TIGER ☆ 001
Who: fiveminutefail, selfmotivations & shushushuriken
Where: Near the Industrial District
Style: First
Status: Closed, Heroes only ♥
( They definitely weren't the smartest duo... )
Where: Near the Industrial District
Style: First
Status: Closed, Heroes only ♥
( They definitely weren't the smartest duo... )
He blinks his eyes, lashes just slightly damp with sweat. This is wrong, he's stronger than this. He weakly unwinds his arm from Barnaby's shoulder, manages to push away from his hold. He's already carrying one of them, and he, too, must be feeling the strain. As strong as they are, they're still human, and still have limits. He doesn't want to push Barnaby to his.
He shakes his head, stands as straight as he can, and addresses his partner.]
Don't need to... [His words slur together, though they remain comprehensible.] Almost there.
[Despite whatever protest he may or may not be receiving, it goes ignored as he stumbles toward his goal. His mind blanks out everything minus the slow, careful yet unsteady steps he's taking forward. One foot, and then the other. That's all he focuses on, all he can focus on.
He doesn't realize it when he finally makes it to the doors of their apartment building, just stops when he hits something solid, and leans against it heavily. He pants, leaving small spots of moisture on the glass, rests his now numb hands on it, one clammy palm leaves a handprint, the other hangs uselessly on the bar.
He leans his head on it, careful to not touch the gem on his forehead. He groans again, this time in frustration. He's clearly unable to open it, to go further like he wants to.]
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(In other words, Barnaby is totally missing the point.)
So he doesn't protest, doesn't move for a moment, though the glower is partially fixed on Kotetsu just to make sure he doesn't fall. He strides forward, comes to the doors just as Kotetsu does and has half a mind to leave him there just out of spite.
But Barnaby, much as he sometimes feels that way, isn't a spiteful person. And he won't leave Kotetsu behind, not even when part of him is practically seething. Reason takes over and he hooks his arm around the old man again, heaves him up against him and has to think for a moment, hands full, before he manages to open the door with a foot.]
Almost there - [He shakes Ivan, shoots the younger hero a worried look.] Come on. Stay with me. [He's not about to try the stairs like this and manages to carry and drag them both into an elevator, selecting the eighth floor. It gives him a moment of respite, but concern rips away whatever solace was in that and he finds himself looking between them both.]
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and he loses any previously remaining shred of focus in the process. His eyes become all but unfocused, and while he sees Kotetsu slump against the door... he doesn't see it.
He's nearly sucked into the world of unconsciousness -- eyelids fluttering dangerously -- when Barnaby's touch shakes him back into reality.
(Temporary though it may be.)
Somehow he manages a weak:]
Bar... na... by... san?
[It's less a question than a silent plea, because with one last weak grasp of the hand, the youngest hero's eyes fall shut and his body slackens -- sleep finally claiming him.]
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He picks up what the youngest mutters, feels the shift in weight on his partner's shoulder, and before any kind of outburst can happen within their small space, he speaks up.]
Just sleeping... [The act of talking exhausts him to the point of weak pants, and he musters the energy to finish his sentence as the elevator beeps.] Really... tired...
[As best that he can, of course. He shakes his head, lifeless brown hair follows the movement. He wants to unhinge himself from Barnaby's helping hand more than ever right now, wants to walk the rest of the way to save him the added trouble of carrying dead weight, and near dead weight at the same time.
He can't, though, and he whimpers pathetically, near deliriously.]
Sorry...
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The elevator doors slide open with a mundane little ring, and Barnaby finds himself eyeing it resentfully as if it meant to rub salt in the wound as he hauls his two colleagues from it, walking along the corridor with Ivan over one shoulder and Kotetsu leaning heavily on the other. In any other situation, he'd be pleased with himself for managing not to stumble - this time, he focuses on getting his key from his jacket, swiping it, and nudging the door open with his foot.
Kicking it shut behind him, he made it to the sofa before he slipped Ivan off his shoulder into a sitting position. He eases Kotetsu down beside him, scanning him, the worry not quite evident on his face.] You need to keep awake. [We'll get through this, he thinks, and then he's picking up Ivan's hand to check his pulse. It's normal - totally normal. And that suggests he's fine, but...
Eyes narrowing, he looks at that gleaming purple stone - spares Kotetsu a glance to say:] If you get blood on the furniture, I won't forgive you.
[His deadpan is somewhat frayed, however - and he can't spend time studying that stone when Kotetsu is bleeding.]
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Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. He can hardly move, and yet he tries his hand at shifting on the couch (for no real reason), he can't see straight, things are spinning, and everything sounds muffled. He makes out what Barnaby says, though, just barely.
Keep awake.
He's trying his hardest, but he's fading quickly.
Blood... won't forgive you...
