Such a lack of response towards the pain was understandable if Shinji were to recall the fact that his lieutenant had come from the Rukongai; out there, the rattle-bone sharpness of pain and thus weakness was something to be hidden. Vulnerability was to be concealed, hidden away, never exposed; weakness could be death. Such a lesson was not something a child should have to grasp at tender ages, but it happened again and again. The cunning ones, the strong ones, those who were survivors first and children second, --- those were the ones that came through the gauntlet that was those killing grounds.
Aizen had never gone into much detail of his own past; he had simply claimed he had come from a high-numbered district, one of the worst, and that had ever been enough. One where he had to steal, to kill, to run and hide and evade in order to survive. That was the law out there; the strong survived and the weaker souls died or found themselves someone stronger to protect them. Adaptation had become second nature.
Add upon that a naturally high pain tolerance and where Shinji might've been creeped out by Aizen's lack of what seemed a proper response to pain? Aizen found himself biting down on several words which wouldn't have been polite to say to his superior officer. Yet how he'd gone pale beneath the subtle, natural tan of his skin, how his body glittered with cold sweat tied in with the pain. It was obvious that the brunet was hurting, but he wasn't about to flop around like a landed fish and moan about it either.
He was nothing so monolithic nor untouchable as that; he was simply a man, who had returned with the understanding that he had been responsible for that command -- that he had failed those who had gone out with him. The bodies that had been recovered were but proof of his own inadequacy. Not fast enough, not smart enough, not strong enough ---- something that he had to change. To do better. To become better.
❝ I'll hush when you're not adding extra to the injury, sir, ❞ came the grating snap from Aizen's mouth, a more rancorous bite than he'd normally have displayed beforehand. Yes, that Hollow had truly done a fair amount to lay his thigh open and he shuddered once again as his thigh was lowered once more and onto the chair. Did wood crack beneath the pressure of that hold he had on the chair? It might have.
He had already cleaned those wounds, stitched up the gashes, and yet the lifting of his thigh had popped a few of those threads - simply helping to undo part of what he'd already put into place.
❝ I don't want to seem critical--- ❞ Despite that bite in his voice saying that he was, indeed, being just that- ❝ but I had already patched it up. It had been fine before y--- ❞
The Kaido from Shinji burned despite that warm glow, making muscles twitch and tighten in Aizen's back as he hissed again, the grinding of tooth against tooth probably much more audible now than not. No, Shinji was certainly not a master of Kaido, and it showed. But did the talking back from his supposedly perfect lieutenant reassure the man? Did it show that there was something beyond the eager to please puppy that Aizen seemed to be? It might have, or it might not.
Aizen's shoulders were tight, knotting up with a sharp sort of agony thanks to the way it worked. No, his captain didn't have the same grasp on this that Unohana did at all; it was enough to make him close his eyes for a second. No, his hand hadn't shaken when he'd stitched himself up; Aizen had simply dealt with it the same way he had dealt with other things; a cold, sharp understanding that simply boiled down to doing what needed to be done. If there had been shaking, then it'd been the result of adrenaline and pain.
Or maybe he simply had insisted that his hand hadn't shaken when it had.
Aizen was quite good at telling himself many things and had been for most of his life up until now. But the stitches were relatively neat, apart from where a few had popped thanks to the flexing of his leg caused by the hand that had lifted it so much. But he was breathing sharply by now, blunt nails digging hard into the wood of the seat he was made to sit upon with a low growling huff rising from his throat.
❝ I would rather not, sir, if this is what counts as your bedside manner. After all, I could have handled it on my own. I've done fine thus far. ❞ His voice held a breathy hint of a growl beneath the words, but nothing so strong that he might get called out on it. Then again, Aizen could take refuge in the concept that he was currently in pain and therefore a little more prone to snapping if it came down to it.
No, Aizen would far rather have spent his time simply hiding it. Of course, perhaps he would have to use his Kanzen Saimin in the future to mitigate just how hurt he had been if this happened once more -- just to avoid this seeming attempt at caring for him and his wound. Then again, he was slightly notorious for ignoring his own hurts in favor of simply keeping those wounds to himself. He had gotten a mite better since the twilight years of those purges but not enough to ever willingly go to the Fourth for treatment.
Shinji might have to drag his lieutenant there by the ear the next time this happened.
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