[ He swallows thickly at that demand, hands tightening over the wound. Some deep, animal instinct is telling him to curl up, to hide, to make himself as small as possible until the pain passes, but—
That’s stupid. That’s not going to help. And Gamora is going to help.
Or at least, that’s what Peter thinks. That’s what he hopes. Gamora’s smart, Gamora knows what the fuck she’s doing, while Peter just sort of flies by the seat of his pants. The planner and the improviser – that’s them. Peter’s been shot before, but the Eclector had been within spitting distance every time. He’d clamber onto the Milano, set the autopilot, and would hope to God he didn’t bleed out before the Ravager medic could get to him. Now, though, he’s not sure how this is going to work, stuck in a dusty, forgotten room and waiting for rescue, but—
Gamora will know what to do, he tells himself again, and he pushes away from the wall with a quiet grunt, teeth clamping down on his lower lip when the movement jars the injury. With trembling hands, he lifts up his jacket and shirt, leans forward a little to show her the wound on his back, toward his left side. It’s messy and bleeding and painful, and none of those are descriptors that Peter appreciates. ]
no subject
That’s stupid. That’s not going to help. And Gamora is going to help.
Or at least, that’s what Peter thinks. That’s what he hopes. Gamora’s smart, Gamora knows what the fuck she’s doing, while Peter just sort of flies by the seat of his pants. The planner and the improviser – that’s them. Peter’s been shot before, but the Eclector had been within spitting distance every time. He’d clamber onto the Milano, set the autopilot, and would hope to God he didn’t bleed out before the Ravager medic could get to him. Now, though, he’s not sure how this is going to work, stuck in a dusty, forgotten room and waiting for rescue, but—
Gamora will know what to do, he tells himself again, and he pushes away from the wall with a quiet grunt, teeth clamping down on his lower lip when the movement jars the injury. With trembling hands, he lifts up his jacket and shirt, leans forward a little to show her the wound on his back, toward his left side. It’s messy and bleeding and painful, and none of those are descriptors that Peter appreciates. ]