#cw: hospital setting

[ansicred]

sacred rites & routines | angsty-fluff

James is worried about Frank after a particularly bad hypo. setting: In a hospital in London, September 2017 characters involved: James & Frank warnings: cw: hospital setting

[renonv]

Made some fanart for @cousmonaute ‘s asylum au bc it got me feeling some type of way 🧌🥰😋🥴

Quick behind the scenes and Close up 🔍

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 29

Previous — Masterlist — Next

We're finally on the way home kids...

CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery. Beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

The clock on the dashboard of Delia’s Honda glows bright blue, digital colon blinking between the six and five every second like a heartbeat. Only seven more minutes until the CVS opens. Leo scans the parking lot for the dozenth time. It’s still nearly empty, unchanged since they pulled in ten minutes ago after a drive twice as long as it needed to be. The pharmacy is the only store with any lights on, the rest of the strip mall’s windows and signs are dark. Errant snowflakes flurry through the light cast by the street lamps, inconsistent and sparse, borrowed from a passing storm. It would be peaceful if it weren’t for the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. 

Leo drags a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. He can’t even remember the last time he pulled an all-nighter. It must have been back when he was young enough for it not to feel like he’d been hit by a bus. Beside him, Aiden is still and quiet, save for the just-audible exhales he forces between pursed lips. Measured and even like he’s trying to stave off tears or panic or pain or some combination of all three. They hadn’t spoken on the ride over, both tensely checking the mirrors to make sure they weren’t being followed. 

Not that there was anything to say. 

…

He couldn’t even look at him.

If Aiden were a normal teenager—whatever that means—he’d be giving him hell. How could you be so impulsive? I already thought I lost you once today and now you’re jumping at the next chance? Do you have any idea what that would be like for me? Trying to get on with my life after they’d taken you back? Can’t you see how much I care about you? 

But he couldn’t say any of that. Didn’t know what to say, so he couldn’t look at him right now. Aiden quietly resumed his charade. Sure, the raid wasn't over yet but Leo couldn’t help wondering if he was putting on an extra show of cooperation as a demonstration of goodwill. 

Did he regret what he almost did? Or just the fact that he got caught? 

When he was sure Aiden’s eyes were closed, Leo looked into his face. The ruse wasn’t at all convincing, Leo knew him too well. For starters, the overwrought way Aiden managed his breath was a dead giveaway. A far cry from the gentle, inherent rhythm of sleep even he managed. Leo had clocked more minutes than he was willing to admit frozen in the hallway, letting himself feel an undeserved modicum of relief when that smooth sound reached his ears.

Just as telling was the determination in the tension of his jaw, only a little diluted by the way he was holding the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling. He was braver than Leo could ever give him credit for. He barely understood the first thing about this kid, yet here he was, reading every twitch of his brows and hitch of his breath like he had the whole frame of reference. 

Thankfully, this charade didn’t solely hinge on his or Aiden’s poor acting skills. The devil was in the details on this one. It was the set that truly sold it and revealed just how much practice Delia has had at this. 

Greeting cards crowded the windowsill, all sure to have handwritten messages on the inside. Either abandoned and repurposed or manufactured for this explicitly. A handmade quilt was tucked over the foot of the bed, balloons filled one corner up to the ceiling, and fresh flowers sat on all three tables. A hand-painted ‘Keep Fighting’ sign stretched across the wall with messages and names written over handprints. He recognized Delia’s handwriting in one corner. There’s no way she had recruited so many sympathizers so at least half of those notes and wildly different signatures had to have been done by her hand. Again, he was unsure whether to be unnerved or impressed by the level of dedication. Which was about as terrifying as it was comforting because maybe it meant the agents really weren’t coming back.   

And that was about all the time he could spend distracting himself from what the fuck was going on and where the hell was that damn sister of his. 

It was all he could do not to compulsively check his phone every second. Was it on? Was it even still in his pocket? What if he didn’t get service in this corner of the hospital? 

By the time there was a knock on the door, he had wound himself up so much that he jumped to his feet. In his flat-out panic, he forgot any recognition of the cadence of knocks and was certain they were caught but he was just pinned to the spot like an idiot. When the curtains parted, of course it was only Noah and he knew that, but he had passed the useful kind of adrenaline-fueled exhaustion about five hours ago. 

“They’ve given the all clear. Everything good here?” Leo’s obvious lack of composure earned raised eyebrows from Noah. 

He cleared his throat and straightened, his lower back tight after trying to conform to the chair. “As far as I know…they came in but a nurse made them leave before—” He resisted the impulse to look at Aiden who hadn’t moved, save opening his eyes to watch them. A deer frozen on the edge of the yard, afraid bolting would mean certain death. Ironic. “Where’s Delia?”

Now Noah looked caught out. “She’s, uh, she’s got her hands full with a…patient…” 

Leo struggled to keep his voice even. “What? Did they find something?” 

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s…look it’s better if you don’t know the details. I’m sure you want to get out of here anyway.” He cast a meaningful glance at Aiden. “Here are some notes for the prescriptions. They’re ready to fill at the pharmacy, antibiotics and—”

“Wait a second.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “How deep into this shit are you two? I’m grateful for what you did for us but this doesn’t seem like something you should be making a habit of.” 

Noah had the gall to chuckle—little shit—but when he saw Leo’s expression he quickly swallowed it. “Hey, man, I get it. There’s a reason I don’t tell my family. But I’m sure you know Delia well enough to know she’s not a ‘follower’.” He even used air quotes around the word. “We’re not even in the same unit. We didn’t realize we were both doing this independently until one of our shelter contacts introduced us.” Leo didn’t even try to mask his doubt so Noah continued, “For what it’s worth, it’s a lot safer for both of us having each other’s backs. But as you well know, the risks are never zero when you’re on this side of the law.” 

On this side of the law. 

The phrase twisted and turned in his head as Noah led them out through the labyrinth of back stairwells, quiet wards, and service elevators. It pressed against his thoughts as they huddled in a supply closet from a rush of doctors responding to a code blue. It loomed over him as he rested his hands on Aiden’s shoulders when he nearly jumped out of the wheelchair at the slam of a door. It echoed loudest when he was behind the wheel and it was on him to get them home safe. And figure everything else out. 

…

“L-Leo?” Aiden ducks his chin when Leo looks over, like he didn’t intend to say his name out loud and isn’t sure what to do with his attention now that he has it. He picks at the cuticle of his right thumb, lips moving like he’s trying to shape his words just right before speaking. After a minute of that, he presses them together, flattens his hands on his thighs and meets Leo’s eyes. “Mmm’sorry…before…mmm…” His chin starts to tremble and it’s obvious he wants to look away but he forces himself to maintain eye contact. “I-I-I…mmm…mmm…” 

“Alright, it’s okay.” Leo can’t bear the kid’s self-imposed confession. “I’m not mad. I can’t say I understand what might have possessed you but, anyway, we’re good. Water under the bridge.” It feels a little blunt and more than a little awkward but he adds, “You’re not in any trouble,” like Delia said dozens of times throughout the night. 

