#Tw hospital

[st7arlight]

the family group chat gets a text from Damian at 5am while Bruce and Dick are both out of town. this is what happens when you leave a bunch of teenagers in charge of Gotham

[bamsara]

Update: emergency room hospital. Took me back here immediatly and gave me morphine. warm blanket gang

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii!I hope your doing great I saw your requests just opened and I was wondering if you would mind doing a poly emt marauders with a reader that’s in hospital and they don’t know until they’re like bringing in someone in or something and their like why didn’t you tell us and she’s like oh cause I didn’t want you to worry.Something like that if not it’s fine have a good day!!!🌊

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Not super sure if this is accurate since I don’t think paramedics usually spend much time inside the hospital but oh well haha. Hope you have a good day too! <3

cw: hospital/emergency room, mention of broken bone

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 827 words

You’re just on your way out of A&E, feeling sore and shattered and more than a little sorry for yourself, when someone says your name. With an odd mix of relief and trepidation mingling in your chest, you turn. 

Sirius makes it to your first. He takes your face in his hands, eyes scanning it over thoroughly before starting to make their way down your body. “Baby, what’s happened?” 

“Hey,” you say, “what are you doing here?” 

“Um, no.” James gives you a funny-looking smile, amusement tangled up with worry. “It’s fairly normal for us to be here, what are you doing here?” 

“I, um—” 

“Idiots.” Remus bypasses them both, taking your injured hand gently and holding it up where your other boyfriends can see it. “What happened here, lovely?” 

“I broke my finger,” you admit. 

Sirius looks devastated, though with the splint binding your two fingers together you thought it was fairly obvious. “How?” 

“Shut it in my car door.” 

James winces and Remus tsks compassionately, turning your hand so he can see the injured digit from another angle. 

“How long have you been here?” he asks.

You shrug, not quite looking at any of them. “I had to wait a while. A few hours.” 

Remus’ look lets you know your sheepishness isn’t without good reason. “Did you drive yourself like this?” 

You nod meekly. 

“Angel!” James wraps his arms around you, tucking your head underneath his chin, and you go happily. You’ll take his mollycoddling over Remus’ reproachful stare any day. “Why didn’t you call us? I can’t believe you had to sit here all by yourself.” 

“I knew you were busy at work, and I didn’t want to worry you.” Now Sirius is glaring at you, too. You snuggle further into James’ embrace. “It wasn’t so bad.” 

“Did they have to set it?” Sirius asks. 

Your face heats. “Yeah. It was pretty weird-looking when it first happened.” 

James makes a pitiful whining sound. “Poor love.” 

“How long did they tell you it’d take to heal?” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat gentler now. He finally relinquishes your injured hand to Sirius, who starts turning it about and inspecting it in the same manner, like the doctor who splinted it for you might not have done a good enough job. 

“Six to eight weeks,” you say glumly. It already feels annoyingly constraining not being able to bend either of those fingers; you’re not sure how you’re supposed to deal with it for weeks on end. 

The boys exchange a look, and James drops the protective circle of his arms from around you. “I’m going to go find Amelia,” he says, “see if she’s on break.” 

You clutch at his shirt with your good hand. “Don’t leave me,” you whisper. 

Your boyfriend smiles, dropping a kiss on your head. “Sorry, lovie.” 

“I think we ought to feel insulted,” Sirius comments as James walks away. Remus only shrugs. 

He reaches for your face now that it’s not hidden under James’ chin, wiping frownily at something on your cheek. 

“Are you feeling alright now, dove?” he asks, and you veritably liquefy at the tenderness in his voice. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shrug one shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it really wasn’t awful.” 

Sirius gives your wrist an admonishing little squeeze. “You have tear marks on your face,” he contradicts you softly. 

“Oh.” You run a finger under your eyes, feeling your face heat. 

Remus tuts and lets his hand rest against the side of your neck, thumb stroking at your jaw. “We’re only on shift for another hour,” he tells you. “James is finding our friend Amelia so you can stay in the break room with her until we can come back and get you, okay?” 

You shake your head, and his stare hardens but you say anyway, “I don’t need to be babysat. I can get home on my own.” 

