#forced medical care

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Pyschiatric Institute - Part 6

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

CWs: mention of ECT, mental hospital whump, mental health gaslighting, force used against patient (electric shock baton), forced psychiatric care

Matthew Cooper pulled up in front of a small house on the end of the street, pulling out his phone to send a quick text that read 'I'm here.'

On the screen were a series of previous, unanswered and unread messages he had sent to his friend Rowan.

'Hey Rowan. Just checking in.'

'Rowan, it's me. What's up bud?'

'Where are you?'

'PICK UP ROWAN'

'Fine. If you won't talk to me, I'm not going to try anymore'

Then, from today. 'Rowan, I'm coming over.'

Matt sighed as he dropped his phone into his pocket and clambered out of the car. He walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. He waited a moment, and when there was no answer, he rapped on the door with his knuckles. Still, nothing. The whole house seemed to be silent and still. He pressed his face to the one of the windows, attempting to peer through.

"Rowan!" He called.

No answer.

"Crap." Matt murmured. "Where the hell are you.."

He strode around the back of the house, searching for any signs of life from his friend. Finally, he spotted a back door, slightly ajar. It struck Mathew as strange. Rowan was not a careless person - in fact, quite the opposite, he could be rather paranoid, in Mathew's opinion. So it was completly out of the ordinary for his friend to leave a door unlocked, and Mathew also had no idea how long it had been open or if Rowan was even in the house still.

Cautiously, Matthew entered through the door, calling Rowan's name as he went. There were no traces of recent life - everything was put away neatly as Mathew would expect of Rowan, until he reached his friend's bedroom. This room was a mess - papers were scattered everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, on the desk.. Rowan's laptop was also still there, but Mathew wasn't keen to go trying to break into that. He pick up a paper sitting on the desk, and scanned through it. It was a newspaper article.

'Redwood Asylum patients claim gross mistreatment'.  The headline read. The article was dated 1964. The next article, from 1970, announced the closing-down of the Institute. The outdated facility had claimed around 1000 lives by the time of its closure, almost a hundred years since it opened.

All the other papers and articles were about the institute, why puzzled Mathew further. Why was Rowan so obssessed with this place? And more importantly, where was Rowan?

Mathew did a quick google of the place, finding that it had since been reopened and claimed to now be running as a more modern psychiatric hospital. Matthew was all out of options - his only remaining option was right in front of him. He hit the phone number listed on the web page, drew a deep breath, and hit the call button.

"Hello, you've reached Redwood Psychiatric Institute. You're speaking to Carol, how can I help you?"

"Uh, hi Carol, my name's Mathew Cooper. I was wondering if you recently had a visitor by the name of Rowan Murdock?"

"I'm sorry but we can't disclose information on our visitors. We have, however, got a patient by that name. There's a note on his file saying he can't have visitors, are you family?"

"Oh, uh.. no, I'm a long-time friend of his though. I was just wondering if I could get some more information on what happened." Mathew stammered, shocked at the news. Rowan was a patient?

"I can arrange for you to meet his doctor, in that case. Doctor Wilson. I'm sure he'd be willing to discuss Rowan's - well, yes. Rowan's recent weeks with us."

Mathew arranged a time for the meeting and then hung up the phone. He began to head out the room, when he turned back, picked up one of the articles on the psychiatric institute, and then continued on his way out of the house.

------

"Mathew Cooper, I'm here to talk to Doctor Wilson." Matthew announced to the woman at the front desk.

"Sign here, and then take this visitor pass, and it'll be the third door on your left." She smiled, a friendly but tired, 'I've been here all day and I'm just trying to be friendly to you but I could care less' kind of smile.

"Thanks." Mathew smiled back as he followed her instructions and then headed down the hall.

Inside the office, the doctor sat behind the desk, looking comfortable but composed.

"Hello Mathew, take a seat. My name is Doctor Wilson." The doctor smiled from behind his glasses.

Mathew sat in the chair across from the doctor, and extended his hand to the doctor, who took it and shook it firmly.

"Thank you for coming, Mathew."  Doctor Wilson greeted. "I understand these circumstances must be.. rather confusing, and I appreciate your willingness to discuss this in person."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor Wilson. I understand you must be very busy." Mathew acknowledged.

"Indeed. Now, allow us to get right into it. Now, when did you last see your friend?" The doctor asked.

"Well, I must have seen him last a few weeks ago." Mathew answered.

"I see. Well, he came here as a voluntary self-admission on September 13th. He was incredibly unstable, and we immediately began his treatment. When we admitted him, we looked into his medical records and his personal records. Now, while I'm afraid I have some hard news to digest, there is no other way to say this - his name isn't Rowan Murdock. His real name is James Lawton."

"What- you mean, he's been lying to me this whole time about who he is?"

"No, not at all. James is a very mentally ill young man, not a pathological liar. We discovered symptoms of schizophrenia throughout the last few years of his life, but it was not yet diagnosed or treated. It has just since accumulated and worsened. He has been in dire need of treatment for years, but when he came to us, he was at the height of a schizophrenic breakdown, believing he was Rowan Murdock, a profilic journalist investigating the asylum before deciding to admit himself.  We've been treating him with medications and ECT. He has been doing better the last few weeks, however,  we are worried that a visit with you, an old friend of 'Rowan's may cause another setback." The doctor sighed.

"Oh..." Mathew's heart sank at the explanation. He couldn't comprehend the whole story, it was not anything he could have imagined. Of course, he had accepted there was some horrible series of events that had led to Rowan- or, James - being here, but not like this. "I.. I'll do anything you need, I'll say anything, I just- I need to see him, I need to talk to him."

"Alright, I'll arrange a visit." Doctor Wilson conceded. "But you mustn't encourage any of his delusions relating to 'Rowan Murdock'."

"Understood, Doctor. Thank you very much."

------

"James, I have a visitor for you." Doctor Wilson stood in the doorway, ushering Matt ahead of him.

Matt entered the room hesitantly, his eyes scanning around until they landed on a small figure, hunched up in white in the corner of the small room.

"James?"

The figure Matt had once known as Rowan did not acknowledge the presence of anyone in the room. He simply muttered something under his breath.

"James. I've brought you a visitor." Doctor Wilson repeated, mild annoyance already in his voice as he approached James and bent down, waving at his patient to try and gain his attention.

James blinked, several times, slow and sluggish, as if drawing himself out of a trance. He glanced around the room, eyes landing eventually on Mathew.

"Who.. whoareyouu-" James slurred softly, as Doctor Wilson grasped him by the arm and helped him onto his feet, bringing him over to the small bed in the centre of the room.

"He's on a lot of medication right now. He may be suffering some short-term memory loss right now, so remember that this will pass. Just remind him who you are." Doctor Wilson said to Mathew.

