hadriel | [text] there is water at the bottom of the ocean

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[text] there is water at the bottom of the ocean

[Originally, it started out as a well-meaning adventurous foray for personal edification, yadda, yadda, yadda. Time moves so slowly in Hadriel that Nate has been clawing at ways to occupy it, and since he's exhausted the library of any texts that aren't in gibberish it stands to reason he might seek personal fulfillment elsewhere. After waking up with the usual restlessness he considered the wide expanse of lakeside real estate out his window and thought, yeah, a swim sounds nice.

The swim was less than nice.

Several minor explosions and some (honestly) impressive spell-work later sees him soaked to the skin but otherwise unscathed outside of minor lacerations on one arm - there's really only so much you can do when trying to evade a shark with two fucking heads - scribbling quickly in a notebook with the sort of fervor reserved for the truly mad. Lake-adjacent, blessedly on the shore with a towel slung around bare shoulders, he quickly snaps a photograph of his work with his phone and hits SEND TO ALL.

The message is as follows:]

does anyone know what the hell this is
i found it at the bottom of the lake

Attachment: [monster.jpg]

p.s. don't go swimming in the lake

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[He's still nervous, but he both wants to make sure Nate does get medical treatment and he might as well learn on a relatively minor--hopefully--injury with patient who's unbothered by his lack of experience. Then if there's an emergency later he'll at least know what he's doing.]

Okay. I'll meet you at the Clinic, then.

[And he'll be there as soon as he can, stepping into the building and glancing around for Nate; he's not sure if he beat him there or not.]

Edited 2017-08-04 05:22 (UTC)

[Nate might have leaned on magic for a little healing, but neither Taako nor Lup had that specialty, and the only person who did was apparently cut off from his source of enchantment. Traditional means it would have to be. (There's something oddly nostalgic about the sensation of being completely drenched in water with a gaping wound, but it's something he's not going to examine at the current juncture.)]

Hey.

[He changed into fresh pants and a shirt for the occasion, having reconnoitered briefly at his apartment before heading over to the clinic. He wasn't about to leave the goods he found at the bottom of the lake out for anyone to take.

While the wounds have stopped bleeding profusely, red is conspicuously, slowly seeping through the ratty shirt Nate has haphazardly tied around his forearm.]

What's up, Doc?

[Well the change of clothes successfully makes Nate appear to be not that badly hurt for about two seconds, until Lance notices the haphazard bandage and the fact that it's clearly still bleeding. Yeah, that "possibly" needs stitches.

He fixes Nate with his most official and unimpressed look.]

Sit down, and raise your arm up.

[Do that while he grabs supplies real quick; they'll need the supplies for stitches, and bandages, and towels, and who knows what else.]

[Nate accepts the judging glance but he isn't altogether bothered by it, because he's survived much worse than an irritated bicephalic shark. Lance already looks tense and that's not the kind of environment either of them need for this.

He moves to sit in one of those chairs intended for blood-drawing, propping his arm up on the rest.]

Look, just- get some disinfectant, a curved needle, some thread, tape, a glass, and a bottle of whatever liquor you can find.

[Lance is usually tense, so Nate's not wrong. But he nods at the list of items, collecting different required objects from their various places, except for that last part--]

We don't typically keep liquor at the Clinic.

[It's... Not totally true, because he knows there are some small bottles around as emergency disinfectant, but he's found some of the more standard stuff already.]

[In the middle of prying the edge of his sacrificial shirt up to examine the damage, Nate scoffs and raises an eyebrow at Lance. Seriously? What, is he new?]

Bullshit.

[Don't call him out, Nate, that's... Okay it's to be expected but still.]

We don't need alcohol; there's plenty of disinfectant.

[He sets all the gathered supplies on a small rolling cart that has probably seen better days but still works, and moves it over to where Nate's sitting. He's not sure if he should sit down too, but probably; every time he's had stitches the doctor had done so, so give him a moment while he finds another chair.]

It's not for me, it's for you.

[Looking surprisingly cool about all this, Nate leans back in his chair and watches Lance scurry around in search of something else. He's being remarkably serious for someone who got conscripted into administering first aid.]

I don't want your hands shaking.

[That earns furrowed eyebrows and a brief pause in what he's doing, because his first instinct is to defensively assert that he doesn't need alcohol to keep from shaking, but... He sort of might, especially if the injuries are bad. And he is sort of supposed to be following Nate's instructions on this.

Still, it seems like a bad idea, so he makes one more protest.]

