No words could describe the searing pain radiating through Dylan’s forearm as remained seated on the bench, in the pool house. Not even the freak show that just went down with Nick could distract him from the throbbing that came with having his hand blasted away from the rest of his body.

Maybe begging Ryan to do that to him had been the wrong decision, but something in his gut told him that wasn't so. While it did hurt like a bitch, Dylan would rather feel this pain than become whatever Nick was now.

With Kaitlyn comforting Abi and Ryan sitting staring into space opposite him, Dylan tilted his head back against the wall to stare at the gaping hole Nick had blasted through the ceiling.

Fuck this night, is all he could think. He was a hand down now, permanently. He missed his cat, too.

"How you holding up?"

Dylan looked across from him again, finding Ryan's eyes meeting his own, expectant of an answer. He raised his left arm a bit, showing off the bloody gauze covering his stump with a crooked and almost delirious smile.

"Oh, y'know, just deciding whether I want a hook attachment or Freddy Krueger claws." Dylan quipped, slurring just slightly as the painkillers Kaitlyn gave him had started to kick in.

His quick wit and sarcasm always managed to get a smile from Ryan, but this time it was only momentary as he found his lips curling downwards just as quickly as they went upwards. Dylan noticed and put his arm back down.

"So, uh... you really shot my hand off back there," The tone in Dylan’s voice was calm, though it was quite clear he still couldn't believe it happened. "I know I asked for it but, like... would you jump off a cliff if I asked you to?"

"It was an intense moment, man. I don't think either of us were thinking straight," Ryan pointed out, Dylan nodded.

Silence settled, neither boy was looking at one another now. Ryan's grip was hard on the shotgun's handle. Anyone could see he was beginning to feel guilty for what he did back in the radio hut. Did he really save Dylan from a fate similar to Nick's, or did he just pointlessly change his life for nothing?

A sigh broke through Dylan’s lips. He got up from where he was sat and moved to sit beside Ryan instead. He faced him, putting his one remaining hand on his shoulder.

"Tonight got fucked up pretty fast, out of nowhere. The pain I'm in right now, absolutely mind-numbing," Dylan paused and looked Ryan right in the eyes, "But I'm not mad at you."

Ryan's grip on the gun loosened visibly at the reassurance, some colour returning to his knuckles. He focused on Dylan’s eyes and sure enough, there wasn't an ounce of hate or anger in them.

"Even if you aren't angry, I'm sorry for doing it so thoughtlessly. Shit, man... I didn't even consider the consequences."

"Neither did I, clearly. I was the one asking for it-"

"You were in pain. You were panicking." Ryan interrupted, refusing to let Dylan put any blame on himself.

It was obvious that even in this instance, the pair didn't quite see eye to eye. There was no bad blood, though. In fact, the whole thing made Dylan chuckle and his hand landed on top of Ryan's somewhere in the middle of the whole thing. He subconsciously curled his fingers over Ryan's, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Y'know, I can live with having one hand on one condition- well, maybe two conditions."

Ryan arched a brow, his hand responding to the touch from Dylan’s, pushing further into it.

"What conditions are they?"

"One, that you still think I'm handsome, regardless of the number of limbs I have." Dylan grinned, noticing how that wording may have sounded. "And two, that you give me your goddamn number."

Ryan laughed, for the first time in a while, letting out a quiet hum afterward.

"I tell you what; let's get through tonight and then... you can have my number a hundred times over."

Dylan smiled a smile like no other. His face lit up so much, he was positively radiant.