#how many fingers am i holding up

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 1

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Barton!” he could hear from somewhere far away. His hearing has never been the best but at the moment it sounded as if the someone who just talked to him was wrapped in cotton candy. 

“Ouch,” Clint moaned and tried to sit up but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“No such thing,” the voice said. He knew the voice but right now he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“Wha…” he mumbled. “Wha’ appen?” 

“You fucking idiot went alone against Rhino. Spidey told you to wait for him, but…” the voice sighed and somehow he remembered that sigh. 

“Can you open your eyes?” the voice said now and this was the moment Clint realized that it was dark because his eyes were closed. He blinked and from one moment to the next it was too bright and he groaned again. 

“Hur’s…” he moaned. 

Something appeared in front of his face. A hand. A weird hand. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” the voice asked and Clint glared at the weird hand. It was… it was metal. “Come on, Clint, how many fingers?” 

“Thirteen,” Clint muttered. 

“Okay,” the voice huffed. Bucky! Clint remembered. The voice belonged to Bucky! “Hospital it is.” 

“No,” Clint protested. “I don’eed a ‘spital.” 

“You definitely need to see a doctor,” Bucky said. “Rhino hit you harder than we expected and…” 

“We?” Clint asked and tried to sit up but Bucky put his hand - the weird  hand, the metal hand - on his shoulder and held him in position.

“Spidey and Steve are here, too. They're fighting against Rhino,” Bucky said.

“‘N you?” Clint slurred. 

“I’m staying with you till we can bring you to the hospital,” Bucky said. 

“L’ve’u,” Clint mumbled and closed his eyes. Bucky was quiet for a very, very long moment, then he whispered.

“Love you, too.” 

[symbolicbluecurtains]

rough wip, ill finish and touch it up tuesday, probably, but I wanted to get Something out before today ended

[oneweirdbookaddict]

Sky gets a concussion, Wild helps him out. And Time's there, too.

704 words

No warnings, let me know if anyone wants that changed!

Same for tags.

~~~~

His day was going pretty well until he took a bat to the head. 

It’d been a lazy morning. The crisp fall air was brisk, making them hide under the protection of their blankets for longer. And Time had let them. 

But eventually, they roused themselves and got to walking down the trail they’d been following for days now. 

Twi had been tracking a group of monsters, hoping to find the shadow with them. 

And boy, had they found them. 

Easily outnumbered, the advantage of surprise hadn’t lasted long. The battle quickly took a turn for the worse, but they’d kept going. 

Between the chaos of his fellow heroes fighting, he can hear someone swear. 

“Wars!” Someone shouts. 

“On it!” The captain calls back, and he takes a valuable moment to glance away from his own fight. 

Someone’s down- he can’t tell who- someone else standing over them, on defense. 

He goes back to his own fight. 

Dodges a blow, parry, step forward, gain the advantage, loses it when another monster comes after him, steps back, slashes, attacks, blocks- 

“Sky!” 

And something slams into his head, sending him sprawling to the ground, vision blacking out. 

When he has any sense of what’s going on again, Wild’s kneeling next to him, grabbing him and pulling him to the side. 

The movement makes him groan, but he staggers to his feet and Wild quickly moves to support him. Especially when he nearly falls right back over, knees weakening.

“Yeah, you’re done, take it easy, yeah? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

He squints blearily at Wild’s hand. “Erm- seven.” He says the first number that pops into his head. 

Staggers, the world swaying around him. 

Wild’s arms grab him, and he mindlessly processes the feeling of sinking back to the ground. 

“One hell of a concussion…” Wild is muttering behind the ringing in his ears. 

“Sky. Hey, Sky.” 

He squints. Time’s in front of him. 

How’d he get here? 

“I followed you guys, they're doing ok out there. What do you need, a potion?” 

Potion… do they have any? They were out the last he remembered… 

“Yeah, we’ve got some, we stocked up in town yesterday, remember?” 

Is he… talking out loud? 

“Uh… yes, Sky. Drink this for me, it’ll fix you right up.” 

Something is nudged into his hands. Slowly propped to his lips, he takes a few mouthfuls of the potion. 

His head clears immediately, the ringing in his ears fading. The pounding he hadn’t even noticed was there easing to a dull ache. 

“That feel better?” Time asks, and he nods slowly. 

Closes his eyes, rubbing his head. 

“Who else was hurt?” He groans, slumping back.

“No one, Hyrule took a tumble but he’s alright. You need anyone to stay here with you?” 

“No, you guys… go back. I’ll be fine.” 

Time hesitates, unsure about leaving him alone, but he forces a smile. “I’m alright, Time, I’ll finish this potion and be fine. You guys go back, they’ll need your help out there.” 

The two nod, standing, leaving him alone. 

He takes a breath, taking another drink of the potion. 

Hears something behind him, standing and frowning. 

Hand reaches for his sword- two things someone had called Bokoblins spot him. 

“Oh, come on.” He mutters. 

They rush at him. 

He dodges one, then the other, blocks an attack, steps away from a hit- 

His vision flashes. Pain spikes through his head. 

He raises his sword just in time to block an attack going right for his stomach, head pounding. He’s overdoing it- he’s still concussed. 

Ears ringing, blades clashing, one of the monsters gets a hit in, he stumbles back- 

And he’s on the ground. 

Dizzy, the world teetering around him. 

“Time!” He shouts, shoving himself to his feet. He’s not able to fight right now, and definitely can’t run. 

He stumbles away, grasping onto trees to keep himself upright. “Time! Wild!” 

“Sky?!” Someone shouts back, and he nearly collapses in sheer relief. 

Then something hits the back of his head, sending him right back to the ground, head pounding ears ringing world swaying. 

“Sky!” He hears again, but he’s too far gone. 