Wouldn't the trade-off of being inebriated be just as much of a problem, if not more so?

[But he may or may not be pulling a small bottle of bourbon from one of the drawer of the desk over in the corner anyway.]

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that you've never given anyone stitches before, and you're nervous, so you're more likely to mess up.

[Nate raises his eyebrows expectantly, nodding toward the medicine cabinet. A swill or two of hard liquor will do wonders for Lance's constitution and keep him from being so wired about a simple medical treatment.]

Trust me. I've done this before.

[Lance considers that suspiciously for several seconds, but then finally gives up and nods. He still doesn't think this is the way to do things, but he agreed to listen to Nate's instructions on this and it's Nate getting the stitches anyway.]

Fine.

[He hasn't really slept or eaten much in the past day so a shot should be enough to do it, and he locates one of the Clinic's glasses--a weirdly shaped thing with a logo in a language that he's pretty sure doesn't exist on earth--before bringing everything over to where Nate is.]

But let me see the actual injuries first.

[There's no need to drink before getting to the stitching part; he can handle dealing with bleeding and cleaning the wounds without the need of calming his nerves.]

[Check and mate, Lance.

Nate watches him collect the rest of the goods, settle into "caregiver" mode, and internally brace himself for the worst. Jesus, is this what he was like the first time Sam asked him to sew up a gash? Adorable.]

You got it.

[With a sickeningly sticky sound he peels the shirt away from the cuts, coagulated blood clinging to the fabric. It looks worse than he knows it is: four clean slices, shallower on the outside than in, exposed flesh gaping from the wounds. The longest is about three inches, the smallest is one. Nothing compared to the time he got shot in the stomach, but it does look pretty gross.]

[Yeah that sounds gross, and looks just as gross. But he's much calmer with this sort of thing than most people would expect, and so just sort of furrows his eyebrows at the sight of Nate's arm; the first thing to do is clean some of the blood so as to get a better idea of the injuries themselves, so he pours part of a bottle of water onto one of the towels and begins to carefully wipe off the blood around the gashes.]

And you said "possibly" in regards to needing stitches.

[He says it dryly, with a brief glance up at Nate before resuming what he's doing.]

[At least Lance is holding onto his lunch, which is more than can be said for some people. The only indication that this hurts is that Nate's mouth twitches as soon as a damp towel starts sponging the edges of the cuts. He would have gone for a considerably less gentle route, maybe just pouring a bottle of peroxide over his arm, but if Lance wants to treat him like a princess then he'll be patient.

To a point.]

I didn't wanna scare you.

[ :) ]

I've seen worse.

[Lance gives him another flat look along with the comment before returning his attention to what he's doing. Nate might be genuinely unbothered by the injury, but Lance is still not interested in making the whole experience more traumatic than it has to be by not being careful.

Only once the blood is cleared up and he can see the wounds a little better, there's very little way to make the next part any gentler.]

I'm sure I don't have to tell you that antiseptic will sting.

[Or burn like hell, but you know. Same difference.]

[Nate can clearly recall an occasion where his older brother wove a tapestry of curses and swilled cachaça on a flea-bitten couch while he pressed a merthiolate-soaked (sort of) clean rag to a new stab wound. Isoproyl has nothing on Satan's antiseptic.

Nate doesn't give Lance a verbal answer, and he doesn't entirely need to when his face so clearly communicates no shit, Sherlock.]

[Don't give him that look, Nate. >:c

But okay, warning given, and Lance chooses another smaller cloth to dampen with the antiseptic as well as briefly dousing his hands and the needle that will be used later; might as well do all of that at once. And now the fun part, and Lance tries not to cringe in preemptive sympathy when he presses the cloth to Nate's arm.]

[The sound he makes is caught between a groan and a closed-mouth wheeze, immediately stifled but undeniably something that wants to be a very loud, very enunciated expletive. This is payback for all the times he cleaned up Sam's wounds, isn't it? Long-delayed, but payback nonetheless.

Jaw clenched, Nate resists the instinct to jerk his arm away and toughs it out, glancing between the towel and Lance expectantly. When he speaks, his voice is that special kind of strained.]

You wanna just. Pour the bottle over me or. What.

[Lance is both naturally sensitive and empathetic, and on top of that he knows how much this particular process hurts from experience; it's hard to ignore Nate's reaction and keep his focus on what he's doing, but he determinedly manages. At the question he shakes his head, not looking up from what he's doing.]

We can't waste supplies, and this is more precise anyway. Pouring it isn't any more effective overall either, so just hold on for a few more seconds.

