Of course, Ace had been hurt before. Even before the fog, there had been thugs, ruffians, and people who really just wanted his expensive watches would kick at him even when he was already down, and a lot of what little (or lot, rarely) funds he had would be spent on hotel rooms, medical supplies and a shit ton of alcohol. And he’d been in the fog long enough to know not to forget the sting of an open cut, or the way a bruise festered on his skin, against his face or his ribs. It, however, did not give him the decency to not complain about it like an indignant child.
Bouncing his leg against the floor as he sat on the log, one hand grabbing at the wood and the other bunching up in his jacket laid beside him, he sucked air in through his teeth as he tensed at the stinging pain in his shoulder. Sure, he could have prevented the way that the swamp witch had swiped at him if he didn’t go digging through chests in her face, but who would he be if he didn’t do that in such an undeniably charming way? And besides, if it got people doting on him in such a way, then he’d have to do this more often.
Or maybe not. The stinging started again, and he tensed again with a nervous laugh. “Christ, Bill, tryin’ to drown the bloody thing in rubbing alcohol? You remember there’s a guy attached to this arm, right?”
“You know who lives through these trials, Ace?” Bill pulls Ace’s arm back with the strength of a man that's sick and irritated. “Not the one cracking jokes. Now hold still, or I’ll leave you like this.” It’s a miracle that they even had any rubbing alcohol left to treat it with. Who knows what would have happened if it got infected, or if it had been a deeper wound? Or if Ace didn’t manage to run off like a weasel? If, If, If..?
“You’re a lucky bastard, you don’t need stitches, I don’t think.” Bill isn’t a doctor. He’s learned to patch up wounds and infections, bites and scratches, but that was always under the pretense of ‘we’ll find a real doctor.’ they have Claudette, but she isn’t one, either, and to burden her with that responsibility was a guilt Bill didn’t want to feel after every trial. Plus, She wasn’t here right now anyways, Her and a handful of others were already off feeling the same hurt Ace was feeling right now.
Speaking of Ace, Bill goes right back to dabbing the others wounds with alcohol. he’s got a lot of choice words for Visconti- what’s wrong with you? Why do you act like this?- But he’s too focused on the care he’s trying to poorly administer to bother with scolding someone who won’t listen. It’s the same thing every single trial.
“Oh, I am quite lucky, aren’t I?” He turned to the soldier with a lopsided grin, one that fit so well on his face before it fell again as it curled in pain with a gentle whine. This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled this stunt, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. At least he had people to watch his back this time... or maybe stab him in it if he became too much of a hassle. That was hard to determine, even now. But for now, at least Bill was here. And that he would always appreciate. Even if he never acted like it with the things he said... like: “Hey, it worked out though, didn’t it? You see the look on her face when I opened the hatch? I’m a genius, ain’t I?”
Ace had dealt with hardheaded assholes before, but Bill was an entirely different breed. Though it wasn’t all bad - man had guts, and drive, and was kind enough under that rock-solid exterior and terrible, grumpy vibes. He said the wrong thing sometimes, was maybe a little too harsh in his approach at others (the gambler cursed under his breath at the stinging pain again, bouncing his leg as to not say anything crude any louder), but he was a good egg. Or at least, one that hadn’t gone rotten, yet. ...Ace liked him, is what he was trying to say to himself. Liked his company, even if half of it was cursing him out for being stupid, just like right now - but hey, they were spending time together, so that had to be worth something, right? Not like they had much else to do at the campfire.
“Shame we didn’t get to keep that key. Might’a kept her on me. Lord knows some of these kids need it... you might need it, eh? A keepsake, from your best buddy.”
“I’m being serious, Ace, She tore you to shit. ” Bill’s not laughing about it. He knows better than to entertain Ace’s half baked plans. “We have enough keys, And you wouldn’t have had to scramble for the hatch in the first place If you’d stay out of her way.” He watches Ace writhe underneath the alcohol with a frown, and his touch is softer the next time he goes to dab away blood and dirt. He wants to get it through the man's thick skull, not make him suffer. “I’m not going to stuff your guts back in every trial, So can you at least try to keep your insides from becoming your outsides?” Bill pulls away for a moment, stopping only to dig out a cigarette from his pocket. Yea.. best buddy. It wouldn’t seem like it from afar with the way he’s tearing into Ace in the moment, But all of Bill’s harping and yelling stems from a place of worry. A deep worry that had seeded itself the moment he realized that Ace attracted danger like a pig to shit. He just keeps fucking dying, dude. If he didn’t already have grey hair Ace would have certainly have given it to him.
But he’s used to it. He’s used to keeping Francis on a leash, and dealing with Ace is just using a different formula to get the same answer. Once Bill gets his cigarette to light, He leans forward and goes back to prodding at the other. First to aid, last to die. Grabbing Ace’s elbow, Bill slowly stretches it out in front of them for a minute, watching for any extra pain or grimacing, before pulling it back into the awkward position he had it in prior. No need to make it ache from being bent in one position while it was also shredded like wet tissue paper. “Are you sure nothing's broken? Because if It doesn’t heal right you’re going to be sorry.”
