This is not happening and they are not getting along and one of them is definitely going to have to say something to fuck it all up later, but for now, Jack's too sedate to do it himself. Not in the least because Tony pulling him up has him yelping like a kicked dog, although to his credit, he remains standing. He still keeps his jacket tugged tight around himself like it's going to help somehow, even though it honestly just adds pressure to the wounds.

"Jacket stays," he coughs up, managing to pry himself away from it - it's the jacket, his one and only, some leather affair that's seen years of dust and dirt and who the hell even knows what else, and it makes him look bigger than he actually is. Without it, Jack's broad shoulders don't do him much good when the rest of him is wiry from hard work, lean from too little food. The patches that proudly showed his MC and rank are gone now, torn from the jacket by brute force. There's no better way to show that he's done.

Jacket stays, bullet hole and bloodstain included, but everything else can go. Jack takes a moment to yank his shirt up on the right side and scowl at the massive stretch of tortoiseshell bruising across his ribs. Definitely broke a few somethings.

But there's something else on his mind, and he doesn't start towards the bathroom just yet, letting his shirt drop.

"If you want me gone, I'm gone."