[He's carefully making sure to apply the cloth to all the wounds and not miss anywhere; an infection in one of them, especially in this place, would be really bad.

But as promised he finishes the process quickly, setting the towel aside and looking at Nate again; they're to the stitching part of things, and so Lance is not quite sure what to do next. It's probably also good for Nate to have something to focus on anyway.]

How am I supposed to thread this?

[He means the needle, obviously, but there are multiple methods for threading one--and he presumes that goes for stitches as well--regarding single or double strand, putting in a starting knot, etc.]

[Nate would argue for full hydrogen peroxide immersion were Lance not so intent on preventing unnecessary waste, but he supposes he forfeited his right to argue too much after suggesting that Lance sew him up in the first place.

Not soon enough, the towel - stained red and worse for wear - is removed and Nate catches eye contact again.]

Just thread a couple inches through. [He explains, sort of gesturing with one hand. Nate thinks the term might be a "Lembert intermittent," but it's been a while since he glanced at anything resembling a first aid how-to.] This is a suture, not a seam on your jeans. Make little individual knots and tie each one off. Maybe like-

[He squints at his arm.]

...quarter-inch apart, each?

[Right, okay, he sort of remembers this; his confidence in being able to do stitches from having had so many has kind of waned since realizing that he usually didn't really... Watch them actually be done, because it's a little gross and creepy. But he'd seen enough that Nate's description makes sense and he nods, taking a few deep breaths.]

Okay. Just tell me if I'm doing something wrong.

[Here goes nothing, and he starts on the smallest wound first; better to screw up on the most minor one that the ones that need more stitches. Also he may or may not be purposefully ignoring that he was supposed to take a drink, and even more so ignoring that he suddenly sees the reason for it as he's unsteadily trying to actually get the thread through the eye of the needle.]

[He doesn't know much about Lance outside the fact that he works for the federal government, but he has to imagine he's seen some action.

Not a lot, but...some.]

You want a swig of that booze now?

[Nate manages not to sound smug - maybe inquiring - as he watches Lance struggle with threading a needle. More than anything his tone borders something like understanding, because he can remember fumbling the first time Sam asked him to break out their medical kit. He'd been thirteen.]

[Lance finally succeeds in threading the needle, glancing up from what he's doing at the question, and it's only the undertone of understanding that prevents Lance from considering protesting further. Maybe a drink isn't the worst idea ever, as long as it's just one drink.]

Maybe.

[It comes out a little more sullenly than he means it, still not super thrilled--the whole thing feels irresponsible--but in the long run it's better than screwing up the stitches by being unsteady. So he takes a moment to pour a small amount from the little bottle into the glass, offering the bottle to Nate afterwards.]

Do you want the rest?

[He's the one getting the stitches, after all. And who got bit by a shark.]

[It doesn't really occur to Nate how young Lance probably is until he looks up at him again with something akin to mild desperation. What is he, late twenties? Early thirties? Out of his element and scrabbling for purchase.

He feels a crooked smile tug at the corner of his mouth as the guy takes a hefty drink, and he graciously, wordlessly accepts the bottle when Lance is through. Knocking the remainder back with an effortlessness that suggests he has experience drinking other people under the table, Nate sucks in a sharp breath and sets the empty container on the floor.]

Okay. Go for it.

[Nate is definitely not wrong in his assessment; for as much as Lance is far more adaptable and capable than people usually give him credit for, Hadriel in general is still not really a place he's suited to handle. But he's doing his best, and patience and encouragement go a long way toward reassuring him; alcohol on an empty stomach doesn't hurt either, and it won't take long before the effects kick in.

He does give Nate a vaguely judgement look for the rapid drinking of the rest of the bottle, but he can't honestly blame him considering the situation and he needs to focus on what he's doing anyway.

It only takes a few seconds to realize that doing stitches truly isn't that difficult; sure, they're probably not going to be the best ever, but they'll do. By the time the first stitch is finished and tied off correctly Lance is starting calm again, although whether from the alcohol or just that he seems to be doing okay at this even he's not sure of.

With the calm comes being more confident that he doesn't need quite as much concentration on what he's doing and so talking is okay, and it's probably best for Nate to have the distraction too anyway. So after a moment he speaks up, curious.]

Why did you decide to go swimming in the lake anyway? Were you just bored, or did you think there might be something worth finding?

[text --> action]

i apologize for him

it's okay lance deserves this struggle

does he though.....................

okay maybe not

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