#hospital setting tw

[callaeidae3]

A is for Anaesthesia - my art and letter page in the Whump ABCs (@thewhumpyprintingpress)

The art I drew for this was of my ocs Kyle Kindall after an incident, and Yuuki Takahashi trying to offer what soothing and comfort he can - in spite of the fact that neither of them like hospitals.

The Whumpy Printing Press has now published the Whump ABCs zine (from 2nd April 2024), if anyone happens to be interested in it!

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 28

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CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Ongoing raid, fear of recapture, clinical/hospital setting, side-effects/consequences of medwhump (cerebrovascular). Beta-read by @alittlewhump <3 Second ask is from this list

Leo told him to stay still and pretend to sleep, no matter what. One of so few direct orders, Aiden could count them on his hand. The very same Leo had just been holding, fingers warming his, giving him one last reassuring squeeze before he’d let go. 

He couldn’t fail Leo.

Aiden pressed his hands into the bedspread to hide their shaking, to make them still. Starched-not-soft fabric in an orderly, woven grid under his fingertips. Hundreds of washes keeping it uniform for every new patient. Knuckles wrapped in the soft fabric of Leo’s sweatshirt. Left hand throbbing, forearms aching. Betadine and antiseptic sharp in his nose. The sounds in the hallway—the agents in the hallway. He knew those boots, those footfalls. He’d been here before. 

He was there. 

Beside the pool, clothes still damp from diving in, from sweating through what had to be hours of CPR. Dragged to his knees, slapped around, put in a van. The End.

He wouldn’t be able to give them his number this time, even if he wanted to. Except instead of taking a stand, he was simply too damaged. The idea of being beaten in front of Leo made his stomach twist and his throat tighten.

He couldn’t shake his head, squeeze his fist, find something, anything, to anchor him to where he was, who he was. The simplest task impossible. He used to be more than a passenger, an observer, recognizing less and less with each visit. Especially when it was like this, when he fell beneath the surface, into things that were muddy and murky and meant to stay that way.

He wanted to look, to confirm what he kept telling himself was true, but he had to keep his eyes closed. 

Leo wouldn’t leave him. Leo had promised. 

But the very foundation of the conditioning was doubt. 

With Archer it pushed him toward an impossible perfection. Empty responsiveness that only left him aching to do more, to be better. 

It nagged him constantly with Harrison but there was little to be done. Harrison took what he wanted, didn’t care what kind of vessel it came from. All of his memories returned were not enough to erase the conditioning, relieve the doubt. The ache to be deserving. 

He was certain it was worse to have both: what once was housed in the ruins of what he was now. 

Leo had no idea what he was taking on. Had no idea Aiden was falling to pieces in his own head when all he had to do was stay still and be quiet. 

He wasn’t meant to open his eyes but Harrison was peeling them open for him. Shining his penlight into one and then the other. 

“I know you’re awake.” His tone was terse. Frustrated? There was a complication? A delay? It was hard to follow, his mind slow to process. He tried to turn his head but he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t, he was strapped down like always. 

Leo had told him not to move.

Harrison snapped his fingers in front of his face. “I asked you a fucking question.” 

He blinked a fraction of a second after he thought of it. He couldn’t remember hearing a question. There weren’t any quips surfacing and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to speak anyway. 

He hadn’t felt this drugged before. 

He wasn’t. 

Leo—was Leo still there? 

“For fuck’s sake.” Harrison demanded all of his attention by undoing the straps. “You’re lucky we need to do this or you’d be kissing a taste of freedom goodbye thanks to your attitude.” 

Too slow to snipe back again. 

He cried out when his arms fell to his sides, so heavy now that he had to hold them, fingers tingling as the blood rushed down to his fingers. 

He had to stay still. 

“I don't have patience for your bullshit today. Do not test me.” 

He swallowed the next whimper, the reprimand curdling in his empty stomach. Unaware that Harrison had released all of the other restraints until he folded forward. Harrison caught him unceremoniously, wrapping his arms around him in a parody of an embrace that still made his heart race and his cheeks flush as if it were earned attention, a reward. Sometimes, he’d wriggle closer, moan in Harrison’s ear or whisper a few lurid suggestions. (Anything was better than being a lab rat.) Once even licked his neck but after that, Harrison had kept him unconscious for so long. 

As much as he had nothing to lose, would push every button he could find in a fruitless attempt to force Harrison’s hand, his nerve was riddled with holes. Whenever Harrison was gone too long, he’d wonder if he’d ever come back. Doubt warping fearful anticipation into longing. He’d miss Harrison. Miss the attention, even of his scalpel, when there was a question of it never returning. He was nothing if not what they’d conditioned him to be. 

“Alright, up you go.” Harrison’s voice still had an edge. They were in the other room across the hall but he didn’t remember getting there. Harrison pulled him to his feet, placed both of his hands on the rail bordering the room. “Let’s go, I don’t have all day.” 

He gasped when Harrison let go, overwhelmed by all of his muscles working together for a purpose. But there was something else too, something beneath whatever drugs Harrison always gave him before these bouts of “exercise” to make sure he wasn’t too much trouble. 

“I don’t feel right…” It came out slurred.

Harrison was busy on his phone and waved him on with his free hand. “You remember. One foot in front of the other.” He used the hard toe of his sneaker to prod against his bare heel until he moved. 

Left foot forward. One step at a time. 

His head hurt, ears ringing, vision wavering. Harrison would be furious if he passed out. 

Right foot forward. His leg almost buckled and he gripped the bar tighter. The room spun. 

“Something’s wrong.” The syllables were marbles in his mouth. 

Left foot forward. 

The fingers of his right hand slipped from the bar. 

He couldn’t raise them again, like his whole arm had been numbed. His heart sprinted and stuttered, drilling fear deep into his chest. “Harrison, what did you give me?” The panic in his voice was clearer than the words.  

“Whatever game you’re playing, I am really not—”

Right foot forward. The room tipped. 

Harrison caught him and let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m fucking serious. Stand up and finish the lap.” He tried to shove him onto his feet again but he couldn’t balance. 

He was crying now, tears sliding down his cheek. The ones on the other side lost in the fabric of Harrison’s lab coat. “I—I—can’t—I can’t—” No words came out at all this time, only sounds. “Harrison!” His vision spotted. Harrison lowered him to the floor, let him slump against the wall, listing sideways. 

His expression was out of focus but his voice was stern. “This is your last chance. Stop—what—what are you doing?” 

Harrison caught him again but he couldn’t feel where, only the other hand opening his left eye for the light. He didn’t feel his fingers on the right before his vision flared. 

“Fuck.” Harrison held two fingers to his neck, checking his watch. “Look at me, talk to me.”

“I—I—I’m scared,” he cried. It was nothing, it was moans and slurs. “Harrison, help me, please!”

“No, no, no.” Harrison laid him down. “Squeeze my hand.” 

His hand was empty, he couldn’t—

Harrison raised their hands into his line of sight. His right hand limp in Harrison’s grip. “Please, come on, Nothing. It’s nothing, you’re fine. You’re fine.” 

