It doesn't last much longer - the steady, hot thrum of Dean's temper insists, actually, that the fight doesn't last nearly long enough, though his practical side is well aware that he's wasting precious time. The metal of the Colt is still warm in his hand when he turns from staring down the body of the last wolf to go down, making sure it lies motionless before he switches his attention from the enemy to the reason he came down here at all
( ... )
Hisoka becomes aware that somebody is trying to get his attention. "Dean?" he says, quizzically. He takes a breath, as he is bidden to do. He is sick and dizzy, and he nearly sinks back into that waiting tunnel. And somehow he does not fall, as Dean hauls him into the shed, but that is because Dean is bearing most of Hisoka's weight.
"The one and only, you got it. We're gonna slap a bandaid on you and then head up to the house - how's that sound?" Dean pauses only to hook the edge of the shed door with one foot, pulling it wider somehow without losing balance and sending them both to the ground, before ducking into the relative cover of the interior. He doesn't need anything fancy, never has and usually doesn't get it anyway, so the first empty expanse of floor he can find that is large enough to work in is where he lowers Hisoka as carefully back to his back as he can. "Alright, one second here
( ... )
Hisoka turns his head and opens his mouth as though to speak, gasp, or simply take another breath as Dean begins to apply direct pressure to slow or staunch the bleeding. But in fact, he makes no sound at all
( ... )
Dean is not encouraged by Hisoka's continued silence, but he's currently preoccupied and so has to make do with getting some kind of response at all; he counts to twenty, slowly and out loud, while visually assessing what his next move should be. He doesn't know what all this equipment is for - okay, yeah, he knows that's a boat,or will be someday - but he knows what it's going to become if that door budges or if the current silence is broken with anything remotely canine. The quarters are cramped, especially for the tall hunter, but Dean is accustomed to being twisted into the back seat of the Impala, staunching blood flow on himself or his brother or, a long time ago, his father while the remaining standing Winchester breaks every applicable traffic law between them and the nearest ER; he doesn't even consciously acknowledge when his shoulders or elbows knock the belly of the boat skeleton, merely bends to accommodate and squints through the lantern light
( ... )
Hisoka is hovering somewhere between the boat and the deep green river he has always meant to explore. But he turns from dipping an oar into the water, and replies, "My dad was worse than I am." It is a very faint voice, but clear.
Moving Hisoka's arm, Dean is aware that he should be feeling some queasiness at the unhinged feel and the odd bend where there shouldn't be a bend at all, but he doesn't; the jangle of his nerves is purely emotional, his time spent and remembered below having nearly removed all visceral reaction to the sight of blood, broken bones, and torn flesh. No, that's not the problem - he knows it's broken and he knows how to strap the arm up tight against Hisoka's body to stop it further damaging itself. The problem is that niggling fear, the bite of it still plain in his voice even as he shoves himself to his feet to collect the pile of shoprags he saw when he picked up the lantern.
"Yeah? Offense very much fucking meant, I'm not sure how that's even possible." Hisoka's response is both heartening and discouraging; he's talking, but quietly, detached. Keep him here. Several of the folded towels precede Dean's form back into the orbit around Hisoka's form
( ... )
Hisoka tilts his head, listening to the warm, distressed, scolding voice. Yep, that's Dean. He remembers the tone from when he found his friend again near the end of the battle with the satyrs, in the airship world. He had tumbled into the clearing, worried as to what had become of the mechanic and forgetting that he himself was a little messed up. Dean: "Dude! You were supposed to do that to the other guy!"
Trees overhang the river, and their enticing shadows dance on the water. It's like a long emerald tunnel, winding gently, leading to who knows where. He dips the paddle again, completes the long graceful dig into the flowing liguid with a j-stroke. That way, he doesn't have to rudder the canoe by switching sides. There is some reason why he is a little reluctant to lift that right arm. He lets the boat glide for a moment.
...And yes, he would like to have a long talk with Dean, even if it was about a freaking hatchet. "Adze," he murmers.
