For a second, John thinks about lying. “I found him, actually,” he confesses, noiselessly drumming his fingers on the table. “Kept an eye on him until the ambulance showed up. Kept him talking.” And the fact that Jax had kept talking is one of the reasons John isn't more worried. Sure, that was no guarantee - he’d had whole conversations with guys who’d just had both their legs blown off and were bleeding out about the last email from their girlfriends or whatever - but he had a good feeling.

That doesn't make the current situation much less shit, of course.

“How’s he doing?” For now, he lets ‘same old, same old’ slide without asking questions.