Dimitri/Salem
Groaning as he was moved, Dimitri stayed relatively still. Everytime he felt pressure on his wound he’d moan in pain, arching his back slightly but otherwise not moving. His chest heaved up and down, at first in rhythm with his fast panting, but then slowing to deep calming breaths. His deep green eyes shifted from the ceiling to the man who was helping him. After the wound was patched up, he tried to sit up, only to yelp and lay back down. Horrible. He felt so horrible. His skin felt sticky, his side hurt like hell, his head was throbbing and he could barely comprehend what was going on. He’d be lucky if he didn’t pass out soon.
The other was leaning over him, muttering something he didn’t quite catch. The man’s eyes were beautiful. He’d have to tell him that someday. Yeah.
Salem had no idea what he was doing or if he was doing it right. Thanks to those hospital drama shows he indulges in, he knows the wounds need to be cleaned, bleeding stopped, and stitched. Unfortunately it was all he can do. The man tried sitting up and Salem pushed him back down with his hand. "Stop, stop. You're hurt."
He put one of the wet cloths on his forehead to relax him. He mumbled soothing words as he dressed the wound and taped the gauze closed. Finally, the man was all set, but he was in pain. "I don't have morphine or anything stronger than Tylenol." Salem pulled the man up to lean against him and try to find a way to hoist him up to the couch where he could rest. "Move with me," he whispered in his ear, gently standing up while keeping a hand on his waist and side until they were finally upright. He sat on the couch with the man next to him.