Mathew nodded and approached the bed, kneeling in front of his old friend. Rowa- James, he reminded himself, looked pale, and his usually-thin frame looked even thinner than usual, or maybe that was the ill-fitting hospital gown. The circles under his eyes were dark, and his face was pinched and gaunt.

"Hey, James. It's me, your old friend Mathew." He said softly, reaching out a hand.

James didn't take the hand, instead, he sat there, staring blankly at it as Matt continued talking.

"We've known each other since university. You used to come and 'study' at my house. I'd steal your notes, and then we'd play video games together until 3am, even if we had class the next morning at 9." Mathew chuckled slightly at the memory, his heart aching a little to see his friend of five years in this situation. They'd been very close through university, but in the last two years they'd drifted apart slightly as both adjusted to their adult lives. Still, he cared for his friend.

Matt drew himself out of his own thoughts and looked up to see James staring at him with an.. odd expression.

"James, are you alright?" Matthew asked gently.

"That's.. not my name." James said flatly.

Shit.. He'd triggered James. His friend began to cry - no, more like tears were slipping down from expressionless eyes.

James suddenly stood and lunged at Mathew, knocking him to the ground as he began to scream at Matt.

"HELP!"James screamed as he shook his friend. "THEY'RE TORTURING ME, LET ME OUT YOU HAVE TO LET ME OUTYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETO-"

Mathew was so shocked, he couldn't react. James screamed himself hoarse until suddenly, he gave a suprised shout, and collapsed onto his back, convulsing in agony at the hands of orderlies who had appeared in the room.

"Are you alright?" Doctor Wilson asked as he extended a hand and helped Mathew to his feet, pulling him away as the orderlies descended upon James' form, brandishing a syringe. Quickly, Doctor Wilson escorted Mathew out of the room, away from James' dreaful shrieking protests.

They returned to the doctor's office, where Wilson handed Mathew a glass of water. Matt graciously accepted it, ignoring the odd drop spilling out from how badly his hands shook. He downed the glass, wiped his face, and finally spoke. "What- what will happen now?"

"We will have to change his medication, and I'm going to perscribe another course of ECT." The doctor replied, calm but with a hint of frustration.

Mathew realised that clearly, James' treatment had been quite a difficult process that was now far from over.

"Shock therapy?" he asked.

"While that is the outdated term for it.. yes. It is now quite safe, and often used in quite severe cases of mental illness. Clearly, his schizophrenic hallucinations and paranoia are not yet treated. We will have to increase our efforts to stop these delusions that he is being trapped here."

"Will I be able to return and visit him again, Doctor?"

"Maybe after the next round of ECT. Thank you for coming, Mathew."

As Mathew drove away from the Redwood hospital, he wondered what fate he was leaving his friend to.

Tags:

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @dream-whump @ratking-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halstead-shaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful @whatwhumpcomments @caspersdelusion

[lunacias]

(Silence. CARPENTER tries to rally HAYWARD's spirits. She's afraid she's going to lose him.)

"All three of us - we can all go on living, Hayward. Just like you said."

[zinniajones]

FLORIDA HRT CRISIS: SB 254, effective May 17 2023, banned nearly all new HRT prescriptions and refills of existing prescriptions for trans adults, for up to 6 more weeks or until “emergency” state-mandated consent forms are published by the Boards of Medicine.

Trans care bans were never about “protecting children” — they were about making all trans existence completely impossible. See for yourself.

(Full quality version)

Please share to help Florida's trans community survive SB 254!

[psychoticallytrans]

There are three main models of disability that are in common use. The moral model, the medical model, and the social model.

You may not have heard of the moral model before, but if you are disabled, you have felt the impact of it. The moral model is disability as a failure of character. It sources the problem of disability in the character of the disabled person. It's the people who insist that if you just tried harder, were better, had a better attitude, that you would no longer be disabled. It is a model that is used by ableists in order to conceptualize of disability as a failing of the individual. An extreme example of this mindset are the Christian Scientists, who believe that all illnesses and disabilities should be healed by the grace of their god and that if you are not healed, something is wrong with you. It is the the most cruel of the models, and the least successful at assisting disabled people.

The medical model is the model used by the medical establishment and by those who put their stock in medical authority. It sources the problem of disability in the body. It measures disability against a theoretical average person, and seeks to make disabled people match that average person more closely. This model works very well for disabled people with disabilities that can be measured, have a potential treatment plan, and want their disability gone. It does not work very well for people who do not match all three criteria. If they match the first and second but not the third, then strict adherents of the medical model often fall back on the moral model, stating that they are stupid, lazy, or selfish for not being interested in being cured. This also often happens if treatment fails to improve the condition of the disabled person.

The social model is a newer model, largely designed by disability activists and scholars and often defined in opposition to the medical model. It sources the problem of disability in the interaction between the disabled person and their physical and social environment. It argues that the solution of disability is to change the environment so that impairments are no longer an issue. This model works very well for disabled people who consider their disability not to be an issue when fully accommodated. It does not work well for people who consider their disability an inherent impairment and/or desire a cure. Strict adherents of the social model often fall back on the moral model when considering these people, stating that they are short-sighted or that they worship the medical model. These are the people who state things such as that depression would not exist in a world without capitalism.

When a disabled person fails to behave as expected by the model a person has of disability, the moral model is almost always the fallback position, because many people cannot conceive of why someone would disagree with them other than a lack of good character. This is a problem, because the moral model proposes no solution but to ignore or abuse the disabled person until they behave as expected.

Another notable interaction is that adherents of the medical model can often be persuaded to support the more traditional parts of the social model, such as providing large text resources to people with impaired vision, so long as there is empirical research backing it. However, they rarely support more radical arguments that challenge how we define disability and how society should be structured or restructured.

All three models have major failure points. The moral model fails every disabled person it is applied to. The medical and social models both fail different disabled people when adhered to strictly. The best approach at the moment seems to be hybridizing the social and medical models, so that they cover each other's weak points and fit the needs of the widest spectrum of disabled people. The main barrier to this is that they are often defined in opposition to each other.

[good-beanswrites]

If it's okay with you, could you write a drabble about the hypothetical aftermath of Amane getting attacked by Kotoko?

Welp thank you pal for making me absolutely insane with this request 👍 I ran through a few hypotheticals and realized I had to shift some things around since there were so many absolutely tragic outcomes. I worked something out but damn if it didn’t make me emotional to think about how uniquely rough Amane has it. Even making sure she's in a good place at the end, this got pretty serious, so warnings for child abuse and cult references. 

