#mediwhumpmayday2

[sticks-and-stones-are-great]

Mediwhump May - Stitches

(BBC Merlin)

@mediwhumpmay

Merlin didn’t know how long he had been hiding in the thorn bushes. The shouts of the bandits and their crunching footsteps in the snow had long died away. But he dared not move. He could not move. 

The deep wound in his thigh made it impossible.

Merlin shivered. The sun was going down.

The frigid, wet snow has soaked deeply into his clothes, contrasting with the hot and sticky blood oozing from his leg. Merlin sighed. Closed his eyes for only a moment. Just a moment. He was so tired.

So tired.

Snow had begun to fall again.

“Merlin!”

Merlin was shaken awake, thigh throbbing with fire. He gasped.

Bandits.

They were after him.

His eyes flew open and before he really saw anything, he sprang away from whatever had grabbed him. He struck out and tried to twist away from the grip on his arm.

“You idiot! Stop it!”

Merlin stopped. The voice was familiar. His vision cleared and Arthur’s face swam into view, cheeks pink with cold.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur’s voice was entirely too loud. The bandits would hear. They would find them. And Merlin was too tired to protect Arthur.

Merlin opened his mouth to warn Arthur.

Prince Arthur stuck his torch upright in the ground and began to haul his manservant to his feet, dusting snow from his clothes. “We have been looking for you for hours. What are you doing napping in a bush? In the snow?”

As soon as Arthur let go, Merlin crumpled, pain flaring in his leg. He gasped as he hit the ground. 

“What is wrong with you now?”

“Leg.” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur didn’t try to pick him up this time but instead brought the torch closer to examine Merlin’s leg.

“You’re hurt.” A rough gloved hand probed the wound.

Merlin jumped and cried out. “Yes.” He panted. “Bandits… attacked me while I was-”

“Gathering herbs for Gaius.” Arthur finished, removing his hand quickly. “I know, he asked us to look for you when you didn’t come back. This is still bleeding, Merlin, we should- What should we do?”

Merlin saw Arthur looking at him for help, eyes wide, face white. Arthur was scared. Arthur didn’t know what to do.

Merlin swallowed and nodded, trying to focus. What would Gaius do?”

“I’m cold and-”

Before Merlin had finished speaking, Arthur had taken off his cloak and wrapped it around Merlin’s body.

Merlin smiled a little at the warmth and closed his eyes. 

“And?” Arthur prodded him. “What else?”

Merlin opened his eyes again. “The wound, I need to look at it. Either bind it or sew it. Got to… got to clean it.”

“Can’t I just get you back to Gaius?” Arthur frowned. “He can fix you up.”

“No.” Merlin shook his head, the world spinning a little. “No, it’s still bleeding. I might not get back in time.”

“In time for what?”

Merlin gave Arthur a look. 

Arthur met his gaze then nodded. “Right, yes, dying. Sorry.”

“Obviously.” Merlin sighed. He thought a moment more. “Can you start a fire?”

“It’ll be difficult with the snow.”

“I know.”

“I’ll do it.” Arthur got up. “I’ll get kindling. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “I’ll try.” He tried to put pressure on the wound and winced in pain.

Merlin drifted a little. Arthur came back pretty quickly and using the flint that Merlin carried in his bag, started a little campfire. Merlin finally began to warm, the feeling returning to his fingers and toes.

“Better?” Arthur asked, finally sitting down nearby.

Merlin nodded.

Arthur leaned forward. “Now what?”

Merlin swallowed hard. “I need to look at the wound, close to the light of the fire.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Arthur stood up again and helped Merlin slide closer to the fire. 

“Thanks.” Merlin grunted and looked down at the slit in his pant-leg, dark with blood. “Do you have a knife so I could-”

Arthur leaned forward and just ripped the pant-leg open, revealing Merlin’s thigh and the ugly, oozing wound.

Merlin sighed. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.” Arthur looked at the wound. “That looks bad, Merlin.” His voice had become tight.

“I know.” Merlin opened his bag and began to dig around. “I think-... I think I have to suture it.”

“Like sewing? What are you going to use for needle and thread out here, idiot? I should have taken you to Gaius.”

Merlin held up his small sewing pouch under Arthur’s nose.

“What’s this?”

“My sewing kit.” Merlin smirked a little.

“You carry a sewing kit everywhere you go? You are such a girl, Merlin.”

“A prepared girl.”

“You have me there.” Arthur admitted. 