He couldn’t feel his hand. “What did you do to me?” Again nothing came out. He whimpered when Harrison rolled him onto his side. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

He must have been high out of his mind to hear those words. 

“Talk to me, stay with me.” 

How many times he’d wanted to say that himself but now he was the one leaving. 

“Beau, come on. Hold my hand.” Harrison wrapped both hands around his left one. He didn’t think he’d ever done that without gloves on. It felt so warm. “Here, see? Stay with me, Beau.” 

But Beau didn’t belong here. 

He had died when she had, when he’d failed her. 

“No, no, no.” Harrison was holding his face now. “Hey, ‘359. Come on, keep your eyes open. Trainee ‘359. That is a direct—” His voice broke. “Fuck. Please—”

‘359 was out of place too. 

Fragments and pieces, hollow on the inside, incomplete before he’d been given Beau’s purpose. 

A clean slate would always be empty, ‘359 couldn’t exist here.

“Please.” Harrison held him more carefully than he’d ever imagined him capable of. Like he was far from nothing, precious even. “Brandon. Forgive me.”

But he wasn’t Brandon. 

Or ‘359. 

Or Beau.

He only wanted to be Aiden. 

And even though he could still feel Harrison’s fingers entwined with his, he was Aiden. Aiden being careful not to make a sound as memories drowned him. Aiden not moving a muscle or opening his eyes, pulse sprinting in his chest as they waited. He couldn’t feel anything under his fingertips anymore, was growing more and more desperate to check that he was in fact lying in a bed and not waking up on the ground beside Harrison or worse already back on his table. He—

The door opening brought everything in his head screeching to a halt.

It wasn’t Harrison’s warmth still lingering on his hand. 

It was Leo’s. 

Leo who had found him, sheltered him, been so patient and kind with him. Had risked everything by bringing him here. 

He could keep still and quiet, bury his fear of what it would mean to go back, in hopes of selling this lie. To say nothing of what consequences Leo and his sister might face. He could never be the reason someone else was unmade. He owed Leo this, at the very least, as disappointing as he may have been in the rest of their short time together. 

Or did he have a different kind of obligation now? Not just to please and obey but one of higher grounds. To earn everything Leo had given him so freely. To repay selflessness with a sacrifice of his own.

One of the agents cleared their throat and Aiden knew this was it. If he went easily, quietly, they might leave Leo alone. As long as he surrendered before Leo had a chance to try and improvise. 

And he wouldn’t look at Leo at all. To make sure to implicate him as little as possible. 

There were voices in the hallway but he couldn’t catch the words over the way his heart beat so loudly in fear, thudding through his whole body. 

He promised himself he would tear the stitches in the van later. 

Being manhandled into cuffs might start the job anyway.  

He would—Aiden would do this to save Leo. 

He sat up and opened his eyes—

In time to see the backs of the agents as the nurse ushered them out, hissing something about “immunocompromised” and “goddamn idiots, don’t they teach you to read?” 

And Leo, staring at him in disbelief.

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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @lavbug

[hatchetsfield-arch]

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞  𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬  𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭  𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭  𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞  𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬  𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬  𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆.  jane  lifts  her  head  to  look  at  emma,  wide  eyed,  and  it’s  all  she  can  do  before  those  three  words  take  all  jane’s  senses  hostage  -  causing  every  function  of  her  body  to  stall  like  the  failing  engine  of  an  old  car.  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔  𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇  𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐  𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒊𝒂’𝒔  𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏  𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒔.  in  nostalgia’s  embrace,  jane  can  smell  its  perfume  —  fragrances  of  summer  nights  spent  pretending  to  chase  away  the  boogeymen  from  emma’s  closet,  traces  of  campfires  and  the  marshmallows  jane  would  enthusiastically  show  emma  how  to  toast,  hints  of  old  children’s  storybooks  jane  would  read  to  emma  in  their  father’s  recliner.    

but  then  reality  quickly  yanks  jane  from  out  the  arms  of  nostalgia,  and  the  cologne  it  wears  —  fragrances  of  antiseptic,  traces  of  bleach  and  disinfectant  with  hints  of  saline  is  far  less  pleasant.  

jane  doesn’t  respond  at  first,  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢  𝚘𝚏  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗  𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎.  for  a  few  tense  moments,  the  only  sounds  are  the  beeping  of  the  monitors  and  the  distant  chatter  of  nurses  walking  past  the  closed  door  of  jane’s  hospital  room.  the  tears  in  her  eyes  are  faster  than  the  words  on  her  tongue,  and  it  saturates  them  with  all  the  emotion  jane  has  stored  deep  in  her  gut  for  years  and  years;  ❝  oh,  peanut.  ❞  she  says,  tears  welling  ever-faster  in  her  eyes  as  she  uses  emma’s  childhood  nickname,  a  nickname  jane  herself  created,  a  nickname  jane  herself  doesn’t  even  know  the  last  time  she  had  called  emma  by  it.  

tears  stream  endlessly  down  her  cheeks,  now  saturating  the  collar  of  the  hospital  gown  she  wore.  ❝  i  love  you  too,  peanut.  so  much.  i  —  ❞  the  sudden  increase  of  the  beeping  on  the  monitor  tattles  on  jane’s  racing  heart,  ❝  i  -  i’m  sorry,  if  i  never  made  that  clear  to  you  before  .  .  .  if  i  didn’t  do  enough,  didn’t  say  enough  -  with  mom  and  dad.  if  i  was  a  part  of  the  reason  you  left  and  never  came  to  visit.  i’m  your  big  sister,  em,  i’m  supposed  to  be  your  anchor  .  .  .  .  i’m  sorry  that  i  wasn’t  enough  of  an  anchor  to  keep  you  here,  or  to  make  you  feel  safe  or  understood.  ❞    

jane’s  hand  crosses  the  small  distance  between  herself  and  the  rickety  chair  where  emma  sits  bedside.  jane  take  one  of  emma’s  hands  in  her  own,  the  other  cupping  emma’s  cheek.  and  for  a  moment,  jane  stares  at  her,  stares  at  her  baby  sister  (  for  no  matter  how  grown  or  independent  emma  gets,  she’ll  always  be  her  baby  sister  )  𝙖𝙣𝙙  𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨  𝙞𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙩  𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩  𝙨𝙝𝙚’𝙨  𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚  𝙖𝙣𝙙  𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚  𝙖𝙨  𝙨𝙝𝙚  𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙨  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙟𝙖𝙗  𝙤𝙛  𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨  𝙚𝙡𝙗𝙤𝙬  𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚  𝙤𝙛  𝙝𝙚𝙧  𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙜  𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩,  𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙨  𝙞𝙩  𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣  𝙞𝙩  𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙨;  𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴  𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺  𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦  𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦  𝘺𝘰𝘶  𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵  𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥  𝘰𝘯  𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴.  

she  also ignores  its  follow  up  retort  of  how  @beaniestm  could  just  be  a  mere hallucination  caused  by  the  myriad  of  pain  meds  they  have  her  on.

