There is blood blocking their airway. The cloying taste of it coating their tongue when they cough, the viscous liquid sharp and metallic. Kade can feel a trickle of it escape, trailing down their cheek, finding passage just under their ear and along their neck to drip to the dirt below.
Poe wipes the remnants away with a gloved hand, rough material on stubbled skin.
Kade blinks. Coughs. Blinks again, and sees the black at the corners of their vision spreading.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Poe promises, frantic. His fingers are shakily pulling at the hooks of Kade’s flightsuit collar, trying desperately to undo them so he can rip away the orange fabric to reach the crimson soaked white of their undershirt.
It’s too much blood, they both know it.
Kade can still feel the phantom edges of the metal that had torn through their abdomen. X-wing cockpits were notoriously flimsy things, made to be modified and easily repaired for a quick return to the action. It was a feature that Kade had been appreciative of, until of course they’d been shot from the sky and landed hard enough to crumple on impact. Then said flexibility became deadly debris that tore through skin and organ with brutal efficiency.
They’d screamed when Poe had pulled them from the cockpit, when the teeth of the metal had been sawed through once more on exit. Kade couldn’t blame Poe for not realizing they’d been pierced by their ship. In the dark and the chaos, it was hard to process anything other than the aftermath of a battle that was all fire, groaning x-wing parts, and the lingering cries from dying friends that was sure to be ringing in both their ears. Kade’s screams were just added to the cacophony.
Frantic fingers press to the wound in their side, hopefully optimistic in their attempts.
Renewed agony spikes through Kade, vision momentarily made white by the pain as another gargled cry escapes their blood flecked lips.
Poe apologizes before he presses harder. Like the repeated ‘sorry’s’ will somehow soothe the fire hot sear that arks through their gut, along their spine, and twists their body in the dirt in a desperate attempt to escape like a worm caught on a hook.
“Auberon, stop!” Poe begs, trying to keep Kade still while maintaining pressure on their wound, “please- Kade, stop! I’m trying to help!”
“Screw you,” Kade spits around the blood, around the pain, more crimson joining the puddle beneath them for the effort. Any attempts at added profanity are cut off as Poe manages to get a stronger hold and pushes against the hole in Kade’s side with enough force to steal words and air from their throat.
It’s not the first time they’ve had Poe Dameron straddling them. Though this time is made distinctly less fun by the circumstances.
They scream, it comes out like a whimper.
“I’m sorry,” Poe cries again, this time Kade can see the shine of tears in his eyes, hear the threat of them falling in his voice. “Just hold on, please.”
Kade is not commonly one to obey begged orders. They’re the sort to charge off on their own and blast First Order refineries without care for the chain of command. They doubt this one will be obeyed either, if the encroaching black spilling across their vision is any indication.
“Kade,” Poe pleads, “Kade, look at me, come on.”
Blood chokes them, metallic and sharp, it mixes with the dirt. Kade feels when their boots stop seeking purchase in the ground, feels when Poe’s fingers dig further into the wound. It hurts, but Kade cannot scream.
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