A doctor had to remain detached from the pain around them. If they allowed themselves to devolve into empathy, they would become useless to their patients. This truth remained during any scenario, from a sterilized surgical theater in Central's best hospital to a small automail shop in the country. It applied, even, to a sandy house on the edge of a warzone, filled to the brim with dead and dying innocents of war.
Urey Rockbell reminded himself of this as he dry heaved against said sandy house, trying to get a grip on himself while the house was relatively quiet, before the next wave of terrified people were shoved into their triage center. He reminded himself that he couldn't save everyone, that some injuries were just too much to survive. He was doing what he could. The unfortunate survivors missing one or more limbs wouldn't be in pain forever, just as long as he did this right.
And he didn't have time to break down like this, they NEEDED him!
He pulled away from his support against the house only long enough for his stomach to once again rebel and send him bending over once again, trying to expel contents that hadn't been there since this morning.
A doctor needed to remain detached from everything so that they could do their job, but this in itself was an impossibility. A doctor was a human being. And only a human being that cared would ever find themselves in the position of a doctor; a doctor that made a difference, anyway. Urey had known this since he first started in the profession, his mother reminding him in that wise way she had exactly what happens when a doctor just isn't enough.
Still. It was a hard pill to swallow.
"Urey!" A familiar, and welcome, voice called from inside the house. "Incoming wounded!" He allowed himself to relish in the sound, her professional tone cooling his shattered nerves. God, he loved that woman.
There were noises of bustle from inside, the desperate preparation for wounds that could never be prepared for. The assistants were muttering amongst themselves in both Ishvalan and Amestrian as they struggled to get the equipment together, attempting to anticipate who they may receive. Less injured patients were moved out of the way, up into the second story or the nearby house.
Alright. He had a job to do. He needed to get to it.
Upon entering the house, the efficiency of the assistants quickly became apparent. Where before every cot and several spaces on the floor had been occupied, the room was nearly empty. The previously used spaces had been quickly wiped down with antiseptic and the bed sheets changed. Tools were cleaned and organized beside the beds. The remaining patients too critical to move were either sleeping or nearly deathly quiet, hidden by what little privacy they could provide with sheets hanging from the ceiling around their beds.
Urey exchanged a glance with his wife, her professional calm only slightly marred by the concern in her eyes. He forced a weak smile to assure her that, for now at least, he was alright. They had both had their fair share of breakdowns over the course of the war, and tonight they would do what they could to combat the despair that accumulated over the day.
But right now, they had a job. Sarah acknowledged his smile with one of her own and a professional nod, then turned to their newest arrival being lugged through the door by two familiar Ishvalans.
Knowing that worse injuries were sure to come soon enough, judging by the explosions that had rocked the very earth about an thirty minutes ago, Urey helped filter the incoming wounded to other medical assistants. The man with a gunshot wound to the collarbone went to Paulik; he had the most experience with shattered bones from projectiles. A woman with a leg crushed from fallen debris was handed off to Jordans.
Around him, people were moving frantically, claiming their own patients and working to triage them as quickly as possible. Experience had taught them the importance of dealing with each injury as quickly, if not thoroughly, as possible. The amount of patients would soon outnumber the medics. Then decisions would have to be made. They would all work to put the decisions off for as long as possible.
"Dr. Rockbell!" Called from the doorway. Urey turned on his heels, finding an Ishvalan and young Amestrian volunteer propping up an individual between the two of them. Paul, the kid that had followed them from Resemboul to help, was grappling awkwardly with his burden, holding the figure by his charred waistband and the opposite shoulder rather than looping his charge's arm around his neck as his Ishvalan counterpoint had.
The doctor's keen eyes quickly picked out the man's blackened hand hanging limply behind Paul, his entire side deformed and entire parts still smoking. "Critical burn victim." The Ishvalan told Dr. Rockbell in a thick accent as they lugged the man to the nearest bed, lifting him onto the bed with sheer force.
Urey strode to meet them, filching bandages and antibiotics from a currently unused table as he went. He called over his shoulder for Sarah, knowing she would bring more bandages when she saw the extent of this man's injuries.
"Where'd you find him?" He asked Paul, looking over the man with a critical eye before he even touched him. Some patches of his black hair had burnt off, but the majority of his face had been at least somewhat protected. The remains of a blue uniform clung to the man's skin. His right side was noticeably more burnt than his left, as if he had turned to shield himself. "Roll him onto his less injured side," he instructed. They carefully propped him up so the worst of the burns were easily accessible.
"He was under the rubble of a crumbled building, Dr.," Paul told him. "We think it was the epicenter of the blast."
"The epicenter?" Urey repeated incredulously, gingerly touching the man's neck to find a pulse and hovering the other hand above his mouth to detect the small wisps of breath. "He should be charred to a burnt crisp if he was that close."