“You shouldn’t be driving after having anesthetic.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Wouldn’t they have told me if that were the case?” 

“We don’t want you driving with a numb hand,” Sirius clarifies. When you turn your attention to him, he gives you a stern look. “You should have called us in the first place. Just let us do what we can for you now, okay?” 

You sigh in resignation just as James comes up behind you again. Seeing as no one has taken over hug duty, he wraps both arms around your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Okay,” you tell Sirius. 

“Oh, excellent. All on the same page, are we?” James turns his head to smooch your cheek. “Knew you’d come around, angel. Amelia’s ready for you, so you can hang in the break room until we get back.” 

“Is she going to baby me too?” you joke, letting him steer you towards the hallway. 

“Probably not,” Sirius says, “but don’t you worry, sweetness. We’ll make up for that when we get you home.” 

[sparkle-fiend]

Another scene inspired by “Nothing but the Dead and Dying” by @loveinhawkins

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee woke with a sobbing shout. They quivered and panted, memories hit them as if they were still on the floor at whumper's feet. They felt arms wrap around them and beeping heard overhead; the sound worsened the pounding already in their head. 

"Hey hey hey! It's okay. You got a lot of injuries, you've got to take it slow." Caretaker touched whumpees forehead and put them back against the pillow. They tightly gripped whumpee's hand and the other rested on their chest.

"Wh-where am I? How did I get here?" Whumpee panicked. 

"You're in a hospital. I'm here with you, everything's okay. You're going to be fine..." Caretaker sadly smiled. Whumpee stared up at them with wide eyes, breathing like a wounded animal, gripping the back of caretakers hand with every ounce of strength, which was hardly holding them at all.

Despite caretaker's calm demeanor, whumpee could feel caretaker's hand shaking as much as their own.

"You-" Whumpee breathed, trying to raise their hand to them, but they couldn't.

"Yeah, it's me," Caretaker smiled, collecting their collapsed hand in their own. "I'm here, I'm taking good care of you. You can keep resting, okay?"

Whumpee shook their head no, their body still in fight or flight mode, wanting nothing more but to jump up and assess their surroundings. Caretaker could see their legs twitching and slowly inching off the bed as they sighed and scooted on the bed with them, pushing their legs back to the center.

"No hon, it's too early to be doing that." Caretaker soothed, laying whumpee's head on their shoulder.

It was almost as if as soon as whumeee's cheek settled, they relaxed and their heart rate slowly returned to normal beat by beat. Caretaker looked up at their monitor and sighed with relief watching the numbers stabilize. 

[draw-the-squad-like-this]

Draw your characters like this

[scraps-and-bolts]

I haven't had time to draw them in a while so, Scarabia comp of sketches and finished drawings undercut as there's so many (Mostly crossovers and aus)

[domina-honoribila]

My daughter cut her finger really badly and we're in the ER, please keep her in your prayers. She may have severed a tendon.

Her name is Maria.

Update: she needs surgery on Friday to repair the tendon. She's only 4.

Update Two: she will not need surgery! They think it will heal on its own. Thanks for the prayers!

[serickswrites]

Lie Still

@lurkingwhump gave me such a delightful idea for this little piece

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, rescue, unconsciousness, bed side vigil, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

The world Whumpee lived in was hazy. Hazy and narrow. Logically they knew this meant they weren't going to live much longer, that Whumper had gone too far and cut too deep. Logically they knew that they were bleeding out and would be gone soon. But they were too tired and too cold to care.

They were so tired. They could barely keep their eyes open. Each time their eyes drifted closed, they knew they had to open them again. They couldn't let the last few moments of their life slip away with closed eyes. Even if the world was hazy.

Sounds were muffled and distorted. They thought they had heard Whumper talking to them. Then the sound of a fight. But that didn't make sense. Whumper had them all alone. There was no one else here. Perhaps their mind was playing tricks on them.

But their mind played the cruelest trick of all: Caretaker. They could hear Caretaker calling to them. They began to cry as they realized it was their dying brain trying to soothe them. To give them one last measure of comfort as they faded into oblivion.

"Whumpee, darling, it's ok, you're ok. I've got you," Caretaker murmured in Whumpee's ear.

