[This post is from Seamus’s point of view.]
J.T. barely glanced up toward them as they reached the top of the ladder, intent on packing and bandaging Thom’s wounds. Seamus winced at the amount of blood on the floor of the watchtower, at the bruises forming on Thom’s face and exposed flesh.
“Déithe agus arrachtaigh,” he breathed, his feet carrying him to Thom’s side before conscious thought sent him there. He dropped to his knees alongside J.T. “His ribs are broken,” he said, the words slipping out before he could process what was happening, what he was doing.
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” J.T. grunted. This time he did glance up, gaze searching Seamus’s face. “What?”
Seamus startled, tearing his eyes away from Thom. “Huh?”
“You look like you’re in shock,” J.T. said, his brow furrowing. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Seamus said quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing touched me up there. Tell me what you need me to do here.”
“Get his knee stabilized and tell me why the hell a camazotzi’s claws would suddenly start affecting someone like this. That’d be a good start.”
“I don’t have an answer for that, not yet,” Seamus said, catching the roll of bandages J.T. tossed him. He barely needed to look to see which knee the former paramedic was talking about; one of Thom’s knees had already swollen up to twice its normal size.
“That looks like a bad sign,” Matt said from behind Seamus’s shoulder. The younger man swallowed, staring at Thom even as Seamus risked a look back over his shoulder at him.
“Typically,” Seamus agreed. “But it could just be soft tissue. We’ll figure it out.” He hoped that’s all it was. Fixing anything more than that with what they had at hand would be difficult to say the least unless Jacqueline had more control over her gifts than he’d observed thus far.
“You can’t do anything?”
Matt’s question left him cold, as if ice water had been poured through his veins. Seamus froze for an instant, then swallowed, bending to his task.
“No,” he said simply, intending to leave it at that.