#I love catheter whump it’s so good

[snaillamp]

Catheters are fixed with a balloon!

They’re inflated with sterile water

And are very painful to yank out. You can cause a lot of pain and damage if it is pulled out, especially with a 30cc balloon.

This goes into detail as to what happens if a Whumpee for example, pull it out and what can be done.

Happy whumping!

Whumpee wakes up in a hospital, lying in a bed with an IV stuck in their arm. They stand up and rip it out..

And immediately regret it.

Don’t rip out iv’s, kids. They will hurt going in and will hurt even worse if you rip them out and you will bleed everywhere, it will be very messy and annoying for the nurses. It is a literal needle going into your vein and if you rip it out, it will not be cool, it will cause you a lot of injuries. Dont be stupid like whumpee, okay?

(But you can make your whumpee stupid. Blood everywhere, horrible wrist pain, dizziness…)

[frenchfrywrites]

ahhhh ilysm for sharing your discovery of the human decanter. when i was reading your description of it my mind was just going trein ! trein ! trein ! i read about the irl experience of it and how the guy said he took a variety of drugs to ease the pain and it instantly made me think of the medical role play fic you wrote for trein bc how perfect would that reader be for this type of scenario with access to a catheter and good meds !

and i also love the idea of pairing it with exhibitionism and i imagine filling up trein before a staff party/event. the only way to get relief from holding is to sneak off to some semi secluded place where he can refill both your wine glasses. sometimes you go help him out but other times i imagine you, amongst company, asking him to fill up your glass with a wink, which gives him a delicious feeling of humiliation while he does it. and even if done so discreetly he still is very aware of the wine you’re drinking, just feeling flustered by the fact you’re drinking it front of so many people

and then ! all the talk about maid outfits, barbatos, and objectification made me think of dollification and how fun it’d be to dress up barbatos and get him into subspace to be your pretty lil wine decanter ! i also love to think about vil in that scenario ahhhh so many fun thoughts tho so tytyty

ooh yeah I was also thinking abt my medical malpractice Trein fic while learning about the human decanter!

And yes yes yes on the exhibition with Trein at a party! I looove the idea of flustering Trein in public, because it's so out of character for him! His coworkers are amused but curious as to how you're able to make him blush just by asking for more wine from him! And getting him to admit that he loves the attention and exhibitionism is even better!!!

Mmm and yes I've talked about how I think barbie would love this, but Vil is an interesting thought that I would like to expand on!! Both Vil and Barbie are two characters that I want to write endless whump fics about.. there's something so sexy about dehumanizing them as a way of providing self care? which sounds crazy but like making them take a break and getting them out of their heads by dehumanizing them.. you see my vision?? and ofc i looove submitting them to piss kink stuff, so theres a real good mix happening here. anyways, yes on Vil doing this, ESPECIALLY if he's wearing a maid outfit 🤤

[vivifrage]

(Grandpa Variks is not immune to the whump. Or hurt/comfort. Content warning for needles, medical treatment, and harm to an elderly person.)

8: Pneumothorax

They find Variks crumpled on the ground, mask and veil scattered. His other prosthetic has been torn off and one of his secondary arms dangles limply, the other clutching the side of his chest. He breathes hard, desperately, with a grating gasp each time. His eyes are wide and stare into the distance, but his mandibles twitch when Misraaks and his crew approach.

In the distance, furious screams and gunfire mark the renewed grudge match between the newly freed Eramis and the Guardian who imprisoned her.

Misraaks hovers near the doorway, smashed open to let all the frigid air and eddies of snow in, in part to be ready if Eramis turns back their way, in part because he doesn't want to look. Despite everything, he still remembers being bounced on the Scribe's knee and listening to stories while his mother was away, and asking him for advice when it seemed even his cousins wanted nothing to do with him. Seeing Variks like this… it feeds the Wolf he thought he wasn't any more, and scares the child he thought died long ago.

Behind him, his crew mutters darkly. One has rolled Variks over onto his back and is feeling around his chest, a seam ripper in hand, the Scribe's old robes pulled apart and its top half draped over his waist. Each gasp grows weaker, even as his mandibles flare wider, jaw drops open in a futile bid to gulp down air.

"Misraakskel," one says at last. It's Ariik, the medic. From the slow clicks she makes, it's not good. "His lung collapsed. Whatever Eramis did, it caused one of his spiracles to-"

"How is not my concern right now." It's harsher than he would like, but he will gladly listen to Ariik's report later. "Can you treat it?"

With a hissing sigh, Ariik rummages through her supplies. She pulls out a long needle and a packaged sterile swab, and feels around Variks' chest again, slipping it between two carapace plates.

She hesitates. Variks weakly grasps at her arm, and she pulls his hand off of her, tucking it back over his stomach.

They all look to him.

"Must we?" another asks. The crew all share another look, pointedly avoiding Variks' gaze. "After all he has done?"

Misraaks knows what they mean all too well. Variks the Loyal, a more ironic term with every passing day, so it seemed. Betrayer of the Wolves. Warden of the Prison of Elders, subjecting his own people to the brutal arena for… what? Entertainment? Judgment? Some sick vengeance reliant on destroying those who became what they were to try and survive in a harsh world? He imprisoned his own friend, then turned and joined her House once she was free. Even while he did that, he slipped others the word of House Light; at once a task Misraaks is grateful for and fears him doing again, should some other House rise. And, of course, him stabbing Eramis in the back to summon the Guardians is why this all is happening now.