Merlin unrolled the pouch and pulled out the roll of gut and a curved, sharpened fish bone. His trusty needle. He’d made it last summer and was rather proud of it.

Merlin prepared the needle and thread and sat up against his bag and Arthur’s rolled up cloak. This was the best view he was going to get of the wound. Merlin raised the needle.

“Wait, wait.” Arthur stopped him.

“What?”

Arthur gestured towards the wound. “Is that it? You’re not going to clean it? Or take something for the pain?”

Merlin frowned. “Arthur, Prince Dolt, we are in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing to clean it with. And I have no herbs for pain, nor any way to prepare them. My main concern is just not to lose enough blood that I die. So I will suture this. Bind it. And then we can get back to Gaius for the other things. Understand?”

Arthur had gone a little pale, but nodded. 

Merlin took a breath and began to sew.

The first suture was awful. The second was worse. 

Well, they were very neat. Gaius would be proud. But they hurt so much on top of the fiery pain of the sword wound. 

The third made sweat bead on Merlin’s forehead and upper lip. The fourth had him panting.

In the middle of the fifth, Arthur asked. “Does it hurt?”

Merlin didn’t take his eyes off his work and couldn’t really form words. He had just enough energy to grunt.

“Right, sorry.” Arthur kept quiet after that.

The sixth made the blood drain from Merlin’s face. He stopped counting after that. Or he lost count.

He tied off the last suture and cut the gut. Arthur pressed some strips of cloth into his hands and Merlin managed to bandage the wound, tying it with numb and blood-stained fingers. 

His whole leg throbbed. The forest spun around him. Merlin closed his eyes. 

A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other supported his knees. He floated away.

#mediwhumpmay #mediwhumpmay2023 #mediwhumpmayday2 #stitches #whump #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur #A whole day late

[whumpinaheartbeat]

Talk Shit, Get Hit (MediWhump 2023 Day 2 Stitches)

This Fic contains graphic injury, stitches, passing out and implied past alcoholism, please read with discretion.

While Virgil would like to say that his every movement was precise and methodical and every stitch was perfectly made, the truth was that the pain was making any of that impossible. 

Even if his hands weren’t shaking so much, Virgil’s vision pulsed white every time he tried to insert the needle into his thigh and muscle memory could only do so much to tie the perfect knots when it was taking all his energy just to stay conscious and aware of what was going on. 

Virgil gritted his teeth, taking a moment to just breathe as he pressed his back against the cold tiled wall. He couldn’t afford to pass out, not when he was still actively bleeding.

The scent of iron wasn’t helping his dizziness, neither was the knowledge that even if he managed to completely stitch his wound closed, he would still have to find the strength to clean the entire bathroom before any of his brothers got home which if he was tracking time correctly, Alan and Gordon would get back any minute now.

He couldn’t afford to waste any more time just sitting there breathing so as much as Virgil just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, he started on the next stitch.

Virgil gasped, jerking forward as the needle pierced too deeply.

When Virgil came to full awareness again there was new blood pooled around him, two of the seven stitches he had managed to do already ripped apart. The wound was simply too deep for the stitches to hold but it wasn’t like Virgil could ask for any help. There would be too many questions, too many lectures. Too many doe eyed stares from his younger brothers.

No, Virgil could not ask for help. He could do this. He had to do this.

As designated medic of International Rescue and with all of his training, Virgil should be better at doing stitches and yet as the world spun around him and sparks of pain shot through him every time he so much as nudged his injured leg, he was starting to question if he had ever actually earned his certifications.

Because what his training was telling him now was that the wound was too deep for mere stitches and would actually require surgery. Virgil couldn’t exactly duck into a hospital for that kind of help though, especially without raising suspicions. What would he even say?

“Hey, I’m Virgil Tracy from International Rescue. I’ve got a big ass stab wound on my leg that needs surgery, please ignore the pathetic attempt at stitches and please don’t ask who stabbed me, I promise you they didn’t mean it.”

Nah, that wasn’t going to cut it.

He could do this, without the Doctors and without the surgery and without his brothers ever finding out. He just had to focus and breathe and it will all be over and he can claim that he has some repairs to do to his Thunderbird over the next few days as his full range of motion returns. 

Virgil hissed as the needle slipped in all the blood, scraping against his already ravaged skin and everything went black. 

“What the fuck Virgil?”

He was on his back, staring up at the bathroom light with two blurs hovering above him and he felt what was left of his resolve slip away as he gave off a pathetic sob.