“Mmm…but…I’mmm…I-I-I…” Aiden furrows his brow like he’s still trying to find a word, lips moving, but tears well in his eyes, threatening to spill the longer he searches. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Leo repeats gently. “It’s all good.” 

Aiden doesn’t look placated at all. He balks at Leo, visibly distressed, lips quivering as he pauses mid-silent-syllable. 

Shit. That’ll encourage the kid to communicate more, just cut him off like an impatient ass. But if this is just some other backwards Companion obedience thing… Leo’s out of energy for trying to wade through how exactly to handle this. He has so much research to do. Is it even safe to do research?

“I’m sorry, hon. Look” Aiden flinches when Leo's hand meets his shoulder. 

He grimaces at Leo apologetically, shaking his head at himself. He swipes at a tear with the back of his hand and shakes his head again, a ragged exhale escaping his lips.  

“I know it’s not easy, we’ll figure it out together.”   

Aiden looks up, biting his lips together as he tries to blink back the rest of his tears. It’s heartbreaking to watch. Leo hopes he doesn’t think there’s any problem with him crying when he needs to. At the same time, Leo can also understand why he wouldn’t want to always be breaking down. 

“For now, let’s just focus on getting home, okay?” 

Aiden nods, pulling his hands into his sleeves and wiping away the last of the tears. He puts on a brave face.  

“Good boy.” 

Aiden looks away shyly. Leo opens his mouth to take it back, to apologize for saying something so patronizing, so offensive. He meant it more as a ‘good sport’, ‘atta boy’. He— 

There, behind the fist Aiden rests his cheek against as he pretends to look out the window, is a hint of a smile. 

Only this kid can shatter his heart and melt it in the span of five minutes. 

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeisreal @whumpy-writings

@cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo

@neuro-whump @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabasz @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @lavbug

@pirefyrelight

[fallenwhumpee]

Traitor

• Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Panic attack(?), hospital settings.

Leader couldn't breathe. They couldn't breathe as Doctor went on and on about how they used Leader's trust, Leader's... Leader's emotions. Which would have been hidden if it wasn't for their desperate need for something to lean on.

They wanted to cry. Cry and shout and maybe beat up something, just... just anything to get rid of this feeling of dirt over their skin, under their nails and in the air they tried to draw in.

It was wrong. Leader never wanted to just get the emotions out of their chest like that. They always had been able to shut those down, and not being able to do that now felt like another slap to their face.

But the feverish feeling sticking to them ever since their stubborn attempt to train was now suffocating them. So they ran away. They didn't wish to be seen like this, and they couldn't stand being in the same room with the reason for their suffering.

Stumbling through the hallways, Leader's heart hammered in their chest, each beat echoing painfully in their ears. Their breath came in short, ragged gasps, catching in their throat as if the air itself was too thick to inhale, coughs wrecking the posture they tried to hold. The walls seemed to close in around them, the lights overhead too bright, blurring and merging into each other.

Leader's hands shook violently, trying to grasp the freezing metal wall as they leaned heavily against it, trying to find some stability. Their vision blurred further, dark edges creeping into their sight. They had to stop, had to breathe, but each breath was a battle against the tightness in their chest, against the feeling of betrayal that choked them more than the literal lack of air because of the coughing fit they were stuck in.

They slid down against the wall, pulling their knees to their chest, trying to get themselves together and stop their feelings, but of course, they failed that too.

The cool surface of the floor did little to ease the heat radiating off their body, the fever burning through their skin and thoughts.

How many missions failed because of their interactions with Doctor? Because of their asks for help in analysing strategies? How many times did they fail just because of Doctor? How many times did Doctor just send their team into a trap?

The thoughts flipped their stomach. Squeezing their eyes shut, they wished it only to stop. They couldn't handle everything spiralling out of their control.

They chuckled, the sound mixed with their coughs. There who they really were, a crumbling imitation of a leader no one listened, weak and betrayed not only by someone they trusted, but by their own body and mind too.

Between coughs, their desperate gasps for air turned into choked sobs, each one tearing at their raw throat. They clutched at their chest, the pain radiating through their body like a wildfire. The air felt heavy, like shards of glass cutting into their chest with every breath. Panic consumed them, dragging them deeper into the abyss of their own despair.

And then, mercifully, everything faded to black. They didn't know how long passed before they could breathe again, but when they did, they were feeling terrible. Crying themselves to sleep didn't make them feel better. This was the first and the last time they were doing it.

They took some time before opening their eyes. Their head throbbed distantly, their forehead cool. They didn't remember raising their head from their knees, so the absence of their head over their joints was unsettling. The back of their head was not against the coldness of the wall, too.

Before they could grasp what was going on, they coughed violently, their chest aching with the motion. The ache wasn't sharp. None of their pain was like before. All dull, as if...

Leader opened their eyes into a hospital room, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room blinding them for a moment. Blinking away the haze of confusion, they tried to piece together what had happened.

"What were you thinking?" Mentor's voice was laced with frustration as they stormed over to Leader's bedside.

Leader flinched, their movements restricted. They looked down and saw the soft restrains, a mask hanging loose on their neck and a few IVs.

"I wasn't thinking," Leader breathed out, their voice hoarse. They coughed again, their strength failing them again. They saw no point in lying. They were at the bottom of the sea of shame already.

Mentor stood and put on the oxygen mask over their face. "You scared me."

Leader couldn't help but frown. Mentor and scared in the same sentence was like a hallucination. Maybe they passed out on the floor and were now dreaming...

Mentor's concerned expression cut through Leader's foggy mind. They couldn't remember a time they had seen Mentor look so genuinely worried.

"But not only me. What have you done to your second in command to make him so worried for you and scared of you at the same time?"

"They tried to sneak up on me in the dark. Your training happened to be too well even if I'm not at my best." Leader croaked, forming a sentence taking embarrassingly long with how often they stop to gather their breaths.

"Somehow they seem genuinely concerned about you. But knowing your... messed up dynamics, it shouldn't supposed to be this way. Do you have any idea about why they are acting like that?

Leader shook their head.

"What about we begin from the start? Why were they so prejudiced to you in the beginning anyway?"

"Look where me opening up led us." Leader forced out. It was not a good idea to show and share what they felt. It was against their training in the first place, and it didn't end with anything else than pain and misery.

"But..."

"You were right, Mentor. On the first day of my training. Emotions were only problems that I needed to get rid of."

Mentor sighed, shifting in their place uncomfortably. "I know it's hard, but shutting yourself off from others won't make the pain go away. It'll only isolate you further."

Leader's shoulders tensed at Mentor's words, a mixture of frustration bleeding into their posture and tune. "It won't change anything then," they murmured, their voice barely audible beneath the hum of machinery.

