[James its me why are you even bothering to ask if I'm okay with angst.]
[John had actually been itching for a solo mission for quite some time now, though he had wished it was happening under different circumstances. He hated when Jake was cagey-- it always meant something was going to go wrong. So when he quoted, I'll be back in a few hours, chap, and it had been nearly five, John was sick of waiting. Aimless as Jake's wandering sometimes was, distracted as he sometimes got, he never gave an inaccurate timestamp to this degree. 'A few hours' was three, at most. At four and a quarter, John was through with waiting.]
[And he didn't know what it was that lead him to where he went-- Instinct, perhaps. Pure unbridled irritation. Definitely concern. But when he'd finished sneaking around for a while to figure out if he was infiltrating mob territory for no reason at all on a basic suicide mission, he'd overheard some grunts having an excited little chatter about the boss's son being in town for a little meeting.]
[He hadn't understood until they started arguing over who got to keep the pair of berettas aforementioned son had been relieved of, because he probably couldn't shoot with only one eye.]
[And then it was pretty much a blur. The two grunts lay sprawled in the hall, one's head caved in in the back choking on a pool of his own blood as he tried fruitlessly to survive, the other unconscious and probably dead beside him. He wasn't even sure where he'd hit him.]
[And it continued in this manner through about eight people, John blinded by rage and concern and so help him, Jake, if you were dead he was going to fucking kill you.]
[By the time he got to where Jake was being held, he wasn't even bothering to carry his hammer anymore. It dragged behind him on the ground, making bloodied skidmarks along the tile floors. He gave the guard (Just one-- stupid. Sloppy. Probably planned.) a barked warning to get the fuck away from him, and about eight seconds before he rushed him. He was down in under a minute. Why did nobody ever think someone with John's build could bludgeon them to death?]
[He rounded on Jake, hammer still hefted like he was considering hitting him, too.]
okay :>
[John had actually been itching for a solo mission for quite some time now, though he had wished it was happening under different circumstances. He hated when Jake was cagey-- it always meant something was going to go wrong. So when he quoted, I'll be back in a few hours, chap, and it had been nearly five, John was sick of waiting. Aimless as Jake's wandering sometimes was, distracted as he sometimes got, he never gave an inaccurate timestamp to this degree. 'A few hours' was three, at most. At four and a quarter, John was through with waiting.]
[And he didn't know what it was that lead him to where he went-- Instinct, perhaps. Pure unbridled irritation. Definitely concern. But when he'd finished sneaking around for a while to figure out if he was infiltrating mob territory for no reason at all on a basic suicide mission, he'd overheard some grunts having an excited little chatter about the boss's son being in town for a little meeting.]
[He hadn't understood until they started arguing over who got to keep the pair of berettas aforementioned son had been relieved of, because he probably couldn't shoot with only one eye.]
[And then it was pretty much a blur. The two grunts lay sprawled in the hall, one's head caved in in the back choking on a pool of his own blood as he tried fruitlessly to survive, the other unconscious and probably dead beside him. He wasn't even sure where he'd hit him.]
[And it continued in this manner through about eight people, John blinded by rage and concern and so help him, Jake, if you were dead he was going to fucking kill you.]
[By the time he got to where Jake was being held, he wasn't even bothering to carry his hammer anymore. It dragged behind him on the ground, making bloodied skidmarks along the tile floors. He gave the guard (Just one-- stupid. Sloppy. Probably planned.) a barked warning to get the fuck away from him, and about eight seconds before he rushed him. He was down in under a minute. Why did nobody ever think someone with John's build could bludgeon them to death?]
[He rounded on Jake, hammer still hefted like he was considering hitting him, too.]
What the fuck is your problem, Jake?