singillatim | ( openish ) hear the whispers in the street

"For the record," Bigby says, moving a little closer so he can actually do what he said he'd set out to do, "You could've had someone doing this who actually knows what they're doing."

Not that Bigby has never done this before. The guy gets into way more bar fights than he'd ever want to, and it's not like he's going to doctor Swineheart for every single little thing. Hell, Bigby would rather avoid ever seeing that guy, if he can help it. He's definitely had to do this sort of thing to himself at times.

But he knows he's not good at being gentle. Even when he tries. So when he grabs the first piece of glass and pulls it out of Jason, the other will definitely be able to feel that. At least Bigby has experience enough to not make the injury worse as he pulls it out, but it's not fun! Not fun whatsoever!

It's like ripping off a band-aid though, Bigby figures. You just have to keep on going. So he moves on to the second piece right after the first, without pausing in between them, discarding the bloody pieces of the bottle on the ground.

He could have had someone who knows what they're doing pull glass bits out of him. Jason could stumble around until he finds Damian. Or bother Drake, or try and pull them out himself from this angle, but Bigby seems intent on at least making sure they're out of him before he lets Jason fuck off, and Jason's - well. He's not finding a doctor, he's not going to go looking for Damian, who will just call him out for being an idiot for getting into unnecessary brawls.

So here they are: with Jason being much too tense, and Bigby quickly pulling pieces out of him. The lack of glass in him immediately causes the bleeding to get worse, given there's nothing in there to stem the flow. His jaw clenches tight with every piece that's removed, but he doesn't react outside of that. He's experienced worse, this is nothing.

"How're you gonna learn if you don't practice? If you're gonna be stuck in the middle of nowhere, you may as well learn to handle flesh wounds. I doubt this's the first you've come across, and it won't be the last." Why not use Jason as a dummy, he's durable. Even if he's beginning to get a little lightheaded, it's nothing he hasn't powered through before.

Okay, Jason is definitely bleeding much more than Bigby expected. Bigby has managed to avoid getting too many injuries in this place, so he forgot that the cold might not do as much to slow the bleeding as he thought it would. The fact that Jason isn't even speaking up about it makes it even worse - like he either doesn't realize he's going to die if things stay the way they are now, or that he just doesn't care.

(The latter is more likely with everything he's said so far, but Bigby doesn't even really want to think about that option. There's a distaste for it in his mouth, not wanting anyone to think that kind of crap.)

So the moment he's done pulling out all the shards, he's already hauling Jason up. Regardless of whether or not the other might attempt to struggle, Bigby is going to try moving Jason's arm over Bigby's shoulders anyway and start trying to move with him in the direction of Bigby's house. He may not have bandages, but he has some fabric he can tear to strips, and he knows it isn't far off from this spot, thankfully.

"Alright, next step's making sure you don't bleed out," he announced as he starts to move. N-No, he doesn't care! Don't be silly about this!

"I'm not gonna bleed out."

Or he probably won't. Regardless of whatever verbal disagreement Jason's giving, he's letting Bigby manhandle his arm around the other's shoulders, less out of wanting to be manhandled and more out of - the lack of adrenaline, the blood loss, how fucking cold it is out here. It's not the kind of cold one just adjusts, but the kind that people die in when they're out in it too long. Not that he's concerned with the cold freezing him to death, it just - makes an already lethargic Jason less enthused to fight off some guy who feels the need to baby him.

He walks fine, at least; each step is stable, and he instinctively follows Bigby's gait, like he's used to blindly being dragged along. It's not trust but habit. Which speaks loud enough on its own: this isn't the first, nor the last time Jason'll find himself full of holes after a stupid fight. Even if this one was more recreational than anything else: Logan needed an outlet, Jason needed one, and Wynonna was just fine tagging along and getting into shenanigans with them.

Lips press together tight, his fucked (broken, even if he's not casting it) arm raising to shove the side of his hand against the bridge of his nose with a pained hiss.

"What's your deal anyway?"

Edited 2024-08-31 22:48 (UTC)

At least he doesn't have to full on drag Jason's body back - that's something, at least. Not to mention that if the other is still moving a little bit, it means he's still capable of doing as much, and that he's also staying awake and alert. Not doing the latter is what kills people in a place like this.

So Bigby just continues moving in the direction of his house. He knows it's not too far off, but.. well, he is moving a little slower than usually when he's trying to support Jason as he goes.

And then that question comes.

While Bigby still moves, it's just met by a gruff: "What do you mean?"

He's a little light-headed. Has been in better shape for sure, but Jason's stubborn streak has kept him relatively coherent through worse, and he can power through this also. Jason's eyes are still open, even if he's not particularly focusing them anywhere. It's more - he knows he wants to close them, but knows as soon as he lets his guard down and passes out, that's pretty much it.

Which is why he keeps talking.

"You don't know me, so I know this ain't you saving me for me. You're not a selfless, hero-type. Is it 'cause I pulled you out of the fog? Nothing better to do with your time?"

.. It's a good question.

Mostly because Bigby doesn't know it either, half of the time. Back home it was easier. Cleaning up after dumbasses had just been his job back there, one he didn't even decide to take up himself, but one that was forced upon him. But in this place.. It's not like it's his job. It's not like he has to.

And yet he keeps finding himself doing it, again and again.

There are some answers Bigby could give to that question. He's not even sure which one is the most accurate.

But rather than answering with any of that, he just says, still moving the two of them along, the house getting close by now-- "Do you really want to know?"

