(I have no idea, suggest a title after reading)
Warning: Blood, violence, death, and ANGST
John did not mean to. He truly did not. He regretted it, but it was expressed only in a fleeting frown and surprise mixed with something heavy and dim in his eyes before the mask of impassivity returned as swiftly as it fell when his target's wife came in the line of fire.
To most, she would be just another mishap— they might smoke a cigarette or two, inhale a white line for the night and forget it. But John knew this moment would stay with him. Press into the edges of his dreams and haunt him for a long time, as every past 'mishap' haunted him.
At thirty-one, John Wick knew the world he operated in— emotions had no place, pain was information, a single lapse could be one's last, and innocents would get hurt one way or another. Most accepted that, some enjoyed it. John Wick followed his own code. No innocents would be hurt. He tried to follow that, but sometimes, he found himself staring at his hands more often after completing a task.
John wanted to screw his eyes shut, but could not afford to; his target was armed. He met the man's gaze again. The hit was under an exclusive contract. The man, though, was not looking up at John or preparing to shoot, despite the gun within his reach. His eyes were fixed on his wife's body on the floor.
John gulped. He still had a job to finish. He cocked his gun, aiming it at the man. The sound caught the man's attention, and he turned to John. His eyes had something John had never seen before. Something that made him falter, just for a fraction of a moment, though. There was no fear in the man's eyes. But there was something fused with anguish that John could not pinpoint.
The man took in a breath and coughed up some more blood. This hit had already turned messy enough; John wanted to get over it.
"One day…" he began. John knew he should simply shoot, but he could not bring himself to do so at the moment. "One day…may you fall in love. May you love her so much that you see her face when you close—" he gulped and took in another laboured breath"...you see her face when you close your eyes…and may you be unable to do a fucking thing but watch her die—" his head snapped at his side and hit the wall as blood splattered on it
John wakes with a sharp inhale. For a moment, he cannot remember where he is until the steady beeps register in his brain. Oh, right, he is at the hospital. It is mostly dark, but the nightlight casts a dim glow around the room. He leans against the couch, looking at Helen's form on the hospital bed.
John loves his wife so much that he sees her when he closes his eyes. Helen is the name that he whispers before sleep takes him, and when he wakes up.
John Wick, the man whose name is whispered in reverence and fear among the dark corners and lit rooms of the Continental.
John Wick, who has earned a near-mythical reputation before retiring from the underworld.
John Wick, who is among the few who managed to walk out from the shadows of the High Table in one piece.
John Wick, who has completed the impossible task for love.
That John Wick now sits near the hospital bed, watching the light of his life fade away. The man's words echo in his mind as he takes a shaky breath.
He can do nothing but watch his Helen slowly wither away, and he wonders if he ever truly managed to escape his past life.
Suggest a title if something comes to your mind; mine is blank