“No.” Near said that not because his wounds didn’t need treatment—far from it. But now that the creature was dead, new priorities came into play. Brooklyn’s injuries were at a minimum equally severe. Though he couldn’t see to truly assess the extent, the sound of the man’s stumbling footsteps followed by the heavy thud of his body hitting the floor made it obvious that Brooklyn would need immediate treatment.
A frown crossed Near’s face at the thought. Their supplies were limited to say the least. To use clothing would require the clothing be torn, and clean enough to be used. While most of Near’s shirt hadn’t been so stained by blood that it was still an option, the teenager was dismayed to discover that at some point during the altercation, he’d been so afraid that he’d wet himself. It was a natural response, and Near’s negative reaction wasn’t out of any sort of embarrassment, but dually out of only realizing it at that moment, and that the cloth could not be used for a more important purpose due to the contamination.
So far, all of the news had been bad.
“Cut off your shirt, but move as little as possible to do it.” Sitting up brought a new wave of agony, leaving Near rather certain that at least one rib was cracked; the absolute best case scenario, and one that didn’t take into account the damage to his leg. It took more effort than the normally detached boy was used to expending to force his body to do what he wanted. Every bit of his physical response screamed an urge to do what he had instructed Brooklyn to, yet that was not an option in this instance. The benefit to the extent of the injuries they had both suffered was that the creature was nearby, and Near only had to shift a short distance in order to retrieve what he wanted: the box cutter.
The blade was hardly sterile, but it was the best option. It could cut fabric with the least expenditure of energy in the shortest amount of time. The only additional concern was the way Near’s hand shook when he lifted the cutter, putting the blade into the collar of his shirt and pushing down. Minor scratches accidentally incurred by the act he could handle. Yet it was so odd to have to think about making such a mistake, given his normally exceptional motor control.
“Try to make strips out of the cloth that isn’t already blood-soaked, and treat your injuries if you can. If you can’t, I will.” Near’s voice remained steady and deceptively calm, particularly now when dizziness was beginning to set in. Yet he knew that succumbing to the urge to lay down would do no good. Their injuries had to be treated, and then there would be two goals left for them, neither of which involved leaving the room.
One was to find their prize and claim it. The other was simply to survive until morning.
no subject
A frown crossed Near’s face at the thought. Their supplies were limited to say the least. To use clothing would require the clothing be torn, and clean enough to be used. While most of Near’s shirt hadn’t been so stained by blood that it was still an option, the teenager was dismayed to discover that at some point during the altercation, he’d been so afraid that he’d wet himself. It was a natural response, and Near’s negative reaction wasn’t out of any sort of embarrassment, but dually out of only realizing it at that moment, and that the cloth could not be used for a more important purpose due to the contamination.
So far, all of the news had been bad.
“Cut off your shirt, but move as little as possible to do it.” Sitting up brought a new wave of agony, leaving Near rather certain that at least one rib was cracked; the absolute best case scenario, and one that didn’t take into account the damage to his leg. It took more effort than the normally detached boy was used to expending to force his body to do what he wanted. Every bit of his physical response screamed an urge to do what he had instructed Brooklyn to, yet that was not an option in this instance. The benefit to the extent of the injuries they had both suffered was that the creature was nearby, and Near only had to shift a short distance in order to retrieve what he wanted: the box cutter.
The blade was hardly sterile, but it was the best option. It could cut fabric with the least expenditure of energy in the shortest amount of time. The only additional concern was the way Near’s hand shook when he lifted the cutter, putting the blade into the collar of his shirt and pushing down. Minor scratches accidentally incurred by the act he could handle. Yet it was so odd to have to think about making such a mistake, given his normally exceptional motor control.
“Try to make strips out of the cloth that isn’t already blood-soaked, and treat your injuries if you can. If you can’t, I will.” Near’s voice remained steady and deceptively calm, particularly now when dizziness was beginning to set in. Yet he knew that succumbing to the urge to lay down would do no good. Their injuries had to be treated, and then there would be two goals left for them, neither of which involved leaving the room.
One was to find their prize and claim it. The other was simply to survive until morning.