(So in canon, Kotoko goes in order and attacks Fuuta, but Kazui steps in. Then she attacks Mahiru while he’s distracted with his injuries. She’s about to attack Amane, but Mikoto gets in the way (my hc that he did it on purpose survives!). By the time they reach a draw, Kazui is back, and the two of them can prevent Kotoko from any further action against Amane. Sticking to this apparent system of three attacks and one rescue, I’m just shuffling around the injuries for this story. Fuuta’s attack went unnoticed, and he’s in the same state as canon Mahiru. Mikoto steps in before Kotoko can fight Mahiru, so Mappi’s the one who get out physically unscathed. While Mikoto checks on Mahiru, recovers himself, or discovers Fuuta, Kotoko is able to attack Amane next. Kazui comes to help, but not before she leaves Amane looking like canon Fuuta.)

Mahiru could practically feel her heart shatter into a million pieces when Amane finally cried in front of her. She hadn’t shed a single tear yesterday – it was the shock, Shidou said. Mahiru was skeptical. After all, she had been shocked, too, and cried plenty.

Amane woke as she came in with breakfast. She took a moment to survey herself, bandages peeking out from beneath her pajamas and an eyepatch securely over her right eye. As calmly as one might say “good morning,” she started to cry. Mahiru might have missed it, if Amane hadn’t wiped at her good eye with her sleeve.

“Oh, sweetheart…!” Mahiru rushed over to her. “It’s okay, I’m here.” She wanted nothing more than to wrap the girl in a secure embrace, but she remembered the mass of bandages that were around her chest. Shidou had mentioned broken ribs and bruises. It took everything in her not to cry along with Amane, at the thought.

“I can get you another ice pack, if you need. Or more medicine.” Her mind spun with ways to help with pain. Many of the first aid supplies had been used to keep Fuuta from the brink of death, but surely there were extras to spare for Amane. 

The girl just shook her head. 

She muttered, “I can’t… I…I’m going to be punished, I’m going to be punished…”

“No! You’re safe now.” Mahiru placed her hands gently on Amane’s arms. “Kotoko’s not coming back. We’re all watching over you. You’re safe. She’s not going to hurt you anymore.” 

“That’s not…” Amane pulled away. Her voice stayed level, despite hiccups interrupting her. A hand reached up to her eyepatch. “It’s this. It’s all of this. It’s sinful. I took it off last night, but he must have…” She started unwrapping it. “They’re going to punish me...” 

With a careful motion, Mahiru held it in place and took Amane’s hands into her own. She’d been picking up on the signs ever since they arrived here together, and a final wave of understanding washed over her. 

“I can’t let you do that.”

Amane’s expression twisted, though words came out far more frantic than fiery. “Let me go.” 

Mahiru didn’t. “I’m sorry. Amane, you need this treatment.”

“That is not your decision to make. That is not any human’s decision to make.”

Mahiru pressed her lips together. “I know. But I can’t watch as you… I can’t sit by again while someone…” She was careful not to apply any pressure, but she could no longer fight the urge to gather Amane up in her arms. “You don’t need to be afraid of those people, anymore.”

“I’m not afraid.” Amane hiccuped. “They love me, and I love them. I need to be good for them.”

“I love you, and I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“You just pity me because I’m young.”

“Why does your age matter? You are a lovely young woman – you are my friend – and I can’t bear to see you in pain.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Mahiru doubted she would take that as an answer; Amane had refused to call any of the others her friend. At least she didn’t argue. In fact, it seemed she was leaning into the embrace a bit more. She sighed a shaky breath into Mahiru’s uniform.

“Listen, Amane. Can you do me a favor? I’m trying to be a good girl, too. To make up for something awful, I need to make sure you’re alright. Can you help me? Can we be good together?”

A long pause followed. Amane’s voice spoke up, ever so gently.

“I suppose I can consider it.” She added quickly, “for the sake of your redemption. Of course.”

“Of course.”

[whump-polls]

Living weapon whumpee

Or

Living medic whumpee

[scootersscooter]

I think Oliver should've been allowed an arc where after being confronted with him not being naturally gifted with his powers he hid in medicine and became the team medic, eventually coming to the conclusion that he can't hide from everything that makes him uncomfortable, slowly becoming more confident using his powers in fights

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 101: Funeral

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Kitty knows that showering right now is probably a bad idea, but they feel gross covered in vomit and sweat. Whatever. None of the doors here lock from the inside; if anything happens Bunny and Puppy won't have any trouble getting to them. They grab a new outfit to change into and toss it onto the bathroom floor before undressing and stumbling into the shower. They don't turn the light on and find that just being in a darker room helps them feel a bit better.

They know they're not being fair to Bunny and Puppy. But at least they can think that, at least their head is clear instead of full of fog. They hate that right now the only way to think clearly is to not fix the problem making them lash out, but there's nothing else they can do. Being drugged again isn't an option, and it's better to be themself and be mean than to be nice but not themself. 

They shower quickly, to avoid worrying Bunny and Puppy any more than they already have. The shower is way louder than normal, anyway, so they don't want to keep it on longer than necessary. Luckily, they don't have any seizures in the time it takes to get clean, so they quickly get dressed and head out to the living room, leaving their dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

Bunny and Puppy are talking (well, Bunny's talking and Puppy's writing) in the living room. They brought the drawer up, which is nice. They did what Kitty suggested!

Kitty collapses onto the couch and says nothing, ignoring Bunny and Puppy's stares. They should apologize, but any answer to that apology would make them angry all over again, so they keep their mouth shut.

The plan might take a bit longer than anticipated; Kitty doubts their ability to get packed and knows there's no way they can hike to the nearest town until the withdrawal has run its course. 

"...Kitty?" The worry in Bunny's voice makes them want to punch something. "Me and Puppy… we were thinking of burying Jane's body. Does that sound good?"

Kitty gives a thumbs up.

"Do you want to join?"

Kitty shakes their head.

"Um… can you stay in the backyard with us anyway, so we can keep an eye on you?"

Kitty groans. It's a fair ask, they know that, but they want to stay here! And Bunny is so– he just–

There's no rational root to this anger, but knowing that doesn't change anything. They grit their teeth and force themself out the back door. After a brief moment of hesitation, they lie in the grass. It's really uncomfortable, but so is everything else. At least it's still dark outside.

"...Thank you, Kitty." 

They just have to get through this. The shaking and the nausea and the anger and everything. They try to just focus on their breathing. In and out, in and out. Just make it to the next breath without screaming, and the next one, and the next one.

Withdrawal can't last forever. They'll get through this.

~~

Luckily for you and Puppy, a shallow grave has already been dug. Neither of you want to dig it deeper, so that's all Jane gets. Now that your hands are healed, you can help Puppy bury Jane.

