#first aid medical whump

[victimeyez]

For the drabbles thing, has there ever been a moment when Caius has worried that Tommy is dead, either because he or one of their clients took things too far? Im curious to know what his reaction would be, and if he would care at all about losing him.

AHHH thank you so much for the ask! This was fun to write. Nearly losing Tommy made Caius realize for the first time just how much he cared.

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Stay

Part of Professional//Victim

See tags for content warnings

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Things had been going good.Over a year in, and Tommy was a hit. They had enough requests for him to book out the next year, at least. 

So Caius did what he promised himself he would never do: he got sloppy. 

He managed to get Tommy in the car, sprawling him across the back.

“Give me your arm, come on.”

Tommy was breathing shallowly, and his face was ghostly pale in the dim light of the streetlamp nearby. 

Caius frantically checked his pockets for his phone, finding it tucked in the last one he checked. He unlocked it with shaking hands and got into his speed dial with a few quick presses, sandwiching it between his ear and shoulder as he fumbled with his first aid kit. The one time he leaves it in the car, goddamnit. 

Sam answered just before it went to voicemail, his voice drowsy. 

“Caius? What time is it?”

“Two AM, rise and shine.” He tried to keep the panic from his voice. He found Tommy’s wrist and turned out his arm. His blood looked black in the light, spewing shockingly fast from the gash parting his ivory skin.

“Sam, Tommy’s hurt bad, they definitely got an artery. I’m working on a tourniquet – what do I do?”

“Fuck,” Sam responded, his voice slightly clearer. 

“-Where is the bleed? How big? How deep?”

“Arm, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Caius rushed, pulling the roll of gauze out and struggling to find where it started for a second before he started to wrap it around Tommy’s arm.

“Give me something to work with here, what’s going on?”

Tommy moaned in pain when Caius bound it tightly, startling slightly out of his stupor. 

“Tommy? Stay with me buddy, stay with me. Sam, you’re going to have to meet me.”

“Jeez, okay, where are you right now?”

The bandage was darkening fast while he prepared the tourniquet. Which step was first again? He couldn’t remember anything, his head was reeling in a blind panic. 

He paused long enough to send his location to Sam before pinching the phone back against his shoulder.

“I’m here, pick the best halfway point and send it back to me right now, go NOW.”

He could hear rustling on the phone, hopefully the sound of Sam heading his way. 

“Give me thirty seconds and I’ll send it and head out. But hey, if you lose this one, don’t beat yourself up about it, it happens. I knew a guy who-”

“NO,” Caius snarled, and he realized he was scared. There were a few beats of silence, and his phone pinged. He tied off the tourniquet and dropped his phone into his hand, rounding the car to rip the driver’s door open and jump inside.

ASSHOLE DOCTOR (SAM) HAS PINGED YOU A LOCATION.

It couldn’t load fast enough. He was pulling out of the driveway before he knew where he was heading. 

“It’s forty minutes out,” Sam told him gently, his voice distant as the call transferred to his own car’s system. At least he was on the way. 

“Be there in twenty.”

Caius hung up the phone, his wheels skidding in the street as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Tommy, baby, talk to me, you’ve gotta stay awake.”

From the back seat, Tommy groaned weakly.

Caius flipped the heaters on, only slowing briefly at a red light before peeling out. He was already sweating, but Tommy had felt so cold. 

“Keep talking, I gotta know you’re okay. What’s your favorite movie?”

Tommy took a shuddering breath.

“I don’t feel so good…”

His voice was so small, Caiuscould barely hear him over the blast of the heaters.

“What uh, what do you want for dinner? Once I get you fixed up. Anything you want.”

Tommy coughed raspily, dry heaving before he fell still again.

“TOMMY.”

“Coney. From home.”

“Home?”

Tommy took a shuddering breath. 

“Motor city, baby,” Tommy mumbled sleepily. Caius laughed, too loud, too jarring. 

“Tell me, tell me about Detroit.”

There was no response. Caius turned music on, whatever was playing, and turned it up loud. 

“YOU GOTTA STAY AWAKE,” he shouted over the music, and saw Tommy stir uncomfortably.

His phone told him they’d be going straight down the highway for the next 24 miles. He worked the gas pedal slowly to the ground, grateful for the clear roads. 

He skidded to a halt in the empty parking lot of Wheeler’s Dealers Emporium. His heart was beating out of his chest like he had run the whole way. He threw open Tommy’s door and pulled his legs, drawing him closer to get a look at him. 

“Stay with me. Tommy? Come on, little longer.”

Tommy made no response. 

He could hear a car pulling into the lot behind him, fast. 

He held his face, shining his cell phone light at his eyes. Tugging one lid open, his eyes were rolled back. In the light, his lips were so blue.

Caius kissed him. 

He didn’t know why, he hadn’t kissed him before. CPR didn’t work for blood loss, did it? He looked down and saw where that inky blackness had seeped into the jacket he’d wrapped around him. 

He grabbed his arm right over the cut and squeezed. 

The pain brought Tommy back to life, gasping for breath. Caius kissed him like warming his lips would save him, but honestly, he was just so relieved he wasn’t gone. 

Tommy went limp in his arms. 

Then Sam was there too, putting a hand on his shoulder. Caius moved out of the way, and Sam snagged the scissors from the first aid, cutting away the clothing obscuring the wound. 

“Tommy buddy, talk to me, you hanging in there?”

Caius sat in the back seat, holding Tommy up in his lap.  “Please, Tommy. Stay.”

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Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slighlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

Thank you all so much for reading, I cannot tell you what it means to me.

[macgyvermedical]

Wound Care For Adults

So the wife was on backpacking reddit and found that a lot of people can't tell the difference between wounds you need some vaseline and a bandaid for, wounds that need a little home TLC, wounds you need to go to an urgent care for, and wounds you actually need to go to the emergency department for, so we're gonna talk about that here.

Wounds that need some vaseline and a bandaid:

A blister that popped

A non-gaping cut

A skinned knee (small amount of fresh, shallow road rash with nothing embedded)

Keep in mind that you should NOT use rubbing alcohol, iodine, mercurochrome, or hydrogen peroxide on any of these. It will just hurt and potentially kill healthy cells in the wound. Neosporin or other antibiotic ointment is okay if you happen to have it, but the antibiotics themselves don't last long and are generally not worth the extra money.

Wash the wound with plain tap water, pat it dry with a clean cloth or piece of gauze, dab on a little petroleum jelly (Vaseline) and slap a bandage on that beby.

Wounds that need some TLC at home:

A small, shallow burn with nothing stuck to it

A slightly infected open blister or non-gaping cut

Slightly infected road rash or shallow road rash with something embedded in it

Cut gaping less than 1/4 inch (1/2 cm)

Small, shallow burn: Right after you get the burn, run it under cool tap water for 5-10 minutes, even if you think it's already cool. This will help clean the wound and stop the burn from getting any deeper. Do not ice. Do not put oil or butter or vaseline on the wound. Use an over the counter burn gel and a bandaid to hold it in place.

