To Be Human (SPN, Jack) *rewrite* --5/?

[lillian]

I wasn't happy with the first version of this story so I re-wrote it. Plus there will be more parts! (Jack is 18)

__

"Maybe... maybe we could go on a hunting trip. I mean, if you want to," Cas said, offering a casual shrug.

Jack looked up at him, face full of trust and excitement. Cas couldn’t stop a proud smile of his own. Suddenly, Jack ducked his head and began to cough. Not the stifled throat clearing he’d been doing since that morning, but full, deep coughs. He sniffled and took a deep breath, wincing.

“Sorry,” he said. 

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, frowning. Jack gave him a reassuring smile, which quickly disappeared as his mouth fell open and his eyebrows shot up. 

“ASHHue!” Jack belatedly covered his mouth and nose with a cupped hand. 

Cas started in surprise at the sudden noise.

“God bless you.” This was not a new phrase to him, but he was still awkward and uncomfortable saying it. Somehow though, it felt instinctual to say to Jack, offering sympathy and comfort.

Jack was surreptitiously wiping the pink edges of his nose on his sleeve. He sniffled harshly and cleared his throat. 

“Thadk you.”

The stuffy rasp in his voice sharpened Cas’ attention further. 

“You sound unwell,” he said, searching Jack’s form for signs of ailment. His nose was pink around the edges, dark circles bruised puffy eyes, and his lips were chapped and slightly parted to allow air through. 

Cas stepped forward and laid a palm on his forehead, brow furrowed. Finding no fever, Cas retracted his hand. 

“I’m fide.” Jack sniffled again, this one seeming to clear his nose a bit more. “I’m human now. Probably just getting my first cold.” His voice cracked a little at the end, and he had to clear his throat again. 

 He’d noticed Jack’s croaky voice that morning, but Dean and Sam hadn’t said anything about it and he usually took cues from them about “human things.” He’d assumed then that it was ordinary morning grogginess. 

Jack’s nose scrunched up with a sniffle, then he broke into a wide, reassuring smile. 

Cas felt a small pang of sympathy, then relief. He’d had a cold once, when he was human. It had not been pleasant, but he'd survived it. Jack rubbed his nose and sniffled again. Just a human cold. He would go find supplies. A runny nose, he could fix.

“I’ll make you some soup, then,” he said gently, and closed the door. 

__

On his way to the bunker kitchen, he passed Sam in the hallway. 

“Sam– do we have tissues?”

Sam nodded distractedly. “Uh yeah, should be some in the linen closet.”

“Thank you.”

Sam nodded and turned to continue on his way.

“I do not require tissues, but Jack has a cold,” Cas said quickly.

Sam stopped and turned around, a worried frown creasing his forehead.

“Wait, Jack has a cold?” 

"I think so." The little thread of worry Cas hadn’t been able to will away thrummed again, tight in his heart. He’d hoped that Sam would just nod and offer some advice about viral illnesses.

To his relief, Sam shrugged. “Okay, he just needs to hydrate and rest and he should be fine.”

“I am making him soup.”

Sam nodded. “Good. I’ll go bring him some tissues.”

A cold. A human cold. Cured with tissues and rest and soup. Cas could handle that.

-

Sam knocked gently on Jack’s door. 

“Cobe in,” came a muffled voice. 

Sam eased the door open to find Jack perched on his bed, one hand hovering half-way to his face.

He snapped forward into his hand with an irritated-sounding “het’SHHyew!” 

“Gesundheit,” Sam said, “that does sound like a cold.” Jack tried to look at him, but his breath hitched again as his teary eyes slipped closed. 

“ATCH’hew!” 

Sam smiled sympathetically. 

Jack sniffled wetly. “Sor–” he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I started sdeezi’g a- ah - ATSHHuu!” The sneeze was not the driest, and Jack quickly clamped both hands over his streaming nose “...and now I cad’t stop.” He snuffled again. “This is gross.”

Sam cringed and held out the box of tissues. 

“Try to use your elbow or a tissue instead of your hand, okay?”

“If I wanted a snot-nosed kid I’d’ve ditched condoms years ago,” Dean said from the doorway. 

“Dean! Don’t be a dick. He’s never been sick before.”

Jack’s hurt expression was replaced with a hazy, vacant one. He ducked into the tissues to sneeze again, this time clenching his teeth to hold back the sound. 

