#hurt!jack

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: Gen Additional Tags: Imprisonment, Solitary Confinement, Torture, Jack Harkness Whump Wordcount: 200 Summary:

The thing about prisons, past or future, is they really only ever innovate in one way: torturously.

Summary: Written for this prompt in the spnkink_meme on LJ: "Jack gets his first ever splinter in his foot of all places. Sam helps him, and works at distracting Jack and then comforting him after (maybe with ice cream and a movie because it was a very big splinter)."

Snippet:

"Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice | Alt 4. Stitches

referenced child abuse, hurt!jack, doctor!dean, jack kline, uncle!cas, attempted crisis intervention

Thought I would try a simple pencil sketch...

But then I started colouring it digitally and just refused to stop 😋

read on ao3?

lads,,,i did something, im not sure if it’s it, cheif. is it cash money? idk.

(imma dedicate this bad boy to @jackklinelovesstarwars lmao this discord server is wickety wickety whack i luv it)

~

Sam wakes up, and he hates it.

He hates how used to this feeling he is; the feeling of waking up on ground, hurt and disoriented.

His back aches, and it’s a harsh reminder that “middle age” is closely creeping up to him. His head throbs from the blow that the ghost him and Jack (god, he’s a baby) were hunting gave him. He hurts. He can feel the broken ribs, broken nose, concussion, and the broken glass sticking to his body. And the exhaustion from insomnia seems to catch up to him as he lays on the floor, his body not willing to catch up with his mind.

God, he’s exhausted.

And suddenly, a voice is speaking to him.

“-am! Sam! Are you alright?” Jack sounds so worried and young, and Sam half wishes he wasn’t even here.

“I’m good.” He groans and swallows the nausea.

“No, no, no. Dean said—”

“It’s fine, Jack. Let’s just—gah!” His attempts to stand were trampled by the way the pain flared in his sides and behind his eyes. He feels Jack steady him, and puts a hand behind Jack’s back for balance

“We should get out of here.” Jack whispers, as the ghost looks back at the two of them angrily. (And Sam can barely remember why this ghost is vengeful anyway.)

“We can’t leave just yet. Lemme call—”

But Sam can’t even finish before he notices the blood seeping from Jack’s back covering his hand.

Sam’s breath hitches and their eyes meet.

“Jack, that’s not…”

“Oh, I-I-” and Jack starts falling.

“Jack? Jack!” Sam scrambles to catch the boy despite his body’s protests. He brings them both to the ground, with Jack’s head in his lap.

“The ghost—I didn’t realize it—” Jack chokes out, blood dripping from his mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay—it’s okay.” Sam reassures through gritted teeth. The ghost snarls at them before disappearing, and part of Sam is grateful. His head hurts and he knows he’s seconds from blacking out, but now he’s got a bleeding kid in his lap so that’s out of the question.

“S-Sam?” Jack’s voice is soft.

“You’re alright, you’re alright. I’m getting you out of here.” Sam scoops up the boy into his arms (and oh my Chuck it hurts.)

“What about the-the ghost?” Sam hates how Jack’s voice wavers. Sam tucks Jack as close as possible.

“Don’t worry about the ghost. I can call someone or…”

He trails off because it’s getting harder to stay focused, but Jack doesn’t seem to notice.

As Sam sets the kid down on his side in back seat, he gets a good look at the wound.

It’s not too deep, and Sam knows he’ll probably survive, but he still is bleeding a good amount.

And it brings up memories he half forgot.

Hey, look at me. It’s not even that bad. It’s not even that bad, all right? Sammy? Sam!

“It hurts…” Jack sniffles. Sam rubs Jack’s shoulder before pressing a spare flannel up against the wound. Jack winces, and Sam pretends not to notice the tears.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Sympathy drips from Sam’s voice. “It’s gonna be alright.”

“You sure?” Jack sounds like he’s also on the verge of passing out.

“It’s not even that bad, kid. It’s not.” He cringes slightly. It’s been eight years. “Hang in there.”

Sam has never been the best driver, but god knows he should have been arrested for that drive back to the bunker.