~~~~

[jonesatheart]

How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

Edit: The incident Raph refers to can now be found here.

"How many fingers am I holding up!" Mikey asked with a cheeky grin. 

Raphael groaned and laid his head back down on the- whatever cold,hard thing he was laying on was. "Donny?"  

"I'm here." 

"Think I gotsa concussion," he slurred.  

"What makes you so sure?" Leo wanted to know.  

"Cause Mike's got five fingers."  

Mikey held up his hand and counted his fingers by touching the tip of each. "I, in fact, do not." He waggled his fingers. "Only three here, mi hermano." 

Raph half-heartedly swung at Mikey with a wide motion and successfully slapped Leo across the face. 

"Let's get him up."  

Don and Leo each took Raph by the arm and stood together, wrapping their arms around his shell for support. 

"Donny?"  

"I'm here."  

"There's somethin' wrong with my eyes." 

Don sighed. It was going to be a long walk home. "I know. You've got a concussion, Raph. I'm gonna take care of you, okay? We just need to get you home first."  

--- 

"How's he doing?" Leo asked when Don finally emerged from the medbay. His arms were folded over his chest and his brow was furrowed in what Mikey often teased was his PTA Mom Face.  

Donatello sighed. This wouldn't be a fun conversation. "Well, he won't be sleeping in his hammock for a few days. He's okay. He has some pretty typical concussion symptoms which are just things that are going to take time to heal. He's still having some trouble with his sight, but that can take up to two weeks to improve."  

Leo squinted at Donny, knowing his brother well enough to known there was something he wasn't saying. "And?"  

"There is a chance it's permanent."  

Leonardo's face fell and his arms dropped to his side. "Does he know?"  

Don shook his head. "Not yet. I wanted him to get some rest before... It's a minor chance, Leo. I don't want to alarm him unnecessarily." 

"He still needs to know, Don. I'll update Master Splinter and Mikey, that way you only have to have that conversation once," Leo offered, "but he does need to know."  

"You're right," Don admitted and rubbed his brow.  

"You could always get Casey to do it," Leo pointed out, the smallest hint of suppressed smile playing at his face. 

Don rolled his eyes. "I don't need Raph thinking he's dying, but thanks." 

Leo snorted. "It wouldn't be that bad." 

Donatello arched a brow ridge. "If I sent Casey in there to tell Raph something medically related, Raph would assume he's dying, do his 'I knew it I'm dyin'," bit and subsequently cause Casey to panic, 'wait you are?!', which somehow would result in Mikey kicking in my door sobbing that he was the one dying or that he's somehow the cause of Raph's supposed demise."  

"I wanna try to argue with, but honestly..."  

"I know my brothers, Leonardo," Donatello answered primly. "I'll talk to him after he wakes up." 

--- 

"Donny?"  

"I'm here." 

Raph turned to his brother's voice. "I still can't see straight."  

Don sat on the ground to be eye level with his brother and gently stroked his head. "It could take time. Maybe a week or two." 

"Or? C'mon, Donny, I know ya better than that. What's the other option?"  

"I found some exercise to do if there's no improvement and some things to do to help your eyes heal."  

"Don."  

"But there is a chance they might not."  

Raph took a breath. "Okay."  

"I'm sorry, Raph." 

"I's not ya fault, bro. I know you're gonna take care'a me best ya can. I trust ya."  

"You're taking this remarkably well," Donatello noted. 

Raph chuckled. "'M too tired to panic. I'll do that later. Maybe in a week or so when I'm less dizzy. Or, y'know, after  I'm all back to normal. It is me, after all." 

--- 

"Hey, Don told me ya were still havin' problems with ya eyes." Casey said by way of greeting. It had been a week since the concussion and Raph hadn't been out of the lair at all in that time.  

"I'm not in the mood for bein' cheered up, Case." Raph said flatly looking up at his friend. 

"Good thing I didn't come to cheer ya up then, huh?"  

Raph lifted his head. "Alright, I'll bite. Whaddaya doin' here then?"  

"Commiseration!" Casey announced with a grin and dropped into the desk chair.  

Raph blinked. "Come again?" He deadpanned.  

"I'm here to be miserable with you."  

Raphael glared. "I actually hate you right now," he decided and dropped his head back onto his pillow. 

Casey snickered. "Only now?"  

"I swear if you start actin' like Mikey I'm gonna strangle you myse-" he stopped and let out a breath. "I'm sorry."  

"It's okay, Raph," Casey assured. "It's been a year."  

"Still."  

