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“That... stupid coach will be lucky if she ever sets foot on a pitch again—”
“Natsumi-san, you’re making it worse!”
Kino’s uncharacteristically sharp tone makes Natsumi all but drop the ice pack she’s holding, fumbling with it as she loosens her grip on Endou’s bruised hand. He doesn’t say anything, barely even makes a noise, but she can feel the tension in his body lessen a little, and so she mumbles an apology. He does hiss a little when she puts the ice back on, and she doesn’t apologise for that. Instead, she grits her teeth, and stares at his hand instead of his face, wishing she were doing something more active than holding an ice pack so that she could stop her mind racing with fury.
At least she’s not standing outside the caravan waiting, like the rest of their eleven are. She can’t imagine Someoka is just patiently sitting there.
“I’m okay, Natsumi,” Endou says, and she’d probably be a lot more convinced if his voice wasn’t so subdued. Actually, she’d be a lot more convinced if she hadn’t watched him take thirty-two supernaturally charged shots to various parts of his body and subsequently get knocked out.
(Kabeyama had carried him back to the van, all of them crowding around trying to make sure he didn’t fall, and he’d briefly woken up in his arms and shouted like he was still fighting, like the match wasn’t finished, and Kidou was the one to gently restrain him and say, it’s over, Endou, we lost, and the light in his eyes had vanished as he lost consciousness again.)
“Like hell you are,” she mutters, still not looking at his face.
“Natsumi-san,” Otonashi quietly chastises.
She doesn’t listen. Instead, she lifts the ice pack and inspects Endou’s hand for the fiftieth time. Swollen, purple knuckles don’t paint a pretty picture. “Endou-kun,” she finally voices, “this looks broken.”
“Eh?” Endou looks down at her—she can tell because he makes a tiny noise of pain—and at his hand. “Nah, this is fine.”
She looks up at his face, and regrets it immediately as she once again takes in his bruised jaw and black eye, puffing out of his face, swollen and horrible and still smiling at her somehow. “Then move it,” she demands, trying to ignore her wavering voice. “Move your fingers.”
His smile drops, just slightly, barely noticeable, and his eyes lose some of what brightness they had left. Kino and Otonashi pause in applying cold patches to his back and shoulder, looking at him with worried stares. He swallows, and visibly braces, tensing as he raises his hand out of Natsumi’s and tries to do as she said.
His fingers tremble in the air, like he can barely hold his arm up for long. Then, slowly, painfully, his three forefingers curl just slightly, shaking more than anything. He grunts as he does it, gritting his teeth, before slowly relaxing his hand again. “See?” he pants, arm quivering in the air.
There’s a brief bout of silence, where all three girls stare at him in similar states of horror.
“Maybe we should go to a hospital,” Otonashi mutters.
“No!” Endou protests, whipping round to her on his other side and wincing at the sudden movement. “I’m fine. We have to keep moving—I’m sure Coach has a plan.”
He is very lucky that Natsumi doesn’t currently have his hand in hers, because she balls her fist up and hisses, “That coach will be lucky if she has a job when I’m through with her.” She reaches up and drags his hand back down, ignoring his small ow, pressing the ice pack back to it with more force than necessary.
“What was she thinking?” Kino murmurs. Otonashi mumbles an agreement, focused on smearing cream over an almost-black bruise.
Endou doesn’t say anything, and Natsumi searches his face for a moment, cursing her comparative lack of football knowledge—because something happened during that match, and she can only tell from his and Kidou’s demeanours, the only two who seem to have realised. Kidou is far harder to read (not that she can't, of course...), and Endou is right in front of her, so it's him she focuses on; staring to the front of the van, eyes blank yet focused on something only he can see. He's putting so much faith in Hitomiko that she must be doing something right, that strange strategy in the second half must have done something, but she just can't see it. The only thing she saw was a horrible defense and a goalkeeper getting all but tortured; losing thirty-two to nil only backs her perception up.
Endou should be broken after that match. How is he not?
“Natsumi,” Endou says gently, which is so startling that she blinks back to reality immediately, “you’re squeezing.”
