#larry dimick

Sure, he’d gotten gunned down out of sight of any cops, which had been the point of him and Larry running from them, so Freddy can understand that they hadn’t gotten pulled over on their mad drive here. But he knows for sure that there had been cops stationed outside that warehouse from before they’d even left that diner.

He considers that they might not have recognized him, but the thought that the men stationed there hadn’t studied his face well enough to pick him out and not shoot him should it come down to it, doesn’t make him feel better.

So he is stuck with the truth; that the LAPD knows he’s been shot and is bleeding out on that warehouse and they’re just letting him.

The mission is pinning Joe for this too, his organization is the one they’re after and the reason he’s been send in. Joe is an important target and he gets wanting to get him, especially with how much of a massacre this has become. If they don’t get Joe for this, the whole police department is going to be in deep shit with the mess they’ve got on their hands.

Freddy knows all this, he does. He’s been briefed about how important getting Joe is, read the file they have on him with a bunch of things they could never prove but are heinous enough. He wants to get him as badly as any cop… he just didn’t think it would be more important than him.

It’s so fucking naive that he almost laughs, but to laugh you need to have enough energy to move and he doesn’t, because he’s dying. He’s fucking dying! And no one fucking gives a shit.

No, that’s a lie. Larry gives a shit. Hell, even Mr. Pink was fucking worried about him when he first got here. He can vaguely hear the two of them discussing options to get him help. Two career criminals, who Freddy should hate, are trying harder to save him now than the LAPD. It feels like that should mean something, but his brain is too foggy to cobble it together.

Around him the puddle of blood grows and he is glad to fully lose consciousness for a bit. The utter aching and desperate fear that claws at him makes him want to cry, to scream, to do fucking something, anything. And he can’t do that. All he can do is lay there and bleed until Joe comes.

Yells wake him up again, disorienting him as he blearily tries to figure out what the fuck is going on, which is that they’re beating on a cop. Though he only gathers his bearings when Nice Guy Eddie gets there and puts a stop to it.

Huh, figures Nice Guy Eddie would be the one to do it, though Freddy’s pain addled brain is pretty sure he’s only against the torture because it doesn’t work, not because torture is bad. Either way, Freddy is just glad the yelling dies down again. His head hurts… His everything hurts really.

Freddy is slow to follow the rest of the conversation, but he knows when Larry stands up for him and his wounds and he hears it when Nice Guy Eddie promises to organize a doctor for him when they run that diamond errant.

He’s still hurting, which is what he’ll use as an excuse for being emotional, because he nearly tears up at that. This gaggle of crooks he’s soon going to turn in are doing more to keep him alive despite their sticky situation, while the LAPD is doing nothing despite being in a much better position to do something to keep him alive.

A bitter taste overtakes the coppery taste of blood he has in his mouth as he lies there watching the floor color red through hazy eyes. He’s done all this work for the LAPD, put his life on the line for weeks, and they can’t even do him the fucking courtesy of not letting him fucking die in some fucking warehouse in the middle of LA.

It’s a strange and uncomfortable thing to realize just how expendable you are. How little you matter in the grand scheme of things.

The realization makes him angry. So fucking angry. He has to be, because if he isn’t angry all he has left is fear and an aching sadness that hurts more than that stupid wound in his belly, since his body is already halfway numb.

Freddy lets the anger fuel him. First towards Mr. Blonde, who is the only person who didn’t care that he’d been bleeding out here. Mr. Pink at least had the decency to be shocked, instead of this amused apathy about him bleeding out. Even if he was against taking Freddy to a hospital, but he at least had a good fucking reason, unlike those cops outside.

If he were a better person, the anger would be about what he is doing to that police officer he kidnapped, but he’s not a better person. No, Freddy is hurting. Freddy is dying. And Freddy has been abandoned to that fate. So, yeah, Freddy is fucking pissed and it might be a righteous anger, but it’s a self-righteousness, nothing virtuous about it.

Maybe he’s been around criminals for too long, maybe his eyes have just been opened. Whatever it may be, Freddy is sick and tired of it.

So, he shoots Mr. Blonde and angrily thinks himself to be above those assholes sitting in their squad car outside, who would just leave rookie over there to his demise. He is better than them. He is not a dick, who fucking leaves the people putting themselves in danger for this job. Freddy does his fucking job.

