Unsteady

“Josh…”The cement dug harshly into his knees when they buckled under him and he fell to the ground at Sam’s side, hands fluttering uselessly beside him, unsure suddenly what he should do. His mouth was moving, yelling for help, for someone, anyone, as Sam’s eyes started to slip shut, and Josh grabbed hold of him so he wouldn’t hit the ground. Josh’s throat ached with how loud he was screaming, but he couldn’t stop, not when it was still just the two of them, not when Sam’s breath was stuttering against the side of his neck, not when his blood was seeping through his fingers and pooling in every line in his hands, not when the only thought racing through his head was an endless stream of he can’t die, he can’t die, he can’t die, he can’t–----AKA What if the shooters had hit people a bit differently back in Rosslyn?