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“You’re not handling anything, son, you’re-”
“Don’t,” Alexander snaps. His eyes are suddenly wild. “Don’t call me that.” The boy tries to push away, he sways a little, barely catching himself.
“You’re bleeding through your damn dressings,” Washington interjects before Alexander can argue any further. The boy stiffens, his breath hitching for just a second. A dark red stain creeps through the fabric wrapped around his abdomen. He must have felt it, but ignored it until now.
Alexander draws a short, shuddering breath, and in that moment, all of that defiance and energy seems to drain out of him. A soft sound passes his lips, barely a gasp. “Oh, that’s not good.”
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