[ wash turns the knife slightly, slowly, carefully, always within pietro's sightline. not letting go of it, shifting it in his grip enough to let the blade turn away from him. he listens to his breathing, feels it under his palm, all through the shaking. he'd hit something deep, there, wash can tell, and he doesn't mean the muscle even if he knows that too. the bullet scars, the visceral fear and panic. he didn't mean to hit quite that far, quite that deep, and somewhere at the back of wash's mind is a quiet irritation at himself for it, out of focus but present.
pietro shifts, looking away, his voice whisper quiet. and that even now he can hear discomfort in his voice, like after this he still hates to have to admit it, steels a thought in his mind. this had to be messy. pietro doesn't have any goddamn idea where his own lines are.
slowly then, wash moves his hand. he doesn't wrench it out of pietro's grip, and pietro can keep holding onto him, coul even stop him if he put a mind to it. he turns the knife, tip now wet with blood, and in a familiar motion to before, turns the flat of it to tuck under pietro's chin and jaw. forcing his head up, surprisingly gentle but firm, guiding him back until wash can meet his eyes again. ]
Okay. [ his voice is still low, quiet. rumbling deep. his eyes watching him carefully, memorizing every shaking breath. ] Now we both know that.
[ he'll wait a little, there. he honestly expects that pietro might just bolt -- again, while the mess is necessary, he still believes there were better ways for him to do this, that he'd let pietro goad him too much. and so he waits, his other hand still pressed firm to his shoulder, stemming the bleeding. ]
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pietro shifts, looking away, his voice whisper quiet. and that even now he can hear discomfort in his voice, like after this he still hates to have to admit it, steels a thought in his mind. this had to be messy. pietro doesn't have any goddamn idea where his own lines are.
slowly then, wash moves his hand. he doesn't wrench it out of pietro's grip, and pietro can keep holding onto him, coul even stop him if he put a mind to it. he turns the knife, tip now wet with blood, and in a familiar motion to before, turns the flat of it to tuck under pietro's chin and jaw. forcing his head up, surprisingly gentle but firm, guiding him back until wash can meet his eyes again. ]
Okay. [ his voice is still low, quiet. rumbling deep. his eyes watching him carefully, memorizing every shaking breath. ] Now we both know that.
[ he'll wait a little, there. he honestly expects that pietro might just bolt -- again, while the mess is necessary, he still believes there were better ways for him to do this, that he'd let pietro goad him too much. and so he waits, his other hand still pressed firm to his shoulder, stemming the bleeding. ]