Maybe that fear wasn't unfounded. Maybe it was only because he was so tired, so heavy, that words felt so hard to get out. But even if he spoke in nothing but Meta-garble for the rest of his life, he was still alive. He'd wandered out of his own accord and gotten himself shot, and there was no way in Hell Tucker was allowed to take the blame for that.

Those fingers squeezed harder, trying to draw Tucker's focus back towards him as Wash shook his head. 'No', he mouthed carefully, and again his thumb moved to try and smooth over Tucker's dark skin. If he spoke, maybe that would fix things.

"..Nn...nahhh..." It was just so much air being pushed through his lungs, and his eyes fell shut again for a moment as he tried to pull it together. Just get the words out. Tell Tucker that it was fine, that they'd get through this, that he couldn't blame himself for not being his damn babysitter after he'd let himself get caught in the first damn place.

"...rrrrr...fa..."