❝  i’m  sorry,  peanut.  for  everything.  but  —  but  i’m  still  here,  and  you’re  here,  now,  and  .  .  .  and  maybe  we  can  keep  it  that  way?  keep  that  here  and  now  permanent?  ❞  her  fingers  travel  up  to  brush  away  a  few  fallen  strands,  tucking  them  back  behind  emma’s  ear.  

𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕  𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆  𝒋𝒂𝒏𝒆  𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔  𝒂𝒏𝒅  𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔  𝒔𝒉𝒆’𝒅  𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅  𝒊𝒏  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒂𝒓𝒅,  𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌  𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍  𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒕.

jane  pulls  back  then,  only  slightly,  and  attempts  to  lighten  the  tense  and  sterile  atmosphere  with  a  joke;  

❝  if  i’d  known  all  it  took  to  get  you  to  come  home  was  a  little  car  crash,  i’d  have  done  it  ages  ago.  ❞  

jane  winces,  𝙗𝙪𝙩  𝙞𝙩’𝙨  𝙣𝙤𝙩  𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢  𝙖𝙣𝙮  𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡  𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣  —  𝙣𝙤𝙩  𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢  𝙖𝙣𝙮  𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙨  𝙞𝙣  𝙝𝙚𝙧  𝙄.𝙑.  𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙  𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥  𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚.  the  awkwardness  is  a  bitter  reminder  why  she  became  a  therapist  and  not  a  comedian.  ❝  shit,  em  i’m  sorry,  i  didn’t  mean  it  like  that—  ❞

[fletcherwilbury]

@sochilll December Prompt List Day 31: New Year's Eve

Warning for Illness, hospital setting, medication

[bearsinpotatosacks]

All the Knowledge in the World - Whumptober 2023

Jaylah gets into an accident at work. She's rushed off to sickbay but they run into an issue when they need to transfer blood.

For day 25 of @whumptober . Also on AO3.

Words: 1255

"Len, we need blood, she’s lost three litres already, if this was any other patient-"

"I know!" He shouted, his hands were blue from trying to stop Jaylah from bleeding out on the table. "I know Christine, but she's the only kind of her species that we have on the ship, I don't exactly have a whole lot saved up."

He sighed. "Swab."

Another nurse handed him one as the rest of the medical staff worked around him.

"You're telling me Spock hasn't synthesised her blood yet? We do it all the time and he started half an hour ago."

The swab, now soggy with blue blood, hung heavily in his hand as he put it in a tray next to him. "He said it's taking a little longer than expected-where the fuck is Peterson is when you need him I need a surgeon in here goddammit."

Scotty, stood over at the sidelines, whitened as Bones carried on trying to close some of the tissue damage but each time he repaired it with the Regenerator it would just rip and start the cycle again. 

"Can't you just use the blood she’s losing?"

Bones stared down at where Christine was suctioning the blood with a nozzle. It fed into a bag hanging next to the IV.

"Of course, autotransfusing, Scotty you're a genius." He looked a little smug at the statement.

"Autotransfusing? What's that?" Asked a new medical cadet, on her Constitution-Class rotation, poor girl landed the Enterprise.

"Do they teach you guys anything nowadays? It's when you give a person their own blood back."

Christine sighed and smiled at the girl as she started a line to get the blood back into Jaylah’s body. "It's an ancient technique," she said, then side-eyed McCoy. "You're just lucky your teacher thinks it's good practice to learn practical, outdated things, just in case. It's only because he’s a little outdated himself."

"I'll let you off on that one Christine." He said, pointing his finger at her.

He kept his eyes on the heart rate monitor. If this worked, she’d be in the clear. They just needed her to hold on until Spock figured out how to synthesise her blood. She’d gotten into an accident doing an emergency repair while the ship had been in a tense situation. With all the lurching and shockwaves from being hit, it must have been hard to keep your balance, he certainly got annoyed when he kept stumbling while trying to heal patients. 

“It’s working, Len, her heart rate’s coming down,” Christine pointed out.

“Not as much as I would like, and we can’t do this for long,” he carried on trying to repair the tissue as his gloves became slippery with blood. He really needed a surgeon in here, because as skilled as he was, some things needed an even better pair of hands than his. “Where the fuck is that blood?”

“Here, Doctor,”

Spock appeared beside him without a sound. He jumped, probably not a good idea when you’ve got your hands inside a crewmember. That sounded wrong. 

“Well, where is it?” He said, looking at his empty hands. 

“I have figured out the formula, if I could just enter it into the blood synthesiser-”

“Why are you asking me? Just do it, we’re trying to keep someone alive here!”

Spock gave one of those not-sighs he did when annoyed but hiding it. He turned to a panel in the wall and input symbols so fast his fingers almost blurred. He would have to ask him how he’d done it when he wasn’t so highly strung.

“Why don’t people just do things they know they should do? Why do they keep coming to me for permission to do their damn jobs?” He muttered under his breath.

Her tissues were still tearing as he repaired them. For a second, he wondered if they have staples anywhere, he knew they used them in the 20th and 21st centuries to repair internal injuries and thought it was barbaric. Although, now he was looking down at the gaping holes pooling with blood, he understood why you needed something harsh, but durable in the field sometimes. 

“Done,” Spock said, turning to the group.

“Christine, link her up-” He started to tell her but she was already there. 

“When am I ever not two steps ahead of you?” 

He just huffed and waited until the monitor beeped. For a second, there was a whirring sound as it began to formulate the blood. Soon, the tube leading to her arm filled with the cobalt blood that pumped itself through her body. 

They group waited, panting as he held the regenerator in a shaking hand. If this worked, it would be a medical miracle. It would open up more channels for aid in emergency situations, it would mean they could travel to new uncharted space without fear of running out of supplies for the less common species on the ships. He and Spock would have to write a paper about it sometime. 

The worst happened next. Her heart rate skyrocketed. Her breathing went out of control, body jerking like she was possessed. 

“Undo it, undo it, now!” He screamed at anyone that would listen.

Spock pressed a button on the monitor as Christine hooked her back up to her own blood again. 

“What happened, Doctor?”

“It was wrong, the formula was wrong, her body’s rejecting it,” he lent in further. “Dammit, she’s not breathing!”

He reached out for an intubation tray and began to use it to open her mouth. When he got an opening, he reached for an intubation tube and guided it down her trachea and linked her up to oxygen reserves and hoped to god that was the worst of it. 

“How? I was sure that I was right.” Spock said, turning back to the screen. 

“You always are,” he mumbled. 

Spock studied the screen for a second as Bones and his medical team flew around Jaylah like bees. Scotty edged closer and closer to the edge of the trauma room. This mustn't be easy for him.

"I think I understand where I went wrong," Bones liked hearing when he admitted he was wrong. "There is a carbon-carbon bond here that, in a two-dimensional space looks identical but in a three-dimensional space is-"

"Skip to the end, Spock!" McCoy and Christine shouted.

"It's an optical isomer, it mirrors itself and becomes a different chemical because of how it bonds."

"It mirrors," he whispered. "So it flipped around in her body?"

"Yes, most likely leading to a lack of oxygen uptake due to-"

"It not being the right thing," he said. "Can you correct it?"

"I already have." He smirked in his own Vulcan way.

Smug bastard. "Hook her up again, let's try this a second time."

