#no.25 surgery

[hatsi-write-and-write]

“Something’s wrong,” Inosuke says. “Obviously. I’ve never seen him this sick before,” Zenitsu says, lighting a lantern and pulling paper and ink from his bag. Inosuke shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s sick. I think somethings wrong.” -- Tanjirou will do anything for his friends. They need food? He makes some. They need encouragement? He gives it. They need help? He is already there. So what happens when he's the one in need?

In this AU, just the once, everybody lives! Or more accurately: everyone survives, living takes a little learning.

Whumptober Prompts: No.1 - Race Against the Clock No. 25 - Surgery No. 26 - Nightmares No. 30 - Recovery

[yonbwekh]

Whumptober 2024 day 25

Prompt: surgery

"No! I don't want to! Please, Caretaker, don't let them-" Whumpee is cut off as an oxygen mask is pushed onto their face.

Caretaker's heart breaks as they look on, unable to do anything as the nurses restrain Whumpee to the operating table. Despite their protest, they quickly quiet and their eyes glaze over, calming down.

Caretaker leaves the room, unable to bear any more.

[forcebookish]

whumptober no.25: surgery

[atimeofyourlife]

Worried about me, you're hurt worse

Day 25 | rated: t | wc: 873 | prompts: SURGERY | Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good." | cw: aftermath of a car accident, major character injury | ao3 Buck and Tommy in the aftermath of a car accident, Tommy needing major surgery when Buck only needed stitches. Follow up to day 6 It comes crashing down

Buck couldn't help pacing round the waiting room while Tommy was in surgery. He felt guilty for coming out of the accident only needing a few stitches, where Tommy needed major surgery and had coded in the ambulance. Even though he knew it was not his fault, the other driver was incredibly drunk, there had been an almost empty bottle of vodka by the drivers seat. But he still blamed himself.

He'd been resistant to getting checked out, and it was only when Eddie threatened to tie him to a bed that he'd allowed a nurse to make sure he was okay and to stitch up the cut on his forehead. His focus was on Tommy.

"Buck. You're not going to help Tommy by working yourself up. You were injured in that crash too. Sure, not as bad, but you still need to look after yourself." Bobby said coming over to where Buck was pacing.

"I. I just. I need to help him."

"I know, but you can't help him, you can't take care of him if you don't take care of yourself."

"Okay."

--

"Family of Thomas Kinard?" A nurse came into the room.

"Yes. Yes, that's us." Buck was up and crossing the room quickly. "How is he?"

"I just need to confirm, I have an Evan Buckley listed as his medical proxy?"

"That's me." Buck replied. "They- they're all family. They can hear it."

"Mr Kinard has made it through surgery. He'll be moved to a ward shortly." She explained. "He has suffered a number of serious injuries, and it will be a long and complicated healing process. His right femur, hip, and wrist are all broken, as are five of his ribs, one of which had punctured his lung. There was also some internal bleeding into the abdominal cavity, and a ruptured spleen. We conducted a CT scan, and there's no indication of swelling or bleeding around the brain, which is a good sign, but we won't be able to fully assess any head injury until he's awake."

"When can I see him?" Buck asked.

"After he's been moved to the ward, someone will come and notify you when he can have visitors."

"Thank you." Buck replied, and the nurse gave him a soft smile before walking off.

"He'll get through it, Buck. We'll all be there fighting alongside you, helping out in any way that we can, okay?" Eddie said, guiding Buck back to a chair.

"But- he's so hurt." Buck could feel tears welling up in his eyes. "He's going to be down for months."

"And he'll complain about it every step of the way. Just like you when you're injured." Chimney teased lightly. "Tommy's tough. All you need to do is be there to support him."

--

It felt like an age before Buck was able to sit with Tommy, even though everyone kept reminding him that it hadn't been that long. And once he could see Tommy, he felt his heart break all over again. Seeing the man he loved in a hospital bed, with so many injuries to recover from. It was almost too much.

Buck took a seat next to Tommy's bed, and held his uninjured hand.

"I need you to wake up, okay. I. I love you so damn much. I mean it, you're it for me, Tommy. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together, grow old and retire. I know it's not been that long, but I. I can't imagine a future without you now." Buck said quietly, words only for him and Tommy.

He'd been sat with Tommy for thirty minutes, maybe an hour, he wasn't exactly sure. Time seemed to be moving in a strange way, seconds creeping by so slowly they felt like hours, and blocks of ten, fifteen minutes passing in the blink of an eye. But Tommy seemed to be stirring.

"Tommy? A-are you awake?" Buck asked, keeping his voice low.

"Hmm- 'Van?" Tommy mumbled, opening his eyes for a second before closing them again.

"Yeah, I'm here." He squeezed Tommy's hand gently.

"Lights." Tommy screwed up his face a little. "Happened?"

"On it." Buck got up and crossed the room so he could dim the lights. He didn't finish until he was back next to Tommy. "We were in a car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit the passenger side of the jeep."

"Oh." Tommy opened his eyes and looked up at Buck. He raised his hand to brush against the stitches on Buck's forehead. "You're hurt?"

"Of course you're worried about me." Buck couldn't help the laugh he let out. "You're lying in a hospital bed with multiple broken bones, a chest tube because one of your broken ribs punctured a lung, and without your spleen. And you're worried about me, where my worst injuries were a cut that needed six stitches and a minor concussion."

"Don't like you hurt." Tommy replied, pouting slightly.

"I don't like seeing you hurt either, Tommy. So you have to let me take care of you until you're all better." Buck leant in to kiss Tommy softly. It would be a long recovery for Tommy, but at least they had each other.

