Hello again! Here's another story with Sam and Jack! I just really love their frienship! Hopefully we get to see their bond grow even stronger next season!

I hope I kept everyone in character, I'm always worried it ends up being OOC.

This story can be seen as a continuation from my story "Hot Chocolate and Nougat."

Again, not beta'd.

Hope you enjoy!

Jack was in the library of the bunker, trying to organize the books that were scattered all over the place. The books that Sam left in his wake after making his way through them, searching for every possible bit of information that could be helpful for the plan for rescuing Dean from Michael.

He'd been doing that a lot lately. And it felt good doing something, he was grateful for the distraction, otherwise, he would be thinking, worrying about Dean, and that wasn't something he wanted to do, it wouldn't help anyone. Not Dean, not Sam, not Castiel, not Mary. No, he would make himself useful the best he could.

He was just dusting off another old book when the heavy front door opened, its metal creaking in protest, followed by a dull bang when the door closed. Sam was back from wherever he'd gone. Probably looking for leads on Michael, like Castiel and Mary had done so often. Unfortunately many times without much success.

Sam was getting more restless and frantic with the day. It pained Jack to see his friend suffering so much. They all carried the weight of Dean's absence. But for no one was the weight more crushing than for Sam.

Sam's hurried footsteps lead down the metal stairs and through the hall. The sound of a slamming door, and then silence.

Jack winced, it probably didn't mean anything good. Presumably a dead-end on a lead or something like that.

It wasn't that they didn't make any progress, but it was going slowly; it would always be going too slow.

It was breaking Sam up, and Jack did his best to keep an eye on his friend.

After another hour of sorting out the dusty mess on the floor, Jack gave up. He needed a break and wanted to check on Sam. He hadn't heard anything after the slam of the bedroom door, and that was worrying him. He knew that Sam was pushing himself hard, too hard, he was running low on energy, and that could make someone sick.

He had a feeling this wasn't the first time that either of the brothers were in this position, and thinking about that fact left him feeling queasy.

With a sigh, he stood up and went to check on Sam.

Standing before the closed bedroom door, he hesitated before knocking. Maybe Sam wanted to be left alone. But it had been over an hour now, and Jack was worried. Sam always came looking for him—looked out for him. He figured he could do the same.

He took in a breath and knocked. No reaction. "Sam?" He called out softly. Again nothing. He tried the door handle, to his relief the door wasn't locked. Slowly he opened the door. The room was dark, but he could see Sam's outline sitting on the bed.

"Sam?" No answer, except for a soft sound. A sniffle? Jack took a step forward. "Sam, what's—" Another sound, accompanied by the shake of shoulders.

Then, with a jolt, it dawned on him; Sam was crying. He was sitting there, alone, with nothing but a dusty floor to stare at and his own thoughts to accompany him, but those thoughts were probably nothing good right now.

Jack felt the panic rising, but he swallowed it down. Not now.

In a few steps, he was at Sam's side, and he let a hand come down gently on one of the shaking shoulders.

Sam didn't look up, eyes tightly clenched shut, and Jack could now see the tears that were rolling down, one after another.

For a moment, Jack was at a loss what to do. What would Sam want him to do? Then another thought came to him: what would Sam do?

And that is something he knows.

He sits down next to the youngest hunter, puts his arm around the broad shoulders, squeezes Sam against him, and holds on.

Sam cries for a long time, the tears never seeming to cease. He cries until the great shuddering sobs fade away until there is nothing left but soft hiccups and hitching breaths.

"Are you okay?"

A sigh, followed by a small nod.

When Jack is sure Sam is calmed down enough, he pats his back lightly and stands up. He grabs the tissue box on his left and sets it down in the lap next to him.

"I'm going to get you something, I'll be right back, okay?"

Sam nods again but doesn't look up, busying himself with a few tissues, wiping his wet face.

Jack takes that as a yes and hurries out of the room, his mind frantically going over everything he needs for what he is about to prepare.

He can do this, and this time he will do it right.

After 15 minutes (longer than he would have liked) he's back at the doorstep of the bedroom. Sam's still sitting in the same spot Jack left him. He walks up to the bed until he's standing next to him.

"Uhm, I made this for you."

And at that, Sam looks up, eyes still red and swollen, but his face is dry.

Jack is standing before him, in his hands a tray with two steaming mugs.

"I made you hot chocolate, all by myself, and I did it right this time! I have nougat too!"

Jack can't help the small smile of pride at that. He didn't mess up this time, didn't burn his hand.

Sam's eyes widen a little in surprise. "Thank you, Jack, that's really great!"

Sam's voice is hoarse but strong, and a small smile appears.

And that's all that Jack wants for now.

He smiles back, "let's drink it before it gets cold, after all, hot chocolate is the best when it's still hot, right!"

Sam's smile widens until he's grinning.

"Yeah," he says, "you're right."