He held his breath as he waited for the machine to stop whirring. Once it clicked, he tensed his hands as he watched identical blue blood flow down the tube and into her arm.

For a second, the entire room, and seemingly the entire ship, was still as they waited to see what would happen. And nothing did. Nothing bad anyway. 

As her heart rate dropped. He got back into place just as Peterson rounded the corner.

"Ten minutes too fucking late, as usual, Peterson."

He just scowled at him. He was one of those surgeons who cared more about the craft than the people.

"She's all yours," he said, ripping off his gloves and throwing them in the trash.

----

I used all my knowledge from ER to write this. The intubation especially. Also my Chemistry A-Level. Spock was trying to explain Optical Isomers, where a chemical is identical in every way but a mirror image of it is different, mainly in the body (such as methanol in vapour rub turning to something that tests positive for meth, yes that meth). Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

[guardian-angle22]

This or That: Tarlos Edition -> Monster Inside (1x08) or Push (3x04)

[youneedsomeprompts]

~ HOSPITAL / ER ROOM AU ~ WRITING PROMPTS

requested by: anonymous

Feel free to use and reblog!

OTP meets accidentally at the hospital because they both accompanied someone else there

A has to stay in the hospital & doesn't want B to leave because they're scared

"It's gonna be alright. I'm sure the doctor will be here in a minute."

waking up in a hospital bed & not knowing how they got there

"Hey, look at me! Stay with me! No, no, don't close your eyes!"

B is panicking much more than A who got committed to the hospital

"It doesn't look too bad, right?"

B is trying to distract A when they need to get an IV because A hates needles

"Do you hear me?"

A, who actually works at the hospital, turns out to be a lousy patient

"Deep breathing."

B is getting mad waiting in the hallway and imagining countless scenarios of what might be wrong with A

"I told you, you need to take more care of yourself."

B wants to be there for A but they can't see blood

"Is it broken?"

B offers to bring A some stuff if they have to stay overnight

"Your partner can stay if you like." "Oh, they're not... actually, that would be nice."

B is stroking over A's brow

"You scared the shit out of me!"

"Do you need anything?"

A refuses to stay at the hospital because they're 'not sick'

"Everything's fine! Leave me alone!"

"Why won't you let anyone help you?"

getting dizzy from all the countless examinations and tests

having a medical/health-related secret

trying to be strong for everyone

"You're what?" "... pregnant..."

"It's just a checkup. You can go home." "You came here with the ambulance. This is no checkup. Now stop downplaying it!"

being excited to get a cast everyone can sign

"Stop fussing!"

B feels guilty because they have been arguing right before A got committed to the hospital

"Don't leave me!"

seeing how uncertain everything is in life, they realise they have to confess their feelings

"I won't spoil you just because you have been so careless to injure yourself."

B neglects their own needs as they stay by A's bedside continuously

B can't stop holding A's hand

"You're very brave."

B kisses A's bandaid

"Does it still hurt?"

"Don't worry! We'll make sure you'll get better very soon."

[cripplecharacters]

I need some advice about how to include magic as an aid. All of my stories are set in a high fantasy type of world with (i think at least) solid worldbuilding where magic is relatively common, especially healing magic and everyday magic (????? like, not highly destructive explosions, more like convenience stuff).

I have a lot of disabled characters who I want to represent authentically & the best way I can, and I reallllllly don’t want to be that author that’s like, oh you have fibromyalgia? Poof healing magic it has no effect on you. Oh you’re an amputee? Poof magical forcefield prosthetic. Yknow

I guess, advice if you have any about how to be respectful about disabilities and magic coexisting

Thank you for your question! I would recommend treating magic like medicine, it can’t fix everything and is always working to be improved. Some issues can be cured with things like surgery or medication, or in your case magic, but sometimes those issues can only be managed and not cured. Sometimes medical help can even make issues worse or cause disability (whether or not the initial problem was solved). Big procedures such as surgeries often have lasting side effects no matter the outcome, and I would imagine so would big magical procedures.

You should also think about how the magic interacts with the world. Is it physically draining to preform? How much does it cost for professional help? Is it accessible to everyone or are there barriers (money, rank/class, education, etc)? Are certain conditions managed with potions that need to be taken over long periods of time, if not forever, and if so how do people get access to it? Is certain magic only practiced in certain places, such as big cities with certified universities/hospitals, and if so how difficult would it be for your character to get to them? What are the side effects of these cures, and how long do they last, if they go away at all?

Also much like every doctor isn’t a good doctor, every healing magician doesn’t care to actually help. There would still be people being misdiagnosed, not being believed, not getting sufficient care, not to mention snake oil salesmen who would sell fake cures for money.

Magic prosthetics also shouldn’t be a cure, they are not in the real world either. They have limited movement, and the more movement a prosthetic has the more expensive it is, the more difficult is is to learn to use, and it’s often heavier. Plus prosthetics can be uncomfortable and difficult to use so not every amputee chooses to wear one.

Just keep these in mind and don’t cure disabilities that are incurable today and you should be good!

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

[i-eat-worlds]

Starcross Chapter 8

Kim’s POV chapter!

content: conditioned whumpee, living weapon, mentioned past murder, brief suicidal thoughts, hospital setting, Kim’s screwy headspace

Free Space, AFS Starcross, 5/5/4763 Apparently, punishments and corrections counted as “hurting.”

The weapon, or, as they referred to it, “Kim,” hadn’t known that. Hurting was purposeless. Pain for pain’s sake, and nothing else.

Commander Voran had always made sure that it knew it had a purpose. It knew great pain, but that served a greater goal. A noble cause, serving Yera, becoming a shiny, razor sharp knife pointed at its enemies. It had been chosen, from birth, to become this. A weapon, unmatched, the Commander’s greatest achievement, a melding of metal and meat that would transcend all that had come before it. An angel of destruction, in the Commander’s word.

That was what it wanted, what it was made for.

Right?

It pushed the thoughts of its failure out of its mind, of plummeting towards the ground, of crunching and shattering metal and of smoke and re. Of that had wrapped itself around its throat as it had laid there, knowing it had failed. It was going to die. It was going to be made dead.

It didn’t want to die. It didn’t want to die. But what it wanted didn’t matter.

Right?

It knew now, that Ziar and Oka and the whole of this strange ship wasn’t Yeran. Not even a little bit, not at all. That was plainly clear.

They talked to it, not about it. They refused to punish it. They gave it food and blankets. And maybe that would change, it hadn’t been there for that long, really, but it was so unbelievably different.

Commander Voran would’ve told it to stop being weak, to think about its mission, its purpose. She would’ve told it to fight back, to leave no survivors of the people who had stolen it away from its purpose. It knew what it was supposed to do. It knew. It could never forget.

But it didn’t want to.

The thought made it feel deeply, deeply wrong. Guilt rushed through it, threatening to drag it under. It almost would’ve been easier to run back to Yera, to tear everything down, to destroy everything until it too, was gone.

But it didn’t want to die.

It, as wrong as it was, as awful as it made the weapon feel, it wanted more of what it had gotten a taste of here. It wanted someone who recovered it with the blanket when it presented for correction. It wanted to taste more of that soft, fluffy bread. It wanted more. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did.

