@onceweak cont. from here.
Exhaustion sits bone-deep; what energy had not been sapped by the fight was drained by the snow and blood-loss. Even now he feels the chill, the cold of death, narrowly avoided. He barely lacks the strength to turn his face away, sluggishly tilting it to one side, away, to hide the majority of his features from the General’s inspection. He is not for ogling. Especially not now -- the bandages covering the wound on his face feel stiff with plasma, with dried blood. He cannot know the extent of the damage -- only remembers the burning agony of it, the arcing, blinding pain that had sent him reeling. And even then, how he’d struggled to sit up, to right himself, to find his feet -- but oh, cruel defeat! He had not been allowed even that dignity.
Instead he had collapsed, a crumpled heap, a failure. He certainly feels it. Everything aches, and his consciousness wavers, darkness hovering at the edges of his vision. Some desperate, aching part of him wishes for nothing more than to succumb once more, to let himself slip into the bliss of oblivion. Some part of him wishes to argue with the General -- that, at least, would feel normal. He wishes to snap back that it doesn’t matter if he’s awake or not -- his privacy should be respected regardless.
He cannot bring himself to do so. Instead, he remains almost painfully quiet; his breathing is shallow, a quiet, echoing rattle in it as death might yet try to claim him still. That is not the case; he knows that, he feels that. Some part of him is...disappointed. He dare not dwell. Kylo’s eyes close -- pain sparks through the one affected by the saber slash, but at least, so far as he can tell, he has not lost sight in it. Small mercies. His lips press into a line, and fear twists his gut at Hux’s words, sudden and sharp -- his Master is not tolerant of failure, and this, this is a catastrophe that defies all reasonable expectations. Kylo wants to say no. No, not to him, anything but that. Kylo wants to run away. Neither are options. He cannot run. He will not beg.
“ --- very well.” Acquiescence, soft, softer, perhaps, than Hux has ever heard him speak, particularly without the pitching distortions of his mask’s vocoder.