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bardoftheshire · 4 months ago

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I have something called Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy that I was diagnosed with when I was 15 which isn't caused by flashing lights or strobes, but rather hormones. So, I decided to do something with a reader that is epileptic, just not with something exactly like mine. Enjoy!!

I Won't Tell, I Promise

James Wilson x Epileptic! Reader

Summary; Y/n has been working at Princeton for 4 years, hiding her epilepsy in fear of losing her job. But what happens when an episode comes out of nowhere?

Notes; Everyone I've met and told I have epilepsy always thinks it's light sensitive, but it's not. I wanted to kind of have this as a thing to give a bit of what it's like dealing with that stigma.

Warnings; Foul language, mentions of taking prescription drugs, epileptic episodes, angst.

James Wilson Masterlist

Word Count; 4,230

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You've been working at the Princeton Plainsboro teaching hospital for a short while so far.

Before Prinston, you worked at a hospital all the way over in Oklahoma City as a nurse, then to Chicago as a doctor.

You probably would've never gotten this job if you mentioned what would be considered a "safety concern", to anyone.

You were diagnosed with Myoclonic Epilepsy when you were 17 and though it was said to be hormonal, it still hasn't gone away 26 years later.

"It'll go back to normal, just give it time, it usually goes away by your 20s," the neurologists and your mother constantly reminded you that. And nearly 30 years later and they were wrong.

That's what upset you the most. The fact that they assured you that it would go away and you would no longer have to take anymore of the god damn medicines or switching them constantly. They lied to you.

But, no use in moping about it. It is what it is. This problem, this disorder, is what pushed you to do what you do now. Neurology.

The doctors and neurologists could never figure out what was "wrong" with you. Countless tests, week long EEG's, CT scans, blood tests and draws, more brain scans, everything you could think of. Nothing.

No tumors ever found, nor any family history of it.

You'd just figure it out yourself.

Being in the medical field for almost 20 years has just earned you one of the larger titles.

Dr. Y/n L/n | Head of Neurology.

You had your own office on the floor where all of the MRI and CT machines resided. Made recently for you.

You just got that title just a couple months ago, and man was it difficult.

You had to take an extra dose of medicine due to the amount of stress and lack of sleep you were getting. And you weren't about to give that title you worked so hard for up.

Maybe (you knew it was,) mixing one of the strongest medications with another concentrated one was a bad idea.

750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam 3 times daily. On top of vitamins due to deficiency.

Now, that high of a dose of the Levetiracetam was already bad enough, but mixing it with the Lamotrigine made it worse. But you couldn't have an episode on the job. You feared that if you did, you would lose not only your title, but your job, and at the worst, your medical license.

You just couldn't risk that.

"...Y/n? You okay? Can you hear me?" A hand waved in front of your face with a couple snaps, trying to get your attention

Now see, that was the tricky thing with epilepsy. Absent seizures. You never knew if you'd just spaced out or had another small seizure.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Yeah, I just spaced out for a second, my bad." You respond, forcing a smile with a chuckle.

"Oh, good. Thought I lost you there," Wilson says, putting his hand down and taking another bite of his salad.

Your watch begins to beep, indicating it was time to take the second medication of the day.

One in the morning, one during lunch, and one at night, taking each one with water and food.

"Um, give me a second, I gotta go get some water real quick. I'll be right back." You awkwardly rush.

"Don't worry, I'll get one for you. I've gotta throw my trash anyways."

"No, Wilson. Really it's fine I can get it," You began to panic. Don't panic.

"Then I'll go with you," Wilson smiles, getting up with his trash.

You mutter out an "Okay."

'He's going to ask about the pills. I've never taken my meds in front of anyone before. What do I say?' You began to freak out even more. 'What if he sees them and tells Cuddy about them? I'll lose my job.'

Technically you weren't supposed to supply your own medication to yourself. That's how House got in trouble. It's not like I'm abusing them, though. Right?

"What's that timer for?" Wilson asks.

"Well, sometimes I'll be working and I'll forget to grab lunch, so I don't want to forget to eat, y'know?" Liar.

"Oh,"

You continued walking in an awkward silence before you quickly went to the food bar and bought a bottle of water.

"You left me, what was that for?" Wilson chuckles with a hand on his hip.

'Do I just tell him? He'd be the first to know apart from my family or friends back in my hometown. No one since I left there knows about it. But I could trust him.'

"Uh, well.." You begin.

"Wilson! Come here!"

You turn around to see House marching (or trying more so,) toward the two of us.

"House-"

"Shut up, I need you. You can talk to Ms. Addict later."

'Shit, did House know?'

"Excuse me, what did you just call me?" Unbelievable.

"..real bold coming from you, House." You continue.

"At least I admit it! You’re exactly like me!" House shouts as he walks away with Wilson.

"What do you mean by 'Ms. Addict?'" Wilson asks, you being able to hear him as he walks away with House.

'If House knows, will he tell Wilson? Shit, more importantly, will he tell Cuddy?'

You sigh as you walk out of the cafeteria and go down the stairs to your respective level and enter your office.

"God, I've gotta stop this shit.." You say, picking up some x-rays of brain scans.

The patient was an 8 year old little boy. He was experiencing small seizures regularly, without any family history of seizures or epilepsy diagnosis'.

He'd been in the hospital for nearly a week now, countless tests were run, and he'd been attached to an EEG machine to see what would spike when he had an episode.

'Shit.'

You looked more closely at one of the radiographs. On the right side of his temporal lobe there were two black masses, most likely tumors, which looked to have been roughly 5 to 6 inches in size.

"Fuck.. Fuck, what do I do with this." You began to panic. There shouldn't be masses like that. This could just be something wrong with the machine, right?

You can't just stand there. You had to say something.

'Wilson,' You thought to yourself.

He would be the one to go to. You could only hope that they weren't cancerous tumors.

You gather up the rest of the radiographs and make your way out of your office to go to Wilson's, hoping that House was finished doing whatever he does, and that he would be in there.

"Hey, Dr. L/n, I was wondering if you have any updates on Noah yet?" The boy's mother stopped me in my tracks.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Pieters. I was actually just looking at Noah's radiographs now. I'm going up to Dr. Wilson's office right now to go over them with him, so the final results should hopefully be out soon," You explain anxiously, still trying to sound as professional as possible.

"Oh wonderful! Once again, thank you for putting Noah in your care. You have no idea how lucky and relieved we feel now." She replies, a big smile on her face.

You feel so bad...

"Of course, Mrs. Pieters. Noah's health is one of my top priorities right now, and I couldn't be more happy to help. If you don't mind, though, I really need to go over these with Dr. Wilson right now."

"Of course. Sorry for keeping you," She apologized.

You wave her goodbye and rush to the stairs to reach Wilson's office.

You urgently knock on his door, waiting for a response, yet none came. You knock once again, and still no response. "James, are you in there? There are some radiographs I need to show you,"

You wait more, and still no response. Maybe House or Cuddy know where he is.

You go next door and open House's door, not even bothering to knock.

There House sat, throwing and catching his oversized tennis ball.

"What the hell-"

"Do you know where Wilson is?!" You cut him off in an urgency.

"He's probably in the bathroom touching himself, I'd check in there if I were you," He says sarcastically.

Oh..

"I'm being serious, House!" You roll your eyes and shout in frustration.

“Why, do you want to finally confess your undying love for him?”

You look at House with your mouth agape, looking like a fish out of water trying to create a response that wouldn't make you seem flustered. “I-”

You figured it would be near impossible to have an actual serious conversation, though not that you wanted one, with House. “I’m just gonna go ahead and go to Cuddy’s..” You sigh, frustrated with the time you’d just wasted trying to talk to him.

