John stays completely still as Arthur sputters his answer. He wants to scream. He wants to swing his fists. What the fuck is wrong with Arthur that he can call John useless but sound so hurt when that same judgement is cast on him. Does it only matter when it's addressed to someone human?

Again and again, John feels like an idiot for ever reconsidering himself, for holding desperately onto Arthur when they were being ripped apart. He feels like an idiot, which makes him furious; he feels hurt, which makes him furious; he feels fury which makes him furious. All of this and the accusation that he was lying at a time he was being honest. After everything!

John laughs, a deep and croaking sound, and sounds like he's grinning.

"Yes, that's right Arthur. What's one more death at your command?" he says.

He lifts his hands and straightens his mask back into place. It feels right, and if this is how they are ending things, then he would prefer to have his true face back where it belongs.

"You even have someone else ready to guide you, or to pull the trigger if you find yourself lacking the guts to do it. You truly don't have use for me anymore, no more than I have use for you."

He plants one foot on the ground, then the other, then rises off of Arthur. He's trusting that this man Arthur calls his friend won't shoot without his say-so, or maybe he's just aware again of how little it matters. How little anything matters, how meaningless everything is.

Besides, if Arthur decides to take the gun, he'll need space to do so.

"What will it be, Arthur? How will our partnership end?"