#serious injury

[adiduck]

Chapters: 1/8 Fandom: Top Gun (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Characters: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Sarah Kazansky, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky and Sarah Kazansky's Children - Character Additional Tags: Past Sarah Kazansky/Tom "Iceman" Kazansky - Freeform, Mentions of Cancer, Serious Illness and Recovery, Serious Injury and Recovery, Hospitals, Disability, American Sign Language, growing older, Complicated Relationships, Fathers and their children, Slow Burn, get-together, Slice of Life, Warning: Author Is Easily Distracted By Planes Summary:

“You have a fractured left scapula, left humerus, right radius and ulna near your wrist, and thoracic vertebrae ten, eleven, and twelve,” Doctor Oliean said, glaring at him like he’d done this on purpose. “You’ve also sustained a hairline fracture to your right femur, and micro tears to your right achilles tendon and left ACL, as well as extensive bruising along your torso and hips. I have no idea how you are walking at all.”

“Ah,” Maverick said. “Honestly, when you put it like that, neither do I.”

(Or: There are consequences to ejecting twice in the span of two very, very long weeks. Maverick deals with them. Ice, recovering from his own bout of nearly fatal pneumonia, inserts himself like he always does.)

If you can walk away from a landing, it's a good landing. If you use the airplane the next day, it's an outstanding landing.

—Chuck Yeager

And here we are! The end of one leg of this journey (writing it), and the start of another (posting it for all of you!) It took me nearly a year to the day to finish the first draft of this and then another week and a half of editing before I felt confident beginning to share it. I want to give a VERY HEARTY thank you to my betas: Yoshifan456 for the overall readthrough for understandability (especially for non-native English speakers), Firecracker_aka_Teaminator for the very thorough scrub (especially the open battle conducted against my commas), Henley for the down and dirty plot thread tracing and advice on where to fill in and how to adjust my flow (as well as holding my hand through the great ‘smile’ purge of June ‘24), and Serie11 for the absolutely essential cheerleading throughout this entire journey, and for the quick initial scrub of Part 1. I love you all, this fic would not be half as good without you!

This fic is complete, and will be posted every other day. There are eight chapters. I hope you have as good a time reading as I did writing!

[bloody-bee-tea]

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 11 - We're out of time

Suguru smiles, watching the scene in front of him unfurl with a great deal of amusement. Shoko is trying to teach Satoru how to heal others, now that he figured out how to heal himself, and it’s going just as well as all three of them expected.

Suguru gives her another five minutes before she attempts to strangle Satoru with her bare hands and claim that maybe a life and death situation is going to speed matters along.

“Gojo, please,” she now says, her voice tightly controlled and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Would you concentrate for once in your life?”

“I am concentrating,” Satoru shoots back. “It just doesn’t make any sense what you’re saying!”

Shoko takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself down and Suguru honestly feels bad for her. It’s not as if he has any idea what they are talking about, seeing as he is the only one in the room who doesn’t have any kind of healing-power—neither himself nor others—and so to him it’s all gibberish anyway.

“You just have to concentrate,” she reiterates again. “Remember how it feels when you heal yourself,” she says, not for the first time and Satoru throws his hands up in frustration.

“I know how it feels when I heal myself!”

“Then put your hand on my arm and heal this goddamn cut!” Shoko snaps back and maybe Suguru was a bit generous with his estimate of five minutes.

It looks as if she’s about ready to snap any moment now.

“I can’t, why won’t you understand that! It doesn’t make sense when it comes to you, it’s just not the same!”

“What do you mean ‘not the same’? A body is a body!”

“But it’s not,” Satoru whines and slumps in his chair, eying the shallow cut on Shoko’s arm.

Suguru suspects it’s pretty hard for her to keep it open in the first place at the moment and he wonders if that might be one of the reasons she’s so annoyed by Satoru today.

“What do you mean by that? Gods, Gojo, would it kill you to explain yourself once in a while?”

“Things in my body make sense,” Satoru starts, clearly trying to make Shoko understand. “There’s a wound, I do a little—” he wriggles his fingers in what Suguru guesses is a sensible motion because Shoko nods “—and then it’s gone. But I can’t do the same for you. There’s this—barrier or something and everything past that is muddled and muted and confusing and makes no sense at all. I don’t even know where to send my energy to start on healing you and nothing you say makes sense because I don’t feel your body like I do mine.”

“And thank the gods for that,” Shoko mutters before she shakes her head. “But that’s not feasible, Gojo, you have to figure out how to look past this barrier. What if he gets hurt?" Her hand flies up and she points an accusing finger at Suguru, who almost jerks back.

He’s just here to bear witness to this madness, not be dragged in and besides—

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Shoko,” he drawls out and then very much does not wither under her burning glare.

“We all know neither of you are indestructible. We’ve seen it. So what if Geto gets hurt again, huh? What are you going to do then?”

“Bring him to you?” Satoru gives back and shrugs. “I mean, I can just teleport him to you if it comes to that.”

“It’s not that easy, Gojo. You can’t always assume that an injury will still allow you to move him.”

“Huh?”

“What if he’s impaled on something? What if moving him means exacerbating his injuries? What are you going to do then?”

 “I can just come and get you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Shoko shakes her head. “You know Yaga sends me to Kyoto more often these days. What if I’m not here? Are you going to warp yourself all over Japan just to get me? We all know you can’t do long-distance teleportation—not yet—and even if you could: two times that close together while you’re also transporting another person? It’s unlikely even you can do something like that. And even if, let’s pretend your genius self can figure this out, what about him then? You want to leave him alone, seriously injured on a battlefield? Either with a curse still there or left all to his own? It’s not going to work, Gojo. You have to figure out how to do it, for his sake at least.”

Satoru looks over to Suguru with a frown and Suguru simply shrugs. Shoko isn’t wrong, after all. So many things can go wrong on a mission and there’s no way to predict a situation like this.

“It could also be a matter of time,” Suguru apologetically says, because he knows Satoru hates it when he’s not on his side but Shoko is right. “What if I’m bleeding out? You teleporting all over the place could take too much time. Sometimes it’s a matter of seconds that make a difference.”

Shoko only points at him as if to say ‘What he said’ and Satoru groans.

“Fine, I get it, I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that I cannot figure it out!”

“Then work on it! You learned RCT in a moment of shock to safe your own life. Imagine how you’d feel if he would die, maybe that will help.”

“Please don’t,” Suguru immediately blurts out because while he doesn’t believe in superstitions, it does feel a lot like inviting doom should Satoru imagine something like that.

And Suguru can really do without a near-death experience any time soon.

“Can we just stop for today?” Satoru quietly says, his eyes downcast, and Suguru doesn’t even want to think about what he’s imagining right now. “I promise I’ll work on figuring it out, I promise, but—not today?”

“Fine. Get out of my hair then,” Shoko mutters, waving them off and Satoru is off his chair faster than Suguru can comprehend.

Satoru snatches Suguru’s hand in his and drags him off with him and it’s not as if Suguru is putting up much of a fight, so he easily follows Satoru. He seems lost in his own head and Suguru keeps quiet until they are in Satoru’s room.

“You okay?” Suguru asks once the door is closed behind them and Satoru lets out a shaky breath.

“Don’t get hurt until I figure it out,” he says, his voice almost pleading, and Suguru’s chest suddenly feels tight.

“Satoru—”

“Suguru, just. Don’t get hurt, alright? I will figure it out, I promise you, but until then you cannot get hurt. I can’t—”

Satoru’s breath is coming a bit fast right now and Suguru steps close, resting their foreheads together.

Suguru gets it; he always feels a little bit faint when he remembers just how much blood he found in the spot where Satoru fought and he can imagine that Satoru felt much the same when he heard that Suguru had gotten hurt as well.

“I’m gonna be careful,” Suguru promises him because that’s the only thing he can do.

There’s always a chance in their profession that they are going to get hurt and things in a fight are more than unpredictable but he can at least promise that he’s not going to take any unnecessary risks.

“Please,” Satoru whispers, gripping Suguru’s arm almost painfully and Suguru pulls him into a real hug.

“I promise I’m going to be careful. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“Thank you,” Satoru says and deflates where he stands.

Suguru expected it, so he can easily hold Satoru up, but he does shuffle them over to the bed.

