It just keeps getting worse and it's all he can do to keep from passing out. It feels like he's about to, he almost wishes he would - it would be a welcome relief from this.
Seth keeps talking, which would be helpful except that Daniel is fading out sporadically, reducing whatever he's saying to something smudged and atonal and not at all distinct, something about apologies which is ridiculous, really, because Seth is here and, most importantly, he's all right so there's nothing for him to be apologizing for -
Then Seth rolls him over and he thinks he makes another noise as the movement ratchets a fresh round of that fucking hurts through him and he decides that, okay, that apology is somewhat vindicated after all.
Daniel's abdomen still feels like a skein of shredded interior decorating, blood and torn-up muscle, but now it's pulling, a series of fierce, involuntary contractions of muscle being rearranged in the most nauseatingly fucking painful way possible.
But! It means the bleeding is less and less, and he has enough strength to reach at the injury, dimly, and he can still feel some of it drooling out between his fingers but not in the horribly vast quantities like before and the aftershocks of whatever it is his internal organs are doing have left his ears ringing a little and he still feels numbed, drained, exhausted, but the pain is...less.
Or maybe he's just used to it.
Seth is still talking, the repetition of phrase and name, the hand at his...neck? Yes, neck, good, his grasp of bodily self-awareness is coming together nicely, which means he has the motor control to look up at him and try to signify yes, he hears him, he'll be okay.
Even if he's not sure he will be, really, but Seth shouldn't have to worry about that.
Talking takes more work. He has to hiss out through clenched teeth for a little while before the vocal chords agree to start working properly, and the first attempts feel clotted with blood and water but he finally manages two rasping, labored words:
no subject
Seth keeps talking, which would be helpful except that Daniel is fading out sporadically, reducing whatever he's saying to something smudged and atonal and not at all distinct, something about apologies which is ridiculous, really, because Seth is here and, most importantly, he's all right so there's nothing for him to be apologizing for -
Then Seth rolls him over and he thinks he makes another noise as the movement ratchets a fresh round of that fucking hurts through him and he decides that, okay, that apology is somewhat vindicated after all.
Daniel's abdomen still feels like a skein of shredded interior decorating, blood and torn-up muscle, but now it's pulling, a series of fierce, involuntary contractions of muscle being rearranged in the most nauseatingly fucking painful way possible.
But! It means the bleeding is less and less, and he has enough strength to reach at the injury, dimly, and he can still feel some of it drooling out between his fingers but not in the horribly vast quantities like before and the aftershocks of whatever it is his internal organs are doing have left his ears ringing a little and he still feels numbed, drained, exhausted, but the pain is...less.
Or maybe he's just used to it.
Seth is still talking, the repetition of phrase and name, the hand at his...neck? Yes, neck, good, his grasp of bodily self-awareness is coming together nicely, which means he has the motor control to look up at him and try to signify yes, he hears him, he'll be okay.
Even if he's not sure he will be, really, but Seth shouldn't have to worry about that.
Talking takes more work. He has to hiss out through clenched teeth for a little while before the vocal chords agree to start working properly, and the first attempts feel clotted with blood and water but he finally manages two rasping, labored words:
"Your arm?"