Re: Campbells.
Russ's experience with violence had been predominantly contained to the back-rooms of bars and card-tables for the last few years and before then, to the modicum of argument thinly stretched over a blatant desire on both sides to kick the shit out of something. The yen for it was an itch that permanently prickled somewhere, like an aging mosquito bite on a difficult-to-scratch place. He was startled to see it on Ford's face, but where the fuck it had come from, Russ would figure out later.
Russ shook his head immediately. "No hospitals for me, kid." Ford knew way too much about what his body had been doing without him, even if he didn't know Russ, and it was an uneasy line Russ had no intention of fucking crossing.
"We go back. I drop you at my place. I check in on Nathan and we're both fucking showering." He laid it out easy, with an eye for the house in the woods and teenagers instead of dead people and he spoke with carelessness for volume.