Jack sighs heavily, almost sagging against John and for a moment he just stays there with his eyes closed, feeling the heat of John's skin and listening to the rhythm of his breathing. Grounding himself in it, finding himself in holding on to someone like he's done for so long. It doesn't feel like it's working as well as usual, but it's enough. Enough to keep him in this where and when.
His name still doesn't sound quite right in his head, but at least the way John says it is familiar. Comforting. Definitely not as comforting as his embrace, but that would be pretty hard to top right now.
There are so many things he needs to explain for any of it to make sense, because he's been hiding all of it for so long. Not just from John, but from himself.
"It's a long story, even for me," he says, quietly. "And I could spend hours finding the place to start, but I just…" Want it gone. Want to forget again. Everything except Gray.
He swallows, pressing his face against John's neck, unable to face him as he tries to put words to the worst day in a long life full of horrifying days.
"...when I was a kid--twelve, thirteen, don't know anymore--my home was attacked." That word's too small, too neat, for what happened that day. But he can't give it more words, even if he could remember them all right now. "My dad…told me to take my--my little brother and run, while he went back for--" Can't, can't think about Mom, hard enough to even see Dad's face. He swallows, taking a deep breath against John's skin and biting back a swear when he feels a few drops of moisture leaking from his eyes.
"He tripped, lost hold of my hand, and I was….I was so scared I didn't notice until it was too late--I never saw him again until…" a noise he can't identify to himself as a laugh or a sob breaks out of his throat. "He's here. My brother. And it's….hoo boy, it's done a number on me, as I'm sure you can tell."
cw: non-graphic description of war, brief dissasociation
His name still doesn't sound quite right in his head, but at least the way John says it is familiar. Comforting. Definitely not as comforting as his embrace, but that would be pretty hard to top right now.
There are so many things he needs to explain for any of it to make sense, because he's been hiding all of it for so long. Not just from John, but from himself.
"It's a long story, even for me," he says, quietly. "And I could spend hours finding the place to start, but I just…" Want it gone. Want to forget again. Everything except Gray.
He swallows, pressing his face against John's neck, unable to face him as he tries to put words to the worst day in a long life full of horrifying days.
"...when I was a kid--twelve, thirteen, don't know anymore--my home was attacked." That word's too small, too neat, for what happened that day. But he can't give it more words, even if he could remember them all right now. "My dad…told me to take my--my little brother and run, while he went back for--" Can't, can't think about Mom, hard enough to even see Dad's face. He swallows, taking a deep breath against John's skin and biting back a swear when he feels a few drops of moisture leaking from his eyes.
"He tripped, lost hold of my hand, and I was….I was so scared I didn't notice until it was too late--I never saw him again until…" a noise he can't identify to himself as a laugh or a sob breaks out of his throat. "He's here. My brother. And it's….hoo boy, it's done a number on me, as I'm sure you can tell."