He should feel bad about not remembering that he’s met Marvin before, but he’s too tired. He just saved the man’s fucking life and he’s fucking dying.

Marvin seems pissed off at being here, but he can hardly fucking talk. Yeah, yeah, ear cut off, nearly torched to death, but at least he’s not actively fucking bleeding to death while everyone outside just takes their sweet time.

Freddy doesn’t want to die like this. Slow. Meaningless. Fuck that.

He barely has any strength left, but he tries to get up anyway. Marvin might be beat up, but he isn’t that hurt. It’s mostly his face, his legs work just fine. If Freddy can get him free then Marvin can get them out of there and they can get some medical fucking help.

When the anger is not enough to get him to Marvin, he lets himself collapse, furious at the muscles that fail him in this moment. He doesn’t want to give up now. He wants to make those that are doing nothing pay for leaving him here.

However, he hurts too much to move and he just wants to lie there, the exhaustion sapping his anger away, until he crumbles into himself once more. Freddy is dying and that is catching up to him. The sudden realization enough to nearly make him cry.

He tries to remember Larry telling him that it’ll take days to die from the wound he has, that time is on his side, that Larry is on his side. Larry is out there with Nice Guy Eddie, making sure Freddy will get a doctor. Larry isn’t going to let him bleed out, unlike the pigs outside.

It’s a startling thought to have, but in that moment Freddy feels in his bones that he means it. If Marvin keeps his fucking mouth shut and Freddy manages to play off him shooting Mr. Blonde, then Larry is going to make sure he lives.

Larry has been nothing but kind to him throughout this whole ordeal. He has taken him under his wing, comforted him, stood up for him, cared for him. Larry has shown the most compassion for him throughout all of this. More than Holdaway even with his stupid fucking ‘we’re right there’ bullshit.

Freddy might be dying, but he’s not dead yet and might stay not dead yet and that’s all because of Larry, who is more of a friend than any buddy he’s had at the LAPD.

So, he lets himself go limp and continues to bleed, because Larry will be there soon. Larry will make the bleeding stop. That’s a comforting thought. Yeah, comforting, Freddy thinks hazily, letting himself float again.

When the others return with the diamonds, Freddy is so relieved to see Larry, no matter how pissed off Nice Guy Eddie about Freddy shooting Mr. Blonde. He almost regrets that now.

Sure, Mr. Blonde was apathetic about him dying, but it’s not like Marvin was of much help with Freddy not even capable of making it to him. Besides, he’s already dead now too. Shot in the head and none of the motherfuckers outside did a thing about it. Only Freddy did, because he’s better than them. It’s the only reason he doesn’t feel too remorseful.

Mostly it sucks, because Nice Guy Eddie is pushing a gun in his face and if he’d just let Mr. Blonde burn the guy, he’d be getting news on that doctor now. Fuck, it all hurts.

Joe arriving is like an angel descending for Freddy.

With Joe here, it’ll be okay for him. Now that he’s here, the squads stationed outside will finally come busting down the door and take everyone in. They will get Freddy that ambulance he’s been waiting for this whole fucking time. Freddy is a little less happy to see Joe when he is now also pointing a gun at him.

Despite how patient and good he’s been – lying here, waiting for death and hoping the LAPD will arrive first – it can all still go to shit in the last minute. Frantically looking into the barrel of a gun, he wonders where the fuck those squads are. Joe is here, isn’t he? So where the fuck are they?

Again it’s Larry, who saves him. Who protects him. Who stands over him and points a gun at a man that he has known for a long time. Someone who might even be his friend. Yet Larry stands there and aims all in the name of protecting Freddy. Of protecting Mr. Orange, the kid, who has made himself at home under Larry’s protective wing.

Soon the police will come, they must. Freddy just has to hold on until then and Larry is helping him bridge those few moments between now and when all these men in front of him are in cuffs.

Freddy hasn’t counted on how he upset that thought would make him, but here it is. In the tense stretch of his stand off, he lays there with a thick knot of guilt in his punctured stomach. Joe has always equaled doctor, whether is was a Cobat hire or the LAPD. Freddy half thought he’d never make it to see either option, but Larry has forcefully dragged him there. Larry promised Freddy wasn’t going to die and has moved hell and earth to make it so.

And how is Freddy going to repay him? What will Freddy do for him other than lock him up in some cell at the behest of people who were more than happy to let Freddy bleed to death here? What kind of person does it make him?