Variks the Loyal has earned himself no favors, no love lost. If they said it was too late, that he was as good as gone when they reached him, none would question it.

"Treat him," Misraaks decides. It is not the first time he has had others' lives in his hands. It won't be the last. It dredges up a bitter taste nonetheless.

Ariik swabs the site. Misraaks looks away, watches the warring glow of Arc Light and Stasis.

Variks yelps. Ariik mutters to him, and the rest of the crew begin to back away.

By the time he glances back, Ariik is immobilizing his injured arm and securing it in a sling. A catheter leads from his chest, poking out from the tape and bandaging holding it in place.

Misraaks approaches, his crew making way only to gather behind him, watching as he kneels beside the old Scribe.

"Can I move him?" he asks Ariik.

Her eyes fall away from his, but she shrugs. "He doesn't have any injuries that would prevent it. We'll need to get him out of here anyhow."

Misraaks waves them all off, gesturing towards the rest of the little safehouse Variks has holed himself up in. "Strip this place down as much as you can. Prepare to bring it back to the skiff. If it won't all fit with us and Variks, prioritize what would be most helpful for Eramis if we left it behind."

They scatter, falling so easily into the ways of breaking things down, scrapping them at a moment's notice.

He hefts Variks' upper body, resting him in his lap. Something the hatchling who had listened to him so intently would never imagine being able to do. Variks was nothing short of immortal back then. Untouchable even by the Whirlwind.

He had been a friend. Family, almost, taking place of the grandparents he'd lost early on, or never had in the first place.

And now he stares up at Misraaks, full of pain. And the catheter in his chest, the injured arm, any other abuses Eramis put him through before the Guardian arrived, they don't compare to the sting of bare truth.

There is nothing he can say to make it less true. He doesn't even know if he has the words that would serve as a balm on the wound, or bandage it so it is not bare to the world.

He must try anyways.

"Eido would mourn you," he says numbly. It's morbid, but it's what he has. She knows what Variks has done, Misraaks did not spare it from her. He knows she came to her own conclusions on him. They wouldn't work together otherwise; he knows his daughter. "She values your mentorship so much."

Variks' mouth starts to move. Whatever he was trying to say, it comes out as a croak, and he winces.

Misraaks sighs. He finds the latches on Variks' helm, careful not to scratch his claws on the elder's chitin. He takes it off, sets it aside.

Variks' hair is thin and wispy, and has long gone as white as Europa's snow. As Misraaks runs his claws through it, just to test, it's clear he hasn't had everything to care for it as well as he could, though it's brushed out and clean.

As he takes up a few strands and begins to braid, he mulls. He's not sure what truthful thing he could say. The bitterness runs deep, deeper still for having been a Wolf child. But at the same time, where would he be if Variks had let Skolas do as he wished?

"We will bring you back to the House of Light." He searches through a pocket and finds a packet of hair bands one of his fireteam lent him long ago. He slips a green one over his wrist and starts on another braid. "We will fix your prosthetics and give you somewhere to live. If you would feel more comfortable with it, I shall make the replacements myself."

He finishes the second braid. There's not enough to make a third near the front of his head, so he secures them both with a hair tie and grabs another. Neon pink, this time. Just to change it up a bit, and to get Variks to focus on the color, eyes narrowing in petty displeasure, rather than dwell on what the crew said.

"I know what you said about yourself and the Great Machine, but you need the care, Variks." He tries not to think about how it feels to say, after his crew so nearly denied it to him. Would have let him suffocate.

"You have made hard decisions." It's true, perhaps the kindest thing he can say about… everything. "And you have seen much. Perhaps it is time to rest, to see your people again." He smiles warmly, hoping that Variks assumes at least a little is for him. "The hatchlings are ever curious and clever. We could use another storyteller to busy their minds."

He's not sure how much time Variks has left. He's been old as long as anyone he has spoken to remembers. But perhaps they can get one generation in that knows him like he did long ago.

He gets four braids total, two in the front and two in the back. He secures the second two and takes a moment to assess his work. It's… not great, to say the least, but it's something.

He opens his mouth, closes it to bite back a comment about not having the same end results as he and Skolas did, or Eramis.

What he does say is quiet and soft, barely audible over the whistle of the wind.

"We have to move forwards, Variks. And change what we can."

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 3

I didn’t expect to continue this beyond part 2, but I’ve come to love these characters. I hope you guys enjoy! Heed the warnings, this one contains a lot of medical stuff.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, hypothermia, hospital setting, cardiac arrest, blood, dialysis, talk of death, talk of “pulling the plug”

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

The machine was too loud.

Talking over it made Leader feel that they were tearing apart their vocal chords. Then again, the stress of the situation wasn’t exactly aiding in that respect-- they could practically feel their tense muscles tightening around their windpipe.

“They’re going to be okay, then?” Their tone was rushed and pressing.

“I don’t want to guarantee anything.” The Head Doctor bit their lip. “Really, I can’t guarantee anything. By all accounts, the patient should already be dead. Human body temperatures shouldn’t be able to get that low...”

“Humans shouldn’t be able to fly, either.” Medic shook their head, gesturing at Leader, who tucked in their wings, not even realizing that they had unfolded. “But here we are.”

