Gohan was hardly aware his feet were no longer touching the ground. He certainly wasn't aware he was dangling a good half-meter above the ground, held up by Bojack, whose blue fingers were burried into either of his arms, fingernails breaking the already abused skin. The Biraju-jin shook him a second time, "I said 'what happened?!'"
His eyes were open, the boy realized. Bojack was shaking him so hard his teeth rattled, and the sky rolled back and forth crazily above him. He was asking a question, Gohan was pretty sure. He wanted to know....where he had been, why he was so dirty. When the blue giant stopped shaking him, he also dropped him, letting his tortured form fall to the ground, crumpling to his knees. On his knees at Bojack's feet.
He was too far removed to realize just how humbled he appeared; broken, bleeding, prostrate before the mightier foe. He was only aware that he hurt, and if he didn't say something he would hurt worse.
"Give me five days."
He must have caught his voice box by surprise, for he was able to get a substantial amount of sound out with his words.
"What?" Bojack's voice said somewhere above him. Sounded mad. Sounded deadly.
"I know....how," his voice had none of the volume behind it now, just a thin whisper, like that of a dry, brittle leaf, "We can take down the Tahch-jin....I know....how."
Gohan heard Bojack take a breath, and the menacing edge of his anger, reflected in his chi, lessened, though remained smoldering, close to the surface. Magma ready to erupt, but, for the present, dormant.
"We've postponed our attack already waiting for you, now you need five more days?" The Biraju-jin was saying.
"Yes."
"Why should we wait? I don't need your pitiful help; I can take the Tahch-jin down myself."
"I know where," Gohan paused to catch his breath, "I know where they are. And I know....more." He would have loved telling in lengthy detail--skipping the indepth version of his capture--all that he knew, and all that he was scheming even as he pleaded with Bojack. But his breath was failing him, talking even this minute amount made him light-headed. "I know how to absolutely win."
Silence prevailed for a moment, none of the silence spectaters: the four Aeesu-jin or the small blue gremlin made a sound as they waited for the scenario between the Saiya-jin boy and the Biraju-jin brute to play out.
"Four days." Bojack finally said, "You have four days, but this had better be one hell of a plan."
Gohan would almost have smiled, would have killed for the energy to say, "It is" but he was busy trying to climb to his feet; the task was requiring his every concentration.
He felt a cold, Aeesu-jin hand under his elbow, assisting him. Looking up through lashes clumped with blood, he was surprised to find Forester helping him stand. Whispering, the Aeesu-jin boy said, "Who died and made him leader, anyway?"
Gohan almost laughed, but stopped. He knew from past expiriance that laughing desperatly hurt a damaged body. Later. He would laugh again, but later. Things were too pressing right now, anyway.
Gohan had the odd feeling his time conscious was limited. Unable to hurry, he leaned heavily on Forester as the two boys entered the capsule house, the door closing behind them.
"So what's your plan? What did you find out?" the Aeesu-jin boy asked as he led Gohan across the room and sat him on the couch.
The other boy only shook his head, then whispered, "In the bathroom, under the sink."
"Hm?" Forester leaned closer, "What do you want?"
"First-aid kit.....little white box with a red cross on it.....can you..?"
Forester went in search of it, found the bathroom, and dug through the clutter under the sink. Moving a bottle of tile cleaner and a jug of bubble bath, he found the very box Gohan had described nestled between a bar of soap, a box of tissues, and a plunger. Retrieving the box, he returned to the living room to find the Saiya-jin boy had removed his boots and rolled up his left pant leg.
"Is this what you.....," When Forester saw the gaping wound gourged through the other's leg, he froze. It was worse than deep; it went clear through one side and out the other, the enterance wound gouged into his outer side of his calf, the exit wound on the inside.
The entire leg had darkened to a swollen blue and purple, some areas sickly yellow, others blue-black. The skin around the wound, however, was white as snow. Worse, both sides of the wound were packed with dirt, ground deep into it.