“Oh Virg,” Gordon sighed, crouching down next to him. “Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

But it was too late for that, the mixture of pain and frustration only made him cry harder knowing that Alan and Gordon now knew that something was wrong. He had failed to protect them, failed to keep them from seeing all the blood. Virgil had failed not only a medic with shoddy stitches but now he had failed as a brother too.

“I can yell at you if you like.” Alan said helpfully. “Though, I am a bit busy holding pressure on the, you know, stab wound you apparently have.”

“Go away.” Virgil sobbed. 

“Absolutely not.” Gordon said. “How long have you been like this?”

Maybe if he didn’t answer then Gordon and Alan were going to give up and leave him alone and maybe then he could finish stitching and maybe then he wouldn’t feel like his leg was on fire.

“Virg?” Gordon prompted, setting a hand on his shoulder. “You with me?”

“Go away…” Virgil tried again. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Gordon scoffed. “You’re absolutely stellar. Answer the question dumbass, how long have you been hurt like this? That’s a lot of blood for just one injury.”

“It’s not all mine.” Virgil said.

Gordon stared at him but thankfully did not ask who’s blood had become mixed with Virgil’s, not that Virgil would answer him anyway.

His head was spinning but when he closed his eyes it just made him feel worse so he settled for trying to sit up instead. Virgil balked, pain flashing white hot throughout his entire body. It was a miracle that he didn’t fully pass out this time around though that same miracle meant that the pain was a lot worse than it was earlier. 

“Gordie?” Virgil mumbled. “It didn’t hit an artery did it?”

“No,” Gordon said. “It’s not quite that much blood but it is still serious. Stitches aren’t going to be enough but you would have already known that.”

He closed his eyes regardless of the dizziness because at least that meant he didn’t have to look at either of his brothers right now. When Alan broke the silence it wasn’t with the sarcastic tone he was using earlier. He sounded young, younger than he has been for a long time and Virgil yearned to give him a tight hug if it only meant that it would cheer him up but the thought of moving right now was simply too much.

“Did you go to the bar again?”

“I didn’t drink.” Virgil said quickly. 

“That’s not what I asked.” Alan mumbled.

Even when Virgil tried to sit up and look directly at the youngest Tracy, Alan did not meet his eye. If anything that hurt Virgil more than his leg did, knowing that he had disappointed Alan even if he hadn’t gotten so far into his own head that he had drunk to excess again. 

“So who did you fight?” Gordon asked casually, picking through a med kit.

Virgil didn’t want to talk about this. He just wanted to sleep and forget all of this.

“Trent.” Virgil whispered.

“Fucking Trent.” Gordon whistled. “He probably deserved it no doubt but please don’t tell me you stabbed him too.”

“Of course not,” Virgil said. “He was drunk, running his mouth like always. I, uh, kind of punched him.”

Gordon’s gaze flicked to Virgil’s leg.

“You punched him,” Gordon said. “So he stabbed you. That seems like it escalated somewhat.”

“It was an accident.” Virgil said, feeling a little numb. “Like I said, he was drunk. He tripped over his own feet and by the time I realised that he had dropped the steak knife, it was already sticking out of my thigh.”

“Virgil,” Gordon said. “If all this happened at some bar then how the hell did you get home and why didn’t you go straight to the ER?”

He really didn’t want to talk about any of this, especially when he didn’t have a good explanation. It was all stupid and avoidable but Virgil sometimes got stupid where he let stupid things happen to him.

Virgil really was feeling dizzy now and he dimly realised that he couldn’t feel Alan’s hand keeping pressure on his leg. He knew that he should probably tell Gordon that, explain that he was finally going into delayed shock now that the adrenaline had fully drained away from his blood stream, but it was honestly taking all of his strength just to stay awake at this point.

“Virg?” Alan’s voice echoed. “Hello, Virg?”

“Alan,” Gordon said. “On my mark I need you to move back so I can bandage his leg. He’ll still need the hospital but it should hopefully minimise the bleeding.”

Virgil knew that he should have expected the agony as soon as Alan’s hand lifted off of his wound and yet he still screamed anyway because why wouldn’t he want to traumatise his poor brothers more than he already had.

The darkness took him swiftly and Virgil knew no more.

@mediwhumpmay

#my writing #whump #mediwhumpmay #mediwhumpmayday2 #Thunderbirds Are Go! #virgil tracy #fanfiction #implied alcoholism #stitches #stabbing