“What can I say? Danger just finds me… must think I’m too pretty, that I need humblin’. Or just a rotten case of bad luck. Who knows?” It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly would be the last - gotta deal with the hand that you’re dealt. A gentle shrug escaped him before he went back to bouncing his leg again, a quiet suck of breath through his teeth again and a muttering of a profanity in mother tongue being all there was for dramaticism. Bill was a saint for dealing with him even this long, and he was right to give him a warning. Kindness doesn’t last forever, and the hand that offers it won’t be extended for a lifetime. He’s always pushed that notion, though, to its very limit - bluff until you’re out of pocket, and out of friends. Ace glanced over, up and down, a softer smile on his face this time. “C’mon, bud, where’s your sense of adventure? Gotta have a little fun while we’re here, and besides, rather my heart be in my mouth than in hers, ya know? Ha… ha.”
Bad joke, flat punchline. Save that for a redraft, maybe.
Of course he lit a cigarette - it was weirder to see the old soldier without one than with one. Made a man wonder where such luxuries could be found - if he was a man of fewer inhibitions, he would have asked for one of his own to share. But if anything, he needed a stiff drink. Would make the pain hurt way less, at least. Ace tried not to pay too much attention to just how gentle the other man had gotten with him as he moved his arm, and instead, tried to perk up a little bit again. “Trust me, I know when shit’s broken, and that ain’t it. Torn? Yeah. Chewed on? Probably at some point, who knows. But it’s fine… at least, until next time. ...There probably will be a next time, you know that, yeah? ‘Course you do, you’re smart enough.”
“There’s always a next time with you.” Bill grumbles. “Use your brain for once and start thinkin’ about that next time, Ace. Do you ever plan ahead? Or is your skull just empty?” he removes his hands again, leaning down to grab gauze. He’s finally to the wrapping state, no more digging dirt and crap out of the other’s shoulder. He.. does not even react to the joke Ace attempts to make. Not even a snort. The reviews are in; tough crowd. “Hold your arm out.” he orders, already lifting up Ace's arm to thread the bandage roll underneath and then back over. Stupid, stupid stupid. Throwing himself into danger for no other reason to cause problems. Bill just will never understand it. All this nonsense and for what? A key? They had plenty of keys, as far as Bill last knew at least, and plenty of other opportunities to get them rather than straight out of the jaws of the killer's mouth. His mouth opens to speak again, something about why couldn’t Ace just listen? About how his life was more important than the reward the entity was dangling in front of him like fishers bait, But he doesn’t, and there’s another beat of silence as he restructures the words in his head.
“-And maybe you need a good humbling, God forbid you ever learn from it.” he comments, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth to look over the bandages. The moment he starts jerking Ace’s arm around again, the pin holding them comes loose and falls into the dirt. Bill grounds audibly. Stupid cheap ass fucking- “Hold on” he leans down, running his fingers through the dirt and grass near his boot, raking along the ground to find a pin in the dark. His frown deepens, hand coming up with nothing. “-Hold on.” he repeats, still looking, feeling. Finally, his fingers graze across the pin, and he snatches it back up into his hands. Jackpot. Sitting back up, he fixes the bandages and pushes the pin back in.
“There, put you back together again. Anything else I should be worried about?”
“Oh, ouch. C’mon, Overbeck, you’re killin’ me more than she tried to. I always plan ahead, you know me.” Yeah, like… five minutes ahead. Call it a spontaneous wave of genius… or terrible impulse control, either or. He lifted his arm with the movement, trying not to grit his teeth too hard. Ace almost huffed, resting his other arm on his leg as he held his head up from the chin. He wasn’t expecting a big parade or anything, but to find a key and get it out of a trial alive was a feat worth celebrating, wasn’t it? Maybe if they got enough, they could get outta here… maybe. The allegory was a little on the nose, and maybe he just really liked to test his luck (and just how much he could get on other people’s nerves, perhaps), but it was better than just standing around, waiting for the way out, right? ...It wasn’t like this was for his sake, anyway. He didn’t have shit to go back to. So, it came full circle; to be selfless, he had to be selfish. So, unbearably selfish.
He glanced over as Bill grumbled to himself, huffing a laugh through his nose as he moved to look over at him again, the slight grimace he wore softening as he watched the way he fixed the bandage with care. Ace opens his mouth to give another smart-ass remark, but the words catch in his throat and, for once, he thinks against it. But, perhaps what comes out isn’t much better anyway.
The gambler sat up, and stretched, rolling his shoulder back. “Thank you, nurse. We should do this again, sometime. S’nice to get you alone, heh.”