#hospital whump cw

[whumpbump]

Can’t Go Home

Cw: noncon medical care

Whumpee entered the day room at the rehab center they were healing at. They were lured in with the promise of fast food but knew it was a trap as soon as they crossed the threshold. Caretaker gently moved them forward in their wheelchair, doctors and specialists and psychologists all waiting with a greasy bag of food at the table.

“What is this? You tricked me! Take me back to my room!”

“Whumpee, this conversation has to happen.” Caretaker locked the wheelchair knowing Whumpee was too weak to unlock it.

“Whumpee, I understand you wanted to go home after your stay here,” Doctor started, “but unfortunately that can’t happen-“

“What do you mean?! I’m staying here forever?!”

“No, we have a sister facility that handles special cases like yourself.”

“You have significant mental, emotional and physical needs that cannot be managed by Caretaker alone,” Psychologist added. “It’s not fair to them.”

“Well what’s fair to ME? Did you think about THAT?”

Caretaker broke down in tears.

Unfazed by their outbursts, the doctors continued on. “You deserve to be taken care of. THAT’S what’s fair. You suffered terribly. We are not arguing that. What we are saying is you are just not well enough to go home.”

“Can’t I have Home Health Care come in?”

“Not for the degree of malady that you’re working with.”

Tears began to spill out of Whumpee’s eyes.

“But-but I’ve tried so HARD.”

“We know,” said the physical therapist, “but you need extra help and extra time.”

“Will I ever go home?”

Everyone looked uncomfortably at each other.

“That’s a conversation to be had in a few months.”

The fast food bag was pushed towards them. “Here.”

“This is a shitty consolation prize, y’know.”

[petalpatches]

Posts angsty fanfic art then disappears into the void ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Click for better quality like always~

[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

[redd956]

Whump Prompt List: NMA Edition

Based off of my NMA worldbuilding line

AKA Whump that @demondamage would like. AKA: nonhuman whumpees, experiment whump, medical whump, lab whump

CW: Violence, Hospital Whump, Experiment Whump, Nonhuman whumpees, Death Mention, Needles

Draining whumpee's blood in order to centrifuge a special resource from it

Hooking whumpee up to an IV that contains some form of sedative, paralytic, or similar formula inside of it

A physically powerful whumpee needing to be held down by a group, as a sedative is forcefully entered into their system

Whumpee watching their blood exit their veins through a tube, knowing theirs nothing they can do, slowly realizing that they're taking too much

Whumpee getting their blood drained, not knowing if their captors are going to stop before it's too late, or if they plan to get rid of whumpee this way after all

Filing down whumpee's sharp teeth, their pointed claws, sawing off their horns, tying down their tail. Whatever needs to be done to keep the nonhuman whumpee from having an advantage.

Whumpee being kept sedated or out of it, until they are needed for their magic

Muzzled and/or restrained whumpee lashing out at the doctors analyzing

Whumpee's every nonhuman aspect being analyzed, their privacy completely invaded, as doctors poke and prod, crooning over their find

A group of whumpees are captures, and they all fear the worse. However after one is found to be more rare than the others, they quickly discover that for one of them, it's going to be much much worse.

Multiple whumpees getting separated based off of the research that needs to be conducted on them

A limp whumpee, kept down for research, needing to be moved or treated as a comatose patient since the doctors dealing with them are too scared of their abilities

Testing to see what whumpee reacts painfully too, how they heal from the different things tested on them, watching them slowly grow terrified of the scientist opening their door

Taking a marker to whumpee's skin and going to town, preparing for the next set of plans

Forcing whumpee to use their magic or nonhuman abilities far past their limit

Whumpee growing more and more tired as they loose their magic/blood, watching the world darken and the noise of life muffle

Doctors taunting and teasing a heavily restrained whumpee. Whumpee, who is normally such a dangerous creature, can do nothing as they pull on their tail or forcibly spread out their wings

Hands latching onto whumpee's face, moving their head into the position they need to

