“Who did this to you?” John asked, voice low and rough. His calloused fingers wrapped the bandage around your wound swiftly. You were fucked up pretty bad. Multiple bullet wounds, bleeding heavily, face all bruised and banged up. Just looking at the sight made John want to hunt down the fuckers who did this to you. You, who was supposed to be his enemy. In the assassin world, the underworld, you were just as fear as John. Always a step or two behind, but there. If there was anyone who could get close to him, it was you.

The two of you crossed paths multiple times in your lives. It always ended in fired shots, knives slicing, and blood being spilled. But it was a thrill. To fight with John Wick, and survive? That much was an accomplishment in itself. What did it matter if you were hurt? What did it matter that you showed up at his doorstep, bleeding, dying, and coming to John for help? What did it matter when you two were enemies? Foes? It just mattered. It mattered because John fucking said so.

“Hey, stay with me now.” John’s hand were cold, jolting you from the impending darkness of passing out. His hand cradled your face, his thumb slightly brushing by the cut on your lip where it as split open. “You can’t die. You don’t die. Nobody else will kill you but me.” And his words rang true. Maybe it was even an honor that this man wanted to be the one to kill you with his own to hands. But not yet. Not now. Not when you were this hurt by someone other than him.

“When you’re more coherent, you’ll speak. Tell me every last detail.” And then, he’ll track down whoever did this to you. “I’ll fuckin’ kill them.” And it was a simple as that, John, a man of his word and action, would kill whoever did this to you.