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Follo's ankle hurt. Really bad. His knee too. That fall was really bad.
He vaguely thought that he could’ve been hurt much worse. His upper body seemed intact. His head hurt like he hit it, but it wasn’t unbearable. He looked up blearily to find his hat a few feet away. Suddenly his mind snapped back into place – as he heard the ragged breathing of the nearly limp body ahead of him, still holding fast to a long, forked staff.
Zanka.
Zanka got the worst of it, by far. He was on his side with his back to Follo about 8 feet away, separated by the force with which Follo had tried to push him out of the trash beast's attack a moment ago. Was it a moment? It could've been more - there's a chance he'd lost consciousness with how his ears rang. He'd definitely at least blacked out from pain.
He raised his hand to his temple and found less blood than he was expecting - he'd be fine. Zanka, on the other hand, was laying in a pool of the stuff, and he'd seen how bad his injuries had been from being hit by flying shrapnel, even before they'd gone down. He had to get there now if Zanka was going to last until help arrived. He could still faintly hear the commotion overhead - Gris and the others were still fighting that thing. It might be a minute.
"Zanka! Hang on, I'm coming-" he rasped his name as he dragged himself forwards, legs all but useless behind him. Zanka groaned in response, and curled in on himself a bit, moving his arms and legs - which gave Follo a bit more confidence that he hasn't broken his spine in the fall. That's always a plus, especially since he would likely have to maneuver him a bit to treat him properly with his own limited range of motion. After a few moments, he was close enough to get a better look at Zanka's injuries.
Yikes. Yikes, yikes, yikes. Not good. Still dazed from the fall, it took Follo a moment to register anything other than the scary amount of blood in front of him. After that brief sting of instinctual panic, a wave of logical, evidence-based panic settled over him as he saw the source of the mess. Among milder abrasions was a massive gash carved into the flesh around Zanka's collarbone, oozing blood into the dirt.
"'s it bad..?", Zanka forced out.
"Uh...", Follo took a deep breath. He could do this - it could be much worse, could've severed an artery - at that point, it would've been...
He decided to stop thinking about how much worse it could've been. He was alive, he was conscious. He'd need to pack it first and foremost, then he could-
Crrkk-k-rrk!
Oh hell, his choker! Nobody knew they were alive right now! Stupid!
He picked up.
"Follo!! Can you hear me? Are you and Zanka alright?? He isn't answering his choker!"
"Gris! We fell down, we're both alive, but I- I can't walk, and Zanka, he's here, but he's hurt really bad - he's, I need to stop the bleeding-"
A huge crash rang out. Follo could hear it through the choker and from above simultaneously.
"SHIT-! Follo, things are really hectic right now, it's going to be a moment before anyone can get away. You two just need to hold on until help arrives! Can you do that?"
Follo ran a hand through his hair. This sucks. This really sucks. Follo really wished that Tomme were here. He looked down to find Zanka looking up at him, eyebrows screwed up in pain, squinting through lashes clumped with blood and involuntary tears.
"Yes- I can do that!"
"Good. Just hold on."
The choker clicked off.
Follo took a deep breath before getting to work. It was a good sign that Zanka was conscious, but it would make first aid much less pleasant for the both of them. He ignored the pain in his legs and tried to keep the shake out of his voice.
"Okay, Zanka. I assume you know the drill, but I have to pack that wound, alright? And I'm sorry to say, it's probably going to hurt a lot." As he talked, he was already pulling a thick gauze roll from his bag and assessing the gash. He made sure he spoke gently, something akin to the voice he used when he had to talk to frightened civilians.
Zanka just nodded, letting out a shaky breath and squeezing his eyes shut as he tightened his grip on his Assistaff.
Follo hated first aid, as good as Gris and Tomme told him he was at it. To him, the hardest part of any of it was working up the nerve to put an injured person through more pain, even if it was needed to save their life. He especially hated to see Zanka like that. Someone he looked up to, someone he'd admired for so long - who he knew held his pride above almost all else - reduced to the mercy of a nobody like him. It just felt wrong.
Zanka was so strong; he was determined to a fault. He kept fighting after he was exhausted, didn't factor the energy necessary for defense into his game plan. He didn't know when to run, when to lean on others for support. Honestly, it was the kind of problem Follo wished he had. He knew he was a coward. He made mistakes and froze, relied on other people to save his sorry ass. But what more could he do? The one time he tried to step up, to swallow his fear, he and Zanka both ended up plummeting off a cliff.
Useless. Worse than useless.
