#cw for nongraphic medical and hospital stuff. this is post-don's death via housefire.
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okay well. i still haven't come up with a title for this but i don't feel like letting it just sit in my docs in the dark anymore. here's that modern au don g thing for you. oneshot, about 3.6k.
He wakes to the sound of steady beeping and the vague humming of electronics and machinery. Then, bright fluorescent lights, which he squints against the moment he tries to crack his eyes open. Then, the pain.
âGhhrgh,â he groans, trying to sit up and immediately regretting it. Everything is hot and tingly and it hurts--
âWoah,â someone says, and he feels a hand on his chest lightly pushing him back against the pillow. âEasy. I wouldnât try to move much if I were you.â He eases back against the pillow and squints to let his eyes adjust, and sees the woman in scrubs fiddling with a remote beside the bed until it raises him into a position somewhere between sitting and laying.Â
âWh--â he tries to say, and immediately regrets it, his words turning into a hacking cough as soon as they leave his mouth. His throat burns. âWhere am I?â he asks, and his voice is raspy.
âSaint Johnâs Hospital,â the nurse answers. âHow are you feeling today? Can I get you anything?â
âBad,â he wheezes. âWater, please.â
The nurse leaves the bedside to grab a paper cup by the sink and fill it at the faucet. She brings it over and gently hands it to him, saying, âIâll ask the doctor to adjust your pain medication.â Moving around the other side of the bed to note something on a clipboard, she adds, âYou have visitors waiting to see you, would you like me to bring them in yet?â
He considers this blankly and slowly drinks his cup of water. His throat is sore and dry and it hurts to swallow, but still the cold water is soothing. âSure,â he finally says, wondering who exactly would be waiting for him.
The nurse hangs the clipboard up and adjusts something on the IV, then heads for the door. âIâll let them in,â she says, then disappears into the hallway. He takes the moment of quiet to look around and take in the situation. The hospital room is unremarkable, sterile and white and filled with equipment he doesnât know the precise purposes of. Thereâs a clock on the wall, reading about 6:52, but he canât tell if itâs morning or evening. Thereâs an IV tube attached to his hand and held in place with a bit of tape; his arms and hands are wrapped with bandages here and there, with the odd patches of undressed skin looking red and patchy. A thin blanket covers his body from the waist down, and in place of clothes heâs draped in a loose, papery hospital gown.
He snaps out of his thoughts when the door practically crashes open, and people spill in. âLeporello!â one of them cries, pushing her way through the small crowd to the front.
He immediately flinches, lifting his arms up over his head and hunching down, the sudden movement sending a flare of pain through his body. âIâm sorry! I didnât start the fire, I swear!â he cries, his voice hoarse.
Elvira stops moving forward mid-step, wincing at his reaction. âGeez,â somewhere behind her and off to the side, she hears Zerlina comment. âHe looks terrible.â
âZerlina!â Masetto scolds in an attempt at a whisper.Â
âWhat? He does,â Zerlina counters.Â
âI do?â Leporello asks, lowering his arms slowly and looking them over. Zerlina and Masetto on the right, Anna and Ottavio on the left, Elvira in the front, all staring him down with varying levels of concern, confusion, and determination.Â
âHere,â Elvira exhales, fetching her phone from her pocket. She opens the camera and holds it up for him to use as a mirror. His face isnât quite as splotchy as his arms and hands, but it certainly doesnât look pretty either, and his stubble is patchy at best, hair singed and awkward. He grimaces at his reflection, and Elvira takes the phone back. âAre you okay?â she asks.
âWe saw you getting loaded into the ambulance by the paramedics,â Zerlina says. âWith the, mask thing on,â she continues, making a gesture with her hand over her face.Â
âI donât know,â he says, gently lifting a hand and mimicking her gesture. The fog in his brain starts to clear, and he vaguely remembers the feeling of the oxygen mask, the rattling of the gurney, while he was drifting in and out of consciousness. He glances among their ranks once more. âWhereâs-- whereâs Giovanni?â
They look among each other. âWe were hoping you knew that,â Ottavio answers, staring him down with a strange look.Â
Leporello fiddles with the empty paper cup. His mouth still feels dry, he wishes he had some more water. âI donât know,â he admits.Â
âHe was in the house with you, right?â Ottavio presses.
