Work Text:
Jason crumbled to his knees, bleary eyed, chest burning.
The puddle of blood was creeping across the floor, and the empty bottle of Jack couldn't help him anymore.
He dialed the phone, but couldn't form words. Only hollow breaths.
The agreement had been to let Ian hide out and heal up -- N.A.T. Club brotherhood, above all.
But once Jason found out the jerk tried to murder Spencer, he hit the bottle. And then he hit Ian. Again and again.
Only one person could fix this mess.
"Ian's dead. I killed him," he finally managed. "Mona, I need you."