Slightly infected small wound/road rash: You'll know it's slightly infected if there's redness and swelling around the edges (up to 2cm), if there is drainage, and if it smells bad. It will also probably hurt more than you think it should. For this you'll want to do hot compresses about 4 times a day for 20 minutes per time until the infection goes away. To do this, get a pot and get water hot enough that it is uncomfortable to touch. Then put a wash cloth in that water, pull it out, wring it out, and hold it against the wound. It should be uncomfortably hot and just a little painful. When it cools down, dip it back in the pot, wring it out, and do it again. At the end of 20 minutes the whole area around the wound should be pink.

Road rash with something embedded: If there's a tiny stone or pieces of visible dirt on this section of road rash, you'll need to clean it with a moderately forceful stream of water. You can do this with an irrigation syringe you can get from the pharmacy, or you can make your own using a plastic zipper bag. Fill a bag with water, then cut a teeny tiny hole in one of the corners. Squeeze the bag to make a stream of water, then direct that stream at the wound. This will take potentially a lot of water. Keep at it until there is nothing visible in the wound, then treat with vaseline and a bandaid.

A cut gaping less than 1/4 inch: If this is on your face, genitals, or hands and you care about scarring, go to an emergency department. If this is on another part of your body and you're okay with a scar, keep reading. Stop bleeding with pressure. Clean the wound by running clean tap water through it and pat the edges dry. Make some butterfly bandages out of strong tape- I recommend silk medical tape, but in a pinch you could use duct tape or similar.

Starting on one end, tape down one side of a butterfly bandage, pull it across the cut, and tape it to the other side. Move a 1/4 inch down the cut, and tape another one down, then another, until you have taped the length of the cut. Put some kind of breathable bandage on top of this.

Wounds that need to go to an urgent care:

Cut gaping more than 1/4 inch but that you can still stop bleeding with pressure.

Open blister, cut, burn, or road rash that is draining thick, yellow-or-white drainage and is not getting better with hot compresses, but you don't have a fever

Stop any bleeding, clean by running water over the injury, and go to an urgent care or your family doctor if you happen to be able to get in for a same-day appointment.

Wounds that need to go to an emergency department:

Any cut that gapes on the face, palm of the hand, or genitals

Infection with streaks or with which you have a fever/chills, or for which the red area grows by more than a cm in an hour

Burn larger than the palm of your hand or that is more than skin deep

Any wound that was spurting blood or that needed a tourniquet to stop bleeding

Go to the emergency department as soon as possible, they'll take care of it.

[vfib785]

LUCAS 3, v3.1 chest compression system

[whumptious]

I just found my old EMT textbook and figured some people here would be delighted to have such a resource for giving their characters advanced first aid. (Or for understanding the USAmerican emergency health care system). It takes a few chapters to get to the really useful stuff, but I'll just post it all since there are a few good tidbits in the intro section.

So here's chapter 1: preparing to be an emt. A very general overview of requirements and responsibilities.

[silvercap]

Whump writing/first aid pet peeve: if your character is bleeding and has been bandaged, but is STILL bleeding through them and has not had a chance to get to a hospital---don't take the original bandages OFF. Doing this will tear open any potential scabbing and could make them bleed worse. Also, you're exposing them to more opportunity for infection, and just basically setting back any possible healing progress you could've had.

This is fine if your character maybe doesn't know what they're doing and wants to put clean ones on for whatever reason (they better be prepared for a gout of blood! and also it'll hurt, and you'll have Consequences) but if your character would realistically know how to handle wounds, first aid situations are not the time to replace bandages. Just stack them---it will work out better for everyone!

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 6

Path of Whumperless Whump Prompt: Alt/bonus prompt "Medical Complications"

Day 6 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters:

- POV/Caretaker: Gawain - The Green Knight

- Polly (Cursed, Netflix)

- Pym (Cursed, Netflix)

- Kaze (Cursed, Netflix)

- Whumpee: Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 624

TWs; Field surgery, pain, pinned down, broken ribs, blood, shards of bone, graphic descriptions, gore.

Lancelot tremoured beneath Gawain's hands as Polly, their healer, lowered a blade into his side.

What had begun as a; "I just pulled a stitch, thats all" quite quickly devolved when it had become apparent this was something far far worse. At Polly's discovery of a rogue shard of broken rib bone that had been cutting Lancelot up inside with every breath, it became outright field surgery.

Gawain glanced down at the terrible bruising that painted across Lancelot's ribs, grimacing at the way Polly pulled his skin apart, slicing through flesh to expose the troublesome shard. Both Pym, a young healer-in-training and Kaze, his second-in-command aided him in keeping Lancelot pinned as the healer worked, though neither seemed entirely pleased about it.

Lancelot hissed through gritted teeth, eyes flaring wide, body shaking with the effort to keep himself still. As Polly worked, sweat beaded up across Lancelot's skin, slick under Gawain's fingertips, and he jerked and spasmed in their hold with small involuntary movements that resisted his valiant attempts to stay still. Lancelot groaned in pain, burying his face into his arms, gasping a shuddering breath.

"That's it, nice and still..." Polly soothed, then dug the knife deeper. Lancelot cried out now, buckling under their hold, and Gawain had to fight to keep him steady. He knew Kaze and Pym similarly struggled where they pinned him.

Lancelot whimpered, desperately choking down a louder scream. One hand clawed into the ground above the blanket he lay on carving furrows into the dirt.

"Pym, your hands are smaller," Polly spoke up now, furiously focused expression on her face, "In a moment I'm going to need you to grab it."

"Me? Grab it? Th-the bone?"

Polly withdrew the knife with an affirmative nod. Lancelot gasped in relief and fell limp, eyes rolling back into his head.

"I think he fainted." Gawain commented, watching the torment that carved deep lines into Lancelot's angular face slowly fade, though the crease between his brow did not and his eyes darted beneath darkened lids.

"Probably for the best," Polly said, wiping her hands on a rag, "Pym, you should be able to get it now."

"Here goes..." Pym whimpered, pulling a face as she dug around with her fingertips into the wound. Lancelot groaned as he woke, grey eyes flying open wide, flailing his arms instinctively and Gawain was forced to kneel on his arm lest he swing and punch him by accident again. Gawain cringed at the tormented scream that Lancelot could do nothing to supress, even as Lancelot hid his face in his other arm again, nails digging so hard into his own shoulder beside where Gawain held him that Gawain was sure he'd bleed.

"I think... I've got it, --" Pym gave a mighty yank, studiously ignoring Lancelots agonised cries, "--There!"

Lancelot slackened again in their grasp, panting, powerful shudders wracking his entire body as he stared near sightlessly across the dirt with pain-glazed eyes. Pym's triumphant face suddenly switched to one of horror, apparently remembering what it was she held; a jagged, pinkish shard of bone almost the length of Gawain's finger and no wider than a blade, which Polly promptly took from her before Pym had a chance to drop it, wrapping it into a rag.

"We need to clean this and stitch him back up. Shouldn't need all of you to hold him now."

