Worry
A Word: Request for hurt Cullen and Alistair worrying in his own way while threatening to kill him if he dies.
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Cullen grunts as he slides down the ruined wall. He can feel something shift and grind painfully in his chest with the movement. Broken ribs. Hopefully that's all it is, but he knows it to be a lie even as he sinks to his knees. He can taste blood on the back of his tongue, and if he gives into the urge to cough now it'll speckle his lips. He grinds his teeth to fight the urge back because there's no need to worry anyone more.
Alistair is doing enough of that on his own without Cullen adding to it.
"Don't you dare die on me," the Warden growls as he follows Cullen down. Kneeling in front of him, hands steady on his shoulders like he's afraid to let go of Cullen. Afraid that if he does Cullen will fall dead immediately. Going by the sheer panic Cullen can see in his eyes that's probably exactly what he thinks. "Do you hear me, Cullen? If you die on me I'll- I'll kill you!"
"I'm not dying," it's hard to talk. Mostly from the pain, though breathing is difficult as well. He repeats himself, louder when Alistair starts to tug at the buckles of his armor. Fumbling them badly in an attempt to look for a wound not there. "I am not dying. And killing me would be counter productive."
"Oh, sure, sure. But it would make me feel better if you went all selfish on me for once and actually died. So don't," Alistair growls, actually growls and stops long enough to focus a truly venomous glare on Cullen's armor. "Maker I know this comes off. I've seen it come off before. Why won't it-"
"Alistair! Enough!" Cullen grabs the man's hands as he starts to yank a little too roughly on the armor. "There's no wound, it's just my ribs. The demon didn't stab me it threw me."
The information does not seem to do much to ease Alistair's worry. If anything it makes it worse. The man looks gutted as he stares at Cullen. One hand cups his chin, and the cold metal of a covered thumb brushes almost tenderly under his lip. "You're bleeding inside, how do I fix that?"
"I am not-"
"I can smell the blood on you," Alistair snaps harshly. Tripping just enough over the words that Cullen knows he meant to say something else. He's pulling on Cullen's arm before he can question that though. "If you don't have healers with your mages I'll kill someone else after you. I'm not sure who just yet but there will be a lot of death going around. Messy, bloody death, and who wants that after all of this?"
"I'm not dying," Cullen would laugh but that would hurt too much he thinks. It hurts being hauled up to his feet again. Arm up and over Alistair's shoulder as the Warden lifts him like he weighs nothing at all. "I will be fine."
It's a gasp that isn't very convincing even to himself.
"Death. Bloody, horrible death," Alistair promises as he sets off down the confusing ruins of Adamant. Taking them both away from the heart of the areas where the fight still rages despite the whole matter being won. "Death on you, death on your mages, death on everyone. Do you have any idea how busy I'll be? So no dying. You hear me?"
"No dying," Cullen agrees finally with a sigh that turns into a cough. One, not so dry, hacking cough that fills his whole mouth with the metallic taste of blood. The hand around his middle tightens. Gauntlet covered fingers pressing more worry into his side.
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