New SuperWood headcanon: Jack reads human!Cas to sleep.
Cas has a number of troubles that converge to keep him awake. Drugs help, but everyone in Torchwood – by experience now – acknowledges that Castiel and heavy meds are a bad mix.
One night, feeling hollow and wrecked from weeks of sporadic insomnia, Castiel slumped on the office couch. Nearby, Jack read off an article about a new piece of Chinese space exploration equipment. Something about the Mandarin, the cadence, Jack’s voice, or the soft constant sound against the silent Hub, Castiel didn’t know. But he woke up fifteen minutes later at Jack’s gentle nudging.
“Come on, Castiel. You’re gonna wake up with knots the size of terriers, you sleep here.”
Not long after, Castiel was cocooned in blankets and propped against Jack’s chest. Jack – on a whim – asked to read Castiel the rest of the article.
It worked.
They’ve worked their way through shelves of books, in a number of languages. This month it’s a Russian text on Siberian Faeries from the Men of Letters catalog – sent special delivery by the Winchesters.
A note from Sam tucked inside slyly hints that thickening Jack’s pronunciations might work to his advantage, later.
Life Support
Stuck in the middle of nowhere, out of gas and low on power, Jack Harkness expects to suffocate, freeze, or starve. When a lonely piece of space flotsam tumbles by his windows, Jack risks his life to save it – and finds a slice of Earth magic out among the cold, dark stars.
I wrote a little sam/jack thing for dvancecinco and awabubbles
Second Verse, Same as the First –
teaser below the cut
Jack Harkness never quite knew what to expect when he walked into a bar. Oh sure, folks drinking, maybe some soft music on a jukebox, games of pool or darts…that was pretty much par for the course. But what kept him on his toes was who or what might be inside. It might be a nights dalliance, a contact, a target. Tonight though it turned out to be a once-lover.
“Sam Winchester,” Jack wore his brightest smile as he walked over to the table. The glowering man by his side had to be his brother. They were a long way from Stanford; maybe Sam had quit school after all.
“Jack?” Sam looked up at him, surprised.
“The one and only,” Jack took a seat across from him. The other one rolled his eyes and went to the bar.
“That’s my brother, Dean. What are you doing here?” Sam signaled for a beer for him.
“Same as you I suspect,” Jack lowered his voice. “Looks like you ended up a hunter after all.”
Sam frowned. “You aren’t supposed to know about that.”
“Been around a while, Sam. I know a hunter when I see one. Dean drag you back into it?” He knew how much Sam had been trying to leave the life behind.
“It’s complicated,” muttered Sam, picking at the label on his beer.
