A/N: I found a little rhyme I'd jotted down about a year ago and this emerged. There's actually a much more detailed story- if you can piece some of it together from this then I'll be very happy~ :-D

Our truths are the same:

We’re tired.

I lowered my gun.

He fired.

Windows flash past me, sudden bright squares touching my vision as I run. I can’t even feel my gun in my hand– that’s how I live, after all. 9mm running. My sneakers mute the noise a little, but it won’t keep him from following, the other gun. He always follows, just like I follow him, and somewhere in this building windows are flashing past him just like mine.

Clear the area, they shouted when I pulled it on the guards downstairs. Security!

And security was there, all in black and all wide-eyed in disbelieving fear– who would want to shoot up a tax return office?

Hell, don’t look at me. Like I’d know something like that. I just point and shoot, point and shoot, run run run.
Security shouted Put down your weapon but I couldn’t, I live with my weapon in my hand and I got three of them before the bullets came down on me. They didn’t understand.

When they were on the floor, blood seeping from shoulders and feet and hands-nothing serious- I told them, It’s okay, I don’t get it either and ran past all the windows.

One of them had his hand on the radio and managed to say It’s just a girl, a teenage girl, she’s got a pistol– and then my foot found his fingers. And face.

Reload.

Run.

I hear sirens from outside but they don’t matter, I need the other gun. He is somewhere, somewhere, stop beating my heart and listen for his–

The wall bursts near me and I scream, hearing the bullet punch through drywall and the chime of shattered glass behind. There he is– fourteen shots– doesn’t matter how green his eyes are, turn turn turn and aim, maybe this bullet will catch him.

Fourteen for me too.

He’s into the hall now, hand hand foot fist and the hole is big enough for him to fit through. He’s unscathed; he sees me and I see him and we both find that little catch in our throats. “Nathaniel–” But it’s too late, it was too late many many years ago and now we run.

His name is lost, he’s just a gun and he spins into me, arm out and hand straight to snap my wrist. I’m too fast for that. Sirens. A bullet clips my ear and I gasp. Blood splatters onto his hand. He’s horrified at himself but it’s not enough to deserve his other gun, the one that could actually end me. Thirteen. Just like my hand is living with its gun, my mind always has his number. Even when I haven’t seen him for days, even when we’re both running mad, I have it there somewhere: thirteen thirteen thirteen.

Shoot him. He’s not Nate any more.

Take this gun. Take it. You have a bullet, he has a bullet.

Twelve.

A bullet’s no good! What will he do? God, oh god, run run run!

Eleven.

This bullet is different. This bullet is like the one you were born holding, this bullet will save you.

Ten.

Or…

Nine.

Maybe it’s his…?

Eight.

Seven.

Sixfivefourthreetwowhathaveyoudone?

The police find us then, and there’s the hungry slice of a helicopter’s blades outside the window. They tell us not to move. Even with guns pointed at each other’s heads we can share a secret smirk.

Bite me, he says and we laugh too hard as the bullets rip through us.

Let’s play dead.

I’ll stare blankly into your eyes as I fall to the floor, I’ll collapse, my blood will join yours and never leave this cheap carpet. It’s so hard not to laugh at the fear on their faces, the way they toe our bodies to make sure we’re really dead. We’re not breathing, only bleeding– but if you knew us you’d see our pistols somehow didn’t fall from our hands.

The instant their eyes flicker away, the second the helicopter blades fade we’re gone. Nathaniel grabs my hand and we lurch to our feet. We’re on the window ledge for an instant. He doesn’t smile at me but I say See you on the way down and jump, and it’s almost as good as seeing his smile again.

The bullet she gave me is still waiting for his heart.

His is waiting for mine.

But we jump together, and we fall together, and five stories later we run together.