Paul just shrugged helplessly. Sarah slid into place at Urey's side and the doctor put his disbelief on hold. "Alright, we've got this. Keep up the good work you two."
Sarah slid a medical mask in Urey's hand, doing her own observation of the man. He gratefully slid it into place, blocking out a little of the scent of burnt flesh. "We're gonna have to work fast," she said. "We don't have any sedatives left. Langely went to get more."
"Burns are highly susceptible to infection," Urey said unnecessarily, eyes still lingering on the young man's face. He couldn't be more than twenty. "And with such a wide area…"
"We'll worry about that later," Sarah interrupted, reaching across the man for the antiseptic and quickly coating the wounds with the paste. "For now, let's just make sure he survives long enough to worry about infection."
Urey nodded and turned his attention to the man's shoulder, a scalpel in hand, and began debriding the disinfected skin. His attention flicked to the man's face at regular intervals to make sure the man was still breathing before turning immediately back to the horrible wounds. The burns rippled across the man's skin, the severity decreasing from right to left across the body. The exception was the man's left forearm, which showed signs of protecting his face from the blast, though the burns weren't as serious as his right hand.
Sarah had finished disinfecting the worst of the burns and taken up a pair of scissors to clear the man's torso of the dead skin. Urey finished what he could of the shoulder area and sent another appraising glance at the man's face before moving on further down the arm.
He was stunned to see the man's eyes cracked open and blinking blearily at him. "Sarah, he's awake," Urey mumbled to her, not wanting to startle the man. She nodded without looking up, and he abandoned the scalpel on the table in favor of leaning in front of the man to block his view of her. The last thing a trauma patient needed was to see the extent of their trauma. Especially when his stillness was key to a quick treatment.
"Hey," Urey said in a gentle voice, waiting for the man's wandering eyes to meet with his own. They were dark, nearly obsidian, and sunken into his Xingese features. "My name's Urey Rockbell. I'm a doctor. I know you're in pain right now, and probably really confused, but I need you to stay as still as possible. Can you do that for me?"
The man's eyes had grown sharper and more aware as Urey spoke, his face tighter as the pain made its way past his mental confusion. As the sensations grew, he began to squirm, breaking eye contact with Urey and rolling his head as his limbs jerked spastically. Sarah grunted from behind Urey as the scalpel slipped across the writhing form.
Urey laid a restraining hand on the man's forehead, getting close enough that the man had no choice but to keep eye contact. His warnings clearly hadn't registered the first time, and he really needed the man to understand what he was saying. At least until the sedatives arrived.
"You need to stay still. You're really injured. Now, we're going to help, but we can't do that if you're fighting us." The man's eyes strayed to the side again, trying to catch a glimpse behind Urey at his surroundings. Urey tapped the man's cheek impatiently. "Hey. Do you understand me?"
The man's chapped lips opened, but only a low croaking groan came out. His legs continued to scramble against the table, his back trying to arch but not quite strong enough to get past the pain, his left hand scratching at the table.
"Urey?" Sarah prompted from behind him, currently laying on the man's thigh to prevent most of his movement as she finished the last of his stomach.
"I'm trying," he told her before turning once again to the man.
He cleared his voice, thought of the last time he had heard a commander yell at a subordinate and did his best impression with the hope he didn't sound like a complete idiot. "Soldier. Listen up." The man's eyes locked on Urey once again, this time with a focus that was honestly a bit unnerving. "You have to stay still. Stop moving."
It was a bit sickening when the soldier did exactly that, restraining himself despite the pain that had to be absolute agony. The conditioning this man had to have gone through to follow orders like that…
Urey's expression softened. "What's your name, soldier?"
The man blinked at him. Sarah cursed under her breath at some unknown issue and he tried to look around Urey again. "Hey, no. Come on, look at me." The man once again focused on Urey. "What's your name?" Urey repeated.
His adam's apple bobbed as he cleared his throat several times. Even after the repeated attempts, his voice still sounded like gravel. "Roy."
"Roy," Urey repeated. The newly dubbed Roy nodded, grimacing at the movement. "Alright, Roy. I'm Urey Rockbell. Behind me is my wife Sarah. We're doctors. You were in an explosion and got a few burns all along your right side."
Urey figured this soldier would appreciate knowing. He looked like someone who prided himself on having control over a situation. "We're fixing you up now. I know you're in pain, but you have to stay calm and still. The sooner this is done, the sooner you'll feel better, alright?"
Roy gave another infinitesimal nod before squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his head against the sheets, a small whimper escaping but no other movement twitching along his limbs. Urey gave the man a comforting stroke through the hair before once again grabbing the scalpel and returning to the marred flesh.
