Story [REQ] Dogs

[capMARVELOUS]

for Daisie , my favorite horrible twisted human being on this site. this one's for all the marbles.
uhhh here there be suicide, referenced murder, and strong swearing, so if that's not your thing, better seek greener pastures.

---

"... What's this?"

When Ted turns back around, shows his stupid cherub face again, the spot between his eyes lands squarely in the middle of the pistol's sights. It would be the easiest thing in the world to reduce his head to a chunky red mist with just a slight squeeze. Jerry's done it far more times tonight than he's comfortable with, but for whatever reason, his finger just can't seem to slip under the trigger guard this time.

"Jerry, what the hell are you doing?" Ted repeats, cigarette dangling limply from his lips.

"It's over, Ted," Jerry says. His voice cracks on the word over, betraying himself. "It's done. We're done."

"What are you talking about? It ain't over... nah, nah, it ain't over. We've still gotta get away, right?" He sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as he is Jerry.

But Jerry remains unconvinced. "There is no getting away. Not this time."

"Sure there is. I mean, yeah, we're in a pretty bad pinch here, but we'll think of something." Ted begins to step forward, eyes crinkling up at the corners. He's lost it, Jerry thinks. That's the smile of a delusional man. Just another reason to go ahead and put him out of his misery. So why can he still not do it? "Won't we? Just like we always-"

"You don't fucking get it, Ted!" Jerry yells, startling himself with how much his voice echoes. When Ted steps back, he finally lets his gun arm dangle, and the other he lifts to comb the hair out of his face. It's damp up there; he's sweating bullets like a human machine gun. "This was supposed to be an easy last job. In and out. A midnight run! And now look at us! Look at him!" He points to the floor, to Mack's rapidly cooling corpse, the blood still seeping from the seven bullet holes in his chest staining his shirt a muddy red. "Fourteen bodies. Nine of them cops. We burned down a fucking apartment complex, for Christ's sake! That's not something you can just walk away from!"

"... You kept count?"

"No shit I kept count. Every body is another fifteen years they're going to stack onto our sentences- sentences we're not even going to get a year into before they drag us in a closet, slip one through our ribs, and leave us for the rats. I'm not worth that, and neither are you." He lifts the pistol again, but he can't get it aligned again. His hands are shaking, he realizes. "Best we die on our own terms."

Ted just stands there, his balding forehead carved with worry lines. The cigarette is hanging on by a thread of spittle. Just fall already, Jerry thinks.

"Our terms?" he finally asks. "Our terms were, we get away at the end of this."

"For the love of God, enough with the getting away. That was before-"

"Jerry, shut the hell up and listen to me for once in your goddamn life." There's a new steely edge to his voice that Jerry's never heard before. But it's the absolute worst time for him to finally grow a spine. "We get away at the end of this. We. Us. More than one. You know what? I think you're bullshitting me right now. I think you're trying to take it all for yourself. You've realized it, haven't'cha? The more of us die, the less you have to share. And now I'm the only thing left between you and the whole pot."

"Ted, that's not-"

"You know what I think?" Now he's really lost it. He starts approaching again, slow, menacing steps. "I think you were hoping for something like this. I think... there never was a we. Was there?" Silence. "Was there, Jerry? It didn't matter that we were putting our lives on the line again, did it? As long as we did it for your job, for your sake, so you could ride off into the sunset. Ain't that right?"

"Ted..."

"Answer me, goddammit, Jerry! Ain't that fucking right?!"

Everything freezes. His hands, his fingers, his tongue. Staring down those eyes that not two minutes ago seemed incapable of holding any malice, Jerry can't bring himself to do or say anything to refute the claim. But his silence admits more than his words ever could. There's nothing to cloud the truth. Ted's right.

"... Yeah. Yeah, I figured." He sighs. "Fine. Keep it all if you want. I didn't care about it that much anyway."

The pistol arm droops again. "Ted-"

"But I ain't dying on 'our' terms. I'm dying on mine."

Ted's hand goes to his belt. Too late, Jerry realizes what he's doing, drops his own pistol, tries to close the gap between them. "Ted, no-!"

"Fuck you, Jerry."

Bang.