Desh snorted and shook his head "cheer up buttercup, I'm fucking with you, which I've just realized is a great deal of fun" He turned left as they reached a fork in the road "I've a safehouse around here somewhere, we'll stop, I'll remove some of the metal that doesn't belong in my body and then, well, the world is our fucking oyster"
Two hours later they pulled up to a small log cabin, just off the highway, the sun a memory lost behind distant mountains, night had finally rolled in. "This is it" It didn't look much but Desh didn't care, the adrenaline hand worn off and left him in extreme pain, everywhere. He limped towards the door, almost falling face first into the gravel. He produced a key as if by magic and opened the door.
"I guess cute's one word for this shit hole" He flicked on a light and ambled over to the kitchen, opening draws at random until he found the medical supplies he'd need to fix himself up; antiseptic, bandages, scalpel, tweezers, needle and thread. He sat on a stool and peeled off his shirt, slick with blood and sweat. His body was latticed with scars of every description; bullet wounds, burns and knife wounds, and now some more to join them.
He grabbed the tweezers and drew in a deep breath "I need you to dig this bullet out of my shoulder" He grimaced and then tried to force a smile "Everything should be a breeze after that " He grabbed a wooden spoon and bit down, nodding for he to begin.
The tendons on Desh's neck bulged grotesquely, sweat leaking from every pore and just a growl from deep in his throat. This part always fucking hurt, allot. Then it was out, done. He let the spoon drop from his mouth, breathing heavily. "Ouch... I mean thanks"