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Namira
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Null sheen.
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"Cameron! Cameron!"

They felt ill, hot and cold. This wasn't possible. One second Cameron was talking, the next-

Enzo didn't even know who it was, couldn't parse it, in the frantic instants after the sickening impact of-

"C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon don't do this don't do this."

Vinny didn't know first aid. They didn't know how this was meant to work. One hand was scrabbling at their bag the other was on Cam's stomach and christ and christ there was just so much too much blood, warm and spilling around their fingers, and Cameron was trembling, and coughing, and...

The bag opened, the first aid kit followed. What was in there? What did any of that stuff even do? This wasn't patch-up-better, this was surgery and anaesthetic and a team of doctors, not, not-

Not just Enzo.

"Cameron please, c'mon, please, keep your eyes on me, eyes on me! Okay?"

They were babbling. The kit opened and then spilled, a bandage unrolling and going bouncing across the floor, unraveling as it went. Enzo might have sworn and might not have sworn, and someone else was here now and it was two, three, four seconds before it clicked that it was Vanessa. The kit went forgotten, the other hand joined their first because that was what they did on TV and in movies, they put pressure on and that was supposed to be good and stem bleeding but christ, christ christ christ it was just welling up even further, and Enzo's hands were slick and hot and the ragged edges of the tear were rubbing against it and... and-

Cam raised her hand. She smiled.

"No! Don't you apologise! It's not- there's nothing to say sorry for- Cameron! CAMERON!"
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