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The body feels unfamiliar in his hold, the thin uncovered fingers with their silky-smooth skin, the hands that are similar but just not the right size, but he can't call that the only right size anymore. The tie that hangs limp and wet, too. Clown can't see the blurry stains on it, just on the shirt, the only thing that's not black and red on both of them. That's a good design. He'd point it out, compliment it someplace else, but the blood, even if it's not his, belongs to someone he can't help caring about too much, so the heavy stink of it is slightly repulsive, just for that idea.
His own hearts twitch on the healthbar and tick down, half a heart less. He's out of gapples. He can say he's out of everything. That he needs, definitely.
Chief coughs slightly against his chest, and it's too quiet because it's too weak. Clown is grateful for that. He also hates it.
He doesn't say anything, because telling Chief to shush, that there are enemies way too close, is pointless, and would draw attention more than Chief's faint coughs smearing blood all over both of their clothes.
Chief should know that, too.
His eyes look into nowhere, and his breathing jumps too quickly between hitched and shallow. He's never been human enough that figuring him out would be easy, but this can't be right, either.
Well. Clown chuckles in his head. There's nothing right about this any way.
The breathing peaks and goes back to being so empty the nervous shuffle in the comms sounds louder, and Clown almost can't hear Chief over it.
"What's your coords? I can... I don't know, I'll ask someone to head over your way."
Another beat of the hearts.
"Chief, how low are you?" He asks with his voice perfectly even. Keep quiet.
Chief doesn't answer directly, but he turns his head from staring at the sky at a broken angle and snorts, or gulps, the sound just bubbles on his lips like it's part of the blood oozing out.
He looks delirious, and Clown expects him to call him by a wrong name when he smiles in relief right into his face.
"You're here. I, C... Clown. I didn't think."
He looks like he wants to add something, struggling for a second. Clown covers his mouth, and the jumpy breaths off Chief's lips tickle his hand through the glove. The touch is different.
"He's not making it." He sounds helpless. "Branzy, coords are useless, he's not gonna make it."
The radio is silent for a few seconds.
"Chief?" It speaks up again, finally, and oh, how gentle it is. "Chiefy, do you hear me?"
Chief bobs his head and coughs some more, and Clown doesn't need to say into the mic he does, that he's listening, to every word he can catch.
Then he stills, relaxed and at home just from the sound of a voice, and Clown should feel bitter but he just presses him closer instead and breathes in the smell of the wet ground mixing with blood. That's Chief right now.
"It's gonna be alright." Branzy tells him.
He's such a good actor Clown wants to believe him too.
"I just asked, a few people agreed to help, they're neutrals, they'll join the call in a little bit." Branzy rambles. "And I'm next to Clown's already, I'll hook you up with some gapples, right, I have a god apple in my inventory right now! You sound like you'll need that."
"Don't move, Chief." Clown holds him in place when he tries to nod again. "Please." He adds in a single breath. "Don't."
Chief's look is frantic and strangely clear in the last second. "Half a..." He chokes. "Cl... Kh."
"Chief?" Clown mouths.
Branzy isn't talking anymore, out of breath. Maybe out of words to throw at the feverishly shaking man.
The silence rings for so long it's hurting his ears. "You heard him, Chief. You're gonna be fine." He breathes back when he needs to say something before his throat can go completely numb so he can't mutter a word. It's close.
"Chief. Chief."
The word is off like that, sped up, and it sounds to him like he's trying to stuff into it too much meaning and say too quickly before the other falls apart on him, but it's also not him, he's not trying to do that, he's not trying anything.
Clown is just lying way off to the side even when the damp clothes are pressing right into him, and he's feeling too much.
It's just wrong. Every letter of the name is not the same he's used to saying this desperately. That makes it even more overwhelming, being hit in a place he never thought to be a weakness of his.
The body is unfamiliar in his hold.
When Chief stops breathing at all, it still hurts, and then Clown's hands are empty completely, and they slip on the bloody grass before he can catch himself.
He scrambles on the ground into a curled up ball.
"Were you lying just now?" He asks, slurred.
Branzy's wheezing, unhappy laugh fills his ears.