011: PAIN

"Are you shitting me? I ain't letting you do anything with that!" Satero had quickly backed away as soon as Corosa explained what was going on.

It was hard for Corsoa to repress a sigh. The search for deadwood had given him time to collect himself; he realized that he'd been childish, and he wasn't angry anymore, though the shallow cuts across his cheek still stung. But it hadn't made him any less weary. He thought about a few days ago, when he could have simply gone to sleep at this hour, someplace safe, instead of having to stay up to tend to some mastersmith who insisted on getting neck-deep into trouble on a daily basis.

"Or we could be armless and legless together," Corosa said, glancing over at the fire. The wine was starting to come to a boil.

"Ha ha, you bloody fucker." Satero was watching the liquid as if it would jump up and attack him.

Corosa looked at him. It was fairly dark, but even in the warm light of the fire Corosa could see that the wound was giving Satero trouble. No doubt. Most wounds did that.

Satero stared at the fire some more, then closed his eyes and growled softly. With that, he looked up, the firelight reflecting off one of his earrings. "Go ahead, you bastard."

But Corosa was still wondering what they'd use to bandage it up. There was the strip of cloth he used as a makeshift headband, but that was hardly enough.

"Here," Corosa said, mind producing an idea. He edged closer to the mastersmith. At the same time he pulled his right arm out from the sleeve of his coat. He was wearing another shirt under that, which could be used to wrap Satero's injury up. "Tear off the sleeve."

"'S won't be enough, probably," Satero muttered. He did so anyway, leaning over and tearing a hole in the cloth with his teeth. The rest of the sleeve he ripped off with his hands.

"I was getting to the other one," Corosa said. Somewhat awkwardly, he twisted himself around so that he could simply pull his arm out.

Rinse and repeat. The sleeve came off as quickly as the other one. Corosa spent another few awkward moments getting his coat back on, and managed to do it before Satero could offer help. That was a triumph, at least.

Wordlessly, he got up and found the empty flask. With no small amount of care he dipped it into the boiling alcohol until he deemed it to be full enough.

"Shit. Almost feels like torture." Satero laughed behind him, but the sound was shot through with pain.

"Shorter than that." Corosa walked back over and sat next to him.

Satero stretched out his leg and rolled his pants up above his knee. Corosa was watching him all the way through. The man was trying to hide something, and that something was probably his pain. They hadn't known each other for long but the carefully blank expression on Satero's face would have looked unnatural on any man.

"Stop fucking looking at me like that," Satero said when he noticed Corosa staring. "And get on with it, damn you."

Corosa tilted the flask far enough for the liquid to pour out.

Satero's scream ripped its way out from his throat with such force that Corosa winced, thinking the sound was like to strip the mastersmith's bones clean. There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, fingernails digging in hard enough to feel like daggers. Corosa quickly dumped the last of the wine out and threw the flask to the side, trying to pry Satero's hand off. No luck. That was some unnatural strength. He gave up and let Satero's hand be, clenching his teeth together against the pain.

Though it was probably nothing compared to what he had just done to Satero. It took the man a few long moments to pull himself together.

"Oh, shit, shit, you fucking bastard, I bet you enjoyed that, didn't you," Satero breathed, barely able to string words together.

Corosa let himself laugh. Not a true laugh, never, but a ghost of one. "Hardly. Not with you trying to pull my shoulder off."

Satero's grip tightened further, a sudden movement that caused Corosa to flinch just slightly. "Oh, you think this hurts? You're lucky I didn't try to silence myself by biting you."

Corosa turned his head and took a good look at Satero's teeth. "True."

"I should, you bastard."

There was no helping some things, like Corosa's reply. "False."

"Ha ha." Satero relaxed, though, visibly, and finally loosened his grip. He leaned back against the guncase again, ruffling Corosa's hair. His hand lingered slightly longer than it should have, causing Corosa to look up sharply. But Satero had drawn his away by then and was watching the fire start to burn down.

The makeshift bandages were applied, and Corosa kept his hand pressed down on the wound afterwards. Satero made no comment, and Corosa did not try to strike up a conversation. The day had been too wearing for both of them to do that now. The silence was comforting by now.

"Never got to deliver that letter to your kid, ya know," Satero muttered a few moments after the last embers died, breaking the long quiet.

"It's all right. It can wait." Corosa felt the wetness of blood beneath his fingertips. The bandage was soaked all the way through. He fumbled for another strip of cloth and tied that around Satero's leg, too. A relatively simple task, made harder by the fact that he could not see anything.

"Wasn't asking for your apologies," Satero said, sounding irked. "Just tryin' to make you realize it was your fault."

There was another pang of guilt in Corosa's chest. He shoved it away. "I never said it wasn't."

"Bullshit. You were all but denying it before."

"Do we have to bring this up again?" Corosa asked, this time unable to keep the weariness out of his voice. All he wanted to do right now was sleep.

"Huh. So long as you know."

"I do." Corosa drew up the last strip of cloth and bound it around Satero's leg. He wiped his hands off and said, "You sleep. I'll keep watch."

"How long?" It didn't sound as if Satero was altogether too concerned. More like a reaction, a question that was expected of him.

"Doesn't matter. I'll wake you up eventually." Corosa moved away, to start up the fire again. The fire kept most of the forest's creatures at bay, and most of his own nightmares, too. As much as he wanted to sleep he knew that his dreams would be shot through with unwanted memories of Prontera. Memories from years ago and, more likely, mere hours ago.

"Mm." Satero yawned as Corosa got the flames to spring back into life. With the fire lit, Corosa turned; he'd expected Satero to say something more.

They stared at each other for a moment, both with blank expressions on their faces. Satero looked away first, rubbing his eyes.

"So long as you don't shoot me in the leg again," he said.

"Don't worry," Corosa said dryly. "I'll get your arm next time. To even things out."