Somewhat Damaged [Jo]

[Deleted]

Four months prior to 'The Cannonball Run'

-----

The road stretched out in front of him, empty. Jax found nothing but stillness and silence in the miles he travelled and wasn’t much bothered by it. He didn’t know where he was going; only that he was taking a straight shot to anywhere but where he’d been.

The wind roared in his ears. The Harley rumbled under him like the guttural growl of a rabid dog. A rusted intersection sign flew past on his right as the odometer rolled over. He didn’t think anything of it until he heard the crush of metal and bone and glass.

He woke to the taste of copper in his mouth. When he took his first conscious breath it was like someone had filled his chest with acid. He bit back the pained howl with every ounce of effort in his body.

Okay. Just… think. It hurts so fucking much. Just think. How long was I out? Couldn’t have been that long. Fuck, why does everything hurt so much?

His body screamed at him but he sat up and looked around. He was at the edge of the road a few meters away from the scrap heap that used to be his motorcycle. Blinking blood out of his eyes, he followed the debris trail by sight to the old pickup truck that hit him. Its front end was destroyed when it ran into the trees and its driver hung out of the broken windshield, quite dead. Jax couldn’t tell if the driver had been a man or a woman; the face was little more than a bulging mass of displaced flesh and blood.

No squealing tires before it hit. Didn't try to stop. At least… I think. Probably dead already, which means…

He spied the intersection in time to see the ominous crowd of people making their approach, only they weren’t people anymore.

“Shit.”

He patted himself down and found that his SIG had miraculously managed to stay holstered and unharmed in the crash. There were ten rounds in the magazine but his spares must’ve been lost. He counted nine croats. If he was in better shape, he wouldn’t have liked the situation. With broken ribs and a possible concussion, it was downright bad. He drew his SIG and stood up—

—and screamed the most pure expression of pain as the barbed end of his broken tibia ripped through his leg-meat with all the gentleness of a dull hacksaw. He collapsed instantly, felt warm blood seeping out of the gaping wound, watched the blood pool on the asphalt.

There was no time for him to writhe in agony; the croats were approaching. Jax rolled on to his back despite the burning protests of his ribs. His face was a grim mask, refusing to let any more of that pain get to the surface despite his muscles tightening and the feeling of razorblades in his veins. He could hear his heart beating loud, blood pounding in his ears, as he squeezed the trigger.

BLAM!

The .45 ACP round tore through a croat’s chest, dropping it, while the recoil probably broke an already cracked rib. The other croats still advanced, unceasing. He used his good leg to push himself backwards at a slow, strained pace towards the trees. His head ached straight through, like someone shoved their hands in his skull and started squeezing. He knew he wasn’t getting enough air because it fucking hurt every time he tried to draw breath.

Listen, you worthless sack of meat, if you give up on me now then this next bullet’s for you.

He blew out the skull of the next croat, grey matter and blood making pretty patterns on the road. They kept coming. He kept shooting. The bodies dropped in an arc in front of him. Then there was silence, and the only thing left moving was him.

He reached the trees and sat up against a trunk, taking quick and shallow breaths. There was no sigh of relief as a stillness descended upon the scene. He held the SIG up to his eyes and contemplated the single bullet he had left.

“Well. Here we are,” he wheezed. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He didn't think he was going to move from that spot, even if he tried.

No first aid gear. No communication. No flares. No food. No water. Just time and pain. He made up his mind on what to do with that bullet—

—until a croat crawled out of the back of that old pickup truck and Jax shot it dead.

“…Fuck.”

[Jade Stone]

Jo

Jo was hauling ass down the road as fast as the Humvee she was driving could carry her. Her eyes scanned the road and her surroundings for dangers but her mind was on other things as well. She knew her mother was pissed off but Jo didn't really care at the moment. All she had wanted was to get out for a little bit and her mom pitched a bitch, which was typical. Still treating her like a child as far as Jo was concerned and Jo hated it.

Not that Jo wasn't aware that it was dangerous to go off on her own, but she needed some time alone and that was not easy to come by these days. So after an argument over taking a team with her, Jo had stormed out by herself anyway. It wasn't the first time she had done this either. Every once in awhile she just needed to go. Usually she drove for a few hours, a lot of times she ended up finding something somewhere that hadn't been looted by survivors, ransacked by croats or taken over by the military and was able to bring some supplies back to the camp. This time she hadn't even stopped to look for anything. Her mind was on other things.