Kaze stepped away with a nod, seemingly relieved to no longer have to pin him with a thoroughly unimpressed expression curling her lip to bare a fang. Gawain for his part felt violently ill yet he firmly remained as he was. He didn't miss the thankful look Lancelot shot him.

"Still with us, Monk?"

Lancelot nodded weakly.

"Nearly done, I promise."

I'm enjoying these prompts, they're really helping me flesh out some of the plot ideas for my upcoming Lancewain fic.

I was really struggling to cut the wordcount down on this one! This scene ended up being several thousand words on the initial draft a few days ago, but rest assured it will be expanded upon and included in the main fic in all it's whump-filled glory!

FINALLY we have Pym showing up! She's genuinely one of my fave Cursed characters to write for and I LOVE HER. You can see her and all the other characters in these snippets in the Character masterlist linked above.

Onto the next, thank you for reading!

[whump-supplies]

Medic whump my beloved <3

The world doesn't care that they're exhausted. It doesn't care that their head is pounding and chest aches, it doesn't care how badly they're shaking or how much their legs want to give out.

Their teammates are hurt and sick and dying and they are the only one who can save them, they have a role to fill and a job to do, because no one else can.

And whatever is going on with them? A bit of first aid and however many pain meds are needed to function will have to suffice because "resting" is not conducive to keeping their friends alive

Oh and if one of their teammates is in critical condition? They have to be prepared to stay awake for days on end monitoring (or operating) on them to keep them alive.

They dont get to stop and rest

(At least not until they cant go any further and their body gives out. Delaying much needed rest by slamming back caffeine & pain meds until the job gets done has its consequences after all~)

I love my exhausted medic characters so much <3

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part B): Felix

Notes: mostly low-level med whump

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Med Exam, References to Noncon, Noncon touch, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

They expected him to die soon. Lincoln knows this, without prejudice, as well as he knows anything else about this place. Even if the handler had not introduced Felix with the caveat that they had recently ceased all medical intervention, Lincoln could put the pieces together by looking for twenty seconds at the handlers’ notes from the last few days.

According to the available records, during Felix’s first several months at Belleview, he went no longer than three days between ‘projects,' often with multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Lincoln has not yet researched every experimental tool or drug or procedure that Felix was a part of, partly because some of them were classified and the DOH had yet to access the details, and partly because, in the cases where Lincoln was able to identify the critical components of the trials, his stomach had bottomed out early and he had wound up six hours deep in case files trying to sort out exactly how this had happened.

After Felix's first nine months, they had slowed down with him. There was a three week break wherein Felix was not assigned to any long-term trial before he was pulled again, for what would have been the final time. It was a medical test for a hallucinogenic training drug that lasted nearly two months before abruptly terminating two weeks prior, when, to Lincoln’s best guess, the site had received guidance to stop any majorly illegal activities.

Felix appeared to have been neglected since then. According to the handlers’ notes, he had accessed only two meals a day, a few glasses of water, and, if someone took pity on him, was afforded some assistance in showering and using the toilet. If he didn’t, or couldn’t, eat what was given to him, he would go without eating. “That was part of the gag,” the handler said. “We couldn’t… well, we couldn't actively aid in their... uh, it was technically not allowed. But there came a time when we were asked to let them ride out the end. If they didn't eat, they didn't eat.”

There will come a time, Lincoln thinks now, that Felix will be asked to testify to what happened at this site. There will come a time where some semblance of justice will be served, at least to those who partook in the darkest corners of the system. He will see to it that Felix is afforded that chance.

He takes a breath and enters the small cell, which will need to be repurposed into a bedroom over the next day or so. Felix lays on the floor on his side, curled up as tightly as his frail body will allow. He doesn’t open his eyes at their approach.

“We call him Felix because he’s always smiling,” the handler said. He doesn’t smile now. Even in sleep, he looks scared. He’s covered in bruises, with dried blood smeared across his legs and torso. Lincoln had not caught that earlier, but it couldn’t be new. He’s pale. He swallows, and his body tenses for a moment before he settles back into sleep.

“He’s not actually happy, though,” the handler continued. “He flirts with everyone he sees, just trying to find someone to take him home, we think. He’ll do anything you ask him to, as long as he can understand it. The last couple weeks he’s been up and down, though.”

He’s shaking, and it’s not the light tremble of a scared boy who’s seen too much, but a deep, uncontrollable movement that possibly points to deeper issues.

Lincoln thinks through the side effects of the drug trials. The head of that project, Dr. Michael Gletzer, Ph.D, was a leading researcher in the country, highly sought after by pharmaceutical companies and the former Dean of Medicine at the University of Florida. He is available to speak at length regarding his research. He is not currently under arrest, and, to Lincoln’s understanding, has been cooperative with questioning. He will have to speak to the doctor, and he dreads it.

Lincoln watches Felix sleep for a moment, and the reality of what these men have gone through crashes over him. It’s a crushing weight, and he lets himself feel it for only a moment before he shuts it down and takes a breath, then makes a cautious approach.

“Grab him a blanket?” Lincoln asks quietly. From behind him, Philip moves to the cabinet and begins rummaging through its drawers. Lincoln kneels down next to Felix, his hand hovering over his body. He hesitates to make contact.

“Felix,” Lincoln says. He’s gentle when he finally allows his fingers to graze Felix’s shoulder. Felix’s eyes flutter open, although they are slow to seek out Lincoln. His features are uniformly lined with exhaustion, and Lincoln, for a moment, regrets waking him.  “Hi,” Lincoln whispers.

Felix blinks slowly and tries to sit, but even in that movement, it is clear that his body is failing. He struggles to get his hands under himself, and when offered support, he accepts it without any clear indication that he is aware he’s been touched at all. Still, he looks down at himself and takes an almost unnoticeable inventory of his condition. Philip approaches and drapes a blanket over his lap, and Felix offers a tiny smile in return.

“My name is Lincoln Prescott,” Lincoln says. “Do you remember me? From earlier?”

Felix watches his mouth, his expression tight.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Lincoln continues. “I’m a doctor, I’ve been assigned to Belleview by the Department of Health.” There is little evidence that Felix hears him at all, but he continues the well-rehearsed speech. “As of 9:00 this morning, the contracted worker system is no longer active in the United States,” he continues.

“I don’t think he’s following,” Philip says from next to him. Lincoln nods.

He’s right, of course. “We are working on finding all of the residents of Belleview stable homes to stay in while the infrastructure is built for you to live independently,” he says anyway. “In the meantime, we’re going to stay here as a group and get you all some help, alright?”

Felix nods. 

“Can you tell me your name?”

There is no response, although Felix’s eyes search Lincoln’s, studying him intently.

Lincoln asks Felix how he feels, if he’s hungry, when he ate, how old he is. Felix doesn’t respond. The question hovers just out of reach, whether Felix can and doesn’t speak, or whether he cannot at all. According to the handler, he hasn’t spoken since returning from the most recent drug trial. Prior to that, though, there were no notable concerns with his speech, hearing, or comprehension. Best case scenario, it’s a trauma response and can be worked through down the line. Worst case is that there is irreversible damage to either his brain (most likely), or individual elements of communication (highly unlikely). Both are worth exploring.

