“Quit your squirmin'. You’re gonna make it worse.”
Ramses goes still, or as still as he can manage, tearing up fistfuls of grass in an effort to stay grounded. “Fuck you snappin’ at me for?” he asks, voice too strained to carry any real heat. Everything hurts, hurts bad enough to make breathing difficult, but it’s his legs that hurt worst of all. It's almost more than he can handle. And it's taking everything in him to stay this side of sane.
Adrenaline keeps him restless, eyes roving, like the monster that did this to him might still be around. He knows it isn’t, knows it’s dead; he saw Hacksaw kill it. But there’s no telling how quickly another might come along to take its place.
Ramses tries to sit up. He doesn’t get more than an inch off the ground before Cain shoves him back down by the shoulders.
“Hey -- don’t you fuckin’ go anywhere! Gimme your hand,” Cain demands.
Ramses squints up at him. He’s grateful for the way Cain’s blocking out the sun, and mostly grateful for the not-so-gentle offer of comfort.
“Give it here,” Cain repeats. Too tired to argue, Ramses obeys. “Now, you squeeze as hard as you want, break my hand if you gotta, but you hold still. If you move and fuck shit up permanently, I ain’t carrying your damaged ass around.” It’s a lie and they both know it. “Aight?”
The pain becomes unmanageable just as Ramses goes to answer. In the end he can only nod, swallowing down nausea and blinking spots out of his vision.
“Good," Cain says. "Hacks?”
“Yup.” With practiced ease and a quick jerk-shove, Hacksaw puts Ramses’ knee back in its socket. Just as practiced and just as easily, she ignores the strangled cry that comes after.
“There, y’see?” Cain holds his brother’s hand tight, still pinning him by the shoulder. “It’s fixed. You’re good.” It’s about as close to a reassurance as he’s going to give.
“I’m good,” Ramses agrees faintly, trying to convince himself more than them. “‘M good. ‘M fine. I-I’m good. ‘S not that bad.” He squeezes Cain’s hand as hard as he can. Cain squeezes back just as tightly.
“Damn straight! You ain’t a coward. Other leg now, aight?”
Ramses hesitates. “Can you --” He looks at Hacksaw, tries to get his vision to focus enough to tell what she’s thinking. She’s eyeing that badly broken bone, looking none too pleased with the limb’s irregular swollen shape, nor with how it’s pointing in directions it shouldn’t. Ramses follows her gaze and regrets it almost immediately. “Oh shit. Just -- god, fuck, whh -- wait,” he gasps, grabbing for her arm, nearly whimpering. “Hacks, wait, just -- hang on a sec --”
“Hey hey hey, no. Stop it.” Cain leans over so he’s blocking Ramses’ field of vision, cutting off that panicked spiral before it can begin. He’s calm, and scowling the same as ever, and though the sight pisses Ramses off, it’s also somehow reassuring. “Not that bad, remember? You said so, you know so. You wanna sit here with a busted leg forever? Wait for somethin' to swing by and finish the job?”
“Shut up,” Ramses hisses through gritted teeth, but there’s new resolve in the set of his jaw, in the angry tilt of his brow. Before he can lose the nerve, he tells Hacksaw to go ahead.
Problem is, she doesn’t set the bone right away like he’s expecting her to. He thinks the anticipation might be worse than the pain itself. Twice Cain has to remind him to breathe.
“Hacks --”
“I’m workin’ on it. You don’t want me puttin’ it back wrong." She studies the break a moment more, then nods. "Ready?” she asks.
“No -- yeah -- ffffffuck, okay, yeah. Do it.”
Hacksaw puts her hands on his leg and shoves.
Hard.
The feel of flesh and bone shifting beneath her palms is a bad one, but not one she isn’t used to. She’s done this enough times, and had it done to her enough times, to more than know what to expect. That’s what makes it easy to jump out of the way before Ramses can kick her.
Ramses howls, kept from thrashing about only by Cain’s hand and weight on his shoulders, and Hacksaw’s hold on his wrists a moment later.
“Hey -- knock it off, dumbass!"
"You’re gonna hurt yourself!”
It takes a moment before Ramses can listen, before violent struggling can dwindle into feeble squirming. “Th -- fuck -- that’s it, right?” He tips his head back, panting, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “‘S that it? We -- we done now?”
Cain lets go of Ramses’ shoulder, but keeps hold of his hand. “Yeah, kid," he says. "We done.” He and Hacksaw help Ramses sit up, each clapping him on the back with an almost congratulatory air. You made it, the gesture seems to say. You made it. Well done.
“So...” Ramses scrubs at his face, replacing unwanted tears with blood and grime and whatever else is on his hands. “Back to camp now, right?” He can’t stand the thought of moving, but the idea of staying out here, exposed and in the open, is so much worse.
“Gotta splint your leg first,” Hacksaw says. “And I gotta treat your dumbass brother ‘fore I do that.” Really, she should've seen to Cain's wounds before his, and she would've if Cain hadn't damn near bitten her head off for trying.
“Cain?” Ramses turns sharply to look at him. “I miss somethin’? You good?”
“Yeah,” Cain says, "'m fine," but there’s something off about the way he says it, something unsteady about his posture. He looks like he's going to collapse.
Only then does Ramses notice all the blood that’s pooled around them -- blood that isn’t his own. Only then, as Cain slumps over and Hacksaw darts forward to catch him, does he notice the broad and seeping gashes, made by monstrous claws, gouged across Cain’s stomach.
If you're okay with apocalypse and amputation stuff; Caretaker amputating one of Whumpee's limbs after they're bit by a zombie.
#67
content: apocalyptic setting, amputation whump
Whumpee was a whimpering mess on the floor of Caretaker and their team’s base. They had been bitten, that much was abundantly clear from the way they were bleeding through the sleeve of their shirt.
“Please,” Whumpee begged. “Please— Don’t kill me. Please. I can be useful. I swear.”
“We’re not killing you,” Caretaker declared, and Friend immediately grabbed them by the arm and pulled them aside.
“They’ve been bitten,” they hissed. “What do you mean we’re not gonna kill them?”
“I said what I said,” Caretaker said, prying Friend’s fingers off of their arm. “I’m the leader, I make calls like this. If you want to be useful, fetch me the axe.”
“The axe?” Whumpee said in a high-pitched voice. “Why? What are you—”
“We’re getting rid of the infection,” Caretaker said. Then they nodded to two other team members to tie a tourniquet around Whumpee’s arm and hold them down.
“Wait!” Whumpee cried. “Wait! There has to be another way!”
“If there was, I’d be glad to spare you. But unfortunately, this is pretty non-negotiable.” When Friend returned with the axe, Caretaker spent no time arguing. They stepped up to Whumpee’s immobilised body and swung, but the axe only went halfway through the flesh. Whumpee screamed.
Caretaker swung again, hitting just next to the previous cut. Ugh. Annoying.
They swung for a third time, and they managed to cut through the bone as Whumpee wailed and wailed.
“Good,” they said, panting. “Good. It’s gone. You’re gonna stay alive for a bit longer.”
“You just chopped my arm off!” Whumpee yelled. “I’m gonna bleed out! I’m going into shock!”
“Whatever happens to you now, it can only be better than turning into one of them. So be grateful. And welcome to the team.”
I love kaijus, and jaegers, and dorky scientists, and the mention of kaiju cults. But my favourite thing about Pacific Rim is the way humanity is shown to react to the monsters. Building cities in kaiju remnants. Yes. Good.