“There’s nothing particularly unusual about their physical anatomy, though?” Head Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Enhanced people have different anatomy by default. Higher heart rate, for one thing.” Medic provided, glancing towards the heart monitor sitting next to the hospital bed. The spikes were shallow, and abnormally close together, but none the less steady.

“Yes.” Head Doctor dipped their head. “Well, then, that would explain how our patient is still breathing.”

“They should remain that way, then, right?” Leader fretted.

“I have high hopes. We’re doing everything we can. It’s up to them, now. If their body temperature can raise before it’s too late.”

The conversation ended on the same worried note as it had began, and the groups’ gazes seemed to unanimously drift downwards, as if they had simply forgot that they were standing over a body halfway between humanity and corpsehood.

Villain’s skin was horribly pale, translucent, even, as if it were on the verge of melting away. The restraints on their wrists and ankles-- Leader had insisted as to their presence-- seemed far too loose around their captive’s thin structure, but they simply couldn’t be tightened any further.

The only patch of Villain’s body that did not lack color was their chest, in which a catheter of at least an inch in diameter had been inserted. The skin around was red with irritation, resisting feebly against the roaring machine drinking blood from the line, only to return it at the same access point.

The whole spectacle was horribly grisly, with tubes filled with scarlet draped over Villain’s chest in a gruesome web. The machine itself, sat off to the side, seemed to whine and groan with every feeble heartbeat its victim managed to make.

Hemodialysis, the doctor had called the process. Manually warming the blood in an attempt to warm the body. Despite its vampiric appearance, somehow, the process was keeping Villain alive.

A chill ran through Leader’s body at the very thought. Villain was a stubborn asshole, one they’d been pursuing doggedly for months. Somehow, regardless of what trap they placed or what situation they were thrown into, Villain made it out.

Now...

The machine was plugged into the wall with a single cord. Just a wire, just some electrons passing through metal. Something that could so easily be severed. A single tug, a clumsily placed foot. The fight would be over. Would it be so wrong? Villain had done such wrong... and they wouldn’t feel a thing. They’d part in an unconscious pool of their own delusion.

Leader bit their tongue.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“You okay?”

Hero watched the small flame of force flicker between their fingertips, their eyes nearly crossed with focus. They had hardly realized that somehow had spoken to them, and it took several awkwardly long seconds for them to look up.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? You looked distracted.” Counselor furrowed their brow.

“I think I’m... always distracted.”

“I know. Just... that was a lot, back there. And you looked stressed.”

“Just worried, I guess.”

“About Villain?”

“There’s not much else to be worried about.”

“I’m worrying about you, right now.”

“I think... Villain is the one that we need to worry about, right now.” Hero chewed their cheek. “You were in there, right?”

“For a minute, yeah.”

“Are they okay?”

“Alive. They were alive. But with Medic there-- well, I don’t think there’s a better authority on Enhanced biology on the seven continents. I think it’ll turn out okay.”

Hero chuckled humorlessly.

“That’s another thing I’m worried about.”

“What? Medic?”

“Yeah. Medic kind of. More Leader. Medic is... I mean, I love ‘em, and they’re the biggest hardass out there, but they’re a doctor more than anything else. Hippocratic oath and all that. But Leader...”

“You’re worried because Leader... isn’t a doctor?”

“No, no, it’s not that. Leader just seems so much more worried about the fight, and the mission, and the good of humanity, than, well, than anything that’s right in front of them. I’m just worried that...”

“That Leader’s going to make a bad choice?”

“Something like that.”

“I agree that they can be... a hardass. But they’re not a bad person. I don’t think they’d execute someone. Not like this. Not after everything.”

Hero’s gaze turned to Counselor. They hadn’t expected their friend to come to the base of their concerns with such speed.

Counselor gave a small smile in return.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Head Doctor left the room.

They had made their leave hurriedly, ensuring that they would be back in just a few minutes, to press the Code Blue button if anything happened. Leader had nodded along, hardly processing any of it.

They were focused on the person before them.

Over the last few minutes, by some miracle or curse, Villain’s heart rate had begun to stabilize. Though the beats came just as quickly, they were stronger than they had been. Not quite normal, but on their way.

Medic seemed fixed on the monitor, eyes narrowed as though they watched prey. The screen had more than just a heartrate reading. Alongside that, it showed a series of other graphs-- breathing rate, oxygen levels, among some that Leader was clueless as to the meaning of.

They glanced to the door. It was firmly closed. Certainly, the rest of the hospital would be too busy with the recent break-in to intrude.

“Medic?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but continued their fixation on the readings.

“Yes?”

“What would you say is the... the percentage we’re working with here.”

“The percentage?”

“Of survival.”

“Well... I suppose I can’t make an exact predication, but it’s climbing every minute. 80 percent? 85? They’re not completely out of the woods, yet, but their temperature is raising steadily. The dialysis is working.

“80 percent.” Leader hummed. “So... 20 percent chance that they don’t make it?”

“That is how math works, yes.”

“That’s not an insignificant percentage.”

“We’re doing everything we can. As I said, it’s rising, and quickly. If we can get their temperature back up into the 90s, I would say that continued survival is almost guaranteed.”

“Is that so?”

“What’s got you acting so weird, all of a sudden?” Medic finally turned from the screen, glancing to Leader.

Leader gulped.

“Do you remember when we were in Denver?”

“At the telecommunications hub? Yeah.”