It wanted more than whatever Commander Voran dangled in front of it. It wanted to be more than another shimmering tool for that bitch to carry on her belt.

The faces of its teammates flickered through its mind, and its anger grew. She had made it kill each of them, after they’d been disqualified. A knife. An energy bolt through the brain. Or just its own bare hands.

And there had been more, so many more. Those hurt less, somehow, but it remembered their faces. They’d looked the same as its teammates’ had. Same expression, same fear, same pain, same desperation.

It wilted in further on itself, growing smaller on the bed as it tried to process everything. A set of hands pulled the blanket up higher on it, whispering something in a gentle tone that it couldn’t understand.

Why did it have to do this? Why?

Why, why, why?

The thought of simply doing for it what Yera had intended pushed its way into its head again. It would be easy. What was one more life?

But it didn’t want to kill for Yera, not now, not ever again.

And it didn’t want to die.

The soft voice washed over it again, forcing the world to slowly fade back in. Ziar’s face was positioned right in front of its, just off the edge of the bed.

“Kim, hey, are you with me?”

It studied each of her tattoos, following the thick inked lines with its eyes as it tried to find the ability to speak again. They were cool. It wondered what they meant.

“Kim?”

It blinked, finally meeting her eyes. “KM-4862 is functional, ma’am.”The numbers felt odd in its mouth.

“You zoned out for a little while there, Kim.” Her cheeks turned upwards a little bit. “You doing alright?”

“It is sorry, ma’am.” The new word that they called it, Kim, it liked that. It sounded more like what its superiors had been called. Like a name.

“It’s okay, you’re alright.” She kept smiling softly. “Veya called us down for a meeting, but I wanted to make sure that you were safe alone.”

The weapon nodded. No. Kim nodded. “It can be safe, ma’am.”

“That’s good. Do you see this button here?” Ziar held up a boxy device that was covered in buttons. She pointed at one of the bigger ones on the top. “Use this to call me if you need something, alright? Don’t go try and get it on your own. The bed will tell me if you try to get up, so please don’t. It’d be bad if you were to fall and hurt yourself, Kim. We don’t want that.”

Simple instructions. Easy. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be back in a little to change the DF on your back.” She moved away from the crouched down position by its head. “Rest up.”

With that final order, she walked out of the room, doors sliding closed behind her. It smiled to itself. Being Kim wouldn’t be that bad.

Being Kim would be good.

It didn’t want to die. And Kim wouldn’t have to.

Taglist: @whump-snob @seth-whumps @itsoundslikeafury @blackberry-bloody @snakebites-and-ink

@whumpacabra @cepheusgalaxy @softvampirewhump @my-little-versaille @pigeonwhumps

@whumped-by-glitter @snaillamp @rainydaywhump @platysaurus @whumpy-daydreams

@whiskygoldwings @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @rainbowsandwhumperflies @risk606 @starfields08000

@loonybun @paingoes

[wickedthroats]

Methlyamine doesn’t spoil, does it?

↳ 4 Days Out, Breaking Bad

[omori-aus-archive]

Omori: Kindred Spirits (Bad End AU by pyroanime2k16)

A/N: My last multi-chapter Omori fic for a while. Pic is a comm from @zipsunz, who gave me permission to post and share it for this AU. Specifically using the watermarked version to prevent art theft.

Chapter I: Siblings, Together Again….

Mari didn’t have a choice but to wait now….

All her efforts to help Sunny forgive himself for her accidental demise were now in the balance. He was in a hospital bed now…due to a confrontation with Basil….

She was scared….

Scared that Sunny wouldn’t make it to see the next day. Scared what might happen after he told everyone the truth of what happened to her.

The dead girl couldn’t do anything else though…besides waiting. And so she went through the hospital, hoping that their mother would come by and visit.

Maybe…. Maybe their mom could help Sunny more than Mari was able to do…in her ghostly form.

….

….

She HATED having to wait. She hated having to leave this all up to chance.

But she didn’t have a choice now….

She did all she could.

She could only pray that things would work out for the best this time….

-----------------------------------

The dead girl felt like she was in a nightmare…. Or my own personal Hell, for that matter.

It started with her realizing that Sunny was missing from his hospital bed. Then it led to her discovering him heading up to the room.

And just as she tried in vain to grab the boy and prevent him from jumping off the roof…

….

….

Sunny was dead now….

Lifeless on the pavement and sidewalk below…with Kel and Aubrey screaming horrifically and in agony as they saw him….

Everything Mari tried to do…. Everything she attempted to help her little brother forgive himself….

….

….

All for nothing….

-----------------------------------

She didn’t go to the funeral….

She felt like she didn’t deserve to see her brother one last time….

And his mutilated body would only be a reminder to her greatest failure….

Instead, she’s at home…going through the building one last time. It’s unnaturally quiet…. It truly was haunted now….

The dead girl went to the staircase, before entering the piano room. This was where it all went wrong.

And Mari hated herself for not noticing Sunny’s struggles sooner….

….

….

All that enjoyment of playing the piano vanished…just as quickly as Sunny’s life did….

Seeing the instrument only reminded her of her failure. It only made her angrier with herself.

It wasn’t long before Mari did something impulsive…by setting the piano ablaze. And at this point, she didn’t care about the consequences.

Sunny was dead. Gone. There was nothing salvageable in this building…. The only thing she wanted to do and the one person she promised to protect were both gone….

As she left the room, she froze in place….

Not because of her recent actions, no.

Rather, she heard a faint sob from upstairs…. And she KNEW whose voice it was making the cries.

Immediately, she went up the staircase and right into her and Sunny’s room.

And in some twisted form of a miracle…there Sunny was, curled up in his bed and crying. He was just like her. A ghost haunting the Earth….

He looked up from his position briefly, before freezing and backing up into the corner of his mattress. She could only assume that he was scared of how she might react….

…And that broke her heart irreparably.

Slowly, the dead girl made her way over to her brother, sitting with him. She then whispered, “You shouldn’t be here, sunshine…!” She wanted to cry, even though her tears had long since ran out.

The boy lowered his head, croaking out, “I’m sorry….” It’s all he could say to her. All he wanted to say to her.

After everything that happened, all he wanted to do was apologize to his sister.

It didn’t take any convincing for Sunny to suddenly lurch forward and hug his sister tightly, crying into her shoulder.

“I got you, baby brother….” Mari whispered, holding Sunny tightly in return, rocking him gently as he cried against her.

“I’m here…. I’m right here, Sunny….” She reassured. “I’m so sorry, baby brother….”

She wanted to apologize…for everything.

For not noticing Sunny’s struggles.

For not noticing why he wanted to participate in the recital with her so badly.

For yelling at him for getting frustrated.

For not doing enough to help him forgive himself.

For not being able to protect him.

For failing him.

….

….

But to Mari, not a single word would be enough to apologize for any of that.

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Whump drabble - Sedative

Whumpee wakes up in a room full of beeping equipment and unfamiliar faces partially covered by masks. Terrified and confused, they begin to thrash around on the bed, desperately trying to rip out their IV. The faceless people begin yelling.

