All We Are Is Bullets
Fandom: Losers (2010)
Summary: I'd end my days with you in a hail of bullets. I'm trying, I'm trying, to let you know just how much you mean to me.
Tags: Major Character Death, Jake Jensen/Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez, Conon Divergence, Post-Movie, First Person POV, kinda a songfic of Demolition Lovers by MCR
Originally posted on AO3
Beta-ed by the wonderful quandong_crumble
Spanish beta-ed by the amazing DamaDuende – because one should never rely solely on Google Translate.
All remaining mistakes are mine.
I do not own Losers, or the song. This is fanfiction! It's that simple.
I reach for your hand, fingers dragging across the rough ground until I find your wrist, I can't help but push my fingers under the cuff of your sleeve, searching for the pulse that I'm almost sure I won't find. There is a weak flutter beneath my finger tips and then your hand is clutching mine, gloves damp, exposed fingers slick with blood. I think it's yours.
It takes a lot more effort than it should to turn my head to look at you, the scorched skin on the side of my neck pulling tight. My other arm is useless at my side, humerus shattered by a bullet. I find your blue eyes, blinking at me from behind broken glasses; one lens is gone entirely, the other shattered, a spider web of cracks radiating out from the impact point, when you hit the ground. The frames are bent and broken, crooked on your face, one arm has snapped and the remaining jagged piece of thin metal has gouged into your cheek. Those estúpido glasses, but they suited you; with them broken, you look far too young and vulnerable.
Mi amor, debería haberte protegido.
You smile, cracked lips bleeding, teeth stained red, a stark contrast to your pale skin, but you smile and it reaches your eyes, for the first time since before Bolivia.
"Heya Cougs. You 'kay buddy?" You try to move closer, dragging yourself across the ground, biting back noises of pain.
I can see the way your hand clutches your stomach, and the way the blood seeps between your fingers. When you move your hand I can't make out the damage for the mess of blood and clothing. You reach for something I can't see, but then my hat is dropped on my chest, covering the bullet holes that puncture my chest.
Tre shots, it took, to bring me down. Dos de sobra.
It is only a matter of time. I know then, but I can see in your eyes, as you collapse back next to me, that you still hope, despite the pool of blood that surrounds us, soaking into the earth.
The blood in my lungs makes it impossible to talk, it is unfair that the moment I want to say things to you, I cannot. I want to tell you things, need to make sure you understand.
The pain is receding, I'm grateful, even though it's a bad sign; but it is okay, estoy listo para morir, estoy cansado.
You. No estoy listo para dejarte morir. Not before I tell you. This time, I mean it, I'll let you know how much you mean to me.
Your hand still grips mine, your body closer than before; I can hear the pain in your breathing as I'm sure you can hear the blood in mine. You tighten you fingers around mine, another smile for me, even as the world ends.
"We're going to make it out of here, you and me, Cougs, nothing's going to stop us. We're too sexy to die."
I can hear the strain in your voice, you're trying to talk yourself into living, there was always so much life in you, enough for the rest of us, even when we were tired and only living for revenge, you reminded us that there was something more. Talked light back into my life with tales of your sobrina, and Las Petunias.
"There are still things I haven't done in life. I have a bucket list, things I wanted to do before I died. Figured I'd have more time, should have known better in this line of work. Guess what is at the top of the list of things I want to do?"
I cannot guess, knowing you it is probably something loco. I would ask though, and happily listen to whatever you want to tell me. There are things I want to tell you too. The slightest raise of one eyebrow is all the encouragement you need. You look away before you respond, staring up at the sky.
"You. Or rather, I was hoping you'd do me. I know, whole DADT and we're teammates and all, but fuck, Cougs, I've wanted you since forever. It's stupid, telling you now, but I figure if you hate me, I won't have to live with it long."
There is a tremor in your voice, but I don't think it is only from the spasms of pain that flow through you to me by our joined hands. I squeeze your hand tighter, to make you look at me and I think I'm smirking. You finally look at me, eyes not quite focused, but there is that smile again, and I know that you can see yo no te odio.
"Okay, we're definitely getting out of here then. When we're all patched up, then it's you, me and a bed, or any comfortable, semi private place, I'm really not fussed, just as long as we're naked and doing all sorts of scandalous sexy things to each other."
It's getting harder to breathe, I don't think I'll make it to that point in time you're talking about, but Dios, I want to.
I'm running out of time, and I still have so much to tell you. I pull my hand free from yours; my fingers are trembling as I reach out, awkwardly, towards you. Your shirt is damp beneath my fingers as I trace a heart against your chest. Te amo Jake Jensen, is what it says, and I know you understand.
"Yo también te quiero, hijo de puta." Your pronunciation is terrible, but I smile at the words. I am a bastard, I realise that, for waiting so long to tell you.
You drag yourself closer and your lips are one mine; the metallic taste blood, the saltiness of sweat and the bitterness of regret fill my mouth. It's not perfect, but we are Losers, we never get anything right.
You rest next to me, head pressed against my shoulder but there is no body heat to share, we're both so cold. Your hand finds mine again and clings on for dear life; it's slowly slipping away and nothing we can do will change that.
"Hey, look, Cougar, 's nowing. Fanshy snowing in teh desert." Your words are slurring together, breath hitching in pain.
It is not snow falling from the desert sky though, but ash, from the buildings around us that are burning. I think I wish it was snow, though, that we could be elsewhere, safe, together.
There is a weight against my stomach, cool and hard, and I know without looking that it is the tablet you had in your pocket, the controls to detonate the ordnance we carted here. I bring our hands down to cover it, letting you know that it is okay. Estoy listo para morir.
Si morimos juntos será una buena muerte.
"The bitch is right, this is a suicide mission." Your fingers tap against the tablet, probably without even seeing the screen. "Locked and loaded, hey Cougs? One way ticket to hell. We're gonna go out in a blaze of glory, light up the night, set fire to the sky. We'll be big damn heroes, and not a single fucker will know it!"
You are right, we will kill Max and save the world, and no one will know. We are already dead after all. We are no longer people, just weapons. Balas es todo lo que somos.
But you are you, and I am me, and together we are the last of the Losers. Together, we will die for those who do not know us.
The tablet beeps, and I know the countdown has begun. Your hand finds mine, and you lift your head to stare at me. Then, you kiss me, and it is bloody perfect imperfection. Together we feel the earth shake, and together we close our eyes against the light.
Juntos, no somos más.
Spanish corrected by the wonderfully amazing DamaDuende. Thank you so much!
Mi amor, debería haberte protegido. (my love, I should have protected you)
Dos de sobra. (two too many)
estoy listo para morir, estoy cansado. (I'm ready to die, I'm tired)
No estoy listo para dejarte morir. (I'm not ready to let you die)
yo no te odio. (I don't hate you)
Yo también te quiero, hijo de puta (I love you too, you bastard)
Si morimos juntos será una buena muerte. (if we die together it'll be a good death)
Balas es todo lo que somos. (all we are is bullets)
Juntos, no somos más. (Together, we are no more.)