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Vincent, shamefully, isn’t the one who notices the change in the WEAPON’s gait, but rather Arles does. Their seven year old son, who had only run to Chaos and wrapped thin arms around his waist and hugged him something fierce while whispering “welcome home, Daddy”.
     Perhaps it is relief that blinds his eyes to the subtle limp in what is usually a confident stride, the faint wince tracing lines of tension into a scarred visage streaked with dirt and road-dust, deafens his ears to the quiet groan as six feet and seven inches of solid muscle and bone folds literally in half to remove sabaton-clad boots.
     There is no hesitance in the return of Vincent’s kiss, no shake to the fingers and claws that come up to tenderly cup his face, no waver to the laughter that booms rich and gravelly at the disgusted noises Arles makes at such a romantic display.
     Perhaps Vincent is not at fault at all, but rather his partner has grown better in his efforts of hiding what should have been obvious discomfort.

Not that the hows or whys matter when Arles asks him why Daddy’s in pain and red eyes turn back to Chaos, shocked by such a question and more than a little alarmed. Only then, with the blindfold ripped from his gaze does he see the small signs the WEAPON tried to hide. An annoyed growl snaps from his throat as he launches at the taller male, planting his hands on solid shoulders and shoving him backward until Chaos’ back strikes the wall. No resistance is offered when he plucks at buckles and belts, wrestling leather and armour alike to expose dove-grey flesh. Alarmingly pale grey flesh, now that he’s actually paying attention.
     Sure enough, there it is, a gash the length of his hand slicing deep into Chaos’ hip and cutting into the bone. Warning enough that it is open and weeping blood so freely still, but even more so with the signs of burnt and blistered flesh around it. Pure Lifestream. One of two things Chaos is deathly allergic to, and it’s been exposed to his bloodstream.

“We should get you to a doctor.”
     ”I’ll be fine. It’ll heal in a few hours. It just takes longer with the Lifestream.”
     ”Chaos -“
     ”I will not let doctors know what I’m weak to, Vincent!”
     ”What can I do to help?” His response surprises Chaos, he can tell, and shakes his head in exasperation with him. Did he honestly think Vincent wouldn’t want to take care of him? Fool.
     ”Flush and clean the wound as best you can. It would be best -…” He glances up, to find a concerned gaze resting upon the small form hovering nervously in the doorway. “- It would be best if you cast silence. I’ll scream. He’ll be frightened.”
     ”… Very well.”