#Medical Cart Transport

[healthcarehubhh]

Medical Carts: A Vital Equipment for Delivering Quality Healthcare

An Overview of Medical Carts Medical carts play an integral role in the smooth operations of healthcare facilities like hospitals and clinics. They act as a mobile workstation for healthcare providers to store and transport medical supplies, tools and patient records. Different types of medical carts are designed for various clinical workflows and departments. Some common ones include emergency crash carts, medication carts, electronic health record (EHR) carts and patient transport carts. Emergency Cart Emergency crash carts are wheeled carts stocked with life-saving medications and equipment needed to respond to medical emergencies and code situations. They contain supplies like defibrillators, airway management tools, IV fluids and cardiac arrest medications. Crash carts are stationed in key areas of hospitals like emergency rooms, operating theatres and intensive care units for swift intervention during emergencies. Regular checks and restocking ensure crash carts are always fully equipped and ready for use. Medication Cart Medication carts are essential for medication administration in patient care units. They are used by nurses to safely store, transport and access patient medications during medication passes. Cart drawers and shelves keep different medications organized according to patients. Features like temperature monitoring helps maintain drug stability. Mobile medication carts eliminate the need for multiple medication room entries, saving nurses’ time and reducing medication errors. EHR Medical Cart EHR carts provide clinicians with a portable EHR workstation on wheels. Wheeling these carts from room to room allows physicians and nurses to review patient records, enter notes and orders anywhere. EHR carts make documentation more efficient by enabling real-time charting at the bedside. Touchscreen displays and scanners help pull up patient profiles and integrate with other clinical and administrative systems.

[secular-jew]

I’m a Palestinian American. Here’s Why I Can’t Support the Anti-Israel Protesters. By Elizabeth Gillanders. August 16, 2024

Walking past Union Station in the nation’s capital, I recently was met with a heartbreaking sight. Vandals had defaced the Columbus Memorial Fountain with spray paint, writing the words “Hamas is coming” in big red letters.

Trash and signs discarded by anti-Israel protesters littered the ground. A burnt shopping cart stood off to one side with piles of ash beneath it.

Most depressing, however, were the three bare flag poles that had been robbed of their American flags. Protesters had burned the flags, the only remnant a charred piece of fabric atop another pile of ash.

This was the aftermath of the July 24 “pro-Palestinian” protests in Washington, D.C., organized in response to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s address that day to a joint meeting of Congress.

As an American of Palestinian heritage, some expect me to cheer on these people. They expect me to condemn the U.S., hate Israel, and support Hamas, a terrorist organization dedicated to wiping out the Jewish state.

But these expectations don’t represent me, nor my family.

I inherit my Palestinian background from my mother’s side of the family; her parents emigrated to America from the Middle East. My grandma was born in Israel and later moved to Ramallah in the West Bank and eventually to Jordan.

After arriving in America in her 20s, my grandma worked hard to become a U.S. citizen. She learned the English language while raising my mother and uncle. She opened a restaurant with my grandpa, lovingly named the Chicken Pantry, in Hamtramck, Michigan. When that business closed, my grandma worked as a real estate agent before eventually retiring in the land of prosperity.

America brought my family prosperity. My grandparents taught my mother to “kiss the ground you walk on” because they knew what a blessing America is.

They passed this lesson on to me.

Although many seem to think that my Palestinian heritage should cause me to align with protests that supposedly are “pro-Palestinian,” it’s precisely because of my heritage that I cannot do that.

Israel went to war with Hamas in the Gaza Strip only after Hamas terrorists slaughtered 1,200 and kidnapped about 250 in a rampage of rape, torture, and murder Oct. 7 in southern Israel.

About 10 months later, as pro-Hamas protesters march in this country to “free Palestine,” they call for the death of America. As they burn the American flag, they burn all that my family has worked to achieve.

As the protesters pledge their allegiance to Hamas, they encourage a group that my grandmother wouldn’t hesitate to call a terrorist organization that operates with a strategy of human sacrifice.

Think about it. Why are there no Hamas military bases in the Gaza Strip adjoining Israel? Because the terrorists hide behind their own people.

They dress like noncombatants in Gaza. They establish bunkers in hospitals. They commandeer ambulances for transportation.

These actions are all in direct violation of Article 18 of the Geneva Conventions, the international pacts that set minimum standards during armed conflict for the treatment of civilians, soldiers, and prisoners of war.

One example is Hamas’ use of Gaza’s most important hospital, Al-Shifa. According to the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, Hamas uses a bunker under the hospital as a base for military operations. This not only makes the hospital a target, but takes medical resources needed for the sick.

In contrast, the Israel Defense Forces have given civilians in Gaza opportunities to evacuate and warned of impending attacks. No other nation goes this far to protect enemy civilians.

How can I support pro-Hamas demonstrators who wish to end the nation that brought my family so much? How can I back a terrorist group that uses its own people as human shields? How can I hate Israel, when the IDF has worked to keep Palestinian civilians out of harm’s way?

I believe it’s important to point out that, contrary to popular belief, not all Arabs think the same. Some of us do see this conflict differently. And our thoughts and beliefs should not be snuffed out because they go against the “narrative.”

To some, perhaps our stance makes us walking oxymorons. But we are proud ones, nonetheless.

[iwannakisskissyoureyesagain]

will solace headcanon time i love my boy

- casual stoner. when he gets breaks from the infirmary, he and drew get weed from behind the dionysus cabin and smoke together. they like to do it on the big house porch because dionysus couldn’t care less—the only reason he doesn’t do it with them is because he’s not sure if it goes against his punishment from zeus—or behind the apollo cabin when chiron’s around. piper has a cart and the two of them take hits from it and talk shit whenever she comes to visit. he doesn’t really smoke around nico though, just because he’s said he doesn’t like the smell (nico doesn’t really care otherwise, since it helps with will’s anxiety), and definitely not around percy because of everything that happened with gabe

- he’s started talking to dionysus about his anxiety, imposter syndrome, and seasonal depression. dionysus wants to talk to him about testing him for mild ocd

- his hair looks like a renaissance painting of patroclus, just blond

- loves his friends so much. he’s their biggest supporter in the entire world and if they didn’t all live at camp, he’d probably try to convince them to all live in a giant house together

- he’s very casually affectionate. he says i love you a lot, but he always means it. hugs and kisses his friends on the cheek. physical touch is his giving love language (he always makes sure he has consent, first, obviously)

- his receiving love language, however, are words of affirmation. he needs to verbally hear that he’s doing a good job—as a friend, as a boyfriend, as a healer, as a son, just in life

- he’s trained himself to be a light sleeper after years of working in the infirmary and becoming head counselor. sometimes his body just wakes himself up in the middle of the night and he has to sit in the infirmary until he’s positive that everything and everyone is fine and he’s literally the only one awake

- similarly, he has a crazy sixth sense of knowing when his stop is if he ever dozes off on public transport, and always wakes up two stops before. he thinks it stems from spending his a lot of his formative years traveling around with his mom while she toured, constantly waking up in new cities

- he iris messages his mom every night and tells her every single detail of his day

- being both a true crime junkie and a medic at a demigod camp, gore has absolutely no affect on him. this boy delivered a baby and has reattached countless limbs; he falls asleep listening to podcasts where twenty-something women talk about serial killers so notorious they have to give a content warning. a Saw trap isn’t going to faze him

- he met maren morris when he was younger and his mom opened for her. he got her signature and is still planning on getting it tattooed, he just hasn’t had a chance

- he has a very high pain tolerance and has a lot of stick-n-pokes, some of which he did himself, including a wonky-looking star that he let nico do and woobeewoo from Adventure Time

- his favorite music artists include kasey musgraves, taylor swift, leith ross, baby fisher, gracie abrams, fiona apple, fleetwood mac, dolly parton, carrie underwood, and troye sivan

- “ribs” by lorde makes him cry

- so does “the bug collector” by haley heynderickx

- he’s terrified of spiders

- he cries when anything at all happens to a dog in a movie. he watched All Dogs Go to Heaven with nico and was a such disaster by the time the credits rolled that the two of them had to sit there for half an hour until he calmed down. he has a core memory of watching Bolt with his mom when he was little and sobbing into her arms at the end. his siblings have expressly forbidden him from ever watching A Dog’s Purpose, for fear that it would literally send him into a deep depression

- kayla literally bought him cargo pants because she was so sick of him wearing shorts in the middle of winter. he’ll never admit it, but they’re his favorite pants he owns

- his fictional crushes are rodrick heffley, both marceline and marshall lee, jennifer check, edward cullen, alice cullen, ella of frell, prince char, nefara de nile, and jade west

- his mom took him to to see a free, outdoors production of Romeo and Juliet when he was twelve and he really liked it. he hates reading, and the combination of dyslexia and shakespeare is interesting to say the least, but he woke up one night missing his mom a lot, and found a copy of the play on one of his siblings’ nightstands, and decided to try reading it for nostalgia’s sake. that lasted about ten minutes. kayla woke up at the crack of dawn to go practice archery alone and found him in the empty infirmary, where he went so he wouldn’t wake anyone up with his glowing, sound asleep in a chair with the book still open in his lap

- it’s easy to forget he’s from texas when you hear his voice after years of living at camp, but a soft southern drawl slips out when he says certain words, and especially when he sings

- his favorite taylor swift eras are debut, fearless, and lover

- he knows how to shoot a gun and has insane aim, much better than when he shoots a bow and arrow. because of this, he feels very strongly about mandating gun laws and safety regulations because he knows firsthand just how dangerous they are. nico has no idea and will’s just waiting for the moment he can surprise him with it

- he has perfect pitch and lowkey doesn’t even realize it

- his handwriting is so atrocious he can’t even read it himself. one time he enlisted nico to take notes for him in the infirmary, but nico’s cursive was almost harder to read than will’s chicken-scratches

- caffeine has almost no affect on him, except maybe spiking his anxiety, but he’s gaslit himself into thinking it keeps him alert

- he’s extremely empathetic, just knows how to put on a brave face

- he has literally no idea how to ask for help. my boy is so used to taking care of everyone that people have to literally beg him to let them help him with work or console him

- he desperately wants a cat

[orangelemonart]

THE WHEELS ONLY ARE IN THE FILLERS I SWEAR! No canon wheels in the manga

CHAPTER 96, THE PULL-OUT UNDER LEE'S HOSPITAL BED

ALSO THE CART AND SIDE TABLE IN CHAPTER 282 BY KAKASHI'S HOSPITAL BED.

JOURNEY:

I thought there might be wheels on the Great Naruto Bridge when it was being constructed but the closest I found were vehicles with tracks, and tracks are pretty much never classified as wheels

I thought maybe the gurney in the chuunin exam prelims had wheels, but that was a field gurney that the medical nins carried

I couldn't find any during the construction work around chapter 451, or in the chapter where Tsunade wakes up after the Five Kage Summit,

I even thought the daimyos were transported by carriages during the exam finals and war, but nope, palanquins

FINALLY though, I decided to check every chapter I could think of off the top of my head with a hospital bed in case any of them had wheels.

When Sasuke is recovering from his curse mark being sealed?

Nope.

What about when Tsunade comes back to Konoha?

Nope. But interesting that there are two separate styles of bed in this hospital.

All the times Kakashi has been in the hospital have the beds' feet blocked. Even my example above from chapter 282 with the cart and side table is a little too scribbly, even if there is no other way to interpret those.

FINALLY I remembered about Gaara attempting to attack Lee in the hospital and found an honest-to-god wheel. I win! ...nothing of value.

[northgazaupdates]

29 December 2023

Journalist Anas Al-Sharif documents the struggles of physically disabled people in north Gaza. The lack of functioning automobiles means the only available vehicles are ever-dwindling animal-drawn carts (dwindling due to IOF targeting of the carts and the animals, the animals’ own starvation, and the need to slaughter animals in order to eat). Here, a cart driver walks and steers the animal on the ground while a young man in a wheelchair and his family are transported on the cart. Without this cart, moving by wheelchairs over flooded and bombed-out roads would be impossible. Conditions at rest are no better, as many people had to evacuate to shelter centers, which are unequipped to provide for the needs of disabled people, who make up a large and increasing portion of the population. Even for those who shelter in homes, there is neither electricity for medical needs nor functional hospitals or medical centers.

Source: Anas Al-Sharif on Instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by أنس آل الشريف (@anasjamal44)

[writingquestionsanswered]

Would you be able to give me some tips on an idea where a character dies, but is reborn in a different world? For example, he lived during the wild west but is transported to a fantasy medieval world with dragons, swords, and magic.

I have his strengths that he has in both worlds and what skills he can carry over between both.

But I'm struggling with writing him getting used to the new world, and how he'd adapt

Character Reborn in Another Time

To portray a character adapting from one time period to another, you'll need to start by researching what life was like in both time periods. In your case, you'll have to start by researching life in the Wild West era (U.S. frontier period, 1840 to 1910), specific to the exact time and place where this character lived. (For example, life in 1855 Nevada would be quite different to life in 1905 Denver.)

Next, you'll need to figure out a specific time period and location to serve as inspiration for your medieval fantasy world. The medieval period lasted from about 476 to 1400, which is an incredibly long time. Needless to say, life was pretty different in the year 600 compared to the year 1350. Also, while "medieval" generally refers specifically to Europe, there were corresponding periods in every place in the world. So it's important to choose a specific inspiration area so you can focus your research. For a fantasy medieval setting, you could basically go with anything from China in the year 476 to Wales in the year 1400. And life would be very different in those two places and times.

