They are sitting in front of the candy machine. On the floor, munching on one chocolate bar after the other, because apparently they are five years old. For a second Clark asks himself how old Jack really is, but then he remembers it does not matter, he already saw the guy naked.
If he's not legal it's too late anyways.
Clark tries to concentrate on his candy bar, dismantles it from its chocolate with his teeth so that only the crunchy middle is left over. It's an old habit of his. Resurfaces when he's trying really hard to make detention a tad bit less boring, or when he's trying really hard not to stare at the fucking naked guy from this morning- Jesus Christ.
Clark steals a glance at Jack and nearly chokes on his next crunchy bite, earning a slightly startling look from the other boy.
"So..." Clark plays it off cool, clearing his throat. "You from around here?"
It's a stupid question, Clark knows that. It's the kind of question his mother would ask, he guesses he has that from her. He can see Jack trying to work around it, can see a spark igniting motion in the depth of his eyes, as if an answer would require an unimaginable amount of brainpower. When Jack opens his mouth, Clark interferes.
"It's a yes or no question. Don't overthink it, it'll make your brain hurt."
Jack smiles. He seems to like that.
"No," he answers, taking another bite off his candy bar.
With Clark, everything seems easier. Clark doesn't care about angels, demons and monsters, when Dean had told him of the probable cause of the next apocalypse, all Clark had done was shrug.
"There ain't nothing I could do about it," he had answered.
Clark doesn't care that Jack's a nephilim either. There is no higher power play, there is nothing Clark wants specifically. Sure, he thinks it's rad Jack can loot candy machines, or take away the pain from his stab would, but he never specifically asks for anything. He let's things happen, to him, to the both of them, without asking the quintessential questions of life or bestowing Jack with the responsibility of the world's fate.
It comes naturally. Because with Clark, everything is simple. And standing at his bedside in the hospital, or sneaking out for sweets in the shop around the corner, Jack feels he knows Clark, like he knows Castiel or his mother. No fog between them.
Just two stupid teenagers out on stupid adventures.
They're leaving soon. And Jack is bad at keeping secrets, bad at keeping them because he does not quite know what a secret is yet, or the utility of it. So underneath the oak tree in the hospitals garden, he simply blurts it out.
"Were leaving tomorrow," he says between two gummy bears, "Sam says we've already been here too long."
Jack turns to find Clark looking at him, and suddenly he feels he knows what secrets are good for. There's a hint of panic in Clark's baby blues, only for a second, before he turns away, picks away at his candy bar, picks it apart. There's a short silence, and Jack bows his head in the oak tree's shadow, already mourning for the loss of his only true friend.
"I'm getting discharged in a week," Clark says suddenly. "Maybe I should just leave sooner. A few days more or less don't matter, do they?"
There's hope in the baby blues the next moment they meet. A breeze shakes the leaves above, a whisper breathing life into their chests, and Jack stops feeling like an all powerful nephilim and starts feeling young and stupid. There is so much more than he can explain, in that split second of life on earth, a spark that is inherently human. Clark does not recoil when the wind picks up its pace, whipping his dark hair into his eyes, or when a hint of a golden glow buzzes underneath Jack's skin. He is not afraid. He too, is young and stupid.
Under the oak tree's shadow, Clark kisses Jack, and Jack smiles.
Dean thinks it's a bad idea, says so right away.
"This is a bad idea," he says, word for word, but there are another thousand words behind that. Jack can feel it, in the agitated glow of Dean's soul, and he can't even be angry at the rejection. He rarely is these days. He let's things happen to him, just like Clark does.
Sam pulls him aside afterwards, with his understanding, soft eyes and the crease between his brows.
"Sorry about that," he says, voice soft, hand warm on Jack's shoulder. "Dean can be a bit brash sometimes. Look, I don't want you to think we're trying to impose anything on you, but Clark... He's not like us. He doesn't have to get involved into any of this."
Jack speaks the truth, like he always does. He doesn't do lies, or secrets. The world has been built on lies and secrets, and look what it's come to. "He wants to."
"Sometimes what we want is not necessarily what's best for us." Sam's shoulders fall. "It's just that, the people around us-"
"Bad things happen to them," Jack finishes naturally. He seems to do that a lot. He can read in people's eyes. "I understand."
He does. He really does. He knows Clark is not like them, not like him. For humans like Clark, there are consequences. On an universal scale, they live a day, glow one night, and then succumb to the dark. They wither and die. It's the way it is.
"Everything lives on in heaven." The nephilim smiles. "Nothing truly dies."
But Sam only shakes his head. "It's about what happens to them before."
And Jack can't take take from him. He can't take away Sam's pain and memories and suffering, he can't take away the fear. They are both speaking the truth.
"Did you talk to him?" Jack asks, and watches Sam nodding guiltily. A grin spreads on Jack's lips. "He really is stupid courageous, isn't he?"
A short burst of laughter escapes Sam's lips. "Yeah. Yeah he is."
"Don't worry. His safest place is by my side."
Sam looks up at that, and there's a spark of recognition. For a second, they are reflecting each other.
"I'll protect him."
I'll protect all of you.
And just like that, the fog clears.
The room is warm around them, around Jack's tendrils of grace wrapping the air. He's staring at the white ceiling when Clark stirs, the sheet they use as cover shifting, and a blind hand reaches for Jack, digs into his flank. With a light groan, Clark slips closer and over Jack, covering his body with his own, drawn in by the warmth. He places a sloppy kiss on the soft curve where Jack's jaw meets his neck, and wanders further up with a lopsided grin, mashing their noses together, full of affection.
Heat rises between their chests, and Clark's sleepy eyes are on Jack's now.
"Hey," he breathes.
"We never said goodbye."
Clark let's go of a chuckle at that. "That's not what I meant, it's just- ah fuck it. Doesn't matter. You're right."
And Jack can't help bit grin at that. "I always am."
Clark only laughs quietly again, glee in the edge of his dimples, and Jack thinks he's beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful man on earth.
When their lips meet in a kiss, Jack knows he is. And he's always right.