âYes, but I donât know what happened to him,â Leporello says. âI didnât see-- I passed out,â he stammers. âI vaguely remember the firefighters, and the paramedics, but I really-- I donât remember anything. I just woke up here. They had to-- they mustâve pulled him out too. He must be in another room.â
âYou--â Ottavio starts, leaning forward.
âLove, please,â Anna says gently, her hand on his arm. He glances back at her and stops.Â
âHeâs--â Leporello coughs, reading their expressions. âHeâs not here?â
âThey only pulled one body out of the house,â Masetto starts cautiously, after a beat of awkward silence.Â
âAlive body,â Zerlina adds quickly.Â
Leporello pales. âThen heâs--?â he starts, choking on the last syllable.Â
âWe donât know,â Ottavio cuts in again, his face stony. â...They didnât find anybody elseâŚ.Living or otherwise.â
A beat. âThere was no body?â Most of them shake their heads. âIâŚthenâŚâ Leporello tries to say, words failing him. He stares down at his lap, thinking back. âIt wasâŚI donâtâŚâ He crinkles the paper cup again, and swallows dumbly, throat parched and scratchy again.Â
Elvira watches him, then glances around the room. Spying the sink, she reaches for it; Zerlina catches on, and, standing closer, moves over to grab another cup and fill it at the sink. She hands it to Elvira, who passes it on to Leporello. He glances up at her as she offers it to him, and he takes it, drinking it down gratefully.
âOkay,â he says, when the cup is empty. âI know where he is. Well, I know where heâs not. ButâŚyou wonât believe me.â
Brows furrow. âWhat do you mean?â Ottavio asks, while Masetto says, âJust tell us.â
âOkay, okay, butâŚdonât be mad,â Leporello cautions. âHeâs not, uh, here, anymore. Heâs gone.âÂ
âGone,â Zerlina repeats.
âGone! Okay, gone where?â Ottavio asks firmly.Â
âI donât know, okay!? Heâs just gone!â Leporello answers defensively. âHe was having one of his parties and, and--â His eyes dart over to Anna, and a pang of guilt hits his heart over what heâs about to say. â--Your father was there -- I donât know how, alright!? -- But he was there, like a ghost or something, and he showed up -- you saw him too,â he adds, looking to Elvira, who stares at him like a deer in the headlights (he canât bear to look at Anna anymore; itâs like a knife plunged into her heart, her expression). â--And he grabbed him, and wouldnât let go, and Giovanni wouldnât give in, and -- I couldn't reach him -- and then, the fire--â Leporello stammers through the story, getting worked up. His face feels hot, not just from the burns, but from everyoneâs searing stares. âHe justâŚtook him away. I donât know where, or how, I didnât see anything else -- the fire, I -- but heâsâŚgone. I know that. Not coming back. Heâs justâŚgone.â Â
Silence. A bit stunned, a bit disbelieving.Â
âYou have to believe me,â Leporello pleads softly. He makes eye contact with Elvira again, and reaches over to her. She steps back, just out of his reach. âYou saw him too, didnât you? It was real, I swear.â
A stifling silence falls over the room. Leporello feels he might cry, if he wasnât so parched still.Â
âSo,â Ottavio finally breaks the quiet. His voice is low and cold. âThatâs it, then?â
âYou donât believe me,â Leporello says, more a statement for himself than a question. Ottavio opens his mouth to respond, but comes up empty. Leporello chuckles once, hollow and humorless. âWell, donât then, but thatâs the truth. Giovanni is justâŚâ
âLetâs go, Zerlina,â Masetto says as Leporello trails off, taking Zerlina by the hand. She looks up at him, then glances back at Leporello.
âNo, yeah, please, you two,â he says, coughing a little, and trying not to sound sarcastic. âGo on with your lives, please. Heâs gone. You can go home, itâs fine.âÂ
They both regard him for a moment longer before Zerlina nods and Masetto turns to follow her out of the room. As they go, Ottavio moves to follow, taking Anna by the hand.
