[ The worst of the pain subsides, bit by bit. It still hurts like hell, of course -- closing up split flesh and stemming the bloodflow won't undo how badly his brain's been rattled against his skull, won't undo the deeper damage that's still aching at his nerves. But at least the pain lessens enough that Gen can start to calm down, breaths slowing from those shallow, uneven wheezes to deeper, more exhausted rasps.
And one last tap of the claw -- gentle as the touch of any doctor's tool, despite the sharp edge of that claw and the terrifying power contained in Amos' arm -- earns a small grunt before Gen blinks heavily. It's still a little tentative and careful when he raises a hand to try and rub away the blood that's starting to dry sticking in his lashes, crusting over his eyes, but the fact that he can deal with the blood at all means Amos has done a fantastic job. ]
... mn.
[ That vague noise in assent is all he can manage at the moment. Especially now that Amos has floated the idea of resting for now, it's all he wants.
It's not that his anger has subsided at all. So much has been happening in this fight, and none of it has felt fair -- he hates Hayame and Dimitri, he hates John, he hates D, he hates the Meridian, and he fucking hates Liem, and he hates Set. But the one thing he'd thought secure amidst all this chaos was the belief he'd done the right thing in prioritizing Reiji's shard. Having that called into question, wondering if there'd been another way events could have conspired, has an achingly heavy feeling settling in his guts. (Maybe he could have done better. Maybe he wouldn't be hurting now. Maybe Amos wouldn't have been put in danger. Maybe things didn't have to end up this way. Maybe he'd been wrong --) ]
Amos. [ He'd briefly raised his head, and the bleeding's definitely stopped, but Gen still rests his head back against Amos' forearm; his canine ears are weakly canted back and his hands are still clutched into Amos' shirt when he mumbles, ] Help me get back to camp.
[ No 'please,' of course, prideful and ungrateful little shit that he is. But Amos is one of the very few that he'd make such a request of, in such frank fashion. 'Help me.' ]
no subject
And one last tap of the claw -- gentle as the touch of any doctor's tool, despite the sharp edge of that claw and the terrifying power contained in Amos' arm -- earns a small grunt before Gen blinks heavily. It's still a little tentative and careful when he raises a hand to try and rub away the blood that's starting to dry sticking in his lashes, crusting over his eyes, but the fact that he can deal with the blood at all means Amos has done a fantastic job. ]
... mn.
[ That vague noise in assent is all he can manage at the moment. Especially now that Amos has floated the idea of resting for now, it's all he wants.
It's not that his anger has subsided at all. So much has been happening in this fight, and none of it has felt fair -- he hates Hayame and Dimitri, he hates John, he hates D, he hates the Meridian, and he fucking hates Liem, and he hates Set. But the one thing he'd thought secure amidst all this chaos was the belief he'd done the right thing in prioritizing Reiji's shard. Having that called into question, wondering if there'd been another way events could have conspired, has an achingly heavy feeling settling in his guts. (Maybe he could have done better. Maybe he wouldn't be hurting now. Maybe Amos wouldn't have been put in danger. Maybe things didn't have to end up this way. Maybe he'd been wrong --) ]
Amos. [ He'd briefly raised his head, and the bleeding's definitely stopped, but Gen still rests his head back against Amos' forearm; his canine ears are weakly canted back and his hands are still clutched into Amos' shirt when he mumbles, ] Help me get back to camp.
[ No 'please,' of course, prideful and ungrateful little shit that he is. But Amos is one of the very few that he'd make such a request of, in such frank fashion. 'Help me.' ]
'm too dizzy to walk.