#postcrash

There was too much blood. He knew that from the military. Humans can only lose around 1.5L of blood before things start to get really bad. (Or had someone else told him that?) 

Jimmy didn’t know what 1.5L looked like outside of a person, but the way it felt - pooling down his chest and soaking through his jeans, the pain icy hot, the beat of his heart notably weaker - he might be getting close. 

He lay prone on the lounge’s floor, staring towards the cracked, glitching evening screen. Dark floaters clouded his vision, blocking out the sunset, no matter how many times he blinked them away.

He’d seen her with the gun. There had been no other choice but to take it from her. He hadn't been scared. Jimmy had ignored her warnings (they’d never meant anything before) and had tried to rip it from her hands.

Bang. How long ago had that been?

“Anya.” 

The words felt heavy in his mouth, bloated and blurry. Sluggishly, he reached for her from the floor - idly noting how the blood had soaked through his uniform’s arm.  

He couldn't stand it anymore. The NOISE. Curly's agony haunted him no matter where he went in the ship. Even in the depths of the cargo bay, buried in boxes of mouthwash, Jimmy swore he could hear the captain's moans through the vents.

The doors of the medical bay slid open, sunset light spilling over Jimmy and the empty hallway.

It was always the smell that got to him first.

Rot. Pus. Meat.

A violating, revolting reminder of their mistakes. The corpse on the table. Their burden. (His responsibility.)

The pilot brought his arm up to his face, covering his nose, squinting upon realizing he wasn't alone with Curly. A bitter, cruel feeling twisted in his chest. Their so-called nurse couldn't do her goddamn job properly.

“The cold was worse than the fire.”

Crash aftermath settles into bone-deep silence. Kaelin is bleeding, the SpineLock grinding; Arya burns with fever; ORIN counts odds no one wants. A partial handshake finds the Drifting Truth—Rhett on the wire—right as scavengers close in on the pod wreck. Gunfire snaps the ash. Two figures step through the breach with steadier aim and a skimmer humming like a heartbeat.

Found family doesn’t arrive gently. It roars up on bad suspension.

Read under the cut + CW.

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