A/N: Wrote this like two and a half years ago for the 'painful wound cleaning' square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card, and finally got around to cleaning it up for posting, :')
Only Stitches
Badd is minding his own business, tugging on a worn t-shirt for pajamas and ready to crawl into bed when he's startled out of his skin by a sharp bang! from the general direction of the window. Fight or flight kicks in, fight winning out within milliseconds, so he snatches up his bat and yanks aside the curtain, poised to strike –
He jumps again, body jolting and tense.
"What the fuck?!"
A white hand with familiar long fingers is smearing red all over his window pane. Garou's pale face leans into view then, golden eyes glinting in the light spilling from the room. Like some kind of crazed animal.
It's creepy as shit in the dark, but at least it's only Garou out there. Bloody, filthy mess as he is.
Badd's heart is still kinda hammering as he lowers his bat and unlatches the window. He's got a rant all worked up and ready to go, right on the tip of his tongue, because this window is kept locked to prevent spontaneous visits like this one, and it's nearing midnight, and if Zenko wakes up or Tama gets out Badd will never forgive Garou, and a heap of other complaints.
But then Garou spills inside with less than half of his usual grace, slumping over the ledge and landing in an exhausted pile on the floor.
"Garou," Badd isn't fast enough to avoid Garou bumping into his legs (or to catch the poor bastard), his heart jumping with worry, "seriously, what in the hell are you –"
"Stitches."
"What?" Dropping his bat altogether, Badd steps back for a better view of his guest, who is currently wedged crooked between the wall and Badd's knees.
Garou sags beneath the window, catching his breath –
– And upon closer inspection, he looks even worse than Badd expected.
There's already a puddle of blood forming beneath him, soaking into the carpet, and his clothes are thoroughly stained with the stuff, scorched in some places and torn in others. Badd can't even pinpoint where the blood is coming from and where it's spattered in whatever chaos Garou left behind; he's almost completely coated in dust, dirt, burns, and bruises.
"I need you…to stitch me up," Garou elaborates through clenched teeth.
While Badd is preoccupied with staring at him in shock, Garou hauls himself up by grabbing at the windowsill. He's favoring a leg, putting all of his weight on his right knee as he half-stands. Wincing, he pulls the window closed, locks it, and then tugs the curtain shut as he deflates back to sitting.
Performative shit, in a way. He's left blood smeared over everything, anyway. Right there for anyone to spot.
"The hell," Badd huffs a breath in and out of too-tight lungs, "the hell happened to you?"
Pushing off the ground again, Garou's entire body is tense and shaky all at once. It's a clear struggle for him to stand, seeing as he can only get one leg properly under himself, and his hands slip against the wall, leaving bloody trails. But he stays upright. Against all odds.
…He apparently doesn't want to talk about whatever it is that happened, because he is stubbornly silent all the while.
Badd can only stand here gobsmacked like this for so long before something in his chest snaps free and he swoops in, heart aching. He wraps a sturdy arm around Garou's shoulders, and pulls him sideways into a sort of hug designed to keep him standing, Garou's shoulder to Badd's chest.
"Never mind what happened," Garou grumbles. He's unnaturally warm, the entire weight of him sagging in Badd's hold, his eyes alarmingly unfocused for half a moment. "I just need you t'stitch me up." He swallows. "So I can get out of here."
Badd bites his own tongue before he can respond with too much ire. Indignance rises in him. His heart is still kicking up a fuss in his chest at this burnt, blood-soaked Garou. He glances down at that leg that's giving Garou so much trouble, hoping like fuck it isn't broken, and spots a line of darker red through an extra-stained gash in Garou's pants. There's a jagged slice in his side, too.
And those are just the immediate surface injuries that Badd can see. They're definitely not the only holes in Garou's clothes. Just the barely visible tip of the iceberg.
And Garou over here just wants a quick patch job so he can be on his way.
Hah. Like hell.
"No," Badd says, of course, as he tightens his grip on Garou in case he does something stupid and tries to bolt. "You…" Words stick in Badd's throat, frozen there by icy worry as Garou slips in his hold, slumping limper.
