Devero's fingers are pristine. Oh, they're roughened, callused from years of working out and doing his own maintenance on Babysitter, but absent of scarring. Growing up in a society dedicated to health and wellness has had many, many perks, and advanced wound care is one of them.
He remembers Yondu's broken fin-- how could he forget, given that the first time he ever met the man he'd been tinkering around with technology connected to his brain? And he remembers Yondu telling him about fighting the like-a-god, and saving his son. But the mutiny part? That's new, and heartbreaking.
The expression on his face is nothing so much as stricken by the story-- not pitying, just full of empathetic pain for what happened to the crew loyal to Yondu, and then Yondu himself. This is definitely one of those situations where he doesn't know what to say-- almost feels like he has no right to say anything, not with this yawning gulf of experience between them.
"Rust and fucking ruin," Devero breathes. He covers Yondu's hand with his other as well, now holding it tightly between them both. "I-- I'm so sorry, Yondu."
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He remembers Yondu's broken fin-- how could he forget, given that the first time he ever met the man he'd been tinkering around with technology connected to his brain? And he remembers Yondu telling him about fighting the like-a-god, and saving his son. But the mutiny part? That's new, and heartbreaking.
The expression on his face is nothing so much as stricken by the story-- not pitying, just full of empathetic pain for what happened to the crew loyal to Yondu, and then Yondu himself. This is definitely one of those situations where he doesn't know what to say-- almost feels like he has no right to say anything, not with this yawning gulf of experience between them.
"Rust and fucking ruin," Devero breathes. He covers Yondu's hand with his other as well, now holding it tightly between them both. "I-- I'm so sorry, Yondu."