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When Sean crashes Ennis into a tree stump, sending him flying out of the saddle, Lenny laughs at his sweetheart. But when Sean hits the ground with a horrible thump, a strangled scream escaping him, Lenny’s laughter dies in his throat. He has never heard Sean scream like that. And when Ennis stands back up, unharmed, but Sean stays sprawled on the ground, Lenny’s chest tightens.
“Sean?” he calls, hopping down from Maggie.
He rushes towards his sweetheart, and when he gets close enough, he hears Sean panting and whining in agony. Slowly, Sean sits up, his face contorted in a grimace, jaw clenched, and his eyes screwed shut. He hugs his left arm to his chest, shoulders hunched.
“Sean?” Lenny says, crouching beside him.
Sean opens his eyes, staring up at him. “Shit… Len, I think I broke my goddamn arm.”
Lenny broke his arm a few years ago, remembering the nausea and agonising pain like it was yesterday. “Shit. Let me look.”
If it were anyone else, Sean would tell them to get lost. But Lenny… Sean trusts his lover to not hurt him. Holding Sean’s arm at the elbow, Lenny unbuttons Sean’s cuff, carefully rolling his sleeve up his arm. About halfway between his wrist and his elbow, Sean’s arm distorts, something bulging beneath swollen skin.
“Yeah, that’s broken,” Lenny says.
“Shit, is that my bone?!” Sean cries.
Indeed, the awkward shape of Sean’s arm appears to be caused by a fracture, his bone snapped in half, the halves shifting beneath his skin. “Probably. I think it’s snapped clean through.”
Sean’s eyes widen. And, remembering hearing stories of men breaking bones and suffering reduced mobility in the limb for the rest of their lives (or the limb getting gangrene and needing to be chopped off), he says, “Jesus! Len, am I gonna be crippled now?”
“Of course, you ain’t,” Lenny says. “Hold your arm for me.”
As Lenny dashes over to Maggie, grabbing a spare shirt from his saddle, Sean says, “How d’you know?”
“’Cause it looks like a clean break. Should be easy to make a splint, and if you take it easy for a few weeks, it’ll heal nicely.”
“A few weeks?” Sean whines. “What the hell am I supposed to do for a few goddamn weeks.”
“You’ll rest. Unless you want it to fix itself wrong—”
“Which I feckin’ don’t!”
“Exactly,” Lenny says, kneeling in front of Sean again. Using a technique that Hosea taught him, Lenny ties the arms of his shirt together, making a loop. “Now stay still.”
“What’re you doin’?”
“Making a sling. It’ll hold your arm steady till we get back to camp.” Lenny raises his eyebrows. “Is the interrogation over now?”
Sean snorts, a weak smile on his clammy face. “Yessir.”
With Sean watching his every move, Lenny puts the makeshift sling over Sean’s head, the knot made from the sleeves resting against the back of his neck. Straightening the body of the shirt, Lenny folds the edges over to make the sling comfortable for Sean’s broken arm to rest against.
“Okay, this’ll hurt. But I’ll make it quick. Promise,” Lenny says.
Carefully clasping Sean’s arm at the elbow, Lenny slots Sean’s arm through the loop of fabric; despite his care, Sean winces, clenched his jaw, and Lenny’s chest aches, hating seeing Sean in pain.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
“Don’t be, Len. I-It ain’t your fault,” Sean says, trying to smile through the pain.
Once Sean’s arm is in position, Lenny lowers it, letting Sean’s broken arm sit supported in the sling. Sean hisses through gritted teeth, and glances at Lenny.
“It’s done,” Lenny says, letting go of Sean’s arm, leaving it cradled amongst the fabric. “Is that okay?”
“Feels weird,” Sean mumbles, flexing his fingers. “But it’s a bit better, yeah. Thanks, Lenny.”
Lenny smiles. “Can you stand up?”
“Think so,” Sean says, holding out his good hand.
With meticulous care and a lot of effort, Lenny helps haul Sean to his feet. Sean hisses in pain the entire time, wobbling once Lenny gets him upright.
“Okay,” Lenny says, slipping his arm around Sean’s back to stop his wobbly sweetheart falling over, “let’s get you back to camp.”