Alan, somehow, has managed to stay uninfected for now. This situation is bad. All he knows is that there's some kid on the floor in pain, in the fetal position. Everyone is dying and this is bad. Hell, he doesn't even know John's name, or half of the other people's names here.
John doesn't recognize the voice at all. Some part of his mind warns him that isn't necessarily a good thing, and might actually be only a bad thing when he's this confused. Still, he doesn't want to hurt someone just because he's too messed up to recognize them.
So he just sort of...pushes. His windy thing whips up around him and the air pushes out in a circle, gently edging whoever it is away. He'd push harder but he isn't sure he has the strength and well. He might need every ounce of energy he has just to stay conscious at all.
Woah, the windy thing trips him out. Is this kid some kind of superhero? He has no idea. Maybe he should just leave for fear of this superhuman boy killing him.
"..What the..? H-hey! I can help you!"
He fights the wind a little bit, but doesn't put up much of a struggle.
The winds die out like they're tired, which makes sense considering their source definitely is. He can't even open his eyes right now. He just sort of crinkles his eyebrows and murmurs.
Yeah, maybe it's best that John forced him away, but Alan is stubborn as shit. He's going to help John, because put bluntly, Alan never gives up on someone who's hurt or dying.
Alan leaves to go find some gloves. He comes back a short while later with the gloves and a bunch of miscellaneous supplies, mostly gauze and some mysterious olde timey liquid pain medication. The closets are awfully weird.
The young man awkwardly piles all the medical junk on the floor next to John.
"I'm going to clean up your arms."
At the moment he plans on giving some pain meds and getting John's nasty sores taken care of. Baby steps.
John murmurs an acknowledgement. He tries to move his arms out from his body so the man can get to them but, well. It all hurts so much that he only manages to move them a couple inches.
Alan carefulllyy takes one of his wrists. John is sick, and he knows it. This is like..Dr. Bleed getting poisoned level sick. Alan goes about putting some disinfectant on the sores and wrapping them up with gauze, unless John shows signs of fighting him again.
"How much pain are you in? Want me to give you something?"
He inspects the bottle the closet gave him. Opium tincture. He knows enough about this stuff to know that it tastes like ass. Luckily, dosing instructions are provided!
Blood. Ugh. Internal bleeding isn't something that's easy to treat, especially when it's on this scale. There's a lot of other issues if his hemorrhage is that bad, but Alan's confidence never wavers. His brow furrows.
"You're gonna be okay, just..hang in there."
He empties the dropper into John's mouth.
"..Going to have to swallow the blood, too."
He then rummages through his supplies. Shit. He doesn't have what he needs to perform treatment, mostly because he didn't expect internal bleeding. Looks like he needs to make another closet trip..
John does as he's told. To be honest, he's just hoping the pain'll stop sooner. When he's died in the past, the pain went on for a long long time before it finally faded to numbness, and then he was usually just on the brink.
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in where lo guesses about 1920s medicine
"Hey!? Can you hear me? Stay with me!"
lots of guessing, basically.
So he just sort of...pushes. His windy thing whips up around him and the air pushes out in a circle, gently edging whoever it is away. He'd push harder but he isn't sure he has the strength and well. He might need every ounce of energy he has just to stay conscious at all.
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"..What the..? H-hey! I can help you!"
He fights the wind a little bit, but doesn't put up much of a struggle.
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"...'nna make you sick."
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"Then I'll get gloves. Okay?"
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But not enough to hold a fist, evidently. His arms fall limp. He's got nothing in him to keep this guy away.
He hopes he won't feel too guilty if it's his fault that the guy ends up dying.
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The young man awkwardly piles all the medical junk on the floor next to John.
"I'm going to clean up your arms."
At the moment he plans on giving some pain meds and getting John's nasty sores taken care of. Baby steps.
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"Th. Thanks."
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He inspects the bottle the closet gave him. Opium tincture. He knows enough about this stuff to know that it tastes like ass. Luckily, dosing instructions are provided!
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"Make sure you swallow it. You'll thank me later."
Alan offers the dropper to John, correctly dosed, more or less.
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"You're gonna be okay, just..hang in there."
He empties the dropper into John's mouth.
"..Going to have to swallow the blood, too."
He then rummages through his supplies. Shit. He doesn't have what he needs to perform treatment, mostly because he didn't expect internal bleeding. Looks like he needs to make another closet trip..
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"Thanks."