A part of him has always wanted to be a hero, like those in his comic books. He thought that taking down Joe and his gang would make him into one; a cool undercover cop, dismantling an organization from the inside.

He doesn’t feel like a hero now.

Instead Freddy feels tiny and broken. He is scared and tired and guilty. So very guilty. He’s not a good person. He shot that lady, he got Marvin killed and now he is betraying Larry after all the man has done for him. He’s not a hero at all for doing this, he’s just a bad person.

Looking around the carnage, most of it was his fault. Sure, Mr. Blonde started shooting up the store and torturing Marvin, but outside of that?

Without Freddy there wouldn’t have been cops right around the corner, so no shoot out and no dead Mr. Brown and Mr. Blue, no kidnapped Marvin. Without Freddy, they would have gotten away in the car and no lady would be dead on the side of the road. Without Freddy, Mr. Blonde wouldn’t be dead in the warehouse. And without Freddy there wouldn’t be this stand off that feels like it can only end badly.

Fuck, he was so fucking stupid. Why the fuck did he ever believe he was doing good and noble work here? He feels like a stupid kid, who still believed in Santa.

The tangled mess of feelings he feels right now chokes him and keeps anything he might want to say inside. If he were a better person, he’d confess his sins right now, just tell them and spare them all the misery of this showdown. These criminals have done more for him than the LAPD, even with the gun pointed at him now, it’s the least he can do. Not like any of them are getting away with it at this point.

However, he can’t make his mouth move like he wants to, instead a confession, a denial falls from his lips. Still trying to save himself, even now. A rat leaving the sinking ship, he thinks bitterly.

That thought has barely left his brain when loud bangs rattle in his ears and a new pain lances through him as yet another bullet buries itself in his flesh. There is the smell of blood and gunpowder in the air and Freddy is pretty sure everyone’s been hit, but it’s hard to pay attention with everything that is going on and everything he’s feeling.

At this point, he’s been dying for so long that he has barely let himself hope anymore. Yet for it to end like this, fills him with disappointment.

It’s truly over now, he thinks to himself, there is not coming back from this one.

In a way, it is almost soothing that is done now. Freddy is dying here one way or the other. If no one of Cobat’s crew takes him out, then the crossfire of the police that is bound to come in at any time likely will. Or maybe he’ll die in the ambulance or in the hospital.

No matter how you slice it, Freddy Newandyke is not going to see tomorrow. That last bullet is a hit his already battered body can’t take, he can feel it.

His peaceful fading away gets disturbed by an awful noise and he blearily makes out Larry, who is still alive, dragging himself towards Freddy. It takes him a moment to comprehend that Larry also got hit in the crossfire. That he has taken two bullets to protect Freddy.

Fuck, the man has already done so much for Freddy, too much. Much more than Freddy can ever repay him, and that’s without taking the massive betrayal he has committed. The one that Larry doesn’t even know about, but will be revealed soon. Freddy can finally hear a police presence outside. The one thing he hoped for an hour earlier is now making his stomach sink.

Because even if Larry has already done too much, he is still doing more. Holding Freddy in his lap and petting his face, assuring him that it will all be okay, even if they both know it won’t.

Larry may just be the only person that has ever cared for Freddy and Freddy will never be able to repay that kindness. And Freddy’s last act here is going to be disappointing him.

For a moment he wishes that he could go back in time and make it right. To say no to Holdaway, to confess before the heist went down and spare them all, to come forward as the rat before Mr. Pink ever even arrived. Anything. But he knows that won’t happen. He can’t go back in time and fix it all, all he can do is go forward.

There isn’t much for him to do with the state he’s in and the situation they’re finding themselves in, so all he can do is confess. To let himself be the one to tell Larry, instead of having him find out by those motherfuckers of the LAPD, who are about to bust the door in a minute too late.

“I’m a cop. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The broken sounds that Larry makes in response as the weight of what Freddy has caused hits him will haunt his final moments, maybe follow him into hell, because Freddy is sure that is where he is headed after today.

However, there is a peace too at the confession. A sense of setting himself free that washes over him after keeping it all locked up inside. Even if no one else does, Larry will know him as wholly as anyone has ever had and Freddy can’t think of a better person to entrust himself with than the man, who has protected him throughout this whole ordeal, even if said man has a cool gun now pressed to his face.