this wasn't how things were supposed to go, at all. here you were, clearly in pain and desperate for any sort of help, stuck with a fumbling and panicking bane. his fingers lightly trembling, doing his best to remain gentle-- yet with a man of his size and strength, it was no easy feat. his touches were anything but soothing; prodding, sharp, uneasy jolts against your injuries. he scowled beneath his respirator, a frustrated grunt following as he did his best to hook the curved needle gently beneath the surface of your skin--

only to sloppily force the needle into your flesh, yanking it upwards with just a bit too much force, earning pained, muffled whimpers from you. he felt like he was repeatedly kicking a puppy that had already been knocked down; how did you expect him to help you? he was not coordinated enough for this sort of thing. he was all bulk, not intended to care for the well-being, let alone life, of others. he was built to destroy; not to save.

yet, he had to. it was you, after all. his friend. it was privilege enough he even got to call you that, he couldn't fuck this up or simply sit back and watch you suffer. he'd barely gotten a peep out of you since you stumbled in, gasping and trying to hold yourself together, literally. not that he could blame you, you must be exhausted after whatever had happened to you, happened, and then the struggle to find safety.

strange, how you sought solace and help here, from bane. he chose not to question the notion too much however. the longer he dwelled on it, the further he would spiral into his anxiety and dread. "sorry," he would mumble after another accidental tug to your stitches. he hadn't stopped muttering barely there apologies at every wince, every whimper, every shift you made. "we are nearly done." at least, he hoped he was. he didn't want to cause you anymore suffering than you had already endured tonight.