Summary: Dirk is a soldier. John is a medical doctor, who happens to be in a relationship with Dirk. Sadstuck, not part of the timeline. (He's using his sword, which is dumb I know, but I couldn't resist. Sorry if it's unrealistic.)
You swing your sword down, effectively killing your enemy. You move faster than the naked eye, taking them down one by one with powerful strokes.
A flash of blue streaks past your vision, and when you strike down your last foe of that wave you turn to look. It's a young man, dressed all in blue, dirt smudged across his face. He carries a sledgehammer - a villager, you assume. You move to help him, but he screams at you to get back and it's John. It's John, and he's here, and what the hell is he doing?
He's followed you into the warzone. John is only a doctor - he's not supposed to be in the field, especially not fighting. But you can't help him now - there are others less capable than him getting slaughtered. Tearing yourself away, you strike down more enemies, shooing the villagers out of the area. John holds off with his hammer, and he's not doing so bad. When all the children and women are out, as far as you can tell, you grab him by the neck.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" you scream over the gunshots. His face is set in determination.
"I'm not letting you die alone!" he yells back.
"I'm not dying period! Get out of here before you get yourself-"
You never finish the sentence. Your blood runs cold - your chest is the only thing that's hot. You cough and it's red. Why is that, you wonder.
You look down, and there's a hole in your uniform. Red is oozing out of it. You feel dizzy. You're aware that John is screaming your name, but you don't see him.
John. John. John is here. You have to get John out.
You try to take a step, and you stumble. You cough up more red. John is still screaming, and now there's support under your arms, and you're being dragged somewhere. You black out when you're heaved onto a truck, a hand grasping your face and little bits of wetness falling on your dirty cheeks.
You wake up on a hard bed. There are no gunshots, but you can still hear them. No screams, none except in your head.
Your vision is blurry, and you have to blink a few times before you're able to make out a nurse's face. You groan, and it sounds small to your ears.
"Finally awake, I see. You gave us quite a fright."
You hear the nurse, but why does she sound so soft, so far away? She's standing right there.
She clucks her tongue at you. "You sustained some ear damage, and you're not going to be able to move for a while. That bullet punctured a lung, you know. You're lucky to be alive. It's truly a miracle."
"John," you mumble. "Where's John?"
She gets a pained expression on her face, and your heart drops. No.
"I'm sorry. He died trying to save you. And don't you dare go for that gun," she says when your hand reaches out. "Don't you dare make him die in vain. He died saving you. Let yourself be saved."
You retract your hand.
You wish he'd left you to die instead of suffer like this.