The days in the warehouse had shifted, a quiet sense of inevitability settling into the walls. Each creak, each dim light flicker, felt somehow significant, marking the fragile boundary of time that lingered over John Kramer. Since the moment you returned, a strange calmness had threaded through your every thought. The weight of John's declining health pressed on you in ways you hadn't anticipated, and even though you knew this was coming, nothing had quite prepared you for the sight of him now.
Once meticulous, with an unstoppable drive, John could no longer draw his plans, nor lift a hand to adjust even a single bolt. His wheelchair had become his haven during the day, but most of the time, he lay in bed, each shallow breath heavier than the last. You did all you could-quiet gestures to bring him comfort, small tasks to ease his mind. As days went by, your focus honed itself to one purpose: to make his last moments meaningful, peaceful, something even close to happy.
............
John's voice, a raspy whisper, pulled you from your thoughts one morning. "You're here early."
You offered a small smile, leaning in closer so he wouldn't have to strain. "I figured you could use the company."
He managed a weak chuckle. "Only company I have these days... aside from Hoffman and Amanda. But I trust you understand me, truly."
The depth in his words struck you. For all his apprentices, his allies and pawns, there had always been a strange, unspoken connection between you two, something that had settled in long before you were fully aware of it. That sense of dedication-the mutual respect, perhaps even admiration-had always tethered you to him.
"Is there anything I can get you?" you asked, glancing at the half-empty glass of water beside his bed.
He shook his head slightly, his gaze drifting away before returning to you with a hint of an unspoken thought. "I sometimes wonder... if all this effort meant something, if I could have done more."
"More?" you echoed, genuinely surprised. "John, you've already left a legacy-however people choose to look at it."
His gaze softened, and he reached a trembling hand toward you, barely brushing your hand. "Legacy, yes. But it's strange how, in these final days, it's the small things that seem to matter. It's you being here... that matters most now."
His words hung between you, the air thick with the weight of them. You shifted closer, your hand enveloping his as you felt his fingers settle against your own. This moment wasn't about grand gestures or carefully crafted games-it was something deeper, something that left a permanent mark, different from anything he'd crafted before. It was a quieter, more powerful kind of connection, an acknowledgement of time slipping away.
............
The days blurred into a routine. You brought him water, helped him with medications, tried your best to keep him comfortable. Sometimes, he was alert enough to reminisce, sharing fleeting memories from his life before cancer, when he was still just a man with an ordinary life and ordinary problems. Other days, he was too weak to speak at all, and you would simply sit beside him, offering the silent presence he seemed to appreciate most.
Amanda visited occasionally, but her energy was jittery, and she never stayed long. Hoffman kept his distance, watching as if taking notes. But you-well, you stayed close, hovering on the boundary between apprentice and caretaker, watching as John's world slowly shrank down to the four walls of his dimly lit room.
One afternoon, as the sun slanted through the cracks of the boarded-up windows, casting a faint glow across the room, John stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open.
"You... you're still here?" he murmured, his voice faint.
"Always," you replied softly, reaching for his hand.
He closed his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good... I'd hate to go alone."
The vulnerability in his tone startled you. You'd seen John as a titan, an unstoppable force of conviction and calculated intensity. But in this moment, he was simply human-a frail, dying man confronting the end. You tightened your grip on his hand, offering silent reassurance.
"Do you ever regret it?" he asked suddenly, his eyes finding yours.
For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. Regret? The path you'd walked alongside him was complex, filled with dark choices and chilling decisions. But regret? The word didn't feel right.
"I don't know if regret is the right word," you said finally, choosing your words carefully. "You gave me purpose, John. And... well, I think we both know there's nothing more valuable than that."
He nodded slowly, seeming satisfied with your answer. "Purpose. Yes... it's what drives us. Even now, I feel its weight."
............
One evening, as you sat beside him, you felt the subtle tension in his gaze. John's eyes traced over you, lingering longer than usual. There was something there-a quiet gratitude, perhaps something deeper. He lifted a trembling hand to rest against your cheek, his fingers brushing your skin.
"I don't think... I've ever thanked you," he murmured, voice barely a whisper. "For everything."
"You don't have to," you replied, heart hammering as you leaned into his touch.
There was an intimacy in the silence, a mutual understanding that had grown unspoken between you. The connection was no longer about loyalty, no longer just respect-it was something personal, something that had blurred the lines of apprentice and teacher, follower and leader.
The intensity of the moment lingered, his hand dropping back to the bed. You felt his breathing slow, his gaze unfocused, distant, and yet he clung to consciousness, refusing to let go, as though he still had something left to say.
In that heavy quiet, you stayed close, offering the silent comfort you knew he needed.
...........
The final days became a test of patience, each moment stretching with tension, uncertainty, and anticipation. You knew, in the pit of your stomach, that time was running out.
Then, one night, John's breathing turned shallow, each exhale labored and strained. You sat beside him, holding his hand, watching as his chest rose and fell in irregular patterns. His eyes opened slowly, locking onto yours with a clarity that hadn't been there in days.
"There's... something else," he murmured, voice barely audible. "One last test."
"John," you said softly, concern filling your voice. "You don't have to keep-"
But he shook his head, silencing you with a weak gesture. "This... this is important. After I'm gone, there's something I need you to do."
He struggled to lift a hand, gesturing toward a small, locked box on the shelf beside his bed. You retrieved it, placing it in his lap, watching as he fumbled for the key around his neck. His hands trembled, and you gently took the key, unlocking the box and opening it to reveal a series of letters, scrawled in John's precise handwriting.
"These... these are instructions," he whispered. "For you, for the others. For what happens... when I'm no longer here."
You stared down at the letters, a mix of emotions surging through you-honor, trepidation, the weight of responsibility settling heavy on your shoulders.
"I trust you," he said, his gaze piercing through the haze of pain clouding his vision. "You... you're the one who will carry this forward."
His hand gripped yours, the frailty in his fingers a stark contrast to the strength in his gaze. There was a finality in his tone, an unspoken acceptance of his own mortality. You nodded, understanding the depth of his request, feeling the gravity of the trust he was placing in you.
"I won't let you down," you whispered, voice thick with emotion.
A faint smile touched his lips, a glimmer of pride shining in his eyes. "I know you won't. You've... proven yourself. More than anyone."
For a moment, he closed his eyes, a sense of peace settling over him. You sat beside him, your hand still holding his, as he drifted off into a quiet, restful slumber.
YOU ARE READING
The Chains That Bind - MLM (John Kramer X M!Reader)
FanfictionIn the shadow of a life shattered by abuse and despair, [Y/N] feels trapped, hopeless, and ready to give up. But when he becomes the latest subject of the infamous Jigsaw Killer, his life takes an unexpected turn. Forced into a deadly game of surviv...