Whumptober Day 28
Warning: spoilers for 14x3
Today’s whumptober prompt was “Severe illness”. I was originally going to do something else for this but then when I saw the last ep I had to do this instead.
28. Severe Illness
Sam stared at the wastebasket in the library, a worried furrow between his brows. This wasn’t a good sign. Memories of his illness during the Trials came back to him, coughing up blood, trying and failing to keep it from Dean—was Dean trying to keep something from him now? They still didn’t know everything that Michael had done to him. Even though Dean seemed fine, Sam knew his brother was an expert at concealing his pain, both mental and physical.
Cas walked into the library then and Sam checked to make sure Dean wasn’t following him before he motioned him over.
“Cas, hey, um…have you noticed Dean acting…off?”
Cas frowned. “Well, he has seemed distant since Michael and rightfully so, but we expected that. Why, what’s wrong?”
Sam shrugged helplessly. “Nothing really, it’s just…I found this.” He picked up the wastebasket and showed Cas the bloody tissues someone had tucked inside. The angel’s eyes widened.
“You think these are Dean’s?” Cas asked.
“I don’t know what to think,” Sam said. “He’s been keeping himself to himself mostly. He doesn’t look hurt, but…”
Cas pressed his lips into a thin line. “I did check him for damage when I searched his memories, and I didn’t see anything, but…after what happened with Nick, and everything, I don’t think we really understand what happens to an archangel’s vessel after—”
“You talking about me again?” Dean came up behind them, making Sam and Cas both start guiltily.
“No, we’re just…” Cas tried as Dean shoved forward.
“What are you looking at?” he demanded and frowned into the trash Sam still held. His eyes widened with confusion and worry, glancing up between the two of them. “Are those either of yours?”
“No,” Sam said firmly putting the trash aside. “We were worried they were yours.”
“Sammy, for the last time, I’m fine. At least…psychically, anyway.”
“Okay, so maybe another hunter,” Sam said, but there was a gnawing worry in his stomach that he was missing something.
“Well, you can interrogate your crew, Chief, I’m not gonna play mom to a bunch of squatting hunters.” He looked around. “Have you seen Jack today? I was gonna help the kid train.”
Cas frowned. “He hasn’t been feeling well. I think he may have caught a cold.”
“Oh, well, I’ll go see if he’s feeling up to it. Maybe some firearms training then,” Dean said and walked off toward the dormitory wing.
Sam turned back to Cas. “Well, it’s not Dean at least. So that still leaves the question—”
“Sam, Cas!” Dean’s voice called frantically from down the halls and Sam and the angel rushed out of the library. Sam had no idea what they would find, but he hadn’t expected the scene they came upon.
Dean was in Jack’s room, the door open, and the elder Winchester was kneeling on the floor beside a crumpled figure.
“Jack!” Cas cried, rushing inside and crouching on the opposite side of Dean.
“Oh god,” Sam breathed. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Dean said helplessly, checking Jack over for injuries. “He was just lying here when I got in.”
Cas pressed a hand to Jack’s forehead, a frown creasing his forehead. “He’s very warm.”
“You said he was sick,” Sam said, bending over to help.
“Yeah, but you don’t usually collapse from a generic cold,” Dean said grimly.
Jack’s eyes fluttered then and he shifted, a moan escaping his throat.
“Jack,” Cas said, reaching down and helping him into a sitting position. “Are you okay?”
Jack glanced at all three of them, looking slightly embarrassed. “Y-yeah, I’m okay…”
“Jack, you were on the floor, unconscious,” Sam said. “I don’t think you’re okay.”
“I am, I just—” Jack stopped with a cough. He doubled over as wet hacks tore from his chest and pressed his hands over his mouth. When he pulled them away Sam’s stomach plummeted as he saw the red staining his palms and lips.
“Oh, Jack,” Cas murmured.
Jack looked at them with something akin to defeat, exhaustion. “I—I haven’t been feeling too well.” His eyes rolled up in his head and he sagged sideways. Sam and Cas caught him before he could hit the floor.
Dean was on his feet, turning the covers down on the bed. “Let’s get him in bed.”
Sam and Cas picked up Jack’s limp form and Sam suddenly realized how frail the boy was. He was always skinny, yeah, but there was less flesh between his skin and bones than there had been before.
Dean grabbed some washcloths and wet one to clean Jack’s hands and face of blood. Jack stirred again and whimpered as Cas tucked the blanket around him.
“Jack, hey,” Sam said, crouching beside the bed and settling a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Is there anything we can get for you?”
Jack’s eyes were wet and he sniffed. “What’s wrong with me?”
Sam looked up at Cas and Dean, but they both looked just as helpless as he felt. Cas came and sat on the side of the bed, reaching out to rub a hand down Jack’s back soothingly. “We don’t know, Jack, but we will find out, and we will get you better, okay?”
“Jack, why would you hide this from us?” Sam asked softly. “How long has this been going on?”
Jack sniffed again. “Maybe a week? I just…we needed to find Michael, and…and I didn’t want to—to be a burden or—or cause anymore problems so…”
“Oh, Jack,” Cas sighed reaching up to stroke Jack’s hair away from his face as a tear slid down the boy’s cheek. “You’re not a burden. You’re family.”
“That’s right,” Dean added. “And Michel is not a priority if family is this bad off. You don’t have to hide that you’re hurting, kid.”
Sam reached out and took his hand, squeezing. “Exactly. You need to take care of yourself too.”
Jack’s chest hitched in a sob but it turned into another cough and he curled into himself, some blood spattering onto the sheets before he covered his mouth again. Cas steadied him and he was sobbing by the time the coughing fit was done. Dean handed Sam the wet cloth and Sam gently cleaned the blood from Jack’s skin again.
“Am I dying?” Jack whispered shakily.
Sam felt a lump in his throat, glancing up at Cas who looked haggard and helpless, but it was Dean who stepped in and said, “Not on our watch. We’ll get you better, Jack. Whatever this is, we’ll fix it.”
Jack sniffed. “I just…it hurts,” he admitted.
“I know,” Sam said softly, squeezing Jack’s hand again. “But we’re here for you, Jack. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Cas told him, his hand carding through Jack’s hair still. But just rest for now, okay?”
Jack reached up to wipe his eyes, looking almost ashamed as he asked, “Can—can you stay?”
“Of course,” Cas told him firmly.
Jack relaxed slightly and Sam swallowed hard. “I’m gonna go get you something to drink and something for the pain,” he said.
Sam left the room before the weight crushing him showed. Just when they got one win…but, no, he couldn’t think of it like that. Jack was suffering and he needed them. Whatever it was, they would figure it out too. They just needed to focus on Jack right now.
Sam took a steadying breath at that thought, making it his priority. Because whatever else happened, they would figure out how to get Jack better, of that he was certain.
There really was no other option.