Layered upon this, there are the issues of his physical responses. He startles easily but does not pull away. He blinks slowly. His hands are slow to find the blanket and hold onto it. His eyes are red, his skin has a kind of translucent hue. He expected Felix to require more substantial diagnostic testing than they’re able to offer, and it is clear to him that a trip to the hospital for scans is unavoidable.

As Philip sets up the admission forms on the tablet, Lincoln pulls a pair of blue latex gloves on. Felix almost instantly responds, which is ultimately a good sign, as hard as it is to address in the moment. The tremors that run through his body have taken a sort of panicked edge.

“It’s alright,” Lincoln says. “I’m just gonna look at you, okay? We’re here to help.”

Felix is cooperative as Lincoln takes one of his hands. He squeezes it once then turns it over, examining the bruising and scarring from months of drug use. He runs his thumb across one of the most prominent, likely the site of a long-term IV port.

“Let’s get this off you,” Lincoln says. He is cautious as he presses his fingers under the front of the collar, his touch light as he seeks the release mechanism. When he finds it, and the collar clicks free and falls into his hands, he is both relieved that it was simple enough, and horrified by what he sees. Dark bruises form where the clip sat, with deeper gashes toward the back of his neck where the plasticky-metal dug in during, what had to be, violent altercations. Lincoln runs his fingers along the lines there, but Felix does not react.

He takes his vitals, he does as thorough an exam as he can. There’s a very tender spot on the side of his head, and with the other potential signs of concussion, it shouldn’t be ruled out. Felix is especially jumpy when Lincoln runs his hand down his spine and over his ribs. Some are broken. Felix holds his left arm more gingerly, so Lincoln is careful as he looks checks it. Still, as Lincoln turns it over, Felix cries out, his whole body tense for only a second before he forcibly relaxes. 

“I’m sorry,” Lincoln whispers. Somewhere along the line, tears have formed in Felix’s eyes, and they now threaten to spill. Lincoln isn’t sure exactly how much willpower it takes him to keep them in, only that he does. As soon as his arm is released, Felix cradles it to his chest. 

“Can I look at your back?” Lincoln asks, gentle but assertive in repositioning him.

He’s extremely underweight, with too many vertebrae and too much rib instantly visible. A thick scar runs across one side of his abdomen and circles around his side. There are other scars, less visible ones that almost would be missed by the naked eye, but they’re there. 

Felix doesn’t make a sound when Lincoln examines lower. He watches the wall with a sort of sad detachment as Lincoln runs his fingers gingerly over some swelling in his lower back, then guides him onto his side.

“Almost done,” Lincoln says. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” 

There is no answer, which Lincoln does not mistake for permission, but accepts at face value. He monitors Felix’s breathing, the cadence of the tremors that roll through him, his posture. Philip kneels in front of him, holding his hand and watching his face for signs of extreme duress. It’s the best they can do.

Here, the damage is obvious. Lincoln notes both bruising and tearing, with a slew of fluids, presumably belonging to both Felix and the handlers, dried onto his skin. Lincoln’s stomach turns over as he cleans him up, muttering whatever words of encouragement he can come up with.

The further into this they go, the more Lincoln questions the plan. The likelihood that even in a full service hospital, he would be equipped to manage this, is slim. He pulls off the gloves and helps Felix to sit, then drapes the blanket around his shoulders. 

“You okay?” Lincoln asks. Felix looks very, very far from okay, but the worst is over.

Felix brings his hand up to rest on Lincoln’s arm and squeezes it. It isn’t exactly confirmation of understanding, nor is it a show of okayness. Lincoln would be doing him a disservice by writing the action off as either. But it’s something close to it, he thinks. Lincoln smiles and covers his hand with his own and squeezes it again.

“We’ll get you better, okay?” he says. “Philip’s going to help you get cleaned up, get some food and water in you, set you up with an IV and some medicine to make you feel better.” There’s no recognition in his eyes, but Lincoln continues. “While you get showered, we’ll get you a bed and a TV, or some books, or anything you need.”

Extricating himself from Felix’s grip is a little harder than it was getting into it, but once he’s free, he stands, and Felix’s eyes track his movements. 

“N… n…” Felix reaches after him as he steps toward the door, and Lincoln pauses, turning. There is true panic, for the first time, in his expression. He wants to show you he can still be of use, the handler said. He wants you to pull him.

“Felix,” Lincoln whispers. “I’ll be back for you, alright? I promise you, I will come back." He takes a step toward the door, and the tears that threatened to spill earlier come back in full force. “I need to go check on your friend,” Lincoln says, although there is almost no chance at this point that Felix understands. He kneels down and tries to smile, but he thinks it probably doesn't land. “Philip will stay with you and get you cleaned up.”

He mutters instructions to Philip, and seconds later, he is in the hallway, his forehead pressed into the wall while he takes that whole interaction and locks it into a very, very tight box in the back of his mind. 

He is in good hands. He will be okay. He is not alone, and he is not going to be left to die, and Lincoln will spend the next four weeks making sure that he knows it.

✥ ✥ ✥

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps

[macgyvermedical]

Announcing Medley: A Medical Primer Course for Fiction Writers

Do you write whump or stories with a medical focus? Do you struggle with accuracy or feel like you could use a course that covers the basics of medicine so you can wade through your research with a more knowledgeable eye?

Introducing Medley, a live, online course that helps writers understand the basics of medicine, nursing, first aid, and more!

Starting January 2024, this 8-week course covers the most important topics for writers and answers your questions.

Topics:

WEEK 1: Hospitals and the People Who Work There

WEEK 2: The Physical Exam

WEEK 3: First Aid, Codes and Emergencies

WEEK 4: Recovery and Aftermath

WEEK 5: Remote and Improvised Medicine

WEEK 6: Historical Medicine

WEEK 7: Mental Healthcare

WEEK 8: Medical and Nursing Education

The instructor (me!) has 7 years of nursing experience and has taught medical and nursing students for 5 of them. He is also a wilderness first aid instructor and has run a tumblog specializing in answering medical questions for fiction writers for 9 years.

Fee is $32 total for all 8 sessions. If you are interested, please email consultingwhumper@gmail.com for more information and to get signed up!

[bisexualbaker]

I've gotten stitches one time in my life, and was told when I was getting them that I would have "seven outside, one inside". It took me a while to figure out that the "inside" meant physically inside of my flesh, as opposed to, say, on the inside corner of the wound.

So there's some more detail on what "several layers of stitches" might mean.

