She glanced at him quietly, moving closer to him. "Sit on your ass." She pushed him gently so he was sitting on the ground, extending his wounded arm as gently as she could to look at it. "We need to change your bandage and let it breathe." She stood up and went into the house to fetch an armful of things and laying them out on the grass when she got back. "I wouldn't look at this, Luke."

He winced as she moved his arm, sitting indian-style now, he still let his head hang though. He glanced back at what she brought, narrowing his eyes. "Look at what?" he blinked a bit. "You mean my arm? I've seen worse." He murmured quietly. "Wait, are you gonna stitch it? Hell no." He backed up a bit.

"Yes, Im going to stitch it but first I have to remove the bandage so chill." She followed him and untied the bandage, pulling it all off and holding his arm out to let it breathe for a moment. Blood wasnt pumping out of it, and it looked better now. Cleaner, at least. She grabbed a needle and pulled a lighter out of her pocket, holding the needle up to the flame to sterilize it.

He scooted backwards still, taking his arm back. "No," He winced. "Don't." He looked extremely panicked, like a stray dog cowering. He glanced at the three and a half gorey red gashes down the outside of his forearm. He bumped his hand- which sent a shockwave up his arm. He turned away and coughed or gasped a little.

"Luke, what is it? I promise you, it doesn't hurt that bad. It hurts like, half as bad as cleaning the wound out." She put the needle down and held her empty hands up to show him she didnt have the needle, scooching after him. She took his arm gently and held it out. "Yeah, that's why we don't make big sudden movements without a bandage on your open wound. I have to stitch it, Luke."

He shook his head, his chest got tight. "Please," He pleaded softly, taking his arm back. His face flushed a little red, a little embarassed by how childlike he'd become. It was probably quite startling to see his demeanor and mood change so fast. "You don't have to, I can live with washing it. Probably."

"Luke..." She sighed, watching the terror stitches obviously instilled in him. "Fine. Under two conditions. One, you have to whatever I say, whenever I say. If it means you arent allowed to come outside until I say so, you will not come outside. Two, you may not, under any circumstances, die on me. Got it?" She asked, putting her needle and lighter away, watching him while she waited for her answer. "Its that or stitches."

He looked away, fidgeting a little, he carefully put his hand splayed over one of his knees so it wouldn't touch anything. He glared at her. "Why wouldn't I be allowed to go outside and its just my arm. If I was gonna turn I would've already, gosh." He rolled his eyes, looking down at his arm. "...Fine."

"Thank you, sir stubborn in chief. But I do want to clean it out one more time, to make sure that it can't get infected, Misted or otherwise." She extended his arm again gently, holding out the bottle of whiskey as she turned him away from the fire. "This is gonna hurt." She poured a small amount over it, just enough to cover the expanse of the wound, holding his arm straight until the alcohol stopped sizzling.

He made a face at her for wanting to clean it, like a moody kindergartener. "It hurt last timeeEEHH-" He quickly stopped himself from finishing the complaint, looking away. He held his breath til it stopped burning. He let it out in what sounded like a growl as he looked back, pulling his arm away. "It hurts when my hand moves even a little."