LJ Idol Season 10, Break Week -- Sang-froid
Savin’s mouth went dry, his throat closing in on itself as his eyes settled on the decimated street. The parade had ground to a halt, the music doing nothing to drown out the agonized screams now erupting from the crowd.
He’d been sitting in a nearby coffee shop to half-watch the parade go by when something akin to static radiated from everywhere. A shock of some kind; a noise so loud his ears rung for who knows how long, after. Swallowing, Savin’s eyes swept over the sea of bodies scattered amongst blown concrete, and he knew he had to act.
One deep breath, and he’d steadied his hands as well as his breathing. Two deep breaths, and he was kneeling in front of the closest victim to him. An older woman, probably in her fifties. Breathing shallow. Pulse faint. He ripped part of his own shirt, did his best to tie the crudest tourniquet around the woman’s calf.
Once it was in place, Savin glanced around for any sign of her missing foot. He soon realized such a search might be pointless, considering the chaos before him.
Some part of him acknowledged that he should be making a phone call or three to the local emergency services, but a cursory pat of his pockets alerted him to the fact he'd left his phone at his parents' house. Or maybe he'd left it in the cafe, but he didn't remember having it while he stared sullenly at his husband's image under the headline "Head Councilor Jasper Callahan Drafts New Treaty." Just as he was about to panic about not having it, he saw someone else lift their phone to their ear.
Still, he’d almost prefer listening to his call being ignored than the sobbing he heard as he went from body to body, checking pulses and providing what care he could with what little resources he had available. It wasn't long before he heard sirens in the distance; before other men and women were doing as he did -- helping those they could; determining which victims were already lost.
For the most part he worked in silence, reassuring those conscious enough to ask questions with nods of his head or quiet words. He knew, after years of performing emergency medicine, that sometimes all his patients needed was a confident smile and for their doctor to exude calm. Which he did, even as he went from person to person, ignoring how he slowly became covered in blood that wasn’t his own.
“Savin.”
Savin blinked, turning his head and glancing up towards the familiar voice. The details were fuzzy, thanks to how he’d had to look over the edge of his glasses to meet the other man’s eyes, but he would recognize his father’s features anywhere. “‘Tousan,” he murmured, turning his attention back to his current patient. He gestured to the woman glancing between Savin and Hajime. “April here has signs of a concussion, but the bleeding looks superficial, there’s just a lot of it. It doesn’t look like she fractured her skull in the -- whatever it was that caused her injuries.”
“Savin.” Hajime’s voice was sharp, and Savin snapped to his feet on instinct, feeling almost like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “Go home. You’ve done enough work here -- let my paramedics handle the rest, okay?”
Hajime’s hand was on Savin’s shoulder and squeezing. His eyes were softer than his voice and filled with concern. “You’re shaking.”
“Adrenaline,” Savin answered, brushing his father’s hand off his shoulder. “I was nearby when I heard -- whatever it was go off, so I figured --”
“It was a bomb,” Hajime said, kneeling in front of the same woman Savin had been, cutting Savin off. He snapped gloves onto his hands and dug something out from his pocket. “That’s everyone’s best guess, so far, anyway.”
Savin nodded, his eyes widening as he looked out at the devastation. For the past however long, he’d been moving from victim to victim. He’d never taken a moment to really observe the wreckage; how the damage seemed to radiate out from a single point. His stomach lurched. “What if there’s more?”
Hajime remained silent. Savin reached up to rub his nose, but stopped when he caught sight of his bloodied hands. “Are you sure you want me to go home? I can still help…”
“You've helped enough, Savin,” Hajime said. “Go home and call your husband, let him know you're okay. I'm sure news of this has spread back to the capital by now…”
Savin didn't argue. Instead, he looked down the street -- took in every detail and how none of it looked familiar, anymore. His hometown, reduced to nothing but rubble. His heart lodged itself in his throat and threatened to clear a path for his stomach. Swallowing hard and blinking away tears, he bent forward and wrapped his arms around his father, hugging him fiercely around his shoulders. “Please stay safe, ‘Tousan,” he managed.
Hajime tensed in his arms, then leaned back against Savin’s front, turning his head just slightly to glance over his shoulder. “You, too, son,” he said, patting Savin’s arm. “Now go.”
Savin nodded, letting go of his father and forcing his feet to pick their way back through the wreckage; back through those he’d helped and those that were beyond his help. He realized his ears had stopped ringing -- he wasn’t sure how long ago. Or maybe it had dulled in the presence of the steady pounding of his heart, growing louder with each step away from the bomb site.
