Collision had been a lot more than Orange had expected. Getting home to Hook should've been a relief, but it's not. He just feels stripped bare, Hook's face turning towards him as he walks into the living room later that afternoon. Mrs. Senerchia has already left, needing to get back home to Taz since he too has a lot to deal with thanks to his shoulder issues, so it's just the two of them and there's no easy way to distract Hook from focusing on Orange and what happened the night before.
When Hook stands and gingerly steps in his direction, whatever in Orange that had been holding him together through the airport and the travel and everything else just to get here cracks. When Hook opens his mouth and manages, "Orange-" what remains crumbles into dust and Orange shakes his head, walking past him and escaping into the bedroom, shutting the door with a solid click.
He sits down at the foot of the bed and buries his face in his hands. He never wanted to hurt anyone. Not Chuck or Trent or Kris or anyone else, but it'd been his hands the night before, holding that monkey wrench- the weapon he can barely remember where it'd come from- and clocking Trent hard in the skull with it, downing him immediately. Things have been brewing for awhile. He thinks it probably started all the way back when he lost the International title the first time. Then losing it again, then the tag tournament, then Trent and Chuck and Kris, and... and everything Hook's been going through, and now his getting blinded by Jericho the one week Orange wasn't with him, and...
He groans and rocks back and forth, hating himself more and more. He's not sure how much time has passed, lost in these spiraling thoughts, when he hears a loud crashing noise from the living room, so pronounced in the silence that he leaps up to his feet and immediately steps towards the door, lips parting in shock at the volume of it all. It takes a second before his mind catches up with everything else and he cries out, "Hook?" before forcing the door open and running back down the hall to the living room, the lingering silence eating at him. "Hook?!"
He skids to a stop in the doorway, unable to do anything but gape for a few moments. Hook is sprawled out on the ground, laying in what remains of the small table that had been off to the side of the kitchen entrance, mail and random nonsense scattered around beneath him. "Hook?" he breathes out, finally rushing forward and dropping to his knees next to him. Some of his fear eases when Hook groans into the carpet, hitting a fist against the floor. "What happened?!"
"Fuck," Hook whines, trying to push himself up. "I... I was thirsty," he mumbles. "I thought I could get to the kitchen to get some water, but... I think I misjudged and ran into this fucking table, and I... I think I broke it. Sorry." He fumbles around, patting at the collapsed wood with a pained grimace.
Orange grits his teeth, guilt slamming into him. "Fuck," he breathes out. "Come on. Let's get you up." He grips Hook's forearm, guiding him. "Arms around my neck, come on. I've got you, Hook."
Hook listens, looping his arms around Orange's neck and holding on as Orange pulls him carefully up. He doesn't even make a sound until they're upright, then he presses his face into Orange's neck. "Ow," he mumbles.
Orange only feels worse as he holds Hook close, the man trembling so hard that it's rattling through Orange's body. "Come on," he says softly. "Let's get you to the couch. I'll make sure you're ok."
He navigates him around the room, careful to keep a large distance between them and any furniture, helping Hook to sprawl out over the couch. "Ok, handsome," he says, brushing a hand through Hook's wild hair, thankful that at the very least what Orange can see of his head and face seems fine. He decides to check the bandages later."What hurts?"
Hook sniffs and presses his face into the cushions. "Everything," he mumbles.
Orange closes his eyes, resting a grounding hand on Hook's sternum, feeling his stuttery little breaths. "Ok, I'm just gonna..." Orange exhales. "I'm gonna be really gentle, alright, but I gotta see."
"Go on," Hook grits out, digging his nails into his palm.
Orange stares down at him for a moment before patting his chest. "I'll be right back." He rushes into the bedroom and grabs a pillow off of the bed. "Here," he says gently, pressing the pillow into his hands. "Squeeze that."
"Mm hmm," Hook says, tense.
Orange moves methodically over his body, checking his ribs and arms, careful around his neck. Everything seems good there, but Hook hisses as Orange runs his hands down his legs, pausing when he feels tacky wetness and looks down to find blood staining the leg of his pants. "Hook, don't panic," he says. "But you're bleeding here, and I'm going to have to lift your pant leg to see what's going on."
"Fuck," Hook breathes out, fingers digging into the pillow like he's about to shred it into pieces.
