[ The young man turns away from him and starts to walk, and Clark lets out the quietest little: ] Oh...
[ But the moment he's certain he's gone, Clark relaxes, his hand steady as it presses into his wound and his eyes shutting as his ears do the heavy lifting for him. He listens as the young man moves about, listens to the sound of moving pieces and opened compartments, and takes the minutes that they're separated to give his wound a proper look.
The lack of healing is concerning, but only in a "well, I suppose this is to be expected of the afterlife" sort of way. It's still bleeding, and Clark thinks about what the best situation for this would be-- he'd have to be a bit dizzy, wouldn't he? Somewhere along the lines of rambling too much despite his weakness, as people with blood loss tend to be? Clark Kent isn't good with anything related to violence, and so he'd have to be tense throughout the procedure of being patched up, because the victim of the violence had been him.
Wetting his lip, Clark's ears pick up his return, and once more his posture stiffens somewhat. His hand, while pressing with the same intensity he'd been taught to apply, shakes a little bit again, and even if he may not have received a greeting, he lets out a relieved little exhale all the same. ] You're back. [ The young man prepares some kind of set-up on the floor, but Clark reels back a bit in surprise when the thermos is offered his way. ]
For me? [ Obviously. ] Th-Thank you.
[ So he takes it, setting it between his thighs to open it properly, and then brings it up for a drink of water that spills a bit out of the corner of his mouth with the tremble of his hand. Embarrassing.
Closing the thermos is an equally tough ordeal, but he manages despite the clatter of metal failing to put itself back together. ] I, um... I think I'm going to, uh, squirm either way? [ Clark pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles, apologetic in the soft curve of his mouth. ]
But you've laid that out for me. [ And Clark isn't the medical expert, here. ] It'll probably be better if I'm d-down, won't it?
no subject
[ But the moment he's certain he's gone, Clark relaxes, his hand steady as it presses into his wound and his eyes shutting as his ears do the heavy lifting for him. He listens as the young man moves about, listens to the sound of moving pieces and opened compartments, and takes the minutes that they're separated to give his wound a proper look.
The lack of healing is concerning, but only in a "well, I suppose this is to be expected of the afterlife" sort of way. It's still bleeding, and Clark thinks about what the best situation for this would be-- he'd have to be a bit dizzy, wouldn't he? Somewhere along the lines of rambling too much despite his weakness, as people with blood loss tend to be? Clark Kent isn't good with anything related to violence, and so he'd have to be tense throughout the procedure of being patched up, because the victim of the violence had been him.
Wetting his lip, Clark's ears pick up his return, and once more his posture stiffens somewhat. His hand, while pressing with the same intensity he'd been taught to apply, shakes a little bit again, and even if he may not have received a greeting, he lets out a relieved little exhale all the same. ] You're back. [ The young man prepares some kind of set-up on the floor, but Clark reels back a bit in surprise when the thermos is offered his way. ]
For me? [ Obviously. ] Th-Thank you.
[ So he takes it, setting it between his thighs to open it properly, and then brings it up for a drink of water that spills a bit out of the corner of his mouth with the tremble of his hand. Embarrassing.
Closing the thermos is an equally tough ordeal, but he manages despite the clatter of metal failing to put itself back together. ] I, um... I think I'm going to, uh, squirm either way? [ Clark pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles, apologetic in the soft curve of his mouth. ]
But you've laid that out for me. [ And Clark isn't the medical expert, here. ] It'll probably be better if I'm d-down, won't it?