"Calm down!"

"Stop that, it's okay!"

They don't stop, and continue thrashing against the grip of the nurses trying to pin their arms to their side.

"Sedate them!"

A nurse approches holding a syringe.

"No!" Whumpee screams.

They bite the nearest nurse, who lets go of their grip on Whumpee, swearing.

"Hurry, do it now!"

And then, a new voice. "STOP!"

Caretaker pushes the nurses aside. "It's okay, you don't need that. I can calm them down."

The nurses, irritated, look at each other doubtfully.

"Just, let me at least try first." Caretaker says.

The syringe is put out of sight in a pocket of the nurses' scrubs - for now.

"Hey, Whumpee. It's me." Caretaker says softly as they approach.

Whumpee can hear the beeping of their heart rate, still just as fast.

"Remember me?" Caretaker asks. They sit on the edge of the bed, smiling softly. "I know it's scary. But you're okay, it's alright." They place a hand on Whumpee's shoulder.

And Whumpee screams. Their hands shoot out, shoving Caretaker backwards with enough force to send them tumbling to hospital machinery and equipment. Tools clatter to the floor.

Instantly, the nurses leap on Whumpee.

"NO! LET ME GO!!" They scream so hard their voice cracks.

"SEDATE THEM, NOW!" A nurse yells.

The syringe is coming closer and closer, but Whumpee isn't able to move out of the way. The nurses' grip is too tight, and they watch in terror as the syringe is driven straight into their thigh. They scream, one last, long and terrified animalistic scream as the contents are injected into the muscle. The syringe is pulled out, and the nurses, slowly and hesitantly let go of Whumpee. Whumpee pants and heaves, their vision blurring. They can just barely see Caretaker being helped to their feet by the nurses.

And then their eyes roll back in their head, and their head lolls to the side as the sedative pulls them into unconsciousness.

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 9: Alt Prompt 2: "I love you..."

Warning for Illness, vomiting, flu, hospital setting, coughing, wheezing, medication, IV

[shion-yu]

A Safe Place (part 4/4) [day 24]

Cliff’s past experiences in hospitals have all been bad. For @monthofsick day 24: Panic and @badthingshappenbingo Paralyzed by Fear. 3,698 words, original work, TWs emeto (mild x1), hospital/surgical content, child abuse/trauma. If you'd like to skip the first half which is a childhood flashback, control-find the word “eighteen”.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 - This is the final part! Thanks for sticking with me guys.

Cliff’s fear of hospitals first began when he was three years old. He’d been inside the hospital several times because his dad worked there, but he hadn’t really processed it as anything significant until one day when he went there with his mother, who’d been tasked with watching him because the nanny was off. Cliff had been doing everything “wrong” that day, and Hana Barrows had reached her limit after a spilled glass of orange juice. She dragged him by the wrist to the car and drove to the hospital, swearing loudly all the way there. Cliff was silent because even back then he knew that saying anything would just make things worse.

Hana brought Cliff up to Dr. Claude Barrows’ office without warning, ignoring the secretary shouting after her as she passed without signing in. She yanked Claude’s door open without knocking and found him hunched over a pile of paperwork.

“What in the - Hana! What on earth are you doing here?! Why is Cliff here?”

“I’m not a babysitter!” She shouted as she shoved Cliff towards his father, who would have fallen on his face had Claude not caught him. “You promised me I’d never have to babysit!”

“Keep your voice down,” Claude hissed. He sat Cliff on the chair he’d been sitting on and turned to his irate wife. “It’s one day in his entire life Hana, one goddamn day.”

Hana let out an angry groan of frustration and slapped her hands on Claude’s chest, grabbing the lapels of his lab coat and pulling him forward. “I never wanted this! I’m not doing it!”

They squabbled for another few minutes, young Cliff staring at his velcro-up shoes and distracting himself trying to remember how the last nanny had taught him how to tie laces. He’d forgotten how after his mom fired her, because Cliff had been too attached to her.

“You can’t leave him here Hana, I’m working,” Claude said finally, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Well figure it out, because I’m not taking him home with me,” Hana snapped back. With that she stalked out of the office, not stopping despite Claude shouting after her. He followed her out, and Cliff was left alone in his dad’s office, on his big spinny office chair, with no idea what he was supposed to do now. He was old enough to know that his parents didn’t like him, although he didn’t understand why. He didn’t talk much but they still said he was too noisy. His big sister Moira was nice to him, but that was when she was around. Usually she was too busy with her high school friends and sports to be home much.

Cliff tried to climb down from the chair, but it was really tall and he was afraid of falling. Still, he eased his lower half down, stretching his short legs to try and feel for the floor. He felt it all at once when he fell, smacking his forehead on the hard floor. He bit his lip, trying not to cry. His parents hated when he cried. Still, he couldn’t help it as a few little tears rolled down his chubby cheeks.

“Did you fall, honey?”

Cliff looked up to find a young woman kneeling in front of him. He nodded, wiping his face with tiny fists. “Aw, poor thing,” she said.

“He’s my son. Do you like kids?” Dr. Barrows was back, standing in the doorway - without Cliff’s mom.

“Yeah, totally,” the girl said. “Sorry Dr. Barrows, it’s just I heard a kid crying and the door was open so-”

“It’s fine,” Cliff’s father responded. “Actually, I need you to watch him for the rest of the day.”

“M-me? But, um, I’m a medical student, I don’t think...”

“Part of being a doctor is doing what your attending orders, and I’m telling you to babysit my kid until my shift ends at seven,” Dr. Barrows said sharply. “Is that a problem?”

“No - I mean, sort of, my clinical ends at four, and-”

“Great. I don’t care what you do with him, just keep him out of the way. I’ll pay you for your time.” Dr. Barrows ignored any further protest from the student and shoved two hundred-dollar bills in her hand before leaving.

The student shook her head in disbelief. “Alright, Cliff is it?” She asked. Cliff nodded, clutching the hem of his shirt nervously. “Right. Well, Cliff, I guess it’s you and me until seven...”

The student was nice, all things considered, but she clearly had no interest in babysitting. She had long legs and walked so quickly that Cliff had to run to keep up. A lot of times she’d turn a corner before he did and he thought he’d lost her, but she always found him again. They ate lunch in the cafeteria and she let him draw with a pen and a piece of printer paper while she did work. Cliff honestly didn’t understand what was going on, but he went with it because he was taught not to complain and didn't want to be left behind.

It was around 5pm when the student said, “You’d rather be with your dad, right? He has a pretty cool facial reconstruction starting now. Let’s go watch.” She led Cliff to the gallery, a large room with chairs above the surgical theater with a glass window for an audience. Cliff’s dad was scrubbed in, hyper focused and didn’t notice the spectators. “The surgery will last a few hours,” the student told Cliff. “I’m going home, so just stay here and don’t move until your dad comes and gets you.”

Cliff looked at her, confused. She was going to leave him here by himself? “It’s fine,” she said. “Your dad’s right down there. Just stay where you are and whatever you do, don’t move from this room, got it?” Cliff had no other choice but to nod obediently. Then he was alone.

