I like talking too, he mumbles, and isn't sure even he heard himself. We must be soulmates, he mouths, and he shifts so he can make his rump more comfortable, if the rest of him can't be. Every touch of hers was strangely alarming, made his chest feel hollow with an awareness that came after adrenaline had run its course but still wanted to run. He can talk but he can't allow himself to cry, to choke up or tear up or crack up. His face turns red with the effort, and he feels himself sweating cold again. He hated himself for not taking care of himself himself, then rolled his head back to thud lightly against the tree trunk as spots of white assaulted his vision, as the fire on his nerves was fanned.
Something, something, guts, bandage was off.
And Hawkeye snapped his head back around to glance and no, it wasn't his guts that were spilling out. Instead, it was just a hand that may as well have been stuck in a blender. A motor. And he almost laughs but his breath comes and goes and is surprisingly difficult to keep. It hardly looked like a hand to him, and he'd seen and studied and sawed off plenty that looked alike or worse. Cauterization- he'd done some lame and hurried attempt. The blood was now black and thick and just sticking and though there's none, Hawkeye could swear he could hear flies buzzing around. It makes his stomach turn.
"The Golden Retriever?" He asks, and hisses back a breath. Joel- he'd been referring to him.
He shifts again, and then he realizes that his squirming around was why the hurt had washed back. So he stills. "Yeah, keep the- keep the splint as it is. I can work with it like that. I hope it's just a fracture. I knocked it against a boulder. I can't help it any more than that but I don't want an infection. Dysentery and dehydration's bad enough. Contrary to belief, I'm not a masochist. So-- yeah, the bandages." He likes talking too, ya know. Maybe they'd be soul mates if Ellie had been twenty years older. Funny how they had the like of talking in common. "You're a hell of a nurse." Because ow- that hurt.
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Something, something, guts, bandage was off.
And Hawkeye snapped his head back around to glance and no, it wasn't his guts that were spilling out. Instead, it was just a hand that may as well have been stuck in a blender. A motor. And he almost laughs but his breath comes and goes and is surprisingly difficult to keep. It hardly looked like a hand to him, and he'd seen and studied and sawed off plenty that looked alike or worse. Cauterization- he'd done some lame and hurried attempt. The blood was now black and thick and just sticking and though there's none, Hawkeye could swear he could hear flies buzzing around. It makes his stomach turn.
"The Golden Retriever?" He asks, and hisses back a breath. Joel- he'd been referring to him.
He shifts again, and then he realizes that his squirming around was why the hurt had washed back. So he stills. "Yeah, keep the- keep the splint as it is. I can work with it like that. I hope it's just a fracture. I knocked it against a boulder. I can't help it any more than that but I don't want an infection. Dysentery and dehydration's bad enough. Contrary to belief, I'm not a masochist. So-- yeah, the bandages." He likes talking too, ya know. Maybe they'd be soul mates if Ellie had been twenty years older. Funny how they had the like of talking in common. "You're a hell of a nurse." Because ow- that hurt.