#stab wounds

[spectralgecko]

Something of a hypothetical sequel to the Fancy Event drabble I did earlier.

tip jar

[beguilewritesstuff]

I think there's a longer fanfic to write here, but for right now, this will have to do.

Established Fratt and swearing. Some references to canon-typical violence included.

~

“Alright,” Jessica says, “I can’t take it anymore. You two – both of you – shut up.

"Just shut the fuck up.”

            Frank and Matt take a break from glaring at each other to look at her. She’s got her elbows on the table, head balanced in her hands, unable to support the weight of it any longer. But it’s not just the knife wound to her gut or the three days spent holed up in Frank’s safehouse that’s getting to her: it’s them. It’s the two of them.

            Frank immediately takes offence: “We bothering you, Jones?”  

            “Yes – yes, you are bothering me.”

            He isn’t listening to her: “Because you don’t have to be here.”

            “Yes, I do asshole! Because of you!” She does look up now, eyes darting between the two of them. “And fuck you, yes, you’re bothering me! You’re bothering each other! This is the third time in the past who-knows-how-long you’ve had the same God damn argument.”

            Neither Frank nor Matt tell her that it’s actually the fifth time; she must have been out for the other two. Instead, Matt says, “We were just finishing it.”

            “No, you weren’t! You just finished the whole ‘murder is wrong’ part and were about to start on the ‘second chances and redemption’ thing! And then Frank is going to bring up Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy, and then you’re going to talk about hope, and Frank’s gonna say something like he saw hope once and then he shot hope in the face!”

            She lets out a groan and falls back in the rolling chair she’s been using to get around. The bandages on her waist are going to need changing, but Matt senses it’s not the time to mention those. Jessica’s breath is coming too shallowly. Her heart is right up in her throat. She’s going to take a swing at one or both of them and she’s probably justified. The past few days have been hell, and the next few aren’t looking to be much better. Jessica Jones was already for wanted for murder before the guy who stabbed her got wrapped around a bullet. Couple that with a stab wound and a diet of almost exclusively MREs, and it’s a miracle that she only told them to shut up and didn’t try breaking both their jaws to make it happen.

            “If you two were anybody else,” she says, calming. “I would say you need to get laid. I’d even say it has to be each other. But you’d probably argue right through all that too.”

            “Getting laid is the one thing that shuts his ass up,” Frank grumbles.

            Jessica pulls her hands away from her face to get a look at him. “What?”

            “I said fucking him shuts him up.”

            Matt laughs. “Fuck you, Frank.”

            “Am I lying, Red?”

            “Oh, my God.” Jessica pushes herself up in the chair, holding up a hand to shut them both up. “You guys fucked…and you still argue like this?”

            “We wouldn’t have to argue like this if he just admitted he was wrong,” Frank says, completely sidestepping the actual conversation. “You tell me I’ve got the wrong idea. Try saying that to her. Tell her that mind-controlling asshole-“

            “Do not drag me into this, Castle.”

            “You tell him!”

            Jessica pulls herself out of the chair. She grips her side and staggers back towards her cot, muttering about the holes she’s going to tear in him if he tries dragging her into their lovers’ quarrel. God damn, this isn’t pent up frustration. They're an old ass married couple.

            She has to stop at one of the ammo crates. Her side hurts too damn much to keep moving. Just as well, because Jessica has one more question she needs to ask.

            Frank has something else to add too. He storms up to Matt and points at her: “Tell her, Red. You tell her it wasn’t worth it, that she was wrong.”

            “Leave her out of this,” Matt warns him, about to tear a few holes of his own with what Jessica now knows are very different methods to hers.

            She suppresses the urge to throw the crate at them. “How long?”

            Both Matt and Frank are looking at her, Frank with utter bewilderment and Matt with a small, sad smirk. Jessica spells it out for them: “How long have you been fucking?”             “Why the hell do you want to-?”

            Matt cuts Frank off: “A couple years."

            Jessica does the math. “So basically the whole time you’ve known each other, you’ve been-“

            Matt cuts her off now: “Yep.”             She nods. Then she pushes the ammo crate over. It busts open, spilling rounds all over the floor. “Fuck.” She almost pushes over another, but her side hurts too damn much.

            Matt stops Frank from going over to her and starting another fight over cleaning up. “What?” he asks.

            “I owe Trish fifty bucks,” Jessica says.

            She slowly staggers back to her cot.

            Matt releases Frank, who goes to clean up the ammo, muttering about not being able to take it anymore, that if she wants to leave they should just let her. Matt only half-listens, focusing instead on Jessica’s heartbeat. She’s settling, but he still thinks he might get punched if he follows her at this point.

