Coming back was as painful as getting killed in the first place; Jack always likened it to being dragged across broken glass, but that didn’t do the searing agony justice. It never got any easier.
He’d grown accustomed to enduring the pain, to making wisecracks that concealed how much he suffered each time. He’d had to, there were too many occasions when he’d resurrected only to confront whoever had killed him. Showing weakness was never a good idea.
But he’d finally found the one thing that made coming back better: waking up in the arms of the man he loved.