Whumpee waking to the feeling of fingers prodding for the perfect injection spot

Strapping whumpee down to a table, the doctor admiring their work, thinking they'd never see a nonhuman of this type to work on

Whumpee being returned to a cell full of other nonhuman whumpees after a finish experiment, being plopped down unceremoniously in front of the others, before the doctor looks up to pick the next one

Tattooing whumpee to know what experiment group they belong to

Holding an oxygen mask to whumpee's face, watching as the mist of a sedative kicks in

[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

[whumpfish]

Extractions! (Tooth vs. Nail)

I've been wanting to do this one for a long time, for all you torture fans out there...

So I metabolize lidocaine like a motherfucker, and any time I get a local, I always have to get a second one halfway through whatever is being done. For the most part, doctors and dentists listen to me when I say this... for the most part.

Tooth

(The oral surgeon did not give me my second shot when I asked for it.)

1. Any fillings you have will collapse under the pressure of an extraction, even a medicated one. (I'm not sure if this is true for metal ones; all of mine are plaster.) It produces a half-crunch, half-thunk sound that reverberates in that half of your skull and sounds absolutely terrifying.

2. The pain of an unmedicated extraction is acute and radiating at the same time. The acute part feels more like having a stiletto stabbed upward into that space than a tooth taken out in a downward motion.

2a. In maxillary extractions, the stab goes straight up, and depending on the location of the tooth, that stab can feel pointed anywhere from your eyeball (frontmost) to right into your brain (rear).

2b. Mandibular extractions* stab downward from the chin (frontmost) to the hinge of your jaw and straight down your throat (rear).

3. The radiating part spreads like a flower blooming, from a concentrated central point outward in a rolling movement.

4. Your ears might pop like an airplane taking off as that blooming pain reaches the hinge of your jaw. Sometimes only in the one ear.

Nail

(I have been doing minor self-surgery** for years because I am genetically predisposed to ingrown nails, and if I don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and I have to extract them to be able to trim them. If I really don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and then curl backward, and I have to get an actual surgeon involved.)

1. Self-surgery, split off edge of nail, 0 to 1/2" down and backward: You have to wiggle these in a sawing/rocking motion back and forth in order to get that tiny bit of root to let go, and when you "saw" backward it feels more like a steak knife than a butter knife, this time moving with the direction of the nail. Then it reverses when you actually yank.

1a. The yank hurts more than the sawing, sharp like a stab from a steak knife instead of one being pushed in slowly.

1b. You will get the best whump out of a whumper splitting off the edges of the nail and doing this and then yanking the middle part

2. Medicated: Locals in the toe/finger area hurt like a bitch. They're sharp and needling like a stiletto to a paper cut, then if someone tried to pry that cut open. At the same time, they feel hot, almost burning. (Hotter than anesthetic being pushed through an IV, if you're familiar with that sensation.) And there are so many nerves involved that just the first round of locals takes 3-4 shots.

3. Unmedicated, grown down and backward, 1/2" to 3/4": The last time I went in, my surgeon said "given the amount of times I have to shoot you up, you'll probably hurt less if I just yank." (She was right.) This sumbitch goes in both directions, down/back from where the root is, then forward. The down/back is a stabbing pain. The forward is like somebody trying to pry open that papercut, a sensation probably caused by the fact that you are in fact messing with something stuck in a very small cut in the skin, in my case the cut was just caused by the nail that has now been removed.

4. If it is a toenail extraction, you are going to bleed significantly more than teeth or fingernails, because your body has to work harder pushing blood up through your leg veins than it does pushing it down into your shoe. Especially when you take a step. Ibuprofen makes this worse. If you take ibuprofen at all that day, expect your shoe to fill up when you take a step. (Mine did, scaring the tar out of everyone present, including me.)

Pain Intensity Verdict:

Teeth > Nails. By a LOT.

Happy yanking!!