"My training failed to erase your emotions, I'm glad it failed. And I won't let you do it to yourself." Mentor sighed. They continued after a moment of silence. Leader didn't look at them. "You know what? You should get some rest and clear your head."

Mentor turned to leave the room, pausing at the doorway to glance back at Leader one last time. "I will come back tomorrow," they murmured tiredly before stepping out into the corridor, leaving Leader to their thoughts.

Alone in the dimly lit hospital room, Leader let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of their own emotions pressing down on them. They didn't need these burdens disguised as emotions on top of everything.

With a heavy sigh, they allowed themselves to sink into the hospital bed, the softness of the mattress a foreign but welcome relief.

-•-

Thank you @porschethemermaid for proofreading <3

[shion-yu]

Day 24: Not breathing

Part 5 (of 8) of the Cliff coma saga for @medwhumpmay, parts 1-4 here: Fever | Flatline | Coma | Coma (#2). To be continued on day 29. I’m also counting this piece (although parts 3-7 all work for this prompt!) for my @badthingshappenbingo space “intubation.”

It had been one month since Cliff had taken a breath on his own. One terrible, impossibly long month where Elliot waited and waited for Cliff to wake up, but he never did. The doctors seemed to be hesitant to start awakening trials this time given the first unsuccessful extubation. They never came out and said it, but Elliot felt the unspoken implication: Cliff was unlikely to be able to make it through another failure.

Elliot had known Cliff’s wishes since the first time Cliff had ended up in the hospital after they’d gotten back together. It was all written down in an advanced directive. Cliff had made it shortly before they began speaking again. Go figure that Cliff would have everything in order, Elliot had thought to himself. It made sense, but having it documented felt so real. After all, most of the time Elliot preferred to pretend the possibility of something going terribly wrong was far slimmer than it actually was. 

The terms were simple. Cliff didn’t want his parents to make a decision he wouldn’t have approved of in the end, which is why he’d outlined things clearly. He didn’t want to be on continuous mechanical support such as ventilation for over three months. If he were to sustain debilitating and irreversible brain damage that reduced his independence to zero, he did not want further medical intervention. Originally his decision maker was named as Moira, his older sister, but when Elliot came back into the picture Cliff told him he doubted Moira would be able to live with having to make that choice. So he’d changed it to Elliot, something Elliot had reluctantly signed for.

“You’re the person I trust most,” he told Elliot seriously. “I know you’d make the right decision.”

Elliot had told Cliff then that he didn’t want to have to make a decision at all. It was all just formalities back then though, at least to Elliot in his state of denial. It scared him how serious Cliff was about it. Now, Elliot wondered if Cliff knew he’d need to invoke the terms of that document sooner than Elliot had ever wanted to imagine.

A month was a long time to wait, and Elliot couldn’t put his life on pause for the entire time. He had to go back to work occasionally, although he refused to travel more than a few hours away so that he could rush back to the hospital if the need arose. His manager was irritated that Elliot wouldn’t turn his phone off even during meetings and interviews, but had to concede to the condition as one of the only things that would get Elliot to leave Cliff’s side at all. Online and to all his fans, everything seemed fine. But his heart wasn’t in it and he found it impossible to compose anything.

The day they reached the one month mark, Elliot gripped Cliff’s hand, bowing his head and brushing Cliff’s hair as he did every day. It was too long now, but at least Elliot kept his face shaved - he knew Cliff hated beard scruff. “Cliff,” he said. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, it’s time to wake up, baby.” There was no answer, and Elliot hadn’t expected one. “I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I miss you so much.”

More silence. Elliot shook his head and kissed Cliff’s forehead. “I’m right here,” he said, pressing his face against Cliff’s. “I’ll wait for you, alright?” Forever if he had to.

[i-eat-worlds]

The Subject Part 5

B127 does not have a good time in this one

CW: pet whump, medical whump, emeto, B127 has a flashback, implied abuse, implied forced feeding, fear of punishment, character with stutter, self dehumanizing

B127 lay in bed, tucked under a mound of blankets, trying to sleep like he was supposed to. It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. He could spread out, instead of having to sleep cramped in a cage. The mattress was soft, and the pervasive chill of the lab was nally gone, banished by the soft blankets that Dr. Brenner had graciously provided.

But it didn’t seem to help. No matter how many times the subject tried to sink into the softness of the bed and float away, he was always yanked back to reality by the painful throb inside him. At least now it was only the inside that hurt. Dr. Brenner was very into giving his subjects luxuries, B127 had found. He could feel the soft white bandage gently tapped around his abdomen, the soreness of his ribs finally subsiding thanks to the painkillers he had so been graciously gifted. He should be able to fall asleep, but he just sat there worrying about what the next day would bring.

With Dr. Glassener, he’d at least always know what the day would entail-surgeries, and tests, and afterward, he would get food, and maybe even medicine and bandages if he had been good. But Dr. Brenner could do anything tomorrow. He almost wished the doctor would have told him what was happening tomorrow, but he could guess. At the old facility, first days always involved lots of measurements, tests, and examinations so the doctor could see what they had to work with. It would probably be the same here. B127 forced himself to take a breath-there wasn’t any point in being nervous, he already knew what would happen. He’d done it many, many times. Clinging onto the thought, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

*******************

Alica Perry, night nurse on ward C at the Rory Friedman Memorial Recovery Center was seated at the nurses' station, charting busily, when her attention was drawn by the sound of belching, and then a thump coming from room C6. She stood up, surprised at the fact that the call button hadn’t gone off when she remembered who was in C6.

New patients never dared to touch the call button, and this wasn't going to be any different. His worryingly thin file said that he had spent the last three years bouncing around Hemlock. Most that came in from Hemlock got sent because they were in a coma, three inches from death. The nurse was surprised that he had survived at all. She pulled a pair of purple nitrile gloves on as she entered the darkened hospital room, preparing herself for the smell of bodily fluids.

It was somehow worse than she could have imagined. B127 was rocking back and forth in the far corner of the room, crying and uttering nonsensical phrases to himself. A trail of vomit followed him from the bed to the corner, trailing down his face, and soaking the paper hospital gown. His eyes were dazed, clearly in another place. When she knelt down next to him, she could make out what he was saying. She wished she couldn’t.

“P…please doctor,” He begged, “It is s…sorry. It is so s…sorry for being so bad and v…vomiting. It k…knows it isn’t s…supposed to, please, please don’t make it t…take it back.” B127 was forced to stop by another wave of bile coming up his throat. The extra vomiting caused him to cry harder. “P…please don’t make it eat it, it will do anything else. Please.”

Alica swallowed as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, B127? B127?” She said softly. “B127 can you look at me?”

His gaze immediately fixed on her, before he dropped it, bowing his head a little. The faraway gaze still clouded his eyes. “Please, doctor. It is sorry. It is sorry. It is so so sorry.” He snied loudly. “Don’t make it…it eat it please!”