Notes from a concerned medical professional who reads too much hurt/comfort:

(These are all things I've seen in Hazbin/Helluva fanfics)

(Tw: for injury, illness, gore, drug use, overdose, a lot of other things)

You cannot drug someone to sleep by overdosing them on melatonin. It will not work

Don't submerge an open wound or stitches in a bathtub/pool/etc it will introduce bacteria to the wound (taking a shower is usually fine, just skip the romantic bath)

On that note, stitches do not immediately stop a wound from bleeding and should not be used to solve every problem (never give yourself stitches unless you have absolutely no other choice they can trap infection inside the body when done incorrectly)

And, if the wound is extremely deep, a person may need several layers of stitches to piece together the skin, muscle, and viscera

You absolutely cannot get high on tylenol or ibuprofen even if you mix it with alcohol.

If you do mix tylenol or ibuprofen with alcohol it can cause internal bleeding/kidney damage/liver failure, so please don't do that

If someone is shivering from a high fever, don't cover them in blankets it will raise their body temperature even more (please try correctly dosed tylenol or ibuprofen for this)

Don't submerge someone with a high fever in ice water, they might go into shock (they also might panic and hurt themselves) in a pinch lukewarm water will do

Don't put ice on burns, run them under lukewarm or cool water instead

If someone overdoses on an opoid (heroin, morphine, various pain medications), there is a medicine called nalaxone (Narcan) that can reverse the effects of opioids (edit: thank you to @queerlybehooved)

If someone is bleeding profusely, don't just hold their head and whisper sweet nothings, put pressure on the wound!!!

If a bullet remains in a person’s body after being shot it most likely should not be dug out unless it's blocking something vital, the bullet is not the problem the damage it made in it's path is

This isn't a criticism of authors who have written things like this. A lot of it isn't common knowledge, and DIY healthcare is absolutely steeped in myth and misinformation. I just worry about disinformation being perpetuated (and I really enjoy accurate hurt/comfort)

If I got anything wrong, please let me know, and I'll edit the post. I'm far from perfect and appreciate good advice

Let me know if you guys want a fic rec list of my favorite Hazbin Hotel whump fics

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 22

BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES tourniquet | reopening wounds | "oh, that's not good" / Heirloom

Yuu watched Malleus's hand shake, as an ashy pallor overtook his face.

It was remarkable to see such a thing happen- not just the unraveling of a high-and-mighty prince, but the drastic desaturation of an already very pale man.

His pupils had shrank to minuscule pips drowning in an ocean of bright green, the outline of his knuckles visible in his leather gloves as he tightened his hands.

Yuu stared at him for a bit, a slow, steady smile spreading across their face as Ace and Deuce slumbered deeply in the chairs next to their bed.

They stared at each other for a bit, Malleus frozen to the floor.

Yuu kind of expected him to come to them. They were the ones practically chained to the medical bed.

"H-hello," said Malleus finally. "How... how you feeling?"

"Better than before, I suppose," they said, unable to stop one of the corners of their mouth from lifting in a slight tease.

They tried to stamp down the little voice that wanted them to poke fun at him. There was something sickeningly thrilling, to not only know that they had so much power over a powerful man, but that it was currently on such display.

"That is not saying much," said Malleus, glancing off to the side.

"Yeah," they replied, a bit hoarse with the memories. "I know."

He stepped forward then, plucking the pitcher and a glass off their nightstand, which he quickly filled with water. He summoned a straw out of thin air and placed it in the glass, which he quickly offered to Yuu's lips.

They drank gratefully, appreciating the gesture more than the water but relishing the refreshening of their mouth.

As nice as it was to have Malleus here, seemingly at their mercy, Yuu wondered what he was actually here for. Ace and Deuce had already made their impassioned apologies for getting them into the precarious situation that had caused Yuu to become so injured.

It was Malleus, in the end, who had taken the charge on Yuu's necessary medical attention. Under the direction of Ace, he elevated their arm, applied pressure to the wound, and even tied a tourniquet to their arm when the situation became worse until help arrived.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked, setting the mostly-empty glass down on the nightstand.

"Not really," they replied, "except for maybe some company. Unless you have something else to do."

With a flash of magic, Malleus was sitting next to Yuu in his own chair, spine straightened and shoulders stiff as he folded his hands in his lap.

"What would you lie to discuss?" he asked, primed for a conversation.

Yuu giggled. So eager.

"I dunno. You start. Anything you want."

Malleus's head ducked. "I hadn't realized how helpless I was without my magic."

This sounded like it was gonna be a very roundabout apology.

"Don't be like that," they cut in. "First aid is tricky, and it was a tough situation."

"Still," he said regretfully. "This experience has identified large gaps in my knowledge. I must endeavor to fill them expediently, so that I can be a good ruler."

Yuu shook his head. "We could all use a first aid refresher anyway."

"It would have been impractical to expect for you to perform first aid on yourself."

"Can we talk about something else, please?" insisted Yuu.

Malleus shook his head. "Of course. I would not expect you to relive traumatic memories for my sake. Can I... perhaps interest you in a story from my homeland?"

Yuu smiled and nodded. This sounded like it was going to be a lot more entertaining.

"Well... ah, yes," said Malleus, before clearing his throat. "When my mother was young, and still courting my father, he desired to propose to her in private, to seek her consent before he asked the Senate and my grandmother for permission. But he had few means, and so instead of purchasing something, he decided to make her something."

"Aww," cooed Yuu.

"He ventured out into the forest to find fibers in which to weave together, and eventually settled on making a ring made of wood, with the centerpiece being a flower."

"Oh!" said Yuu, trying to picture the ring in their mind.

"However, once he plucked the flower he wanted, a flaower fairy appeared, and scolded him for taking her spare dress. He apologized, and gave her his hankerchief so she could make another, as by plucking it, my father had spoiled the flower."

"Oh," sighed Yuu.

"Of course, this meant the flower would not last for the ring. He asked for help, and so she instead told him to take the flower-dress and press it, and return to her when it was done. He did so, returning two days later to ensure the flower was properly pressed, and she rearranged the flower into a beautiful arrangement for the ring, and he thanked her. However, before he left, she had a request."

"Oh?" inquired Yuu.

"She asked for an invitation to the wedding, and, seeing that as a good sign, he agreed. A few weeks later, he would invite her on a date in the solarium to propose, but as fate would have it, she proposed before he could."

"Oh." Yuu gasped at the turn the story had taken.

"She, of course, gave him her permission to formally ask for her hand, and they exchanged rings. They got more official, ornate rings for their wedding day, and wore both on their fingers together. My mother, of course, was buried with her wedding ring, but the one she gave to my father for their pre-engagement was lost to time."

"Oh..." trailed off Yuu, blindsided by the tragic end, though they knew about Malleus's parents ultimate fate.

"The ring he made her was removed by my grandmother, and she is saving it for me to propose one day. It's quite beautiful, and the tiny stitches are still intact. I would hope that it would serve as my mother's approval of my future spouse, even beyond the grave."

"Oh!" exclaimed Yuu, unable to restrain themselves at the swell of emotion that rose within them.

"Anyways, I hope that has lifted your spirits somewhat."

Yuu nodded enthusiastically. "It did, it really did! That's so romantic!"