*Because of nerve fuckery, dentists using the sonic cleaning tool despite my warnings results in a pain on the level of extractions, and the sensations described here are based on my experience with that.

**This never fails to horrify my friends. They'll see what I'm fixing to work on and say, "Oh ouch, that's bad, go to the doctor," and I'm just like "nah, just get me isopropyl alcohol and some office supplies, I got this."

[doctorcanon]

pov: the kid that's been staring at you has gotten a lot worse in the last hour.

Commissions

I wanted to practice drawing a background. Which is...hard. I traced the hands as per usual. and the left and right most chairs. Some parts I'm really proud of. The shadows specifically. But yeah. Mask and Captain waiting at the ER. They've been waiting for a long time.

Story under the cut

Captain leaves the military and starts working as a Paraprofessional (a common thing to do after military service). Having stayed late to help out a teacher, he hears some poor kid hurling his guts out in the bathroom. Kid seems too young to be in middle school, doesn't seem to know his address either.

They look for the kid's records under his name. He doesn't have any. And his fever is only getting worse. Captain takes one for the team and takes the kid to the ER. However, it unexpectedly takes several hours (the empty seat is for Zelda - so she can bring Captain food) and the kid's condition deteriorates very rapidly.

Eventually Mask gets his appendix removed and found to be a runaway from Kokiri Group Home. I come up with these stories pretty much everytime I draw an au. I don't have time to write them.

[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.

[highwaywhump]

Surgery, part 1

This is a series! Masterlist here.

another panic attack? you bet. also hurr durr i’m not a medical professional. 

this was originally 3.6k so i cut it on half. watch out for the other part

CW/TW: text not proofread. doctors, talk of surgery, struggling pet/dehumanized whumpee. not much honestly, next part is worse

--

The orthopedic surgeon works at a private medical center on the southside, too small to be a hospital but too big for a clinic. They’d been there one time already, to get x-rays, so the parking lot felt familiar to Aaron as the car rolled in.

“You okay?” he asks, looking over at Joey in the passenger seat. 

Joey just nods, a stunted, staccato movement. His hands are tightly wound in his lap, partially disguised by the sweater he’s wearing. He’s good at hiding his feelings, but Aaron can tell. He’s not okay. 

“I understand that it can be scary, Joey,” Aaron says softly, even though he doesn’t really understand. Can’t understand. The regulations for medical care at the WRU training facilities aren’t exactly open to the public, not to mention the sketchy care he’d been given by his previous owner - if he’d been given any at all. 

Joey had been shaking like a leaf during the entirety of the previous visit, so much so that Aaron had been given one of those heavy aprons and had sat with him, holding his hand, while the x-ray technicians had set up the machine and taken the pictures. He hadn’t said a word during the whole visit, not for the car ride home either. When they entered the house he’d asked to be excused (which Aaron obliged to, of course) and he’d moved up the stairs with unusual velocity and been in his room for the rest of the day. Aaron took it to mean he wanted to be alone, so he had come up with a tray of dinner, lightly knocked and left it outside the door for him. 

He pretended not to hear the stifled sobs behind the door as he went downstairs again. 

“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it would help you. You’ll walk normally again in a few weeks, and your collarbone will stop hurting.” 

Joey nods again, not looking Aaron in the eye. Not that he did much of that anyways, but today he seems extra careful to keep his gaze on his hands. 

“Look,” Aaron starts, turning towards him. He offers up hand, laying it to rest on the center console. “If it becomes too much in there, you just tell me and we’ll go home. Come back another day.”

Joey turns his head, carefully testing the waters as he movs his gaze up, first looking at Aaron’s open hand and then onwards, upwards, meeting his eyes. His look is unwavering, but wide and clearly terrified. 

“I’ll be a good boy,” he whispers, and puts his own hand in Aaron’s open one, as if to stress the sentiment.

Aaron smiles, if only to hide the slight melancholy that blooms in his chest. 

