A/N: Written for one-word whump prompts on tumblr: vomiting + fever.

It was some time in the middle of the night when Jack started shaking, covered in a light sheen of sweat. At first he decided to ignore it, to roll on his stomach and go back to sleep.

Oh, that didn't feel good.

His stomach was aching unbearably, so much so that he couldn't lie still, shifting his legs and tangling up the blankets once he lay on his side. His legs started shaking, his body tense.

For some reason Jack felt like he shouldn't open his mouth, like his body was going to do something he wouldn't like if he did. Still, he called for his dad who was closest to him.

"Sam!"

No sign that his dad had heard him.

Sam was probably asleep, and Jack felt bad waking him, but he knew whatever this was he needed help. He considered calling Dean or Castiel, but Sam was right next door.

"Sam!"

A shudder passed through him, a moan leaving his lips. Jack found it difficult to get deep breaths in, and the pain in his stomach grew worse.

Hurried footsteps, and then his door was opening.

"Jack? Jack, what is it? What's wrong?"

"F-feel… sick," he got out."

Sam took one look at his face, seemed to realize what was going on, and said, "Hang in there. I'll be right back."

No, no! Jack didn't want to be left alone when he was like this, didn't know why. But he didn't say anything, trusting that Sam knew what he was doing.

Something inside of Jack felt odd, traveling up from his stomach, aching almost. He felt dizzy, like any movement was too much, but he still couldn't lie still. He had his legs drawn up to his chest, and was holding onto his thigh with one hand, the other was beneath him, weak, trembling fingers hanging onto his pillow as much as he could.

Tired, he was so tired.

Sam.

Sam came back, and placed something by the bed, down by Jack's head. Jack opened his eyes to see that it was a bucket.

Sam lifted the upper half of Jack's body up slightly, and shifted him closer to the edge of the bed.

"Hey, it'll be okay," Sam told him, a soothing hand on his back. "Just get your head over the bucket."

Jack moaned as he did as he said, and then it felt like his mouth was making too much saliva.

He felt so awful he wanted to cry, and then his stomach heaved, his entire body tensing up. A retching sound left his mouth, his eyes watering, as all the contents of his stomach came up. Sam kept his hand on his back, rubbing in small circles.

Jack wanted to ask him what was happening, feeling as though his heart was racing and he couldn't breathe. But he couldn't. He was perched on the edge of the bed, shuddering for a few seconds, his stomach twisting and twisting, and then it was emptying again.

"It's okay, Jack. I'm right here," his dad told him. "I'm right here."

His mouth empty, but now filled with the sour taste, Jack collapsed back onto the bed, a whimper leaving him. His stomach hurt less right now, and he thought maybe this was over.

No, it wasn't. He was still sweating, some of the muscles in his body still tense. But at least for now he could breathe more easily.

"What's happening?" he asked.

Sam put a hand to his forehead, and frowned at whatever it was he felt there, but then he answered, moving some of his sweaty hair back from his face, "Stomach bug."

"There's a bug in my stomach?" Jack asked, all confused.

Sam let out an easy laugh. "No, no. You have a fever, you must've caught something when you went out recently. Your body's just fighting it off, and your stomach wants to get rid of whatever's inside it." Sam looked down in the bucket, which was too gross for Jack to look at, and then he informed him, "You might be done for now. Looks like you got everything up."

"What's it called? When my body did that, what's it called?"

"Puking, vomiting, throwing up," Sam supplied. "It sucks, I know."

"Will I be okay?"

Sam smiled at him. "Yeah, Jack, you're gonna be just fine."

He pat his shoulder and then informed him, "I'll be right back. Gonna see if Cas can head out and get you some ginger ale, maybe some peppermint tea. I'll go wake Dean and let him know what's going on."

Jack nodded, slowly, being careful to make sure the awful feeling in his stomach didn't come back.

He felt better knowing what was going on with him, that he was going to be okay, but he still hated how miserable he felt. Sam left, and after a minute Jack's stomach started to hurt again.

No, no, no, no, no,he thought bitterly. He was tired. Just wanted to go to sleep.

He was hot, so he kicked his blankets off, but then that made goosebumps rise up on his arms. Jack was too weak to pull the blanket back over himself.

His heart was beating much too quickly, and then one of his dads was pulling the blanket back up over his hips and then sitting on the bed wit him. Dean.

"Hey, kid. Just take deep breaths," his dad told him. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Jack felt awful opening his mouth, worrying that he might puke again, but he did as Dean said. His dad had a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing against him.

His eyelids fluttered closed, and he continued trying to breathe. Just focused on that, on deep breaths. It didn't help the feeling in his stomach, the pain growing worse and worse.

Then he was puking again, head tilted down over the bucket, rancid taste flooding his mouth. Dean now used his hand to help hold him up, to support him, the other one resting against his back.

Sam came back in just as he lay down again. Then he was resting a cloth on his forehead. It was cold and wet, and felt nice.

"This should help bring your fever down," Sam told him, hand pressing reassuringly against his head.

Jack's face was wet – from sweat, from his eyes watering, from some vomit that he was sure had dribbled past his lips onto his chin. One of his dads was wiping at his face with another cloth. He was too tired to figure out who it was.

"How you feelin', Jack?" Sam asked. "You think you're gonna puke again?"

"Not… Not right now," he answered.

"Okay, I'm gonna go clean out the bucket."

Sam was by his side, lifting up the bucket, and then he was leaving again.

"Deep breaths, like we talked about," Dean told him.

It was at least another hour before Jack threw up again, almost nothing coming up. He thought he might've dozed at one part during the night, and after Castiel came back, his three dads took shifts watching him. Castiel offered to heal him, but Jack didn't want him using his powers for something so mundane and seemingly normal. He was human now. He was going to have to put up with sickness like this.

Castiel understood and respected his decision, though he seemed pained to see him in such a state.

Sometime early in the morning, when Jack was exhausted and it seemed as if his stomach had finally calmed down, Dean got him to drink a small glass of water, having him take it in sips.

They waited a half hour, and then Sam gave him some ginger ale. The drink was bubbly and sweet and he liked it.

With some fluids in him he was beginning to feel a little better.

"How's his fever?" Dean asked.

Castiel checked his forehead.

"Still there, but he's cooling down."

"Alright. Alright, that's good," Sam said.

Jack continued to feel sick, his stomach hurting, but he didn't puke again, and he was able to curl up on his side and get some sleep, Castiel rubbing his back and relieving some of the tension in his body.

When he woke up there was another wet cloth on his forehead, this one newer. Sam must've been in to change it.

There was a weight on the bed with him. Still Castiel.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Jack, I'm here."

"I'm… I'm hungry."

He was surprised the words came out of his mouth. He had been so sure he'd never want to eat again, but already his stomach was rumbling, and not at all in a way that made him feel sick.

His dad smiled. "Alright. I'll go have Sam or Dean make you some toast. As they've already informed me, you're going to have to eat plain for awhile."

Jack nodded, and fell back to sleep, content. His dads were watching over him.