Chapter Text
“Oh fuck, my hand!”
Ryan stands there, staring for a few seconds in disbelief. Blood coats his hands, it’s splattered all over his face. And Dylan. Oh God, Dylan.
“Alright, alright, just hold on!”
He steps by the other teen, heart pounding. What did he do? How had he been so willing to listen to Dylan? He never listened to Dylan. His ideas are always ill-thought out. This one had been no better. In fact, it might go on the board as his worst idea to date.
But not his last idea, Ryan reminds himself as he reaches the first aid kit.
“Why would you do that?!” Dylan calls back to him, voice pitching as he clutches his wrist.
Ryan spins around to stare in disbelief. “You told me to!” And I listened for some damn reason.
“That was a bad idea.”
Ryan shrugs, as he turns back to grab the kit. “Yeah, no shit, dude. It was a stupid idea! I-I don’t know why … why would you tell me to do that?!”
There’s a thunk as he turns around and he finds Dylan with his forehead against the floor, against the growing puddle of blood. God, there’s so much of it. He swallows nausea at the sight. So much blood - all Dylan’s.
“I dunno,” Dylan mumbles. A groan whispers between his teeth as he rolls over to his back, stump now bleeding against his chest.
“I told you to keep pressure on that!” He steps over, falling to his knees next to Dylan.
A hum echoes up his throat and he blinks hard. “I am,” he slurs.
“No, you’re not! Nevermind, whatever. Just let me see,” Ryan orders, waving his hand. Dylan does as instructed, raising his arm which trembles from the effort. It’s ever worse up close. He can see bone. “Oh shit.”
“Bad?” Dylan asks, eyes squeezed shut.
Ryan’s brow scrunches. “I-I cut off your hand, Dylan. Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty fucking bad.” He wraps both hands around his wrist and clenches. The moment he does, Dylan stiffens, back lifting off the floor as he gasps.
“Hey! C’reful,” he gasps.
“Sorry. We gotta stop the bleeding. You’re losing too much blood.”
“Yeah… I think you’re right,” Dylan says softly. “You’re … you’re pretty smart, actually.”
“Dylan, shut up.”
“Yeah.”
Ryan looks around desperately for something, anything, he can use to slow the bleeding. Then his eyes land on the radio. “I’ll be right back, just, uh, hang tight.” He crosses the room in two steps and reaches to the back of the radio and he snatches the wire loose. He tugs on it a couple times to test its strength. It’ll work well enough for its purpose.
“Ok, this is going to suck, but just bear with it.”
“There’s a bear?”
“Goddamnit, Dylan, now is not the time for your jokes,” Ryan hisses back. “I feel a little less bad for what I’m about to do now. So thanks for that, I guess.”
Dylan’s arm is resting on his chest again, shirt now fully saturated. Ryan swears under his breath. He can’t afford to waste anymore time. He slips the wire under Dylan’s arm and with a quick and sincere apology, he pulls it tight. Instantly, Dylan cries out and he tries his damnedest to pull himself away. But, with more blood than is healthy being everywhere but inside his body, he doesn’t put up much of a fight.
“Sorry,” Ryan says again. “It won’t take long.”
He tugs the first aid kit over with his free hand and pops it open. It’s not the most well-stocked thing he’s seen. In fact, he’s sure he’s seen more useful supplies in Jacob’s pockets. But, it will do. It will have to do. Ryan places the roll of gauze to the side in search of any sort of bottle. He finds one and gives it a testing shake. Not much left. Popping it open, he apologizes for the third time in advance. Teeth grit, he pours the antiseptic on the wound.
This scream is the worst by far and Dyan actually manages to back away, dragging himself across the floor to put some distance between the two of them.
“F’ck!” Dylan cries. His wounded arm is clutched to his chest as he rocks back and forth, never tipping completely to one side or the other. “What … what th’fuck did y’do?” he hisses out. He’s chest is heaving with breaths.
“Dylan, man, just calm down. I’m just cleaning the wound. It’s alright. There’s no telling what the hell was on that chainsaw. Last thing we need is you catching, I dunno, tetanus or something.”
Dylan lets out a long, low moan as he slowly starts to relax again. “I might not be a doctor, man. But I don’think … a few drops of fucking peroxide or whatever that is is gonna make a difference.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Well I do!”
Ryan doesn’t respond to that. It’s obvious neither of them know what they’re doing. But arguing about the things they don’t know aren’t going to help either. So he sits there and waits until Dylan’s breathing evens out and he relaxes a bit. He moves closer and Dylan doesn’t back away. He offers a nod and gets a hesitant one in return.
“Ok, I’m just going to wrap it now. Is that ok?”
Dylan nods again.
“Good, because I honestly wasn’t giving you a choice.”
