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montammil · 6 months ago

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June of Doom Day 24 - "Let's get you cleaned up."

| Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

Characters: Lawrence, Marshall

Came out later than I was intending because I got a bpd diagnosis today lmao. Not what I was expecting but I guess that means just another oc to project all my issues on--

Didn't proofread because I'm exhausted lol. I know I probably got some medical inaccuracies, but I don't take my whump seriously enough anyway XD.

CW: Parental whumper, dangerous cuts, blood, stitches, stockholm syndrome, mild infantilization, platonic/non-sexual nudity

...

It was like every other day. Lawrence worked a lot and Marshall would keep himself entertained while he was gone.

He often went out to the yard to tend to the plants, drawing in the sketchbook Lawrence got him, and reading through his bookshelf. He reread some of them already, but he was going crazy without anything else to do.

He had always lived a solitary lifestyle, but this was a whole new level of isolation.

Even though Lawrence said to never go into the forest alone, he never said anything about the beach.

Lawrence had been gone since this morning. He usually left at ten, and then returned by five. And since Marshall was done his chores early, he had nothing better to do other than explore the beach.

The tide pools were always pretty to look at, and he liked finding interesting seashells to keep.

He made his way through the woods, wincing when sticks poked his skin. He eventually got out to the clearing of the coast. It was a gorgeous sight, as per usual. The sky was clear and the ocean sparkled, glittering beneath the sunlight. The waves crashed against the sand. Marshall always appreciated how peaceful it was out here, no one to disturb the stillness of the beach.

Marshall wandered down the shoreline, admiring the seagulls flying above him and the different kinds of shells he could collect. He picked out the prettiest ones, deciding he could make a bracelet out of them for fun.

He looked up from the sand to gaze at the ocean. It was so tranquil today. He loved how the salty air smelled, and the way the cool water felt against his bare feet.

He liked to swim every now and then, and sometimes Lawrence even swam with him. It wasn't very fun though, since Lawrence would freak out the entire time and make him promise not to go deeper than his waist.

He sighed at the thought of having to endure another lecture about safety when he got home.

Just as he was walking up the steep hill of rocks and large boulders, he tripped over the sharp edges of a rock and tumbled backwards, yelping as he skidded down the rocky slope. The grit dug into his palms and the exposed part of his knees.

Marshall laid on the sand, dazed and confused, trying to figure out what happened.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, glancing down at his hands. They were bleeding profusely, and so were his knees. His calves were cut up too. Some of them were small enough to be small scrapes, nothing that a bandaid and some ice couldn't fix. But some of the cuts were deeper and wider than others, and they burned like fire.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the overwhelming pain.

It was his fault for being clumsy, so he sucked it up and started cleaning himself up as best he could.

He picked the pebbles out of his knees and hands, gritting his teeth through it. It wasn't very effective, and he had to stop due to the blood coating his arms.

Marshall slowly made his way to the house, stopping every few minutes to take a breather.

He didn't want to get in blood in the house, but he needed to call Lawrence. He was told to only use the phone in case of emergencies, but he thought this counted as an emergency. He knew he was definitely going to get scolded later.

The scolding would definitely be worse if he didn't call him, so this was for the best.

He limped up to the front porch and swung the door open, wincing at the soreness in his muscles.

He quickly staggered inside and grabbed the home phone from the kitchen. He dialed Lawrence's number and waited impatiently for him to pick up. After a few rings, the line connected.

"Hi, Marsh! I'm sorry, but I'm kind of busy right now. Did something happen?" Lawrence asked. Marshall could hear the sounds of several people talking in the background, so he assumed he was at one of his production meetings.

"I, uh, kind of got hurt and I was wondering if you could come back."

"Hurt? What do you mean?"

He winced when he took a step, trying to ignore the sharp pain coursing through his body. "It's fine. I just scraped my knees and hands." Marshall wiped his tears, glancing down at one of his open wounds.

The biggest one was on his leg, right above his knee and still had blood pooling from it. He grabbed a napkin with his free hand to put over the cut. It was a miracle he wasn't having a panic attack.

"How badly?" Lawrence's tone was deadly serious.

"I don't know." Marshall cleared his throat, which had been feeling scratchy the past few minutes. "But it really hurts. There's blood everywhere, and I'm so sorry! I'll clean it up, I swear. I just thought you should know, and I couldn't get the bleeding to stop, so--"

"Just put pressure on it, I'll be home in thirty minutes! Can you hold on until then?!"

"It's fine, I'm not dying." Even if it felt and looked like it.

"Just wait there, okay?!" He heard frantic footsteps, and him yell something to likely one of his coworkers. "Stay on the line."

Marshall did so. He felt nauseous and his head was throbbing. He slumped down on the ground, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin.

The napkin was soaked with his blood now. He let out a small groan and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. He tried thinking about other things to distract him from the pain.

A little sooner than thirty minutes later, Lawrence slammed open the front door, panting like he just ran a marathon. The first thing he spotted was the blood.

Marshall tried to get up and show him his injuries, but he wobbled and fell back, letting out a distressed noise.

Lawrence rushed over to him. He crouched in front of him, grabbing his wrist to examine his hands. "What happened?!" he demanded, inspecting each cut, and then moving up to his knee. He tried being as careful as possible when he peeled back the napkin, revealing the wound. His eyes widened in horror. "Shit." It was rare he cursed in front of him, so Marshall knew he was freaked out. "How did this happen?"

Marshall didn't meet his eyes. "I fell, it was stupid."

"It's fine. Everything's fine..." Lawrence's hands were shaking, a clear indicator he didn't believe his own words.

He rushed to one of the kitchen cabinets to grab the medical supplies, and then jogged back over to Marshall's side.

He started applying some disinfectant on his injuries, emitting a cry from the brunet. Lawrence cooed and rubbed his thigh soothingly. He dug into the med kit to pull out a suture kit. Marshall paled at the sight of it, immediately shaking his head.

"N-no, I don't need stitches. They'll be fine. It's just a few scratches." He tried pulling his leg back, but Lawrence firmly kept it in place.

"It's okay, just try to relax. I've done this before, and it'll be quick." Marshall remained skeptical but obeyed him. Lawrence pulled his leg into his lap and unwrapped the suture needle from its package, readying it against his skin.

Marshall wanted to ask for something to ease the pain, but he couldn't speak. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He could handle this. It was just a couple of stitches.

Marshall's bottom lip wobbled. It hurt so much. He hissed while Lawrence thread the needle through the cut. It only got worse once he tugged the string tight. He opened one of his eyes to see how many more were left.

The wound was extremely wide and long. Lawrence went on, his eyes not leaving his work for a second. It broke his heart each time Marshall would cry, but he persisted.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally tied the last stitch. He then put on some antibiotic ointment and covered it up with a bandage. He stood up to put the medical kit away. Marshall's entire leg was red from the blood, but it wasn't as swollen as he thought it would be.

Lawrence squatted beside him to wash out the other wounds, and then put bandaids over them. Marshall was scared more would need stitches, but after those, Lawrence deemed them unworthy of that.

Marshall put his weight on the blond, who scooped him up and carried him to the bathroom.

"Let's get you cleaned up, buddy." Lawrence placed him on the closed toilet seat and lathered a sponge in water and soap. "Just gonna do a sponge-bath for now, okay? We can get you a bath in a few hours when we need to change your bandages. Now, arms up."

Marshall mindlessly obeyed, letting Lawrence pull the shirt off of him. He had a few growing bruises on his newly exposed skin, but no cuts.

"Why didn't you stay inside?"

"I was bored," Marshall admitted.

Lawrence scrubbed the dirt and dried blood from his skin. "There are plenty of things to do in this house. What were you doing outside anyway?"

If he weren't injured and on the verge of a breakdown, Lawrence would have definitely unleashed his full anger. "I went to the beach. It's comforting." Lawrence briefly paused, to which Marshall continued, "I fell down on that rocky hill-thing. You know the one I'm talking about, I think."

A long, disappointed sigh left Lawrence's mouth. "You're telling me, instead of climbing the actual path like a sane person, you decided to climb the rock mountain?" Marshall shrugged. "You can't do that again. It's dangerous. And you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry..." he mumbled. He leaned forward so Lawrence could clean his back and check for bruises. "You're acting surprisingly calm," Marshall joked weakly, in attempt to lighten the mood.

"I'm keeping my composure, for your sake. This could have been a lot worse than just a few stitches. If you'd gotten tetanus, we would be in the hospital." He pulled back to look at Marshall. "You did get your tetanus shot, right?"