“I’m not going to, B127.” She gently tapped his shoulder again. “B127 can you look at me? B127?”

This time it worked, the cloudiness gone from his eyes, replaced with fear. “M…ma’am.” He said, quickly rolling into a kneeling position, head down low. “It…It is s…sorry.”

Alica stayed squatting down, not wanting to loom over him. “You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t control it. I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked like he didn’t believe her. “Can you stand up for me, B127?” The skinny man slowly rose to his feet, wobbly and unstable. He had to lean on the nurse to stay upright as she helped him over to bed. “Just sit down.” She guided him to a non-vomit covered corner of the bed.

“W…What are you gonna do to it?.” B127’s voice shook as he spoke. “Please, it is s…sorry, Please.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay.” Alica kept her voice calm and steady. “Hey, can you look at me?”

“Y…yes Ma’am.” He stuttered. “It’s s..sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He sniffled again, a tremor racking his body. “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. If there is any part that you don’t like or want to do, then tell me, okay?”

“Yes m..ma’am.” He nervously rubbed his hands together.

“Good.” Alica said, then started the explanation. “First, I’m to clean you up, and I’ll get you a new gown so you can change out of the dirty one…”

“It is sorry it ruined the gown.” B127 interjected.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Then, I’m going to change the sheets. Finally, I’m going to look at your bandages, and make sure that it’s still clean. None of this is going to hurt, and if you want me to stop, tell me, okay? I won’t be mad.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” B127 sounded like a broken record. “T..thank you.”

“No problem,” She said as she went to fetch the wipes. “I don’t mind.”

Taglist: @stabby-nunchucks @rainbows-and-whumperflies @wolfeyedwitch @pigeonwhumps

[fletcherwilbury]

@sicktember Day 11: Alt Prompt 1: "I could really use a hug right now."

Warning for Hospital setting, surgery mention, past traumatic incidents, medication mention

[quietly-by-myself]

Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 29

Masterlist

In which, Cyril breaks down.

Thank you as usual to @darkthingshappen for beta reading. You're amazing.

CW: drug/alcohol addiction (opioids), opioids, overdose and death due to overdose, hospital setting, chronic illness, panic attack, caretaker has a breakdown, hospital whump, mass shooting mention, minor character death, brief suicide mention, emeto

===

One of the questions Cyril would have never been able to answer clearly was simple. What would happen if somebody he loved walked into the emergency department, dying?

Of course, there was always another doctor on call for that very reason. Nobody could act objectively. 

Well.

That was the ideal. Sometimes, it happened, in those smaller, less equipped hospitals, the more rural ones that Cyril found himself working at, that doctors were alone to manage an entire emergency department. Sometimes, the other attending called out sick. Sometimes, the residents just quit. Hours were longer in rural hospitals. The patients were sicker, poorer, more in need. 

In cities, perhaps doctors were praised. In rural medicine, Cyril was lucky to see a patient before they cut their own melanoma off. A backache in the rural emergency department was never just a backache. 

That night that haunted Cyril every night was a particularly bloody one, but not because of a gang turf war or mass nightclub shooting like in the cities.

No, the plague of the country was far less dramatic: oxycodone. 

Well, oxycodone was how it all started, at least. It was like a hydra. Once the doctor who’d been paid to overprescribe left, the problem sprouted two more heads. Cyril remembered in high school when only a few people knew the word “oxycodone.” Now, everyone knew it, along with heroin, codeine, and fentanyl. 

All it took was one miscalculation and Cyril would be working twenty-four hours on his feet, fighting to save life after life that just didn’t get Narcan in time.

They had a word for it.

Oxycuted. 

Cyril never thought it would be someone he knew. 

However, that night, when a bad batch had found its way into town, everything changed.

The attending was down with the flu. They only had one resident on staff. Cyril’s eyes were red from a lack of sleep and far too many caffeine pills.

He wanted to go outside to smoke. However, there were far too many people pouring in, mothers with sons and sons with sisters.

Everything in Cyril’s world fell apart when the stretcher with paramedics came rushing in the back.

“Code Blue. Code Blue.”

Cyril froze. He recognized the face.

Oliver.

Oliver. The one he’d grown up with. The one he’d had his first cig with. The one that had asked him to start a band when he knew what little talent he had.

Oliver. His best friend.

What little food Cyril had managed to fit in between patients immediately came up. One of the nurses rushed over to him as he huddled over one of the hallway trash cans.

“Dr. Galanos, are you okay?”

Cyril shook his head. “It’s Oliver. Oliver Marchmont.”

The nurse looked at him sadly. “Dr. Galanos, you’re the only doctor here tonight. I’ll call Dr. Tharby to see if he can come in.”

Cyril knew what that meant. He stood up, accepting the paper-thin tissue that the nurse gave him.

As Cyril had to test Oliver’s reflexes to ensure his death after thirty minutes of trying to save him, the moment of peace they held for him didn’t feel real.

However, when Cyril had to see Oliver’s mother, tell her that her baby boy was dead, he couldn’t take it anymore. Holding her in his arms as she cried and cried and cried was too much for Cyril.

That night, he cried as he smoked his last cigarette. Cyril never cried. But, that night, he nearly jumped off a bridge from the depths of his sorrow. He felt like an awful person. Why was he the one who had to tell that woman, the one who was practically a second mother to him?

He would never return to the hospital.

In fact, after a few months, he never returned to medicine at all.

The farther he was from the hospital, the better. So, he moved where there wasn’t one for thirty miles.

His little cabin in the woods.

—

Sacha awoke during the night in pain. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, exactly. Sacha had lived most of his life since Master bought him in pain. Even then, five months after Master’s death, Sacha was still in pain.

Cyril had explained that it was likely permanent. Nerve damage, he’d called it. Pain from injuries that never healed correctly, too. Those years of medical neglect and endless tortures had taken its toll on Sacha’s body: neuropathy, migraines, essential tremor, tinnitus, vasovagal syncope, and a lot of other diagnoses that he didn’t care to remember.

Luckily, Cyril wasn’t Master. He gave Sacha medical care. He gave Sacha medicine. A pill of acetaminophen and a pill of ibuprofen did the trick most of the time. Cyril had offered to try to get him on longer-term treatment, but Sacha didn’t like taking pills. He’d take medicine when he needed it. 

That night, the pain was bad enough that he decided on two acetaminophen and one ibuprofen. 

He rummaged through the bottles in the medicine cabinet and pulled out what he thought were the bottles he needed.

As he laid his head down, Sacha felt especially sleepy. The pain was going away in a different way than usual. Sacha almost recognized it, but the medicine was also taking away any worry that he might have.

Before long, Sacha’s head hit the pillow and his eyes closed.

—

Cyril awoke with a start. Nightmares of the time before his cabin in the woods, that time before Sacha, had plagued him recently.