By the time he’d made it back to his father’s house, he found himself vomiting in the bushes lined up in front of the stone porch and wishing more than anything that he was back in the chaos of it all.
That would’ve been better than being alone.
He’d been sitting in a nearby coffee shop to half-watch the parade go by when something akin to static radiated from everywhere. A shock of some kind; a noise so loud his ears rung for who knows how long, after. Swallowing, Savin’s eyes swept over the sea of bodies scattered amongst blown concrete, and he knew he had to act.
One deep breath, and he’d steadied his hands as well as his breathing. Two deep breaths, and he was kneeling in front of the closest victim to him. An older woman, probably in her fifties. Breathing shallow. Pulse faint. He ripped part of his own shirt, did his best to tie the crudest tourniquet around the woman’s calf.
Once it was in place, Savin glanced around for any sign of her missing foot. He soon realized such a search might be pointless, considering the chaos before him.
Some part of him acknowledged that he should be making a phone call or three to the local emergency services, but a cursory pat of his pockets alerted him to the fact he'd left his phone at his parents' house. Or maybe he'd left it in the cafe, but he didn't remember having it while he stared sullenly at his husband's image under the headline "Head Councilor Jasper Callahan Drafts New Treaty." Just as he was about to panic about not having it, he saw someone else lift their phone to their ear.
Still, he’d almost prefer listening to his call being ignored than the sobbing he heard as he went from body to body, checking pulses and providing what care he could with what little resources he had available. It wasn't long before he heard sirens in the distance; before other men and women were doing as he did -- helping those they could; determining which victims were already lost.
For the most part he worked in silence, reassuring those conscious enough to ask questions with nods of his head or quiet words. He knew, after years of performing emergency medicine, that sometimes all his patients needed was a confident smile and for their doctor to exude calm. Which he did, even as he went from person to person, ignoring how he slowly became covered in blood that wasn’t his own.
“Savin.”
Savin blinked, turning his head and glancing up towards the familiar voice. The details were fuzzy, thanks to how he’d had to look over the edge of his glasses to meet the other man’s eyes, but he would recognize his father’s features anywhere. “‘Tousan,” he murmured, turning his attention back to his current patient. He gestured to the woman glancing between Savin and Hajime. “April here has signs of a concussion, but the bleeding looks superficial, there’s just a lot of it. It doesn’t look like she fractured her skull in the -- whatever it was that caused her injuries.”
“Savin.” Hajime’s voice was sharp, and Savin snapped to his feet on instinct, feeling almost like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “Go home. You’ve done enough work here -- let my paramedics handle the rest, okay?”
Hajime’s hand was on Savin’s shoulder and squeezing. His eyes were softer than his voice and filled with concern. “You’re shaking.”
“Adrenaline,” Savin answered, brushing his father’s hand off his shoulder. “I was nearby when I heard -- whatever it was go off, so I figured --”
“It was a bomb,” Hajime said, kneeling in front of the same woman Savin had been, cutting Savin off. He snapped gloves onto his hands and dug something out from his pocket. “That’s everyone’s best guess, so far, anyway.”
Savin nodded, his eyes widening as he looked out at the devastation. For the past however long, he’d been moving from victim to victim. He’d never taken a moment to really observe the wreckage; how the damage seemed to radiate out from a single point. His stomach lurched. “What if there’s more?”
Hajime remained silent. Savin reached up to rub his nose, but stopped when he caught sight of his bloodied hands. “Are you sure you want me to go home? I can still help…”
“You've helped enough, Savin,” Hajime said. “Go home and call your husband, let him know you're okay. I'm sure news of this has spread back to the capital by now…”
Savin didn't argue. Instead, he looked down the street -- took in every detail and how none of it looked familiar, anymore. His hometown, reduced to nothing but rubble. His heart lodged itself in his throat and threatened to clear a path for his stomach. Swallowing hard and blinking away tears, he bent forward and wrapped his arms around his father, hugging him fiercely around his shoulders. “Please stay safe, ‘Tousan,” he managed.
Hajime tensed in his arms, then leaned back against Savin’s front, turning his head just slightly to glance over his shoulder. “You, too, son,” he said, patting Savin’s arm. “Now go.”
Savin nodded, letting go of his father and forcing his feet to pick their way back through the wreckage; back through those he’d helped and those that were beyond his help. He realized his ears had stopped ringing -- he wasn’t sure how long ago. Or maybe it had dulled in the presence of the steady pounding of his heart, growing louder with each step away from the bomb site.
By the time he’d made it back to his father’s house, he found himself vomiting in the bushes lined up in front of the stone porch and wishing more than anything that he was back in the chaos of it all.
That would’ve been better than being alone.