John felt like he was going to be sick. That was about the only reaction he could have right now that wasn't liable to get him shot. As he swallowed against the bile that was rising in the back of his throat, fixing Meg with a long, irritated stare because, honestly, of all the people there who actually seemed to believe he was himself, why did it have to be her, he did the exact opposite of what his body wanted him to do. He followed instructions. He was useless out in the open. He didn't have a weapon much less any way to defend himself without one, so as he slid into the backseat of the Impala, he sank down to give everyone else the room that they might need to protect them as they fled.
There were plenty of questions that had been raised in the minutes that they were standing out there. What the hell Meg was doing not at Lucifer's side. Why in the hell Jack had called her mom of all things. what in the world was meant by her husband. And where Gabi could have disappeared to if she wasn't coming back with them. They were all questions that John wanted to ask, but now, now, didn't seem the best time.
So instead, he bit his tongue on most matters, turning his gaze briefly to Meg, his eyes narrowed, before saying simply, "For the record, I still don't trust you as far as I can throw you."