âAnna,â Leporello says, and they stop, looking back at him. âIâm-- Iâm really sorry-- Iâm telling the truth, I swear, I justâŚIâm sorry, for everything.âÂ
She bites her lip and glances away. Leporello thinks sheâs fighting tears, and he canât blame her; he couldnât bear to look at himself if he were in her position, thatâs for sure. Ottavio again moves to lead her out of the room, and she starts to go with him. Elvira locks eyes with Leporello for a second before following them out of the room. Leporello groans and falls back against his pillow.
âShit,â he sighs, closing his eyes.Â
In the hallway, Elvira catches up to Ottavio and Anna. âMay I have a word with you, Anna?â she asks, pausing her stride. Anna pauses too, looking at her, and Ottavio follows suit reluctantly.
âWe ought to get going,â Ottavio says.Â
âJust for a moment, please,â Elvira replies.
âYou can chat on the way,â he says, taking another step.
âOttavio,â Anna says gently, and he stops in his tracks. âItâs alright. Iâll meet you downstairs.â He makes a face like he wants to protest again, then sighs, nods, and proceeds down the hall without them. When heâs out of sight, Anna turns back to Elvira. âWhat is it?â she asks.
âI know it sounds absurd, but, he really is telling the truth,â Elvira says, in a soft voice. âAbout-- about yourâŚâ
âMy father,â Anna finishes for her. Her voice catches on the second syllable, like a hiccup or a sob. Elvira nods. Anna takes her hands. âSo you saw--?â
âOnly briefly,â Elvira answers. âI didnât believe it at first -- I mean, I donât even know how I recognized him, he didnât lookâŚbut -- I was there, I tried to knock some tiny bit of sense into Giovanniâs head, and he wouldnât have any of it, and as I was leaving, he was, I mean, your father, he was at the doorâŚI left so quickly, it was so startling, and then there was the fire, butâŚI saw him. It wasnât a lie, he was there.â
Elvira feels Anna squeeze her hands gently. Her eyes and cheeks are moist, and though her voice quivers, she says, âI believe you.â
Elvira nods, and feels as if she may cry, too. âOkay. Good.â
âThank you,â Anna adds, nodding as well. She squeezes Elviraâs hands again, and offers a small smile, before turning and heading down the hallway to go. Elvira watches, then sniffles and wipes her eye, then turns back and re-enters Leporelloâs hospital room.
Hearing the door, Leporello opens his eyes again and turns his head to look. âYouâre back?â he asks, expecting the nurse, not Elvira.
âAnna believes you,â Elvira says simply. âI donât know about the others, but Anna believes you.âÂ
Leporello studies her for a moment. âYou did see him,â he says, again a statement more than a question. Elvira nods. Leporello sighs and lets his head fall back, looking up at the ceiling. âWhat time is it?â
Elvira glances at the clock on the wall. âAbout 7:15.â
âIs it morning or night?â
âOh, uh, morning.â
Leporello breathes, then coughs a bit, throat still ragged, like torn-up pavement. âAre you alright? You lookâŚâ he starts, then pauses, realizing he had no end to that sentence yet that didnât sound rude. â...well, not as bad as me, butâŚâ
âIâm fine,â Elvira says, frowning. âWhat do I look like?â
âLike youâve been up all night,â Leporello answers, turning his head to look at her again. Her hair is pulled back in a loose, messy bun, her makeup looks old and smudged, her outfit the same one he remembers from just before the fire.
âWell,â Elvira starts, plopping herself down in the chair in the corner of the room with an exhale. âI have been.â
âYou should have gone home and rested,â Leporello says. âGiovanniâs gone, anyhow. You didnât need to come see me.â
âI waited for you,â Elvira corrects. âI needed to make sure you were alright.â
Leporello is quiet for a moment. âYou didnât have to do that.â
âI couldnât just watch the paramedics haul you into the ambulance and leave it at that.â
âSure you couldâve--â
âI mean, you looked terrible, Leporello, you mightâve died.âÂ
He doesnât respond to that for a moment, and looks blankly at the ceiling again.Â
âAnd yet, here I am,â he finally says, with no inflection.