Malleus smiled. "I am glad, to have provided you even a temporary relief."

Yuu huffed and pushed themselves up. "Come here, and give me a hug. When I say I'm fine, I'm fine."

"But-" Malleus was cut off as Yuu yanked them into a hug, and he eventually melted into it."

"Ow!"

Malleus immediately pulled himself away to see red spread through their white bandages.

"Oh," he uttered airily, "oh no, no, no, that is not good."

"U-uh," stuttered Yuu, because they had realized that was kind of a bad idea, "maybe-"

But Malleus had already vanished and returned with a dazed-looking doctor, shoving them towards Yuu's bed.

[cepheusgalaxy]

The WRU customer’s guide

Chapter 2 - Product receival

(Distributed by WRU ©)

Your Boxie arrived! And now what?

Congratulations on getting your new Pet! The WRU staff thanks you for your preference. 

We assure your new Pet is suited to attend all your necessities and wishes thanks to its top-tier training with WRU’s most brilliant teams of professional handlers. If your experience is enjoyable, please consider leaving a feedback on our site! Your opinion matters a lot to us.

Your pet's serial number and designation can be verified at its register that was printed and shipped alongside the product, and also sent to your online mail. If there is a mistake and you can't find it, please refer to custome service on the nearest WRU store or our site, wru.com.

What's included in your product

Inside the box that you received is one (1) WRU Box Boy, which is wearing a basic WRU shipping uniform and collar. Alongside it is your Pet's Owner’s File that includes its designation, medical record and further information.

If there is any damage or parts of your delivery missing, please don’t hesitate to call the WRU team (DDD xxxx-xxxx) that will promptly resolve your issue.

Unboxing your Boxie

Unboxing your new Pet should be very easy. However, if this is your first time unboxing a Box Boy you might ask your deliverer to assist you.

[ID: A loosely drawn pet box with the WRU logo on the side as well as two handles instead of one. Below the box is written "Box lol". /end ID.]

Please check if your package is an WRU Pet Box.

The Box was sealed during the shipping process to avoid opening up and damaging your Pet on the way. To unlock it, remove the bolt of the door and pull the six locks arranged as 2 on the top, 2 at the bottom and more 2 on the left side. This should be enough to unlock your box.

Your new Pet is awaiting inside! It might be curled up awake or sleeping, in which case you can press the button under the red compartiment on the right side of the Box, which will send a quick shock to awake it.

Depending on the delivery, your boxie might have stayed in there from two to nine hours. Give it some time to come out of the package, and it should kneel in front of it. If you think your Pet is taking too long to come out or is not taking the supposed position, it might be hurt or confused, in which case, you can demand a self diagnostic by asking it if there is any damage. If that is the case, do not worry; You can acess the Pet First-Aid guide on our site or refer to the nearest WRU store, that will promptly take care of it for you.

Tip: You can keep the Box until you have arranged a proper enclosure for your Pet.

Settling your new Pet

After taking your Box Boy out of the package, look for a green sheet that contains its information and history. That is your Pet Owner’s guide. Be sure to verify it is indeed your Pet and that it has not been any mistake in the shipping process.

Your Pet is now ready to serve you, but it needs you to state the boundaries and rules of your house, so it may act accordingly. You can let them in some room as you put the shipping package away.

Once you’re done, show your house to the Pet and tell it what its duties are gonna be. You might name it or assign a room and belongings to it, if you so wish, but be assured it doesn’t need any accomodations besides the basics to be in its best behavior.

If you have any doubts about accomodating your new Pet or how to handle it, please check our site for more information.

Thank you for trusting WRU with your comfort! :)

Did you know?

WRU © not only cares a lot about our customers, but also we care about the environment!

In order to fight climate change, we in WRU adopted the Tip for a Tree project, in which every dollar you donate goes to WRU’s partners who are working for a greener future!

Acess more information at wru/tipforatree.com.

[ID: The WRU logo, a grey W with a V crossed over it. /end ID.]

--

lmao what do you guys think

credits of the logo to @endless-whump

[sickfictropes]

You've posted about leader whump before but what about medic whump. What about the team panicking and scrambling because the one who always knows what to do in these situations is down for the count. What about the injured medic having to talk another team member through the first aid process. What about the sick medic carefully explaining to a concerned team member that no, it's okay, they're okay, they just got a little dizzy there for a second...

Bonus points if someone needs treatment and no one else is qualified to do it so medic whumpee has to stay awake long enough to help them

omggg yes. medic having to talk someone through removing shrapnel from her torso despite how much pain they're in and how close they are to fainting from blood loss is so so good. Medic diagnosing themself as "I'm fine" despite evidence to the contrary.

and what about if the person they're walking this through with messes up!! they pick the wrong tincture and it makes everything so much worse!!

whumpee passes out halfway through the process and they have to wing it for the rest!

the person they're walking this through with tosses them in an ice bath and they wake up shivering and freezing, then the fever rebounds as their body tries to achieve thermal balance!!

and the best for last: tossing a hypothermic whumpee into a hot bath! you should never, ever do this because the blood rushes rapidly to their extremities and away from the heart and brain and cases a potentially deadly drop in blood pressure. oh no they've put the medic's very LIFE in danger in an attempt to save it!!

this watered my crops and subdued the volcano for another year!! thank you so much for the prompt!

[layraket]

Day 25 – Surgery

Character(s): Hyrule and Wild (LU)

Words: 636

Summary: Hyrule was the medic of the group, or at least he usually was

Whump scale: 2 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Injury and blood

-

When there’s someone injured the first instinct that Hyrule follows is to aid them and heal their wounds.

When he gets injured, his first instinct to follow is to heal himself.

If his magic isn’t enough, the only thing left is to run. If he can’t, he tries to remember the prayers that he used to say to the goddesses.

An arrow on his abdomen, it wasn’t that bad, he could easily take it out and heal himself, but his magic was low and he didn’t wanted to risk it. Although, the blood coming out without stopping was making him afraid, this wasn’t his era, but if it were, he would prefer to not have any magic left before the resurrection of Ganon.

Another arrow hit his leg, stopping him from getting away to a safer place and making him hit the ground. It burns, these monsters seemed even more intelligent than they usually were, the arrow being made with iron instead of flint or stone.

The little magic left on his body couldn’t be enough to cast any spell, and if he tried his wounds would just get worse.

“Traveler’s down!” It was Wild, already running to his direction.

The champion was visceral in the battlefield, killing all monsters with whatever he had on his hands. It was useful right now, as he already broke his arsenal and only had the half of a broken claymore.

When the champion arrived, his wounds were already spreading, the effect of the iron on his half-fae body slowly worsening. “Oh, this is… We need to get it out, this might have poison.”

They didn’t know his heritage. He hasn’t told them yet.

Hyrule limited himself to explain it, instead he decided to direct Wild to what to do. “Take the arrows out first, then… Clean the wound and a potion should do the work.” Blood was still coming out, and the burning of the iron made thinking straight hard.

