His skull hits pavement when Jay sets him down with all the care he'd use to handle something as damaged and broken as he is, but even if it tears in his abdomen he grips the wall and tries to pull himself up, walk, do something, but all he can do is leave streaks of brown-red in the shapes of handprints. Every movement just compounds the agony buried at his midsection but - but he props himself against the wall, there is just way too much fucking blood, fuck, what is Jay doing?
"Jay - JAY!"
The halation of the other man's silhouette blazes against closed eyelids for a minute, there's an awful wrenching in his chest when Tim realizes what he's doing, and then he's gone. That idiot, that stupid fucking moron who thinks he can charge into that with no consequence. Tim sags against his little stretch of wall, the hand that was formerly holding his injury shut now dropping limply. Your fault, your fault, he fucked this up and failed, again, just like every time. Fuck, he's sorry, Jay, he's so fucking sorry.
The thing turns itself to him. His vision's graying out, but the cleanly divided color scheme of white against black stands out perfectly, the only absolute in his vision that's become a slurry of grays and red-browns.
He has no strength to run and no breath to give a final defiant word to the incredible pain he's in. Tim just watches in weary, broken defeat as the thing draws closer, like it should have happened, and closes his eyes as it wraps him in arms that follow no physical logic, obscenely reminiscent of a tender embrace.
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"Jay - JAY!"
The halation of the other man's silhouette blazes against closed eyelids for a minute, there's an awful wrenching in his chest when Tim realizes what he's doing, and then he's gone. That idiot, that stupid fucking moron who thinks he can charge into that with no consequence. Tim sags against his little stretch of wall, the hand that was formerly holding his injury shut now dropping limply. Your fault, your fault, he fucked this up and failed, again, just like every time. Fuck, he's sorry, Jay, he's so fucking sorry.
The thing turns itself to him. His vision's graying out, but the cleanly divided color scheme of white against black stands out perfectly, the only absolute in his vision that's become a slurry of grays and red-browns.
He has no strength to run and no breath to give a final defiant word to the incredible pain he's in. Tim just watches in weary, broken defeat as the thing draws closer, like it should have happened, and closes his eyes as it wraps him in arms that follow no physical logic, obscenely reminiscent of a tender embrace.
nd
you
forever