Marijuana swallowed under the weight of Heroin's whitened gaze, his own eyes turning back to bright green almost as a defense mechanism. The accusation within Heroin's eyes was likely a figment of Marijuana's paranoid imagination but, real or fake, it had him dropping his own gaze to the ground in guilt and shame. If he'd been stronger, he would have been able to come home faster, but withdrawal could make a weakling out of anyone, even the strongest of the Four. "I'd say we should feed him Ruis' fingers, but he's too good to eat such filth." Filler, yes, to bridge the gap made of days - almost a week - and Marijuana had never been happier to sink down into the couch next to his husband.
The husband who hadn't made a huge fuss over the fact that he was missing two fingers. Marijuana breathed an inner sigh of relief, enjoying the inattention paid to his wounds almost as much as he enjoyed the brush of their legs together. "There were disinfectant wipes in the first aid kit. I cleaned it at least every twelve hours and the initial cauterization should have warded off any infection at the scene." Marijuana quieted though, splaying his left arm out over Heroin's lap and eagerly awaiting the piercing slide of needle into vein. Even his wrapped hand brushing against Heroin's knee couldn't distract him from the fingertips crawling up his arm, from the slow press of the needle. He gasped as the heroin, purer than anything he'd had on the road, raced through his system and sagged, boneless back on the couch. He only moved through the haze of blanketing bliss to return the kiss, lingering longer than he should have, especially with the sound of Cocaine coming up the stairs. "Missed you too." He whispered, just before Cocaine entered the room. "So much."
Maybe, had Marijuana not been completely exhausted and utterly high, he might had shifted a bit, shifted just slightly away from Heroin out of grudging respect for his older brother. But, as it was, he just shifted closer, as close as he could without ending up in Heroin's lap. His eyes shifted slowly between Cocaine, the morphine, and Heroin, and the quick flare-up of anger and betrayal - secrets, secrets, kept from him for months - was buried as fast as it came. After all, Heroin was coursing through his bloodstream and Marijuana was all too aware of the fact that his husband could sense his emotions. His head lolled down onto Heroin's shoulder, Marijuana watching - and only wincing once - as Heroin slowly unwrapped the gauze bandages to reveal the lack of two fingers and dual angry and oozing wounds that came from the painful process of cauterization.
When Heroin actually started cleaning the wounds, Marijuana had to look away, his eyes unfocused, a mix of painless bliss and the burning pain of his hand trying to break through that bliss. Forcing his face into a calm mask, he tilted his head toward Cocaine. "Should I get someone to feed the girl in the trunk, older brother?"