipping shut as he gave up trying to bat Dean's hands away.

Dean stepped almost reluctantly away from the bed and then surprised Jack by nodding to him.

"Why don't you come give me a hand?" Dean said.

Jack nodded and followed Dean to the kitchen and stood by a little awkwardly while Dean bustled around, grabbing a glass of water and a few other things.

"So, Jack," Dean said slowly as he finally turned around. "I owe you an apology."

Jack shook his head. "No, I understand. You were just scared."

Dean shook his head. "It's no excuse." He sighed and leaned against the counter, biting his lip. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot, I know. And I'm sorry if I have judged you unfairly. But you got powers, kid, and in my experience that rarely turns into good." Jack felt a lump settle in his stomach, but Dean continued. "But they obviously aren't all for destruction either. And I know your mom, and…and Cas believed in you, that you would be okay. And you saved Sam so, well, that's okay in my book too."

He went over to Jack and held his hand out as the nephillim watched him cautiously. "Maybe we can start over?"

Jack hesitated only a second before he took Dean hand and squeezed. "I want to learn how to control my powers better," Jack told him sincerely. "I want to help people. It's what my mom would have wanted."

"Yeah, it is," Dean said and then handed Jack the tray of things for Sam. "So let's start getting Sam back on his feet. You can help people without powers too."

Jack smiled, feeling a bit of a burden lift from him as he carried the tray back to Sam's room. Perhaps he could end up fitting in here after all.