comfort fics

getting well (Jack Manifold)

TW // COVID MENTION

"I'm so sor-" I was overcome by another wave of nausea.

"It's okay," Jack assured me as he held back my hair. I had been hunched over the toilet bowl for about thirty minutes at least, and he had refused to leave my side. "You don't have to apologize for being sick."

I regained my composure and wiped my mouth with a paper towel as I sat back. "Go home, I'll be fine here," I told him. "I'm a big kid, I can survive in my own home."

Jack rubbed wide circles on my back as he shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not leaving you like this," he stated, pulling out his phone. "You may be able to survive, but you need to get well, and I'm gonna take care of you."

"What are you doing?" I asked, barely stifling another bout of sickness.

"You just took off from work until further notice," he replied, looking at me with genuine care. "Until you get be'er."

I rolled my eyes as I tried, and failed to push his arm off of my shoulder. "I told you I'm fine," I insisted.

"Well, then you can be fine while I hang out in your house until you stop puking," he insisted back. "Like I said, 'm not leaving til you're well."

I smiled as warmly as I could muster. "I guess."

"Good," he replied, wiping my nose. "Not that I was asking for permission, but it is appreciated."

I rolled my eyes as he helped me stand up, silently glad that he was here. I could barely stand without feeling dizzy.

Jack dialed, assumingly, the number of my manager as he helped me to my room. "Hello, yes, this is Jack Manifold calling? Yeah, I'm their friend, they can't come in for a bit, they're sicker 'en a dog."

"Asshole."

"I love you, too" he said as he hung up the phone.

***

A bit later, after I'd been sleeping for god knows how long, I still didn't feel well. I flung the sweaty blankets to the side and shivered my way towards the door.

"Jack?" my gritty voice called. I was hoping simultaneously that he was and wasn't still here.

"Right 'ere," he responded, rushing around the corner of the hallway. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Nope. Still sick though," I affirmed.

He put the back of his hand to my forehead. "You're boiling," he said. "I'll get the, uh, Tylenol? You go back and lay down in bed."

I raised my arms to protest. "But it's hot there," I fake whined.

"Go!" he said, sprinting back downstairs.

I groaned, but figured it best to walk back to the bed. I slumped against the pillows and tossed the blanket over my feet just as a worried looking Jack entered the room with a glass of iced water in one hand, a bottle of pills and a thermometer on the other.

He set the bottle on the night stand and handed me the glass. "Shit, that's cold," I hissed, making myself take a sip.

"Here, take these," he said, pushing the bottle closer. "Let me get your temperature first."

I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to let him set the device under my tongue. While it was warming up, Jack disappeared into the master bathroom and grabbed a bucket to set beside my bed.