She was on her way back to the camp now. She knew when she got back that she and her mother would avoid each other for a couple days, both of them stubborn and still upset with each other. It was just hard though and Jo felt like her mother didn't understand. Too much had happened, so many people that had been lost, those that survived had been changed. It made Jo think about Greg and that was one of the triggers that set her off on one of her isolation trips. She hadn't heard from him in quite some time. She knew he had his own shit he had to deal with. The not knowing was what got to her. No matter what all had happened between them, they would always be friends and it worried her that he'd been out of touch for so long.

That made it difficult for her. The position she was in at the camp. She had responsibilities, people to look out for. Missions to run. She couldn't sit around worrying, it would make her seem weak. At least that's the way she thought. So she had to keep it tamped down for the most part. The only time she let herself think about it too much is when she went out on her own. So that is what was on her mind as she barreled down the road and came to a sudden screeching halt after she passed something propped up against the tree a little bit off the side of the road. What had caught her eye was movement.

Jo had to back the vehicle up, since she had been cruising along so fast she passed it before the movement registered. As she made her way back she noticed more of the surroundings. Dead croats everywhere. Jo was on full alert now. She stopped the vehicle a little ways off from the figure by the tree. At this point, she didn't know what she was dealing with. It could have been a croat, but it didn't seem like it to her. It seemed like the trail of dead bodies led right up to the tree.

Cautiously Jo got out of the vehicle, she pulled the Taurus 1911DT .45 auto from the holster strapped to her thigh and scanned the area. She walked slowly but with a purpose. She came up to one of the bodies and nudged it with her foot. Definitely dead, head shot. She glanced back to the tree, getting closer she could see it was a man, he looked pretty mangled but every so often he'd move.

Creeping along slowly she checked every body as she moved closer. Making sure they were truly dead. The Taurus held in both hands out in front of her, safety off finger on the trigger. She stopped several yards away from the man propped against the tree and pointed the gun at him.

"Hey! You still alive over there? You've got about 15 seconds to convince me you're not a croat and that I shouldn't blow you away right here and now."

[Deleted]

He wondered how far he could get if he started crawling. Ted would have been so disappointed that the thought of just sitting there and dying ever crossed Jax's mind. How fucking far had he fallen? He had to try, at least, or he'd be doing a disservice to himself and to his fallen comrade. He took a few quick, anticipatory breaths and ignored the sting in his ribs.

One... Two... Three-- FUCK. No, no, no more of that.

The jagged tooth that was his shinbone tore through his leg just a little bit more. He eased back against the tree and exhaled through his teeth. Even the slightest movement was agony, especially now that the adrenaline had worn off. He wondered if there was any internal bleeding. His head was so foggy that he didn't even remember what he should be looking out for; besides, everything was just a nonspecific mass of pain (save for the leg, that was extremely specific). He wiped the blood from his head wound on his sleeve.

I need to... what do I need to do? Fuck, I need to... splint the leg.

He looked down at his belt and his KA-BAR was, praise the Jesus he didn't believe in, still there. He drew it, leaned forward with a grimace, and cut open his pantleg from just above where he felt the break. He tore off the material and examined his injury.

It looked just as bad as it felt.

The jagged break stuck through his skin like a fang. There was a gaping hole, steadily leaking blood, that you could look down through and see the innards of his legmeat. A bloody flap of skin hung off the side of his leg, quivering. He watched it and realized that he was shaking.

Fuck. Okay. I need to... splint it. Right. I need to make a splint. Stay focused.

He looked about, tried to spy some low branches or some scrap metal from the wreck that he could use to make the splint, but everything was so far away. The black began creeping in to his peripheral vision. He was so fucking tired...

No. No. Come on. Stay awake. Ted got his leg blown clean off - you think that stopped him?

He had a team with him. He had a medic with supplies...

...And I don't. Fucking improvise. What was all that training good for if I'm going to let a broken leg stop me?

He rolled up the torn pantleg, put it between his teeth and bit down as hard as he could. It muffled most of his screams as he inched towards another tree, leaving a trail of blood on the grass.