Whumpee sobbed harder as they lay there, the hallucination of Caretaker stroking their hair as shadows moved in and out of their field of vision. Even though Caretaker was supposed to be a measure of comfort, it hurt Whumpee. Hurt worse than the pain of being cut open repeatedly by Whumper. Hurt more than any torture Whumper had done. Because Caretaker wasn't here, but Whumpee wanted them. Wanted them more than anything.

"Keep your eyes open, darling. You're doing so great. Please, come on. Look at me, Whumpee. I've got you."

Whumpee wanted to look at the hallucination. Wanted to listen to Caretaker's voice. Because even if Caretaker wasn't really here, they were soothed. As Whumpee let themself fade into oblivion, they could have sworn they heard their hallucination crying softly.

***

Caretaker froze the moment they entered into Whumper's torture chamber. Whumpee was restrained to a metal table in the center of the room, their abdomen and chest cut to ribbons, their blood flowing over the edges of the table and onto the floor. The floor was slick with Whumpee's blood.

"What did they do to you, Whumpee?" Caretaker muttered as they hurried over. The medic had called for them to hurry, that they weren't too late, but it was close.

They could see Whumpee was blinking slowly, their breathing shallow. Between the deep slash marks in their body and blood loss, Caretaker knew Whumpee was going into shock. And if they lost consciousness, Caretaker wasn't sure they would wake up. "I'm here, Whumpee."

Whumpee was unresponsive to their words. "Whumpee, darling, it's ok, you're ok. I've got you," Caretaker murmured in Whumpee's ear.

They were unsure where they could touch Whumpee. Between the team of medics working to stabilize Whumpee and all the injuries on their body, Caretaker wasn't sure where wouldn't hurt. They stroked Whumpee's hair and murmured in Whumpee's ear.

"Keep your eyes open, darling. You're doing so great. Please, come on. Look at me, Whumpee. I've got you."

It didn't matter how much they begged Whumpee to keep awake. They knew Whumpee wouldn't be conscious for much longer. Their only hope was that the medic had done enough to stop the bleeding to get Whumpee to the hospital.

But as they watched Whumpee's eyes close, no longer fluttering open, panic gripped Caretaker's heart. As Whumpee took a stuttering breath and went still beneath the medic's hands, Caretaker looked around, desperate to find any help.

"It's ok, Caretaker, I gave them something to make transport easier," the medic reassured Caretaker. "I'm going to try and dress some of these, it's going to hurt. I want them to be comfortable."

As Whumpee was whisked away from them, Caretaker tried to swallow past the lump in their throat. Whumpee would live. Whumpee had to live. Caretaker wouldn't be able to living in a world without Whumpee.

***

"What did they do to you, darling?" Caretaker whispered to the near silent room. They had taken up residence in the chair next to Whumpee's bed the moment the doctor said that they could. Whumpee hadn't woken yet, no one was sure when, or even if, Whumpee would wake up.

The only thing that told Caretaker that Whumpee was still alive was the whirring and hissing of the ventilator and the steady, regular beeps of the heart monitor. Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was alive. They weren't too late. They squeezed Whumpee's hand. "Please come back to me, darling. I'm here. I've got you. Please come back to me."

Death would not be good enough for Whumper. Caretaker was going to rip Whumper apart limb from limb the moment Whumpee was stable enough for them to leave. Caretaker couldn't risk leaving and having Whumpee fade away to nothing.

Caretaker's rage was nearly all consuming. To be angry, to be ready to destroy Whumper felt so much better than to give into the terror that had been gripping Caretaker's heart since they found Whumpee. Since they nearly lost Whumpee.

Whumpee was strong. They were a fighter. Caretaker kept reassuring themself that Whumpee would wake soon. That Whumpee would be ok. That they would heal. They wouldn't lose Whumpee. Whumpee would be ok.

Caretaker didn't want to imagine what would happen otherwise.

***

"Darling, you have to stay in bed," Caretaker urged Whumpee four days later.

Whumpee lay against the pillows, their face glistening with sweat. But they had the look of determination on their face that Caretaker knew was dangerous. "Darling, you are still so weak. Please, please lay back."

