TITLE: Stop the World
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Five/ Unwell
RATING: T (violence/language)
A/N: I know the pacing might seem off. I had a lot of these main chapter ideas written out a long time ago. I'm actually not adding much filler to them to save time and to spare you a bunch of exposition. I hope that is okay with ya'll. Title from Matchbox 20's song, Unwell.
Review please?
Chapter Five: Unwell
Jack's entire form violently quaked as he retched into the porcelain, his knees becoming chaffed and sore from the near permanent residence he had taken up in the bathroom. He was no longer sure if it was the mystery sickness or withdrawal that was inducing the never-ending vomit parade. Every inch of him screamed out in protesting agony. His head was crowded with clanging symbols and thundering tools. Jack half hoped that it would all just kill him and put him out of his misery. He was too fatigued to fight Bobby or even sneak around him. He simply felt weak, wounded and worthless. The entire process wasn't helped in that Bobby posted himself, Jerry or Angel on 24-hour-Jack-watch. Hiding was hopeless. He was even having difficult hiding the physical ramifications of the illness on his body. He was allowing them to believe it was all the drugs doing. But each day their glances grew more and more concerned, or to Jack, suspicious.
Jack wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly how many days he had spent kissing the toilet. He blearily remembered Evelyn trying to talk to him, and then minutes – or was it hours – later, she was outside the bathroom, in a heated discussion with one of his surrogate brothers. He couldn't decipher which one. He did manage to hear the word "hospital" and was about to try to lift his body off of the tiling when another wave hit him and he retched once more. By the time he was dry heaving, he had forgotten about the overheard conversation. All he cared to think about then was the cool cloth that someone had graciously placed over his forehead as he slumped back against the bathtub.
Eventually – again, Jack didn't care to know how much time had gone by – Jack was on the mend. Well, at least, he wasn't spewing his guts every five minutes. He felt marginally better and therefore was back to being able to pull on a mask and hide the other effects of this mystery illness. He was just relieved that no one had tried to bathe his sweaty and stained body and happened upon the rashes.
The brothers didn't miss the sudden change in behavior.
"You think he's usin' somehow?" Angel questioned at the impromptu brotherly meeting while Evelyn was downstairs with Jack.
"I dunno," Jerry shook his head. "He's weird, man. Not just withdrawal. But not like high or shit weird."
"Well, shit, Jerry, thanks for cleain' that up for us," Bobby rolled his eyes. "Only time one of us ain't around him, he's at school."
"And I got that covered," Angel nodded.
"We got eyes at the damn school, eyes here, what are we missing?" Jerry sighed hopelessly.
As if on cue, their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a sudden shattering downstairs. The brothers took off to the source of the noise in unison, barreling down the steps and finally speeding into the kitchen. The sight struck them all to slam on the brakes.
Evelyn was hunched over on the floor, pieces of plates surrounding her. That wasn't what struck them though. Underneath their mother's bent form, laid Jack. His eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging carelessly open. A small scarlet line ran across the side of his forehead.
"What happened?" Bobby hastily joined his mother on the ground, taking control of the situation, despite his own confusion.
"He was helping me set the table and just fell," Evelyn explained, tediously inspecting her son.
"Could be exhaustion from the withdrawal," Jerry reasoned practically.
"Oh, Bobby," Evelyn examined the minor head wound, "he's burning up."
"Let's get him on the couch," Angel suggested and moved forward to help his brother.
"I got him," Bobby declined as he lifted the tall teenager into his arms. "Shit. He's lost weight."
"You sure?" Jerry questioned as they moved to the living room.
"Yeah, Bobby," Angel added, trying to rationalize, "he's always been a fu – freakin' twig," he stopped short at Evelyn's glare.
"I dragged his skinny ass outta bed three times this month," Bobby retorted hotly, fear coating the edge of his voice. "He's on somethin' else. Has to be."
"Well, we'll beat whatever the hell it is outta him when he wakes up," Angel nodded as Bobby placed Jack's limp form down.
"Bobby, Angel, language," Evelyn scolded. "That's enough. We will wait until your brother wakes up and then talk to him like normal, civilized people, instead of a pack of wild dogs. You are only going to make whatever this is worse. He's terrified of you boys enough as it is."
"And that's a bad thing?" Angel scoffed and received yet another hard glance.
"Us?" Bobby snorted. "Scary? No way."