Don't think. Don't think about it. There's a branch. I'm going to get the branch. I'm going to use my knife, I'm going to make a splint out of it, I'm not going to think about--


He was so tired. His fingers grazed the tip of the fallen branch, but he couldn't bring himself to move anymore. He stopped, listened to the silence, to his heartbeat, to his ragged breaths. Then there was a noise off in the distance, familiar and yet incredibly foreign. Where did he know it from...? His eyes slid shut as if the effort of remembering was too much for his body to take.

It's a humvee. This one's in better shape than the ones from Afghanistan.

He opened his eyes, and there was a woman checking his kills, closing in on his position. Blurry. Fuck, his head hurt. What was she...? Was that a gun?

"Hey! You still alive over there? You've got about 15 seconds to convince me you're not a croat and that I shouldn't blow you away right here and now."

Huh. Yeah, it was a gun. He wasn't sure if he could move fast enough for fifteen seconds. He was still shaking as looked down at the emtpy SIG in his hand, back up at her, and put the gun to his temple.

Click. Click.

He dropped it and his knife, spit the roll of cloth out of his mouth and tried to muster up the energy to talk.

"My leg is broken," he winced, "and my ribs. I think it happened when the truck hit me, but it could have been when I hit the asphalt. I'm not sure. I was unconscious for..." He shook his head and realized that was a terrible idea when he felt his brain rattling around.

"I... was going to make a splint, but I'm not sure I can get the bone back in my leg on my own."

There was a waver in his voice as he tried desperately to stay controlled, to not let the pain through, to keep from screaming at the slightest twitch of his body. He clenched his teeth.

"I'd appreciate some help."

[Jade Stone]

Jo

Jo crept tentatively closer to the man. Still holding the gun on him, frowning as he put his own gun to his head but didn't stop him. She heard the harmless clicking sound the weapon made that told her it was empty.

She watched as he dropped his weapons, then moved forward a little closer as he tried to speak. Giving him a good once over, taking in the injuries as he described them to her. Inching a bit closer she dug into the cargo pocket of her pants and pulled out a bottle of water. Tossing it so that it landed on the ground next to him.

"OK. That's water. Drink some of it, you look dehydrated."

Jo was pretty sure he wasn't a demon at this point. Not with that mangled body, but you could never be too sure. So a little dose of holy water would be in order before she committed herself to helping the guy. With the gun trained on him she watched to make sure he drank down some of the water.

Nodding her head at him she relaxed slightly when it appeared he was just what he seemed to be. A poor human being that had just been through one hell of a battle with almost a dozen croats, all apparently while severely injured.

"I've got some medical supplies in my vehicle. I'm just going to bring it over closer. Hang tight."

Jo backed away slowly at first. Still a bit leery, keeping her eyes on the man. When she got far enough away she turned and kind of jogged off to the Hummer. Still glancing back at him over her shoulder every few seconds.

Jo jumped into the truck and then let the gun sit in her lap as she fired the engine. Pulling the vehicle off the road she made her way across the rougher terrain, trying to avoid driving directly over any of the bodies. Finally she pulled up as close as she could to the tree and got out of vehicle again.

With a sigh, she looked the man over and put her gun back into it's holster on her thigh. He wasn't a croat or a demon and in the shape he was in, it wasn't likely he would be able to overpower her. Still... she didn't much like putting her gun away. She'd already decided to help him and she needed her hands for that.

Moving around to the back of the truck she pulled open the back hatch and started grabbing things. Unfortunately, she'd had to do this a time or two before. So she was pretty prepared. She picked up two flat boards she could use for splints and tucked them under her arm before hefting out the large first aid box.

Trudging back over to the man with her arms full she set the box down next to him. Then dropped the boards next to the box. Jo knelt down on the ground next to the broken leg. She was going to have to deal with that first. It was bad, a compound fracture with the bone sticking through the skin. What skin was left anyway. A huge chunk of skin and meat was flapped over the side of his leg.

Jo opened up the box. Pulled out a few things, including a large bottle of whiskey. With a heavy sigh she opened the bottle and took a good swig of it. This was not going to be fun trying to set this leg. It was going to hurt like hell, that was for sure.