He chuckles breathlessly at that before he can even understand why. He looks at his arm, the cut not too deep, but long and still ugly. It, too, weeps red in a sluggish manner. He's already rubbed against the cushions in his shifting, blood streaked thinly against parts of the fabric.]
Does the couch... count as furniture...?
[He struggles to lift the hand, and the appendage quivers and shakes heavily. He manages to lift it onto his leg, and he sighs out in relief once it's rested on his knee. His head falls back and he smiles lazily. His actions are taxing, and his eyelids begin to flutter...]
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Yes, [He replies, emphatically, but when he looks at Kotetsu he sees the flutter of his eyelids, the way his body sags where he's sitting. Quickly, he moves to him, hands curling on his shoulders.] Old man! Where's your usual stubbornness?
[He checks his pulse, too, just incase - and again, it's fine. Nothing to worry about. But what he sees before him is worrisome, and he leans closer to examine that wound.]
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He watches the analysis of his pulse and his wound with a detached, clinical interest, but he's quick to take from his dwindling energy reserve once more to withdraw his wounded limb in a jerky, weak fashion, shake his head and lightly gesture to their sleeping colleague next to him.
He draws further to try his hand at speaking clearly, voice still tiny in comparison to his usual and words slightly slurred by a tongue long since gone numb.]
Take care of him, first... [And by that he means tuck him into bed, make him comfortable. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction for Kotetsu to think of others first at this point in his life, near delirious exhaustion isn't about to damper that.
Despite muddled brain function, he quietly tacks on, if only to silence any protests, cease any worries:]
Won't sleep. [He takes a breath, offers a lazy blink.] Promise.
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Checking once more that Ivan is stable, even if the signs stating so aren't very reassuring, he moves to Kotetsu's side to take a look at the injury on his arm. His grip is strong - he doesn't want the old man protesting further, especially not when he needs to get a good look at the wound. It's deep, but not anything terribly worrisome - not compared to the drowsiness, that is.
With antiseptic, clean cotton, and tweezers, he sets about cleaning it - not bothering to warn Kotetsu about the sting.]
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He remains in this state, his breathing calm and deep, as if his body's up and gone to sleep without his permission. It's not restful or relaxing, it's just a natural reaction to such a startling lack of energy. A near complete shut down, as all of it is directed currently on keeping his eyelids from darkening his hazy vision completely, and to frowning deeply at not having his request followed.
Awareness practically strangles him as his arm is grasped in a powerful, controlled hold and stung, poked and swabbed mercilessly. He doesn't protest or pull away, merely tenses, draws a deep, shuttering breath and squeezes his eyes shut against the headache and the encroaching nausea.
He gives it a moment or, at least, it's a moment to him, before he tightly speaks:]
Can I lay down now?
[Lay down, not sleep. He'll fight that as long as he physically can.]
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Like Kotetsu's wakefulness, admittedly. Sleep might be benign, but this is too strange, too sudden, too alien to be trusted. And that's why, when Kotetsu speaks up, he's absurdly grateful - but it doesn't stop the answer sounding harsh, clipped.]
No.
[He wraps his arm in gauze, leaning closer.]
Talk to me. Tell me what's happening. How do you feel? Are you hurt?
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[He might not have the energy to move, speak coherently or even think, but he seems to have enough to whine. He sighs, frustrated, since he knows that he won't be moving on his own. He wants to lay down, rest his head on something comfortable, relax his tense, exhausted and cramped muscles, feel the warmth of a blanket seep into his numb body.
He's completely at his partner's mercy, though. At his discretion. All he can do right now is keep his eyes open, retain even just a small shred of awareness.
He stubbornly attempts to shake his head, but it flops limply on his neck. He opens his now bloodshot eyes, and manages to lock them with Barnaby's. Were Kotetsu more in tune with his surroundings, he'd tease the blond for worrying.]
Just tired. Keep... getting m-more sleepy. [He's short of breath, and he pauses to regain and steady it.] Head hurts...
[He's having trouble focusing his eyes. They're hazy with repressed exhaustion. For a moment, he almost loses, and his eyes start to roll to the back of his head, but he blinks rapidly to correct them.
They begin to water, and he can't control it.]
Everything's blurry, 'n I s-see two of you...
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Leaning closer, he looks into Kotetsu's eyes. The lack of focus there is alarming, to say the least, but he keeps it from his voice. Mostly.] I assure you, there's only one of me.
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He grins weakly, not as bright as he wants to, and tries his hand at chuckling. He fails spectacularly, as it sounds more like gasping for air than anything else, and only serves to drain his energy further.]
Yeah... [He pauses, and his eyes slide shut against his will, unable to keep them open any further.] Dunno what I'd do... with two of you.
[His voice trails off, but he manages to slide a hand off his knee to grasp onto one of Barnaby's, and he channels what's left of his focus into squeezing it.]
M'sorry...
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