#ten bucks dean is a dick and kicks it around like a soccer ball
[Like I’m supposed to resist that…]
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.”
#and then Sam ends up sleeping with it just to make SURE Dean doesn’t go messing with it
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.
*chants something about a collab between you two while eating some popcorn. THOROUGHLY ENJOYING THIS*
Sam lost the head hunting a werewolf a week later. He’d left it in the room, and they’d ended up staying out all night trying to find the monster. By the time they’d managed to stumble back to the motel, bloody and exhausted, Sam’s bed showed clear signs of disturbance and the bag he’d kept Jack’s head in was ripped wide open.
“Jack?!” He ran over to his bed, exhaustion forgotten as he tore the covers aside, trying to find any sign of Jacks’s remains. “Dean! His head’s gone!"
Dean, hard as he tried, couldn’t muster up the energy to care as much as Sam clearly did. “Dude. We’re both hurt. Let’s focus on that, then we start looking, okay?”
Sam just stared at him. “It’s Jack. When he comes back, he’s gonna need us to be there. Don’t you care about that?”
"For God’s sake, Sam, focus on us first! Salt line’s not broken, and the sigils are still in one piece, so whatever it was, it’s probably nothing dangerous. We’re gonna run a sweep, rest up, and look later.”
Sam’s lips thinned. He said nothing more as he picked up his shotgun and headed back out of the door, slamming it behind him.
Dean stared at the door. With a sigh he wiped his hands on his pants and collected their bags. It didn’t take too long to find Sam angrily walking down the side of the road. Of course nobody was going to pick him up this time of night and looking like that.
"Come on, Dude, get in the car.”
Sam ignored him and kept walking as Dean drove slowly along.
“Look,” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “He always come back, right? He memorized your number. He’ll call.”
Sam turned towards him, furious. “Yeah, he’ll call when he’s screaming in pain as his body tries to put itself back together.”
Dean was surprised, Jack had never really told him much about himself. “Is it that bad?”
“Yeah, Dean, it’s that’s bad.”
