[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.
Yeah. [The word comes out brokenly, caught in panting and pained grunts. His body is scraped all over, the cuts deep and running doesn't help him forget. Holding Armin just makes it worse but even then he's still the one better off here. There's no way he'll allow them to switch.]
You keep an eye out. I'm–[He hisses out a curse, darting back just as a hand reaches out for Armin's head. Narrowly dodged. He skips and jumps up his pace.]–I've got my hands full.
[He tightens his grip slightly, still trying not to lean into Jean too much. But honestly, it's a little hard when they're running away like this. Still, he's staring ahead with a determined face, eyes searching out like instructed.
Eventually, he notes a depression in the wall ahead. A doorway or some sort of passage in a different direction? It wasn't the same style as these hallways, at least. One hand moves to point towards it.]
[Ducking under another hand and skirting around a forming mummy, he follows the path Armin had set out for him. The depression isn't far and as he moves closer it becomes clearer–a passage, just big enough for the two of them. Jean slips into it and the monsters don't follow. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses in.
Only to find out that the passage gets narrow. It isn't long before the walls are pressing in and on his old wounds. Jean hisses and grunts in pain as he continues until he can't move anymore.]
[Narrow...? What kind of passageway was this? He shifts lightly in Jean's arms to peer over his shoulder once they don't seem to be moving. No figures following them.]
It looks like they're not following us anymore. [So Jean shouldn't force himself through that narrow way.] Do you think we can afford to stop?
[Armin's not in the best position himself. He shifts to try and give Jean more space for himself, but it brings his feet awkwardly against the wall and his knees in his own face a bit. Not to mention the pain that runs up his leg at the motion.
He frowns, eyes shifting from his bare legs to Jean's face once more.]
[He tries, but the effort draws out an audible wince. He moves an inch and leaves a smear of blood as evidence–the wall is rubbing against his cut.]
Doesn't look like it.
[He fucked up. Should have noticed it sooner. Should have calmed down. Should have should have should have.] You should get out of here. No use in them getting both of us if they come in.
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no subject
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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You keep an eye out. I'm–[He hisses out a curse, darting back just as a hand reaches out for Armin's head. Narrowly dodged. He skips and jumps up his pace.]–I've got my hands full.
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Eventually, he notes a depression in the wall ahead. A doorway or some sort of passage in a different direction? It wasn't the same style as these hallways, at least. One hand moves to point towards it.]
It looks like there's something that way.
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[Ducking under another hand and skirting around a forming mummy, he follows the path Armin had set out for him. The depression isn't far and as he moves closer it becomes clearer–a passage, just big enough for the two of them. Jean slips into it and the monsters don't follow. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses in.
Only to find out that the passage gets narrow. It isn't long before the walls are pressing in and on his old wounds. Jean hisses and grunts in pain as he continues until he can't move anymore.]
Shit.
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It looks like they're not following us anymore. [So Jean shouldn't force himself through that narrow way.] Do you think we can afford to stop?
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[Since he can't move any further. Or move at all. He's stuck, shoulders stiff and screaming as they're unnaturally pressed together.]
We're sitting ducks if they decide to come in.
[Or he is. Armin could probably climb over him and out if he needed to.]
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He frowns, eyes shifting from his bare legs to Jean's face once more.]
You can't move back at all?
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Doesn't look like it.
[He fucked up. Should have noticed it sooner. Should have calmed down. Should have should have should have.] You should get out of here. No use in them getting both of us if they come in.