Fiona looked up out of the window, her teenage son was walking towards the house. A smile swept over her lips, however it was soon replaced by a furrowed brow. Something wasn't right. Farkle was walking with a slight limp, though that didn't alarm her - he often got himself into trouble and had always been the most accident prone of her children. There was something spread over his face. Mud perhaps? No, it became clear as he got closer: blood.
Wide eyed, she raced out of the door to meet him. As she reached her son, she could see the big open wound on the right side of his forehead, just below his hairline. It wasn't quite as bad as she was expecting, much to her slight relief. The blood had created quite the show on his face, spilling down onto his shoulder, staining the shirt he wore.
"Hey, what happened?" She grabbed at his face to pull him down so she could look closer at the injury. He muttered his protest as he hunched over slightly to her height. It was a gold coin sized wound in his head. It seemed clean for the most part and it definitely needed stitches.
A forced grin slowly spread over his face, he let out a strained chuckle. "I'm good, mom," he stated. Though, he quickly winced as she poked her finger into a tender space. "A tiny headache, that's all."
"What happened?" His joviality didn't comfort her, she let go of his face allowing him to rise up to his full height and grabbed his arm instead, dragging him inside.
"Woah!" Fiona's other son appeared from beside the house as she swung the door open for them. "What happened?" he joined the chorus.
"Humans got lucky with a rock." Farkle shrugged, while being steered by his mother. "Ahh, I'm surprised they managed it. They threw it just before running away." Farkle gave them his explanation. Fiona dragged him to a dining chair and pushed him into it.
"Are you feeling okay?" she asked. She moved herself slightly to the side of him, allowing the light from the window to help her investigate the injury further. "Fergus, prop open the door," she instructed. She leant closer, sweeping his hair back, securing one hand on the top of his head, the other grasping his chin. She tilted his head back. With the opened door, more light poured into their small home. Her first assessment had been correct; it was a clean split, not too big. It wouldn't take many stitches to close up.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he responded simply, clenching closed his eyes as she gently began picking at the hair stuck to the wound.
"Did they know who you were?" she asked softly, an ever present worry on her mind.
"I don't think so."
She raised her eyebrows at him, taking a breath to question further-
"What's going on?" her third child's voice entered the room. "Woah, Fark. What happened?"
"Farkle got busted by some humans." Fergus provided his sister the explanation, sitting across the table from them.
"Amateur," Felicia said loudly.
Fiona shook her head in amusement, her questioning forgotten.
"I need a damp cloth," she instructed her children. After a moment of silence, she looked over to her daughter who had sauntered over to the basin to get one. As Fiona turned, her hand released some of Farkle's curls; his hair sprung forward, undoing her work. She exhaled her frustration. "And your hair tie, Felicia."
"What?" Farkle's eyes were suddenly wide.
"Here." Dropping a cloth into the basin, Felicia released the hair she had tangled into a ponytail and tossed the tie at her mother.
Without looking, Fiona effortlessly caught the projectile and began raking Farkle's hair back.
"Ow. Is that necessary?" he complained, flinching away from her grip.
"Yes." She tightened her grip further. "We don't want to stitch your hair into the wound. It needs to be clear."
His brow furrowed as she tied the top of his hair into a ponytail that resembled his sister's baby photos. A wet cloth was suddenly thrust into Fiona's vision, dripping over her son's lap.
"I said damp, but that's fine." Fiona took it from her daughter's hand, wringing it onto the floor.
"You were limping too," Fergus noted. "They did a real number on ya, huh?"
"Oh, yeah. No." Farkle shook his head, shifting away from his mother's grip again. "That wasn't them. I- uh. It's kind of embarrassing." He forced an awkward laugh, ending in a sharp inhale as Fiona gently wiped the cloth along his hairline above the wound, pulling the lighter hairs away from the drying blood.
"I love that," Felicia said, leaning her elbows on the table next to them, placing her chin in her hands.
He opened one eye, the other squeezed closed. "While running over to 'em, I kicked the crap out of a tree root and ate it."
