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"Stop wiggling!" Hels hisses, shoving Exisora flat against the ratty couch cushions again, leaning his weight into the space between their shoulderblades.
Exisora snarls. "What a fucking bedisde manner you have." They snap back at him.
"Shut up and lay still." Ex's never insult turns into a drawn-out groan when Hels starts digging around for the copious pieces of shrapnel currently pocking Exisora's back. This is HelsKnight helping, in a manner of speaking, and Exisora bleeding on Hels' furniture is hardly a novel experience. Another fucking day in Hell's Kitchen.
Exisora is busy rending the cushion with their fangs while Hels roots around with a pair of tweezers that feel more like kitchen tongs when buried in Ex's flesh.
"Auuuugh." Exisora says helpfully, shuddering in relief when Hels withdraws the tool. They hear a distant metallic clink as Hels drops the retrieved shrapnel piece into a nearby bowl.
"Yeah, yeah." Hels pat Ex's head and Exisora twists fast to try and fucking bite him, but Hels only slams them down again. Shifting position while he does it, the heel of Hels' palm slips too close to a raw wound and fire jumps across Ex's back.
"Fuck off!" Ex shouts in pain, but they go slack and lay flat again, breathing deeply in through their nose and out through their mouth as it passes. The momentarily thrashing has knocked their cannula out of place, but without being told Hels reaches over and adjusts the cannula back to laying properly against Exisora's face gently. Then Hels goes ahead and virtually sits on Ex's hips and legs. Ex lets out a low growl, but goes back to biting down on the fabric beneath his face as Hels keeps up with his task.
Clink. Clink. Ex can't say that Hels isn't fucking dexterous and diligent, but it also still really fucking hurts.
"Okay." Hels say aloud after who-knows-how-long. The tweezers (of death) are set aside and Hels applies some bandages to Ex's back, mopping up the warm blood that Ex can feel running in rivulets over his skin. "Let's take a break before you start bleeding too much."
It takes Ex a moment or several to unclench their jaw and use their voice again. "Kind of you." They say dryly.
Hels climbs back off Exisora and helps them flip over, propping them up on a few pillows. Hels would fiercely object to anything he does being characterized a soft — Ex would too, to be fair — but the motion is undeniably so. Exisora files it away for later blackmail (evil version of fond reminiscence). Hels passes Ex some water before joining them on the couch, lifting their legs briefly and then dropping them into his lap.
"There's not a lot left, but they're the the nastiest ones." Hels informs Ex.
In a deadpan, Exisora responds, "Yippee."
"You love your stupid helmet so much, wear the rest of your armor and this shit won't happen."
"If my helmet is stupid, then so is your's."They both have horns on their helmets, after all. Not to match, but because it is objectively fucking cool and Exisora will fight anyone who says otherwise (and they have).
Hels scoffs. "I should've kicked you out."
"But you didn't." Hels may talk shit, but Ex knows the door is always open. It's one of the few predictable things in their life.
Hels laughs, and Exisora leans their head back with a grin on their face. They're ultimately just about to doze off, finally, when Hels is standing beside them again, shaking their shoulder (carefully, given their injuries).
"C'mon. We gotta get this done and then I'll throw you in bed, alright?"
Exisora groans in frustration but complies as Hels helps them turn around and lay on their stomach again. Hels has to peel away a few of the bandages and it's a horrible, gross feeling as the clotting blood and sticky cloth separates from raw skin in peeling strips.
"This is gonna suck." Hels warns.
"You fucking think?"
"I remind you that this is your mess. I should've made you run on to get help from your brother." Hels says brother with that mild disgust which is his kindest view of any of the Hermits.
"You're stalling."
"The tools I've got aren't going to work for some of these." Exisora can tell immediately from Hels' tone that Hels has known this and only now is forced to say it, which prickles frustration in Ex's chest. "I"m gonna have to use my hands."
"Do not stick your fingers in me."
"That's not what you were saying the other —"
"Hels, for Void's sake!"
Hels huffs, a small curl of steam exhaling from his nose and mouth as he does. "This would be easier if you'd relax."
"You just told me you're going to do some literal hands-on surgery on me. Apparently I should've asked some fucking Hermits. They have degrees or some shit."
Exisora can feel HelsKnight tense at the mention of the Hermits again. He really does hold a grudge — Ex is prodding on purpose, because he's high-strung as fuck right now, whether or not it's fair.
"Get it over with. If you make me respawn I'm kicking your ass."
"Fine." Hels growls. "You better not squirm."
"Awww," Exisora says with fake sweetness. "And I thought you liked it when I squirm."
That's when Hels does in fact shove his fucking fingers into Exisora's shrapnel wound, and Exisora doesn't manage to choke back a cry this time. Hels' other hand is braced on the small of Ex's back, his thumb rubbing small circle there in what comes across as a serious parody of comfort considering what else Hels is doing right now.
It's alien and wrong, Hels' fingers wriggling in the wound, blood welling up around his hand and God, Hels probably can't see a fucking thing and has to rely purely on touch, trying to find a jagged piece of metal nested in Exisora's wet flesh.
"Scream if you have to." Hels says from somewhere close to Ex's ears and before he even finishes the sentence Exisora is complying and screaming bloody fucking murder.
"I got it," Hels announces, somehow reaching Exisora's ears. His fingers rip free with a metal shard in a blood-slick grip and Ex's scream peters off into a moan as Hels plasters a new bandage on.
"I hope," Ex pants, "That I give you every fucking blood disease ever."
"Oh please, like your stupid doe-eyed mad scientist doesn't fuss over you with modern medicine. I assume those cartoon band-aids are cheesy foreplay."
"Are you done?" Exisora demands.
"No. Teasing you, no, and getting this shit out? Also no."
"I hate you." Exisora warbles.
"I know," Hels says fondly. "Just hang on a little longer. Deep breath."
Breathing does not help; all it does is give Exisora more air to scream louder and longer. Screaming only makes things feel marginally better. Exisora's thoughts blur until all they feel is fingers where they really shouldn't be and all they can think is get out get out get out getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT
"—over. All done, now. Breathe. I've got you."
That, Ex can trust, and Hels' steady hands keep a hold on them all the way until they're swathed in blankets and down. His hands smell like soap as he pushes Exisora's hair out of their face, and Hels is still at their side when Exisora finally falls asleep.