The journey to the medical bay took only five minutes, but it felt like 50. Within a minute, Wally was drenched in sweat, whimpering after each step he took. We hadn't even reached half the distance to the medical bay before Wally collapsed, and if I hadn't been holding on to his uninjured shoulder, he would have fell. The long arrow jostled in his arm, and Wally yelped, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.
He was trying to be strong for me.
I pulled his uninjured arm over my shoulders, and pretty much dragged him the rest of the way.
Upon reaching the medical bay, I more-or-less dumped him onto the bed, wincing as he moaned in pain, guilt threatening to consume me.
Wally could die, and it would be your fault.
I sprung into action, gathering all the necessary materials to extract the arrow, and dumping them onto a small metal table beside the bed. Wally was groaning, twitching and spasming, his pupils dilated. He looked like a crazy person, and that throbbing guilt in my stomach intensified, knowing I caused this.
I cut the spandex around his shoulder off, and more-or-less poured peroxide over it, clenching my teeth as Wally cried out. I patted the liquid dry and prepared myself for what I thought would be the hardest part; extracting the arrow.
I pulled on a pair of white latex gloves, grabbing a weird looking set of tweezers that I had seen BC use to extract sharpel from the team before, and clamped it on the arrow, right above the wound. Wally gives an antagonized growl, and I offer him my hand. He takes it, and I pull.
I broke the bloody arrow into little pieces, before throwing it into the disposal. Once again, I poured disinfectant over the wound, watching as it bubbled, turning a dark pinkish colour as it washed away the blood. Wiping the wound, I placed a gauze pad over it, then wrapped it up. Finally, I placed an ice pack over the bandages and secured it with medical tape.
I stripped off the gloves, throwing them into the trash with distaste. Turning back to Wally, I at last allowed a few tears to fall. He had passed out when I pulled out the arrow, but not before screaming in the loudest, most tortured way ever. The sound was still ringing in my ears. I frowned, not quite sure what to do, before I lifted Wally from the bed, and dragged him to his room. Laying him on his bed, I cut off the rest of the spandex, pulling off his boots and gloves. My cheeks burned as he lay before me in only his grey boxers, and I quickly found him some clothing to wear, all the while scolding myself for thinking that way.
Wally, now dressed in an oversized burgundy t-shirt and grey pajama pants, was shivering, and I wrapped him up with three blankets, being careful to lay his injured arm on a pillow. He whimpered even in his sleep.
I dropped into a chair beside him, dimming the lights in an effort to relive some of the tension from his forehead.
It didn't.