An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
for day seven of @codextober : “ghost”.
Will looked into John Standish’s mismatched eyes, breath catching in their throat, heart beating a hundred times faster than it normally did. Oh god. Oh fuck. They were going to die, they were going to die, they were going to die down here and who’d feed Jimmy and who’d visit their sister in the psych ward and read her a story and who’d make sure Mrs. Marquez down the street got her groceries on time and—and—
John grinned at them, cocking his head to the side. “Here they come,” he all but purred. God, he looked so much like Roberts that it scared the shit out of them. “Those Templars. Or maybe Assassins this time? Does it matter? Idiots, all of them.”
He lifted the syringe in his hand—
—and it shattered when someone shot it out. Will froze in place, their eyes darting from John, who looked only momentarily surprised, to the interloper, who pushed his white hood back and…
Holy shit.
