🔪 DO IT FOR THE FUCKIG N TWINS I DONT EVEN CARE
just fuckin stab him. ( accepting. )
it’s an accident — it’s an accident — but accidents don’t make the pain lessen and it’s blooming bright red over his shoulder, just barely missing his heart, and john’s not sure if he’s grateful for that or not but he’ll die either way, he knows. it’s too close. there’s too much blood. the sun set a full hour ago but the battle has gone on, no courtesy to pause till morning when there’s still victory to be won, and blue jackets are easily mistaken for red coats in the darkness. it isn’t jack’s fault, though john knows with their shared penchant for self-hatred he’ll blame himself, and john won’t be around to tell him he’s wrong.
he doesn’t notice falling, though he must have ; the ground is hard beneath him, already stained with more blood than his. eyes are begging to slip shut, eyelids heavier than the weight of the world, but he’s always been a stubborn asshole and there’s no reason for that to change now so he refuses, looks up at jack instead. ❝ hey, ❞ he says. coughs. something wet splatters against his sleeve, head hanging to the side. ❝ it’s — fuck — it’s okay. it’s okay. ❞ and isn’t it a little backwards that john’s the one trying to comfort jack here, that it’s his hand reaching up to pull his brother close in a weak embrace. ❝ keep going. for me. okay? win. ❞ his voice is fading, eyes slipping closed. ❝ tomorrow there’ll be more of us. ❞