Things to look at in your research:

-- what was daily life like for common citizens -- what was daily life like for nobility (if applicable) -- who governed and how? -- who enforced laws and how? -- what did people eat and drink? -- where and how did people live? -- what were the usual occupations? -- what was love and marriage like? -- what did people do when they weren't working? -- what did people do for medical care? -- what religious practices, beliefs, and values were held? -- what festivals, holidays, and traditions were observed/practiced? -- what did people use for transportation? -- what did people wear for clothing? -- what crops did they grow and who tended them? -- what was commerce like? -- what did people use to obtain goods and services? -- what kind of music/musical instruments, and dancing? Once you have done all of this research, you'll have a better understanding of the world your character lived in and the world they go to. That will give you the data you need to make an educated guess about how they would adapt to the new world. For example, if you know that their primary mode of transportation was a horse in their frontier life, and the primary mode of transportation is horse and cart in the medieval world, that will not be a huge adjustment. However, you might then want to do some further research about things like saddles and horse tack, as those are bound to be at least a little different between the two places and times.

Have fun with your story!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[spinningalbinoturtle]

What they drive/how they get around

Frodo-took him a while to get his license cause Bilbo is a terrible driver and doesn’t think its an important skill to learn. Sam taught him eventually. Bilbo did help him buy a Subaru tho. After the Quest he gets his license revoked for medical reasons and also hates driving so Sam always drives. Before the Quest a very cautious driver.

Sam-Sam has his dad’s old pickup truck. Its super beaten up and Sam’s always swearing at it but he loves it has given it a name like “Bob” or something else basic. After the Quest he buys a brand new Volkswagen mini van which he uses for camping and transporting plants. He is an excellent driver.

Merry-Merry literally bribed the instructor to pass him but he’s actually not a terrible driver—when he’s sober. He drives high a lot and eventually gets his license revoked. He has a rich boy car like a BMW or an Aston Martin. Post Quest he gets a Tesla and Sam teases him about it.

Pippin- he has failed his driving test so epically he is not allowed anywhere near the front seat of a vehicle. Likes to drive his dad’s golf cart around and crashes into stuff every time.

Aragorn-he has a kinda sketchy looking van which he has actually turned into a nice camping space on the inside. When any of the Fellowship get in its trashed and usually is. He likes to drive Arwen around but has to deep clean the van first otherwise she won’t get in it. She also convinced him to have light easy to see through windows with curtains so it looks less sketchy.

Gimli-motorcycle man all the way. He’s in a motorcycle “club”. Very proud of his bike. Goes for rides with Eomer who is also a biker

Legolas-has a Prius or a Tesla and is very proud of his expensive eco friendly car. But mostly he just rides his bike and brags about it.

Gandalf-doesn’t have a driver’s license and just rides Shadowfax everywhere including the highway.

Boromir-drives a mini van so he can cart the hobbits around does not realize he has become a soccer mom until Faramir teases him about his car.

[melishade]

Attack on Prime The Future Anthology: Halloween

Main Story

Halloween Anthology

New Age Anthology

Burying the Dead

Huh. Guess I did have time to do this one.

"This is...Earth?" Annie marveled at her surroundings of the military base as she, her father, and the rest of the Warriors had just arrived on the planet.

"It's a little bit crowded," Mr. Leonhart remarked in annoyance at the multitude of people in front of them.

"Well, I'm sorry! We're still trying to transport the people that don't need medical attention back to your world! And some people are just being-! HEY!" Fowler bolted after some kids holding something that clearly didn't belong to them.

"...I'm starting to like my home in Paradis," Mr. Leonhart declared, "Why am I here?"

"To get checked out," Annie reminded, "They have better medicine here."

"I doubt it's going to fix a limp I've had for years," Mr. Leonhart proclaimed.

"Probably not. The injuries have no doubt healed in a way that can't be corrected anymore," June explained as she walked up to them, "But we can still take a look at other things that could be causing you pain."

"You got something that fixes pain in fingers?" Mr. Leonhart asked.

"Let's do a physical and we'll find out." June beckoned Mr. Leonhart to follow her. The man turned back to the other Warriors who were waving 'goodbye' to him. Mr. Leonhart smiled a little before turning back and continuing to follow June.

"Why did you decide to bring him here?" Falco asked, "It's safe to go back home."

"I'm not taking any chances," Annie declared, "I don't care if Optimus somehow managed to convince them to drop all of those laws...But what are you guys doing back here?"

"Oh, um, Raf and Miko were saying something about a celebration?" Gabi recalled.

"Celebration?" Annie questioned.

"BOO!" Pieck found herself screaming at the sight of a red demon behind her and used her cane to smack it in the face. The perpetrator yelled before hitting the ground, knocking off the grotesque looking mask.

"Miko?!" Pieck exclaimed while the woman rubbed the back of her head.

"Don't try to knock out my two front teeth or anything!" Miko winced in pain.

"That's what you get for trying to scare people who don't know anything about Halloween," Rafael scolded as he and Jack were carting off some pumpkins and decorations.

"I thought they would know!" Miko insisted as Jack walked over to help her up.

"Christianity doesn't exist on their world!" Rafael reminded.

"Halloween?" Colt questioned.

===

"Not this fucking bullshit again," Levi groaned in his wheelchair in annoyance as Jack, Miko, and Rafael continued decorating the rather large room they were in. They had a station for pumpkin carving, a station for costumes, one for movies, and one that had a boatload of candy.

"You guys know what this is?" Annie asked in surprise.

"Optimus explained it to us a few years ago and I made him tell us scary stories from Earth." Hanji rummaged through the costumes and picked out a pirate outfit, "We made a betting pool on who would be scared the least."

"Until Buckethead ruined it with that fucking 'Wailing Spark' story," Levi seethed.

"We've also seen one of the horror movies that you provided Wheeljack and Arcee," Hanji informed.

"Oh, really, which one?!" Miko exclaimed, rolling past in a chair.

"It involved raining blood, limb dismemberment-!"

"Dude, that's like half of all horror movies," Rafael cut Jean off.

"Evil Dead," Mikasa answered bluntly, "Arcee said something about it being a 'remake'? It was a good movie."

"Okay, you have a twisted mind." Sasha pointed at Mikasa.

"You guys saw the Evil Dead remake from 2013?!" Jack exclaimed in surprise.

"Nice!" Miko grinned before turning to Mikasa, "And turns out you're a horror enthusiast."

"I suppose." Mikasa shrugged.

"Well, we got classics and we've got remakes." Miko spun in the chair while rolling away again. "We also have some kid friendly horror movies if you want to start off with that."

"We can just watch the Nightmare before Christmas," Jack insisted as he finished putting the decorations on the wall, "We're not trying to traumatize them."

"We've...all seen death?" Gabi reminded in confusion.

"And that's super fucked up," Rafael declared, "You're supposed to be kids! Enjoy the holiday and the festivities!"

"The costumes are fun~!" Hanji twirled in the pirate outfit that they had managed to acquire, "Oh! Um you guys wouldn't happen to have a movie on vampires, would you?"

"As long as it's not Twilight." The trio said in unison.

"I will assume that Twilight is terrible!" Hanji said.

"Oh, do you guys have liquor?" Jean asked.

"...see about that-!"

"In the U.S. you have to be 21 or older to drink," Jack explained.

That earned protests and cries from the 104th.

"Yeah, I know, it's sucks," Jack agreed.

"The next time we're doing a celebration like this, we're doing it on Paradis!" Sasha declared in anger.

"He he." Hanji grinned.

==

Later

"So like this?" Falco asked, showing the carved expression on the hollowed out pumpkin.

"Yeah, like that," Jack praised, "Pumpkin carving doesn't have to be a face though, but grinning pumpkin is a staple for Halloween."

"Check this out!" Gabi spun her pumpkin around to show a multitude of sharp teeth in a circle.

"Gabi!" Colt exclaimed in horror.

"She's got it down." Jack shrugged.

"What do we do with the rest of this?" Sasha asked, holding up the insides of the pumpkin that were holding the seeds. She was wearing a werewolf costume at the moment.

"We're planning on throwing those out, but you can eat the seeds if you want," Jack explained.

"Really?!" Sasha asked with excitement as she tried to crack open one of the seeds.

"Sasha, don't be like that!" Jean groaned, trying to meticulously carve his pumpkin. The scout was wearing a skeleton costume simply because he thought it matched the leg.

Sasha managed to crack open the seed and aim it. "It's a little bland."

"All seeds are bland," Jack retorted.

"I'm still gonna eat it," Sasha proclaimed.

"Well, clean up after," Jack ordered her.

"I'm not dressing up," Levi declared as Armin was still trying to find a costume for himself.

"C'mon, be festive! Play a little pretend!" Hanji insisted.

"And look like whatever the fuck Erwin is wearing?" Levi pointed to Erwin, who was adorned in a red, white, and blue suite that mirrored the country's flag.

"Miko wanted me to wear this," Erwin said.

"And you look like a dead ringer for Captain America!" Miko showed the picture of the actor on her phone to Hanji and Levi, who were rather stunned at the similarities between the actor and their friend.

"I get the joke now," Hanji said, while Levi nodded in agreement.

"Although the costume is a little uncomfortable on the arm," Erwin informed.

"We could probably cut the sleeve off," Miko pondered.

Armin ended up finding a costume that looked to be a long toga with a red cape behind it. He put the laurel that was attached to the costume that was on his head before walking over to the movie area. Rafael was uninterested in the movie, taking more interest in being on his phone. Mikasa was watching with an eagerness that one would consider concerning. Annie also seemed a little intrigued, but not bothered. But Pieck was holding a pillow to her chest before lifting it up to cover her eyes.

"No costume?" Armin asked as he sat down next to Mikasa.

Mikasa shook her head. "Too itchy for my arms."

Armin turned his head to the movie and winced at the violence on screen. "What movie is this?"

"Nightmare on Elm Street," Rafael answered, "A classic in terms of horror, but the movies tend to get more campy as they go on."

"There was a fountain of blood coming out of the bed," Pieck whimpered.

"I don't understand why you're so bothered by this," Annie admitted.

"Annie, there is a difference between killing someone instantly and dragging out the kill," Pieck insisted, "These movies drag out the kill, and then the music-!"

"Oh yeah, there's a study on how music can make a horror movie scarier," Rafael absentmindedly added, causing Pieck to whimper.

"You can go over to a different station if you want," Rafael reminded her.

"I promised myself I would stay and watch the movie," Pieck swore.

"You don't seem that bothered by the movie," Armin remarked.

"Yeah, that's mainly due to graphics," Rafael explained, "And also, I'm more afraid of something else."

"It's the demon nun from the Conjuring movies!" Miko ratted him out.

"We do not talk about the demon nun from the Conjuring movies!" Rafael shouted at her.

"We should watch that movie next!" Miko grinned devilishly, "It's based on real life events!"

"We both know the Warrens' stories are exaggerated!" Rafael shot back.

"The ones with the doll?" Mikasa asked, causing the two to look at her.

"Wait, Optimus told you about Annabelle?!" Miko exclaimed in disbelief.

"We're not going to see Annabelle!" Jack called out from the pumpkin carving area.

"Not with that attitude!" Hanji declared.

"We also don't have the money for it now," Rafael explained.

"Booo!" Hanji jeered.

"Anyone want to try pumpkin?!" Sasha offered.

"Wow, that's a first." Jean was baffled.

==

"So normally we'd go house to house to get free candy from strangers," Jack explained as Miko knocked over the cart of candy onto the floor, "But since most of you guys are too old to be doing that,"

"Boring!" Sasha shouted,

"We've decided to bring the candy to you guys," Jack finished.

"Just looking at it is hurting my teeth." Levi grimaced at the sight of it.

"We got chocolate, caramel, fruit, sour candy," Rafael listed.

"Sour candy?" Armin asked in confusion.

"Some people prefer sour over sweet," Rafael shrugged.

"I think I'll pass. Not really into sweets," Levi declared.

"Shouldn't we offer some of this to Historia and Ymir?" Mikasa asked, "They're currently working hard on Paradis right now."

"Oh, we already talked to them and Historia asked for sweets to give to the orphans," Rafael explained, "They're having their own little Halloween celebration right now."

"We should still make sure to include them in these events," Mikasa declared.

Sasha's mouth watered at the sight of all the candy, but she paused when she noticed Annie eagerly eyeing it as well. She could even see her hands were fidgeting at the sight.

"Anyway, pick your poison," Jack offered.

"Gimme that sour candy!" Hanji exclaimed.

"Done!" Miko tossed the bag of sour candy to them.

"Falco they have chocolate!" Gabi excitedly grabbed a bar and showed it to him.

"Oh, no one here has any allergies, right?" Jack asked.

"Not that we know of," Armin answered as Mikasa grabbed something with strawberries in it.

Hanji popped the candy in their mouth and winced. Their face puckered in pain at the taste of the treat.

"Hanji are you okay?" Erwin asked as he tried some caramel.

"Blegh!" Hanji stuck their tongue out, "That was painful!" But Hanji wasn't deterred as they immediately ate another one.

"Really?" Levi deadpanned.

"It's interesting!" Hanji winced as they chewed.

"Can I try one?" Colt asked Hanji.

"Go for it!" Hanji tossed them one.

Pieck hummed with delight at the taste of some coconut candy while Annie picked out a peppermint patty. She hesitantly took a small bite, and her apprehension disappeared as she continued eating the rest of it.

"Try this one." Sasha offered a peanut butter cup to her. Annie was a little surprised but slowly took it from her.

"Thank you," Annie said, earning a small smile from Sasha.

