Hostage | Eyeless Jack x Reader

The Snowcat

(Y/n) retched, tears streaming down her face and dripping into the toilet with her vomit.

"Oh God, (Y/n)," she heard Jack sigh behind her.

He had one hand wrapped in her hair, keeping it held out of her face, while the other kept her limp, injured arm off of the bathroom tile. With every whimpering heave, he would gently brush his thumb over the skin, his only way of comforting her.

She felt almost guilty as she vomited, knowing that part of the cause of it was the meal Jack had cooked for her. And now here she was, heaving it all back up with a searing arm, pounding head, and a murderer.

"It's okay, it'll be okay," Jack muttered softly as she rested her head on the toilet seat, gasping for air that she so desperately needed.

When he was sure that it was temporarily over, Jack let her hair fall and removed his hand from her arm. But, before it could thud back down to the ground, Jack scooped one arm under hers and pulled her to her feet.

"Do you want to go back to bed? It's 7 in the morning, you stumbled out of bed pretty fast."

That was another thing that made (Y/n) feel guilty. She had kicked the bucket across the room in her hurry to get up, and found it quicker to run to the bathroom downstairs than to stumble around her room looking for it. But, in her process of half-awake panicked tripping, she had scared Jack awake in the living room. He had admitted during her episode that he was glad he took her advice on leaving the cage unlocked, as he ran like a bat out of hell the second he heard her gags.

"Water," was all she was able to mutter before she burst into a fit of wet, thick coughs.

Jack nodded and proceeded to walk, or more like drag, her to the kitchen. Sitting her down in a chair, he proceeded to pour her a glass from the sink. When he handed it to her, she chugged it down like it was her lifeline, still gasping between swallowing her mouthfuls.

"Geez, slow down," Jack apprehended her, reaching out to try and tug the glass away from her, but giving up when he saw that she had already drained it of every drop.

She coughed a few more times before Jack finally pried the empty glass from her fingers, returning to the sink to scrub it down.

"You're going back to bed," he turned to her over the sound of the running tap.

(Y/n) huffed, wiping her mouth from water and saliva that she had managed to cough up.

"I'm fine," her voice had become hoarse from her sickness, "I need to try and shovel today since the sun's out. I think the worst of the storm is over."

Jack set the glass down on the counter louder than he usually would have, causing (Y/n) to finally turn and look at him. He seemed to be glaring at her behind that mask, as his head was tilted and shoulders were tensed.

"Are you serious?" He sounded like he was ready to snap, "After all that, and you're thinking about physical labor?"

If her throat didn't hurt so much, she would have snapped back, but she was only able to hack a few times, muttering in between,

"Someone's gotta do it, and you're doing too much already."

She sat back in her seat and sighed.

"I hate that you're already doing this much for me, Jack. It feels like I'm in an assisted living community."

Jack shook his head, his shoulders slumping back down as he picked up the dish towel to dry the cup.

"What's wrong with that? You're seriously injured, (Y/n), you really don't have a choice. And I don't mind helping you out."