Orange glances up at him really quickly before easing the pant leg up, relieved that Hook was wearing sweat pants and not something harder to maneuver. He hisses out a breath and rests his hand just below Hook's knee. "Ok," he murmurs, watching the blood oozing under his hand. "Alright, Hook. You, uh. Looks like you banged up your knees, the wood sliced you here when the table broke I think. I'm gonna go grab the first aid kit really quick." He cradles the side of Hook's face, stroking his jaw. "You're gonna be ok. I'll be right back."
Hook presses his face harder into the side of the couch and just breathes deeply as Orange rushes into the bathroom, collecting the first aid kit and looking into it quickly to make sure it's not entirely empty. Finding it sufficiently stocked- thank you, Mrs. Senerchia- he takes a moment to breathe, staring at his pale reflection in the mirror, before rushing back down the hall, not wanting to leave Hook alone for too long.
"Ok, here," he says, dropping the kit down next to the couch and kneeling back next to Hook. "I'm gonna have to clean this..." He carefully wipes at the wound, listening to Hook's breath hitch. It's not a deep wound, necessarily, but still the fact that it's there at all eats at Orange. If he had just taken a few minutes with Hook when he'd gotten home, maybe he would've known what he needed and Hook wouldn't have wandered blindly through the living room and injured himself just for some water.
"Stitches?" Hook asks, voice shaking.
"No," Orange says softly. "I think it'll be ok just bandaging it. But it's probably going to be sore for awhile, you're already bruising up."
Hook exhales. "Of course," he mumbles, teeth digging into his bottom lip as Orange disinfects the wound carefully.
He finishes and sits back. "I'm going to let this breathe for a minute before I bandage it, gonna finish checking your legs out."
"Mm hmm," Hook mumbles, breathing in deeply as Orange checks his left leg.
"I think your knee's going to bruise up a little here too," he says. "But there's no wounds on this leg, so you're going to be fine." He leans back onto his heels and rests a hand on Hook's side. "I'll get you some ice."
Hook turns his head towards Orange and exhales. "I know you need your space," he mumbles. "But I just wanna go to bed?"
Orange hurts even more at the questioning tone in Hook's voice and leans over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I... wasn't in a good headspace, but I shouldn't have left you out here alone."
Hook shakes his head, reaching out for his hand. "I'm sorry I broke the table."
"I actually hated that table, so you kind of did me a favor," Orange says, lacing their fingers together. Hook laughs weakly and Orange smiles, kissing his knuckles. "Come on, handsome, let's get you to bed."
Hook shifts like he's about to swing his legs off of the couch but Orange keeps ahold of him and scoops him up, lifting him off of the couch. "Whoa," Hook gasps, arms looping around Orange's neck. "You gonna carry me?"
"Yes," Orange says, nuzzling into him. "Right to bed. Then I'll bandage your leg, get you some ice. And check your eyes when I change those bandages."
Hook freezes in his arms and Orange looks over at him. "I'm sorry," he whispers.
Orange frowns, carefully maneuvering him down the hall towards the bedroom. "What for?"
"Being so much work," he mumbles, resting his head on Orange's shoulder. "You've got enough going on and now you've got to make sure I don't trip over myself and break everything or kill myself, and you have to change my bandages, and all of this other shit. It's too much."
Orange exhales, squeezing Hook's side. "Hey, listen. You're not too much, alright? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. When... when Jericho attacked you, and now this tonight. I like being there for you, and I hate you feeling like you have to do things on your own while you're still recovering because I... I get lost in my own head sometimes. You have nothing to apologize for."
Hook exhales shakily as Orange walks into the bedroom and lays him down carefully on the bed. "I'm so tired..."
"I know," he murmurs, leaning in and kissing him. "I'll be back in a few minutes with the bandages, alright? Just rest."
"Mm hmm." Hook sighs, sinking back into the pillows while Orange wanders back out to the living room to collect the first aid kit.
He hesitates and looks down at the destroyed table, closing his eyes. It could've gone so much worse, Hook could've really injured himself. He casts a scrutinizing glance around the room before pulling out his phone. He listens to it ring while he scoops up the remaining bandages and things scattered out of the first aid kit.
When it clicks in, he leans back against the couch and tries not to panic at what he's about to ask. "Hey, Kyle, I think I need some help moving furniture before we fly out next. Would, uh. Would you mind...?" He stares ahead blankly, fingers twisting against the denim at his knees. "Thanks, Kyle. I'll call you in the morning and we can sort out the details."
It's weird trying to trust people enough to let them in, especially after everything he's gone through the last few months. But, he thinks, Kyle's easy response to his needing help has to mean something. It has to.