Today, they are going to take it easy and then tomorrow they can double down on Satoru’s training. Suguru has all the faith in the world that Satoru is going to figure it out because he’s a genius like that and so he’s not too worried about anything.

It will be fine.

~*~*~

Suguru can barely breathe and he guesses the huge hole in his chest is the reason for it. There’s a lot of red seeping out of him, he distantly thinks and tries to raise a hand to push it back in.

It’s not very successful and Suguru blames his hand for it, because it barely comes up to where he wants it.

“Suguru! Suguru, no!” Suguru hears Satoru yell out and then in the next second the sky is replaced with sky-coloured eyes.

Suguru thinks he might like the eyes better than the sky.

“I’m good,” Suguru says, can barely feel his mouth shape his words and watches how Satoru’s eyes drop to his chest.

“You’re not fine, fuck, what am I going to do?” Satoru cries out and Suguru remembers that he has not yet figure out how to heal other people.

“Shoko,” Suguru says, because he has to.

He’s going cold and things are getting more clear somehow and he knows he has to send Satoru away.

“Get Shoko,” he says again when Satoru doesn’t move and he tries to push his hand away from his chest, but he can’t find the strength to do so.

“Suguru,” Satoru whispers and Suguru blinks.

“No time, Satoru, need Shoko.”

It’s getting harder to form words and he knows in all honesty that he doesn’t have long left. This is it, for him, and he barely spares a thought for himself. The only thing on his mind apart from the fuzziness is the fact that Satoru cannot be here when he dies.

Satoru shouldn’t have to see that.

“I’m not going to make it, we’re out of time,” Satoru gives back, clearly knowing damn well that Suguru will be dead before Satoru is even halfway to Shoko and he puts his hand on Suguru’s chest.

Suguru thinks he might be sick when the wet noise makes it to his ears.

“I’m gonna heal you. I’m panicking, this is a life and death situation, I can totally figure this out,” he mutters and then closes his eyes to better concentrate.

Suguru’s eyes want to drift shut as well but he fights it. If he has to die then he wants Satoru to be the last thing he ever sees.

“You’re not dying on me, shut up,” Satoru says, a touch of hysteria in his voice and Suguru wonders if he said that out loud or if Satoru managed to read his thoughts somehow.

It could be fun, if Satoru were a mind-reader now as well.

“Suguru, stay with me,” Satoru pants out, clearly exerting himself by concentrating really hard and Suguru thought there was a hole in his chest so he doesn’t understand why it’s suddenly burning like that.

“Satoru,” Suguru gets out only to be met with a fierce glare.

“Shut up,” Satoru hisses and Suguru obediently falls silent.

Satoru is clearly doing something and it probably wouldn’t do to interrupt him now.

“You’re not going to die,” Satoru mutters as sweat beads on his forehead. “You’re not. I won’t let you.”

It’s a nice sentiment, Suguru thinks, and then his energy is all used up and the last thing he remembers to do is smile at Satoru.

He deserves at least that much.

~*~*~

Suguru wakes up to Shoko’s face. The sight in front of him doesn’t change, even when he blinks once, then twice and eventually he decides to accept it.

He didn’t expect to see Shoko in the afterlife, but stranger things have happened.

“How did you die?” Suguru asks, his voice raspy and Shoko snorts out a laugh.

“I didn’t, you idiot. Welcome back to the living.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you heard me right,” Shoko says and leans back. “You survived.”

Suguru cranes his head down to check out his own chest and he is honestly confused when he finds it whole and unmarred.

There should be a hole the size of his fist in there.

“What happened?”

“Gojo healed you.”

“He figured it out?” Suguru asks and he can’t help how proud he sounds.

He always knew that Satoru would figure it out eventually but to hear that he in fact did somehow hits differently.

“Uhm, that’s probably a conversation you need to have with him,” Shoko says, avoiding eye-contact all of a sudden. “You should feel a little bit groggy, but otherwise you’re good to go. Gojo is probably still sulking in your room, claiming I took too long to clear you to go.”

“I—see,” Suguru mutters because this is all a bit much. He does understand that Shoko wants him out of her hair and so he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the couch he was laying on.

He feels a little unsteady on his legs when he finally pushes himself off but that feeling fades quickly.

“Thanks, I guess,” Suguru mumbles, waving at Shoko who only rolls her eyes at him.

“Go thank your possessive freak,” she gives back and that only serves to confuse Suguru further.

It takes him a little bit longer than usually, but he does make it back to his own room eventually and just like Shoko promised him, Satoru is right there.

“Satoru,” Suguru breathes out and Satoru is there a second later, fluttering his hands over Suguru’s chest as if he has to make sure that he’s really unhurt.

“Did Shoko clear you?”

“She threw me out, if that’s what you mean,” Suguru replies and then pushes past Satoru towards his bed.

Sitting down does sound kind of nice right now.

“That means you’re good then.”

“She did mention that you healed me?” Suguru asks and leans against Satoru with a sigh when he finally sits down on the bed as well.

“What else did she say?” Satoru asks, fiddling with his fingers and Suguru frowns.

“She called you a possessive freak,” he honestly gives back and Satoru huffs.

“Honestly, what does that woman have against me. That’s so uncalled for.”

“What happened?” Suguru asks and leans more firmly against Satoru. “You figured it out then? Healing others?”

“Not—really,” Satoru whispers and clicks his tongue.

“What is it then?”

“Remember that talk I had with Shoko? Where I said that it’s easy because my body makes sense and then there’s a barrier around everyone else?”

“Yeah?”

“Well—it turns out there’s no barrier around you,” Satoru rushes out and Suguru blinks.

“Huh? You mean I’m—what? Leaking everywhere?”

“No, it’s more like—” Satoru sighs. “There’s my body and then there’s everyone else’s. And you’re more like—my body.”

Suguru takes a moment to digest that.

“That’s what she meant by possessive,” he eventually mutters and drops his head to Satoru’s shoulder. “Because you see me as yours.”

“It’s more like—as if we’re one,” Satoru mumbles, his voice barely audible and Suguru hums. “Are you—mad?”

“About what?” Suguru wants to know because being angry is the furthest thing from his mind right now.

“About—that?”

“Satoru,” Suguru sighs out and reaches out to take Satoru’s hand in his, treading their fingers together. “Apart from the fact that you saved my life—for which I am beyond grateful—it’s always us, isn’t it? Why would I be angry knowing that you feel the same about me?”

“The same?”

“Of course the same. Besides, isn’t it you who always says that I’m your one and only? Don’t you think I would have complained before if I minded that?”

“Probably,” Satoru admits and Suguru shrugs.

“Then I don’t see what there’s to worry about. “I love you. You love me and it’s all like it should be. Especially now that I don’t have a huge hole in my chest.”

“Gods, don’t even say that,” Satoru says with a wet laugh. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

“I can imagine,” Suguru replies, because—again—he had to find so much blood after Toji.

He gets it.

“Now, I am cleared and I am very obviously not dead, but I am incredibly tired, so can we please just lay down?”

“Yeah, of course, sure, come here,” Satoru immediately says, moving away from Suguru to allow him to stretch out on the bed.

Satoru follows him easily but instead of laying down next to him, he almost drapes himself over Suguru, pressing his ear to Suguru’s chest.

“Do you mind?” Satoru asks and Suguru somehow musters the strength to raise a hand and card his fingers through Satoru’s hair.

“Not at all,” he whispers and with a sigh of contentment Satoru goes boneless.

“I do love you,” he says after a long moment, “just wanting to get that out there.”

“I think your actions said that loud and clear,” Suguru replies but he can’t deny that it does feel nice to hear him say it.

“Good. Can’t let you forget,” Satoru mutters and then drifts off to sleep, clearly having worn himself out with his worry.

Suguru is not far behind though and he sleeps very well, knowing that his one and only feels the same.

[nei-ning]

I rarely show any wips but here's one now. Done without eraser in 20-30 minutes. I felt good enough to try to draw some of the negative energy out (even that Opamox is working SO WELL!).

I see when I will finish this. Because I really would like to. I think this could be my best work of the whole year.

[1whump-dump1]

Band of Brothers, episode 3.

[iwhumpyou]

ChatGPT and Whump

So, basically, they haven't figured out what whump is yet. At some point, they'll definitely add this to the list of banned terms that get that generic response above.

