[Damn it. He could hear Jean getting hurt. Rushing in like that to buy him some time... Because he was too weak. Wasn't that it? But he couldn't focus on that. He had to focus on what he could do. And there were torches already made for lighting.
It took just a few strikes to light a flame, and the hall lit up with light around Armin. He doesn't hesitate to grab a second and light it with the existing flame and rush forward, calling out to his friend.]
Jean, pull back! [He'll see why soon enough, as Armin shoves one of the torches at the bandages of a foe, watching the old, dusty cloth burst into flames with ease. The fire spreads all too quickly, as well, and soon enough there isn't so much of a light problem so much as a screaming enemy problem.]
Whoa! [Even with the warning, the flames cut a bit close. He trips back, catching himself on the wall as the monsters screech and collapse under the flames.
Jean waits until they're dead before glancing at Armin, taking advantage of their moment of peace.]
You're a pretty frightening guy when you're useful.
[There's a pull of a smile as he speaks, pushing off the wall and giving him a hard pat on the back. Grabs a torch of his own and lights it from Armin's.]
[Jean brings his own torch to the door to better examine it, touching the stone. It's too smooth for a good handhold. Crouching down, he tries to scoot his fingers underneath. No-go. Sighing, he looks back up to Armin.]
[Either way, that would be ideal. But he's still focused on these images. Old paintings of some sort that resembled the creatures they'd faced so far... He steps over the ashes and bones of their previously defeated foes to continue along the trail of art.
It looked like there were things that they hadn't run across yet. Some kind of small creature attacking groups of men? That doesn't bode well.
He turns back to Jean, stepping closer to examine the tears of his clothing and the skin beneath it.]
I have some bandages on me. Here... [An implied 'hold on while I get them' as he passes off his torch for Jean to hold and starts rifling around in his things.]
[Jean holds up a hand to refuse it.] Forget it. It doesn't hurt enough. I'll patch it up when we get out of here.
[Standing and raising his torch, he brushes past Armin to squint at the drawings. While some of the monsters are recognizable, most of them he just brushes off. Some things are just too ludicrous to exist. He turns down the hallway, shining his light far enough to see.]
Let's stop wasting time and get to finding the way out of here. Come on.
[SETTING OFF DOWN DARK CORRIDORS ALONE IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA.]
Wait, we shouldn't rush ahead like that! From what's shown on the walls...
[He's quickly stepping to follow after Jean, though, waving his torch to view the drawings that continue along this hall. Men dying in various ways, tales that involve sacrifice...] There could be more to worry about.
[More than what they've already solved with fire, he means.
Ah, but his timing really is the worst with these sort of realizations, and just shortly after mentioning this, his torch waves around to find not any more drawings on the wall, but a thick crack, with a few large bugs crawling hurriedly out of it. The minute they spot the light, they move towards it with startling speed, and Armin stumbles back in surprise when they begin trying to crawl up him as well.]
Whoa--! [It might seem like a harmless case of fear of bugs at first, but the second one lucky scarab makes it to his leg, it burrows viciously through his pants and then the skin beneath it, drawing out a more pained, startled yell as he stumbles back into the wall behind him.]
[The yell doubles him back, dashing down the hall as fast as he can and skidding to a halt. A quick glance is all he needs to get a handle on the situation, stomping a few bugs underfoot before grabbing Armin's arm and stepping in front of him.]
These monsters hate fire, right?
[It's an actual question that he doesn't have time to answer. The bugs are approaching too quickly. Jean waves the torch low hoping to either scare them off or burn them. Neither happens.
Attracted to the light and flesh, the scarabs skitter closer, one crawling up Jean's skin before he quickly squashes it.]
Shit! It's not working! Run. Run!
[Pushing Armin back and still (futilely) trying to distract the scarabs away from him.]
[He's quick to start squashing them as well, but he can feel that a few have made their way under his skin. And then Jean's suggestion makes the best sense. They need to get away from these coming out of the cracks and find a quiet spot before they can deal with anything else.
Biting back another pained noise, he stumbles to recover from the push Jean gave him in help and reaches back to grab at whatever cloth he can get a hold on from Jean's shirt. (What remained of his shirt, at least.)]
Hurry! If we can find a corner to turn it might hide the light enough!
[Hard as he tries to keep them at bay, some of the scarabs crawl up his legs, seeking out his partially bare chest. Swatting them off best he can, he gives in to Armin's tug, turning on his heel and sprinting after him.]