"I know you can do it," Garou growls through bloodied teeth clamped tight, good leg scrambling to hold himself steady, one hand pressed to Badd's chest. He's got a heavy snarl on his face that Badd assumes is his form of a wince. "You sew yourself up in secret all the fucking time."
"That's different." And it's not fair of Garou to point it out, either.
"How?"
Well, gee, for starters: Badd not wanting to get laid up in the hospital while his sister worries over him and is forced to fend for herself is worlds apart from…whatever messed up shit Garou's gotten himself into. There's glass and wood and filth all over him. In his hair and all.
Plus, no way is Badd gonna fix him up just so he can run. He'll demand a full story. And Garou will have to rest. Heal. He's quick about that, anyway.
There's no time to argue with this asshole now, though. So Badd will grit his teeth, and hike Garou up in his arms and relent. "Fine. I'll give you your goddamned stitches." He isn't about to leave Garou like this longer than he has to, after all – convincing the slippery bastard to stay can come after first aid. Badd squeezes Garou close, half comfort, half warning. "But you need cleaned up in a bad way, first. And you ain't runnin' after, so don't even think about it."
Without further ado (or space for protest) Badd hoists Garou up in his arms, bridal carry style. Blood smears over his arms, and his heart leaps into his throat at how limp Garou is – at the noise he makes; it's only a choked off grunt of pain, but Badd hadn't meant to hurt him.
Garou bares his teeth, and there's more blood between them. "Badd –"
"Shut up."
Whatever whining Garou's trying to do, Badd doesn't have time for it. And he kind of wants to adjust his hold, Garou slip-sliding in his arms, but he doesn't wanna cause more unnecessary pain, so he deals. It's not that far to the bathroom, and once he's kicked open the whopping two doors in their way, he sets Garou down on the tile floor as gently as he can, leaving him propped by the wall.
Once there, Garou doesn't move much aside from a constant tremor that starts up in his leg, and the hand he presses against the cut to try and quell any movement. More blood is pooling beneath him, courtesy of a steady drip from altogether too many places. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closing.
It's painful to look at, but Badd can't stop staring anyway. Like if he glances away Garou will vanish, or die, or…something.
In all honesty, Badd would've preferred the whining.
He tears his eyes away long enough to wash his hands up to his elbows and gather supplies – albeit as quickly as he can. Starting with the essentials, he grabs a couple towels and a pair of tweezers, along with the first aid kit. Then there's a brief foray to the kitchen to grab disposable cleaning gloves and a bowl.
Once he's back, he crouches down, hovering at Garou's side and half reaching out for him, almost afraid to touch. Most of what he needs is piled on a stool next to him, ready and waiting.
"Take your clothes off," he says.
And Garou must be feeling like shit, because he only gives a tiny excuse for a smirk at the request. He complies as best he can, starting with his shirt and grimacing as it comes up over his head. It hits the floor with a too-wet splat, and then Garou starts on his pants.
Badd's fingers twitch in a desire to help, but he feels unnaturally frozen. These are not the usual circumstances surrounding seeing Garou naked. There's too much vulnerability here. Of the wrong kind.
It's some small comfort that Garou's movements don't seem to imply any broken limbs, but. With each new section of skin that's revealed, Badd goes paler and paler. Blood from jagged cuts is spread over bruises, scrapes, and deep burns edged in charred black flesh. Thick splinters and shards of glass are embedded here and there. Dirt trails smear over top of it all, as though Garou was dragged over the ground at some point.
By the time Garou is down to his boxer briefs, Badd is holding his breath. He lets it rush out as he finally reaches for Garou properly, fingers brushing his shoulder in the least-damaged spot available.
Garou is winded from just getting undressed. The thought has Badd's gut squirming, concern pulling at his insides and making him tremble.
Shit.
