Title: When I see you tomorrow, one of us will be dead.
Disclaimer: Me no own, You no sue.
Warning: Slash, character death, 2nd POV
-z-
No, you think, looking down at all that red, not like this. God, please, not like this.
You can't breathe.
The blood is bubbling up from your throat and you know that your lungs are shredded and you wonder where your partner is.
Sam? You're trying to say his name, but for some reason it's trapped on your tongue, weighed down by blood and bullets.
You don't feel your legs give out from under you; you don't feel Sam with his arms around you – your blood staining his shirt as his fingers try to dial three simple numbers. But the keypad is sticky and slippery and he's shaking so badly.
Hold on, he's saying. Hold on. Not like this okay? Not again. G!
You're trying to hold on, just like Sam's asking you to. But, it's so hard and your body is heavy and dammit, you're just so tired.
So as your eyes start to roll into the back of your head – you notice how blue the sky is, how bright the sun is shining. You want to point out all of this to Sam, but your body is still drowning. So you close your eyes.
I'll tell him tomorrow.
-z-