Gohan probed the gash tenderly, prodded the calf, pushed at the wound until a yellow-white stream of puss seeped from it, followed by a second race of blood. The boy groaned, and looked up at Forester, his face deathly pale, his eyes wide with horror. His tail was wound tightly around his thigh, the fur along it standing on edge. "It's infected....I need water....clean it..."
Setting the first-aid box down, Forester didn't say a word. He crossed the room and lifted Gohan up, one hand under his back, the other behind his knees, carrying him like a child to the kitchen and set him on the counter by the sink. It was akward going; Gohan was a good half-foot taller than him.
"Thanks," the Saiya-jin boy tried to say, but was unable to speak. His lips made the movements, but not a sound escaped him.
The Aeesu-jin boy saw the mouth movement, "Don't mention it."
Carefully, Gohan lowered his injured leg into the large kitchen sink and, saying a silent prayer that he would be able to keep from screaming, he turned the tap on. Cold water gushed forth, immidiatly begining to sweep deep red and brown streaks from skin, dribbling from his shin to his heel, washing into the white porceline sink in murky clouds. He adjusted the tap to flow directly onto his wound, turning the pressure of the water up all the way up.
A thin wail of pain rose up in the back of his throat, against his will, as the water pushed into the enterance wound with enough force that it went clear through and gushed out the exit wound, ribboned with blood. There was a patter of little clinking sounds as the pebbles that had been forced into the wound were washed out into the sink. He clawed at the countertop. His tail writhed and twisted. "Aahn..nn.....AAAH!"
He held his leg there until the water flowed freely out the exiting end of the wound. He was loath to do what he intended, but neccesity called. He slid a tattered arm bands from his wrist, rolled it, and put it between his teeth, biting down hard.
He rested his hand on his calf as he gathered courage, Forester watching him closely. Then, he slid one finger into the wound, fishing it around, feeling all the bits of rock and sand and sediment that had remained inside him begin to wash away with the water flow. More pebbles clinked and chinked into the sink; Gohan ground his teeth into the tough material between them, shredding it with his razor-sharp canines. His eyes watered with pain, his hands trembled.
The water was completely red as it began to fill the sink, the water pressure too hard to drain fast enough. When he could feel no more grisle, no more bits of sand or sediment, no more pebbles or stones, he gratefully removed his hand from his wound, yet another rush of crimson erupting into the sink.
His head began to spin; how much blood could he loose before there was none left? He turned the tap off. Pulling the shredded armband from his mouth, he said, "The first-aid kit."
His voice cracked, but Forester understood. His Aeesu-jin face was totally white, and had lost yet more color as he watched Gohan clean out the horrible wound. He nodded his head, his eyes glued to the now clean gash as it weeped remaining water, mingled with a less drastic flow of red. He departed, then hurried back with the white box.
Gohan nodded, unable to thank him verbally. His throat was completely shot. When had he last had something to drink? He was begining to realize he hadn't swallowed anything besides his own blood for the past two or three days. Not a drop of water. Not a crumb of food. He was literally surviving off his own blood. Was this some odd type of self-cannibalism? It really was a discusting concept, especially since he...... He could not think like that. Not now. Not in his condition. Not ever.
He opened the box and pulled out the mini-bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Carefully, turning his leg to the side, he tilted the bottle over the wound. It didn't hurt when the peroxide swirled through his leg and out the other side anymore than the water did, though it felt extremely odd when it began to bubble inside of his leg, against his inward muscles.
"Is...I mean.....shit," Forester wasn't exactly sure what he was asking. Seeing the wound rendered him inarticulate.
"It missed the bone," Gohan said as he lifted his leg from the sink. He turned on the tap once again, cupped his hands under the water and brought it to his mouth in greedy gulps. Again. Then again. Suddenly near insane for more, he swung his head under the tap and drank deeply. Water was sweet.
