Archive of Our Own

Bear growled the meanest of growls ever to come from him. He approached the enemy slowly, awaiting the command from his master's mouth. The mysterious man stood in the shadows, backing up a bit away from the ferocious beast and, as he did, messed with something. The movement made Bear growl even louder and harsher as he prepared himself to leap.

“Stellen!” a familiar voice commanded.

As Bear leaped and attacked the man, John emerged from the shadows with his gun ready. Bear attacked the man's arm but was struck. He whined and whined again when he was kicked hard. John shot at the man and hit his arm. The man cried out in pain and John thought he had the upper hand for a moment.

Then suddenly, there was another shot from a different location, causing two things to happen. The perpetrator ran off and a horrible cry was cried. John turned his head to look, knowing exactly who it came from and complete fear filled him entirely.

Collapsing to the cold, wet ground was Bear. He was bleeding and whining weakly and in pain.

John walked over to him, slowly and afraid. “B-Bear?” he muttered, softly. As he approached, a car rolled in. Finch and Shaw exited the dark vehicle quickly, slamming the doors of the latest car Shaw stole.

“We heard a shot,” Finch explained. “Are you—Bear?!” He ran as best he could to John and Bear. Shaw followed, her gun raised and ready for anyone who may be trying a sneak attack of some kind.

Bear looked up at his two beloved masters and tried his best to wag his tail as he always did when he saw their faces. He whined quietly and John put a shaky hand on his dog's head as if to try to sooth him.

“Is he.. is he okay?” Finch asked after a short moment of silence, his lip trembling.

John just simply shook his head. Bear whined quietly again and tried to move his body to get up because he could see, he could see John hurting and Finch hurting, too and he didn't like it. He wanted to comfort them and to lick the tears away because he could see they were about to, knew that they were going to and he didn't like it.

“Bear, don't move. Bear..” Finch said, trying to compose himself but he could feel himself failing.
Bear whined as if to argue with him and tried to move once again. John had carefully placed a hand on Bear's body and Harold had done the same thing. They were holding him down gently and Bear whined again, not liking the pain he saw. And then he slowly just.. stopped.

Harold cried, he didn't care anymore; he put his head down, ignoring the pain it caused him to do so and he cried. John put his own head down in silence and he just didn't move.

Shaw had been standing there with them this entire time and even she had shed a tear for the wounded, lovable animal she had become familiar with, even started to really enjoy seeing. John had stood and Shaw could see he had been crying even though he had tried to hide it. She could see the pain he wore but she didn't say a word about it; she knew what it was like to lose someone close.

“Hey,” she said. “we'll get him. We'll get Quinn. He'll pay for this, John.”

John looked at her and gave her a look she knew meant He's a dead man.

- - - - - -

Harold and John entered the Library without their cherished third wheel. Everything around them reminded them of Bear and it hurt them all over again. Harold walked over to a chew toy and picked it up. He squeezed it and remembered he took the squeak out of it. He looked at it and remembered how Bear loved it so much and how he had thought it was a mistake. He carefully placed the chew toy in Bear's bed which he began to stare at. Memories of when he'd be working and Bear would sit there, waiting patiently for when Harold would ask him if he wanted to go for a walk or food.

John wasn't taking this all too well, either. In his hands, for hours, was Bear's tennis ball he kept with him and often played Fetch with whether it be outside at the park or—even though Finch had told him “one thousand times not to”—in the Library (but it was okay if Finch did “because it's [my] library, end of story”). It was worn out and tearing and he remembered telling Bear he'd get him a new one, several new ones, right after they captured Quinn. The thought of not being able to do so, not being able to make his dear friend happy pained John even more.

He began to beat himself up for it as he sat down on the couch he would frequently sit on with Bear resting on his lap. If he hadn't called Bear from his bed, if he hadn't promised him a reward after this mission, if he hasn't taken Bear out of the safest place in the world for him, if he hadn't then Bear would be with him right now. And if John were upset about something else, Bear would be here to make him feel just a little bit better. It was all his fault.

Harold slowly sat in his chair and John continued to sit on the couch, both men in his own thoughts as the deep sadness, the deep pain of losing someone rested in their chest.

The Library was quiet and felt cold now, nothing seemed normal any longer.

Now that there wasn't someone who needed something, now that there wasn't someone to love and to care for, someone to hush when he barked at an inappropriate time, someone to give a look to when he ate a book, someone to treat when he listened. Someone to give company when one side of the same whole was out, taking care of his share of the day's mission.

Now, everything had lost a bit of its meaning. Now, there was a missing piece to an already broken puzzle that had been slowly becoming whole again. Everything just wasn't right anymore.

Now there was nothing because Bear was gone.

Quietly, both men cried to themselves. Harold again holding Bear's toy in his hands, close to his chest and John holding Bear's torn up ball to his own.