Unfixable

A Mild Infection

"I'm fucking fine! Stop fussing!" Sixty groused as he held his hastily bandaged hand out of reach and swatted at Nines like a pesky insect. Nines clicked his tongue in annoyance as he tried, and failed, to grab his arm. He rested his hands on his hips, standing beside Sixty's cot with a scowl. No one else would, or could, deal with him. Only he and Connor had the patience and knowhow. He was a little like Gavin in that respect.

"I swear to God, you're worse than Gavin!" Sixty glared at the accusation, almost pouting as he cradled his injured arm against his chest. They'd been extremely lucky during the assault a few weeks back. They'd had just enough men to fend off the enemy and make them turn back. The only ones who'd gotten close enough to realise their smaller numbers hadn't made it back. Sixty and Allen had seen to that. With any luck, our reinforcements will arrive before they make a second attempt...He'd heard that Allen sent an emergency telegram to let the higher-ups know what happened, and that they needed new men as soon as possible, else their position would be overrun.

They'd taken a few losses. Five dead, thirteen injured. The injuries had been mostly superficial, like Sixty's. Fortunately, most of the other patients were better behaved. Many of them had already been cleaned, bandaged, and returned to the front. They'd stayed in the resting camp for a day or two, having their dressings changed and making sure an infection didn't set in. After that, they'd returned to the front with strict instructions to come back if they noticed any deterioration. Sixty, as usual, had ignored those instructions.

"I don't need you fussing over it! It's just a flesh wound!" He was insistent as he kept his hand against his chest, though Nines could already see rusty red showing through the bandage. He'd been extremely lucky. An enemy soldier had made it close enough to strike with his bayonet. Nines swore he'd lost about five years of his life as he'd watched Sixty block the strike with his own rifle before grabbing the blade. It was a miracle he hadn't sliced off his own fingers. He'd managed to knock the soldier off-balance before striking down with his own bladed rifle. He'd continued afterwards as if nothing had happened, barely stopping long enough to loop a dirty strip of material around his hand.

"It's just a flesh wound until it gets infected! If infection sets in, you'll lose your hand! And if you lose your hand, I swear I'll write to Elijah and have him give you the room right next door to Gavin!" That shut him up. Sixty was brimming with agitation as he finally stuck his hand out and let him unwind the ragged bandage. "Thank you..." Nines knew Sixty didn't like being poked and prodded. He also didn't like being out of action. Being out of action led to thinking. Thinking made him restless and antsy. He was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

Sixty avoided his gaze as he peeled the material away. Nines hissed a little at how sore it looked. He'd been lucky that the blade had somehow left his fingers unharmed, perhaps catching the blunt end. His palm was another story. It was just a cut, but it was deep. He'd already stitched it once, right after the assault. Since returning to the front, the cut had become mildly infected. It was red and puffy at the edges, weeping blood and clear puss. I'll need to clean and re-do the stitches...Sixty was going to love that. He was already wincing a little as Nines pressed and tugged the edges, trying to check inside. It was hard to spot dirt through all the dried blood. He sighed as he looked around for help.

"Connor! I'll need a stitch-kit." Connor knew what he meant. It was their own way of listing things. He needed swabs, bandages, water, antiseptic, scissors, and a sterilised needle and surgical thread. Sixty didn't like the sound of that. He was distrustful as he looked up. "The wound is infected. It'll get worse if I don't clean and re-stitch it." He didn't mention that it would hurt like hell. Sixty had done this before, with and without medication. Right now, they didn't have the meds to spare. Sixty cursed under his breath, more apprehensive as Connor approached.