yrindor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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writetomyheart2019-05-19 12:42 am
yrindor) wrote in writetomyheart2019-05-19 12:42 am
Entry tags:
[Team Two] Between Enemy Lines
Picking up with some Hypnosis Mic, and my favorite tiny ship of Jakurai/Riou. Warnings for injuries/war.
He found him on the battlefield. It came as a surprise. He was no longer searching for those left behind; the battle had ended hours ago, and most of the wounded had been carried off to the medics and their hospital tents. He walked back alone. Officially, he had given up his spot to a wounded soldier who needed it more. Unofficially, he needed a break. The cries of the wounded and the unending sea of blood and torn flesh and shattered bone weighed down upon him. He would return and do what he could to save all of them, but first, he needed a few minutes to clear his head.
The battlefield still reeked of gunpowder and blood, and the overcast sky with its threatening clouds wasn't much of a view, but it was quiet, save for the cries of the carrion birds who circled overhead. A light rain fell, but not hard enough to soak through his jacket.
He was halfway across the battlefield when he found him--a young soldier covered in mud where he lay curled in a ditch. Expecting the worst, Jakurai approached. "Can you hear me, soldier?" he asked.
There was no reply.
He knelt beside the fallen boy, and only then did he notice the faint rise and fall of the soldier's chest.
"Where are you hurt, soldier?" he asked. "I've come to help you."
When there was still no reply, he reached out cautiously for the soldier's wrist to check for his pulse, ready to spring back in an instant should he startle the soldier to fight. The boy's skin was cold to the touch. How long had he been lying here in the cold, muddy water? His pulse was steady, but weak. He needed help. Even in the growing darkness, Jakurai could see the blood covering half of his face from a wound hidden somewhere in his hair. More blood left a dark stain around a tear in one of his sleeves. His face was deathly pale against the dark mud.
Jakurai stepped into the ditch beside him, ignoring the mud that threatened to spill over the top of his boots. As carefully as he could, he turned the boy to lay on his back. The boy moaned.
"What's your name, soldier?" he asked. "Where are you hurt?"
The soldier didn't reply, but the incoherent, slurred sounds continued as Jakurai checked him over for any obvious broken bones or other major injuries.
Satisfied he was wasn't going to cause further damage by moving him, Jakurai rolled the boy over his shoulders and began the long walk back to the medical tents, now carrying the boy's weight on top of his pack. The jostling seemed to jar the boy back into a greater degree of lucidity. He still didn't speak, but he grew more agitated, trying to free himself from Jakurai's hold.
Jakurai kept his grip firm; it wasn't difficult with how weak his newest patient was. Hypothermia would do that to a person, as would blood loss, and dehydration. Add in a possible concussion, and it was something of a wonder his patient was moving this much at all. "I'm here to help you," Jakurai repeated. "You were injured on the battlefield; we're going to help you. I'm bringing you somewhere safer now." He kept up the same litany as he walked; the exact words mattered less than the tone and the overall message. He was here to help; he wasn't an enemy.
He was nearly off of the battlefield when the winds picked up. One second, it was calm and misting lightly. The next, a strong gust nearly blew him off of his feet. In minutes, the gusts gave way to a sustained gale that tore at the flaps on his pack and kicked dirt and small branches into the air. The sky split with a crack of lightning, and then the hail started.
Jakurai looked around for anything he could use as shelter. The triage tents were too far away to reach in these conditions, especially for the injured man on his back. Between the wind and the hail and the darkness, he could barely see his hand in front of his face, nevermind anything farther afield. He berated himself for not having studied the maps more closely that morning; in his haste to get out to the field, he hadn't looked much beyond the medical stations and the landmarks he could use to find them.
Another flash of lightning lit the sky it, and in it, Jakurai saw their savior. An old hut stood at the edge of the path. It had seen better days, missing at least part of its roof and a chunk of wall, but it was still standing, and it would keep the worst of the elements off. He changed course, heading for it as quickly as he could as he tried to shield both himself and his patient from the hail pelting down on them.
The door to the hut had been lost long ago, but that only made it easier to enter. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and dead leaves, but to Jakurai in that moment, it was perfect. Small piles of hail formed in the corners near the door, but under the roof, it was dry, and the remaining walls cut the wind to a strong breeze.
Jakurai eased his patient to the ground and dropped his pack. First, a light. His flashlight was within easy reach on the outside of his bag; he had it set on the ground as a lantern within seconds. Perhaps it was risky to have a light to give away their position, but the battle had ended and the enemy had moved on, and that was without the storm obscuring visibility and deterring anyone from venturing out. He would risk the light.
Once he could see, he searched the soldier's jacket until he found the dog tags on a chain around his neck. "Riou Busujima Mason," they read, followed by the bare essentials of his relevant medical information.
