Taking down the Irish was never going to be an easy task. Luckily, there's not a heavy workload at the firm, and Karen and Foggy seem reasonably okay with the idea of Matt taking the time to look into the legal rights of shop owners in the neighbourhoods being targeted. He's been out of Frank's way the last couple of nights, both of them doing their own sort of recon. He figures though that it's time for them to regroup.
It's a weird sort of working together vibe, but at least they agree that sharing information to make the next plans is better than just going at it alone.
Matt's on his way home, ready to get out of one suit and into another after a long day at the office, when something pulls at his instincts. He turns down a different block and into an alley, following long drawn out breaths and a slow heart beat. The closer he gets, the more a dread settles into him. His pace picks up until he's nearly running, coming to the dead end of the side-street.
"Jesus Christ, Frank -" Matt crouches down, feeling along Frank's sides and chest. "Can you hear me? Can you talk?"
Working as a sort-of team with Matt on this one has been... interesting. It isn't going how Frank expected, for better or worse. Even though this started as "his" job, it was inevitable that Daredevil would get invested once he found out, and now they give each other room to breathe while doing their respective parts. Maybe that's why it's been going so well, though Frank tries not to think about it. He doesn't want to get used to dragging Matt into his shit willingly.
The news of Daredevil and The Punisher working together to take down those two warehouses spread quickly, so it was inevitable that the Irish would up their defenses too. It's how Frank gets into trouble tonight, not expecting what was supposed to be a normal night to turn sideways. He just barely got away in one piece, dragging himself away from the industrial sector and toward home - toward Hell's Kitchen - full of bullet holes.
He's been in and out of consciousness with the blood loss and pain, unsure how long he's been like this at all. It would be a pathetic and shitty way for The Punisher to go, but a part of him is always ready for it, always wishing for it deep down inside, and maybe bleeding out in some grimy alleyway alone is what he deserves...
Naturally, God doesn't let him get away with it that easily.
Of course Matt finds him even when he probably wasn't looking, even when Frank wasn't hoping. His vest caught the brunt of the damage but some sliced through his side, his arms and thighs littered with more superficial wounds too. He's slumped down against the wall, eyes barely focusing up at Matt when he hears his voice. The situation is too bizarre and a strange chuckle wanders up into his chest, but even laughing feels too painful right now, so he lets out an awkward cough instead.
"Where the hell did you come from?" is his response. "Shit..."
At least that's a pretty expected response from Frank, which gives Matt a bit of hope. He knows what Frank needs is a hospital, and he knows that's not on the table. He knows that hauling Frank to the street is going to raise eyebrows. He thinks, maybe, they could get lucky and get a cab that doesn't care. But everyone knows The Punisher.
"Hey, hey." Matt pats Frank's cheek gently, enough to hopefully keep Frank from falling into an unconscious state. "We need to get to the other side of the building. Can you do that, Frank?"
He knows that, from there, the alleys connect and they've got a chance to get to Frank's hideout without interruption. Wasting no time, Matt starts to pull Frank up, bracing himself to support all the weight of the other man.
It's definitely not an easy feat to take Frank's dead weight but it's not Matt's first rodeo with this, and probably not the last either. Frank tries to do his part in keeping himself up but he's lost too much blood, and even standing is enough to pull a loud, pained groan out of him. He's leaning heavily into Matt and making a mess of his nice suit already.
"Christ..." he curses quietly, breaths staggered and unstable, his heartbeat not as strong and proud as it usually is. He's a bit of a mess. Frank is a fighter though and he's trying his best not to collapse onto Matt, pushing forward with him, though he'd certainly collapse back onto the ground if Matt wasn't keeping him up.
His head lolls dazedly to one side, eyes blurry and unfocused, and he wonders if this is even happening, or is he fucking hallucinating?
It's not easy. Frank's place isn't far, but hauling Frank along and making sure they won't run into any people makes it feel like forever. Matt talks to Frank along the way, as if that alone is going to keep Frank from dying on him.