There's so much wrong that he doesn't know where to start – he's not a medical professional by any fucking means, no matter how much he patches himself up – but he sees immediately that Garou is right about needing stitches. The wound on his left thigh is particularly gnarly; it's a long, jagged thing, too wide and too messy.
"Shit, Garou," Badd breathes, "what happened?"
Garou apparently doesn't feel like talking any more now than he did earlier. "Nothing important." He shifts, and winces, and then his leg starts shaking again, blood leaking down –
– So Badd sucks it up for now in favor of settling into a kneel as close to Garou as he dares. His hands have already been washed, so he tugs on the gloves and picks up the sterilized tweezers. They look comically small next to the level of damage.
"C'mere," he mutters, and Garou flat out flops against him, boneless. It's fine, sorta, because the angle moves most of his injuries into the light. The worst of the damage seems to be localized on his left side, which has Badd thinking accident…but Garou isn't the sort to just get caught in an accident.
The biggest shards are the easiest to get, and Badd slowly fills the bowl from the kitchen with various shrapnel plucked free with fingers and tweezers in turn. Wood chunks and glass pieces make up most of it, but he does find a handful of rocks, too. Sharp pieces of torn metal. What the hell, Garou.
As Badd works, Garou remains still apart from his deep breaths – well, as still as he can, maybe. The fact that he's trying is obvious, but:
"Hold still," Badd finds himself saying, after the third time Garou grunts and pulls his leg away from the tweezers. "I gotta get all this out."
Garou makes a frustrated whining noise in response, almost like a wounded animal. One of his hands fists in the leg of Badd's pants, and he sinks further to the floor, disrupting Badd's quest for splinters yet again. Although, properly lying down as he is now, the light hits his injuries head on, so Badd doesn't snap at him.
And…Garou's breath is coming faster, now. Strained. Badd beats down a wave of guilt, trying to be as gentle as he can. Like he's pressing Hello Kitty band-aids to Zenko's scraped knees after her first try on roller skates. Or something like that.
The only other wound that comes close to being as bad as Garou's leg is a cut that's sliced into his ribs, so Badd clears that one next. There are dozens of tiny wounds surrounding the bigger ones, caused by more bits and pieces that Badd dutifully digs out.
It takes a long-ass time, and he keeps half an eye on how much blood Garou is still oozing, but it's maybe a bad idea to push all these splinters and shit too far in by applying pressure right away.
That's Badd's best guess, anyway. So he forces himself to go slow. To examine each tiny cut and every bit of burnt blistered skin closely in the bright bathroom light, in order to pluck out every last splinter. He has to be thorough, no matter how much his hands shake with a desire to hurry. Carding his fingers through Garou's hair and tipping his head up to check the scrapes on his chin, golden eyes following him all the while.
Badd can't meet that gaze. He scrutinizes Garou's wounds over twice more to be safe, and then drops the tweezers into the bowl, pushing it out of the way. That's all the biggest pieces gone, at least. He'll have to wash Garou off, anyway.
First thing's first, though: "I gotta stop the bleeding now, alright?"
Garou, still watching out of the corner of his eye, nods against the tile.
Fortunately, the bleeding has mostly stopped on its own by now. That leg wound is the worst of it by far, so Badd grabs for a towel to press down on it with. Beneath him, Garou hisses at the pressure, snarls out a pissed noise.
Okay, so maybe Badd is using more force than strictly necessary. It's a complete accident, though! In stressful situations, he can have trouble regulating his superhuman strength. Guilt is coiling in his stomach, mingling with the panic, and he forces himself to ease up on the towel. "Sorry," he mumbles, fingers twitching in fabric.
"It's fine," Garou bites out, the words short and sharp.
There's silence while Badd keeps pressure on the wound. A heavy kind of quiet. Part of him wants to just leave the towel there, to let Garou hold onto it while Badd attends to some of Garou's other injuries – because as he's just lying there, Badd can't help but look and what he sees is awful…
But in the end, he's not sure that Garou could provide adequate pressure, drained as he looks. Badd will keep at it just a bit longer, trying not to chew on his lip with those golden eyes watching his face.
