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shittycryptid-666 · 9 months ago

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(Edit: I decided that I hated this and rewrote it and you can find it with the next two chapters on AO3)

I just recently got into Danger Days, and as a Danger Days hater… I’m so sorry I take it back it’s brilliant. Anyway, here’s the chapter I wrote introducing my danger days OC, The Medic, who is an ex military medic for BL/Ind who joined the rebellion years ago. This is her removing Jets eye.

The Medic wasn’t anything close to the typical killjoy. She hardly appreciated even being considered a killjoy. She didn’t wear the bright colored clothing that made her stick out, she wasn’t the charged, over-the-top personality or even likable to most. She wore plain, practical clothing that always seemed to be a size too big for her petite frame. In her years of living in the desert she allowed her dark, chestnut colored hair to grow far passed her waist, nearly touching her hips at this point. Aside from her bangs that she kept short, framing her face that held her hardened features aside from her piercing, emerald doe eyes that seemed to soften her face.

She refused a killjoy name, aside from her radio handle as The Medic. Everyone who knew her, knew her as Maeve.

She wasn’t warm, or kind. She was mean, and distant, but she was also fucking brilliant, almost terrifyingly so. Any and all rebels and innocents were welcome on the compound, though she remained distant and stoic. She was a key player in the rebellion, being that she was the only one in the cause that had any real medical background let alone to the extent that she had.

She really was the only option for serious medical attention, and thank the zones for that, because she was good. Scary good.

Which is the only reason the Fab Four was able to remain somewhat calm as her Medical Compound came into view with Jet Star potentially bleeding out in the backseat of the trans am.

The Med Compound was an intimidating, looming structure of rusted metal and crumbling smokestacks in the outskirts of Z5. Surrounded by nothing but desert, isolated and desolate. From the outside it looked exactly like what it was, an abandoned power plant. Most of the outer buildings' mere skeletal remains of what they once were. It was quiet, almost eerily so, as the Medic liked it that way.

A monolithic promise of salvation or death.

At the center were two structurally sound buildings. The larger one, referred to only as the Hospital, was where The Medic worked. The inside was sterile, organized. There were multiple rooms that she used as recovery rooms or storage. The largest room in the middle of the building was the OR. The rooms separated by tarps and plastic sheets.

The second building was quite a bit smaller than the Hospital, having possibly been an old office with cubicles separating the space. It was used as shelter. Maeve always had cots open for those who were running, and required a safe haven.

Jet Star leaned heavily against Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul. A wadded shirt pressed against his eye quickly soaking with blood as they made their way through the desolate compound. The distant sound of creaking metal and crunch sand beneath their boots seemed to echo against Jets labored breathing. “Hang on, Jet.” Party Poison growled from just ahead, their blaster drawn. “We’re almost there.”

“She’ll fix this.” Kobra mutters, as if to convince himself more than Jet as the four made their way to the hospital, where Maeve was just inside, awaiting their arrival.

Inside the hospital, drenched in filtered desert light, Maeve is already moving. Her long hair tightly coiled into a bun on top of her head, with a set of gloves that were pulled up to her elbows and a rubber apron. Laying out medical tools on a makeshift table in the center of the OR. As the Killjoys burst through the door, she meets them halfway, carefully lifting the blood-soaked shirt away from his eye with gloved hands. Her already neutral expression hardens at the sight. Her demeanor changing to one with more urgency.

She silently motions to an old dental light that is powered by a small generator and a metal table that groans under Jets weight as the Kobra and Fun assist him onto it. She looks to Party, her lips going flat. “I haven’t had access to any sort of anesthetic in months,” she says almost dismally, as if it were a warning. Party’s face tightens, before they nod curtly. Their eyes darting to Jet. “Do what you gotta do, Maeve. He can take it.” They say, their voice firm and almost commanding in an attempt to comfort the others. Kobra's jaw tightens at the Maeves words, as he takes a step away from the OR table. He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus fuck, Jet…” Fun mumbles, squeezing his friends shoulder. His own hand trembling over the thought of what has to be done. “There’s gotta be something, anything, else we can do for him?” Kobra asks almost desperately as he returns to Jets side.

