The cloth on his forehead feels cool and that's all that matters right now. If he focuses on that he can ignore the burning of the bites on his arms and the way his fingers itch to type but his mind has forgotten the keys.
From the moment Bro pulled him from the wreckage he knew he was probably done. He'd wrecked the car so fucking completely that it had taken his brother ten minutes just to find the quickest way to tear it open. The ride had been a haze of his brother speaking as calmly as he fucking could while Dirk bled all over the inside of the car and muttered quiet, incoherent things into Cal's shoulder. It was nothing short of a miracle that he made it home, that he was here - a week later, infected and in a constant game of touch and go, even if it wasn't one that saw fit to heal him. The bandages, painkillers, and salve did what they could, kept him balanced on that edge between life and death.
But he felt awful. ]
Dave. Get me my notebook. [ His voice is slurred and heavy, nothing at all like the controlled, concise delivery it once had. Probably the drugs, maybe Roxy's martini, who knows. It's a stupid request and he knows it - he can't sit up to type, and even if he could he's been having a hard time lately deciphering certain words. ]
angst - 3 because dave has yet to be traumatized by dead zstuck siblings jashda
The cloth on his forehead feels cool and that's all that matters right now. If he focuses on that he can ignore the burning of the bites on his arms and the way his fingers itch to type but his mind has forgotten the keys.
From the moment Bro pulled him from the wreckage he knew he was probably done. He'd wrecked the car so fucking completely that it had taken his brother ten minutes just to find the quickest way to tear it open. The ride had been a haze of his brother speaking as calmly as he fucking could while Dirk bled all over the inside of the car and muttered quiet, incoherent things into Cal's shoulder. It was nothing short of a miracle that he made it home, that he was here - a week later, infected and in a constant game of touch and go, even if it wasn't one that saw fit to heal him. The bandages, painkillers, and salve did what they could, kept him balanced on that edge between life and death.
But he felt awful. ]
Dave. Get me my notebook. [ His voice is slurred and heavy, nothing at all like the controlled, concise delivery it once had. Probably the drugs, maybe Roxy's martini, who knows. It's a stupid request and he knows it - he can't sit up to type, and even if he could he's been having a hard time lately deciphering certain words. ]