[ John smooths a hand up his shoulder, toward the nape of his neck, just above the wreckage of the boy's back. Though he doesn't touch it directly, there is a sudden kick of power, forceful as a solar flare— and the wounds begin to knit together.
It doesn't hurt, exactly. It doesn't not hurt. John plucks at the back of Robby's jacket to tug its strips free of the closing gashes, which makes for a uniquely weird sensation. There is a layer of stripped wet skin and flesh that gets shucked, matted with the shreds of his shirt, to make way for new growth underneath.
John just claps him on the shoulder and starts moving, even if he's largely the thing keeping Robby upright. ]
Well, you got the job done. Might be a little more careful of the claws next time.
cw: gory healing
It doesn't hurt, exactly. It doesn't not hurt. John plucks at the back of Robby's jacket to tug its strips free of the closing gashes, which makes for a uniquely weird sensation. There is a layer of stripped wet skin and flesh that gets shucked, matted with the shreds of his shirt, to make way for new growth underneath.
John just claps him on the shoulder and starts moving, even if he's largely the thing keeping Robby upright. ]
Well, you got the job done. Might be a little more careful of the claws next time.