Impatient, Badd chances a peek at the gash. Blood doesn't immediately bubble over, which is fantastic and much more than he'd hoped for. It hasn't soaked through all the folds of the towel, either – just stained it pretty good. Tiny favorable points.
Tossing the bloodied towel aside, Badd huffs out a sigh of relief.
Now it's just…the rest of this immense damage to deal with.
No big fucking deal.
"Are you going to stitch me now?" Garou asks. He's pretty impatient himself, for an injured guy glued to the bathroom floor with his own damn blood.
"Nah." Badd tugs off his gloves and starts to clear the area. Putting that bowl of shrapnel up on the ledge of the sink and tossing the bloodied towel farther away. "I told ya, we gotta clean you off. Especially those cuts. You look like shit."
Garou grunts. Apparently he's realized that arguing won't get him anywhere tonight. Or maybe exhaustion is catching up to him at last. Some worrying shit like that, or other.
Whatever the case, his eyes don't leave Badd for even a moment. It's oddly comforting.
Anyway. The best way to do this, Badd thinks, is to just…hose Garou down in the shower, so to speak. The dirt and damage is an all-over affair, and he doesn't want to chance missing anything that could lead to infection later.
This decision means that Badd's gonna have to get in with him to clean him off. Otherwise, he'll worry. Garou's too zonked to clean himself up…
Nothing to it but to do it. Badd picks up a shockingly compliant Garou once again, arms careful beneath knees and shoulders, and sets him back down opposite the detachable nozzle and the drain. Stripping himself down to his underwear comes next, and yeah of course Garou keeps watching him for that. The weirdest part is the lack of lewd commentary. Badd never thought he'd miss it so much.
As he's thinking of the best position to do this in, he catches sight of Garou pushing and tugging at his own boxer briefs, with the clear intent to get them off.
"What're you doing?"
Garou only grunts, his face catching on a grimace as his underwear catch on the cut on his thigh, and the burns on his hip.
"Shit – fine, let me help, if you wanna be naked so bad."
In actuality, Badd thinks, as he carefully finagles the last of Garou's clothes off, this'll make the whole bathing process quicker and more effective. No sense in scrubbing Garou clean only for the dirt to settle at the edges of fabric. Never mind that they'd be uncomfortable when wet, and getting them off would be even more difficult to boot.
And, okay Badd has officially spent too long overthinking the simple concept of underwear.
He is not having a good night here.
But Garou's having a worse night, so Badd gives himself a mental shakedown, trying to refocus.
Turning the water on, he lets it run over his fingers. The trick here will be finding a temperature that won't aggravate the burns while not being too cold for the rest of Garou. Badd fusses with it before settling on something just above lukewarm, makes sure he has soap and a washcloth within reach, and then squeezes in next to Garou.
The first order of business are the obvious patches of dirt and smears of mud. Garou's clothes cover most of him, so this mess is fairly localized to feet and hands and face – but that doesn't account for what slipped through the tears, or over his stomach where his shirt presumably rode up.
All of that grime sufficiently dirties the rag, and makes the water run brown. Badd keeps scrubbing until it clears, going wide around the open wounds and burns for now. The filthy washcloth is tossed away.
Rather than watching him like before, Garou's eyes are closed at the moment, a furrow between his brows. But he's not asleep by a long shot.
For good measure, Badd rinses his hair out, too. Might as well give him the works while he's in here – it's not like any part of Garou is free from dust and dirt, anyway. For the umpteenth time, Badd wonders what the hell happened to him, and bites his tongue before he can ask again. It doesn't matter.
He's gentle as he washes Garou's hair, again bizarrely reminded of doing this type of shit for Zenko. Using his own shampoo, and covering Garou's eyes with a hand as he rinses, trying to angle the showerhead so the suds don't slip down into the myriad of injuries that mar Garou's skin (fortunately his head has remained largely unscathed, by some insane miracle).
The action actually seems to relax Garou, which makes Badd feel worse for what's coming next. Readjusting the water pressure, he grabs for a clean cloth.