~

“Dean! Cas!” Sam’s own body is screaming at him as he makes his way swiftly down the stairs, Jack’s body suddenly raging with fever.

Dean comes sprinting in, eyes widening when he sees the damage.

“God, Sammy, what happened?” Dean asked as he guides Sam to a bed for the kid.

Sam laid Jack on his stomach, tilting his head up to take care of the fever in a minute.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked, blinking away the black dots. Dean looked up skeptically at his brother.

“He was away with Rowena, remember? We talked about it before you left?” Dean prompted. Sam inhaled and tried to think, but the dots grew larger and his feet stumbled.

“No-no...I-”

“Sammy? Sam, you okay?” His brother’s voice was muffled. Sam shook his head, grabbing the wall behind him. “Sammy! Sammy?”

Sam felt his brother grab his shoulders, but his brain fuzzed out.

~

Hey, listen to me. We’re gonna patch you up, okay? You’ll be good as new. Huh? I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take you care of you. I’ve got you. That’s my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother? Sam? Sam! Sam! Sammy!

~

Don't get mad at me. Don't you do that. I had to. I had to look out for you. That's my job.

And what do you think my job is?

What?

You've saved my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. Don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you out of this. Guess I gotta save your ass for a change.

~

I tried everything. That's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months, and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right? Dean, I'm sorry.

~

This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up! Look!

This is different. Right? Then the crap that’s tearing at your walnut? I’m different. Right?

Hey. I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? I’m the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy.

~

What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? I mean, who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, another -- another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just-

Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it -- none of it -- is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy...come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you.

~

He wakes up again, and it hurts more than before.

It’s not real awareness, more of a feeling than anything.

In the time he was out, he managed to dig up memories he had wished to forget.

And then he remembers Jack.

“Jack-!” He sits up and immediately regrets it.

“Easy! Easy!” Dean’s hands easily guide him back down on the bed.

“Where’s Jack?” Sam gasps. A better question was; where was he? A second look around, and he was in his own bed. There was a bandage wrapped around where his ribs were, an ice pack on his head and bandages covering his arms and neck where the glass had entered.

“He’s with Cas now. His fever just broke before you woke up.” Dean looked a bit hesitant.

“What is it?” Sam asks, trying not to think of the worst.

“You got him here just in time, Sammy. It was close.” Dean told him. Sam exhaled with relief.

“And Cas fixed him up?”

“Good as new. He’s on his way to help you too.”

“Why?” Sam swallowed a groan. Dean chuckled.

“Sam, you’ve been out for seven hours.” Dean removed the ice pack and replaced it with another. Sam pretended to not enjoy it. “You didn’t wake up once when I got all the glass out.”

Sam tried for a chuckle himself, but it hurt like hell. (Not actual Hell. He’s been there.)

“I’m getting old.” Sam responded eventually.

“You and me both, brother.” Dean smiled in his very Dean Winchester way. Then it dropped slightly. “You were dreaming, though. ‘Kept on muttering things I couldn’t understand. You’re not having nightmares again, are you?”

Sam avoided his brother’s eyes.

“There was never a time I wasn’t, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t answer, instead places a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Go back to sleep, Sammy. We’ll patch you up.”

~

“Sam?” Jack whispers in the doorway.

“Hey, Jack. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Sam says, trying his best to sit up. Jack was dressed in his pajamas (Star Wars themed, they were a Christmas present.) He looks behind him in both directions before shaking his head.

“Castiel said that I was fine but should be resting.”

He pulled out a laptop. “But I’m bored. Can we watch a movie?”

Sam smiles and moves over as best he can.

“‘Course. Our little secret.”

Jack smiles and gently sat down next to Sam, and pulled up the Netflix logo.

“It keeps recommending me The Breakfast Club. Can we watch it?” Jack sounds young again, but the good kind of young.

“A classic. I’m making you watch every John Hughes movie.” And despite his aching ribs, he pulled Jack close next to him. He tried to ignore the affection that filled his throat when the kid put his head on his shoulder.