Of course you’ll be a good boy, he thinks halfheartedly. It seems like a survival technique, to retreat into that pet-mentality which admittedly was supposed to keep him safe. Pets had guidelines to follow, and were promised an easy go of it if they just adhered to them. 

“But remember, you can’t call me Sir in there, okay? Just Aaron. Or nothing at all.” He adds the last part when he saw how Joey’s jaw tightened. He nodded again. Aaron squeezed his hand. 

They had been offered a late appointment. Sunday night, which meant no other scheduled surgeries and probably no emergencies that needed attention. Dr. Perez had assured Aaron over the phone that she only trusted a select few of her nurses with patients such as Joey - who evidently wasn’t the first ex-pet she’d treated. They’d get a private room at the end of a hallway, which meant no reason whatsoever for anybody who didn’t belong there to come in. 

The x-ray appointment, which had been an in-and-out in 30 minutes kind of situation, had been the same; outside normal office hours and with only two or three nurses who knew exactly what they were dealing with. They had an in-house accountant to handle the payment. It still meant insurance fraud, but it wasn’t Aaron’s fraud, and that made him feel marginally less worried about it all. 

Aaron had carefully proposed the idea of a surgery on the last day of Joey’s sickness. They were both on the couch, Joey in Aaron’s arms with a thick blanket wrapped around himself. He hadn’t slept properly for days, except for short and fitful bouts here and there whenever the fever finally let him rest well. Aaron wasn’t much better off, worrying so much for his ward he’d probably developed gray hairs from it.

“Dr. Simmons gave me the contact info of a surgeon who could take a look at your leg. And your collarbone. Do you think you’d be up for that?”

Maybe it was unfair to ask him while he was so tired and out of it. Aaron knew he’d go along with any mere suggestion he’d come with - that was the nature of his training. But the bloodshot eyes that looked up at him from the bundle of blankets in his lap, told another story. Pain and fear, sure - but also relief, for the first time in days. Joey nodded, too tired to say anything. Tired from the pain, the fever, and probably from having to hobble along when walking, and from a throbbing clavicle that kept him from using his arm for anything other than scratching his nose.

Aaron had accepted the answer with a reassuring hand in his hair. He’d held the little one close, kept him warm and safe, and lulled him gently to sleep with a few fingers rubbing soothing circles on his temple. 

But that was then and this was now. Gone was all the relief and the warm safety. Joey was stiff as Aaron helped him out of the car. Yes, they’d been here once before - but that time Joey had only been laying on his back on a table for a bit and then they’d gone home again. 

Aaron supposed he could understand. Today, they’d cut into him. 

–

Dr. Perez has a great bedside manner. She speaks directly to Joey in a tone without any condescension or disdain, Aaron notes, as she points to different parts of the x-ray picture on the screen of her tablet, explaining the procedure.

“What I’ll do is that I’ll make a tiny cut here, and then put the bone back together so that the angle is right, and put in a couple of screws to make sure it stays. And in six to eight weeks, you’ll be walking like it’d never been broken at all. Sounds good?” 

Joey is timid and still almost petrified with fear, but he manages a slight stiff nod, a dip of his head, up and down. “Yes, doctor,” he whispers. His eyes even flit up to meet hers for a fraction of a second. 

“You will be asleep during the whole procedure. You won’t feel anything at all. Okay? You’ll get all the pain medication you need after, as well. We will make this as comfortable for you as possible.” She leans forward and reaches out a hand. Joey stares at it, and for a few long seconds Aaron thinks he won’t do anything. But then he carefully unwinds his own hand from where it is gripping his other wrist, and gingerly places it in Dr. Perez’. 

“Do you believe me when I say that, Joey?” she asks, and he nods again. 

She smiles warmly at him, and it’s a true smile that shows off the crow’s feet around her eyes. She really means what she says next. “It’s important to me that you feel safe here, Joey. I want to help you. That’s why Aaron brought you here.” Aaron nods, even though Joey can’t see it, with the way he so stubbornly studies the toes of his winter boots, neatly placed by the edge of the hospital bed. He’s seated on it, already dressed in a patient gown, his bony shoulders protruding more than ever. His feet hang off the edge, slightly swinging.

