Steve meets Zerxus' eyes and what he sees? Is someone who has withstood literal hell. Not perfectly, not without (a lot of) personal cost, but a good man who is still trying to do the right thing.
"All right." Does he believe that's truly possible? He... isn't sure. Probably not, but not definitely not. Meanwhile: "I need you to listen to me and give it at least a ten count before you knee jerk react and tell me why I'm wrong. Can you give me that?"
He actually takes a second, because what he wants to say is something he needs to present a little less directly and thoroughly than is his natural inclination.
"Leverage that can be used against me is less dangerous than not caring at about anything. I need you to stop trying to... maintain distance and convince me you're terrible." Push Steve away, whatever this is.
"It's hell. Nothing left to lose isn't gonna work if the goal is protecting my soul."
Zerxus opens his mouth, before cutting himself off again - this time with a slight, ruefully pained smile.
Then, internally but obviously, he counts to ten. When he speaks, it comes out soft and strained. "You're right, that closing your heart is a bad idea." He sinks down himself, then, until he's kneeling across from Steve.
"But - you can't get too attached, either. You need to leave everything here behind. And you can't - you can't trust anyone, including me."
"Yeah." Just that, soft and rough and his eyes sliding slowly closed and staying that way. "Kind of an ongoing theme in my life. Leave everyone and everything. Don't trust anyone. Get up and back in the fight."
Fuck he is.... He can and will do this, harder and bigger and broader every time or not, he will, but damn he doesn't even want to get off the floor in this second, much less be thinking about the three options he sees for himself to go forward with here.
Or how the most right - or least wrong- one always seems to be the hardest one.
Then he gets his eyes open, rallies almost visibly and quirks a faint smile. "Not actively pushed away is good enough. I'm not gonna sacrifice my world or soul for you, no matter how attached I get and if I were dumb enough to 'trust' you the way you mean I'd be asking a lot more questions. I've got it." It. This. "You coming over here, now?" He gestures to, well, the spot on the floor beside him with his head, but also holds a hand out, palm up to Zerxus.
Keep going, no matter what; keep going because the alternative is worse.
Keep going, even though the world has moved forward without you and everyone you have ever loved is firmly beyond your reach.
It breaks his heart anew, to be encouraging the very thing that ultimately destroyed him, but what else can he do? Hell won't reunite the Captain with anyone he's lost, or give him any measure of peace. There's still a chance for that in his own world, however fleeting it feels.
So he's nodding, ready to push himself up and away, and then -
How is it that everything this man does catches him entirely off-guard? He hasn't felt this unsteady in decades.
"I..." Pulling away himself isn't the same as pushing someone away; it's the exact sort of meaningless bullshit that a devil would exploit.
Instead, he leans forward and clasps the Captain's hand.
Steve isn't sure Zerxus realizes how much... information about himself he's given Steve. How complete the picture he's painted has been. In what he's said, yeah, but also in Steve sees in between the words and in responses.
He can see the man inside the devil, and he has a pretty damn good idea of the broader strokes of his history. What he did. People he loved. Why he did it. What his life is now. The points they overlap and how strong that overlap is.
He is prepared for the argument that pulling away isn't the same as pushing away and in truth? Steve would have allowed it - at least for a while - and taken the technical win as a point to push with later. That the man has enough... bravery and of himself present to take Steve's hand adds a bit of... pride? to the smile.
He curls his fingers down so his grip is solidly there and pulls Zerxus forward and pretty much around, without letting go. And in fact making sure there's at least some contact between shoulders or knees.
Basically a physical guide in 'sit beside me' (on the floor) and isn't letting go. The heat of that hand should be oppressive for Steve, but it's not. The physical contact itself is more than worth it.
"I'm gonna need food, water, and a better idea about what day to day life here's going to be." That's not a demand for information right now, though he'll take it. "Right now... When are you back on patrol?"
Zerxus is not an easy man to pull, if he puts up any resistance at all; it's notable that he slides immediately into that spot, even leaning a little into Steve's side. Not much, just - enough to be felt.
"The first two won't be a problem." Devils don't truly need either, but Malsheem isn't lacking in pointed decadence. "Just let me check for poison or curses first."
