Hatchetfield Stories

As Seen On TV

"Just put your phone down and watch the show." "HolD On I WaNna sEe If THis iS mEDicAlLy ACcuRaTe BEcaUsE I waNnA uSe It"

On a more serious note, I wanted to talk about why I haven't been uploading. (Feel free to skip if you don't care or you're not reading regularly.)
Long story short, I don't have much motivation for fanfictions right now, even though I'm still hyperfixating on Hatchetfield, I'm doing more crafting than writing, and I don't want to force myself to make content, because it will just be less good if I do. Additionally, I turn 18 in a year and a half, and though that's pretty far away, I know I will not be able to get a job because of my level 2 autism. The Netherlands is pretty good with disability care, but I really hope I will be able to publish my book in the next couple of years to make some extra money, and I might as well try to get a headstart.
Maybe Nightmare Time season 2 will motivate me to write fanfictions again, but maybe it won't. I'm not saying goodbye to this account, but I wanted to let you all know why I haven't been posting.
Thanks to all of you for being amazing <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
-Blood
-Injury
-Medical stuff (unprofessionally)
-Field medicine

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The pain radiating from Emma's leg made her want to throw up, and the sight of the gory wound didn't help at all. Hell, if this whole thing had happened just one day earlier, she might've just taken the gun next to her and put a bullet into her skull, knowing that the chances of making it out were already slim, and with a fucked up leg that little hope had just shattered before her. But now...

She wasn't supposed to catch feelings, dammit. She kept telling herself that all day. That he would only hurt her, or worse, that she would hurt him. No, Emma wasn't someone who got attached quickly, it usually took her a couple of months to feel safe around someone. Usually.

She could feel his sweaty hand in hers, and though it sounds stupid, considering her leg was impaled by a fucking rebar, his presence made the pain go away for just a few seconds.

Those few seconds were far from enough for her to calm down, but at least she could form a semi-coherent thought, instead of her mind just screaming curses at the sight of her leg.

"Paul, we gotta stop the bleeding," she muttered, her voice sounding more pained than she'd hoped.

"Emma... how-"

"I don't know!" she snapped. "Just look through the wreckage! A medkit, seatbelt to make a tourniquet, I don't care!" The words came out more angry than she meant to, but Paul nodded, standing up and climbing back into the helicopter, his shoulders tense but his face determined.

"There's not much in there that survived," he said, jumping out with his hands full. "This is all I could find."

He dropped the supplies onto the ground. A pack of cigarettes, a small toolkit, two water bottles, and a lighter.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, the whole thing's a mess, and in the dark, I can't see much, but I don't think we can afford to wait until sunrise if I'm being honest."

Emma stared at the supplies, before starting to pour the contents of a water bottle over her leg. She winced at the movements, but forced herself to hold her leg still as one hand closed around the pipe. "You're just going to jank it out?!"

"We can't treat it if it's still in there," Emma said, trying to sound calm to hide her terror.

"Emma, how are you even-"

But she didn't hear him anymore, the ringing in her ears and her own screams becoming almost deafening as she ripped the debris from her flesh.

Her body thrashed in pain as she let herself fall onto her back, her fingers still tightly wrapped around the pipe. Her hair was matted with sand and sweat and dirt and blood, but she didn't care. Right now all she could register was the immense pain taking over every inch of her fragile body.

Her eyes shot open as Paul cupped her cheek, trying to comfort the sobbing girl. "It hurts..." she cried, though she wasn't even sure the words actually made it past her lips.

"I know..." Paul's voice broke at the sight of her tears. She was supposed to be the tough one, but the pain...

"Fuck," she muttered, the panic building up in her chest turning into anger. "Fuck! We were supposed to make it out! We were supposed to escape! We were going to survive, make it out of town and continue our lives, dammit!"

More tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked at her leg, blood pouring from her thigh in a steady stream.

She took a deep breath. "Paul, give me the gun."

"What? No! We can still-"

"Just give it to me!"

Paul hesitantly handed her the firearm, watching her closely as she opened it and took out a bullet. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice shaking almost as much as Emma's hands as she opened the toolkit and took out the pliers.

"Something I saw on a TV show." She cracked open the bullet, and poured the gunpowder into her hand.

Paul's eyes went wide as he realized what she was planning. "You do know not everything you see on TV is medically accurate, right?"

"If you have a better idea, I'm open to suggestions."

"No, but-"

"Well then."

She grabbed her leg tightly, her nails digging into her skin, and closed her eyes in an attempt to calm her pounding heart. Holding her breath, she sprinkled the gunpowder into the wound on the outside of her thigh, screeching in pain at the burning sensation.

"Give me the lighter," she said, gritting her teeth and holding out her hand.

"Are you sure?" Paul asked, but already grabbing it. He put it in her hand, but pulled back before she could grab it. "I'll do it. Lie down."

Emma gave a tense nod, grabbing a stick and forcing it between her teeth. Hygiene was the last of her concerns right now.

She howled in pain as Paul lit the gunpowder to seal the wound. Her back arched, her vision went black, and her throat hurt. She could feel Paul pouring more gunpowder into the other wound, and though she could appreciate the whole 'getting it over with' thing, she didn't even have the time to catch her breath before the lighter came back to ignite it.

She screamed, cried, sobbed until she lost her voice, allowing nothing more pained whimpers to make it past her lips. Paul poured more water over the freshly cauterized wounds, before he hauled her into his arms, and started running.

*** *** ***

Emma didn't remember losing consciousness, but she must've, because when she opened her eyes, she was laying on the ground in what was probably the Witchwood Forest, her head resting on Paul's lap, and his suit draped over her like a blanket.

"Emma? Can you hear me?" Paul sounded concerned, though relief was clear in his voice.

She groaned in response, trying to get her eyes to focus on his smile.

"You're awake!" he laughed. It was clear that he had been crying, but right now all Emma could focus on was his arms wrapping around her, holding her tightly but carefully, as if he was scared to hurt her.

The pain in her leg was very much present, but it felt like her senses were numbed. Maybe from exhaustion, maybe she was dying, or maybe they somehow managed to heal her leg. No matter how much she wished it was that last option, she doubted that was the case.

"We're in the Witchwood. I looted a pharmacy on the way here, found a good hiding spot, and I gave you some antibiotics and painkillers, as well as some cough drops and water. I thought, your throat must be sore after all that... you know... screaming."

"Thanks, dude." He was right. Her voice sounded raspy and quiet, and she gulped an entire bottle of water down without hesitation, gracefully accepting some more painkillers from Paul's bag.

But hey, at least she hadn't died of blood loss.

Next step: somehow trying to prevent the wound from getting infected.