At first, Cliff was excited to see what his dad did for work. A large woman was lying on the table - sleeping, Cliff thought - and everybody was dressed in funny clothes. His dad was wearing a long mint gown, goggles and a puffy scrub cap, which made him laugh. That laughter died in his throat when he saw his father take a long, silver knife and cut into the sleeping woman’s face.

Cliff screamed, but nobody was there to hear him. He started to panic and it felt like there was no air in the room. There was blood and the sound of a drill. Cliff began to cry, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horrible scene. His father seemed to be tearing this lady’s face apart, and he did so for two hours before pulling the skin back up and sewing it all back together.

“Wonderful,” his father said in a confident tone. “Good work gentlemen.” Someone was helping him take off his bloody robes. At this moment, he finally looked up at what should have been an empty gallery, but instead he saw his traumatized three year old son. “What the hell? Is that my son?” Cliff heard him say loudly. Cliff was terrified. What if his father got mad and did the same thing to him? He hid under a chair in the corner of the gallery until his father flew into the room and dragged him out.

“I’m sorry, I stayed like she told me to, I’m sorry,” Cliff sobbed. He was so scared, pushing his father’s face away. He kept thinking of how bloody his dad’s hands had been. “Don’t hit me!”

“Cliff, shut up, you’re embarrassing me,” Claude said angrily. “It’s not your fault though, that stupid medical student - her career is over,” he growled. “Come on. Let’s go home.” He picked Cliff up and carried his crying child out of the hospital, and together they went home. They never talked about what Cliff had seen, but for years he had nightmares about it. He was scared of what his father was capable of, and every time Claude yelled at him or hit him, Cliff wondered if it would go further - if he’d end up on that table being cut up next if he didn’t behave.

By the time Cliff reached middle school, he understood that his father’s job was to be a surgeon and that he actually helped people, even if it was scary - and horrible - to see in person. But when he had his stomach ulcer and had to be hospitalized for a few days, his fear of hospitals was renewed and solidified. His parents were furious at him. Even with a fever and in so much pain, his father yelled at him every step of the way. Every time Cliff cried, or threw up, or panicked because he was afraid of needles, it was made ten times worse by his parents’ obsession with Cliff not spoiling their image of what a perfect son should be like. The pressure they put on him while he was in the hospital just made him sicker. It was a terrible experience, and Cliff vowed never to let himself get sick enough to end up in a hospital again.

Unfortunately, these sorts of decisions are not truly one’s own. Now Cliff was in the hospital with pneumonia, and although he was eighteen and told himself he was an adult who knew better, he was still scared. It was a different hospital, but everything smelled the same. The nurses acted the same - nice, but brisk. He felt the same helpless feeling of being surrounded by people who didn’t understand him, and most of all he was terrified of his father finding out he was here. He was sure he’d be furious if he discovered Cliff had ended up here after disrespecting his mother by leaving home. He thought about ripping the IV tubing out of his arm and making a run for it, but he didn’t think his legs would hold him.

When Elliot was next to him, Cliff felt like he could keep it together. After all, he’d never had someone like Elliot to hold on to during these scary moments before. But now Elliot had gone home for the night and Cliff was alone in a tiny room without windows in the hospital, and he was losing it.

Cliff didn’t realize he was having a panic attack until the nurse came in because his heart monitor was going off. She tried to settle him down, speaking to him in hushed tones and reassuring him that he was safe, but he didn’t believe her. All he could think about was his prior bad experiences in hospitals. His entire chest felt tight and he was crying, which made it difficult to breathe in conjunction with his already junky lungs.

“Cliff, you need to slow down your breathing for me,” the nurse said, but Cliff couldn’t. He couldn’t control it. He was just as scared as the day he’d hid under the chair above the operating room from his father, abandoned and afraid to trust anybody.

The thing that did stop him panicking was the uncontrollable coughing fit that came on. All the tears and snot that came with crying choked him, and then he couldn’t stop. He coughed until he vomited onto his lap, tears and mucus mixing into a horrible puddle that he could feel seeping through the sheets onto his legs. He was so disgusting, he couldn’t stand himself. Elliot was right to leave him here alone.

The nurse called the other nurse for backup, and soon they were changing Cliff’s sheets together, changing his nasal cannula to a simple face mask while he was so snotty from crying, and one of them administered something through his IV that made him feel sleepy. Cliff’s nurse asked him if it would make him feel better to call his boyfriend.

“What time is it?” Cliff asked, his voice hoarse from crying and throwing up.

“Eleven,” she told him.

Cliff shook his head no. He had already woken Elliot up enough times this week. “It’s okay. He’s probably asleep.” They hadn't agreed on a time that Elliot was going to come back, Cliff realized. Elliot had said he’d be back in the morning. The morning could be eight, or it could be as late as noon. That was, if Elliot came back at all. No, he'd come back. Elliot kept his word - usually. Then again, Cliff had never expected Elliot to trick him into coming to the hospital. He understood he was really sick and needed help, he did, but the betrayal still stung.

After his nurse did another albuterol treatment through the mask, she changed Cliff back to a new (not snot-clogged) nasal cannula and left him to get some sleep. Cliff couldn’t rest though. Even with the lights off, all the machines cast a glow that kept the room too bright. The faint beeping of his heart monitor and the drip of his IV fluids reminded him too much of the last time he was in the hospital, and he felt vaguely nauseous despite being sure there was nothing left in his stomach. He curled in a tight ball and held his knees to his chest, trembling. He missed Elliot and wished he was here to make him feel safer right now. Instead, all he had was himself and a very long night ahead of him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cliff woke up drenched in sweat. He didn’t know where he was and immediately began to panic, but then he felt someone pushing him back down and shushing him.

“Elliot?” Cliff blinked in confusion. He’d finally cried himself to sleep in the wee hours of the morning but he hadn’t expected to sleep long enough that it was already within business hours. “What time is it?” His voice crackled, laden with wetness, and he let out a congested, barking cough. It made his sides ache and he gripped them automatically.

Elliot smiled at him and ran a delicate hand through Cliff’s damp hair. “Hi baby,” he said fondly. “It’s about nine AM.”

“Really?” Cliff glanced around, slowly remembering the details of yesterday. “I’m so hot,” he muttered.

“I think your fever broke,” Elliot said gently. “How do you feel?”

Cliff considered things. He felt significantly less achy than last night and it was easier to breathe. He didn’t feel like his brain was entirely full of sand - maybe just halfway. “Better,” he said. “Can I go home?”

“That’s up to the doctor,” Elliot said. “I ordered you some breakfast though. Do you feel up to eating? I got you oatmeal and toast.”

Cliff grimaced, remembering all the vomiting he’d done yesterday. “I’m not sure.”

“You can see how you feel when it gets here,” Elliot said. “The nurse said your breathing got a lot better after your second steroid injection.”

Only now did Cliff notice the lack of oxygen tubing on his face. He’d fallen asleep with it on and Cliff was shocked he’d really been so passed out that the nurse had been able to give him IV meds, do vitals, and remove his oxygen without waking him up. He must have been truly exhausted.

“Thanks for coming back,” Cliff said suddenly, looking at his hands instead of Elliot’s face.