A grin spread over both sibling's faces. Felicia erupted into laughter.
"Did they see?" she shrieked.
"No." His laughter turned genuine. "Thankfully."
A smile worked its way onto Fiona's face. "That was lucky."
She roughly wiped away the blood from his eyebrow and around the side of his face. Adjusting her stance, she was about to start cleaning the wound site when a hand was suddenly on her arm. Her muscles froze, careful to not let herself be moved. She looked at Fergus questioningly.
"Wait, mom…" He lightly pulled her arm away from his brother's face. "Dad said we should do this from now on."
Fiona stood up straight, looking between her sons. She did recall her husband saying such a thing, not that she particularly wanted them doing it by themselves. It was preparing them for something she didn't really want to think about.
"Yeah, we've got this," her daughter chimed in from behind her. "Can't wait to stab Fark with a needle."
"That's definitely not the attitude we're going to have." She threw a glare at her daughter. Fiona's gaze softened, stepping away from her son. "Okay, I'll watch."
She tossed the cloth to Fergus, who immediately tossed it straight to Felicia as if it were a hot potato.
Felicia spluttered, caught off-guard, clumsily juggling with it a couple times. "No!" she exclaimed, jumping into action, though her brother was too quick.
Fergus ran for the medical box sitting innocently on a shelf above their kitchen counter, his sister just a beat behind him. It housed the bandages, needles, thread and all other medical items they had. He just managed to take it as Felicia elbowed him out of the way. He grunted but hunched his torso to protect the box in his hands, twisting away from her as she made frantic grabs for what he held.
"What did I just say about our attitude?" Fiona interrupted their rivalry. She shook her head at them as they halted their brief wrestling match to walk calmly back to the table.
Farkle met her gaze, looking wide eyed and helpless at her as they crowded him. She couldn't help but let a smile tug at her lips. Fiona couldn't refute Shrek's judgement and instruction. It was long past time for them to use the skills they had been taught as children. She was secretly glad they had each other, as much as Shrek would lecture them about independence. Stitching each other up was far easier than stitching themselves up alone. Those kinds of lessons she didn't like to be around for.
"Okay, sit up here." Felicia patted the table.
"Huh?"
"You need to lay down," she said.
"Why can't I stay here?" Farkle argued.
Fergus shrugged casually, opening his prized medical box. "If you wanna pass out because we don't know what we're doing, that's your call," he responded.
"And two, we can see better." Felicia dragged the table from its usual position, so that the short edge faced the doorway, allowing maximum brightness.
"Fine."
Farkle wiped a stray streak of blood from his face with his sleeve. He stood, looking toward Fiona again. She gave him a nod, placing her hands on her hips, watching from her slight distance. He slipped up onto the table and gently lowered himself back to lay down, his legs dangling over the other edge. It was odd to see Farkle out of his element. Even when he didn't know what he was doing, he would always manage to look like he did, no matter how ridiculous the outcome. He was the recipient of the majority of injuries over the years and shrugged every one of them off, save a couple instigated by his siblings. His limit was his siblings, that much was clear. She couldn't blame him, but there was nothing she could do, lest their father be mad at her for coddling them.
She wasn't entirely sure what errand her husband was running to keep him out of earshot and absent from the circus activity of the house. Not that he'd mind. He often fretted about their childrens' independence and preferred they do things alone. It was the best way for them to learn, he'd always say, much to the contrast of her own instincts.
Her two uninjured children stood on either side of Farkle's torso. Fergus had proudly fished out a needle and was taking his time squinting at the pointy end.
"I wanna sew him up!" Felicia made a grab across Farkle's body for the needle.
He twisted away from her again. "No, I'm doing it."
"You don't even like sewing," she insisted.
"Not fabric, no. This is suturing."
"Well then I'm better at it."
"You don't like sewing that much either, Fel," Farkle butted into the argument.
"Live skin is different," Fergus answered mindlessly for her as he picked up the thread and started the painstaking process of poking it through the tiny hole.
