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ELEANOR SPENDS THE next two hours in unimaginable agony. The wooden spoon didn't do much of anything, for when she first screamed it fell out of her mouth and she didn't bother to return it.
Eleanor yelped every time one of her bones snapped, whether that be from a break or from it moving into place. Nonetheless, feeling the movement of her bones or the shocks of fire traveling down her nerves from being disrupted or the muscles cramps from being involuntarily moved or the tugs on her mutilated skin from Tim sticking his fingers literally in her leg at times to push and yank things into place caused Eleanor to wonder if she was going to die. At the climaxes of pain, she briefly wished that she would die.
With each scream came the tension of her muscles and her hold on Taron's hand tightening, her eyes closed tightly shut and her back slightly arched. When the resistant pain lessened for even a moment Eleanor's muscles relaxed, however the cycle repeated not long after.
Taron continued to stay by her side, tears falling down his cheeks as he looked at her and stroked her hair and told her how great she was doing and that it would all be over soon.
Ray was a bit less calm than Taron; he succeeded in helping Tim, but the screams were traumatizing for him to hear.
Meanwhile, the others winced with every scream of agony, wishing they could do something to help.
Tim lifts Eleanor's bandaged leg as carefully as possible as Ray slides a pillow underneath it. He gently sets it down before sighing in relief; Eleanor merely winced from the extreme discomfort.
Tim successfully set all of her bones in place, disinfected the wounds, stitched the gashes, and put one last coat of ointment on the infected areas. Eleanor is in shock at this point; perspiration coats her skin, her eyes are closed, her eyebrows are furrowed, and tears continue to dribble down her cheeks. Taron had to help her take off her jacket earlier, which led to more groans of pain from movement. She also threw up in an extra bowl various times.
Still holding Eleanor's hand, Taron gently dabs the sweat off of Eleanor's forehead with a towel, his red and puffy eyes darting between her pale cheeks and trembling lips. Eleanor breathes deeply as she attempts to adjust to the throbbing pain in her leg.
"Is she gonna be okay?" Ray asks Tim, watching his daughter.
"Yeah, she'll be okay. We'll just have to clean the wounds and replace the bandages frequently. She has to stay off of that leg for a few months, too, but we'll make some sort of splint for her and I'm betting there's a pair of old crutches in the garage she can use," Tim says as he begins cleaning up, putting the bloody and discolored rags in the nearly empty bowl of equally bloody water. "For now she needs as much rest as she can get."
