[ This time, there's no frightened protest at I'll come back. It's not because he's suddenly comfortable in their summer get-away home, it's not that he suddenly trusts anything about this fucking place. It's that the stress chemicals have more or less vacated the premises, he's in the least amount of pain he's had since getting slit open so far, the blankets are warm and the fatigue is real. He offers up only a lazy mhmm grumble of assent from the back of a gritty throat.
He's asleep by the time Mace turns the stove off, probably.
He makes it through an entire sleep cycle black-out dead to the world. Exhausted past the point of even dreaming, which is a fucking blessing considering what those dreams would probably consist of.
He didn't make the needle or the thread. That's probably for the best too, considering he'd have passed out with them in proximity and wound up giving himself the fourth fucking impalement of the night.
He's at the top of sleep cycle number two when Mace comes back, the lightest part of the whole ordeal, close to the surface enough that the sudden voice jars him back to wakefulness with a soft gasp.
He's normally a heavy sleeper. He normally fights waking up for longer and with more passion than your standard man ought to. It's a product of their environment that the switch flips so effectively right off the bat, with his arm lifting up off his eyes and his shoulders curling off the bed an inch or two. Probably clear that his knee-jerk reaction would've been to sit up, except inch 2 is exactly his limit before his torso flares up pissed off.
He lowers himself back down with a muted sound in the back of his throat. ]
Yeah.
[ He croaks, a transparent lie to both of them. ]
Constant vigilance. I am the night. Been Batman'ing the hell out of this room, don't even worry about it.
[ Toneless, rusty, and with a dry swallow somewhere in there. Some water might be amazing, some water might be the best idea anyone's ever had. ]
no subject
He's asleep by the time Mace turns the stove off, probably.
He makes it through an entire sleep cycle black-out dead to the world. Exhausted past the point of even dreaming, which is a fucking blessing considering what those dreams would probably consist of.
He didn't make the needle or the thread. That's probably for the best too, considering he'd have passed out with them in proximity and wound up giving himself the fourth fucking impalement of the night.
He's at the top of sleep cycle number two when Mace comes back, the lightest part of the whole ordeal, close to the surface enough that the sudden voice jars him back to wakefulness with a soft gasp.
He's normally a heavy sleeper. He normally fights waking up for longer and with more passion than your standard man ought to. It's a product of their environment that the switch flips so effectively right off the bat, with his arm lifting up off his eyes and his shoulders curling off the bed an inch or two. Probably clear that his knee-jerk reaction would've been to sit up, except inch 2 is exactly his limit before his torso flares up pissed off.
He lowers himself back down with a muted sound in the back of his throat. ]
Yeah.
[ He croaks, a transparent lie to both of them. ]
Constant vigilance. I am the night. Been Batman'ing the hell out of this room, don't even worry about it.
[ Toneless, rusty, and with a dry swallow somewhere in there. Some water might be amazing, some water might be the best idea anyone's ever had. ]