QUIET

8

It's been awhile so Recap:
Alfred broke his right arm-and it's really bad- but he's an idiot so he hid it from everyone at the meeting. When the meeting ended Arthur invited Alfred to hang with him, Francis and Matthew. What Alfred should've done was go to hospital but remember now, he's an idiot, so he went with them and now they're at a ice hockey rink. (Also, from further back, remember the whole Alfred likes to kill himself a lot and clearly that's not going to end well one of these days)

Alfred froze at the sight of the solid building, becoming glued to his seat. Everyone else started getting out, laughing and talking but Alfred just shrank in the car. Maybe if he sat still enough they would forget they even brought him and just go on-

"Alfred?"

The American flinched slightly before turning to his brothers quizical face.

"Aren't you coming?"

Alfred stared for a moment studying the Canadian's gentle violet eyes, thinking about the mess he had gotten himself into.

"Yeah, hey can you just give me a second I need to uh- call boss man, make sure he's not bursting a vein," Alfred smiled sheepishly.

The Canadian hesitated for second, an unidentifiable emotion flashing through his eyes before smiling gently again, "Okay, well, we're gonna head in, just join us when you're done."

Matthew then shut the door and walked up to the rest of the group explaining the situation to them. Francis and Arthur glanced over at the American who flashed a bright smile through the tinted glass. Arthur shrugged and they headed towards the building, returning to whatever conversation they were having, the noise abruptly cut off when large glass doors swung shut behind them.

Alfred let his facade fall, gasping in pain and sliding down the seat. Gingerly he set his broken right arm in is lap. It was too painful to really even move anymore. Alfred thought for a second, spiraling in the realization of the shit he had gotten himself into. Why had he said yes? He should've just gone to a damn hospital, or better yet he could be in that old bathtub by now, in the peaceful embrace of death. Not feeling this hellish pain. Alfred exhaled deeply. It was too late really to think about what he should've done, now he had to think of what he will do.

Gingerly, he pulled back the torn sleeve of his jacket and peeled away the makeshift bandages to see what he was working with. It was bad. A swollen lump had formed. Purple and almost black in some places. Dried blood that had scabbed over and it smelled bad too, like sweat trapped in with blood and puss that had been festering, untreated. Alfred almost gagged at the sight. He thought desperately, trying to come with a solution. Resetting wasn't an option as it would take too long. There were no bandages around... or unless... Alfred carefully leaned forward squeezing between the two front seats and reaching for the front glove box. He grabbed the latch pulled till the box dropped open.

There were a bunch of random scattered papers inside and- "Yes!" Alfred exclaimed, pulling out a medium sized fabric pouch with a small first aid symbol on it. Leave it to the Englishman to always be over prepared.

He opened it up and rummaged through the contents. There were lots of band aides-not that those were going to be any help- a variety of painkillers and other medicines, some disinfectant spray, one roll of bandages and, as luck would have it, a forearm splint. It wasn't quite the right size, it was just a bit shorter than Alfred would like, but it was lucky that the kit even had one.

First he popped a couple of aspirins, doubtful that it was actually going to do much, but it was better than nothing. He sprayed disinfectant all over the wound, his eyes tearing up at the sharp stinging it caused. Then, carefully, he began wrapping it with the bandages, making sure that it wasn't too tight or too loose. He cringed at the pain of having to lift up the broken limb to get the bandages under and around it. Finally he slipped the arm into the splint, pulling the velcro straps to secure it.