"El Capitan! Try dark chocolate!" Miko offered the fun sized candy to him.

"I told you I'm not interested," Levi waved off.

"Dark chocolate is not that sweet," Miko explained, "C'mon go for it! You're the only one who's not eating any of it!"

"Hey, I'll take Levi's share!" Sasha offered.

"Hell no, Sasha!" Jean pointed a red licorice at her.

"Fine, give it here." Miko tossed it to Levi and the Captain popped the treat in his mouth, "Huh...not bad."

"Hooray!" Hanji cheered.

Sasha grabbed some fruit candy from the pile and smile. Connie would have loved this. She instinctively turned to her right to try and offer some to him, but she was still met with the sight of Annie, holding a fruit candy of her own.

"S-sorry!" Sasha apologized.

"Something on your mind?" Annie asked.

"...Just thinking about Connie," Sasha sighed, "Connie would've loved all of this."

"Yeah, he probably would have," Annie agreed, "I'm...sorry I wasn't there at the funeral."

"It's okay," Sasha reassured, "The kids wanted to mourn Reiner."

Rafael noticed Sasha's mournful expression before pulling out his phone once again. Mikasa peered over his shoulder to see something about 'Day of the Dead', but ultimately decided to pay it no mind.

"Anyone want to watch a Halloween movie?" Jack offered, "We have kid friendly ones like Hocus Pocus."

Miko gasped with excitement. "I haven't seen Hocus Pocus in ages!"

"What's Hocus Pocus?" Falco asked with his mouth full.

"It's a movie about three kids trying to beat three witches," Rafael explained, "That's like the best way that I can explain it. But there's no gore in it."

"But there is death," Miko interjected.

"It's a Disney death," Rafael retorted.

"Meh, we've seen enough death in our lifetime," Hanji shrugged, "Let's watch the movie!"

"Alright!" Miko grinned.

===

Agent Fowler walked down the hallway, trying to find out where Jack, Miko, and Rafael were. As he passed by a room, he paused when he heard chatter. He looked inside to see Jack, Miko, and Rafael with their alien compatriots, watching 'Hocus Pocus' together.

"You can really get away with a lot of crimes on Halloween, can't you?" Hanji remarked.

"Well, when Halloween is a holiday of tricks, you can pretty much get away with anything," Jack declared.

"You guys seem to be festive," Fowler remarked as he looked at the decorations and the pumpkin.

"Halloween is great!" Sasha said with a mouth stuffed full of candy.

Fowler began to look through the CDs, and as he did, he seemed to get a little bit annoyed. "You guys didn't add Ghostbusters?!"

"Which one?" Rafael smirked.

"How dare you?!" Fowler pointed at him, "Just for that, we're watching the original!"

Miko started laughing at that as Fowler started swapping the CDs.

"Not bad for a scary holiday," Hanji teased Levi.

"I suppose it's not all bad." Levi took another bite out of the dark chocolate, "Movies are weird though."

"Yeah, they are so weird," Hanji agreed.

(Look I am not going to be doing a Halloween Anthology 2.0. If I did, we'd be here until Christmas and I'm not traumatizing myself with more horror movies.)

[hotwritergf]

Inspired by the lovely @bonitabreezy and I having a conversation about older!Steddie in a nursing home.

I can see them just constantly fucking about, never making life easy for the nurses who work there.

"Hey Steve watch this"

*Eddie smirks and presses the emergency buzzer*

*Nurse runs into the room expecting to see one of them on the floor or something*

"Oops sorry didn't mean to press that"

*Nurse leaves the room with a face like thunder they both erupt into laughter.*

Or Eddie who convinces Steve to ride the metal cart that transports the residents medication to their rooms. He pushes him down the halls until the wheel buckles at the top of the stairs. He peeks through his fingers covering his eyes to see Steve, flat out on the floor, looking like he’s eating the carpet with the cart on top of him.

“That was metal. Pretty sure you did a somersault baby!”

To which Steve tries to lift his head but it feels to heavy for his shoulders and comically flops back to the carpet and groans.

Last but not least, older Eddie who insists he’s still fit enough to attend metal gigs.

Eddie- *in the pit*

Steve- "careful of your god damn back I am NOT carrying you home if you slip a disc again."

Eddie- *Immediately falls on the floor and cracks a rib after the first push*

Steve- *Walks like 5 miles with Eddie on his back like a koala*

Oh that boy fucking MILKS it until he’s physically unable to get any more sympathy for it.

Eddie in his whiniest voice- "Stevie: ( carry me.”

Steve- "Fine but as long as you stop calling it 'uppies' you're a grown man"

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 14

summary: the aftermath of the attack, the reunion, the recap.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: hiiii, not much to say with this one, but I have the next chapter ALMOST done as well so be prepared for a double update this week!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_______________________________________

“We need aerial pickup in the woods outside the generator, my coordinates. Get medical ready, tell them we have an incoming Avenger.” 

Her eyes flicked up to Bucky at the last word, surprise lighting them up. His face was a standard mask of annoyance mixed with…was that relief? Blue eyes trailed over her body before meeting hers once again. He regarded her for a moment before speaking again. 

“So when were you gonna tell me you learned to fly a Quinjet?”

Typical. He does something heroic and chivalrous, but still has the same attitude problem. Some knight in shining armor. “I was waiting t’see if y’brought me a souvenir,” She croaked through her raw, burning throat.

As the smoke from the explosion began to clear, Charlotte's ears were still ringing from the deafening blast. She blinked, trying to regain her bearings as she looked around to assess the damage. Tears streaked through the dirt on her cheeks as her eyes burned, her whole body buzzing at how close she’d come to the end. She’d tried to stand a few moments ago, but nearly vomited at the pain in her ribs. Now seated against the base of a tree, she could feel the pain beginning to cloud her mind as the adrenaline wore off.

"Charlotte, hey, stay with me," Bucky's voice cut through the haze of confusion, filled with concern as he knelt in front of her. “Medical is almost here.”

Groaning, she sat up a little straighter. “Th’shouldn’t come outside the shield,” she paused to cough. “S’too smokey and there could be another detonation. We need t’move.”

Bucky regarded her grimly, eyebrows raised, but didn’t argue. “Okay. C’mon.” He helped Charlotte to her feet, his arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her as she stumbled slightly. She favored her left leg, still peppered with glass from the windshield, putting her arm over his shoulders for stability.

"That was quite the entrance," Charlotte groaned, her voice shaky as she leaned into Bucky's firm grip. “B’you could have stuck the landing a little better."

Bucky offered her a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes, shouldering the majority of her weight as they began to traipse through the shrapnel-littered woods. The pain must be bad if she was cracking jokes, begging for a distraction. 

“Y’could have shown up a little sooner, too.” She forced out between shallow breaths. 

“We stopped for burgers halfway,” He humored her. “You seemed like you had it handled.” He didn’t mention the way they’d been white-knuckled the whole flight back, nearly silent as they prayed they’d make it in time. The way he’d paced the floor, ready to rip the enemy aircraft apart with his bare hands when he finally got to it. The way he heard those words and was ready to throw himself out of the Quinjet just to get to her. She’s not gonna make it.

“D’you bring me one?” Her weight was getting heavier on his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” Bucky hoisted her arm higher around his neck, taking more weight off of her leg. “Hope you like mustard.”

As they finally approached the edge of the shield, they were greeted by the sight of a medical cart waiting to transport them back to the safety of the compound. The first rays of dawn were beginning to lighten up the inky sky, breaking up the darkness. When they reached the cart, Charlotte eased herself into the flatbed of the cart with Bucky's assistance, taking a slow breath as she leaned against the edge. Hopping in behind her, Bucky patted the hull of the cart, signaling that they were ready to go. 

The journey back to the main building was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the cart's engine and Charlotte’s occasional sharp breaths when they hit a particularly large bump. Bucky didn’t speak, but his eyes clocked every wince, every muscle tensing in her jaw. He glanced up ahead, seeing the compound buildings beginning to come into view.

As Charlotte sat in the medical cart, her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut as the adrenaline that had fueled her during the attack was nearly gone, leaving her feeling drained and emotionally raw.vShe couldn't shake the feeling of disbelief at the suddenness of the attack, the way it had shattered the peace and security of the compound in an instant. It was a stark reminder of the ever-present threat posed by HYDRA, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike when least expected. She’d allowed herself to get comfortable, to live in the delusion that there was a life after them. That they’d one day stop looking for her and let her go free. 

That delusion had brought one of the world’s most dangerous organization to the doorstep of the only people who had offered her a home. A family.

The thought of losing any of them was almost too much to bear, a prospect she couldn't even begin to contemplate. To think that it might have been her fault, her presence that lured them here…she couldn’t even let herself finish the thought.

Rounding the final corner and emerging from the treeline, the hangar and main building grew nearer. With them, the crowd of people gathered in front, clapping and cheering. The sound made Charlotte open her eyes. Standing outside the SHIELD headquarters were the two dozen agents who’d been there through the attack, had been under her assumed command. At the front of the crowd stood Calla, clapping furiously with tears in her eyes. Beside her, still in full battle gear, was Sam, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Peter. All of them looking beautifully clean and unscathed. All of them cheering. Charlotte felt a wave of relief wash over her, finally accepting that it was over. The cart jolted to a stop, whistles and applause filling her ears. There was a knot in her stomach that she wasn’t ready to address yet, a maelstrom of emotions clawing through her, demanding to be felt. Instead, she focused on the physical feelings. People patting her shoulder, squeezing her hands, sliding under her knees and lifting her out of the cart. 

Opening her eyes, Charlotte saw dozens of faces beaming at her. Calla was holding one of her hands, the other was draped around the shoulder of whoever was carrying her. The feeling of vibranium under her knees told her all she needed to know. As Bucky walked through the crowd, they eagerly parted to let her through, the cheers never ceasing. The doors to the medical wing slid open with a whoosh, cool air conditioning wafting over them in contrast to the spring humidity. 

In the distance, she could hear Natasha’s voice telling the agents to give her some space, before Steve thanked them for their bravery and asked them to give their statements to Intelligence before heading home for the end of their shift. There was a hallway, a turn, and then she was being gently set down on the all-too-familiar medical bed. 

“From what I hear, we just need to put your name on the door,” Calla quipped, washing her hands in the corner. 

Charlotte mustered a chuckle, but anything beyond that threatened to set her throat on fire. 

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up. What hurts the most?” Her eyes raked over Charlotte, fingers assessing each wound. Angling her leg, Charlotte nodded to the shards of glass protruding like spikes all down the side. Calla masked her concern like a true professional. “That seems like a good place to start.” 

She pulled a stool beneath her and slid her hands into a pair of gloves as Maddie, the lab tech, wheeled in a tray of first aid supplies. “Sargeant, would you mind lending a hand?” Calla looked expectantly up at Bucky. 

“Yeah, uh, sure.” He cleared his throat and stepped toward the bed. 

“Grab those scissors in the top drawer,” She nodded her head to the counter behind Bucky, shining a small flashlight in Charlotte’s eyes. He obliged, crossing the room to stand beside the bed. “Thank you. I need you to cut the left leg out of Ms. Rossi’s suit.” 

“You, wait, what?” Bucky looked incredulous. 

“I can’t effectively clean and stitch her up with the suit on, and I can’t take it off while Ms. Rossi still has glass sticking out of her leg. If I pull the glass out before taking the suit off, she’ll lose even more blood.” Her tone was calm but firm as she continued to work, cleaning a wound on Charlotte’s forehead. “So in order to get her taken care of and out of pain as quickly as possible, I need you to take those scissors, cut up the center of her suit, and get me access to the wounds.”

He stood, frozen, beside her bed. 

“Now, Sargent.” 

With that, he sprung into action. Setting the scissors down at the foot of her bed, nimble fingers unlaced her boots, gently removing them and tossing them to the side. They landed on the floor with a solid thump. Cold metal touched her ankle as he lifted the hem of her suit away from her skin and slid one scissor blade beneath it. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he carefully but quickly cut a line up the top of her leg. As he worked, Maddie tugged the fabric over the glass on the side, freeing the wounds. Once the scissors had reached her thigh, Bucky stopped. 

“Good,” Calla pointed. “Now bring the cut around the outside of her thigh so we can peel the fabric back all the way.” 

Charlotte could have sworn he flushed, but he did what he was told. Calla pulled the flap of fabric to the side, revealing a mangled mess of her leg. Blood, old and new, caked her skin and dozens of large pieces of glass stuck out the side, running from her ankle nearly to her hip.

“Sargant, one more thing. Could you hand me that towel?” Calla’s tone was warm and calm, smiling as Bucky dropped it into her hand. Offering it to Charlotte, she gave a clear instruction. “Bite down.”

Bringing the towel to her mouth, Charlotte didn’t have time to question before Maddie dumped a copious amount of antiseptic onto her leg, setting her whole body on fire. She bit into the towel so hard her jaw ached, a muffled scream filling the room and setting her throat ablaze. Out of the corner of her watery eyes, she swore she saw Bucky wince. The wave of pain caused sweat to bead across her forehead, her leg throbbing. They made every effort to work quickly, but that did little to quell the agony. 

