[ Consciousness comes and goes in blurry fragments. 'Hang in there,' Eustace tells him, and Gen barely registers those words. The connection between them flickers completely shut for a long moment before shuttering back open; it stays open for a while as Eustace runs, waves of pain seeping through like a cold mist before falling off again. Gen blinks awake without remembering having passed out, unsure of how long he's lost consciousness. He doesn't remember having replaced his shard, either. Everything's starting to feel cold, he can't feel his fingers any more, and his eyelids are terribly heavy.
Gen next blinks awake to the feel of Eustace's fingers at his throat, measuring his pulse. ]
... Eustace.
[ His tongue feels heavy in his mouth; each sound emerges slurred and indistinct between shallow breaths. But still he expends what precious little energy he has left saying that name because it's a tiny flicker of warmth that cuts through the chill that had been settling into his lungs. It's relief, he'll realize in retrospect. It's relief that helps him hang on for just a little longer. Relief that he might not die, certainly, but even more than that, relief that Eustace really had come to help him. That promise hadn't been a lie.
He passes out again, and his next awakening isn't quite so peaceful.
As expected, getting jostled as Eustace picks him up is more than enough to send a jolt of burning pain through what's left of his arm. Gen ends up inadvertently flinching in Eustace's grip as he gives a keening noise of distress; for Eustace, the way he weakly tries to curl in smaller, as if attempting to shy away from what's hurting him, must be a discomfortingly far cry from the bluster and swagger of his usual posture. The only thing that makes Eustace's job easier is that he simply doesn't have the strength to put up any more of a struggle than that very cursory attempt.
His forehead comes to rest against Eustace's shoulder as he body slowly grows lax once more. But if Eustace assumes that means his charge has lost consciousness -- for better or for worse -- that isn't quite correct. Yet. ]
-- Eustace. [ The low murmur of Gen's voice is almost lost beneath the sound of Eustace's boots thumping off the pavement and the thud of his own pulse. But if he listens closely, maybe he can make out those low words rasped out between shallow breaths. ] If I die ... it's not your fault.
[ 'Murder comes with its own set of repercussions,' Eustace had said to him so many weeks ago. He knows that. He's known it for years. He knows the way that having a death on your hands makes a leaden weight sink into the pit of your stomach, an acrid presence that doesn't ever go away, sitting there and slowly burning your insides to soot. And he knows what it's like, to have that burden foisted upon you -- and what it's like to have that go unacknowledged. (Reiji's words echo in the back of his mind. 'Even if you tell me that, I can't shoulder it.' He remembers hollow eyes looking at him, utterly empty. Fundamentally apathetic towards the truth. A sight that still makes his blood run cold.)
That ... that is an injury he doesn't want to inflict on Eustace, not by his hands. Not like this. Especially not when a small part of him welcomes the crackles of darkness encroaching upon the edges of his vision. If Eustace doesn't get him help quickly enough to save his life then, well. It is what it is. Everything feels cold. Just blinking takes so much effort now. Gen isn't sure if he's saying the words out loud any more when he mumbles, ]
no subject
Gen next blinks awake to the feel of Eustace's fingers at his throat, measuring his pulse. ]
... Eustace.
[ His tongue feels heavy in his mouth; each sound emerges slurred and indistinct between shallow breaths. But still he expends what precious little energy he has left saying that name because it's a tiny flicker of warmth that cuts through the chill that had been settling into his lungs. It's relief, he'll realize in retrospect. It's relief that helps him hang on for just a little longer. Relief that he might not die, certainly, but even more than that, relief that Eustace really had come to help him. That promise hadn't been a lie.
He passes out again, and his next awakening isn't quite so peaceful.
As expected, getting jostled as Eustace picks him up is more than enough to send a jolt of burning pain through what's left of his arm. Gen ends up inadvertently flinching in Eustace's grip as he gives a keening noise of distress; for Eustace, the way he weakly tries to curl in smaller, as if attempting to shy away from what's hurting him, must be a discomfortingly far cry from the bluster and swagger of his usual posture. The only thing that makes Eustace's job easier is that he simply doesn't have the strength to put up any more of a struggle than that very cursory attempt.
His forehead comes to rest against Eustace's shoulder as he body slowly grows lax once more. But if Eustace assumes that means his charge has lost consciousness -- for better or for worse -- that isn't quite correct. Yet. ]
-- Eustace. [ The low murmur of Gen's voice is almost lost beneath the sound of Eustace's boots thumping off the pavement and the thud of his own pulse. But if he listens closely, maybe he can make out those low words rasped out between shallow breaths. ] If I die ... it's not your fault.
[ 'Murder comes with its own set of repercussions,' Eustace had said to him so many weeks ago. He knows that. He's known it for years. He knows the way that having a death on your hands makes a leaden weight sink into the pit of your stomach, an acrid presence that doesn't ever go away, sitting there and slowly burning your insides to soot. And he knows what it's like, to have that burden foisted upon you -- and what it's like to have that go unacknowledged. (Reiji's words echo in the back of his mind. 'Even if you tell me that, I can't shoulder it.' He remembers hollow eyes looking at him, utterly empty. Fundamentally apathetic towards the truth. A sight that still makes his blood run cold.)
That ... that is an injury he doesn't want to inflict on Eustace, not by his hands. Not like this. Especially not when a small part of him welcomes the crackles of darkness encroaching upon the edges of his vision. If Eustace doesn't get him help quickly enough to save his life then, well. It is what it is. Everything feels cold. Just blinking takes so much effort now. Gen isn't sure if he's saying the words out loud any more when he mumbles, ]
The blame ... isn't on you.