“het’GXTsh!” 

He blew his nose quietly and balled up the used tissues. He sniffled, and reached for more from the box Sam was holding. He carefully blew his nose again, turning away from Sam and Dean as the soft, productive blows turned into a congested honk. 

Dean’s brow furrowed.

“Soup is ready,” Cas said, coming to stand behind Dean with a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of water. Dean stepped out of his way, lingering by the door. Cas set the soup and water on the nightstand. Jack kept his body turned to the side, pitching again into the by now damp tissues.

“AKSH! hh… hah… hak’SHH! ughnn… hh!  hat’TISCHUuu!” Partially muffled in his hand, the sneeze was heavy and rough; the recovery bleary and snuffly. 

“Bless you, Jack,” Sam said gently.

Cas frowned. “Is this… normal?” He tried to remember all the times he’d seen Sam or Dean sneeze, but found he couldn’t think about anything except the newly human nephilim in front of him.

Dean snorted. Sam glared at him. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty normal for the beginning of a cold.”

“It’s just so… itchy,” Jack said, rubbing his nose.

Sam smiled. "I know. You’ll feel better in a few days."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Will you two quit hovering and let him sleep? He’s got the sniffles. He’s fine,” Dean said, turning to leave.

–

Just check. Make sure his light’s out and he’s actually asleep. It’s not wussy to check. Dean paused by Jack’s door, listening. Light spilled through the grate at the bottom of the door. 

A ragged inhale followed by a choked cough sounded through the door. Dean stepped back, eyes widening, then raised a fist to knock. 

“Jack?” 

The coughs continued, Jack unable to answer. Dean threw the door open.

Jack’s eyes went wide as he clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Earlier, when he was coughing, Cas had reacted in a way that made Jack worry that what he was feeling wasn’t normal. Sam and Dean seemed mostly amused by his sneezing, but — Jack coughed harder, curling in on himself and turning away. He wheezed, the coughs gurgling in his chest. Something metallic filled his mouth and he swallowed it back down.

“Jesus, sounds like you’re gearin’ for pneumonia, Sniffles. You breathin’?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, I am breathing.”

“Then we’re golden.” Dean paused, unsure what to do next. Jack sat perched on the bed where they’d left him, a tissue crumpled in his hand. He saw Dean glance at the tissue, and he tossed it into a trashcan on the other side of the bed, pushing the can out of sight. He took a deep breath, and let it out with a wheeze. He coughed gently into his fist and smiled up at Dean. 

“Everything’s okay, I promise. I have a cold, right? And coughing is a symptom. I looked it up.”

“Yeah but you sound like you’d like one less lung in your chest.”

Jack frowned. Dean sighed. 

“I mean your cough sounds bad. Like, worse than just-a-cold bad.” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, looking at his hands folded in his lap. 

Dean frowned in surprise. “Sorry? You’re fightin’ off a bug, it’s not your fault.”

“Well I'm –” a panicked look came over Jack’s face and he quickly pinched his nose. “n’GZXT–!” He jerked forward so hard he almost hit his forehead on his knee. 

“Woah, easy there!”

“hnn… NXGT! hhhNXCHT!” 

Jack threw his head back, forefinger and thumb still clamped tightly over his nose, knuckles of his fist white with the effort of holding back his sneezes. Tears gathered in his dark blond lashes.

“haahhhh… hg’CHXT!NGXT!NXT!ehh–” A tear slid down his cheek.

“Stop that, dammit!” Dean reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling Jack’s hand away from his face. 

Eyes still screwed shut, Jack turned away from Dean with a desperate “ASHH!ASH!ASH-shoo!” He heaved a breath and threw his arm over his face, wrenching himself from Dean’s grasp. “hahhh—hat-DJSHH!” He tented his hands over his nose and mouth and trembled with another wet “ISH…!” –another gasp– “igt-SHOO!” 

Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding him steady by the shoulder. 

“I– ihhh– I’b soh–hh! hgg’shh! huh… I’b sorry…” Jack panted, sniffling hard behind his hands. 

“Gesundheit.”

Dean snatched a handful of tissues and handed them to Jack, unconsciously starting to rub his back. 

Jack gave him a watery glance over the tissues, then shut his eyes tight and blew softly.

