#augustus: thread.

in their youth, they would have ripped their hand away like a wounded animal, refusing any help, but one of the lessons they'd had to teach themself over the years was that they didn't need to—accepting help wasn't a sign of weakness, the way they originally thought. with a begrudging sigh, augustus offers their hand to cain—palm sliced open, blood trickling down their wrist. the bleeding has slowed, but it still hurts, still needs attention. “i've had worse,” they grumble, opposite hand moving to pat at their prosthetic in a half-assed attempt to lighten the mood. “just make sure i keep it.”