[ the three of them did not raise a moron, but it's more dean and his Dad Voice and his bloodshot eyes and his gaunt cheeks than it is than anything else that stills him. if this were another time, if they were bickering over jack getting to go on hunts or dean wanting him to stay somewhere where he could see him, he might have huffed about it, but this is nothing like that.
so he shuts up. he stops talking, and he holds the damn tacos.
as they drive, jack gradually sinks further and further into his seat, eyes trained on whatever marketing graphic is painted onto the fast food bags that end up in his lap (he's HOLDING THE DAMN TACOS). the kid's probably about five inches shorter by the time they get to wherever dean's staying than he was when he first sat down. he doesn't get his legs pulled up against him again, but his heels are bumping against the front edge of the seat where it connects to the floor.
this shit is like asking to develop back problems at a young age, but it'd honestly be great if the upholstery just swallowed him whole right now.
all that's playing through his mind on the way back are those early first few weeks. dean's unmasked hatred. he's not god, he's not cas, he's not simba, he's the friggin' devil. jack closes his eyes, and one second he's remembering dean walking in on jack with a kitchen knife stabbed into his chest. the next, it's waking up from a nightmare to dean calmly talking him through it. whatever comes at us, we'll figure out a way to deal with it, together.
jack's features twist and contour painfully, teeth grind and eyes squeeze shut tight, but he keeps quiet. he stops talking, holds the damn tacos, and misses his family. his family, that he broke. ]
no subject
so he shuts up. he stops talking, and he holds the damn tacos.
as they drive, jack gradually sinks further and further into his seat, eyes trained on whatever marketing graphic is painted onto the fast food bags that end up in his lap (he's HOLDING THE DAMN TACOS). the kid's probably about five inches shorter by the time they get to wherever dean's staying than he was when he first sat down. he doesn't get his legs pulled up against him again, but his heels are bumping against the front edge of the seat where it connects to the floor.
this shit is like asking to develop back problems at a young age, but it'd honestly be great if the upholstery just swallowed him whole right now.
all that's playing through his mind on the way back are those early first few weeks. dean's unmasked hatred. he's not god, he's not cas, he's not simba, he's the friggin' devil. jack closes his eyes, and one second he's remembering dean walking in on jack with a kitchen knife stabbed into his chest. the next, it's waking up from a nightmare to dean calmly talking him through it. whatever comes at us, we'll figure out a way to deal with it, together.
jack's features twist and contour painfully, teeth grind and eyes squeeze shut tight, but he keeps quiet. he stops talking, holds the damn tacos, and misses his family. his family, that he broke. ]