"Still nothin'. Yeah, if it was comin' from anyone else but you it might be weird, but you got 'bestie privileges' or whatever it is Mikey's always goin' on about with April."  

Raph glanced up again, fixing Casey with deadpanned glare. "I cannot believe you just said that."  

"What, bestie privileges?" Casey asked with a cheeky grin.  

"Any of it," Raph scoffed. "But, yeah, especially that." 

"Yeah, well, it's true. And I know I've got the same with you and I'm callin' those in."  

"The shell is that supposed to mean?"  

"It means that we both know there's stuff you wouldn't be caught dead sayin' to your brothers, but you'll say 'em to me. So say it." 

"Sure ya not just bein' a sap?" Raph grumbled. 

"I mean, probably that too, but let's be real, Raph, I could probably get away with this kinda conversation with Donny. Maybe Mikey. And Leo? Forget about it. C'mon, man, talk to me."  

Raph sighed. "I'm not stupid, Casey. I know what's goin' on."  

"I know you're not stupid, but I might be cause I dunno what you're talkin' about." 

"Ya not out there with 'em cause they gotta get used to fighting on there own in case I don't bounce back." 

Casey nodded. "Okay, well. Ya still not stupid, but ya are wrong. I'm not out there with 'em cause my knee's been actin' up. I didn't wanna risk bein' in the way or makin' it worse. Thus the bein' miserable with you." 

"Yeah, well. Maybe they should be."  

"They don't need that kinda practice, Raph. You guys have been doin' this for years, they've got it figured out." 

"Yeah, ya probably right," Raph admitted. "Not exactly the most skilled or cooperative guy on the team." 

"Whoa! Back up. That is not what I meant by that! What, you really think I'd just chuck ya under the bus that way?" Casey demanded incredulously. "What the hell, man?"  

"I'm not really sure what else ya could mean by that, Casey!" Raph snapped back. "It ain't like it ain't true-"  

"First of all, it ain't. Second of all, you pinhead, last fall when Donny caught the flu and the three of ya went out on ya're own, was it cause ya were figurin' 'ah, gotta get some practice in in case Don decides to retire after this,' or was it just cause ya were just down a man? That's what I meant by that, ya overgrown leprechaun! You guys have been goin' out in pairs and threes for years. Half the time it's my fault cause I ain't as skilled as the rest'a and you stay behind helpin' me." 

"Alright, alright. I see ya point, settle down."  

"Nuh-uh. You opened this can'a worms, Pandora. We're goin' fishin' now." 

Raph sat all the way up to stare at Casey. "The shell does that even mean?" 

"You really think that I think ya brothers don't need you?" Casey questioned, ignoring Raph's confusion. In part because he truly was insulted by his friends implications, but also because he wasn't sure how the analogy was supposed to work either, but neurotypicals made nonsense analogies all the time so it was probably fine. It made sense to him, everyone else could be confused. 

"Case-"  

"You realize I'd literally be dead without you, right? Like, I know you had that concussion and all, but you are aware that if you hadn't been so determined to get it through my skull that I was goin' about this whole vigilante shtick the wrong that the Dragons a hundred percent would'a literally beat to death, right?"  

"Yeah, I also remember Hun almost did that last year anyway because I wasn't good enough to be able to keep you safe!" Raph snapped. "And that was with my eyes workin', Casey! I- I'm useless now! I can barely make it around the lair without knockin' into stuff. I- My whole life. I've been raised to be one thing. And I can't do that now. I...may never be able to do that again. I don't expect you to get it, but it feels like everything I am is on the edge of bein' taken away from me. And I dunno who I'm gonna be at the end of this. I don't know who I am, if I'm not a Ninja. And. It's easier for me to believe that....maybe I just wasn't ever good enough. Because if I wasn't good enough then...I can believe it's better I'm not. Because then...I might be losin' who I am, but...it feels like...maybe it's for the better that way."  

"Ya know I love ya, right, Raph?"  

"Okay here we go," Raph rolled his eyes, and stared up at the ceiling.  

"Raph, look at me. You really think I'm-" he pointed to his chest "-not gonna understand what it's like to have the one thing you hung ya whole identity on taken away?"  

Raph's eyes widened in realization and his face fell. "Casey, I-" 

"It's okay," he promised with a kind smile, holding out a hand. "I'm not upset about it. And yeah, I'm not gonna understand it all exactly from your perspective. But I am gonna get it better than most. I have to wear a knee brace every time we go out, I can't go out tonight cause it's actin' up. Maybe...maybe your vision doesn't bounce back. Maybe ya gotta wear glasses or do other stuff to modify the way you do things. Maybe you gotta give up the vigilante stuff. That doesn't take away value from who you are. You are always going to be important to your brothers. They are always gonna need you. I get it, you're scared, but it's only been a week. That's still completely in a normal time scale from what Don was tellin' me. You've got time, Raph. And even if...things don't pan out. We're still gonna be here for ya."  

Raph nodded. "Thanks for puttin' up with me tonight," he replied tightly.  

Casey smiled and crossed the room to pull Raph into his arms. "Everything is gonna be okay," he promised. "Even if it's not okay the way we're hopin', it's still gonna be okay."  

