(cw: whump, field medicine, setting a bone, swearing)
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They're a few years younger than Whumpee. So there's that strange dynamics of younger "sibling" that has life figured out and an older one that is complete mess and gets in trouble all the time.
Mimic wrinkles. Laugh lines, crow's feet, dark circles, stubble. They look older than how they actually are. Especially if Caretaker is a hardworking character that can't take a break.
Caretaker has absolutely no clue about first aid help and lowkey panicks. (C:) "Okay, just- hold on for a sec. Just lie down- I'll- I'll figure it out". They take out their phone and in a moment a voice comes from the speaker: "Welcome guys in the next medtube video! Today's tutorial: How to reset the bone fracture" (W:) "ARE YOU F##ING KIDDING ME?!"
Crying out in agony, Caretaker A’s vision swam as they struggled to get up. They couldn’t stop they had to-
“Stop Caretaker A!”
Butt slamming to the ground once again, Caretaker A blinked up at the mass of color that was abruptly at their side.
“Wha-? No... gotta...go...can’t...stop...”
Gentle hands pressed down on their chest when they began to get up again.
“Oh you think you’re back there... Caretaker A? A! Look at me! Focus... you’re really out of it right now so you have to try.”
Eyes resting on the blob of color who’s voice was vaguely familiar, Caretaker A nearly began to push themselves up again before their vision finally came into focus with a snap.
“Caretaker B? But how-”
Cupping Caretaker A’s cheek, Caretaker B put a finger to A’s lips.
“Shh, you thought you were getting away from them again. We’re on a hike and you fell... I know you can feel that pain, and you don’t seem to realize it’s coming from your leg.”
Brow furrowing, Caretaker A’s mouth opened to deny B’s claim only to instead fall open at the unmistakable sight.
Their leg was broken alright. Any pretense of a continuous leg was gone from the jagged stair-step appearance it held now.
As Caretaker A watched in utter rapture, the sensation of shock overrode the immense pain and replaced it with pure fascination.
That was until Caretaker B spoke words that passed Caretaker A by and all at once B had a death grip on their leg and pushed.
In an instant, Caretaker A’s leg was nearly straight again. But past the unimaginable pain shooting through it, A couldn’t offer a thought to care as their screams echoed both through the forest and their own mind.
Then all at once a wave of black slammed into them and they screamed and thought no more.
Aedan lifted his head off his knees, listening intently. Voices, and footsteps, approaching the door. Mingled relief and fear slammed into his chest. They weren’t just going to leave him here forever, then. Maybe somebody would bring him some food, or water? He was desperately thirsty.
Or maybe it was Lucas, coming to break his other wing. Aedan took a deep, shuddering breath and shifted position. The movement woke his wing from dull, insistent throbbing to sharp spikes of pain. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes closed.
“… a little out of my depth here. I’m damn tired, and what do I know about bird medicine?” The first voice was peevish, male, young.
“Got to be better than nothing. How different can it be?” The second voice was deeper; Aedan recognised it as the guard who’d carried him in here. He shivered and fought the urge to shuffle back and hide in the corner. Robb didn’t seem to be there, which frightened Aedan a little.
“I work on people,” the first voice huffed, sounding offended. “I know next to nothing about birds. He thinks its wing is broken? Is that even fixable? Don’t they have hollow bones?”
“There you go, you know something.”
A pause. Aedan wondered if the two of them realised that he could hear them. Robb had promised to send someone to treat his wing. He watched the door, feeling his own heartbeat racing under his ribcage.
“My cousin used to keep birds. Pigeons.”
“Oh? And what did he do when they broke a wing?”
The guard chuckled. “Uh, I think he wrung their necks whenever pretty much anything went wrong.”
“Charming. I’ll tell Prince Robb that’s the backup plan, shall I? Ugh.”
Aedan caught his breath, and tried to stop tears from welling up in his eyes again. Did they realise he was listening? Did they care?
It was a stupid thing to be upset about, because it was just a careless, callous remark, not even said with any real malice. Compared to having Lucas, who he’d tried hard to like, kick him savagely and call him an animal… this should have been meaningless. After crying himself into silence and coping with the horrible aching throb of his wing for hours and hours, he shouldn’t have the energy to be hurt by it.
Somehow he did.
“You’re the healer,” the guard said. Finally the door clicked and opened. “Figure something out.”
The peevish voice turned out to be a young man in a stained healer’s smock, with disordered fair hair and shadows around his eyes. He set his bag down on the floor and frowned down at Aedan.
Aedan swiped at the tears with one sleeve, suddenly ashamed at the thought of them realising he’d overheard their conversation. “H-hello,” he said, his voice wobbly. “A-are you… did Robb…”
He braced his hands against the floor and started the laborious, painful process of getting to his feet, but the healer clicked his tongue and started forward. “No, no. Stay there and let’s have a look.”
Aedan lowered himself back down to the ground. He felt awkward, remaining silent, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He bowed his head and let his hair fall around his face to partially hide it, letting his broken right wing hang where it was. His hands still shaking against the cold stone of the floor, he braced himself against the healer’s touch.
The healer smelled unpleasant, sweat and blood overpowering strong soap. Maybe it was unfair to judge him on that; Aedan knew he himself was a disaster, dirty sticky feathers and red-rimmed eyes, blood matting the side of his temple.
Firm, clinical fingers ran along the muscles of his wing, making him flinch. He whimpered involuntarily when they found the location of the break and probed at it.
“Hmm,” the healer said dispassionately. Then he grasped either side of the break – Aedan gave a strangled yelp and he ignored it - and shifted the two pieces of bone, testing for movement. Bone grated.