“Fine then! Be-” House shouts before you shut the door on him, silencing whatever bullshit he was going to say to or call you.

You make your way to Cuddy's office, looking at the radiographs on your way to make sure they really were something to be concerned about, though you would still look them over no matter what.

You knock on Cuddy's door and barge in, the same way you'd just done with House's. "Cuddy, have you seen Wils-" You say, stopping as you see Wilson standing at Cuddy's desk, going over some files.

"Oh my gosh, thank god. James, please, I need your help and time just for a moment," You plead.

"James? I got upgraded to James now?"

"Not the time now, Wilson,"

"Can you two do this somewhere else?" Cuddy says, a tinge of annoyance barely clear.

You leave Cuddy's office with Wilson following behind.

"What is it I can help you-" He says before you urgently (rudely,) cut him off.

"It's about Noah's MRI and CT scan results," You sigh, sadness in your voice.

Wilson's face softened, "Please tell me it's good,"

You pull up the radiographs and show them to him, not being able to see it all that great.

"Let's go to my office,"

You and Wilson make your way into your office, you put the pictures onto the intensifying screen and take a look at them once more, that feeling in your stomach getting deeper.

Please don't let it be bad..

"Those black masses right there at the temporal lobe, do you think those are.. tumors?" Your voice shakes.

Wilson inspects the pictures and points out the same two that you feared.

"Th-these ones?" Wilson questioned.

You nod your head.

You were horrified, but at the same time, you were anticipated. If these were the cause, then you would know why this was happening to him, unlike you with yours.

Wilson lets out a deep breath and turns to you, "We're going to have to run some more tests.. these are.. definitely tumors, but we don't know if they're cancerous..."

You sigh and rub your hands over your face.

Wilson walks to you and rubs your back with one hand, and places the other onto your shoulder.

You shiver at his touch, you began to feel dizzy and after taking your hands away from your face, you see black auras begin to obscure your vision.

And then, you blacked out.

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Your head was pounding and your tongue was swollen. You looked around you in confusion as you found yourself laying on your side.

Where am I?

A hand ran through your hair as someone softly assured you that you were okay.

You get up before quickly falling back down to the floor.

"Hey, hey, L/n, just- sit back down. You're okay," a familiar voice assured you.

You blink slowly.

"Hey, look at me, look.. What's my name?"

You look at the male, his face becoming more familiar, though not enough until a couple seconds passed by, him staying patient with you.

"Wilson?" You slur.

"Good- um, what's your name, now?"

You felt like you were going to vomit. Your head was still spinning, though you were starting to become more familiar with your surroundings,

"Y/n? What happened?" You groan.

"Y/n, you just had a seizure.."

Those five words sent you into shock, though now it was beginning to quickly rise up to a panic attack..

"What?"

You put your head into your hands and brought your knees to your chest, a lump began to form in your throat and tears welled up in your eyes, "No, no, no, no, no, oh god, no..." You sobbed. You let yourself stress out enough to the point that you had an episode after not having one for nearly 6 months. You were doing so good. God there's no way you're going to ever drive again.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, Y/n." Wilson tried to assure you as he patted your back.

"No, no it's not okay.. shit," You choke up.

You wipe the saliva off of your mouth, presumably from spitting up during your episode.

You rock yourself back and forth, head still in your hands.

Wilson stayed quiet. He had no idea what to say, but you preferred that he didn't. You needed some silent time to gather your mind together.

"God.. fuck, I'm so sorry, James. You shouldn't have had to deal with that.." you exhale and apologize, afraid to even look at him.

"Y/n, don't- don't apologize,"

"You're not going to tell anyone are you? Please don't tell anyone, please, Wilson," You pleaded, tears welling up again at the thought of losing your job.

You didn't know that House had already known before. House had overheard you when you were speaking to Noah that one day, and then found out how much you were taking a day, earning your new nickname 'Ms. Addict'.

Him being the huge blabbermouth that he is, he obviously felt the need to tell Wilson. Wilson didn't know if he told him because he had some sort of worry for you, or if it was just him being an asshole, but by God was he glad that House told him.

"I won't tell, I promise." Wilson said as he wiped the tears away from your face, cupping it with his hand.

You melt into his touch and sigh.

"How.. how much Levetiracetam have you been taking..?" Wilson questioned.

You look at him in confusion, "What? What are you talking about?"

"Your meds.. how much of them are you taking?"

House.

"House- House told me, just earlier today," Wilson admitted hesitantly.

House!

“I’m gonna kill him!” You suddenly shout in a fit of sudden rage.

You get up only to fall once again, not just triggering your vertigo, but also making the previous dizziness you’d just had only mere minutes ago worsen.

You grab onto the nearest table to stable yourself, stumbling around as you try to pathetically attempt to speed walk.

“L/n– L/n hold on just– Y/n!” Wilson says anxiously.

“Fuckin’ asshole, I’m gonna kill him.. How does he even know?” You grumble to yourself.

You stumbled around the workplace, bumping into things and nearly dodging others, looking like a lunatic disguised as a doctor, or to be more accurate; House.

“Y/n!” Wilson calls out to you, catching up to you far more quickly than you had been “speedwalking”.

He stops you, getting ahold of your left arm and goes in front of you, grabbing your other arm after successfully stopping you from even taking one more step.

“L/n, don’t. I know he’s an asshole but let's just go back to your office so we can sit you down, and then talk about this, okay?”

You were upset, and overwhelmed. He was right. You should go back to your office, sit down, have some water, and focus on Noah.

Noah..

You nod at him and turn around to make your way back to your office, one of his hands on your back and another out in case you fall.

He was so.. caring. You’ve never had someone care so much for you. You haven’t had that in years, you’d forgotten just how nice it was to be cared for, even if it were in upsetting circumstances such as now.

You smile to yourself as he helps you to your office chair, thanking him.

Wilson pulls up a stool in front of you, “L/n, are you okay?” He questions, taking your hands into his own, warm and calloused.

“Yeah, I guess I just freaked out a bit. I’m alright,”

“How much medicine have you been taking, L/n..” Wilson asks concerningly.

You sigh. You didn’t want to admit you had a bit of a.. problem with substances, specifically your prescribed ones. God, I really am House..

“Uh,” You look away from him. You were more than ashamed of yourself. There was a reason the drugs were controlled, because they were addictive..

It had gotten to the point where you depended on them too much. The Clobazam wasn’t even necessary, either.

“750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam.” You mutter.

“750 of Levetiracetam??”

“Yeah.. three times daily.”

Wilson sighs and lets his head fall low, muttering something to himself.

“L/n, you could overdose on just the Levetiracetam and Lamotrigine together twice, maybe even once! But you're mixing it with the Clobazam, too? Three times a day? Who’s prescribing you this much medicine?!” Wilson was genuinely concerned for you, he didn't mean to sound or come off as angry or upset, but that’s definitely what he sounded like.

"Myself," You looked at your hands, his were still holding yours.

"..I'm sorry but- I couldn't risk having an episode, especially not here. If- if anyone else found out I thought I might lose my job or- or my medical license, I can’t risk that, I- I worked so hard for this title, I can’t let it be taken away because of some stupid-” You started to get worked up and hysterical. So much build up just over the years of not telling anyone your worries, not even your parents or friends from home, all of it just spilt out in front of Wilson.

Wilson gets up and pulls you into a tight hug, stroking your hair as his chin rested on to of your head. “I won’t tell anyone, and I promise you, I absolutely promise you that you won’t lose your job if anyone else finds out,”

You tense up, but the sound of his heartbeat so close to your line of hearing made you relax into his arms, wrapping your own across his torso.