[hold-him-down]

Whumptober - Day 1

Notes: Somewhere toward the end of Ivan's contract

TW: broken rib mention, concussion mention, forced to fight references

✥ ✥ ✥

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Leo’s eyes widen momentarily as his brow furrows, something like confusion or maybe determination ghosting across his features. His fingertips dig into the sides of the metal table and he sways. Keeping himself upright has been a big fucking ordeal this week, and something the doctor said about sleep or food or warmth or, “even better, all three,” nags at Ivan.

As instantly as it came, the boy’s focus is gone, and even though he knows better than to close those eyes, Ivan suspects he’s retreated into some deep dark spot in his mind that makes him barely reachable.

His patience wanes. He snaps a finger in front of Leo’s face, leaning in so close, eyes mere inches from eyes. Leo, in some misguided effort to grow a fucking spine, tries to back up, but Ivan easily catches the back of his neck and tsks.

“You’ll eat, and you’ll sleep, when you do as you’re told,” Ivan says, which earns him a half-nod and nothing else. His eyes go out of focus again. With something close to disgust, Ivan pushes Leo away from him and takes a step back. He can feel the frustration building and clasps his hands together. Beating the piss out of this boy, in this moment, will be useless. He’s no doctor, but he knows that fucking much.

“You try my patience,” he hisses instead, pacing. Leo swallows, but he’s too weak to show any kind of real reaction. Too tired to tremble, too hungry to spew the vitriol that he knows Leo itches to spew every goddam second.

And so, being the reasonable man that he is, Ivan accepts defeat. He steps into the corner of the room, crossing his arms over his chest, and watches his boy sway on the table. Leo stares at nothing, breaths shallow, covered in bruises. He has three broken ribs, at least. The doctor says he has a concussion, but Ivan would not believe it without seeing it.

As if on cue, Leo’s eyes roll shut, and Ivan wants to, genuinely, wring his fucking neck, because contrary to what this boy would have you believe, he knows better than to close his eyes without permission. Ivan pushes off the wall and approaches again, unsure what exactly he plans to do but no longer interested in denying himself the satisfaction of causing significant pain, but in that exact fucking moment the doctor enters. Ivan takes a breath.

“He’s useless like this,” he says through his teeth, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Fix him.”

He lets the door slam shut behind him.

[niobiumao3]

Many assumed Hunter was the least variant among the CT-99s, but nothing could be further from the truth.

--

For Whumptober Day 1: Safety Net, Swooning, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

--

Who’s ready for Crosshair’s super over-protective phase? Me, I am.

The majority of this is for Whumptober 2023, with a chapter here and there for other prompt events. It's not a very long fic, and largely me vibing on what Hunter's variation might actually consist of.

I don’t tend to follow standard fanon for the Batch’s numbers, I just pick whatever I’m feeling for the story I write. Sorrynotsorry.

[mystery-star]

Whumptober - Day 1 | "How many fingers have I got?"

Mystery, Alaska (1999)

[stellarcoachman]

Summary: In Unova, a terrible tragedy occurs and Emmet struggles to cope with loss and grief, while also dealing with the machinations of Team Plasma. In Hisui, Ingo struggles against the harsh environment and the even harsher designs of men driven to madness.

Chapter 1:

Prompt: Swooning | "How many fingers am I holding up?" CW: Panic Attack, Injury, Broken Bones, Blood, Head Injury Summary: Ingo arrives in Hisui, only to immediately befall a horrible fate.

As promised! I will be posting a chapter of this every day for the month of October. I hope y’all enjoy!

[themetaphorgirl]

"how many fingers am I holding up?"

Written for Whumptober 2023 Day #1

"But now this room is spinning while I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps."

Safety Net | Swooning | "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Prompted by @eveningstar477

Patron Saint of Lost Causes. Emily isn't great with sick people, but she can't help but be protective of Aaron.

“Mr. Hotchner, number twelve, please.” She stifled a groan and reluctantly raised her hand. “Uh…Ms. Michaels? He’s been sick with an ear infection all week, it’s messing with his hearing. I don’t think he heard you.” Ms. Michaels’s dour expression pulled into tight severe lines. “That’s unacceptable,” she said. She strode over to Hotch and rapped her knuckles smartly on his desk. He jumped back, his dark eyes widening. “Your behavior is incredibly rude.” “What?” he said, bewildered. Emily could see what little color he had draining from his face. “Seriously, he can’t hear you,” she said. “He’s not being rude. He’s sick.”

Read here!

[bloodyandfrightened]

Whumptober 2023 No.1 - 'How many fingers am I holding up?'

Whumpee couldn’t breathe. His throat was tight.  His eyes burned with the hot tears that were building up behind his eyes. He could fix this. Right? He was about to stumble over to the door when the room violently lurched forward. The world was swimming. And then he was on the floor, landing with a loud thump.

Whumpee didn’t need to hear Caretaker’s hurried footsteps to know they would be coming to check on him. He wished they wouldn’t bother – it was all his fault, after all. The door cracked open. Slowly, at first, but when Caretaker saw Whumpee laying on the floor ,his breathing laboured – eyes darting around the room in a panicked frenzy, they flung the door open – rushing over to his side.

