Chapter Text
Patter patter...patter......pat—t—e—r... . . . . Cool!
Whatever that thing was, it's gone!
...He thinks?
Honestly, it's kind of hard to know when his only good-enough eye is reduced to......he hopes it's salvageable. He doesn't know why he's posed like this [he does!]—peeking around the wall corner "carefully scanning for infecteds" like he actually could. Yet, he was going to continue doing so...until he realized it wasn't working.
Discard started to pull away from the wall edge and slowly...very...slowly...felt his way back to Guido and Rossum.
Guido was audibly crying, and probably into his sleeve[...?]. Upon seeing Discard straining his body to face them, Rossum would've liked to reach out and help...if Guido wasn't so determined to control both hands...to do nothing.
...
...
...
Guido doesn't want to see it again—never ever again. If...if it looked gross the first time, then it'll probably be just as horrific in the second round. It's repulsive, revolting, festering—dear god, he's going to die. Discard is going to die, and there's nothing he could do about it—BUT it's okay! Yes, it's going to be okay, because somehow, that scar will be fixed up. The worst of the worst didn't come true yet [because it's not so bad]. He's just overreacting [like he always does! YES!]. That's right! That's completely right!—["...I just..."]—Discard is saying something [great, he's not dead[yet]]...something...along the lines o—
"Hey, c'mon—don't stress 'bout it, man!" Guido feels a firm, assured grasp on his bicep first, which then starts to readjust up to his shoulder [like climbing...it's shaky]. Guido doesn't remove his face from his hands, but he has stopped crying at this point. All that's being exerted now are shaky, half-audible inhales and exhales. Rossum is grimacing as the only emotional response to this situation [something he can only assume neither party could see].
And this is not visible to either, but Guido's mouth is kind of starting to...struggle between a frown and grin. This situation is absurd......absurd!
Everything that could go wrong...gone wrong!
But it's okay. Because it's—...it's not the worst thing.
He felt a tug on his right arm, which is to assume Discard's dying wish was to see how distraught he've made him.
"What, would you like to stay in this stuffy place forever?" Discard continues...playfully! Smoothly. Yes, the cadence is normal [...he hopes so...he's mustering everything he could to control it]—Guido couldn't help but look up out of curiosity. Hoping he's facing the right direction, Discard tries to muster up a big shit-eating grin, which he heard is one of his classic looks. "I mean, ha, if you like this little dark corner, we'll stay all you want! I don't mind," he hums while relaxing against the wall they're at. Steady and calm...yes, very in character. "But...I heard the next floor is just as nice."
...[?]...Honestly...with how quiet it was, he would've tried to feel around for them...yeah, he was going to until—
"I'm no doctor," Guido mumbled with frustration [was it to himself or...?], "would wool over a wound do more damage?" Okay, faced away from him...must've been for Rossum. Discard felt the arm sleeve [that he's been clutching the whole time] start to tug down in a strain, which he scrambled to stopped.
"What're you dooooiing—?"
He can't see the disbelief in Guido's face at that. "I'm making sure you don't bleed out is what I'm doing!"
"Yeeeeaaah, I hear ya, haha..but I swear there's something about sweat and humidity and germs and wound infections," Discard did a pause for dramatic effect. "Ooh...if I get an infection, whew would it be—" Guido face-planted into Discard's shoulder with a frustrated groan. He knew talk like that would only spike Guido's nerves bad, but...[Sorry, pal! You shouldn't waste such a snazzy sweater on me.] "But...y'know," Discard started up again with a more comforting tone that perked Guido up, "I heard we have our very own doctor!" Discard then decided to wipe his eye scar's blood residue with his forearm like it was sweat, which unsurprisingly prompted a horrified gasp from Guido.
Discard jumped right back up on his feet while clinging onto their sleeve, which was also a pitiful attempt at dragging the brothers up [pitiful for the fact that Discard's scrawnier frame barely made a stir of movement in them]. Guido distressingly questioned as Discard tried to remove them all from their hiding spot, "What's happeni—what are you DOING?"
"I don't like being dead weight," Discard answered, "in the literal sense, y'know?" It was supposed to come out as playful, but there was a sadness in the tone that made both Guido and Rossum furrow. "You're close, real close, and I just—...don't ditch our research quota for a guy like me."
…Right.
With a more assured(-ish) posture and a sharp inhale, Guido gripped tightly onto Discard’s hand as he hastily drags them all to their next objective.
He hates it when his nerves waste time. Adrenaline-fuel was usually the only upside to being an anxious wreck, but…but it’s okay…push that nauseous, vomiting urge down and hold onto him.