Warning: Dissection.
The smell is almost palpable, as if it's accumulating on his tongue with every stuttering inhale. It has a sharp taste, like electricity. Like lime. Like licking the end of a battery, even. He's never managed to draw blood on Vlad before, but he never would have imagined it to look or smell or taste as pleasant as it does.
And that makes him want to violently retch until his entire being is purged of it.
That isn't even the worst part. The worst part is, Vlad is still conscious and withering. His red eyes wide with unbridled fear and pain, unshed tears rimming their edges. Danny slides his hand deeper into the hole in the other halfas chest and Vlad jerks hopelessly against the Fenton operating table, shrieking in agony.
"Daniel— Daniel— please—"
Danny can't help it, he starts sobbing so hard that his hand twists inside Vlad, and the man pleas are momentarily silenced by his own gargling moan.
"I'm s-so sorry," he murmurs in a feeble attempt at consolation, but he has to reach further into Vlad, fingers clawing and stretching to fight past constricting organs. The trauma causes the blood to overflow and rivulet down Vlad's sides and over the edges of the table to puddle on the floor. As it soaks into his boots, he draws in a deep, whistling breath, and looks away from Vlad's pinched features so he can focus. "Y-you'll heal after t-this, it'll be o-okay," he continues in a whisper. "I-I'm almost there. Al- almost got it. It'll be okay."
His fingers struggle past plusating muscle until he can just barely make out the cavity where an item of monumental power has been stored. Giving Vlad a quick glance of concern, he reaches with his free hand for the scapel sitting on a nearby shelf.
"O-okay, I— I need to dislodge it and pull i-it out now," he states.
Vlad only whimpers.
