Mello leaned back, grabbed a fistful of couch material with his good hand, took a deep breath and-- shit, it felt like being slammed into with a semi, waves of pain coursing through his body. His fingers tightening on the material he held, nails scratching in and grip white-knuckled and shaking as Fay quickly pushed the tip of the knife around, digging between muscle and tendon to pry out the little piece of metal lodged inside him.

His teeth buried in the self-made gag and eyes squeezed shut, Mello did not realize he was screaming until the knife finally pulled away and he became aware that those muffled sounds filling the room were his own whimpers. But it wasn't over, and he knew that, biting down harder and forcing those whimpers down as the alcohol came next, stinging and burning, and Mello could only wonder vaguely why in the world did taking care of injuries hurt more than getting them?

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, it was done, Fay was pressing a clean towel against the wound to stem the bleeding, and Mello collapsed back into the couch. Shakily, he managed to pry his fingers away from his hold on the cushions, bringing the back of his hand up brusquely to wipe away the tears that had squeezed past his eyes before letting it fall limply back down, panting harshly in rough, heaving breaths.