[They didn't know. They don't know, and it was that or the nanites but Kino knows there's only so much they could do—knit flesh, combat symptoms and effects of poisons, return a body to function long enough to get it to lasting care, but it couldn't make blood and certainly not enough to replace all that he had lost. Why, the word is bouncing around in their head, over and over, why, why, why, why. Why as the injection seems to do nothing—what had it been for? why did you give it to me?—why had he been fighting with Hibari when he had so many wounds that seemed too old to be from that fight, why didn't you just go to medical to get help?
Why are you leaving—
Kino shuts the thought off with a clamp, panic and desperation acting like kindling to a spark and a fire—a drive, a new type of urgency. "Your hands are getting steadier." No. No, you don't.] Nic, we need to, [remembering too late, one hand already fumbling through the things in their bags until they find the roll of gauze, taking it out, but they don't know where to start, there's so much; their other hand:] Stop. I have to stop— [they can't remember it, the sign for blood, the sign for bleeding, had they even ever learned that one? But if they had, they can't remember,] Stop—it. Stop it. I have to stop it. Stop.
[Kino, who had left the only person to ever truly care for them back home behind.
Kino, who had knowingly left countries to die out, even after hearing their stories.
Kino, who had left a boy beside the road in the middle of nowhere, begging to be taken along.
Kino, measuring out a length of gauze and trying to find a place to start but there is none, it's all like a circle with no beginning, too much blood and the bleeding is slowing but for the wrong reasons, not enough pressure, too little to continue to escape; alarm and desperation writing itself into a very grim kind of determination and carving something deep under their eyes. They should know better. Kino was no expert, but they had seen enough people mortally wounded to know when there wasn't enough time. It didn't stop them this time, though.
i H A TE YOU LEAN
Why are you leaving—
Kino shuts the thought off with a clamp, panic and desperation acting like kindling to a spark and a fire—a drive, a new type of urgency. "Your hands are getting steadier." No. No, you don't.] Nic, we need to, [remembering too late, one hand already fumbling through the things in their bags until they find the roll of gauze, taking it out, but they don't know where to start, there's so much; their other hand:] Stop. I have to stop— [they can't remember it, the sign for blood, the sign for bleeding, had they even ever learned that one? But if they had, they can't remember,] Stop—it. Stop it. I have to stop it. Stop.
[Kino, who had left the only person to ever truly care for them back home behind.
Kino, who had knowingly left countries to die out, even after hearing their stories.
Kino, who had left a boy beside the road in the middle of nowhere, begging to be taken along.
Kino, measuring out a length of gauze and trying to find a place to start but there is none, it's all like a circle with no beginning, too much blood and the bleeding is slowing but for the wrong reasons, not enough pressure, too little to continue to escape; alarm and desperation writing itself into a very grim kind of determination and carving something deep under their eyes. They should know better. Kino was no expert, but they had seen enough people mortally wounded to know when there wasn't enough time. It didn't stop them this time, though.
He can't. He can't go yet. They can't let him.]