All he could do was tell himself that it could be worse—it could be much worse. At least she was alive. The sound of her breath rushing out of her lungs when he pressed against her wound told him that she hadn't completely gone into shock–wasn't completely numb. For a moment, he had been afraid that maybe she'd been paralyzed, and that wasn't something they'd talked about, before—her wishes regarding things that may or may not be worse than dying. Later, if she made it, maybe he'd tease her about that—about being happy to see her in pain that one time, because then it might be a little funny. Then, it might not make his throat close up with worry or panic or whatever else it was he was feeling, seeing her on the ground broken like a child's toy under a carriage wheel.
He held the cloak against her side and took her hand with his free one, startled at the limpness in her grasp. He more than made up for it, squeezing her hand tightly, unsure if it would help her at all or if it was just some meaningless gesture that the living thought meant something to the dying. He'd done it once or twice before, for others, and they'd died, but he really hoped that wouldn't happen with Nanaba. She had a chance, as long as he stayed with her.
"Hey," he chastised, his voice sounding too breathy; it was hard to pay attention to everything; their surroundings, Nanaba's breathing, her too-soft voice, the sound of things happening beyond the treeline. "You got no faith in me, huh? Hey, now—none…no more of that crying, okay? You're gonna be fine, and I'm already fine, and I've got another flare I'll shoot here in about two seconds if nobody comes. And if nobody comes to that one, well, there's always the black flare, and maybe a team will come to kill the abnormal that must've got you, huh?"
He let go of her hand to fumble in the breast pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a handkerchief.
"While we're waiting, might as well clean you up, right?" he asked, wiping at her tears in some vague attempt to keep her face clean. "And if some piece of shit titan comes back around here to try'n finish you off, well, you can count on me, you got that? Remember who the better fighter is, right? Yeah, it's me. I won't let anything else happen to you."
He pressed the handkerchief against the wound on her head and reached for another flare—his only backup for the medical team. There was a moment of hesitation, but he mumbled an apology and shot it, sure that if the team was having trouble finding them, it might be useful to see it again.
"I'd fix your hip," he said, just trying to talk to keep her awake, now, "but I'd probably make it worse. I don't know much about hips. And besides, jostling it like that might just make you bleed more, and you don't have much more blood to lose right now. I think it's slowing down, though—stopping, maybe. See? You'll be fine if you can just hang in there a little while longer."