He could see that they were trying to speak to him. He could see their lips moving quickly -  urgently. Whumpee strained to listen to their advice but all he could hear was his pulse drumming in his ears. Loud and neverending. Caretaker held their hand in front of Whumpee’s face. He can just about make out what they’re saying to him:

‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

Three? Two? Five? It didn’t matter. He would be wrong, he always was. Whumper made sure he never forgot that.

[1-800-dnkichu]

Whumptober Day One: "How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?"

Pairings: Midoriya Izuku & All For One (Midoriya Hisashi)

Summary: Izuku just wants to leave this damn room. Father is always coming and going and, for once, Izuku asks to come with him. All for One makes him an offer: answer a few questions correctly and you can come with me. Izuku believes the task will be easy. It is not.

(3,599 words)

[laffy-taffy-creations]

Day 1 of whumptober!

This fic was cross-posted on Ao3 here

Just One Day

Safety Net | Swooning | "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Words: 1,040

Warnings: sickness, overexertion, self-hatred, human experiments, broken promises, adultification of a minor, child abuse

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

“Hey, uhhh…3?” someone asked.

I turned. “Oh, hey 7. What’s up?”

“9 sent me to see you. Whatcha doing?”

“Fixing the home remedy for tonight’s batch of allergic reactions. Our stupid ‘caretakers’ decided that fish sticks would be a brilliant choice of dinner despite at least 170 of the nearly 300 of us being allergic to fish or the oil the use to fry shit.”

“Really?”

I scoffed, “I know right? You’d think they’d realize what a bad idea that is.”

“No,” she said, “I mean you know how to combat allergic reactions?”

I looked at her confused. “Yeah, I’ve been the one making the remedies for everyone since being chosen as an experiment… did you really not know this?”

“I mean, I knew someone was making them, but I figured it would be one of the adults, not… you… do you even have allergies?”

“No, but that doesn’t really matter?”

She was stunned. “3. You’re 11. Are you trying to tell me that ontop of caring for literally every person in this facility, teaching everyone Japanese, making sure we’re all safe and that fights dont break out, keeping us educated as possible, ensuring we all make it to sleep at night and tending to the other kids teens and sometimes adults that have issues sleeping, you’ve also been the person keeping track of allergies and making the drinks infused with whatever it is that keep allergies from being life threatening?”

“Uhhhh, yeah? Why is that so confusing to you?”

“3! You’re 11 for crying out loud! Are you trying to tell me you’ve been single-handedly taking care of everyone in every aspect imaginable SINCE YOU WERE NINE?!?!?!”

“7. Calm down.”

“I will NOT! You’re a fucking fifth grader taking care of nearly 300 people on your own!”

“And I’ve been doing that job just fine for 2 years.”

“3-”

“Sayovai.”

“No, I dont wanna hear it, what the actual fuck 3?-”

“Sayovai.”

“You cant be serious, I mean-”

“SAYOVAI! YEHLISA UMOYA!”

She finally paused.

“I am fine. You are fine. I am doing what I have to so we can all survive here, I’m our safety net. Ngicela ungithembe nje, kulungile?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine. So long as you promise awuzicindezeli… you can promise me that, akunjalo?”

I laughed a bit. “Yebo, ngiyathembisa.”

“Good.”

----《 ¤ 》----

I tried to keep my promise.

----《 ¤ 》----

“3, you doing good?” Max asked me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I think, just a mild sickness…”

He paused. “Go back to your room.”

“What?”

“Go back to your room. If you’re sick right now, you have to go rest.”

I protested, “I’m fine Max! It’s just a mild sickness of some sort…”

“OV, if you could see yourself right now, you’d know damn well this isn’t ‘mild sickness’.”

I scoffed.

“You’re barely walking right now.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying, I-! Actually, you know what, stay right fucking there, I’m getting 9.”

“Okay, but I’m telling you, it’s not that bad.”

I waited for a while.

They finally returned but… Was I on the floor now? When had that happened?

There was some noise, it was faint. Like someone was calling to me. I saw what looked like a hand in front of me. I made some sort of noise, trying to respond. I felt like I should be panicking, but I had too little energy.

Next thing I knew, I was off the ground. Was someone carrying me? Everything was blurry. I could barely keep my eyes open.

Then it was soft.

Incredibly soft. I recognized the feeling of a bed.

I melted into the dark surrounding me. Eventually my hearing cleared. And I was able to open my eyes again.

“3? 3 are you awake?” I heard.

“Mmmmmm…”

“Hey, hey! Dont fall asleep again! Look at me,” it sounded like Relena.

I opened my eyes and weakly pushed myself up. This whole situation was so vague in my memory… I feel like I have something to do…

“Hey, 3, look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?”

I concentrated as best I could. “Mmmm…. Four?” I guessed.

She sighed and put her hand down, “No OV… Just rest, I’ll take care of today. You’re too out of it to do anything right now.”

That jogged my mind a bit. There’s… a lot of us… in the building… I’m meant to be taking care of us… I’m meant to be taking care of us!

