Characters: T-Bag, Open
Setting: Shelter Room with mentions of the hospital bedrooms and the sewing room
Time: Day 13
Summary: T-Bag changes his clothes after trying to fix his hand..
Warnings: Blood, gore, severed body parts, cursing, mentions of child molestation, an older guy flirting with a younger guy, slipshod medical routines..
The pain that once tore up and down his arm had slid back into a constant, painful throb and reminded T-Bag of his missing limb. Somehow, he had managed to drag himself out of that water filled basement and up two flights of stairs, away from that crazy fucking clown. He had found a room that looked like a hospital only there wasn't anything useful in it. No pain meds, no antibiotics, not even a damned suture kit.
Down the hall, there was a sewing room. T-Bag had dropped his cooler and pulled out a handful of thread and a pack of needles and left the room as quickly as he could. Those mannequins were freaking him out.
That's when he found the room that he sat slumped in now, with its wood walls and bunk beds (Like Fox River...like a prison). He had found clothes in the dressers and had made use of them. Some of the older clothes he had shredded into bandages and were now wrapped around his stump, which had, by some small miracle, stopped bleeding. T-Bag had also changed out of his prison blues into some of the other clothes he had found.
Now he sat on the bottom bunk in a pair of jeans and a dark brown button down shirt which he had left unbuttoned and the arm of the left sleeve rolled up. He felt so helpless, just like he had back almost forty years ago in his bedroom with his dictionary and his father.
Helpless, betrayed, hurting. Just like little seven year old Teddy with his father's hands down his pants and his liquored breath breathing insults against the young neck. Helpless with his one hand, T-Bag had been betrayed by his fellow escapees and it was no surprise that his arm hurt like a bitch.
God, he hoped there was a doctor in the house.