Author's Chapter Notes:
It hurts to help.
Wolverine opened his eyes, momentarily bewildered at the view of the ceiling above him, then everything came rushing back. He sat up, swayed at the nauseating sensation that churned in his stomach and head, but shoved it back down as he looked over at Rogue. She looked like shit, but better than she had…he looked at the windup alarm clock on the fireplace mantle. “Shit! Six hours!” He rose cautiously, still woozy and feeling like he’d just gone 5 rounds with Magneto, and crouched over her, checking her vitals carefully. Heart rate better but still not where it needed to be. Her leg was a fucking unholy mess. “Fuck,” he ground out through clenched teeth, horrified at how stupid he’d been. He should have set her damn leg before he touched her, now it looked like her skin was trying to grown over the bone still jutting out grotesquely from her thigh. Knowing how his healing factor worked he wouldn’t be surprised if the other end of her femur had started to knit to the underside of the bone that was still badly out of place. He was going to have to fix that and it was not going to be pretty. “Rogue, Rogue, can you hear me?” He put his hand on the top of her head, trying to wake her without jostling her unnecessarily. No response. Even though the giant knot on her forehead had decreased in size it was still decidedly purple. Damn it She was still really messed up if she hadn’t woken up by now, maybe a skull fracture or, bleeding on the brain. Christ, don't let it be that.

“Kid,” he muttered, steeling himself for what he was about to do, “It’s a good thing you’re not awake right now b/c this is going to fucking hurt.” He popped the center claw on his right hand and carefully sliced away the wetsuit from her leg so he could get a clear view of what was going on and it was exactly what he’d suspected: her leg was healing in the wrong position and if he didn’t fix it she’d be crippled. He dragged his duffel over from the foot of the couch and dragged out the leather gloves from his team uniform. Never leave home without it he thought grimly as he worked his hands into them.

Covered now, he positioned his hands on her thigh, feeling for the right angle and figuring out how much force this would require. He stood up, leaned over, and gritting his teeth bore down with all his strength and re-broke her leg. Her eyes flew open and she made a pathetic wail, and Wolverine felt like the biggest bastard of all time. “I gotta reset it kid. I’m sorry.” He moved to her feet and pulled on the now loosened leg to reposition it, gritted his teeth as she wheezed painfully, as if she had no breath left, then she was unconscious again.

It was a small mercy for both of them.

Punching himself hard in the side of the head for being such a fucking dumbass he had to hurt her on purpose, he took a deep breath, finished repositioning her leg, then made a splint from some of the wood by the fireplace, which he neatly split and shaved to an acceptable size with his claws, and it tied in place with strips of a spare sheet from the closet. Once he’d attended to the most grisly of her injuries, he proceeded to examine the rest of her to see how she was coming together. Thanking god she was out cold again, he carefully sliced off the rest of the wetsuit, peeling it back to see the full scope of what they were dealing with. She’d put a regular one piece bathing suit on before he’d made her to put the neoprene on, and he had to remove that too, moving quickly and clinically, scanning her body for damage.

Her other leg had a closed fracture of the tibia and fibula, and from what he could tell they were coming together okay, so he wouldn’t have to do anymore ham fisted repairs. Badly tweaked ankle that was pretty swollen, but was fading from dark purple to a sickly yellow green that said his touch doing its thing. The ribs on her right side were still bad, black with blood pooled under the surface, and he could still feel a lot of unnatural movement as he probed, so he needed to bind them. He carefully lowered his head to her chest to hear her breathe. Damnit, there's still fluid in her lungs Wolverine e could see some pink froth on her slips where she’d aspirated blood. Not good and only one thing for it.

He didn’t know how much of his healing factor was still kicking in his body, but he was going to have to give her another dose. But before that he was going to do all the triage he could with his hands before going down for the count again. And he wasn’t going to leave her on the damn sofa. He ran quickly up the stairs to her room, stripped the quilt off the bed, and raced back to the ground floor, snagging a first aid-kit from the bathroom. No one would ever think the Wolverine would need gauze, antiseptic, etc. But shit still hurt while he was healing and he didn’t always like watching his own blood drip freely while he waited wound to close. And even if his body could kill just about any infection he got fairly fast, it was annoying to have his skin itching b/c he left a piece of wood or a bullet in too long. So sometimes he’d slap a bandage on it and some Neosporin, but fuck all if anyone else was ever going to know that.

He spread the quilt on the floor, eased Rogue off the couch and onto it where he had more access to her injuries, and he let the field triage training he’d picked up in WWII and from Beast take over. He bound her ribs tightly, but not enough to restrict breathing, braced her other leg and ankle with another homemade split, got a chemical cold pack and cracked it to activate and applied it to her head, wrapping it in place with another winding of gauze. He probed the dislocated shoulder, relieved it hadn’t locked in place yet from the damaged tendons and muscles around it healing, and popped it back in with a wince of his own, although only a twitch in Rogue’s cheek indicated she’d felt anything.

Once he felt satisfied he’s done as much as he could with just his two hands, Wolverine wrapped the quilt carefully around her, and carried her up to her room. He wrapped her up mummy style, leaving one arm free to hand free to drape over the side of the bed, he lay down on the floor once again and grabbed her hand, ready to let her take whatever healing he had.

Alright kid, try not to kill me.

The draw was a bit slower this time, his thoughts, feelings, and memories not rushing out of him in a torrent like before, but in a strong pulse like waves falling quickly on a turbulent shore. It didn’t flare sudden and painful either, but started as a slow burn that spread outward, searing him so gradually he didn’t even notice when he was boiling from the inside out until he finally began to fade out.

It’s like going to sleephe thought hazily. But he was falling into something deeper than sleep or even unconsciousness; a void so dense and black that drew in all the light from his being, his heart, his whole life, from which he was never going to surface…until his hand fell from hers.

Another small mercy.
Chapter End Notes:
Poor Wolverine, he's trying so hard.
You must login (register) to review.