"I think so."

Lawrence's lips curled into a frown. "You think so?"

"I don't remember, okay?"

"Marshall..." He shook his head in disappointment. He retrieved some fresh clothing and helped him into it, putting him into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. "You're getting a tetanus shot tomorrow, no objections."

He really disliked when Lawrence talked down to him like a kid, but it was a nice reminder that someone cared about his wellbeing, even if he wasn't pleased. "Okay," he whispered.

Lawrence kissed his forehead and picked him back up, carrying him to the couch. He gingerly lowered him down, before grabbing a few pillows and blankets.

Marshall watched him spread the blankets across the couch. When he was satisfied, he gently tucked a pillow under his head, and then wrapped a fuzzy blanket around his thin frame.

"I'm going to make you something to eat, alright? Then I'll go clean up the mess."

Marshall didn't even realize there was a puddle of his own blood still in the kitchen until now. His lips quivered, and Lawrence pressed another kiss on his head, making his breathing even out again.

"Sorry I messed up your day."

Lawrence smiled sadly. "You didn't mess up my day, you could never. But we're going to have a conversation about listening to me. That's all you need to do, kiddo. If I tell you not to do something, it's because I have a good reason. I'm just trying to take care of you."

Marshall nodded, allowing Lawrence to leave. He was tired of getting into arguments with him about the 'listening' thing.

It wasn't worth it anymore. He'd never win.

He tried to get comfortable on the couch, but all he could think about was the gaping wound in his leg and the pounding headache that hadn't gone away.

Marshall allowed himself to be fed chicken noodle soup for lunch. He stayed laying on the sofa, trying to focus on the TV and the sound of Lawrence washing the dishes. He had just taken his medicine, so he hoped it would kick in soon and his body would start relaxing.

He felt a tear slip down his cheek. He tried wiping it away with his arm, but more just came out. It was humiliating, and he was ashamed of himself.

Lawrence's face softened when he saw his reddened eyes. He finished drying off the bowl and quickly crossed the room. He knelt beside him, stroking his hair away from his eyes. "Oh, honey, what's wrong?"

"I'm just stressed and in pain, 's all." He sniffled.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

He wiped his tears again. "Can you hug me? I just-- I don't like being alone right now."

Lawrence didn't hesitate for a second, shuffling onto the couch to hold him in his arms. He stroked his hair and spoke sweet nothings into his ear, occasionally planting kisses on his head. He'd never feel comfortable being vulnerable like this with any person. Even when he was an actual kid, his parents didn't show him this much affection.

He pulled back. "My poor baby," he crooned, squeezing his cheeks between his fingers. He pushed the brown locks of hair behind his ears. "Are you ready for a nap, kiddo? Or do you need more cuddles first?"

"Cuddles."

"Of course. C'mere, Marshie." He shifted around on the couch so Marshall could lay atop of him. Lawrence buried his nose in his hair and continued to stroke his head. Marshall clung to his sweater, drifting off to Lawrence's heartbeat.

#lawrence oc #marshall oc #june of doom #june of doom 2024 #day 24 #whump #parental whumper

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blackrosesandwhump · 6 months ago

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June of Doom Day 24

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages

CW: kidnapping reference, recovery whump, fear

Home, at last, after so much suffering, and all Ciel wants to do is sleep.

The entry hall is cool and empty as Sebastian carries him inside and up the stairs. The boy breathes a sigh, relaxing a little in his butler’s arms. The demon must have ordered everyone to stay away, thankfully.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, young master. Can you stand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Sebastian lets him down gently, steadying him as he finds his balance. Ciel’s legs ache from being tied up. So do his wrists, still raw from their tight restraints. He feels dirty and used, crusted with dried blood and blackened with soot.

“What did they want with me?” he asks, too tired to think as the butler guides him to his bedroom.

Sebastian tsks quietly, disapproving, Ciel knows, not at the question but at the kidnappers’ cruelty. “I can’t say, my young lord. It’s a mystery I’ll investigate as soon as possible.”

Investigate. An understatement. Ciel smiles to himself, imagining what might happen to the kidnappers once they’re found. He keeps smiling as Sebastian helps him strip off his ruined, stained clothing.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Oh, nothing.” Ciel hisses as his shirtsleeve catches on his injured arm. “Those poor men.”

“Indeed,” Sebastian says simply. “Let me draw you a nice hot bath.”

Much later, freshly bandaged and layered with blankets against the cold night, Ciel lies in bed, staring into the flickering candle at his bedside. With Sebastian gone (he should have requested not to be left alone, Ciel realizes), the horrors of the previous two days take over. Ciel’s lingering fear, kept at bay while the demon helped him bathe and settle, crawls down his spine and into his throat.

The boy scrunches deeper under the covers. His wrists and ankles tingle with memory. The coal cellar. The ropes binding him hand and foot.

And—the thought instills in him a leaden terror—the skeletal woman with monstrous hair. Hair that possessed its own sentience, as if it was its own creature, separate from the woman’s will. A kind of Medusa. Ciel remembered the story from long ago, in a book of Greek myths his father owned.

The men who kidnapped him had clearly been under her control.

Ciel shudders, absently picking at the bandages wrapping his arm. Exhausted sleep claims him shortly afterward, and he slips into a dreamless world devoid of feeling.

Elsewhere in the night, the demon butler plunges into the darkness, and the air is rent with screams.

@juneofdoom

#june of doom 2024 #june of doom #day 24 #let's get you cleaned up #blankets #bandages #ciel phantomhive #black butler #sebastian michaelis #fanfiction #whump fanfiction #whump #recovery whump #fear #bridal carry #black butler ciel #blackroseswrites

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shes-some-other-where · 7 months ago

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June of Doom Day 9, Day 24, Day 25

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Contains: lady whump, dudewhump, restraints, gag/muzzle, slapping, magic/fantasy whump, guilt, betrayal

WC: 940

Where does your loyalty lie now?

The feeling of the usurper’s fingers tangled in her hair made her vision swim and blur as jolts of white-hot pain shot over her scalp.

“I promise,” she choked out. “I promise I won’t . . .”

He let go rapidly, shoving her away from him. The sudden assault sent her sprawling on the floor.

“You’re as pathetic as he is,” said the prince. “As your entire corrupt, wretched family was.”

Corrupt? Wretched? Rich of him to hurl insults at her dead family when he was the one with their blood on his hands.

“Not that I mind,” he sneered. “Still, it’s true.”

She swiped away her tears and righted herself, stumbling unsteadily to her brother’s side.

“I’m sorry. You’re all right,” she said tearfully, reaching with shaking hands for the leather ties knotted at the back of his head. “You’ll be all right. I’m so—” Her clumsy fingers accidentally tore at a lock of his sweat-damp hair, making him recoil. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I’m so—”

The usurper’s voice cut over hers again. “Tell him.”

Her hands stilled. “What?”

“Tell. Him.” The prince held her gaze. “Tell him why he awoke a prisoner, dethroned and in chains. Why I was kind enough to let him live.” His eyes narrowed. “How I learned his little secret.”

Her brother, who had stoically fixed his attention on anything that wasn’t her, now shifted. Met her eyes.

She untied the knots fully and gently pried the evil contraption away, pretending she couldn’t see the lines on his face or the humiliated flush of his skin or the sheen of saliva left behind now that the muzzle was gone. “Let’s get you cl—”

“Do not ignore me,” said the usurper. “Tell him what you did, or I will.”

The silence that followed the command felt . . . preternatural. As if her answer—the truth of her betrayal—were already suspended in the air between them. She found her gaze drawn downward, lingering on her brother’s clothing, stained now with dirt and with blood that must have transferred from the hands of the murderers who had stolen him from his bed. His chest heaved frantically. How could she not hear every gasping breath? Why couldn’t she hear his voice?

“They were going to kill you,” she whispered. “While you were defenceless. While you slept.”

A hand closed its iron fingers around her throat. Not a real one, not the hand of a usurper or soldier or executioner. A phantom hand, wielded by the ghosts of her family or perhaps by her own guilt, for her brother’s eyes widened, welling with such shock and horror at her treachery that, as her airways collapsed and her neck threatened to fracture, her heart shattered.

You? His lips formed the word, no sound accompanied it. And then his eyes snapped again, wider now, even more terrified than before. A second time, he tried to speak, but there was only a whoosh of air.

“What have you done to him?” she cried, leaping to her feet.

“I said it was fine to remove the muzzle,” said the prince smugly.