As a bonus:

Not gonna lie, I'm getting some mixed signals here. 😂😂😂

So, essentially, the generative text will still create whatever prompt you've nudged it to, they haven't put the filters on that end, they've just created a specific list of words that can't be used on your side. Meaning that ChatGPT will only stop generating content that the developers don't want to generate if they manage to track down every single possible word/phrase that a human could come up with to generate what it is they're looking for.

Good luck with that.

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Unchained

for Angstpril, Day 5: (alt) Serious Injury

cw: torture, hand whump, general brutality, broken bones

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

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Two priests, each trained in truth and the magic of the mind, were but a few days' journey away, and Cerus remained as stubborn as ever.

The fallen king had been a prisoner for weeks now, denied all but that which kept him alive and under constant abuse at the hands of the guards. Beaten and tortured, then healed only to have the cycle start anew. And despite it all, he refused to yield even an inch.

Every time Nisha removed the bit, they were met with curses and threats and insults. It didn't matter if they were asking questions or offering sustenance. Cerus would not bow.

Though they knew the soon-to-arrive priests would take care of the kingdom's worries of blood magic, Nisha still felt as if they'd failed at their task. Granted, they knew it wasn't wholly their fault. Breaking a man took time, especially someone so steeped in pride and immorality as Cerus, but despite that, they wished they could've given the holy mages someone more…pliable to work with.

Perhaps they still could.

The Shadow King was lying on his back when Nisha entered the cell, chained limbs still spread wide to further restrict movement. His torso and thighs were littered with scourge marks from the previous night's session, half-healed by a mage to keep him from sinking too far into delirium. Weeks of meager food and near-immobilization had left his body visibly weakened, and one would be hard pressed to find even an inch of unbruised skin.

"Our time together is drawing to a close, you know," Nisha said, kneeling to remove the bit in Cerus's mouth. "In a matter of days, your fate will be decided. How does that make you feel?"

"I'll strike your men down the moment I step out of this cell. And I'll save you for last so you can watch them d—nghhh!"

Nisha dug a finger into one of the gashes over his ribcage, turning his threat into a strangled scream.

"And why haven't you struck down any of my men yet, hm? Biding your time?"

"If I weren't in chains you wouldn't dare be so bold," Cerus snapped.

Suddenly, Nisha had an idea. "Then perhaps I'll remove them and prove you wrong," they said.

"You are a fool."

"Perhaps." They stood, moving to the gauntlets that rendered Cerus's hands immobile, and began to unlatch them. The Shadow King flexed weak fingers as Nisha removed each metal glove, seemingly at a loss for words.

"You're mad," he said at last. "What are you hoping to achieve?"

"I only wish to see if you're capable of following through with your promises."

"Unchain me and see."

"Not yet."

Nisha made a point to take off the blindfold before moving to the wall of implements and selecting a heavy cudgel. They decided to leave the bit out. They wanted to see if Cerus was capable of begging after all.

The fallen king's face went ashen when he saw the weapon in Nisha's hands, and they relished the barely-concealed fear in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Cerus said. It sounded more like a threat than a question, but Nisha didn't care, encroaching slowly, silently on their target.

"What are you doing?" Cerus demanded again, louder, more desperate.

"If I'm going to remove your chains, I need to ensure you can't run away," Nisha said plainly, stopping at Cerus's feet, raising the cudgel over a pale, bruised shin, and bringing it down just above the ankle.

The crunch wasn't unlike a sound they'd heard in battle, the scream that followed much the same. The only difference was how both sounds cut through the quiet in the cell, undiluted.

Once Cerus's screams died out, Nisha moved to the other leg, waiting for the look of horror to cross the chained man's face, the realization that it was going to happen again, before bringing the cudgel down a second time.

The resulting scream was just as rewarding as the first had been, something gutteral, animalistic. More than Nisha had been able to drag out of him so far. As before, they waited for the screams to soften before moving on. This time, to Cerus's exposed right hand.

Enclosed as his hands had been, they were unmarred, looking out of place compared to the rest of his body. Nisha would remedy that.

Cerus's eyes were wild with pain and fear, body shaking and straining against the chains, as if he were capable of doing anything to save himself. Nisha tapped the hand gently, as if marking their target, then raised the cudgel high in the air—

"D-don't— stop, stop, or you'll regret this night—" Cerus gasped out. Still making threats. What a pity.

Nisha brought their weapon crashing down onto the hand, and then, when the first strike didn't quite satisfy, hit it again, drawing another inhuman shriek from Cerus. And as Nisha moved to stand next to their final target—

"No, please, please stop, please!" The words came out as sobs, barely intelligible, but they left Nisha grinning broadly. A victory at last.

They raised the cudgel—

"Please! Please!"

—and brought it down, twice in quick succession. 

They drank in Cerus's ragged whimpers as they hung the cudgel back in its place, then moved to unlock the manacles that bound him.

His chest heaved as they moved from shackle to shackle, unclasping each in turn.

"What— why?" He barely got the words out.

"You're unchained," Nisha said. "Strike me down."

Cerus didn't respond, shaking arms folding in to cradle shattered hands to his chest, legs curling as he rolled onto his side with a great effort, eyes glazed over with pain.

"Strike me down," Nisha repeated, not taking his silence as an answer. They delivered a hard kick to Cerus's torso, then another. A scream tore itself from the man's throat as their foot connected with his wrist.

"Will you?" They continued their assault, heedless of Cerus's choked cries. "Will you?"

When at last they stopped, they were panting heavily, sweat trickling down the back of their neck. Nisha swallowed.

"I thought not." They ran a hand through their hair, tucking wayward strands back. "Count yourself lucky that the priests are expecting answers, or I would've cut out your tongue too."

They left without reattaching his chains; a small mercy. 

He'd be back in them soon enough.

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@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles

[this-acuteneurosis]

Invisible Wounds

Some things linger and fester, some things are brought to light. Some things are swollen and weeping, some could be made right.

[miss-anthropyxx]

Abdomino-pelvic impalement x3 in a 17-year-old who somehow managed to not die

[Original medical journal case report] [Credit to how this was found]

A 17-year-old female fell from second floor directly over iron rods of an under-construction building at midnight. Although three iron rods penetrated inside her body, she was conscious and oriented but cried in pain. Neighbours cut the rods from the iron pillar with drilling machine and shifted the patient from accident site to the emergency department of our hospital which took 5 hours. During this interval, she was in sitting posture and could not lie down fearing additional trauma due to the penetrating rods. On examination, she was conversant and had a pulse rate of 126/minute and pallor. Two iron rods could be seen penetrating her abdomen and pelvis while the third one went through and through her gluteal region [Figure 1].

A part of her cloth also went inside the path of the iron rods. Blood clots could be seen at the entry and exit wounds. Abdomen was not distended, and child had passed clear urine once on her way to the emergency department. There was no evidence of any injury to the chest, head, neck, spine or the extremities. At arrival, along with the primary survey, an intravenous line was secured to start fluids, antibiotics and analgesics. Tetanus toxoid and tetanus immunoglobulin were administered. Simultaneously, samples were sent for routine blood investigations and cross match. Haemoglobin was 8.9 and haematocrit was 27. Chest, abdominal and pelvic skiagrams were taken to assess the passage of the rods and any bony injury. One of the rods could be seen penetrating through the right iliac bone. Another rod went through and through the ascending colon just distal to the ileo-caecal junction and also the right iliac bone. There were no major vascular or urinary injuries. All the solid organs were spared. Resection of the jejunal segment containing the two perforations was done followed by end-to-end jejuno-jejunostomy.

Patient was shifted to the operation theatre and was put in left lateral position between the operation table and shifting trolley, so that the rods came in between the trolley and the operation table. In this position, patient had induction of anaesthesia using 100% oxygen for 3 minutes followed by Etomidate (100 mg), Fentanyl (75 mcg) and Succinylcholine (75 mg) [Rapid sequence induction], followed by intubation using cuffed oro-endotracheal tube of size 7.0. Following this, patient was maintained on Oxygen, Air and Sevoflurane, then patient was shifted to operation table in sitting posture and surgical procedure was started. Rod in the gluteal region was removed first after increasing its entry and exit wounds slightly. It was seen to pierce only the gluteal muscles. The passage was washed with hydrogen peroxide and saline and packed with betadine-soaked gauze. She was then turned supine and laparotomy was done through midline incision. One of the rods was seen to pierce the jejunum twice at approximately 30 and 40 cm from the duodeno-jejunal junction [Figure 2].