I instantly started to get out of bed and was just as instantly pushed back into in. “No 3! You stay here!”

“I’m meant to… be taking care of… the others right now!” I slurred.

“No! I’m taking care of the others today! You’re sick!”

My vision started getting blurry again and I could feel a tightening in my throat. “But I-"

“But nothing! Rest!”

I felt something warm go down my cheek. “I’m supposed to- I’m our safety net! If I’m not there and something really bad happens-”

“We’ll take care of it! There’s more people than just you here, 3. If things really go wrong, we’ll figure it out.”

I was starting to have some trouble breathing. Crying. That’s what’s happening. I’m sobbing.

“But- the, the others-”

“Vee, I can take over for a day. It’s one day. You’re usually our safety net. Let us be yours.”

She lifted my mask and wiped away my tears. “We’ll be fine. Just take a break. You’ve already done way too much for your age. Just one day, okay?”

I nodded as best I could. I ended up crying myself back to sleep. Even after waking up again, this time alone in my room, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d somehow failed everyone.

It should’ve been fine. I should’ve been able to handle it. It’s my job to take care of the others. Today shouldn’t have been any different.

“Hey, 3, you awake in here?” someone called from the doorway after a while, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, what is it Agno?”

“Dinnertime. C’mon, join us. We missed you today.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a bit, just gimmie a moment.”

You shouldn’t have missed me today. Because I should’ve been there. I should’ve been there.

[hummingbird-of-light]

June of Doom Day 23

23. “How many fingers am I holding up?”   

| Poison | Rash | Double Cross |

TW: Munchausen By Adult Proxy Syndrome, Concussion

A/N: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

~

"Mr. Scott? Mr. Scott, can you hear me?"

Only slowly did Montgomery Scott manage to open his eyes. He blinked in confusion, but his vision didn't get any clearer.

"Look at me, Mr. Scott. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Scotty felt his eyes dance back and forth as they tried to focus on the hand that was in front of his face.

Where the heck was he? Why was everything moving? And who was that man talking to him?

"Um... f-four?"

He couldn't answer the question for sure. He was still terribly dizzy.

"Not quite, but close. Christine, get an IV ready. We need to get Mr. Scott's circulation to work properly again."

Christine? Who was Christine? Scotty looked around, slowly realizing where he was. And yet, the male voice that spoke all the while gave him confirmation.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Scott. You're in good hands. We'll get you to the hospital."

Hospital? Why would he need to go to the hospital?

"What... what happened?"

He didn't really remember. He only remembered that he had been at home.

"You fell off the ladder in the garden. Your neighbor Mr. Sulu saw it by chance and called us immediately."

Oh yeah... right. Scotty had wanted to clean the gutters. If he couldn't work due to illness, he wanted to at least get some chores done around the house. He had been feeling much better, but suddenly he had started to feel dizzy again. And then... there was nothing. No more memories.

He must have lost consciousness.

And now he was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Immediately his thoughts wandered to a person who must be worried.

"I... my husband... I have to inform my husband."

He tried to sit up, but was immediately pushed back gently.

"Hey, hey, hey. Stay down. You have a concussion. To which extent isn't clear yet, but you definitely can't move for now."

At last the double vision disappeared and Scott eyed the doctor in front of him. A dark-haired man with bluish eyes. He looked serious but friendly.

"I'm sure your neighbor will inform your partner and I'm quite certain that he'll visit you in the hospital soon enough."

A queasy feeling came over the Scotsman at the thought. What would Khan, who didn't like doctors and hospitals at all, say to that?

+++++++++

"Oh my god, Monty. What happened?"

He had just fallen asleep in the bed they had put him in when the sound of the door opening jolted him awake.

"Khan."

His husband was beside him within seconds and immediately stroked his cheek reassuringly. Worry lines stood on the man's forehead.

"I... I was going to clean the gutter, but.... then I got dizzy again and I guess I fell down. The doctor says I have a concussion."

Before Scotty had been taken to the room, they had run some tests on him, including a blood test. The results were still being processed, but Dr. McCoy - the doctor who had already taken care of him in the ambulance - had said he would be in touch soon.

"Why were you outside? You're supposed to be sick and resting."

Khan's voice sounded almost accusatory, and Scotty immediately felt ashamed.

"Aye. But... I've felt better. And I didn't want to just lie around uselessly while ye worked for our living."

For so long, he'd been home. They had moved to the U.S. two months ago, but no sooner had Scotty received his green card than he had fallen ill. Khan was taking loving care of him, in addition to his regular work, but every time Scotty was reasonably well and wanted to start working again, his condition worsened again.

It was always the same. And Scott just couldn't take it anymore.

"Monty, you're not useless. And if I didn't have you... what would become of me?"

Khan pressed a tender kiss to Scotty's cheek before pulling something out of the bag he was carrying.

"Here. I brought you your tea. It always helps with dizziness, doesn't it?"

Aye. The tea Khan had brought him back from one of his business trips could really work wonders.

Quickly, Khan opened the thermos and poured some tea into the cap. With shaking hands, Scott reached for the drink. He was still a little unsteady in his movements.

