2/2
But there's a chance no one will come. It takes him a long time to find a position where he can lie down and breathe at the same time. The two don't seem to be entirely compatible but then again, neither is standing up and breathing or sitting and breathing. Slowly writhing around into different positions keeps him occupied for a while so he doesn't just stare at the door but eventually he discovers an angle that helps minimize the tight anguish of each breath. Then he's just got an empty room and his racing head. The vestiges of wash withdrawal makes his muscles twitch and his heart pound and it takes everything in him to stay still while he waits, not knowing if his brother is alive or if anyone is coming to help them. There's a thousand comforts he craves (his sister, her baby, his bed, his dog, a hot meal, cool water, a deep breath...) but right now none could be greater than the sight of her when she finally walks through that door and says what she does.
There's a few beats where he wonders if he's really seeing her. He saw stranger things when he was tripping on the floor of his cell and his head don't feel screwed on straight still. Lack of oxygen, a concussion, exhaustion, withdrawal-- everything's pretty goddamn fuzzy right about now. She might as well be a mirage, glowing around the edges like a goddamn holy vision but hot damn if they told him angels had such nice racks he mighta gone to Sunday school. No, it's her. It's his darlin', his dime, and when she tells him Sarge will be okay he gasps out a breath he's been holding in his throat. His face is swollen and bruised. The clap of his chest is audible. His right hand is busted to hell and the other ain't so hot but none of that matters once he knows his brother isn't gone, isn't going anywhere.
"Shit. That motherfucker." He grips the edges of the bed and tries to sit up a little, at least slide somewhat upright, but it takes a great effort. The chains attached to his ankle rattle when he readjusts himself. Still, through the split lip and black eyes, that crooked grin slides across his mouth as he looks at her. "Damn, woman, if looks could kill, they'd'a put you in cuffs at the door."