[ It's something he supposes he must have known was coming. There was always a chance, always a possibility that one of them would die. He knew, he knew, he knew, but he didn't expect to hear the guttural sounds from the back seat or feel his brother's big hands around his throat, hear Dave scream Jesus Christ, Bro stop! before he had to act and act fast.
They probably couldn't say him. The blood didn't spray. It oozed. His heart wasn't beating. Bro'd died in the back seat somewhere between towns. He licks his lips which are cracked and bleeding because he's fucking starved and all of their supplies had been spent on keeping the dying man in the back seat going.
The knock startles him. It's not much, just a sudden flexing of his hands on the wheel and the sharp snap of his gaze from somewhere far beyond the white picket fence in front of him to there here and now, pupils blown wide behind the thin veil of his shades. ]
no subject
They probably couldn't say him. The blood didn't spray. It oozed. His heart wasn't beating. Bro'd died in the back seat somewhere between towns. He licks his lips which are cracked and bleeding because he's fucking starved and all of their supplies had been spent on keeping the dying man in the back seat going.
The knock startles him. It's not much, just a sudden flexing of his hands on the wheel and the sharp snap of his gaze from somewhere far beyond the white picket fence in front of him to there here and now, pupils blown wide behind the thin veil of his shades. ]
Harley.