âI wasnât just going to just stand there and watch the house burn down, my God,â Elvira says, âI had to do something--â
âWait,â Leporello says, looking back at her. It hadnât occurred to Leporello, in the chaos of it all, how heâd even ended up at the hospital. Pulled out of the flames by firefighters, tended to by paramedics, rushed here in the ambulance, sure, that all seemed obvious, but how did the firefighters know to come in the first place? He didnât call, and Giovanni certainly didnât (couldnât), and there was no one else around, except⌠âYou called 911,â he states, not a question. Elvira looks at him quietly and nods. â...you saved my life,â Leporello adds.
âThe doctors did that, and the firemen,â she protests. âNot me.â
âYou called them. The security system was off, John'd disabled it when we got there, he alwaysâŚand I couldnât call. They never wouldâve -- Elvira, I wouldâve died without you.â
Elviraâs lips twist into a frown. âPlease, letâs notâŚâ
The door opens, interrupting them. The nurse returns, followed by a man in a lab coat. âAh, how are you doing this morning, misterâŚ?â the doctor asks, looking over at Leporello in the bed.
âPerez. Ethan,â he fills in, voice hoarse. He tries to clear his throat, and winces, regretting it. âUh, bad.âÂ
âSecond- and third-degree burns to half the body, plus a couple of bruised ribs; Iâd say so. Well, letâs increase your pain medication and see how that helps, okay?â he says, nodding to the nurse. She walks around the other side of the bed and begins to set up the IV.
âI hope itâs morphine,â he mutters. The doctor chuckles.Â
âWell, it should kick in soon, and then weâll come back in and check your dressings, alright? Ring the buzzer if you need anything,â he continues.
âMy throat--â he starts again, chokingly. âMy throat hurts.â
âThatâll happen when you inhale superheated gas,â the doctor explains. âWould you like something for it?â
âYes please,â he croaks in response. The doctor looks over at the nurse and she nods.Â
âAlright, Iâll be back soon.â The doctor and the nurse leave the room. Itâs quiet for a moment, and he goes back to staring at the ceiling, while Elvira looks him over from her seat in the corner.
â...Ethan Perez?â she repeats, breaking the silence.Â
âYou thought âLeporelloâ was real?â he answers, sounding tired but not rude. âGiovanni came up with it. I donât know where it came from.â
âOh,â Elvira says. She feels like she shouldâve known that, somehow.Â
âWell,â Ethan continues, taking another deep breath and letting it out, and managing not to wheeze this time. âI estimate Iâve got about ten minutes max before the drugs kick in and I get all loopy, so, if you want to say something else, nowâs probably a good time.â He lifts his hand lazily to show off the IV taped to the reddened skin.
âIâŚâ Elvira starts, and trails off, drawing a blank. The door opens again, and the nurse returns.Â
âHere you go,â she says, walking over and handing a plastic wrapped popsicle to Ethan.
âOh,â he says, blinking and taking it gently. Heâd expected a lozenge or something, not this. âThanks.â The nurse nods and leaves again. Ethan fiddles to rip the plastic off, then blinks again and repeats himself, âoh,â noticing the bright red popsicle is one of the ones with two sticks at the bottom. He pinches each stick with each hand and pulls the halves apart, then turns and reaches to offer one half to Elvira. âHere.â
âOh, no, thanks, itâs fine, you can have it,â she declines awkwardly.
He bounces his wrist slightly, still holding the popsicle out. âYou saved my life. Have a popsicle.âÂ
Elvira sighs. âAlright,â she gives in, and gets up, taking the offered popsicle. Ethan relaxes back into the hospital bed and lifts his half of the popsicle to his mouth. Itâs cold and sweet and surprisingly soothing going down his burned throat.Â
âI havenât had one of these since I was little,â Elvira says.Â
âMy sisters used to love them,â Ethan replies. âIn summer, Iâd take them down to the corner store, and buy two, and split them up for each of us.â He licks a bit of melted juice off the popsicle stick before it drips onto his finger.Â
âYou have sisters?â
âShaina, Adi, and Miriam.â He turns the popsicle sideways, pressing the cold against his lips. âI havenât seen them in years.â A beat, while he works at his popsicle. âWhy did you come back to Giovanniâs house?â he asks, turning his head to look over at her.
