[ Nero, still impassive and uncertain, just lets Kotetsu work. When he moves to apply the alcohol, Nero almost scoffs--him, feel the sting of rubbing alcohol? what does Kotetsu think he is, twelve?--but is shocked at the spasm that runs down his arm when the pad does touch his wounded hand. He hisses.
It hits him all at once, now that the adrenaline is gone; the blossoming bruises he's collected, the cuts, the stiff soreness, the fact that none of it has healed yet. He hasn't just lost his Devil Bringer, he realizes, grim. He's lost everything that made him a good demon slayer. It's a powerful worry, but his turmoil is absent from his face. ]
no subject
It hits him all at once, now that the adrenaline is gone; the blossoming bruises he's collected, the cuts, the stiff soreness, the fact that none of it has healed yet. He hasn't just lost his Devil Bringer, he realizes, grim. He's lost everything that made him a good demon slayer. It's a powerful worry, but his turmoil is absent from his face. ]