"I....I am tired of....being in bed." Whumpee's speech was still stilted, every word and effort for them to get enough breath to speak. Whumper had injured their lungs. Whumpee was determined to stand today. They pushed off again and tried to rise.

"Darling, you will tear your stitches. Please, lay back. For me?" Caretaker put a gentle hand on Whumpee's shoulder and guided them back down to the pillows.

Whumpee didn't want to admit it, but Caretaker was right. They were so exhausted. What little energy they had evaporated with their attempt to sit up in bed. "Maybe....maybe I....could nap....for a while."

Caretaker smiled softly at Whumpee. "I think that's a great idea, darling." Caretaker took Whumpee's hand in their and squeezed. "I'll watch over you. Rest, please, darling."

Whumpee's eyelids slipped closed as they could no longer fight the weight. "Love you," Whumpee muttered as sleep claimed them again.

"I love you, too," Caretaker said as they leaned down and kissed Whumpee's forehead.

Which is why they were going to end Whumper at the first opportunity they could. Caretaker knew that their colleagues wouldn't let them get close to Whumper. Wouldn't let them be alone in a room. Still, there was always the opportunity for something. Because death was not good enough for Whumper. Not after everything they put Whumpee through.

"Sleep, darling, I'll keep you safe. I'll always keep you safe. I love you so much, darling," Caretaker murmured again as they watched Whumpee relax into a deeper sleep.

[knightforflowers]

your silent sentinel

anyone else think extensively about Zoox spending most of his time in their hospital room when Amber and Devo were recovering from the Sallow and how he must have felt the entire time. anyone.

[sansxfuckyou]

karma's the judge

Summary: Clay learns that Viva is pink down to her very core- well, more of a magenta color right under her skin, the deeper into her flesh the more purple it gets.

Warnings: gore, near death, hospitals, agony, i cannot stress enough that this is not romantic, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: me and @ohposhers got talking, I'm legally not allowed to say anything else about the convo aside from the fact it inspired this fic. title from FØØL, specifically the INHUMAN remix. hope ya'll enjoy and if ya do consider dropping a like or reblog, or checkin' the Ao3 port.

It's only a mildly horrific sight for Clay to see.

He's lying actually.

The sound of the predator running off into the underbrush is still heavy in the air with cracking branches and rustling leaves. It echoes in his ears; that and the sound of Viva's laboured breathing. Her breath stutters as she wheezes, paw hovering over the bright blue shards in her chest and stomach. She's shredded in every sense including literal.

"C-Clay," Viva barely manages to get out, fat tears rolling down her face as agony surges through her. Neon magenta oozes out of rended flesh and seeps into fabric and slides down from her nose. Ears downturned and claws detracted, she's still in fight mode even though she should've ran with the rest of them.

Words are failing to form for Clay as he takes hasty, yet tentative, steps closer to his companion. Then she coughs, she sounds like death incarnate. Wet and shaky; phlegmy blood spills past her teeth and the gouges in her torso bubble up with her blood, the glass sinks deeper into her flesh. She's curling in on herself as she shudders and shakes and loose flesh trails on the dirt in stringy tendons. She grips for the shards to pull them out but even with adrenaline she's still fading fast. Her eyes flutter shut as the sharp edges slice her hands open to match the rest of her torn up body.

Viva falls limp and Clay is just frozen as he stares at their leader. Her chest rises and falls impossibly slow, she should be dead but she isn't and that gives just enough kick to get Clay to move and save her. Try to at least.

Clay drops down beside her and runs a paw across her wounds, checking the depth and the intensity aside from looking so bad it makes him feel nauseated. She shudders in her passed out state, tensing and flexing her claws against the unknown. The blood on his paws contrasts his own fur so much it makes him gag, the slimy texture of coalescing and cooling Pop Troll blood; it's lukewarm and drips but it's thick with bits of flesh. He wants to hurl as he shuffles Viva around a bit, she curls and shifts and hisses in her restless and forced state of sleep as he tries to help her.

Her cape is slowly wrapped around her body and her blood clings to the tufts of fur on the bottom and collar of the cape. The capes exterior doesn't hold in the blood, at all. Instead the magenta substance just slides off it, seeping through the fabric interior and slowly dripping down pieces of faux grass. Her breath heaves and her body is near entirely limp as it's restricted, Clay has to keep her head from hanging awkwardly and further straining her body as he carries her.

