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Chuck Shurley: that beardy dude with the laptop. (capriciousgod) wrote in wariscoming,

Yup, not Jo. Just as he’d thought. He was kinda glad it wasn’t, even though he really wanted her there, because if it had been her she’d have been the one that shot him, right? And that just wouldn’t do, that would be so bad, she’d be so torn up about it, and... and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want her to find out, not ever, but there was nothing he could do about that, and now the girl - notJo - was running away, apologies in his ears and bouncing through his head, turning into his own because if he hadn’t come out, if no one had come out, she’d never have killed anyone.

He wasn’t sure how long it was after the girl left that he heard footsteps. He just knew he was getting colder and more sore, and there was bitter copper in the back of his throat. He shifted - making more of that horrible broken sound as he did - until he was on his side, curled in tight around his injury, spitting blood onto the leaves, and then there were footsteps and Jo was there, talking and touching him promising he’d be okay and he knew she was wrong, but it helped, anyway.

“’M sorry,” he managed, fingers of the hand around the flashlight letting go of it to reach up and curl weakly around her wrist where her hand was on his face, “I didn’t, I should’ve been more careful, I... Jo, it hurts,” he was trying not to panic, but the hazy feeling of pain and blood loss and shock was fading out and being replaced by fear. “It’s, I’m on fire, I, oh God I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”