“I don’t know about you, but this is one of the first times that I’ve ever been happy that House is an asshole. I’m glad he told me. I’m glad you’re safe.” Wilson continued, holding you closer to him.

His overwhelming affection and concern began to make you tear up. He actually cared for you.

And though House would never admit it, so did he.

You began to cry into Wilson’s lab coat, still not letting go of him in fear that you would lose him forever if you did.

“I care for you, Y/n. I never want you to feel this way.”

He didn’t even care that you were dirtying his coat with your own tears and snot, he only cared for you at that moment.

“Oh, you finally found him. Did you find him in the bathroom touching himself like I said he was? Is that why you’re crying? Do you need a hug from me, too?” House says sarcastically as he barges into your office.

You take your face out of Wilson’s coat to scowl at House. “Fuck off, Greg..” You sniffle.

“House, it’s really not the time for your shit, and that’s a highly innaproppriate thing to say- wait, where did you get that from?” Wilson says, pulling away from you.

“I’ve heard you,” House ‘whispers’ very loudly.

House hobbles over to you and stares for a few seconds before ruffling your hair, making it messier than it already was before.

“Addict,”

“Says you, asshole,” You respond, trying to smooth out your hair for it to look decently.

“..Uh, how did you know? About my..” you continue.

“You have really gotta start being more quiet when you talk to your patients about stuff like that, it was hard not to hear you blabbering to that kid. Do you just do that with all of them? Pretty wreckless if you ask me,” House responds.

“And my medication?”

“You’re not as sneaky with it as you think. Maybe being more open about it would raise less flags. You just might actually be worse than I am, Ms. Addict.”

Wilson stood aside, watching the interaction between his best friends. They hated eachother, but cared for eachother at the same time. He smiled at the scene.

“Whatever,” You say as House leaves your office.

“You two are an interesting pair,” Wilson chuckles.

“He’s a child.” You roll your eyes and smile.

House pops back into your office, sticking only his head in through your doorway. “Druggie addict.” and he disappears once more.

“There’s my point being proven,”

“Oh, I never doubted you,”

You look up at Wilson, with him looking back down at you.

You took in his features for a good couple of moments,

his thick brows were one of the most noticable features of his, in the best way possible in your opinion at least. You could never imagine him with what people would concider “normal proportioned” brows. They sat atop those puppy dog eyes that held a sort of tired softness to them, you could just get lost in them forever. A single section of hair seperated from his usual kept up hair, laying on top of his forehead. His smile. My god, his smile was so nice.

“What?” Wilson lets out a breathy laugh.

“Nothing, you just look nice today,” You reply back before getting up out of your chair in your best efforts, successfully making it back to Noah’s Radiographs.

“Thanks, you do, too,” He stood next to you at a closer proximity than before.

You and Wilson looked closely at Noah’s Radiographs for a few minutes before Wilson declared, “I don’t think you have to worry about these tumors too much, they look benign to me. We just need to remove them and Noah should be fine,”

You let out a sigh of relief. Noah was an amazing kid. You have no clue what you would do if you had to give news that he had something that could possibly be a cause of death. At least you found the reason for his.

You lay your head on Wilson’s shoulder and smile, “Thanks, James.”

He brings his hand up to grab your waist, pulling you closer to him and laying his head onto yours, “Thank you for letting me help out with him. He’s lucky to have you,”

“..though, I think I would be even luckier to have you, Y/n.” Wilson continues.

Wilson had always been good with his words when he wanted to. They always came out to be smooth, yet not too vulgar or forward. Thats exactly what it felt like now. It felt genuine, it felt like it actually came straight from the heart, and now you felt like yours was about to practically beat out of your chest.

“I think you would, I’m just special like that,” you giggle.

Wilson raises his head off of yours and looks at you, taking in how beautiful you looked before placing a small kiss to your head.

You grin, practically from ear to ear and lift your head off of his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, only for him to lift your chin up. You two were practically teasing each other, for as when you went to close the gap, he lifted you up and carried you to your office chair bridal style and sat down with you in his lap, now closing the gap himself as he spun around in the chair with you.

You smiled into the kiss and you could feel he was too.

This would be one of your most memorable days ever, in so many ways. Not only because of Noah, but because of this moment with James that you would never imagine would happen to you in a million years.

Its not to early to think to yourself or say, you love him.

You love James Wilson, and you would scream it from the top of your lungs so everyone else could be reminded of it.

You were in love with him, and he was in love with you.

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #house md #greg house #lisa cuddy #robert sean leonard #hugh laurie #house md x reader

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neiviele · 3 months ago

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Also with one of the studies I shared a few weeks ago, looking closer at it (since tbh it was a fairly complex study) it seems to explain what we all share in common, plurality-wise.

The study: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/jopy.12391

This study looked at trait dissociation (dissociation that's a genetic or personality trait) in a group of people. In particular, they focused on dissociative absorption, as that tends to be common in the population in a non-clinical form. In hypnotized people and those with DID, EEG scans show less connectivity in the brain, and researchers hypothesized that this might be the same for those with trait dissociation. As hypothesized, they found that those with more trait dissociative absorption actually had less connectivity than those without.

(I might be explaining it poorly, again the way they described it was a bit complex for me ^_^')

I think this study actually helps explain why we (protogenics, tulpas/willogenics and traumagenic systems) can all share the same symptom of "having headmates" despite totally different causes. Of particular note (bolding mine):

Notably, when looking at the full sample (see supplementary material), several short- range locations (central-parietal and temporal), evinced effects in the alpha band. This corresponds with previous studies mentioned in the introduction that demonstrated lower intra-hemispheric connectivity in the alpha band, roughly in the same regions; specifically, this was demonstrated in frontal-parietal regions among hypnotizable subjects (who also scored high on state dissociation) during hypnosis (Terhune et al., 2011) and in frontal, parietal, and temporal regions in “alters” of dissociative patients (Hopper et al., 2002).

All three groups (those with trait dissociation, hypnotizable patients, and DID patients) showed decreased connectivity in the brain, in the same areas as those with alters and hypnotized people. This means that what creates endogenic and willogenic systems might be dissociative absorption, or a tendency towards such.

I could be stretching the research beyond its bounds or misunderstanding it completely, but this is what I think. What about y'all?

#syscourse #sysconversation

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andre-and-cal · 1 month ago

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heh. . . request!! uhh cal Getz into some sort of accident and has brain damage :( now it's up to you to determine what will happen wit the zero day plans . . .

AHHH MY BABYYY 😔🙏 Your wish is my command! This was super fun to dew !! :3

What if Cal got a severe head injury before Zero Day?

Starting off, I think that Cal would suffer a serious blow to the head from getting in a vehicle collision with his parents. This is one of the most common ways people get a traumatic brain injury. The other driver was at fault for being under the influence of alcohol, and Cal’s parents ended up suing the man to cover his medical bills. The airbag had saved Mrs. Gabriel’s life, and she was only given a broken nose, while Calvin had hit the dashboard— his frontal lobe and temporal lobe sustaining the worst of the hit.

Following, when Andre found out, he was shocked. While Zero Day was at the back of his mind, he was extremely worried about Calvin. He wanted to know what happened in detail, if the guy he held so dearly was getting fixed up, if he was okay or if he’d be fine within a few days. He couldn’t imagine that the Calvin Gabriel he’s known for years… was temporarily incapacitated. He couldn’t stand it as he paced around his room, his worry turning into agitation while waiting for Cal to call him from the hospital, to assure him that he was alright. He never did. Andre almost didn’t want to accept how things were gonna be now. So, he decided to hop in his car and drive to the hospital himself. Andre’s parents wanted to wait a little bit, unsure if Calvin was even ready for visits. But Andre didn’t care. He needed to see him.