"Hey," he says, rubbing a thumb over Garou's freshly washed cheek to get his attention, golden eyes fluttering open. "This'll sting, but I'll try to be quick, alright?"
Garou rolls his eyes and makes half a scoffing sound – and then subsequently flinches away when Badd starts wiping right at the edge of the cut over his ribs.
"Easy," Badd murmurs, "I told you it'd sting." Soap running through wounds is no fun, he knows, and he's mindful not to scrub too hard as he keeps the water pressure to a minimum – the last thing he wants is to set any of these bleeding again, but he does have to flush them. Get rid of any residual debris.
Garou keeps squirming, though – won't fucking hold still – and Badd is getting just as wet as Garou is what with all the finagling he has to do to keep this process gentle. To keep them both from sliding around.
"Seriously, Garou, hold still."
"What the hell kind of soap is that?"
That gives Badd pause. He stops his cleaning, for a moment. "You're awfully awake and aware all of a sudden." Which is kind of reassuring, actually. Never mind the reason for it is rattling Badd's nerves something awful. "Here, sit up." He grabs at Garou's shoulders, nudging him into a sitting position as a scowl pulls at that bloodied mouth.
Something else to take care of, later. It's about damn time Garou got a toothbrush at Badd's place, anyway, for how often he's here. Asshole's gotta stop stealing Badd's sometime…
…Uh. For now, Badd prioritizes the fact that he can reach Garou's back; there's a particularly gnarly brush burn there, sharing back space with a burn burn.
Badd swipes the rag over Garou's back, runs a steady stream of water over the injuries to rinse everything away from raw skin. His heart flips at the way Garou hisses, leaning forward.
"Fucking – I'm clean already."
"No, you're not." Don't be a baby, Badd wants to add, but the words die in his mouth. "Here, c'mere."
In response, Garou scoffs out a snort – he offers no other protest, though, so Badd ignores him, getting up on his own knees. Their previous position obviously wasn't working. Needs altered, and so Badd shuffles around until he can squeeze behind Garou. He sits down in the tub, flat on his ass, legs on either side of Garou to pen him in. Setting aside the showerhead for a moment, Badd coaxes an uncharacteristically pliant Garou to lie slumped against his chest. Wet skin meets dry and starts goosebumps erupting up Badd's arms.
Like this, he can rest his chin atop Garou's head or shoulder, to watch what he's doing.
The end result is a little awkward, sure, but it'll be easier to keep Garou from squirming, which is all that matters. And it's not like Badd's never had Garou naked between his legs before.
Tiny grunts of discomfort escape Garou's throat as Badd resumes his cleaning-and-flushing. Water and soap have run over these before in passing, but the more direct contact and pressure is the kicker here. At least all this moving around confirms that he doesn't have any broken bones…though his ribs feel questionable, when Badd presses a palm to them…
Hard to examine them properly with Garou fucking wiggling like this.
"Easy," Badd mutters, guilt heavy in his gut. He can't even be properly irritated. Especially not when he feels Garou lock up. Hears him swallow a whimper. "Garou, I'm serious – you gotta hold still, or else this shit'll sting more."
An illegible grumble from Garou.
Badd sighs shortly through his nose. "I'm almost done."
Garou's body presses back against Badd's chest, and he sucks in air through his teeth. "Get on with it," he says, as Badd does just that – and Badd feels kinda like he does when bathing Tama, what with all the struggling.
Only this makes him feel ten times as shitty, because Tama just doesn't like the water. Garou, meanwhile, is in actual pain right now.
"Shit," Garou grunts. Bending his leg away from Badd's touch must seem like a good idea, but he lets out another muffled sound of pain when the movement pulls at that huge weeping gash there. Not to mention scattered burns. "You're never this thorough with your own wounds, you fucking hypocrite."
"I am, you've just never seen me." He's not. Garou's spot on here. "Now hold still – all of your squirming is fucking up my aim."
Mustering an aggravated tone is difficult, under the circumstances. It sounds kinda sullen, but it seems to do the trick at tempering Garou. Fuck. All sorts of feelings are at war in Badd's gut and he refuses to let them swamp him, as they twist up into an unsettled ball that's got him permanently on edge. He's fine. He doesn't want to hurt Garou, he doesn't like this – it's just that the alternative of Garou ending up with complications from poorly treated wounds is – well –
It'd be worse than having to do this, and would probably involve an actual hospital stay.
For once, Badd is thinking ahead, to the worst that could happen. It's the same thing he does when taking Zenko into consideration, or even Tama. The same urge to protect and keep from harm, aimed at its most uncooperative target yet.
Badd pours whatever focus he's got into finishing up. "'Sides," he continues, bumping his cheek against Garou's, "someone's gotta take care of you, ya violent bastard."
Garou lets out what might be a growl (great with using his words, tonight), but keeps to a trembling stillness as Badd gives him one last rinse.
All the while, Badd bites his tongue on a plethora of apologies.
Now that Garou is sufficiently clean, Badd slips out from behind him and turns off the water. He shivers away a chill at the lack of body heat. Focuses on throwing this washrag in the vague direction of the first one, forming some semblance of a pile.
Then it's time to get Garou up. Getting him to stand would be needlessly cruel, and Badd would feel like shit trying, so he crouches down. Winds careful arms around Garou's torso – one at his shoulders, one along his ribcage to subtly feel for breaks while careful of the cut here – and then lifts. Garou moves easy with the motion, almost relaxed in Badd's arms. Feet shifting minutely over tile.
And, yeah, some careful pressing reveals a few cracked ribs, as Badd lowers Garou into a seat on the edge of the tub. They don't feel too out of place, and are okay enough that Badd leaves them be when Garou swats his hands away. There's plenty of other shit to deal with right now, anyway. Starting with retrieval of a towel…
Badd fetches the biggest, fluffiest one available, and proceeds to pat Garou dry with it, receiving minimal protest. Only the tiniest of winces when he presses at various injuries.
That unsteady swarm of emotions in Badd's gut eases off, because Garou looks better now that he's cleaned up. Nowhere near top form, obviously, but better – and then Badd remembers the requested stitches, and his stomach curls back up tight.
He's been looking forward to this the least. He dutifully fetches his suture kit from where it lives hidden at the top of his closet regardless.
When he gets back, he finds that Garou's gone ahead and slipped to the floor, back pressed to the edge of the tub. Badd can work with that, and sits down himself, directly beneath the overhead light. Careful as he's ever done anything, he situates Garou around him, pulling him in close. Garou complies without complaint, lifting his left leg to rest in Badd's lap, while his right is against Badd's knees.
Garou is still very much naked, and in this position it'd be all too easy to escalate the situation. If either of them had any desire to. Which they would. In literally any other circumstance.
Right now, Badd is too busy trying to stop his hands' shaking as he sterilizes a curved needle.
"I –" Badd swallows, stomach cold. Sighs, again. Feels irritable and tense. Because it doesn't matter when he's doing this for himself, but this is Garou. "I don't have any of that numbing shit left. So if you still want me to do this right now, it's gonna hurt."
"Just do it." Aaaand Garou still manages to be impatient. He's still going to try to run after this.
Fuck him.
Everything Badd wants to say is lodged in his throat, though, and he ends up swallowing it all down. He'll ream Garou out later. For now he positions his hands on Garou's thigh. Tissue forceps and needle holder and all.
To Garou's credit, he only flinches on the initial push in. It's especially impressive given how Badd's hands are still shaking like leaves, no matter how many deep stabilizing breaths he takes. Fucking hell, he hates this shit…
He's stitched himself up plenty of times before, but this is Garou, and Badd knows it's gotta hurt like a motherfucker and great now his vision is blurring. His hands freeze where they are. He can't do this.
