Work Text:
The light flickered.
A shoot.
And she was on the floor. Bleeding. Lights flickering above her. How many times has it been by now? By now she had stopped counting. Just… getting killed over and over. Again and again. She no longer knew how she even got into that situation.
It was… those brief moments. She was walking from somewhere… Wait, no, she was… She had been talking to someone earlier. Yeah, that's what it was. But what were they talking about?
Another shot. She fell again. Blood all around her, on her fingertips too. Maybe she could try to make a… blood angel, like with snow… if only she had enough time.
And his eyes, so… small. Every single time he shot her, they were unchangeably tiny. No soul behind those eyes. Just pure slaughter.
And every time she fell, she wondered. Why did she end up in this hell? Was this the end? Or was it simply always like that? Pain bolting through her chest, similar to roots taking over an abandoned wall.
She hit the floor again.
He was still looking at her.
She closed her eyes.
And she opened them again. No time to react, no time to say anything.
Just the bullet going straight through her heart. Once, both her hand and her heart. She tried but that only brought her more pain, didn't it?
In every universe.
In every universe she’d say those stupid… stupid goddamn words. What was she thinking?!
“I love you” you shouldn't. He wanted to scream, he wanted to stop her.
So he fired.
And she fell.
Every damn time she fell, before she even got to notice what happened.
Why did he keep shooting?
Why couldn't he just… stop?
His finger pressed again. It hurt. Was it the hot gun or the guilt? He couldn't tell.
Again and again. And again.
One time turned into fifty. Fifty into two hundred. And two hundred into a thousand. Time and time again.
And he kept counting. He couldn't allow himself to rest. He had to know how much pain he was causing.
And how badly he did not want to.
He was pressing the trigger. His finger was moving. His, his, his. Wasn't it his? If it was why couldn't he stop?
She can't love him. Not before, and not now and not anymore. Not after everything he did, not after everything he was doing now. He hated himself for it. He hated the way he kept doing the same thing over and over even if he’s seen the results so many times now.
Five thousand and one.
And… Ever so briefly… In the cloud of blood and regret, he had now heard a sound. Quiet. Or did he?
And then again.
Another shot. Another sound.
He was trapped. He was trapped and he knew it, and he couldn't escape. There was no exit, not before and not now. He didn't deserve that either.
Twelve thousand five hundred and twenty-one. How many bullets did that gun have? He tried to joke. But even he couldn't laugh.
She hit the floor.
He pulled the trigger.
How many does it take to get out?
If he tries to shoot twice in a row, will it change anything? If he doesn't shoot-
Why can't he not shoot?
The hand was his.
Or was it?
“I”.
He could now make out the word.
Seventy hundred thousand and thirty-three. How come his finger was still intact? He'd sacrifice everything. Every part of himself and his sanity. Just to fucking… stop.
Three million. Nine hundred thousand. And four.
He was… sorry. So fucking… sorry. He never wanted any of that but he couldn't stop and no one could ever stop him cause that's just who he was.
“I'm sorry” he wanted to whisper, as her body went numb again.
Half a billion. Plus seventy hundred million. Plus thirty-six thousand. Six hundred. And seven.
“Eiff-” she said now.
But wasn't that what she always said?
Eiffel tower. Pomni probably… she probably wanted to see it herself, didn't she? And… he took that away. He selfishly took that away. He wished his fingers, his hands, would just fall off.
He deserved it.
He deserved it all, but not her.
Just… not her.
It was his fault. She shouldn't have said that, she shouldn't love him.
He tried not to listen. He tried to close his eyes, he tried to numb himself.
He tried to turn the gun on his own heart.
Yet nothing worked.
What was her name again?
He couldn't remember his own name. Fuck his own name.
Why did he hurt her…?
Two billion.
She lay there.
“I forgive you.”
He didn't deserve that.
Take me, not her.
“I'm so sorry, PomPom.” He whispered. There was nothing he could do.
The light flickered. But he couldn't see anymore.
“Wait, Poms.” Jax shook his head. “Let's… Let’s not go in there.”
“Why not?” Pomni giggled at her friend, reaching towards him. “You scared?”
“No, it's…” a pain shot through his chest.
He looked down. He had pointed the gun at himself.
“I love you.”
And everything went black.
“I love you.”
Her eyes stared into his. Blood on his hands. Blood on her hands. Blood on his cheeks, mixing with tears.
But no pain.
“I love you.”
A forehead against his.
“I love you.”
And a hand in his hand.
“I love you.”
And hope in her eyes.