Whumpril Day 15: First Aid Kit
@prehistoricterrapin asked: Number 15 for Raph?
~
One obvious observation about the Jones family farmhouse: everything here was ancient. Raph had vainly hoped the first aid kit would be up-to-date, if only so the others wouldn’t have another medical emergency to worry about, but when he lugged it out of the bathroom cabinet, practically everything was expired, ointments and antibacterial wipes dried up.
If the red dripping in steadily branching rivers into the sink dried up just as fast, that would be peachy.
Ointment wasn’t what he needed. The absorbent dressings should still be sterile if their packaging hadn’t been torn, right? And tweezers were tweezers, no matter how dull and rusty. No matter how they twisted in his grip, made clumsy from the blood loss. His hand sure was bleeding fast for all the glass shards and, more pressingly, the bent nail lodged in it, supposedly still plugging the wounds. Maybe they had shifted when he first yanked his fist back in shock from the window.
Stupid to punch it in the first place. He was just so—worried-helpless-useless—restless. He certainly hadn’t expected the window to bite back, tooth and nail.
Heh.
He really was getting loopy to think that was funny, too lightheaded to see straight and making a crime scene of the sink.
C’mon, get it together. Work with what ya got. Keep it steady. Hissing a deep breath, blinking against the stark light, he readjusted the tweezers. Just grit your teeth and get it over with before—
Again they slipped between his fingers, his hurry to catch them sending his elbow into the first aid kit to hit the floor with a none-too-stealthy crash.
With a deeper, far more resigned breath, he slumped over the counter for both balance and strength to face those imminent footsteps coming upstairs to the bathroom door.
