levels of headcanon:
- This is heavily supported by text/subtext and is likely what the creators intended for me to get from this
- this is sort of supported by the text and could, conceivably be what the creators intended for me to get from the text/subtext
- there is no evidence either way
- there is slight evidence against my headcanon, but I don’t care
- I’ve stopped giving a shit about canon
Level Six: I reject this canon and substitute my own.
And this is the other Valentine’s Day fanwork friday. Jack/Cas, and this one’s a bit more angst, also on AO3
The first time Castiel came for Jack on Valentine’s day it was 2010. They’d worked together a couple times in the year since Ianto’s death, but he wasn’t really looking for anything when the fourteenth of February came around.
But then Castiel was there, appearing literally on his doorstep. Jack stepped back and let him in, going to sit on the scratchy mattress. Castiel sat next to him and merely took his hand. Jack took a ragged breath, leaned on the angel’s shoulder, and for the first time, started to cry.
–
The next time they met up it was 1937. War was on the horizon and Jack was working undercover. He couldn’t really change anything, of course, but there was still work he could do. So he was more than a bit shocked to walk into a tavern in the south of France and find Castiel standing at the bar with two glasses of wine.
Jack gave a tiny smile and took a glass from him. “It is Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Jack raised his glass in a toast. “Come on back to mine tonight?”
He nodded and they drained their glasses and at least for that one night Jack truly had comfort.
–
Early in 2217, Jack was working at a bar on station orbiting a small blue planet when a familiar face walked in. He smiled broadly and poured two glasses of wine for old time’s sake. “Castiel.”
“Jack.” He sipped his wine and Jack could tell the years hadn’t all been easy on him, angel or no. They chatted a bit and that night Jack was the one giving comfort to Castiel.
–
Back to 1974. Jack was spending Valentine’s Night chasing down an alien in the streets of London. He’d narrowly avoided himself a week earlier, but he knew exactly where his current self was spending the night. He cornered it in an alley and prepared to take it, only to be jumped by a second one from behind. He fought them both, but a knife (or was it a claw?) found his heart and they left him dead with the trash.
He gasped awake to Castiel holding his hand. He smiled ruefully. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Castiel helped him up, checking him for other wounds, even though there wouldn’t be any. “They have returned to their ship, they will not be a bother to you or anyone else.”
“You took care of them? Thank you.”
Castiel merely inclined his head and helped Jack back to his flat, where he stayed until dawn.
–
In 4207, Jack kicked open a door. The handful of demons turned to the human, one of them scoffing. He fought (perhaps ironically) like a man possesed, not stopping until every one of them was dead. Only then did he move to release their prisoner.
“Knew you’d come,” said Castiel.
Jack kissed him. “Don’t talk, save your strength.” He helped Castiel to his feet, out the door, and into his ship.
Castiel touched his cheek. “By Earth calendars, today is Valentine’s Day.”
“It’s our lucky day,” smiled Jack, kissing his hand and worriedly watching the angel fall asleep.
–
At a Valentine’s Day dance in London, 2003, Jack slowly danced with Castiel. He leaned in and stole a kiss, glad that this was a time and place where he could be himself with Cas.
“I’ll try not to chase any aliens tonight,” he smiled.
Castiel gave him a look. The song ended and Jack took Castiel’s hand, twirling him. They retreated to the side and each took a glass of wine.
“To stolen moments,” said Jack.
“Wherever they might be,” answered Castiel.
Fanwork Friday is Valentine’s Day, so of course I wrote two things. This one is Jack/Sam fluff, also on AO3:
Sam came into the bunker with two bags of groceries. He put everything away before noticing a little pink card on the table. It had his name on the back in Jack’s nearly unreadable scrawl. Smiling, he opened it and found Batman glaring at him. “Bat-Mine,” it said. Below that was the title of a book.
Shaking his head, Sam headed to look for the title. Clearly Jack was planning something. He had some trouble finding it, but eventually he located it on the bottom corner of a shelf. Opening it up, another card fell out. “Have a Super Valentine’s Day.” This one had Superman on it. After a lot of squinting he realized the next clue was a movie.
Sam went to hunt it down, wondering what exactly would lie at the end of this. Of course the movie was a romantic comedy. The kind of movie Dean would vehemently deny being within five hundred feet of. Sam had enjoyed The Decoy Bride himself, and it was one he and Jack had watched a few times over. Opening the case he found a Spider-Man card. “You Caught me in Your Web.” The clue led to the firing range.
It took some digging around to find the next pink card, amusingly stuck next to one of Dean’s favorite guns, no doubt in hopes of irritating his older brother if he found it first. Opening it revealed Captain America. “It’s Your Duty to Be My Valentine.” Sam laughed and groaned at the same time. The clue seemed to be leading to the bathroom nearest Jack’s room.