He was getting awfully tired of seeing dead bodies in his sleep. He was tired of seeing their lifeless eyes and their bleeding bodies. In some ways, his experience with Sacha had triggered it all to come back. He’d stopped practicing medicine because he didn’t feel like he was actually saving people. Now, in order to save someone who genuinely needed it, he had to practice again.

Did Cyril mind? Not really, though taking care of Sacha was definitely taking a small toll on him. Well, maybe small wasn’t the word. The toll wasn’t insignificant, but it wasn’t big enough that Cyril would want to get rid of Sacha. The very thought was repulsive. Cyril loved Sacha like a little brother. It was his job to take care of Sacha.

Eventually, Cyril decided to get up and get something to drink in the kitchen. He wasn’t worried about waking Sacha up. Sacha slept like a log. 

However, as Cyril brought a glass down from the top shelf of a cabinet, he noticed a bottle on the counter.

“Hydromorphone, 5 mg tablets.”

Why did he still have those damn pills?

Immediately, he turned to Sacha. Had Sacha taken them? Sacha often woke up in the middle of the night to take pain medicine. Cyril had tried to convince Sacha to switch onto something long-term, but Sacha refused. He never gave a reason as to why, but Cyril suspected that he had a fear of long-term treatment after being drugged for so many years.

Sacha was sound asleep.

Almost dead asleep.

Cyril took the pills out, counted them. Sacha had taken two. He took two!

Panic overwhelmed Cyril as he ran over to Sacha and shook him.

“Sacha! Sacha! Wake up.”

At first, Sacha didn’t wake up. Dread filled Cyril’s blood like a poison. Sacha was dead. Sacha was dead.

He’d lost another one.

He couldn’t. 

Surely, he had Narcan somewhere. Maybe it wasn’t too late to give it to Sacha.

“Sacha, wake up!”

Desperation filled Cyril’s voice.

In fact, he didn’t even realize when Sacha groaned. He was too busy looking through the cabinets for Narcan. He needed Narcan. He needed to save Sacha. He couldn’t lose another person. Not another friend.

“Cyril, what’s wrong?”

Cyril’s breath caught in his throat. Sacha was standing, breathing.

“You-”

Cyril stopped himself from asking Sacha if he was dead.

The panic suddenly came crashing down and Cyril felt tears in his eyes. Sacha wasn’t dead.

“You took two hydromorphone pills.”

“Two… what?”

Sacha squinted at Cyril. He sounded pretty tired, groggy, but he was still there. A lot more calm than usual, but not anywhere near being dead.

“Opioids. I thought you overdosed.”

Sacha shook his head. “I’ve overdosed before. I’m… definitely… tired, but not overdosing.”

Hearing that Sacha had overdosed before certainly didn’t calm Cyril down. However, he knew that he risked freaking Sacha out with his panic, so he quickly went to his room and slammed the door shut.

Cyril heard Sacha roll back over to bed. He’d ask in the morning what Sacha meant by that.

Still, he grabbed his shirt, placing his hand over his racing heart. Sobs broke through his chest. He kept himself quiet. He couldn’t stand to have Sacha hear him cry.

However, Cyril couldn’t hold it back anymore. He cried tears, remembering the dead body of Oliver laying on the bed. The cold of his dead skin. The hollowness of his dead eyes. Sure, the soul was impossible to prove from a medical standpoint, but from a physical one, a presence always left the room or was simply not there.

Oh, how Cyril longed to be in his garden, far away from the worries and fears that plagued him.

But it was winter. It was cold outside. There was no garden to tend to. Only the fears that he had to face head-on.

===

Tag list: @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @flowersarefreetherapy, @octopus-reactivated, @quietshae, @whump-blog, @inkkswhumpandstuff, @whumpycries, @whumpkinz

[dprecollection]

End of "Vlad's Second Chance"

[wethecelestial]

they should invent a grief thats uncomplicated and purely cathartic to experience. has anyone thought of this before

[greyias]

[galaxywhump]

The Fall

[Caged Canary masterlist]

Some more AU Bradley, this time from before the kidnapping.

