It was winter in the bunker. The kind of winter that didn’t just stay outside- it crept in, seeping through concrete walls and into people’s bones. Dean had gotten grumpier by the day, muttering about the cold and snapping at anyone who tried to talk to him. Sam had taken to hiding in the library or his room, wrapped in books like armor. And you… you weren’t exactly yourself. You didn’t joke, didn’t spark the way Jack was used to seeing you. Even hunts which were usually something that usually lit you and the Winchesters up.. were met with grim faces and quick retreats to separate rooms.

Jack didn’t understand. Monsters were gone, the hunt was successful, everyone was safe… so why did it feel heavier than losing?

Sitting in the kitchen with Cas, Jack asked about it, about why everyone seemed dimmer, quieter, and more distant. Cas explained softly that winter could do that. That the lack of sun, the cold, the endless nights weighed on humans in ways Jack might not feel. Seasonal depression.

Jack chewed on the idea like it was a word he couldn’t quite pronounce. Sad because of the sky? Gloom because of the season? He wanted to help. Needed to help.

So, while the bunker felt like it was shutting itself away, Jack started trying- sneaking into the kitchen to cook your favorite meal (burning a little, but trying again, determined), finding excuses to knock on Sam’s door with coffee, daring to suggest a dumb movie to Dean just to get him to roll his eyes. And most of all, hovering near you, tilting his head as if he could figure out the sadness if he stared long enough.

Jack didn’t know what “seasonal depression” really meant. But he knew this: you were his family. And if winter had teeth, he’d find a way to make it bite less.