The sharpness helped, but there was only so much that could be done about the aching burn of cuts, the slow but gaining curtain of blood streaming from each line to slide down his chest. A shuddering breath worked out of him. And then, after a few unsteady breaths, it was done.

When Jim was done with the word, Frank took a couple more shallow, composing breaths. He put his hand on the back of Jim's neck again and pressed their foreheads together. The feeling was sharp, burning agony. He nodded a little bit, holding on for the pain until it was something he could set aside.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay. You good, Jim?"