“I can take it.” Jet speaks with resolve, though his voice waivers. His skin is pale, but he forces a grim smile on his face in some attempts to keep his comrades comfortable with the hell he was about to endure. Fear gripping at every part of him. Maeve moves in on him, pulling his arm out and quickly finding a vein. “This is a pretty substantial dose of morphine. It’s better than nothing, I’m hoping you’ll be pretty out of it by the time this is over, but I have to work fast or he’s not going to make it.”

Her voice was calm, clinical, but she looked at Jet with a certain softness. An unspoken acknowledgment on the pain she is about to cause. Jet takes a deep breath, the morphine already doing something to take the edge off. “Hold him down.” She said, a slightest hint of hesitation in her tone. The three moved in on Jet, holding his limbs down as Maeve moved in. “Open.” She said simply, patting his jaw. As soon as he did so, a leather bite was thrust into his mouth.

Maeve’s hands are steady as she fully lifts the wadded-up shirt from Jets face. Fun looked away; his eyes closed tightly at the sight. Jet hissed against the bite as Maeve doused the wound with antiseptic, assessing the damage. He was hit with a laser blaster from a substantial distance. Not close range enough to destroy the surrounding bone or muscle, thank the zones, but his eye was disintegrated to nearly nothing, leaving just nerves and burnt tissue. There was no saving it. There was nothing to save.

She began working with practiced diligence as the first incision is made, Jet jerking and groaning against the pain. “Hold his head,” she warns Party, who does so, unable to turn their eyes away from their friend as Maeve worked. Jets muscles tense against the restraints of his friends. His vision blurring as the searing pain radiates through every nerve in his body. The taste of leather filling his mouth. The room smells of iron and sweat. Jets groans and Kobra’s silent encouragement contrasting each other.

Maeve didn’t speak. Her expression unreadable as she worked to extract Jets eye. Her hands moved with swift, precise motions. She’d done this before, but never with so much at stake. Every second felt like an eternity as she worked through removing disintegrated and burnt tissue and nerves.

Reaching the peak of the procedure, Jet Star’s body became rigid with pain. A deep, guttural sound escaping him despite the leather. Fun’s eyes remain shut, his knuckles white as he holds Jet to the metal table. Maeve’s mind is fully tuned in to her movements, focusing on every detail, blocking out the chaos around her. Every second feels like an eternity as she finishes works to remove all the problematic damage before proceeding to make it look as normal as she is able to.

Finally, it’s over. After securing a medical patch over what was once Jet’s eye, Maeve steps back, her hands and apron covered in blood. The room falls into a tense silence, broken only by Jet’s ragged breaths as he comes down from the excruciating pain. The Killjoys release their grip, their own bodies trembling with the effort. Party looks at Maeve, his eyes a mixture of gratitude and something darker. “You’re okay, man.” Fun takes Jet’s hand, patting him in the chest with the other. “You’re okay.”

After pulling the apron and gloves off, Maeve steps back to Jet, checking his pulsed, noting his other vitals. “Open,” she says again softly, pulling the leather bite from his lips. He lets out a shuttering breath. “You’re alright,” she says softly. She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. He has a long way to go, she knows this, but for now the hard part is over. She turns to the others, motioning towards one of the rooms off to the side. “I’ve set up a cot the second room for him. Give him a few minutes to come down before moving him.” She nods to Party, before stepping away.

She has done hundreds of difficult procedures at this point, this was no different. But something about it being one of them, something about it being him...

The large metal door creaked shut behind her as she stepped out in the cool desert air. A stark contrast to the stifling heat inside. Night settled in, the sun sinking in the horizon just the smallest sliver, casting the sky in deep purples and reds. She let out a long breath, pulling a pack of self-rolled joints from her pocket, and bringing one to her lips. Lighting it, she took a deep drag, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.

