[oh, he knew what to expect, but he still grips the couch and andy's forearm with enough force that it'll bruise. not that that matters-- the handprint shaped bruise will probably be gone from her skin within seconds.
he won't be any help here as he kicks his legs on the couch and swears loudly.
...at least martin can't learn any new words at this point.]
[any chance Marty might've nodded off is gone when the antiseptic is applied and Archie's sailor-speak is on blast. he jolts upright, eyes big and alarmed, heart in his throat, but save for a little sound, says nothing.
at least, not until it's apparent Andy's asking for something; he missed a bit of that and quickly snaps out of his daze.]
Uh, what? Oh-- [he fumbles with packaging, doing quick double-takes between it and Andy. needle drivers?? what's that? he hopes they're just needles, because otherwise--
oh, to hell with it:] He-here. [he shoves the half-open packet at her waiting hand.]
[ It doesn't seem to slow her much, Archie's deathgrip on her arm — and she doesn't try to pry him off, even though it must hurt, tight as he's holding onto her. It's all the comfort she can offer him in a dire situation. She won't take that away. Instead, Andy cleans up the best she can, wiping away most of the blood with that towel while Archie hollers in protest before tossing it aside to take the suture kit from Martin. She takes out what almost looks like a pair of tweezers and a set of tiny pliers, holding them up so that Martin can look. ]
Here, watch this. [ It'll be good for Martin to see. In case Archie ever needs to bleed on their couch again — or gods forbid, Rex. She peels open the thread, exposing the curved needle at the end and deftly using the tools to pick it up. ] It's all the wrist. Just rotate — let the needle do the work.
[ She glances up at Archie. ]
Try not to kick me.
[ Slightly more forewarning than with the antiseptic, but not much. He gets a half-second to brace himself before she gets to work, piercing the torn skin of his leg for the first stitch. At Martin: ]
There's a flask in my jacket pocket. Give it to him.
[he flops down when she removes the antiseptic. honestly, he can deal with the stitching better than he can the chemicals. still a little shaky and pale but not screeching anymore, he lets himself just. feel like he's beginning to decompose. hell, he even shifts so it's easier and more visible.]
Ass fuckin'-- shitty... ugh. [on the bright side, the pain brought back some adrenaline, so he can not entirely feel the needle.] Don't need it, m'good. I'm used to this part. I usually... black out like a bitch... before I get the septic shit.
[Martin isn't the one injured here, but he's pale and sweating all the same for Archie's sake. mutely, he fumbles for the pocket in question, deaf to Archie's assurances, and holds it out to be taken or not.
his eyes are fixed on Andy's work -- she did say watch, so he will. it's easier to focus in on the injury itself rather than see Archie's face connected to it -- makes it more like just meat and blood than a person he cares about.
the smell of blood and chemicals makes his stomach knot, but he doesn't dare look away.
[ Honestly, it makes no difference to her whether Archie decides he wants the flask or not. She's hardly even looking up anymore. Her hands work with a practiced steadiness, as if she's done this a thousand times before — and honestly, would it surprise anyone if she had? She's lived a long and bloody life. Watched a lot of people get hurt. And die. Been stubborn enough to try and stop it too, even when she knew the futility of it all.
The sutures are neat. Even. The wickedly curved needle pierces skin again and again. Every little tug of the nylon thread pulls the wound a little more closed. It isn't so different from mending clothes. There's a similar rhythm to it.
When she's done, she ties it off. She doesn't miss a beat, reaching into her jeans for her pocket knife, flicking it open with a quick motion of her wrist to cut away the tail. There. All finished. ]
That the worst of it? [ To Martin: ] Get some antiseptic on anything that looks big enough to get infected. We'll bandage the rest up.
[despite shittalking - which he does when he's not half-dead - archie makes for a good patient. he's developed a pretty decent pain tolerance so when andy is done with with the antiseptic on the biggest one, aside from some pathetic whines and wriggles, he doesn't do much.]
You should... teach me some of that, too... I think you'd be a better field medic tutor than the actual ones...
[blinking out of the trance that stitchwork put him in, Martin briefly has an incredulous look on his face. "big enough to get infected," she says? how is he supposed to know? Martin frowns, biting back on a want to impress exactly that before deciding...well...why not everything?
maybe she'll yell at him if he overdoes it. that's fine.
Better idea: How about you stop getting fucked up so I don't need to teach you?
[ Andy says that, but she knows it isn't likely. Archie's stupid and reckless, just like the rest of them. Just like her.
She takes a moment to wipe some of the blood off her hands and onto one of the towels — not because she cares about cleanliness, exactly, but more because it's hard to do this kind of work properly when your hands are slick. It gives Martin a moment to torture Archie — however unintentionally — before Andy turns back to see how he's doing. ]
[this bottle is nearly empty and Archie looks like he's spring-loaded and ready to launch himself through the ceiling -- even an unobservant kid like Martin can see it.]
[ What matters though is that everything's clean now! So, mission accomplished, Andy claps her son on the shoulder before getting to work on bandaging all those raw, stinging wounds up. ]
He'll be fine.
[ What, no sympathy, Andy? No compassion? ]
I know for a fact he's had worse.
[ Still, without drawing attention to it, she briefly closes her hand over the one Archie has white-knuckled in the couch cushion, giving him a fleeting but firm little squeeze. ]
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[oh, he knew what to expect, but he still grips the couch and andy's forearm with enough force that it'll bruise. not that that matters-- the handprint shaped bruise will probably be gone from her skin within seconds.
he won't be any help here as he kicks his legs on the couch and swears loudly.
...at least martin can't learn any new words at this point.]
no subject
at least, not until it's apparent Andy's asking for something; he missed a bit of that and quickly snaps out of his daze.]
Uh, what? Oh-- [he fumbles with packaging, doing quick double-takes between it and Andy. needle drivers?? what's that? he hopes they're just needles, because otherwise--
oh, to hell with it:] He-here. [he shoves the half-open packet at her waiting hand.]
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Here, watch this. [ It'll be good for Martin to see. In case Archie ever needs to bleed on their couch again — or gods forbid, Rex. She peels open the thread, exposing the curved needle at the end and deftly using the tools to pick it up. ] It's all the wrist. Just rotate — let the needle do the work.
[ She glances up at Archie. ]
Try not to kick me.
[ Slightly more forewarning than with the antiseptic, but not much. He gets a half-second to brace himself before she gets to work, piercing the torn skin of his leg for the first stitch. At Martin: ]
There's a flask in my jacket pocket. Give it to him.
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Ass fuckin'-- shitty... ugh. [on the bright side, the pain brought back some adrenaline, so he can not entirely feel the needle.] Don't need it, m'good. I'm used to this part. I usually... black out like a bitch... before I get the septic shit.
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his eyes are fixed on Andy's work -- she did say watch, so he will. it's easier to focus in on the injury itself rather than see Archie's face connected to it -- makes it more like just meat and blood than a person he cares about.
the smell of blood and chemicals makes his stomach knot, but he doesn't dare look away.
it's like watching his sister stitch fabric.
blood-oozing fabric.]
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The sutures are neat. Even. The wickedly curved needle pierces skin again and again. Every little tug of the nylon thread pulls the wound a little more closed. It isn't so different from mending clothes. There's a similar rhythm to it.
When she's done, she ties it off. She doesn't miss a beat, reaching into her jeans for her pocket knife, flicking it open with a quick motion of her wrist to cut away the tail. There. All finished. ]
That the worst of it? [ To Martin: ] Get some antiseptic on anything that looks big enough to get infected. We'll bandage the rest up.
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You should... teach me some of that, too... I think you'd be a better field medic tutor than the actual ones...
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maybe she'll yell at him if he overdoes it. that's fine.
sorry Archie. this is a lot.]
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[ Andy says that, but she knows it isn't likely. Archie's stupid and reckless, just like the rest of them. Just like her.
She takes a moment to wipe some of the blood off her hands and onto one of the towels — not because she cares about cleanliness, exactly, but more because it's hard to do this kind of work properly when your hands are slick. It gives Martin a moment to torture Archie — however unintentionally — before Andy turns back to see how he's doing. ]
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really hard not to scream in martin's face. he has his arm over his eyes and is gripping the couch cushion so hard his knuckles have gone white.
it's fine.]
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[this bottle is nearly empty and Archie looks like he's spring-loaded and ready to launch himself through the ceiling -- even an unobservant kid like Martin can see it.]
Is everything going to be better?
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He'll be fine.
[ What, no sympathy, Andy? No compassion? ]
I know for a fact he's had worse.
[ Still, without drawing attention to it, she briefly closes her hand over the one Archie has white-knuckled in the couch cushion, giving him a fleeting but firm little squeeze. ]