Hand in hand you and Jack walked down a trail — far from the cabin and everyone, a much needed break was long overdue. To sit near a stream, cuddled into him for warmth from the chilly wind and sharing the same stories over and over. It was romantic, sure, even when Jack has his head turned, blue masked rearing in his lap and he’s tearing a kidney apart with his razor sharp teeth — almost snarling at the hunger. You snorted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while resting your chin on his shoulder. “Relax Jack, it’s not going to run away.” You teased, using your thumb to wipe away a small chunk of organ that made its way to his cheek from how sloppily he was eating.

He was about to make a playful remark when he was cut off by a loud wail and your heads snapped in the direction — well, yours in the opposite direction. “What was that?” You asked in a hushed tone, pulling yourself away and standing up, hand outstretched for Jack. He accepted it and hauled himself up, towering over you. “A cry?” He answered, sockets narrowing. He may be blind but he has night vision in a way. His head scanned around the place before another wail was heard and he jerked his head. “That was.” He pointed a clawed finger, grabbed your hand and yanked you with him.

He was snarling, you knew why. Jack, with his demonic species, had odd paternal instincts. You’ve seen it when he interacted with the younger ones.

Jack suddenly came to a stop and you rammed into his back with a grunt. “Jack?” You grunt, rubbing your forehead. He held up a hand before pointing over towards a tree where an unswaddled blanket was and a wailing infant laid on the roots. His fangs barred as the hair pricked on the back of his neck. “It’s a baby.” He pointed out the obvious, hands thrusting out and motioning to it with almost disbelief. “What kind of asshole—” he cut himself off with a growl and turned his head. He may be a killer, cannibal, but he's not totally heartless when it comes to innocent children.