Once the door is kicked open, Matt wastes no time. He eases Frank down and starts looking for the medical kit. He doesn't even know where to start with Frank. Find where he's bleeding the most and triage that? Shit. Maybe he should Claire...
"Stay with me, Frank."
Finally he finds the kit, glad that Frank keeps it stocked with things that are near hospital grade.
Frank follows the sound of Matt's voice, his head rolling toward him from where he was set down. The fact that they got here at all is a miracle and a half. The last time he was out this bad, it was David panicking on his behalf, though Frank barely remembers.
He tries to mumble something out but it comes out in another series of coughs instead, Frank groaning at the way it makes his ribs rattle. A heavy hand flops over to the side of his vest to unstrap it, breathing harder as the pressure lifts from his chest. There's a lot of blood on his side.
"Red..." He manages to slur out, trying to sit up even though he really shouldn't be.
He listens to Frank working on his vest, listens to the wetness in Frank's cough and voice. He shrugs out of his jacket and kneels in front of Frank, feeling through the kit. All he can smell is blood. He can taste it in the air, metallic on the tip of his tongue as he talks. His hands get covered with it as he helps move the vest aside.
"I need you to try and hold this here for me."
Matt pushes up Frank's shirt and presses his jacket against the heavy bleeding before guiding Frank's hand to it. Once he feels like he can let go, he finds a roll of bandage tape, as well as the heavy bandage pads. He goes as quickly as he can so he can replace his jacket with the pad and the tape, trying to make the wrapping tight enough to mimic a tourniquet effect. He figures once the bleeding becomes contained and stopped, then he can go in with stitches or staples or whatever Frank has in here.
Frank's been through plenty of gruesome, terrible injuries, has choked on his own blood more times than he can count, has broken bones over and over again, yet this somehow feels worse. It's worse because Matt was the one to find him, to have to look after him, and it feels like a failure on his part to ensure that never happened.
You can rest soon, he says, and even Frank's dazed mind knows that isn't true. Not really.
He does his best to listen for Matt's sake more than his own, because bleeding out on him would cause more grief than not. He adds pressure to the wound and grits his teeth through the searing pain, low sounds of displeasure rumbling in his chest.
"There's one still in me," he finally slurs out, and once his hands are free, he reaches down to his thigh to show Matt where. "Gotta- Gotta cut it out of me."
Matt presses his tongue to his lips, a nervous habit when he's feeling like he's about to be overwhelmed. He knows Frank is the toughest asshole on the streets. If Matt had been on the receiving end of this, he'd be lucky to come out alive. Frank's built different, and Matt's never been more grateful for it.
"Okay ... Okay."
Once he's got the bandage secured tightly against Frank's side, he finds where Frank's talking about. Right. He can handle this. Now that Frank's not gushing blood everywhere, this is easier.
He makes a mental note to buy Frank a new pair of pants as he rips them open where the bullet went in. He murmurs a sorry as he works on digging the bullet, but luckily it's not in too deep and he's able to pry it out without too much trouble. He cleans out the wound and gets another bandage on it. He thinks everything else from here is going to be easy, cleaning things and closing them up, and the worst of it's been taken care of. Though the length of time Frank was bleeding out before Matt found him ...
Matt can tell Frank's body is settling into some sort of shock, so he stands, pulling up Frank up with him once more. He can get Frank into his bed and covered up, then he can look for something in this place that he can get Frank to eat or drink.
Right here and now, Frank trusts Matt to do what needs to be done. He doesn't really have a choice one way or the other, but no matter who's lying down right here, he knows Matt would do his damndest to save them. The guy's got a good heart, even if he can be a complete asshole most of the time...
Digging out the bullet is agony and Frank almost wishes he'd just pass out and make things easier for both of them, but adrenaline kicks in and keeps him awake, his breathing coming in faster now, a little harsher. The pained groans and grunts coming out of him are agony, but it's the most "awake" he's been this entire time. Fuck. Fuck, that fucking hurts.
