[ always, even in the absence of hope, trying to survive. his life's story boiled down to a fortune-cookie sentiment he'd crush up and toss in a bin himself if he could. is that beautiful? reality hardly ever is.
instead it's this: pain receptors on overdrive fighting for dominance and losing out to the overwhelming reminder that the ones left behind have to carry their grief and their guilt and — he's gonna blame himself for this too, isn't he? fuck that. fuck this. badou's not gonna be another flower in heine's box.
one hand, down, out for the count. that's where most of the pain is, centralized around his wrist that's probably bent at an awkward angle, but some of it's on his back too, his head. skin raw and brain rattled where the metal of the safety deposit boxes dig into him without forgiveness and, oh yeah, he can't breathe anymore, that's gonna be a problem soon, but it's fine, it's okay, he can still work with this.
more specifically: he can still work with the other hand, the one that'd managed to grab for the empty deposit box on the table before not-heine decided he'd had enough of him. brain switching off to let instinct take over and take that second actual-heine offers him to slam the flat of the metal against the softest parts of heine's head and fuck, fuck, how hard is hard enough?
(in the end, what actually ended up saving badou's life wasn't the dog's weakness, but heine's strength. maybe that's the beautiful thing about humans.) ]
no subject
instead it's this: pain receptors on overdrive fighting for dominance and losing out to the overwhelming reminder that the ones left behind have to carry their grief and their guilt and — he's gonna blame himself for this too, isn't he? fuck that. fuck this. badou's not gonna be another flower in heine's box.
one hand, down, out for the count. that's where most of the pain is, centralized around his wrist that's probably bent at an awkward angle, but some of it's on his back too, his head. skin raw and brain rattled where the metal of the safety deposit boxes dig into him without forgiveness and, oh yeah, he can't breathe anymore, that's gonna be a problem soon, but it's fine, it's okay, he can still work with this.
more specifically: he can still work with the other hand, the one that'd managed to grab for the empty deposit box on the table before not-heine decided he'd had enough of him. brain switching off to let instinct take over and take that second actual-heine offers him to slam the flat of the metal against the softest parts of heine's head and fuck, fuck, how hard is hard enough?
(in the end, what actually ended up saving badou's life wasn't the dog's weakness, but heine's strength. maybe that's the beautiful thing about humans.) ]