Forcing herself to breathe through her nose, Charlotte clenched her eyes shut, telling herself all the same things she had in the past. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’ll be over in a minute. Pain is just my body telling me something is wrong, and I already know something is wrong. I don’t need the pain. I don’t feel the pain. I don’t feel th-

“Oh, shit,” Sam’s voice called from the doorway, pulling Calla’s eyes up to his for just a split second as she dropped a particularly large shard of glass onto the tray beside her. Steve and Nat pushed into the room, taking in the scene. Charlotte on the bed, eyes closed and sweat dripping as she bit down onto a towel. Calla and Maddie furiously working on her gruesome left leg, one set of hands carefully extracting shrapnel while the other cleaned and stitched the wounds left behind. Bucky standing beside the bed, hands behind his head and a grim look on his face. His helpless eyes met Steve’s and a look passed between them. Guilt? Understanding? Their unspoken conversation was interrupted by Natasha slid a chair bedside, gripping Charlotte’s right hand as her eyes flicked open. They were red from all the smoke, but alert. 

“Hell of a showing back there,” Nat gave a reassuring grin, squeezing her hand. Charlotte groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you might be born for this ‘saving the world’ gig after all.” 

Charlotte shot her a sidelong look, narrowing her eyes. Raising her hands defensively, Nat joked, “Listen, all I’m saying is it took Sam years to learn to fly a Quinjet and Bucky still refuses to use comms correctly. You’ve got ‘em both beat.” 

“Hey,” Bucky frowned at her. 

“Am I wrong?” 

Nat’s attempts to distract everyone from the tense situation were effective. Calla and Maddie had worked their way up Charlotte’s leg, staunching the bleeding and leaving a web of dark stitching and angry red cuts in their wake. As Maddie tied off the final stitch, Calla tugged her gloves off with a snap. “Alright, looks like we salvaged the leg.” She winked at Charlotte. “Let’s take a look at those ribs.” 

Attempting to prop herself up on her elbows, Charlotte winced, eyes squeezing shut. Several pairs of hands reached out to support her, Nat being the first to reach her thanks to her proximity. 

“Woah, take it easy,” Calla braced her other arm. “Gentlemen, give us a minute?” She nodded to the door, with Steve, Sam, and Bucky filing out obediently. When the door was shut behind them, she returned her gaze to Charlotte. “Is it alright if we go ahead and remove the suit? We’ll put a medical gown on you, I know how much you love those.” 

Charlotte scoffed but held her arms out long, granting them permission to tug the sleeves off. With the three sets of gentle female hands and a few more slices from the scissors, her suit lay in a stained and crumbled heap on the floor. For the next fifteen minutes, they set to work cleaning her various cuts and abrasions while Nat held her hand. Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned her head against the pillow, the exhaustion catching up with her. She had a difficult time processing all that had happened in the span of a week. The team leaving for their mission, her outburst with the agents, meeting Calla and finding out the bombshell about her relationship with Sam, learning to fly a Quinjet, the attack in the dead of night, almost being blown up, being rescued by Bucky…again, the heroes reception she’d received when they returned. It was too much for her muddled brain to process at the moment. 

“Alright, Char, you’re as good as new. Or at least you will be in a few days.” Calla squeezed her arm. “Thanks, Maddie, you’re good to go back home. Thanks for coming in on such short notice. Take the rest of the day off. Oh, and tell the guys they’re good to come back in.” 

“Thanks, Maddie.” Charlotte’s strained voice called after her. 

“No problem.” Maddie smiled. “I hope I don’t see you again anytime soon.” 

Laughing into a cough, Charlotte adjusted her position against the pillow, the white medical gown just as unflattering as always. Chairs squeaked across the floor as all three men rejoined them and took a position around the bed, looking at her expectantly.

“Good morning,” She raised an eyebrow. 

“Good morning.” Steve chucked. “How do you feel?” 

“How do I look?” 

“Like you just about got blown up,” Sam teased. 

“Yeah, not the best way to get blown.” She yawned, ignoring Steve’s choked laugh and Bucky’s raised eyebrow. “But you should see the other guy.” 

“I don’t think there’s much left to see.” Nat chimed in. 

“Guess that means I did my job.” 

“You did great, Charlotte.” Steve’s tone was warm, reassuring. The atmosphere thickened as smiles faded in favor of a more serious tone. “If you hadn’t been here, hadn’t acted when you did…things would have turned out much differently. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I’ve grown pretty fond of this place.” Natasha squeezed her hand. “Thank you for protecting it.” 

“This place,” Sam stood and crossed the room to stand by Calla, still typing notes into her computer. “And the people inside it. I owe you one.” 

Charlotte smiled. “No, you don’t. I’m pretty fond of it too. The place and the people.” She winked at Calla. 

“Sam, something you’d like to tell us?” Steve raised an eyebrow at Sam’s arm draped around Calla’s shoulders. 

Chuckling, he met Calla’s eyes. “Guys, this is Dr. Calla Arturo. My fiance.” 

Bucky let out a whistle as Steve grinned and stood to hug Sam. Nat simply picked at her nails, winking at the couple, another secret well kept. 

“I’m sorry, we have a lot to catch up on, it sounds like. Can someone order breakfast? With coffee?” Charlotte pleaded. “Lots of coffee?”

“Coming right up.” Nat popped up and strode out of the room to make the order.

Half an hour later, feet still clad in combat boots were propped on the edge of Charlotte’s bed, the smell of coffee filling the air. A cart sat full of discarded, empty dishes near the door.  The food was all but devoured the minute it was wheeled into the room. Now that everyone had given up on going back to sleep as the morning stretched on, Calla made a round, refilling everyone’s coffee before taking a seat beside Sam. 

“So we get to the source of the tremors, and we find nothing. Nada. Zip. It’s a complete ghost town,” Sam explained. “At first, we thought maybe they took everything underground, or it was cloaked somehow. We ran every scan possible, combed through the whole one hundred mile radius. We found nothing. So we camped out overnight, figured we’d do the same thing the next day.”

“We reviewed the initial reports of seismic activity, and sure enough, we were at the exact coordinates.” Nat shrugged. “It seemed like a fluke, somehow the coordinates got skewed. We were positive we missed something, kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then…”

“We got the distress signal from SHIELD.” Bucky met Charlotte’s eyes. “The signal that the compound was under attack.” 

“That was when we knew it was a decoy.” Steve’s eyes looked pained. “We knew it was an attempt to lure us away, leave it vulnerable. The furthest point away without going off-planet. We were just lucky it wasn’t a trap.” 

“So we got the hell out of dodge and came back here.” Nat’s gaze was unfocused, remembering. “We flew back as quickly as we could, we were on the live comm feed with the command center. We heard everything that was going on.”

Charlotte’s blood chilled. They’d listened to everything. Had she sounded like a complete rookie? Her adrenaline had been pumping so strongly, she couldn’t conjure more than a hazy recollection of what she said. 

“We didn’t think we would make it in time.” Steve was somber. “We heard you go back, try to extract the information. When they kept counting down and you still hadn’t gotten out…we were still flying over the woods outside the shield. It wouldn’t have been possible for us to get the jet to the landing pad and get out to you, and there was nowhere to land it with all the trees around you.” He glanced at Bucky, who’d set his jaw defiantly. “As you know, Bucky decided to take matters into his own hands.” 

Charlotte raised her eyebrows at Bucky, waiting for him to chip in. 

“If I would have known saving you would be this demanding of a job, I would have asked for a raise.” His dry tone was nothing new, but for some reason it struck her wrong. 

“I don’t remember calling for your help, Sergeant.” 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.” 

“Gee, thanks, should I replace our next training session with an hour of groveling and falling at your feet? That seems to be the reaction you’re looking for.” 

“As tempting as that sounds, I think you’ve done enough falling for a while.” He nodded his head at the wrapped, gauzy mess that was her left leg. Charlotte’s hands curled into fists, gripping her coffee mug so tight the ceramic creaked. 

“Anyways,” Natasha cut in pointedly. “We made a note to keep parachutes in every Quinjet from now on, but thankfully, Cap’s shield did the trick this time. We don’t want to lose anyone. We’re a team. A family.” The last word seemed to be directed straight at Bucky, her eyes staring daggers at him, a warning not to be so…Bucky. 

“And now you’re caught up.” Sam joined. “Now tell us what we missed, because clearly it was quite a bit.” 

Calla raised her eyebrows at Charlotte, grinning. They exchanged a look, debating who should launch into the story first. It was Calla who took over, unable to keep her excitement at bay. She told them about her quiet morning after Sam and the rest of the group left, how she’d gone to get coffee and found Charlotte about to choke out one of the agents. A collective groan came from the group when she told them which one. His ego didn’t exactly fly under the radar in their training sessions, either. She told them about Charlotte’s flying lessons, missing surprisingly few details, and their dinner at her apartment, then the ultimate interruption of the attack. 

Calla nodded in agreement, her expression grave as she recalled the moment they had felt the first explosion rock the city. "Charlotte didn't hesitate for a second," she said, her voice tinged with admiration. "It’s like she just…locked in. She took off running before I could even process what was happening, started giving orders the whole way. She’s a natural” Calla gave Charlotte a watery smile. “She made sure everyone had explicit instructions to keep the shields up even if she went down. She flew out not knowing what she’d see or if she’d come back. Everyone is right to call her a hero."

Charlotte winced slightly at the word. It felt unfamiliar, foreign. It wasn’t a good fit. Not when she felt like she’d barely escaped with her life. If it hadn’t been for Bucky, she wouldn’t have. Prick as he might be, he was right. He had saved her. Again. 

Bucky remained silent for the most part, his gaze fixed on Charlotte as she and the others watched Calla recount the events. There was a fire in his eyes, a barely contained anger. Had Charlotte glanced over to see it, she might think it was directed at her. A result of her handling the situation poorly, or not acting as he would have. It was Steve, however, that looked over at him, seeing something else entirely. Bucky wasn’t a touchy-feely person, that much was blatantly apparent. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel at all. In fact, he felt more deeply than most people, the love for those he cared about able to blind him at times. As he sat and watched his friend watch the dark-haired girl on the medical bed, he just knew. 

His friend was utterly blinded by what he was feeling.  Nat raised her mug. “To Charlotte Rossi, Mockingbird, Avenger of the Avengers.” A chorus of agreement sounded around the room, mugs clinking in the air.

“To Charlotte.”

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Worst Day

Part 6 of Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Description: You're not sure what you'll do if Jake doesn't pull through. It's true - your relationship isn't that old - yet you can't help feeling like the connection between Jake and you is far deeper than a paltry fling. So seeing Jake, your Jake, prone and motionless in a hospital bed is more than you can bear. But you're a fighter, and so is Jake. Having some pleasant company while you wait, that's great too.

Disclaimer: Mentions of injury. Military Deployments. Long-distance relationships. A very eerie nightmare (mentions of blood)

Warnings: Female Reader

Word Count: 4288

Author Note: Here’s Part 6 of Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car). Jake finally makes his way stateside again, but as we know from the last episode, things don't look too good! But it'll get better... ish. Love ya! This chapter was wholly written by listening to the song Worst Day - MAX x Illenium on repeat. All of the bold + italicized parts are lyrics from the song!

AO3: Cross Posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

It’s been twenty-four hours since you found out Jake has been injured. You’ve been a nervous wreck, barely sleeping or eating as you wear a worn trail into your kitchen tile. You’re running on fumes of coffee and unadulterated spite, every pore in your body rebelling, when you get the call from Maverick saying that the medevac will be landing in half an hour and will be transporting Jake to Naval Medical Center shortly after. You're nervously grasping the steering wheel of Jake’s truck the entire way there. Soon enough, you’re propping up a corner of the Emergency Room waiting room. Just as you’re about to call Maverick again, a flurry of action erupts against the ambulance bay doors. Doctors and other medical personnel descend in droves. You’re on your feet the minute the doors open, walking towards the doors. 

You look a mess. You’re wearing your rattiest pair of jeans and a torn, worn t-shirt that’s inside out. Your hair hasn’t seen a comb since you woke up at 3 in the morning, what feels like a lifetime ago. All you care about is Jake. Your first look at him in three months nearly sends you to your knees. He’s motionless lying in that hospital gurney. His skin is pale, but for the lurid bruises painting his skin. You’ve never seen Jake this motionless, this still. He’s the life of the party, at the center of every gathering, always moving and his energy is infectious. But like this? The sight burns like a blade, cutting you from neck to sternum, seeing him unmoving, letting things happen rather than doing . You don’t even notice your knees give out, only registering the sharp crack as they smack into the tiled flooring as you collapse. You watch vacantly as the team of medical professionals cart him right into an operating theater. But no matter how you try to move, you can’t get your legs to cooperate.

The hands that help you up are Maverick’s. You’re not sure when he reached the hospital, but you’re so glad he’s here. He hugs you as you cry, hopeless gut-wrenching, exhausted sobs that rack your entire body. You’re wrung out when you stagger to one of the chairs in the waiting area in front of the Operating Room. In truth, you’re not likely to get much information until a doctor comes out to speak to you. Each halting breath you draw cuts like a thousand knives as you sit hunched over with your elbows on your knees and stare unseeingly at your steepled fingers. Worry and shock and fear and pain cloud every sense.

As an hour turns into two, then three and four, you slump against the back of the chair. Your eyes are itchy, heavy, and swollen with the many tears you’ve shed over the past day. Sleep is practically clubbing you over the head, and you’re quickly losing the battle to stay awake. Maverick is still standing at attention, green eyes intently boring through the closed operating room doors. In the span of a few breaths, you must fall asleep because the next thing you see is Jake. 

Closed my eyes and had a dream

About a lonely place

Where flowers only bloom in gray

All the magic turned to dust

Only memories left of us

It’s a place you’ve seen before, one you remember being before, in fact. A picnic out on Mission Bay, if you remember correctly. It was a date early on in your relationship, one back when you were still trying to figure Jake out. He’d driven you to the park and laid out the picnic along with a chilled bottle of wine. The two of you had talked and laughed the entire afternoon away. But while you're seeing everything as you remember, something's just ever so slightly off. All the colors are oversaturated and yet faded at the same time. It feels like it’s been so long since you’ve been that happy. You feel like you’re in a movie reel, seeing Jake’s smiling face after so long. He’s close enough that your fingers should be able to make contact with his skin, but every time you get close enough, he disintegrates the minute you touch him. 