"Badd." Garou's voice breaks through the fog, and Badd catches those piercing golden eyes peering at him again. The edges of them are tense with pain. One arm is slung over Garou's ribcage. "I'll do it myself if you're–"
"Nah." Badd sniffles, rubbing his face clean on his own bicep. He's a goddamn idiot. Never was good enough at hiding shit. "No – I'll. I've got it."
His knot on the first suture isn't a masterpiece, his hands still working out the last of their tremors, but it'll do its job. Plus he did at least remember to tie it off to the side, so he moves on to the next one, hands steadier. The work gets less traumatic as he goes, and as such, the sutures get neater. Edges of that gaping wound fastened together for proper healing. Hopefully this bastard doesn't tear them.
There's an occasional pained grunt from Garou, as Badd works, and more than once he wishes he had extra hands to offer comfort. Or something like that. Sweet nothings seem like a bad idea.
It doesn't take him long to finish, now that he's found his rhythm at last. When the work's done, he slowly eases Garou's leg out of his lap, scooting backward to stand. Before Garou can flee the scene, Badd makes quick work of washing up and grabbing antiseptic and burn creams, along with bandages.
The next order of business is to apply said ointments, so Badd starts with the burns. He situates Garou – still unnervingly pliant – to his will, fingers working gently over marred flesh, as an apology for earlier. Then comes the antiseptic, applied with even gentler hands, followed by a heaping helping of bandages, with the stitched-up leg being the last wound wrapped.
The second it's done, Garou is up and at it. Lurching to his feet. Swaying only a little. Eyes locking onto an escape route.
Fucker.
"Where do you think you're going?" Badd snaps, scrambling to stand and forgetting to be mindful of his volume, what with Zenko, who's asleep down the hall. He doesn't want to wake her before the carnage is cleaned up, but dammit Garou –
"I have to leave," Garou is saying, apparently uncaring of the fact that he is buck-ass naked but for a plethora of bandages. He's already walking away, even! A clear beeline for the bathroom door.
"Like hell you do." Badd lunges forward to overtake him. Shoves his back to the door and blocks the only way out. (Unless Garou wants to squeeze himself out that tiny window. Badd doesn't put it past him.) "You need to stay off of that leg and let it heal, or else –"
Garou surges in close, his voice lowering, eyes dark. "If they find me here," he mutters, tip of his nose brushing Badd's, "you and Zenko will both be in trouble."
And yeah, that's not good – makes Badd even more curious as to what the fresh hell Garou's been up to tonight, hasn't seen hide nor hair of the bastard for weeks and he shows up like this – but hasn't that always been the case, when he stays over? These risks have already been fucking factored in. Who the fuck does Garou think he is? For some reason, Badd's eyes want to start stinging again.
"Fuck, Garou, I'm not even gonna ask what ya did." At least, not tonight. "But I'll hide you if that's what it takes, alright?"
Garou's lips draw up in a snarl. His teeth are still bloodied. "You don't understand –"
"I don't care." Grabbing Garou's shoulders, Badd doesn't plan on leaving any room for protest or escape. Squeezes hard as he dares and he can just tell that Garou will collapse again if given a safe enough chance. His bravado isn't shit. "You're resting, you fucking piece of –"
"I can't –"
Oh shitting hell, he needs to shut up – that's all Badd can think, as he hauls Garou in by the shoulders and crushes his mouth against chapped lips. Slips his tongue into a bleeding mouth. He wrenches back afterward. Tastes copper and takes note of how Garou's lips stay open. Quivering just the tiniest bit. Less red between his teeth, now.
"I ain't losing you," Badd says. Knocks his forehead against Garou's. Would haul him into a hug, if it weren't for those cracked ribs. This is no time for that shit, anyway. Never mind the kiss.
It's whatever.
Garou, for his part, is looking a little wide-eyed. Finally presses his mouth closed. Glares, some.
Asshole. Badd can glare right back. He can. His wet eyes don't mean anything. "I don't want…" Badd flexes his fingers, lets them brush down over Garou's arms a little ways. It's real hard to keep looking him in the eye, right now. "I can't lose you." Isn't that a lot to admit out loud. Garou'll run for sure, now. "If anyone comes knocking, I'll protect you, but you're not leaving to wander around out there. You need at least one night of proper fucking sleep."