Not for the first time, Aaron is struck by how young and fragile he looks.

“Okay,” Dr. Perez says as she checks her watch. “Becca will come by in a bit to prepare you. She’ll give you some medicine you need before we give you the anesthesia. In an hour, I’ll come get you and we’ll operate.” She guides Joey’s hand back into his lap and lets go. “You will be all good, Joey. I promise.” 

Aaron has seen enough medical dramas to know that doctors can never promise anything, lest they’ll be sued. Dr. Perez means it. 

Then again, they’re operating outside the law tonight. This surgery is officially not being performed, especially not on a person that officially doesn’t exist anymore. 

Dr. Perez meets his gaze on the way out. Her brown eyes are genuine and solemn, an expression born of many years of soothing worried patients. They manage to calm even his pulse a little, even though he is not the one being cut open. She closes the door as she exits, leaving him and Joey alone. 

“You doing okay?” he asks as he rounds the bed and sits down on the chair next to it, facing Joey. He takes the glass of water from the bedside table and offers it to Joey, who plucks it out of his hands and drinks - judging from the look on his face as he swallows, not because he’s thirsty. Just because Aaron asked him to. 

“Yes, Sir,” he whispers weakly, and squeezes his eyes shut as he catches his mistake. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just… try not to, when there are other people.” Even with all the precautions that have been taken, Aaron still can’t be entirely sure. They can’t risk any uninitiated understanding the full extent of their relationship. It’s better if they see him as a concerned friend or brother or uncle, not as… well. As Joey’s owner. He has seen the occasional headline of a pet who has been caught in situations they’re not allowed to be in by law. Usually, the punishment is a hefty fine. Sometimes it’s prison and forced removal. 

Aaron has naturally read up on the legislation. If caught, tonight’s activities would result in the latter. 

“Hey,” he mutters and reaches out, brushing Joey’s dark locks out of his face and behind his ears. 

He seems to have a conflicted relationship to touch. Only a few short weeks ago, Aaron moving his hand towards his head would have resulted in Joey in a hysteria of apologies and groveling, afraid of being hit. But at the same time, he’d always chase after it when Aaron would remove his hand. All the hugs they’d shared in the time they’d had together had built a tiny pillar of trust, and now he leans into the palm of Aaron’s hand, turning his face towards it. For a moment he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath - as deep as he can, with how taut his muscles are wound.

“You’re going to be alright, Joey,” Aaron says and allows himself to lightly scratch him behind one ear. 

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it probably reinforces all the boundaries he’s working to break, and he knows all sorts of different thoughts will awaken in Joey’s head. But right now, maybe there could be an exception. Just to make him feel a little bit safer, given the circumstances.

And he does. Joey nearly melts into his hand, his eyebrows turning up. He bites his lip and Aaron can nearly see the stress running off his shoulders. He counts to three in his head, thinking he’ll retract his hand when he gets there, but changes his mind and counts to five, and then to ten. If Joey had been on his feet, his knees would have buckled.

At last, he lighty pulls back. Joey blinks his eyes open as he straightens his back, sitting back up. 

“I think I saw a vending machine down the hall. Think you’ll be okay alone for a few minutes?” 

Joey looks up at him, looking marginally less worried now. “Yes,” he says, his voice meek. Aaron isn’t sure if he agrees because he thinks he will, or if it’s to appease him. Nevertheless, he smiles at him as he moves towards the door. 

“Okay. I’ll pick something up for you. Salted caramel, right?” 

Joey nods quickly. Aaron thinks he can even see a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. 

–

The vending machine turns out to be on the floor below, of course, and it jams, of course, and several more minutes than Aaron would have liked have gone by before he finally reaches the hallway where Joey’s room is. Only… the door is open. 

