Whumptober 2020 Day 30: Now Where Did That Come From?—Wound Reveal/Ignoring An Injury/Internal Organ Injury
Word Count: 693
Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)
Rating: T
Characters: Maes Hughes
Summary: Sometimes in war you have to ignore an injury just so you can survive.
Notes: This is playing with the idea that Hughes sustained a leg injury in Ishvhal, which is why you see him with one foot off the ground in several panels.
Ignore and Keep Moving
Wounds were all to common for soldiers. So were ignoring them until you couldn't anymore. Maes Hughes was no exception to this commonality. Sure, he insisted that the men that were under him take care of themselves, but he knew as well as anyone that it was all to easy to let an injury go until it became a problem. That was, unfortunately, part of being on the front lines of war.
Especially when you were in command.
And you and your men were pinned down.
And you were fighting for your life.
And there was no time to think about anything but as many of you as possible surviving.
Which was exactly the position that Hughes found himself in. These Ishvalans were better armed then the reports had indicated—an all to common reality that he had noticed—and what was supposed to be a quick strike had quickly turned into an all-out battle that left him with little time to think of anything but the next move he had to make to survive.
He was all to aware of the wound on his lower leg. He hadn't looked at it yet, purposefully avoiding it. He felt it every time he moved, every step he took, and when he put pressure on it. It felt deep, and it was bleeding freely, but there wasn't time to be concerned with it. He pushed on, instead, his gun out, looking for his men.
"Move west!" he called, knowing that there was an enclave of soldiers there who were supposed to be marching through. If they were where they were supposed to be, then they might could give his men some back up. He waved his men on, his own gun out at all times. It was, after all, frequently used.
Shots and cries of men rang out all around him. Hughes used his gun liberally. It wasn't that he wanted to kill the Ishvalans—he just didn't want to die and had a duty to protect the men under his command as best he could. His knives, too, became used frequently, and he ironically thought about all the times he had played with knives as a kid and his mother had scolded him, asking what he was going to do with such useless skills. He was, it seemed, using those useless skills to save his life and the lives of his men.
They fell back, further and further west, and he could feel his leg start to give out on him. He didn't have time for that, though, and he pushed on, ignoring it for now. He had work to do. He had to survive! The situation was looking more and more hopeless, though, unless that unit was marching through when they were supposed to.
He was practically on top of a sand dude when he heard someone yell "Look out!" and he heard the whistle of a rocket being launched. He turned to see it coming his direction, and he dove off the dune, towards the direction that the rocket had come from. He could feel the shockwaves of the explosion even as he tumbled down the side, head over heels, cringing as his leg banged against the sand. He was caught at the bottom by two of his men, who got his arms over their shoulders almost before he realized what was happening, and all three of them limped out of there as best they could.
"Leg looks pretty bad, sir!" one of them said over the noise.
The other one looked at it and cursed. "Let's hope they've got a medic at least."
Hughes finally looked down at it, to see what he could make out. It was a mess. He could see all the way to the bone, and he really hoped what he was seeing wasn't splintered bone. No wonder his leg hurt. He let out a laugh.
"At least I'll have a good scar to show to my Gracia." That, and maybe a limp, if it was really bad. He supposed he'd have to wait and see what the consequences of ignoring this injury turned out to be.