#doubtfulblue

“Hey. Hey! Focus.” He hissed at the younger man, whose face had gone pale. His pupils were dilated, and though he turned his head slightly toward Zelos when the redhead spoke, he did not seem to really see him. “You idiot, what were you thinking?” Zelos admonished, angry with himself for not noticing the attacker sooner and with this violet-haired stranger for stepping into the path of the arrow. He had nothing to use as bandages but the already bloodstained fabric of his gloves and jacket, but there was no time to hesitate. Each moment that passed brought this stranger closer to death and Zelos was not going to watch him die.

Grasping the arrow shaft with a grimace he felt for the tip to ensure it had not come loose in the younger man’s body. He desperately wished Raine or someone who had more medical knowledge were here, someone whose healing magic had real power behind it. His own mana was already pouring into the wound even as he worked the arrowhead free, trying to negate the damage he was doing by removing the offending projectile. There was so much blood now, on his hands and on the pale, clammy skin of the other man’s abdomen.

“Stay awake!” he snapped at the violet-haired male, whose gaze was unfocused, his breathing growing erratic. “I swear to Martel, if you die on me…” He didn’t finish the threat, turning all his energy and focus into pouring healing mana into the wound. He was not a medic, he was not skilled in healing, but there was no way he was going to sit here and let this person die in his place, killed by a shot meant for him. A sudden burst of inspiration reminded him of the healing gel in his pocket and he pulled it free, forcing it through the blood-reddened lips of the nearly catatonic male.

“Swallow it” he commanded, lifting the male’s shoulders to support him in a better position for following his order even as his other hand went back to the still bleeding wound in effort to channel more magic. “Swallow it!” he repeated, an edge of desperation in his voice.  He hoped fervently that the magic was doing some good inside the wound, because he could not tell through all the blood in the area. As Garry finally complied and swallowed the gooey gel-like substance with a somewhat disgusted expression, Zelos released his shoulders and turned his attention to bandaging the wound again. Magic or no magic, he had to at least suppress the bleeding.

“Hope you like pink” he muttered as he cut jagged strips from the hem of his jacket, rough and uneven in his haste. Clothing was replaceable, a life was not. He used one of the discarded gloves as an impromptu gauze pad on the actual wound and wrapped the makeshift bandages around the younger man’s abdomen.  Garry’s skin was a good deal cooler than his own and he realized he had to get the other man somewhere warmer. Shock could kill him just as easily as blood loss and again Zelos cursed his lack of medical training.

A small crowd of onlookers had gathered and he glowered up at them. “Don’t just stand there! Help me!” he ordered, though there was a pleading edge in his voice. Someone hesitantly offered a coat and Zelos wrapped it around the violet-haired male, who had begun to shiver somewhat. “You! Go get a doctor!” he commanded, singling a member of the crowd out in effort to spur action from them. The man looked taken aback but turned away to do as he was told.