Aedan’s ears roared. Pain seized control of his wing again, making it spasm and throw itself backwards, jerking out of the healer’s grip. He screamed and doubled over forwards, knees on the floor, both wings raised and stiff. “That – oh – that hurt!” he cried, once he could find words. His head spun.
“Yeah,” the healer sighed, sitting back and folding his arms with a rustle of cloth. “That sure is a broken bone. The question is: How am I going to splint and bandage it with all those feathers in the way?”
“Could cut them,” the guard volunteered, from where they had been leaning against the door. “Or pluck them out.”
Aedan, pressing his palms against the floor and trying not to retch, gulped a horrified breath. “No! Do not!”
“Calm down,” the healer said, sounding tired and exasperated. “It could be worse. Skin’s not broken. Both bones, I think, but only in one place. It needs a splint. Do you know how best to bandage it?”
Aedan took one gasping, deep breath, and then another. He lifted his head and looked over at the healer. He was regarding Aedan’s splayed wings with cold, thoughtful eyes.
“You – you just have to hold it closed,” Aedan croaked. “Like… when it’s folded, just wind the bandage around it.”
The healer sighed heavily. He got up onto his knees, pulled his stained leather bag towards him and began to pull things out of it. “And when would I have had cause to bandage a wing,” he muttered to himself. “Both bones… hell, is it like a wrist? How am I supposed to know?”
Aedan swallowed, licked his lips, and carefully eased himself upright, gasping and flinching every time he accidentally moved the wing. It hurt so much worse now – I thought healers were supposed to make you feel better? If you’re going to pull it out straight, it’s going to hurt worse again! He watched the healer measuring something out of a dark glass bottle.
“I can – draw you – a diagram,” he said haltingly.
The healer nodded, and among the things he was fishing out of the bag, he found a folded-up square of paper. “Okay, do that, then. But drink this first.”
Aedan blinked at the tiny cup of viscous liquid the healer shoved towards him and seriously considered refusing. Aedan’s natural inclination to trust someone who called themselves a healer was struggling against the reality in front of him. Who knew what might be in it?
“Or don’t. No skin off my nose,” the healer sniffed. “You like being in pain?”
So Aedan held his breath, tipped the foul liquid down his throat, and nearly threw it straight back up again. Once his stomach had stopped rebelling, he wiped a hand across his mouth, drew his legs up underneath him, and pulled the paper and pencil towards himself.
He sketched out a rough representation of how to wind a figure-of-eight bandage around the wing, and more around the chest to immobilise it against his back. His hands were shaking.
The healer studied his diagram and nodded briefly. He gestured the guard over with a curt motion, and told Aedan to take his shirt off and lie belly-down on the floor.
Aedan didn’t want to. He wanted to leave, to run, to back away from these tall strong humans who were going to do something else to him that hurt. They’re helping you, he told himself firmly. You know you’ll feel better once it’s set and isn’t dragging around everywhere. Grow up and get it over with.
“Do you think…” he asked hesitantly as he struggled with the fastenings behind his back. His voice sounded thin and desperately frightened. “I kn-know it’ll take a long time, but… but… Once it heals, it’ll still work, right? I’ll be able to fly again? It won’t be ruined forever, will it?” He blinked back tears of panic. “Please?”
The healer breathed out sharply through his nose. “How should I know? Lie down, and for heaven’s sake, hold still.”
Right. Right. If you want it to heal well you have to hold still. Aedan, his eyes squeezed shut, did his best not to flinch, not to throw the healer off or pull away.
The guard’s hands pressed down on Aedan’s shoulders. His heart was hammering, and he rested his head on his forearm against the floor. He clenched and relaxed his hands in an effort to stop them shaking. Up close, the healer’s sweat and blood smell was stronger, and that combined with whatever potion he’d drunk was making Aedan’s stomach roll.
The healer’s hands took hold of his wing, and with quick, ruthless, efficient movements, wrenched the broken pieces back into alignment.
Aedan screamed into his arm, every muscle in his body tense. He didn’t black out, like he had when it broke; but for a few long, horrible seconds, it was a struggle to be aware of anything else but pain. He panted into his arm, face wet with tears, while the healer pinned the broken bones straight against the stiff wooden splint and the rest of the wing and wrapped the bandage around to hold it all together.
“All right, sit up, now,” he heard over the roaring in his ears and the sound of his own breathing. “That doesn’t look too bad, does it? Should hold.”
Why did he still have to keep doing things? “It’s done?” he whimpered. “Y-you don’t have to mm-move it anymore? Please…”
After another few moments, the guard unceremoniously pulled Aedan up off the floor and sat him up so that the healer could go around and around his chest with the bandages, locking the wing into its folded position against his back.
Then they eased him back down, to lie on his face on the floor. He was only half listening to their conversation as they did it, but he gathered that they were about to go.
I should thank them, he thought hazily, the room seeming to rock and spin around him. Even though they only did it because Robb told them to. Even though it had hurt. Even though Aedan desperately wanted a real healer who knew what they were doing. “Thank you,” he said. “For – for helping me. Thanks.”
They left without responding. After a few seconds of feeble, circular thought, Aedan realised why; he had spoken in his own language, not theirs. They probably didn’t even realise he’d been trying to say ‘thank you’.
He shifted until he was lying on his side, broken wing upwards, and curled his arms around himself. This position was more comfortable now. Everything hurt, still, and he still wanted to throw up. But he could feel his mind getting fuzzy around the edges, and eventually he dropped into heavy, dark sleep.