"By the way... My name is Jo. I'm gonna have to try and set your leg. I think you already know it's going to hurt like a bitch."

Frowning a bit she held out the bottle of whiskey toward him. Offering him a drink. If it was her, she'd probably drink the whole damn bottle down before she let anyone touch her mangled leg.

"Here, take this too."

She tossed him one of the gauze rolls. He could use that to bite down on if he felt like it. Keep him from screaming out right. Not that it would matter much either way, but if there were any more unfriendlies in the area, no need for a piercing scream to attract their attention. Then she waited for him to get prepared.

[Deleted]

If Jax had been able to see himself, he would have been incredibly disappointed. Juxtaposed against the forced, even tone of his voice was a pleading look in his eyes and a distinct aura of desperation about him. It was simply bad form, looking that weak, but the throbbing in his head and the white-hot pain in his leg muddied his thought process considerably.

He watched the woman, waiting for her next move. The ball was solidly in her court. When she produced a bottle of water, his eyes followed it all the way to the ground next to him.

"OK. That's water. Drink some of it, you look dehydrated."

He picked it up and took a few breaths to control his shaking hands. The pain was deep-set in every muscle now, and he was sure that in the future he would never make the statement 'it feels like I got hit by a truck' in jest. He drank greedily from the bottle.

"Thank you," he said, exhaling and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. It was a reflexive response, but also genuine.

"I've got some medical supplies in my vehicle. I'm just going to bring it over closer. Hang tight."

He nodded, and watched as she made her way back to the vehicle. The cynic in him expected her to drive off. He didn't know why -- maybe having terribly low expectations of people made it easier to deal. She didn't split, though. In fact, she seemed pretty goddamned prepared for a situation like the one he found himself in. It was something he should have been prepared for and if he had both legs working, he would have kicked himself. Why had he been riding so light? He couldn't even remember...

His eyelids got extremely heavy again. He nodded off momentarily and when he woke she was next to him, scouting his injuries and setting out gear. He rubbed his forehead while he looked over her kit and spied a bottle of a very old, very dear friend.

"By the way... My name is Jo. I'm gonna have to try and set your leg. I think you already know it's going to hurt like a bitch."

"I'm Jax," he managed. Should he have offered a handshake? What a strange situation to meet someone in. He looked down at his leg, and a low sigh was all he could give.

When she held out the whiskey bottle, he stared at it for probably a few seconds too long. Finally, he screwed up his face into as determined an expression as he could muster and politely shook his head. He was so tempted. Desperate for it, even. Still, something in the back of his skull -- hopefully not a fracture or a blood clot -- told him he had to feel every second of it.

He did, however, take the gauze roll. His breathing picked up with anticipation for the fire ready to blow out from his leg and sear every nerve all the way to his brain. He put the roll between his teeth and slowed his breathing.

I will not scream. I will not make a fucking sound.

He repeated that mantra in his mind as he gave Jo a 'let's go' nod.

He didn't scream... but he showed every ounce of it in his face.

[Jade Stone]

Jo

Jo took a second to prepare herself for the task at hand. She set the whiskey bottle down off to the side after taking another quick drink. Jo pulled out some tweezers and a large plastic bottle filled with a saline solution out of the first aid kit. Using her fingers and the tweezers when needed Jo made sure the wound was free of debris. Picking out pieces of clothing that were still stuck to the edges of the wound. Then she took the bottle and irrigated the wound with the solution to clean it more thoroughly. For now, in these circumstances it would have to do.

Taking a deep breath Jo gave a quick glance up to Jax but didn't say anything to else to him. She moved so she was in better position, placing her left hand firmly on his leg above the break she bent down and grasped his lower leg with her right hand, then she applied pressure in both places in opposite directions. Pulling hard with her right hand she felt the leg finally move and the bone that was protruding separated a bit and then slid back into the open wound. Once she let go of his leg it seemed to settle back into a more natural position. Upon visual inspection it looked much better than it had before. The medic back at the camp would have to deal with it if it required anything further.

With the worst of it done, Jo used the saline solution again to cleanse the wound and the flap of skin that hanging off to the side. Carefully she put the torn skin back in place putting a large wound patch over the top to cover it and then loosely wrapping it with gauze. Not wanting to put too much pressure but still securing the bandage to the wound.

