1. - mmm old man tears (juuuust in case I'm going to ask for a max of 3 tag-ins to this one)
[It's gonna be a shameful thing, later, when Hank remembers it, when he realizes his first thought wasn't for all those people, all those fucking people, jesus - his first thought is that he's finally actually drowning, months and months of feeling water swirling around in his lungs every single fucking second, of shoving panic down every time he thinks about what he's breathing, all that and then this is when he drowns, this now, fuck, when he just got the chance to actually fucking breathe again.
He coughs and gasps and chokes even when he doesn't need to, when all the water's out of him and dripping through the grass he's still heaving high, panicky gasps in and out of him, coughing on all the water that's not there that he never fucking got used to, not like he was supposed to, like he was supposed to just accept it and move on and go fucking save everyone-
Sumo moves close enough that Hank can reach him and he does, winds his fingers through Sumo's thick fur and that was the key that'd tried to open the floodgates back when he'd first got there, that first horrible day underwater when he'd tried to pet Sumo and spent the next ten minutes trying to wrestle his shit back under control instead, but there's no getting it under control now. He pushes off the ground - or tries to, the dirt's solid under his knees and gravity's holding him down for the first time in months, the first time in a couple million fucking years, and he leans up and wraps his arms around his dog while the first sob kicks its way out through his throat. He presses his face into Sumo's fur, trying to muffle the noise, hoping like hell that wherever he is is somewhere no one else wants to go cause he's here and he's still coughing or gasping every other breath and even if he's clenching his jaw shut over it, crying is just happening now. Hank doesn't get a choice about it.
At least Sumo's relaxed - or maybe that makes it worse. If Sumo was freaked by all this, if he acted like Hank losing his shit all over him was something scary and new, maybe Hank could lock this down long enough to go somewhere with walls and doors where no one'll ever hear or know. But Sumo just sits there, accepting this part of his routine, just another fucking day, so Hank doesn't even have that much to try and shove himself back into some kind of normal human shape for.]
2. - would 'drowning our sorrows' be an appropriate water-based pun here
[What the fuck was he going to do after that whole shitshow but get blasted out of his fucking mind? Right now, a part of that's happening in the kitchen. The pantry door's open and the sweet sounds of angry cursing float out from it, along with the sounds of things getting tossed around. Every now and then the arc of one of those things - usually bags of things, grain or some old fashioned shit, sometimes fruit, occasionally an empty bottle - takes it through the pantry door and out on some crazy uncharted course into the room beyond. If anyone's in the way of some of that shit- well, too bad.]
Where- come on, come on, where the... fucking shit...
3a.
[About an hour later he's by the lake. There's a bottle of wine a couple feet in front of him, closer to the lake's shore. He's got the neck of another bottle, one holding something clear, with a stronger smell, held loose in his right hand. His elbow's resting on his knee. He's looking out over the water. He's frowning.]
Fucking hated this piece of shit even before- Who wants to be in the middle of all that goddamn water anyway, all that creepy shit down there, an' fuckin... Buncha bullshit, if you ask me. What's the fuckin point of all that bullshit.
3b.
[Same lake. Same hour, more or less. Hank's got rocks, now, and he's throwing them hard toward the water with a sneer on his face. Feel free to catch him showing this damn lake exactly what he thinks of it, or-]
3c.
[-when his dog gets in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time and a rock bounces off him. It's small, Sumo's not really hurt, but the startled noise he makes has Hank dropping his bottle and crawling over, wrapping his arms around the big dog's neck again.]
no subject
(juuuust in case I'm going to ask for a max of 3 tag-ins to this one)
[It's gonna be a shameful thing, later, when Hank remembers it, when he realizes his first thought wasn't for all those people, all those fucking people, jesus - his first thought is that he's finally actually drowning, months and months of feeling water swirling around in his lungs every single fucking second, of shoving panic down every time he thinks about what he's breathing, all that and then this is when he drowns, this now, fuck, when he just got the chance to actually fucking breathe again.
He coughs and gasps and chokes even when he doesn't need to, when all the water's out of him and dripping through the grass he's still heaving high, panicky gasps in and out of him, coughing on all the water that's not there that he never fucking got used to, not like he was supposed to, like he was supposed to just accept it and move on and go fucking save everyone-
Sumo moves close enough that Hank can reach him and he does, winds his fingers through Sumo's thick fur and that was the key that'd tried to open the floodgates back when he'd first got there, that first horrible day underwater when he'd tried to pet Sumo and spent the next ten minutes trying to wrestle his shit back under control instead, but there's no getting it under control now. He pushes off the ground - or tries to, the dirt's solid under his knees and gravity's holding him down for the first time in months, the first time in a couple million fucking years, and he leans up and wraps his arms around his dog while the first sob kicks its way out through his throat. He presses his face into Sumo's fur, trying to muffle the noise, hoping like hell that wherever he is is somewhere no one else wants to go cause he's here and he's still coughing or gasping every other breath and even if he's clenching his jaw shut over it, crying is just happening now. Hank doesn't get a choice about it.
At least Sumo's relaxed - or maybe that makes it worse. If Sumo was freaked by all this, if he acted like Hank losing his shit all over him was something scary and new, maybe Hank could lock this down long enough to go somewhere with walls and doors where no one'll ever hear or know. But Sumo just sits there, accepting this part of his routine, just another fucking day, so Hank doesn't even have that much to try and shove himself back into some kind of normal human shape for.]
2. - would 'drowning our sorrows' be an appropriate water-based pun here
[What the fuck was he going to do after that whole shitshow but get blasted out of his fucking mind? Right now, a part of that's happening in the kitchen. The pantry door's open and the sweet sounds of angry cursing float out from it, along with the sounds of things getting tossed around. Every now and then the arc of one of those things - usually bags of things, grain or some old fashioned shit, sometimes fruit, occasionally an empty bottle - takes it through the pantry door and out on some crazy uncharted course into the room beyond. If anyone's in the way of some of that shit- well, too bad.]
Where- come on, come on, where the... fucking shit...
3a.
[About an hour later he's by the lake. There's a bottle of wine a couple feet in front of him, closer to the lake's shore. He's got the neck of another bottle, one holding something clear, with a stronger smell, held loose in his right hand. His elbow's resting on his knee. He's looking out over the water. He's frowning.]
Fucking hated this piece of shit even before- Who wants to be in the middle of all that goddamn water anyway, all that creepy shit down there, an' fuckin... Buncha bullshit, if you ask me. What's the fuckin point of all that bullshit.
3b.
[Same lake. Same hour, more or less. Hank's got rocks, now, and he's throwing them hard toward the water with a sneer on his face. Feel free to catch him showing this damn lake exactly what he thinks of it, or-]
3c.
[-when his dog gets in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time and a rock bounces off him. It's small, Sumo's not really hurt, but the startled noise he makes has Hank dropping his bottle and crawling over, wrapping his arms around the big dog's neck again.]
Fuck. Fuck, fuck. I'm sorry, fuck. Shit. Sumo- Nngh-
[After that thick, wordless noise Hank swallows, takes a big, shaky breath, and tries to figure out if he's about to start crying again.]