I'll never see that tree thе same

The one that we both carved our names

Into with razor blades

Then made out in the summer rain

It had started raining partway through the picnic, and you’d taken refuge with him under the boughs of a colossal willow tree. Sheltered under that tree he’d helped you carve your name and his into the aged wood before kissing you like you were everything he needed to breathe. You’re there now. But when you try to fall into the kiss, Jake’s face shatters into sand in your fingers. It’s sticky and warm and wet when you clench your hands into a fist. 

But it’s not sand in your hands when you look. It’s blood, dripping from your fingers, splattered over your face, and staining your dress. The droplets are hot and cloyingly sticky as you try to fight your way to water to wash them away. Suddenly, the willow tree’s branches grip and tear at your dress, skin, and hair. The entire time you fight the grasping branches, you can hear Jake’s voice. But it sounds completely unlike how you’ve ever heard him before. His voice is pained and harsh, screaming your name for help, for assistance. Each word rips into you, tearing you apart because while you fight to reach him, you never seem to get any closer.

You jolt awake, tasting copper in your mouth to the sounds of more medical professionals running into the Operating Room and Maverick hovering in front of you. 

“What happened, Mav?” You swallow uncomfortably, trying and failing to summon enough saliva to wash the traces of metal from your mouth.

“I..” He runs his hands through his hair before slumping into the chair next to you. “I dunno, kiddo. They were calling a code blue through the hospital PA.”

“D-did something go wrong with Jake’s surgery?” You can’t hide the fear in your voice.

But with his lack of response, you don’t know anything more than you had before. This time, as you settle down to wait again, there’s more fear filling your mind. Your mind is trapped again in that constant loop of  ‘what ifs’, ‘what happeneds’, and ‘what nexts’ again. Please let the code blue not be for Jake. Please. But as you’ve discovered intimately over the past day, your prayers are rarely answered by the powers that be, if they exist at all. You’ve chewed your lips until they’ve bled, and every muscle aches when a doctor steps out of the operating room.

“Hello, are you here for Lieutenant Jacob Daniel Seresin?” You can see the exhaustion lining his face. 

“Yes. I’m his emergency contact.” Your voice shakes as you stand up. “This is his CO, Rear Admiral Pete Maverick Mitchell.”

“It’s nice to meet you, miss.” He snaps off a quick salute to Maverick before turning back to you. “Lieutenant Seresin’s surgeries have been a success. We were able to reduce the swelling in his brain and set his tibia and collarbone. Partway through the procedure, Lieutenant Seresin went into cardiac arrest. Thankfully, we were able to stabilize his condition and get his heart beating again.”

You’ve got your hand over your mouth as his words hit you, wrapping an arm around yourself to keep from collapsing at his feet. 

“What does this mean for his recovery, Doctor?” You need to know.

“We’ve placed Lieutenant Seresin in a medically induced coma. This is to allow his brain to heal further. We’ll keep an eye on his recovery the entire time he’s in the post-anesthesia care unit. Once we’ve determined his brain has healed enough, we’ll stop the medication and allow him to come out of the coma. Then we’ll assess his physical condition from there.”

You can’t hide your relief or how tears well up in your eyes at the words. Mav wraps an arm around your shoulders. “The doctor says he’s going to be just fine, kiddo. He’s going to be okay.”

You know what Mav means, but a part of you can’t believe it. Not until you see it. Sure enough, just as Mav said, it’s barely a quarter of an hour later that the hospital bed with Jake in it is wheeled out. It's with a considerable amount of relief that you watch eagle-eyed as the doctors and nurses settle Jake into the hospital bed in his post-anesthesia care unit room. If only you could recognize the man you see before your eyes. This stranger? You're having a hard time reconciling him with the impression of Jake in your head. Jake’s always been filled with a sort of uncontainable energy, like lightning whipping through clouds, gathering momentum to strike where you least expect it. It’s a part of your relationship with him that you enjoy the most. He’s never boring, and you never feel like you’re boring with him. 

So when you droop into the chair by the bed and take in the sudden hush inhabiting the room now that it’s just you and him, a part of your brain feels like it’s stuck. It’s a constant feedback loop of worry and pain and terror ruling your brain right now. Despite the consistent tinny beeping emanating from the heart rate monitor, you can’t believe that Jake’s going to be okay. Each breath you force into your lungs stinks of that special hospital smell of disinfectant and cleaning products and sickness. You grip his hand, gasping at how cold the fingers are, how the strength seems to have drained out of them. You can still see the bruises peeking out from beneath the hospital gown. His head is shorn close to his skull, and you can just make out where they had to cut into his skull to reduce the swelling in his brain through the bandages swathing his skull. You love this man. So why is it that you can’t stand to see him like this? With a ventilator helping him breathe and drugged up in a coma while his body heals?

Worse still, you can’t help but wonder what this means for what Jake loves to do the most in the world. Will he ever be able to fly again? Jake flies like it’s in his blood, like he’s made to do it. He adores it. Did this incident, be it accident or deliberate, just strip him of the capacity to do the one thing he’d always dreamed of doing? Then there’s the thought of Jake’s family in your mind. How do you get in touch with Jake’s brothers and sisters? You know Jake’s not close with his dad. But his mom and siblings should know, right? But if Jake wanted one of his family to know, wouldn’t one of them have been his emergency contact? The thoughts have you kissing the palm of his cool limp hand and dragging the chair closer to the bed. Your voice is barely there as you finally speak after hours of silence.

“J-Jake.” Your voice hitches on a sob as you glance over his face. "What happened, handsome? This was supposed to be a routine rotation on board. You weren't supposed to get hurt."

A part of you can’t help but wait for a response. But one doesn’t come. Jake’s still and silent with a ventilator over his mouth, and his eyes closed. If you’d known any differently, you would have happily assumed Jake was just sleeping. But he’s not. You want nothing more than to hear his voice again.

“Jake, Oh, I almost lost you like that” Your voice is soft as you cup his jaw, leaning over his still form, tracing your way gently over the stubble growing on his cheeks and chin. “Oh, don't wanna think about that, Oh, don't wanna think about that, The thought of you never comin' back”

You’re still clutching at his hand a few hours later when a couple of nurses stop into his room to take his vital signs and subsequently chase you out as visiting hours end. It leaves you out in the parking lot in Jake’s truck longing for the days when you could have just picked up the phone and called Jake when you missed him. The two of you have had so many conversations like that, spilling secrets in the dead of night, and it’s one particular conversation that you remember the most.

It was late and well into the witching hour. You’d been out with Jake once again, and once again, time had gotten away from both of you. You'd been lying in the bed of his pick-up truck, star-gazing yet again. But you weren't near North Island, not this time. You'd driven north and west, leaving San Diego in the rear-view as Jake's truck ate up the miles between you and the Mojave Desert.

In a small camping area just off the desert, Jake had parked the car and helped you into the truck’s bed via the tailgate. He'd pulled out two paper cups and a bottle of champagne.

"What're we doing now?" Your voice had been questioning as he'd proffered the cup to you with the biggest grin.

"This, gorgeous, is because I missed you. It's been a long week, my darling girl. What better way to spend time with each other than you, me, some good alcohol and dinner under the stars?"

You'd sipped a mouthful of alcohol from the cup before setting it down on a stable bit along with the bottle and Jake's own before levering yourself into his lap. The kisses you'd shared with him that night had tasted like champagne bubbles and pure joy.

"Not that I mind, pretty girl, but d'you want to tell me what that was for?" You can still remember how his voice sounded.

"It’s been,” You’d peppered another few kisses across his lips and cheeks, “a completely harrowing, disgusting week. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. The worst part is that it felt like no matter what I did, it wasn’t enough. You’ve described it once, you know? The feeling when you’re up in the sky flying supersonic when you go into a turn and the whole world seems to be sitting on your chest? That’s what this week has been like for me. And I can’t. I can’t tell you that it was just one thing weighing on me, because it’s not. It feels like a perfect storm.” You’d buried your face into the crook of his neck after you’d finished speaking, taking in the scent of his detergent, cologne and the ever-present light whiff of jet-fuel embedded in his skin.

“What about now, baby doll?” His big hands feel so good against your back as he massages the tense muscles running down your back. You’re plastered so completely against him that you can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest as he speaks. You shrug, infinitesimally, burrowing even closer to him. Your voice is muffled in the fabric of his shirt as you murmur, “It’s always better with you, Jay. Always. Love you.”

Jake had finally coaxed you out of his arms and into eating some of the food he’d packed. The night had ended with the two of you lying side by side in the bed of the truck looking up at the stars. This far from the city and its light pollution, you can see thousands of pinpricks of light shining in the sky above. You’ve been pointing out the stars for a while when Jake tugs you close. He intertwines your fingers with his before pulling your hand to his mouth. You can feel the prickling tug of his stubble against the soft skin and the dampness of his lips. He kisses your digits carefully before tugging you in until you’re curled into his chest.

“Gorgeous girl, you changed my life the day I met you.” Your resulting huff is disbelieving.

“I’m serious!  When we met, I wouldn’t say that I was at a low in my life, not necessarily, but I did feel like something was missing. That missing piece, that was you. Baby Doll, I knew I was going to fall for you completely the first word you spoke. One day, one day soon, I’m going to take you home. To Texas. I want you to meet my mama, my brothers and sisters. They’re going to love you as much as I do.” 

Jake was going to say something more that night, but in truth, you’d been so blown away by him that all you’d been able to think of was making him feel your love. That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to an indecent exposure charge, fucking Jake in the bed of his truck and waking up in the early morning light completely naked in his arms.

It’s silent in the house as you walk in, not bothering to turn on any lights. As you fall into bed just wearing one of Jake’s old tees and a pair of panties, you make a fervent promise to yourself and anyone who’s listening. You’re going to see Jake’s smile again, hear his voice again. When you do, you’re going to let him take you home, because you love him, and he needs to know how much you do.

The next three weeks you spend in Jake’s hospital room. The doctors and nurses in the post-anaesthesia care unit get to know you intimately. It helps that for much of the day while you’re there, you’re mostly quiet, typing away on your laptop while attending the occasional meeting, allowing the doctors to do their thing unimpeded. Jake’s condition doesn’t change. The doctors check on him every day, monitoring his brain waves and ensuring that none of the surgical sites are becoming infected. But no matter what they do, he stays lost in a dream world that nobody can pull him from.

The doctors ensure you over and over again that he’ll wake up when he’s ready. You can see the immense amount of sympathy in their eyes each day when they can’t offer you anything but empty platitudes. Three days after Jake’s admittance to the hospital you finally break down and call his mom. It hadn’t felt right, keeping such big, potentially life-altering news from her.

Georgia Marie Seresin is just as Jake had described her. She’d descended on San Diego with all of the force of a Category 5 hurricane not even a day after you’d called her. If you’d had the presence of mind to notice the resemblance you’d have giggled at how much Jake reminds you of her. You’re not sure what you’d expected when you’d called her but it definitely had not been to face the brunt of her mothering. She’d hugged you tight and thanked you for taking care of her son for so long by yourself. 

“It’s alright now, sweet thing. Mama Georgie’s here.” She’d held you tight as the tears had welled in your eyes. “We’re going to take care of our boy. Now that I’m here, we’re going to get you taken care of as well.”

Her first order of business had been to take you home, leaving Jake’s eldest brother Will to sit in the room with him while she got you into a shower and some home-cooked food to eat. She brings your house to life in minutes. You haven’t been all too terrible in taking care of yourself. In fact whenever you’d felt yourself slipping, you’d been hearing Jake’s voice chiding you into doing better. You’d give anything to hear it again in person, perhaps with the addition of a six foot tall aviator draping himself over your back while muscling you out of the kitchen with a kiss or two or five.

Thankfully, Mama Georgie, as she’s insisted you call her despite your protests, pretends not to notice how you fall apart in your bedroom every night. Or how your eyes go all misty and faraway whenever you catch Will’s silhouette out of the corner of your eyes. It’s a relief having them here. They give you hope that Jake’s going to wake up. Maybe you did it backwards, meeting his mom and brother before you were ready, and definitely before he was. But if there is anybody who deserves to be surrounded with the people he loves when he’s hurting, it’s Jake. Having Mama Georgie and Will in San Diego helps, especially when work upticks and all of a sudden you’re spending more time trapped in your home office working on what feels like everything under the sun when you’d rather be with Jake. 

You’re at the end of your rope the day Jake wakes up. You’d been on calls working since about 3 AM. You’d been so frazzled that you hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to Mama Georgie and Will when they left at about 10 in the morning. When you get the call at 4 in the afternoon, you nearly don’t pick up. But you’re so thankful you do, because even as Mama Georgie tells you Jake is awake, you can hear Jake in the background. His voice is hoarse and barely there, but you can recognize it from a mile away.

It takes you an inhuman amount of control to finish the last hour of work you have and run to the hospital. You’re white-knuckling the steering wheel of your car, forcing yourself not to speed the entire way there. You park the car in what is the sloppiest parking job you’ve done since you were first learning to drive and run into the hospital. You can’t prevent the way your body sags against the door frame when you see Jake propped up in the hospital bed. He’s pale and covered in bandages, but he’s the best sight you’ve seen in months. Mama Georgie’s fluttering around him, fluffing up his pillows and making sure he’s comfortable. 