-/-/-/-

Viva jolts awake, body tingling with anesthetic that hasn't fully worn off. And as fast as she's shocked herself upright she's buckling in half due to an agonizing pain shooting up from her abdomen to her sternum. She clutches desperately only to find a similar pain resting heavy in her arm. Only then does she let her vision register as a train of thought in her head instead of bouncing from reflex to reflex.

White bandages wrap her arm and she isn't wearing a shirt, her entire torso is wound up in gauze that's a blend of magenta and almost purple with the darkness. She uses her other paw to touch it, and it's almost damp, that makes her stomach turn. She presses a bit more, higher up, and then she hits stitches left uncovered almost at her clavicles.

She glances down further and finds her leg covered in a thick layer of gauze, she can barely move her toes with how tight it is. And the magenta. She feels ill as the scent of drying and gelatinizing blood really sets in as hers instead of some other Troll in the medical ward.

Viva tries to move again, get off the bed and walk purely to spite the agony ripping through every wound on her (some unstitched but she can't tell with how much gauze she's wearing). Her paws rest shakily on the cot and so little effort leaves her winded, struggling to breath instead of cry out in pain. She's the leader. She has to be strong.

The second her toes hit the floor she swears she can hear something snap and she screams. Every torn tendon and string of muscle in her leg tries to fire all at once, preemptively activating to hold her weight, and the rush of blood darkens her gauze. It hurts enough to push her to tears as she falls back on the bed and clutches her leg. The agony in her arms and torso doesn't do much to deter her from holding the wound even as the sheets below her start to turn pink.

"Viva!"

Clay, it's Clay whose coming and closing the door behind him and rushing over. She bites back sniffles and pathetic little sounds as she lets go of her leg and relaxes just a bit. Her body lays prone on the cot, arms at her side and legs loose as Clay comes to her side.

"You were supposed to be out cold for fifteen more minutes," Clay said quietly. Then he laughs a little bit, awkward and forced, "I should've known you'd fight through the anesthetic though."

Viva laughs too even though there's nothing funny, "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Horror rests heavy on Clay's voice as he speaks.

Viva rephrases, "How am I still alive?"

"Look, all I can't find any logical reason as to why considering how wrecked you were. But let's just take it and run." Clay's eyes linger on the darkness of Viva's terribly done excuse of a cast. He should've added more layers of gauze, or made actual casting materials.

"Did anyone else get hurt?" Viva asked, trying to sit up but pushed back down by Clay. She reluctantly stays still.

"No one else got hurt, the tribes really, really worried though," Clay said quietly, "But I have everything under control, just stay in bed till you're healed up."

Viva's blood goes cold at the notions of being bedridden for music knows how long. Her eyes widen a little bit and she stares at Clay, "What are you planning, Clay?"

Clay laughs nervously, "Nothing much, ya know, just taking reign until you're better."

"What."

"For your own health! It'll be fine!"

Viva gives a long sigh as she closes her eyes, "Don't mess it up, Clay."

"I won't! Besides, I've been doing the legal stuff, it'll be fine."

"Have fun socializing and being the funboy again."

Clay swallows hard. Right. Funboy. He'll have to be the funboy again. It makes hims stomach knot but he nods along because he knows. Being the funboy, he's pretty sure the notions alone make his mind flood with dysphoria.

But for Viva's sake?

He'll manage.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! I wanted to request a story where doctor!Remus and you are dating. You're out with James and Sirius whilst he's at work and you pass out/are sick/whatever you think fits the story and they freak out and take you to the hospital, where Remus sees you and loses his mind. He takes care of you and the guys are there for moral support. Also, reader is afraid of doctors in general but specially needles so putting that IV on is a hassle in itself hehe.

Thanks in advance!!!!

Hi, thanks for requesting!

cw: fear of hospitals and needles, somewhat angsty, mention of vomit (in the past tense, if that helps), this was sort of weird to write because I don't usually write reader arguing with their love interest like this but I hope it came out okay

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re alerted to Remus’ arrival by Sirius’ shrill voice. 