            “You shot the guy who stabbed her, Frank. She can’t leave.”

            “And you’re gonna tell me I shouldn’t’ve done that too. That I, what? Should’ve let her die so that asshole can live?”

            “It’s not your call, Frank!”

            “The hell it’s not – I killed him! He’s dead! She’s alive! End of story!”             “It’s murder!”

            “It’s necessary.”

            “Oh, Jesus, would you both SHUT UP.”

            They both look in the direction of Jessica’s cot. She hasn’t moved, but her heartbeat is about ready to start knocking the walls down.

            “I would rather listen to you two having sex than your stupid argument one more God damn time.”

            Matt smirks at Frank. “What do you say? You want to shut me up?”

            Frank shoves a handful of ammo at him. “Help me clean this up.”

            “You always say the sweetest things, Frank.”

            Jessica groans. “Next time just let the guy gut me.”

[whumptious]

Hi! Is me! I’m gonna limit myself to one question per ask so hope this isn’t too much. Uh, first: if someone was, say, stabbed. After immediate first aid, when they’re not going to die any time, what would continued care and recovery time look like if it was done well but with no modern hospital equipment or medicine?

Since you said they're not going to die directly from the wound, I'm assuming they aren't bleeding internally, don't have holes in major organs, etc. In that case, the biggest risk with stab wounds tends to be infection. Germs get deep in there where it's hard to wash them out. So your number one priority is to keep this wound clean.

A lot of doctors actually won't stitch a puncture wound because stitches can seal bacteria into the wound and/or prevent the wound from draining properly. So if the surface area of the stab is relatively small (it's not gaping open and/or starting to bleed again every time you move), you're better off with just the pressure of a wrapped bandage to hold the wound more or less closed. Make sure to change bandages frequently and keep them as clean as possible. If sterile bandages aren't available, boil the bandages for at least 5 minutes and dry them in direct sunlight (hanging loose, not draped on a surface) before using them.

Clean the wound as thoroughly as possible when you change the bandages. If you have access to any kind of sterile rinse or antiseptic rinse, use that. If not, use hot soapy water; choose an antibacterial soap if you have one, and if not, choose one without any scents or perfumes added. Do NOT stick fingers, gauze, rags, etc. into the wound to try to clean it out. If you have a way to squirt slightly pressurized water into the wound (such as a bulb syringe or a water bottle with a pop-up mouth) you can use that to clean the wound more deeply. Rinse thoroughly after using soap. Dry the area around the wound and apply light pressure to the wound to remove any remaining water that seeps up, but don't try to dry out the inside of the wound. Some moisture is necessary for healing, and again, inserting any sort of gauze or rag into the wound is likely to do more harm than good.

Every time you change the bandages, look closely for signs of infection. There's likely to be some swelling and redness around the wound, but if those symptoms increase instead of decreasing, there might be an infection starting. You can also look for spreading size of the red/swollen patch, a darker red color, pus, increased discharge from the wound, or the wound starting to smell bad. The earlier you catch the infection, the better your chances of stopping it.

If an infection is just starting, cleaning the wound more frequently might be enough to stop it. Make sure to clean away any pus or loose infected material. If increased washing fails, finding an antiseptic becomes vital. Common first aid antiseptics tend to be harsh and can increase scarring, so they're not usually recommended for deeper/more serious injuries, but in this case we're assuming you don't have better options, so you can clean the wound using distilled alcohol (rubbing alcohol or high-proof spirits), hydrogen peroxide (3% solution is usually used for first aid), or iodine (also usually used in a solution of 1%-3% in an alcohol mixture).

If you can't find any modern antiseptics, a number of plants were used historically. Herbs such as garlic, rosemary, thyme, ginger, and cinnamon have antibacterial properties, but they tend to be more effective as preventatives than curatives. Still, it can't hurt to make an extremely strong tea with as many of those herbs as possible to help boost the immune system. Also make sure your patient stays hydrated and eats well to strengthen natural immunity.

As a last resort, you could also use a poultice made from any of the herbs listed above or from raw honey. Apply the poultice to the open edges of the wound but don't push it down into the wound. This is a historical technique with very questionable efficacy, but if you have no other options and an infection is getting worse, you can try it.