He snapped his fingers in front of his patient's face, trying to get his attention. "Are you with me, Riou?" he asked. "I'm here to help."
You're up![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clearlykero!
He found him on the battlefield. It came as a surprise. He was no longer searching for those left behind; the battle had ended hours ago, and most of the wounded had been carried off to the medics and their hospital tents. He walked back alone. Officially, he had given up his spot to a wounded soldier who needed it more. Unofficially, he needed a break. The cries of the wounded and the unending sea of blood and torn flesh and shattered bone weighed down upon him. He would return and do what he could to save all of them, but first, he needed a few minutes to clear his head.
The battlefield still reeked of gunpowder and blood, and the overcast sky with its threatening clouds wasn't much of a view, but it was quiet, save for the cries of the carrion birds who circled overhead. A light rain fell, but not hard enough to soak through his jacket.
He was halfway across the battlefield when he found him--a young soldier covered in mud where he lay curled in a ditch. Expecting the worst, Jakurai approached. "Can you hear me, soldier?" he asked.
There was no reply.
He knelt beside the fallen boy, and only then did he notice the faint rise and fall of the soldier's chest.
"Where are you hurt, soldier?" he asked. "I've come to help you."
When there was still no reply, he reached out cautiously for the soldier's wrist to check for his pulse, ready to spring back in an instant should he startle the soldier to fight. The boy's skin was cold to the touch. How long had he been lying here in the cold, muddy water? His pulse was steady, but weak. He needed help. Even in the growing darkness, Jakurai could see the blood covering half of his face from a wound hidden somewhere in his hair. More blood left a dark stain around a tear in one of his sleeves. His face was deathly pale against the dark mud.
Jakurai stepped into the ditch beside him, ignoring the mud that threatened to spill over the top of his boots. As carefully as he could, he turned the boy to lay on his back. The boy moaned.
"What's your name, soldier?" he asked. "Where are you hurt?"
The soldier didn't reply, but the incoherent, slurred sounds continued as Jakurai checked him over for any obvious broken bones or other major injuries.
Satisfied he was wasn't going to cause further damage by moving him, Jakurai rolled the boy over his shoulders and began the long walk back to the medical tents, now carrying the boy's weight on top of his pack. The jostling seemed to jar the boy back into a greater degree of lucidity. He still didn't speak, but he grew more agitated, trying to free himself from Jakurai's hold.
Jakurai kept his grip firm; it wasn't difficult with how weak his newest patient was. Hypothermia would do that to a person, as would blood loss, and dehydration. Add in a possible concussion, and it was something of a wonder his patient was moving this much at all. "I'm here to help you," Jakurai repeated. "You were injured on the battlefield; we're going to help you. I'm bringing you somewhere safer now." He kept up the same litany as he walked; the exact words mattered less than the tone and the overall message. He was here to help; he wasn't an enemy.
He was nearly off of the battlefield when the winds picked up. One second, it was calm and misting lightly. The next, a strong gust nearly blew him off of his feet. In minutes, the gusts gave way to a sustained gale that tore at the flaps on his pack and kicked dirt and small branches into the air. The sky split with a crack of lightning, and then the hail started.
Jakurai looked around for anything he could use as shelter. The triage tents were too far away to reach in these conditions, especially for the injured man on his back. Between the wind and the hail and the darkness, he could barely see his hand in front of his face, nevermind anything farther afield. He berated himself for not having studied the maps more closely that morning; in his haste to get out to the field, he hadn't looked much beyond the medical stations and the landmarks he could use to find them.
Another flash of lightning lit the sky it, and in it, Jakurai saw their savior. An old hut stood at the edge of the path. It had seen better days, missing at least part of its roof and a chunk of wall, but it was still standing, and it would keep the worst of the elements off. He changed course, heading for it as quickly as he could as he tried to shield both himself and his patient from the hail pelting down on them.
The door to the hut had been lost long ago, but that only made it easier to enter. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and dead leaves, but to Jakurai in that moment, it was perfect. Small piles of hail formed in the corners near the door, but under the roof, it was dry, and the remaining walls cut the wind to a strong breeze.
Jakurai eased his patient to the ground and dropped his pack. First, a light. His flashlight was within easy reach on the outside of his bag; he had it set on the ground as a lantern within seconds. Perhaps it was risky to have a light to give away their position, but the battle had ended and the enemy had moved on, and that was without the storm obscuring visibility and deterring anyone from venturing out. He would risk the light.
Once he could see, he searched the soldier's jacket until he found the dog tags on a chain around his neck. "Riou Busujima Mason," they read, followed by the bare essentials of his relevant medical information.
He snapped his fingers in front of his patient's face, trying to get his attention. "Are you with me, Riou?" he asked. "I'm here to help."
You're up
clearlykero!