Urey was applying more antibiotics on Roy's shoulder when another desperate whimper shook Roy's entire frame. Well, shook it more than it had been already. Despite the injured soldier's best efforts, his body had broken out into shivers that had been slowly growing in intensity to full body shudders.
Continuous pain was never easy for the human body to handle.
Urey tried to ignore Roy's pained whimper, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease his pain.
"Urey," his wife called softly. She nodded a pained look towards Roy's head, where his entire face was scrunched up in barely repressed agony. Involuntary tears worked their way down his burnt cheeks, no doubt leaving trails of stinging nettle as they went.
Roy's left hand was once again scratching at the table beneath him, searching for purchase on something beyond the pain. He look like he wanted to reach for something but couldn't quite find the energy to move beyond stuttering twitches.
"Roy?" Urey called softly. "You still with me?"
His only reply was another pained groan.
Reluctantly, the doctor left his post at the soldier's shoulder and stooped beside his head. He ran careful fingers through his hair again. "Roy, can you open your eyes for me?"
Urey was incredibly grateful that there weren't many people in the room any longer. The rush of injured and medics had long since drifted away; the skirmish not causing even half of the casualties they had feared. Otherwise, the only comfort Roy would receive would be a euthanizing bullet.
The soldier's eyes peeled open. The process looked so exhausting that even Urey felt drained of energy. Dull eyes focused on the doctor, sending a jolt of shivers down his spine. He had seen that look on too many men to delude himself of its meaning.
"Hey, you're not giving up, are you?"
He was giving up.
"You need to stay strong, okay?"
Cracked lips parted, and a deathly tired voice barely reached Urey's ears. "I can't feel my hand." It lacked any of the emotions that should accompany such a declaration. No fear or pain or stress; just a vague sounding disappointment.
Urey twisted to glance at the mentioned hand. Sarah was currently doing what she could to clean it up, but the truth was that it was far beyond their abilities to save. They had debated amputating it; mangled as it was, he would definitely lose a few fingers not matter what, and the risk of infection was dangerously high.
But if he could get decent medical care soon, in a sterilized surgical facility, he might be able to keep the limb with only a few impairments. Automail was a lifelong pain to deal with, and something they hoped to save him from.
"Do you feel any sensation at all?" Urey asked. Sarah sent a sharp glance his way at the indelicacy of the question, which he fully agreed with. But his bedside manner had suffered in recent months and he knew it was something they needed to know.
Roy shook his head infinitesimally.
That complicated matters.
"Roy. This isn't the end. At the worst, your hand will be a bit more metallic than it once was. Your life is still yours as long as you don't give up on it."
"Hurts," was all he managed.
"I know it does. But you can push through it. You've done so well so far."
Urey hesitated. "And the sedatives are on their way here. If you can just last that long, we'll be that much closer to fixing this."
The sedatives still hadn't arrived and Urey was becoming really concerned for the man they sent out to get them.
Worst of all was that the patient that needed them most was losing the last of his mental fortitude.
"Burn wounds… easily infected," the dark-haired man muttered. "Won't last long anyway."
Urey cursed his sharp intellect. "You won't know if you don't fight through it. Don't you have something worth fighting for?"
Roy blinked several times, seemingly surprised by the question. A contemplative look took over his features, still tightened with pain but absent from reality. Urey let him think for a few minutes, but found himself unwilling to let the degrading man drift in his own possibly morbid thoughts.
"Well?"
Roy closed his eyes, a defeated look once again taking control. A heavy sigh escaped from his cracked lips, sending his body into a new wave of pained shivers. Urey put a hand on Roy's less burned elbow, planning to shake some sense into him if he had to.
Roy's eyes opened before he hand the chance. "Hawkeye would shoot me if I died," Roy said. Urey felt the panic drain out of his muscles, his searching eyes finding something new in Roy's expression.
There was fire in his eyes.
Urey gave a short laugh. "I assume 'Hawkeye' is a friend of yours?"
Roy's lips quirked into the faintest of smirks in reply.
"Well, do you have any other friends that would threaten your death if you died?"
"Probably-" he was interrupted with a pained groan- "Maes, too." Something between a fond smile and a grimace shaped his mouth at the mention of Maes.
"Are your friends aware that death generally exempts people from threats of death?" Urey asked wryly, unwilling to stop the conversation when he had just found a spark in the man.
The comment proved to be a misstep on his part when Roy tried to laugh and instead broke into a coughing fit that left him helplessly moaning for several unbearably long minutes. Urey muttered soothing words to the suffering man, continuing to stroke comfortingly through his hair, until he once again worked up the will to open his eyes.
"I don't think they would really care," Roy answered at length, wry amusement clear whenever he spoke of them.
A sad smile crept up on Urey's lips. "They sound like good friends."
"Yeah," Roy sighed. "They are."