WOW ACTUALLY REALLY EMOTIONAL ABOUT THIS THOUGH BECAUSE YOU KNOW. JACK BEING ABLE TO KNIT TOGETHER FROM ALL SORTS OF DEAD STATES.
I SHOULDN’T WANT TO SUDDENLY MAKE THIS DEAD!JACK/SAM WUT
Oh, he’d really done it this time. Sam knelt beside what was left of Captain Jack Harkness with tears in his eyes. Knowing Jack could come back from this didn’t make it better. It never did, because Jack always came back screaming, and the worse it was the longer it took.
He picked up Jack’s head, kissing the cold lips gently. “I’ll take care of you,” he said quietly. “I promise.”
#because I’m a terrible human being#and then he wraps the head up and keeps it in the trunk of the Impala#Dean’s reaction to finding that would be hilarious actually#I’m going to hell for this
Running with your tags…
“Sam what the hell is THIS?” Dean glared at his little brother, one hand still on the trunk of the Impala.
With a sinking feeling, Sam slunk around the side of the car. “It’s…Jack.”
“Dude, It’s a head. And why is it in my trunk?”
“He’ll come back, Jack always come back.” Sam picked it up and cradled it gently.
Dean stared at his brother as if he’d suddenly grown a second head of his own. He began to speak, then thought better of it and slammed the trunk closed. “We’ve got a ghost to hunt and your little friend there is not invited!”
I LOOK AWAY AND PEOPLE ARE FICCING THINGS FOR ME?! AAHH. [and oh look somewhat happily ever after]
After that incident, things were somewhat peaceful…at least as quiet as they could be with two Winchesters and a head that really should be coming back a lot faster than it was.
Sam went out to get some dinner for them while Dean stayed behind to clean their weapons. He was only gone for ten minutes—long enough to walk down to the nearest McDonald’s and grab a carryout bag—but when he came back…
“Dean! What the fuck are you doing?!”
Dean looked at him innocently. “Relaxin’. Thought I’d try playing soccer, since you seemed to like it.”
“Not with that!” Sam snatched Jack’s head off the floor, frankly shocked by Dean’s blatant disrespect for the guy who’d pulled their asses out of the fire more than once.
“Why not?"
"Because it’s his head, Dean!”
"He’s dead! What the hell’s he gonna care?"
Sam’s lips thinned as he tried not to punch his brother. “…Is this because he slept with me?”
"…No!” Dean’s eyes flicked downwards. Lying.
“Really, Dean?” Sam threw the greasy bag at him, hard enough that Dean barely caught it. “I’m not letting him out of my sight again. Asshole.”
Dean stumbled into the motel room smelling like bar. Normally he wouldn’t bother with a light, but this time he does, staring at his little brother’s form in the bed.
“Dude! What the actual fuck?”
Sam sits up and the head rolls onto the floor. He guiltily reaches for it, but Dean’s faster. “Alas, poor Yorick…”
“Not funny!” Sam grabs it from him and holds it close to his chest.
“He’s not coming back,” grumbles Dean, heading for the bathroom. “Give it up.”
Sam opened his mouth to say something really hurtful, but bit it back and looked at the cold face instead.
