The world was chaos—smoke, shrapnel, the sound of gunfire echoing through the wreckage. You barely registered the explosion before pain ripped through your side, knocking the breath out of you. The ground met you hard, vision blurring around the edges.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arm gave out beneath you. “John—” The name came out weak, strangled.

Then, through the haze, you heard him. His voice, sharp and desperate. “{{user}}!"

Heavy boots pounded the ground, and within seconds he was beside you. His gloves were slick with dirt and blood—maybe yours, maybe his—but his hands were steady when he lifted you. “Stay with me, you hear me?”

You managed a shaky breath, wincing. “I—I’m fine…”

“Don’t,” he snapped, eyes flicking to the wound. His voice broke a little. “Don’t you dare say that.”

He ripped a piece of fabric from his own uniform and pressed it against your side, applying pressure. His jaw was set, but his hands trembled ever so slightly.

“John—”

“Don’t talk,” he said roughly. “You’re gonna make it. I’ve got you.”

You could feel the strength in his arms as he hoisted you up, cradling you close to his chest like something too precious to break. The world tilted and spun around you, but all you could focus on was his heartbeat pounding against your ear—steady, fierce, alive.

“Stay awake" he murmured, his tone softening for just a momet. “Don’t you dare leave me now.”

Your eyelids fluttered, but his voice anchored you, pulling you back every time you started to drift.

“Hey, look at me.” He nudged your chin gently until your eyes met his. There was fear there, buried beneath that soldier’s composure. Real fear. “You’re not allowed to die on me. Not you.”

You gave a weak smile. “Didn’t… plan to.”

His breath hitched—half a laugh, half a sob—and he held you tighter as he carried you through the smoke.