OOOOHHHH I'll have to read all of them when I get home but one caught my eye, {B taking care of A when they are sick. } For DaltonStokes? 💜💙💜💙
[i know the last time I wrote a sickfic, I made Nick sick so it’s Jack’s turn!]
Nick has known Jack for quite some time now, has seen him on his best days and his worst, but not quite at his weakest.
It was an odd sight to behold; the beefed up chiseled action hero with skin that’s usually flushed with extraordinary adrenaline and a little bit of testosterone that gives him the authoritative edge that would not be dissimilar to some sort of commander—the skin is now pale, ghostly in comparison to the dark circles tracing his eyes and the light green tint radiating in his cheeks.
His hair, typically styled into a soft fauxhawk or lightly buzzed to match a growing beard, is flattened with cold sweat. His normally tight jeans and tucked in metal band t-shirt traded for a pair of sweatpants and a stained sleeveless top that he claims makes him feel like his idol, John McClane and because of that, he also decides to go barefoot.
Not that he’s going anywhere at all, having been sentenced to the comfiest part of Nick’s couch though he first tried for the bedroom, downplaying the sickness for the sake of cuddles, and more.
“No way, dude, I just got over my own cold, I ain’t catching whatever bug is eating you alive,” Nick had scolded Jack as he steered him towards the couch.
“After all these years I still don’t get why you of all people use that phrase,” Jack mumbled before he fell into a stuffed silence.
And that was perhaps the most adorably humorous, but also the most disturbing part of all: Jack remained mostly silent as he fell into a sedated trance. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his head up. He didn’t fight as Nick tucked his mother’s quilt around him, though whimpered when Nick left his view to cook up some soup.
“It’s okay, my darling Dalton, just hang tight now, alright?” Nick whispered softly into his ear, pecking the top of his forehead before he did a cooking speedrun; slicing vegetables with one hand and lighting the stove with another, pouring the broth and vegetables in the pot and stirring with the same churning that squeezed Jack’s lungs. Harsh coughs made Nick wince, the hacking sounding like borderline choking made even worse by a congested nose that would not seem to empty into the already three discarded tissue boxes that had slipped onto the floor.
As he let the soup simmer, he rounded the couch and plopped himself down next to Jack, pulling him in and resting his head onto Nick’s lap.
He put his hand to Jack’s forehead, which felt almost as hot as the pot on the stove.
“You’re burning up, baby,” Nick began stroking Jack’s hair as he shivered.
“Don’t feel like it,” Jack grunted, though the words were low and almost unintelligible under the hoarse rasp.
“Gotta say it’s a bit of a nice change up, seeing you so weak and helpless for me to take care of you,” Nick tried to crack a smile but his words were lost to the sickness that slipped Jack in and out of sleep, unable to even stay awake for the Bruce Willis marathon Nick had put on to keep him occupied.
After a few moments, Nick got up to check on the soup and only just heard Jack wheeze before he crouched next to the couch to hear him better.
“What was that, my love?”
“‘Least you don’t have Rick threatening to whoop your ass if you don’t make me feel better,” a nasally, snarky response that made Nick chuckle under his breath.
“You know he just means well,” Nick soothed Jack as he brushed the hair away from his drooping eyes. He had to admit it was kind of amusing to have Warrick and Jack so jealous as they fawn over Nick, as frustrating as it was to be treated almost like a child with his knack for trouble—something that did bond the two men into an unspoken promise to keep Nick safe.
And Nick’s sure as hell going to do the same for them.
He spoon fed Jack half a bowl of soup, prodding a few crackers into the man’s tight lips as he tries not to vomit but Nick catches it just in time with a well placed bucket, and a cup of water to replenish the lost fluid.
“Gonna take that to the lab and analyze it?” Jack asked in a daze, and while Nick knew he wasn’t being serious, he wasn’t quite joking, either. It was always hard to read Jack through his dry wit and sarcasm, though they both tended to share the same mask of a sort of goofy charm to hide the real emotions underneath, but it was even harder to read him now, when he was buried under sickly flesh and muzzled with crowded sinuses.
“No matter how many samples I would run, you’d always remain a mystery to me, Jack Dalton,” Nick smiled warmly.
“I li—” Jack’s words hitched into a brief coughing fit that worried Nick until he gurgled out the phlegm that was teasing his throat, “...like it that way.”
His words faded into a gentle snore, his lips parted open and his legs were already kicking the blanket off before Nick wrestled it back to submission to cocoon Jack. He turned down the television and closed the blinds, before settling back onto the floor, leaning his head down on top of Jack’s shoulder, continuing to stroke his hair as he caught the yawn that stretched out of Jack’s mouth.
“I like it that way too,” Nick whispered, and fell asleep into a fever dream of his own, where he’d spend a lot more time with this softer, vulnerable side of Jack Dalton in the domestic bliss that neither of them can afford to ever truly have.