“And in Vancouver?”

“Yes?”

“And at the bank, in Phoenix?”

“Leader, I assure you, my memory is fine.”

“No, no, I mean, Villain did all those things, right?”

“They had help.”

“But they led the charge?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“They’ve hurt a lot of people. Destroyed a lot of places... brought them to the ground. Leveled a city block, once.”

“Seriously, what is this about?”

Leader’s gaze glanced down to the Villain, pale, restrained, with a tube skewering their flesh, then back at Medic.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. No, no, no. I let you restrain them like some kind of beast, which, for your information, is completely against medical protocol. I’m not letting you kill Villain.”

“And why not?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Outside the hospital room, in a pair of plastic chairs, Hero and Counselor sat with far more relaxation between them. They watched passively as Head Doctor left the room, hurrying off to another room.

Hero took a fidget rope from a coat pocket and began twisting it between their hands.

“What do you think they’re going to do with Villain, then?” Counselor’s voice was considerably quieter, as if they were telling a secret. They stared off, down the hallway, instead of meeting Hero’s eyes.

“I just hope they let us have some input in this whole thing.”

“Me too. But... what would you prefer? If you had the choice?”

“I mean...” Hero sighed. “They haven’t been the best person, I think we can all agree on that. They’re dangerous. But I also think that... they’re scared. They’re scared, Counselor, really scared.

If it was up to me, I think we should help them. While in our custody, but, I think they need help. And maybe then, they can help us? I mean, they must know something about Supervillain. It’d be nice to have an informant.

Really, I just want to see them okay again. Even if it does mean that they go back to being an asshole.”

“That’d be nice.”

Hero nodded.

“I think Medic mentioned that, once Villain’s stable, we’re gonna move them back to base. Where we have the special medical equipment, the Enhanced care stuff.”

“Yeah. I think Leader is definently going to want to keep them in custody.”

“If they try to hurt them, though... I’m not gonna let that happen. If we have to keep them prisoner, we can at least be humane about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“I just hope Leader agrees.”

“Me too.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“It’d be a waste.”

The answer was too analytical. Leader had expected to be yelled at, to get an earful about morality and ethics and other crap. Not something so simple, so factual.

“What do you mean?” Leader’s tone wasn’t accusing, at least they didn’t intend for it to be. It was far more dumbfounded in nature.

“Everything in this world runs on technology. Those lights, that door, this machine, everything. Everyone has a phone. Every building has a network, of both electricity and information. Villain can patch into all of that. You said it yourself, they leveled a whole city block. What else can they do?”

“What are you... what are you implying?”

“We keep them, and we use them.”

A garbled voice resounded throughout the room. Leader whirled around, half expecting Supervillain to be right behind them, before turning back.

“Was that y-” They began to ask, but didn’t quite get the chance.

“Code Blue! Code Blue!” Medic snapped. “Don’t be useless, press the damn button!”

It took Leader’s confused mind a moment to note the emergency that Medic was responding to-- that of a horrible, electric screech. The heart monitor was no longer showing a steady pulse.

At the sight, Leader’s own heart rate sped up. They nearly tripped over their own feet as they rushed to the blue button on the wall, jabbing it with their finger multiple times in a frenzied panic. Once they were satisfied that they spiraling terror had been registered properly, they returned to Medic’s side.

The doctor had their hands positioned on Villain’s chest, one over the other, slamming downwards repeatedly. In between, Leader could see a sharp rise in the chest-- they were still breathing. But for how much longer?

Dammit, dammit, don’t think like that, it’s someone’s life!

A resounding crash burst through the room as the door was slammed open. They rushed to the bedside, seemingly ready to continue CPR, before Medic raised an arm, preventing them.

“No, no, they’re okay.” Medic panted breathlessly. Leader raised their eyes to the heart monitor-- sure enough, a slow, steady rhythm was returning.

They’d made it.

“Mmm..”

Leader panted for breath, trying in vain to calm their racing heartrate.

“Mmm... whaaa...”

Leader’s shaking gaze shifted to the source of the noises--only to find their eyes locked with the wide ones of Villain.

[hale-13]

Ulcerated

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 8 - Force Feeding

It’s only been a week since Tony last saw the kid but the weight he’s lost is clear in the way his shirt is just a little baggier than normal, the paleness of his face, the gauntness of his cheeks and Tony has to hold in his sympathetic wince. May Parker was never one to exaggerate but Tony had kind of been hoping that she was this time.

Words: 2720, Chapters: 1/1 (Completed), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting, Medical Procedures

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

It’s only been a week since Tony last saw the kid but the weight he’s lost is clear in the way his shirt is just a little baggier than normal, the paleness of his face, the gauntness of his cheeks and Tony has to hold in his sympathetic wince. May Parker was never one to exaggerate but Tony had kind of been hoping that she was this time.

“Hey Pete,” he says, trying to keep his tone light and his voice gentle, Peter looks like he’s one stiff breeze from passing out or crying – it’s a toss up – and Tony doesn’t want to find out which is more likely. Peter raises one hand just above waist level in a half-assed wave and Tony bites the inside of his cheek sharply. “May said you’d been feeling pretty crummy kiddo.”

