"Look at you, helpin' me out," he mutters, standing obediently and making a noise when he does, when moving makes those big raw patches of him stretch in a way all the nerves and shit there really don't like, just the kind of whimpering noise he still wants to make because hell, who's around to hear it? "'s nice. Gotta' do it though, don't I? No one's gonna' stand up for me. I gotta' get this done."
He tries to bend over the seat again to get to those wires, those damn wires that are all he needs to get himself gone, gone, gone. He lets out a shaky breath because moving is, hey, still a gigantic bitch and bending over stretches his back out, he breathes out slow through his nose and reaches out and frowns at his hands, watches them, watches the raw purple dent on his wrists where that cord was and watches it shaking when his wrists shake, when his hands shake, and he frowns like he don't know what his hands are doin'. He's gonna' fry himself in a second trying to do anything with these. "Shit, you know how to hotwire a car?"
The idea makes Stan giggle, the noise breathy and scared and he swallows hard, wishes he was back in that place where he was falling asleep, drifting away, that was nice. He's glad he's not in that place, glad the terror's creepin' back in even as he resents the hell out of it, out of what it means, because it means he needs that terror to get the hell out, to get away, it means that no one's gonna' get this done but him.
"Talk to me, F-Fo..." He can't say it. He can say it. It's just a stupid name. "Ford, not about hospitals, I- A guy like my brother, he could stroll into any, any hospital he wanted but uh, a guy like me?" He giggles again, swallows hard again. "You gotta' convince 'em you can pay. And then the cops, the cops watch places like that. I ain't dyin' so no, uh, no hospitals. I'm not gonna' die today, Ford."
There's something in those last few words, something scared and hard and immovable. Bending over makes something drip down off his chin and he realizes his mouth's been oozing this whole time, swallows a bunch of bloody spit back down and almost chokes on it for a second, grimaces, red sliding out between his teeth and his hands reach out, wanting to fumble with the wires, still shaking and trying, still trying. "I'm gonna' live. I'm gonna' live to-today. I just gotta' go some-someplace. Where do you wanna' go, F-Ford? I just need to hear your voice, just for a little while. Just tellin' me where you want us to go together."
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He tries to bend over the seat again to get to those wires, those damn wires that are all he needs to get himself gone, gone, gone. He lets out a shaky breath because moving is, hey, still a gigantic bitch and bending over stretches his back out, he breathes out slow through his nose and reaches out and frowns at his hands, watches them, watches the raw purple dent on his wrists where that cord was and watches it shaking when his wrists shake, when his hands shake, and he frowns like he don't know what his hands are doin'. He's gonna' fry himself in a second trying to do anything with these. "Shit, you know how to hotwire a car?"
The idea makes Stan giggle, the noise breathy and scared and he swallows hard, wishes he was back in that place where he was falling asleep, drifting away, that was nice. He's glad he's not in that place, glad the terror's creepin' back in even as he resents the hell out of it, out of what it means, because it means he needs that terror to get the hell out, to get away, it means that no one's gonna' get this done but him.
"Talk to me, F-Fo..." He can't say it. He can say it. It's just a stupid name. "Ford, not about hospitals, I- A guy like my brother, he could stroll into any, any hospital he wanted but uh, a guy like me?" He giggles again, swallows hard again. "You gotta' convince 'em you can pay. And then the cops, the cops watch places like that. I ain't dyin' so no, uh, no hospitals. I'm not gonna' die today, Ford."
There's something in those last few words, something scared and hard and immovable. Bending over makes something drip down off his chin and he realizes his mouth's been oozing this whole time, swallows a bunch of bloody spit back down and almost chokes on it for a second, grimaces, red sliding out between his teeth and his hands reach out, wanting to fumble with the wires, still shaking and trying, still trying. "I'm gonna' live. I'm gonna' live to-today. I just gotta' go some-someplace. Where do you wanna' go, F-Ford? I just need to hear your voice, just for a little while. Just tellin' me where you want us to go together."