He tried to be gentle, but there's only so much you can do on that front when you're shoving gauze into an open wound as hard as you can. Follo settled for a constant stream of "sorrysorrysorry!"s and a steadying hand on Zanka's bicep. Zanka made a valiant effort to save face, but there's very few people who can sit through something like that without cracking - and Zanka was not one of them, as hard as he tried to be. By the end of the ordeal, Zanka had kind-of-not-really-silent tears streaming down his face, Follo's stomach was doing guilty somersaults, and the wound had still not ceased bleeding.
The wound needed to be elevated as pressure was applied, and Zanka was still lying on the ground. Follo knew this would probably happen, so he was not panicking quite yet, but it was certainly more of a logistical pain. He had hoped that he would be able to staunch the flow of blood without having to sit Zanka upright, because it would be difficult to keep pressure on it simultaneously without being able to properly stand or kneel. Follo reasoned that it was worth moving him, since Zanka didn't seem to have injured his spine (and even if he had, that was the kind of wound Eishia could heal when they got back to HQ. Dying of blood loss, on the other hand, was not).
"You doing okay?" Follo asked, feeling guilty for having to ask Zanka to do anything else, and stupid for asking a question with such an obvious answer.
Even through his heavy breathing and quiet sobs, Zanka seemingly couldn't help but laugh at that.
"..'re you seriously... askin' me that..?" he wheezed, between gasps of pain that sounded almost like hiccups.
"Ha, um, no, not really. Just wanted to check in..." he took a deep breath -oh man, his head was really starting to hurt now- "...cause I need you to work with me for one more thing," he explained, still not acknowledging how the pain in his body was becoming more and more apparent as the adrenaline wore off.
"Urrgh..." Zanka retorted, sounding more loopy as the blood loss started to catch up with him.
Follo decided that the easiest way to keep Zanka upright and maintain pressure to the wound would be, essentially, for him to sit in Follo's lap. He pushed aside the little voice in his brain telling him how awkward that would be, and did the same for the other little voice in his brain telling him how awesome it would be if he weren’t actively bleeding to death. He decided to just focus on the bleeding to death part for now.
“Now I’m going to sit you up to get that wound elevated, alright? You can lean on me and I’ll keep pressure on it.” Zanka just hummed in acknowledgement.
With that, he hooked his arms under Zanka’s armpits and (carefully) hoisted him into a sitting position, back to his chest, one crushed leg on either side. He scooched back to brace his own back against the cliff face. Sure enough, Zanka’s bleeding slowed significantly in this position – the elevation combining with a better position to apply pressure reducing it enough to no longer drip between his fingers. Zanka was no longer at immediate risk of bleeding out – now they just had to wait.
Follo took this opportunity to peek over zanka’s shoulder and actually look at his own legs, which were turning out to be quite a bit worse than he’d initially realized. His left ankle and his right knee were at odd angles, and there was a growing bloodstain on his left pant leg. He winced. The adrenaline was really starting to wear off now, but he didn’t have time to assess his own wounds in detail. Zanka was safe, sure, but only so long as Follo was keeping him stable. Follo would be fine.
Evidently, Zanka was looking as well.
“...Yer legs…”
Zanka really didn’t need to worry about him. It would be a waste of energy tending to it now – he could just deal with the pain until Eishia could heal it. “Oh… yeah, I got a little busted up in the fall, too. I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me.”
Zanka twiddled his thumbs weakly across Assistaff, which was still laid on its side in his lap. His whole weight was still leaning onto Follo’s chest, too injured to even attempt holding his own body up. Follo could feel his sigh more than he could hear it. His body felt small against his. It was weird to see someone he usually had to look up at, both literally and figuratively, seem so vulnerable.
“...’M sorry…”
…What?
“What?”
“‘S my fault we fell down here… I shouldn't've got hit…”
…Is he serious?
“Zanka… what? This is not your fault – hell, I’m the one who pushed you back there– !”
“Ya shouldn’ta needed to..! I-I should’a been stronger, I should’a gotten – gotten outta the way..”
As Zanka trailed off, maybe from frustration or shame, maybe from pain, Follo had no idea what to say. So they sat in silence for a moment.
“Ya wouldn’t be down here if I wasn’ just… useless.”
…Well.
Follo knew what he meant. Really, he did. He’d had the same thought about himself literally 3 minutes ago. But it still stung hearing that from someone like Zanka. He was capable, he was hardworking and determined. He wasn’t a natural, he’d put in the work, and so he became someone Follo aspired to be. If that wasn't enough for Zanka… where did that put Follo?
