The Host had woken up screaming and sobbing in the middle of the night, blood pouring down his face, soaking his bandages and ruining the bedsheets, the pillows, the mattress -- his bandages had slipped down his nose, staring to reveal the pits of his sockets that seemed endless in the dark. When Yancy had tried to get up to get -- something, anything to help him, or clean him up, the Host had clung to him, his hands shaking as he gripped Yancy's shirt, and his voice had sounded broken when he spoke.
Send me ’ please… don’t go ‘ for my muse’s reaction to yours saying this.
Adrenaline pumping, Yancy’s hands trembled as he placed them on Host’s back as firm as he dared. Even with the direct pressure, they didn’t still. They didn’t still, and they were slick with the blood that had already poured out of Host’s eyes while they had slept, before the screaming had woken them both. His front was all warm, and his shirt felt heavy around his lover’s grip on it, despite it being tight.
It was dark, but there was a certain darkness that those holes contained that made him know he wasn’t looking at the Host’s bandages. How could he be, with it as bloody as it was? Breath stolen momentarily, as he had no clue what to even start with, brain unable to form the curses he usually held in a panic, Yancy finally just fully hugged him tight. Trapping the Host’s hands, and arms, between their chests as he clutched at him like he was going to keep over if he didn’t hold him up, and with all the blood, it was entirely possible. Mouth opening in a stuttered attempt of trying to say something, before he finally started when he remembered he was a fucking prison Boss. He’s held people he beat the shit out of himself, waiting for medics to come while he kept them calm. He could do this for his own boyfriend, for gods sake.
“Sh-shhhh.” Voice still raspy, yet panicky, Yance gulped before continuing much calmer. It didn’t mean he was any calmer, however. “Shhh. Babe, I ain’t leavin’. ‘S okay! Bu’- we needs ta ge’ youse ta tha Doc. Shhhhh.”