Hatchetfield Stories

But At Least We're Safe

I had another fic planned but the last few days have been really fucking shitty so helicopter crash it is :)

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
-Injury
-Medical stuff

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Biting down on her tongue to muffle the pained screeches as she dragged herself to her shitty apartment, Emma tried to stop the tears from falling.

She failed, of course. Unspeakable pain shot up her leg with every movement, and she couldn't stop thinking about Paul.

When she eventually made it to her front door, she struggled to open it, her hands shaking as she tried to put the key in the lock.

But, soon she sat on her living room couch, blood soaking into the cushions, the contents of a small first aid kit spread out on the coffee table. She sighed as she looked at what she had to work with. It's not like she wasn't familiar with giving herself stitches, she'd done it many times when she backpacked through Guatemala and was too far from civilization to get to a doctor. But those were always small cuts, not wounds that took up half her leg, with metal protruding from both sides of her thigh.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. Her fingers closed around the pipe, which was enough for her to squeeze her eyes shut and let out a pained whimper. Then she started pulling. Forcing herself to be slow and careful instead of ripping it from her flesh to get it over with, she pulled the metal from the wound. She could barely see anymore, but she knew that if she stopped to give herself a break, she wouldn't be able to do it again.

So she kept going, holding her breath as the screws on the end of the pipe ripped open her flesh even more.

She was screaming, but she could barely hear it, maybe because she was dying, or maybe because the ringing in her ears was so overwhelmingly loud.

Her leg throbbed as she held the pipe in her hand, staring at it before tossing it aside. Step one: done.

Blood was now pouring freely, so she wasted no time, grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and unscrewing the lid, once again taking a deep breath before she poured some of it over the wounds.

Her hands were steady when she threaded the needle, but as soon as she positioned herself to get a good look at her leg, they started shaking.

Letting out a pained moan as she poked the needle into the already tender skin, she forced herself to pull the string through and tie the ends together.

As she worked, she almost didn't hear the front door open and close. Almost.

Her heartbeat sped up, and she was shaking, suddenly remembering what was going on outside the walls of her apartment. They'd come to kill her, hadn't they?

"Emma?" Paul. That was Paul's voice. "Are you still here?"

"Paul?"

He rushed into the room. "Emma! I blew up the meteor, but it didn't work. They're weakened, but still alive." His suit was covered in red and blue, and he had a nasty gash on his forehead, his hair sticking to the blood, but he didn't seem to be dying.

Emma, on the other hand, was still bleeding out, only half of one of the wounds held together by badly done stitches.

"I followed the trail of blood. Emma, we have to get out of here. If I can find you, so can they."

"I'm bleeding out, Paul. I have to stop the bleeding before I can even think about leaving."

Paul nodded. "O-Okay." He paused for a moment, staring at the gory mess that was her leg. "You need help?"

"Ever done stitches?"

"No?"

Emma sighed. "Well, first time for everything, I guess."

Paul looked pretty uncomfortable when she handed him the needle, but he seemed to be able to push past his squeamishness, sitting down on the floor in front of her and following her instructions to continue where she left off.

By the time he was done, she could barely keep her eyes open, the blood loss taking its toll on her.

"We have to get out of here," Paul said, and she hummed in agreement, groaning when she was lifted into his arms.

She was out cold before they even made it to his house.

*** *** ***

Emma woke up with a groan, her leg throbbing.

"Emma?" Paul asked, immediately kneeling by her side. "How are you feeling?"

Emma squinted at the bright lights above her head. "Where are we?"

"We're in my basement. I figured it'd be safest to camp somewhere without windows."

Emma nodded, taking the glass he handed her and taking a big sip of the cold water as he grabbed a pill bottle. "I have some painkillers. They're not very strong or anything, but it might be better than nothing."

"Thank you," Emma said, popping two of the pills in her mouth and swallowing them, before downing the rest of the water. "Now what?"

"I don't know, wait for help, I guess?"

"Great."

"Yeah, it's not ideal, but at least we're safe. For now."