contents: heroes and villains, electrocution, fall from a height, broken bones, emetophobia, concussion, hospital setting, needles, self-loathing, traumatic experience.

~~~

It was supposed to be a straightforward team operation, tracking down a minor group of villains. The one Bradley ended up chasing once the group had scattered - which wasn’t the ideal outcome, but the heroes still outnumbered them - looked young and acted frantic, clearly frightened by him of all people running after them. They ended up in the harbor, in an abandoned warehouse, where the villain discovered that the way they had come through was also the only way out.

He had them cornered. They weren’t ready to accept this, so they made a last-ditch effort to use a grappling hook to get to a beam high above ground. How they planned to get back down after sprinting along its length back towards the only exit was a mystery, but Bradley didn’t wait for it to be solved; he scoffed, amused, and nearly flew after them, pulling himself towards the beam. Once he was standing on it, he smiled, grabbed a weapon, and approached the villain, it was over, he’d won - until they crouched and pressed their hands to the beam, electricity crackled and traveled towards him, and all of a sudden he was completely frozen in place, unable to move. The crackling extended to his costume, sparks danced between the metal elements, his every muscle tensed up, his jaw locked, he couldn’t even scream. It wasn’t exactly pain, it was something else, and when it stopped, when the hold of electricity on his body disappeared, his balance was skewed. He tried to regain it, but he swayed on his feet, stumbled - and fell.

Air whistled in his ears before he landed hard on his side and this time he was able to cry out when agony exploded in his arm, his head hit the ground and the world rang, and air was knocked out of his lungs, leaving him panting in panic as his vision was slowly shrouded in dark fog. The villain appeared in his field of view, having made their way down safely; they threw a brief glance at him before turning around and running away. He tried to crawl after them, rolled over onto his stomach and cried out in renewed agony. He managed to prop himself up on one elbow - dimly aware of his right arm most likely being broken - lifted his head, tried to get up, but vertigo hit him and turned into nausea that made him retch. Everything was spinning, he desperately pushed himself backwards, overcome with confusion and dizziness so intense he wasn’t even sure where he was and what had happened anymore.

“Mercury!” he heard right before the fog swallowed him entirely.

-=-

When he woke up, the first things he felt were pain and nausea. He tried to open his eyes, but that just made matters worse, and he choked.

“Hey, here.”

He threw up again - thankfully, into a bucket that someone put close to him. He felt terrible, sick, and he couldn’t open his eyes more than a little bit. Too much bright light made the nausea even worse.

“Light hurts,” he whined, feeling tears gather in his eyes solely because of his physical state; he wasn’t able to think clearly yet. “C-could you-”

“Of course, sorry!”

He exhaled when he heard curtains being drawn and lights being switched off, and it finally got darker. He slowly opened his eyes; it made him dizzy, but he managed to keep his nausea at bay.

He was in a hospital room, and that sight alone made some vague memories come back, the sense that something had gone terribly wrong. He blinked as if in slow motion, and flinched when someone appeared in his view, a person he couldn’t quite place at first, but it didn’t take him long to realize who it was.

“Hey, Bradley.” Ruby sat down on a chair next to his bed and smiled with worry written all over her face. “I assume the answer is no, but are you feeling better?”

He frowned and shook his head out of habit, then cursed himself when the painful pounding in his head intensified.

“I-I don’t…” He trailed off, looking down only to see that his right arm was in a sling and there was an IV needle stuck in his left arm. “I don’t know. I still feel sick.”

Ruby nodded slightly, her lips pursed in consternation.

“Just holler if it gets worse, I’ll fetch you a bucket. Ah, wait.” She grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand and handed it to him. He accepted it - wincing when he was forced to take it in his left hand - washed his mouth and spat into the bucket, then sipped the water slowly.

“Thanks,” he said with a forced smile.

The air in the room was unbearably heavy.

“Sorry it’s just me. Mom and dad were here too, before you woke up, but they had to run. They’ll visit you soon, though.” He nodded, and she continued. “What happened? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting through the pulsating pain and the fog in his mind until he started to recall what had led up to… this.

“It’s okay,” he muttered.” I… fell, I think. Yeah.” But there was more, the reason why he fell, and before he knew it his hands started to shake. “They had electric powers. We were on a metal beam and they touched it, and my costume… I… I fell.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s-it’s fine,” he lied. He was shivering, and this time his tears weren’t only caused by his pain and confusion.

“Bradley…”

“It’s fine,” he repeated. “Just a headache.”

He knew Ruby wasn't buying it, and he hated himself for not hiding his weakness better.

Weakness. He was weak, crying, and metal had a weakness too. He’d always been able to manipulate it, use it to his advantage, having full control over his powers after years and years of practice, and now it had hurt him, made the shock worse. He was suddenly acutely aware of every metal element around him, the bed frame, the needle in his arm, the lamps, everything - and he was… scared.

And Ruby could see that plain as day.

She was the last person he wanted to see him like this, the kind of hero he'd always aspired to be. He'd admired her his whole life, and now… now she was here, in this hospital, while he was in most likely the worst state he’d ever been in.

“Hey,” she said, laying her hand on his left shoulder and rubbing it a bit to comfort him. “Things like that… they happen, you know? Our job is dangerous, and sometimes the villains like to remind us about that. But you’re still an amazing hero, Bradley. Mercury.” She smiled, and he cracked a smile too, even though he couldn’t help but think about her and their parents having never had gone through anything like this, as far as he knew.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Thanks. For being here, too, it’s been a while, huh?” He let out a nervous short laugh. “I wish the circumstances were different.”

“Yeah, but it’s good to see you regardless. You should visit sometime soon, when you’re feeling better.”

“Sure. I will.”

He wasn’t entirely sure, though. Not when he was suddenly hit with a strange feeling of inferiority.

“I, uh…” He swallowed. “I think I’m gonna have to get a new costume. Get the whole thing redesigned, with… less metal? Crap, I should’ve thought of that sooner. I feel like such a moron.”

“You aren’t. It was fine for years.” Ruby shrugged. “My costume has metal elements too, you just… you got unlucky. You can change your costume and it won’t happen again.” She squeezed his shoulder. “It will be okay.”

It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, he thought, but didn’t say it out loud, opting to simply nod instead.

Ruby's words were logical, and on the surface he knew she was right, but deep down there was something that blocked her reasoning out, focusing on putting Bradley down for his stupidity and lack of foresight. There had been times when he felt inadequate, sure, but in those moments he would push further until at least the people around him were satisfied with his abilities and achievements. This, however, was different. He felt disappointed in himself more than anything else, uncertain, full of doubts, and he’d never felt this way this strongly before.

Something had changed back there, as if he had left something in that warehouse, something important - the thrill of the chase, the confidence and trust with which he’d always used his powers, the pure love he’d had for being a hero.

All lost on the beam along with his balance before he plummeted to the ground, defeated in what felt like every possible way.

~~~

taglist: @funky-little-glitter-bomb @lonesome--hunter @redstainedsocks @maracujatangerine @null-whump @make-them-scream

[pyreshe]

livvy is TERRIFIED of hospitals. im talking “can barely set foot in a hospital without having a panic attack” kinda fear. the smell alone is enough to set her on edge. ever since her dad’s accident, the two weeks he spent on life support, hospitals have just been firmly established in her mind as a scary place where people Die.

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - Fair-weather company

CW: corny behavior, suggestive language, PTSD, aftermath of torture and injury, medical whump, mention of self harm, hand whump

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The taste of cheap liquor still stuck to the roof of their mouths, and with the streetlights already guiding the way, they could stumble freely onto the driveway. Hardly trying to keep her laughter down, Amber unlocked the front gate of the massive family home and let the cold spring breeze follow them.

Her escort was close behind her when she stepped over the doorway, hands still clutching onto her bags. As always, they had swiped a lot more food from her friend's house party than intended, but that turned out to be his favorite part of the night.

"You good?" she slurred while turning around to meet him.

With a gentle push of his foot, Elliot let the door fall back into place: "Yup, I'm just gonna say hello real quick and get going. I got practice tomorrow morning."

This would be a terrible first impression, but better than bluntly running through a house he didn't belong in.

"My parents aren't home tonight," she disclosed, the news echoing through the foyer, "So no rush. The party doesn't have to stop."

Elliot knew that glance well enough, the one he got at family reunions. Or birthdays. Or funerals, for some tasteless reason.

"Oh come on, not when I'm half-shitfaced!" A tired huff was all he could muster as she grabbed him by his hands to lead.

"Please, baby..."

With that, he was dragged through the hall past the coat rack and over to an upright brown piano at the back of the living room. The simple white decorations didn't divert him from noticing how this room, apparently only existing for a couch and TV, was nearly big enough to fit his whole apartment.

"Still a no," he tried to mumble, only to be excitedly interrupted.

"Pleasepleaseplease!" sparkling eyes begged without ever losing contact, "You didn't want to do it at Rhys' place, it's just us now."

Amber hugged his waist tight, holding him close for a minute. Elliot knew what she wanted and also how it would end: with her winning, like she always did.

"Alright, alright," he pressed a quick kiss on top of her head. "But only one!"

Kicking his shoes off at the carpet's edge, Amber made him sit down on a dusty velvet stool to warm up to the old box. Elliot thought about playing some ethereal overture, an hour-long session that would only impress his conductor; or maybe the Faerie's Aire...

Let's hope I still got that ready on call.

Through his tipsy courage, he remembered a gift he prepared weeks ago, before their first big fight-

Why not, actually?!

Slender fingers pressed carefully down on the black and white keys, forcing the first notes of the evening out from the mahogany.

"I know you like this one. I had to secretly google the lyrics first, though," he admitted through a whisper.

