There’s blood on the screen of his Samsung when he sets it down on the counter and when it fades to black the shifter sighs and tries not to pace. He’s in pain, yes; there’s some sort of magical buckshot littered in his side and it’s made it impossible for him to shift at all. Powers muted. The eyes within are still open but they are frantic in how they look from one place to the next. There’s something wrong, something off. Hunters are clever people in their own right but a few of them have the tools necessary for being the best ——— for being an issue. Wade hadn’t fought back; killing humans isn’t really his scene, even when they go and shoot him. That’s his choice. A choice that makes him somewhat less of a monster. A choice that helps him play the part of one of them, even if he really knows better. There’s a small piece of him that is almost heartbroken at the notion that some rando hunter out there chose him as their next target, that he’s nothing more than an abomination in the eyes of many. No amount of changing himself helps this fact. No amount of wishing makes anything different. He was born into this, born different. There’s nothing he can do.
Layers are removed for the sake of Lucas being able to access the damage; shirts tossed to the floor to be collected and thrown out later. The amount of blood is a concern but Wade is up, leaned against the counter ———and even energetic enough to be cranky when Lucas finally arrives. “Look at this mess, man. I’m like a stuck pig over here. This is so stupid. This was not how I wanted to spend my day and now I’m like fucking broken or something. Whatever these things are? They suck. I hate them.”