It's Jake who notices you first, smiling that gorgeous grin you missed so much at you. 

"Hey, my gorgeous girl! Four months and the first time you see me and I don't even get a kiss and a hug?" His voice is teasing even as you can hear the hoarseness from where he'd been intubated not long ago.

You don't even register Mama Georgie or Will walking past, you're that fixated on Jake. His eyes haven't left your face once, not even when you're sitting in the chair by his bed. You're inexplicably afraid to touch Jake right now. Over the past weeks you've had many nightmares, most of which ended with Jake disappearing at your touch. As with most things in your relationship, Jake takes the lead by carefully dragging his knuckles across your cheek. At the first tender touch, your eyes well and you can't help your sobs as you take his hand. His eyes widen as tears spill in hot trails down your cheeks.

"Aww, hey Gorgeous. I'm alright. I'm going to be okay." His words just make you sob harder. He brushes your tears away before tugging you up, despite your protests, to perch on the side of his hospital bed.

"What're you doing, Jay?" Your voice is stuffy and confused as you look down into his face. From your new vantage point you can see the exhaustion weighing on him as well as the stiff way he's moving as he looks at you.

"Give me your hand?" You place your hand in his and relish in the heat of his skin as he splays your fingers over his heart. You can feel his warmth even through the hospital gown. "D'you feel that gorgeous? That's my heart, beating for you. I'm still here. I hurt like I got run over by a herd of the cattle we have at the ranch, but I'm here. I'm going to heal up and be as good as new in no time at all, okay?"

His voice goes soft and gentle as he cups your cheek. "So no more crying, baby doll. Now why don't you get over here and give me a kiss, hmm? I've been on a ship in the middle of nowhere with only dreams of you for company for months. You're not going to let a sailor live in these conditions while eating hospital food, now are ya?"

Your resulting giggle is strangled as you carefully press your lips to his. You can’t help kissing him over and over again. You keep the kisses feather-light before drawing back and resting your forehead gently against his. Your voice is a whisper as you murmur, "I love you, Jake. So much. Don't you ever, ever do this again, Jake. Finding out you'd been hurt was the worst day of my life."

"I know, baby doll. I'm sorry. I didn't intend on getting hurt. Forget getting hurt so badly. Can you ever forgive me?" His words make you gasp and shake your head. As if he were to blame. 

It's as you settle back into the chair by his bedside that you respond with one word. "Always."

His smile is tired and soft as he murmurs back, "I love you." You sit in that chair watching as his face smooths, the lines fading as he drifts off to sleep. You press another kiss against his lips and settle in to watch over him. Jake's safe and home. There’ll be rough times ahead as he heals, but you can rest now.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[becauseplot]

I wrote a thing! Spoilers up through Ordem Paranormal: Calamidade episode 11. Ao3 link provided in the title for those who wish to read it there.

After The Storm

An AU where Joui surives. The Order and its allies have returned to the Leone Mansion after successfully containing Kian. As they wait for news of a hospital they can take their critically injured to, Arthur has decided to clean the blood off of Joui's face. Was written between watching episodes 11 and 12, so all of the background details here were written based on assumptions I made before watching the true resolution in ep 12. Basically, things aren't going to perfectly align with canon, and it's perfectly safe to read if you've watched only up to 11. Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Happy/Hopeful Ending, Late-Night Conversations, Major Character Injury, Implied Suicidal Character. More tags on the Ao3 link <3 (Note that if there have been edits made to this, the most up-to-date version will be on Ao3, so I recommend reading it there if you can.)

3:49 in the morning. Arthur turns off the tap and lifts the dish of warm water out of the sink with a freshly rinsed cloth rag bunched beneath it. He turns around to face the three occupied beds behind him. Two sleeping, one dozing. His steps are careful as to not squeak on the tile as he crosses the room, drags the wheeled stool into the right stop with his foot, and gently lowers himself into it. It creaks as his weight settles on it. He grunts and breathes through the smarting aches as his weight settles on those, too. The bowl goes on the roller cart with the other medical instruments. The rag goes hanging off the lip of it.

Arthur faces forward again. He stifles a yawn behind his hand, scrubs his face up and down. He stares for a moment. A steady rise and fall. Out of the corner of his eye, a silent heart rate monitor blinks in the dimmed fluorescent light. The overlapping sounds of triage, damage control, and debriefs reach his ears muffled by the infirmary’s walls and gently shut doors. 

There are a lot of things that Arthur could be doing right now. Helping Carla and Renan manage the injured downstairs. Helping Dominic and Yuki organize those who are well enough into watch groups. Helping Ivete clean and take stock of their remaining weapons. Helping Mister Veríssimo and Dante plan their next move in regards to transporting Kian back to Brazil and handling the looming threat of the Devil. 

Instead, Arthur settles into his stool. He reaches over, flips the rag into the bowl, lifts it in his fist, and squeezes out the excess. The droplets plink in soft staccato. He shakes the rag around in his hand until he’s certain he has a proper grip on it, and reaches forward.

Yes, there are a lot of things that Arthur could be doing right now. This, though? This he needs to do. And Dante knew that when he passed Arthur the cloth and dish half an hour ago and said, “Take care of him for us. We’ll deal with everything else for now.”

He starts at Joui’s cheek. The left corner of his mouth. It’s a torn-up mess, probably cut by his own teeth from a hard punch across his jaw. Arthur dabs at the mangled skin with the rag as he carefully cleans away the layers of blood and dirt caked to him in a sickly mud. 

He’s just as gentle with Joui’s face as he was when he cleaned around his collarbones and neck: short, light passes of the rag with his fingers, even if the stain is stubborn, and no messing with the straps of the spinal board they put him in. The last thing he wants is to cause any more damage, nor cause Joui any more pain. Joui has had enough of that tonight; plenty of times, in fact, over and over, relentlessly, driving forward again and again and again with a hatred so deep and bloody it could—

Arthur inhales through his nose, sudden air in his lungs. Someone in the hall shouts a name,  French answers, and boots march down the stairs. Arthur comes back to himself and dabs away the last of the grime, finally revealing the corner of Joui’s mouth: mangled and scarring from a desperate ritual on Dante’s part, yes, but a warm tone. There you are. Still here. Arthur adjusts his rag in his grip and starts up by Joui's cheekbone.

A moment later, when Arthur’s gentle poking creeps a little too close to his eye, Joui’s face twitches. Some of that exhausted morphine haze seems to clear. Joui takes a deep breath, as if waking up. 

Arthur pauses in his motions. Quiet relief blooms in his chest. He knows it’s just an effect of the exhaustion and the morphine, but sitting here with his friend staring up at nothing, eyes glazed over and hardly blinking… Arthur prefers his moments of lucidity, if only so that he can check in with him. “Joui?”

A single dark eye flicks to him. “Mm?”

“With me again?”

“Mm-hm.” Before Arthur can even ask how he’s feeling, Joui starts to flex his shoulders and arms, fidgeting in the straps of the spinal board.

Oh, no, bad. “Hey, hey, hey.” He drops the damp rag on the side of the bed and runs his hand up and down Joui’s arm as gently as he can. “Easy. You hurt your neck, remember? Carla says you shouldn’t be moving much right now.”

Joui stops straining. He exhales. “...But my face itches.”

Arthur blinks, and despite everything, he feels his lips twitch up at Joui’s tone: sulky. Arthur will take his sulkiness any day. He’s missed it, even. After all of Joui’s broken cries of pain when they were trying to carry him away from—well. Doesn’t matter. Sulky is good. “I know. I’m working on it, I promise.”

Joui manages a weak smile. “Thank you,” he croaks.

“‘Course.” Arthur gives Joui’s arm a little pat before picking up his rag, dabbing around Joui’s cheekbone once more and steering clear of his injured eye. “They would do this at the hospital too, I guess, but—we’re still not sure when that’s going to happen. Better to do it now than keep you laying here with an itchy face, right?”

“Carina hasn’t…?”

Arthur gives his head a slow shake. He exhales, “No, no confirmation from her family’s contact yet. They’re not sure about getting rooms that are…discreet, you know?”

Arthur pauses, thinking. His eyes stray down to Joui’s neck, still discolored despite the ritual (a massive fist completely encircling his throat bruising grip dangling like a puppet with its strings cut) before he catches himself. He unclenches his fist in the rag and starts wiping up by Joui’s temple. “We might just have to take you in anyway. I mean, they took Fabrício while we were at the Coliseum, but…”

“Devil,” Joui mumbles.

“Devil,” Arthur agrees. They’re still not sure what the Devil’s threat entails, nor where the Escriptas who retreated ran off to. As of right now, it’s not a good idea for them to go anywhere in small groups or without their weapons—and there’s just too many eyes in a hospital to accommodate that. 

Arthur flips his rag around to a clean spot and moves towards Joui’s ear. “Though, the sooner we can get someone to do a proper X-ray of your neck, the better. I think…if Carina hasn’t heard back by the time I finish here, we’ll just take you in and figure it out when we get there.”

Joui frowns as much as he’s able. “It’s not safe.”

You, being here, like this, is not safe, Arthur’s mind hisses. Not safe. Not safe enough. Not. Safe. Your neck should be broken, you could still—

“We can discuss it with the others when the time comes,” Arthur says. Stop it. “In any case, no matter what we do, you need to be seen by a professional with the right equipment.” He finishes cleaning around the curve of Joui’s ear and brings his rag back to rinse it out in the bowl. Red muddies the water, turns it darker in the dim light of the infirmary. “How’s the face? Any less itchy?”

“Mm. Kinda.”

“Nothing I’m doing hurts, right? Is the morphine working?”

“You’re fine. And it…” Joui's face tightens. “I still feel it. The pain. But. Could be worse.”

Arthur scowls to himself. It’s not fair. If he could at least shoulder some of Joui’s pain, finally grant him some much-deserved relief, he would do it in a heartbeat. But that’s not possible. So instead he lifts the rag and squeezes—hard enough that his hand shakes, but that’s neither here nor there. The water droplets plink in the quiet once again, serene. He smooths his expression and looks at Joui. “You tell me if anything I do hurts, okay?”

“Okay.”

And Arthur resumes his work. Across the expanse of Joui’s other cheek now, where Arthur knows his X-shaped scar is. He takes his time. 

Joui’s one working eye stares up at the ceiling, half-lidded. Arthur thinks that he’s zoned out again, but then he speaks, quiet: “...Is it bad?”

Arthur stops. “What, your face?”

“Mm-hm.”

Arthur looks at the state Joui’s face is in and thinks for a long moment. Dante stopped things from getting worse, but it’s not like that ritual can reverse damage done: nose bent at a wrong angle, lips warped where they’ve torn, teeth missing on the left side of his jaw—not to mention his right eye is wrinkled shut in a way that can’t mean anything good for opening it again.

(It was bad. Horrific. Chilled him to the bone, God, the sight of him…)

But they’re half-scarred, now, thanks to Dante’s ritual. Beneath Arthur’s stained rag, he can more clearly see the X-shaped scar on Joui’s cheek, now clean of grime. Old wounds. Near-misses. Nearly, nearly, nearly…

Arthur pats his hand on Joui’s clean cheek. He doesn’t shake. “I think you're as pretty as ever, Joui.”

Joui huffs and squints his working eye at Arthur, but there’s just the slightest twitch in the corner of his mouth. Arthur smiles too. 

Eventually, though, Joui looks away. 

“It’s bad,” Joui whispers. “I know.”

Arthur feels his own smile die. 

(Again and again and again, head snapping back with the force of it every single time, blood flying with every impact.)

“A bit,” he croaks.

A beat.

“It—” Arthur breathes in. “It looks a little better. Now that there’s less blood on you.”

(There had been so much blood. So much fucking blood. His face, his neck, his shoulders, the dirt beneath him. Drenched in it.)

“...Arthur?”

His hand is resting on Joui’s cheek.

(Dropped. Crumpled on the floor. A heap of red in the shape of his friend.)

His hand is resting on Joui’s cheek. 

“Yeah?” he says.

Joui doesn’t answer. He closes his eye.

3:57 in the morning. It’s quiet in the infirmary. Arthur takes the rag and drapes it over the lip of the water dish. Then, he places his hand over Joui’s hands where they’re folded limply over his stomach. He runs his thumb over Joui’s knuckles, all the burns and nicks and scars.

“What is it, Joui,” Arthur murmurs, so low that it doesn’t come out as  a question, not quite. “What are you thinking.”

Joui draws in a deep breath. It whistles past his lips. “When Kian was…hitting me,” Joui starts, a murmur. “It was… I saw something.”

Oh, God. Arthur plants his feet on the floor. He leans in to hear Joui better. “What did you see?”

“My family. We were at the airport again, in Japan. The day I left for Brazil.” Another deep breath. It shudders. “My sister… She looked back when they were leaving me at the terminal.”

“Your…” Arthur draws a blank. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” 

“We’re not—close. But. That day...she looked back when my parents didn’t and I-I…”

Joui’s eye opens, and tears spill over. Rivulets through the dried blood on the side of his head that disappear into his hair. His voice is thick. He looks right at Arthur, his gaze inescapable.

“I-I realized…someone loved me. That my family loved me. I wasn’t alone. And—And it was because Liz was there.”

Arthur swallows. His heart is pounding. “Joui.”

“And Kaiser. And Thiago.”

Arthur feels everything inside of him trembling. “Joui.”

“I knew we won, I knew Kian was desperate, I knew we would stop him, but—they were standing next to me, Arthur. They were smiling at me. I didn’t know what to think, I-I thought I was—”

Arthur doubles over with a ragged gasp. 