A few wayward sounds proved what he had already worried about: that thing hadn't been tuned in forever. What a waste of art in this suburban ivory tower.

"But you know I can't sing for shit, so save your jokes for later. And if Sahra ever gets wind of this, she will not let me live it down," Elliot continued to sigh dramatically, "I mean, should I flop at the next auditions, maybe they can use me as a choir boy instead."

"You would get one of those pretty white robes, so think about it!" Amber too settled down on behind him, arms wrapped in sequin rested around his neck.

"You'll definitely need a safeword when this gets too sappy."

His hands practically danced from left to right now, filling the whole room with bone-deep warmth.

"How about something creative; like: Please, Elli, stop! My ears are bleeding!"

An amused scoff was everything she earned and unable to hide his smirk, Elliot cleared his throat one last time. As the familiar melody began to match the gentle hum in the back of her sweetheart's chest, Amber got more than she bargained for:

"True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree

A willow dancing on air before covering me

Under cotton and calicoes

Over canopy dapple long ago"

Elliot must've had a few more drinks than expected, she wondered, giving how calmly he let the words bubble from his lips; usually she had to press up against the bathroom door to catch a taste of it.

"Must be felled for to fight the cold

I fretted fire, but that was long ago"

With a sudden spark, the pace picked up intensity, fingertips now slamming out the melodies from inside the wooden frame.

"And it's not tonight

Where I'm set alight

And I blink in sight

Of your blinding light"

How lucky could a girl like her be?

"Oh, it's not tonight

Where you hold me tight

Light the fire bright

Oh, let it blaze, alright"

To meet someone like this?

"Oh, but you're good to me

Oh, you're good to me

Oh, but you're good to me, baby"

To wake up with hands around her shoulders, holding her close. Not on her chest, ass or in between her legs. No hard, needy pressure rubbing against her back.

"With each love I cut loose, I was never the same

Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold

Laying waste to my lovin' long ago"

No, he never used her like this - even when she asked him to.

"So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain

Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame

Long as amber of ember glows

All the would that I'd loved is long ago"

The drone of the strings still reverberated deep inside them, as the last echo died down somewhere between these walls.

Meanwhile, Elliot was grinning like an idiot because of the puns and if not for free video tutorials, he would've missed out on this inviting opportunity. He really overdid it with the shots this time, even made him miss some dazed notes, but he couldn't say no to a shot of Apple Pie.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of a teared-up Amber. Her head rested on his shoulder, shaky hands petting his back.

"That terrible? Oh god," he whispered against her hairline with a small chuckle. She dyed it honey-yellow this week, very pretty, like always.

"Shut up." Amber kissed a line down his neck.

He hoped the embrace they were caught in would last forever. It did, for a moment, until they both noticed a shape leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

"Cute," Chase nodded, munching on his midnight snack of dry high-protein cereal, "if that didn't make you wet, I don't know what will!"

Lovely like always.

"You're so fucking gross," Amber hollered with an earring in hand, ready to be thrown. "No wonder that Taylor didn't screw you without getting paid first. Piss off!"

Elliot decided not to get in between the twins when they were... mediating. God knows he never had to bother fighting any sibling off, but all they got was the dirty "Make me, bitch!" Chase made on his way upstairs anyway.

Public Amber was back, it seemed. Not that she wasn't herself when they had company, just... different. Elliot wondered when he would get used to it.

Walking back to him, she let the grained lid lower itself down onto the keys: "Should've eaten him in the womb, honestly."

Besides her irritated huffing, one question remained, though: "Can you stay? I don't want to be alone tonight."

Of course he did, but the only downside threatened to ruin this too.

"Practice?"

Amber melted into the hands that slowly stroked over her forearms: "I wake you up, promise!"

As if that ever worked before.

"Okay then," he blinked towards the full bags that still leaned against the door frame, "just need to get this into the fridge first."

If it meant he would always be like this for her, Amber could wait for him. And if she let herself be herself with him, Elliot could learn to love all her other sides too. Together.

Always.

---

--

-

-

-

"Mr. Ribera?"

"Mhh?"

"Are you still with me? Just this exercise and you're done for today."

"Yeah, sorry..."

The off-white walls of the hospital room had grown homelike during the weeks he spent in and out of feverish delirium. Fahim from OT, more than an angel in his turquoise scrubs, patiently let his pen rest on the clipboard. He had been here every day since the fog inside his head had lifted, but today, Elliot wasn't sure if he liked the company. 

Sitting together at a small table, only a bit of equipment and a glass of water between them, this suddenly seemed too familiar in the worst way possible.

Yes, he needed the exercise, be it a walk around the corridors or a quick game of catch, but after all the training, he knew he was still where he started. And Fahim seemed to finally recognize this too.

Elliot had offered to be on a first-name basis, but even after agreeing to it, the OT was too polite for his own good. Elliot could try to read the annotations that waited to be shared with the doctors and nurses, long upside-down medical babble was all he could make out right now, ready to be filed.

Did he really want to know what it said? 

The sudden beep of monitors around them reminded of the fact that he was still wired up like the Christmas tree in the foyer, just less joyous. The tube of a catheter snaked up to his left collarbone, making Elliot accessible for whatever they wanted to shoot him up with. Liquid relief, if only for a few hours. He didn't press the friendly red button at his bedside often enough, especially not before therapy, to not alienate the outcome, Fahim insisted.

And why not so? He already hit rock bottom.

"Let's go, then," Elliot said, and his voice cracked weakly.

"Okay!" Fahim quickly picked up and let his attention rest on the board between them; nine holes in it, waiting for the unlucky patient to fill them up. 

"Now I’d like you to switch and use your left hand. You can use your other to stabilize the board. Ready?" 

Only one at a time and neatly placed, surely. How thrilling my life is.

"Same order as last time?"

"Exactly. Whenever you're ready." With his thumb steady on the stopwatch, Fahim waited for Elliot's left to start moving. It was still wrapped up in tidy white gauze but left his fingers free to move. His first three ones, that was, the rest stayed tightly screwed together.

At the click of the watch, Elliot had already picked up a peg between his thumb and pointer finger to carefully maneuver upright into the first hole. With this one placed securely down, the second made his whole forearm shake so badly, it nearly slipped out of his grasp in the first few seconds. With the iron grip back, the always present burning decided to let itself surface from under the chemically induced numbness. Quicker than anticipated, the flare shot up from his hand all the way to his neck, meeting where the thin plastic tube had been shoved in.

His face was on fire now too, from pain or humiliation, he couldn't tell. The white-hot prickle gouged itself deeper and deeper into his flesh, dancing around the wires that held the bones in place, making Elliot feel them straining the tight stitches ever so horribly. A pressure that didn't belong inside him.

The wooden peg fell down onto the board, rolling back towards its box.

"Take your time."

He despised Fahim for these calming words and hated himself instantly for it. The poor man was doing his job, wasn't his fault that Elliot was as strong as a bundle of lettuce.

