[ how sonic's gotten himself into this big of a mess is beyond him.
how did it start? where was he? did he even have his weapons on him? who was it that actually reduced him to a struggling, bloody mess? ]
Shit— [ is all he can muster as he continues forward to his destination, holding on tightly to his wounded side. his grip is weak, slippery and sticky from the blood that won't stop gushing, no matter how hard he presses his bundled up scarf against the deep cut. anger courses through him in waves, a follow-up to the pangs of pain that help fuel him forward.
there's a slight inkling as to who it was, one of the only people besides saitama who has successfully brought him to his knees. it helps him reach at least a little clarity, to push through his fuzzy and clouded vision, barking out a laugh before spitting a clot of blood onto the sidewalk. the fury has him shaking slightly (it's not from the loss of blood, it just isn't, it can't be) and grinning manically, a distraction for him to focus on so he doesn't immediately pass out where anyone could find him.
it feels like it takes hours for him to return home. his real home, not one of the multiple hideouts he's scattered throughout several cities. maybe it was foolish to go back there, especially after all of this, but he had more medical supplies there than he did in his other apartments.
a meow from below is the greeting he'll receive when he, by some miracle, ends up at his front door. hey is all he says to the black cat that's peering up at him, gingerly shooing her away with a foot. getting blood on his pet was the last thing he wanted to deal with, even if his cold, black heart was somehow warm and soft for the feline.
another slurred curse rolls off his tongue, a palm flat against the wall to steady himself. sonic follows the path towards the bathroom, tripping once over a stray article of clothing, only giving it a passing glance to see if he's stopped leaving a trail behind. when crimson is still the only thing that graces his presence, he squeezes his eyes shut, almost nauseous now from just looking at it. the smell of copper does nothing to help, stopping to gag from the scent, alongside the searing pain radiating through his bones.
he thanks himself for the ordeal being short-lived, scrambling to grab at the towels in his bathroom and toss the soaked scarf to the side. replacing that with the new items in his hands does nothing to help, bleeding through all of them in mere minutes.
should he look? sonic's no stranger to violence, to the sight of the aftermath of battle, but facing his own set of wounds was somehow different. maybe he just didn't want to admit that it was all that bad, though after taking a peek, he can't help but cringe, cover it again, then tip his head back to chuckle between choked gasps.
that's the pattern he'll take for the next hour, trying hard to stitch his skin back together between brief moments of blacking out.
he's tired. he's so tired, still bleeding, and quite done with the day already.
just like everything that's transpired, he loses track of what he's doing, how much time had passed when his head hits the pillow of his futon. blindly grappling at the bedding is a huge hindrance in and of itself, hissing out from twisting in a way that he knows ripped the haphazard nursing he'd performed on himself earlier. whatever, so long as he's covered in more than just the thin, oversized shirt he'd snatched along the way, sonic won't complain, not when he's finally able to slip into blissful sleep. ]
no subject
how did it start? where was he? did he even have his weapons on him? who was it that actually reduced him to a struggling, bloody mess? ]
Shit— [ is all he can muster as he continues forward to his destination, holding on tightly to his wounded side. his grip is weak, slippery and sticky from the blood that won't stop gushing, no matter how hard he presses his bundled up scarf against the deep cut. anger courses through him in waves, a follow-up to the pangs of pain that help fuel him forward.
there's a slight inkling as to who it was, one of the only people besides saitama who has successfully brought him to his knees. it helps him reach at least a little clarity, to push through his fuzzy and clouded vision, barking out a laugh before spitting a clot of blood onto the sidewalk. the fury has him shaking slightly (it's not from the loss of blood, it just isn't, it can't be) and grinning manically, a distraction for him to focus on so he doesn't immediately pass out where anyone could find him.
it feels like it takes hours for him to return home. his real home, not one of the multiple hideouts he's scattered throughout several cities. maybe it was foolish to go back there, especially after all of this, but he had more medical supplies there than he did in his other apartments.
a meow from below is the greeting he'll receive when he, by some miracle, ends up at his front door. hey is all he says to the black cat that's peering up at him, gingerly shooing her away with a foot. getting blood on his pet was the last thing he wanted to deal with, even if his cold, black heart was somehow warm and soft for the feline.
another slurred curse rolls off his tongue, a palm flat against the wall to steady himself. sonic follows the path towards the bathroom, tripping once over a stray article of clothing, only giving it a passing glance to see if he's stopped leaving a trail behind. when crimson is still the only thing that graces his presence, he squeezes his eyes shut, almost nauseous now from just looking at it. the smell of copper does nothing to help, stopping to gag from the scent, alongside the searing pain radiating through his bones.
he thanks himself for the ordeal being short-lived, scrambling to grab at the towels in his bathroom and toss the soaked scarf to the side. replacing that with the new items in his hands does nothing to help, bleeding through all of them in mere minutes.
should he look? sonic's no stranger to violence, to the sight of the aftermath of battle, but facing his own set of wounds was somehow different. maybe he just didn't want to admit that it was all that bad, though after taking a peek, he can't help but cringe, cover it again, then tip his head back to chuckle between choked gasps.
that's the pattern he'll take for the next hour, trying hard to stitch his skin back together between brief moments of blacking out.
he's tired. he's so tired, still bleeding, and quite done with the day already.
just like everything that's transpired, he loses track of what he's doing, how much time had passed when his head hits the pillow of his futon. blindly grappling at the bedding is a huge hindrance in and of itself, hissing out from twisting in a way that he knows ripped the haphazard nursing he'd performed on himself earlier. whatever, so long as he's covered in more than just the thin, oversized shirt he'd snatched along the way, sonic won't complain, not when he's finally able to slip into blissful sleep. ]