What is Left: Six of Crows fanfic

The life I took

Hello! This one is about about the first time Wylan has had to take a life (not with his bombs but up close and personal) he's struggling to cope, so the gang try to help by talking about their experiences.

I changed some of Kaz's back story for this. Sorry not sorry.

Feel free to call out any mistakes.
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Wylan

Wylan had killed his first man, and he had not been handling it well not at all. He had killed with his bombs and other indirect ways but never up close and personal. The crows all sat in the great room of the Van Eck Manson, wylan was trying to keep his mind off of the events that led to him taking a life.

It was a shoot out in an alley, all the dregs were waging their own wars, Wylan had run out of bombs so he picked up a stray gun off the street, and backed out of the fighting behind some crates, to stay out of the way.

Matthias was fighting a burly Kaelish, but nearly 15 feet behind him, Wylan spied a gun barrel pointed at the fjerdan. Wylan yelled his name to no avail, he knew he could make the shot, Jesper had insisted he learn how to shoot and the man with the gun wasn't far off.

Wylan couldn't help but to hesitate. The man holding the gun looked just as desperate as Wylan felt, he was tall with light brown hair, in messy tuffs atop his angle head, dressed in a red vest common among the Harley's Pointers. The man was undeniably average, there was no anger or malice on his face, just fear. Perhaps this was his first shoot out.

Wylan squeezed the trigger, he held his breath and wanted so desperately to close his eyes but couldn't risk missing.
He didn't feel the recoil, he didn't hear the shot. Just saw the man began it tilt.
Wylan jumped forward racing to grab the man's gun before he could get a shot off, four long strides and he had the man in his arms, lowering him slowly to the ground, gun discarded. The man opened and closed his mouth and dug his nails into Wylans forearm, the smell of gun power turning the air around him acidic.

"I don't..I.... don't...don't" stammered the man.
He didn't cry. He didn't beg. He didn't fight or thrash in Wylan's grip.
The man's life seemed to be slipping through Wylan's hands.

For a brief moment the man dying in his arms wasn't a stranger it was his father. He was struggling to say something, the younger Van Eck leaning in,

"What are you doing here... what are you doing here" He whispered.

That struck a cord in Wylan, he could have expected the usual 'such a disappointment' or 'you betrayed me' but for once it seemed his father saw right into his heart and voiced Wylan's fears.
It wasn't a question, it was a thought that had found a home in Wylan.
What am I doing here.
I'm not helping, I'm not valuable, I'm not important, I'm not even a good merchant, without guidance from Kaz my father's company would be on its last legs. I'm barely even a Dreg.

What am I doing here...
Killing people?

Wylan felt sick. Staring at the men he held, his father was gone, he was never there. Wylan felt like he was watching him self, he felt unhinged, something was missing.

The fighting had slowed, coming to a stop as Wylan sat stone faced on the blood soaked cobblestone.

"Medic!" Shouted a dreg behind Wylan.
With a pang Wylan realized the man was still alive.
Sucking in sharp quick breaths, he was trying to steal as many as he could.
Inej was kneeling in front of him, a sympathetic expression on her face and understanding in her chocolate eyes.
The man in the red vest stopped breathing, the life drained from him, but the fear in his face was still visible.
I did this, Wylan thought
Jesper was pulling him away from the man he had just shot.