[ What Johnny sees horrifies him. He sees the singes, the charred skin on the back of his hand -- what he sees is what he's done to Jack, not that he'd finally fried the damn thing that's been invading his psyche and his senses like a disease.
He doesn't catch the softening in those words, not yet, because what he sees is how easily Jack could've been killed, burned alive; and the idea makes him sick. ]
What the hell, Jack? What'd you think you were doing? You could've died!
Something worth dying for. [Jack shoots it back automatically. But it's incomplete, because now he has to admit to Johnny what it was. He has to admit it to himself.] Saving you.
[Getting that thing out of his skin, because he couldn't take the thought of it standing on Johnny's neck, using his voice and his body for its own despicable means while the better man watched. Not him, not ever.]
[ For once, Johnny is impatient to get off the subject of him. He's sure the whole possession thing will sink in later and mess him up, but right now all he can focus on is the charred back of Jack's hands, and he steps towards him, frowning.
Does Jack really think saving him is worth dying for? He files that away in his head to review it later; right now the foremost thought in his mind is that -- ]
You're not. [ And the guilt sits right in his chest, heavy and aching for reasons he can't quite understand yet. ] We need to get that looked at.
[It's agonizing, but Jack is quick and good with his lies, and equally as impressive with his expression. Not an ounce of the pain bleeds into any of it. The fabric of his coat has been made brittle by the heat and tears easily now. Jack rips a strip from it and wraps it around his hand, as much to keep Johnny from seeing it as anything.]
It's not my dominant hand. [He glances up with a smirk.] Just the one I like to get off with.
[ Does Johnny look like he thinks that's funny? Because he doesn't. In fact, he's more serious than he's ever been, and don't think he doesn't miss the fact that Jack's wrapping it up. It still bothers him, and he doesn't smile at that joke, quietly worried.
He's studied up on fire-based injuries, worked out how to take care of them in case the unthinkable happens, and he steps closer, catching a hold of his unhurt wrist. ]
[Come on, Johnny, laugh at his dirty joke. Jack gets to his feet, taking a step closer instead of trying to break free. He looks into his eyes, the blue of them darker, heavier than normal.]
No. [Jack maintains that eye contact while he catches the end of the strip between his teeth and finishes wrapping it that way.] Do you think you can kiss it and make it better? Unburn it? You can't, and I wouldn't have you do it anyway. It's a small sacrifice that I've made for you, a gift rather than a hardship. Accept it, Johnny.
[Because he doesn't expect him to accept anything else.]
[ Johnny still hasn't processed the kiss, but that's not on the forefront of his mind, not when he's fixated on his hand and what he's done. Jack, making a sacrifice for him, giving him this? He swallows hard when Jack gets closer, and he's more aware than anything of how that mouth felt against his own.
Had he kissed him out of vengeance, anger, or something else? Does Johnny really want to know? Can he afford to? Something flutters in the pit of his stomach, and his mouth is dry. ]
A gift? You could've gotten yourself killed. Did you really want to die that badly?
Is that what you really believe? That it was little more than a suicide attempt?
[Jack snorts, but something akin to hurt flickers across his face before he can bring it back to neutral. He wanted to be a better man, he wanted to do something heroic, he wanted to save someone that he's grown to care for. But in the end, maybe it still looked like something done to serve Jack's interests. And maybe he has no one to blame for that but himself.
Now he pulls his hand free, eyelids heavier than before.]
You of all people don't have the right to ask anyone that.
He can see the flash of it in those bright green eyes, so painfully obvious in that fraction of a second that Johnny's caught off guard, startled.
Jack looks younger than he's ever had in that moment, vulnerable, and Johnny had just about stuck a knife in. ]
I'm sorry. [ He says at length, because while his first instinct is to argue his point, something tells him that that particular approach will only make things worse. He swallows. Jack is the last person he should take his anger out on. ]
You brought me back, and you got hurt because of me. I owe you.
[Jack continues watching him, the anger fading from his face. The pain too - probably. Jack's expression is softer, but unreadable again. He swallows hard, his voice uncharacteristically soft when he finally does speak.]
You don't owe me a thing.
[He doesn't want it to be a matter of debt between them.]
The worst seems to be over now. You should go home.
[ Johnny says firmly, taking his wrist and leading him forward. He's not taking no for an answer. Jack's saved his ass, given him the strength to fight the possession anew. He feels filthy, dirty from the inside, and he doesn't want to be alone. Jack makes him feel complicated, uncertain, and that's better than dealing with what's been inside him, right? ]
We are getting that tended to. I know where we can get some medical supplies, so let me do this for you. Please.
[That's a feeling that Jack's familiar with too - not from possession, but from his father's words.
But Jack's sigh is evidence of his capitulation. Johnny's not going to stop, and while Jack can be stubborn with the absolute best of them, he can't do it when Johnny's wearing the expression that he is, far more pleading than demanding.]
[ Johnny really doesn't want to fight him on this, and he's relieved when Jack capitulates; apparently asking really nicely helps, after all. ]
C'mon. [ He doesn't let go of him, taking him to one of the stores and snagging some of the medical supplies. Shortly after, he's taking Jack to his room and locking the door, away from the madness and the chaos, and he gestures to a chair. ]
[Jack tilts his head, gaze dropping like he's thinking about what those legs would look like in a skirt. He sits down, unwrapping his hand again and holding it up for Johnny to see the back of it.]