There’s no quippy remark to this. Or a response in general. Ryan looks into the other teen’s eyes, his glossy, half open eyes. Not good. He grabs the bandages and quickly starts to wrap them around the wound, wincing every time Dylan whimpers or flinches.
“Almost done.”
“Mmhmm.”
Ryan’s eyes glance up. “Dylan, stay awake.”
“I am.”
“Then open your eyes.”
Dylan does as he’s told with a few weighted blinks. “Yessir.”
Ryan looks from the stump to Dylan’s face, making sure he doesn’t pass out right then and there. He wraps the gauze as tight as he can, barely getting a reaction. Not good, again. He ties it off before slowly and carefully placing the arm on its owner’s chest. He doesn’t know why he does it, likely because he doesn’t know what else to do, but he pats Dylan on the cheek.
“All done. Come on, can you stand up?”
No response.
“Fuck … Dylan!”
That does it. He startles, eyes widening. “What?” he blurts out. The single worded question tumbles from his lips. His gaze drops to his dressed stump and he cringes with a groan. “Oh, right?”
“Can you stand?” Ryan asks again. Clearly the first time wasn’t registered.
“I lost a hand, not a leg,” he mutters. He also doesn’t move to get up. In fact, he appears to be sinking farther onto the floor.
“I think you lost more than a hand,” Ryan says with a slight cock of his head. “Come on, take my hand.” He reaches out with his right. After a second of hesitation, Dylan takes it and lets himself be hefted up. As soon as he’s upright, he sways and Ryan quickly wraps an arm around his waist, taking the majority of his weight. “Easy.”
“You’re so strong.”
“And you’re delirious,” Ryan counters.
Dylan leans heavily against him. “Aha, but you don’deny that’m wrong.”
“Just shut up and walk. We got to get out of here,” he reminds. They’re still in a shaggy radio hut with holes in it now. He takes a step and uses his unoccupied shoulder to push the door open, leading the both of them out. “One step at a time, he guides. He’s more or less carrying Dylan down, but it’s progress nonetheless. “That’s it, almost there.” Dylan is almost flush against him. The blood from his clothes is starting to soak into Ryan’s.
They stumble onto grass and from a few yards away, he hears the squeak of a cabin door.
“Is it safe?”
He lifts his head and watches as Kaintlyn heads down the stairs, the others not fat behind, huddled right outside the door.
Ryan opens and closes his mouth a few times to answer and almost has an answer form when she interrupts his thoughts.
“Oh my God, Dylan, what happened?” She steps closer to get a better look, searching the both of them up and down. With so much blood, it must be difficult to make hardly anything out.
Dylan raises his arm, stump at eye level as he turns it from one side to the other, as if inspecting it for the first time. And honestly, it just might be the first time he’s getting a real look at it.
“Oh um…” he sucks in a breath and licks dry lips. “I-I’m ok. I think. I guess I’m not. But … it doesn’hurt.” He drops it back to hang at his side and meets her eyes.
“Ok, you’re in shock. Holy fucking shit.”
“Um,” Dylan hums, unsure how to respond. Or, more likely, can’t form enough of a thought to reply with.
“Did that thing do this?” she asks, turning his inquiry towards Ryan, hoping for some more coherent explanations.
“No, well … sorta. I-it-”
He doesn’t get to complete the fill-in. A shot rings out. They all jump at the sound. All aside from Dylan who seems to be relying on Ryan more by the second to stay on his feet. He tightens his grip when he feels him starting to slip.
“What was that?” Abi asks, sticking close to Nick’s side.
“I have no idea,” Kaitlyn says as she takes a step towards the others.
Another shot and a shadow moves. As a collective, they shift back as a woman hops the fence, away from where the shots had been heard.
“Did she shoot at us?” she asks.
“She’s a lousy shot if she did,” Dylan chimes in.
Ryan looks down at him, at his head hanging and his eyes on the ground. Not even paying attention and still making smartass comments. He ignores it and starts to head towards the pool. A hand jabs against his chest - hard - and stops him in his tracks.
“Kaitlyn, what the hell,” he complains.
She nods her head at Dylan. “No way you’re dragging him like that towards whatever that was,” she hisses. “He’s barely on his feet.”
“Well I’m not gonna leave him here while we check it out,” Ryan reasons, shrugging his other shoulder.
“Of course not. But you’re also not taking him there,” she says, pointing behind herself. “Give him here. I’m taking him back to the lodge. You check that out with the others.”
Ryan presses his lips together and relents. “Yeah, right … that makes more sense.”
“Of course it does.”
She slips between him and his charge, making the transition as gentle as she can. But, being shorter than the both of them, it’s not quite as graceful as any of them care for. She has to pull Dylan’s arm farther over her shoulders and he’s a lot more hunched, but he doesn’t end up on the ground and that’s enough to be considered a win in her books.
“Be careful,” she says to Ryan before heading off.
“Yeah … you too.”