In the hospital, Calvin was in bed with some monitors hooked up to him. He had sustained a moderate traumatic brain injury (TBI) and had a large, puffy bandage wrapped around his head. He wasn’t in a coma; he just wasn’t even really awake. He’d been having sporadic seizures, so he had to get an EEG (Electroencephalogram) done, and then soon an MRI scan for his head. Overall, he wasn’t in good shape. When Andre arrived to see him, he’d greeted Cal’s parents, the somber atmosphere enveloping them. Then he went over to Cal’s side, absentmindedly placing a hand on his arm, then his hand. The sight of Cal in this state really made Andre want to break down— and he hadn’t broken down since he was a kid. Yet he didn’t, instead remaining stoic even though he was hurting on the inside. He just wanted Cal to be okay.

A couple days later, Cal’s seizures had ceased— though he still had to stay in the hospital for a few more weeks. Andre decided to visit him again, with his parents coming along with him. Upon arrival, he was relieved that Cal was mostly awake now; he looked down at him over his hospital bed, observing his features, and he tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear. He wanted to show him some affection so badly, and while he previously didn’t want his parents to get suspicious of their close affinity, he didn’t really care at this point in time. He just didn’t want to hurt Cal. As mentioned prior, he’d experienced a gut feeling that told him Zero Day probably wasn’t going to happen anymore. He was okay with that, even when normally he wouldn’t really be able to dispose of Zero Day. But Cal meant more to him than their plans of violence, and he just wanted to make sure he was going to be alright.

After his stay in the hospital, Calvin was set to stay in bed for another week— except, he’d be at home now. His motor control was noticeably fine for the most part, but since he’d hit an area in his frontal lobe— which controls his executive function, impulse control, attention, and cognitive and motor abilities— he’d still gained a little head and hand twitch. In addition, he developed restless legs, and his ADHD was substantially worsened. He started getting migraines more often and he’s gotten short-term amnesia. He literally cannot remember what he did 10 minutes ago, even though it usually comes to him later in the day.

Also, his impulse management is now poor, and he blurts sentences out without meaning to. With his temporal lobe damage, sometimes it’s hard for him to hear certain tones of voices, so sometimes he has to ask for people to speak up. During the first week he was in the hospital, he suffered from dysphasia, often speaking slowly and incoherently. However, this has since improved. His ability to process given directions and language is around the same as it was from when he was in the hospital, but Andre has been trying to resolve these issues with him.

Andre has been staying over a lot more than he used to and working with Cal’s parents as well as his own to try and teach him what information he may have lost after the brain injury. He knows recovery will be difficult, but he wants Calvin to be like his old self again. It’s tough for Andre, thinking about what he went through and all. Cal remembers the accident, having described to Andre about what he remembered from it, and he has refused to get into Andre’s car ever since that day. Which— Andre has tried to push him to overcome these fears at first, but he realizes it’s easier said than done. So he became more understanding about it.

Also, he hasn’t brought up Zero Day to Cal. He isn’t sure if he even remembers their plans, but he’s pretty positive that he doesn’t— Cal hasn’t brought it up to him since he came home. Besides, even if he is able to recall their plans, he doesn’t want to be selfish. Losing Zero Day is upsetting, but practically losing Cal for a brief period of time was even more upsetting. It’s a big change for both boys, but Andre has recognized how much Cal means to him, Zero Day or no Zero Day. Sometimes he’s thought of what he would’ve done if Cal had gotten killed in the wreck. Andre knows he would’ve ended it or done something rash. After all, he can’t live without Cal.

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gobackimhaunted · 11 months ago

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also the readings from her EEG (brain wave scan) are “i love you it’s ruining my life”

#raquel rambles

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tophat-69 · 3 days ago

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Some health updates because I’ve been encouraged to get this out of my system and because unfortunately it is impacting my ability to Get Shit Done. Under a cut because I don’t want to depress anyone.

So the most recent blood tests show signs pointing to cerebellar ataxia, which seems to explain why my brain is fucking up my ability to do basic things. I live on the second floor of my home so I’ve had fun experiencing falling down stairs lately (or falling up them, a skill in itself and one that has a pretty gnarly bruise on my shin). I’ve also dropped my phone more than I want to admit, and am switching to metal dishes and cups because my usual ones aren’t safe. I’ve been adapting to life with a cane and with a wheelchair at times, but it’s an adjustment. I lose my ability to think too, just mid-word sometimes, and that’s among the most frustrating things because words are something I am supposed to be good at.

All of that is bad enough, but I’ve also got fun optic neuritis going which has a decent likelihood of leaving me blind. It certainly makes it feel like someone has jabbed an ice pick into my right eye and is poking me in the left eye when I move it. I’m already losing color and focus even with my glasses.

And I get seizures! Because none of that is enough for my brain, which has decided my warranty expired and so now it gets to really fuck with me. We’ve got the seizures on a few EEGs now, and the latest one also shows temporal slowing which is a rather terrifying thing to hear.

But these are all symptoms, not an underlying cause. Most hopeful candidate was MS, but the symptoms aren’t improving with treatment.

I’m the youngest person my neurologist sees, which is a lovely thing to be told. As is my PCP going “that’s brain stuff, come to me only if you have like a cold” so my neurologist basically IS my PCP now and it can be months between appointments, even though I get results days after tests because of the miracles of technology.

Meanwhile, Social Security keeps going “eh. We think you could probably get another job. Sure you can’t handle light and aren’t allowed to drive because of seizures and may be going blind, but you’re over-educated and could find SOMETHING to do.” Luckily I was very recently able to be medically retired (RETIRED. At my age.) but have to prove I’m still fucked up every six months.

This has been going on for years and just getting worse. That long pause in c/c was the start of it all, and I was a moron who thought “I could get treatment and figure this out and be able to come back better.”

That clearly did not happen.

I don’t know. I’m exhausted and losing hope and the stupid thing is I worry about losing my ability to write my stories or enjoy visual media. My escapism may be escaping me and I don’t know what I’ll do then.

I have a PET scan coming up and then more appointments and at this point I’m just afraid.

I hate going to the doctor. I avoided it for years until I couldn’t anymore, but I’ve been treated by some people IRL like I’m a hypochondriac, which… ffs how am I faking EEGs and MRIs and blood tests. That’s pretty talented of me.

Overall I’m struggling with this and feel like talking about any of it is an imposition on everyone. It’s been incredibly isolating. I don’t know what to do.

#talking to myself #tw: medical #tw: chronic illness

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kidrauhlschik · 1 year ago

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2. Tangled Memories ~ Lee Know AU

Post Traumatic Amnesia (PTA) is a transient state of confusion, disorientation and memory loss that occurs immediately following a traumatic brain injury. PTA is sometimes also referred to as post traumatic confusional state and can occur from the moment of injury until the return of continuous memory.

The accident was a tragedy.

But it was the best tragedy to ever happen to you.

PT - 2 - See pt 1, 3, & 4 on the Masterlist linked above

Warnings: angst, f!reader, enemies to lovers, drunk driving, gaslighting, Fighting, yelling, cursing, angst, heartbreak, lies, angst, accidents, minho is mean, lmk if I missed anything!!

Words: 5.5k

In the hospital waiting area, the air felt thick with tension. No one could say a word, almost too afraid to speak.

It had been hours since the incident at that point. A witness came forward and gave their statement to the police. Apparently, you had been been walking alone with your eyes glued to your phone screen. When it came to the point of crossing the street, you made your way across without glancing up. Unaware that the light was red and a car was barreling down the road towards you. It had all happened very quick. A the sight of you, the driver immediately stepped on the brakes as he was speeding towards you, but the damage was done. No one dared to pick you up, too afraid of furthering the damage.

