He's here. Doesn't look hurt. No darkspawn blood. The Bull's eye flickers over him and then he looks back to the gear, leaning on it with all his weight. He doesn't have a grin or a joke to keep Dorian's spirit up, not right now. It's not like he's not used to looking at the guy fighting next to him and knowing it might be the last time he sees whoever-it-is alive, but he can tell by the something - something he doesn't have enough time right now to pin down and identify - that rushes through him when he sees Dorian alive and probably-well that all this is going to hit him different later, if they both get a later. Different than he's used to. He has just as much time to figure out the why of that as he does to pick apart the feeling in the first place, but it doesn't take a genius to realize what a fucking shitty day it's been, and to connect the two. If he doesn't get a good fight later, work all this crap out of him, he's going to-
He won't get that though. Not for a while. The leg.
Wait on all that. Try to keep living first.
"Little longer," he says, instead of the semi-joke he should maybe meet Dorian's tired smile with. The gear shrieks under his hands with every new turn, the noise getting just this side of painful as the ancient, broken lift shakes, jerks, lurches its way upward, unsteady but moving fast. "We get up there, make sure they can't ride this thing back up, find a-" The next word's cut off with a harsh, wordless noise and a, "Shit!" a hand, an arm, an ugly, snarling face rises over the edge of the lift, the whole thing lurches underneath all of them as the Bull reaches instinctively for his axe and the stubs on his other hand scrabble against the gear like he's still got five fingers to hold it in place instead of three and two halves and the gear slips, the darkspawn takes a leap forward just as the lift falls and the Bull grabs at it with both hands and heaves at it, no last thoughts inside his head, just his breath harsh inside his throat, his teeth pressing hard against each other, this faint, disbelieving shame that this is how he goes out, this, after dragging through this whole fight like a ball and chain on Dorian's leg and dying without a weapon in his hand, and he'd always counted on dying angry and taking something else out with him but not Dorian, not when they're too high up for a lift this heavy to fall right back into a crowd of the things, and Dorian's the one who's going to suffer if he lets go now. So he doesn't let go. He's got no room to move, no hands to fight with and, quick as he usually is, no time to think anything else.
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He won't get that though. Not for a while. The leg.
Wait on all that. Try to keep living first.
"Little longer," he says, instead of the semi-joke he should maybe meet Dorian's tired smile with. The gear shrieks under his hands with every new turn, the noise getting just this side of painful as the ancient, broken lift shakes, jerks, lurches its way upward, unsteady but moving fast. "We get up there, make sure they can't ride this thing back up, find a-" The next word's cut off with a harsh, wordless noise and a, "Shit!" a hand, an arm, an ugly, snarling face rises over the edge of the lift, the whole thing lurches underneath all of them as the Bull reaches instinctively for his axe and the stubs on his other hand scrabble against the gear like he's still got five fingers to hold it in place instead of three and two halves and the gear slips, the darkspawn takes a leap forward just as the lift falls and the Bull grabs at it with both hands and heaves at it, no last thoughts inside his head, just his breath harsh inside his throat, his teeth pressing hard against each other, this faint, disbelieving shame that this is how he goes out, this, after dragging through this whole fight like a ball and chain on Dorian's leg and dying without a weapon in his hand, and he'd always counted on dying angry and taking something else out with him but not Dorian, not when they're too high up for a lift this heavy to fall right back into a crowd of the things, and Dorian's the one who's going to suffer if he lets go now. So he doesn't let go. He's got no room to move, no hands to fight with and, quick as he usually is, no time to think anything else.