then whatever chains us down;

[soukahisoka]

Day: 12
Characters: Hisoka Kurosaki soukahisoka, Grell Sutcliffe chainsaw_juliet
Summary: SHINIGAMI, HUDDLE UP.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: 1AM, just after this thread and this thread.
Status: 2 parter in one post; Closed and Complete~

Comments

[chainsaw_juliet]

Of course he had ceded his bed to his roommate. His roommate was young, a growing boy with sunshine hair and summery eyes. In some weird way, Grell wanted to mother the boy and shield him from the nastiness that was this place. It was all a game to Grell, but it was dangerous to others who did not know how to play.

So quietly he had wrapped his arm in a coat and explained to Peter it would be fine for him to sleep for Grell would curl up by the intercom and listen to voices. Just listen and perhaps talk a little because it made him feel better. He wasn't upset because it hurt, no he had an unusually high pain threshold. He was upset because...

It was all so ugly. Everything. Everything was ugly. The metal in his arm was ugly. The way he was treated was ugly. This room was ugly. This situation was ugly.

Until he heard that familiar voice, Grell forcing himself to sit up though he cradled one arm uselessly to his stomach. His shirt was soaked in blood, the fabric sticky and stiff around the torso and left arm. Trembling, Grell tried to focus on Hisoka's face.

"Y-yo-you actually came here." He whispered, voice husky from dehydration and fatigue. "It doesn't h-hurt m-much it just...it just won't stop." Grell attempted to explain, offering his injured arm for inspection.

One long neat line from shoulder to wrist, the skin having been yanked open and then stitched shut with little regard for side effects.
"They took...it all out and put metal in it."

[soukahisoka]

Hisoka blanched, and took Grell's half-ruined arm, very carefully, in his shaking hands. The stitches were neat and looked professional, but the wound that had been sutured had to be deep, for the stitches to be so huge... and then Grell explained in that soft little broken voice, and Hisoka's eyes widened as he stared up at Grell.

"They put metal in your arm," he said slowly. "Grell --"

He had to bite off the rest of the sentence, because there were no words.

Hisoka laid the blanket he had brought with him out on the floor, a set and determined expression on his face, and tore down the length of it. Then he removed the blood-stained coat Grell had wrapped around his limb, trying to be as gentle as he could while he fashioned a quick sling.

"Try not to move this arm," Hisoka told Grell firmly. "The stitches may burst open. We're human now, Grell. They've taken our powers, our healing -- and humans bleed, and take a long time to heal."

Once Hisoka had realized that there was medication in the food and that his empathy was gone, he'd tested whether his healing was gone by punching the wall. It had hurt, and his knuckles were still a little scraped. Everything was gone -- everything. He pushed blond bangs out of his eyes and leaned forward to examine Grell's soaked shirt. He didn't want to say this, but hell, it was just, what, medical necessity, he wasn't going to cringe from it like some baby --

"Grell, maybe you should take off your shirt. It's not good for it to stick to the wound. I can try to help."