Thankfully, Matt is methodical and not panicking (at least on the outside), able to clean and stitch the best he can, while Frank tries not to squirm. The pain of a home stitch is more bearable than the wound being dug into, and Frank's breathing evens out again, even as his hands start to tremble and feel cold. It doesn't get any better once he's in bed, still covered in his own blood, but at least he isn't actively bleeding out. Despite how loopy he feels, he tries to keep his eyes open and on Matt, following his blurry figure around the space. There's a pantry stocked with shelf-safe items and one small fridge with a few essentials, but Frank's too practical for anything beyond that.
"M-... Red," he says again, quieter this time, but focusing on him is helping keep Frank awake by sheer willpower. His body is shivering under the blanket. "Need water."
Water. Right. Matt feels around until he finds a cup and fills it with water, then he helps raise Frank up enough that he can drink it without spilling it everywhere. He fills the cup again and sets it next to the bed. Now, he thinks, he can start to relax. He won't fully come down until he knows Frank's fully in the clear, but it's a start.
Matt locks up the door and goes back to Frank, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. He reaches up his hand to squeeze Frank's.
His skin is still covered with dried blood but the moment Matt takes his hand, Frank's fingers twitch in an effort to squeeze back. Pain is throbbing throughout his body but that's nothing compared to the frustration that this happened at all, and the anger the Irish pricks of all people got to him. Sloppy.
His breathing evens out but it's still not ideal, his heart still slower than usual, his lungs rattling. Eyes stay fixed on Matt and his tense body language, and Frank feels a different kind of guilt through the haze.
"Fuck..." He murmurs with a slurred grumble, wanting to say more, but his body is so exhausted all he can do is close his eyes and try squeezing fingers again with a weak grip.
When he finally does pass out it feels like a relief, purely because he has a dreamless rest.
Matt doesn't sleep for a while. He stays awake, listening to Frank and the sounds of his body. He'd never forgive himself if he let himself sleep and something happened. At some point he gets up and lays out a new set of bandages, along with what he'll need for some new stitches. He ends up sleeping at some point, waking up on high alert when he hears the sounds of Frank starting to come to.
"Hey -"
He gets up off the floor, going to replace the water from the night before and grab what he's determined are some sort of painkillers. He hopes they're the heavy duty kind, because Frank's gonna need them.
When he comes back, he grabs Frank's hand again, reassuring him that he's still there.
He definitely feels like shit when he wakes up, sore and aching all over, like life is giving him one big punch to the gut as a good morning. His head is still a little fuzzy but better than the state Matt found him in, just in pain more than anything. Pain is something he's used to though, something he can work with.
If anything, he looks at Matt with a mixture of relief and distress, fingers still weak when they cling back, but better than before.
"Hey," he finally responds, voice croaking and thick with pain. Even now, all he can say is: "You doin' alright?"
Matt huffs out a laugh, mostly relieved as the tension starts to slip away from him.
"I think I'm supposed to be asking you that."
He brushes his fingers through Frank's hair then coaxes him to sit up a bit, enough that he can gulp down the water and the painkillers.
"I'm gonna stitch up your side, okay? Then maybe I can get you into the shower before the new bandage goes on."
The smell of old, drying blood is thick in Matt's nostrils. It's coming off both of them, but he's only concerned about Frank.
"I think now we don't go into anything alone, either. They might have stacked up their defenses expecting both of us." How else could they get such an easy drop on Frank? "Maybe now they'll ease up. We can take advantage of their egos once you've recovered."
It's not a straight answer but kind of expected from Matt. It tells Frank more than enough anyway, and he knows he's given the other too much to worry about.
He grunts with discomfort when sitting upright but the pills will help, even on an empty stomach. He downs the glass of water and tilts his head back to the wall, eyes drifting shut.
