Work Text:
He’s vaguely aware that Gyro is standing above him and that there’s a blinding, searing sensation in his abdomen that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. “Uh…?’ Fenton says, and he’s not aware he’s talking, the world around him dizzy.
“It’s okay, Fen.” Gyro says, his hand on his cheek, “You were shot, but it’s going to be okay.” That doesn’t sound right. How’d he get shot? “It’s okay.”
Fenton blinks, once, twice, and then he looses count, and he slurs out, “Jus’ puta bandaid onit, babe.” and he manages to sound somewhat coherent, at least he thinks so.