[Hank hears the noise he makes, the surprise sounding almost like pain, shaking breaths still too loud in his ears. He stares. A little confusion's inching its way around the horror, because he knows how he feels about Connor. He knows. Not all of it must of gone through. The hard edges of his horror spread through his mind and everything there goes tight and sharp, worried, but there's no building walls here, not like this, and Connor's question sends a shot of appreciation through him, dimmer than before as his mind switches tracks to the here and now, to the fact that he just tripped like a moron, as he decides that's got to be what Connor's asking about.
The appreciation's all wrapped up the same disgust, dragging it back into the same muck that's oozing over the background of his mind, the same resentment for the thing that started all this and still doesn't understand, the same thing beating behind it all that might actually be hatred, real hatred, Hank isn't sure and doesn't want to be, and everything tightens up more, the acrid disgust turning inward and everything going staticy with dread before Hank forces his hand open and pushes Connor's arm as hard as he can and scoots himself backward on the floor, his face twisting up and looking angry.
The look fades over a second into something more normal, not quite neutral, and he twitches his shoulder in something that's supposed to be a shrug. He tries to look over at something else, anything that's not this, but he can't, quite.]
Banged the shit out of my shin. Be a hell of a bruise but I'll probably live.
same
The appreciation's all wrapped up the same disgust, dragging it back into the same muck that's oozing over the background of his mind, the same resentment for the thing that started all this and still doesn't understand, the same thing beating behind it all that might actually be hatred, real hatred, Hank isn't sure and doesn't want to be, and everything tightens up more, the acrid disgust turning inward and everything going staticy with dread before Hank forces his hand open and pushes Connor's arm as hard as he can and scoots himself backward on the floor, his face twisting up and looking angry.
The look fades over a second into something more normal, not quite neutral, and he twitches his shoulder in something that's supposed to be a shrug. He tries to look over at something else, anything that's not this, but he can't, quite.]
Banged the shit out of my shin. Be a hell of a bruise but I'll probably live.