"Hold on. I'll do it."

Scotty nodded gratefully as Khan held the cap to his mouth and helped him drink.

"Thank ye. That feels good," he sighed in relief after taking a few sips.

"Anything for you."

Khan gently ran his hand through Scotty's hair, but looked over his shoulder as the door opened.

Dr. McCoy entered the room. His expression didn't say much and his gaze was absorbed in a file.

"How are you, Mr. Sco-" He stopped when he saw the other man sitting next to the bed. Quickly, Khan got to his feet.

"Hello, doctor. I... am the husband. Khan Singh."

Dr. McCoy eyed the hand offered to him critically, but finally accepted it and shook it.

"Dr. McCoy. I wonder if you could explain to me why your husband is out on a ladder when he's having dizzy spells?"

Scotty could see Khan's face darken. He just didn't like doctors. Still, he tried to keep a smile.

"Monty said he was feeling better already. And I wasn't home. But I promise you, I'll pay better attention from now on."

Dr. McCoy looked from one person present to the other, one eyebrow raised.

"Why didn't you see a doctor before?"

Almost protectively, Khan stepped closer to his husband's bedside.

"Well... we don't think very highly of regular medicine. In my experience, doctors usually do more damage to you than they do to fix things."

The doctor just nodded before his gaze fell on the thermos, which by now was sitting on the bedside table.

"Oh really? You... tend to prefer... alternative medicine?"

Khan held the doctor's gaze and Scotty almost shuddered. What was going on here? Something was very wrong.

"Indeed, doctor. This tea is helping my husband recover. I got it from a South American tribe."

Through one of the room's not-quite-closed window panes, Scotty spotted something that startled him greatly.

Police men. What were the police doing here in front of his room?

Khan seemed to have noticed it too, because he stepped even closer to Scotty.

"Why don't we continue this conversation outside? We don't want to stress your husband unnecessarily, do we?"

The doctor's voice sounded almost threatening. Scotty grabbed Khan's arm, looking uncertainly from one man to the other.

"M-mo ghràdh?"

But Khan didn't look at him at first. His gaze lingered on Dr. McCoy before slowly turning to Scotty.

"Whatever this man is going to tell you, don't believe a word he says. I love you, Monty. And I'm the only one who can help you get better."

Scotty could only watch helplessly as Khan left the room with Dr. McCoy. His beloved husband, who always took care of him, was ripped from his life. Just because he had had a stupid accident.

++++++++

A little later Scotty learned what was going on. Apparently, traces of a poison had been found in his blood that had been fed to him over a long period of time. Since Dr. McCoy had already seen similar cases and was familiar with the substance, he had immediately informed the police to be on the safe side.

Munchausen by proxy syndrome. In most cases it was mothers who deliberately made their children ill in order to then act as loving saviors. But in the rare case of Munchausen by adult proxy syndrome, it was also adults who poisoned their partners.

It was a mental illness. An illness that would have eventually took Scotty's life if he hadn't had that accident and that doctor.

[felixwriting]

