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The Responsible One

Taking the damp washcloth, José carefully began to dab around the cut to clear up some blood. Once the area around the cut was fairly clean, José braced himself and gently put the washcloth on the cut itself. It stung, as he had known it would, but it wasn't unbearable. José continued to dab at the cut until he heard a sharp knocking at the door. Startled, José used a little more pressure than he meant to on his cut, and the pain was so sharp and sudden that he couldn't help but squawk in pain.

"José?" Panchito's concerned voice came through the door. "Are you alright in there?"

José flinched slightly at the interupted. "S-sim, I'm fine." José flinched and whimpered slightly when his tongue brushed up against the roof of his mouth at his words. It hurt a lot more than it had before.

"Are you sure?" Panchito asked, sounding even more worried. "You don't sound fine."

"I-I'm sure." José double checked that there was no sign of an injury on his beak before he turned and opened the door. He could see Panchito's concerned expression, but he didn't give his friend the chance to ask what had happened. José just walked right past Panchito and headed to the secret room downstairs.

He knew that he was being rude, and he made a mental note to apologize to Panchito later, but José knew that if he stayed then his friend would figure out that he was hurt. The injury was still bleeding, and it was bad enough that if José had stayed to try to come up with an excuse, Panchito might have seen the blood on his tongue. Either that, or he would have noticed the way that José flinched when he said certain words and caused his tongue to brush against the roof of his mouth.

José felt bad for hiding his injury from his friends, but he didn't want to worry them. Donald and Panchito were so easily excited. José could see the two of them freaking out over his cut when it really wasn't all that bad. It stung, and the amount of blood was a little concerning, but José could handle it on his own.

Maybe it was because Donald and Panchito acted so childishly sometimes, but José felt the need to be the responsible one in their group. He was the one who played mediator when Panchito's calmly spoken but surprisingly biting remarks went too far, or Donald's temper was unfairly misdirected. José was the one who gave Donald advice on how to woo Daisy, and he was the one who cheered up Panchito when the rooster felt like Donald was ignoring them.

José knew they weren't brothers, but sometimes he certainly felt like they were. As no-quite-but-might-as-well-be brothers, José naturally slid into the role of the older brother. He didn't know if he was actually older than Panchito and Donald, but he still assumed the role. After all, somebody had to make sure that Panchito and Donald didn't take things too far, that they were safe.

José couldn't bring himself to potentially worry his friends. It was his job to worry about them. He didn't know if the knowledge that he was injured would cause Panchito and Donald to do something foolish, but it might, so José just thought that it was best if he kept his cut to himself.

José took the washcloth that was still in his hand and again tried to clean around the wound, but too much blood had gathered in his mouth, and he couldn't see where the cut was. José only succeeded in irritating his wound even more. José hissed in pain and annoyance and just gave up. He didn't know if he could do this without a mirror, and the mirror was back upstairs where the others were. So he could either treat his injury properly, or keep this hidden from the others.

José didn't know what to choose, but his decision was taken from him when he heard Panchito's voice coming from upstairs. "José, are you down there?"

José was tempted to not answer, but he knew that if he didn't, Panchito would come downstairs anyways. "I'm here." José answered. He sighed and turned to face his friend as he came thundering down the stairs. If he had thought that Panchito had looked concerned before, it was nothing compared to now.