Out of breath, he pulled himself away from the sink with a sigh. His head spun a second time, and for an instant, he couldn't see anything through the shadows lurking in his pereferal vision. Fighting to keep from blacking out, he gently slid from the counter, making sure to only land on his right leg.
Sitting down on the floor, he held the first-aid kit on his lap. Opening it, he riffled through in search of, "Surgical thread."
"What are you going to do?" Forester asked, hunching down next to the other boy, being sure to give him ample space; as though being too close would make the leg hurt worse.
Gohan found a curved needle that resembled a fishing-hook minus the barbs, threaded it with the blue surgical thread, "The muscles in my leg won't heal properly like this....I'm going to try sewing it up."
Forester's forehead wrinkled, "Do you know how? Have you ever done it before?"
"I've watched my mother do it....But this is my first time trying. None of my cuts were ever this bad, either, but I don't see any other choice. If I don't try, I could be crippled." A senzu or Nameksei-jin healing could really help right now.......
How to start? This would take inside stitches as well as out; the surgical thread within would dissolve after a few weeks time.... He knew what needed to be done, had listened to his mother when she explained how, where and when to start stitching, the wound was clean as it was going to get, he had all his instuments ready. He just couldn't get himself to start.
His hands were trembling.
His leg possessed a surprisingly new pain. Or perhaps it was the collaboration of all the other pains he had felt before. The wound burned, and it throbbed, and it stung, and it bled, and it felt as though his nerve-endings were being torn out one by one with a pair of needle-nose pliers. Each time a breath of air passed through one side of his leg and out the other, it felt like a wave of citrus juice had washed in with it.
No anesthetics. No pain killers. No novacane. Not a sliver of asperin. There was absolutely nothing that could take his pain away. No reasurring words from his father, no Nameksei-jin hand ruffling his hair, no Kuririn to put a tentative hand on his shoulder. No mother to fuss over him and--do doubt--rush him to the hospital. He had to deal with this alone. That was the most painful part about it.
Alone. Hands shaking. Alone. Going to cry? Alone. Overwhelmed by an enemy that could not be killed with anything but time--pain. Alone. He pulled his other armband off; rolled it and put it between his teeth like the first. Alone. Clamped down on it.
As precise as he could, his worked his left hand's thumb and fore-finger into the wound, opening it as far as possible. Alone. Taking care of himself. Alone. He couldn't see very well. Alone. In his right hand the needle and thread. Alone. Going by feel.
He pulled the curved needle through the innermost part of the wound, his fingers surrounded with warm, wet, irritated muscle. He hadn't thought it could hurt anymore than it already did. He was wrong. His eyes stung. His teeth reduced the raggedy armband to ribbons and were no doubt grinding themselves to powder.
The second stitch. Agonizing irritation on top of agonizing irritation. A third stitch. His eyes watered. His jaw ached. His arm mucles spazmed. A fourth, fifth, sixth stitch. Unbeknownst, tears of pain escaped. Free-radicals prancing down his pale, dirt smudged face. First layer done. He bit the thread to cut it. More layers of stitching were going to be needed.
A second layer. More tears. More streaks of moisture running paths through the grung on his face. Couldn't see. Going by feel. Alone. Fingers shaking. The second layer done. There were little blobs of skin on the thread, torn from him. Couldn't see. Going by feel. Alone.
Third layer.......
It took seven layers. Seventy three stitches. He had counted. The first four layers he had done with his leg at one angle. Fourty two stitches. He then had to turn his leg over to stitch up the other side. Last three layers from there; thirty one stitches. Forester sat closer than before; a surprisingly comforting presence. Not entirely alone. Still couldn't see. His head spun. Going by feel.
He poured another stream of hydrogen peroxide over it, felt it bubble inside of him. Neosporin to keep it from further infection. A large bandaid on both sides of the wound. Then a layer of white guaze. Not too tight. Not too loose. He returned his tools to their box, and, using the kitchen counter as support, slowly stood.