“I know,” he chokes. “I know, I know, I know, please, you—you don’t have to say it.”

(What else was Arthur supposed to think, seeing Joui like that? What other conclusion could he have drawn? For seven terrible, blood-blurred minutes, the world had ended all over again.)

Arthur’s forehead comes to rest on the edge of the mattress, and his hand clutches both of Joui’s tighter than it should. There is no stopping the tears, no way in hell, so instead he just focuses on swallowing back what he can and weathering the wave of feargriefpain rolling through him—breathe, in and out, it’ll pass, it always passes; that doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it always passes. 

What makes him finally come back to himself, though, is the sound of Joui sniffling, and the feeling of one of Joui’s hands slipping out of his and coming to rest on top of his head, shaky fingers in messy hair. 

Arthur pulls himself together with a gulp of air. He sits up, takes Joui’s hand from his head and presses Joui’s knuckles to his forehead. He closes his eyes. “God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have cut you off—you’re the one who nearly died, I should—”

“Shut up,” Joui whispers back. It’s sharp but not cruel, not in the slightest. His voice trembles, thick with tears. “I missed you too. I was scared too.”

“I really thought you had died, Joui.”

“I did too.”

Arthur chokes back a sudden sob. “Fuck.” He brings Joui’s hand down a little lower, closer to his nose and lips, and looks up at his friend. Joui’s eye gleams with tears in the dim light. His face, beaten and still half-bloodied, is drawn with deep lines of pain and exhaustion. 

Joui’s hand, held in Arthur’s, smells of salt, and dust, and warm, fresh water.

Arthur closes his eyes. Here. Still here. Despite everything, still here. Not gone yet. Still here. It is the kindest thing they have been granted in a very, very long time. 

“I thought—” Joui starts. He pauses to sniff. Arthur looks at him and sees the way his chest shudders with every breath. “I thought that was it. You know? I-I thought I was—done for. Done. So…” Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, weak and sad. “I think…I don’t know what to do now.”

“You rest,” says Arthur.

Joui swallows. “I’m tired, Arthur.”

“You rest,” says Arthur. “You get better. Okay? And the moment you’re well enough, we’ll go back to Brazil, and you can stay with Ivete and I. Kai—” He takes a fortifying breath. “Kaiser’s room is still open. We left it in case…well. I know he would want you there. And we want you there too.”

Arthur squeezes his hand again. Not the desperate, bruising grip from before; just a quiet reminder.

“We’re okay. We stopped Kian. I think we’re almost there, Joui, and—you’ve done a lot for us. Just get some rest. Get better, feel better. That’s what you do now. Leave the rest of it to me, okay?”

The moment stretches. Arthur closes his eyes again. Nothing reaches him save for the sound of his and Joui’s ragged breaths. 

Then, a pressure around his hand. Arthur opens his eyes to find Joui looking back at him, a try at a smile on his lips.

“Okay,” Joui whispers, his voice impossibly small. “I…I’d like that. To stay with you.”

Strangely, Arthur feels like crying again. But it’s not anguish that is creeping up his throat. No, not this time. “The room is yours. We’ll get you home, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Joui says. “For…everything.”

“Bah,” Arthur replies with a smile. He doesn’t quite stop the stray tears that spill over. “Look who’s talking, huh? No—of course, Joui. Always.”

Arthur squeezes Joui’s hand again, because he can, and Joui squeezes back. 

A beat, and Arthur releases him. He scrubs his hand over his eyes, collecting himself. He stifles a yawn. “Alright. Let’s get your face clean, yeah?” He reaches for the rag on the bowl.

“You deserve rest too, you know,” Joui says. “ You’re hurt. It’s been a long day.”

Arthur’s hand pauses on the rag. (And an even longer year.) He flips the rag into the water and starts swishing it around with his fingers. “In a bit. Once things are settled here and you’re in the hands of a doctor, I’ll get some sleep.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. I’ll even have one of the others vouch for me afterwards, if you want me to.”

Joui hums. “Have Ivete do it. Or Dante. They wouldn’t lie to me for you.” 

“And the others would?”

“I don’t know. But they wouldn’t.”

Arthur chuckles softly. “No, they wouldn’t.” Arthur lifts the rag out of the water and squeezes, listens to the droplets run back down into the bowl. “Soon, Joui. Just a little longer.”

4:02 in the morning. Joui closes his eye with a long, steady sigh. The heart rate monitor continues its silent rhythm, the noise of the Order continues its muffled beat against the walls, and Arthur lifts the rag to Joui’s forehead, wicking away the last of the blood there. 

Not gone. Not yet. And that’s all Arthur will ever ask for. 

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Hospital staff and those sheltering inside Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Yunis pass water tanks on to civilians outside the complex using a rope mechanism and cart to avoid being shot by Israeli soldiers. Previously, as can be seen from the puddles of blood on the ground, a woman attempting to enter the hospital earlier in the day was shot and killed by Israeli snipers on the rooftops, who openly fire on anything that moves near the hospital.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚨

💥VIOLENT FIREBELTS IN RAFAH AND KHAN YUNIS ON 124TH DAY OF ISRAEL'S WAR OF GENOCIDE💥

Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) launched several violent firebelts across the southern Gaza Strip Wednesday, on the 124th day of Israel's ongoing war of genocide against the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip.

Occupation aircraft launched a series of intensive firebelts on the western and eastern sections of Rafah, resulting in the deaths of at least 12 citizens and the wounding of several others, while additional victims remain missing under the rubble.

IOF warplanes launched violent raids on the Al-Zuhur neighborhood, north of Rafah, targeting a civilian residence that killed a mother and daughter, while at the same time, occupation naval forces fired shells towards the city's coastline.

Meanwhile, the United Nations is warning that the Israeli occupation intends an invasion of Rafah governate, with the UN Office of Humanitarian Affairs is quoted in local media as saying, “any move by Israel to expand its comprehensive invasion of the Gaza Strip to include the densely populated southern city of Rafah may lead to war crimes that must be prevented by all means.”

At the same time, occupation warplanes launched several intensive air raids on the Qaizan al-Najjar neighborhood of Khan Yunis.

In another war crime by the IOF, a woman was killed by Israeli snipers after attempting to enter the Nasser Hospital complex in Khan Yunis City, in the southern Gaza Strip.

As a result of the siege on the Nasser medical complex, and the sniper fire killing anyone trying to enter or exit the compound, hospital staff and humanitarians on the premises give water to thirsting local residents by sending carts with small tanks from the hospital's well across the street by rope to the displaced civilians sheltering outside the hospital grounds.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation army continues with the shelling and bombing of Khan Yunis, where occupation aircraft bombed the Jasser building along with the Bilal Mosque, destroying the mosque completely.

At the same time, back in Khan Yunis, the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) is reporting the death of a 77 year-old senior citizen as a result of a shortage of oxygen tanks at the hospital amid an ongoing siege by Israeli soldiers and armored vehicles. Today marks the 16th consecutive day the hospital remains under siege.

PRCS also reported the transport of 8 casualties as a result of Israeli artillery shelling targeting a civilian residence in the al-Burka neighborhood, south of Deir al-Balah in the central Gaza Strip.

As Israel's Zionist army continues massacreing innocent civilians in the southern Gaza Strip, the Hamas Islamic resistance movement says it has submitted to the Israeli entity its terms for a "framework agreement," known as the "Paris Document" for a hostage release swap, demanding a complete "cessation of [the Israeli] aggression, withdrawal from [the Gaza Strip], and the reconstruction [of the Gaza Strip]," according to Lebanese media.

According to sources, after a meeting with top officials from Egypt, Qatar and France in Paris, Hamas laid out its demands for a prisoner exchange deal, which reportedly includes a framework for a ceasefire, reconstruction in Gaza, and the demand that the United Nations act as guarantor of the first stage of the agreement, when Gaza's displaced are to be given shelter, food and other humanitarian aid, while Hamas says its own firepower will be the guarantor that any agreement not be breached by the occupation army.

In a statement, Hamas added that "No one can dictate to us how the day after the war will be," adding that, "We are steadfast in the basic position of stopping aggression, withdrawal, relief, reconstruction, and lifting the siege, and we await the enemy's response."

As discussions between Hamas, Israel and mediators were ongoing in Paris, the Israeli Occupation Forces launched a barrage of missile strikes towards Syria, targeting several sites in Homs and the surrounding countryside.

According to the Syrian Arab News Agency (SANA), “At approximately 00:30 at dawn on Wednesday, the Israeli enemy launched an aerial attack with missiles from a direction northern of Tripoli, targeting a number of points in the city of Homs and its countryside, and the army air defenses intercepted the aggression’s missiles and shot down some of them.”

Reports in Syrian media say the Israeli missile strikes resulted in the deaths and wounding of several civilians, as well as some losses and damage of public and private property.

As a result of Israel's ongoing war of genocide against the Palestinian people in the Gaza Strip, in excess of 27'585 civilians, mostly women and children, have been martyred in Israeli strikes, while another 66'978 civilians have been wounded and more than 8'000 Palestinians remain missing under the rubble of their homes.

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#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[cranquis]

This might not be the right place to ask but I always appreciate your insight on this hellsite. I recently finished undergrad and have started doing research to hopefully gain some industry knowledge and eventually go to med school. I have worked in emergency medicine for many years and it has really inspired me to pursue medical school with being an EM physician as a tangible end goal. My problem is that now that I am doing research it feels like the ball is going to drop at any moment. Like in clinic I get anxious that my subject will code while we are talking or seeing the paramedics transporting patients raises my heart rate. I feel fine and calm most of the time but I just have this nagging fear that something terrible is going to happen to my subjects or the people around me. And I know that I have clinic RNs and my MD nearby and I know where the crash cart is but it is still stressing me out. I don’t know how to rationalize it as I have never had any real anxiety or fear surrounding my time in the ED.

I guess the root of this question is that you probably saw a lot of intense things during rotations/clerkships/residency that were in high stress environments like the ED, how do you manage that working in an urgent care where things are less life and death most of the time - obviously there are still critically sick/injured people who show up there instead of the ED and the ED is getting the 2a medication refill requests, but I think you know what I mean.

Sorry if this is rambly, I just haven’t been able to see my ED people in a while and I can’t really talk about this sort of thing with many people outside of them. Once again I appreciate the insight that you bring to these sort of unique to healthcare situations, it has made dealing with patients and a failing system more bearable over the years.

Hello my aspiring colleague! I think I understand and empathize with where you're coming from.

The more you learn about what can go WRONG with a human body, the more you expect it to go WRONG. Like, any moment now. And when you're surrounded by the sickest of the sick, that starts to seem the norm. You expect This Guy, being transported for subacute cough, to crump... because you've seen other Guys with subacute cough crump.

[Crump: verb; to suddenly decompensate clinically, usually right after you told the attending that the patient looks stable.]

In a similar fashion, when I did my pediatrics rotations in med school and residency, I felt like Mrs Cranquis and I should never ever have children, because "look at all these tragically sick unfortunate children! Look at how suddenly these healthy kids can have an accident or develop symptoms from a hidden congenital condition!" It took a few years to put it into statistical perspective and realize that the odds of having a healthy child are actually better than 50:50.

But regarding your increasing worries that someone will crump in your presence - thankfully, the more you learn about what can GO wrong, and the more times you SEE things go wrong, the more you are also learning about what YOU can do to FIGHT wrong. This helps you fine-tune your anxiety into a Spider-sense -- an ability to be aware that your patient might crump even before they crump, which gives you the time to mentally (and clinically) prep for the worst and take steps to prevent it, to marshal your resources and colleagues and even make a "crump preparedness plan".

In fact, with a few years of experience, you learn to be grateful for that sudden ball of stress in your gut, as your subconscious points out the subtle clues that This Guy needs your full attention.

So I hope this helps give you the oomph to keep on going, friend!

[edupunkn00b]

Mad Lads, Chapter 4: Wounds

Prev - Wounds - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Mad Lads return from their battle with Hesper and now Logan really doesn’t know what to think.

Rated: M - WC: - CW: Hospital, non graphic injuries, medication, swearing. Random guy imprisoned in the basement. -

Rhythmic, high-pitched beeping battered his ears. Eyelids blinked open but soon squeezed shut against the hot pain shooting through his skull and down his spine. “Too bright,” he tried to mumble past his dry throat. No sound came out. He was cold, his arms and legs bare, his favorite hoodie… somewhere else.

The boy shivered and tried to sit up. He could barely move. The ear-piercing beeping sped up, growing syncopatic as he thrashed in what he now realized was a narrow bed with bars on either side. A door hissed open and a tight, warbly voice cried out from the hallway. “Code purple! I need help in here, now! Code purple! He’s awake!”

The room exploded in activity. Gloved hands appeared, grabbing his legs, his arms, his head. He fought back, twisting away from one of them only to push closer to someone on his other side. In the struggle, he yanked out the tubes stuck in both arms and another below his ribs. Someone swore. “He’s gonna need a new central line!”

“Where the fuck am I? What are you doing to me?” The boy’s voice doubled and tripled on itself and two of the nurses fell to the floor, hands pressed to their ears.

“Dammit, they weren’t in PPE,” another voice hissed. “Get them out of here.”

He squinted against the lights aimed at his eyes. He could just make out the figures in the room. Eight or nine adults surrounded his bed. Each wore hospital scrubs, bonnets like the ones on the vidscreens. Thick goggles hid most of what little skin poked out above their face masks.

They all wore bright orange earmuffs.