Then he closes his eyes, and for a moment his hand feels even warmer.
"About an hour." It's enough time to get the Captain at least minimally situated, pull his armour back on and head back to Dis, but... "This is the safest place for you to be, right now, but that's - "
Good boy, Steve thinks, but is just smart enough to not stay when he feels the faint lean against him. He keeps his head tipped back, hand around Zerxus', breathing deep enough that every breath increases contact minutely, and slow enough to suggest complete calm. It also lets more heat sink into his skin, especially with lighter fabric.
"I was hoping the opulence would extend that far. You don't wanna know what my appetite looks like when it's compensating for any kind of healing or sleep deprivation." Both are already in play and he doesn't expect either one to go away.
Appetite's probably the wrong word given his very human response to the constant smell of blood. Close enough to 'need to eat', though and he's not going to start whining about anything, much less that minor.
"I'm not gonna go anywhere or start having conversations. My soul and I will both be here when you get back." That? Is a promise. It's pretty short term for now, but it's a promise.
It's a promise made in a realm that recognises oaths when they're spoken, and that means Zerxus can feel it too. It ought to inspire hope, but that's strangled almost immediately by fear, because if that oath was forcibly broken -
He will be here when you return.
Asmodeus lies all the time, but he doesn't break a contract and the difference is more subtle than most people realise. A mortal needs to see it plainly, and literally, to accept an offer properly.
For someone whose soul is already his - there's an echo to it, a cadence that Zerxus knows as well as his own heartbeat.
Thank you.
The devil isn't doing this for no reason - there's a catch or a cost - but right now? He's willing to just accept it.
Steve eats. He eats an astonishing amount of food (at least for a human), without a single sign that maybe his sense of smell and taste are getting cross-wired, much less indication that he'd so much as heard 'poisoned or cursed' being mentioned as possibilities.
Then he takes the time Zerxus is gone to get his suit stuck in the back of Zerxus wardrobe (just the suit; gloves and shield stay out). He browses through the wardrobe since he's apparently going to be dressing himself out of it for the foreseeable future.
He does not otherwise get nosy, but instead just settles into one of those armchairs in the room with Zerxus' armor stand. He spends the rest of the time Zerxus is gone 'asleep', in the exact way he slept in the middle of a world war two battle field. Cycling between barely dozing to brief periods of deeper sleep that he rises back out of to the light doze, over and over again.
He doesn't startle when Zerxus is back in the room with him. His eyes open, immediately clear and alert. Stretches as he stands and walks straight to Zerxus. "Gauntlets off." His voice however reflects that he was at least asleep, in being a little husky and more slowed down than it has been thus far.
Zerxus was, perhaps, both more distracted and less cautious than usual on his rounds.
His armour is soaked in blood, but he moves like this is a natural thing; if there's any stiffness to that, it's disguised by the bulk of steel.
Most people wouldn't assume from the start that their guest was newly awake, after they leapt up like that, but Zerxus gazes at him with a wistfully wry smirk and says, "You sleep like a hawk."
Steve has a lot thank world war two for - including being largely unaffected by the sight of blood, and pretty close to the same to the scent of it. It bothers him on a visceral level, but it also helps keep him from relaxing too much while remaining something he can dismiss from conscious thought.
Even when it's still wet and in that kind of quantity. As long as it's not blood that's on fire, or he's not expected to eat at the same time.
"I sleep like a guy who learned to self-hypnotize myself into sleeping in a war zone." The Hawk remark though makes him look overtly curious. It's a sensible comparison but... pretty enough to make him think there's more to it than just the animal. "And either get the gauntlets or I do them myself. I don't know how they work. I will cut myself and bleed, then you'll feel bad."
With a slight cock of his head, Zerxus raises a hand and murmurs something. Steve will feel warmth cascade from his fingertips up through his entire body, and feel a sense that it's a harmless but hardening flame.
Then Zerxus presents both of his hands and says, "Now you won't."
Stoneskin is a powerful spell, for a paladin, and he sure did just use it to be a bitch.
Well, someone came home from their required murder march in a mood.
Steve doesn't really blame him - or for coming home a lot less human seeming than he was when he left. Steve more than half expected that. It was why he'd gotten up to help (or outright do himself) with the armor.
