After the last immortal tried to take Sam’s eyes, Dean Winchester rashly determines Captain Jack is a monster too.
What the boys didn’t anticipate, when they woke the next morning, was Jack—clean and untouched by the heavy earth the boys had dumped upon him—sitting at the table Sam used for research, the well-loved laptop open in front of him.
“You boys’ve gotta try harder than that. Call yourselves hunters?”
Dean was up before he realized that he was only in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt, the captain’s eyes drawn to the barely-tanned, freckled bowlegs before him. He gave a lift of his eyebrows and made a kissy face at the elder Winchester, earning himself a scowl and a threatening wave of Dean hand.
“You cut that shit out! We buried you! Sammy dumped enough dirt in that hole to keep any monster down. How the hell did you get out?”
Dean had backed around the bed to get between Jack and Sam, secure in the knowledge that a knife lay beneath Sam’s pillow, and a pistol lay in the bedside table. He doubted either would actually do the haunting man in, but they were the only securities Dean had to rely on.
Jack closed the laptop and stood up—a few inches taller than Dean, so closer to Sam’s height—his coat like a great, dark cape that neither man could stop glancing at. They’d had enough time in the warehouse to talk specifics; Jack worked for a secret agency called Torchwood, which Sam had prior knowledge of, and he asked the boys about the Men of Letters, which threw them both off.
Sam, ever curious, asked if Jack knew anything about them—outside of the Men of Letters reference—and Jack neatly outlined the boys’ lives from the ages of fourteen and ten. Dean distrusted him and Sam wanted to know more, but after the last immortal coming after Sam, Dean wanted nothing to do with him.
“Takes a lot more than burying to kill me. Like I said last night; I can’t die. Doesn’t make me any more of a monster than drinking demon blood makes Sam a monster, Dean. It’s just something that happened to me during my life; something that I can’t change.”
Sam cleared his throat, trying to step around Dean. “Or maybe…it’s something we don’t want to change…"
After the last immortal tried to take Sam’s eyes, Dean Winchester rashly determines Captain Jack is a monster too.
What the boys didn’t anticipate, when they woke the next morning, was Jack—clean and untouched by the heavy earth the boys had dumped upon him—sitting at the table Sam used for research, the well-loved laptop open in front of him.
“You boys’ve gotta try harder than that. Call yourselves hunters?”
Dean was up before he realized that he was only in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt, the captain’s eyes drawn to the barely-tanned, freckled bowlegs before him. He gave a lift of his eyebrows and made a kissy face at the elder Winchester, earning himself a scowl and a threatening wave of Dean hand.
“You cut that shit out! We buried you! Sammy dumped enough dirt in that hole to keep any monster down. How the hell did you get out?”
Dean had backed around the bed to get between Jack and Sam, secure in the knowledge that a knife lay beneath Sam’s pillow, and a pistol lay in the bedside table. He doubted either would actually do the haunting man in, but they were the only securities Dean had to rely on.
Jack closed the laptop and stood up—a few inches taller than Dean, so closer to Sam’s height—his coat like a great, dark cape that neither man could stop glancing at. They’d had enough time in the warehouse to talk specifics; Jack worked for a secret agency called Torchwood, which Sam had prior knowledge of, and he asked the boys about the Men of Letters, which threw them both off.
Sam, ever curious, asked if Jack knew anything about them—outside of the Men of Letters reference—and Jack neatly outlined the boys’ lives from the ages of fourteen and ten. Dean distrusted him and Sam wanted to know more, but after the last immortal coming after Sam, Dean wanted nothing to do with him.
“Takes a lot more than burying to kill me. Like I said last night; I can’t die. Doesn’t make me any more of a monster than drinking demon blood makes Sam a monster, Dean. It’s just something that happened to me during my life; something that I can’t change.”
Sam cleared his throat, trying to step around Dean. “Or maybe…it’s something we don’t want to change…"