“What did you do?” She took a few furious steps toward him. Games. He was toying with both of them, a cat dangling two squeaking, quivering mice from its razor-sharp claws. Forcing her to confess what she’d done, sowing the seed of blame and resentment so they might never team up to overthrow him, to take their revenge. Muzzling her poor brother with only the aim of humiliating him, then stealing his voice anyway.

How? Through some magical means, no doubt. She looked back, seeking the source.

There.

How could she have missed it? A chain, less a necklace and more a collar, locked around his neck, emitting a faint, unnatural glow—barely discernible, but unmistakably present. Now that she knew it was there, she could almost feel its power pulsing evilly against his throat, emanating outward.

“Take that off,” she shouted, whirling around to face the usurper once more, “let him sp—”

The prince lashed out, and for the second time since she’d been brought before him, he landed a fierce blow to her cheek.

“You don’t give me orders,” he reminded her calmly, watching her struggle to rise from where she had spilled on the floor. “And I certainly will not remove it. How else am I to ensure that brother dearest speaks only what and when I want him to?”

“You’re a monster,” she hissed.

He shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “You brought this upon him, remember?”

Tears burned her eyes, spilling wildly down her cheeks and dripping onto the filthy floor. “You can’t do this.”

How he laughed.

“Well, fallen seer?” He shifted his attention to her brother. “It seems you’re the one with a choice to make now. Will you live or die? Your sister was the one to betray you, so will you still protect her, or will your bitterness send you both to your deaths?” He jerked his head at his leering soldier. “We’ve got a willing executioner, and he might even make it quick, if he’s feeling merciful. So tell me. Where does your loyalty lie now?”

Her brother’s gaze scorched all in its path as it roved from her to the usurper and back. She collapsed, weeping. He wouldn’t forgive her. How could he? She’d tried so hard to save him, and she’d failed.

“Answer me,” said the prince. “Was it worth it, keeping you alive till now? Will you give me what I want or not?”

Her brother lifted his head. This time, when he opened his mouth, a strained, broken voice spilled out.

“I’ll do it.”

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

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norbezjones · 6 months ago

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More @juneofdoom ! This is Day 24: "Let’s get you cleaned up." I did incorporate some of of the keywords (stitches & bandages).

Takes place: before Romance The Backrooms occurs

Contains: injured & bleeding Kalcal, scene where Zenobos has to stitch up the wound

Other things to know: this story takes place in the backrooms. Before Kalcal & Zenobos met the other 3 main characters (Glarence, Adiel, & Uri), the two of them were traveling together. I wrote a story about how they met and started doing that here.

___________

“Ahahahaha!” Kalcal exclaimed, dancing next to the body of the hound he had slain. “Another victory for me!”

“Um, K-Kalcal?” Zenobos stammered from behind him. “You’re bleeding. . .”

Kalcal frowned, looking at his arms and trying to find the injury. Sure enough, there was a gash on his shoulder, and cyan-colored blood was pouring out of it. Had the hound scratched him with its claws? He hadn’t even noticed.

Zenobos was turning pale, and he took off his backpack. “I-I have medical supplies,” he told Kalcal. “B-But I can’t stand the sight of b-blood. . . You’ll have to tend to the wound yourself, o-ok?”

“Okey-doke!” Kalcal said with a shrug.

Zenobos sat down on the floor, and Kalcal went next to him. Zenobos took a few items out of his bag: a needle, thick thread, wet wipes, and wrap-around bandages. “Here, use these to sew up the wound and tend to it,” Zenobos said, holding the items out but looking away as much as possible.

“Thanks, buddy!” Kalcal exclaimed, taking the items. “I’ve never sewn up my own flesh before—this is gonna be fun!”

Zenobos put a hand over his mouth, looking sick. “D-Don’t say that. . . I feel like I’m going to puke.”

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Kalcal said. “I’ll just focus on this then, ok?”

Zenobos nodded. “Y-Yeah."

Kalcal threaded the needle and looked down at his shoulder. He tried to get a good angle, but soon found a problem. “Hey Z,” he said, “I kinda can’t see what I’m doing here. . .”

Zenobos gulped. “A-Are you asking me to do it then?”

“If that’s ok. Sorry, I just don’t want to mess this up.”

Zenobos sighed and swallowed hard. After a moment of silence, he said, “O-Ok then. Give me the needle.”

Kalcal did so. Zenobos turned to look at the wound, bringing his hands over to the gash. “I-I’m going to start now, ok?” he said, trying not to get sick.

“Yep!” Kalcal replied.

Zenobos swallowed hard, and then, he brought the needle into Kalcal’s skin. Kalcal screamed, and Zenobos winced—hold on, wait a minute. Was that a scream, or a laugh?

“Are you ok?” he asked Kalcal.

“I’m fine, it just tickles!” Kalcal exclaimed, laughing again. “Go ahead.”

Zenobos sighed and turned back to the wound. Trying not to think too hard about the gruesome task before him, he started stitching up the wound.

Kalcal’s laughter throughout the process actually made it easier, not harder. It made Zenobos pretend to himself that he was doing something fun & innocent, something nice. . . He could dream at least.

It was over faster than he expected, thankfully. He soon found himself cutting the thread, cleaning the wound, and wrapping it. “Phew,” Zenobos said, letting out a sigh of relief. “I-I’m glad that’s done with. . .”

“Thanks, buddy!” Kalcal exclaimed, giving Zenobos a great big hug, startling the scared little entity. “You’re the best!”

Zenobos smiled and patted Kalcal’s arm. “N-No worries.”

Kalcal let him go and asked, “How’d you know how to do that, anyways?”

The question brought back a flood of memories. There was a lot Zenobos could say in that moment, but he simply responded, “A human I met taught me.”

“A human, huh?” Kalcal echoed, grinning. “That’s nice!”

Zenobos nodded, then changed the subject. “Let’s stay here for a while,” he said. “After a fight like that, you need rest.”

Kalcal nodded. “Whatever you say, doc!”

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tildeathiwillwrite · 6 months ago

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June of Doom Day 24

"Let's get you cleaned up." / Blankets / Stitches / Bandages

Prompts List | Event Masterpost

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 700

Tag List:@juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: angst, nightmare mention, insomnia, captivity mention, scars, loneliness, PTSD, crying

A/N: A bit of an angsty Reese one-shot. Poor girl went through a lot. Takes place right before Magician's Bait.

----------

It was another one of those nights.

They seemed to be happening more and more lately. Reese would go about her usual nightly routine, clean the apartment, check all the doors and windows, and then go to bed with her knife underneath her pillow. She’d lie there for what felt like hours before finally drifting off… and then slip immediately into a nightmare. Once she woke up, she couldn’t get back to sleep no matter what she tried, so she stopped trying.

Now she sat in the dining room, a blanket draped over her shoulders, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, watching the vapor lazily drift in the air. Her knife lay on the table well within grabbing range. Reese traced a finger over the runes stitched into the sheath, a pang of loss accompanying the motion.

She’d never even thought about being a magician, but for some reason, the knowledge that she couldn’t become one, even if she wanted to, bothered her. It shouldn’t, not really. It wasn’t her fault that she could never use the runes, she was still alive because runes and Draigo didn’t like to interact. Reese had never even learned if she would’ve had the aptitude for rune-writing anyway, Draigo blood or no Draigo blood.

The stitches were soft under her finger as she continued down the next one. The first one kept the sheath from wearing out, and this one made it waterproof. Not water-resistant, waterproof.

When Reese had finally returned home from… everything… she’d scoured her father’s library, seeking every book on rune theory that he possessed. And he possessed a surprising amount for someone who claimed to never deal with magicians. She spent hours flipping through the pages, finding the use for every rune on the knife and sheath.

She sighed and sipped at her coffee. Her father was still away, doing who-knows-what across the ocean. Probably negotiating with the only known living Draigo for the plague antidote. Reese had begged to go with him, but he had insisted she stay, she would be safer in Caenum.

It was bullshit, and they both knew it, but no amount of prying and cajoling could persuade him to reveal exactly why he didn’t want her to accompany him. She had her suspicions, of course, and they all had to do with her mother, but since she couldn’t get him to admit it, she couldn’t be sure.

The blanket had slipped down her arm when she lifted it, and Reese caught a glimpse of the thin, faint scars from her imprisonment. Or rather, after her imprisonment was abruptly cut short due to circumstances that remained a mystery.

Somehow, it had been easier to ignore the wounds when they were bandaged, hidden away under layers of ointment and cloth. Octavian had said the scars would fade, but the memories might never truly vanish.

Reese had asked him what he’d meant by that sentence, said off-handedly when he was changing the bandages. His hands stilled, his eyes briefly glazing over, his jaw tightening in response to remembered pain. Seconds later he snapped out of it, shaking his head and continuing with his work as if nothing had happened.

Draven wasn’t around, otherwise she would’ve asked if he’d noticed the change too. Perhaps he already knew of it. But she never got the chance to ask before they left, and she doubted she ever would, now.

She took another sip of coffee, the dark liquid’s bitterness reflecting her frustration. The longing for an ability she never had, nor ever will. Missing two men who she’d only known for a couple weeks. The smothering loneliness of her father’s absence, the emptiness of their spacious apartment. Yearning for her mother, a woman she barely remembered, someone who’d abandoned them for reasons only known to herself, who might not even be alive anymore.

Luc was the only other person she could trust, now. How long before he left her, too?

How long before she was truly alone?

How long before someone with ill intentions discovered her secret and tried to continue what had been started four years ago?

How long… how much longer would the nightmares last?

The memories might never truly vanish.

Reese exhaled a ragged breath, realized she was crying.

She let the tears fall.

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 2 years ago

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June of Doom day 24

“I think I’m going to be sick” (bleeding out/illness/cold sweat)

"I–I think… 'm gonna be sick,'' were the last words Whumpee muttered before their eyes rolled to the back of their head and they fell in a dead faint. Caretaker doesn’t remember if they screamed, but they know that they’re clutching Whumpee’s limp body and shaking.

“Wake up, please just–wake up…” Caretaker moaned, clutching Whumpee to their chest.. They didn’t know what to do. Panic stole Caretaker's medical knowledge from them. They couldn't think. They didn't know what was happening to Whumpee, or how to fix it, or if they would die here, trapped in Whumper’s cell. The thought made Caretaker sick.

"You know that's pointless, right?" Caretaker felt their entire body tense at the sound of Whumper’s voice. They turned, finding Whumper leaning on the wall just outside of the bars. Caretaker hadn’t heard them coming.

Rage, dulled somewhat by the buzzing in their head, filled Caretaker."You--you sick fuck," they tried their best to keep their voice steady, but knew they'd failed from the way Whumpee smirked. "What'd the hell did you do to them?!"

Whumper shrugged. "Not much. We’re moving tonight, and I don’t need you two awake for it,” Whumper reached for their belt, grabbing a set of keys and unlocking the cell door. Caretaker stumbled to their feet, blocking Whumpee from Wumper’s view. Whumper chucked at their attempt at protecting their unconscious cellmate. “No point in trying to wake them up. I gave them enough to knock out someone three times their size,” Whumper made a gesture towards Caretaker. “Had to make sure you both went down after all.”

“You–what?” Caretaker gasped out, fighting to keep their footing.

The mocking look on Whumper’s face made Caretaker sick. “You’re a doctor or something, right? Can’t you feel when you’re under the influence? Do you think I was just being kind when I gave you two more than moldy bread to eat today?

It took Caretaker a worryingly long time to recall what’d happened only an hour before. After weeks of scraps, Whumper had finally given them a proper meal. They’d both been starving, so desperate that they’d forgotten just how little they could trust what was given to them. They realized now how horrible of a mistake that had been.

With swimming vision, Caretaker looked down at Whumpee, nearly stumbling to the ground with the movement. They hadn’t moved from where Caretaker had left them. They were so small, so much smaller than Caretaker was. It was no wonder that they’d been the first to feel the effects.

Caretaker wanted to ask what they’d been drugged with, where they were going, what was even happening, but their tongue had turned to mush in their mouth. Caretaker hit the ground, but didn’t feel the impact. They didn’t feel anything for a long while afterwards.

#drugged whumpee #caretaker whump #whumpee #whumper #tw: drugged #out of it #Caretaker #captivity whump #june of doom #june of doom day 24 #my stuff

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autobot2001 · 6 months ago

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Echos of Silence

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: T Warning: Poor mental health, panic attack, self-harm Pairing: None Description: Crosshairs silently struggles with Jamie being in the ICU again until it backfires on him. Ratchet doesn't help the situation.

Combining @juneofdoom day 19, 20, 23, 24, 25, 28 & 30.

Feeling his anxiety rising, Crosshairs had to go to one of the in-patient rooms to be alone. For the second time this year, Jamie is in the ICU because of her condition. Ratchet tried to assure Crosshairs and Drift that this isn’t a sign of something serious considering how often Jamie had a moderate flare-up after being poisoned. The chemical was working harder to kill Jamie. It’s still hard for Crosshairs and Drift to watch. Crosshairs didn’t expect to be affected like this. “This can’t be happening.”

Drift thought Crosshairs went to the bathroom, but twenty minutes in there is concerning. Seeing the bathroom door open and the receptionist saying Crosshairs didn’t leave adds to Drift’s concern. The only place left to search are the in-patient rooms. Drift thinks. It’s not good if he’s hiding in one of those rooms.

With Jolt busy with patients and Ratchet doing paperwork, Drift asks Jasmine to come with him to find Crosshairs and help if needed. “He won’t like that you found him,” Jasmine comments, “leave the door slightly open so I can listen. I can hear if you need help.”

Drift inspects the last room. Hearing sobbing worries him. While Drift goes into the room, Jasmine remains in the hallway as planned, showing concern for Crosshairs. Drift quietly sits next to Crosshairs. He’s careful not to startle the mech. “Crosshairs?” The sobbing mech hears Drift. He hates being found, but he hugs Drift and continues to sob. Drift feels Crosshairs tremble. Drift worries Crosshairs is thinking about how Jamie could decline further and is panicking rather than was trying to hide his sadness. Drift realizes that Crosshairs is having a panic attack about Jamie possibly declining. Drift pointing out he needs to stop neglecting his emotions Drift worries about how quickly the situation deteriorated. He thought Crosshairs was only upset, but this turns into a panic attack, leading Drift to worry about what Crosshairs is thinking. He feels Crosshairs’ rapid heartbeat.

Jasmine sees enough of what’s going on, uncertain if she should intervene. I don’t think this is him acting like he’s ok is backfiring. Jasmine believes. He’s remembering the nightmare situation.

Drift isn’t sure what to say. He too worries Jamie could decline. Drift hates reassurance isn’t possible, but he needs to get Crosshairs to calm down. Hoping to be successful without getting Jasmine.

Crosshairs takes ten minutes to calm down. He relaxes in Drift’s hug. This panic attack adds to Drift’s concern that Crosshairs continues to act ok for him. With Crosshairs calm, Jasmine leaves the two alone.

The two mechs walk out of the room twenty minutes later. As they walk by the three offices, Ratchet stops them and tells them to step into his office. Ratchet’s conversation concerns Jasmine.

“You need to stop doing this,” Ratchet begins. “Ratchet, don’t —,” Jasmine urges. “No, he needs to realize neglecting his emotions is not good for him or Drift. How the frag is Drift watching you panic after who knows how long of keeping quiet helping him?! All you’re doing is neglecting your emotional well-being!” Drift has had enough at this point. He pulls Crosshairs up from his chair and leads him out of Ratchet’s office and out of the medbay. “I know his decision to keep quiet isn’t helping anyone, but now wasn’t the time to say anything,” Jasmine argues and leaves the office.

Drift leads Crosshairs to The shared bedroom. The two sit on the couch. The silence bothers Drift. “Crosshairs? Say something.” Crosshairs’ blank expression worries Drift. Ratchet went too far. Drift believes. Even if he’s right, shouldn’t have lectured Crosshairs. Drift isn’t sure what to do. Even in the centuries of war, he’s never seen Crosshairs like this. Drift: Jasmine, there’s a problem. Drift is worried about what Crosshairs could be thinking. He’s uncertain of how Jasmine can assist but desires her presence.

Jasmine can’t believe what she’s seeing. She sees why Drift is concerned. We might have to get Rung. Jasmine believes. “Crosshairs? It’s me, Jasmine. You’re ok.” Jasmine is also worried about Drift’s anxiety at seeing Crosshairs like this. She is careful while trying to get Crosshairs to respond to her.

