A/N: Written for one-word whump prompts on tumblr: gunshot.

Bang!

That sound became Jack's whole world, the fraction of a second that it resounded through the air hurting his ears, speaking of his doom. There was pressure against his abdomen, impossible pressure, aching, pounding, destroying. Then there was pain, spreading out from it in violent waves. He looked down, hand under the wound, catching his blood, as if he was trying to keep it from dripping out onto the ground.

His legs grew weak, his head spinning.

Pain, so much pain.

Then he was falling, his dads yelling out for him.

Gunshots continued to ring out, the firefight they were in not over yet. He lay there, on the tarmac, completely exposed.

Dean grabbed his ankle, Jack crying out as he dragged him behind a car to be with him and Sam. Castiel was at another car across the street.

They were still being shot at. Demons had possessed members of the police force and were going after them. But none of that seemed important now. There was so much blood on Jack's shirt, and his insides were sore beyond belief. It was like someone had driven a spike into his abdomen, but it had yet to come out the other end.

Castiel rushed over to him, a bullet grazing his shoulder, and then he was by his side, hand glowing as it pressed against his wound, making Jack throw his head back and groan, legs curling up.

"I can't heal him!" Castiel shouted.

"What?" Sam cried in alarm.

Dean: "Why the hell not?"

"The bullet's stuck just a centimeter from his spine. If I heal him before it's out it could hit his spine and-"

"He won't be able to walk," Dean finished.

"Exactly."

Jack didn't like hearing any of this. In his head he was crying out, and he realized that he was doing that even as he'd listened, whimpering and moaning.

"It's okay, Jack," Sam soothed, even as he fired off his shotgun. "We're right here."

"I'm ending this," Dean growled.

He reloaded his shotgun, face grim, and got out from behind the car.

"Hey douchebags!" he shouted.

Sam made a few more shots, Dean doing the same, yelling words in Latin. Castiel placed his head in his lap, and then he was holding his hand, his other hand pressing against his still-bleeding wound.

Oh, how he just wanted this to end, wanted this out of him. He was becoming the pain, the bullet having driven agony into him, and he was hot and cold at the same time, shaking even as he was sweating.

Sam was by his side now, gun placed beside him.

Jack didn't mind his gun, knew it wasn't his that had hurt him. Now Sam was telling Castiel to move his hand, and Jack reached for it, panicking, thinking that he was going to die if his father moved his hand away.

He did move his hand away, Jack moaning, but he didn't die. No, he bled, and Sam tore his shirt open, assessing the wound.

"God, this is bad," he said before nervously licking his lips. "This is really, really bad."

The firing had stopped and Dean was by his side. Jack felt crowded with all of them around him, even as he felt safe, like they could hold Death back by shielding him with their bodies.

"Cas, can you heal him as we get the bullet out?"

"I think so."

"Alright." His dad clapped his hand to his father's shoulder. "Keep him alive. I'll be right back."

Dean was gone, probably going to the Impala, and Jack was shaking, holding onto his dads as tightly as he could.

"Please…" he moaned out.

Never before had he felt such pain.

With his Grace he'd been stabbed, had stabbed himself, had been shot.

But it hadn't hurt like this.

He hadn't known anything could hurt like this.

It was too much to comprehend, and he felt as though he were losing his sanity from it.

His eyes fluttered closed, and then there was a gentle hand on his jaw, prying his mouth open.

Jack let Sam put his belt in his mouth.

"Bite down on this," he told him.

Dean was back now, with metal tools and a bottle of alcohol. Jack screamed, body contorting as alcohol was poured over the wound, more blood flowing out of him. Castiel held him down by his shoulders, Sam got his legs. He felt his father's Grace in him, even as he felt faint, keeping him with them.

"Okay, you ready, Jack?"

He didn't nod, didn't shake his head, didn't show any indication that he'd heard him. He didn't know how to. He just wanted his dads to save him, wanted them to make this stop.

"Jack, we're right here," Sam told him.

"You're going to hate us quite a bit right now," Castiel added.

"But it's for your own good," Dean finished.

Then his father's Grace reached further into him, the glowing energy taking root along his spine. Sam's grip on his legs tightened, and Dean reached into him with one of the tools.

Jack bit down on the belt, tears streaming down his face as a scream left him.

His vision started to blur, and he felt faint. His body began to shudder less, his heart beat slowing, even as his breathing sped up.

"Cas! Keep him alive!" Dean shouted.

"I'm trying!"

Jack was floating in black, pain digging in his stomach, the taste of leather heavy in his mouth.

He thought he could see his father's Grace through the black, but Jack recoiled from it, wanting to go to sleep.

He could wake up later…

Drifting, drifting…

No. Something told him if he went to sleep now he'd never wake up again.

He reached for Castiel's Grace.

Jack heaved in a huge gasp of air, choking on the blood that had welled up in his mouth. His father and his dad were still holding him as his other dad dug into his body with the tools.

Sam was crying out his name, Castiel telling him to hold on.

Jack shouted through the pain, hating them even as he loved them, thankful that they were keeping him alive, that they were trying to stop the pain. He held onto them with everything he had, even wishing he could reach out to Dean.

"I got it! I got it!" his dad exclaimed, and then the bullet was being pried from him, everything in his abdomen screaming and aching.

Then Castiel's already-bloodied hand was over the wound, glowing.

Blessedly, the pain receded, and the belt fell from Jack's mouth. He was panting, moaning as the wound stitched itself back up, as his father's Grace healed him, saved him.

Sam was patting his leg, and Dean had a reassuring grip on his bicep.

In a matter of moments, he was free of pain, and Jack let out a long breath, feeling like he'd been holding it forever. He was still shaking though, his body not yet able to comprehend all that had just happened in those short minutes. His dads were all breathing heavily in the aftermath of it.

"Let's get you home," Dean told him as Castiel stroked a hand through his hair.

His dads helped him to his feet.