Recovery time depends on a lot of factors. A deeper wound takes longer to heal; so does a wound near a joint, since even small movements are likely to stretch or shift the damaged tissues. It'll take longer to heal if the patient can't rest consistently, doesn't get enough food, doesn't get enough hydration, or gets an infection. If we're assuming this wound is fairly significant, caused by a knife or similar dramatic mechanism of injury, you're looking at at least a week before the wound heals enough to let you regularly use the injured body part, several weeks if you're constantly on the move or get an infection, a month or longer before you can call it healed. Even then, there might be soreness, tenderness, or slight weakness of the surrounding muscles.

[jazzymin97]

Dick: “And those stab wounds have stitches right? I don’t need to drag you—“

Tim: “yes mom— they’re Gucci. They should be fully healed in a couple weeks.”

[thats-by-the-by]

"Please Don't Cry."

This fic was cross-posted on Ao3. Read it Here.

You can find the whumptober masterpost Here

Evie dances around Jacob, the stolen blades on her wrists glittering under the street lights. Its rare that no one else is home, just her and Jacob. So, they're taking advantage of the empty house - the empty office - to finally spar with hidden blades on. They've trained for so long with wooden approximations of their blades, when she knows that George has kept them a pair for years now.

So she took them, and Jacob was quick behind her, ready to fight. He's not keen on live steel, but if they ever have to fight a turncoat, they'll need the experience. He's treating it like a game, though, all bluff and buster.

So she lunges. He turns, and-

"Shit!" Evie shouts, watching as her brother stumbles back, his hand - and blade - reaching towards his head. "No, no no, Jacob! Stop, I'll staunch the bleeding, I'll-"

His hands still reach up, a new cut opening under the hidden blade as he reaches for the eyebrow she had cut open. George is going to kill her - not just for stealing the blades so they could spar with them, but for getting so caught up in the fight that Jacob's head is gushing from two wounds now. He could get an infection, he could need stitches, he could-

He could tear up.

"Shhh, shhh." Evie tries to comfort, falling short as she tugs him behind a tree in the garden. It wont cover them completely - it hasn't since they were six years old - but it will give her time to think.

She hasn't planned for this - she just wanted to train with live steel, like George and Father do. She's good, one of the best apprentices that George and Father are training. One of the most talented in their little brotherhood. Jacob is also good - he's not as naturally talented, even Father has said so, but he's put in the work in training. Honestly, she thought that she would end up injured, due to his lack of finesse. Not that she would slash him through the head.

"Please don't cry." Evie begs, putting a handkerchief to his head.

"Father is going to kill us." Jacob rasps, his shoulders shuddering with barely suppressed sobs.

"If George doesn't first." Evie mutters darkly, and Jacob hunches over, tears slipping out. "No, no Jacob that was funny, please don't cry that was supposed to make you laugh."

"Father's going to be disapointed in me." Jacob mutters darkly. "I should have dodged."

"I shouldn't have gone for your face." Evie won't deny that Father will be wroth with them. There's no point in lying to Jacob. If she can share some of the blame, shoulder the responsibility, then maybe Jacob won't look so betrayed. "It's my fault. Shouldn't have stolen these blades."

"It's yours now." Jacob mutters. "George said that they become yours with first blood. You've got mine on them."

Evie doesn't quite know what to think of that fact. So she doesn't, pushing it to the back of her mine while Jacob wipes blood and tears across his cheeks. She'll have to find a way to make it up to him. Maybe she can ask Father and George for help.

[marionluth]

New story for the Irondad: Readers & Writers server's secret santa event ✨❤️🧑‍🎄

“Alright, enough’s enough. You’ve got two options: get your popsicle butt back home or to the Tower pronto, or I’m sending a suit to drag you home myself. Your call!”

“Did you seriously hack my suit just to tell me that ?” Peter asked with an annoyed huff.

“Yes,” came Mr. Stark's dry reply— and honestly, Peter didn’t know why he’d expected anything different.

“And sending an armor? Not even coming yourself? Wow, Mr. Stark! You hurt my feelings.”

“And you’re giving me gray hairs, Roo— along with stress my heart definitely doesn’t need. Let’s not even talk about the migraines or the high blood pressure I’m probably rocking by now!”

“The city needs me, Mr. Stark. It’s wild out here,” Peter said, in that tone that always made May mutter, ‘I swear to God’, and Mr. Stark grumble, ‘stubborn spider-brat’.

“Kid, get inside! You're not a damn snow plow!”

“No, but at this point, I’m basically a snowman. I swear, if we can grab some security cam footage from today’s patrol, it’s gotta be hilarious watching me collect snow while swinging around. I’m literally dropping a Spider-Man-sized chunk of snow off every other building."

Peter could’ve sworn Mr. Stark actually whimpered in exasperation, but the shady figures below had just managed to break into a pharma warehouse. Ugh. “Now look what you did, Mr. Stark, the goons got in. Catch you later, duty calls!”