Peter shrugs and hums noncommittally, eyes a little unfocused from, what Tony guesses is, low blood sugar. He purses his lips and weighs his options before crossing the room to pull Peter into a careful hug. Peter goes nearly boneless in his arms but doesn’t raise his own to return the embrace which worries Tony even more; Peter is more tactile than just about anyone Tony’s ever met and is always eager for any physical affection. His stomach turns and he looks up to make eye contact with May where she’s wringing her hands in stress and looking guilty in her navy scrubs.

“Thanks for this Tony,” she says, approaching them and running her fingers through the rat’s nest of Peter’s curls. He’s still leaning up against Tony either for emotional or physical support, he’s not sure which. “I was worried about leaving him alone.”

“It’s no problem at all,” he assured and it wasn’t. When May had first called him about Peter’s supposed stomach flu earlier in the week he had sent all of the kid’s medical information to Cho who had told them, based on his symptoms and history, that they just needed to fill him up with as many fluids as possible and start a bland diet. They couldn’t afford not to with Peter’s wicked fast metabolism. May had taken most of the week off work to cram electrolytes and soup down Peter’s throat but her PTO had run out and she was on shift for the next three days. When she had called Tony for their daily update he had insisted that Peter come stay with him in the Tower – the penthouse a convenient few floors above the MedBay if they needed it.

“Okay Petey,” May said, pulling Peter into her own arms to fold him into a soft hug that Peter at least attempted to return. “You get some rest and try to eat something for Tony okay? I’ll call you in the morning when I get home but I’ll have my phone on if you need me and the hospital can always page me if I’m not able to answer okay?”

“Sure,” Peter rasped and Tony winced at how rough his voice sounded but, he supposed, non-stop vomiting for the majority of the week would do that to you.

“Alright,” May said, looking torn and a little devastated and Tony empathized. Peter was the closest thing he had to a son and he couldn’t imagine leaving him like this now that they were together. She made eye contact with him and Tony could read the clear ‘you’re going to have to take him from me or I won’t let go’ expression on her face and pulled Peter gently back to him.

“I’ve got him May,” Tony promised. “The chefs at the Tower have prepared a ton of bland foods for us to try and Cho’s on call if we need her. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” she said, eyes a little damp. She cleared her throat and pressed her lips to Peter’s forehead. “I love you Pete.”

“Love you too,” Peter mumbled back and Tony slipped his arm a little lower down the kid’s back to support him when he swayed a little unsteadily, dazed. He needed to get Peter off his feet fast before he passed out. They rode down the janky elevator together but went their separate ways at the curb – May toward the subway and Tony maneuvering Peter to lay half in his lap in the back seat of the town car Happy had been idling in the fire lane in front of the apartment.

“Step on it Hap,” Tony said once he had Peter settled, ignoring the concerned look his friend was giving them both in the rear view mirror. “Make it a smooth ride yeah?”

“No problem Boss,” Happy promised, pulling away from the curb with the utmost care and merging them into the Queens traffic.

——————————————

“I know you don’t want to,” Tony began, apologetic as he nearly shoved a bite of unsalted, unbuttered white rice into Peter’s unwilling mouth, trying not to feel overly guilty about the look of pure betrayal on Peter’s face. “But you’ve already lost over eight pounds and its hard enough to keep up with your metabolism as it is. I know you don’t want to end up in the MedBay.”

Peter sighed around the mouthful of rice but chewed it and swallowed it, begrudgingly accepting the next bite Tony forced into his mouth. They got through about half the bowl before Peter abruptly turned pale and then green, barely managing to grab the empty bucket Tony had placed next to him, vomiting up a mixture of bile and undigested rice. Tony squeezed his eyes shut a second in commiseration before rubbing the kid’s back to help him through it. “It was a good attempt buddy,” he said quietly as Peter retched painfully into the bucket until he was dry heaving only.

The episode only lasted for a couple minutes but Peter looked completely exhausted when he collapsed back to rest against the headboard of his bed, letting Tony pull the bucket from his limp grasp. “No thanks,” he said, voice sounding even worse now, throatier and deeper than normal with the wear and tear on his vocal cords, and pushing away the bottle of Pedialyte Tony had tried to force into his hand.

“Not optional kiddo,” Tony told him sympathetically, pressing the straw between Peter’s unwilling lips and staring until he finally gave in and took a few swallows, his Adam’s apple spasming.

“Can I just sleep?” He asked pathetically, eyes red rimmed and skin both pale and flushed, skin drooping with how tired he clearly was.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Tony offered. “You eat another five bites and drink a quarter of the Pedialyte and I’ll let you have a four hour nap before we repeat. Do we have an accord?”

Peter looked at him with sad eyes, the bags under them dark and deep. “I don’t really get a choice huh?”

“Not if you want to avoid the MedBay,” Tony agreed. “The only reason I haven’t taken you already is because you asked me not to but, if this gets any worse, you’ll have to go.”

“Give me the rice,” Peter said, defeated and Tony passed it to his shaking grip, steadying the bowl while Peter forced down five bites of the rice, washing it down with the drink before lying back and cuddling up to Tony’s side, eyes already half-lidded with sleep.

“Put on some Brooklyn 99 would you FRI? Volume at twenty percent.”

“On it Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice responded quietly, pulling the show up on the flat screen in Peter’s room as Tony started massaging Peter’s scalp.

