The instant Jack felt the unfamiliar sheets against his face, even before actually opening his eyes, Jack whined. His arm blindly flailed out for a pillow, shoving it over his head to block out the light streaming in from the billion fucking sunlamps that were apparently aimed right on him. At least the thread count was better than the last set of new bedding he'd dealt with. It took another few seconds before a persistent itch on his thigh forced him to move, and he made sure the whole room knew he hated every damn second of it with his consistent grumbling as he shifted around to get friction where he needed it. With a huff, he sat up, blinking blearily across the swanky, unfamiliar room, and immediately wondering what new clusterfuck awaited them.
First and foremost, he had to pee. And brush his teeth, if the taste of whatever had died in his mouth the night before was any indication.
Raising a hand to protect himself from the onslaught of light through the window, he went there first to scope out their new horrible destination vacation spot.
And froze.
"Holy shit," he breathed, pressing his hands to the glass, followed by the rest of his body as he scanned over the all-too-familiar skyline, and the street below. "Holy fucking shit!"
New York. Home. He was fucking home. He knew even as his hands hunted fruitlessly that there wasn't going to be any way to pull open a window. Not at this height. He was too distracted to look too hard, his gaze focusing on the building a few blocks away where he knew his father's offices were located. Where his office had been for those last few months.
I can go home. Get out of this fucking room. Get on the subway. Go to Dad's office. Home. Fucking anywhere but here. Izzy. I can get to Izzy now.
Jack didn't know he was moving out of the room and into the opulent hallway until he was running, the sound of scampering following along after him. That must have been Bosley, he realized belatedly, his bare feet slapping against the marble floor. His eyes frantically scanned for any sign that there was stairwell, and elevator, anything, but only grazed across familiar name after familiar name.
"No. Nononononononononononono," he mumbled to himself as he finally made it to a door, throwing it open only to find that it was a fucking bathroom. "NO." When it became apparent that there were more rooms and no obvious way down, he dashed back the way he came, panting frantically. He had to get out. He had to get to someone. SOMEONE had to know they were all THERE.
The door with his name emblazoned on it still stood open as he re-entered, scanning around for something, anything, his eyes falling first on the table next to the bed. He tugged it away from the wall, sending the lamp and everything else on it crashing to the floor. Bosley made a beeline for the space under the bed as Jack stepped forward and flung the table at the windows. The glass might hurt someone below. The table too. But someone would know to come up. They'd find a way! They'd-
The table broke. The glass didn't. In fact, seemingly just to spite him, it barely vibrated against the blow.
The desperate cry that came from Jack was almost inhuman as he went for one of the heavy chairs next, barely managing to avoid the mangled and shattered legs of the table. The chair didn't do much better, but it did manage to stay intact. So, of course, he tried again. And again. And again. Each blow echoed by his increasingly panicked sobs, not even coherent enough to worry that it was his father he was screaming for.