@whiskeyregrxts || continued
Clint’s really fucking tired of coming across people that are stubborn as hell. At least Matt accepts the fact that he’s hurt and doesn’t try to ignore the fact he’s been shot. Usually. His boyfriend sometimes forgot to mention important things like that.
He’s almost fast enough to catch her body before she falls completely over. At least he manages to get a hand underneath her head so that she doesn’t crack it open on the pavement.
Clint can tell just by looking that he’s out of his depth. Whatever he could do on his own with very limited supplies (his shirt and belt) wouldn’t be enough to keep her alive long. Maybe long enough for an ambulance.
“Really fuckin’ hate Hell’s Kitchen. Brooklyn is so much better,” Clint mutters as he applies pressure. He’s already got the police on the phone, having called the moment he saw Jessica was bleeding. He’s not sure what’s being said over the phone, it’s too far away from him to hear clearly, but he rambles off the address a few times and says that a woman’s been shot.
“Wake up. C’mon, wake up! Don’ make me call Matt. He’s a lot scarier. Even has horns.”