Jasmine had to get Rung involved. The events trouble the psychiatrist. Noting he’ll have to talk to Ratchet later and in a few days. Also, he’ll need to get both Crosshairs and Drift to talk to him. The three don’t realize that in place of Crosshairs feeling emotionally numb, he thinks about what Ratchet says, worried about losing most of his family. He worries only Lightning will be with him since she’s his sister while Drift And Jamie are his friends that he considers family. “He’ll be all right, but I think staying here until dinner is wise,” Rung tells Drift. Jasmine and Rung leave. Crosshairs and Drift sit in silence. Crosshairs continues to think about Ratchet’s lecture. “Please don’t leave me,” Crosshairs suddenly says. Drift looks at Crosshairs, confused. He sees the fear in Crosshairs’ eyes. Ratchet should’ve let me talk to Crosshairs when he’s in a better state. Drift realizes. “We’ve been friends for centuries, I’m not going anywhere.” Drift hugs Crosshairs, feeling him tremble. He needs to get Crosshairs to relax. Drift lies on the couch and pulls Crosshairs on him. Ensuring Crosshairs’ head is on his chest. He suspects Crosshairs will find this action weird once relaxed, but Drift knows this works.

Drift gets dinner rather than he and Crosshairs going to the cafeteria. Crosshairs turns on the TV. He is relieved to be proven wrong about his concern about Crosshairs not eating. The two watch TV and eat dinner. Drift is unsure of what to talk about but dislikes silence. This adds to his concern about Crosshairs.

Drift leaves Crosshairs alone to take care of the dishes in the kitchen downstairs. Crosshairs watches TV for a few minutes until he needs to use the bathroom.

As Crosshairs washes his hands, he looks in the mirror. Feeling anger about how Drift saw him weak. He knows Drift worries about Jamie and now Drift is worried about him. To him, he failed to protect Drift. Even if they’re not in battle. Out of anger, Crosshairs punches the mirror with his right hand. The glass shatters and goes on the counter and floor. Tears roll down his face, but not from pain. Crosshairs sits on the couch, ignoring he’s bleeding.

Drift walks into the shared bedroom, thinking Crosshairs would still be on the couch. “Crosshairs!” Drift panics seeing Crosshairs where he thought, but his hand is bleeding. Drift sees the broken glass from the mirror. Crosshairs is in tears. Drift doesn’t think it’s the pain from the cuts. I’d rather he broke a glass cup again. Drift thinks as he gets his first aid kit capsule and opens it on the coffee table. Drift uses local anesthesia before knowing what he’s dealing with. He has Crosshairs lie on the couch. He hates he can’t comfort his friend, but he needs to take care of Crosshairs’ hand. Drift waits two minutes before he works on stopping the bleeding and cleaning Crosshairs’ hand. After stopping the bleeding and cleaning Crosshairs’ hand, Drift notices three cuts that require stitches. He’s relieved to know how to stitch cuts. He wants to inform Jasmine about the situation but doesn’t feel like dealing with Ratchet.

Once Drift stitches up the cuts, he applies bandage strips over each cut and wraps Crosshairs’ hand in gauze and adhesive bandage to secure the gauze wrap. “Done,” Drift tells Crosshairs and begins cleaning up. He didn’t think Crosshairs would want to visit Jamie, “tomorrow. I think sleep will be good for you.” Crosshairs sighs. He gets up and gets his pajamas from his closet. Drift cleans up the glass from the mirror while Crosshairs gets changed. Crosshairs could leave without Drift, but he knows Drift is worried about him. Crosshairs is also tired.

Crosshairs gets into bed. He feels sadness as he covers himself with the blankets on his bed. Not only because of what he made Drift deal with today, but Crosshairs feels that the nightly routine is ruined since Jamie is in the medbay, even if he and Drift were watching TV like the three friends do every night. Often with their other friends.

Crosshairs is asleep when Drift goes to bed himself. He too is tired. He worries about how Crosshairs will be tomorrow morning.

Crosshairs is quiet the next morning, troubled by the events of yesterday. Drift knows Crosshairs is thinking about how he failed to act ok for him. “You need to stop acting ok for me,” Drift says as he takes Crosshairs’ wrapped hand, “I don’t like it and you hurt yourself.” Drift hugs his friend.

While Crosshairs takes a shower — with his wrapped hand protected from the water — Drift starts agroup chat with the twins and Lightning, telling them what happened yesterday and not to say anything. They all hope the other Autobots won’t ask what happened. Sunstreaker: can I scold Ratchet? Drift: I suspect Jasmine did yesterday. Drift knew Crosshairs would want to visit Jamie. The two would after breakfast.

The twins, Lightning and Lily, see how yesterday affected Crosshairs. This isn’t the mood they expected even with Jamie in the ICU. The four don’t ask if they can join Crosshairs and Drift in the medbay. They know the depressing scene.

Crosshairs and Drift enter the ICU room where Jamie is. Without realizing it, they are being observed by the three medics. Jasmine told Jolt and Ratchet what had happened yesterday, including what Crosshairs did to his hand. “I told you that shouldn’t have scolded him,” Jasmine says, “Drift would have talked to him when he felt it was appropriate.” Ratchet goes to talk to Drift.

Before he can say anything, he watches Crosshairs, sitting on a chair, stroking Jamie’s hair with his left hand. Drift stands beside him. He puts a hand on Crosshairs’ shoulder. He looks to see Ratchet standing by the door. He lies about why he needs to leave the room.

Drift follows Ratchet to his office where Jasmine and Jolt await.

“What?” Drift snaps. Drift’s continued anger towards Ratchet isn’t surprising to Jolt and Jasmine. “I’m sorry,” Ratchet apologizes. He looks at Jasmine, “I should have listened to you.” Ratchet feels guilt. “Crosshairs needs to stop acting ok. I don’t think your lecture is all that set him off,” Jolt suspects, “but was part of it.” “No, this is Crosshairs. We’re partners in battle but he’d do his best to protect me, but not to where I’m not taking part in battle,” Drift explains, “to my knowledge, he never hid emotional struggle. Being Jamie’s guardian and friend has brought on new challenges. Crosshairs thinks he’s protecting me by acting ok, but it always backfires. I’ve told him countless times not to do this, but he doesn’t listen.” “That’s still not good for him. Add his anger because you found him struggling,” Jolt adds, “the challenge is to get him to stop doing that. We’ve been telling him for five years now.” “I’ll figure something out,” Drift tells the three medics and leaves the office.

Drift enters the room and finds Crosshairs still beside the bed. Until Crosshairs hears the door close. Crosshairs stands up and hugs Drift. “I’m sorry.” “You need to stop acting like you’re ok. I can’t stand that, and you know it. You’re hurting yourself more than me. I worry about you lashing out at Jamie. You’ll likely face consequences if you lash out at anyone, but you know how bad it’ll be if you lash out at Jamie.” “I know,” Crosshairs sighs, “I’m supposed to protect both of you.” “That doesn’t mean act like nothing troubles you until you can’t.” Drift moves the other chair by the bed. They sit, holding Jamie’s hand in theirs.

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snaillamp · 1 year ago

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Jod - day 24

I originally wrote something for bleeding out but i think it needs revising, so I wrote this too. Let me know if you’d like to see the bleeding out one.

********************************************

Masterlist

Day 24: “I think I’m going to be sick.” | Bleeding Out | Illness | Cold Sweat |

Villain stood by the side of the dirt road. The sun was setting as they sighed and scuffed the dirt with their foot. They were bored. They looked out into the distance behind them, a field of yellow grass waved gently as it seemed to almost glow in the setting sun. A car pulled up behind them and someone got out, their boot landing heavily on the ground. Villain gazed at the grass for a second longer, marveling at the beauty of such a simple scene.

A sniff and a cough, followed by a moan broke their attention. Hero was leaning on the bonnet of their car, a large gas guzzler looking thing, pressing the bridge of their nose with their fingers. Sniffing, they looked up. “Oh, hey Villain.” They wiped their nose. “Ah, Hero. I’ve been expecting you. You had something you wanted to discuss?” Villain smirked, turning around. They were excited to get into character. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Finish your little spiel and lets get this over with.” Hero mumbled.

Their eyes looked glassy as they lifted themself off the car hood, only to lean against the car as they swayed sightly.   “Well- I…” Villain stuttered, the speech they had prepared forgotten at the curveball Hero had thrown them. “I… are you okay?” They asked curiously, noticing in the failing light that Hero looked a little pale. “‘m fine…” Hero muttered, “You don’t look fine.” Villain said apprehensively, stepping forward. Hero braced themself for the coming attack, only for Villain to reach forward and touch their forehead. “Jeez, Hero you’re burning up. Why are you out here?”