Tav Whumptober Day 1

Tav/Astarion

Rated T

"Tav gets stabbed with a poisoned blade, Astarion tries to convince himself he's not that worried."

~~~

Whoah, I'm doing Whumptober! And specifically, I'm putting my Tav through it!

[mrsreadalot]

I didn't swoon

It has been a long hot day full of training. Jason made them sweat all day long, all of them nearing exhaustion now. The last torture of the day was the O-course in full gear. They all made it, not near anyone’s best time, but they still reached the finish line.

Finally, Jason is satisfied and tells the team to go get rid of their gear and take that long overdue shower. Arriving in their cage room, they all grab one of the cold waters from the fridge, gulping them down while discarding their gear in their cages.

Sonny and Clay are the first ones out of the door, heading for the shower room, closely followed by Jason and Ray.

“You coming?” Trent looks at Brock in his cage, who only packed his gear away but doesn’t look like he is going to the showers.

“In a moment. I have to check on Cerberus first, make sure he has enough to drink and to tell the kennel master to check his paws for blisters.”

Trent gives a short chuckle. “Sure. But remember, you have to drink, too. And you need that shower. You reek.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Brock waves him off, closes his cage and follows Trent out of the door of their cage room. He turns in the opposite direction and heads for the kennels to make sure his K9 partner is well taken care of.

Trent just shakes his head. He knows his best friend; knows he won’t relax or look after himself before he is satisfied that his dog is ok. Even before entering the shower room, Trent can hear the laughter and bantering from his teammates, Sonny being the loudest of all. Entering the room, the other four are already in the different stalls, water running in all of them, joking loudly with each other. He is surprised that they have enough energy to fool around. He himself feels utterly exhausted and just wants to soak in the water to loosen his muscles.

Entering one of the stalls, he slowly undresses, letting his dust- and sweat-soaked fatigues drop into one crumpled pile on the floor. He turns on the water and steps into the spray, savoring the warm stream running down his body, feeling his tight muscles relax while he listens to his brother’s banter.

When the water starts to cool, he makes quick work of shampooing and washing off the rest of the grime. Stepping out of the shower, he towels himself dry. All of his brothers have finished their showers, all in various states of undress, and already discussing evening plans.

Sonny is talking Clay into coming to the Bulkhead with a little help from Jason. Ray has already excused himself for the evening, having to be home to look after the kids for Naima to go to a school thing he can’t remember. Finally, Clay agrees to come and Sonny turns his attention to Trent.

“You coming, too, right?”

A beer at the Bulkhead is not out of the question, but an early evening on his couch sounds tempting, too.

“I don’t know…” Trent looks around for Brock’s opinion, not seeing him in any of the showers. “Where is Brock?”

Sonny looks around, so do the others.

“Huh.” Clay looks concerned. “I haven’t seen him in here.”

“He wanted to look after Cerb before showering, but that was…” Trent checks his watch. “Wow, nearly 45 minutes ago. He should be here already.”

They all share a concerned look and as if on an unseen signal they all rush to the door. Trent reaches their cage room first. Pushing the door open with more force than he meant to, he scans the empty room for his missing brothers. He already starts to turn back to head for the kennels, when Clay’s shout has him stop and turn back.

“Brock! Oh, shit.” Clay rushes past Trent, pulling him along, the other three a little slower but following.

Brock sits crumbled in the corner of his cage, eyes closed, unmoving. Trent slides to his knees next to him and tries to wake him up.

“Brock, hey buddy.” Trent gives him a firm sternal rub that gets him a low groan. He taps Brock’s cheeks, checks for a pulse and breathing. “Skin is hot and dry, pulse is fast and faint, breathing is shallow and fast. Clay, grab my bag. Sonny, help me get him out of here so we have more space. Ray call medical, tell them to bring a gurney.”

His brothers all rush to heed his orders. Sonny takes Brock’s feet while Trent grabs him under the arms, and they drag him out of his cage. Clay drops Trent’s bag next to him and Trent gets everything to start an iv-line and push fluids in.

“Jason, Clay, strip him to his boxers. Sonny, get water, cold if possible, we have to cool him down."

While the others work, Trent connects the first bag of fluids with the iv-line and lets the fluids rush into his brother. Working hand in hand Jason and Clay take only a few minutes to get Brock’s clothes off of him. Trent exchanges the already empty first bag of fluids just as Sonny arrives with a bucket of water and a few towels. Jason and Clay have already stripped Brock of his fatigues and start to help Sonny wet the towels and cover him with them. As the cool towels touch the hot and dry skin, Brock starts to stir, slowly trying to remove the uncomfortable cold against his skin.

“Easy, brother.” Trent squeezes Brocks shoulder softly, gently holding him down, making sure the iv-line stays in place.

Brock opens his eyes, blinking several times before he can focus on his brothers.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Trent holds his thumb and index finger in front of Brocks face.

“At least two. Where am I?” Brock’s voice is dry, cracked and he lifts his head a little to look around, trying to find out why he is lying on the floor in their cage room. “What happened?”

“You swooned in your cage, princess.” Sonny’s drawl betrays how worried he still is about his brother.

“Didn’t swoon.” Brock closes his eyes again, letting his head fall back to the floor. “Might have passed out.”

Trent chuckles. “Whatever you want to call it, you scared the living shit out of us. Don’t do that to us again!”

Brock just nods, still not opening his eyes again.

“Brock, how much did you drink today?”

At Trent’s question, Brock furrows his brows, trying to think back over the day. “Not sure… Probably not enough.”

Ray arrives with two paramedics and a gurney, and with the opening of the door Brock finally opens his eyes again.

“Hell, no.” Brock shakes his head when he sees them entering, sitting up a little, but already feeling dizzy.

“Hell, yes.” Trent answers. “You passed out in your cage. You have had a heat stroke. You need to go to the infirmary and probably stay there overnight for observation. No point arguing.”

“Oh, come on. I’m just a little dehydrated.” Brock tries to argue but he is cut off, this time by Jason.

“No, Brock. Go get checked out. Or I’ll sideline you.”

“Fine.” Brock gives in, lying back down.

The medics have watched the argument with amusement. They already know the guys from Bravo, know they only agree to go to the infirmary if ordered. Just like all the other Tier One operators. Trent gives them an update on what happened and how much fluid he has already given Brock. They help an embarrassed Brock to the gurney, leaving him covered in wet towels, and make their way to the base infirmary.

The rest of Bravo watch them leave with Brock, all shaking their heads.

“I need a drink.”

They all look at Trent, not believing that statement came from him. They all expected him to follow Brock, not letting him out of his sight.

“I need a drink. Then I’ll get him some fresh clothes and check on him at the infirmary.”

They all agree, smiling. Jason slings his arm around Trent’s shoulder and guides him out of the cage room.

“Let’s all finish dressing first and then we head to the Bulkhead. First round is on me.”

[mycroftrh]

Words: 779 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Tim Drake Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, abuse recovery, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Good Parent Dick Grayson, they don't appear but them being good parents is important, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2023, Blanket Permission, Podfic Welcome

Damian fears the consequences of failure. Tim has some experience with that, and tries to help.

This was written for Whumptober Days 16, 17, 20, and 1.