Felicia withdrew her hand, raising from her hunched position, eyebrows raised. "Creep alert." She shook her head, extending an arm in his direction again, above Farkle's face. "At least let me thread the needle." She gestured with her fingers to give her what he held.
"No, you won't give it back. I know you." Fergus tore his gaze away to glare at her.
Felicia paused for a moment, her plan thwarted. "Fine. Give me the tincture."
Fergus interrupted his intense concentration again to hand her the small bottle of medicine, cork cap barely stuck in the bottle neck. There was a dried up leak down one side, an old curled up label with writing far too faint to ever see what it said.
Placing a finger over the cap, Felicia shook it and squinted at the contents. "Can I use up the rest of this?" She looked over at their mother, holding up the half drained solution.
Fiona nodded at her. "Use as much as you need. We can make more." She fleetingly smiled at them as Felicia turned away. "Just please no one get injured before we have the chance to do that." They all gave her a noncommittal chuckle in response to her half joke.
Fiona took a step closer, trying to peer over at what they were doing.
"Mom…" Fergus turned back. Fiona's shadow was creeping closer, covering Farkle's head.
The ogress stepped aside again, exhaling deeply. "Just… gently." She warned them, giving the back of Felicia's head a knowing look.
"I know." Felicia threw her long hair over her shoulder and leant over her brother. "Eyes closed!" she announced.
"Huh? Ow!" Farkle's face screwed up as the cleaning solution was poured into his wound, running down the sides of his face, dripping in a bloody mixture onto the tabletop. "Y'know, when you give someone a warning, you're supposed to give them time before you do it."
Felicia gave a quiet chuckle. "Okay, Farkle. Here comes the cloth. Closer… closer… closer. Now." She exaggeratedly slowed her hand in placing the damp cloth over the wound. It was gentle at least.
Fergus' large fingers finally threaded the needle and he held it up for Fiona to see. His brow furrowed again as he looked at it. "Is this needle sharp enough?" he asked. "It looks kinda blunt."
"Looks sharp enough to me." Felicia barely glanced at it, as she removed the cloth from her brother's face.
"What?" Farkle lifted his head from the table to look up in despair, only to be shoved down again with a bonk.
"Felicia." Fiona chastised her daughter.
Both ogresses rolled their eyes at each other as Fiona approached the table to see the needle Fergus held up at her. She raised an eyebrow at it, perhaps it was on the blunter side, but he'd already spent so long trying to thread it and she didn't want her overeager daughter to end up winning the fight. "That's fine," she shrugged. It'd do the job and Farkle was in for a painful ride anyway. She was sure he'd be able to get his revenge at some point down the line, as much as she didn't want to admit it.
Fiona stepped back from the table again, allowing them space. She watched as Fergus rolled up his sleeves and leaned over the table. He abruptly rose up to his full height, placing a palm on the top of his sister's head and pushed her away, allowing him more light. Felicia opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself, taking the step back that he needed.
Fergus leant down, thoroughly examining his patient. He placed a gentle thumb on his brother's forehead, twisting his head this way and that, making small noises of acknowledgement. "Okay," he finally said, unmoving, "ready?"
"Mm." Farkle was already bracing himself, eyes squeezed closed, hands balled up into fists resting on his stomach.
Fiona edged her way around the room trying to find a better angle to watch them at, without blocking their light source. Felicia leant back over, her head almost touching Fergus'. Both sibling's arms were at Farkle's face; Felicia keeping his baby hairs out of the way and Fergus examining where to start the stitches. Everything was almost silent for a moment.
"Fel, get your fingers out of the way," Fergus muttered, the peace over quickly.
"I'm holding it closed for you."
"Well stop."
Farkle gasped sharply, indicating the procedure had begun. He lifted his legs, propping his feet on the edge of the table, knees in the air. He grasped at either side of the table, knuckles white. Fiona was sure it didn't hurt that much, but Farkle couldn't let his siblings work without complaint.
"Is that better?" Felicia asked Fergus, concentration clear in their voices.
"Yah." He responded, both ignoring their patient's breathy complaints.
