The Bullhead was filled with smoke, choking the terrified occupants. Aside from the air rushing by outside the broken ship, the moment was silent. The tumultuous fire, which ripped out most of the ship's starboard iron siding, burnt skin, hair, and clothes but especially licked and bit at the ship's pilot's nape and back. Everyone knew that in any moment the ground would catch up to them and then anything could happen.
The brunette onboard swore inwardly, his neck's muscles so contracted that he couldn't speak. The Blonde's mind was filled with images going too fast to comprehend; his stomach, which normally would have been a giant issue, was emptied long ago into the back corner of the transport. The able but inexperience pilot's hands clenched the joysticks, but he was frozen with fear and could only watch as his viewports filled more and more with the bright red forest below. The rabbit haphazardly gripped a random seat for all her might, while the other hunters were tossed about the cabin. Suddenly, the ship hit something outside on the starboard side, throwing everyone violently to the port side. The brunette, blonde, and rabbit were immediately knocked unconscious against the metal interior of the Bullhead. The blonde hit one of the few remaining I-beams and went ragdoll with blood squirting from a giant crack in the side of his head. The brunette safely bonked the back of his head and fell into one of the Bullhead's more comfortable bucket seats. The rabbit fell feet first into the wall inadvertently forcing her left knee into her nose, shattering it easily and bruising her kneecap, the blunt force dropping her into the dreamless sleep.
With the basest memory of flight school popping into his head, the pilot tried to pull the port side back up; so that they wouldn't roll once they landed and cause even more damage to the Bullhead. He almost made it work but the ship still slammed into the earth a little tilted. The broken glass ports let loose crimson earth shoot in as the ship skidded across the forest floor. The fire was starved thanks to the loose soil and the sudden change in wind direction. Finally, the Bullhead lost enough momentum and bumped into a thin, lanky ebony tree trunk.
The pilot sat in his cockeyed chair for a many, many minutes, his heart beating faster than an engine. A few minutes after that and the man tried to open his hand and take them off the sticks, but the muscles wouldn't respond. A few minutes later and he tried again, this time his hands responded but also screamed in agony. The pilot yelped from the unexpected soreness, and sat back into his seat. As he laid back he felt his still warm, burnt skin stick to his leather chair and too quickly he leaned forward; he hissed from the sensation of his back getting pulled off the sticky, sweaty chair. The man chuckled lightly before muttering a blue streak of swears into the sky.
Eventually the hardy pilot removed himself from the cockpit and shuffled to the passenger's area. He looked about and took in the scene.
The blonde boy looked terrible; the pilot stared at him as he tried to recall his last name… Bark…or…Carp…it couldn't be Fart but it was definitely similar to it.
There was a blood splatter on the I-beam above the boy and a large pool of blood in front of him. He could see a small jet of blood occasionally pulse out of his head through his ear and join the pool on the floor. He knew that was the worst injury endured by the three passengers, so he stumbled to the boy first. The mace-wielder looked fine the pilot could even hear a soft snore escape the brunette's covered face. And the Faunus looked OK, if not a little torn up what with the bloated nose and whatnot.
The pilot kneeled in front of the boy with a grunt, ripping off a large portion of his own shirt, balling it up and pressing it to the boy's wound as he did. Blood slowly soaked through as the pilot's makeshift bandage, so he forced the boy's head backwards so that the wound was facing upwards. Hopefully that meant the heart would have a harder time forcing blood up that way and would help, at least that's what he figured. The pilot didn't know, HE wasn't a doctor, He was a pilot!
As the pilot held the slowly soaking piece of shirt to the boy's probably soon to be fatal wound, he looked around, he was too shaken still to really get invested in a hunter-in-training's life so he wasn't anxious.
He spied a medicinal cabinet above the boy, the plastic cover on it was melted through was the metal box inside wasn't. Without releasing his hold on the boy, the pilot reached and grabbed the box he then put it on the open seat beside the blonde's head and opened it.
Inside were two large rolls of gauze, lots of bandages, and some covered syringes, as well as other strange objects. He pulled out one of the rolls of gauze, and slowly wrapped it around the blonde's head keeping the shirt still over the wound to catch the most blood. When he finished that he took his hand off the boy's head and pulled the metal med-kit into his lap, inside, along with the supplies, was a folded scroll, the pilot pulled it out and opened it. On the first screen were two folders: one named "Wounds and Infections w/ Symptoms," the other titled "Temporary Fixes for Wounds and Infections." The man clicked on the first and looked for what the boy had gotten cursed with during the crash.
He found the type of wound which the boy had gotten, but it didn't look good. It would take all night just to stabilize him.
The pilot begrudgingly didn't sleep that night.
To be Continued…