"Definitely were armed better," he confirms while sounding annoyed and frustrated. Frank is usually fine with surprises but he's been holding back for Matt's sake, not going in the way he normally would. One explosive and the whole operation would be down, damn it.
"How the hell did you find me anyway?" he finally asks, fingers restlessly grasping at Matt's, voice quiet. "Pretty sure I was gonna bleed out for good there."
He sits on the edge of Frank's bed and shrugs, running a blood-stained hand through his own hair.
"I was heading from a late night at the office and heard what sounded like someone in trouble. I didn't realize it was you until I got closer. You really scared me there, Frank."
The sight of his own blood staining Matt's hands and clothes is disturbing, mostly because he's dressed down as Matt Murdock, no Devil in sight, even if they are one in the same. His memories of last night are a bit hazy but he knows Matt pulled at least one slug out of him, and he's been patched up better than Frank would've managed in that state. He's grateful for him.
"Guess someone up there is looking out for me," he says bitterly, though his thumb brushes over Matt's knuckles. "Or I'm a lucky piece of shit."
Lucky he's on a list of people Matt could recognize out of a crowd easily, anyway.
"I'm sorry," he adds quietly a moment later, and he actually means it. He turns his head away from Matt to stare up at a stain on the ceiling instead.
"I don't think you have anything to be sorry about."
Matt gets it. He understands guilt and regret in their line of work. He'd be feeling the same way if their roles were reversed, but he also knows Frank would be telling him the same thing.
He'll take the out for what it is, grateful, because yeah... Frank would do the same for him. Still, relying on others for help has never been easy for Frank, especially someone close to him he cares about.
"Yeah, a little," he says gruffly, knowing he should. "Maybe after you stitch me up, so I don't puke it back up again."
Whether or not he's serious is questionable, and yet...
Matt's not willing to take that risk, even if it might be just a joke. He gets the supplies along with some antiseptic, and carefully peels away the tape and bandaging he put on the night before.
"What the hell happened last night, anyway?"
Matt figures he'll make conversation to vaguely distract Frank from how bad this is going to be. It's good to have the information anyway. Some gauze gets soaked in the antiseptic and Matt presses it to the wound for a moment before he starts wiping the area to clean it up. Well. Clean it up as much as he can without seeing it.
Better to get this over with than wait for an infection, because then it'll really suck. He's too exhausted to offer to help, putting all his trust in Matt's hands in this moment, as he prepares himself mentally for the pain.
He bites his cheek and clenches his fists up in the bedding as Matt cleans the wound, the sting from that alone excruciating, but he puts up with it. The conversation will help but he needs a moment to not feel so loopy before responding.
"I found one of their dealers," he explains, his voice low and strained, taking deep breaths. "Wasn't planning on a full ambush. I was going to confront the guy, but there was a deal going on. It's like they were expecting me. I was expecting maybe five assholes at the most, but it's like half the goon squad was in that shithole."
He bites his tongue against saying he should've been there. If he was there, he'd have known how many were in there. But he knows it'll fall on deaf ears. Frank will probably say it's better Matt wasn't there, and neither of them have the energy for an argument right now.
"So we have to take them by surprise."
Easier said than done, maybe, but Matt might be willing to let himself go a little bit when they run in with the Irish again.
"Make 'em think they won, I guess." He grits his teeth again, not liking the idea entirely, but what choice does he have in this state? Of course he will push himself too hard and ignore what hurts for the sake of getting shit done, but he won't be at full capacity for at least a couple days. His own fault for underestimating the new Irish assholes, but he'll have to just deal with it.
Frank sucks in another deep breath and then lets it out with a harsh sound, like he's hyping himself up for how much this is going to suck.
"Now or never," he answers, wishing he had a drink or something first, but not a good idea on an empty stomach and pills in his system.
"You're too good at this," he continues just to talk and ignore the stinging pain. "You make cleaner stitches than I've seen from marines."
Matt feels carefully along the wound. He can only imagine what it must actually look like, but he'll be glad once it's closed up.