One of Farkle's legs raised into the air, still bent at the knee. "Ow. Nevermind. I want mom to do it instead."
Fiona stood back, not answering Farkle's pleas for help. She watched her son and daughter tend to his injury, completely void of her help. She remembered needing to learn such procedures herself. Shrek had carefully shown her how to clean, stitch up, and care for wounds a long, long time ago, before the triplets even existed. She hadn't ever imagined she'd need to use the skills so much, however having three little monsters proved her wrong. There had been many bumps and grazes, and worse, over the years. An animal trap catching a child rather than their supper, a high up branch snapping under the weight of a rambunctious ogre, missteps on the roof of their home… she'd seen it all. Or at least she hoped that she had.
"Farkle… you're breathing on me," Fergus said, irritation lingering in his voice.
"Oh wow, well how about I just stop breathing while you're sticking a needle through my face, hm?" Farkle responded, strained.
"You could breathe this way," was their sister's bland suggestion.
"Gee, thanks, Felic-ah!" His sarcastic comment couldn't land, as he quickly gritted his teeth, drawing a sharp, hissing breath inward. He exaggeratedly blew the breath back out into his brother's face.
"I literally have a needle in your face right now…" Fergus responded to his taunt, giving his patient a glare. It didn't linger, though, as a smile crossed his features. He pulled the needle a final time, looping and tying it off. "Done!" he announced proudly, looking back to the medical box to find the scissors to snip off the excess thread. Fergus straightened up, cocking his head to one side, admiring his handiwork. He placed the bloody needle and stained scissors to the side of Farkle's head.
Felicia planted a palm on Farkle's forehead, not allowing him to sit up. She leaned in to examine her brother's work, giving a nonchalant shrug, "It's alright." She took her partially blood stained cloth and doused it in the last of their cleaning solution. "Okay, Fark, here comes the cloth again. Clip clop clip clop." She made jaunty movements with the fabric until it reached his face.
"I swear, I'm gonna kill you one day," Farkle mumbled at her, allowing her to clean the stitched up wound.
"Hm, not if I can help it," Fiona responded, grabbing Farkle's head again, the top of his hair still bunched together in the hair tie.
She inspected the mostly even stitches Fergus had created. He'd done perhaps one too many, but that couldn't hurt. The wound was perfectly clean too, not a stray hair in sight.
"Great job, both of you," Fiona complimented their handy work. "Now go wash your brother's blood off your hands."
Felicia cleaned the needle and scissors and handed them back to her brother who seemed to remain the keeper of the medical box. Fiona nudged her, taking the empty tincture bottle and bloody cloth.
"Can I get the blood off of my…" Farkle paused, lifting his own bloodstained hands and looked at the mess of his shirt and pants, "...everywhere?"
Fiona nodded, giving him a grim smile. She lowered her voice to an almost whisper, "Are you feeling okay?"
He slowly nodded at her. "Yah, now they're not all over me." He didn't bother to be quiet. His siblings stood at the basin, filling it with water. While in the same room, they'd hear what he'd say no matter how whispered. She'd be sure to check in later when she could get him alone.
He lifted his hand and began gingerly feeling around his forehead at his stitches.
"So, what's the story, mom?" Fergus said over his shoulder, scrubbing at his hands.
"Hm?" She approached the basin herself, tossing the cloth into the water.
"That we tell grandma…"
"Oh." Fiona hesitated as she crouched down to grab a clean cloth. She supposed they were right; even if they weren't due to visit Far Far Away for another few months, Farkle would have gained a new scar, visible to the world. Whenever one of the children got an ogre related injury that couldn't be easily covered by clothes, they came up with a human version of the story. Her family wouldn't understand that this was just how things went. Stitching each other up without aid was preparing them for the rest of their lives. Just like how a royal might rush their child's education to send them off to a tower.
She dunked the fresh cloth into the basin to soak it with water, thinking it over. She opened her mouth to give them a response when she was interrupted.
"You already have one!" Felicia announced proudly. "You fell on your face in the woods and smashed your head on a rock."
"That's a good one. It's not even a lie." Fergus met his mother's eye.