There is still a second there, where he is uncomfortable. Nothing like physical discomfort with sensation but how thorough and intensive it is. His expression never makes it all the way to the grimace, but some of his discomfort shows for a second or two.
"That's one way around a stupid ultimatum," he admits. He's not tentative in grabbing hold - in fact he intentionally tests the effect of whatever just happened. It does take him a second or two more to put together what he'd seen when he'd watched Zerxus removing them earlier (twisting) and getting them off himself.
Once he has, though, he just... sets them on the table and goes to work on the rest. There is absolutely going to be blood all over his hands. It's fine, but: "Was your brother older or younger than you?"
There was a time in his life when he wouldn't cast a spell on anyone without asking, save for longstanding permission or the direst of circumstances.
That was a very long time ago, and if that discomfort catches him between the ribs in a way that makes him feel painfully young for a second then no one has to know that.
Besides, he's focusing on being very still. It's a surprise, when Steve comes back and keeps going - he really did just expect the gauntlets, and he's about to say it - but then, well.
"...Older, but everyone assumed the opposite." Question for a question, come on, think -
No. Not just the gauntlets. Those were never the plan - not the biggest part, and certainly not all of it. His intention was never anything as simple - or complex - as literal disarming.
Not even of one blood soaked weapon-slash-armor.
He keeps going, but not in physically removing anything from Zerxus body, just undoing and unfastening clasps, staying well clear of any clear, single purpose weaponry. More about... mental shift, back to someone Steve can breathe around.
He starts to ask something. Then stops, tilts his head and waits.
He remembers this rhythm. "Your turn." He's pretty sure breaking that rhythm is likely to have some kind of consequence.
It almost sounds like he's slipping out of a reverie when he answers, "My - yes. It is."
The problem is, it's getting hard to focus. Gradually losing weight is helping, in one sense, but he's also losing the grounding balance of it, and -
Once the full chest plate comes over his head, it's clear why. More than one weapon was powerful and precise enough to puncture the leather of his gambeson, and that's soaked in blood too.
It isn't the tearing that surprises Zerxus, as he frowns down at himself; it's the fact that he's still bleeding.
That explains why the armor was so bloody, and the scent of it was so fresh. It also explains the distant tone in Zerxus' voice.
"Down," Steve says, immediately and firmly but gently, pushes the man back toward sitting in the nearest chair. "Work with me and sit down, please."
Can devils even die? Steve doesn't know, exactly, but he doesn't want to find out. He needs Zerxus to sit, he needs to get that leather out of the way and see where this is all coming from and at least try to do something about it.
There's a flicker of contrariness even now, a moment of token resistance, but he's weakened substantially in the last few minutes. In the midst of the Calamity that wouldn't have mattered, but there's nothing inside urging him far beyond his limits.
He all but collapses onto that chair, jarring the wounds and making himself even dizzier. "Sorry. This isn't...typical."
Reaching up to do - something helpful, anything - he realises that his hands are trembling.
He can respect that level of stubbornness, but that doesn't mean he's not glad he doesn't have to drag Zerxus bodily around after he's passed out - or wait until Zerxus has in order to do anything.
Not that he knows what he's going to do here.
"Yeah, doesn't sound like a thing that should even be possible." Maybe? But if he'd sold his soul, and was already in hell... Some kind of punishment, also maybe, and if that's the case... it's Steve's fault.
Steve doesn't know.
He does know that he's tearing that thing open so he can see what he's working with and then just - "We better both be hoping you can't die and stay dead." This is bad. He's not being flippant, even with that remark. He's being grim, and also pulling his borrowed shirt off to try to do... anything here. Mop up, get a decent look and just pressure.
"I can't stay dead." It's...not the highest of reassurances. He can die, and he can't control how long that lasts, and usually that's just a fact of his existence - but it would mean leaving the Captain alone.
The pressure does what it's meant to, at least, and after a few deep breaths Zerxus can manage, "I've got - sewing. Things. In that drawer."
Nothing meant to mend people, but he doesn't have to worry about infection.
He moves for the drawer, without hesitation or stupid questions about infection. Not able to stay dead means if nothing else, worst case scenario, infection's going to at least be a slower death.
