Hymn for the Fallen [Outback gang]

Ansell should have known better, of course they'd have mines, of course; why'd he bring Buckshot out this far with him? He knew this was dangerous, knew better than most. They should have gone the long way around, but they'd both been getting tired of the road, water was running thin. A short cut, skirting the edges of ALF territory. He was such an idiot; as he sprinted as fast as he could. There wasn't time to think about conserving energy as he pounded the dirt, at the very least he was still in good shape. He'd tourniquetted and bandaged as much of the wound as could be managed.

He bolted into the cattle station screaming for Sam. "Out of the way!" He snapped at people milling about, they murmured to themselves as they watched him go by. "SAM!" He screeched as loud as he could. "SAM! WE NEED YOU!" He burst into the house, sweeping any odds and ends off the table, laying Junkrat down.

At the shouting Sam came up out of his chair, there was a blur of mangled flesh and blood, the heavy coppery scent and the acrid smell of burning filling up the kitchen. He only needed a glance to know whatever had happened was bad.

Skitter was at his elbow, trying to push past to her friends. Sam turned to her. "Upstairs." She looked like she wanted to argue but Sam didn't have the time. "Now!" He ordered. She knew better then to argue with that tone and went. Sam spun back to where he kept medical supplies, fumbling with the lock on the cabinet.

"What the hell happened?" He demanded as he came back with everything he had to look over the damage.

Ansell panted and his hands shook, he looked like he was in his own state of shock, right focus; mind on the mission, Sam needs the information, he swallowed and shook his head. "We...we were getting tired, water running low I...this is my fault, I took us too close to ALF territory for a shortcut, I didn't even think of it..." he said and pulled his visor up with deep breaths. "He stepped on a mine, lucky he wasn't fulling on it...I...I could have gotten him killed what was I thinking?" He ran a hand through his shaggy hair shaking his head.

"Looks like from the knee down is just shredded, I bandaged it up and put a tourniquet on it but we need to cauterize the artery before he bleeds to death and even then I'm not sure if he's just the walking dead..." he said leaning on the table.

Sam came around the table, catching one of Ansell's shoulders. "Blame yerself all you want later. I need you focused right now, not gonna be able to do this on my own."

"You ever done anything like this before?" He asked, letting go of the other man as he gathered up a few more things and turned back to the writhing young man on the table.

"In training we had medic courses...I did have to use a bit of it...but it was on myself," he said softly. "Right, shock, we have to stop shock, how could I have been so stupid. Have you got any liquor?" He scratched his head. "I've seen people blown to pieces like this." Of course he had, his whole squad had been unlucky victims of it. He rifled around until he found what he was looking for, one of those jars he'd saved. It wasn't cherries though there were cherries in it. He cracked it open, a smell wafted forth, not quite grain alcohol but moonshine sure was close to it. "We can use this to disinfect."

He had to clear his head a bit more, there wasn't time for blaming later. "Tell me what to do."

"I've only done this kinda shit on cattle." He admitted, taking the offered jar. "I know we gotta clean and seal that though, and we can't really knock him out so he's gonna fight us on it..."

He also grabbed a blanket, putting it over his torso, he had to be getting at a bit in shock at this point and that alone could kill him if they didn't act fast. They had to do this...now.

He wasn't sure how sure the other was of his medical skills, if he'd actually had the training that might be better. "You wanna do it or you wanna hold him down?" He asked grimly.

Ansell did have steady hands, for the most part they were after all machine hands. He took a deep breath, you did this on yourself, you can do it for Buckshot. "Yeah, yeah; okay, okay, I can do it. You got an iron?" He asked as he looked around. "That'd work to close it up..." He recalled using the radiator on the car to do his arm. He poured the moonshine through a cloth to get the cherries out as he deposited it into a bowl. Right, another towel that was clean as things got out here, he ran the alcoholic cloth over the mangled bits.

"We're gonna need to cut most of this off, you have a knife? Mine's got snake venom on it," for extra killing potential. "Bit like grandpas butcher shop..." trimming the fat off cuts of meat, though this was nothing like that really, it was far worse.

There was something horrifyingly surreal about being completely out of control of your own body.

Walking dead, cut, cauterize, butcher, he was only catching moments of conversation, everything was happening in bullet time as his brain focused on one thing only. Pain. He couldn't stop his squirming, even though at this point it was a weak trembling at best, the entire last hour was vivid in his mind, he'd been walking with Ansell, they decided on a shortcut, he took a step and then the entire earth exploded, a sound so loud he was surprised it hadn't deafened him.

His throat felt raw at this point from his screams, which came out broken and jilted thanks to his rapid breathing, but he felt a terrifying disconnect from the situation, he was running on fear and panic driven instinct, weak from blood loss and shock, the disconnected part of his mind could only wonder if this was what dying really felt like, a dizzy, clammy warmth and a tickling of darkness around his eyes as he fought unconsciousness and the agony of Ansell cleaning what was left of his leg, which caused him to writhe on the table with renewed vigor.

