#i find the fact that this prompt title is called 'a minor annoyance' incredibly funny for this fill

[accidentalcookies]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 11

stuffy nose / hate to be sick / "I'm fine, I can work."

caretaker: celestinus

whumpee: shaoyuan (intro post here!)

this is the follow-up to this! enjoy :D

“Alright, sit.”

Celestinus gave Shaoyuan a gentle push towards the chair, before he headed towards their very well-stocked medicine cabinet to start pulling out what he needed.

“I’m going to give you a local anesthetic—and no, you’re not going to refuse,” he added, seeing Shaoyuan open his mouth to protest. “I don’t know what asshole taught you that you don’t need it, but I’m not having it.”

“This really isn’t that bad,” Shaoyuan replied, like Celestinus knew he would. “Even without stitches, it’ll heal within a week.”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care,” he said. “We’re doing this my way, not the masochistic idiot way.”

“It’s a waste of your supplies.”

“Supplies can be replenished.”

“They’re an unnecessary expense.”

Celestinus turned to glare at him. “Keep arguing and I’ll use hot pink thread, don’t test me,” he said.

Shaoyuan gave him a odd look. “You’re just going to bandage it afterwards,” he pointed out. “You won’t even be able to see the thread.”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” he said. “Now, shirt.”

“I’m wearing one, yes,” Shaoyuan deadpanned, but moved to pull his button-up off overhead–

“Stop!” he said hastily, rushing forward to grab the arm on his injured side. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to gun for the exsanguination olympics?”

“It’s the most expeditious method, isn’t it?” he asked.

“You have a gash halfway into your abdominal cavity, can you at least try to pretend to have a sense of self-preservation?” he retorted exasperatedly. “Unbutton that, don’t just yoink it off, jesus.”

Shaoyuan rolled his eyes, but began to fiddle with the buttons.

Celestinus gave him a stern stare, one that promised retribution if Shaoyuan ignored his order, then turned back to his tray.

It wasn’t exactly an outlandish expectation to think that Shaoyuan would have his shirt unbuttoned by the time he had finished preparing the local anesthetic, but somehow, defying expectation, only half of the buttons had been undone, with the man fumbling at the next.

His concern abruptly grew. “How much blood did you lose?” he asked.

“Do you want that in metric or imperial?” Shaoyuan asked dryly.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“No idea. Enough to ruin my suit jacket, I think.”

Celestinus glanced over at the discarded jacket sitting on a second chair. “Incredibly helpful,” he deadpanned, staring at the black fabric, which could be hiding anywhere from a small splash of blood to a whole goddamn flood. “You could probably wear that without washing it and nobody would even see the stain.”

“Black is good like that,” he agreed, and finally pried another button open.

His gaze drifted down to Shaoyuan's hands, then.

His hands, which had a minute, but most definite, tremor.

“Give me that,” he finally said, and undermined his own exasperation by kneeling down by Shaoyuan’s side and gently unbuttoning the rest of the buttons. “You’re shaking.”

Pointedly pulling his shirt off, Shaoyuan replied, “It’s cold in here.”

He let out a long sigh, and went to retrieve his tray. “Fine,” he said, kneeling at his side again. “We’ll do this the hard way. Move your arm.”

They were both quiet as Celestinus injected the local anesthetic—Celestinus out of concentration, and Shaoyuan no doubt out of stubbornness. But Celestinus had been at this for decades, now. Shaoyuan wasn’t the first patient he’d had to outstubborn, and he certainly wasn’t about to start failing now.

“Are you bleeding out from somewhere else that I can’t see?” he finally asked, putting the first hot pink suture in.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“No.”

“Is there something else that I should be aware of?”

A minute pause. “No,” Shaoyuan said, and to his credit, almost sounded like he wasn’t lying. But by this point in their acquaintanceship, as well as this point in Celestinus’ experience with handling a recalcitrant Shaoyuan, he knew how to read him nearly as well as Aristides.

“Then there is,” he concluded.

A thin, frustrated huff escaped Shaoyuan. “I have it handled,” he only said.

“That’s not an answer. What is it?”

“Not a concern, and not something you can do anything about. It’ll run its course in a few hours.”

“Still not an answer.”

“I’m entitled to my little mysteries.”

Celestinus hadn’t wanted to play this card, but god knew they always ended up here eventually. “Not if they affect your performance, they don’t,” he said. “I can tell Aristides what I’ve observed.”

Shaoyuan sighed again—not making Celestinus’ stitching job down here any easier, thanks—and said, “After.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he said, and sped up as much as he could.

The rest of the stitches were finished in silence—a silence that was broken by Shaoyuan’s half-amused, half-exasperated, “Really?”

“What?” he asked, taping a bandage over the neat line of hot pink stitches.

“You just happen to have hot pink on hand?” he replied.

“It’s not my first time threatening someone with ‘em.”

“It’s not a threat if I don’t feel threatened,” he pointed out, pulling his shirt back on.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, picking up his tray. “Now, elabora—whoa!”

The contents of the tray went skittering across the floor as Celestinus hastily grabbed hold of Shaoyuan’s arm, keeping him from tipping over as he dropped heavily back into the chair, blinking rapidly.

“You okay?” he asked, when Shaoyuan’s gaze refocused—and had to push down on his shoulders to keep him from attempting to rise again.

“Head rush,” he offered as explanation. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, because nearly passing out is such a great indicator of being fine,” Celestinus said sarcastically. “Elaborate.”

“Many minor medical conditions can cause someone to feel light-headed,” Shaoyuan rattled off. “Like, for example, suddenly losing a large amount of blood, or being tall, or–”

“Elaborate or I’m getting Aristides.”

“Alright, fine,” Shaoyuan said, finally, finally folding. “I might be a little bit poisoned.”

At that, Celestinus froze. Then fought the urge to throttle him. “Why didn’t you start with that?” he asked, half-exasperated, half-worried.

“Because there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’d still like to be aware, for fuck’s sake! What poison is it?”

Shaoyuan shrugged. “Some sort of neurotoxin. It’s not an issue. I’m synthesizing the antidote right now.”

“Symptoms?”

“Some shakiness,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“That is precisely why I’m worried,” he said, exasperated. And pushed down on Shaoyuan’s shoulders again, as he tried to rise, again. “Can you just stay put? I’m going to need to keep an eye on you.”

“It’s–”

“I swear to god, Shaoyuan, if you say it’s not an issue again, I’m going to tie you to this chair. And don’t,” he said with a glare, as Shaoyuan went to speak, “even start.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said mildly. “So how long do you plan to watch me for? Because I still need to give my report to Aristides.”

Celestinus just stared at him for a moment. “You can give your report when you’re not poisoned by a neurotoxin.” 

“I’m fine,” he said. “I can still work. This is my job.”

“Your job now is to relax until your symptoms go away,” Celestinus replied firmly. “All of them. I am not having you kick the bucket on my watch.”

“It’s–”

“Shut your mouth,” he interrupted. “This is very much an issue, and next time, please say something earlier. No matter how much you think you have it handled.”

He leveled him with a firm stare—and maintained eye contact until Shaoyuan looked away.

“Alright,” he muttered.

As much as Celestinus wanted to believe him, he’d be a fool if he thought this was the end of it.

“I’m holding you to that,” he said.

---

tagging: @whumperless-whump-event @whumpbug