Wild did this, he got out the arrow on his leg with a fast tug and poured some red potion on the injury, making the hemorrhage stop there.

When it came to the arrow on his abdomen, things got complicated.

A crack was heard, and he gave himself the permission to panic.

“W-Wild?” He turned to see what was the champion doing, and he saw why the sound.

The arrow broke, apparently already fragile. Not only the wooden part was broken, parts of iron were also now separated from it. It had cracks on purpose, this was to hunt fae.

These arrows with enough strength from the prey the tip of the arrow will crack, leaving pieces and making it even more difficult to take completely out.

“Should I…?” The champion was holding the bottle with the red potion, waiting for instructions.

“Listen,” Hyrule gathered his courage, if these pieces weren’t taken out of his abdomen, the iron will get through his flesh and do serious damage inside “Take these pieces out as soon as you can, you-you cannot let them there. They will make it worse.”

Maybe Wild thought that this was about the poison, he wasn’t far from the truth.

Usually, Hyrule’s hands would be stable and could take every shard out without problem, but Wild’s, oh sweet Wild’s hands were shaky. It wasn’t his fault, he knew it, but it didn’t stop it from hurting the whole time.

Each shard was removed, leaving burned flesh and a pain that was only made less intense by the potion.

“Alright, let’s go” He was better, so he got up and went again to the battle. He was the medic, so now that he was fine he needs to be there if someone is hit.

If Wild watched him almost trip and holding his side, he didn’t comment nothing.

[heartbreakincident]

64 or 70 for the whump prompts?

(prompt from here)

70. Pacing.

(cw dog bite, but no animals are harmed)

steelstep, oc: eden. 1331 words.

It was always a little funny when he got hurt outside the suit. You'd think with all the daring stunts he pulled as Crux that that would be when he got hurt—and he did, sometimes. But the thing about the suit was that it was armoured and padded, with built-in airbags and all sorts of tech that minimized damage to the body inside.

A thin long-sleeved shirt and hoodie didn't quite have the same stopping power.

It's a comedy of errors, altogether. Spoon was muzzled, the other dog wasn't, and when the play fighting turned too rough, Eden's instincts had put him between the dogs with his body instead of his mind. Spoon backed off fast, but the other dog was big and disoriented and its teeth wrapped clean around Eden's forearm hard enough that he's pretty sure there was a crack.

At least he doesn't need to pretend he feels the pain. With his gate gone, the sharp gasp and panicked wrench of his arm to try to get it out of the dog's maw is all too genuine, and it takes him longer than it should to remember he's a fucking telepath. The mental shove at the dog's mind is in the shape of the words DROP IT, and the dog shies away with a whine at about the same time Chen makes it to Eden's side.

"I'm so fucking sorry," the other dog's owner is saying. "He's a good boy, he doesn't usually—"

"I won't press charges," Eden mumbles, mostly because he can't and partially because it's his fault, not that the owner would know that. He was the idiot who forgot he had access to a magic stop button in a dog's brain.

He's a little dizzy and he can feel the blood dripping down his numb wrist, so he hugs his arm close to his chest and lets Chen haul him to his feet.

"You look pale, let me call you an ambulance," they say, and Eden is shaking his head before they even finish getting the words out.

"I just need to go home," Eden says, more to Chen than to them. "No ambulance."

"No ambulance," he agrees, though he doesn't exactly seem pleased at the prospect, if the way he glances down at Eden's arm is any indication. "My place is close," he adds, and Eden knows it to mean I'm not letting you go home by yourself, so he lets himself be tugged along.

Spoon whines and nudges his nose into Eden's hip the whole way to Chen's apartment, and as soon as they're through the door Eden sprints to the bathroom, locking himself in and throwing drawers open until he can find the first aid kit.

"Eden," Chen calls through the door. "Let me in."

"I've got it," Eden insists, unzipping the red bag of medical supplies with one hand. Of course Chen had the good stuff—this was the sort of kit a paramedic might carry, and it was surprisingly similar to the bag Eden had at home. Though this one had seen a lot less use. Most of the supplies had been untouched, which was to Eden's benefit right now.

The door handle jiggles, and then there's a soft thud before footsteps start traveling back and forth in front of the door. He's resorted to pacing, heavy footsteps creating a steady rhythm.

"You shouldn't have to deal with it yourself," he says as Eden shrugs his hoodie off his shoulder and gingerly removes it, dropping it on the floor next to him.

"I'm used to it," he replies, before hissing as he tries to push the mangled sleeve of his shirt up. Not happening. The fibres are dried into the shallower punctures that have already started clotting. He grabs the little pair of scissors in the kit and cuts the sleeve open from wrist to elbow, before running his arm under lukewarm water and gingerly peeling the fabric away. He stays awkwardly leaned over the sink as he cuts the soaked fabric off and leaves it in the basin, before he sits back down on the edge of the tub to poke through the kit again.

"It's nothing I haven't seen," Chen says through the door, his voice carrying oddly as he paces back and forth in the hallway, closer at the start of his sentence and then further away by the end. Thump thump thump. His footsteps are quick but even, like a forward march.

And he's right. He has seen it before. Both the bloody punctures and ripped flesh of Eden's arm and the bright orange tattoos that curl around his elbow. The secret is out, at least to him—the whole reason behind this song and dance is already null and void. If there is anybody on earth Eden could get help from right now, it's the very worried man on the other side of the door, wearing down his floorboards with his back and forth.

But the thing is, these sorts of habits die hard, and Eden is used to licking his wounds in private. Hide the pain until he could crawl back to his den and take care of it. Shrug off the lingering worry the next time he saw anyone. Grin and bear it, but without the grin, because Eden didn't smile terribly easy, anyway. It was safer. Easier, too.

So he plucks the fibres still stuck in his bloody arm out by himself, and the door stays locked. And when it's as good as he's going to get it, he goes back to the sink to wash the whole thing off. God bless Chen and his boring ass, because the hand soap he has on the counter is unscented and gentle enough that he can use it to wash these cuts out without resorting to the bottle of alcohol in the med kit.

With most of the blood off, he's finally able to do a proper assessment. The dog had latched on unevenly, with the punctures deeper the further up his arm they went. Near the wrist they were shallower and already clotting nicely on their own, but something definitely compressed a nerve because his hand felt weirdly tingly and numb. Not good. It wasn't broken though, he could tell that much. Maybe cracked, but he'd dealt with worse than that before.

The deeper punctures were still bleeding enough that it was concerning. He bandages the lower half of the bite and then wraps the rest with a preliminary layer of gauze, applying pressure to the worst of it as he uses his numb hand to poke around the kit. "You don't have sutures," he comments.

The pacing stops abruptly. "Do you need stitches?"

Good question. Does he need them? He looks up at the ceiling, weighing his options. There's hemostatic bandages in there. If pressure slows down the bleeding, then he can probably get away without them.

"Probably not," he answers, thinking that's a nice, diplomatic answer.

"Eden." There's that thump on the door again. "Please let me in."