Puppy is crying again. You don't know if she's upset about Jane or Kitty or something else, and you can't really converse while her hands are occupied with the shovel.

You look at the pressure sores on Puppy's face. Fuck! You forgot about those after you failed to heal them! Stupid, stupid Bunny, how do you keep missing things that are so obvious?

"Let's… I'll go get some bandages and stuff for your face. Do you have any other injuries we should take care of? I don't… I'm worried I wouldn't remember, I feel so scattered lately."

Puppy points to her neck. There are pressure sores there, too.

"Oh, right. Anything else?"

Puppy shakes her head.

"Kitty, is there anything you need?"

Kitty groans and shakes their head. You set down your shovel, quickly go inside, get the necessary supplies, and come back out.

Puppy stops burying Jane's body for a bit to let you clean and bandage her wounds.

"Okay, so… we're going to bury Jane, then… then you go talk to your criminal contact? And me and Kitty get packed if we, uh, can… and then when you get back you get packed, and we sell stuff… am I remembering it right so far?"

Puppy nods.

"After we do that… are we going to the hospital?"

Puppy looks at Kitty and shrugs. That makes sense. If Kitty refuses to go, you and Puppy probably won't go either, and at least for now it looks like Kitty won't go to a hospital.

"Okay. We'll just… see how we're doing after we've sold the stuff. Should we… Kitty was right that people will ask questions, we'll need some kind of story eventually–"

Puppy shakes her head and gestures at Jane's half-buried body.

"Right. One thing at a time." You pick your shovel back up and get to work.

Puppy starts humming a soft, sad song. The kind you might hear at a funeral. She's still crying, but at least she's not crying salt directly into her wounds? That's something.

You wish you could comfort her, but Jane dying is the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you can't put yourself in her shoes enough to even know what could be comforting. You also know that there's sometimes nothing anyone can say that will be comforting, that's how you felt about a lot of the people who tried to comfort you after your dad died. 

"I wish I had something comforting to say." You finally settle on. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

She sniffles and nods, then goes back to her humming.

~~

Puppy hates that she can't hate Master. It's just part of the spell, it must be. Her misery is the price they had to pay, and it was worth it, so she'll just have to grieve Master. It's nothing to do with Puppy being messed up, it's just the spell.

But Bunny wouldn't have asked her to do it if she wasn't able to feel this way even a little bit beforehand.

It's not like Puppy ever thought Master actually cared about her beyond wanting to get the most entertainment out of her as possible. What is there to miss? What is there to grieve? Why does she feel so awful?

She can't figure it out, no matter how much she thinks about it. None of the affection Master gave was anywhere near as comforting as affection from Bunny or Kitty, so it can't be that she's missing that affection. She cared about Master, pitied her, but wouldn't that make her happy on Master's behalf that she finally got what she wanted?

It's a waste of time to think about this. It doesn't matter. No matter what the answer is, nothing changes. What she should be mulling over is whether she should die or not.

Bunny and Kitty need her. They need her, but she hurts them, she makes their lives worse, so what should she do?

It would hurt them horribly if she died. She knows that. At what point does that pain become less than the pain she causes by being alive?

Maybe once they're stable? Right now they really need Puppy, she has information and resources they don't. Once they don't need those things, she'll just be a burden, so even though her dying will hurt them it will end up hurting them less than if she'd continued living.

Satisfied with her plan, her mind starts wandering– hitting immediately on the loop of things she's going to get punished for that's been going in the back of her mind. Taking off the collar. Taking off the muzzle. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Speaking. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Writing. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Drinking water. Not throwing up the water. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Drinking water again. Not throwing up the water. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Not throwing up the water. Writing again. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Not throwing up the water. Taking off the collar–

Master is dead. She repeats that to herself, over and over again, but the loop continues, getting longer with each iteration. Every second she doesn't put the collar back on is another infraction, another thing Master will punish her for. Every second she doesn't put the muzzle–

She tries to focus on burying Master. Almost done now. 

If she could speak, she might give a eulogy. Talk about how she loves Master and misses her and doesn't know why because Master was awful. How she's still so afraid of her, despite knowing she's dead. How she was just a scared kid and Puppy hates that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her besides killing her. How Puppy thinks she would be the same as Jane if she was stuck as a twelve-year-old for that long.

But she can't speak, and writing her eulogy would be a waste of time, so she doesn't say anything.

Soon enough, Master is completely covered in a thick layer of dirt. Puppy looks over to Bunny's garden. They're leaving anyway, so picking some flowers won't be a big deal, right?

She picks some flowers and makes a small bouquet, then lays it on Master's grave. The sun is starting to rise.

It's done. Time to move onto the next thing, until the others don't need her anymore.

"So… do you want to go now, or wait a bit…"

Puppy looks over to Kitty. They're trying to pull blades of grass out of the ground and struggling because of how badly they're shaking.

Puppy goes inside, gets her paper and pencil, and starts writing out instructions on how to get to the nearest town in case Kitty becomes unresponsive. She's worried that by then it will be too late, but what can they do when Kitty will refuse care for as long as they possibly can?

She's writing without permission again. She could stop at any second but she doesn't, she keeps going. More gets added to the loop at the back of her mind.

Bunny comes in a few minutes later, Kitty walking stiltedly and grumbling to themself behind him. They quickly collapse onto the couch and cover their face with their arms. Bunny heads into the kitchen.

Once she finishes the directions and a poorly drawn map, she adds I should be back by tonight at the very latest. Probably earlier, but there's not really a good way to tell time here besides sunrise and sunset. If the sun sets and I'm still not back

She can't think of anything to write. If she doesn't come back, Bunny and Kitty won't have many options.

use your best judgement. She finally settles on. Bunny and Kitty will probably know more about surviving with little to no money than her, anyway.

Bunny comes back into the living room with a water bottle and some granola bars. "Take these, please. Don't go… wherever you're going and back here without eating or drinking anything."

Puppy nods and takes the supplies, fully planning on dumping them somewhere in the woods. Bunny looks at what she's written.

"...Okay. Is your… criminal contact in this town you gave directions to?" 

Puppy nods.

"Alright. If you're not back by sundown, we'll come look for you."

She frowns, but she can't really argue. She told him to use his best judgement, so it's up to him.

She gives Bunny a goodbye hug and writes a quick If I never see you again I want you to know I love you both. Then she sets off, out the door and into the woods.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

[zinniajones]

Florida, SB 254, total HRT ban for adults: 5/25/2023 update

FLORIDA HRT CRISIS DAY 8

Note that in the span of two days, we have had to revise this policy map from including one last way (green) for adults in Florida to get refills (no new prescriptions) from an MD/DO, to removing the one last green endpoint, and replacing it with red/yellow stripe. It actually is unknown whether even refills can be prescribed by MDs/DOs; and because of that unknown, MDs and DOs are choosing not to provide refills either.