Lifting his chin, determined to stand by his words, Badd stares Garou down. Those golden eyes remain glued to him. That stare burns hot on his cheeks (it's definitely that and not the blood rushing to his face, not at all).
"And…" Badd swallows. It's been quiet for too long. "And I think it's rainin', anyhow."
Garou's eyes narrow. "Badd –"
"Shut up." Badd doesn't want to hear it. He steps out of the way as he opens the bathroom door, angling himself to block off the entire hallway except for the direction his bedroom is in, holding an arm out to allow Garou to go first.
With a sour expression, Garou does as requested, making a too-fast beeline for Badd's room.
"If you leave in the middle of the night," Badd speeds after him, afraid he'll go for that damn window he loves so much, "I'll kill you." (There. That feels more natural. Should make Garou more comfortable.)
Garou stalls out in the dead center of Badd's room, turning on a heel to face him. "And undo all your work just now?"
Badd scowls, because that isn't funny at all. At least it seems like Garou's going to listen to reason despite everything and stay, if only for a little while. "You can borrow somethin' of mine to sleep in," Badd grumbles, shuffling over to his dresser, careful to keep half an eye on Garou at all times. Wary of escape attempts.
Those piercing eyes follow him right back. Garou opens his mouth, and Badd expects something about sleeping in the nude, but instead, Garou says: "It's already past the middle of the night, by the way."
Of all the… "You know what I meant, asshat!"
It takes all of Badd's restraint not to throw the sweatpants and t-shirt at Garou – or, it does until he remembers Garou, broken and bloody, trembling on his bathroom floor just a half hour ago. This room even smells metallic, the puddle of blood still drying beneath the window.
So. He steps closer. And hands the clothes over almost-too-gently instead, watching Garou's movements almost-too-intently as he gets dressed.
There are bags under Garou's eyes, and his face is taut and pale. He moves slow as he dresses, body stiff with injury no matter how hard he works to hide it. Every piece of him dipped in pain. Clothes baggy and short on his dumb lanky frame that Badd's gotten too good at holding…
As soon as Garou's done, Badd nudges his guest toward the bed. "Get some sleep," he says. "I'll be up scrubbing your blood off the floor for a while, so don't even think of running away."
Garou's eyes roll again, but he's tossing aside the covers all the same. "Yeah, yeah…" When he collapses into the bed, it's with a groan, and he just lays there.
So Badd takes it upon himself to yank the covers over that prone form, effectively tucking Garou in. "After that I'll be climbin' in with you, holding you in my sleep so you can't go anywhere." Haha. Could this be mistaken for romance? Does Badd care? Not overmuch. He gives Garou a gentle pat on the shoulder through the blanket. "I'll lie on top of you if I have to. Beanpole."
"You'll tear my stitches," Garou mutters into a pillow.
"So what? I gotta change your bandages tomorrow anyway. Might as well sew you up again."
It's an empty threat. But at least Garou doesn't contend it.
And, speaking of change, Badd had better do that with his underwear – they're still damp from his stint in the bathtub with Garou. Pajamas might be a good idea for him, too, seeing as he's almost bare right now. Then again, if he has to clean, why bother?
Badd's stopped expecting any reply at all from Garou, but he gets one now, in the middle of his pondering. It's delivered in a tone no louder than a whisper.
"I only asked for one set of stitches."
Caught between heading for his dresser or the hall closet full of cleaning supplies, Badd pauses. Stares at Garou's back.
See, he's still getting the hang of this, but he thinks that might be Garou speak for 'thank you'. Even if it's not, the softness of it is still enough to make Badd's heart feel like goo in his chest…which is sappy as hell. But he thinks he can be forgiven for that tonight.
"Don't worry 'bout it," he mumbles. "I don't charge extra for the other shit."
A/N: Thanks for reading!