It was bad. Miles from Jackson, in your gut, the blood was dark. You were dying, to a damn poorly timed jump of all things. The snow was cold but you didn’t mind.

Joel had broke your free from whatever it was that you fell on and brought you outside.

“You’re not gonna die out here, too damn stubborn for that…” he murmurs softly, lighting the cigarette you had asked him for. “Quit actin’ like you will, hear me?”