The first spike of panic, past the fear that came with his vulnerability, came when that fuck, whoever he was, grabbed his sutra! And… It was put in his hand, was the man mad? Sanzo was quickly distracted from the question by both the intense fatigue crippling his movements and the alarm of how easily this man was disrobing him. Literally.

He was used to Hakkai or whatever doctor (or innkeeper) he was dragged to having to get past his robes to tend to his injuries but none of them knew how to get them off him quite this fucking fast. How familiar was this “healer” with Sanzo priests and why?

Sanzo’s pulse was rapid and fluttering, a rushing sound in his ears and his breaths crackling and wet. His left hand twitched, desperate for a grasp on his gun, panic fueling his need to get this man away from him. And now. As addled as his mind was right now, he didn’t even consider how much he needed the help. Drake wasn’t wrong, Sanzo would die if his lung wasn’t treated soon.

“Leave-” His voice was broken by another crackling wheeze and a cough. He was sounding like that damned golden mage that got him into this shitty situation! He needed the stranger away now! Right now! His mind was scrambled, thoughts scattered.

Sutra. Another rough cough. Shit.