Keep an eye out for–[One of the scarabs reaches his wound and takes the opening gratefully, tucking into it. Jean's warning is interrupted by a pained shout. His running slows, to a trot, one hand going to claw and grip at where the bug slipped in.]
Armin...
[He drifts off mid-request. What was he going to do? Ask him to stop? Biting his lip to distract himself from the pain of the bug burrowing, he picks up after him once again.]
[He can hear Jean's voice falter in the way his name is called there, but he's too focused ahead of them, determinedly staring down the hall. They're faster than the scarabs, which helps a lot, but at this rate they'd tire out and get overrun, and the ones already beneath his skin were moving all too slowly with his muscles moving like this. It was excruciating.
Thinking quickly, he grips his torch tight and raises it before chucking it far down the hall. It goes a good distance before hitting the ground and rolling, flames flickering all the while. Grabbing at Jean once more-- this time more solidly at his arm rather than clothing-- he tugs him harshly around the next corner, holding his breath and using his hands to keep Jean in place as he watched the rest of the scarabs scurry blindly past them and towards the light source.
Sight likely wasn't their best feature.
It's one minor relief in the span of things, at least, but just as soon as it comes, the three to four scarabs are taking in their new-found freedom of movement and crawling up Armin's body from the inside. Yelling out a bit from it, he stumbles in place, grabbing and patting at himself to try and stop them in place.]
[They can't get a moment's rest. Jean tries to thank Armin (again) but the blatant display of pain distracts him. Reversing their grips, he pulls him closer and the torch high, putting them both underneath a clear light. It's easy to see the lumps in the skin this way.]
Shit. They got all over you.
[Testing, he runs his fingers over one of them, seeing if it'll move. No dice. There's a chance they could squash them but it'd be a stupid move. It's like a poison–they need to get it out.
Forcing the torch into Armin's palm, he nods to the floor, sheathing one blade.] Sit down.
[Carefully, he takes the blade in his hands and snaps it over his knee. There's a few casualties–his pants tear and blood wells in fresh cuts–but they're shallow and can be dealt with later. For now, he takes the shorter blade and forces Armin's hand above their heads.]
We're gonna have to cut them out. [Meeting his eyes as he says that in a quiet question: "Are you okay with that?"]
[His pain tolerance had never been high, and so the sensation of these scarabs burrowing up through his skin and clawing at anything they could was a little too much. He clutches the torch tightly, but his arm is shaking a bit no matter how hard he worked to keep himself still. There was one on his upper thigh by now, another on the calf of his other leg, and one making its way up past his hip bone.
His eyes meet Jean's. It's hard not to feel fear or pain, but he's just as determined, as well.]
Just make sure to do it quickly; they keep moving around.
[It's just when he speaks, though, that the movement on Jean's chest catches his attention, and his eyes flick over immediately.]
Wait, Jean, that one in your chest--! [What are you doing, take care of that one first!]
[Jean tries not to think too much about the positioning of the bugs. He starts at the hipbone, using one hand to stretch the skin as he delicately slices the skin. It doesn't go smoothly. The bug inside his chest crawls over and through muscles at an excruciating pace. As a result, the straight line gets caught and strays.]
Sorry.
[Muttered distractedly as the fresh cut opens and reveals the bug below. Jean stabs it quickly, removing it while tearing off an already torn section of his shirt.] This'll probably hurt.
[But he needs to stop the bleeding somehow, pressing the fabric against it while his fingers ghost over the scarab on his thigh.] We'll get it after–[A wince. The scarab moves higher.] after yours are out. Take off your pants.
[That cut gets a flinch and a gasp of pain out of Armin, but he does his best to sit still afterwards, eyes still fixed on Jean's chest. The more Jean goes on, the more he's processing old things through his mind, remembering the pictures from earlier. Bugs crawling into men and the men grabbing at their heads and falling to their knees.
Finally, the words to treat his lesser emergencies as greater than Jean's major one gets him to snap. His free hand lurches forward to grab at Jean's wrist, stopping the blade in place and looking him firmly in the eyes.]
Jean! Yours is way too close to its target. If it gets past your neck there's no saying I'll be able to cut it out without more injury than necessary! [His grip tightens just slightly as his own scarabs burrow up further.] This isn't the time to be putting others above yourself!
[With a frown and a sharp look, he yanks his wrist away. There's an urge to protest–insist that of the two of them, he's the expendable one but truth be told he doesn't want that. There's a limit to his self-sacrifice and death is pushing it. Reluctantly–and with one eye watching the bug on Armin's thigh–he hands the blade over, taking the torch.]