At some point he must have fallen asleep as well because, the next thing he knew, he was waking up to Peter gagging out his name and lurching for the trash can next to the bed. Tony hastened to grab it and thrust it under Peter’s chin – just in time for the poor kid to retch weakly into it. “Let it all out Webs,” Tony said, rubbing Peter’s sweaty back and brushing his lank bangs out of his face. It wasn’t until Peter was done and panting against Tony’s chest that Tony noticed that the bucket contained a concerning amount of blood and material that looked like coffee grounds. “FRI tell Cho to meet me in the MedBay.”

“No,” Peter whined, curling closer to Tony and tucking his legs into his stomach – balling himself up tight.

“Sorry buddy,” Tony told him, crawling out of the bed as carefully as possible to not jostle Peter too much. “You’re vomiting blood so we have to.”

“What?” Peter asked, confused, craning his neck to look into the trash can and then paling further. “Oh.”

“Yep,” Tony agreed, dragging him up to stand before finally just scooping Peter up into a bridal carry when it became obvious that Peter’s knees weren’t going to support him the whole way downstairs. Tellingly, Peter didn’t protest; he just curled into Tony’s shoulder, one hand tangling into his sweatshirt.

Helen wasn’t present when Tony burst into the MedBay a few minutes later but her nursing staff were quick to get Peter settled into a bed and get his vitals and an updated history from Tony. By the time Helen had swept into the room, looking put together and not at all like Tony had woken her up in the middle on the night, the nurses had already drawn blood and placed an IV catheter to start fluids.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t be seeing you in here Peter,” she said, taking his chart and flicking through it.

“Same,” the kid agreed with a weak smile, not letting go of Tony’s hand or the basin he had been given shortly after they got him in a bed.

“So you still have the nausea but it says here that you been having some issues with acid reflux and that you had a fair bit of blood mixed with the bile you just threw up?” She asked, using her stethoscope to listen to Peter’s heart and lungs before moving on to feeling his lymph nodes. “How much blood?” She directed to Tony.

“All of it was blood,” Tony answered, trying to stay calm. He needed to text May ASAP but he was hesitant to do so until he knew what was wrong. “Maybe half a cup? Some of it looked like coffee grounds.”

Helen hummed as she moved on to palpating Peter’s abdomen, apologizing when he flinched. “Have you been on any medications recently Peter? Aspirin, Advil, Aleve? Any stress?”

“Midterms were last week,” Peter answered slowly. “I had a pretty bad headache the whole week and I did take some Advil a few times a day.”

“How much and how often?”

“Uh…,” Peter said, face scrunching as he tried to think. “Maybe like eight to ten pills three or four times a day? I’ve done that before though, Dr. Banner told me I would need that many because of my metabolism.”

“Very true,” Helen agreed. “But not that often. Based on your symptoms and history I’m tentatively diagnosing you with a stomach ulcer that has likely perforated based on the blood in your vomit.”

“An ulcer?” Peter asked, looking like he was having a hard time tracking, Tony gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“So what do we do next?” He asked, running his hand through Peter’s hair quickly in solidarity. An ulcer. Of course his kid would end up with a bleeding ulcer.

“Well we’ve already drawn blood to check for infection or anemia,” Cho answered. “Depending on the results I’ll start him on fluids and maybe a blood transfusion. Since this has been affecting him for a while and because we need to get some calories in his as soon as we can, I’ll stop the bleed and remove the ulcer via an endoscopy. You won’t even have to be fully under for it, just sedated.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed blandly – a sure tell that the kid felt like shit. Cho made steady eye contact with Tony for just a second before reaching out to squeeze Peter’s bicep.

“Tony can I speak to you in the hall? I need to get you to sign some releases while the nurses get Peter prepped,” she asked.

“Sure,” Tony nodded, giving Peter a careful side hug before following the doctor out of the room, shutting the door behind him – all the rooms were soundproofed due to all the enhanced humans in the Tower and their sensitive hearing. “You were clearly holding something back,” he accused. “You’re lucky Pete’s so out of it or he would have picked up on it too.”

Helen sighed deeply, finally looking tired. “He’s lost too much weight.”

“I know,” Tony agreed sadly, reaching up to massage his temples with one hand. “What are we going to do about it?”

Helen clicked her tongue and tapped a finger against the tablet in her hands. “He’ll probably be able to eat once her wakes up but I really just want to place an NG tube while he’s under so he can have a continuous stream of nutrients going in. We could even continue feeding him while he’s sleeping, really get the weight back on. I wanted to talk to you first before I brought it up. He’s on the cusp right now so he could get away without having it but I don’t really want to give him the option to decline it. It would help him recover a lot faster.”

Tony hummed, torn. He didn’t really want to take away Peter’s agency here but he agreed with Helen that he doubted the kid would go for it. “Let me talk to him about it,” Tony finally conceded. “I might be able to get further with him.”

“Sure,” Helen said with a nod. “You should be good to go back in and sit with him, it’ll take another thirty minutes to an hour to get everything ready but we’ll let you know when it’s time.”

“Thanks,” Tony said sincerely, re-entering the room. Peter was still sitting propped up in bed in his comfortable sweatpants and hoodie, not having to change since the procedure was so simple, but with the addition of another IV catheter in his other arm connected to a bag of his own blood – donated earlier in the year for occasions such as this.

“So what did Dr. Cho want,” he asked, eyes still tired but shining with his usual intelligence and a bit of curiosity.