“Sending an armor!”

"Don't! These jerks are trying to rob a pharmaceuticals warehouse, and there’s a charity supply drop in there! I can see the Red Cross logo. I mean, come on— have a heart!"

There was a long sigh from the other end of the line, but Peter knew he’d won. “Low blow, kid. Fine. Wrap it up and get back here. Report to me as soon as you're done, or I swear, I’m sending—”

But Peter had already hung up, muttering to himself, “— an armor. Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Worrywart.

He turned his attention back to the crime at hand. “Well… let’s see if we can break our record and stop a robbery by webbing up,” he paused to count, “six goons in under three minutes. Should be easy.”

It was, in fact, not easy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61600414

[macgyvermedical]

hello, I've seen your post about where a stab in the front of the torso can realistically have a character survive without being able to seek proper medical attention, I was wondering if a stab in the back would be something similar with it having to be from an angle and not too close to anything (of course with the added worry of the spinal column)

Sure, I did this one too though it was a while ago so it might be harder to find: https://www.tumblr.com/macgyvermedical/119863008759/so-i-went-to-watch-the-episode-im-always-up-for?source=share

It also happens to be a walking dead episode review.

[taylor-tut-ocs]

Hello!! would it be in the realm of possibility to see Bonnie Bailey with a stab wound?

ABSOLUTELY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ENJOYING MY SPACE GIRLS!!!

“Look, we’re not interested in harming you. We won’t even touch anything. I just need to know if it’s been here. So I can know if we’re on the right track.” 

Technically, they’re not on the right track. In fact, they spend far less time on the planets that the military forces her to get samples from. She fudges the numbers and acts like their mission took 10 days when really, it had been just six or seven, just to build in wiggle room for visiting nearby planets to interrogate their people about the monster that killed her crew. Bonnie isn’t sure what she’d do if someone said “yes”. Would she chase it, risking discharge and the repossession of her ship once more? If Bonnie knows one thing, it’s that Audra would not survive another one. She barely survived the first time 25 years ago. It brought her to her knees and she’d drank a lot about it. Her days were a monotonous revolving door of alcohol, depression sleep, and dissociation. The survivor’s guilt nearly killed her, and that had been when she was on top of the world.Bonnie can’t even think about what would happen if it happened again. 

Audra is only halfway through her second plea when she feels a cold blade pressed against her throat. 

“Get out of here,” he warns, eyes the color of a sodium flame. “We don’t want military on our planet.” 

“We’re just a research ship,” she argues, and Bonnie is crushed instantly. Instead of appeasing him, she chose to argue? Doesn’t she care that Bonnie’s life is on the line? “We don’t want trouble. I just need to know.” 

The knife presses so firmly to her throat that she feels a thin drop of blood trickle down her neck. Oh, god. She’s going to die here because she’d idolized someone who put her career before compassion. 

“Fine. Let her go, and we’ll leave.” 

“No. You leave first, then you can come back for this one.” Audra rolls her eyes at the stupidity of that plan. 

“We’re not going to leave her here with you now that you’ve pulled a knife.” 

“Captain, please—”

“I don’t believe you.” 

“You probably shouldn’t.” 

Suddenly, Bonnie feels a punch to her gut and grunts in surprise, stumbling backward as the guy releases her. 

“There. Now you’d better hurry back to your ship, if you don’t want her to die.” 

Die? In what world is she going to die from a punch to the gut?

But when she moves her hands away from where they’ve instinctively clutched to guard her abdomen and all the precious organs within, she finds that her hands are covered in red. He hadn’t punched her. He’d stabbed her. 

“Captain!” she cries out. This morning, she’d been beyond giddy that she’d be asked to be on THE Audra Quinn’s team. Now, though, she sort of wishes that it could have been anybody else. For as much as she looks up to Audra’s dedication and determination, the flip side of the coin is that she’s the least likely to be swayed by something like this. 

To her surprise, rather than pressing the knife against the man’s own throat until he talks, she allows him to run as she rushees to Bonnie’s side and eases her to the ground. 

“Easy, kid,” she says in a tone that is to soothing what sandpaper is to pillows. “Cone on. Let me see that; move your hands.” Bonnie does as she’s told and Audra curses when she lifts her shirt. The wound must be pretty bad if even Audra seems concerned about it. She presses her comm on her watch and starts barking orders. “Bridge team, take us back up. Med team, ready the sick bay. Ms. Bailey has been injured. Ground team, you heard all that?” 

“How badly is she hurt?” Esther asks through the comms. 