She walked a few steps away from the building, the crunch of sand and gravel the only sound in the vast emptiness of the compound. She walked up to an old generator, taking a seat on it before tilting her head back. She closed her eyes, letting the stillness of the desert seep into her.

Her hands were trembling, though she didn’t notice it before. She stared down at them, the gloves now gone but the memory of Jets blood was still fresh. She rubbed her palms together, as if trying to erase the sensation. But it wasn’t just the blood- it was everything. The pain she had inflicted on him, the way he looked at her, trusting her to do what needed to be done even if it meant enduring unimaginable agony.

Emotions were a luxury that Maeve learned a long time ago she couldn't afford. In her line of work, emotions could get you killed. But she couldn’t help the soft spot she held for the Fab Four. Sitting there in the cooling desert night, the weight of what had just happened pressed down on her as if the building had collapsed around her.

She let her head fall back, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air, staring into the first stars beginning to appear. For a moment, she let herself feel the fear she had pushed aside during the surgery. The fear that she wouldn’t be able to save him. That she would lose him right there on the table. The fear that maybe she wasn’t as in control as she always tried to be.

But she had saved him. She had done what needed to be done, like she always fucking had... Still, the thought of Jet’s silent suffering, his body writhing in pain, gnawed at her. She wondered how much more any of them could take.

She took another long drag of the joint, feeling the chill of the night air settling in. Her nerves relaxing best they could with the help of the weed. She knew she couldn’t stay out here forever, couldn’t let herself be consumed by doubt. They would need her again soon, and she couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now.

But just for this moment, she allowed herself to sit in the quiet, away from the noise and the pain. Just for this moment, she let herself feel the weight of everything she carried- the lives, the expectations, the relentless burden of being the one they all turned to when everything else fell apart.

The sound of the door creaking open behind her pulled her back to the present. She didn’t turn around, but she knew it was Party Poison, standing there in the doorway, watching her. For a second, neither of them spoke. They lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping outside, their footsteps soft against the sand. Maeve kept her eyes on the horizon, her expression unreadable.

“You did good in there, Maeve,” Party said, their voice gentle but with that underlying firmness that was always present.

Maeve nodded slightly, her gaze still fixed ahead. “Just doing what I’m supposed to do,” she replied, her voice steady, controlled. She wasn’t about to let any cracks show, not now…

Party moved a little closer, leaning against the same piece of rusted machinery. They watched her carefully, studying the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands were still tightly clenched. “You saved his life,” they said, as if reminding her of a fact she already knew.

“I know,” Maeve replied, her tone flat. She didn’t look at them. “I’ve saved a lot of lives.”

There was a pause, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. Party tilted their head slightly, their voice softer as they spoke again. “But this one was different, wasn’t it?”

Maeve finally turned her head to look at them, her expression hard, almost deflective. “They’re all different,” she said, the words carrying a finality that dared Party to push further. She wasn’t about to let them in on anything she didn’t want them to know.

Party held her gaze for a moment longer before nodding, respecting her boundaries. “We’re all here for you, Maeve. You don’t have to do this shit by yourself all the time,” they said, their tone sincere but not pressing.

Maeve nodded curtly, appreciating the sentiment but not willing to acknowledge it fully. “Thanks,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

They stood in silence for a moment, the desert’s stillness wrapping around them. Maeve’s mind was a whirl of controlled thoughts—she’d done what she had to do, and that was what mattered. Nothing more. Nothing less. She wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on how close she’d come to losing Jet or how much that thought terrified her.

“I should check on him,” Maeve said finally, pushing herself up from the metal, her voice as steady as ever.

“Yeah,” Party agreed, stepping aside to let her lead the way back. “He’s lucky to have you, you know.”