He doubts if he said yes that he'd get an accurate answer out of Bigby regardless. Or maybe he would. Maybe Bigby would tell Jason just what he gets out of this; if it's some sense of superiority, or if he's doing it to make up for some foul thing he did in his past, or if it's more along the lines of why Jason does it: because people are idiots and he's not going to let them be idiotic enough to just keel over, that'd be stupid.

"No." is the answer he decides to give, leaning a little more heavily on Bigby because the guy seems like he can handle it, and Jason's not carrying himself if he doesn't have to. Bigby made his choice, he can suffer the consequences.

Bigby can handle it. Even though it's not like Jason is a small guy, Bigby doesn't sway or buckle under the pressure when the other puts more of his body weight against him. Instead he just keeps moving, silently after Jason's answer - until they reach his house. He opens up the door with his free arm, dragging the other inside and onto the couch. Bigby looks around to find something to use here. A towel is the easy choice, considering Bigby is not exactly up to date on personal hygiene and doesn't use them anyway, and he starts tearing it up to strips to be able to use it as makeshift bandages.

"Alright, are you going to be able to sit still like a big boy for ten seconds while I put this on you?"

Being able to relax a little is its own kind of relief. And not one Jason often experiences. Granted, he doesn't know fuck all about this guy yet outside of his villainous history, which means he can't - fully let his guard down, but there's something about Bigby that settles something in him. Maybe it's how much Jason can relate to him, oddly.

Something for him to refuse to read further into in the future, because Jason's not psychoanalyzing himself. That's just asking for trouble. Instead, he notes the location of the house Bigby drags him into, and lets himself slump down onto the couch when he's dropped.

Raises his nonbroken hand to flip Bigby off when he starts getting sassy.

"I'm not a child."

"Start fights like one, get treated like one," Bigby simply says. Though it's likely an odd combination - verbally giving Jason shit, but at the same time still helping him. Because the flipping off and the words Jason is saying do absolutely nothing to convince Bigby to do anything else here than approach the other, starting to wrap the makeshift bandages around the wound. He figures it likely stings, since he has to make sure to wrap them tightly to keep Jason from losing any more blood than he already has, but..

Hey, he is a big boy. He can handle it, if he's handling the rest of his current state. So he's not even giving a warning for it, just continuing his work.

Bigby doesn't say anything else at first while he's busy wrapping the bandages, like he's too focused on that to add any chatter, but then--

"There. Should keep you from bleeding out, at least. If you insist on just letting it heal naturally."

Edited 2024-09-19 13:24 (UTC)

The stoic, loner act only gets Jason so far, and it can't stop the grunt of pain he gives when Bigby does tighten the towels over his wounds. Because it, you know, hurts, and unfortunately Jason can only mask so much. This isn't an adrenaline-fueled war, he's just sitting on Bigby's goddamn couch with his body shredded up.

The adrenaline would, at least, make dealing with it easier. And make hiding the pain easier, too.

Ah, well. All good things come to an end at some point.

"I'm not gonna bleed out. This's just a scratch." Or it's more than a scratch, but not so bad that Jason's all too worried. Bigby's done a decent job of tying it off, the blood should coagulate enough for his body to heal.

In the meantime, Jason's head tips back and hits the back of the couch. His eyes slide closed, and it's exhaustion paired with coming down from the high of the fight in addition to being in someone's house who he's pretty sure won't intentionally fuck him up worse, given the effort he's put into keeping Jason alive that has the tension fading from his frame and has Jason - passing out.

Not fainting from lack of blood, or falling over while conking out, or any kind of falling asleep that's worrisome with the blood loss. Just - passing out because he's tired and in a safeish space.

For a moment Bigby does worry it could be the worst version of passing out, given that Jason did lose some blood, and Bigby's standards of 'how much blood can someone lose before it becomes a real problem' are way off. It's part of the problem with having been near-immortal for so long.

As he stares at the other for a few moments though, he realizes it's more the exhausted kind of passing out. Jason really just seems like he's sleeping in every single way, and even if having a guy sleeping on his couch isn't really how Bigby imagined this would end, he's also not cruel enough to just wake Jason up and force him to get out in this state.

.. so he just.. sighs.

Then he heads into the bedroom, grabbing a spare blanket and spreading it out over Jason's body, so he at least doesn't get cold as hell on top of being injured while sleeping out here - before leaving him there like that.

He's out for a few hours. Not long enough to get a good amount of sleep, but long enough to help him recharge a bit. Even better: it gets Jason off his legs and lets his body rest. Considering the broken ribs, the broken arm, and the multiple wounds he's been recovering from over the last several weeks - well. He needs it.

But Jason suffers from being a paranoid asshole: he can't stay down for long, even when it is the kind of passing out that leaves him as dead weight on some guy's couch. He's out until he isn't, but like any well-trained Robin, he knows damn well not to make it obvious he's woken up. His breathing pattern stays steady, and he listens to any noise in the room around him. Any hints that anyone is anywhere near him. His arms twitch, then his legs. Verifying nothing is keeping him here by force. One never knows when they've been kidnapped, after all, and this wasn't a planned nap. Once he's sure he's free to go and there is no one around to catch him slinker off and out of the house, he sits up slow.

Pulls himself up to his feet with a quick look around, and lets himself on out.

So he can never talk about this again.

( openish ) hear the whispers in the street

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i lost this so here i am, months later.

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