Once Minho told Chris what he had seen, the eight men packed themselves in two cars and sped to the hospital. Minho was planning to stay back but Chan wasn't having it. The second Minho said something in suggestion of not going, Chris blew up. You were his best friend after all.

He shoved Minho to the nearest wall. They never laid hands on each other, not like this. Minho's head hit the wall, causing a sharp pain, leaving him stunned, gaping at Christopher in confusion.

Chan got close to him, pointing an accusatory finger to his face.

"You're going, because you are the reason she walked out, you are the reason she was walking down the road, and you are the reason she's hurt right now. So god help me, Lee Minho, you better pray that she's okay because if she's not..." Chris stops himself from going further. He shoves Minho one last time and turns to grab his car keys.

Minho wanted to argue, he felt wrong going to the hospital, but Chan was right. He couldn't stand you, but he knows deep down, that if something serious happened to you, the guys would never forgive him. Indirectly, the accident was his own fault. So even now, in the waiting area, he knows that if he speaks, the response would be less than pleasant.

The doctor treating you emerges from the hallway, and immediately got swarmed by seven men, Minho being the only one to stay in the corner where he had been standing on for hours.

“Is she okay doctor? She’s okay, right?” Jeongin is the one to ask.

The doctor sighs and looks at his clipboard, “She’s going to be okay,” and a swarm of relieved sighs could be heard around the room. “Aside from a few broken ribs, a broken leg, and a broken arm, she held up pretty well. The team thinks that she took most impact on her arms, while trying to lessen the damage.”

“Can we see her?” Seungmin asks.

“She will be in a medically induced coma for a couple of days. However, I have to warn you. I was concerned with the damage the patient took to the head, so I decided to run some tests.”

“Tests? What kind of tests?” Felix’s voice drips with concern.

“The team ran an MRI, CAT, and an EEG scan. We wanted to ensure nothing was missed”

“I’m sorry doc, but what does that mean?” Jisung asks, not knowing what to make of what the doctor was saying.

The doctor takes all the boys in. They obviously cared deeply about you, so he knew that what he was about to say would severely affect them. “It means, that once we ran the tests, we came to find out that she received severe brain damage. We have a suspicion that she may suffer from post traumatic amnesia. We will not know for sure until she’s awake though, and through the EEG scan, it seems that she may suffer from seizures as well. She will need immersive care once she is released. I am truly sorry to inform you of this.”

At the news, Minho finally looks up from the tiled floor that he’d been inspecting. Much to his dismay, Chan meets his gaze. While Minho looks like a deer caught in headlights, Chan looks like he’s about to run him over.

Chris makes his way to the corner Minho was standing in.

“This is all your fault.” He says while Minho does his best to avoid his gaze. Chris knows that he is acting harshly, but in the midst of panic and pain, he couldn't help himself.

“I know.”

“I bet you’re happy aren’t you? You wanted her to go away, right? I hope you're happy. with what you've done” Tears well up in Chan’s eyes, imagining that there’s a possibility his best friend won’t remember him.

“Chan.” Minho begins, but Chan is quick to cut him off.

“When she wakes up, you apologize. You get on your fucking knees and apologize. When she’s out of here, you are taking care of her. You better make fucking sure to show how sorry you are.”

Minho wasn’t as concerned for your well being as the guys. However, he was concerned about the consequences. He was very aware that everyone in the room was truly angry at him. More than anything, he was aware of the guilt he felt. It felt as if he'd let everyone down, as if he was truly the monster everyone made him out to be.

“Okay.” Is the last thing Minho said to Chan.

It had been a week.

A week that everyone ignored Minho. He was kicked out of the group chat, he got the ignored every time he reached out to any of the guys, and he got the cold shoulder anytime he’d see one of the guys in person.

He felt alone. Abandoned. He was watching his friends leave him, just like he had before, and it was no one’s fault but his own. He knew he deserved it, he deserved all the hatred and animosity. He did what he was best at, he fucked everything up. It was like history was repeating itself.

Now they all sat around the waiting room once again. Instructed by the nurses, in order to prepare for the worst case scenario, they thought it'd be best for the guys to stay out of the room. Anxiety was building up for seven of them, all while Minho felt nothing but dread.

All he received was a message telling him to show up to the hospital at 5pm from Seungmin. Presumably the only one willing to make any interaction with him.

Finally, a nurse comes out, and similarly to the doctor , she gets swarmed by a hoard of boys. Much like the last time, Minho stands in his corner while staring at the floor. He hoped the Earth would open up and swallow him alive.

The nurse instructed for the guys to go in one by one. "We already explained the situation to her. We told her she'd have some visitors that would come see her. Make sure you introduce yourselves first, and explain what relationship you had with her. Don't overwhelm her with information, as she is still in a delicate state. You shouldn't cause any more stress to her situation."

With that being said, Chan doesn't even bother to inquire with the rest of the guys before stepping up towards the nurse, "I'll go first." No one dared to argue.

One by one, the guys filed into the room until Minho sat alone in the waiting area.

He was fighting his own mind, doing his best to avoid the demons that kept trying to make their way inside of his head.

That’s the only way he can cope. He’d rather not feel anything at all, rather than to be face his emotions. People call him cold, but he doesn’t want to feel hurt in the way he has hurt before. The way he's hurting now, for instance. He let himself love too much and now that he screwed everything up, he has to deal with the pain of having his best friends hate him. All because of you.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't realize Jeongin had joined him in the waiting area.

"Chris asked me to come get you." The youngest seemed confused by this. Probably overwhelmed by the situation, he didn't bother questioning Bang Chan's strange request. Minho didn't bother questioning it either.

Going into the room, the vibe was off. Christopher had tears in his eyes. Changbin and Seungmin both looked angry, waiting for something or someone to fix everything, nothing was coming to help them though. Jeongin, Han, and Felix all looked out of it, as if trying to take in the situation. They all knew what to expect, but seeing their best friend lack recognition of them, was a feeling none of them could have been prepared for.

You were in bed, and for the first time, you looked at Minho with curiosity. The animosity was missing from your stare. It was odd to him. Chan sniffled a bit and collected himself, "Y/N, this is Minho. He's um... a friend."

The way Chan paused in the middle of his sentence caused Minho to wince. He knew he wasn't in their best graces, but to doubt their friendship was something he was not prepared for.

He feels as if he says anything, it will be taken in the wrong way, so Minho opts to stay silent. Although he's looking everywhere but you, he feels your gaze. Inquisitive. He's probably the first person you've seen since you woke up that didn't immediately start hugging you and screaming his concerns in your face.

"He's going to be taking care of you for now." Which causes both you and Minho to stare at the eldest. Was Bang Chan out of his mind? They would kill each other, (had you recognized him).

Minho can already picture it. The second you get your memories back, you are sure to murder him. At the same time, he's painfully aware that taking care of you is the only shot he has at redemption.

"I'm going to visit you periodically, check up on you to make sure Lee Minho is taking good care of you. Alright?" Minho doesn't miss the way that his friend is gripping your hand with a little too much force. Almost as if he's scared that you'll vanish into thin air. In a way he understands. Had it been one of the guys to get hurt, he'd be just as restless, if not more. Maybe he underestimated exactly how much you meant to Bang Chan. Hell, maybe he was right with the thought that Chris wanted to get into your pants. He won't admit that out loud though.

You nod slowly at his question, everyone can just assume how confused you must be.

"Are any of you my family?" You ask, unsurely. Still not fully grasping the situation.

Hyunjin clears his throat, awkwardly trying to cleanse the air from the stiffness that your question brought to the room. "You weren't exactly close to them, your family, I mean" He responds.