The boy craned his neck and saw two more people in green scrubs sprawled on the floor, unconscious. He shivered. Dead? The others in the room simply stepped over them as they rushed about, toting bags of fluid and instrument trays. One of them wheeled a silver cart next to the bed. The top was covered in shiny metal tools, curved and sharp. They picked up a tool with a long handle and a jagged, glinting tip.

Before he could even think about it, the boy ripped one arm away and out of the restraints. He shoved the nurse with the sharp thing away from him. “Don’t touch me! Don't fucking touch me!" The other staff began to back away as he used his free arm to tug and pull at his other restraints.

“Now, Mr. Morado, calm down. Everything will be fine. We just need you to—”

“Fuck that! ” He leapt out of the bed and was at the door before he finished the first word. How the— He shook his head. It didn’t matter. “I’m getting out of here and you’re not touching me with—”

He ran smack into someone in the hallway. At the speed he was moving, he should’ve knocked him right off his feet. Instead the man stood tall and smiled down at him with firm, gentle, multi-chromatic eyes.

“Hush now, child. Everything’s going to be alright.” Smooth and honey sweet, the man’s voice filled his ears and his mind. It blocked out the sound of the hospital PA system, the frightened shouts coming from behind the nurse’s station, even his own heart thudding in his chest. He looked down, bare feet slipping in the blood pouring from his abdomen where he’d ripped out the tangle of tubes and wires.

The boy’s vision blackened at the edges. He stumbled closer to the man and fell into his arms as the darkness fell over him.

“Everything's going to be alright, child,” Janus promised again. He cradled the boy in his arms close to his chest, then carried him back to his bed.

~

Janus sat in the last row of the Mad Lads’ transport and put up a low-esper interference field. None of them were happy about the way Hesper had slipped away, but Janus of all people should’ve known it had been little more than a honeypot.

Not a trap meant to hurt them, of course. No, never that. Hesper’s fucking principles meant he’d never stoop so low as to actually harm them.

Harm others, though? Harm anyone who, in his twisted little balance sheet had done enough damage that their death had sufficient… utils? No, that Janus wouldn’t—couldn’t—put past him.

No. No, today’s alarm had merely been Hesper testing out the boundaries of their monitoring, with the CarbonEx board of directors the sticky bait that kept them busy long enough for him to get away. Janus knew that move.

He’d taught him that move.

So Janus kept up the interference field. The rest of the team had no need to bear the weight of his own self-admonishment. In these tight quarters, with everyone’s senses dialed up to eleven with the adrenaline of the fight… Janus’ guilt spilling over into their minds would be inevitable without it.

“Hey, Jan?”

Janus cracked one eye open. Virgil had slid into the seat next to him, a security screen in his hands. “Something wrong at HQ?” Dammit, maybe this wasn’t over yet.

“No, it’s not Hesper.” Virgil was near enough now to hear some of his worries. “We’re safe, it’s…” He frowned and handed him the screen. It was zoomed in to the main room, three different cameras spliced together to show a 280° interior view of the main door. Splashed across the screen was Machina, well, Logan, briefly dangling from his mech before falling to the floor with enough force to jostle one of the cameras.

Janus gasped when the mech fell toward him, letting out a sharp breath when it hit the wall instead. It was eerily reminiscent of the video of his attack at the DC. He could only imagine what it had been like through Logan’s eyes.

It was only then he realized the feed was silent. “Are the sound pick-ups damaged?”

“It’s not live…” He shook his head, eyes fixed on Logan as he clawed his way out from the gap between his mech and the wall. “I… I muted the recording,” he finally explained with a shudder.

They watched him struggle to open his chair and climb up into it. “Pat?” Janus called up to the front of the transport. There was nothing but green-blue sea out the viewport. “How far out are we?”

“About an hour from HQ. All those hops chasing his signal took us a ways out in the boonies.” He swiveled in his seat. “Everything okay?”

The rose growing in Roman’s palm disappeared and his head jerked up at the concern in Patton’s voice. Janus was quick to nod. “Everything’s fine,” he lied. “What’s the delay on this?” he asked Virgil when the others seemed at least temporarily mollified by his answer.

“Twenty minutes,” he shrugged. He tapped at the screen and the video feed replayed at triple speed until it slowed, the camera angles automatically tracking Logan’s movement from the common room to the medbay. “This is live.”

They watched as he cleaned the wound at the back of his head, wincing at the bright red seeping through the gauze. “Pain killers are too high for him to reach like that,” Janus muttered. “Why didn’t he use the mech?”

“It doesn’t fit.” Virgil shook his head. “I saw him try it when I rolled back the recording.”

Janus nodded, eyes fixed on the video feed. Virgil patted his hand and shrugged. “Hold on to that.” He smiled, or at least tried to, and jerked his head toward the front of the transport. “I’ll go keep them company.”

“Thank you, Virge,” Janus murmured as he left, and watched Logan finish up, then roll down the dormitory hall. He tapped the screen to kill the feed. With the base’s impact detection and other internal alarms, they’d be alerted if Logan needed help. Janus didn’t need to spy as he went to his room to rest. They’d be back soon.

~

Logan had just made it back to the ground level when a bell dinged in the common room. Moving slowly, he rolled down the hall and peered out just as the floor opened and the Mad Lads climbed back up the way they’d left.

No-one appeared to be injured, though they moved slowly, staying close to each other. The Prince leaned in to the little back rub Patton gave him, and Ultraviolet nodded when Silvertongue gripped his shoulder and gave him a tight smile. Faces drawn and stiff, they looked exhausted.

Or dejected.

“How about I make us all something to drink?” Patton said, putting on a smile.

The Prince collapsed face down on the couch with a groan. “That sounds nice, Padre,” he mumbled. Silvertongue settled in a chair near the main door, fingers steepled. He didn’t speak aloud to anyone, but silence could mean anything from him.

Plopping down near The Prince’s head, Ultraviolet played with his hair and smiled up at the last standing Mad Lad. “Yeah, thanks, Pat.”

Patton tilted his head and looked right at Logan, dashing his hope that he might have been unnoticed from his vantage point. “I hope you’ll join us, Machina,” he said with a rapid nod.

Four sets of eyes locked on to him.

“If—if it wouldn’t be an imposition,” he nodded. Until he understood who they’d imprisoned in the basement—and why— he needed to keep up the appearance of a grateful if reluctant guest. “Per—perhaps I may be of service i—in the kitchen?”

“Oh, Kid—Machina, sorry,” Patton winced. “I haven’t finished reorganizing the kitchen… it’s, uh…”

Silvertongue turned to look at him, his eyes lingering briefly at the reddish brown stain near the door. Dammit, he hadn’t noticed the blood. “The kitchen is not yet accessible for you,” Silvertongue murmured. “But perhaps you will allow me to examine your wound?”

“It—it—it’s nothing, I…” he shrugged. Ultraviolet’s eyes darted over to his mech sitting in the corner. They know. How could they know?

“Security cameras,” Silvertongue murmured and rose to his feet.

“Y—you’ve been watch—watching me?”

“No.” Ultraviolet shook his head. “Well, not intentionally. The system noted an impact against the door and pinged me. I checked the feeds and… We saw you get hurt.”

“I turned it off when you went down the hall to your room,” Silvertongue added. “Bedrooms and bathrooms do not have cameras.”

The Prince mumbled something too quiet for him to hear and Logan nodded. “I see.” Silvertongue was still standing, waiting for permission to check his head. “Can I say no?”

“Of course you may,” he purred. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Logan searched their faces. Patton gave him a little smile then excused himself to the kitchen. A mix of annoyance and guilt flashed over Ultraviolet’s face and he turned away. The Prince… The Prince wouldn’t even look at him.

He nodded. “I suppose it would be wise.”

Silvertongue actually smiled and led him to the medbay.

~

Thankfully, the medbeds were eminently adjustable and Logan could set it to a comfortable height so he could move himself onto one, sparing him the indignity of Silvertongue picking him up like a child. Or an invalid.

Without your suit, though, isn’t that exactly what you are?

Silvertongue wasted no time and worked quietly, muttering quiet apologies when his probing drew a pained sound from the back of Logan’s throat. “You did a good job cleaning the wound. I apologize we did not have the foresight to properly equip the lower shelves and drawers.” He paused, and Logan stiffened at the light brush against his mind, mental fingers checking if a wire was live the old-fashioned—and dangerous—way.

Silvertongue retreated and spoke his question aloud. “I am… surprised to see you out of your mech. Is the chair more comfortable?”

“Y—well…” Logan shifted on the table, fighting to reconcile the gentleness of Silvertongue’s touch and words with the man imprisoned in the basement. They would be able to see what had happened on the video, might have already seen his aborted exploration in the suit. “It doesn’t fit through the doorways.”

“Ah,” he breathed.

“It’s fine,” Logan muttered. “I’ll make do.”

Silvertongue nodded and continued his examination. When he was done, he moved to the counter and opened two drawers. “We ordinarily keep excess supplies in the lower drawers, but we don’t have any pain killers within reach.” Within your reach, he didn’t speak, but the thought echoed through his mind just the same. “Would moving them here be acceptable to you?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, too surprised to consider his answer. “Than—thank you.”

He tinkered with the contents of the top shelf for a moment and finally pulled down a large kit. “Perhaps there are be other items in here you would find useful.” He unzipped the cover and laid out creams and ointments, tiny bottles of various pills. “Do you take any regular medications?”

“I… I had been prescribed a nerve blocker.” Logan shook his head. “Dialadine. I stopped once the supply from the hospital ran out. It’s… cost prohibitive.”

Nodding, Silvertongue tapped a screen on the inner cabinet door. “Anything else?”

“I—ibuprofen,” he stuttered. Silvertongue pulled a large bottle down from the cabinet. “A—and vitamin D.”

He tapped at the screen again, but when Logan fell silent, Silvertongue frowned. “You weren’t prescribed… psychotropics of any kind? Paroxetine? Zenlat? Not even topiramate?”

Shrinking in his chair, Logan shook his head. Did they want to drug him? Maybe they wanted drugs to keep the prisoner in the basement sedated? But they seemed to have no problem obtaining… anything they wanted.

Silvertongue was staring at him. “Your doctors prescribed you nothing for PTSD?”

“Insurance would only cover what was strictly medically necessary.”

Silvertongue swore and a wave of frustration and outrage crashed and fizzled in Logan’s mind.

Not outrage at him, though. Outrage for him. Outrage on his behalf.

It was over in a moment, the traces dancing along the edges of his perception. Silvertongue had folded his hands behind his back and his face was a placid, calm mask. “I know someone, if you’d be willing to meet with him.” He met Logan’s eyes. “You can trust him.”

“I’ll consider it,” Logan promised. “I…” The Mad Lads had left before they’d had any discussions about the logistics of this arrangement. And what his financial responsibilities would be. He looked down at the floor. “I am uncertain how to… contribute.”

Silvertongue paused, then brought the medicine kit to the medbed. “You literally built yourself a mech single-handedly—” Logan’s head shot up, expecting ridicule or disgust to accompany the near pun. But Silvertongue’s smile was warm. “Even before any of this, you demonstrated you have the heart of a hero, you’re brave, and you keep your head in the heat of the moment.”

Logan’s face warmed and his mouth went dry, unsure how to handle such open praise.

“I am certain your skills will come in handy with the team.”

He worked his mouth for several long seconds before he finally managed to whisper. “Th—thank you. I—” His deeper concern was not yet answered. “I…” He looked around the medbay. “I imagine HQ is expensive to maintain. I… I do not have… financial resources to contribute.”

“Oh.” Silvertongue blinked, confusion painted across his face, then he smiled again. “Oh! Machina, no. No-one expects that of you. Between Patton and I and the occasional income from various missions… we have it covered. We’re a team.”

Logan stared, the praise, the promise of no longer needing to worry about how he’d afford medicine or food… It was dizzying.

It was almost enough to forget his questions about the prisoner in the basement. Was he really allowed to say ‘no?’ Was the man downstairs the last person who turned down a position on their team?

Silvertongue misinterpreted his hesitance. “You’ve had a lot to absorb. Here.” He turned the kit and set a few bins from the drawer next to it. “Put anything you might find useful in these and we’ll move it to the lower drawers. Take your time, I’ll go check on Patton’s progress.”

He nodded dumbly and managed a small smile before he pulled out anything he recognized from the medicine kit, and a few things he’d only heard of, and organized them in the trays.

His questions would have to wait for another day.

[tieflingkisser]

A long wait for water

Rahaf is constantly waiting for water. Early each morning, she goes to a desalination plant in Khan Younis, a southern Gaza city on which Israel has inflicted massive destruction. You can see the long line from afar. There are hundreds of people of all ages. Most of them carry yellow or blue 40-liter jerrycans. Many have come from shelters several kilometers away. They use shopping carts, wheelchairs and even baby strollers to transport their containers.

[...]

Between 24 June and 7 July, about 78,500 cubic meters of water were produced daily for safe drinking and other domestic purposes. That was considerably lower than the 112,000 cubic meters daily average over the previous two weeks. It is estimated that the amount of water available for drinking, washing and preparing food each day in Gaza ranges from two to nine liters per capita. The minimum daily requirement in an emergency is 15 liters per capita. “A lack of clean water can lead to many water quality-related diseases, such as diarrhea and skin diseases,” said Ahmad al-Qudra, a pediatrician at Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Younis. “But simply not having enough water can also lead to dehydration.” “The effects are worse for children, who have weaker immune systems than adults and are more susceptible to dehydration, diarrhea, malnutrition and various diseases, all of which can worsen and pose a threat to their survival.”