Who says it'll go past–[A wince and a sharp intake of breath.]–go past my neck?
[Thank goodness. He accepts the switch off in a smooth motion, shifting so that he's at a better angle to deal with this. His free hand rests shakily against Jean's chest, splaying out his fingers in an attempt to feel more stabilized.]
The walls depict all of the creatures we've run across so far. There-- [He has to pause to wince, focusing all of his energy on the angle of the blade. Words come second.] There were ones showing those bugs. Men holding their heads and dropping to their knees before dying... They must go straight for the brain.
[Okay, there. He thinks he's ready, and he takes a slow breath in, eyes flicking up to Jean briefly before moving back to his already wounded chest.]
I'm sorry... [For how this is going to hurt, and how it'll likely be a bit clumsy. With his apology as warning out, though, he cuts into the skin above the scarab before pulling the blade back just a fraction and stabbing the thing as it showed through.]
[When the blade cuts in the torch shakes and Jean's posture straightens. A pained gasp breaks through the barrier of a bit lip and his free fist curls into the fabric of his jeans.]
Don't apologize. Just tell me if it's out.
[Or if there's another one in there. Jean glances down to check, seeing the bug pinned on his blade. He sighs in relief, picking it off and throwing it away.]
Alright, back to you.
[Taking the blade before there's any protest and gesturing towards Armin's pants.] Take them off.
[His hands are still shaking when Jean retrieves the blade. Possibly more than before. He seems to be good now, though, and so Armin let's out a short exhale as the attention is shifted back to himself. The constant reminder of bugs crawling under his skin, clawing sharply against gravity to move up, makes it so that his reaction is instant. Of course he has to take them off. Jean can't just blindly stab at him.]
R-right...
[He shifts quickly between his trembling to undo his pants, sliding them off in a quick, desperate scramble between small pained noises. The only hint that he may be embarrassed or uncomfortable about this situation is in the way his gaze is shifted downwards at himself. Not at the bugs in particular-- just at the ground. He takes the torch again, raising it above them and holding his breath a bit.]
[Jean isn't one for privacy. Spending three years in an all-men's barrack desensitizes you to such notions. He doesn't grant Armin any privileges, watching and waiting until he sits back down to grab his leg and pull him closer.]
I'll try and be quick.
[A small mercy. No reason for any enemies to catch Armin with his pants literally down. He leans over his thigh, careful not to block the light. The bug has moved higher, moving dangerously close to his hip. Jean moves quickly, cutting it open and stabbing the beetle in a surprisingly clean dip of the blade. Breathes out a shaky breath of relief, flicking the carcass away.]
That went well.
[Offers him a nervous smile before tearing off more of his shirt and hurriedly wrapping it around the new wound.] Lift up your leg. I think you have one more.
[It's a quick sting compared to the rest of everything. That's what he keeps telling himself to keep his mind off of it, and when Jean tells him to move to make the last one more visible, he listens, leaning back against the wall a bit to shift so he can lift his leg a bit.
The lighting's really unstable at this point, but he's trying his best to hold it still.]
Delicately, Jean lifts Armin's calf up with his free hand, pinpointing the bug. Holding his breath, he presses down and breaks the skin, dragging the blade down. It looks to be going smoothly–practice made perfect.
But then there are brushes against his skin, hovering momentarily before clamping down. Their claws dig in with a simple gesture and the blade moves down by accident. Jean's eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to apologize only to have two claws dip into it and pull, attempting to tear his mouth. More hands join in, digging into the bare flesh on his torso as well as tearing at his thighs and arms. Clothing rips as Jean struggles but there's no hope–the sheer number of them on him is too much for him to break away from. With surprising speed they pull him against the opposite wall, a new claw curling around his neck in a chokehold.
The blade that has now mangled Armin's leg clatters to the floor while Jean writhes and struggles, trapped.]
[The pain is blinding at first, shooting up from his leg through the rest of his body, and it falls without the support of Jean's hand. The good news is the scarab was taken care of. The bad news is that it now feels so numb (aside from the vaguely throbbing pain) that he's not sure he can move it.
But that's not important now, as he watches his friend get pulled away and nearly apart by so many arms. No--!
It didn't matter how weak he was. That it wasn't his strong point or that there were people better at him... As long as he had an understanding of what needed to be done, he was going to try his best in a situation like this. Choking out a noise between a sob and a growl, his hands grip firmly around the blade, until blood is drawn from his own palms at the grip.
