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[ingeniar]

telepathy | letters | action

content warning: some threads may be nsfw and contain references to drinking, violence, character death

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[ingeniar]

[ In the fog of paranoia and blood loss, Stephen's hand is a beacon and an anchor, a holding point for Tony's consciousness. He leans into it, looking up into Stephen's face, a childish vulnerability in his expression, wanting to hope and trust that he's right. Wanting, so very badly, to believe that he can help.

But -- ]

No. You can't help. Unless you help me get them out. [ He licks his dry lips and doesn't pull away, or move; he doesn't have the strength left to do it, or to resist very much at all. ]

You need to fix it. Help me do it. Or you're just gonna.. let me die.

[rehandle]

[ There's a moment where he thinks it might be enough. Where he thinks he sees some shift in Tony's face - hope, or maybe just plain exhaustion - that'll see this part over. See him place trust, stop the battle.

The moment passes. Stephen blinks with the vehemence, the certainty in the statement, drawing back just a little as if buffeted by it.

But so be it. If he needs to do this against his will, he'll just have to see it done. Stephen shifts, hand still a careful cradle, the other arm hooking the bands holding Tony's wrists together over his forearm as behind him tubes lift from their containers to drip residue into glass and bowl and floor in a bid to prevent any worse spillage when Stephen guides Tony around and down, controlling his weight with that hooked arm, settling him back onto his bloodied bed. He only eases his hand free once Tony's head is safely in his pillow.

Then it's onward to the second tube, new cloth ready to soak up tired blood. ]