Fiona nodded at him as she turned to give the cloth to Farkle. Fergus was right. The more elaborate the lie, the easier it was to fall apart. A lesson they'd collectively learned in the past.
"That's not fair!" Farkle took the cloth, creasing his eyebrows at her. "Felicia fell out of a tall tree, Fergus got burned by dragon fire and I… tripped in the woods?"
"Sucks to suck!" Felicia chirped.
A defeated smile crossed Fiona's lips.
"We didn't exactly say dragon fire," Fergus protested, "Dronkey fire isn't the same." He turned his freshly cleaned arm to see the burn scar from the end of last year. As much as he was able to hide his arm, it happened just before their grandmother had come to visit, they needed an explanation for the bandage that didn't involve a mob of angry youngsters wielding torches.
"I made it sound cooler, so you could do me a solid," Farkle turned his head to his brother, speaking in a lower tone.
"Well cool isn't the aim here," Fiona reminded them.
Fergus ripped the towel from his sister's hands before she was ready, throwing it over to Farkle.
"Hey, what did you say about your broken nose last year?" he asked, reminding Fiona the less than pleasant result of a sibling squabble.
"Felicia smashed a book into my face, so… the truth." He glared at his sister as she trotted over to him to share the towel.
"Oh yeah." Fergus and Felicia met each others' eye for a moment, an identical smirk on their faces.
"You deserved it," Felicia spoke quietly, glancing at Fiona and back down again. "Besides, it was an accident."
Farkle pulled the hair tie from his curls and launched it from his fingers directly into his sister's face.
She flinched away from him, grabbing the tie from the ground. She smacked his arm in return. "You already fell out of a tree when you broke your arm as a kid, you can't have the same story twice."
"But that was also the truth!" He ducked suddenly as the hair tie was launched back at him, hitting his shoulder. "Woah…" His eyes widened at his sudden movement, swaying a little from where he sat.
"Honey, lay down." Fiona advanced at him quickly.
"No… no." He steadied himself, holding one arm out for balance, the other gripping the edge of the table. "I'm good."
Felicia grabbed hold of his floating arm to keep him upright as he swayed some more. "You sure about that?" she asked.
"Mhm." After a few blinks he seemed to regain his consciousness. He nodded, pulling his arm back. He continued wiping at his face and neck with the clean cloth.
Fiona's ears perked up as she heard familiar footsteps approaching the open doorway. She turned, a smile growing on her face. "Hey honey," she greeted her husband as he entered their home, arms full of wooden splits.
Shrek stopped in his tracks in the doorway, surveying the chaos; the various blood stained clothes, the medical box on the table, his son sitting next to it. "What happened?"
"Farkle ate it in the woods." Fergus spoke quickly.
"I didn't!"
"He did actually, as well as getting a rock thrown at his head." Felicia continued.
"Yeah, let's focus on the rock throwing part," Farkle spoke with conviction, throwing a glare at both of his siblings.
"Humans?" Shrek raised an eyebrow, dumping the wood next to the door, he clapped out the dust and splinters from his hands.
"Yep."
"They see you fall?"
Farkle huffed, glaring at his brother again for good measure. "No."
"Good." Shrek approached him. He grabbed his son's face to study the injury. "Fergus, you did this?"
"Aye." Fergus appeared directly next to his father, looking carefully at his handiwork again.
The family crowded Farkle once again, this time in silence, waiting for Shrek's verdict.
"A little uneven, but better than the last time," Shrek looked at Fergus, raising his eyebrows. Still holding Farkle's head with one hand, he used the other to point at a stitch in the middle. "See this one?" Fergus leaned in closer and nodded. "It's close to the one next to it. Didn't need it."
"Right." Fergus squinted at what his father pointed at. Fiona could see the cogs turning in his head.
"Ye see that, Felicia?" Shrek spared a glance at their daughter.
She nodded, leaning in closer. "I wouldn't make that mistake."
"Well, prove it. Next time," Shrek instructed of her.