"I used to fix up my dad after fights. Got used to steady hands and how to do it to make the least ugly scar."
There's a flicker of a smile on his face, even though he knows this is shitty for Frank. This is their lives, though. No urgent care clinics, no hospitals, which means they have to make due with what they have and that doesn't include anything to numb the pain.
"Once you get your energy back you can clean up and we can redress it."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's a weird sort of working together vibe, but at least they agree that sharing information to make the next plans is better than just going at it alone.
Matt's on his way home, ready to get out of one suit and into another after a long day at the office, when something pulls at his instincts. He turns down a different block and into an alley, following long drawn out breaths and a slow heart beat. The closer he gets, the more a dread settles into him. His pace picks up until he's nearly running, coming to the dead end of the side-street.
"Jesus Christ, Frank -" Matt crouches down, feeling along Frank's sides and chest. "Can you hear me? Can you talk?"
no subject
The news of Daredevil and The Punisher working together to take down those two warehouses spread quickly, so it was inevitable that the Irish would up their defenses too. It's how Frank gets into trouble tonight, not expecting what was supposed to be a normal night to turn sideways. He just barely got away in one piece, dragging himself away from the industrial sector and toward home - toward Hell's Kitchen - full of bullet holes.
He's been in and out of consciousness with the blood loss and pain, unsure how long he's been like this at all. It would be a pathetic and shitty way for The Punisher to go, but a part of him is always ready for it, always wishing for it deep down inside, and maybe bleeding out in some grimy alleyway alone is what he deserves...
Naturally, God doesn't let him get away with it that easily.
Of course Matt finds him even when he probably wasn't looking, even when Frank wasn't hoping. His vest caught the brunt of the damage but some sliced through his side, his arms and thighs littered with more superficial wounds too. He's slumped down against the wall, eyes barely focusing up at Matt when he hears his voice. The situation is too bizarre and a strange chuckle wanders up into his chest, but even laughing feels too painful right now, so he lets out an awkward cough instead.
"Where the hell did you come from?" is his response. "Shit..."
no subject
"Hey, hey." Matt pats Frank's cheek gently, enough to hopefully keep Frank from falling into an unconscious state. "We need to get to the other side of the building. Can you do that, Frank?"
He knows that, from there, the alleys connect and they've got a chance to get to Frank's hideout without interruption. Wasting no time, Matt starts to pull Frank up, bracing himself to support all the weight of the other man.
no subject
"Christ..." he curses quietly, breaths staggered and unstable, his heartbeat not as strong and proud as it usually is. He's a bit of a mess. Frank is a fighter though and he's trying his best not to collapse onto Matt, pushing forward with him, though he'd certainly collapse back onto the ground if Matt wasn't keeping him up.
His head lolls dazedly to one side, eyes blurry and unfocused, and he wonders if this is even happening, or is he fucking hallucinating?
no subject
Once the door is kicked open, Matt wastes no time. He eases Frank down and starts looking for the medical kit. He doesn't even know where to start with Frank. Find where he's bleeding the most and triage that? Shit. Maybe he should Claire...
"Stay with me, Frank."
Finally he finds the kit, glad that Frank keeps it stocked with things that are near hospital grade.
no subject
He tries to mumble something out but it comes out in another series of coughs instead, Frank groaning at the way it makes his ribs rattle. A heavy hand flops over to the side of his vest to unstrap it, breathing harder as the pressure lifts from his chest. There's a lot of blood on his side.
"Red..." He manages to slur out, trying to sit up even though he really shouldn't be.
no subject
He listens to Frank working on his vest, listens to the wetness in Frank's cough and voice. He shrugs out of his jacket and kneels in front of Frank, feeling through the kit. All he can smell is blood. He can taste it in the air, metallic on the tip of his tongue as he talks. His hands get covered with it as he helps move the vest aside.
"I need you to try and hold this here for me."
