The knock on Jack's door made him jump, even though he knew it was only Castiel. The boy hastily shoved the bloodstained tissues down in the wastebasket and covered them with a few clean tissues. Then he flopped back onto the bed, exhausted from the effort of hiding the extent of his illness.
He wasn't sure why he didn't want Cas (or Sam or Dean, for that matter) to know that he was worse off than he appeared. Maybe it was because he didn't want them fussing over him when they had more important things to do. Maybe he was just hoping it would go away on its own.
"Come in," he called out, and his voice was so rough that he almost didn't recognize it. The coughing had taken more out of him than he had thought.
Cas came in balancing a tray with one arm while pulling the door closed with the other. "I brought your soup," he said. "Chicken noodle. It's from a can. I'm . . . not very proficient at cooking."
"That's okay." It smelled good. "Thanks."
"I made you some ginger tea with lemon and honey. To help your throat."
"Great. I feel like I need it." He took a sip, and it was sweet and warm and thick and did make him feel better.
Cas set the tray down on the bed and sat in the chair. "I remember my first cold," he said. "It was right after I lost my grace for the first time. I was terrified-I thought my vessel was broken and I was going to die."
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Jack smiled. "What did you do?"
"I . . . panicked. Luckily, Sam and Dean were there to help me through it. They explained that it was a relatively minor illness and that it would be gone before I knew it. I think Dean even tucked me into bed and sang Stairway to Heaven, but don't mention it to him. If he even remembers, I'm sure he'd be embarrassed."
"You don't have to sing to me," Jack said. "This is good."
"There are two things you need right now above all else: rest and fluids. I'll supply the fluids; you make sure you get plenty of rest. That means we're going to have to put off that hunting trip for a while, at least until you're feeling better."
"That's okay." Jack sat up and moved the tray onto his lap. The soup spilled over a little, but it landed on the tray and didn't touch him.
"Jack . . ." Cas began. "I know I don't say this a lot, but I care about you. We're family."
"I know."
"If there's something you need to talk about, anything at all, I'm here."
He knows? Jack tried to concentrate on his soup while his thoughts whirled around in his head. If he knew, why didn't he say anything?
"I'll . . . I'll remember that."
"Good. I'll see if I can find you some medicine and be back in a little bit. Do you want the TV on?"
"Yes, please."
Cas picked up the remote and pressed the power button. The screen flickered on in the middle of what looked like a battle sequence.
"Game of Thrones?"
"No, um . . . Xena, Warrior Princess."
"I see."
"Dean recommended it."
"Of course he did." Cas looked like he was about to say something else, but then he put the remote down. "Are you enjoying it?"
"Well, yeah-"
"Then that's all that matters. You just rest now. I'll be back." He was almost to the door when he glanced down at the wastebasket. "Want me to empty this for you?"
Crap! "No!" Jack snapped, then when Cas looked surprised, he amended, "I'll do it later. It's just gonna fill up again. Why do it twice when we can take care of it in one trip?"
Cas nodded, though he looked like he wasn't sure if he believed that. "All right, then. You and Xena have fun." And he went out, closing the door quietly behind him.
That was close. He wouldn't be able to hide this much longer. If anyone saw the bloody tissues, it would be all over. So all Jack had to do was make sure that no one saw them. If he had to empty every single trash can in this place himself, he would do it. With a murderous archangel on the loose, the Winchesters had more pressing matters to attend to than one sick, powerless, useless Nephilim.
He'd be all right.
He hoped.