He tucked that thought away for now. Or forever, that would work too. Zanka clearly didn't mean it like that – that much was obvious even to someone as dense as Follo – so thinking like that wouldn’t help anyone. Especially considering that he was suffering the effects of blood loss, and likely a concussion. He knew it was ridiculous of him to take it personally. And yet.
Shit, he’d been silent too long. This was stupid, Zanka needed reassurance, not sulking and awkward silence. Everything hurt too much. All he could think to say was the truth.
“I’ve… I’ve always looked up to you, y’know.”
The hand pressing into Zanka’s wound shook slightly. Follo could feel him tense slightly under his touch. He didn’t respond, so he kept talking.
“Ever since I first saw you in the north ward, taking down that huge trash beast…”
“T-that was..”
“The day I joined, yeah. I saw you… and I thought you were just so cool. I wanted… I wanted to be like that.”
He was breathless. From nerves, or pain, or a bit of both, he wasn’t sure. I wanted to be like you, he thought, but he chose not to phrase it that way. They didn’t really know each other that well, it would’ve been weird. Too personal. Too honest.
Zanka seemed to shrink even more into himself. His words were mumbly and slurred.
“...I was just th’ first cleaner ya saw, ‘s all it was. I remember that mission – I fumbled m’ way through it.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
He was trying to curl forwards, to hide in some small way, but Follo’s steady hand on his wounded shoulder wouldn’t allow it. Zanka settled for pulling his knees in a bit.
“Sure, you didn’t make it look effortless… n-not the way you do now… but that meant, when you managed to kill it, I-I could tell that you beat it because you put in the effort. Not because it was easy for you, but in spite of how much of a challenge it was.”
Zanka’s ears were bright red. Follo could feel his own face heating up in embarrassment as he realized Zanka could definitely feel how fast his heart was beating.
“That’s… an awfully nice way… t’ say you were watchin’ me struggle,” He muttered, but it was clear this was his way of deflecting praise rather than any genuine misunderstanding. Follo decided to leave it at that.
Neither of them spoke for a bit. Follo couldn’t really figure out wether the silence was awkward, or comfortable, or somewhere in between. He spent most of it gritting his teeth to avoid vocalizing his dizziness or the torturous pain in his legs. Only when he started to feel Zanka relax a bit too much into him did he remember he should be keeping him awake. He honestly couldn’t remember the exact medical reason why (which he was pretty sure meant that he was also concussed and should definitely also stay awake), but he knew it was important to stay awake when you hit your head.
“Zanka,” he said, shaking him a bit. “Don’ fall asleep.”
“Urggh… nn.. m’kay..”
For the next 10 minutes or so, Follo kept asking small questions to keep the both of them awake. First he asked about any other pain Zanka had, which, predictably, suggested a couple of fractures or dislocations that Follo was not currently equipped to deal with. As they moved on to more personal small-talk, Follo’s own words became more and more slurred.
He felt a rising panic at his own brain fog as he felt he was at increasing risk of passing out. However, this spiralling worry was cut short by Gris’s call. They were on their way. Follo actually cried a bit from relief. He thought Zanka might have as well, but at that point his memory got a little unreliable.
Everything was a blur as Gris, Tomme, and a few others arrived. Enjin was also there, who Follo later learned had driven all the way from HQ to help. He and Zanka were separated, put on stretchers and loaded into the Jeep. Zanka was sat in the back seat between Enjin (who Gris would not allow to drive with two injured people in the back, as Tomme would explain later) and Riyo, while Follo was laid down in the trunk with Tomme. Tamsy sat shotgun, apparently, but Follo couldn’t even really remember seeing him. According to Gris, he’d helped with dispatching the trash beast, but he’d had little to offer in the way of first aid, so he waited in the car while they’d gone to get him and Zanka.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the infirmary. Eishia was standing over him wearing a reserved grin, and Gris was smiling proudly at her. Tomme was saying something to Follo. He could tell Eishia had done a perfect job of healing him by the lack of pain in his extremities and the way his hair stuck straight out in every direction. He looked to his left and saw Zanka in the next bed over. He was asleep and wrapped in clean white bandages – evidently his treatment hadnt gone as perfectly as Follo’s – but overall he looked infinitely better than he had last time he’d seen him.
People were talking at him, but, healed or not, he was too exhausted to listen to any of it. They were safe at HQ now, whatever they had to say could wait.
He rolled over and fell right back asleep.