( There comes the first rush of life, and Frank exhales in time with it, rocking back to plant himself on one knee, expression grim and studious as Clint coughs his way back into shitty, awful reality. Having been resuscitated from the edge of death a few times himself, he's plenty aware that it ain't exactly a confetti party. No smiles are forthcoming, nothing reassuring or self-aggrandizing, you're welcome, nothing like that.
He just grips that reaching arm back and uses it to haul the guy up, a little sideways, so he can cough out water and bile and whatever else without promptly sucking it back down his own windpipe again. Wouldn't do them any good if he immediately pulled a Hendrix the second his eyes fluttered open.
His free hand goes to help by thumping Clint firmly on the back two-three times, and then he's just steady, patient, reeling himself away a little to give the guy some room to breathe — to the tune of an absent, New York-lilted mutter. )
Yep, there it is. You're alright. Come on. Easy- easy...
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He just grips that reaching arm back and uses it to haul the guy up, a little sideways, so he can cough out water and bile and whatever else without promptly sucking it back down his own windpipe again. Wouldn't do them any good if he immediately pulled a Hendrix the second his eyes fluttered open.
His free hand goes to help by thumping Clint firmly on the back two-three times, and then he's just steady, patient, reeling himself away a little to give the guy some room to breathe — to the tune of an absent, New York-lilted mutter. )
Yep, there it is. You're alright. Come on. Easy- easy...