If Dean knew about this particular river, he would never let Hisoka forget it - or the fact that apparently he wants to keep stroking himself along its very boring length rather than come back and party with Dean. He would also never admit that this particular opinion makes Dean a big, fat hypocrite, because he's wanted similar things in the very recent past
( ... )
Hisoka looks down the deep green alley of the river with its bending trees, and feels a great longing to keep going. He wouldn't even need to paddle. The current would carry him. And he doesn't fool himself about what river this is
( ... )
The trip through the woods is quick, all things considered; Dean's senses are on hyper-alert, wide green eyes scanning in trained grids and patterns for any sign of threat, ears straining, boots solid over the uneven terrain, and he never thinks of slowing even when the drag of Hisoka's weight on his arms begins to demand conscious attention. He ignores it, concentrating instead on the seconds ticking by and turning into minutes - time that Hisoka's blood turns into a warm line down the underside of Dean's arm below his knees, time that Sam might be being torn apart somewhere out of Dean's sight, time that Dean doesn't freaking have to be spending on such unimportant things as walking through distance
( ... )
As Dean lays Hisoka down on the floor, Hisoka tries to lift his left hand to touch the hunter's forehead, where there is a liberal smear of Hisoka's blood. Which of course he doesn't recognize as his own. Aw fuck, he got hurt, he thinks. He can't feel his fingers, so he doesn't know if they get where he was trying to send them. And if they do, they probably leave another smear.
The effort drains him. His eyes, tender and unfocused, begin to close again.
"Hey, hey, grabby hands down, dude, c'mon..." The admonishment is half-hearted, though, and Dean spares a moment to crane his neck to take his face out of Hisoka's reach - more because the other man's fingers nearly landed in his eyes than anything, but also a natural reaction to anyone reaching at his face. Nonetheless, when Hisoka's eyes begin to close, Dean's heart does an interesting little tapdance in his chest. His own hands freed by settling their precious cargo on the floor, he checks instinctively for a pulse, uses the contact to shake the other man a bit
( ... )
Jaenelle has felt the darkness all tonight, and has until now been reinforcing defenses, but she simultaneously feels the distress radiating from Dean and hears someone calling for help, and that has her running down the hallway, letting the web she was working on finish spinning, and bursts into the kitchen seconds later.
She takes only a moment to take in Dean and Hisoka before she shoves her sleeves up and wades in. "I'm here," she says, and there's something in her voice that's dark and vibrating and angry. Not at you, Dean, no. She drops to her knees next to Hisoka and reaches out to lay a hand on his chest, trying to anchor him to life and slow the bleeding to start with.
Hisoka unseals his eyes again, hearing that I mean business tone in Dean's voice. But there is suddenly an energy in the room other than Dean's; he can feel it through the touch to his chest. A blurry vision of Jaenelle's face swims into view. His lips move. "Ms. Angelline...?"
He can feel that anchor. It stretches from his heart to his toes and down into the river itself. And the flow of blood begins to slow. Just a small change, but an important one.
[Hope its ok for Hisoka to be able to pick up Jaenelle's energy? And Jaenelle is free to pick up whatever from Hisoka.]
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"Yeah? Offense very much fucking meant, I'm not sure how that's even possible." Hisoka's response is both heartening and discouraging; he's talking, but quietly, detached. Keep him here. Several of the folded towels precede Dean's form back into the orbit around Hisoka's form ( ... )
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Trees overhang the river, and their enticing shadows dance on the water. It's like a long emerald tunnel, winding gently, leading to who knows where. He dips the paddle again, completes the long graceful dig into the flowing liguid with a j-stroke. That way, he doesn't have to rudder the canoe by switching sides. There is some reason why he is a little reluctant to lift that right arm. He lets the boat glide for a moment.
...And yes, he would like to have a long talk with Dean, even if it was about a freaking hatchet. "Adze," he murmers.
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The effort drains him. His eyes, tender and unfocused, begin to close again.
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She takes only a moment to take in Dean and Hisoka before she shoves her sleeves up and wades in. "I'm here," she says, and there's something in her voice that's dark and vibrating and angry. Not at you, Dean, no. She drops to her knees next to Hisoka and reaches out to lay a hand on his chest, trying to anchor him to life and slow the bleeding to start with.
You're welcome! Happy to help, both of us. <3!
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He can feel that anchor. It stretches from his heart to his toes and down into the river itself. And the flow of blood begins to slow. Just a small change, but an important one.
[Hope its ok for Hisoka to be able to pick up Jaenelle's energy? And Jaenelle is free to pick up whatever from Hisoka.]
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