[which prompts him to stop shaking as soon as that happens, his hands withdrawing, immediately moving to cup around his mouth.] No, [comes out, harsh and breathless, something comparable to a pathetic whimper, but far more pained.] Nonono—
[everything else tumbling from his mouth is either incoherent babble or some unintelligible bullshit about magic while he's kicking things under the bed after hearing the footsteps, hoping to scatter enough of it so nothing looks too skeptical-- and although he struggles the entire time the orderlies separate them (panic attack and all), he doesn't fight their aid. they're thanking him, telling he's done fine with what he could, taking him off to get his own wounds checked.
waiting in his infirmary bed is the hardest part. they won't let him see quentin because he "needs to be monitored because of hitting his head" and "klaus, you should be resting, too," but he can't sleep, not after... not after the catastrophe that'd just happened in their room. thank whatever higher powers out there, they give him pain pills when he puts up too much of a fuss during the removal of any leftover glass shards.
he sits curled on the bed, running through the list of things he'd been asked to get over and over again because obviously, it was something he'd done wrong. one of his contacts had gotten sabotaged-- or sabotaged him? either way, shit's gone sideways in the worst way.
hearing quentin's voice draws klaus's attention, makes him lift his head from his hands then instantly spring to his feet, bridging the slight distance between them from the bed to where quentin's only a couple steps away.] Q, you shouldn't— [he stops there, shakes his head and reaches to clasp quentin's shoulders, wincing slightly at the ache in his hands, although it doesn't stop him from carefully leading them to sit. damn, they're both high as kites, aren't they?]
Of course, I didn't run! There's no way I was going to leave you there by yourself.
no subject
[everything else tumbling from his mouth is either incoherent babble or some unintelligible bullshit about magic while he's kicking things under the bed after hearing the footsteps, hoping to scatter enough of it so nothing looks too skeptical-- and although he struggles the entire time the orderlies separate them (panic attack and all), he doesn't fight their aid. they're thanking him, telling he's done fine with what he could, taking him off to get his own wounds checked.
waiting in his infirmary bed is the hardest part. they won't let him see quentin because he "needs to be monitored because of hitting his head" and "klaus, you should be resting, too," but he can't sleep, not after... not after the catastrophe that'd just happened in their room. thank whatever higher powers out there, they give him pain pills when he puts up too much of a fuss during the removal of any leftover glass shards.
he sits curled on the bed, running through the list of things he'd been asked to get over and over again because obviously, it was something he'd done wrong. one of his contacts had gotten sabotaged-- or sabotaged him? either way, shit's gone sideways in the worst way.
hearing quentin's voice draws klaus's attention, makes him lift his head from his hands then instantly spring to his feet, bridging the slight distance between them from the bed to where quentin's only a couple steps away.] Q, you shouldn't— [he stops there, shakes his head and reaches to clasp quentin's shoulders, wincing slightly at the ache in his hands, although it doesn't stop him from carefully leading them to sit. damn, they're both high as kites, aren't they?]
Of course, I didn't run! There's no way I was going to leave you there by yourself.