“Yeah, it’s me.” Hattori placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “‘m gunna ge’ ya outta here.“ Hattori looked around the room before returning his Katana to it’s sheath. It was clear that Hakuba wasn’t going to be able to walk, not like this. He was going to have to carry him out of here, which meant he wouldn’t be able to have his katana in his hand if someone showed up.
He was going to have to be sneaky.
“‘m gunna lif’ ya up an’ carry ya, okay? It’s gunna hur’ bu’ please bear with it.” Hattori’s voice was soft and quiet and attempted to be soothing, though he was unsure if that was working. He slid his arms underneath Hakuba in two places, one under his knees, the other under his back. He counted to three in his head before slowly lifting him up, trying to make this as painless as possible.
Hurt was an understatement. As Hattori pulled Hakuba into his arms, a cry escaped him, cut off with a sort of growl in his throat as he tried to silence it. At least he could comprehend the need for quiet, teeth clenched hard under quivering lips. The whine in the back of his throat that followed was one of tortured agony.
He hated looking this weak in front of Hattori; hated feeling this weak, but he had no choice. Muscles stiff and aching, he couldn’t even find the strength to do his part and hold onto the Osakan… he was utterly helpless, eyes clenched tight against the burning tears that gathered.
Just making it out of the complex and to somewhere safe would be challenge enough as he was already feeling his consciousness slip under the heat of pain… but there was far worse between the detective pair and the any potential haven.