Maeve paused for a brief moment, her back to them. “He’s lucky to have all of us,” she replied, not turning around as she walked back toward the hospital.

Party watched her go, a small, knowing smile on their lips. They followed her inside, the door closing behind them with a soft click, leaving the desert night in quiet solitude once more.

Maeve stepped back into the dimly lit hospital, the familiar smell of antiseptic and metal filling her senses. The quiet hum of the small generator powering the essentials buzzed in the background as she made her way through the makeshift corridors, her footsteps barely audible on the worn floor.

She approached the room where they had settled Jet, her heart pounding in a way she refused to acknowledge. As she reached the door, she paused, taking a deep breath and smoothing her expression into something more neutral, more controlled. She couldn’t afford to let anything slip.

Pushing the door open, Maeve found Jet lying on the cot, his head turned slightly toward the wall. The medical patch over his eye was stark against his pale skin, the only sign of the ordeal he’d just been through. Kobra Kid was sitting by his side, his hand resting on Jet’s arm, as if grounding him to reality.

Kobra looked up as Maeve entered, a mixture of relief and exhaustion on his face. “He’s stable,” Kobra said quietly, his voice tinged with gratitude. “Thanks to you.”

Maeve nodded once, her eyes briefly meeting Kobra’s before shifting to Jet. She moved closer, her practiced hands already checking his vitals, her touch gentle but efficient. “He’ll need to rest,” she said, her tone clinical, though there was a softness to it that hadn’t been there before. “No sudden movements, and keep him hydrated. The morphine will wear off soon.”

Kobra gave a slight nod, his eyes heavy with concern. “You think he’ll be okay?”

“He’s strong,” Maeve replied, her voice steady. “He’ll pull through.” She looked down at Jet, her expression softening ever so slightly, though she was careful to keep it in check.

As if sensing her presence, Jet stirred, his one good eye blinking open slowly. He seemed disoriented at first, but as his gaze settled on Maeve, a faint, tired smile curved his lips. “You still here, Doc?” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Maeve’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” she said, her tone light but laced with a concern she tried to mask. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his wrist to check his pulse, though it lingered a moment longer than necessary.

Jet’s smile widened a fraction, a warmth in his gaze that made Maeve’s heart clench painfully in her chest. “Guess I’m lucky, then,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Kobra looked between them, sensing something unspoken but choosing not to comment. Instead, he stood up, stretching his stiff limbs. “I’ll let the others know he’s awake,” Kobra said, giving Maeve a small nod before heading out of the room, leaving them alone.

Maeve didn’t move, her hand still resting on Jet’s wrist. “You need to rest,” she said quietly, her voice betraying a touch of the worry she had been holding back.

“Only if you do too,” Jet replied, his good eye fixed on hers. There was something in his gaze, a depth that made her want to look away, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

“I’ll be fine,” Maeve said, her voice softening despite herself. “You’re the one who just lost an eye, remember?”

Jet chuckled weakly, the sound barely more than a breath. “Guess you’re right,” he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy again. “But… thanks, Maeve. For everything.”

She nodded, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, she gave his wrist a gentle squeeze before pulling away, forcing herself to step back. “Get some sleep, Jet,” she said, her voice regaining its usual firmness. “We’ll talk more when you’re stronger.”

Jet’s eyes fluttered closed, and Maeve watched as his breathing evened out, the tension slowly leaving his body. She stood there for a moment longer, her gaze lingering on him before she finally turned and left the room.

As she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it for a brief second, allowing herself to feel the weight of everything that had just happened. But only for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, she straightened up and walked away, her face once again an unreadable mask, burying everything deep down where no one could reach it…

#my chemical romance #true lives of the fabulous killjoys #they/them pronoun part poison #danger days #jet star #party poison #fun ghoul #kobra kid #killjoys #make some noise #fanfic #oneshot #mcrmy #mcr #Jet Star/oc #Jet Star/f!oc

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