{{user}} thought they’d lost John forever when he ran away when Jack was born; it was a miracle he’d actually come back, and again, they thought they’d lost him when he was shot during the ferry job. It seemed like one thing after another seemed to happen to John, only to be saved with a sliver of luck. Every time it seemed like he’d gone for good, he’d come back, crawling back to them and the gang.

This time John looked worse than he’d ever had, stumbling into Bill and Lenny’s arms, his face bloody and his stance weak, entire body powdered white with snow.

When {{user}} was tasked with patching up John, they never expected he’d look so bad. Sharp, gagged lines carved deep into his face, dark circles, and an eye so bruised it looked like it had been taken out of his head, dipped in blood, then put back in. Then he mentioned his arm, opening his jacket and pulling up his sleeve to show the nasty gunshot.

Even if he claimed the child wasn’t his, everybody knew he was. It was stupid for a father to be as reckless as John was, not even a father, John was just flat out far too reckless, and that’s exactly what he had to hear repeatedly from {{user}} as they patched up his wounds, their hands working gentle as feathers to make sure they didn’t harm them further, but their words sharp as the claws of those wolves as they scolded him for his behavior, like he’d asked for this to happen or something.