“Finally! I’ve been texting you.” 

“We’re not really encouraged to be checking our phones during busy shifts,” says Remus. He sounds sharp and tired, and you look up from where your head rests on James’ shoulder just as he comes to a stop in front of your chair. A creased brow and gentle hands feeling at your forehead. “Hi, darling. Seems like that flu’s gotten a bit worse, hm?”

“You told us to check in on her,” Sirius goes on, “and we did, and we found her basically in a puddle of her own sick.” 

“She’d been sick in the toilet, and then fell asleep on the bathmat,” James clarifies. “But she seemed really very ill.” 

“Let’s go back,” Remus slides an arm around your waist, hoisting you up against his side and helping you walk towards the double doors that lead out of the waiting area. “What was her temp at when you found her?” 

“We don’t know.” Sirius trails behind, exasperated. “We couldn’t figure out where you kept your thermometer, and she was hardly in a state to say.” 

Remus makes a worried humming sound. “How are you feeling, dovey?”

“Tired,” you sigh, hoping you’re not leaning too hard against him but having a difficult time recalling what walking normally feels like, “‘nd my head hurts.” 

“She seems a bit better than when we first found her,” James says. You think you detect some worry in his tone as well. “She was just waking up then, and Sirius got her to drink some water in the car.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve been taking very good care of yourself,” Remus murmurs, just for you. He kisses your head. “Poor love, I knew I shouldn’t have come to work today.” 

“M’alright,” you say, letting him help you onto a small cot in a curtained-off room. Sirius and James file in behind you, and Remus shuts the curtain once they’re inside. 

You look at him, and your surroundings, the machines and tools and the overwhelming harshness of it all, start to sink in for you. 

“Can you take me home?”

Remus’ expression is gentle. “Not yet, sweetheart. You should be feeling much better once I do, though, yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face, encouraging you to lie back on the pillow. “Would one of you want to hop up here with her?” he asks the other boys, then to you: “You don’t mind sharing your bed, do you?”

“No,” you say, somewhat bemusedly. Sirius grins at you, climbing over you to lie down by your side. 

“Thanks. I’m just gonna get your vitals now, dove.” 

You feel a bit silly, but your nerves worsen as Remus checks you over, sticking plasticy things in your ear and cold metal on your back and making his various concerned faces. He must notice something when he takes your pulse, because he thumbs over the skin of your forearm comfortingly. Sirius, noticing, works an arm under your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. 

“Alright,” Remus says in what you recognize to be his most soothing voice, “look at Sirius for me, please.” 

You, of course, look in the opposite direction of where he wants you, and he’s taking your arm, pushing up your sleeve. 

“Remus.” Betrayal sounds in your voice as you pull away from him, holding your arm close to your side. 

He sighs. “You need fluids and medicine to get better. You want to go home, yeah?” 

“I don’t want an IV,” you say in a tight voice. 

Remus softens. He rubs your leg through your pajama pants. “I know, babydove, but you need to have one. I’ll get it over with as quickly as I can.” 

“I had to have one last summer, when I got dehydrated,” James pipes up. He’s stolen a small stool likely meant for the doctor and is swiveling back and forth restlessly. “It wasn’t as bad as you might think. I hardly remembered it was there most of the time.” 

“I just don’t want to,” you say again, voice going quiet and frail. Your vision starts to blur. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus coaches in that lulling voice. It’s half working, a familiar sort of comfort wrapping like a blanket around your frazzled nerves. You feel torn between your trust in your boyfriend and your absolute terror of everything that happens in a hospital. “You’re alright, yeah? This is the last thing you have to do for me. After, you can rest or have a nap, and when you’re well enough you can go home, okay? I might even be able to go with you.” 

You shake your head wordlessly, feeling ridiculous and childish but altogether petrified as you wipe tears from underneath your eyes. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” His brows pinch, and he leans over, kissing your temple. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Look over at Sirius, yeah?” 

You cry but don’t resist as Sirius uses the arm around your shoulders to turn your face away, feeling Remus take your arm in his grasp. His fingers press gently into the crook of your elbow. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sirius says quietly. He touches his lips to your forehead. “You’ve got this, babe, it’ll be over before you know it.” 