“Of course I came back,” Elliot responded. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Promises didn’t always work out, Cliff thought to himself, but he just nodded yes. “Well, I missed you,” was all he responded. “So thanks.”

He was surprised by the quick kiss that Elliot stole from him, even though he hadn’t brushed his teeth since yesterday morning. “E-Elliot,” he stuttered, red faced as he sat back and covered his mouth with his hands in embarrassment.

“I missed you too,” Elliot said. His smile was so kind and genuine. It made Cliff feel so much better. “You did incredible staying here overnight by yourself.”

Cliff understood that Elliot was babying him a little, but he also realized that he was unable to stop himself from smiling into his hands. Something inside him felt so content when Elliot was proud of him. He wanted to feel like that over and over.

Breakfast arrived and Cliff picked at the food, trying to get down a few bites mostly because Elliot was staring at him so hopefully. He really wasn’t hungry, but he managed half of a piece of toast and two bites of oatmeal before he couldn’t manage any more. It was difficult to eat when his cough was still so harsh, overtaking him at random moments and leaving him doubled over in bed, his arms clutching his sides in pain. At least he managed to keep the food down, though.

The doctor came by shortly after Cliff finished eating and examined him. He listened to Cliff’s lungs and cough, nodding along with his own conclusions. “I believe it’s safe to send you home, but you have to promise to rest and do nothing else for several more days,” he said finally. “How does that sound to you?”

Cliff nodded in agreement. He’d gladly stay in Elliot’s bed for another week if it meant getting rid of this awful cough - preferably, far away from any hospitals. Elliot awkwardly raised his hand a little before speaking. “Excuse me Doctor, but we start classes back at school in the city on Monday. Will he be okay by then?”

“Hmm. You’ll have to play that by ear, but as long as he gets proper rest and takes his meds, no fevers, then probably. Do you have to walk far to get to class?”

Cliff shrugged. Sometimes, not always. Elliot answered for him though. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t walk too much,” his boyfriend said confidently.

“In that case, I’m not concerned about discharging him,” the doctor said. “I’ll put in the orders and we’ll have you out of here in a few hours. I do recommend you keep using a nebulizer at home for a few days and as needed, do you have one?”

Cliff shook his head no at the same time Elliot said, “We’ll get one for him, we just need the medicine.”

“You’ve got someone taking good care of you, I see,” the doctor chuckled. “I’ll write scripts for that too then. Make sure you follow up with an asthma doctor as soon as you can.”

Elliot thanked the doctor several times, Cliff echoing the sentiment with a simple thank you, and then all they had to do was wait for paperwork. In the meantime the nurse helped Cliff get back into normal clothes, took out his IV and detached him from all the equipment. He had sticky residue on his finger and chest from the oxygen and heart monitoring leeds that didn’t seem to want to come off, but it didn’t matter. He’d have plenty of time to scrub it off later. Cliff was just relieved to be escaping this place without a longer stay or his father finding out and showing up.

At discharge, Elliot bundled Cliff up in a warm jacket and hat even though it was late August. He pushed Cliff in a wheelchair down to the lobby, then ran to get the car. Cliff insisted he could walk, but he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own strength right now so didn’t push the matter much. He waited patiently for Elliot and waited to feel relieved for when they had officially left the premises of the hospital. It had only been one night, but it felt like a long time. The fresh air felt good on his skin and he took a deep breath, appreciating it even as it made him cough.

Elliot pulled up at patient pickup and helped Cliff into the car, settling him in the passenger’s seat. “My mom’s gonna pick up all your meds and find a nebulizer for you at home,” he explained as he drove. “We’re going to follow all the directions to a tee, get you straightened up before we head back to school this weekend.” He sounded confident about this plan, as if it were foolproof. “Do you want to shower when we get home, or go straight to bed?”

“Shower,” Cliff said. He didn’t want to smell like a hospital anymore. “Sorry about all this.”

Elliot shook his head. “It’s okay. I mean... I was really scared. But you’re going to be fine, so...”

“That’s what I mean,” Cliff said, looking at Elliot seriously. “I’m sorry for scaring you. And being a burden and crying and... I guess what I’m really trying to say is thank you for being there.”

Suddenly there were tears running down Elliot’s cheeks and Cliff panicked. “Wait, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

Elliot pulled over on the curb and wiped his eyes. He sniffled and gave a tiny laugh at the same time, which sounded funny to Cliff. “I’m just really glad you’re okay,” Elliot said, taking Cliff’s hand in his own and squeezing it. “And you’re welcome. But you’re not a burden and it’s okay. I love all of you, Cliff. When you’re sick or scared and lonely... I want to be there for you. Do you understand that?”

Cliff didn’t answer right away, not trusting his own voice not to waver right now. But finally he said, “I’m trying to.” It was more honest than the automatic ‘Yes’ he had very nearly said.

Elliot smiled a little sadly and leaned over to give Cliff a kiss on the cheek. “Okay, as long as you’re trying to,” he said. He looked both fond and sad. “Now let’s get you home and in bed. We’ve got a big school year waiting for us next week and you’re not getting out of that bed until Friday.”

“The nurse said a little exercise is good,” Cliff pointed out.

“Some very light exercise,” Elliot said. “Bed to couch and back is plenty. Got it?”

Cliff smiled. He found it amusing when Elliot got bossy. “Sure,” he said. “You’re in charge, El.”

Elliot grinned and started driving again. “You’re damn right I am.”

Fin.

[ssolessurvivor]

@reidinthedeep continued [x]

Nobody said recovery would be this hard. Nobody said anything about pain being untouchable. Nobody allowed him to die. Two weeks in suicide watch sort of helped with that, plus his niece and nephew. At least he could stay up all night in his private room when his phone started vibrating. He didn't immediately recognize the name and number but answered anyways.

While he had a moment of blinking in confusion as he listened to the rambling on the other end, it finally clicked: he just needed a minute of hearing that voice to register. Logan exhaled and winced from the pain underneath the bandages and tape.

"Matthew?" He asks, feeling a warmth followed by worry in his gut. "I-I mean, I never knew if they told anyone. This, it's all very hush hush. But I guess it's all leaked now, or from what limited news I hear." But he pauses and bites his lip, hearing that hopeless tone makes him sad. "I'm ok...better now that you called." Which was true, he was smiling at least now.

[erstwhles]

open to anyone (w / m / nb), mutuals and nonmutuals

premise: professional athlete injured during a game and suffering from brief, short-term memory loss after waking up in the hospital (so i was thinking friends who have feelings for each other and he accidentally lets it slip because he's out of it, but i'm open! so, friends? teammates? feelings for each other? partner? whatever it is he's being a lot)

"Oh no," Joel grumbles as he pulls his arm over his eyes to block out the fluorescent lights. "That's... embarrassing. They had to carry me off the ice?" Shaking his head, he lets his shoulders sink into the pillow while he considers the scenario. This isn't the first time they have explained how the injury occurred, but the doctors weren't kidding when they said it may take a couple hours for his mind to find its bearings. "What about you? You were there...? That's so much worse. I'm so sorry..."