fuck that shit let's start a riot

// you knew who I was //

It's a long and blessed stretch of sleep - more than he's used to, honestly, when it's been this sort of a day - such that as Asta begins to stir, it's almost a gentle awakening for Danta. Blinking his eyes open as the other man scrambles away from him, he hums a soft sound in the back of his throat, thinking at first that the butcher is slipping out of bed to go and get water or more medicine.

He's put to rights almost instantly, of course, adrenaline shooting through him at the keening whine that hits the air, at the sickening and audible crunch of Asta's broken shoulder as his hands fly towards the muzzle. "Whoa, hey--" Already shifting to get an arm beneath him to half sit up, Danta is at least familiar with this trajectory of Asta's nightmares, and he reaches out with a wince to try and coax his bad arm down away from the muzzle.

"Asta, it's me," he says, hoping to pitch his voice loud and clear enough to get through the lingering layer of sedatives; normally he'd never try to touch the butcher in this state, knowing better, but he has no idea what further damage he might be doing to himself, such that it's escaped his thoughts completely that he might simply rip the muzzle away.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //