ArchivedLogs:First Aid

First Aid
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Isra, Micah, Thea	2013-09-26 (Set immediately after the Harlem raid and considerably before the Mendel Clinic gets its first patient.) (Part of the Battle for Harlem TP.)
Location <MOR> Below New York
Buried beneath the bustle and noise of New York's busy streets, the world underneath the city is a quieter place. Quieter, but far from deserted. Occasional ladders, often rusting, ascend to the city above and are evidence that at /one/ point these tunnels had been in use, or had been planned for it; perhaps by way of maintenance, or access to subways or sewers. These stretches have been abandoned by civic infrastructure for some time now, though, but occasional scraps of evidence -- discarded food wrappers, piles of tatty blankets or moldering old mattresses, sometimes voices carrying echoes through the dank concrete -- give evidence that /someone/ still uses these tunnels. The rumbling of subway trains sounds frequently through the walls, many of the train routes accessible through various doors and openings. It's not a particularly /happy/ Dusk who follows the crowd of evacuees down into the dark of the tunnels, teeth clenched hard, face pale. There's a /copious/ amount of blood staining his dark shirt even darker, leaking from a hole torn through his shoulder; though there doesn't appear to be any actual damage to the wing on that side it hangs limp anyway, not particularly wanting to /flex/ the connecting muscles there. At the moment, though, Dusk seems to be largely ignoring this injury; there's a large bright orange bag slung over his good shoulder, a blue star of life decorating its top flap. He wears a rather determined expression as he digs a flashlight out of its side pocket, switching it on to scan the tunnel for Hercules, his only current question: "Where's Micah?" "Over here, Dusk!" comes Thea's voice, a little ahead of where Dusk stopped to use his light. She's crouched in a side tunnel, out of the way of the main evacuee traffic, insect wings wrapped around herself like a gossamer corset to keep them out of the way. When she sees the young man, she points down the side tunnel, "We could get to the hospital this way, but I don't think they'd help us…" She sounds bitter and angry about the admission. Hercules stands by her, holding the limp Micah in his arms like a child. The beetle man has a genuinely distressed look on his hard face, but whether it's for Micah, or just for Thea's stress is unclear. "Oh shit," she says, doing a double take at Dusk. Her face shows a glimmer of hope. "Is that a first aid kit? Do you know how to use it?" Brings up the rear of the evacuation, Isra takes some time to catch up. She picks her way through the darkness with ease, eyes gleaming green with reflected light emanating from the tail of the column ahead--some from mobile devices, some from flashlights, and some from bioluminesce or other powers. Spotting Hercules in a side tunnel she diverts toward him. She comes up short when she recognises first Dusk's asymmetrical wings, then the blood-soaked body in the beetle-man's arms. Her shock only freezes her for a few seconds. "Are these the worst of the acute injuries?" "I don't /ca --" Dusk's initial response to Isra is sharp-edged with stress and worry, but it cuts off abruptly. His teeth clench down hard before he amends this to: "I don't know. I think so. We'll have to check." He hands off the flashlight to another man nearby to free up his hands. "Hercules, put him -- mnnh." He opens the bag, digging inside it to pull out a crinkly metallic emergency blanket still in its wrapper; only after laying this down on the tunnel floor does he gesture Hercules to it. "Put him down." His good wing flares outward, a large dark curtain to at least provide some slight semblance of privacy from the gawking eyes. "Thea, where's the safest place we can bring these people -- um. Anywhere. Up top somewhere /not/ near Harlem. Do you know a route? Do you have anyone who can start leading them away?" He's not reaching for more first aid supplies as he says this; he's reaching for Micah's neck to first check for pulse and then squeeze the other man's shoulder briefly. "Micah. Micah, you hear me?" His other hand is moving to bring his wrist towards his lips, eyes searching Micah's face. Micah stirs slightly at the squeeze of his shoulder, as if attempting, unsuccessfully, to withdraw from the pressure. Tension shows through the muscles of his colour-drained face, tightening his eyes closed and his jaw shut. A little whimpering sound comes from the back of his throat, perhaps in answer to his name or perhaps only a pain response. Hercules glances at Thea first, but she nods right away, so he kneels gently and lays Micah on the blanket as carefully as he can. At a gesture from Thea, he backs up several paces to give everyone some room. She nods at Dusk then. "Yeah, the main tunnel comes out at the river. The ants know the way and will just keep going until they reach the exit. Everyone should be able to escape unnoticed unless they all run out at once. I'm sure they'll be careful." She glances at Isra and nods. "This is the worst I've seen. Everyone else had variations on bumps and bruises." Thea winces when Micah tries to pull away, and squats down next to him, opposite Dusk. She puts a gentle hand on the side of his face, abnormally long spider-fingers wrapping around the back of his head in an attempt to soothe. Without looking up she asks Dusk, "Oh, this is that guy we met in the park, huh? He seemed so sweet…" Isra stops scanning the ragged line of evacuees at Thea's assurance that there are no other severe injuries. She looks back at Micah when he whimpers. Ears twitch and tail quivers, but her expression remains a studied neutrality. "We must get him to a hospital." She starts to consult her phone, then glances up at the packed earth and puts it away. "/Both/ of you, if we can reach one that will accept mutants and not call the police. That clinic Jax and Hive work for...?" "Hey. Hey, Micah, wake up." Dusk's hand lingers on Micah's shoulder with another quick squeeze of pressure, though his expression tightens at the whimpering. "He is sweet," he tells Thea, his voice dropped to nearly a whisper. His teeth sink down swiftly against his own wrist, drawing up two thin trickles of blood. "Can you lift his head, a little?" he asks Thea. His finger swipes against the blood, fingertip slipping between Micah's lips. "Wake up, Micah --" Although his quiet tense tone now seems like it might be as much to himself as to the other man. Isra's words get a nod. "A hospital -- would treat /him/ but the gunshot wound -- they'd call the cops. The clinic --" His brows furrow. "Isn't technically open yet. But Hive finished -- it's finished. If we can call Iolaus once we're out of here I'm sure he'll." He shakes his head; behind him, his wing twitches uncomfortably. He gestures with it towards the first aid kit. "I need pads. Sterile gauze. There's a lot -- front pocket." The pressure at Micah's shoulder brings another little sound of complaint from him, louder this time. His head attempts to turn away from the pressure at his lips, but the resistance is not active and easily overcome. When the fingertip touches his tongue, however, his lips close, tongue pressing back in an instinctive sort of infant-suckling Thea shifts where she is, sliding her hand around behind Micah's head. Her fingers are so long, her thumb is on one temple, and her fingers reach all the way to the other. She lifts him gently, propping him up so Dusk can work. She glances at Isra when Dusk starts talking about gauze. "Can you look for it? I've… never done this before." The normally regal bearing has dropped away completely in the face of feeling so helpless, just watching Micah in this condition. Isra tips Thea a quick nod and stoops to search the first aid kit."Will we require transportation? I have the keys to a vehicle, but am not a proficient driver." Her hands are shaking when she passes the stack of gauze to Dusk and readies the tape for securing it. She drapes one wing lightly over Thea; it seems to be the only reassurance she is capable of offering. Dusk swipes his finger against his wrist again, after Micah has sucked it clean of blood; he returns it to Micah's mouth once and then twice and then a third time before turning his attention to the wounds. "Sorry, man," he preemptively murmurs to Micah; he reaches, now, to the first aid kid, retrieving a pair of black nitrile gloves, a sealed bottle of water, a pair of shears. He slices the shirt off, after donning the gloves, peeling the fabric away from the wounds to examine them. He uncaps the water, next, nudging one knee beneath Micah's hips to prop him slightly upwards as he flushes the wounds out. "A ride would be good, yeah. Where's the car parked? I --" He grits his teeth, his bleeding shoulder twitching. "Am a fine driver. Usually." His eyes flick up from Micah to Thea, his large wing curling around towards Micah's head to brush against Thea's arm gently. "What was that, in there? Your ants -- were supposed to just be on transport duty." The wounds look nastier than they probably are, given their far-lateral and angled position on Micah's trunk. They are hard to see at first, through the copious quantities of blood that have spilled forth and bruising betraying more internally. The rends of entry wound in his back and exit wound in his abdomen appear to have been mostly through muscle and fascia and, while painful and bloody and promising a long recovery time, seem to have avoided any more dangerous turns. The exit wound is a blessing, in a way, in that the bullet was able to expend a great deal of its energy /outside/ of his body and is not lodged somewhere within, threatening more damage. Micah is, unfortunately, not aware of Dusk's warning apology. He twists and whimpers again at the shirt being tugged free from where it had attached to sticky clotting blood. It is the combination of movement and the water entering the wounds that (likewise unfortunately) shoots his eyes open suddenly in pain and panic. He gives a wordless cry, limbs flailing in a weak attempt at /escape/ that only really serves to hurt worse. Thea's eyes narrow, not angry at Dusk, but angry when he mentions her ants. "Most of them /were/ doing that. All the workers. But I was also /covering/ the escape, when the cops started shooting. They shot /him/," she growls, nodding at Micah. "The one who deserved it least," she mutters. She smiles gratefully at Isra's comforting wing, but is too out of sorts to offer much more than that. "Was I supposed to just let them shoot us all?" She winces again when Micah is suddenly trying to pull away. She coos to the man, trying to soothe him. She looks at Dusk and asks through gritted teeth, "Can we talk about it later?" "A garage in Clinton." Isra frowns lightly, as though thinking her way through a casual scheduling SNAFU. "I can have the driver bring it to us, wherever we surface. He would assuredly guess the provenance of these injuries, but it /would/ be faster." Her eyes slide back over Micah's wounds, then up to Dusk's shoulder, but before she has a chance to say anything about it, Micah has started struggling. She reaches out to steady him, wary of the sharpness of her own claws. "Guessing's fine. So long as he holds his peace about it. -- Shh. Shh, Micah, it's me. Calm down, I'm sorry, this is going to hurt -- uh, more." He unwraps many of the gauze pads from their sterile wrappers, packing them in against the wounds and holding pressure there. "Sorry, man. You just can't keep bleeding like this all the way to the Lower East Side." His eyes flick up to Thea, lips compressing briefly. "Yes," he answers, after a pause, "That's the point of orders, you -- there was a /reason/ --" But then he looks back down at Micah's flailing, at the red already soaking through the bandaging. His wing shifts from Thea's arm, one long bone pressing down gently against Micah's shoulder. "Yes. Later. We should. I'm just glad we all got the hell out --" This trails off into a long grim look down at Micah; he adds more gauze on top of the others, teeth digging down against his lip. Micah's eyes do finally hone in on Dusk's face, but their failure to focus makes it questionable whether he recognises the other man or not. The flailing stops, either way, his hand pawing aimlessly at Dusk's wing where it restrains him. "Please--" he starts to say...something, ill-formed and barely audible, lost in a sob when pressure is put on the wounds. His eyes squeeze closed again. Thea sets her jaw and nods when Dusk agrees to put things off. She turns to Isra and nods as well, "Yeah, any ride is better than nothing at this point. I'm Thea, by the way. Sorry we have to meet like this-" Thea is again interrupted, by Micah's noises of pain of this time, and she turns, looking even more helpless and distressed. She strokes at Micah's hair, doing her best to calm him. Then something seems to occur to her. For some reason, she whispers her concern to Dusk and Isra, as if Micah won't hear. "Hey, will your bloo- will he be ok to walk at some point? Carrying him without a stretcher is just going to make him worse, I think, right?" "Isra," she says by way of introduction, releasing her hold on Micah slowly. "No, I suspect he will not be able to walk just yet...and even if he could, it would no doubt exacerbate his injuries more than being carried." Her eyes flick up briefly. "Hercules will be our best bet for moving him, and hopefully we'll not need to get him far. Just to the surface." Dusk's breath catches, at that one short word from Micah. His wing presses against Micah's hand, for a moment brushing there but then pressing down at the other man's shoulder more firmly. "I know," he whispers, "I know. I just -- I have to -- it's going to be a bit more, man. Squeeze, maybe --" His wing pushes against Micah's hand again. His head bows over the injuries he is packing with gauze, eyes glistening bright at the sound of that sob. His injured arm trembles where it presses down to hold gauze against Micah's flank. "It'll help slow the bleeding. Give him a bit more strength to pull him through this. It's not gonna work any instant miracles, though." He speaks now through his teeth, voice very steadily calm; he seems to entirely be refusing to acknowledge the few tears that trickle down his cheeks. "I don't think he's gonna be walking any time soon. Carrying'll hurt but not as bad as --" He nods towards Isra in agreement. "Almost done," he murmurs to Micah, then, adding new layers of gauze and then getting out roller bandaging to bind it snugly in place, a slow process requiring propping Micah slightly up off the ground against one of his knees. Micah's eyes stay closed, hand limp against Dusk's wing. He offers no more than ongoing whimpering, almost childlike, as that pressure on his wound continues. When he is lifted up again, there is another louder sob, his hand trying to clench but only succeeding in clawing his fingers softly against the wing as if he intended to scratch it like a cat's chin. During the bandaging the hand stops moving and the muscles in his face actually seem to relax, though only due to slipping further from consciousness once more. Thea nods at Isra and waves Hercules over with her free hand. The massive creature lumbers their way, and waits at Micah's feet, not sure what to do yet. She grimaces again Micah's open pain and first starts helping Dusk pass the wrap over and under, until Micah's hand just grasps in air. Before it goes totally limp, she takes it in a clasp with her own hand, and holds tightly, tears appearing in the corner of her multi-faceted eyes. "Shit. Goddamnit…" Thea says, frustrated and overcome with emotion. She hunches over to dab her eyes on each of her shoulders, doing her best to not jostle Micah. "If we'd just gotten everyone moving /sooner/…" She's just muttering, not really blaming anyone present. Isra rises and steps aside, giving Hercules room to collect Micah. "Regardless, we are here now." The wavering undertone in her voice makes no easy task of speaking gently or reassuringly. She turns away for a moment, eyes searching the now-empty tunnel, then back to Dusk. "I've no skill for first aid, but you will move faster if that wing is supported, as with a sling." Untying the long white sash around her waist, she offers it. "And you must guide our way, Thea." Dusk stays quiet, now, until the bandaging is wrapped and tied in place. "We got everyone out," he says to Thea, once he's finished, "that was kind've a miracle in itself." He turns his head, wiping his eyes against his good shoulder. "Hercules, be -- gentle with him." It sounds more like pleading than like an attempt at an order. Bracing his good hand against the ground, he pushes himself to his feet -- rather /unsteadily/, wobbling and falling back to thud with a sharp gasp against the rocky side of the tunnel. His breathing comes more heavily, through his teeth, as he reaches to take the sash Isra offers; though he is slow and one-handed, the readiness with which he binds wing against shoulder and arm up against his chest suggests that this is not the /first/ time he's had to deal with such injuries. He is much slower, when he pushes away from the wall, though even at slow speed he is by now distinctly unsteady on his feet. "Right. Take us up, Thea."