i dont own Hp or anything Hp related. the last line Imag added, isnt it the best?
Dean closed his eyes.
He leaned against the palms of his hands and sighed.
It was his break, the first he'd had in twenty-one hours of non-stop work.
After battles were fought the injured bodies count would rise, and so would the deaths.
"Doctor, we're losing him!" frenzied nurses would yell. One moment somebody would be living, bleeding on the table asking for the dog they had in third year.
"We've lost him Doctor Thomas" one nurse would say quietly placing a white sheet over the dead body.
He never wanted any of his patients to die.
Dean thought that entering the Medical Cross would help save lives, he never thought that people would die.
"Somebody help us! Anybody! Somebody! Please he's dying!" a female soldier screamed crying as she supported a fellow soldier's weight.
"How far is he?" Dean yelled running forward and shifting the bleeding soldier to lean against him.
"He's going to die!" she said cradling her head.
Dean frowned and dragged the soldier to the surgery room.
It lacked equipment and medicines since the Medicine Cross Truck never made it one out of the ten journeys it made.
"Nurses!" Dean yelled as he sliced a surgery knife down the shirt to clear it away.
A group of nurses immediately appeared with worried faces and potions they brewed themselves to make up for the lack. Dean cringed at the gaping wound. The soldier had lost too much blood.
He was going to die. It didn't faze Dean one bit though.
"I need a numbing potion, a millilitre of unicorn tears, and a needle and thread" Dean said before muttering a binding spell. The soldier's eyes flashed open, red and bloodshot, and he screamed in pain.
The wound closed gradually while the soldier screamed and grasped at the bed's metal railings.
Dean grabbed onto what ever the nurse was offering to him, placed his hand firmly against the soldier's forehead and poured the potion down his throat. The soldier's head lolled backwards and his eyes clamped shut.
Dean glanced at the unicorn tears; they wouldn't need them until they were sure he was going to die. It would make the patients passing almost painless.
Nervously sliding the thread through the needle for the hundredth time he started to sew together the thin streak of reddened flesh that was slowly re-opening again.
It was gruelling.
Two minutes later, Dean reached for the unicorn tears.
