[ jack gives a stiff nod after the resigned command, sparing another glance up to dean's face for a brief second before shuffling past him towards the car. once his back if to him, it's a struggle to keep the emotion from crawling up his throat.
he's lost in his head when he pulls open the door for the backseat on instinct. that's how it is in the impala - dean drives, sam's in shotgun, cas and jack in the back. but cas and sam aren't here, and dean's not a taxi driver.
but, the thought of sitting up there, right next to him, and keeping his features and body trained and still, sounds like an impossible, herculean feat, because all jack wants to do right now is curl in on himself and sob. his hands go white knuckled on the door he's holding open, but jack forces himself to close it, moving to the door that's usually sam's instead and sliding into the passenger seat in the front.
seat belt on, jack folds his hands together and wedges them between his knees, like maybe controlling his limbs will help him contain himself somehow. it feels like he's about to burst at the seams. every part of this feels wrong, letting dean follow through with this obligation to take care of him when they both know damn well how angry he is with him, how much jack's recklessness cost him.
dean wanted to kill him. he wanted to lock him in a box for eternity. and he wasn't wrong to.
jack's face turns away, towards the window looking out to the city around him, and he pretends to be observing while he's mostly just closing his eyes tight, trying to hold in everything that's fighting to spill out. ]
no subject
he's lost in his head when he pulls open the door for the backseat on instinct. that's how it is in the impala - dean drives, sam's in shotgun, cas and jack in the back. but cas and sam aren't here, and dean's not a taxi driver.
but, the thought of sitting up there, right next to him, and keeping his features and body trained and still, sounds like an impossible, herculean feat, because all jack wants to do right now is curl in on himself and sob. his hands go white knuckled on the door he's holding open, but jack forces himself to close it, moving to the door that's usually sam's instead and sliding into the passenger seat in the front.
seat belt on, jack folds his hands together and wedges them between his knees, like maybe controlling his limbs will help him contain himself somehow. it feels like he's about to burst at the seams. every part of this feels wrong, letting dean follow through with this obligation to take care of him when they both know damn well how angry he is with him, how much jack's recklessness cost him.
dean wanted to kill him. he wanted to lock him in a box for eternity. and he wasn't wrong to.
jack's face turns away, towards the window looking out to the city around him, and he pretends to be observing while he's mostly just closing his eyes tight, trying to hold in everything that's fighting to spill out. ]