"So fucking stupid."
Jean sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Yes, I'm inclined to agree."
Locke tried to roll over, eyes half-glazed. "Fucking stupid. Should have left me there. Dying anyway."
Jean shook his head stubbornly. "Don't be an asshole, Locke Lamora. You're not going anywhere. What happened to the motherfucking Thorn of Camorr?" There was no response from his friend. Jean forced a spoonful of tea into his mouth. There was a moment before Locke rolled over feebly, vomited the tea and everything else he'd taken in, and spat up more blood. Then he flopped back onto his back wearily, his left arm cradled to his chest. He took a weak, shuddering breath and let it out in another weak, coughing, sob.
With another heavy sigh, Jean softened his voice. "Easy, Locke. You're going to be all right, okay? Fuck the Gray King, fuck Camorr. Keep that blood inside where it belongs, got it?" The rough edge in his voice was too close to the surface. "You'll be all right," he said roughly. "Just you wait, Ibelius'll be coming back with another poultice. The next one you'll be able to complain about it."
Locke opened one black eye slowly and stared at Jean. He coughed, briefly, spat out another bit of blood, and said in his nasal, broken-nosed voice, "Liar."
Jean's jaw tightened. "Shut up."
Locke laughed, a mad, rasping sound not unlike the way he had laughed at the end with the Grey King. "Oh gods," he whispered hoarsely. "Just…had to keep him there…until you showed up…oh gods…Jean, did I tell you? I sunk the ship… told them the fortune was on the shit barges, sunk the ship for me…"
"Shh," said Jean, "You can tell me later, okay? Drink this." He tried to force more tea into his supine friend's mouth, but Locke turned his head away.
"Sunk it…for Calo and Galdo…and Bug…gods-fucking hell, it hurts – sunk it for them, for a death offering…didn't want to forget…"
Jean took the moment of Locke's mouth being open to spoon some tea into it. Locke choked and swallowed, then gagged and spat the tea back on the deck weakly. Locke shook his head. "I'm fucked, Jean," he said, his voice stronger.
Jean shook his head. "Not if I can help it," he said stubbornly. "Not if I can help it, you motherfucking bastard."
Locke's smile was exhausted. "I'll miss you too." His eyes drifted closed. Panicked, Jean bent his head to listen to the erratic heartbeat of his small friend, and was relieved to hear it, still there, pounding away, miraculously.
"Ibelius!" he roared, standing up and looking at Locke's blood on his hands. The bastard thinks he can take all my friends from me. He's not getting Locke Lamora. "Get over here and do something!"
He looked down at Locke, his skin like marble, bruised and bloody, his nose bent out of place. Jean bent and jerked it back into place, standing back to look at his friend, arm wrapped in three places, blood already oozing through two bandages.
"Ibelius!" Gods damn you, Locke, hold on.