tw//blood
"Here, let me just—"
"Shit!"
"Don't be such a milk drinker."
"I just got stabbed, Vilkas!"
"In the thigh!"
"Yes, in the thigh! It hurts!"
We were quiet a moment.
"It needs to come out," Vilkas commented. I nodded. But at the moment, it was actually stemming the blood. If we took it out, we had to be prepared. And we couldn't be squabbling like infants. Fortunately it was only a paring knife. I'd likely only need a minute or so of rest, especially considering the fact that I was using healing magic now. The companions had never particularly preferred magic, but I wasn't a stubborn "steel is the only proper weapon" nord type, and so I saw a benefit to it.
"You're going to need to be the one to pull it," I said. Vilkas looked at me quickly.
"What?" He asked.
"You got me into this mess, now you need to help me out of it," I insisted.
"I'll go get some linen first," he said starting to stand.
"I won't need it," I said, prepping the healing spell in my hand. Vilkas clenched his jaw and knelt back down, clearly not a fan of using magic.
"Are you sure that's going to work?" he asked rather gruffly.
"I've been practicing at the temple of Kynareth. It should only take a minute..." I explained. Vilkas nodded. "... I hope."
"You hope?" he asked, clearly not liking that answer.
"Just do it," I said, gritting my teeth.
"Fine," he said, and immediately clutched the knife and pulled it from my thigh.
"Holy skeever shit!" I shouted reflexively as blood spurted directly upwards from my thigh. I hadn't expected him to do it so quickly.
"You said to do it!" He snapped.
"I wanted a countdown at least!" I hissed back.
"I didn't know that!"
"You should have checked first!"
Blood was soaking my thigh by then.
"Oh gods, you're losing so much blood—"
"'Don't be such a milk drinker,' huh?"
"Heal it!"
"Good idea!" I shouted, and held my hand over my thigh. Once the wound was bathed in the golden light, scar tissue began to form over it and the blood flow slowed until it was completely sealed.
"There, that wasn't so bad," I said quietly once the wound had closed up. A slight scar was still visible, but it would go away soon enough.
"That's why you need to wear armor around here," Vilkas said, though he was clearly relieved. I was irritated by his comment.
"Oh, so it's my fault?" I asked bitterly as I rose. He seemed surprised by my tone, as if he hadn't just stabbed me in the thigh.
"I didn't say that—"
"You know I still haven't heard you say sorry," I said, because it was true. He hadn't.
"That's because it's not my fault!"
"Not your fault?" I laughed. "Who was it who stabbed me in the thigh then?"
"You should have been wearing armor." he growled.
"So, do you just go around the streets of Whiterun stabbing people, telling them they should have been wearing armor?"
"It was a paring knife."
"So when you go around stabbing people in Whiterun the guards don't apprehend you because it was only a paring knife, I see. That explains why you're not in jail."
"It was an accident!" he shouted.
"Then say you're sorry!" I snapped, looking intensely into his eyes. Several seconds passed, and Vilkas didn't apologize. I shook my head and smirked, turning away. I really thought he'd learned something about treating other people right, that night at the fort. I guessed I was wrong.
"Wait," Vilkas, said quickly when I began to walk away. I shook my head. "I didn't mean to—"
"Didn't mean to what? Offend me? You should have thought about that before you stabbed me with a paring knife!"
"Stop bringing that up, it's not fair!" he huffed. I scoffed and turned around to face him.
"Fair? If you want things to be fair why don't I stab you in the thigh with—"
Vilkas leaned forward then, cupped his hands over the sides of my face and pressed his lips to mine, immediately stopping absolutely all functioning in my brain for about two solid seconds. His lips, of course, were a bit chapped from the cold weather, and his breath reminded me a bit of a wet dog's, but all in all, it was a pleasurable experience. It was, up until he pulled away and my brain began to start working again.
"What are—Why did—" I stammered. "What the hell was that for?"
"Honestly, I kind of just wanted you to shut up," he explained, even though he was smiling like an idiot. Wrong answer. I turned around and flung open the doors to the sleeping quarters of Jorrvaskr, immediately seeing Farkas blinking at me in confusion on the other side. The poor thing had probably never seen me so mad, but something about Vilkas turned me into a spitting, raging lunatic.
"Go teach your narcissistic brother a lesson or two in empathy, won't you?" I growled, and stormed past him. He seemed bewildered by my behavior, but I didn't have the will to explain myself to him. He reminded me too much of his asshole sibling.
***
"Farkas told me what I did wrong."
"... And?" I asked rather curtly.
"And..." Vilkas was quiet for a moment, his brain clearly having trouble computing the situation at hand. "And I'm sorry?" He seemed unsure if that was the right response, and quite frankly I wasn't sure that he really was, but I appreciated the fact that I finally got the apology I wanted out of him. I didn't really care whose fault it was. I just wanted the gesture.
"Thanks, Vilkas," I said, rather genuinely. "Now I don't want to stab you in the thigh with a paring knife anymore."
