[He listens. Still tired, still pissed, still over it. But this isn't his goddamn grief, no matter how much it feels like it right now. Thinking about fist-sized gut wounds and a pole through the eye, blood running down the stones, four bullets on the floor.]
[Hurts.]
Bet you a billion fucking dollars she'd rather that than you stay in your own prison.
[His voice is rough, but not without sympathy. It's just that it hurts.]
cw eye gore
[Hurts.]
Bet you a billion fucking dollars she'd rather that than you stay in your own prison.
[His voice is rough, but not without sympathy. It's just that it hurts.]