There are now NO ways for trans adults in Florida to even obtain refills of their established HRT prescriptions.

This is based on the reports we're receiving of trans people's current experiences attempting to fill their established prescriptions since 5/17/2023 - in a complete vacuum of any information for patients who just lost access to their medication, whether from state agencies or even from the state LGBT organizations that were supposed to protect us from exactly this happening to us.

This shouldn't come down to us alone. WE NEED YOU TO STEP UP.

TRANS ADULTS IN FLORIDA ARE NOT ABLE TO GET THEIR HRT PRESCRIPTIONS FILLED OR REFILLED ANYWHERE.

WE HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO DO SO SINCE WEDNESDAY MAY 17

IT HAS BEEN 8 DAYS

THE CLOCK IS RUNNING

The next in-person meeting of the Boards of Medicine, to draft highly restrictive "emergency rules" further regulating adult HRT, is next week!

Florida Board of Medicine/Board of Osteopathic Medicine Joint Rules/Legislative Committee

THURSDAY, JUNE 1 - 2:45 PM The Westshore Grand 4860 West Kennedy Boulevard Tampa, FL 33609

And by the way? DESANTIS HIRED THE FLORIDA HATE GROUP THAT WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR A LAW FIRM'S $15,000 HIT JOB ON WPATH SOC

DESANTIS APPOINTEES ON THE BOARDS OF MEDICINE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR PROMOTING CONVERSION THERAPY AND INVOLUNTARY PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITALIZATION OF TRANS PEOPLE

The Florida GOP and the DeSantis administration are directly responsible for a crime in progress against thousands of transgender Floridians!

GIVE US BACK OUR PRESCRIBED MEDICATIONS NOW

[235uranium]

there's a lot to say about how house md treats women but I will say the show lets the women be way more complicated than some shows today

like yall still aren't ready for cameron

[thorntopieces]

man

[green-mountain-goose]

why're things so fucked upppppp~

[ivycorp]

Riot's TFP AU: Megatron as a patient, or how Soundwave tries to not go insane with his leader's unfortunate addiction to a certain Prime

From the moment Megatron left his quarters knowing that Soundwave was really cross with him, he knew there would be more consequences than just the communication blackout. Walking to the bridge he was barred from entering by the TIC, who simply pointed him in the direction of the medbay.

There were battles to be picked in one's life - and usually the warlord picked them all - but this time the guilt from disappointing his most loyal friend (beyond acceptable parameters) could not be stopped. It flooded his circuitry, making him flinch away and nod; he turned away from the door and followed the path to Knock Out's domain. Soundwave followed him like a shadow, most likely to ensure he reached the medic and stayed there for whatever reason he deemed necessary.

Megatron doubted he would like the outcome, but he knew that the blue mech was not actually plotting his demise - if Soundwave wanted him dead, he would already be melted down for the Cause before he stepped out of his room.

He wouldn't even blame him - TIC did not wish to lead, so it would not even be a selfish decision to climb rank. If Megatron ever became unsalvageable, Soundwave would put him down, simple as that. But before that ever happened, he would exhaust all the other options first.

Which, apparently, included getting the warlord examined. 

Knock Out turned towards the opening door, unsurprised to see their leader sulk inside, nor to see the company. He gestured towards the berth the warlord was repaired on just a day prior.

"Hop on, my Lord, I have been informed you require a full physical," the medic began, as he took a relevant datapad in his servo to take notes on.

Megatron shot a look at his TIC, and upon seeing a small motion of the helm indicating the direction of the berth, he crossed over and laid down his tired frame. When he felt a gentle tap and heard a firm but polite 'please open the mediport for me, sir', he allowed a rarely used panel to reveal the port entrance, feeling oddly vulnerable. He didn't have to worry about Knock Out doing anything dangerous in Soundwave's presence, but the multitudes of professionals had taken a look at him and either gave up at once, or did the same just after a short while - when they realized how uncooperative of a patient he was.

The silver mech didn't really mean to be so difficult - but nearly every piece of medication tasted so bad to him that he would end up throwing it up or away instead of taking it. His body was in a permanent state of screaming, and his coding had not been updated in eons. Because of this, there was a limited patience to explain to yet another doctor that:

Yes, he couldn't recharge regularly;

Yes, he was very sensitive to the bright lights, and it made his helm feel like it was splitting apart at times; 

Yes, he was aware his optics were no longer working as before.

No, he was having enough exercise;

No, he was not trying to off-line himself from lack of maintenance;

No, he would most certainly not discuss his self service schedule.

Meds, injections, operations - and, of course, therapy. The standard result. 

This only meant he would be purging his tanks for a month trying to follow any instruction and fail from the distasteful residue from the medicine - all of this causing him to lose hope of the diagnosis being correct. He would feel let down at the lack of effect, get angry, and the cycle continued. There were periodic attempts to get this addressed - until he finally went out to get Dark Energon and was under nobody's care for a couple of years.

Not that he needed somebody to take care of-

An image of smiling Optimus crossed his mind, and he scratched out that last thought.

Knock Out used his distraction to plug into the exposed port, completing handshakes with his old programming and starting the check-up procedure. He raised the datapad, frowned at it, and took a look at the warlord.

"My Lord, when was your last full frame medical check-up?" Knock Out inquired, tapping the empty log on the patient file.

Megatron muttered something quietly. 

"I didn't catch that, sir, you need to speak up, please," he asked again, a bit less patiently.

"I think it was before we left Cybertron," the mech answered without looking at the medic. He knew what to expect by then - a huff of anger, an exasperated sigh, or a combination of both.

Instead, Knock Out grew silent. 

The red bot turned towards Soundwave, clearing his intake to catch his attention. TIC flashed a questioning glyph on his visor, as the medic asked:

"Is there any upcoming operation that requires Lord Megatron's presence or particular skill set?" 

The blue mech paused, visor flashing with a flurry of images as he cycled through the upcoming plans and schedules. When the screen blanked once again, Soundwave shook his helm negative.

"Lord Megatron: not critical to operations before next rota generation," he added in a short burst of combined recordings. Knock Out nodded thoughtfully, still connected to the silver mech, and reached out to another datapad, filling it up and passing it to the TIC.

"That would be probably enough, if we don't take too many breaks," the mech said matter-of-factly, as the blue mech read up the contents of the form - before adding his own signature. 

"Splendid, that's taken care of," the red mech smiled, and added as an afterthought prompted by the newfound professional concern:

"Some of the tests will take a while, so I believe we could turn this into an opportunity to check up on the entire staff," Knock Out observed the TIC for a moment, and after receiving a tired nod, waved the mech politely away.