Remus is obviously doing his best to make good on this promise. He ties the tourniquet quickly, and something cold and wet swipes over your skin. The bite of the needle doesn’t come as a surprise, but you take in a tiny, petrified breath anyway. It rasps wetly in your throat. 

“You’re alright,” Remus murmurs, undoing the tourniquet as he speaks. “You’re doing so well, almost done now.” 

You’re not in pain, necessarily, but the sensation of a foreign object in your arm is distinctly unsettling, and Sirius makes a soft sound of distress when your weeping worsens. None of this is helping your headache, either. Your sinuses throb. 

“There.” You hear tape ripping, and then Remus is pressing it carefully over the spot in your arm. “There, done.” 

Sirius lets go of your face. The moment you turn around Remus’ is on you, brushing away your tears and kissing your hairline apologetically. 

“That’s it, darling, you can relax now. You did so well. Do you feel alright?” 

“He means are you cross with him,” James translates helpfully. 

Remus gives his friend an exasperated look, but his smile is sheepish. “That too, I suppose.” 

“Honestly?” Your voice is pitchy. It scratches against your flu-torn throat. “A little, but not really. I’ll get past it.” 

Remus gives a little laugh. “Oh, my love.” He bends forward, wrapping you up in a hug. “Thank you. I can live with that.” He holds the back of your head, rubbing between your shoulder blades firmly. When he lets you go, it’s with a kiss to your brow. “Sirius, get out of her bed. She needs to rest.” 

“Excuse me?” Sirius is affronted. “I think I’ve just proven I make an excellent pillow. And where am I supposed to sit? James has taken the only stool.” 

“He can stay,” you tell Remus. 

“Thank you, gorgeous. See? Jamie, come over here so we can watch a film on your phone.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, stepping aside to let James scoot by on his stool. “Fine, but try to get some actual sleep. I want your temperature down when I come back to check on you, yeah?” 

“You’re the doctor,” Sirius points out, getting cozy on his side of the bed as you and James scroll through films. “What’s she supposed to do, will it down? Sod off.” 

Remus heaves a long-suffering sigh, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in the trash can. “So glad you’re here.” 

“And where would your girl be if we weren’t, Rem?” asks James, looking up from his phone to raise his brows. “She’s lucky to have us.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, leaving the room. “Aren’t we all.”

[paxdracona]

"Welcome back. It went really well, you did great. I love you."

Quick scribble of the 'in sickness' part of their journey (which only ends after both of them enjoying their retired life together for YEARS)

[sapphicslut777]

had an absolutely fantastic care team yesterday <3 i couldn’t have asked for a better top surgery experience! i’m at home n recovering now.. only a bit of pain, but i’m starving all the time!! can’t wait to get my drains out and see my chest! 😱❤️

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee sat mindlessly in the hospital bed. They were restless and wanted to go home, but weren't allowed to leave until they told more about what happened under whumper's hand.

They seemed calm; not too many injuries, but enough to be concerned and no clue what caused them. No one had seen anything like it...

"Would it be okay if you told me? Just me. No one else in the room." Caretaker coaxed. Whumpee was silent for a while; you could see their eyes darting, their shoulders raised insecurely, their legs twitching closer to their body.

Then finally, a soft subtle nod.

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 25: Love is… Asking, “Do you want a blanket?” (Prompt by @thefreakandthehair)

wc: 952 | Rated: T | cw: Hospital setting, mild descriptions of injuries and general hospital stuff, physical pain, one mention of blood

Tags: Post-s4, Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Hospital

'Hospital Blankets'

“Steve? Hey, Steve?”

Steve is pulled out of a restless slumber by Eddie’s stage whispering. A twinge in his back fully rouses him as he remembers exactly where he is – in Hawkins General, bent up like a pretzel on what is quite possibly the world’s hardest chair, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and his underwear. He blinks harshly, his vision blurry as he looks in the direction of the chattering, dark-headed form lying in the bed in front of him.

“Huh?” he grunts, his voice thick with sleep as he becomes very much aware of the overall pain radiating over his whole body.