“C’mon, harder than that,” Dean said, and smacked him on the back, causing Jack to accidentally let out a loud gurgly blow. “There ya go. Again.” Jack blew hard, petering off into congested snuffles. 

Dean offered him the box of tissues. Carefully keeping the soggy handful tight to his face, Jack pulled out a few and rapidly switched them, tossing the soiled ones in an overflowing trash can by the bed. 

“I’b sorry…” he mumbled croakily, then tried to blow again. All that came out was a harsh honk. Dean rubbed his back in sympathy as he coughed stuffily into the tissues. He lowered them cautiously and sniffled, congested and strained. “Ugh… gross.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, you’re pretty gross right now,” he said good-naturedly. 

Jack’s eyes widened.

“Woah, hey,” Dean said, “I didn’t mean it like that. Everyone’s gross when they’re sick. But do me a favor and don’t try to smother yourself again. That only makes it worse.”

Jack looked down at the wet tissues in his hand and then leaned over to throw them away. 

“I was tryi’g dot to mbake so buch doise…” he sniffled and scrubbed two fingers under his pink nostrils. 

Dean’s heart clenched a bit at the familiar gesture. Kid still watched his every move… He felt a pang of guilt. 

Jack coughed harshly into a fist and sniffled blearily. 

“Is id ogkay if I go tdo bed dow?” He asked softly. 

“Yeah, I’ll let you be,” Dean said, getting up so Jack could slip under the covers. “I don’t think Drs. Over and Cautious gave you enough cold medicine so I’m gonna go grab the Nyquil, okay?”

Jack smiled slightly and nodded. “Ogkay…”

Dean turned to leave. 

“Deadn?”

“Mm?”

“Thagks…”

Dean sighed. “You’re welcome, bud.” He gently closed the door. Heading down the hall, he heard the sound of deep, chesty coughs muffled into a blanket.

Dean power-walked back down the hall. He threw open the door and found Jack curled on his side in bed, muffling cough after cough into the blankets. Dean marched forward and laid the back of his hand first on his forehead, then cheek, then neck. 

“Jesus, Jack, you’re burning up.”

TBC...

Edited June 23, 2023 by lillian

[secret19]

Well this is amazing but what’s new 🙄😂 

Can’t wait for more Lillian!

[Femilloween77]

That's such a great beginning! Your Dean is absolutely perfect on top of that. Glad you plan on writing more...

[lillian]

Aww thank you guys!! Seriously made my night

 

this next part is more coughing than sneezing, but don’t worry… 

—

Jack wriggled out from under his touch. 

“Hurts…” he muttered, swallowing thickly. 

Dean grabbed his shoulder. 

“What hurts?!”

“S-skin..” another cough. “Chest.” He took a shaky breath and muffled a sneeze in cupped hands. “Hnnnxshh! Guhh… head…”

Dean laid the backs of his fingers against Jack’s forehead head again, then his cheek. Jack squirmed.

How had he not noticed? Heat poured off Jack in waves. Red spots burned high on his cheeks. When he looked up at him, his dark blue eyes were glassy and unfocused. His lips were bright red. In the corner of his mouth… was that…? No way. He was definitely imagining the worst-case scenario. 

Suddenly, Jack pulled the blanket over the lower half of his face and coughed, hard and deep. Dean moved his hand from Jack’s cheek to cup the back of his sandy blond head. Heat burned his palm where he gently rubbed his thumb across Jack’s feverish skin. 

Jack coughed and coughed, finally pausing for a ragged breath. He swallowed thickly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, quickly slipping the hand under the covers. Dean frowned, but didn’t push. He smoothed Jack’s hair back from his clammy forehead, suddenly feeling like he was miles and years away in a hotel with a sick little brother; learning too young how to soothe away hurt. 

He snapped into gear. Thermometer, water, aspirin. 

“Jack?” 

“Mn?”

“I’m gonna go grab some stuff to help you feel better, so sit tight, okay?”

A hot hand closed around his wrist as he started to get up. 

“You want me to stay?” Dean asked, softening. Jack coughed again, the sound rattling in his chest. 

“Cad you get Cas?” He wheezed. 

Dean stiffened slightly. An odd feeling of heaviness settled in his chest. Jack didn’t want him. Makes sense, he thought. Kid’s probably still scared of me. 

He cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, I’ll go get him.” He got to his feet and abruptly left, not looking back at the shivering form on the bed.

TBC…

Edited May 23, 2023 by lillian

[lillian]

Tense-change! In the show Jack’s got some angel crap going on that’s mostly coughing up blood, but I’m fixing it so that it’s no blood and more sneezing

—-

“Jack?” Castiel peers around the door into the dark room. The young man on the bed shifts, looking up at him, and his eyes glint feverishly in the light from the hall. He looks like he’s been crying. 

“Jack? Are you—?”

Jack squints, one dark blue eye edging closed before the other. A tear slips down the side of his nose. Red, irritated nostrils flare. The light isn’t strong, but Jack’s nerves are raw and waiting from fever and inflammation. 

“hehehh… ehyehhhh… ETSCHhh—! huhngg…” A tired, wheezy exhale seems to relieve some of the stuffy tension. It’s only one, but it’s heavy and nasal, like Jack’s doing all he can to avoid more grating against his throat. He coughs anyway, hoarse and chesty. 

“God bless you,” says Castiel, after a moment of waiting for another that usually follows. He’s frozen in the doorframe. He’s seen Dean hurt, seen Sam hurt, seen both of them sick, but Jack..

Jack sniffles, a sound so sodden and fruitless and miserable that Castiel takes a few involuntary steps forward. 

“Oh, Jack..”

His cheeks are red, eyes glassy, shoulders trembling with shivers. Even from the doorway, with his Grace, Castiel can sense his fever. Still, he reflexively presses a palm to Jack’s forehead after he sits down on the edge of the bed. Jack’s eyes slip closed, and he leans in to the touch. Castiel makes a small sound of worry. 

“Deand said I was “burdi’g up.. what’s— whuHUH!” Jack lifts an arm to his face, too tired to fully turn away from Castiel. “HUT—CHSCHehh!” 

“God bless—“

“huhh.. uhh… HEHHHSHHuu!” The sneeze grates harshly against Jack’s throat, raspy and heavy. He sniffles thickly several times, before dissolving into congested-sounding coughs. 

“Bless you..” Castiel grabs a handful of tissues and hands them over. 

Jack takes them, still coughing. As he holds them to his mouth to muffle the sound, Castiel brushes his soft hair back from his forehead, eyes crinkled with worry at the waves of heat he feels. 

Finally, Jack’s coughs peter off into gentle wheezes, and he blows his nose around small, gaspy coughs. The sound is gurgly and unpleasant, but Jack can’t bring himself to care— his dad’s here, running his hand through his hair, rubbing his sore, shivery shoulders gently. 

“Are you cold?” He asks. 

“A little.” 

Castiel shrugs off his coat and wraps it around Jack’s shoulders. Jack snuggles into it, breathing as deeply as he can. Even though he’s stuffy, he can almost smell it— dusty feathers, night air, and crackly ozone. 

“Now, what were you about to say?”

“Before I sdeezed?” Jack looks up blearily, lips parted slightly to breathe. 

Castiel’s smile is small, but there. 

“Ub, just thad Deand said I was burdig up… hhh.. dabbit..” 

Castiel raises his eyebrows at the swear. 

“Hehhhh…hhESHHH!” Jack sniffs and pushes on stubbornly. “A’d I dod dohhh…. Hh! Haahh… AHHshhyew! guhh… Talki’g is baki’g be sd— sdeehhhh…. ISHH!”

“Sneeze,” Castiel says, the little smile coming back. “I can see that. Probably from the vibration in your sinuses.”

Jack nods, then blows his nose. 

“Dean was commenting on your fever.” Castiel lays the back of his fingers against Jack’s temple. “You do feel very warm. I think you might have something more serious than a cold.” 

Half-listening, Jack coughs roughly and grabs more tissues to blow his nose again.

“You should try to get some rest.”

”Mb…” Jack replies, then situates himself so that he’s curled against Castiel, stuffy head resting on his thigh. Castiel holds him close, rubbing his back until he falls asleep. 
 

Tbc?

Edited May 27, 2023 by lillian

[secret19]

Yes Lillian please continue!!

[lillian]

Part 4— “Chesty, Spacey, and Freaking Out His Fathers”

@secret19 this one’s for you dude 

Castiel is gone when Jack wakes up. His room is dark and still. There’s no coffee smell or bacon-pan clanging so it must still be night. He tries to get out of bed, but as soon as he slides out from under the covers, he begins to shiver violently. It feels like the cold air is going straight through his burning skin, settling in his bones and making them ache.

