[Sano tries to both get out of Shinpachi's way as the other man untangles himself from the bottom of the closet, as well as not move at all. Both are not possible, of course, and he has to bite back a cry of pain as he shifts just enough for Shinpachi to get out. He can't tell if he's still bleeding or if he's going numb at this point and a part of him doesn't want to look and find out. But Shinpachi's right, he needs to do a better job of wrapping up his leg instead of relying on his original rushed job.
He doesn't want Shinpachi to go out there on his own, either, but it's obvious out of the two of them who can play reconnaissance better right now. So he just nods and reaches up again for another shirt.
...His arms feel a little weak and his fingers are going kind of numb. Shit.
But he doesn't stop. He raises the shirt to his mouth and, using his teeth, starts to rip it apart so he has more standard bandages. He's getting to be a little to familiar with this kind of process. The thought is ridiculous and he lets out a weak chuckle as he changes the makeshift bandages as quickly as he can, tossing the bloody shirt out into the room.
Pull everything tight, but not too tight.
Then he attempts to pull himself up again, but when he doesn't have anything to grab onto within easy reach, his legs buckle beneath him, and he's sure all the work he's just done is going to be for naught. Because fuck that hurts and it burns and he cries out for real this time.
It's embarrassing how weak he's become in just a matter of minutes. What happened to the Sano who was dragging himself all over the kitchen counter and throughout the apartment, somehow hobbling on one good leg and one leg that probably doesn't even work anymore?
...Without that adrenaline he really is just a weak, pathetic human. Why does this shit keep getting drilled into his head?]
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He doesn't want Shinpachi to go out there on his own, either, but it's obvious out of the two of them who can play reconnaissance better right now. So he just nods and reaches up again for another shirt.
...His arms feel a little weak and his fingers are going kind of numb. Shit.
But he doesn't stop. He raises the shirt to his mouth and, using his teeth, starts to rip it apart so he has more standard bandages. He's getting to be a little to familiar with this kind of process. The thought is ridiculous and he lets out a weak chuckle as he changes the makeshift bandages as quickly as he can, tossing the bloody shirt out into the room.
Pull everything tight, but not too tight.
Then he attempts to pull himself up again, but when he doesn't have anything to grab onto within easy reach, his legs buckle beneath him, and he's sure all the work he's just done is going to be for naught. Because fuck that hurts and it burns and he cries out for real this time.
It's embarrassing how weak he's become in just a matter of minutes. What happened to the Sano who was dragging himself all over the kitchen counter and throughout the apartment, somehow hobbling on one good leg and one leg that probably doesn't even work anymore?
...Without that adrenaline he really is just a weak, pathetic human. Why does this shit keep getting drilled into his head?]