"But they'll come if we call right? I mean, I should have a family right?" Your voice is now filled with anxiety. Are you really supposed to trust the 8 random boys that presented themselves as your friends?

Chris, a bit less shaken now, presumably because he realized that if anyone could calm you down, it would be him. He knows you best after all.

"Hey sweetie-"

"Don't call me that." It hurts him. You may not remember your best friend, but the hurt in his face is almost impossible to miss. He is typically good at hiding his emotions and being everyone's rock, but he felt like he was taking hit after hit.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just really confused. I think I just need some time. You seem like a really nice guy, you all do, but please just give me a couple of days. I just want to go home.” Minho can feel the stares. He feels animosity from his friends, they don't trust him, and that much is obvious. But he tells himself that he can prove them wrong. All he has to do is make sure that you don't die while you recover from your wounds. He tells himself that it shouldn't be that hard.

Chan throws on the best fake smile that he can muster. "I understand sweet- Y/N. If you need space, we can at least give you that." You nod slowly at his words, shoulders relaxing. The expectations that they all had for you felt like too much. Seeing all of their faces, one by one, look so disappointed that you didn't recognize them felt overwhelming. It made you feel guilty. The only one that wasn't visually affected by your predicament was Minho.

It felt nice.

Walking into your house, or rather getting rolled in felt awful. The place, your home, felt strange and foreign. It hurt to think about it too much. You and Minho were silent the entire ride home. While he was struggling to get you in and out of his car, he remained stoic. He hadn't forgotten that not long ago, you had his car towed for shits and giggles, and he'd always been a little too good at holding grudges.

When he leaves your apartment once again to grab the remainder of his clothes out of his car, you take it as an opportunity to look around the place. The task doesn't come easy with your broken arm and leg, yet slowly but surely, you manage to reach the few spaces you could get to without any help.

All of the pictures surrounding the place had some of the guys in the frame. Mainly the guy that introduced himself as Bang Chan. No one else is pictured aside from the guys, which made you feel more at ease with your decision to trust them.

You couldn't help but notice the lack of Minho in the pictures. Didn't they say he was also your friend? You make a mental note to ask him about it later.

Minho walks in and throws his bags by the entrance, immediately making his way towards the kitchen. He had been in his head since the second he agreed to take care of you. It's not like it was much of a choice, but he'd been stressing over how exactly he would approach the situation. He wasn't doing this for you, he was doing it so his friends could forgive him. That's what he kept repeating to himself in order to actually come through with his assistance.

You roll into the kitchen as he was making dinner. He doesn't pay you much attention, the only thing that lets you know that he noticed you in his space, is the avoidance of your chair, running around and swiveling around you.

"Do I have a phone?" You ask him, but it throws him off a bit. There was no sarcasm in your tone, it was nothing but a question, but it comes off as a odd to him. Having known you for a little over a year, not once had either of you had a civil conversation with one another.

"It broke in the accident. Chan is buying one for you, I think." Still not bringing his gaze towards your direction. You silently nod in response.

"I must be pretty close to him, for him going out of his way to buy me a phone."

"Mhm." He is still very unsure on how to approach you. He briefly thinks about kicking your chair while passing by you, but quickly shakes the thought out of his head. Chris is still going to check in on you, and he knows that if Chris finds out that Minho was treating you less than perfect, he'd have another argument with him. Minho wanted to avoid anymore conflict. Through everything, he just wants his best friends to talk to him again.

"Were we close?"

That question actually throws Minho in for a loop. Should he lie? What is he supposed to say? We hate each other? I'm the reason you lost your memories? I'm the guy who practically pushed you into the accident? "Huh?" Is the only thing he manages to say in response.

"Well, there are no pictures of you here. All of the people at the hospital are in the pictures. You're the only one that didn't throw himself into my arms and damn near burst into tears. I'm assuming that we weren't that close." There was no ill intent with your question, just pure curiosity.

"Well-" You interrupt him before he can actually come up with an explanation. "You have been avoiding me like the plague since you picked me up, and all the guys visited me every single day since I woke up." Minho asks himself if you'd always been this talkative.

"We weren't as close as you are to the other guys."

"So why are you the one to take care of me?" For the first time in a while, he finally makes eye contact with you.

"Chris wanted us to get closer." Is the best lie he can come up with.

"Why?" God, why are you asking so many questions? Minho wondered.

"I don't know. He's your bestie, you'll know when you get your memories back." Now you're taken aback.

"Do you think I ever will?"

"I hope so." He does. This whole situation feels uncanny to Minho. He doesn't remember a conversation that you guys have had, that lasted this long and hadn't escalated to screaming and it felt odd.

With that answer, you drop the conversation. He obviously didn't want to talk, and you felt as if you had pried enough for the night

For the next couple of weeks, things go as smoothly as anyone could hope. You and Minho coexist which is more than he expected. He goes to his classes and comes back to your apartment everyday. Most nights he comes back to cook dinner, then he helps you bathe, and then heads to bed. It's a stark difference in comparison to when the other guys are visiting you.

You manage to get a couple of questions in every night, but he typically doesn't show much interest in shoving your past down your throat. You don't bother to pry, mainly because you get plenty of information when the guys come by, especially because of Felix. He seems like a pretty sweet guy, but it's very easy to get overwhelmed when he shoves his phone screen in your face whenever he comes to visit.

"Wait Y/N! Look at this! You asked if we could go to the beach and obviously I am always down to hang out with you. That day we left super early and spent the whole day lounging around in the sand. You almost managed to drown me with your lack of swimming skills. It was kind of funny actually." He means well, but it almost feels like he's trying to guilt you into remembering. The guilt that you feel when all you can do is smile and say, "Woah, sounds nice." Is incomprehensible. They try to hide their disappointment, and move on to the next memory that you can't recall. You know that they're trying to help, but it doesn't make you feel any better.

That's why Minho's silence is welcomed. It's like he doesn't expect anything from you, which feels like a breath of fresh air.

Minho is slowly falling into a routine with you. Initially everything felt strange to him. Your sudden friendliness, the need to be taken care of, the lack of bite with your words, all were foreign to him. Prior to the accident, you were very independent. Almost terrified to let someone take care of you.

Even the bathing part became causal to him. Initially, he felt very awkward, almost flustering to him. He hardly knew anything about you, and now he had to see you naked. He couldn't help the blush that took over his face when he first had to help you clean up. Now, he mainly disassociates and gets it done as fast as possible.

"Did you have a crush on me?” You ask all of the sudden, causing him to choke on his dinner. Eyes wide as saucers stare you down.

"I'm sorry???"

You shrug nonchalantly. "I'm just asking."

"What would make you think of that?" He asks, still just as flustered.

"I mean, why else would Chris ask you to get close to me? Why were you always acting so weird around me? The only explanation I can think of, is that you had a crush on me and you were too shy to approach me." You explain nonchalantly, shoving more food in your mouth.

"I did not have a crush on you." He says a bit too aggressively for you liking.

"Or maybe you hated me." Once again, speaking entirely way too casually.

"NO." He almost screams. Which confuses you even more.

"Damn. Make up your mind dude. Love or hate me, it would be nice to know." You chuckle a bit with your response.

He composes himself a bit before replying. "I mean, I mean, um, we just had a weird relationship."

"Relationship huh? So I'm hearing you were in love with me and I rejected you."

This was a new side of you Minho was not used to. He had never played around with you. You could hardly look at each other, and now you were implying that he had a crush on you. How is he supposed to reply without admitting that you guys loathed each others presence?

"I mean... It did hurt when you rejected me." He couldn’t just admit that he hated you, then you’d be apprehensive towards him. He knew, or he wanted to believe that you'd regain your memories one day. So he honestly wasn't sure as to why he kept on lying to you, whenever you got your old self back, you'd for sure murder him.