Ileo-ascending anastomosis was done after excision of the caecum along with the perforated ascending colon. No orthopaedic intervention was needed for the rod penetrating the right iliac bone. Tension suturing was done after insertion of drains in pelvis, right and left paracolic gutter. She received three units of packed cells in the peri-operative period. Patient was transferred to the Intensive Care Unit post-operatively and was there for 5 days following surgery for intensive monitoring and management. Antifungal agents were added when positive fungal blood culture was seen following fever on 3rd post-operative day. Patient passed flatus on 5th post-operative day and tolerated oral food from the next day. Drains were removed on the 5th post-operative day. Wounds over gluteal and iliac regions were conservatively managed on dressing and antibiotics. The total duration of hospitalization was 24 days and patient were discharged with advice of daily dressing of these wounds. First follow-up was after 15 days of discharge and subsequent two follow-ups were after one and three months of discharge. She has been asymptomatic on follow-ups. Figure [3] shows her scars after 3 months of discharge from hospital.

[nimbasamedical-train]

Beware the Blood Doctor

During the 2 year (meant to be 4 ) service as combat Medics / Field Medics in a small war as part of training in way of medical practice , Emmet was severely injured and not by an accidental hit , the attack was planned by the enemy , Emmet took a chest full of shrapnel and Ingo had to perform in field surgery on his brother when he got them to safety .

Now attacking medics or doctors in a battle field INTENTIONALLY or as aggressively target like so is extremely TABOO unless that Medic activity makes the first move but the twins never did as their job was to heal and save lives.

So Ingo once he got his brother stable and safely out of harms way , LOST it , he was always known for his patience, kindness,compassion and PROTECTIVNESS of others ,ESPECIALLY HIS BROTHER.

After leaving his Indeedee assitant with Emmet for protection he pulled out Chandilure and actively hunted down those who harmed his dear brother , with his blood stained hands and coat ( Emmets blood) he trudged across the field having enemies be burned alive by Chandilure though he gave a command not to kill cause he would feel horrible having his precious partner burden with taking lives , no he just wanted the soldiers to feel and KNOW the aching stinging pain in his chest as he saw metal fly into his brothers chest.

Anyone who tried to actively attack Ingo he pulled out a -bone saw- it’s frankly a outdated tool for emergencies only and he used it as his weapon , he spilt a LOT of blood that day , he didn’t kill though , every wound he inflicted was just to cause pain to unleash his anger and fury, he knew EXACTLY where on people’s bodies to inflict wounds that looked worse than they are and DRAW blood leaving trails and he would knock out anyone who didn’t stand down or faint from blood loss.

This earned him the name the Blood Doctor.

[factorialsfandoms]

Is There Anybody Out There?

Not what I was going to write for Whumptober today but, hey, blood curse plus Hyrule meeting the Chain can totally work for ‘why did you save me?’ and ‘rope burns’, right? Well I hope so as that’s what I’m writing.

CW: serious character injury, curse, blood, body horror

Link hangs, by the wrist, above an urn. Or, it was an urn; the urn is still there, he suspects, but now a hideous being grows from it. His flesh has been torn open by the monsters chanting all around, and his blood drips down, landing in the ashes and upon the creature itself.

He has been hanging, dying, for what seems like days, but may only be moments, his sense of time lost to blood loss and the head wound that lead to his capture. Still he struggles, tearing apart his wrists in the ill-made rope, ripping his shoulders from their sockets and desperately trying to escape.

It is not even about survival any more, not for him; with every drop of blood, the malformed creature grows a little less hideous. What had begun as just a pool of blood in a slightly different shade became a lump of flesh and now there is a skull upon a skinless neck, the first few chunks of brain tissue beginning to form within it. There are stubs from the shoulders, where arms will soon come. There is a pelvis all intact, and the first knitting flesh of thighs.

Still Link's blood pours from him and into the ashes - onto the creature now. He should have run out long ago, and yet something keeps him haemoraging. His magic? Their own? A curse on this location reacting to one in his blood? He does not know, all he knows is that it is too much.

Against the odds he sobs again. Consciousness comes in waves, but still it comes.

/Please/ he begs in his mind, too weak to speak, too weak to even fight. /Please, please/.

He cannot remember the other words he needs, but still he begs it of anyone or anything that will listen - not for salvation, but just that his failure will not damn his world. That somehow he will die before this is complete, that the ritual will fail, or any similar thing.

Maybe if he soaks enough blood into the ropes instead it will? He pulls his arms again, mimicking an escape attempt. The hemp digs deeper into his wrists, ripping a little more blistered and angry skin from the friction burns. Blood drips from his wrists, his arms, his gut. Still he begs for mercy, if not for himself, then for Hyrule.

He passes out again.

He wakes again.

It is louder now, but it does not sound like the monotonous chanting, or even cheers of joy.

With failing vision he looks again upon the incubating form; about half the brain seems finished, while muscle tissue is crawling up from the neck and beginning to form a jaw.

A flash of steel, a glint of fire, the loud rocking of a fight.

But who would fight is not for him? A desperate last hurrah by the Castle Guard? The Princess, wielding light between long fingers? The Queen, with bow in hand?

Link cannot tell, he can barely even see - only light gets through to him now - but he turns his face towards the fighting nonetheless, straining to do the impossible as he has always done.

A voice yells something - not a scream, panicked, yes, but not frightened - something about /movement/.

Terrified he swings back to the half-formed creature his blood still pours in to; he does not see anything from it as his vision blacks once more.

Black, and then white, as arms wrap around him and agony peaks once more.

Something is picking at the ropes on his hands, the ropes in which he has been trying to store his blood. Did the monsters notice? Are they finally taking the ropes away, squeezing the blood of them onto their half-formed master? Link is not strong enough to move even without them keeping him in place, not any more.

He tries to struggle, he tries to fight them away, but what can he do? There's a voice in his ear saying impossible things, things to which he refuses to listen, instead he fights and fights and fights fight /fight/!

The dark must sweep him away again, for one moment he is struggling, and the next he has warmth at his back and ground beneath his feet. Something is keeping his head upright, something else is slapping his cheeks again and again and again and /again/.

He wants it to stop. The sting is nothing next to everything else, and yet it serves no purpose at all.

The something behind him is shaking.

The something in front of him hits his cheek again.

Link tries to tell it to stop, eyelids opening a fraction but nothing sinking in. Panicked voiced calm slightly, and there's something at his lips.

Poison?

Why poison? Don't they need more of his blood? He's reasonably sure resurrecting Ganon takes killing him.

When he does nothing, a something forces his head back. Then there's something being dripped into his mouth - poison or no, it is sweet, and his body craves it. Link swallows the drops quickly, ignorant of how his support sags a little as he keens for more. He is not above begging; he is too far gone for speech.

After a moment, more of the poison is put to his lips. Hungrily Link drinks, almost choking in his desperation. Something warm swells in him, and behind him, too; there's pressure on his head, but it is not hurting, and so he ignores it again.

Too soon, the poison is gone. He understands the apology in the voice talking to him now, but not the words themselves. Neither does he understand what the apology is for, unless it is for how the poison seemed to have run out.

There’s speaking again - human speaking - all of it far too fast and frantic and going over his head. The sounds of fighting have died down, and now there are /too many/ voices.

One of the voices addresses him again; Hyrule’s mind is too scattered to understand it. If the aches want to do something different to him, then he is powerless to resist now, the poison having seeped cold paralysis into his bones. Paralysis, or is it just lethargy? He cannot tell.

When the voices do not receive their answer, the warmth at his back shifts instead.

Link moves with it.

This time, as he passes out, he screams.

-----------------------------------------------

Link wakes up warm, the haze in his mind only contributed to by the forming headache. Still it is duller than he would expect, given the weakness in his limbs that reeks of blood loss.

He tries to move his arms, only to find it more exhausting than he has strength for. Instead he lets his head flop to the side, slowly opening his eyes.

Around him is a cave, and beside him is a fire. It is a familiar looking cave - a safe cave - one he has sheltered in before. He cannot see outside with the direction he chose to turn, but he can smell rain outside.

Good, that’s... That’s good.

The area desperately needs the rain, rain to wash away its sins and feed new life...

