Tony's better than him, and Jack knows it. Smarter, no doubt, and more sensible too, and so he shuffles in and drops himself on the couch as directed, hand sneaking under his jacket to cradle a broken rib or two. (Or three. He doesn't really remember what all is wrong with him now, but the entire right side of his chest is pounding to the point of making him nauseous.) The temperature in this apartment feels like it's gone subzero and wrapping his arms around himself isn't helping, head hung low.

"No, Jesus." What, are you freakin' kidding me? Soph would roll in her grave so hard she'd do the Back To The Future thing and come beat my ass is what comes to him first, because making jokes has always been easier than feeling things, but his shit sense of humor can't help him now. Just makes him feel like retching. "I took her to her grandparents. They won't let that bitch anywhere near her."

Or him, now. Because he's a piece of shit. He's scum. He never deserved either of them. They've told him all of it before, and they told him again just earlier, when her dad hit him so hard he practically blacked out. Now he just sounds hollow - like Tony, like it isn't bothering him all that much that she's fucking gone and she's never coming back.

"She didn't--" Quiet. "Didn't feel - anything. Fuck. Fuck."

His voice cracks hard on anything, and then he's burying his face in his arms and grips at his hair until he feels it tearing out.