Peter's totally got this. It's not like he's actually performing surgery, but that doesn't stop him from humming the M.A.S.H. theme as he follows the AI's instructions.
"Apply myonar dressing," the automated voice says, and Peter makes a face.
Oo, that stuff... I don't like that stuff, Quill thinks as he looks around for what he needs. He grabs the applicator and glances to the display screen. Two hands, figures. Myonar dressing is meant for wounds like this, but the Yondu Clan uses it like Bactine and Band-Aids, laying the foamy substance over almost any abrasion, and it hurts. Not like lemon juice in a papercut hurts, like salty hornets spewing the fires of Hades, involuntary, snotty tears, and wailing like a two-year-old. Hurts.
Good thing Kraglin's out cold.
But Kraglin's not out cold, not anymore. He qualifies as firmly semi-conscious, gradually becoming aware of himself and his surroundings and how he ended up on the floor... and FIRE!
It's been many, many years since Kraglin Obfonteri has shrieked like a little girl, but that's exactly what he does. Peter jumps and unsuccessfully juggles the myonar applicator, getting some of the medical foam on his hand and this stuff burns even on healthy skin. So, once again, they're both screaming.
"What the hell're you doin' to me, Pete!?" Kraglin yells as the white-hot pain subsides, "Dammit! Pass out fer like a second!"
"Was more than a second!" the boy shouts in return, he frantically scrapes the myonar dressing from his skin. "You..." Peter's about to go on when the medical AI chimes.
"Patient stable. Recommend further treatment from medical facility or professional."
"Wha...?" the First Mate moves to push himself up, but his burned and broken arm hasn't been dealt with yet, "Gah!"
"Oh! Right!" Quill jumps back to action, grabbing a device that looks like a pair of large bracelets, "Do you think a burn bag can go over a bone-setter?"
Kraglin huffs and groans and grimaces and manages to roll onto his side. "Guess w'll find out," he mutters, "Gimme more o' that anesthetic first... Bone-setters hurt like a sum'bitch." The Xandarian sneers as the kid jabs him in the neck, "Fuuuuuck, Pete... I never should 'a taken this job."
"Who were you supposed to kill?" Peter asks as he slides the bone-setter onto Kraglin's forearm, "Man, these are not made for people with only two hands... Can you hold this one?"
"Yeah, that happens when you got a Arthrosian fer a medic," the First Mate replies, perking up some in the absence of pain, "You know Doc's got two more arms he keeps folded up under his chest plate?"
"What?! That means he's got, like, six arms er something," the boy frowns at the wet, crunchy noises coming from his superior's limb as the bone-setter does its job, Kraglin doesn't seem to notice.
"Yup." Kraglin sighs and glances around the hold, "What a mess..."
"Mm, I'll clean up once we get off this planet," Peter says quietly as he wiggles the cuff of the burn bag past the First Mate's elbow.
Kraglin nods, "Yeah, ya will, but I was talkin' 'bout this gig." He sighs again and looks over the multiple devices on his left arm. "I gotta kill a lot more people now. But, we gotta get outta here first. Help me up."