It hadn’t been when he left. He’d closed it, he’s certain. 

A nurse rushes past him and dashes into the room before he can react. Something’s wrong, he figures. 

Terribly wrong, judging from Joey’s frantic voice inside, begging for mercy.

--

Tags <3

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps

[wyvchard]

Augusnippets Day 31 (Path of Whumperless Whump)

Prompts for today: flashbacks/relapse/medical complications

Prompt/s used: Medical Complications

Content Warnings: Hospitals, nosebleeds, fevers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Muffled voices. Panic... I think we woke my brother up. I'm sorry. You have school tomorrow but you're forced to stay up because everyone was fussing over me.

I don't remember what happened. All I remember was the fact that I felt my nose feel stuffy. I couldn't sleep because it was clogged. There was a weight on top of it.

I feel so warm too. I'm sweaty and hot... I don't want the cloth on my head. It's too stuffy. I don't like it anymore.

You keep telling me to stay awake but I'm so tired. You told me to go to sleep hours earlier, why are you telling me to stay up now?

Everything is too quiet. I hate it. It's too dark out too. You keep telling me I'll be better but I don't even know what's wrong, only that I had a fever.

... Red? Blood? Why is there blood?

You covered my eyes and pressed on my nose. It's uncomfortable. But you're not fussing over me now.

"Mom, why am I in the emergency room?"

"You had a nosebleed."

"... But all I did was sneeze. Is my nose going to bleed again?"

"No. You're not. It's just... Your body didn't like the medicine your doctor gave you. You'll be fine. Just listen to the nurses, okay?"

"... Okay."

Can I stop being sick? I wanna see my friends again. My teachers probably miss me. I've already been gone for a week.

I don't want this. I never wanted this...

When will I get better?

[mewintheflesh-2]

More Nightsky Headcanons :) Mostly About Winona, Mikey, and Nikey.

(Got some whump in this one.) (is it whump?) (I think so idk)

Winona likes to call Mikey Sky-Boy in a taunt kind of way, but a “I love you, idiot” kind of way

Mikey is not good at hiding his emotions as I’ve discussed, so sometimes he’ll just look at Winona in like any formal-wear and he just “Uhhhh, uhhhh einwidheiwneieneie hi” and his face is like red as a tomato and Winona’s just like LMAO Arceus I fucking love you

FOREHEAD KISSES all the time, hand kisses, they’re very comfortable with moderate PDA, but they’re like all over eachother when they’re mostly alone. Constantly hugging, holding hands, you know the drill. They’re so fucking adorable

Mikey is pretty decent at flirting, but Winona is always on top of her game. Flirting between the two almost always starts with Mikey saying something pretty good, and then Winona just knocking him to the ground metaphorically with something he could’ve never even guessed, something that leaves him absolutely stunned in the best way possible. He wants to someday find something he can say that will make Winona feel the same way.

Also, the outside of Team Sky’s base is decked the fuck out with wind chimes of all kinds. The area it’s in gets a shit ton of wind, which has also resorted in the base being partly wind powered.

anyways back to the Nightsky

Nikey often finds himself holding his own hand when he’s alone just to have some sense of what he used to have with Winona

Despite him very much being cursed, people outside his close proximity only know it to be a rumour. He prefers to keep it that way and will very much dock the pay of anyone who is too persistent to know.

The skin around the cursed eye is like… really gross. Like Marvel’s Spider Man 2 Symbiote Suit gross. The green dot below the eye has the texture and material of marble. The red iris can burn through almost any fabrics aside from one, which is exactly what his eyepatch is made of. He is EXTREMELY insecure about how the skin around his eye is and if anybody brings it up, he will either A. Threaten to kill them. B. Hurt them physically. Or C. Just leave and then hide away from everything and everyone. Depends on his mood.

