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“Why did you do that!?” Dylan slurred angrily from the floor of the radio shack.
Ryan was ready for this night to be over. “You told me to!” He shouted in response, grabbing the oddly convenient first-aid kit from the rack in front of him.
“That was a bad idea,” Dylan decided, panting slightly.
His severed hand lay limp in front of him like a large, dead spider. He could’ve sworn he saw a finger twitch. He gagged slightly on air.
Ryan quickly made his way over to Dylan on the floor, crouching down next to him and opening the kit. The smell of blood like hot iron emitted from the floor beside him. Dylan had started to lose his grip around his wrist.
Ryan pushed it tighter with his thumb and forefinger. “You have to keep pressure on it, Dylan. ‘Till I find something that can do it for you.”
“Okay.. fuck, okay,” Dylan murmured between short breaths. He was sweating heavily, though he felt cold and his face was pallid. It was covered in his blood.
Ryan wet his lips in concentration trying to figure which of the apparatus to use on the impromptu amputation. The taste of metal on his tongue reminded him that he was also covered in Dylan’s fresh blood.
“Can you sit up?” Ryan asked, removing any equipment he thought he’d need.
“Yeah,” a few short huffs from Dylan, “Yeah… okay.”
He slowly brought himself up to his knees, and positioned himself in a criss-cross position. Ryan surveyed his face quickly. His eyes looked cloudy, distant, like his ghost had left his own body. Dylan was glancing around absently, still clutching the end of his forearm tightly with his right hand.
Ryan knew he had to work fast.
He took a portion of gauze, stretching it out so it formed a thin ribbon. He tied it tightly around the portion Dylan’s hand had been squeezing. That should do it, for now. He soaked up any blood that was left seeping out with what was labeled a “blood-stopper” dressing. Dylan exhaled sharply through his teeth.
Unfortunately, the only antiseptic was in the form of wipes.
“Okay, Dylan, this is gonna hurt.” Ryan, cleaning his own hands quickly with one of the antiseptic wipes and snapping on the non-latex gloves.
“Fuck, go ahead, I don’t think I’ll actually feel anything at all for a good 4 hours.” Dylan strained, registering his own shock.
“Good to see I didn’t cut your humor off,” Ryan tried to joke, attempting to help Dylan feel more comfortable. He elicited a half-hearted chuckle.
Holding his arm gently with his right hand, Ryan began to use one of the wipes on the exposed, sinewy flesh. Dylan gagged dryly at the stinging and invasive sensation, before making a sound similar to that of a whimper.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” He managed to babble out, grabbing Ryan by the upper arm tightly.
“It’s okay, I’m done with that part, you’re okay,” Ryan repeated the first bit a few times, like a mantra he was trying to manifest.
Next was the antibacterial ointment, which he applied quickly in attempts of sparing Dylan more discomfort.
He placed another sterile gauze pad over the wound, to protect it and catch any more blood. He wrapped the whole stub loosely with some soft woven bandages, and then tighter with the crepe bandages. He sealed it with some extra waterproof adhesives, though he wasn’t sure he needed to.
Unfortunately, the bottle of aspirin was empty. He showed the bottle’s hollow interior to Dylan, who was still holding onto his shoulder.
“You been getting headaches?” Ryan asked as another attempt at a joke.
“No?... I’m... not actually sure who took that. I’m practically the only person who’s been in this shack all summer.” Dylan’s brow furrowed, puzzled.
Ryan removed the gloves and threw all the things back into the first aid kit. He didn’t care at the moment if that was improper or not, they had bigger fish to fry.
“Can you stand?” Ryan asked, sincerely, but it came out a little condescending. Luckily, Dylan seemed too out-of-it to care.
“Uh– yeah, if you can give me a lift,” He answered, moving his legs out from underneath him. Ryan hoisted Dylan up off the floor, and gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder.
“Let’s go meet the others. We should find you some water.” Ryan placed his hand between Dylan’s shoulder blades to guide the two of them out of the shack.
“Thanks, Ryan, but I don’t really feel like swimming right now,” Dylan quipped.
“To drink, smartass,” Ryan feigned annoyance, but was glad to see that Dylan was still joking around.
“Says the guy who cut my hand off.”
***