"Fantastic, I will send over the list for the worst offenders and for the necessary shopping - or specialists to start looking for," he added, as he already was opening up a call to his conjunx to get cracking on the personnel's files.

Megatron was slightly confused at the odd exchange, but when the form was passed back to the medic, pieces fell together. 

The rota is generated every six Earth's weeks. He could vaguely recall seeing the update warning a few days prior. The fact that the TIC signed anything the medic gave him, meant he was officially approving something.

They benched him.

As Soundwave turned to leave, Megatron blurted out a short chirp of distress, but remained in place when the visor turned to look at him one last time. 

If it had been anger, he would have understood, possibly tried to overwrite the signature with his own - but he knew his loyal friend for a long time, and this was not that. 

No, Soundwave was trying to hold onto hope. That Megatron could still be 'fixed'. The door slid shut, and the warlord felt hollow as his CPU supplied him with a number estimate of that happening. 

It was depressingly low.

"Well, My Lord, your file is currently very patchy, I will need to check everything," the medic's voice drew his attention back, as he stared at the smaller mech blankly. He tilted his helm curiously, but his silence was taken as a permission to speak more. Knock Out started explaining the details, the plan of a lengthy cycle of checks and possible treatments, when Megatron raised his servo to cut him off.

"Why do you bother telling me this?"

The implied 'it's not like I can disagree and leave' hung in the air. 

The red Con looked at him with a mix of worry and hesitation; putting the data pad he was holding on the side table, he decided to respond:

"Because you are not a subject to be studied, sir; you deserve to know what am I going to ask you about and why, especially since I would rather we worked together instead of me having to fight you on providing you medical care," said the medic, looking Megatron straight in the optics. Normally, it would make the bigger mech tense up, sensing competition - this time, he felt it was more of a look of careful wish for cordiality. 

He sometimes forgot that Knock Out was an actual medic that could do his job well. And apparently, for some inexplicable reason, decided to employ his skill fully in his case.

Megatron nodded his helm, and tried to focus on what his old-new doctor was saying. It seems he would be in for a long haul. 

*****

The check-up took a long time. As the warlord and medic were cooperating to help get a complete picture of what was out of the acceptable norm, Knock Out cursed not being able to discuss this with another professional - he was sure even Ratchet would not scoff at the multitude of issues he kept on adding to the file.

Lord Megatron was a medical disaster. 

The silver mech had been riddled with pain that became such a norm that only the strongest pain relief would have made any difference. He did admit that the Dark Energon provided a dampening effect, and the medic immediately pushed the internal fluid check to highest priority. 

Contamination from the use of the mysterious substance was spread out across the frame, lingering despite lack of external exposure at surprisingly active levels. Knock Out noted with alarm that the normal Energon digested was being tainted, most likely keeping the warlord sedated without his knowledge. 

To remove the influence of the Unmaker would be to remove the only relief - and Megatron was still in a lot of pain despite its presence. 

The red bot called for Soundwave's support when he had to share this particular piece of diagnosis, afraid of a possible lapse in the arrangement he managed to turn this situation into - worried it would cause the warlord to lash out. In an unlikely turn of events, Megatron's face blanked out, before he tersely agreed to get the flushing procedure started.

When he woke up afterwards, he stared at the ceiling of the medbay for a long time and turned to Knock Out:

"I severely underestimated just how much the Dark Energon numbed the pain," he said, gritting his denta, and the medic took the hint, excusing himself for a moment.

The low wail of pain could be heard through the walls. When it stopped, the red Con let a couple of short, measured in-vents out, before he got back. The silver mech was back to his stoic expression, but the curled servos indicated he was still struggling to get back to living with the actual amount of pain he knew he managed to suffer in silence before.

The return to the prior state of things was way harder than he expected.

Knock Out did not hold any viable alternative that could have rivaled or surpassed the effects of the substance they just purged from Megatron, but he was going to try to get one - or possibly get some of his patient's aches away. 

One of the easier identifiable issues came to when the red bot examined the warlord's optics. When the silver mech flinched away at the passing light, Knock Out nearly dropped his tool - he knew there were going to be problems connected with them, the medic himself left some notes with a string suggestion for corrective action, but it never went beyond a temporary measure in form of shaded corrective visor.

Mostly because Megatron kept on 'forgetting' to wear it. 

This time around, however, the access to mediport allowed the smaller mech to see the intense flare of pain, suggesting a helmache forming. He hummed before reaching out and deactivating the light, and ordering the other lights to dim. 

The ache receded, systems noting lower strain.

"My Liege, I know we talked about this, but you really should be wearing the shaded visor we prepared for you," Knock Out mentioned, putting the tool away on a prepared tray table. Megatron grumbled a bit, but the medic had grown to know by then that it did not mean he reached the end of his tether, but that the mech was reluctantly listening. 

The warlord not doing some sort of token protest usually meant he tuned the conversation out. Knock Out learned to sense those moments, usually waiting for the mech to get out of this particular tactic from sheer boredom.

"Do you still have the old one we made you?" asked the doctor, and seeing the shake of the silver helm, sighed. 

Another thing to make. 

"I will get one more done for you, sir, but if you don't use it, I'll have to wield the next onto your frame - your optics are set for much darker surroundings and no matter how many times I fix it, it shifts to pre-sets every time, causing you helmaches," he promised, putting a note down on the file. The medic could see Megatron was observing him, trying to gauge the seriousness of the threat; and at that point, Knock Out was very serious.

His momentary suggestion to check out the entire ship had ended up with way more work on his servos than he expected - worse yet, the mechs he was treating needed help beyond his skill. 

Soundwave was updating him daily on the procurement and negotiations, but the millennia of war effort meant there were not many who would be willing to provide help to Decepticons - unless, of course, they paid a hefty fee.

Starscream was handling the budgeting, and seeing this supplied his recommendation: they needed to call Swindle. He would be most likely to get the results despite the cut he would be taking, so they allowed the mech to search the markets for their targets. 

The shopping list grew every day. 

Swindle was ecstatic.

Knock Out additional concern was the odd disposition of their supreme commander - namely, the distaste for one of the most common additives there existed. It was nearly in all of the medications as a stabilizer, and it was very rare to have any perception of it in the Cybertronian population.

Obviously, Megatron had an extreme case of it.

At first, when the medic realized his patient was very reluctant to take the meds, he tried hiding it in refueling rations.

It was also the last attempt of this solution pathway.

Megatron was able to feel the slightest presence of it in whichever substance he consumed, making it impossible to hide. Knock Out had to go apologize to the SIC who got accused of trying to poison the warlord that day.

For some reason, however, when the medic found colored glass in a similar pattern as the meds, the warlord ended up loving them - crunching on the marbles happily. Bribing the mech into taking more medicine became slightly easier with the promise of getting more of these in return.