His throat burns too, even from a single word. He instinctively reaches a hand up to the reddened scar there – already a formed habit – only to scratch himself with his patient wristband.

“Do you want a blanket?” Eddie continues, his weakened voice indicating he is barely conscious, let alone aware of Steve’s discomfort.

Steve arches his back this time but it causes his chewed-up sides to ache, the bandages stiffening and contorting. Their tacky borders pinching at the already tight skin and scar tissue.

He gives up and slumps back in the chair, clutching the armrests for dear life as a twang shoots directly up his spine to his head. He runs a hand through his hair, impossible to keep from flopping in his face considering all he can do is give himself a goddamn sponge bath these days.

He should have just listened to Robin (and more than a few disgruntled nurses) when they begged him to stay in his own room.

But his room feels empty. Big and dark, just like his family home but a little more white and clinical smelling. It gives him nightmares. If he manages to settle enough to sleep that is…

It’s kinda hard when your friends are scattered throughout the bowels of the local hospital, all in varying states of distress meanwhile, outside the world has half caved in.

“Steeeve,” Eddie whines this time as he repeats, “Do you want a blanket?”

He half dry-sobs his query and Steve has no choice but to shimmy upright – thankfully, the slippery cover of his stupid seat helps him up this time.

Blanket… he finally considers and finds himself stifling a shiver.

He didn’t think to bring a blanket with him as he was much too focused on getting out of bed and down the hall to Eddie’s room. A room that is much colder than his own, which the occupant clearly knows.

Eddie’s fist is balled up in his blankets, offering them up as he raises his shaky arm.

“No,” Steve says softly, shaking his head and waving him away.

Eddie needs it more.

With a herculean effort, Steve moves the chair a few inches closer to the bed, hoping it isn’t scraping the floor or tangling up any of the wires and tubes hooked up to beeping machines – god knows where they each begin and end. His sides all but seize up as he sits back down and forces himself to correct his posture.

“But you’re cold,” Eddie frowns, his voice impossibly small.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests.

Eddie’s weak hand punches at his banket in a haphazard swish motion.

“Get into bed with me…” he mumbles, closing his eyes, “Rest with me, sweetheart.”

His head lolls to the side and Steve huffs out a laugh. Eddie is certainly on one hell of a cocktail of meds, mixed with the overall exhaustion that must come from almost dying. Steve can barely keep his own eyes open and he wasn’t anywhere near as close to it.

His heart thuds in his chest as thoughts of Eddie’s almost lifeless body rush back to his sleepy brain.

Dustin’s sobs… Robin scrambling to tear up clothes and sheets from the Upside Down version of the Munson’s trailer to make bandages… Nancy forcing everyone to focus as she devised a game plan, stopping every few moments to shoot down undead bats…

Steve screws his eyes shut and stands, bracing his arms on the sides of the chair before swiftly moving them to the bed for purchase.

At least Eddie’s right side is a little less banged up – but only just enough, Steve thinks as he hikes back the three warm layers of blankets enough to sit himself down on the bed. He swings his legs up next, clenching his jaw as every muscle in his body aches and pains from what transpired however many days ago.

The bed is a tight fit, but Steve doesn’t mind. The mattress is perhaps a fraction more comfortable than the chair, but he soon warms as he settles down and rights the blankets, smoothing them out for good measure and double-checking he hasn’t disturbed Eddie too much.

His body warms almost instantly as he rests his head beside Eddie’s on his pillow, positioned close enough that he can feel frizzed dark curls tickling his cheek. Eddie’s wispier than he expected and smells of the generic hospital soap – but at least the dried and caked-up blood is gone.

“That’s good…” Eddie coos, turning his head to face Steve, those tickling tendrils now replaced with a soft woosh of his breathing.

He can see the scar on Eddie’s cheek now. The bandage patch has been removed, exposing raw stitches today. Steve sighs, relieved by the smallest of steps forward.

Eddie can’t do much more than reach his hand out. And Steve takes it, interlacing their fingers despite the heart monitor clipped onto Eddie’s right index finger.

“Blanket’s... warm…” he mutters, nodding as he feels slumber tugging at him once again.

Eddie hums in agreeance and lightly squeezes his hand.