So he stays put, coughing hoarsely against the rawness of his throat.

When someone knocks, it still isn’t Cas.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks, soft like Jack might have a headache. Strangely, his head feels empty. Jack imagines it’s a balloon about to float away— but how would it get through the bunker walls? Would it just bounce up and down against the ceiling?

“Jack?”

There’s a hand on his forehead. Then his cheek, then his neck. Just like Dean.

“You’re still burning up. I need to take your temperature, okay?”

That phrase again. Burning up. Jack knows his skin is hot, but his teeth are chattering. He’s so cold his bones hurt. A shiver runs through his body, suddenly igniting a sharp tingle in his nose. Sam is saying something, waving a small white and blue stick at him. Thermometer, the part of his brain that knows these things informs him. 

Jack hopes Sam can see the sneeze cresting, because his breath is hitching too much to say anything. He holds his elbow to his face just like Sam taught him. 

“HAESHHyehh!” He’s grateful for the pillow of his sleeve when he almost falls over. 

“Bless you!” Jack can’t see his expression, but he thinks Sam sounds surprised. 

“HhhhyeGSCHHH! Hh! Heh! HETSCH-CHH!” The last one jerks him twice and he’s not sure if it was technically one or two. Either way, he’s now covered in snot. 

“Jeez, Jack. Bless you.” Sam sounds wary. “Here.”

Jack cracks his eyes open to find that tissues have appeared. Before he can blow, he chokes a bit and coughs, rumbling and damp and breathless. He feels the bed lower with Sam’s weight. A large hand settles on his back. 

“What an awful way to wake up. I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad.” Jack doesn’t have to look at him to know Sam’s giving him The Eyes. 

When Jack finally wheezes to a stop, he glances up. Yep, The Eyes. Even through his irritated tears, he can see the furrowed brow and downturned mouth of a worried Sam. 

“‘S’okay…” Jack croaks. He sniffles. Blows. Hitches again. Sam leans back slightly, trying to not to be obvious, but also trying not to be sneezed on. Jack presses a knuckle to the side of one nostril, it makes a squelchy sound but quells the itch. He sighs. He’s tired of sneezing, especially because now it makes him cough. “I’b fide...”

“You’re pretty sick, Jack. We think you probably have the flu.” An odd tone that Jack will later recognize as doubt creeps into his voice. His voice is gentle, but his jaw his clenched and he can’t hide the anxious tightness around his eyes. Jack wonders briefly what the flu is, and means to ask, but the thought floats away. “I just need to check your temperature,” Sam is saying. “Put this under your tongue and try not to move it too much.” Sam tries to hand him the thermometer, but Jack suddenly shoves the side of his fist against his reddened, twitchy nose, taking shallow, needy breaths—

“Hhh… HAPSCHHhh!” Oops.

Sam winces. “Bless you.” Tissues are shoved into his not-just-sneezed-on hand. 

Jack, spacey and airy though he feels, gets the hint. He thinks, anyway. Still hitching desperately, he pinches his nose through the tissues.

When it hits, he actually does a pretty good job. It’s loud, but it’s controlled. Like Sam on a hunt, or Dean (always). 

“NGXXK—! hh… grRSHHK!” Ohh…ow... “Ncht!ncht!chHHXT! hehhyehhh…!” 

“Jack!” Sam grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him once, hard. He suddenly sounds a lot like his father. “Stop that right now!”

Jack understands immediately. His head is spinning, his chest is tightening threateningly, his sinuses abruptly remind him that they, too, are inflamed and angry as they throb along with his quick heartbeat.

“Hhh… hrrRUSCHHHEH!” That one comes straight from his chest, and triggers what feels like his worst coughing fit yet. They’re deep and growly, taking all of his breath to choke out. The reactive contractions of forced air are trying hard to loosen things up, but it’s like churning gravel-y cement.

Idiot. The three syllables are deafening. He’s not sure if he said it aloud, or if Sam muttered it. Maybe it’s Dean thinking it… can he read minds? He’s never tried before… but his powers are gone now… 

“Breathe,” Sam says softly, bringing him back. 

Jack takes a shaky breath, then wheezes it out, eyes wide as he looks up at Sam. He realizes he’s been holding his breath. Then he’s breathing fast, sucking in air to try to fill his crackly lungs. It’s not enough… not enough…!

“Don’t panic. You’re okay.” Sam’s hand is rubbing his back again. Jack can feel it pausing in certain places as he breathes in and out. Sam frowns, but gives a quick smile of reassurance when he feels Jack’s eyes on him.

Jack closes his eyes, focusing on coaxing air in and out of his heavy, achy chest. 

Suddenly, footsteps sound from two different directions, and Dean and Castiel are coming through the door. 

“We heard—“ Cas begins.

”Was that Jack?” 

Cas is crouching by the bed, one hand on Jack’s shoulder, the other on his flushed cheek. Dean just stares, eyes wide. 

“What the fuck is wrong with him?”

Sam looks at Dean pleadingly. 

“We gotta get him to the infirmary. Go find the med kit.”

—-

TBC, again

—- 

I usually write indulgent fluff so this more “serious” stuff is new… how’d I do? 

Edited May 27, 2023 by lillian
Improvement

[Femilloween77]

You did really well... poor Jack! I'm glad he's being taken care of though, I can't wait to see what's next for him.

[secret19]

“Like Sam on a hunt or Dean (always)” I want a entire new story based on this sentence alone. 😫😫😫 

Positively drooling.

[lillian]

@secret19 it’s on my list

Thank you guys!! Three dads are a lot of fun to play with 

[lillian]

Part 5: Dads Have Feelings Too

A hundred pounds soaking wet… Jack remembers Dean saying as Sam gently deposits him onto the starchy-white infirmary bed. It does feel nice though, being carried. Once on his back, the weight of his chest settles like an iron bar and he chokes. Dean yanks him up by the shoulder and stuffs an extra pillow behind him. 

The effect is that he can now cough without strangling. Well, less strangling. He still can’t draw a full breath. He scoots up more and draws his knees to his chest, leaning into them and coughing, churning gravel. 

Dean hauls the med kit onto the table with a metallic clang. “Fix him!”

Sam’s calm charade is sliding off his face. His eyes are wet and red. 

Castiel stands at the end of the bed, holding tight to the railing. 

Nobody touches him now, but all he wants is to be held. 

“Sam!” Dean barks, opening the med kit. They’d figured out that Cas couldn’t fix Jack when he’d taken a tumble down the bunker stairs and sprained his wrist. Cas couldn’t even tell what was wrong. But that doesn’t mean he’s completely useless. 

“What was his last temperature?” 

Silence. The three men stare at each other over the bed. 

“Hot,” says Dean, crossing his arms. He’d passed Jack-care duty over to Cas, and he felt nothing about that. It was fine. 

“If my powers worked on him I would have—“

“I tried to take it, but he was sneezing and coughing and really out of it..” Sam says, guilt only adding fuel to the puppy-dog look on his face. 

“So nobody has taken his temperature yet? Anybody given him NyQuil or something?”

There’s the sound of shuffling feet. 

Dean’s voice shifts quickly from accusatory to pissed. 

“Am I the only one who knows how to take care of a sick kid? Seriously?” 

Sam looks at him with eyes so guilty and forlorn that Dean wants to puke. Cas stares at his feet. Dean rounds on him. 

“Kid asked for you specifically. What’d you think, a kiss on the forehead would make it all better?”

Cas gives him a wounded look. 

“Dean, I know you’re upset that Jack wanted Cas—“ Sam begins.

“Hoo boy, no I’m pissed because none of you actually did anything to help!”

Jack pushes himself up in bed. “You all took care of mbe,” he says, hoarse and stuffy. “I’b really glad—“ he cuts himself off with a heavy, wet, unfotunately uncovered “hhhTSCHHH!” that seems to take him by surprise. He can’t open his eyes before he tumbles forward again with a high, breathy gasp “hih! hihhyEHHH-TCHOO!” The coughs after rumble in his chest, hoarse and breathless. 

Dean grabs the thermometer out of Sam’s shirt pocket and stomps over to the bed. Sam goes to the med kit and roots around, instruments clanging. 

Jack looks up, gasping, just as Dean sticks the thermometer in his mouth. He gags, chokes, but Dean doesn’t falter. 