He lifted one leg, stepped. Then another step. His hands tightly clentched the counter, but he was walking, by jov, and it hurt far less than it had in days. He was making his way toward the refrigerator, a solitary next step on his mind. Food. He needed to eat. Would die if he didn't.
Forester followed at his elbow, "Do you need any help?"
Gohan shook his head, kept walking, following the counter as it rounded the room. He was going to eat. The thought suddenly flooded his mouth with saliva in anticipation. He! Was! Going! To! Eat! The instant he was apon the ice box it was open. Collecting four or five--his hunger diminished his counting habits--bins of stolen Tahch-jin food, he sat on the floor, tearing one open and stuffing its contents into his mouth with his grubby hands before he even looked to see what it was.
He swallowed too fast to taste it. Forester was astonished by the speed of the ingestion.
The second container flew open and he thought he caught a glimps of leafy vegetables and rich cheese before this, too, was gone. Delicious. A third container, wraps of bread that resembled tortillas, stuffed with what he was pretty sure were mushrooms. Juicy. Satisfying. Gone. The fourth--there were five!--contained a multitude of little cakes, topped with tart fruit and bits of sugary sprinkles. Sweet. Moist. Gone.
The edges of hunger were dulling, less blade like, consistantly irritating. He was going to make it go away completely. Hunger would trouble him no more. The fifth container was opened, containing large aquatic-type creatures. Fish. They would taste better heated, but Gohan was unable to wait. He ate them, skin, bones and all. They were tender morsels, melted in his mouth, slightly chewy, salty; his tastebuds quivered. He needed more meat. It had most substance. Protein. Meat.
He reopened the fridge, pulled out two more containers, delighted when he found the first opened held little diced chunks of clam. Slightly tough, but soft, and they slid down his throat nicely. Buttery. A pleasant aftertaste. Gohan couldn't get enough. The final container--slight self-restraint told him not to eat all the food there was--held a root sort of food, darker colored than a potatoe, larger, too. But after the first bite into their almost milky-smooth tastation, they were joining the rest of their foodly-comrades in the bowels of the boy's stomach.
Contented. Not full, but contented. Though he still wanted to eat more--to empty the entire refrigerator of its every-last-morsel-- he knew he had four more days of healing to do, and four days of healing would require daily nurishment. Such a requirement would be difficult to fill if all the food were gone.
"That was.....wow." Forester said, surveying the emptied bins, "It just went right in! All of it. Wow. Shit."
Gohan's head bobbed on his shoulders. He had taken care of the most important wound. He had gotten water. He had eaten. One more thing was needed to start his extensive recovery.
He needed sleep with a wild and blinding passion.
"Forester?" He said, slowly rising to his feet.
"Yo?" The Aeesu-jin boy tried to aid him, but Gohan pretended not to see the offered hand.
The Saiya-jin boy steadied himself, hands on his knees, "I need sleep. Could you give me a little time alone?" It sounded rude to him, but talking was becoming more and more of a chore; his lips weren't cooperating, his tounge was heavy.
"You need help getting to bed?" Forester asked, hesitated, fidgited, his forehead creased. He was torn between staying to keep an eye on his friend, and catering to his friend's wishes.
"I'm through with the hard part," Gohan said with a smile, one sleepy eyelid closing against his will in an odd wink, "Thank you so much for helping me."
Forester shrugged uncomfortably and looked toward the door. "Well." He said, taking one step back, "Okay." His arms swinging at his sides, he said, "If you need anything....I'll be right outside, ya know? Just, I mean, you need anything...."
"I'll be okay, now," Gohan said, smiling, adding again, "Thank you."
"Yeah, well....bye," the Aeesu-jin youth said, looking distraught. After attempting a half-assed wave, he walked backwards towards the door, hesitated in the thresh-hold, then exited the house.
Gohan remained smiling as he watched the concerned retreat, and remained standing until the door closed behing Forester. Then he collapsed onto his kitchen floor, already asleep before he hit the ground.
To be continued........