Hatchetfield Stories

Hope

Hey look, something I can actually upload now instead of having to wait until Nightmare Time is on YouTube!

And it's a helicopter crash fic! How surprising!

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
-Injury
-Blood
-Cauterization

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"We'll take care of it when we're safe, okay? Let's go to my house," Paul suggested, his hands hovering hesitantly over Emma's shaking body. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay. Okay?"

Emma mumbled a vague 'okay', mainly focusing on trying not to scream too loudly as she was lifted into Paul's arms. She gripped the fabric of his suit tightly, hiding her face in his neck in an attempt to muffle her pained screech. He hushed her as he readjusted his grip, whispering apologies when he started walking.

He didn't seem like a strong guy, but he had no trouble carrying her to his house, about half a mile from where they crashed. Maybe she should've listened to professor Hidgens when he'd told her to eat more.

After Paul had laid her down on the couch and closed the curtains, he walked to the bathroom to grab a first aid kit.

After putting the box down, he sat down next to her, putting his hand too close to the injury to be pleasant. "Close your eyes."

Emma nodded, clenching her eyes shut. Her entire body spasmed at the stabbing pain that shot up her leg when he grabbed the pipe.

The white-hot pain that came with pulling the metal out made her vision go black. For a few seconds, pain was all that her brain could register, not even the bloody hand cupping her cheek or the calming words he whispered while stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

It took longer than it should've before Paul's warm smile finally came into focus.

"You're okay," he whispered, pressing a kiss onto her knuckled.

Emma nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She sat up a bit more, blinking the tears from her eyes. "What's in there?" she asked, vaguely gesturing at the first aid kit.

Unfortunately, besides two rolls of bandages and a small bottle of disinfectant, there weren't a lot of things that would help them. You can't sew up a wound with tweezers and a flashlight.

"Shit..." she groaned when she closed the small box.

"Sorry, I-"

"No time for apologies," she cut him off, looking around. "My first thought would be cauterization, but you don't have a fireplace."

"Hold on," he said, running to the kitchen. He came back with what looked like a blowtorch. "I used to roast marshmallows with it," he started as he put it down to clean the wound. Emma cursed as he poured the alcohol on the inside of her thigh.

"When Alice was younger, Bill didn't let her have a lot of sugar. So it became kind of a tradition that when I babysat on their monthly date night, we'd watch a movie and roast some marshmallows."

Emma's hiss of pain when he cleaned the other side made him wince, and he apologized.

Emma chuckled. "Don't be sorry, I guess that'll be the least painful part of this process." Paul didn't even crack a smile at her awful attempt to lighten the mood, instead grabbing her hand.

"It'll be okay, Emma. It'll hurt, but I'll be as gentle as I can. Really."

Emma nodded, laying her head down as Paul lit the blowtorch and started heating up a knife he grabbed from the kitchen.

The slight buzz of the torch made her stomach churn.

It would hurt, she knew that. She could do it, she knew that too. What she didn't know was what came after.

If she even survived to see the next day, they were still stuck in Hatchetfield. How long would she make it until her leg got infected?

She was pulled from her thoughts by the soft 'clank' of the torch being put back on the table.

He put his free hand on her knee, both to keep her leg in place and to gently rub his thumb over it to calm her.

Emma quickly grabbed a small towel that had come out of the box, forced it between her teeth, and bit down. You'll get through this, she told herself, you always do. Just keep counting.

Giving a small nod, she laid her head back down, staring at the ceiling as Paul pressed the glowing knife against her thigh.

One... Two... Three...

The attempt at distracting herself only helped a bit from the burning feeling as Paul burned the wound shut. He continued to talk, though she could barely hear a word.

Twelve... Thirteen...

It wasn't worse than pulling the pipe out, though that had been a matter of seconds.

Twenty-eight... Twenty-nine... Thirty...

Her muffled cries were still loud enough to be heard over the ringing in her ears. Her face scrunched up in pain and effort to keep herself from moving.

Fifty-six...

Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists, Paul moved to use his elbow to hold both of her legs still as her back arched despite her efforts.

Seventy-one... Seventy-two...

"Almost done, almost done..." Paul mumbled. "You're doing great."

Eighty-four...

"Done!"

Emma's eyes shot open as she took a relieved breath. The pain was nowhere near gone, but the fact that it was done...

"Onto the other side," Paul said, wiping the blade of the knife clean before turning the blowtorch on again.

Emma groaned, not even trying to stop the tears from falling as she watched the metal heat up. Paul smiled. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know it hurts, we just have to stop the bleeding. A few more minutes, and then you can rest."

Emma nodded, biting down on the towel when the torch was turned off once again. The orange glow of the blade was bright in the dim lighting of the aquarium, but they couldn't risk anyone knowing they were here.

"Lie down," he told her, adjusting her leg so he could reach the inside of her thigh. "Just a few more minutes."

As soon as Emma's head hit the pillow, he started burning the other side of the wound shut.

One... Two... Three... Four...

The smell of burning flesh made her nauseous, though that was the least of her worries right now.

Fourteen... Fifteen... Sixteen...

The pain was becoming too much, and she could feel her eyes become heavier, even as they were squeezed shut.

Thirty-three...

She fought the sleepy feeling. She'd lost a lot of blood, that was for sure. She knew that if she'd fall asleep right now, there was a fair chance she wouldn't wake up ever again.

Forty-six... Forty-seven... Forty-ei......

Paul looked up as the whimpers died down and her muscles relaxed. He quickly finished what he was doing and threw the knife in the kitchen sink, before kneeling down next to her.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a pulse. It was concerningly high, but considering the amount of blood she'd lost, that wasn't surprising.

The house was frighteningly silent, the ticking of the clock and buzzing of the aquarium filter were the only noises that cut through the silent night as he cleaned the wounds and wrapped a bandage tightly around her leg.

After draping a blanket over her fragile-looking body, washing his hands, and putting the supplies away, he sat down next to her and started stroking her matted hair.

Now all he could do was hope.