[it was tempting to be snide. so he's quietly appreciative when she refrains.

if she wasn't there, it wouldn't matter. he could moan and groan as much he wanted; he could take as much time as needed to drag himself into the bath. but she's right there. she's right there and he can't run. he hates it. he hates himself. so he just stares at the sheets for a few minutes, sullen and sour. though he doesn't take it out on her, not now.]

If I could.

[he sounds softer somehow. maybe it's the blood loss, or maybe, just maybe, he's allowing himself to be vulnerable after all. he wonders if she'd kill him, if she'd slaughter him, if the heat of the moment would've consumed her outside of this room. but it doesn't matter. he can't fight back anyway. for better or for worse, he's completely at her mercy.

he starts babbling. and the blood loss was definitely to blame for that.]

I've died before. It wasn't some injury, just... someone who stole my soul and sealed it away. I think it was worse that way. It was in a card, and then it was in stone, and then it was in some hellish dimension. Kinda like one, actually. And we're going back, make no mistake, but...

[he sighs heavily. then shudders, because even that much was painful.]

We're going back, but part of me might stay behind. Some of these things, the things that we're doing, that we're becoming, can't be undone.