He blinks his eyes open at the sound of her voice, though he'd noticed her presence before then. (His eyes never had been the pure blue of hers, or their father's. He'd always noticed that. They'd darkened, almost to black, as he'd gotten older.)

He rolled, over, one hand still over the wound. He had no intentions of dying from it, but it was still a bit embarrassed to lie bleeding on your alternate-timeline sister's rug.

"I don't know if you can take it. Too much blood." He tried for mocking, and ended up just sounding tired.