She stares at him, then nearly drops his hand as she loosens her grip (again), Endou sighing in relief. “Sorry,” she murmurs, pressing the ice. She isn’t really cut out for this; it’s why she’s holding an ice pack to his knuckles instead of applying salves. She swallows, and shakes her head, a dash more anger shooting through her alongside the helplessness. “You can't even hold your own ice pack,” she accuses quietly, looking up at him. Endou’s smile fades, and he turns his gaze to the floor next to her. “Are you planning on playing against Aliea like this?”
He bites his lip, not meeting her eyes. There have been other times she’s been here, though she’s not often the one doing first aid; against Nosei, against Zeus, and that first match—if you could call it that—against Aliea. But all of those had come with professional medical help—hospital visits, or at the very least the on-site team. Now, it’s three middle school students in the back of a caravan, desperately rooting through the first aid kit for anything that could help.
“I have to,” he points out, and Natsumi has to remind herself to not take it out on his hand this time.
“How long are you meant to rest broken fingers?” Kino asks quietly.
“A few weeks?” Natsumi guesses.
Otonashi shakes her head. “A month, at least, I think...” she murmurs. “Probably more.”
“We don’t have a month,” Endou snaps, and winces at the movement. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “but I have to get back to training as soon as possible. It’s—”
“Don’t even think about trying to catch anything with your hands like this,” Natsumi hisses at him.
“If I don’t,” Endou argues, “they’ll just keep destroying schools.” He grins at her, smile wide and wavering around the edges. “Seriously, Natsumi, I’m good. Took a beating, but I got up again, right?” He tilts his head at her. “Like always. Never give up ‘til it’s over.”
She stares at him, his smile doing anything but reassuring her. “What happens when you can’t?” she demands quietly. “Endou-kun, you’re still nursing injuries from Zeus.” He flinches back a little, chastised. “If you keep going like this, you’ll end up in the hospital with the rest of the team—honestly, you should be in the hospital with the rest of the team, after that match.”
“I’m strong,” he murmurs. “I heal quickly, Natsumi, you know that.”
“Not this quickly!” she barks. “If it were anyone else, you’d be demanding they rest, like the good captain you are. And yet—”
“I’m the captain and the only goalkeeper!” Endou interrupts her, loudly. “You even said the same thing back in nationals! What do you expect the team to do without one?”
“What I would expect you to do if any of them were injured—adapt!”
“It’s different—”
“It’s not, Endou-kun, and you know—”
“It is!” he snaps, voice exploding around the caravan. “We have more than one forward, more than one midfielder, more than one defender—we can adapt because we have people to fill their place!” He gestures wildly with the hand Natsumi isn’t holding, Otonashi pulling back slightly to avoid it. “We don’t have any other trained goalkeepers, and the aliens are just—I need to watch their back, or...” He grits his teeth. “Or...”
He seems to deflate, the pain of moving his arm like that catching up to him as he shakily rests it back on his thigh. Slowly, just slightly, his bruised fingers curl around Natsumi’s hand, just as they had done before when she asked him to move them. “I need to have their backs,” he says quietly. “I can’t... just let them keep going without me. I can’t.”
“Endou-kun...” Kino murmurs, voice breaking.
Natsumi stares up at him, his eyes glassy and unfocused, then down at his hand, puffy and turning black, stark against the small areas of undamaged vessels. She swallows, and gently, so as not to hurt him this time, lightly presses her hand into his, returning his hold, her delicate fingers curling around his bruised ones.
“Well then,” she says, matter-of-fact, quiet so the lump in her throat isn’t as obvious, “I suppose we shall just have to do the same for you.”
Endou blinks, snapping his gaze to her, wide eyes meeting hers. A stalemate; a compromise. Looking after the team means looking after yourself, after all, and seeing as that’s clearly too much for Endou, Natsumi will have to see to it herself; if he believed what he told her on that tower those months ago, he’ll accept the hand being offered. After all: what are managers for?
A real, genuine smile appears on Endou’s face, eyes softening as he nods. “Sure,” he says. “Thanks, you guys.”
Kino and Otonashi quietly affirm the sentiment, and Natsumi stares at the hand trying to curl further around hers, hidden under an ice pack, and swallows.