"I knew it!" You slammed your uninjured hand on the table, seemingly proud of your 'deduction skills', as wrong as they were.

By the time you were able to get your arm out of the cast, everything was a lot more casual between you and Minho. It seemed as if you had accepted his fake confession with grace. You dropped the subject and moved on. Minho had no idea how wrong he was.

He failed to notice how soft your voice had gotten with him, and missed the way your eyes would linger on him for a second too long after you made a joke to see how it’d affect him. He was oblivious on how you always seemingly flocked over to him when the guys were over out of instinct. He definitely didn't see that whenever Chris called you to see if he could come by, you'd deny his requests, opting to stay alone with your ex enemy.

The two of you fell into a new routine. You'd watch movies until the first one dropped, though it was typically you. He didn't think much of it. He would never ponder on the fact that he'd watch you sleep sometimes, and observed your light snores and weirdly found them comforting. He told himself that it was like watching a snake taking a nap. He never thought much about the nights that he'd allow himself to run his fingers through your hair without thinking.

The forced proximity grew your relationship so organically that before he knew it, he didn’t dread sharing a space with you. Yet, he refused to acknowledge the fact.

Eventually, there were no casts, no broken bones, and no reasons for him to stay with you. You still didn't remember anything, so that's why he reasoned that he should stay.

One day, he woke up in the middle of the night. You and Bang Chan had a sleepover, you had gotten comfortable with your best friend again, after many months of him trying to make himself back into your life, you had begun to let him. The memories he always tried to remind you of, softened your heart. He spoke in a way that seemed safe, causing you to build a strange sense of trust with the man.

"Hey, I was thinking that you should be good to stay on your own once again. I don't think that Lee Minho is doing much but getting in your way." Neither of you were aware that he was standing in the hall. Hoping to get a glass of water, but instead being met by your conversation.

"I want him to stay." Minho grips his empty cup a bit harder. Not expecting to hear those words from you.

Chris was very clearly taken aback. He had heard good things about Minho. He knew that he was acting out of guilt, but he didn't mind much. You needed someone to be there for you, and Bang Chan hoped that even if it was superficial, you could at least have all the help you needed.

"What? Why" He questions.

"Well, didn't you want us to get closer?"

"I mean, I guess but..."

"Then you got what you wanted." You say with a sly smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know what my deal was before, but I think I'm ready to accept him." Your words make Minho look around the hallway in a panic. What the hell were you talking about?

"Accept him?"

"Yeah, I mean he's handsome, he's very mysterious, but in a good way. He feels safe, like he is just staying by my side because he wants to, not because he expects something out of me." Minho leans against the wall with worry and exhaustion. You misread everything. He didn't expect anything out of you because he expected forgiveness from his friends. How did he let it get to this point?

"Hey sweetie, I don't know if it's my place to tell you this-" With Chan's words, Minho immediately makes his way to his bedroom and loudly slams the door, making it appear as if he was barely coming out. He makes sure to make his steps as loud as possible, as he fakes the best groggy voice he can manage.

"Hey guys, what's going on?" You and Chan both freeze in place.

"Oh, me and Chris were just catching up." He nods at your response and makes his way back to the room that has became his.

Chan quickly changes the subject. How is someone supposed to tell you that the man that they all forced into your life used to be your mortal enemy? So he merely avoids it.

It is not as simple for Minho though, he can't avoid you, so he simply shuts you out in his own way. He answers your questions even less, he stops making you dinner, opts to go to his room during movie night, and overall, tries to spend less time at your place. This does not go unnoticed by you though. His new attitude makes you wonder if your lack of memory is finally getting to him. Has he gotten tired of you? Tired of waiting for the person he had been infatuated with? Those questions make their way into your head with the lack of his attention.

"Hey Minho." You begin the second he walks in through the door, stopping him from making a beeline to his room.

He stops without looking at you, dreading what your next words may be.

"How have you been?" That being the last thing he expected you to say.

"What?"

"I feel like we haven't talked too much lately. It's strange." That's strange? Minho wants to laugh. After experiencing the oddest of the past few months with you, the fact that he's distant is strange? God, if only you knew.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think we could go do something? Maybe go skating or maybe shopping?"

"What?" If he agrees, that would be the first time the two of you went out alone. He didn't expect this situation to arise. He wanted to say no, you were the person he hated most afterall. Yet, the you now wasn't the old you. The you now, looked at him in a different way. You trusted him. Which he genuinely enjoyed, mainly because no one really trusted him as of lately. It is odd that you of all people, are making him feel better.

On the way to the park, he can't help but wonder. What if you got your memories back right then and there? Would you immediately recoil from his side? Acting as if he had burned you? You'd know that you had been lied to. You wouldn't only be mad at him, but at everyone else as well.

He briefly wonders if everything that they're doing is right. He had never asked himself that, always looking at his ultimate goal. Seungmin and Hyunjin had talked to him first, mainly to ask how you were doing. Then Felix and Jeongin had been the next to reach out, asking if you could all hang out together. Changbin, Jisung, and Chris were harder to crack though. However, they had all gotten significantly kinder toward Minho. He takes all of it as wins, but can't help but think about the way you'd react toward the past couple of months full of lies that they all fed you. Minho of all people? He remembers your murderous behavior, and can already see you breaking down, and breaking them, whenever you remembered everything.

"Do you have any dreams?" Your words break him out of his thoughts.

"What?" You know he's standoffish, so you already had a response for his questioning ready.

"I always wanted to be a singer." You say to persuade him to confide in you.

"Wait, wait. What?" He stops your walk at the unexpected statement.

"Yeah... I think I'm remembering somethings," The thought causes Minho to shudder. "I don't recall much, but I think I'm beginning to remember my parents."

"Wait what?!"

"Don't tell anyone though." You shake your hands as if to say 'no' to make it a point that he is the only person you're telling about this.

"But... do you remember anything else?"

"Huh, not really. I think my memory is working itself backwards. Sometimes I have dreams of what used to be. Sometimes I wake up remembering what I did before, but it is mainly things from way back. I'm beginning to remember why I cut everyone in my family off, and why I stopped chasing my dreams." The way you said it so calmly, lead Minho to infer that you've been remembering things for a while. It makes him feel weird to think that you're confiding in him of all people.

"Well, why did you stop chasing your dreams?" Had anyone told Minho that you two would be walking through the park together, talking so casually, he would've thought they were psychos.

"I haven't got to that part yet. What about you? Why did you stop chasing your dreams?" The question takes him aback. He can't remember telling you that part of his life.

You take his confusion into account, and continue talking, "I noticed the way you're an amazing singer. You're not really quiet when you shower." You laugh at your own statement. "I hate to be intrusive, but Chan also told me that you had unfinished business with that," Before Minho could get mad at your curiosity, you kept speaking. "I didn't let him tell me much more. I assumed that I was right, but you're free to tell me that I'm wrong right now." With that, he's at a loss for words. It was a longshot, but you were meeting the mark.

"I wasn't really made for it."

"I think that you are."

He doesn't reply to that. He takes a bit to take in your words. For a second, he forgets how you used to be. Had you always been so observant? So caring? The person that had made him feel like shit for so long felt like a stranger in comparison to how you were right now.

"You're nice." He says before he could stop himself.

"That must be why you were so in love with me." So confident. That was also new for you.

"I wouldn't go that far." He chuckled to himself. He finds it odd that you were so funny. He's seen bits and pieces of you for a while, but never directed towards him in that way. He feels a confidence coming from you that he had always failed to see before.

Although you don't reply to him, he feels as if he couldn't leave his statement unended. "You're maybe kinda sorta cute. I guess." Which brings a laugh out of you.