New Life.

Ganon reborn.

In a moment Link is on his knees, scrambling about for his sword. He... He can’t do this, he /can’t/, but he has to anyway. Ganon, Ganon... His blood was given to Ganon, he has to stop him, where is his sword, where is it?!

Hands grab at him, and he fights back. He fights and fights and no matter what he does, they remain gentle with him. They pull him to a warm chest, tuck his hands where he cannot access them, cup his head and protect his back.

Trapped, but not... Not /trapped/, just trapped.

“I need it,” he manages to bubble out on a shattered throat. “I- I need it, where is it?”

“What do you need?” a voice asks.

Link freezes.

The voice is unfamiliar. So were the blankets he woke up in. So are the arms, and the seven faces he sees as he looks around now.

So is the eight face, up above him.

“Ganon-” Link’s voice catches, and his mind does too. “My sword. You need to run, before he hurts you - I need my sword. Need to... Need to stop him.”

Even held up, Link can feel himself sway.

A second person comes forward - wearing black, and white, a gambeson and a loose tunic above, with only a single eye. He rests a hand on Link’s arm, eye piercing into him.

“It’s alright,” gambeson says, and it isn’t, but what else can Link say. “We stopped the ritual, and burnt everything that was there. It’s alright.”

“My sword-” he asks again, because nothing makes sense, but he /needs/ it. Now he thinks, all of his things were taken from him; he tries to sit up again. If the monsters get their hands of some of that...

“Hush down,” the man holding him says, and there is chain mail beneath this one’s tunic. “We found your things; our Smithy is just checking it all over, and fixing it up.”

“But-”

“You’re in no state to fight, not after something like that,” the arms around him squeeze for a moment. Something in Link’s soul feels safe at the touch. “Didn’t really expect you to be up just yet.”

'Didn’t expect you to survive’ is not said, but even Link can hear it there.

The longer he is held, and the longer he is with these people, somehow the safer he feels. It is counter to everything he knows, and yet, and yet, something deep in his soul radiates happiness to be near them.

Confused, he mumbles again about needing his sword.

The person holding him sighs, and shuffles, and promises that Hyrule will get it back just as soon as he’s well enough to hold it.

Given how heavy he feels, he supposes that’s fair.

Horrible, terrifying, uncomfortable, but fair.

Someone else appears in his vision - a teenager covered in scars - and he’s holding a bowl warm enough to be steaming, even in this room.

“Hey,” he says. “I bought you food. You think you can eat? It’s just broth.”

He calls it just broth, and yet it smells more flavoured than anything that Link has ever before seen. It comes with some water, and a cup of tea, and a potion, and Link wishes he had the strength to take it.

The scarred boy seems to notice, because he grins, takes a bit of each himself, then bring the water up for Link to drink.

Feeling miserable and pathetic Link none the less swallows, even as the man holding him tells him he’s doing well, that’s he’s proud of him.

For what? Being utterly helpless and surrounded by strangers and letting them pour things down his throat? It is nothing worth praising - none of Link’s efforts ever are. He almost got everyone killed, he was caught, and his blood had Ganon more than half returned, and nothing he did ever mattered in the end.

Still he could not say anything, for as soon as the water was taken away, it was replaced by the warm broth. Too caught up in his confusion, Link regrettably barely tasted it as spoon after spoon was fed to him.

And then the potion, and then the tea, and despite not doing anything, Link was exhausted.

The man holding him seemed to realise it, for when the scarred boy reached to his belt, he gestured him away.

“Not now, Champion,” his words were not unkind. “Just get started on dinner, no need to overwhelm him.”

If he could find the strength, Link would laugh - he is already, most definitely, overwhelmed.

“Sure, Captain,” scars - Champion - replies easily, humming to himself as he tucks his things away. “Good to see you up, Link. Hope you feel better soon.”

The use of his name startles Link, but not as much as it could have; everyone knows about his blood curse by now, so who else would have been in the situation? And the monsters had been chanting it enough. He would have been more surprised if they did not know, to be honest.

“Will you manage here?” the man in the gambeson asks; Link had forgotten about him.

“We’ll be fine,” the man holding him - the Captain - says. “You go rest your knees, Old Man.”

He does seem older than the rest, Link supposes, but not properly old, not like the old men he knows. The man says something to much the same effect, but goes to sit with the rest nonetheless.

After a few minutes, the Captain sighs, “let’s get you back to bed, then.”

Something feels wrong about that; as he is moved, Link grabs onto the Captain’s clothes, and tries to push himself deeper into his chest.

To his credit, the man stops moving quickly, reaching his arms back and protectively around, “no?”

Link nods in agreement to the disagreement.

Another sigh, though this one is exasperated and fond, not exhausted. “How about I lie down with you?”

Link has no idea if that’s a good idea or not, but he lets it happen. Just so long as nobody lets go of him. The movement makes the dizziness rear up and ugly, and nearly has the broth coming back up.

Somehow, Link keeps it down.

Soon enough he’s tucked back under blankets softer than he has ever known, and against a chest hard with armour, but warm, and covered in something soft.

“How are you feeling?” the Captain asks of him.

“Dizzy,” Link manages to mumble out, having worked that out recently. “Hurts.”

“Where hurts?” the question is blunt, but the tone is gentle; that’s fine, fewer words make it easier for Link to process anyway.

The question anyway; everywhere hurts, and so he just begins listing every body part he can focus on and name.

Sometime around his kidneys, he’s hushed with a quiet, “everything, then?”

Link nods, and regrets it; a hand comes up to check his forehead.

“We seem to have avoided any infection. For now, at least.” The Captain hums to himself. “There’s a few hours until your bandages need changing; get some rest. It will help more than anything I can do for you.”

There’s pain in the Captain’s voice as he admits his helplessness. Link understands that - intimately. To try everything you know, and everything you can think of, and still all there is to do is let nature take its course.

Sometimes it is reassuring, but most often it is terrifying.

But at least Link can feel the potion at work, the small itch where it knits together flesh, and the pooling warmth where it continues to try replace his blood. The warmth is comforting, even as the situation is strange.

And yet, it is that comfort he understands the least. Who would come after him, if not ordered to? And they seem far too willing and gentle with him to have been ordered, and they are nobody he has met before who might feel a debt for services done. Instead they are just... Helping.

And Link does not understand why.

“Why did you save me?” his voice is even frailer with the question, not even supposed to have been asked.

The Captain looks confused a moment, before giving him a gentle smile even as the arms around him hold on desperately tight, “why wouldn’t I?”

It is... Exactly the response that Link has given a hundred times to a hundred people before, one he knows intimately in the depths of his spirit, and yet never expected to hear. It is the words he says to mothers whose children he returns, to old men whose homes he defends, to stranded military units he raises hell to save, words that hold nothing but sincerity in them.

“But-” Link tries to argue, he does, for his own words - especially not those ones - should never be directed at him.

Unable to do it, he instead bursts into tears.

[arecaceae175]

If you’re still doing the ask game, crash with Wars?

(continuation of pine sap. Warnings: (warnings are a bit spoilery bewarb) serious injury, Warriors thinks the word 'die' in relation to the serious injuries, loss of consciousness, ambiguous ending.

Wars angst just for you, Captain >:)

PSA I will never write character death. My blorbos always make it out alive. Just... remember that as you read this.)

Drip.

Water dripped slowly somewhere in the back of the cave. Warriors was focusing on the sound and letting it consume his mind; anything was better than focusing on the pain.

Drip.

Wild hadn't wanted to leave him behind, of course he hadn't. They'd argued about it for what felt like hours to Warrior's pain-addled mind. But, in the end, Warriors' pragmatism had won out. Warriors needed medical attention.

He needed help or he was going to die.

Drip.

So Wild left in search of anything to help. Finding a fairy would be the best case scenario, but it was ranked low on Warriors list of possibilities. Finding the other heroes would do, as well. One of them surely had a fairy, or at least some healing potions.

Drip.

Wild said he knew how to brew elixirs. He knew how to do them with ingredients from his Hyrule, though, and they were in an unfamiliar era.

Drip.

Warriors wasn't sure how long ago Wild left. Time was passing strangely. Between blinks, the tiny sliver of light shining into the cave moved further and further up the wall. Wild said he would close the cave off so nothing could get in, so there was only a small bit of light coming through.

Drip.

Warriors' worry grew with every movement of the light. Why wasn't Wild back yet? Had he gotten himself into trouble? Warriors trusted the kid, and he knew Wild was one of the most resourceful among them.

Drip.

Warriors could feel his grip on consciousness fading.

Drip.

The injuries and blood loss were taking their effect.

Drip.

Against his will, Warriors' eyes slid shut.

Drip.

He heard stone crashing and crumbling, and then there was nothing.

[bloody-bee-tea]

BeeTober 2023 Day 18 - Tackle

Suguru isn’t entirely sure how it happens. One moment they are in their usual groove during a fight and the next moment Suguru sees one of the curses aim for Satoru from his blind spot.

There’s not enough time to think, not enough time to remember that Satoru is basically invincible these days and before Suguru knows it, he’s moving. He knows he’s going to be fast enough the moment he pushes away from the ground and even though that means he’s going to take a–probably devastating–hit, there is nothing but relief that Satoru is going to be safe. 

Suguru collides with Satoru just in time to tackle him out of the way and the last thing he hears before everything erupts into pain is a panicked “Suguru!”. After that, there’s nothing but darkness.

~*~*~

Suguru wakes up to an ache in his side that almost borders on outright pain. He takes a moment to breathe in and out, trying to get used to it, before he opens his eyes. He is, of course, met with the clinical ceiling of the medical room and really, with his side hurting like that it shouldn’t be a surprise.

It still is, somehow, until Suguru remembers just what happened.

“Satoru,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what happened after he got hit, after he lost consciousness and the thought that Satoru still might have gotten hurt is enough to force Suguru into a sitting position.

“I really wouldn’t do that yet,” comes Shoko’s voice from behind him and when Suguru whips his head around in surprise everything goes dark for a moment.

He’s clearly not at his best at the moment.

“Shoko,” he whispers, once the spots that dance in front of his eyes are gone. “Where’s Satoru?”

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, and there’s more emotion in her voice than Suguru is really used to. “You should really care more for yourself instead of him,” she chides him and Suguru grimaces.

“What’s the damage then?” he sighs out, because clearly it must be bad if he’s still here and subjected to her care.

“The damage is that you’re a stupid idiot,” Satoru’s voice rings out and Shoko rolls her eyes before she vanishes to god knows where, leaving Suguru to suffer under Satoru’s furious glare alone.

“You’re okay,” he still can’t help but to whisper under his breath but he flinches when Satoru’s glare goes even more murderous, if that’s even possible.

“And you probably think that’s because of you, dipshit, but news flash, I’m the strongest. Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay.”

He seems genuinely furious and Suguru busies himself with laying back down, if only so he can escape that gaze for a moment. Or at least pretend to.

“I’m glad,” Suguru gasps out once he managed to return to a reclined position, though even that brought cold sweat to his forehead. 

He really must have been hit hard if he still feels this badly.

“Well, I’m not,” Satoru bites out and if Suguru still had the energy for it, he’d probably flinch. 

“I don’t understand–” Suguru starts because he’s at a loss as to what could make Satoru this angry.

“What’s there not to understand?” Satoru interrupts him. “I’m the strongest. I do not get hurt. I am untouchable. I am invincible. I certainly do not need help from the likes of you.”

His words sting worse than whatever left-over pain he has from his injury and Suguru can’t quite manage to meet Satoru’s eyes anymore. Of course he’d be angry. Suguru basically implied that he is weak by budging in and taking that hit for him and Satoru always prides himself on being the strongest. Of course he wouldn’t take kindly to what Suguru did, no matter if it came from a place of worry.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru somehow manages to get out and Satoru huffs in a way that makes Suguru’s stomach turn.

He has seen Satoru this angry a few times but never before had that anger been directed at him. It’s not a nice feeling at all, Suguru finds.

“You better be,” Satoru snaps out, his voice shaking with how angry he is and Suguru wonders if things would be better if he fell unconscious again.

Since that is not something he can do on command, though, he chooses the next best thing.

“I’m tired,” he mutters, but is stopped by a sharp pain in his side when he tries to turn his back to Satoru.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Satoru mutters under his breath and Suguru flinches with the reminder that he’s no match at all for Satoru.

He doesn’t even remember the last time Satoru truly needed to sleep and of course this is just one more thing that makes Suguru look weak in his eyes. Before Suguru can even try to come up with anything else to say, Satoru disappears between one blink and the next, clearly too impatient to get away from Suguru to simply walk out on him. 

Suguru didn’t know it could hurt this much to have someone teleport out on him.

Sleep does seem like the better option in face of that, and to his own surprise it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep at all.

~*~*~

When he wakes up the next time it’s to Shoko standing next to his bed instead of Satoru.

“Morning,” he grumbles out, still more asleep than awake and Shoko gives him a look. 

“Evening, actually,” she informs him and then watches as he struggles to sit up, not even lifting a finger to help him.

“When can I leave?” he pants out once he finally manages to sit properly and the look increases.

“You nearly died twice over, I don’t think leaving should be on your agenda for now. You can count yourself lucky that I managed to stitch your arm back on.”

“I–nearly lost my arm?” he asks and looks down at his torso. He doesn’t see much, of course, with the shirt he’s wearing, but it would explain the pain, actually.

“Nearly is generous,” Shoko shoots back and then rattles off a downright staggering list of injuries he sustained when he took that hit for Satoru.

Suguru can indeed count himself lucky that he’s still alive.

“How did I get back here?” Suguru asks, still trying to wrap his head around just how close he came to dying.

“Gojo. He teleported right into the room, clutching you to his chest.”

“He can’t do long distance teleportation,” Suguru mutters, because it’s one of the few things Satoru still struggles with.

“He can when it comes to you,” Shoko instantly replies and Suguru flinches with her words.

It’s just another reminder that he’s not nearly as strong as Satoru, but Suguru guesses Satoru will at least be grateful to him for making him learn that. 

“So, when can I leave then?” he asks again, because staying here is not something he wants to do.

Shoko regards him for a long minute before she sighs.

“There’s a tray in the room next door I need. Get that to me without having to sit down and you’re free to leave,” she tells him and just by her tone Suguru knows that he’s not going to make it.

Still, he has to try.

By the time he’s on his feet, he’s drenched in sweat, his entire side is screaming at him and his knees feel like jelly. Shoko clearly has no sympathy for him.

“I’m gonna make it,” Suguru grits out and Shoko huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

“Sure. Don’t break something when you faceplant into the ground,” she tells him with a wave as she leaves the room.

Suguru is almost thankful that now there won’t be witnesses when he does exactly that. Still, he clenches his teeth and shuffles forward. He’s not going to stay in this room for a day longer, not if he can help it.

He refuses to acknowledge the fact that his stubborn–and possibly stupid–desire is entirely born out of the urge to prove to himself and Satoru that he’s not as weak as Satoru clearly deems him to be because that is only going to make him spiral.

Suguru thought they were friends. Equals, even, as much as anyone can be that with Satoru. And maybe even–Suguru cuts himself off there, because that is absolutely something he does not need to think about right now. Satoru’s derision for him was more than clear earlier. Suguru pushes that thought away too and instead focuses on shuffling through the room, always keeping a hand on the wall; it’s not as if Shoko told him to not do that, and he’ll take any advantage he can get, no matter how small it might be.

Somehow he makes it to the door besides his like this, knees wobbling, sweat rolling down his face, hand shaking where it’s steadying him against the wall. It’s barely a victory but Suguru will take it. He does not think about the way back.

He pushes the door open, leaning on the handle to keep his balance but when he sees what’s inside, he freezes up completely.

Satoru is draped over a bed, a TV stashed in the corner, his clothes flung around the room as if he’s been living here for months. 

This doesn’t add up.

“Have you been hurt?” is the first thing out of his mouth and it would almost be comical how fast Satoru shoots up from the bed if Suguru wasn’t so worried. “Satoru, have you been hurt?” he asks again, more insistent this time when Satoru fails to answer him and he knows he shouldn’t, knows that Satoru is just going to take it as another offence against himself but Suguru can’t help himself.

He needs to know if Satoru got hurt.

“No,” Satoru finally gets out and Suguru almost stumbles where he stands. “Are you allowed to be up? Shouldn’t you be laying down or something?” 

Right, because he’s too weak to even stand on his own, Suguru bitterly thinks.

“I just–Shoko said–what are you even doing here?” he finally asks because he can’t understand what Satoru is doing here if he hasn’t been hurt. “Did you burn your room down?”

It’s the only other thing that makes sense to Suguru but Satoru only glares at him.

“I did not.”

“Then what–”

“You should sit down,” Satoru interrupts him and carries a chair over to where Suguru is still standing in the middle of the doorway. “Sit.”

“I can’t,” Suguru faintly says, even though there is nothing else he wants to do more. “Shoko says I can only leave if I make my way back without having to sit and I really want to leave.”

“You’re an idiot,” Satoru mutters and puts a hand to Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru is ashamed to admit that even that faint weight is enough to make his knees buckle.

“Fuck,” he whispers when he heavily sits down on the chair, because there is no way in hell Shoko is going to let him leave now. Suguru is so not looking forward to spending another night here.

Speaking of–

“How long has it been? Shoko didn’t say.”

“A week,” Satoru says, his voice barely audible in the room and Suguru almost chokes on nothing.

“A week,” he wheezes out because even with how serious his injuries were he didn’t expect that. 

“A week,” Satoru repeats and Suguru can’t quite place the emotion in his voice. Before he can puzzle over it more, though, Shoko’s steps ring out behind him and Suguru groans.

“You’re staying then,” she says when she sees them, a pointed look at the chair Suguru is sitting on. “And you,” she continues as she glares at Satoru, “get the hell out of my hair. He’s alive, what more do you want? I’m sick of having you live here.”

She doesn’t wait for either of them to answer before she walks away and Suguru can do nothing but stare after her before he slowly turns back to Satoru.

“Live here? Why would you live here?”

“I don’t,” Satoru lies and Suguru pointedly looks around the room; the very lived-in room and he can’t quite hide his confusion when Satoru goes red in the face. “This is not about me,” he then hisses. “This is about you and your stupidity.”

“I already said I’m sorry,” Suguru snaps out. “What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop being this stupid! I’m invincible! No one and nothing can touch me, so what the hell were you even thinking!”

“I wasn’t!” Suguru shouts back and his eyes widen in shocked surprise when Satoru falls silent at his admission but it seems he can’t stop himself now. “I wasn’t thinking, Satoru. I saw that you were about to be hit, that you were about to be hurt and I didn’t think. I just knew I had to protect you.”

“I–”

“—don’t need your protection, yeah, I know,” Suguru bitterly mutters because Satoru has made that more than clear. “Sorry for caring about you, I guess,” he quietly tacks on and isn’t proud of the way it makes Satoru flinch.

“I’m invincible,” Satoru mutters—yet again—and Suguru is so fed up with hearing this that he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I get it! Would you stop saying that already.”

“I’m invincible,” Satoru still says one more time and there’s something desperate in his voice. “But you’re not!”

“What?” Suguru says, a frown now on his face. “Thanks for reminding me just how inferior I am.”

“No, no, it’s just—” Satoru reaches out for him, though he doesn’t quite touch him. Suguru can still see the faint tremor in his fingers. “There was so much—” he trails his fingers along a line and Suguru guesses he’s going to find a scar in the exact spot under his shirt. “I thought you died,” Satoru weakly finishes and then plasters his usual cheerful and entirely fake smile on his face again. “But I guess you didn’t, so good for you!”

Suguru is almost getting whiplash from how fast his mood changed and he’s glad that he’s already sitting down.

“What is going on, Satoru?” he weakly whispers, too tired to try and puzzle this all out for himself, though he’s slowly getting an inkling as to what this could be about. “Explain it to me.”

The smile drops from Satoru’s face as if it’s never been there and Suguru startles when he crouches down in front of him, his gangly limbs all tucked up.

“I thought you died,” Satoru evenly says, not meeting Suguru’s eyes. “Your arm was just dangling about and there was so much blood. I thought you died.” His voice breaks over the last word and Suguru sees how he clenches his hand into a fist. “Everyone always keeps telling me how I’m the strongest, how Limitless makes it almost impossible to hurt me and it was the only thing I could think about. If I’m so strong how come you felt the need to protect me? If I’m so strong how come I almost lost you?”

He pillows his head on his arms, burying his face so he can’t see Suguru anymore but Suguru still smiles softly at him.

It makes sense, now. Satoru is just feeling what Suguru felt when he moved to protect him.

“I didn’t think of you as the strongest when I pushed you out of the way. I just thought of you as Satoru and how I had to make sure you don’t get hurt,” he softly says and watches how Satoru’s entire frame shudders. “I just wanted to keep you safe,” he adds, reaching out to push his hands into Satoru’s silky soft hair. “That’s all.”

He lazily scratches Satoru’s scalp until the shudders stop and Satoru turns his head to finally look at him again.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispers and Suguru laughs.

“I can’t promise that,” he honestly says, because if something like this happens again, he has no doubt that his body is going to move once more before he can form a proper thought. “You stayed here to keep an eye on me?” Suguru then asks and again, a faint blush dusts Satoru’s cheeks.

“Couldn’t bear to be all across campus,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed but Suguru thinks it’s sweet. Kind of over the top, really, but sweet nonetheless.

“Mind to share your room with me tonight?” Suguru wants to know. “Yours is much less clinical than mine. Easier to keep an eye on me that way, too,” he adds with a grin, though his exhaustion is quickly catching up to him.

Satoru must notice, because he’s quick to get up, carefully helping Suguru across the room to the bed.

“You need to rest more,” Satoru chides him as he tucks him in and if Suguru had more strength he would laugh at how incredibly overprotective this is.

“You need rest, too, strongest or not. Come here,” Suguru says and tugs at Satoru’s hand in an attempt to get him into bed with him.

“I guess I can sleep,” Satoru agrees surprisingly easily and slides into bed with Suguru.

Suguru doesn’t have the energy to tease him over the way he curls around him but there is one question on his mind, even as sleep tugs on him.

“How come I can touch you?” he slurs out, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Satoru’s wrist and he’s not sure with the haziness of sleep but he thinks he feels Satoru’s lips against his forehead.

“You’re always the exception,” he hears Satoru mutter and then everything goes dark once more.

But this time, he falls into it with a smile.

[autobot2001]

It’s Just a Cut

@themerrywhumpofmay: alt; "Questions? Comments? Concerns? Complaints?" @mediwhumpmay: alt; infection

"It's just a cut," one soldier argues. "A cut that should be taken care of by the medics. You can't just wash and cover this one." The soldier ignores what they're being told, and head upstairs to their room. Blood going down their leg.

Their leg looks awful by the time they get the supplies they need and pants to change into. The soldier struggles to ignore the stinging pain as the clean their leg.  Once done, they lie on their bed, hoping the pain will subside. Hoping pain won't be an issue.

It's the time of year when the soldiers and Autobots — bipedal form and holoform — health exam.  The three medics will be busy this next couple of days.  Appointments go well until Ratchet watches a soldier limp into the exam room

The soldier is happy Ratchet isn't making him change for the health exam. Boot camp must have a different health exam. He thinks, knowing the medics do physicals that require changing. Still, the soldier worries ratchet will roll up his pant leg, and find out about his injury.

"Your temperature is a little elevated, but not enough to disqualify you from going to boot camp," Ratchet tells the soldier, "questions? Comments? Concerns? Complaints?" "No." Ratchet is annoyed. "Do you think I'm stupid? I watched you limp to the exam room," Ratchet rolls up the pants leg of the leg the soldier wasn't putting his full weight on, "what's this then?" Ratchet can't believe what the soldier ignored for three days. The soldier gets a lecture about not coming to the medbay. Ratchet is hoping the infection isn't serious. He gets a sample from the wound.

"You're lucky this isn't serious," Ratchet comments, "and you might be able to go to boot camp since it's two weeks from now. Any sooner and you'd not be allowed." Ratchet gives him antibiotics, and tells him to come back in a week. 

[kittymaine]

Pinned Down

Summary: Bruce is trapped under falling debris while trying to save people from a collapsing bridge, and Dick tries desperately to save him.

Whumptober day five fill. Prompts: debris, pinned down, "it's broken".

The collapse of the northern canal bridge connecting Tricorner with the Bowery wasn't the result of a bomb being placed or a villainous plan from a costumed lunatic. It was just simple corruption colliding with an unfortunate case of an overworked personal assistant operating on less than two hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours. Laura Chance was taking a shortcut beneath the bridge when she nodded off behind the wheel and hit a support column going full speed. She likely died immediately upon impact. That same support column had been marked as cracked and unstable for the last five years of safety inspections. In fact, all five of the support beams on that side of the canal had been marked as unsafe in the last inspection, but the time it would take to close the bridge and repair the damage would have been costly to the city and unpopular with voters and the next mayoral election was coming up shortly. Not to mention that there was no longer any money to be spent on infrastructure, since most of that money had been embezzled away by the current mayor and his lackeys.

The bridge collapsed at the height of rush hour traffic, dumping cars full of commuters into the fast moving water of the canal and pushing them steadily toward the bay and open ocean. It happened in broad daylight and only a few hours after Bruce and Dick had retired for the night, but he couldn't imagine not rushing to assist the first responders already on the scene.

He had tried to convince Dick to stay at home or better yet go to school, but there was little chance of making such a determined fifteen-year-old do anything he didn't want to do.

By the time Bruce was trapped under a collapsed pylon on a leaning part of asphalt he was wishing desperately that he had tried harder to keep Dick home.

"Hold on, this will do it!" Dick shouted as he ran back with a twisted piece of rebar in his hands. Bruce winced at every footfall Dick's green boots made on the warped and cracked road. He was trapped very close to where the road fell away to the rushing water below. Helicopters and churned through the air and above him and boats milled in the water below him, but first responders were focusing on rescuing people in the water or trapped in their cars on the still collapsing bridge. Though he was sure that some news helicopter would get a shot of the fearsome Bat trapped under debris, and it would be splashed across every national news channel as an example of why vigilantes were more trouble than help. He would count himself lucky if he and Dick lived through this to see the smear campaign.

Dick shoved the piece of rebar under the large piece of concrete trapping Bruce's legs against the asphalt road and then hesitated before picking up a big piece of concrete to use as a pivot point for the lever he was building. Bruce would have been proud of his engineering under pressure if his leg hadn't started to go worryingly numb. It felt better than the radiating pain of a few minutes ago, but he knew that numbness was a worrying sign in a crush injury.

The lever constructed, Dick threw his strength against the piece of rebar, but its twisted shape meant that it spun out of his hands until he could situate it in such a way that worked with it's bent shape rather than against it. Behind Dick's booted foot, a little more of the asphalt broke away from the road and felt down into the water with a loud splash. People started shouting in warning from the boats below.

"Robin," Bruce gritted out, trying desperately to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart sped up at the sound. He tried to use breathing exercises to slow it back down, but for the first time in a long time they weren't working.

"I've almost got it," Dick gritted out, his tan arms straining against the steel bar. Bruce wasn't sure if that meant he had heard the crumbling behind him, or if he was too focused on helping Bruce escape to notice anything.

The concrete wasn't budging, and the numbness had spread from what was almost surely a cracked femur up to his hip. Dick was extremely strong for his age, but he was still fifteen, and the concrete debris pinning him to the bridge had to be over 500 lbs of weight.

"Dick," Bruce whispered.

It broke protocol that he had drummed into Dick probably a million times, that he should never use real names in the field. But, he needed to get through to him somehow. He was trapped, but there was no reason that Dick needed to put himself in danger any further. Either the first responders would get to him or they wouldn't.

"No," Dick bit out aggressively. With a frustrated growl, he threw his whole body on the end of the rebar. He grunted, the air whooshing out his mouth as he clearly winded himself, but miraculously the concrete moved.

Bruce desperately scrambled backward, dragging himself closer to the edge but not caring, so long as he got free of the concrete. As he crawled backward, his gloved hand slipped over the side of the asphalt and for one terrified moment he was tipping backward, falling down toward the cold churning water below.

"B!" Dick shouted, letting go of the rebar and leaping toward Bruce. He caught him just in time to stop him from slipping over the side, but unfortunately he grabbed the leg that was definitely broken to stop him from falling.

Bruce shouted a hoarse animal scream, a reaction that was so fast and visceral he had no chance of choking it back. It felt like Dick had popped his leg off his body like a barbie doll's. It felt like his whole body was only pain, and he was barely holding onto consciousness by a thread.

He lost time for a few seconds and when he finally came back Dick was leaning over him, his mouth twisted in that particular way that only happened when he was desperately holding back tears. He was talking, his mouth forming words, but Bruce's ears were still muffled, pain still crashing over him in waves.

At least, he wasn't screaming anymore.

"Leg. Broken," he choked out when he was able to catch his breath.

Something in Dick's face crumbled, and he let his head collapse down onto Bruce's armored shoulder.

They had to get off the bridge and to Leslie. She would surely lecture him for hours, but she would set the break and put him in a cast and give him the good painkillers. And, he could go home with Dick, and they could watch sweet family friendly movies to fend off the bad thoughts. And Dick would sit way too close and be far to solicitous for a surly fifteen-year-old boy.

But, for now, they could lay there on that broken bridge and just breathe and know that they were both okay.

[awaytobeunshaken]

Angstpril 2023 - Day 8: Serious Injury (alt prompt)

By the time the haze of battle fades, Orym is already kneeling by Laudna’s side. She’d taken a nasty hit from whatever the fuck that was, and Ashton saw her fall, but that only spurred them into a renewed flurry of attacks on the thing they were fighting.  

He hurries over to them, dropping to his knees as well. “She’s not—”  

Orym shakes his head. “Not yet, I don’t think. But without healing, she will be soon. I need a potion, quick.”  

Fuck. “We’re out of potions. I just had the one, gave the others to Chet and Imogen.”   

Orym looks up at them, then back at Laudna, panicked.   

“Hey… hey.” Ashton rests a hand on Orym’s. “Can’t you like, patch her up or something?”  

His breathing slows a fraction. “I… I can try. I don’t… know how it’s gonna work for her. The magic just… knows where to go. I never should have let her get hit in the first place.”  

He puts his hands on Orym’s shoulders. “None of us can protect everyone all the time. Second guessing what happened before isn’t going to help her now. So do you want to fix her or not?”  

Orym doesn’t answer, but Ashton watches as herbs spring from his fingertips, and he tucks them into the oozing wound in Laudna’s torso. He follows that up with layer of moss across the surface, then turns to Ashton with clenched teeth. “You got anything I can use for a bandage?”  

“Oh! Uh, yeah.” Ashton pulls a strip of fabric out of their bag and passes it to Orym. He places the folded square on top of the wound and presses down. Ashton watches Laudna’s chest rise almost imperceptibly slowly then sink back down with the exhale. “She’s breathing.”  

“I’ll feel better when she’s conscious.” He sits, propping himself up on one hand while the other keeps pressure on the dressing.   

Ashton settles in beside him. “Yeah. I know.”  

“What are we doing? The whole world might be coming apart, or has already, and we’re just… eating, sleeping, fighting, tending wounds… while we head toward who knows what.”  

Ashton shrugs. “My world’s come apart a few times, and I know yours has at least once, and it’s what you do, isn’t it? You either keep going, or you don’t. And sometimes you’re doing the first one out of sheer momentum, and sometimes it’s just spite, but those are the only real choices.”  

Orym nods. “Momentum got me through the better part of five years. It runs out eventually, though. And I’m not really much one for spite.” No, he wasn’t. They’ve seen Orym angry, even righteously so, but the halfling didn’t seem to have a spiteful bone in his body. “But if you two are gonna keep going I can’t let you do it alone. And I guess that’s enough for now.”  

“Then I’ll supply the spite.” He puts an arm across Orym’s shoulders and pulls him close, raising a middle finger at the red orb staring back at them above the horizon.  

ao3

[eyecollective]

27 Jun 2023

Tags

Major Character Death Carlos/Cecil Palmer Esteban & Cecil Palmer Carlos & Esteban (Welcome to Night Vale)Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale)Cecil Palmer Esteban (Welcome to Night Vale) Immortal Cecil Palmer Hurt No Comfort Angst Mortal Esteban Character Death Not Immortal Carlos Death by lab accident Bad Things Happen to Cecil Palmer Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism Car Accidents Serious Injuries Graphic Description

Summary

Cecil was Immortal, but his Husband and child were not.

Language: English Words: 1,37