Elvira thinks about this, idly rolling the popsicle stick between her fingers. âI dunno. I guess I hopedâŚâ She sighs. âI dunno.âÂ
âThat heâd change?â Ethan answers for her. She shrugs. âI get that.âÂ
âIt seems stupid. Like, âI could fix himâ and all that.â
âNo, I get it.âÂ
âI didnât expect it toâŚend. Not like that.â
Ethan chuckles and slurps a bit more melted popsicle before it falls. âNeither did I, ha. Iâm glad the others got out okay.â
God, sheâd forgotten there were others, at Giovanniâs party. âThey did? Oh, good.â
Ethan nods. âThey got scared off when you showed up, I told them to leave out the back.â He lazily waves his half eaten popsicle in the air a bit before saying, âI wonder if they realize what they missed,â before popping it back in his mouth. âGood for them.â
âAnd, the, uhâŚthe ghostâŚâ Elvira says, failing to come up with a better description for it than that. It wasnât a man and it wasnât a ghost really, but it was something, and it was recognizable, somehow, and it was terrifying. She nibbles her popsicle and watches him.
Ethan shrugs. âWho knows?â Heâs quiet for a moment, staring vaguely at the last little bit of his popsicle. âAll I know is Giovanniâs gone.â
âAnd you survived,â Elvira points out. Ethan grunts and bites off the last bit of his popsicle, letting it melt on his tongue. His eyes are half-lidded, his expression calm and sleepy, his fingers rolling the pink-stained popsicle stick around between them. âWill you be alright?â
âHm?â he asks, glancing back over at her, eyelids fluttering back to alertness.
âWill you be alright afterâŚ?â she repeats, not exactly knowing what after she meant.
âI guess,â he answers, blinking slowly. âI mean, I have no clue how Iâm going to pay for any of this,â he gestures vaguely to himself, all wrapped up in gauze and tape and papery hospital cotton, âsince Johnâs not paying for anything nowâŚâ God, he thinks about the bills already waiting for him, and the new ones accumulating every second he spends here, and presses his head back into his pillow. Heâll stress about it later, surely, but heâs growing far too drowsy to worry right now. Just forming sentences is an effort right now. âBut I guess Iâm still alive, so.â A beat. He shrugs again, and lets his hand drop to his lap. âWill you?â
âIâŚâ she starts, looking down. She hasnât really thought about it yet, honestly. âI guess,â she echoes, after another beat. âI guess, if heâs reallyâŚgone, thatâsâŚsome kind of closure, even if itâs kind of twistedâŚâ She sighs and runs her free hand through her hair, combs her fingers through the loose strands escaped from the hastily-tied bun. âI donât know. Iâll figure something out, I guess. Iâm not going back home again, anyway, I donât think I canâŚâ she trails off, looking up from her lap again, and noticing Ethanâs gone still, his breathing still slightly ragged-sounding but regular now, eyes slipped closed. The popsicle stick is loose in his hand on his lap. Timeâs up, she supposes; the drugs mustâve kicked in by now. Well, they could both use their rest.Â
Finishing the last of her popsicle, she gets up and quietly comes over, collecting the wrapper and stick and crumpled paper cup from his lap and disposing of them in the garbage can, then rinses her hands in the sink before turning to go. Maybe she should stay to keep an eye on him, but, no, she needs to go home, she needs to eat and rest and figure out how to live now, After. She could message him, tomorrow maybe, to check in -- no, she doesnât have his number, doesnât even know if he still has a phone, or if it was lost in the fire too, all she has is a name. Heâll have to stay here for a while, probably, healing, just look at him, but, no, he seemed pretty embarrassed about being looked after. Uncomfortable with everyone staring him down, interrogating him. Maybe she ought to just get out of his hair and leave him be. Well, she hopes, at least, for the best for him, and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
#let the poet bless this round#don giovanni#fanfic#leporello#donna elvira#the others are there too but i don't feel like tagging them all. once again this is mostly a leporello and elvira fic#bc what isn't these days#cw for nongraphic medical and hospital stuff. this is post-don's death via housefire.#there are no graphic descriptions of injuries or medical stuff if you're worried but there are vague/oblique ones#also i was being intentionally vague re: describing the commendatore...don't worry about it
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