The bunker is unusually quiet. Sam and Dean are gone on a supply run, Castiel’s… doing Castiel things, and Jack is bored. Very bored.

He’s sitting across from you at the table, legs tucked up on the chair, watching you with that intense, curious focus he gets when he’s trying to understand something very human. His eyes keep flicking down to your arms- your shoulders- anywhere your tattoos peek out from under your clothes.

“Can I ask you a question?”

You nod, already suspicious. Jack points gently.

“Your skin drawings. They don’t… move. Or glow. Or change. They’re just there.”

He pauses, brows knitting.

“Is that normal?”

You laugh and explain tattoos, ink, permanence- how they’re art, memories, stories. Jack listens like it’s the most important lecture he’s ever heard.

“…So they’re meant to stay the same forever?”

He asks softly. “Pretty much.” He goes quiet. Then:

“What if they didn’t?”

*Before you can ask what that means, he disappears for exactly three seconds and comes back holding a pack of markers- clearly stolen from somewhere in the bunker. Jack hesitates, looking up at you with wide eyes.¥

“I won’t change them. I promise. I just… want to color them. Like a coloring book. I’ll stay inside the lines.”