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"911, what's your emergency?"

Summary:

“So, you wanna tell me why it looks like you fought a paper shredder and lost?” “Not particularly.” “Look, I don’t care what you did, but your bandaging skills suck. You’re usually more on point with that.” “It’s a bit hard when you’re pretty sure your dominant arm’s broken.”

Day Eleven: Sloppy Bandages | Self-Done First Aid | Makeshift Splint

Notes:

Ayy, I'm back in the NRD&D fandom! I knew I'd come back here, lmao.
Fair warning, there is a slight mention of blood, so be careful if that triggers you :)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

As Nicky lay on the grass in pain, he tried to think about how he got into this situation.

Let’s rewind a bit.

See, it started as a bit of a request from Dicky. It was supposed to be simple. Grab the frisbee from the top branches of the tree and come back. Give Dicky the frisbee, and Nicky was home free.

Except, there was one detail the quads forgot. The higher you go, the less likely the branches won’t hold your weight. Looking back, it seemed like it was something Nicky should have known, but he didn’t think about it, so here he was.

His left arm was starting to become numb, his body refused to relax from its tense state, and his vision swam as bright spots blinked above him. Nicky willed his lungs to work, his mouth sucking in greedy gulps of air. He could feel bruises forming all over his body, cuts stinging.

Dicky better be happy ,’ he thought bitterly.

Carefully, Nicky tried sitting up. His left arm refused to cooperate, so he only used his right. His body immediately protested, but he couldn’t rest. Slowly, Nicky made his way into the house, the frisbee clasped in his right hand.

“Oh, hey, Nicky!” Dicky greeted.

“Here’s your stupid frisbee,” Nicky grumbled.

“You’re the best!”

Dicky pulled him into a tight hug, and it took everything in Nicky not to scream in pain. Finally, Nicky managed to escape to the upstairs bathroom to look his injuries over and winced at the reflection.

Nicky’s pupils were blown wide, very little of the green iris visible. There was a nasty cut along his hairline, blood seeping from the wound sluggishly. His arms had mild scratches from the twigs and leaves. Peeling up his shirt revealed deep-coloured bruises on his chest and torso. Nicky tried moving his left arm, but white-hot pain shot up the limb. There was some bruising along his forearm, and his wrist was swollen and throbbing.

Carefully, Nicky pulled the first-aid kit from under the sink and started cleaning the cuts. Although considering he was using his non-dominant hand, the patchwork was sloppy at best. The bandaids on his arms were crooked. The wound on his head had stopped bleeding (thankfully), but the bandage Nicky put over it was loose. There wasn’t much he could do for the bruises or concussion, but he stared at his left arm in thought.

Years ago, Dawn had sprained her wrist and wore a brace. Digging through the cabinet, he found the item in the back. He thought a silent thank you to whoever was listening that it fit him. Sighing, Nicky left the bathroom and wandered into the three boys’ shared bedroom.

“Hey, Nicky.”

Nicky blinked.

“Oh, hey, Ricky,” he said. “I didn’t know you were up here.”

“Well, considering Dawn is at school still, and Dicky is who knows where; it’s only fair I got some quiet while I could.”

“Oh. I can leave you alone if you want.”

“No, no, you’re okay. You’re not loud like Dicky and Dawn naturally are.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“Mmmhmm. So, you wanna tell me why it looks like you fought a paper shredder and lost?”

At that, Nicky winced. “Not particularly.”

“But you’re going to tell me, right?”

Nicky shrugged before grimacing at the pain that flowed through his body. Ricky raised an eyebrow and gave the younger a once-over.

“Look, I don’t care what you did,” Ricky sighed, “but your bandaging skills suck . You’re usually more on point with that.”

“It’s a bit hard when you’re pretty sure your dominant arm’s broken,” Nicky grimaced.

“I’m sorry, WHAT ?! Nicky !”

“I know, I know! I should have said something!”

“Darn right, you should have. Come on; we’re going to the emergency room.”

“What’ll we say to Mom and Dad?”

“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s just focus on you now.”


Nicky sighed gently through his nose as he and Ricky walked through the front door.

“I’m glad we went,” Ricky said.

As much as Nicky didn’t want to admit it, he was glad, too. Apparently, he was more injured than he thought.

Nicky knew about the broken arm and the concussion, but he hadn’t realised he’d cracked a couple of ribs; on top of that, the wound at his hairline required stitches. His left forearm was now in a lime green cast, a sling holding it up.

Gentle hands grabbed his shoulders, and he met Ricky’s blue eyes.

“Hey, Nicky?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, make sure you say something .”

“That, I can do.”

Notes:

So, how was it? Good? Bad? Meh? Lemme know! I love hearing about my writing :)

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