The night was full of tears, muffled cries, and restless bodies. No one stepped forward to become the appointed leader of the wayward group. They were all too busy consoling one another, huddled in tight bundles underneath scavenged flight blankets. The island was surprisingly cold, a drastic difference from the morning.
There was a wave of primal instincts in the middle of the night. The men experienced a shift. They needed to protect their women, their loved ones. It extended just past romantic interests. They needed to protect their wounded, their beaten, and their sick. They needed to protect their family.
As the sun crept over the ocean in a magnificent painting, Puck wiggled away from Quinn, who was tucked into the curve of his body. A few feet to his left lay Artie, reclined in his airline chair. Puck adjusted the boy's blanket and started walking in the direction of the plane. He would be the first to admit he wasn't the brightest, but he'd be damned if he just gave up.
There was a rustling behind him that alerted him to a stop. Mike came up behind him.
"Have you guys found any sort of medication?" Mike asked.
Puck shook his head, "I wish."
"Mercedes," Mike trailed off. "Last night before I went to sleep, I checked on her. She is still unconscious, and her side isn't looking too good."
Puck nodded in the direction of the sort of make shift medical area Kurt had set up, "Let's go check on her."
They walked in a uniform silent, padding in the sand. As they approached Mercedes, Puck muttered,
"I'm really sorry about Tina."
"Thanks," Mike said shortly with a snap. He softened, realizing his tone. "I'm just… trying not to think about it."
"I understand, man," Puck nodded.
They stopped in front of Mercedes. Mike dropped to his knees to examine the body, and Puck mocked his actions. He watched as Mike peeled back the blanket to examine the wound.
It wasn't good. Her ebony skin had taken on a mustardy yellow tone.
"Shit," Puck said. "That doesn't look good."
"No, it's fantastic," Mike said sarcastically.
Puck ignored him, "Is there anything you can do?"
"I can take the shrapnel out."
"Didn't you say last night that removing it would cause her stomach to jumble up or something?"
"I was hoping we'd be at a hospital or something by now. She is going to die if I leave it in. If I take it out, I may be able to control it," He hesitated before adding. "I haven't done anything like this on a person. I read about it for those classes my dad made me take."
"It's worth the risk," Puck said after a long beat.
"If I open her up, I should be able to stop the bleeding. It will all be okay if she doesn't go into shock. Maybe if we can find antibiotics somewhere…"
Finn was approaching the two. He tried to keep his eyes off of Mercedes. He shifted in the sand as he spoke,
"What are you guys doing?"
Lighting up with an idea, Mike said, "I need you two to look for the luggage. All of it. I know we found some last night… but I need everything to be searched. I need you to look through the bags for prescription drugs. Shaving kits! I need shaving kits too. Bring me back everything you find."
"What are you talking about?" Finn asked, confused.
Puck rose, "Come on, man."
Mike spent hours pacing, trying to remember all of his past medical classes. He thanked his father between breaths for making him go to the seminars and lectures, for pushing him to take the notes and read the books. Those lessons would not only save his lives, but his friends lives. He was the only one with any sort of extensive background in medicine. Though he hadn't actually operated on a person, he knew the logistics of it. That would have to be enough.
The rest of the group stirred awake. They had rationed the portions of the cold trays of airline food they found, but no one wanted to eat. They busied themselves to keep their minds off of what was happening around them.
Kurt began to make makeshift huts out of deflated life rafts, vines, sticks, leaves, and whatever else he could get his hands on. He wasn't the manliest one in the pack. He couldn't lift rubble or hunt. He knew fashion. He knew how to create things. It was his best skill, and he was going to have to put it to use somehow. He enlisted the help of Blaine, Rachel, and Quinn. Kurt laid out an intricate plan for the huts, sending out his group to begin the work.
Santana pooled rocks from the water and the wooded area. They varied in size. She started laying them out a few feet away from the main wreckage of the plane. From the ground, it looked like a crazy mess. But airborne, you'd be able to see it was a large display of stone spelling out "HELP".
Brittany kept Artie company. She knew he was feeling useless, so she tried to get his mind off of things. They talked about the water and how nice it would feel to be back home in their own beds. They talked about songs they wanted to perform, and how help was on the way.
Back by Mercedes, Mike was busy going over procedures in his head when Puck and Finn returned with a piece of luggage. They dropped it in front of him. Mike looked up, and then unzipped the bag.
Inside there were a few prescription bottles, a lighter, scissors, a sewing kit, a few shaving kits, a bucket, and a t-shirt. They had done a good job of completing Mike's task.
"We figured you'd need water to clean… stuff," Puck said, reaching for the tub. He disappeared, dipping down by the coastline.
Mike examined the bottles, lying them out in a row on the sand. He emptied the sewing kit on the ground. Searching through the shaving kits, he found a straight razor. He placed it next to the scissors. He started ripping the t-shirt into strips.
"Are you sure she's out?" Finn questioned. "She isn't going wake up when you pull that out?"