Hero shut their eyes and sighed, “J-just…” Only for them to decent into a fit of coughs. Villain shook their head. “No, you need to sit down or you’re going to collapse.” They wrapped their arms around Hero, who leaned heavily against them as they were lowered to the ground. “What idiot sent you out here like this? If one of my henchmen turned up to work like this I’d send them home!” Hero’s glassy eyes met Villain’s, and they sighed, Villain feeling the heat of their breath on their hand. Hero’s body shuddered as the night got colder.

“Okay, we aren’t going to do this. You need to come with me.” Villain pulled Hero’s arm over their shoulder and pulled them up. The opened the door to the back seat of Hero’s car and lay them down on the seat. They pulled their jacket off, placing it on Hero’s body, before grabbing the keys from Hero’s pocket and turning the car on, using the heater to warm them both up. The night was cold and dark as the moonless sky filled with clouds.

Hero moaned, “No… Stop…” their body wracked in tremors, as they shivered under Villain’s jacket. Their head felt thick, aching as they shut their eyes, Villain babbling on... They just wanted to sleep.

Villain shook their head, sighing. “We were going to have a talk, and we still will, but in the state you’re in right now? I’m driving you home… Uhhh, where do you live by the way?” Hero was silent in the back. Villain glanced in the mirror to see them lying still, one arm dangling down from the edge of the seat, eyes open, glassy and vacant. “Hey Hero? You with me?” Hero didn’t seem to react. Villain opened their door, moving to the back door and opening it, gently shaking Hero’s shoulder. Their body was burning up. “Hey, Hero. Hero.” Hero moaned, lifting their head slightly and glancing at Villain, before letting it fall back down. They were weak, hardly able to move.

Hero felt Villain sit them up, sending waves of nausea rushing over them. They moaned a little in protest, but in reality all they heard was a sound getting caught in their throat. Ripples of shivers shot through their body as they erupted into another coughing fit. Everything felt numb and they could taste the cold air in their raw throat, chilling them even more. Villain said something but they couldn’t hear what as gravity pulled them sideways, reality lurching as they shut their eyes for a moment.

Hero quivered as Villain rubbed their shoulder. “How sick are you? You’ve gotten 10 times worse in 2 minutes? What were you thinking coming out here, especially in this weather?” The only Villain got back was a blank stare, before Hero’s eyelids slid shut and they slumped sideways, landing heavily against Villain.

“Oh, that would do it.” Villain muttered, laying Hero back down and slamming the door. They claimed back into the driver’s seat. Hero could sleep off whatever this was, they would just go home. They watched as mist began to cloud the road, soon all visibility would be gone, so they would have to go soon. They heard Hero’s shaking breaths in the back seat.

Hero lifted their head from the seat, confused as to why they were in the back seat. They blinked, before noticing the fancy jacket crumpled around their waist, a jacket they knew all too well. They glanced around, noticing Villain in the driver’s seat, snoring. Picking up the jacket, they threw it at Villain, causing them to snort and glance into the rear view mirror. “Agh, oh, you’re awake? Damn, you look like shit. Are you feeling any, better my valiant hero?” Hero rolled their eyes, but glanced away, sheepish. “Yeah, actually… Uh, thanks for… that.” They sat in awkward silence for a moment, staring at each other the best they could in the dark.

“You’re stupid, you know?” Villain asked, “Yeah, what else is new? The meds I took must have worn off on the drive.” Villain nodded, humming, “Yeah, it’s a long drive. Two hours, haha.” They both continued to stare at each other as Hero lay back down, groaning.

They sat in silence for a minute.

“It’s a nice car you’ve got here. The leather seats feel great.” Villain commented as they rubbed from the driver’s seat. “Yeah, thanks…” Hero trailed off. “So, did you want to have that chat?” They croaked. “Ah.” Villain rubbed their hands together anxiously. “Hero, maybe you should go home. This can wait seriously. Get your company or whoever to send someone else. Hell, I’ll talk to a lawyer if I have to. You need sleep.” Hero sat up and shuddered, limbs drooping, “I got all the way out here to talk and you…” A cough overtook their body, forcing them to lay back down and curl up, a cold sweat breaking out. “You ok?” Villain asked, leaning forward.

Hero’s cough rattled their chest, and they took in a breath to stop it, but to no avail. Their chest vibrated as they reached for the door, feeling the familiar rising feeling in their stomach.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Villain mumbled, leaning back and covering their nose as Hero threw up their guts onto the side of the road. “Hero, seriously, that smell makes me wanna hurl now too! Go home, for fuck’s sake.” They opened the door and made their way to their own sleek, black car glinting under what little light was left. Hero crawled across their car, opening the door on the side where Villain was. “Wait… Villain, this can’t wait… Please…” Villain glanced back at the sound of a soft thud.

“Oh, seriously? The road? Hero! Just- augh!” Villain grumbled and gagged as they walked, the wind blowing the scent of puke their way. Picking Hero up and they dragged them back to their car. “You deserve this, you deserve it all, Hero. Why are you doing this?” “I had to…” Hero’s weak voice whispered as Villain hefted them into the back seat of their car again. “The information you… have…”

Hero looked up through the swaying world at Villain’s face, “It’s not what… you think…” Villain frowned, “Our agreement was I would tell you about my competitor’s secret arms shipment.” Hero shook their head, gulping as Villain climbed in and shut the door. “John… Mayhew right…?” Hero winced as a chill washed over them. They had broken out into cold sweats. “Yes.” Villain looked concerned, “Why, what’s the rush? He’s shipping illegal guns into the country, nothing more.” Hero shook their head, leaning it against the cold window. “Our intelligence says it’s… not guns… It’s people…”

Hero’s entire body shuddered as Villain’s eyes grew wide. “He says it’s… g-guns… but… he’s l-lying… s-s-so people like you… and me don’t… cat-tch on… The v-villains like you… have morals…. J-John… does not…” Hero’s eyes slid shut, a soft whimper escaping them as they tried not to slip away. “Shit.” Villain mumbled, before an idea formed in their mind. “Hero, is there a voice recorder on your phone?” Hero’s eyes opened slightly, pulling their phone from their pocket, unlocking it with a shaking hand, then handing it to Villain, their head pounding with the effort. Villain noticed how hot Hero’s finger tips were as they brushed against Villain’s palm. Hero’s hand dropped to the seat and they gave up trying to fight off the dark creeping into their vision. “Good. Good. You rest Hero. I’ll handle this.”   Villain pulled up the voice recorder, their body filling with anger at the though of John doing what he was. Villain was a scammer, a dodgy businessperson, they were not evil like John, people like that made their skin crawl.

Hero woke to the rising sun. Their mind was a little clearer as they sat up, but the minute they did their head felt like it weighed a tonne of bricks. They groaned, reaching for their phone, glancing at the time as they rubbed their eyes. 5:30 am. Only a few hours until the shipment would arrive. Unlocking it, they found the voice recorder with a brand new recording titled ‘Hero - take that bastard down’. Frowning they lifted the phone to their ear, listening as Villain’s voice crackled through.

“Uh, okay, so John. Right, uh, shit… think.” Hero smirked at Villain’s stumbling. “The shipment is due at 7:30. That’s when the dock is just about to open, there will be no boats there yet, shit you’d know that. This is hard without you asking questions… Uh, he has guards stationed all through the facility but he like to hide them…” 

Villain stood in the alleyway, peering at the police and government vehicles defending on John and his cargo. They smiled, watching as the scared people were wrapped in blankets and taken to a tent. Hero was leaning against, more holding themself up on a chainlink fence.

“Did you use up all your sick days or something?” Villain taunted, emerging from the shadows. Hero looked up, paler than ever. “Surprisingly enough… no…” Making a face, Villain stood at the fence, staring at Hero. “Thanks, Villain… For everything…” Hero coughed. “Eugh. I’m going home. Paperwork can wait, if I’m out here any longer I’ll end up in the back of an ambulance…” Villain chuckled to themself as they watched Hero stagger off into the fray. “Idiot.” They muttered, before turning and walking down the street.

#whump #sickfic #sick whumpee #hero whumpee #hero whump #June of doom 23 #day 24 #lmk if you wanna see the bleeding out one ill link it here once i post it #snaillamp #original post

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dragonsarecool · 24 days ago

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June of Doom Day 30 - Emergency Room

A/N: Sequel to Day 12 Dehydration. After a long pregnancy, it turns out their child is eager to meet them…a few weeks too eager, that is. Set 10-15 years after Part III.

Jennifer kicked the blankets away, staring in frustration at the ceiling of their bedroom. A loud snort prompted her to look over at her very-unconscious husband, twisted in a position one could only describe as 'wannna-be pretzel' as he slept.

