"Don't make me do this. Don't make me the one to do this." he growled, hands shaking as you pushed the axe's handle into his palms. He knew damn well what you wanted him to do.

Stranded on the battlefield, in the middle of nowhere with your breaths crystallizing before you, with little possibility of rescue, given both your gear are broken and useless, lost in the dense fog and snow.

"I can't. You can't make me." he firmly stated, breathing heavily. The only way back to base was walking, or finding anywhere where you could call for backup, but even then it's a long way before anything is in sight. And travelling is far out of the question for you, in your state, in your piteous, crippled state. If the broken bones, the frostbite, the open wounds don't get to you, everything else will.

"I'll carry you." he offers, but he knows already the limitations to that. You'll both die if you set him back like that.

"There's hope." he hopelessly offers, his grip on the axe loosening as you coughed up more blood. You wouldn't even last a couple more hours. There wouldn't be a point to extend your suffering.