It was Jack's third year in Hell. He kept count with the thorn of a plant on the insides of his arms. He hadn't kept track at first, blindingly expecting to be saved by someone, but after what felt like months, he gave in, even getting over his old dislike of pain. He'd gotten over a lot of things.
Jack had always been an attention seeker, which had led to his plan of world domination. Jack hadn't spoken a single word in one thousand ninety five days and truly understood suffering. He was sure his body went numb a long time ago, and could never be used again. Vines and thorns would so tightly around him that he felt truly broken. The feeding tube down his throat was nothing compared to that pain.
Apparently Hannibal wanted him alive. Jack wasn't sure if it was because he still had some use for him, or if it was for the irony. Jack figured it was the second, because Hannibal wouldn't lure the Xiaolin dragons and definitely not any Heylin to come save Spicer.
Despite that anyone would give up hope in his situation, Jack had always been determined, if not overly confident. Even when he was down and broken, he wouldn't let his spirit be completely smashed, least of all by a bean.
Jack in a box he was, but they never stayed in it like you expected.
Epilogue:
One day half a year later, Jack finally managed to free his arms from the plants, and started to wake his body from the numbness. He wants to (carefully) take the feeding tube out, but knows he needs it for a while yet, and then he waits. Weeks later, Hell is shaken up, but he is soon free of it, and despite the horrified looks his mutilated body is receiving, he is being carried gently against a broad figure's armored chest to safety, and he finally allows himself to hope.