Matt pushes up Frank's shirt and presses his jacket against the heavy bleeding before guiding Frank's hand to it. Once he feels like he can let go, he finds a roll of bandage tape, as well as the heavy bandage pads. He goes as quickly as he can so he can replace his jacket with the pad and the tape, trying to make the wrapping tight enough to mimic a tourniquet effect. He figures once the bleeding becomes contained and stopped, then he can go in with stitches or staples or whatever Frank has in here.
"You can rest soon. I promise."
no subject
You can rest soon, he says, and even Frank's dazed mind knows that isn't true. Not really.
He does his best to listen for Matt's sake more than his own, because bleeding out on him would cause more grief than not. He adds pressure to the wound and grits his teeth through the searing pain, low sounds of displeasure rumbling in his chest.
"There's one still in me," he finally slurs out, and once his hands are free, he reaches down to his thigh to show Matt where. "Gotta- Gotta cut it out of me."
no subject
"Okay ... Okay."
Once he's got the bandage secured tightly against Frank's side, he finds where Frank's talking about. Right. He can handle this. Now that Frank's not gushing blood everywhere, this is easier.
He makes a mental note to buy Frank a new pair of pants as he rips them open where the bullet went in. He murmurs a sorry as he works on digging the bullet, but luckily it's not in too deep and he's able to pry it out without too much trouble. He cleans out the wound and gets another bandage on it. He thinks everything else from here is going to be easy, cleaning things and closing them up, and the worst of it's been taken care of. Though the length of time Frank was bleeding out before Matt found him ...
Matt can tell Frank's body is settling into some sort of shock, so he stands, pulling up Frank up with him once more. He can get Frank into his bed and covered up, then he can look for something in this place that he can get Frank to eat or drink.
no subject
Digging out the bullet is agony and Frank almost wishes he'd just pass out and make things easier for both of them, but adrenaline kicks in and keeps him awake, his breathing coming in faster now, a little harsher. The pained groans and grunts coming out of him are agony, but it's the most "awake" he's been this entire time. Fuck. Fuck, that fucking hurts.
Thankfully, Matt is methodical and not panicking (at least on the outside), able to clean and stitch the best he can, while Frank tries not to squirm. The pain of a home stitch is more bearable than the wound being dug into, and Frank's breathing evens out again, even as his hands start to tremble and feel cold. It doesn't get any better once he's in bed, still covered in his own blood, but at least he isn't actively bleeding out. Despite how loopy he feels, he tries to keep his eyes open and on Matt, following his blurry figure around the space. There's a pantry stocked with shelf-safe items and one small fridge with a few essentials, but Frank's too practical for anything beyond that.
"M-... Red," he says again, quieter this time, but focusing on him is helping keep Frank awake by sheer willpower. His body is shivering under the blanket. "Need water."
no subject
Matt locks up the door and goes back to Frank, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. He reaches up his hand to squeeze Frank's.
"I'll be here all night. You'll be fine."
no subject
His breathing evens out but it's still not ideal, his heart still slower than usual, his lungs rattling. Eyes stay fixed on Matt and his tense body language, and Frank feels a different kind of guilt through the haze.
"Fuck..." He murmurs with a slurred grumble, wanting to say more, but his body is so exhausted all he can do is close his eyes and try squeezing fingers again with a weak grip.
When he finally does pass out it feels like a relief, purely because he has a dreamless rest.
no subject
"Hey -"
He gets up off the floor, going to replace the water from the night before and grab what he's determined are some sort of painkillers. He hopes they're the heavy duty kind, because Frank's gonna need them.
When he comes back, he grabs Frank's hand again, reassuring him that he's still there.
no subject
If anything, he looks at Matt with a mixture of relief and distress, fingers still weak when they cling back, but better than before.
"Hey," he finally responds, voice croaking and thick with pain. Even now, all he can say is: "You doin' alright?"
no subject
"I think I'm supposed to be asking you that."
He brushes his fingers through Frank's hair then coaxes him to sit up a bit, enough that he can gulp down the water and the painkillers.
