"Some cut, to bleed this profusely," said Tristan, somewhat relieved to see that the bleeding slowed down, though it still didn't stop. He reached his free hand into his pocket to check his pocket watch. Seven minutes since the boy had come to his door. Took them four to get here. He turned to the lady. "More cloths, ma'm. And if the other gentleman could move the table closer so your husband can rest his hand, then I'll think I'll stitch it. Do you usually bleed this much when you cut yourself, sir?"

"I have never cut myself this badly," he admitted. He glanced over toward Kitty and managed a wan smile despite his discomfort. His hand hurt profusely, burned like someone had cauterized his wound. Sweat beaded up on his forehead from it and he did what he could not to swipe his uninjured hand across his forehead. "It hurts, I'll say that much too." Why he had tried to open a fucking bottle of wine with a knife was beyond him, but Zech had sprung some surprising news upon him and he had a lapse in judgment.

Zechariah, meanwhile, had forgotten even breaking the news after all that blood. By God! Uriel? A drinking problem!?

He looked to and fro, as though hoping to find another gentleman just mosying about to do the doctor’s bidding instead. His gaze even passed onto Abraham, briefly.

That would take a lot of work.

… Was it worth it to spite Kitty? Perhaps.

Grudgingly, Zechariah carefully moved to the tale edge farthest from the blood. He scooted it forward with his hip, reluctantly.

Blood sloshed over the edge toward the others, like the red sea.

Kitty sighed and had gotten up with a painful wince as she held Abraham and walked slowly to the linen closet to grab towels and come back to hand them over. She kept one to dab at his forehead. "Don' t you worry none, you'll be right as rain after the doctor takes care of this. Just don't try this again. Please.' She said and ignored Zechariah pointedly save for pulling over the soap and water for the doctor to use. "Do whatever you need to."

Didn't usually bleed like this. That was a good sign at least. "It will hurt more for a moment, I'm afraid. I want this bleeding to stop, and there's no time to wait for an anesthetic to start working, so I'm going to have to stitch without. It will be over soon. Thank you, Mr. Meijer," he turned to the brother. The blood did not bother him. He had already accepted that he would need to get his clothes laundered and he was used to it.


Hmm... He didn't like the unreliable Mr. Meijer to hold his brother steady. But he trusted him with a baby even less. Mr. Meijer would have to do. "If you could take my place here, just in case your brother passes out again. Keep this wound pressed for the time being and keep the arm up." He needed to clean the table, wash his hands and get his things, and he did not want his poor patient to lose even more blood in the mean time.

"Just get it over with, please," he said, nonplussed but not demanding either, just tiredly. If his wife could give birth to his son, who, by the way, was not a small baby because surprise, he took after his father in how long he was at birth, he could sit there and get his hand stitched. He shot Kitty a worried look and murmured, "You should rest, my love. You are still healing from Abe's birth." And then he looked to his brother and his brows furrowed a little. He looked to Tristan and said, "I'll do it." he took the cloth and pressed it to his hand, sweat starting to dribble down his forehead as he raised both arms up, one hand pressing cloth to the other.

Did he trust headstrong, academy drop-out, seen-in-diapers Uriel’s opinion more than educated, trained-to-do-this Dr. Wells’?

There was a look between Wells, and then Uriel. Zechariah nodded firmly to Uriel and stepped back rapidly. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

“You know, I always thought Ruth would be the cause of something like this,” he mused aloud.

Kitty was less amused by the moment. She constantly tried to be soothing to Uriel and dab at his sweaty brow, but she'd had almost enough for one day and it had only been minutes since she'd awoken from her nap. "You must be out of your damned mind if you think I can sleep knowing you're like this. I am gonna be here until it's all over and you got a little color to your face. "

But then he let his brother do nothing and held up his own arms. She rose her brow and only the worry of waking Abe kept her voice at a reasonable volume. "Are ya kidding me?! Put your arm down. I swear all mighty if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself." She stood though she had to place a hand on the table to steady herself as pain made her weak to her knees. She carefully but quickly removed her house coat, carefully switching Abe between her arms and then tossed it onto the bloody table. She scrunched it up to make a soft bedding and placed her baby on it, not far from his father's bloody hand. 

He was a newborn, he wasn't going anywhere. She moved to the other side to help keep Uriel steady and took his hand firmly and pressed the cloth onto the wound. The red head gave her husband a warning look. "Don't you dare try to fight me on this. Someone's gotta do it, so I'll haveta." She turned from him to keep an eye on the baby, just in case something unexpected did happen.

Always great when he had to wait with treating a patient until people were done arguing or ready to grow up. Before he could object to the Mr. Meijers, Mrs. Meijer stepped in, thankfully.

He glanced briefly at Mr. Zechariah Meijer. That guy was an idiot as well as a git.

Tristan took several necessities from his bag, washed his hands, cleaned the wound, and then looked at the injured man. "You might want to look away." Then, with quick but careful stitches, he stitched the wound.

He did not look, he couldn't. His eyes bugged out of his head and he grit his teeth as the needle poked into his skin and slid back out. He was sweating profusely from the pain of it. Ahhh, shit! He was gray by the time the doctor was even halfway through stitching the wound up.