Luckily, this time around the oddities of the Decepticon commander's frame came in handy - the glass didn't cause any issues, instead processing them easily. Knock Out checked a few times for possible residue buildup which occurred in some mechs with foreign substances, and noted with relief no adverse effects. For all he cared, Megatron could eat as many as he wanted, if it meant he would take the medicine. 

Especially that they were still battling his insomnia… 

The silver mech's recharge logs were all over the place - with no rhyme or reason, and an alarmingly low average time of rest. 

There were, of course, exceptions - but the analysis of those, run in tandem with the known occurrences of loud music being played in particular quarters made it clear why that would be. 

Knock Out cringed inwardly; since they were trying to solve this problem too, that was not the answer they could utilize. 

*****

Solar cycles passed, and the life on Nemesis carried on. 

With the warlord confined to a rigid schedule and the SIC at the helm, everyone seemed to lose some of the tension that came with Megatron's return from space.

Dark Energon was now fully isolated in Shockwave's lab, behind three different access codes held between Starscream, Soundwave, and Knock Out - their commander was banned from approaching the substance under threat of getting Tarn as a round-the-clock minder. As the DJD's leader volunteered readily to do it, the warlord kept far away from the lab.

The peaceful time was met with enthusiasm: the Vehicons were thrilled to have time to indulge in their hobbies and getting slagged less, thus the sense of community grew. The trinkets that got collected from around the Earth started showing up in shared spaces, colors and soft lights getting incorporated into spartan decor of the Nemesis. The dimness remained, as per Knock Out's insistence, but the variety of the glittering points strewn across the halls provided enough coverage in a pleasant manner that even the officers found appealing.

As the majority of the crew had been either dragged or came in willingly for a check-up at the medbay, the morale improved; who knew that showing concern for the troops would make them feel better?

The communication blackout was still in effect, but there were exceptions added to the list, allowing the troops to be contacted on operations outside of the ship; the ongoing income streams have been re-opened too, due to the increased spending estimates.

The Nemesis has changed - but none of its inhabitants could say anything negative about it.

*****

After the first three weeks, both Soundwave and Knock Out were satisfied with Megatron's progress - to the point they found it fitting to provide positive reinforcement. 

Namely, returning the access to his private room for recharging.

Releasing the warlord from the all-cycle supervision was done on a condition that he would still show up at scheduled times so the medication could be monitored, but the privacy of own berth and trinkets was to help facilitate a gradual adjustment back to the normal daily routine. They couldn't shut him in medbay forever. 

Though it seemed Soundwave wouldn’t mind this idea, if it kept him away from Optimus.

For a while, it worked as intended - Megatron followed up on their agreement, coming on his own volition to see Knock Out before he would be escorted by Soundwave to the office, where he would be finishing up on the reports back-log. He was not yet allowed back on the bridge, but there was not so much happening with the operations schedule keeping things on the down low for at least another couple of weeks. Starscream had a good hold of matters, so he couldn’t even have an excuse to be more involved - it was annoying, but as the medication went on, he appreciated having time to deal with the most irritating of side-effects at his own pace, without multiple witnesses.

Coming back to his own quarters was odd, at first - he didn’t miss the sounds of resident medical staff getting it on, but that was mostly because he couldn’t reach the same level of completion in his own self-servicing due to his odd arrangement with Optimus; not to mention that he couldn't deny the couple their happiness when one of them was his direct physician which could (and would) leave Nemesis at the mere suggestion of this sort.

He got used to the red mech, and would rather avoid having to lose the one medic they have around - or at least the only one they had that did not look at every patient as a science experiment.

As he closed the door and started getting on the berth to rest, he sighed, feeling the buzz under his plating come to the forefront of his mind yet again. In the medbay, it was easier to avoid the temptation, but in the privacy of his room, it came back in full force. The warlord was trying to wait the desire out, already sensing that he was fighting a losing battle. He could not allow himself to overload, his mind reminded, indulging into it would only drive the frustration higher.

Megatron managed to wait it out for the entire three days.

As his systems reported increasing signs of struggle, on the fourth day he found himself stepping over the threshold and going automatically to the interior sound controls.

He didn't think consciously about what he was doing - his servos moved in a well-known pattern, familiar music filling the space, as he turned to resign himself to losing himself for a bit in another fantasy. 

A small explosion rocked the ship, stopping him from arranging himself in a preferred position on his knees. Momentarily distracted, he went to check it out, his combat systems greedily hoping for something to punch. When it turned out to be nothing major, he took off back to the room, where he was stopped by Soundwave standing by the door.

The music was still playing, only fractionally muted by the walls.

Megatron's plating tightened defensively, but when the TIC pointed him away with an air of disappointment, the silver mech sagged and obediently dragged himself to the medbay.

*****

The Decepticon leader had known payment for his relapse was due - the reinstated ban of his quarters was proof of that, but even he couldn't expect what his friend would choose as a revenge tactic.

When he heard the news of Autobots showing up to Starscream's operation, he was understandably curious, but as the fighting occurred during his scheduled medbay visit, he didn't pay it much thought.

Until the message arrived later on with two attachments. No words. Just the files.

But they came from Soundwave.

Megatron braced himself, and opened the first one.

The recording opened to his quarters, quickly led towards the storage compartment. The silver mech was mortified when a slim servo reached inside the closet and pulled the box with interfacing toys out. There was no looking around - Soundwave knew where it was and came for it directly. 

As he watched the path of the TIC lead to the incinerator in Shockwave's lab, he started to panic. 

The warlord was in denial the entire time, until he saw the box get tossed inside, opened slightly to allow the heat to reach the interior. The blue digits turned the settings lower - the container would not incinerate completely, but it would be greatly damaged nonetheless.

As the fire raged, Megatron's spark filled with anguish so visceral, he let out a noiseless cry the entire time the box burned. When its charred remains were moved into another container, his throat hurt despite him not uttering even a whimper. 

The recording ended.

He didn't want to see the other one, but he knew that if he didn't see it, Soundwave would force him to watch it the next day in the office. He resigned himself to being mortified beyond what he already felt.

Megatron was not disappointed in that regard.

It must have been the fight earlier this cycle, as they didn't get to face the Autobots in the meantime; he could see that the TIC emerged from the ground bridge carrying the same box he saw on the previous file. 

The warlord was initially alarmed that the blue mech would just give it to the Prime, but instead a fight broke out, the box forgotten.

Seeing Optimus struggling against his top lieutenants was difficult, but he could not stop feeling proud of his crew - he knew they were capable, and seeing it was always fantastic to witness. As much as he didn't want the Prime dead, he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of Starscream and Soundwave partnering up. 