"Stay still, Fark. I wanna make note of this." Fergus disappeared from the family huddle to run to his room retrieving one of his meticulously collected notebooks.
"What happened?" Shrek finally released Farkle and stepped back, putting his hands on his hips.
Their father had never been bothered by their injuries, especially once they turned teenagers a couple years ago. If anything, he'd been somewhat proud of them. It had taken a while for Fiona to realise the effect it had on the triplets. They too became unbothered whenever something happened to them, proud to show off their battle wounds. It was an ogre rite of passage. One she was entirely unused to following her own sheltered upbringing.
"A group was marching in the woods. No pitchforks or anything, but they did have torches, which doesn't make much sense," he threw a hand towards the open doorway, light pouring in, "if y'know what I mean." He raised his good eyebrow. "They were heading in this general direction, so I decided to see them off." He smiled at his parents, proud of his judgement.
"Did they recognise you?" Fiona asked the question that was suddenly a priority in her mind.
"I don't think so," he responded in the same way as earlier.
Worry alit in her mind. "Farkle, you need to know so before you do something like that," she chastised him.
Shrek glanced at her, staying quiet. As much as they tried to shelter their children from the opinions and articles in Far Far Away, they had to learn to avoid adding fuel to the fire. To her children's credit, it did prove to be a difficult judgement to make; people were just as likely to ask them to sign a pitchfork as they were to stab them with it.
"We can defend ourselves," he protested, "you said that."
"Yes, if they approach first… or react badly to your presence," she recited the vaguely put together rules they'd created years ago.
"Then they reacted badly to my presence," he confirmed.
Fiona raised an eyebrow at him.
"Yeah, when you gave them the ogre trip," Felicia butted into the conversation, "of course they did."
"They didn't recognise me, alright?" He grew defensive, brow furrowing. He threw an irritated glare at his brother who had shuffled his way back up to him, pencil in hand. "Anyway," he continued gruffly, "They got scared and one of them threw a rock at my head."
"Hold your hair back," Fergus quietly instructed his brother, face inching closer. Farkle huffed loudly, pulling his hair back from his forehead, allowing Fergus to start drawing a rough sketch of the mended injury.
"A thrown rock? And it split your skin?" Shrek raised his eyebrows. "Had t'be a very big or very pointy one."
"Both," Farkle confirmed. He held his hands out, hair falling back onto his forehead. He curled his fingers and thumbs to give a rough size. Felicia snorted at his estimation. "It was like this big actually."
Felicia barked out a laugh. "Needs to be something a human could even throw, Fark."
He punched his sister's arm, she punched him back.
"Stop it." Shrek was deadpan. "I believe him," he stated.
Fiona looked to her husband, a slight raise in one eyebrow.
"Really?" Felicia widened her eyes.
"Oh aye. Ye'd be surprised how strong humans can get when they're scared enough."
Farkle nodded, exaggeratedly. "Exactly."
Fiona settled a smile on her face. She nodded along with her husband, clandestinely poking his side. He gently nudged her back.
"Never doubt an ogre's story," he said to his daughter.
"Or at least not to their face," she mumbled in response. Felicia wandered aimlessly away, losing interest in the situation.
"Okay, dad…" Fergus piped up. He stationed himself on a seat behind Farkle at the table, studying his notebook. "Would this be the best placement for stitches?" he asked, looking at his father.
Shrek roughly patted Farkle on the shoulder a couple times. "Go check in ye mother's mirror t'see fer yerself." Farkle nodded at him in response. Shrek then planted himself in the seat next to Fergus, leaning over his notebook.
Fiona then met Farkle's gaze as he slid off of the table.
"They didn't know me, mom," he insisted, suddenly certain about clarity he didn't previously have.
She nodded at him. "Okay. Go change."
Fiona watched as he limped off in the direction of his bedroom, blood stained clothes and all. "You haven't broken a toe, have you?" she called after him.
He turned back at her, shrugging.
. . .
It's family time again! Getting back on the BNOW bandwagon while I work on my next multi-chapter story. I hope you all enjoyed reading, this was a fun one to write.