"Ha, good way of hiding your never ending love for me." If only you knew.

He is not sure why, but your statement makes him smile.

"Hey Minho,” your next words would make his mood flip in an instant, “you make me feel safe." Your words bring bile to his mouth. He feels like a faker. He feels like he’s betraying you, not the old you, but this new version that he strangely liked. It’s all so confusing to him. He's supposed to hate you.

"You make me feel okay." That's the best thing he can muster before wrapping his arm around you. It felt like the right thing to do but the wrong universe to do it at.

He hoped that your memory would never come back.

A/N: i'll try to wrap this up by this weekend. thank you so much to those who have given me encouraging words :)

TAGLIST: @stanstraykidsskz @weareapackofstrays @linos-kitten @cassidymb121

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theinternetisaweboflies · 1 month ago

Text

Jägermeister

Chapter Twenty-One: Jacket

Hermann returned to the medical bay.

In truth, he had been there the whole time. Jaegers could not be piloted if the drift was all-consuming. However, over the years of ‘co-labitation,’ as Newton insisted on referring to it, Hermann had developed a near impervious state of hyperfocus out of sheer necessity. He had been only vaguely aware of their physical location until Newton’s hand slipped from his own.

He was seizing again.

Seizures could occur while someone was in a comatose state, but their sole manifestation was abnormal patterns of neural activity registered by the electroencephalogram. Newton’s EEG did spike and dip dramatically, but it moved in time with his body, as if mapping its spasms.

Hermann sat, helpless, as the doctors administered intravenous benzodiazepine and nifedipine Newton’s absence seizure had not required an anticonvulsant, but the doctors at the Four Seasons had administered nifedipine to prevent hypoxia. Deficient cerebral oxygenation was less common with absence seizures than tonic-clonic ones, but if it occurred for even a moment, let alone three hours, it could cause permanent brain damage. That would be devastating for anyone. For someone like Newton…

Hermann felt his own mind go blank when the EEG suddenly registered suppression of all neural activity.

Lou flicked his ear.

“Postictal phase,” they said. “It’s almost over. My old man may not be on dialysis yet, but his kidneys have taken him for a couple of these rides.”

They were correct. The EEG normalized. The muscular contractions decreased in frequency and then amplitude.

When Newton’s body finally stilled, it was wheeled away for more imaging. The CAT, MRI, and PET scans that it took to convince Dr. Lightcap only confirmed what Hermann already knew: The swelling in Newton’s brain had finally gone down.

He didn’t even have a nosebleed.

The Precursors were gone.

Their sudden absence was almost as idiopathic as their initial presence, but whether they had actually been defeated by the power of love, or simply cried uncle at too much PDA, the truth was palpable. Hermann could feel the difference.

He could feel Newton.

Even in a comatose state, Newton was being terrorized by his own mind, reality merging with nightmares. Hermann poured more care and comfort than he would have ever considered himself capable of through their bond, and it flowed as if by Bernoulli’s principle, all high speed and low pressure. It felt almost as if they had their own little hive mind of two.

Hermann had originally been disappointed, but unsurprised when his ghost drift with Newton was little more than a wisp. After all, they had only drifted once, and the presence of the hive mind had been an unprecedented impediment.

What Hermann had not realized until now was that the hive mind could continue to impede their drift even after it was over.

Except it had never really been over for Newton. He had been in some sort of continuity with the hive mind, ostensibly since his first drift. The subsequent drifts may have expedited the process, but with enough time, the hive mind would have invariably taken control. Newton had been so terribly outnumbered.

They would have commandeered his body, but not until after they had acclimated to it, which would have most likely facilitated the process of assimilation. In theory, Hermann might not have even noticed as Newton turned into something else.

Dr. Lightcap insisted on waiting another twenty-four hours to monitor the encephalitis before removing Newton from his medically-induced coma. Hermann passed those hours in the chair by his bedside, hip be damned.

He wanted to initiate another drift, if only to assure himself Newton was finally free of the hive mind, but Hermann knew that wish was a selfish one.

What Newton needed now more than anything was rest. He was suffering from extreme exhaustion, malnourishment, and an ever increasing collection of injuries. In addition to his ribs, which had been upgraded from cracked to fractured, Newton had a concussion, a fractured intermediate phalange, and severe lacerations on both wrists, one of which was still sprained from when he hit the car.

Security was on standby when Newton awoke, just in case. Lou and Dierdre flanked Hermann’s chair, which was still placed beside the bed to prevent any potential symptoms of drift withdrawal. Mako, Raleigh, Tendo, and Marshal Hansen stood further back, allowing the medical personnel room to work.

When the anesthesia in Newton’s system had ebbed enough to no longer inhibit respiration, his intubation tube was removed. Hermann gagged in sympathy as he felt its foreign slide through the ghost drift.

At long last, Newton opened his eyes, still red around the sclera.

He immediately burst into tears.

Hermann moved without thinking. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around Newton’s body, mindful of his fractured ribs. He held Newton as if he was handling fine china or the rarest of specimens.

Newton hid his face in the crook of Hermann's neck. He began to make an almost animalistic keening noise, but cut himself off so abruptly that Hermann was momentarily concerned for his tongue.

He could feel the rawness of Newton’s nerves, like exposed wires, each spark uniquely charged. Fear. Confusion. Pain. Even misplaced guilt over the bruising on Hermann's neck that had already faded to green.

Hermann tried to ground him, but after what seemed like mere seconds, the doctors had swarmed the bed, and he was removed from Newton’s side with clinical precision.

He returned to his chair while they measured pupil dilation and asked simple questions. When they got to the one about the current U.S. President, Newton’s answer consisted entirely of curse words, which was accepted as confutation of any significant brain damage.

Eventually, the doctors retreated to input data and pat each other on the back. Newton had stopped crying, but he was still shaking slightly, a fine tremor running through his body like an aftershock of the seizure.

Hermann removed his parka and draped it around Newton’s shoulders before resuming his seat on the edge of the bed.

“Are you alright?” asked Mako.

“Ze- Zettai daijōbu dayo, Mako-chan,” said Newton, in a voice like a cat being put down a garbage disposal unit.

“Oh, no, he’s still possessed,” said Tendo. “He’s speaking in tongues.”

Mako elbowed him.

“Are you okay, Lou?” asked Newton. “After the crash, you- did you need surgery?”

Lou shot Hermann a look before replying. “Oh, that? I just realized life was short and I should finally get that bottom surgery I always wanted: Smooth, like Barbie.”

“They’re lyin’,” said Eddie the medic, from somewhere near the back of the small crowd now gathered around Newton’s bed. “They just needed some glass tweezed out of their arm. That’s only, like, nominally surgical.”

Hermann could feel Newton’s limited energy reserves already start to flag. He wanted to tell the others to leave, to let Newton get the rest he so desperately required, but he could also feel the nascent thrum of relief their presence provided. He would allow them a moment more.

“Only I get to know what’s going on in Lou’s pants,” Dierdre was saying. “Although we were thinking about inviting Allison from munitions.”

“Hey,” said Tendo. “What about me and Paul?”

Deirdre shrugged. “You can come along. We’ll turn the Shatterdome into the world’s biggest, most dysfunctional polycule before it gets shut down. Really go out with a bang.”

“I think Newt might have us beat when it comes to dysfunctional polycules,” said Tendo. “No? Too soon?”

“Too soon,” Hermann confirmed.

“Hey, Tendo?”

“Yeah, Newt?” Tendo dropped a hand onto his shoulder, and Newton only flinched a little.

“What happened to your eyebrows?”

“...Too soon, brother.”

...

@lastdaysofwar

#last days of war #newmann fanfiction #pacific rim fanfiction

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