Only then does he lean forward in the hallway, sliding closer and swinging the blade down in a harsh motion meant to chop those arms right off. He's careful and particular with his swings, at least, determinedly continuing with yells of determination until he's cut them all.]
[Slowly but surely the hands drop to the ground, leaving Jean stumbling to his knees, gasping for air. His clothes are torn in multiple places and with every tear comes an open wound. But at least he's free.
When he's gained enough breath to speak, he pushes up to one knee.] Thanks.
[It puts him on equal level with Armin's leg, gashed and gushing.] Sorry about the leg.
[Is there anyway he can run on it? Jean doubts it. Using the wall for support, he stands up, still panting.] We should get out of here.
[Which probably means he has to carry him. Tiredly, he half-stumbles forward and clumsily picks him up.] You pick the way.
[He's quick to state this, dropping the blade and staring down at his bloody hand. Everything was bloody by now, between the two of them. He's about halfway through that thought, though, when Jean picks him up. His face tenses up and instinctively one arm wraps around Jean's neck, the other grabbing clumsily at his arm to feel more secure.]
W-wait a second, Jean! [Rationally, he can understand that his leg would be a burden in their running away from creatures. But stubbornly, he doesn't want to cause that sort of problem for the two of them. This way, won't they move even slower?
He shifts, loosening his grip on Jean's arm and lowering it a bit, a small shift in his weight trying to keep himself from leaning on Jean's wounded chest. There are too many problems to even register that his pants are still on the ground, right now.] I can try to walk.
[He says this, but it doesn't sound so confident. Even he realizes this, pausing only briefly before nodding in a direction. One they didn't come from.] We should probably move ahead, but if you see anywhere along the way that's possible for it, we should stop to wrap these wounds and rest. If we keep up like this much longer, it's not likely we'll make it out.
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It took just a few strikes to light a flame, and the hall lit up with light around Armin. He doesn't hesitate to grab a second and light it with the existing flame and rush forward, calling out to his friend.]
Jean, pull back! [He'll see why soon enough, as Armin shoves one of the torches at the bandages of a foe, watching the old, dusty cloth burst into flames with ease. The fire spreads all too quickly, as well, and soon enough there isn't so much of a light problem so much as a screaming enemy problem.]
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Jean waits until they're dead before glancing at Armin, taking advantage of their moment of peace.]
You're a pretty frightening guy when you're useful.
[There's a pull of a smile as he speaks, pushing off the wall and giving him a hard pat on the back. Grabs a torch of his own and lights it from Armin's.]
Good thinking. Now we know what'll hurt them.
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Thanks... [He thinks. Probably. Guiding his own torch forward, he takes a few steps towards the wall, eyeing the strange markings along them.]
That door was pretty heavy. Can we even open it? [He's guessing no. But it's not like his trying will help any SOOOO...]
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Maybe we could find something to prop it open.
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[Either way, that would be ideal. But he's still focused on these images. Old paintings of some sort that resembled the creatures they'd faced so far... He steps over the ashes and bones of their previously defeated foes to continue along the trail of art.
It looked like there were things that they hadn't run across yet. Some kind of small creature attacking groups of men? That doesn't bode well.
He turns back to Jean, stepping closer to examine the tears of his clothing and the skin beneath it.]
I have some bandages on me. Here... [An implied 'hold on while I get them' as he passes off his torch for Jean to hold and starts rifling around in his things.]
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[Standing and raising his torch, he brushes past Armin to squint at the drawings. While some of the monsters are recognizable, most of them he just brushes off. Some things are just too ludicrous to exist. He turns down the hallway, shining his light far enough to see.]
Let's stop wasting time and get to finding the way out of here. Come on.
[SETTING OFF DOWN DARK CORRIDORS ALONE IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA.]
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[He's quickly stepping to follow after Jean, though, waving his torch to view the drawings that continue along this hall. Men dying in various ways, tales that involve sacrifice...] There could be more to worry about.
[More than what they've already solved with fire, he means.
Ah, but his timing really is the worst with these sort of realizations, and just shortly after mentioning this, his torch waves around to find not any more drawings on the wall, but a thick crack, with a few large bugs crawling hurriedly out of it. The minute they spot the light, they move towards it with startling speed, and Armin stumbles back in surprise when they begin trying to crawl up him as well.]
Whoa--! [It might seem like a harmless case of fear of bugs at first, but the second one lucky scarab makes it to his leg, it burrows viciously through his pants and then the skin beneath it, drawing out a more pained, startled yell as he stumbles back into the wall behind him.]