Despite all efforts, he couldn't get a grasp on that little stick again and with another click of the timer, this chance was officially over. 

The therapist gave him a reassuring smile, just as empty as his words: "Great work, I think you can rest for today."

I performed Beethoven, you know?

Enjoying his prescribed rest, he watched Fahim move the pen on the paper, probably documenting every failure of the day. A peek could do non harm, Elliot supposed. He thought of how his music teacher made him play with the sheets turned upside-down, as a fun warm-up. What a cruel blessing this turned out to be.

Thumb opposition (✔, Kapandji 6)

Inferior+superior pincer grasp (✔)

Radial palmar grasp (✔)

Closure of fist (✗)

9HPT: r= trial 1 (16s), trial 2 (14s), l= trial 1 (✗ after 120s). Elliot could make out a big thunderbolt scribbled behind that, probably the first note he understood. Weakness, P unable to complete trial due to physical limitations.

Physical limitations. That sounded so nice; much more harmless than molten iron running down his arm and turning to ants under his fingertips.

"Let's try that again soon," Fahim finally looked back up to collect the arsenal of tools and elastic bands, "until then you need to take your walks and train your hand." His head bopped toward a small foam ball on his bedside table. Elliot had stomped on it a few times, to give it that well-used look the therapist needed to see.

"How long will it take?" he mumbled with a thin smirk on his lips.

"My colleague will be here tomorrow, so-"

"No, sorry. I mean...how long will it take?"

As he leaned back into his chair, Fahim was visibly trying to hold back a sigh, his ink-black beard rustling against the hospital's uniform. He let his view rest on Elliot for what felt like the longest five seconds of his life, warm and patient. Elliot hoped he wasn't a 10 on the annoying-patient-scale, but he just had to know-

"One day at a time."

Yeah, they were definitely on the same page now.

"Thanks for your time," Elliot tried to sound at least a little bit motivated as he walked with him as far as the tubes allowed, "See you on Monday."

--------

The first thing Elliot remembered was screaming at the doctors. How they had gotten him into the hospital was lost to the feverish heat of the first week, just as any questions or treatments he endured. Thank god he kept his stupid mouth shut, even though that didn't stop anyone from asking over and over again.

Elliot hadn't been lucid enough for a good enough excuse, so none ever made it across his lips, he didn't own that cheap lie to anyone. Any injury had to be self-inflicted then, more or less officially because nobody intended to get the police further involved. Too much paperwork, they had whispered.

Now, everybody knew it was his fault; that's what they believed, and he didn't intend to convince anyone of the opposite.

Elliot's mother had told him about how terribly he lost it when they brought him in for the first surgery. Embarrassing, really, but he couldn't think of what he went on about or why he would ever be so aggressive.

They treated him to some extra medicine, making him stay quiet for even longer. He recognized that weirdly trusted feeling after a while: whatever had kept him down during his time in that crack house bathroom was also flowing into him with a press of a button, conveniently placed in reach.

He was behaving himself since, of course, after that aimless fury got out of his system. They gave him a splint and biweekly counseling and OT... as a treat, he supposed.

The man in the bed to his right went home after a day, "Just carpal tunnel," he said with an apologetic smile.

Elliot was alone again, only surrounded by an ocean of flowers with some cards swimming in between:

"Get well soon!"

"All the best! "

"Visit Fleming Beach!" Huh?

In the short time living on his own, he wasn't able to make many friends around town; his parents visited nearly every day, but that only made it harder. Between her shifts, Elliot's futility had practically forced his mom to pack up everything on her own: the ultimate offense to the woman who had nothing but helped him.

They were all safe now, but somehow the relief about dodging his worst fear didn't show itself. It was just pain now, every day for every minute.

Two more weeks in here, according to the latest prognosis, and then straight into the unknown. Ambulant rehabilitation maybe, workplace retraining - something like that.

Alone again, until another blood sample or change of dressing became necessary.

Couldn't it have been something else? Elliot would rather be living with his ankle smashed to pieces... or skull, he didn't use its contents anyway, right? Otherwise, he wouldn't be in that fucking bed with a piss bottle on its side.

How much healing to get his life back?

It would only get harder from here on out, that's for sure; although he didn't have to feel all of this right now, therapy was over. So Elliot pressed the big red button down, letting the rush of numbness take him away, if only for a moment.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[roseyjustice]

Another update ! I'm finally home from the hospital and resting !

My pain is much better and I'm able to keep down solid foods. I'm just mega sleepy rn but I can walk longer and stand!

[shion-yu]

Day 16: Coma (#2)

Cliff story for @medwhumpmay. Since I already have a story with this prompt going, why not add to it anyways? To be continued on day 24! Parts 1-3 were done for Whumptober 2023: Fever | Flatline | Coma.

Cliff stayed awake for less than a minute at a time. The doctors would come in and out and try to get him to speak, but all that came out was the faintest “yes” or “no” that was audible only if one were to lean close. He seemed too tired to say his full name and birthday like they wanted him to - or maybe he just couldn’t. Elliot didn’t know, only that the relief he felt when Cliff opened his eyes was not lasting.

It was obvious Cliff was struggling to breathe. Even with high flow oxygen, his numbers dipped frequently, setting off alarms and bringing the nurses hurrying in. The ten days that Cliff had been unconscious were painful, but not as difficult as watching him struggle like he was now. Elliot tried to comfort him, but Cliff seemed to hear very little of what he said.

“We may have to intubate again,” the doctor said after the first very long night. “It happens, it’s unfortunate but not rare. Sometimes people just aren’t ready.”

The numbers didn’t bode well for this fate. Cliff’s father seemed to be pushing the doctors to try any other methods before intubating again, and for once Elliot agreed with him. Of course he didn’t want to see Cliff with the tube down his throat again, still to the point of eeriness. On the other hand, if it had to be done he’d rather they do it before it became an emergency again.

“Baby,” Elliot said softly, holding Cliff’s hand and squeezing. Cliff didn’t respond, but Elliot knew he was listening. Cliff’s breath was labored, his chest heaving and breath shuddering with effort. He had a fever again and they’d been trying a non invasive ventilation mask on and off all day. It didn’t seem to help. “If you need to go back to sleep for a while, I’ll be right here.”

Cliff opened his eyes ever so slightly and looked at Elliot, expression pained. “Married,” he croaked the word out so weakly it was barely audible, but Elliot understood immediately. He stood over Cliff and forced a teary smile.

“We’ll get married the second you wake up again,” he promised. “The big ceremony can wait. You want to share a name right? And have kids? So you just get better and I’ll handle the rest.” The words promised so much strength when he said them out loud, but Elliot didn’t feel nearly that confident in reality. There was no choice but to act strong and hold it together for both of them right now though; the only other alternative was to fall apart.

Cliff nodded. “Love you,” he whispered. Then his eyes drifted closed. It would be weeks before Elliot saw them open again.