“You scared me today.” Jack whispered, about a half hour into the movie. “You went down so hard and I didn’t even realize I was—”

“Hey, I’m okay, Jack,” Sam reassured. “And so are you.”

Jack smiled a small smile, and turned his eyes back towards the screen.

Sam’s in shock, and he freezes; he can’t moved, rooted to the spot - - and it’s like Dean understands that, and springs into action immediately.

He sprints to the place where Jack lays, dropping down onto his knees, his hands shaking. “Jack,” he says, and he thinks he’s speaking at a normal level, but it comes out as no more than a whisper. He clears his throat, tries again. “Jack!”

Sam watches in horror, the blood drained from his face. He manages three shaky steps forward.

Dean swallows hard, and finally, very slowly, presses his fingers to Jack’s throat...and is surprised - and relieved - to find a strong, steady pulse. “He’s just knocked out,” he manages, his voice wavering. “He’s alive, Sammy.”

Sam nearly collapses on the ground as the panic that had taken a rigid hold of him finally subsides. “Alive?”

Dean brushes Jack’s hair out of his eyes, and quickly assesses him for injuries. He doesn’t appear to be bleeding; just out cold. Carefully, he slides his arms under Jack’s body, and lifts him, rising with his limp form, bridal style.

“Come on,” he says to Sam, “let’s get him back to the bunker.”

-

They both keep watch over him; Sam refuses to leave, and Dean refuses to leave Sam. At about 2:00 AM, Jack finally stirs.

He tries to sit up, blinking in confusion.

Dean presses a hand to his chest. “Easy, kid,” he says soothingly, using that same voice he used to use on Sam. “C’mon, take it easy.”

Jack looks at him, his face tense with fear, seemingly ready to bolt.

“Hey,” Sam murmurs, and he reaches across to grab Jack’s wrist, rubbing his thumb over his skin. “Hey, don’t be scared. We’re not going to hurt you. And you’re safe, okay? We’re not mad.”

Jack’s face crumples, his shoulders shaking. He’s crying.

“Hey, hey.” Dean’s closer, so he wraps Jack into his arms, holding him close.”It’s okay.”

Sam doesn’t let go of his hand, and eventually he, too, hugs Jack, whispering softly into his ear.

-

Turns out, someone mugged the kid. That’s it - - and when the perpetrator saw that he didn’t have any cash, cards, or valuables...he unleashed his anger, and beat him unconscious. Fear had stunted Jack’s powers, and he just just had to take it until the sweet bliss of forced sleep overcame him.

Sam’s gut turns. So, nothing supernatural, then - - just people, being awful. “I know we’re not your favorite people,” he says, and he’s sitting beside Jack, one hand on his arm. “But you can’t do that again. You can’t run away. You have power, yes, but...you’re still vulnerable. We - we don’t want anything to happen to you, Jack - and next time, it could be worse.”

Jack nods, his crying down to just sniffling, now. “I’m sorry. His voice is ragged.

“It’s okay,” Dean replies, rubbing Jack’s shoulder. “We’re just - we’re glad you’re safe. Me, Sam, Cas...we’ve been worried sick.” In his mind, he’s already killed Jack’s attacker in five different ways. 

“Get some rest,” Sam finally says, and he moves to stand.

Jack latches onto his wrist. “Stay. Please?” His eyes are wide, fearful.

Dean gives a slow, barely imperceptible nod to Sam.

Sam swallows thickly. “Of course.” He turns, and easily, he envelops Jack in the wide space of his arms, holding him like a child.

The kid’s asleep in an instant.

Dean stands up. “I’ll go make us something, okay?” He moves past Sam, squeezing his shoulder gently, as if to say, See - everything’s okay now. 

Sam grabs Dean’s hand, suddenly, and it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Dean stares at him, his gaze intense. “Sammy?” 

Sam brushes his lips across Dean’s knuckles, and then lets go, his face warm.

There’s a moment of quiet, and then a hint of a smile ghosts across Dean’s lips. “Yeah,” he whispers, “me, too.”

protect him