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By the time Jon makes it to the godswood, there is nothing but bodies. Fear stabs at his heart and he runs, squinting through the misty snow. As he gets closer he sees Bran, upright in his chair, staring impassively down at Arya, who is kneeling on the snowy ground.
At first, she looks wounded, but as Jon moves closer, he sees her bowed over a body, lying prone in the snow.
No.
Panic grips him and he runs, fire pumping through his veins as he closes the distance in a heartbeat.
"No," he begs helplessly, not even thinking as he guides Arya aside to make room for himself. "No no no..."
He's still alive, when Jon reaches him, but only just barely. His eyes are clouded white and blood runs thick from his mouth. When Jon’s hand finds purchase on his chest, he pulls it away quickly, tacky with wet blood, a thick hole pierced through his armor. As much as he wants to deny it, Theon will not live to see the dawn, and they both know it.
Still, his eyes focus, as Jon kneels beside him. He sees him, recognizes him, and a sob bursts from Jon's mouth.
"Theon," he rasps, "I — I'm here, Theon."
He can feel eyes on them. Arya's, scrutinizing, and Bran's so infuriatingly knowing. Thankfully, neither of them speak. It doesn't matter now. There's no time for it to matter.
"You saved him," Jon assures him. "You — you did it. Bran is safe. Because of you."
Theon shakes his head. He opens his mouth, blood pooling down his chin. Struggling to answer, voice barely a breath, he manages, “Arya.”
Arya makes a sound behind them, like a sob. Jon cannot look at her, though he wants to. He’s afraid to blink. Blink and Theon will be gone.
"She couldn't have — not without you," Jon insists, though he has no idea what transpired here.
There are too many ruined bodies of the dead’s army strewn about the godswood for Arya to have taken them all without help. Theon's help, he knows.
"I told — I told you to be careful," Jon says finally, tears drenching his voice. "You — you reckless fool."
Coughing, Theon smiles, teeth soaked red, eyes fading. He won't last much longer. It's a miracle he's still here now. There's no time for everything Jon wants to say, but he grabs Theon’s hand, forcing him to stay, grounding him as much as he can.
"I love you," Jon tells him firmly, because it's the most important. "I loved you before, when we were nothing more than boys. Stupid child that I was. I loved — I love you still, Theon. Do you hear me?"
The smile falls from Theon's face. For a moment Jon thinks it's too late, and tears fall onto Theon's face like rain. "Please, Theon, you understand, don't you? You must — you must understand."
Theon's eyes flicker, and he smiles again, his teeth gone black with blood now.
"Only — our Jon Snow."
Tears ripping through him, Jon drops his head onto Theon's chest. He should have gone with him, should have spent their last hours before the war together. Why had he felt the need to leave? They could have laid together in Jon’s bed until the alarm sounded for them. All the useless things he’d done, after leaving Theon’s side. Was any of it worth it?
Weakly Theon's hand finds Jon's hair. Jon can feel his fingers slick with blood, and another sob tears past his throat.
"I think —” Theon's voice is so soft Jon has to hold his breath to hear him. "I think I'm ready for… that nothing you promised me."
Petulantly, Jon shakes his head. He's lost so much. He can't bear to lose him too.
But death is relentless, as it always has been, and as Jon lets himself collapse to tears, he feels Theon heave his last breath and go still underneath him.
Around them, the sun rises, the war over, and Jon weeps against Theon's ragged body as his siblings sit exhausted and stunned silent beside him in the snow.