He resisted the urge to laugh and it was gone by the time the blade sunk into his shoulder. Lips parted, gaped, once, twice-- goddamnit, collect yourself, Jonathan. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep from vocalizing the pain, brows drawing, expression twisting between agony and anger. Fuck.

"We-e're even," he growled, sounding ragged, pained and finally he looked to him, tilted to the barrel so it pressed more firmly, "You won't."