“She just got stabbed her in the gut.” 

Bonnie misses their reactions as she drifts a little, eyes fluttering shut before Audra is tapping her cheek roughly. 

“I know you’re not about to take a nap on the job.” 

“S’rry,” she slurs as professionally as she can manage. She may have been stabbed, but this is still her boss. “Tryin’.” 

“Well, you’re fucking it up.” Even though she knows that this is just Audra being Audra, it still stings to hear her say the words. Her worst nightmare, really, and she flinches. “We’re only ten minutes from rescue. Just hang tight until then, okay?” 

Her eyelids flutter against her will and she attempts to force herself to sit up, hoping that it will help her remain conscious, but the blinding pain stops her and she cries out. 

“Don’t move,” Audra scolds. She doesn’t realize that her eyes have slipped shut until Audra is patting her cheek, much more gently than she’d expect from her. 

“Hey. Play a game with me.” Bonnie blinks in confusion, taking a long moment to process what would be hard to understand even without severe blood loss. 

“What kind of game?” 

“The kind that keeps you awake,” she says. Audra glances around and sighs. “I spy something white.” 

Through hazy, fuzzy vision, Bonnie scans the landscape. It’s mostly blurry blobs, but one of them has to be white, and she has to find it. If she falls unconscious, she’s terrified that she’ll lose the Captain’s respect.

“Come on, kid. Quicker than that.” Finally, she spots a thin white line in the sea of oddly colored leaves on trees and rocks. Squinting, she has to strain to see the that the line appears to be covered in blue spots that she recognizes as moss that the lab team had sampled earlier today. 

“The tree trunk,” she finally says, and her vision must be worse than she thought, because she swears she sees her almost smile. 

“Good, Ms. Bailey. Your turn.” She glances at her abdomen against her better judgment. 

“I spy something red.” 

“Not funny.” 

“Fine. I spy,” the next breath she takes does nothing to stave off the feeling of oxygen starvation, “something purple.” Audra’s eyes are focused and serious as she searches, never releasing pressure on the wound. 

“That rock,” she says, pointing. It’s so far out of her line of sight that she has to turn her head to see it. 

“Wrong.” 

“Hm,” she hums. “The lichen on that rock.” That’s not even purple. All she’s doing is baiting her, trying to sustain her attention by continuously guessing. 

“You need,” a breath, shuddering and painful, “your eyes looked at.” 

“Maybe I do,” she replies. Everything is spinning. She feels like she’s circling the drain in terms of consciousness. “Hey. Eyes open.” She tries to force it, but she only has the energy to make them flutter slightly. “Me. Bailey,” she calls, patting her cheek once more, this time with less success. “Ms. Bailey.” But unconsciousness pulls her under, anyway. 

When she wakes, it’s to five IVs with three drips total. No one is in her room, but she doesn’t know whether that’s because she’s been out for so long that they’ve had no choice but to leave, or because no one cares. That stings. 

“Bonnie,” Esther greets, poking her head around the corner. She hasn’t made a sound that she’s aware of—she must have some sort of sixth sense to know exactly when she wakes. “How are you feeling?” 

She takes survey of her body and shrugs. “How long was I out?”

“12 hours total, but you’ve woken up a few times. You probably don’t remember.” She shakes her head. 

“Well, I’m giving you blood, antibiotics, and something for the pain to keep you comfortable. Are you comfortable?” 

Of course she’s not, she thinks, but this is probably as close to it as she’s going to get. 

“Just about,” she says. “Has anyone—” She cuts herself off before she can finish the sentence, but Esther is too intuitive for her own good. 

“Has anyone visited? Yes, everyone in the lab, at some point.” Damn. So the Captain hadn’t even stopped by. For some reason, even though that’s completely predictable, she feels so crushed that her eyes fill with tears that she swipes away aggressively with a single hand. 

“The Captain told me to ping her when you came to. I wouldn’t expect for her to visit, though.” 

So she had cared? 

“Oh. Okay.” She doesn’t know what else to say. 

“You should get some rest. Do you feel like you could sleep, or do you need something to help relax you? What you went through must have been a pretty big yikes, so I’d understand if you needed something for the anxiety. It might help, but Bonnie is nothing if not stubborn. 

“I’ll be fine. I’m just going to read.” 

“Sure. Here,” she says, reaching below the bed where she’s stored the things from her pockets and bag. “Don’t strain yourself. Pick something with a happy ending, alright?” 

“I think that’s what I need,” she agrees. “Thanks.” 

Indeed, she does not receive a visit from Audra. But she does see her shoes under the curtain.