❕2bhank
One of these days, 2BDamned is going to get tired of having to save Hank.
A distress call from his operatives was a fairly normal occurrence. Five distress calls sent in rapid succession, not so much. They loved to bitch at him for spam texting and then do the exact same thing when they deemed it necessary, didn't they. He'd be keeping that in his back pocket for the next time they felt like complaining.
What Deimos had relayed by the time 2BDamned decided to relent and pick up his phone wasn't much beyond usual as far as he's concerned. Something about how they got ambushed by a lot more of the agency's men than expected, but judging by what sounds like the rumbling of Sanford's shitbox truck in the background, they should be fine now. Regardless, he has to ask the dreaded question.
"How's Hank." it definitely doesn't sound like a question when it leaves his mouth, preemptive dread taking away any proper tone.
Deimos makes an uncertain noise. "He's, uh.. nearly-- almost dead? But not quite."
"Great. How promising." 2BDamned starts making his way towards the front of the base with heavy steps, "And your ETA is what?"
Deimos makes more sounds that are not clerical at all. "We're pullin' up.. now. Like, right now-- 'ey, Hank, wait up! ... Son' bitch. Dead man walkin' incomin', Doc!"
"Great." 2BDamned hangs up the call, shaking his head and cursing to himself.
The door swings open the moment 2BDamned tucks his phone away. Hank stands there, coat soaking wet, entire form wobbling from side to side from the sheer effort it takes to remain upright. 2BDamned can't see their eyes through their goggles, especially not when they fog every time Hank roughly exhales into their mask, but their head is angled directly towards him and isn't moving away. Whether that's because Hank doesn't want to look away or physically can't remains to be seen.
2BDamned sighs. He outstretches his arms, telling himself he's only doing this because it'd be an even bigger pain to repair whatever they broke if they fell to the floor. "Give it up already, Wimbleton."
Hank thunks one foot forward, then the other, before collapsing into 2BDamned. He has to brace himself to properly hold Hank's weight, tucking his arms under theirs and hugging around their back. He gives a few reassuring pats to them, which they don't acknowledge (not that he expected them to, if they're still conscious to do so in the first place that is; the front of that jacket looked like they'd gone swimming).
It's about now that he realizes he's set himself up horribly to get Hank back to his office for examination. Dragging them wasn't the most ideal of approaches. He's sure he can ask the other two for help.
He's sure, until Deimos finally hobbles inside, Sanford hung over his shoulders and staggering. Well, there goes that plan. 2BDamned resigns to his fate and starts taking long, slow steps backwards, Hank's legs leaving bloody streaks in their wake.
One day, he will get tired of this. One day. (Not today.)
