Keith now owes an IOU to one of his "neighbors"—a surly young adult living a few miles down the road who seemed to take pity upon seeing him struggling to drag the disabled bike back home by hand—but at least he's made it home. He's out another IOU to the same guy for the medical supplies he'd bummed after they'd been offered… the ones his shaky hands are fumbling with over the makeshift coffee table right now.
He just needs to get this handled before it gets dark out. While he hasn't officially told his boss yet, he knows he's out a job. Therefore, he can't frivolously tap into the shack's generator to power the lights for longer than he has to anymore.
His arm's the worst of the injuries from what he can tell, so he starts there, still making sure not to blow all the disinfectant or bandages on it.
His knee looks worse than it really is, or at least that's his general experience with road rash in the time he and Shiro have been—
…had been riding together.
Stupid. It's not the time to be remembering that shit.
His knee needs a generous pour of disinfectant and rewards him with an uncomfortable burn for his efforts. It's not bad enough to merit using up more of the bandages, so he leaves it exposed.
His ass is definitely bruised, but he can't do shit about that.
The last big concern to deal with is his head. A doctor would probably test him for concussion symptoms, but uhh… Look, he got the boot before finishing the garrison emergency first aid class. They never got to identifying and treating head injuries, and it's been such a long time since he's experienced one personally that he can't remember it. Though, maybe that's less an issue of time passing and more a matter of the fact that he'd been concussed at the time.
Anyway.
His mind feels all there, he thinks, or as all there as it's been for the past few years at least.
It's only now that he realizes there's no mirror out here. Weird how he's always taken for granted being able to see his own reflection when he's wanted to.
The good news is that the shack's windows serve as a passable stand-in once he wills himself to his aching feet and stumbles over to one. He has to move to the outside and wipe away a thick layer of desert grime—he really needs to clean the whole place now that he thinks about it—but he's able to make out his own head well enough, and there's no bleeding that he can spot.
Now, to figure out what to do about his job…