He glances around. Chen's formerly pristine bathroom is now a mess of water, little drips of blood, bandage wrappers, and scattered supplies. Peeking under the gauze, he can see the bleeding has slowed down enough that he's willing to tentatively say he could try to get away with not doing stitches, but his arm was still numb and applying the sticky bandage with only one hand would be annoying.

"If I unlock the door," Eden starts. "You're not allowed to say anything stupid like you need to see a doctor or this is really bad. You're just going to come in here and help me bandage it, and that'll be it."

A slight pause. "Is it really bad?"

"I've had worse."

And because he knows this is the best deal he's going to get, Chen doesn't even counter-offer. "Fine. Please just let me help."

Eden leans over and flicks open the lock.

[3-2-whump]

HIT!

<prev next>

For those of you who celebrate it, happy Fourth. For conscientious objectors like me, happy free day! I can't believe I'm posting this chapter on (American) Independence Day, but honestly, there's nothing more American than random acts of gun violence.

NOTE: This is where shit gets real (more real, that is), and where the author may make some decisions that might not vibe with the readers. To those readers, all I will say is fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, and I will honestly be more intrigued than mad if you end up scrapping this part and writing your own version! (Just lmk, like tag me or dm me so I can see?) But, um, yeah, onto the chapter!

TW/CW: guns, gunshot wounds, blood, emergency first aid, sort of medical whump, emotional angst

“Hell of a day, wasn’t it!” Thomas exclaimed as he pulled out of the gate.

Khaled only offered a noncommittal hum from the passenger seat.

“Least it’s over now,” the older man huffed. He picked up the speed as they entered one of the main roads, far away from the residential side of the city. He punched a few buttons on his dash, tossing the phone to his passenger. “Make sure my phone is connected.”

“It is,” Khaled answered. The sound of late nineties punk rock soon blared through the speakers and competed with the faint clicking sound of the blinker as they rolled to a stop at a red light. 

“So, you ready to go to the gym tonight and do our usual routines before we settle in?”

“Sorry, but I kind of just want to go home tonight, Master,” Khaled murmured. He’d been in a bit of an emotional slump all day, and the last thing he wanted to do that evening was to end the day with a run on the treadmill.

“What, are you sick or something?” Khaled didn’t respond. Inexplicably, Thomas changed his tone. “Fine, I’ll drop you off at home, then I’ll go by myself,” he sighed.

The light eventually turned green. The car rushed forward and gained speed as it merged onto the highway. Khaled zoned out, leaning his head against the window as he watched the other cars zip by. A motorcycle weaved in and out of traffic lanes. He felt a pang of nostalgia in his heart, though he wasn’t sure why. A brief murmur from the driver’s seat about how they needed to stop for gas barely scratched the surface of his consciousness. He was still hung up on that motorcycle.

They pulled into a gas station just outside the downtown area. Khaled felt the car parking and heard the door opening as his master stepped out to fuel up the car. He’d been dissociating a lot more since The Incident, taking refuge in his own mind and hiding from the world. His master had been keeping his distance since then, too. In those few times where he didn’t visit a whorehouse since The Incident, he would take his time with Khaled and fuck him much slower and more carefully than what either of them were used to. Whether it be out of guilt or genuine penitence remained to be seen, but this time, he knew better than to ask. This was just the new normal, now.

The unmistakable sound of a shot ripped through his inner thoughts. A heavy thump onto the ground soon followed. Khaled’s head whipped around; his master was not outside the car. He unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the car door with a shaky hand as he let himself out. “Sir?” He slowly made his way around the car, heart pounding in his ears and dread coiling in his stomach as he looked down between the car and the gas pump.

Khaled would never forget that sight as long as he lived. There lay his master, face up on the ground, with a telltale bullet hole in his chest that steadily seeped blood around the entry wound. Khaled’s tall foreboding owner, the man who once seemed impossibly invincible, now lay wounded (dying?) in front of a gas station pump.

“K-Khaled?” a voice weakly called from below.

The young man stood frozen, staring down at the man below him.

“Get my phone…call the ambulance…” Thomas huffed through ragged breaths.

He thought he could hear other voices –a crowd forming. Though, honestly, he could barely hear anything above the pounding of his heart and the mess of thoughts and feelings within his head.

“Khaled!”

It’s finally happening, he thought with delight in his mind before immediately switching to guilt and horror that he was cheering over someone’s demise. He’s finally –but wait, if he dies, then …I’ll be free, he realized.

“Can you hear me, boy?”

A bystander rushed over, kneeling next to the mob boss to check on him, but he stubbornly waved them away, pushing himself up from where he fell, wincing as he left behind a puddle of blood on the ground.

I’ll be… free, Khaled realized. Freedom hadn’t felt this attainable for him since he was a child on his third or fourth escape attempt, with every running footfall charged with hope that maybe this time it would work.

Hope. He’d forgotten how good it felt. I’ll be free …

…but, then what?

“Get my phone –now!” Thomas slipped, losing balance on the arm he had propped himself up on to fall back into his pool of blood. He swatted away the helping hand of the stranger who had come to check on him.

He’s given me everything, Khaled remembered. The roof over my head, the clothes on my back, the food in my belly. And if he dies, would all of that just be…taken away…? The weight of that realization combined with the increasing attention they were getting from an ever-growing crowd to exert a pressure on Khaled like he’d never felt before.

“Khaled! For Christ’s sakes,” Thomas yelled, gasping in pain. “Phone! Now!”

His body moved before the rest of his thoughts could catch up, opening the car door and retrieving the boss’ cellphone. He gripped it with a shaking hand and a sweaty palm as he crouched down next to his master and handed him the phone. The man took it between bloodied fingers and punched in his passcode with great difficulty as he huffed in annoyance and pain. There was no need for him to be calling 911 on himself, because at least three other people in the crowd had their phones out and up to their ears, presumably doing the same thing.

Before Khaled could ask what to do next, the good Samaritan next to them said, “Sit him up, and check his back for an exit wound!” Thomas groaned as they hauled him up into a sitting position.  “If it came out the other end, that’s good. If it didn’t then-” A hole about the size of a table grape gaped through the back of the expensive suit jacket, dripping with blood and raw flesh from within.

A wave of nausea hit Khaled as he propped his master up against the gas pump. “It-It’s out, ma’am,” he confirmed.

“Great, okay, yeah. Now, get his handkerchief out of his pocket, and use it to stem the bleeding,” the bystander instructed. “Don’t be afraid to stick it in there.”

The boss' face writhed in discomfort as Khaled dabbed around the bullet wound. Tortured groans escaped clenched teeth as Khaled packed the blood-wicking cloth into the wound, but the stranger patted his back and cradled his master’s head against her chest as she whispered reassurances into his ear. “Just like that, you’re doing great, kid!” The peal of sirens was coming closer, which meant help was on the way soon. Khaled meanwhile, sat back on his heels, nervously chewing his lip as he tried to make sense of why he was helping his abuser. When the EMTs finally loaded the man into the back of the ambulance to take them to the hospital, he was no closer to finding an answer.

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