Letting out a sigh Jo looked back up at Jax. She could see the pain on his face, but he had endured it well. He looked a little pale though. She took another bottle of water out of the box and handed it to him, taking the roll of gauze from him in return. Giving him a nod and a very small smile she spoke quietly.

"I think that's the worst of it. At least for the leg. I'll splint it, then I should be able to move you. We have a medic at the camp who can do more."

Jo went about taking the boards and placing them along the sides of his leg. Then strapping them securely using the roll of gauze. When that was done she went about and made a cursory review of his other wounds. Cleaning and slapping a quick bandage wrap on if needed. The minimum she could get bye with in order to move him without causing further injury.

Packing up the first aid kit, she picked up everything and replaced them all in the back of the vehicle. Then she returned to Jax.

"OK... Now we just have to get you into the vehicle."

Jo bent down low so she could push her shoulder into his armpit. Letting his arm drape across her shoulders as she wrapped one arm around his waist and grasped his wrist with her other. A sort of modified fireman's carry, he'd still have to stand up right, but she could support most of his weight this way. In this fairly awkward manner she managed to get him over to the passenger seat and settled in the seat.

"Now to get you back to base camp."

Jo moved quickly around to the other side, jumped into the driver's seat and cranked the engine. Putting the vehicle in gear she pulled back out onto the road heading back to what had become home.

[Deleted]

The sting of the wound-cleaning did little to prepare him for the blinding agony of getting the bone set. It lasted a matter of seconds, but those seconds seemed to stretch on for days. When it was over and the pain began to recede, if only slightly, Jax unclenched his fists. His nails left deep imprints in his palms.

He watched Jo put his leg back together, wincing, but maintaining his silence. There was something so strange, almost surreal, about the entire situation. He got hit by a truck, and by some miraculous stroke of luck, Jo showed up like the good Samaritan. He might have laughed about it, if he still had laughter in him.

Humpty Dumpty got hit by a truck
His broken leg hurt like a motherfuck
All the king's men were slaughtered by croats
Something... What rhymes with 'croats'? Goats... Boats...
Fuck.

He took the gauze roll from between his teeth and traded Jo for another bottle of water. He guzzled it down like he was dying of thirst. At the very least, his hands weren't shaking as much.

"I think that's the worst of it. At least for the leg. I'll splint it, then I should be able to move you. We have a medic at the camp who can do more."

I fucking hope that was the worst of it.

"Okay," he nodded, though the prospect of moving gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach that could very well have been nausea from a concussion. Any part of him that wasn't burning with pain felt like it had been filled with cement. His head was still swimming. He spaced out momentarily, and when he came back Jo had finished splinting his leg.

As Jo packed up her first aid gear and returned it to her vehicle, Jax picked up his knife and sheathed it. Then he grabbed his pistol, the SIG, and his eyes lingered on it. He stowed it and his troubled expression before Jo came back.

"OK... Now we just have to get you into the vehicle," she said when she'd returned.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth when she lifted him -- his ribs really didn't like that, and his leg preemptively hurt if he so much as thought about moving. Still, he tried his damnedest to support as much of his weight as he could on his one good leg. As they reached the vehicle, he caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror.

"Huh. I look like shit," he stated clinically. Then, apologetically, "Pardon my language."

He got as comfortable as he could in the passenger's seat and looked over the interior of the vehicle, to try to focus on something, keep himself awake. A strange sense of nostalgia came over him. He hadn't ridden in a Humvee since Afghanistan. He hated to put a number to it, but that was ten years ago.

Corporal Rickards wouldn't stop talking about the engine. It was that KSK guy... Shit, what was his name? ... Told Rickards to "Shut up, chuggernuts" in that German accent... I remember it being funnier at the time.

"Now to get you back to base camp."

The engine rumbled, and they rolled out, leaving bodies and the twisted remnants of his motorcycle behind. He stared ahead, without really looking at anything.

"Thanks," he said, once they had been driving for a few minutes, "For helping me out." He spoke slowly, audibly exhausted. He leaned his head back and his eyes closed despite his best efforts.

"If it's... not any trouble, I think I might... pass out for a bit."

And just like that, he was out. He was still out by the time they reached camp. It was the first decent rest he'd gotten in a long time.