Instead of the sight making her smile as it normally did, she glared at his sleeping form silently. Glad you're getting a good sleep, Marty.

The fact that she still had six weeks to go didn't help on nights like this. At her last appointment, she'd begged the midwife for a solution to stop the false contractions, only to be met with no answers. "Only way they'll stop is your baby bein' born," The midwife had confirmed sadly.

"But they're keeping me up all night!" Jennifer had cried. God, I'm so sick of being this emotional too.

"All part of bein' pregnant, I'm afraid," The midwife sympathised. "No point coming in to hospital unless they start forming a pattern, and that shouldn't be starting until about thirty-seven weeks."

The fact that she had counted five contractions within the last hour was not filling her with confidence. If anything, she reckoned they were getting worse.

She waited for the next one to pass before looking at the clock. Okay. So between four and five, I've had six contractions.

But they can't be real ones, can they?

Geez, I'm so sick of second-guessing this!

Frustrated by her overthinking brain, she decided some a glass of water was in order. Getting herself up from a supine position was difficult these days, but after some brainstorming with Marty, they'd come up with a system of pillows and a strategically-placed dressing gown tie to assist if he wasn't able to.

She was grateful for it on nights like this, for he slept so soundly that other people would probably think he was dead.

Jennifer waddled to the bathroom, barely acknowledging the kicks of protest that the baby gave. I don't care if you were comfortable, 'cause I'm not.

She was halfway through her first sip of water when a sharp pain burst rippled through her pelvis. "Shit!"

The glass fell from her hand, shattering in a spectacular fashion as it collided with the bathroom floor. She cringed as a few pieces bounced off the tiles and slammed into the bottom of the toilet, the sound seeming like a sonic boom at this hour of the night.

Jennifer glanced back into the bedroom, expecting to find Marty bounding out of the sheets by the noise. Instead, he remained firmly in the grips of unconsciousness, making her shake her head in disbelief. A hurricane wouldn't wake this man-

She gasped in surprise as her belly tightened. All of the previous contractions had felt like mild period cramps, but this one was different.

It was worse.

It's not going away!…

"Marty," Her voice was barely above a whisper. She forced herself to turn her gaze away from her protruding belly, her volume increasing into a squeal as the contraction built quickly. "MARTY MCFLY, WAKE YOUR ASS UP!"

"Huh? Wuzzat?!" Still half-unconscious, Marty shot up from the pillow, fighting his way out of the twisted sheets before rubbing his eyes furiously. "Jenny?…"

"Marty, I think…I think it's starting."

For a few moments, Marty resembled a goldfish; mouth opening and closing with no intelligible noises emerging. She waited patiently as his brain processed the news, only to roll her eyes as he released a very nervous laugh. "But…but you can't…It can't be happening, Jennifer! Y-You're only thirty-four weeks!"

I love him, but God, he's not built to cope with this sort of thing. "Marty," Jennifer allowed a sharp edge to creep into her voice as the contraction began to ebb away. "It's. Starting."

As if her unborn child was intending to make the situation look even more dramatic, she felt something trickle down her leg. Hesitant to look, she leaned forward until she could see past her stomach, paling even further at the drops of blood now resting amongst a small collection of water beneath her on their bathroom floor.

If anything, she was more surprised than frightened. There's not supposed to be blood as well, isn't there?

She crouched down and placed a fingertip in the liquid, the ominous red stains swirling in the puddle of amniotic fluid as she moved her hand around, confirming what she was dreading.

Well shit.

I guess…

…This is happening today, I guess.

Placing a hand on the basin to support herself, Jennifer hauled herself upright, only to sigh angrily as she caught sight of an unconscious Marty, who had once again collapsed back into a pretzel position on the mattress. "Oh my God, MARTY!"

Her husband remained oblivious to her distress. If it had been any other time, she would've snapped a polaroid of the moment to use as potential blackmail material.

All it was doing now was enraging her. She waddled over to Marty and lifted his head up, squeezing his cheeks with enough strength to dig her nails into his skin. "For God's sake, Marty, you're not the one who's got shit coming out your vagina! Wake UP!"

I'll apologise later, but I'm scared, Marty.

I need you.

Marty's eyes flew open with a mumbled squeak of surprise, struggling to pull away from Jennifer's grip. As soon as she released him, he scrambled around and toppled off the mattress, collapsing in a heap at his wife's feet. He looked at Jennifer sheepishly, face so pale that he could've blended in with the white sheets on the bed. "H-Hang on Jennifer, I-I'll get the bags…"

Jennifer could only hold her belly and sigh. She looked down at their unborn child, allowing a small smile of bemusement as she noticed the baby moving underneath her skin. "Don't rush, alright?"

****

I think I jinxed myself.

Jennifer howled, curl forward into a ball around her stomach. In the ten minutes it took Marty to throw on a shirt, grab the bags and escort her to the truck, things seemed to have ramped up incredibly fast. The contractions seemed to be almost one on top of the other, barely giving her anytime in between to catch her breath. Don't tell me I've gotta go through this for another however many hours!…

But it's too early! Maybe they'll stop it for me?

The car swerved erratically as Marty expertly manoeuvred around the ungodly number of roundabouts between their house and the hospital. It did nothing to help her nausea, and she'd already made him pull over once so she could vomit on the side of the road, which the two of silently agreed to never speak of again. Turns out labour isn't very dignified…

Another gush of warm fluid ran down her legs, the pressure in her pelvis suddenly increasing. She heaved for air as she sobbed uncontrollably. "MARTYYY!"

"I'm here, Jen!" Her husband called shakily. "W-We're about two minutes away!"

"CAN'T YOU DRIVE FASTER DAMMIT!" Jennifer screamed hysterically, pounding the dashboard with her fist. "I THINK I'M GONNA SHIT OUT A WATERMELON!"

She was too engulfed by pain to process Marty's response, though she assumed it was meant to be one of reassurance. Two more contractions passed before she felt the car come to a stop, followed by Marty launching himself out of the driver's seat to call for help. I'm glad he can still run…

Jennifer forced herself to sit upright, sighing as she recognised the familiar entrance of the emergency department., the first rays of sunshine still being drowned out by the overpowering neon red signs. She caught a glimpse of her sweaty, exhausted, vomit-covered reflection in the passenger-side mirror, and couldn't help but laugh. "Man, I'm so sexy right now…"

The passenger door was flung open by a flustered Marty, who hoisted her out of the car with what she assumed was pure adrenaline. "They're bringing a wheelchair, Jen, just hang on…"

As soon as she stood up, everything seemed to escalate. She barely registered her own high-pitched wail; the pressure had become overwhelming. "OH GOD! MARTY! I THINK IT'S COMING!"

"W-We knew it was coming already, Jen," Marty tried to joke, his nervous laugh betraying his true feelings. He held her tightly in his arms, supporting her fatigued, shaking body.

"NO I MEAN IT'S COMI-"

Jennifer found herself cut off by an urge the likes of which she had never felt before. The closest thing she could compare it to was being extremely constipated, though this was easily the worst sensation she'd ever experienced. She found herself grunting, pulling on Marty's shirt so tightly that she popped one of the buttons off. Gotta push gotta push gotta push-

She barely registered the midwives speaking to her as they came with the wheelchair, whisking her into the emergency department with such speed that it could've been considered teleportation. In that moment, nothing else around her mattered; the staff, Marty, the other patients in the waiting room. All she could feel was her baby and the need to push.

Wait, was that someone telling me not to push?

"Jennifer!" Marty's voice was suddenly clear amongst the turmoil. "Jen, you need to listen-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, MCFLY!" She barely recognised her own voice, which resembled more of a growl than human speech. A bed had suddenly materialised in front of her, and she heaved herself out of the wheelchair to grab onto the handrails. "I. CAN'T. HELP. IT!"

Whatever Marty said in response was drowned out by her screams as another contraction wracked her body. She gripped the bedrails as she felt her body giving in to this need to push, before bursting into a fresh set of tears as the contraction died off. Oh my God…!

"Jen, it's okay honey," Marty purred in her ear. "It's okay, they've said it's okay. You're doing so good."

The urge to push reappeared and she decided to stop fighting it.

What she hadn't expected in response was the burning. "OH MY GODDDDD!"

"Jennifer," Marty spoke firmly. "It's okay-"

"IT IS NOT OKAY MARTY MCFLY! OH MY GOD, IT BURNS!"

She thought she heard someone saying that was the baby. But it can't be? The whole point is that pushing the baby out makes it better! Why is everything on fire?

