"I don't care," he says, and it's true. He doesn't care about the blood on his shirt or on his face, doesn't care about the fact that the guys, whoever they were, will be coming back. "I'll kill them," he says, and he's already thinking of how he'll do it, of just how much he'll make them suffer, because it's easier than thinking about what's happening in front of his eyes.

His hands are still trying to find the bullet wound to stop the bleeding, but there's so much blood he can't seem to find the source of it to apply pressure, and Charlie's growing paler and paler, and he knows that look, knows the grey tone that people take in death, has seen it many times before and hasn't let it affect him, but this...

"You'll be okay," he says again. He's normally honest with Charlie, but he needs to lie now, for both of their sakes.