[ Johnny quips, ever the smartass because that's just who he is, and not even something like this is going to stop him. But he doesn't miss the way Jack looks -- and he's not sure if the man is joking, or if he's seriously thinking about him in a dress.
He inspects the damage, moves about with the dressing and the ointment to attend to him carefully. It's many minutes later that he's finally happy with his handiwork, with Jack's hand carefully bandaged up with clean dressings. ]
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He doesn't catch the softening in those words, not yet, because what he sees is how easily Jack could've been killed, burned alive; and the idea makes him sick. ]
What the hell, Jack? What'd you think you were doing? You could've died!
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[Getting that thing out of his skin, because he couldn't take the thought of it standing on Johnny's neck, using his voice and his body for its own despicable means while the better man watched. Not him, not ever.]
Now are you alright?
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[ For once, Johnny is impatient to get off the subject of him. He's sure the whole possession thing will sink in later and mess him up, but right now all he can focus on is the charred back of Jack's hands, and he steps towards him, frowning.
Does Jack really think saving him is worth dying for? He files that away in his head to review it later; right now the foremost thought in his mind is that -- ]
You're not. [ And the guilt sits right in his chest, heavy and aching for reasons he can't quite understand yet. ] We need to get that looked at.
no subject
[It's agonizing, but Jack is quick and good with his lies, and equally as impressive with his expression. Not an ounce of the pain bleeds into any of it. The fabric of his coat has been made brittle by the heat and tears easily now. Jack rips a strip from it and wraps it around his hand, as much to keep Johnny from seeing it as anything.]
It's not my dominant hand. [He glances up with a smirk.] Just the one I like to get off with.
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He's studied up on fire-based injuries, worked out how to take care of them in case the unthinkable happens, and he steps closer, catching a hold of his unhurt wrist. ]
Let me see it.
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No. [Jack maintains that eye contact while he catches the end of the strip between his teeth and finishes wrapping it that way.] Do you think you can kiss it and make it better? Unburn it? You can't, and I wouldn't have you do it anyway. It's a small sacrifice that I've made for you, a gift rather than a hardship. Accept it, Johnny.
[Because he doesn't expect him to accept anything else.]
no subject
Had he kissed him out of vengeance, anger, or something else? Does Johnny really want to know? Can he afford to? Something flutters in the pit of his stomach, and his mouth is dry. ]
A gift? You could've gotten yourself killed. Did you really want to die that badly?
no subject
[Jack snorts, but something akin to hurt flickers across his face before he can bring it back to neutral. He wanted to be a better man, he wanted to do something heroic, he wanted to save someone that he's grown to care for. But in the end, maybe it still looked like something done to serve Jack's interests. And maybe he has no one to blame for that but himself.
Now he pulls his hand free, eyelids heavier than before.]
You of all people don't have the right to ask anyone that.
no subject
He can see the flash of it in those bright green eyes, so painfully obvious in that fraction of a second that Johnny's caught off guard, startled.
Jack looks younger than he's ever had in that moment, vulnerable, and Johnny had just about stuck a knife in. ]
I'm sorry. [ He says at length, because while his first instinct is to argue his point, something tells him that that particular approach will only make things worse. He swallows. Jack is the last person he should take his anger out on. ]
You brought me back, and you got hurt because of me. I owe you.
no subject
You don't owe me a thing.
[He doesn't want it to be a matter of debt between them.]
The worst seems to be over now. You should go home.
no subject
[ Johnny says firmly, taking his wrist and leading him forward. He's not taking no for an answer. Jack's saved his ass, given him the strength to fight the possession anew. He feels filthy, dirty from the inside, and he doesn't want to be alone. Jack makes him feel complicated, uncertain, and that's better than dealing with what's been inside him, right? ]
We are getting that tended to. I know where we can get some medical supplies, so let me do this for you. Please.
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But Jack's sigh is evidence of his capitulation. Johnny's not going to stop, and while Jack can be stubborn with the absolute best of them, he can't do it when Johnny's wearing the expression that he is, far more pleading than demanding.]
It isn't necessary. But alright.
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C'mon. [ He doesn't let go of him, taking him to one of the stores and snagging some of the medical supplies. Shortly after, he's taking Jack to his room and locking the door, away from the madness and the chaos, and he gestures to a chair. ]
Okay, sit. Let me see it properly.
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[Jack tilts his head, gaze dropping like he's thinking about what those legs would look like in a skirt. He sits down, unwrapping his hand again and holding it up for Johnny to see the back of it.]
I don't think amputation's going to be necessary.
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[ Johnny quips, ever the smartass because that's just who he is, and not even something like this is going to stop him. But he doesn't miss the way Jack looks -- and he's not sure if the man is joking, or if he's seriously thinking about him in a dress.
He inspects the damage, moves about with the dressing and the ointment to attend to him carefully. It's many minutes later that he's finally happy with his handiwork, with Jack's hand carefully bandaged up with clean dressings. ]
There. At least now you won't get it infected.