Hatchetfield Stories

The Original

It's 6 am and I've been writing for an hour, what is sleep.

I've gotten really attached to Paul lately and also my brain decided to obsess over Forever & Always, so have some Droid23 Hurt/Comfort (because let's be honest, Hurt/Comfort is the only thing I know how to write)

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
-Injury
-Blood
-Medical stuff
-Stabbing
-Talk about murder

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Emma smiled as she heard the key slide into the lock, putting down the vegan cookbook she was looking at for inspiration on what to eat that evening.

"Hi honey!" she called out as the door closed.

No response.

"Paul?"

She stood up, making her way to the hallway, where she found her husband slumped against the door, clutching his side, a red stain blooming under his hands, contrasting with the white of his shirt.

"Paul?!"

She rushed to his side, and though he winced when she hauled him to his feet, he let her lead him to the couch. Emma reached for her phone. "Let me call you an ambula-"

"No!" Paul exclaimed, his voice strained. "They'll ask questions. What if they found out about us?"

Emma nodded slowly, putting her phone away. "Paul, what happened?" she asked, closing the curtains so their neighbors wouldn't be able to see them.

"Paul was back. The Original. He tried to kill me. I think I killed him for real this time, but I don't know how he was even alive. Last time I saw him, he was bleeding out in an alleyway, barely clinging onto consciousness."

The Original. The one her husband killed to take his place, almost two years ago.

"Okay... Okay. Paul, I need you to keep putting pressure on the wound, okay? Yeah, I know it hurts, I'm just grabbing the medkit from upstairs."

She ran up the stairs, grabbed the medkit and a few towels from the bathroom, and went back to Paul, who was still sitting on the couch, his face scrunched up in pain and his eyes squeezed shut.

Not being human herself, their medkit contained a lot of things you wouldn't usually find in there, including a soldering iron and superglue. She tossed those items aside, and pulled out a bottle of disinfectant and a suture kit.

"I'm going to take off your shirt now."

Paul groaned as the fabric stuck to the wound. He was pale and sweating, and clearly in a lot of pain. Emma absolutely hated seeing her husband like this. She traced her finger over the tattoo on his arm: the only reason he was in so much pain right now. She wished she could take his place, she didn't feel pain. But she couldn't, all she could do was help him.

"Squeeze my hand, Paul," she said as she unscrewed the bottle of disinfectant, before sliding her hand into his. "Remember, you can't hurt me."

She poured a bit of the liquid over the wound, wiping away some of the excess blood with a towel, before pouring a bit more into the stab wound, while whispering assurances as he whimpered.

Quickly scanning him and referring to her mental database, she found out that the knife had missed anything important, thank god. But that didn't mean he wasn't in pain, or clinging to her hand like a lifeline as he tried to keep his eyes open.

"Hey, Paul," she said, cupping his cheek with the hand he wasn't holding. "Stay awake, sweetheart." He looked at her, pain, fear, and exhaustion clear in his eyes. "You better not pass out on me right now, Paul Perkins."

He took a deep but shaky breath. "Emma..." He looked like he wanted to say so much more, like he wanted to explain exactly what happened, but was in too much pain to get the words out.

"Shhh, Paul. Just let me work, okay? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can rest."

Paul nodded, letting Emma's hand go so she could tear open the suture kit and position the needle on the tender skin, not yet pressing in. She whispered an apology, then got to work, trying to ignore his pained grunts every time she pulled the string through his skin.

By the time she was done weaving his skin back together, his muscles had relaxed, and his eyes had slipped closed as he lost consciousness.

But he'd be fine. She had stopped the bleeding and made sure he was comfortable, before wiping her hands on a clean towel and putting away the supplies.

*** *** ***

"What happened yesterday?" Emma asked, helping him sit back down on their bed after going to the bathroom, afraid he would tear the stitches if he just flopped down.

"He came out of nowhere, he was covered in scars from when I killed him, or tried to, because apparently, he was still alive. He stabbed me, but rethought his decision to kill someone long enough for me to be able to grab the knife and stab him three times. When I left, he wasn't breathing anymore."

"And you're sure no one saw you two together?"

"Yeah, it all happened down the street, and the neighbors were at work."

Emma nodded. "Okay."

Paul smiled. "I'm fine, Em. Don't worry."

"I'm just thinking about how you killed the real Emma. I know how guilty you felt, I'd hoped you never had to kill someone again. You know, let me do the job."

"I'll be fine. It was more self-defense." He gestured at the bandage taped to his side.

Emma chuckled. "Don't ever scare me like that again, Paul Perkins."

"Yes ma'am."