She looked up and swayed slightly, not from what would've made sense, from the shock or the horror of the morning. He was alive. "Bode," Willa croaked. He was alive and unhurt and looking for her. "I thought -- I thought you had an accident." Her voice was thick, strained, and -
"Nope, he's fuckin' fine Willa," Zeke interjected, forcing her focus back onto his leg.
"Sorry," she said, a laugh of stress bubbling up. "Zeke, he's right, we're gonna move you before we even try to take it out. Don't move, don't flex your leg, just try to keep it still and focus on something else. Tell me a good story, and Bode an' I are gonna get you to triage." Will gestured for Bode to take her place on the injured side.
"Tell you a story?!" Zeke's voice was incredulous, and his jaw clenched when she moved to his strong side to take hold of his hand and pull him up.
Sprained wrist? Broken? Willa's grip moved up his arm rather than attempt a secondary diagnosis now. "Tell me about the best fuck you ever had," she suggested, and looked over his head to Bode, mouthing a silent three count before hefting Zeke's weight up and onto his good leg. The big ginger-bearded man snarled, glaring at her, and Willa smiled, resolute in presenting good spirits even when she would much rather go back to her trailer and pull the covers over her head. "C'mon Zeke. Tell me what his name was."