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[mrballisticsdummy]

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[statementfuckingends]

But Tim's hand follows him, tries to grip his wrist with what little strength he has.

"Jacobi, listen. There wasn't another way it was going to end. Jon knew that. It's not. Your. Fault."

[mrballisticsdummy]

Jacobi's temper flares and he won't pull away, won't hurt him, but his voice is hard. "Don't push it," he snaps. "Not right now."

Of course it's his fault. He might not have been able to prevent this, but he was supposed to protect Jon. He failed him.

[statementfuckingends]

Tim doesn't release him, not quite yet.

"Last one. Promise." Then he'll leave you to wallow, Jacobi, he just has to know. "Who...?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Lark. We were both with him," he says softly. "I'll - I'll tell you everything later." When he can think. When he can breathe.

[statementfuckingends]

He nods, and gives Jacobi a gentle squeeze before he lets go.

"Want your bed back?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

"No. You need it more than me right now." He flops back down on the blankets on the floor. "And you look like you hog the blankets anyway."

[statementfuckingends]

"Fucking slander," he mumbles, but it's almost a smile. It takes effort, and more pain, but he manages to roll onto his stomach to give his screaming back a break from the pressure and textures. His arm stays flopped off the bed, fingers brushing Jacobi's blanket. But he lets himself slip back into exhaustion, his next words a trailing mumble. "'m a bloody gentleman..."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"And I snore," he mutters, reaching over to take Tim's hand in his own as the world spins. He closes his eyes and tries to rest.