It also means he's going to be causing more pain either in the sewing up or slower death, but- So be it, he guesses.
"Let me know if you'd just rather... die." He doesn't know. He is firmly over his head in trying to put together how to approach this. Given that he is, actually, defaulting to trusting the authority on the subject here. "Or otherwise need to tap out."
Once he's got that sewing kit, though, he - Well, stands across Zerxus' legs and ultimately sits in his lap, facing him. It's the only practical way he has to reach.
He's not shaking. He's not pale. He's just grim, determined, and with some (hidden) anger underlining it. "I'll do my best, but best case it's still gonna hurt like a bitch."
That level of consideration floors him more than the sudden, debilitating onset of mortality. The huff of laughter is choked, and it stains his lips red.
"I barely noticed the lance going in." That was the deepest hit, he's pretty sure, just beneath his ribs. "Pain isn't a problem."
It's not that he doesn't feel it; it's just one of those constant companions, like grief and self-loathing. Usually it isn't part of someone trying to help him, and the first pierce of the needle doesn't shift the shell-shocked wonder in those burning red eyes.
Steve looks up from what he's doing, briefly. "Well, let me know if that comes back along with your ability to die." There's eye-contact with that, and he... probably shouldn't see burning red eyes as reassuring, but he... does.
Then he bends his head back to the task, starting with the lance wound. It's... just adding more blood to all this, making everything slippery and the whole thing harder. This man better still be able to heal in some capacity though, because there's more damage here than just on the surface.
"You still owe me a question." He doesn't look up, and his weight on Zerxus' legs doesn't shift. Just focused, but also: talk to him.
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"All right." Does he believe that's truly possible? He... isn't sure. Probably not, but not definitely not. Meanwhile: "I need you to listen to me and give it at least a ten count before you knee jerk react and tell me why I'm wrong. Can you give me that?"
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"Ten." It's fitting; one above nine, and the date of a holiday that no one remembers.
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"Leverage that can be used against me is less dangerous than not caring at about anything. I need you to stop trying to... maintain distance and convince me you're terrible." Push Steve away, whatever this is.
"It's hell. Nothing left to lose isn't gonna work if the goal is protecting my soul."
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Then, internally but obviously, he counts to ten. When he speaks, it comes out soft and strained. "You're right, that closing your heart is a bad idea." He sinks down himself, then, until he's kneeling across from Steve.
"But - you can't get too attached, either. You need to leave everything here behind. And you can't - you can't trust anyone, including me."
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Fuck he is.... He can and will do this, harder and bigger and broader every time or not, he will, but damn he doesn't even want to get off the floor in this second, much less be thinking about the three options he sees for himself to go forward with here.
Or how the most right - or least wrong- one always seems to be the hardest one.
Then he gets his eyes open, rallies almost visibly and quirks a faint smile. "Not actively pushed away is good enough. I'm not gonna sacrifice my world or soul for you, no matter how attached I get and if I were dumb enough to 'trust' you the way you mean I'd be asking a lot more questions. I've got it." It. This. "You coming over here, now?" He gestures to, well, the spot on the floor beside him with his head, but also holds a hand out, palm up to Zerxus.
His turn to establish contact.
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Keep going, even though the world has moved forward without you and everyone you have ever loved is firmly beyond your reach.
It breaks his heart anew, to be encouraging the very thing that ultimately destroyed him, but what else can he do? Hell won't reunite the Captain with anyone he's lost, or give him any measure of peace. There's still a chance for that in his own world, however fleeting it feels.
So he's nodding, ready to push himself up and away, and then -
How is it that everything this man does catches him entirely off-guard? He hasn't felt this unsteady in decades.
"I..." Pulling away himself isn't the same as pushing someone away; it's the exact sort of meaningless bullshit that a devil would exploit.
Instead, he leans forward and clasps the Captain's hand.
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He can see the man inside the devil, and he has a pretty damn good idea of the broader strokes of his history. What he did. People he loved. Why he did it. What his life is now. The points they overlap and how strong that overlap is.