Sam went to get the requested items, an iron and a heavy duty kitchen butcher knife. He handed them to Ansell, before going around the table to the young man's head, half cradling him half holding him in place. He tried to fight back his own worried feelings, that the kid might well die here like this, and what a shitty end to someone he'd grown attached to over the years.

"Hey, it's alright. You're tough, ya got this." He said quietly near his ear. "I'm pretty sure ya can hear me, just need ya to focus on me, listen to my voice. You're gonna be okay, just stay with me, kid..." He kept on talking to him quietly while Ansell worked, hoping the words reached him and somehow managed to help, even a little.

Ansell swallowed tightly and went to work with the knife, shaving off the hanging skin, dropping it off to the ground without thinking much about it. He couldn't think about it else he'd start to feel sick. This was never easy, as soon as he'd trimmed away most of the completely roasted skin, he cleaned the raw bloody mess with a towel soaked in alcohol and used the open flame of the lighter to heat the iron. IT took a few minutes till it was hot enough. Then he pressed it over the exposed artery; everything smelled of burning flesh but it did the job.

Had he scavenged any Morphine recently? Ugh he should have thought of that, well he was thinking of it now. He fiddled around his bags on his person, he didn't like to admit his reliance on the opiods...but things hurt, they always hurt. He fetched out a vial, there was just a little bit left. Plenty for the kid, he hastily found a syringe. Wasn't exactly sharp, but it'd do. he pulled the last units out of the vial and injected it directly into the kids veins. Hopefully, all their efforts meant Buckshot would be alive after today. "Done everything I could..." He swallowed. "Everything I know how. I'll go out tomorrow, I'll scavenge more bunkers for morphine...or whatever pain killers I can fine, we gotta change the bandages constantly, soak them in any alcohol you've got lying around." He took deep breaths. "We should get him set up in bed. make him comfortable...just in case this doesn't work."

He wasn't aware of much, but he was aware of Sam.

His eyes were open and darting around before resting on Sam's face with a gaze that was clearly not in the moment, glazed over and far away from the situation, but his words did help, and he did his best to focus on him as Ansell began cutting away at his leg, "s-shit..." His words were heavily slurred and spoken as punctuation to a terrible cry, it hurt, it hurt worse than anything he'd felt, and he had to right the urge to jerk his body in response to it. He almost welcomed death, a cold embrace that would end the suffering, but Sam's voice kept him tethered as he fought the dark.

Junkrat came alive when Ansell pressed the hot iron against the flesh of his leg, screaming and jolting up a bit before falling back against the table, it was a white, hot, raw pain that made his eyes stream with sobs as he finally broke under the weight of the situation, "hurts...Hurts..." Was all he managed to mutter out, going limp with exhaustion and breathing rapidly. He didn't even feel the prick of the syringe, but eventually began to feel heavier as the morphine did its work. He looked between the two with a terrified expression when he heard Ansell's words, the fact that even they didn't know if he would live scared him. He didn't want to die like this.

As he seemed to slip into unconsciousness, or at very least too tired to fight more, Sam carefully gathered him up in his arms to carry him to one of the bedrooms. If the shock and blood loss didn't kill him, he stood a chance, as long as infection didn't set in.

"I've got some strong shit I can keep it clean with, I'll do what I can." He answered, feeling more than a little sick and drained himself after that.

He settled Junkrat into the bed, trying to make him as comfortable as he could. He looked up to see Skitter peeking around the doorway, looking pale and rattled. Even though she hadn't watched she had heard the terrible cries and screaming...somewhere in her past she had heard screams like that before but she couldn't remember...she didn't want to remember.

Sam looked up at her, he so often still looked at her like a child, but she understood so much more then they gave her credit for, and she deserved to know and to say her goodbyes if it came to that, he had no right to take that from her under the guise of sheltering her.

He gestured for her to come join him. "He's pretty fucked up." He explained quietly. Her gaze never left Junkrats face as she listened. "We did everything we could, and we're gonna keep doing that...but...he's not in good shape. And...he might not make it. So we're gonna take care of him and make him comfortable...and see what happens..."

He put an arm around her shoulders as she sagged against him, tears starting to course down her cheeks as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. He understood things like the others didn't. She was his eyes and he was her voice...she couldn't imagine not having him around anymore.

Ansell had remained downstairs, clensing his bloody hands with alcohol as he sort of shuddered. There was something easier about doing it to yourself, you knew how you felt. It hurt but if you didn't you wouldn't survive. When it was someone else there was this sick feeling in your stomach. He sat down in a corner and shook his head. He'd been stupid, he'd been careless, when it was just him he didn't think much of it. He had the instincts he'd been doing this for years, Buckshot didn't. He expected the same of him as he did of himself and that wasn't fair and it led to this. People had gathered out side the door, he wondered what they thought of him. Did they blame him?

He should get what he could from the next few bunkers for Buckshot and possibly then just make his way out. No he should be here, he had to be. Buckshot...Sam, Skitter they needed someone to help them gather things. He knew where the bunkers were. This little sanctuary needed his help. They wanted him gone. He shook his head. No they just...didn't like authority.