[They don't get very far. The moment Tony can resume some semblance of motor function on his own he's shoving open the car door, tumbling out and staggering away. Not that he does much better on his own, stumbling into a trash can and knocking it over, going down with it. There's garbage all over the sidewalk now and he feels sick, so sick.
Jack just tried to kill him —it was just fate you survived that— his hand claws at his chest, tearing the expensive cotton and ripping off buttons to get at the skin beneath, nails digging into flesh. He's going to be sick. No, not going. He is. Hurls once. Twice. Nothing, but alcohol. It burns coming up.
He barely registers what Jack's been saying. Something about a him... Some other guy. He doesn't understand it right now. Maybe he won't even understand it later. All he knows is something is not right and he needs to get away from Jack. Now.
It's kind of the most pathetic attempt at a fleeing crawl, but he does manage to at least get to his hands and knees and barrel roll into an alley.]
[ Jesus, Jack spits under his breath, and now they're making a scene. Much more attention and someone's going to call the cops, and hell if Jack wants to explain why he, drunk, and a friend, even drunker, were driving around the city, or why Tony is on the fritz, or why people watched a terrified man scrabble into an alley pursued by a different one. ]
Will you stop? [ He has to remember that he has no right to get annoyed, hand curling briefly into a tight fist at his side as he rides it out. ] I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. I wasn't gonna hurt you.
[ Feels like he's talking to a cat. Jack even hunches down (away from the vomit, gross) and leans up against the alley wall, grinding dirt and grime into his borrowed clothes. ]
I just wanted to scare you. [ He makes himself sound pathetic, just a little pleading. ] Just wanted you to stop. Gimme a number. Who do I call to pick you up, T? Somebody that can take you home and get you away from me.
[Tony just barely props himself up against some boxes of moldy produce thrown out for collection, wary eyes on Jack. Unfortunately for Jack Tony is no cat. After a pause of silence he croaks out a number. A familiar one.
It's Sofia's. Long defunct and passed on to a new owner with her passing. Jack can fucking chew on that. He knows the things he's done. All of them.]
[ It's impossible not to recognize that number - shit, she wrote it on his hand in gel pen once. Jack's eyes squint, widen with realization, narrow again.
What he wants to do is stroll over there and kick the living hell out of Tony. Like he might have done in the old, old days if they'd ran into each other without Sofia in play. And he just imagines it for a second, eyes shutting. Takes a deep breath in, lets it out in a hard rush. The anger he can handle - has always handled. It's the stark pleasure he gets from punishing people that fucks him up.
What he actually does is simple. Jack sneers for a moment before heading back to the car and retrieving Tony's phone, returning slow and purposeful. Could be a stalk, but it isn't. Jack hurls Tony's phone at him and turns to go. If Tony lets him, that's it; Jack slips around the corner and disappears.
[Tony watches the phone clatter to the ground beside him, cracks spreading over the screen as it makes contact, but doesn't pick it up. Neither does he stop Jack. Instead, once he's alone, he leans back against the boxes behind him and lets his head rest on them, eyes closed. Too many images in his mind. His mom. Jack. An older man he doesn't even know.
His chest hurts in an hell of a lot of ways it shouldn't and he has to keep touching it to make sure there is in fact no horrible wounds in it.
So much for a full schedule. He needs a drink. And more after that one. ...He's not going to forget this. There's really no one he can depend on.
He won't make the mistake of trusting again. Not anyone.]
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no subject
Jack just tried to kill him —it was just fate you survived that— his hand claws at his chest, tearing the expensive cotton and ripping off buttons to get at the skin beneath, nails digging into flesh. He's going to be sick. No, not going. He is. Hurls once. Twice. Nothing, but alcohol. It burns coming up.
He barely registers what Jack's been saying. Something about a him... Some other guy. He doesn't understand it right now. Maybe he won't even understand it later. All he knows is something is not right and he needs to get away from Jack. Now.
It's kind of the most pathetic attempt at a fleeing crawl, but he does manage to at least get to his hands and knees and barrel roll into an alley.]
no subject
Will you stop? [ He has to remember that he has no right to get annoyed, hand curling briefly into a tight fist at his side as he rides it out. ] I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. I wasn't gonna hurt you.
[ Feels like he's talking to a cat. Jack even hunches down (away from the vomit, gross) and leans up against the alley wall, grinding dirt and grime into his borrowed clothes. ]
I just wanted to scare you. [ He makes himself sound pathetic, just a little pleading. ] Just wanted you to stop. Gimme a number. Who do I call to pick you up, T? Somebody that can take you home and get you away from me.
no subject
It's Sofia's. Long defunct and passed on to a new owner with her passing. Jack can fucking chew on that. He knows the things he's done. All of them.]
no subject
What he wants to do is stroll over there and kick the living hell out of Tony. Like he might have done in the old, old days if they'd ran into each other without Sofia in play. And he just imagines it for a second, eyes shutting. Takes a deep breath in, lets it out in a hard rush. The anger he can handle - has always handled. It's the stark pleasure he gets from punishing people that fucks him up.
What he actually does is simple. Jack sneers for a moment before heading back to the car and retrieving Tony's phone, returning slow and purposeful. Could be a stalk, but it isn't. Jack hurls Tony's phone at him and turns to go. If Tony lets him, that's it; Jack slips around the corner and disappears.
Fuck it. He'll walk. ]
no subject
His chest hurts in an hell of a lot of ways it shouldn't and he has to keep touching it to make sure there is in fact no horrible wounds in it.
So much for a full schedule. He needs a drink. And more after that one. ...He's not going to forget this. There's really no one he can depend on.
He won't make the mistake of trusting again. Not anyone.]