Sam wondered what he’d find as he made his way there. He pushed open the door quietly and smiled at the sight. The bathtub was half-full of bubbles. Two glasses of champagne sat on the edge of the tub. And one Captain Jack Harkness had fallen asleep waiting.
Grinning, Sam stripped down, putting the cards carefully on the counter where they wouldn’t get wet. He slipped into the water and reached to turn on the hot. Jack startled and sat up, rubbing his eyes and getting bubbles in his hair. “There you are,” he yawned.
Sam leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you.”
Jack gave him a goofy grin back. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“You too.”
Fanwork Friday this week is the characters in a different time period:
Of course he was about to be burned at the stake as a witch. Owen surveyed the crowd dispassionately and tested the rope tying his hands. Damn Middle Ages. Heaven forbid a doctor might try to cure somebody. Bloody rift, dropping him here. At least it wasn’t in some far corner of the galaxy. Though, maybe he wouldn’t be about to set on fire there.
A man brandished a torch, shouting something in what wasn’t quite the English he was used to. But he sounded like a complete wanker.
There was the sound of wings and he found a dark haired man standing in front of him, facing the crowd. The crowd muttered and fell back.
“Do not harm this man,” his voice was low and dangerous. He repeated it again in the local tongue.
The one with a torch stepped forward, shouting more. Owen rolled his eyes. The stranger put out his hand and he dropped the torch, jumping back and shouting more, looking at the crowd, then at the stranger. The crowd started to retreat faster.
He drew himself up as if spreading wings and gave a command.
The crowd broke and ran.
“Not that I’m not grateful, but who the hell are you?” asked Owen as he slowly turned around.
“Castiel,” he said freeing him. “Jack asked me to retrieve you.”
Owen rubbed his wrists. “How? You with the Doctor or something?”
Castiel touched his head where he’d been hit and it instantly healed. “I am an Angel of the Lord.”
“Right, of course Jack knows a literal angel,” said Owen sarcastically.
Castiel gave him a weary look and took his arm.
They reappeared in a patch of primeval forest. Owen blinked. “Okay, that was different.”
“I don’t yet have enough energy to get us back to your present. We will be safe here.” Castiel led him through the trees and towards a tiny village. Really just a collection of houses. A young woman greeted them with a smile and took Castiel’s hands.
Castiel said something to her in the local language, like Welsh, but worse to Owen’s ears. She answered looking between the two and curtseying.
Owen eyed the angel. “Been here before, have you?”
“This is an important location in the history of Earth.”
Owen looked at the collection of huts. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Many human things begin that way.” Castiel followed the woman inside and Owen found himself fed and given somewhere to sleep. Far better than when he’d first landed here.
The next afternoon there were shouts. An accident, one of the men hurt working in the forest. Owen automatically went to help them, Castiel translating his requests as he cleaned and bound up the wound. “Maybe he won’t die of infection,” muttered Owen when he finished.
Castiel put a hand on his arm. “You did a good thing.”
Owen shook him off. “I’m a doctor. Can we go home yet?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you just cure him the way you took care of the bump on my head?”
“As you pointed out, you are a doctor. He will survive, thanks to you. And if I use all of my energy to cure, then you will not be able to return home.” He left him alone with his thoughts.
Owen walked around the village, looking around. These people were people, that much didn’t change, even if the technology did. He suddenly wondered how hard it must have been for Jack to land when he did and figure out how things were done. A little girl ran up to him and pointed at the hut where the man was resting and gave him a flower. Must have been his daughter. Shaking his head, Owen muttered and went back to the hut he was staying in, stuffing the flower in his pocket.
The next day they walked back out to the forest. Another flutter of wings and the forest changed into the concrete and steel of Cardiff. Before Owen could say anything else, the angel was gone. Shaking his head he went to find Jack and the others, wondering how Jack and Castiel would have ever met.
Dean kept a close eye on Sam as he worked. Finally the were pretty sure it was down to an isolated farmhouse in Iowa. He could tell his brother was nearing exhaustion.
“Sam get some sleep,” said Dean, watching the house. “We’ll hit it at dusk.” He checked his gun and sat down to keep watch.
“…I’m going to gut whatever did this,” Sam said vehemently, though his eyes were starting to close on their own. He slid down in his seat, resting his head against the glass. “Hang in there, Jack. Just a little longer."
He was asleep in minutes.
The house stayed quiet as Dean watched, trying not to think about what could be happening to Jack inside. But if they went charging in they might all get killed, and odds were Sam and himself wouldn’t come back. He suspected Jack wouldn’t forgive himself for getting Sam killed, mostly because he felt the same way. Whatever was between Sam and Jack, it was special, even he could (stubbornly) admit that.
Finally he judged it was late enough. He checked his gun and glanced at Sam’s sleeping form, worry pinching his features even in sleep. He shook his foot. "Come on, let’s move.”