The first thing Jack thought of when he started coming to, was that he definately had a hang-over. There was no way his head could feel this bad, unless...
Smoke filled his lungs as he took a breath, and he coughed violently, feeling like there was a small building sitting on his chest. Or, as he noticed when he opened his eyes, a ship. His ship. Fred. Tree.
"Oh, fuck," He mumbled, the memories crashing back to him. He had no idea how long he'd been out, or what damage was still done to his body. The need to see his daughters took over, and he pulled himself out from under the metal heap, wrenching his way out with just a gash off of his chest.
He scrambled his way over to where the girls had been laid out, ignoring the frantic questions of the spectators. Was he fine? Obviously not. Jack couldn't even process the idea- after everything, all the struggle the past few weeks, and now they were just...
There were no tears- he almost hated himself for being too shocked to cry. But he just sat there, head bowed, fighting the urge to strangle the man still shouting in his ear.