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[The yell doubles him back, dashing down the hall as fast as he can and skidding to a halt. A quick glance is all he needs to get a handle on the situation, stomping a few bugs underfoot before grabbing Armin's arm and stepping in front of him.]
These monsters hate fire, right?
[It's an actual question that he doesn't have time to answer. The bugs are approaching too quickly. Jean waves the torch low hoping to either scare them off or burn them. Neither happens.
Attracted to the light and flesh, the scarabs skitter closer, one crawling up Jean's skin before he quickly squashes it.]
Shit! It's not working! Run. Run!
[Pushing Armin back and still (futilely) trying to distract the scarabs away from him.]
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Biting back another pained noise, he stumbles to recover from the push Jean gave him in help and reaches back to grab at whatever cloth he can get a hold on from Jean's shirt. (What remained of his shirt, at least.)]
Hurry! If we can find a corner to turn it might hide the light enough!
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Keep an eye out for–[One of the scarabs reaches his wound and takes the opening gratefully, tucking into it. Jean's warning is interrupted by a pained shout. His running slows, to a trot, one hand going to claw and grip at where the bug slipped in.]
Armin...
[He drifts off mid-request. What was he going to do? Ask him to stop? Biting his lip to distract himself from the pain of the bug burrowing, he picks up after him once again.]
Have you found anything yet?
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Thinking quickly, he grips his torch tight and raises it before chucking it far down the hall. It goes a good distance before hitting the ground and rolling, flames flickering all the while. Grabbing at Jean once more-- this time more solidly at his arm rather than clothing-- he tugs him harshly around the next corner, holding his breath and using his hands to keep Jean in place as he watched the rest of the scarabs scurry blindly past them and towards the light source.
Sight likely wasn't their best feature.
It's one minor relief in the span of things, at least, but just as soon as it comes, the three to four scarabs are taking in their new-found freedom of movement and crawling up Armin's body from the inside. Yelling out a bit from it, he stumbles in place, grabbing and patting at himself to try and stop them in place.]
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Shit. They got all over you.
[Testing, he runs his fingers over one of them, seeing if it'll move. No dice. There's a chance they could squash them but it'd be a stupid move. It's like a poison–they need to get it out.
Forcing the torch into Armin's palm, he nods to the floor, sheathing one blade.] Sit down.
[Carefully, he takes the blade in his hands and snaps it over his knee. There's a few casualties–his pants tear and blood wells in fresh cuts–but they're shallow and can be dealt with later. For now, he takes the shorter blade and forces Armin's hand above their heads.]
We're gonna have to cut them out. [Meeting his eyes as he says that in a quiet question: "Are you okay with that?"]
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His eyes meet Jean's. It's hard not to feel fear or pain, but he's just as determined, as well.]
Just make sure to do it quickly; they keep moving around.
[It's just when he speaks, though, that the movement on Jean's chest catches his attention, and his eyes flick over immediately.]
Wait, Jean, that one in your chest--! [What are you doing, take care of that one first!]
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Sorry.
[Muttered distractedly as the fresh cut opens and reveals the bug below. Jean stabs it quickly, removing it while tearing off an already torn section of his shirt.] This'll probably hurt.
[But he needs to stop the bleeding somehow, pressing the fabric against it while his fingers ghost over the scarab on his thigh.] We'll get it after–[A wince. The scarab moves higher.] after yours are out. Take off your pants.
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Finally, the words to treat his lesser emergencies as greater than Jean's major one gets him to snap. His free hand lurches forward to grab at Jean's wrist, stopping the blade in place and looking him firmly in the eyes.]
Jean! Yours is way too close to its target. If it gets past your neck there's no saying I'll be able to cut it out without more injury than necessary! [His grip tightens just slightly as his own scarabs burrow up further.] This isn't the time to be putting others above yourself!
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Who says it'll go past–[A wince and a sharp intake of breath.]–go past my neck?
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The walls depict all of the creatures we've run across so far. There-- [He has to pause to wince, focusing all of his energy on the angle of the blade. Words come second.] There were ones showing those bugs. Men holding their heads and dropping to their knees before dying... They must go straight for the brain.
[Okay, there. He thinks he's ready, and he takes a slow breath in, eyes flicking up to Jean briefly before moving back to his already wounded chest.]
I'm sorry... [For how this is going to hurt, and how it'll likely be a bit clumsy. With his apology as warning out, though, he cuts into the skin above the scarab before pulling the blade back just a fraction and stabbing the thing as it showed through.]
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Don't apologize. Just tell me if it's out.