At least if they off-lined him in the end, he knew that they could take on anything. 

He was surprised to notice the newcomers to the field, recognising the frames easily from memory - nearly forgetting what this all was about.

When a sharp order to retreat came, he noticed Soundwave pointed towards something, prompting Starscream's goading towards the Prime, who was barely holding himself from overheating from exhaustion.

The box. 

The TIC stepped through the portal, but he looked back towards Optimus one more time.

Megatron knew he saw it too.

The wide blue optics filled with dread.

Optimus suspected what was inside - and if the warlord knew his lover as well as he hoped, he would have confirmed his guess. 

Prime knew their collection was gone.

The silver mech curled in on himself, his spark pulsing with sadness and humiliation.

*****

Megatron was devastated - and it showed.

The progress made with Knock Out, the changes to Nemesis, the general improvement of morale, even increasing the rate of victories - all of this didn't matter.

Their box was destroyed. There was no fixing it. 

And Optimus knew about it. They gave it to him, after all. Like a cursed gift.

The warlord felt unmoored - carried only by the routine he had complied with so far, missing at least a solar or two from his memory. He was mostly staring into nothingness, barely acknowledging anyone. 

At least Soundwave did not act like he didn't know why he behaved like this. The TIC was waiting him out, as the silver mech would not even speak to his friend, communicating in nods instead. Megatron still followed the schedule they set up for him, but the balance has shifted - the repetitiveness of his days was grating, instead of grounding. 

He felt trapped inside his frame.

Lying down on the slab in the medbay, he idly noted Knock Out's presence - he opened the medical port without prompting, and the red bot plugged in while maintaining a bit more distance than before. 

The warlord couldn't explain why it bothered him, so he kept his mouth shut; with the other monitoring his systems, it was hard to avoid confrontation.

"There was an odd spike across your multiple processes right now, my Lord - would you be able to tell me why that happened?" Knock Out asked tentatively, more carefully than he used to. Megatron didn't think he actually needed to provide an answer, but something in the medic's posture prompted him to say:

"You are acting differently."

The red mech startled at the reply, expecting another session of complete silence. He weighed his options, and sighed.

"Lord Megatron, your recent behavior led me to believe you wish to be left alone - as your physician I am unable to comply with this preference, but I will not force my presence on you more than necessary," Knock Out explained, tapping idly on the pad in hand. 

"I do wish to be left alone, but this has nothing to do with you, doctor," Megatron's words sounded perplexed, but honest. The title had been slipping into their conversations before, so the medic was pleasantly surprised it was not rescinded.

"I will take that as a vote of confidence in my skills then," Knock Out smiled, letting himself slide back into a more relaxed stance, as he pulled closer the tray with assorted meds for his patient. The frown on the warlord's faceplates did not go unnoticed, but there was little to be done there.

He needed to get the alternative medications soon, the rate at which they were going through the marbles collection was concerning.

Megatron took every pill into his servo and as fast as possible swallowed them in one go - the taste was dreadful and the quicker it went down, the less suffering would be there to experience afterwards. The worst was when something got stuck and he could not flush it down - he would rather claw his throat out at times like that then let it stay there to dissolve on its own.

The silver mech started to power down, knowing he should try to allow the new concoction from the Pit to do its job. Knock Out let out a quiet sound of relief, as the evening routine went by the easy way this time around. He bid his commander a quiet farewell and locked the door to the medbay behind.

*****

Megatron didn't realize when recharge claimed him, but an undefined time after he laid down, he found himself being shaken awake by a pair of familiar servos. 

He scoffed, unwilling to wake up, because he must still be asleep.

There was no way it was actually Optimus - he wouldn't do something as stupid as come onto Nemesis, so he must be dreaming.

The touch became more insistent, so he lazily on-lined his optics.

Red and blue filled his vision.

"Hello, love - you're finally awake, I was worried I wouldn't have a chance to talk to you," said Optimus with a smile, as he stood right by Megatron's shoulder like this situation was completely normal for them.

"What are you doing here?" Megatron hissed out, starting to get up, when a servo on his chest pushed him down. 

"No, don't get up - I need to leave soon, it took me a while to get around the lock and I'm expecting alarm to be raised pretty soon," rushed the Prime, patting the silver plating pacifyingly, placing a kiss onto the other's helm. 

Right as the warlord was about to say something, the shrill sound of intruder alert sounded out throughout the ship.

The Autobot cursed, as he fumbled around some item in his servo, before he pushed it into Megatron's hold. 

"Here, I got you something - I had some time and well… couldn't stop thinking about you, and suspected I was not the only one like that," Optimus chuckled right over his audial, so he could be heard over the sharp sounds filling the medbay. 

Megatron, who could not comprehend this surreal situation while still fighting off the effects of interrupted recharge, just nodded and curled his digits around the gift. He was rewarded with another kiss, and a thrilling purr of "thank you, darling," as Optimus stepped away, watching the door to the medbay.

The warlord sat numb, observing as lights of a ground bridge flickered in the dim room, and loud shouts were heard through the walls in the corridor. 

Prime lunged into the barely formed portal right as at least ten Vehicons, Breakdown and Starscream burst into the medbay, nearly falling over Knock Out's short frame as he keyed the entrance open. The shots they sent towards the source of light never reached the mech going through it, instead leaving scorch marks on the walls. 

"Lord Megatron, have you been injured?" Starscream inquired after it became obvious they came too late. The silver bot shook his helm negative, as he kept his field tucked in tightly. 

"Move the ship and check how he had been able to pinpoint our location," he ordered, shifting focus away from himself towards the security of the Nemesis. The seeker shot a suspicious look towards his leader, but nothing seemed out of order - and the concern raised by the mech was valid. They needed to understand how the Prime was able to get onto the ship and so far inside before the alert went out. 

They couldn't let it happen again.

Decepticon SIC nodded, offering an acknowledgement of the order back to the warlord, and waved everyone out. The seeker had to find and talk to Soundwave - the TIC would be most likely the only one who would be able to trace Optimus's path, and who could counter it.

Megatron watched them all go away, and when the doors closed with a soft whoosh, his field unwound itself, spreading around the space like an explosion.

He was filled with so many contrasting emotions, there was no way he would be able to recharge again.

Curling his digits around the small item in his servo, he pondered:

Perhaps he could spend the time on something more… pleasurable.

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

Another ficlet inspired by @transingthoseformers's TFP AU, a direct follow-up to this and running parallel to this - and fleshed out by these posts about Nemesis time wth Megs as a patient.

[hiddenbeks]

anyway i think the staph infection did something to my brain bc i stopped caring abt dr//agon ag///e

[zaddyazula]

i just want to fucking leave man