He is prepared for the argument that pulling away isn't the same as pushing away and in truth? Steve would have allowed it - at least for a while - and taken the technical win as a point to push with later. That the man has enough... bravery and of himself present to take Steve's hand adds a bit of... pride? to the smile.
He curls his fingers down so his grip is solidly there and pulls Zerxus forward and pretty much around, without letting go. And in fact making sure there's at least some contact between shoulders or knees.
Basically a physical guide in 'sit beside me' (on the floor) and isn't letting go. The heat of that hand should be oppressive for Steve, but it's not. The physical contact itself is more than worth it.
"I'm gonna need food, water, and a better idea about what day to day life here's going to be." That's not a demand for information right now, though he'll take it. "Right now... When are you back on patrol?"
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"The first two won't be a problem." Devils don't truly need either, but Malsheem isn't lacking in pointed decadence. "Just let me check for poison or curses first."
Then he closes his eyes, and for a moment his hand feels even warmer.
"About an hour." It's enough time to get the Captain at least minimally situated, pull his armour back on and head back to Dis, but... "This is the safest place for you to be, right now, but that's - "
Judging on a curve, let's say.
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"I was hoping the opulence would extend that far. You don't wanna know what my appetite looks like when it's compensating for any kind of healing or sleep deprivation." Both are already in play and he doesn't expect either one to go away.
Appetite's probably the wrong word given his very human response to the constant smell of blood. Close enough to 'need to eat', though and he's not going to start whining about anything, much less that minor.
"I'm not gonna go anywhere or start having conversations. My soul and I will both be here when you get back." That? Is a promise. It's pretty short term for now, but it's a promise.
Steve... doesn't break those.
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He will be here when you return.
Asmodeus lies all the time, but he doesn't break a contract and the difference is more subtle than most people realise. A mortal needs to see it plainly, and literally, to accept an offer properly.
For someone whose soul is already his - there's an echo to it, a cadence that Zerxus knows as well as his own heartbeat.
Thank you.
The devil isn't doing this for no reason - there's a catch or a cost - but right now? He's willing to just accept it.
"Let's get you that food."
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Then he takes the time Zerxus is gone to get his suit stuck in the back of Zerxus wardrobe (just the suit; gloves and shield stay out). He browses through the wardrobe since he's apparently going to be dressing himself out of it for the foreseeable future.
He does not otherwise get nosy, but instead just settles into one of those armchairs in the room with Zerxus' armor stand. He spends the rest of the time Zerxus is gone 'asleep', in the exact way he slept in the middle of a world war two battle field. Cycling between barely dozing to brief periods of deeper sleep that he rises back out of to the light doze, over and over again.
He doesn't startle when Zerxus is back in the room with him. His eyes open, immediately clear and alert. Stretches as he stands and walks straight to Zerxus. "Gauntlets off." His voice however reflects that he was at least asleep, in being a little husky and more slowed down than it has been thus far.
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His armour is soaked in blood, but he moves like this is a natural thing; if there's any stiffness to that, it's disguised by the bulk of steel.
Most people wouldn't assume from the start that their guest was newly awake, after they leapt up like that, but Zerxus gazes at him with a wistfully wry smirk and says, "You sleep like a hawk."
Oh, what? Did you give him an order?
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Even when it's still wet and in that kind of quantity. As long as it's not blood that's on fire, or he's not expected to eat at the same time.
"I sleep like a guy who learned to self-hypnotize myself into sleeping in a war zone." The Hawk remark though makes him look overtly curious. It's a sensible comparison but... pretty enough to make him think there's more to it than just the animal. "And either get the gauntlets or I do them myself. I don't know how they work. I will cut myself and bleed, then you'll feel bad."
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Then Zerxus presents both of his hands and says, "Now you won't."
Stoneskin is a powerful spell, for a paladin, and he sure did just use it to be a bitch.
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Steve doesn't really blame him - or for coming home a lot less human seeming than he was when he left. Steve more than half expected that. It was why he'd gotten up to help (or outright do himself) with the armor.
There is still a second there, where he is uncomfortable. Nothing like physical discomfort with sensation but how thorough and intensive it is. His expression never makes it all the way to the grimace, but some of his discomfort shows for a second or two.