[Or if there's another one in there. Jean glances down to check, seeing the bug pinned on his blade. He sighs in relief, picking it off and throwing it away.]
Alright, back to you.
[Taking the blade before there's any protest and gesturing towards Armin's pants.] Take them off.
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R-right...
[He shifts quickly between his trembling to undo his pants, sliding them off in a quick, desperate scramble between small pained noises. The only hint that he may be embarrassed or uncomfortable about this situation is in the way his gaze is shifted downwards at himself. Not at the bugs in particular-- just at the ground. He takes the torch again, raising it above them and holding his breath a bit.]
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I'll try and be quick.
[A small mercy. No reason for any enemies to catch Armin with his pants literally down. He leans over his thigh, careful not to block the light. The bug has moved higher, moving dangerously close to his hip. Jean moves quickly, cutting it open and stabbing the beetle in a surprisingly clean dip of the blade. Breathes out a shaky breath of relief, flicking the carcass away.]
That went well.
[Offers him a nervous smile before tearing off more of his shirt and hurriedly wrapping it around the new wound.] Lift up your leg. I think you have one more.
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[It's a quick sting compared to the rest of everything. That's what he keeps telling himself to keep his mind off of it, and when Jean tells him to move to make the last one more visible, he listens, leaning back against the wall a bit to shift so he can lift his leg a bit.
The lighting's really unstable at this point, but he's trying his best to hold it still.]
Can you do it like this?
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[Although it might help if...
Delicately, Jean lifts Armin's calf up with his free hand, pinpointing the bug. Holding his breath, he presses down and breaks the skin, dragging the blade down. It looks to be going smoothly–practice made perfect.
But then there are brushes against his skin, hovering momentarily before clamping down. Their claws dig in with a simple gesture and the blade moves down by accident. Jean's eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to apologize only to have two claws dip into it and pull, attempting to tear his mouth. More hands join in, digging into the bare flesh on his torso as well as tearing at his thighs and arms. Clothing rips as Jean struggles but there's no hope–the sheer number of them on him is too much for him to break away from. With surprising speed they pull him against the opposite wall, a new claw curling around his neck in a chokehold.
The blade that has now mangled Armin's leg clatters to the floor while Jean writhes and struggles, trapped.]
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[The pain is blinding at first, shooting up from his leg through the rest of his body, and it falls without the support of Jean's hand. The good news is the scarab was taken care of. The bad news is that it now feels so numb (aside from the vaguely throbbing pain) that he's not sure he can move it.
But that's not important now, as he watches his friend get pulled away and nearly apart by so many arms. No--!
It didn't matter how weak he was. That it wasn't his strong point or that there were people better at him... As long as he had an understanding of what needed to be done, he was going to try his best in a situation like this. Choking out a noise between a sob and a growl, his hands grip firmly around the blade, until blood is drawn from his own palms at the grip.
Only then does he lean forward in the hallway, sliding closer and swinging the blade down in a harsh motion meant to chop those arms right off. He's careful and particular with his swings, at least, determinedly continuing with yells of determination until he's cut them all.]
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When he's gained enough breath to speak, he pushes up to one knee.] Thanks.
[It puts him on equal level with Armin's leg, gashed and gushing.] Sorry about the leg.
[Is there anyway he can run on it? Jean doubts it. Using the wall for support, he stands up, still panting.] We should get out of here.
[Which probably means he has to carry him. Tiredly, he half-stumbles forward and clumsily picks him up.] You pick the way.
[Jeez, his arms hurt too much for this.]
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[He's quick to state this, dropping the blade and staring down at his bloody hand. Everything was bloody by now, between the two of them. He's about halfway through that thought, though, when Jean picks him up. His face tenses up and instinctively one arm wraps around Jean's neck, the other grabbing clumsily at his arm to feel more secure.]
W-wait a second, Jean! [Rationally, he can understand that his leg would be a burden in their running away from creatures. But stubbornly, he doesn't want to cause that sort of problem for the two of them. This way, won't they move even slower?
He shifts, loosening his grip on Jean's arm and lowering it a bit, a small shift in his weight trying to keep himself from leaning on Jean's wounded chest. There are too many problems to even register that his pants are still on the ground, right now.] I can try to walk.
[He says this, but it doesn't sound so confident. Even he realizes this, pausing only briefly before nodding in a direction. One they didn't come from.] We should probably move ahead, but if you see anywhere along the way that's possible for it, we should stop to wrap these wounds and rest. If we keep up like this much longer, it's not likely we'll make it out.
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