Sometimes it hits Jack.
He's in the twenty-first century. Not the twentieth, his fairy tale of heroic deeds and good versus evil. The twenty-first is real, ancient history of humanity awkwardly trying to figure itself out. They have plenty of time to make it worse before they get it better. While he's stuck, knowing, on the slow path through the storm.
And he's with this child, this baby of this adolescent century, this broken boy who loved and who loves him (oh, Jack knows) and he's trapped, sinking in the amber.
He's going to watch all of it fall apart.