"That's one way around a stupid ultimatum," he admits. He's not tentative in grabbing hold - in fact he intentionally tests the effect of whatever just happened. It does take him a second or two more to put together what he'd seen when he'd watched Zerxus removing them earlier (twisting) and getting them off himself.
Once he has, though, he just... sets them on the table and goes to work on the rest. There is absolutely going to be blood all over his hands. It's fine, but: "Was your brother older or younger than you?"
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That was a very long time ago, and if that discomfort catches him between the ribs in a way that makes him feel painfully young for a second then no one has to know that.
Besides, he's focusing on being very still. It's a surprise, when Steve comes back and keeps going - he really did just expect the gauntlets, and he's about to say it - but then, well.
"...Older, but everyone assumed the opposite." Question for a question, come on, think -
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Not even of one blood soaked weapon-slash-armor.
He keeps going, but not in physically removing anything from Zerxus body, just undoing and unfastening clasps, staying well clear of any clear, single purpose weaponry. More about... mental shift, back to someone Steve can breathe around.
He starts to ask something. Then stops, tilts his head and waits.
He remembers this rhythm. "Your turn." He's pretty sure breaking that rhythm is likely to have some kind of consequence.
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The problem is, it's getting hard to focus. Gradually losing weight is helping, in one sense, but he's also losing the grounding balance of it, and -
Once the full chest plate comes over his head, it's clear why. More than one weapon was powerful and precise enough to puncture the leather of his gambeson, and that's soaked in blood too.
It isn't the tearing that surprises Zerxus, as he frowns down at himself; it's the fact that he's still bleeding.
Well. The cost was simple enough, at least.
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"Down," Steve says, immediately and firmly but gently, pushes the man back toward sitting in the nearest chair. "Work with me and sit down, please."
Can devils even die? Steve doesn't know, exactly, but he doesn't want to find out. He needs Zerxus to sit, he needs to get that leather out of the way and see where this is all coming from and at least try to do something about it.
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He all but collapses onto that chair, jarring the wounds and making himself even dizzier. "Sorry. This isn't...typical."
Reaching up to do - something helpful, anything - he realises that his hands are trembling.
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Not that he knows what he's going to do here.
"Yeah, doesn't sound like a thing that should even be possible." Maybe? But if he'd sold his soul, and was already in hell... Some kind of punishment, also maybe, and if that's the case... it's Steve's fault.
Steve doesn't know.
He does know that he's tearing that thing open so he can see what he's working with and then just - "We better both be hoping you can't die and stay dead." This is bad. He's not being flippant, even with that remark. He's being grim, and also pulling his borrowed shirt off to try to do... anything here. Mop up, get a decent look and just pressure.
He still knows this is bad.
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The pressure does what it's meant to, at least, and after a few deep breaths Zerxus can manage, "I've got - sewing. Things. In that drawer."
Nothing meant to mend people, but he doesn't have to worry about infection.
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It also means he's going to be causing more pain either in the sewing up or slower death, but- So be it, he guesses.
"Let me know if you'd just rather... die." He doesn't know. He is firmly over his head in trying to put together how to approach this. Given that he is, actually, defaulting to trusting the authority on the subject here. "Or otherwise need to tap out."
Once he's got that sewing kit, though, he - Well, stands across Zerxus' legs and ultimately sits in his lap, facing him. It's the only practical way he has to reach.
He's not shaking. He's not pale. He's just grim, determined, and with some (hidden) anger underlining it. "I'll do my best, but best case it's still gonna hurt like a bitch."
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"I barely noticed the lance going in." That was the deepest hit, he's pretty sure, just beneath his ribs. "Pain isn't a problem."
It's not that he doesn't feel it; it's just one of those constant companions, like grief and self-loathing. Usually it isn't part of someone trying to help him, and the first pierce of the needle doesn't shift the shell-shocked wonder in those burning red eyes.
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Then he bends his head back to the task, starting with the lance wound. It's... just adding more blood to all this, making everything slippery and the whole thing harder. This man better still be able to heal in some capacity though, because there's more damage here than just on the surface.
"You still owe me a question." He doesn't look up, and his weight on Zerxus' legs doesn't shift. Just focused, but also: talk to him.
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