“Figured we wouldn’t be able to get that past you,” Tony said sardonically, taking a seat on the edge of Peter’s bed, facing him. “Helen wants to place an NG tube while you’re under. Wait,” he said, holding up a hand preemptively when Peter opened his mouth. “You’ve lost too much weight as it is and it’s going to be hard to put it back on with the bland diet she’s going to have you on while you heal. Doing this will make your recovery go so much faster.”

“I don’t want to be stuck in here,” Peter grumbled, gesturing the the room and Tony let one side of his mouth tick up in a smile.

“Hate to break it to you kiddo,” he said, “but that’s already a forgone conclusion.” The kid groaned and Tony let a full smile pull across his face, many of his previous worries eased with the diagnosis and treatment plan. “Let Cho do this and I’ll pull as many strings as I have to to spring you early. Deal?”

Peter made a face, his nose crinkled in disgust but he nodded in defeat anyway. “Two days. At most.”

“Three,” Tony haggled, holding out a hand which Peter eventually took with a sigh. “Great! FRI, relay that to Helen please.”

“Done Boss. She said she’ll be ready for Peter in about ten minutes.”

“Thanks honey,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll call May while you’re out and have Happy pick her up after her shift. She can stay here for the next few days.”

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his voice still sounding more destroyed than Tony had ever heard it but lighter somehow – probably because he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and knew he would be feeling much better soon.

“Anytime kiddo. Anytime.”

[vegetacide]

Whump●tober -Shaky Hands

Veg-notables: So I decided that this one needed a revisit as the aftermath of 10.Unconscious intrigued me.. I intended to take a break today.. oops.. failed. 

@gumnut-logic  ::sneak attack…::

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Post brain explosions.. With residual ouchiness and discombobulation

Characters: Virgil/Kayo...

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous post for this can be found HERE 

1. Shaky hands

Enjoy…

oOo

The fight to regain consciousness was a grueling task as Virgil’s brain sluggishly began to turn over and his internal dialogue fought to crawl back to the land of coherent thought. The first snips of reality peppering in and out of cognizance were in a weird tableau of hazy screen shots that left him confused and utterly disoriented.

The first thing to really registered in the slow moving molasses of his mind was the soft pad of retreating steps.  The sound stood out in sharp contrast to everything else for some reason but he just couldn’t muster the energy to figure out why. No sooner had the thought entered his mind, than it was briskly whisked away with the invasion of light flashing over his closed eyelids.  

The residual ache behind his twinging optic nerves thrummed along with his heartbeat and forced him to shut down anything too complicated to process. Which didn’t leave him with much to work with except maybe breathing.  

Uhg,  what the hell? 

Shielding his eyes as the bright afterimages swirled about the inky darkness he wanted to marshal something from his flagged system to seek out and destroy the invasive luminescence.  Unfortunately that would involve ambulation and that too seemed beyond his current abilities.

A twing again.. Right, stick with breathing..   

Cautiously, he cracked open gritty eyes. Blinked repeatedly at the sting as they instantly began to water. A quick, foggy eyed glance about told him what he needed to know; location.  He was in his room, though how he actually got there was a blank in his memory.

From what little he could remember, he had been on the flight deck of Two running post flight checks when the first inclination of an oncoming migraine started to present itself.  After that, things grew very murky.  Tiny little blips of colour and texture.  A hard, cold surface, ebony richness, the scent of jasmine,  a soft lilting voice, a warm breath across his skin then there was nothing. 

Reaching up a hand to rub at the tension at his brow, a tug on his arm forced him to open his eyes again.  “..shit…” He softly cursed as he took note of the IV line and his eyes traced up the line to hazily take in the bag of saline hanging above the headboard. 

He’d really done it to himself this time and he was not looking forward to sorting this mess out once he was back on his feet.  With the way he was feeling though that was still a while off.   

Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, Virgil heaved his torso off the bed with herculean effort and almost immediately regretted the action when the room started to spin and distort.  Maybe not one of his best ideas but considering what had transpired over the last so many hours he didn’t think he could possibly dig himself in any deeper than he already was. 

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed,  he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, elbows braced firmly on his knees. He was intent on getting his ass out of bed and across the short distance to the his ensuite bathroom but as he looked up he almost groaned at how far away the door appeared to be. The temptation to just return to the soft confines of his bed was growing proportionately to his waning strength.  

Staring at the bathroom door just five feet from him, he willed his body to heed his mental commands.  Feet firmly planted and he readied muscles to bunch and push off when a hand landed on the back of his neck and a quiet voice whispered in his ear.

“And where do you think your going?”   

Flinching as the figure behind him scared the living shit out of him, Virgil found himself thumping to the floor with a not so very manly yelp.   Pressing his hand to his racing heart he cursed vehemently. 

“Well, good morning to you too.”  Kayo smiled leaning over the side of the bed and looking down at him.  “Don’t let Grandma hear you swear like that or she is liable to wash your mouth out with soap no matter what state your head is in.”

With the easy grace of someone who knew how to handle herself, Kayo unfurled herself from the bed and crouched down beside him.  “Come on, I’ll give you a hand.” 

All he could manage was a grunt.

Kayo tutted and ducked under his arm to help him up. He sometimes forgot how strong she wasn and in moments like these he was grateful for the practiced ease in which she used it. 

Settling him back on the edge of the bed, she unhooked the saline bag from the quick release.  her eyes concentrating on the task a little too hard for his liking.

