Work Text:
Push Until I Break
To be fair, it hadn’t occurred to him at the time to be anything near concerned. He was a demon and it wasn’t Peace Maker. It wouldn’t kill him. Funny how that had become his gauge by which to judge the importance of things. Had Wynonna shot him? No? Then all was fine and he could damn well go about his day.
There is a nagging part of him that suggests maybe this isn’t the healthiest way to handle a situation but he pushes it down. There was stuff to do and he needed to focus. He had Revenants to handle and an heir to keep relatively amicable so no one got shot up in his compound.
Besides, the unlucky individual who had managed to stab him, of all things, got a very harrowing lesson on making sure the person he shoved the blade into was actually human and therefore could die like that. Bobo himself should have been more aware of his surroundings. That sort of nonsense could kill someone. Well, someone else anyway.
A call from Wynonna has him making the trek to Shorty’s irritated that he yet again has to have a sit-down and wondering which idiot of his was going to be shaken and or tossed over the line until they actually thought better and makes himself comfortable at the bar. The twinge in his back worsens a bit, the weight of the coat and his shirt uncomfortable but that, too, was usual so he forces it away as he orders a drink. Might as well try and pretend civility.
Pretending was about all he had at that moment anyway.
So watching her saunter over has him telling himself to be downright pleasant if he wanted to not deal with anything resembling her threatening him with Peace Maker to add to his troubles. “Do your Revenants just like to push boundaries for no reason?”
He wants to drop his head onto the bartop but barely manages to keep himself from it before managing in what he hopes is a neutral tone, “Are you just figuring this out now?”
“So it’s nothing for them to just see how far they can take something then?”
Bobo gives her a flat, unimpressed look. “No. Did something actually happen or did one of the boys decide to amuse himself by doing something you can’t quite make a stink over?”
“The latter.”
“Then what am I doing here?”
“Can you reiterate…”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Earp!” he snaps, “You are being ridiculous about nothing and I’m not in the mood to cater to you! They’re going to keep doing this so long as you keep freaking out every time one of them comes into contact with someone. They know the rules and they obey. Everything else you are just going to have to ignore unless you’d like to drink twice as much as Holliday.”
He watches her look at him, really look at him and suddenly doesn’t like the way her brow furrows. “What, something on my face now?”
“Are you okay? You look….a little paler than normal.”
“Am I…” His back twinges hard and it’s a strain to keep from showing his discomfort, “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, you tell me, but you look off. You sure you’re okay?”
“If I wasn’t would it bother you?”
“Not me but I’m sure Doc would have a few complaints to make in that direction.”
He snorts before reaching for his drink. That it takes effort to raise it has his attention before he realizes that his vision was getting a little fuzzy.
The stabbing. Oh. Right. “Earp,” he says quietly as the adrenaline, as even his own stubbornness finally gives, “You’re gonna need to grab this bottle.”
“What, why?”
The twinge becomes a ripple and his teeth snap together a moment before he manages, “‘Cause I’m about to pass out.”
“Wh-what...Bobo? BOBO!”
His vision goes gray and then black as he feels himself tumble with the parting thought of, ‘Fucking hell why did it have to be in front of her?’
He doesn’t come back to awareness on Shorty’s floor, he finds which is quite frankly a kindness he wasn’t expecting. The faint smell of tobacco and whiskey, however, tells him exactly where he’s resting, his face in a pillow. “You know, John Henry, most gentlemen ask a man to their bedroom,” he remarks trying to sound casual.
“Most men don’t faint in the middle of a bar from a stab wound up through their back and between their ribs, Robert,” comes the response that warns him someone wasn’t happy.
“Wasn’t fatal,” he tries, “Didn’t really think it was going to cause me such grief. I’m sure Wynonna enjoyed that performance.”
“Despite you and Wynonna not being civil to each other in any public forum she does not truly wish you ill so no she did not particularly like the sight of you collapsing in the bar less when we peeled your jacket off to reveal your injuries. How is it that you still have no concept of takin’ care of yourself better?”
“Revenant, remember? If it’s not Peace Maker it’s not a problem.”
There is a huff before the bed would dip down and the feel of hands would be on his back careful about the pressure over his mark. “You need to treat yourself as more precious than that, Robert. You’re worth more.”
His eyes go half-lidded before he lets out a soft sigh at a particularly gentle touch. “N-not to point out the obvious here but...pain’s been something of a familiar friend for a while. I got used to it. Probably should have paid better attention but I had things that needed to be done.”
“You cannot do that, you realize. It’s not fair to you.”
“See, there you go again. Be gentle. Be fair. John Henry, I’m a goddamn demon. There’s nothing remotely soft or gentle or...a-ahh...f-fuck...don’t do that!” His chastisement is of course interrupted by the press of fingers right along the edges of the mark; a massaging motion that has him arching chasing that feeling.
“Maybe I should keep a closer eye on you then because Wynonna doesn’t trust you to follow the rules and I don’t trust you to take care of yourself. Everyone wins.” Bobo would make an argument but at that moment the man presses his lips directly against the mark drawing a low whine from him as he squirms.
“F-fucking hell, J-John H-Henry, if I agree will you stop the goddamn chatter and put your mouth to better use?”
There’s a low chuckle before would come, “Well now darlin’, I do love your negotiation skills.”