There was a point in time where he got deadly sick for like a week, almost died, and nobody knew because everyone assumed he was just self isolating again. He didn’t think of his sickness as much at first, just a small cold, he’ll just wait it out. But as it went on, and he began to feel worse, he began having intense physical symptoms, began to be unable to stand even with a cane. He began to rely on dry snacks in his house as he couldn’t do anything to cook for himself, which only worsened his condition as it was mostly unhealthy food. He was lucky he even had any water in his room in the first place, otherwise he surely would’ve been dead long before anyone found him.

He couldn’t call for help either. His voice was too quiet and hoarse to call out for the bodyguards standing guard right outside his house. He began to experience extreme delirium and even when he was breaking things inside his house in an attempt to call attention to someone, anyone- to help him. The guards just assumed he was having another episode. Constant burning inside his body, jolts of pain coarse go through his body like lightning any time he moved. He couldn’t sleep either, which only worsened his delirium and caused more intense hallucinations. Hallucinations of people he loved, people he lost, whether by death or otherwise. Hallucinations of people he killed.

It wasn’t until he crawled to his front door, scratching and clawing, unable to stand up to reach all the locks he had brandished on the entrance to his house, that someone finally opened the door and saw the horrible state he was in. His hair was a mess, his skin was dirty, he was barely clothed, and his eyepatch was missing. He began to be treated on sight by his personal doctor, who was called for an emergency to his house. But his condition was far too severe for that to suffice. He was taken to the nearest hospital and put into emergency treatment.

Turns out, the reason he had fallen so deathly ill was due to a deadly poison known as “Parasect G” which is known to kill any recipient within the next 24 hours after consumption. The doctors said it was a miracle Nikey had even survived for as long as he did, especially with how he was handling it. The doctors also found that his body had been suffering from long term and deadly amounts of intense stress. They ended up keeping him in the hospital for months to get his body to be even remotely healthy.

Nikey hadn’t realised just how exhausted and in pain he’d been for the past 5 years. And when he found himself alone in his hospital room, all he could do was cry. He’d been so… tired. All this time he was so tired- and now he was feeling it, all at once. He just wanted to curl into a ball and dissipate into pure light. All he could do now… was make the most of his hospital-ridden state, and just take the time to just… rest. Weeks after recovery, Nikey found himself vaguely wishing that it had taken him out. Or that he could atleast be that close to the brink again, because atleast then, he could be taken to the hospital again, and have time to breathe again. He has a purpose, he’s the ruler of the world, and yet… he feels so lost. Like he’s waiting for something that’ll never come, that he doesn’t even know what it is. But he’s holding out for something.

And he will get that something. Whatever it may be.

[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

[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

[whumpybobbert]

The Flash 1x1

Barry Allen: Struck by lightning, rushed to the hospital, flatlining, coma, "what's happening to me!?", flashback, broken arm, car wreck (minor)

Joe West: Partner shot (and killed)

Eddie Thawne: Knocked out

[redd956]

Just got a heart monitor put on so......

Medical/Hospital Whump Recovery

Whumpee has been released but now rely on Caretaker to help them

Whumpee adjusting to a new way of life, whether temporary or permanent, such as a limp, cane, or wheelchair

Caretaker and whumpee laughing and joking about their situation, making the best of what they can

Warm heating pads and blankets

A whumpee who has nightmares about their experience, being comforted by the nearest soul

Caretaker gently changing Whumpee's bandages telling them about how great the wound is healing

A romantic interest making whumpee feel loved and sexy with any new scars or ailments

A whumpee self conscious about any devices they have to wear or use, being reassured by Caretaker

Whumpee finally being released and able to relax (believing that), their situation over they sink into their bed and feel their entire body sigh with relief

Caretaker bombarding whumpee with flowers

A stoic whumpee being brought home by Caretaker accidentally revealing parts of themselves under the influence of medicine

A defiant whumpee celebrating as soon as they set foot in a safe welcoming place

[excalibur0]

when a character's self hatred and/or self sacrificing leads to them being so physically unwell that they need to be hospitalized