There was a pensiveness about her that he knew well.  She was brooding and trying to figure out the best way to broach a subject that she was unsure of.  Not a good thing considering he had a pretty good idea what the content of her musings was.  

Reaching up he rubbed at the bridge of his nose and once again contemplated hermitting himself away for the next century. 

Her cool hands took hold of his forearm and pulled his hand away from his face.  Checking over the catheter, she made sure the valve for the quick release was securely closed and the small bit of line was fastened in place with an extra strip of medical tape. 

“Bathroom.”  She ordered and tugged on his arm

Back on his feet once more Kayo shuffled him off into the bathroom. She stayed a pace behind as he entered the cool confines of the tiled space and as she passed through the door, she adjusted the lights to low knowing his eyes would be sensitive to it for at least the rest of the day.  

While he took care of business, she turned the shower on and adjusted the controls. The muscles across his back tightened as the tension in the room grew  with each passing second. “In you get.”  She said once she was satisfied with the temperature but didn’t meet his eyes.

He obeyed with little complaint. He really didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight and besides the idea the warm water washing away the sweat and easing his tired muscles did sound appealing.  

Looking down at himself he realized that he was still in his arming tunic from the other day and with a snarl he pulled it up and over his head. His boxer came next though the act of ditching those took some effort as he wobbled like a drunk on one leg. Kayo steadied him with a sturdy arm and he gave a nod of thanks. 

Naked and shivering as the cool air touched his sweaty skin he dragged in a breath, got a whiff of himself and instantly paled.  A lovely combination of sweat and vomit mingled in his nose and he winced as his stomach gave a retaliatory squeeze. 

Biting down on the impulse to toss his cookies again; like really there was anything in there to bring up, he forced his body to move and stepped under the warm spray of the shower. 

Soap, shampoo, rinse, repeat. Stand like a statue and drown.. Was that possible while in the shower?  

The stall door opened and Virgil groggily opened his eyes.  Probably not possible, he mused. Wow he really was out for lunch still. His thoughts were sluggish and random and head felt like it was floating above his body.  

“Out you get.”  Another order and she still wouldn’t meet his gaze. 

Damn it.

Stepping out she dried him off and wrapped a towel around his waist before leading him back to bed. He had to admit the shower was a good idea, it had helped a little though it had sapped what little he had left in the tank on reserve. 

A clean muscle shirt and boxers followed and she pulled back the sheets, an open invitation to get back in. 

Effort expended, he did as she silently asked and sank back into the softness of his bed.  

God, he was tired and he hated the lethargy that was going to dog him for the next few days.  This episode had been a bad one. He knew he had over extended himself but what choice had he had.  Lives had been at stake and if he could do something about it he was duty bound to step up to the plate, consequences be damned… or so he had thought. 

Pushing the pads his fingers into his eye sockets and tried not to let the continued strained silence get to him.  In his state, though his patience for waiting it out lasted a whole of thirty seconds.   “Kay…”

“I wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard.”  She plowed right over him.  Flattened him by the tone of her voice, the worried edginess to her usually pleasing lilt. 

Crap on a cracker..  Virgil pulled a heavy breath into his lungs and the exhaustion weight down on him.  He was tempted to look and see who had placed the house on his back but the answer to that was obvious.  Himself.

Whatever his intentions at the beginning of all of this….several days ago, he hadn’t  intended on scaring her.  

He kicked himself with a groan. “Kay.  Look, I’m sorry I worried you.  It’s been a hard few days and I didn’t plan this…”

“That’s exactly the problem.”  Her green gaze shifted and lasered in on him.  “You push and push and push and completely forget that you’re human.”

She turned away from him, fusing with the saline bag as she hooked him back up again. Her handling of the IV rough and it was obvious even to his foggy brain that she was uncomfortable revealing this part of herself even to him.  “Do you know what it was like to see you like that?”  Her voice was a whisper but he heard it loud and clear as if she had used a bullhorn.  

With a bit more effort than he cared to admit, he grunted back to his feet and stepped towards her.  Reaching out he caught her hand in his and was dumbfounded to find it shaking.  

Words caught in his throat, he pulled her to him and wrapped her in his embrace. “I’m sorry.” He whispered in his ear, his voice rough as her shoulders quaked. Shit  “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. I’ll try harder but please don’t cry.”  

Her shoulders silently shuddered under him, the only sign that she would give of her distress and she buried her face into his neck. Her willowy arms encircling his waist and holding on tight as she tried to rein in her rampant emotions. 

Christ, he’d done it this time.  She never cried. He’d really scared her this time for her have become this upset.  

He would rather deal with her ire and scathing tongue.  Her anger was something he knew how to handle and something he much preferred. Tears though? From her?  He was at a complete loss.  

He would do better. He had to.  

He swept a comforting hand down the length of her back and brushed a kissed across her crown.  An unvoiced promise in his actions, he would do anything to make this right again. 

Energy flagging, he pulled her down to the bed with him and tucked her into his side. Comfort and sleep first then they would tackle figuring this out.  He would figure this out. 

The fading ache behind his eyes gave a little thump.  A friendly reminder of what happened when he neglected himself that he wasn’t soon to forget.   

After this he was sure he was going to have to contend with his big brother… Something that he didn’t look forward to considering the state that Kayo was in. 

Shit.... 

The End.

oOo      

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE