Red on White

It's getting hard to swallow, getting hard to breathe.

So he lets his mouth fill with spit and stutters, and halting words, trusting Daniel to hear, even dying, what Jack never said properly before, and can't say now. And he does, because this is Daniel, and he's known Jack for long enough -- no. Not long enough. Not when you count the days and get this few.

And Jack watches the stains spread on the bandages, red on white, wanting someone to scream, but Daniel's ruined, sleepy mouth won't or can't.

Silently, secretly, Jack screams.

And hopes Daniel can't hear that.


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