Chapter Text
You never took a life before the day you came to arrest Joseph Seed. You'd never even fired your service weapon in the line of duty.
Now you've seen enough death to know that the bullet in John's gut will kill him long before you could get him to a medical professional.
You toss him your jacket anyway, to press against the wound, and you sit down next to him on the ground.
“In a way I'm glad it was you,” he says, and though he struggles with every breath he seems perfectly at peace with his fate.
“I never really thought I was worthy of the new Eden anyway. Martyrdom's as good an end as any.”
You sigh, and despite everything he's done you pull him gently into your lap.
“You'll never forget me,” he says, and smiles through bloodstained teeth. “Not as long as you live.”
He reaches up to touch your still-bleeding chest.
“Every time you see yourself in the mirror you'll remember my face.”
He seems pleased by this, and since he's dying you decide not to argue. You don't say anything. You simply hold him tightly and stroke his hair.
“I wouldn't have forgotten you anyway,” you admit, eventually. “It used to be a really good memory for me.”
His smile drops at that.
“I'm sorry to have disappointed you,” he says, and he even sounds like he means it.
“The Father is right about you. You truly are something special. I hope he doesn't have to kill you.”
You give him a look.
“You're so sure I won't kill him?”
John snorts, like you're being preposterous.
“I killed you,” you say.
John looks up at you. His eyes are very blue.
“God never chose me,” he says, very quietly, as though this were some shameful secret. “Not like Joseph. Not even like...”
He swallows, then coughs. He has begun to sweat profusely, and his expression is pained.
“I'm not special. I was the right tool for the job but I've outlived my usefulness. All of these clean souls are better off without me.”
He grabs your hand in a vice-tight grip. His face has begun to go pale.
“Don't forget me,” he insists desperately. “Don't forget me.”
As inured to death as you've become these last weeks there's something singularly upsetting about being this close to it, even if he is your enemy. His begins to gasp, like he can't catch his breath. All you can do is hold him, and hush him while rocking back and forth to sooth him as best you can.
“It's all right,” you try to tell him, “It'll all be over soon.”
He takes one last gasping breath and then goes rigid. A shiver runs through his body as though every muscle spasms at once. The seconds stretch out for an unbearably long moment before he finally goes limp in your arms and his final breath sighs out of him.
One of your tears lands on his face.
You hadn't even realised you were crying.
You bury him on the grounds of his ranch. You drive a wooden marker into the dirt and take out your knife to carve a name into it. You suspect that if you mark it 'John Seed' it won't be long before someone defaces it. For a moment you consider marking the grave 'John Duncan', but given the things you've learned about the Duncan family you can't bring yourself to do that either.
You settle for simply 'John'.