#fleas tw

Or tried to, at any rate. She threw more powder at him and he managed to dodge aside, but that lapse in concentration was enough for her to blind him with a flash of light and make her escape.

“You okay, Jack?” Sam asked as he shook his head and tried to blink the spots out of his eyes.

“I think so,” Jack replied. “She was fast for an old lady.”

Sam gave a snort. “Tell me about it. Dean's not gonna be happy about this.”

Jack heaved out a sigh that seemed far too mature for his age and turned to study the artifacts arrayed on the walls of the witch's den. “Maybe we can still find a clue or something?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam replied. He was already texting out a message to his brother and secretly dreading the reply. What, the resident moose and Lucifer's son couldn't handle on measly black magic grandma?

He could hear Jack muttering something and turned around in time to see the younger man scratch at his arm irritably. “Jack?”

“I think she has fleas,” Jack complained. He switched hands to scratch the other arm, then gave up and clawed at the collar of his shirt. “Don't people with cats usually get fleas?”

“Not if they're taking care of them,” Sam said, staring around the room for evidence of a pet of some kind. There was a ferret cage, but no ferret...didn't mean there couldn't be fleas, he supposed. “I'll see if she's got clove oil, if you add that to your shampoo back at the hotel it'll take care of them.” They could thank Bobby for that one. Even if he didn't always like the smell, after so many crappy motel rooms Sam was glad for the old hunter's little tricks to keep the creepy crawlies away.

“How come they're not biting you?” Jack's face was screwed up in misery as he scratched at the back of his neck, then across his chest with both hands.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, don't do that,” Sam cross the room in a few long strides and caught Jack's wrists, pulling them away from his body. “All right, let's get out of here, no use scratching yourself to pieces.”

Jack gave a hiss of discomfort and tried to twist away from Sam. “It's getting worse!”

Sam looked down at the younger man worriedly. He couldn't see any fleas, though that didn't mean they weren't there. If Jack was having this bad of a reaction, though, there should be some kind of physical evidence. Not to mention Sam himself should be a target as well.

Finally pulling away from Sam, Jack tore at the collar of his shirt until the fabric ripped away. He dug his fingers into the skin of his collarbone and left angry red marks behind as he scratched. “They're under my skin,” he cried. “Get them out! Sam, get them out!”

Helpless, Sam stared as Jack twisted on the floor, tearing at his clothing to dig at the skin underneath. He dropped to his knees and tried to restrain Jack, but somehow the younger man found the strength to throw of Sam's much larger body.

Jack let out a pitiful cry and crawled away from Sam, leaving bloodied streaks in the carpet. He was crawling toward the fireplace, and Sam didn't want to know how much damage he could do if he got hold of one of the tools there. He picked Jack up by the waist, bodily hauling him through the witch's house to the biggest bathroom, where a claw-footed tub stood in the middle of the floor.

Sam dumped Jack unceremoniously in the tub and started the water. He grabbed Jack by the wrists and twisted just enough leverage to keep the younger man still, though Jack still cried and thrashed against him.

“They're all over me!” Jack shrieked. “Why won't you do something? They're eating me alive!”

“I know, I know,” Sam tried to be soothing but his voice was shaking. It had to be a spell, right? She got that powder in Jack's face, maybe it was some kind of itching spell. “I'm trying to help but you have to let me, all right?”

Jack's voice had broken off into strangled moan and he slammed his head against the side of the tub. “Get them out!”

Sam let out a string of curses and dropped Jack's wrists to brace an arm behind his shoulders. Immediately Jack began to claw at his skin again, fighting against the rising water of the tub. Jack lunged to escape the water and clipped Sam under the chin, so that Sam fell backward momentarily stunned.

“No, Jack!” Sam tackled the younger man as Jack tried to make a run for it. He was inconsolable now, twisting and fighting as Sam held him down. He scratched at Sam with broken nails when he wasn't tearing ragged lines into his skin. Sam was just about to look for a way to knock the kid out when he heard the front door slam open.

“Dammit, Sam, answer your phone!” Dean called, storming through the witch's house and stopping in the doorway to the bathroom. He took in the scene with an odd sort of calm and raised both eyebrows. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“He's been cursed, Dean,” Sam snapped. His jaw hurt, his arms and face were scratched, and he was pretty sure he'd sprained his knee tackling Jack.

“Okay, what are we doing?” Dean crouched like he wanted to help Sam restrain Jack, but leaned back when the former nephilim took a swipe at him.

“Ritual bath,” Sam replied. “Unrefined salt, sage, lavender oil. And—dammit, Jack—we got any baking soda?”

Judging by his brother's wild-eyed expression, Dean had no idea where to find this stuff. “And we just dump it in?” he asked, casting a glance at the tub.

“Burn the sage,” Sam explained. Jack got a hand in his face and pushed him back, so that he lost his tenuous hold. Dean took the opportunity to tackle the kid himself, which Sam suspected was more to give him something physical to do instead of hunting down ingredients for a spell.

Sam climbed to his feet with a groan, tucking one arm close to his body. Dean, at least, seemed to be doing better at restraining Jack in his madness—though that might have just been because he hadn't already been scratched half to death. Sam limped into the main room of the witch's house and surveyed her potion ingredients. As he'd hoped, there was a big jar of Himalayan salt as well as lavender oil. He grabbed some clove oil for good measure, just in case—maybe it worked on magic fleas as well as mundane ones. No sage but she had a few incense sticks, and a quick trip to the kitchen rounded up the baking soda.

He was technically combining three or four purifying rituals in one, but that couldn't possibly hurt. The tub was full, so Sam shut the faucet off and tried not to notice the slight pink tinge to the water. He stirred in the salt and baking soda and sprinkled the oils over the water.

“Okay,” he called over his shoulder as he lit the incense. “Ready to dump him in?”

Dean was swearing behind him as he somehow struggled to his feet without releasing Jack. “This gonna work?”

Sam was passing the incense in clockwise circles over the tub as the others approached. “Sure. Of course.”

His older brother snorted. “Well, at least we'll come out of this smelling pretty.” Then, without ceremony, Dean dumped Jack into the tub.

There was a small tidal wave as Jack fought against the water, but with the Winchesters holding him down he was soon overpowered. Sam didn't let his head be under for more than a couple of seconds, just long enough to make sure he was covered in the ritual water. Miraculously, Jack's struggling slowed then stopped, and he lay silent in the tub with his eyes closed, panting for breath.

“Jack?” Sam asked cautiously. “How do you feel?”

Jack let out a small groan and opened his eyes. “It hurts,” he admitted.

Sam exchanged a look with Dean. “What hurts, Jack?”

The young man lifted his arm to display the scratches he'd inflicted while under the spell. “The salt.”

Ah. Right. Salt in the wounds. “How about the spell?”

Jack shook his head. “It's gone. I'm sorry, Sam.”

“Don't worry about it,” Dean replied, leaning into the water to pull Jack out. “Sam likes being scratched, don'tcha, Sammy?”

“Dean!” Scandalized, Sam smacked his older brother on the arm.