Mike didn't look up. He didn't say anything. He kept ripping the shirt.
"You know what you're doing, right?"
Irritated, Mike snapped, "I know more than you do, Finn."
Puck returned with the sloshing tub of seawater. He sat it down net to Mike's utensils. Sensing the tension, he tried to break the ice.
"She's knocked out, right?"
Instead of making the situation better, he made it worse. Mike took a deep breath and kept his cool.
"The pain might bring her back. If she does wake up, I'm going to need you two to hold her down."
Finn and Puck exchange a worried look. Mike doesn't pay attention. He takes a few deep breaths, reassuring himself that he knew what he was doing. He grabbed the lighter and heats the blade of the straight razor. He sat both things down then calmly placed both hands on the shrapnel.
There was a tense moment. This was really happening.
Then Mike yanks the shrapnel out of Mercedes belly. The wound bleeds right away. Mike tries his best to figure out the damage. Puck is doing a decent job of holding the body, but Finn is a shaky mess.
"Hand me some of those strips," Mike demands.
In a split second decision, Mike sticks his hand inside the wound. Both Puck and Finn are shocked at what is happening.
"Dude," Finn said in awe.
"Just hand me the strips!" Mike demanded.
"Hey!" It was an outside voice- Santana. She was running over. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Get back," Mike belted. "Just get back! Finn, I need those goddamn strips!"
"Santana, just go away," Puck said, trying to keep his cool. "Go make sure no one else comes over here."
Strong headed, Santana was unwilling to listen to their orders. But the sight was making her sick to her stomach. She tripped over her stomach retreating back to the main site where everyone was focused, staring at the somewhat hidden scene taking place a few hundred feet away.
"I can't do this," Finn panic.
Mike tries to stay calm, "I need to get this blood… oh…"
"What?" Finn said, franticly. "What is wrong?"
"I need the strips! Just hand me the strips!"
Finn could not focus. He was looking hard at the open wound, his eyes glazed over.
"Finn!" Mike yelled, noticing Finn's appearance.
Finn crumpled, hitting the ground like a bag of bricks. He was out cold. Puck looked helplessly between Finn and Mike. He struggled to reach for the strips, passing them to Mike.
Mike was up to his elbow in blood. He was moving on autopilot. He used the strips Puck supplied to soak up the blood. He frantically tried sewing up whatever was torn inside Mercedes.
A gasping- wheezing noise. Mike froze. It was his worst nightmare. Mercedes was awake. Her face contorted in pain as she gained consciousness. Puck struggled to hold her down. Mike tried not to let her deter him from his task.
"Come on, Mercedes!" Puck fought.
"I-I," She gasped.
"Stop moving!" Mike yelled as he lost his focus.
It was too late. Mercedes went limp. She did not struggle against Puck any longer. Puck and Mike shared a look of disbelief.
Back at the huts, there was an eruption of noise. Screams as they see Mercedes fall soft.
Mike fought to keep his tears back. He had just killed a person. He tried to save her, and he killed her. There was no way he would be able to help anyone else.
For some sort of sick conformation, he leaned forward and put his bloody hand on her wrist. There was a soft, slow pulse. Mike's face lit up.
"She's alive!" He yelled. "She's alive!"
He grabbed the needled and dove back in. He had almost patched up the source when Mercedes jolted awake, pulling out some of the stitches. He needed to be faster this time. He began to fix the stitches that had come loose. Puck sat with a strong grip on Mercedes in case she gained consciousness again.
Mike successfully sewed her insides up. He let himself experience a moment of happiness as he stared at her body. But then he realized he had to close the wound. He began to stitch the large wound together when he felt Mercedes shift below him.
She was not fighting like before, though Puck was ready. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Her eyes flickered and she muttered incoherent phrases.
Mike ignored her. If he lost focus, he would mess up like the last time. It was Puck who tried to steady Mercedes.
"Mercedes, you've got to calm down. If you move, Mike is going to have to open you back up. Come on."
Mercedes couldn't comprehend what was happening, but she tried to not move. Her eyes continued to flicker as Mike doubled up on the stitching. He reached the last centimeter of her abdomen that needed stitched. He finished. He tied the thread off and set the needled on the blood soaked sand.
He let out a sigh, exhausted.
"Holy shit," Puck said after a second.
Mike was still in his surgery mode. He reached up and felt her forehead. Her fever was raging. It was hotter than he'd ever felt before. But at least she had a pulse.
"She's going to need those antibiotics," He reached over and grabbed a bottle, tossing it to Puck. "Give her two of these and try to wake Finn up. Then stay here with her in case she wakes up."
Puck was obedient. He was the soldier to Mike's general. He defiantly felt like Mike was a hero as the blood soaked man rose to his feet and exhaustedly walked to the anxious group by the makeshift huts.
As Mike walked back, he thought of what his life would be like if… when…. they got off the island. He fought his dad over become a dancer, but the past hour proved to him that he was a surgeon. He'd never felt what he felt when he saved Mercedes before in his life. It was a rush.