“Under your tongue. Hold still.”

Castiel is frozen. He watches Sam and Dean get to work like they’re on a case, pushing their feelings down and out of the way. He can tell Sam feels guilty (he’s always very obvious), and Dean is…jealous? for some reason he cannot understand. He is still unable to move. They’re better fathers to his son than he’ll ever be.

With a flap of wings, he’s gone. 

—

 

Dean can’t with angel feelings right now. Jack squirms uncomfortably. A squeaky attempt at drawing breath through his nose and jumpy little hitches in his chest make it obvious why. 

“Hang on bud, wait ‘till it beeps.” 

But Jack can’t wait. “HmmPSHHH!” He bites down with his teeth and manages to keep the thermometer in his mouth. He’s grateful that Sam still seems to be occupied with the med kit as he attempts to snuffle back the thick mess that comes with the sneeze. He braces himself for a grossed-out noise from Dean, but his dad just reaches into his pocket for his bandana and hands it to him, focused on the rising numbers on the thermometer. It beeps, and Dean jerks it out of his mouth. Taking that as permission to move, Jack buries his nose in the bandana and blows. 

“103.2” Dean announces grimly. Sam sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

“Yeah, that’s not the flu.” 

Sam sits on the edge of the bed and sets a tray of various medical things next to him. He’s holding a stethoscope. Dean backs up, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Okay Jack, I need you to turn around so your back is to me.”

Jack shuffles around awkwardly, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them. Dean fights the urge to avert his eyes as Sam moves the silver end piece thing around, telling Jack to breathe in and out. One deep breath catches on something, and Jack coughs that awful, gravelly cough into his knees. Sam, hearing it through the stethoscope, pulls back quickly. He scrubs one hand down his face and gets up, putting the tray on the table. 

“I’ll be right back.”

“Am.. am I okay?” Jack croaks.

“Yeah, kid, you’re okay,” Dean says, watching Sam leave. “We’ll get you fixed up.”

Sam soon returns, flipping through a fat textbook with a skeleton on the cover. 

“Are we really trusting medical advice from the 50s?” Dean asks. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “No. I bought this one.” 

Dean starts to say something dickish, looks at Jack, and changes his mind. He’s glad Sam has answers right now. 

The only sound is Jack’s wheezy breathing. After a few minutes, Sam looks up. 

“Bilateral bacterial pneumonia.”

Jack looks terrified. 

“English?” Dean prompts. 

Sam rolls his eyes. It’s really not that complicated. Instead of telling his brother this, he explains to Jack. 

“You have an infection that’s causing inflammation and fluid buildup in your lungs.”

Jack looks down at his chest curiously. “Inflammation?”

“Yeah,” Sam pauses to think. “Like when Dean got scratched by that cat, and the cut was all red and hot.”

“And itchy,” Dean muttered. 

Jack considered this. “And he was sneezing a lot… is inflammation why I’m sneezing too?”

Sam was pleasantly surprised. Jack was a quick student. “Yeah, actually. You don’t usually sneeze as much with pneumonia, but whatever strain you’ve got is apparently affecting your whole respiratory system. Which sucks, I’m sorry.” 

Dean is suddenly hit with a very unpleasant memory from almost fifteen years before. 

“There’s no way it’s… it’s a striga, is there?” 

Sam’s eyes are soft. “No, I think Jack’s human immune system just hasn’t built up enough yet.” 

Dean lets out a slow breath, shoulders visibly relaxing. “Makes sense.” Crisis averted, he remembers the drama from earlier. “Where the hell is Cas?”

—

If the dads were emojis they’d be 🥺😡&😥

Also, new headcanon unlocked— Sam is homeschooling Jack to get him caught up 

Edited May 29, 2023 by lillian

[Femilloween77]

pokzfgkfjhb this is so goooood. Dean turning into a jealous mother hen while Cas is at loss in his corner, that fits them both so well. Amazing writing, as always!

[lillian]

@Femiline77 I’m so glad you’re enjoying it! Thanks for the encouragement! Dean’s so mad that nobody else had to go through the childhood trauma of raising their younger sibling. He knows what he knows and he’s damn good at it.

 

 I edited the most recent to add the bit more that I just wrote! 

Edited May 29, 2023 by lillian

[lillian]

going to rewrite this part again…~

Edited June 23, 2023 by lillian