The urge came again, and she obeyed its wish, pushing so hard that she felt herself launching into a deep squat. Get it out get it out get it out-

"Jen, Jen, stop," Marty pleaded. "Stop, they need to-"

Jennifer could only roar in response, desperate to make the burning go away. "GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She felt her body relax.

The flames had been extinguished.

The pressure was gone.

Her legs suddenly felt incredibly weak, and she realised Marty's arms were wrapped around her torso, stopping her from tumbling to the floor. She took a moment to process her surroundings. Oh my God, I'm in the delivery room-

Something cried.

A wail that wasn't hers.

She looked down to see a midwife smiling at her, pulling something slimy out from between her legs. "What…?"

"Congratulations, honey!" The midwife was grinning, wiping down the baby with a towel-

Baby.

My baby.

That's our baby.

Our baby!

The tiny child in the midwife's arms suddenly screamed, flailing its arms around as the fluid on its skin was dried off. Although they'd told her at each appointment that the baby was measuring larger than expected, to her it was the smallest thing she had ever seen. Is that the umbilical cord? Man, that thing looks gross-

"It's a girl, Mrs McFly!" The midwife announced.

Jennifer suddenly felt light-headed. She was glad she didn't have to voice it, for she felt someone guiding her into the bed, her exhausted body collapsing into the mattress. "…A girl?"

"A girl, Jenny!" Marty was kissing her forehead, his cheeks wet with joyful tears. "We had a girl, Jenny! A girl!"

A girl?

Something hot was gushing down her legs.

Everything seemed so…far…away….

Hurts…

*****

The wheelchair squeaked loudly as Marty pushed it into the elevator, squeezing to the side to allow room for the doors to close. It provided an ample opportunity to lean down and place a gentle kiss on Jennifer's forehead, who tiredly leaned into the embrace. "Marty…"

"Do you know how proud of you I am, Jenny?" Marty nuzzled into her hair, dotting her with kisses. "So, so, so proud-"

"I know you are 'cause you haven't stopped gushing for two days straight!" Jennifer laughed, tilting her head to return her husband's kisses. She decided now was the best time as any to admit something. "…Marty, I-I know I said some things and-"

"Don't you dare worry about those, Jennifer McFly," Marty cocked an eyebrow. "After all, your vagina was occupied with shitting out a watermelon; it was perfectly acceptable behaviour."

Jennifer couldn't help but giggle nervously. "Did I really say that?"

"Mmm-hmm. And boy did you proclaim it, too."

The elevator doors opened, prompting Marty to shimmy back to his position as designated driver and manoeuvre the wheelchair into the lobby of the NICU. He'd already made the trip up here on his own a few times, but was particularly excited now that Jennifer was strong enough to visit the baby-

Their baby.

It still didn't feel real.

Ringing his parents and telling them what had happened was the longest phone call of his life; explaining how fast the labour went, how it turned out the placenta had started to separate too early, how they'd rushed Jennifer to theatre when the bleeding wasn't stopping. He'd made a joke about it sounding like it came out of a movie, but he'd been one step away from bursting into frightened tears the entire call.

It wasn't every day that one watches their wife deliver a premature baby and then proceed to have a massive haemorrhage immediately afterwards.

They hadn't let him hold the baby at first. Even though she came out screaming and pink as a strawberry, as soon as the midwives had cut the umbilical cord, a team of doctors from various specialties had arrived to take over and rushed their little girl to the intensive care.

Not that he would've admitted it to anyone except Doc, but he was terrified.

He remembered how he'd curled up on an uncomfortable plastic chair outside the operating suite reception, sobbing as the lives of his wife and child seemed to hang in the balance. How much he wished Doc or Jennifer's mom or someone with more confidence in a crisis had been there.

Marty had spent a good amount of time beating himself up while waiting for news. What kind of a support person were you? Sleeping while your wife was in labour, for God's sake! No wonder she was so pissed at you. Passing out at the sight of a tiny bit of blood, what a wimpy thing to do.

"Who does she look like, Marty?" Jennifer asked innocently.

Startled out of his memories, Marty took a minute to ponder his answer. "…I mean, she's got the tube in her nose at the moment, so it might change once that's out. Uh…she's, uh, she's got my hair 'cause the nurses keep having to comb it back. O-Otherwise, I think I'll let you decide."

Jennifer smiled as they rounded the corner, passing large, open rooms with collections of screaming infants. She noticed this ward wasn't as sterile as the one she'd been recuperating in, and decided she should suggest to her nurses that painting butterflies and baby animals on the walls would be beneficial for patient recovery.

She hadn't been ready for the sudden influx of emotions as the wheelchair came to a gentle stop in front of one isolette. A pink and white card sat in a holder on the front, her eyes immediately drawn to the familiar handwriting of the first line: MY NAME IS: _ McFly

Jennifer gave her husband a knowing look. "I'd recognise that handwriting anywhere, mister. Why didn't you finish filling it in?"

Marty planted a kiss on her forehead. "I wanted you to be the first one to write our little girl's name."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Jennifer laughed. "It's an honour, Mister McFly-"

"You're also the first one to hold her, Jenny."

She couldn't stop the expression of utter shock from crossing her face. "M-Marty?! You…You haven't held her? Why?! I-Is she too sick-"

Her faithful lover shook his head as he came to the front of the wheelchair, extending his hands for her to take. "…I told the nurses I wouldn't do it until you had," Marty gently guided his wife to an armchair directly facing the side of the isolette, brushing a strand of unwashed hair from her face. "I, uh…I thought it wasn't fair that you didn't get to hold her first, w-when you should have."

A thousand possible responses raced through her mind, all ranging across the spectrum of emotions.

But they immediately vanished as she finally laid eyes on the swaddled bundle of green and pink blankets that Marty and a nurse began lifting from the isolette. A collection of cables and monitors disappeared into the folds of the fabric, connected to machines behind the isolette that beeped and chimed as it was moved.

A tiny cry came from beneath the blankets, summoning tears to her eyes.

That's my baby?…

She was lost for words as the nurse gently passed the baby to her, her arms wrapping around into position automatically. An identical set of baby-blue eyes blinked sleepily at her, a pair of tiny pink hands peaking out from the clutches of the blankets. Jennifer ran her thumb over one hand, astonished to find how soft her baby's skin was. What sort of moisturiser do they have in there to get this sort of skin!?

"H-How's she doing?" Jennifer stammered, unable to tear her gaze away. "I-I mean, is she healthy? She was-"

"A bit eager to come, yes, but she's a beautiful girl, ma'am," The nurse commented over her shoulder, currently occupied with changing the sheets of the isolette. "The doctors came around this morning and are very happy. She's taking all her feeds through the tube right now, but she's already showing interest in the pacifier, which is great news."

"…S-She looks too small to be doing so well," Jennifer admitted quietly. Her attention was drawn to the knitted cap adorning the baby's head, which was loose enough to allow some strands of mousy-brown hair to stick out. She couldn't help but laugh as her fingers caused the hat to slide around. "Her head isn't big enough for this hat."

"I promise she's perfect in every way Mrs McFly, including her head size," The nurse smiled. She closed the isolette doors and gave her patient a gentle smile, patting the baby's hat gently. "She's been a very cooperative patient and is doing well for her age-"

"Her age?" Marty asked in confusion. "I-Is she meant to be crawling yet? Sitting up?"

The nurse chuckled politely as she checked the oxygen and suction tubes. "No no, not yet. If they did we'd all be in trouble. No, all she needs to do is grow and put on weight, which she's already exceeded at."

Jennifer's eyes were drawn to thinnest plastic tube she had ever seen taped along the baby's left cheek. "Will she need this forever?"

"For a few weeks she will," The nurse explained, "but once she's big enough and taking your breast or the bottle well, then we'll remove it."

Once the nurse had finished with her bedside checks, she gave them a sincere smile as she left the new parents to themselves, their focus still glued to the tiny creature in Jennifer's arms.

"She has your eyes, Marty," Jennifer whispered. She giggled as the infant stretched her head back in a massive yawn before gazing up at her mother with what could be described as an indignant expression. "I think she's got your sass, too."

Marty realised he was crying too. He wrapped himself around Jennifer's neck, kissing it lovingly as he stared longingly at their baby girl.

I made a good future, Doc. I hope you're proud.

A/N: And that concludes June of Doom 2024! Thank you to everyone who's been following along despite the irregular (and very late) postings. I've also enjoyed reading the comments people have left!

#back to the future #bttf #fanfiction #whump #june of doom #june of doom 24 #june of doom 2024

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