"I'm gonna stitch up your side, okay? Then maybe I can get you into the shower before the new bandage goes on."
The smell of old, drying blood is thick in Matt's nostrils. It's coming off both of them, but he's only concerned about Frank.
"I think now we don't go into anything alone, either. They might have stacked up their defenses expecting both of us." How else could they get such an easy drop on Frank? "Maybe now they'll ease up. We can take advantage of their egos once you've recovered."
no subject
He grunts with discomfort when sitting upright but the pills will help, even on an empty stomach. He downs the glass of water and tilts his head back to the wall, eyes drifting shut.
"Definitely were armed better," he confirms while sounding annoyed and frustrated. Frank is usually fine with surprises but he's been holding back for Matt's sake, not going in the way he normally would. One explosive and the whole operation would be down, damn it.
"How the hell did you find me anyway?" he finally asks, fingers restlessly grasping at Matt's, voice quiet. "Pretty sure I was gonna bleed out for good there."
no subject
He sits on the edge of Frank's bed and shrugs, running a blood-stained hand through his own hair.
"I was heading from a late night at the office and heard what sounded like someone in trouble. I didn't realize it was you until I got closer. You really scared me there, Frank."
no subject
"Guess someone up there is looking out for me," he says bitterly, though his thumb brushes over Matt's knuckles. "Or I'm a lucky piece of shit."
Lucky he's on a list of people Matt could recognize out of a crowd easily, anyway.
"I'm sorry," he adds quietly a moment later, and he actually means it. He turns his head away from Matt to stare up at a stain on the ceiling instead.
no subject
Matt gets it. He understands guilt and regret in their line of work. He'd be feeling the same way if their roles were reversed, but he also knows Frank would be telling him the same thing.
"Do you think you can stomach eating something?"
no subject
"Yeah, a little," he says gruffly, knowing he should. "Maybe after you stitch me up, so I don't puke it back up again."
Whether or not he's serious is questionable, and yet...
no subject
Matt's not willing to take that risk, even if it might be just a joke. He gets the supplies along with some antiseptic, and carefully peels away the tape and bandaging he put on the night before.
"What the hell happened last night, anyway?"
Matt figures he'll make conversation to vaguely distract Frank from how bad this is going to be. It's good to have the information anyway. Some gauze gets soaked in the antiseptic and Matt presses it to the wound for a moment before he starts wiping the area to clean it up. Well. Clean it up as much as he can without seeing it.
no subject
He bites his cheek and clenches his fists up in the bedding as Matt cleans the wound, the sting from that alone excruciating, but he puts up with it. The conversation will help but he needs a moment to not feel so loopy before responding.
"I found one of their dealers," he explains, his voice low and strained, taking deep breaths. "Wasn't planning on a full ambush. I was going to confront the guy, but there was a deal going on. It's like they were expecting me. I was expecting maybe five assholes at the most, but it's like half the goon squad was in that shithole."
no subject
"So we have to take them by surprise."
Easier said than done, maybe, but Matt might be willing to let himself go a little bit when they run in with the Irish again.
"Ready for the stitches?"
no subject
Frank sucks in another deep breath and then lets it out with a harsh sound, like he's hyping himself up for how much this is going to suck.
"Now or never," he answers, wishing he had a drink or something first, but not a good idea on an empty stomach and pills in his system.
"You're too good at this," he continues just to talk and ignore the stinging pain. "You make cleaner stitches than I've seen from marines."
no subject
Matt feels carefully along the wound. He can only imagine what it must actually look like, but he'll be glad once it's closed up.
"I used to fix up my dad after fights. Got used to steady hands and how to do it to make the least ugly scar."
There's a flicker of a smile on his face, even though he knows this is shitty for Frank. This is their lives, though. No urgent care clinics, no hospitals, which means they have to make due with what they have and that doesn't include anything to numb the pain.
"Once you get your energy back you can clean up and we can redress it."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)