[layraket]

Day 25 – Surgery

Character(s): Hyrule and Wild (LU)

Words: 636

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

Whump scale: 2 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Injury and blood

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mayblossomss]

Whumptober Day 25: Surgery / "It's for your own good"

Ponyboy hated-- no, despised the dentist. Every six months when he'd be forced to return to that gruesome building filled with the smell of Colgate and the sound of people's mouths being washed out, was pure torture. It freaked him out, as it did most kids, but Ponyboy was no longer a kid. He was all of fourteen-years-old, and most guys he knew his age weren't afraid anymore.

Did that make him feel a little embarrassed? Sure. He was grown up now, and very mature, meaning it was silly to be scared of someone cleaning your teeth and making friendly conversation with you while their hands were down your throat. But then again, they dug floss between your teeth until you bled, and wouldn't hesitate to bring out tools to drill into your teeth if they so desired. It's not an irrational fear, Ponyboy would tell himself, it's absolutely valid.

Every time he went to the dentist, they berated him for excessive smoking and warned him of the damage that it was causing to his teeth. Their monologues never moved Pony, but it was tiresome to hear the same thing every single time he visited.

A few weeks prior, Ponyboy had gone for his regular checkup, expecting it to go as it always did: spend all day panicking, arrive, get his gums violently assaulted, be scolded, go home with a package of floss and a new toothbrush. Unfortunately for him, it did not.

"Well, that's not good," The lady cleaning his teeth hummed, stretching his cheek even further to the side as she took a closer look into his mouth.

Ponyboy would've asked what she meant if he could speak, so Darry spoke up for him. "What's wrong?"

"His wisdom teeth seem to be coming in," she started, letting go of Ponyboy's cheek and getting up from her chair. "But I fear he won't have enough room for them, and it'll mess up the rest of his adult teeth."

"What do you have to do, then?" Darry pressed, eyebrows knitting together as he worried silently if this meant another costly appointment. He'd do it, for Pony of course, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt him, or rather his wallet.

"Well, if the dentist agrees, we'll have to remove them."

Ponyboy's world may as well have came crashing down at her words. Remove them? Remove his teeth? That wasn't right! He's supposed to have teeth, why the hell would you removed them?! As a kid, whenever he'd get a wiggly baby tooth, he'd wait until the last possible moment to take them out due to how painful it was to tug them free of his gum. Removing teeth that were not meant to be removed had to have been the worst kind of pain known to man!

The dentist had of course decided that the removal of his wisdom teeth would be necessary, all four of them. So, Ponyboy spent the next weeks dreading the approaching day of his surgery. When it came, he prayed that every car they drove past on the way to the dental office would crash into them, injuring or preferably killing him. He didn't get that lucky.

At the dentist, Ponyboy's leg bounced up and down as he rested his face miserably in his hands. Soda wasn't there since he had a work emergency, but Darry was with him. He sat to his left, watching the clock, and tapping his foot impatiently. Despite his best efforts, Pony's eyes pricked with tears, and he buried his face into his hands to conceal them.

Darry noticed after a few seconds thanks to Ponyboy sniffling quietly, a telltale sign that he was crying. He looked over, reading his anxious body language, and clenching his jaw. He knew how much his brother hated the dentist, and surgery must have been horrifying for the boy: shoot, it was for everyone, even if they didn't hate the dentist. Soda had spoken to Darry on a few occasions about how Ponyboy's nightmares seemed to have came back ever since he found out about his surgery, and it killed him that he couldn't do anything to help.

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Darry squeezed reassuringly and leaned over. "Hey, it's gonna be okay, baby."

Ponyboy shook his head wordlessly, afraid that if he spoke, he'd break down into sobs. He wanted to be tough. He didn't want to be petrified of the dentist, but he couldn't help it.

Darry sighed, pulling him closer. "You're going to be okay. They'll put you under, make sure you can't feel a thing, and the next time you're up, I'll be right your side."

"I'm scared, Darry," Pony confessed timidly, raising his head to show his tear-stained cheeks.

"I know you are," he responded, brushing a few tears off of his face. "But I promise you, you're going to be fine."

"This is stupid," Ponyboy muttered childishly. "I don't need 'em removed, they don't hurt or nothin'."

Darry fought back an amused grin at his kid brother's kiddish protest. "It's for your own good, I swear. They wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't."

"They're greedy," Ponyboy grunted. "They want us to spend more money on useless procedures."

"It ain't useless," Darry sighed, smiling a little. "It's preventing you from messing up your perfect teeth."

"They ain't perfect."

"Better than Soda's, that's for sure."

Ponyboy scoffed, letting a grin spread across his lips. "Soda's are fine. I can't say the same for Steve, or even Two-Bit's."

Darry grinned, thankful that Pony was joking around now rather than crying. The playful atmosphere dissipated quickly, however, as a nurse walked into the room, smiling and calling out, "Ponyboy Curtis?"

Pony's eyes glimmered with panic as he shakily got to his feet, Darry following suit. They followed behind the nurse until they got to the surgery room. Ponyboy stepped hesitantly into the room, being encouraged by the dentist to get comfortable on the chair.

Turning to Darry, the dentist spoke regretfully, "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't be in here while he undergoes surgery."

Eyes widening in horror, Ponyboy wanted desperately to protest, but he couldn't. Knowing his brother would be more scared without him, Darry asked the dentist, "Can I stay with him until he goes under?"

With the nod of the dentist's head, Darry stood beside Ponyboy, grabbing his hand gently and smiling as confidently as he could down at him. "I'll be here as soon as you wake up, I promise."

An anaesthesiologist entered the room, preparing Ponyboy to be administered the drug to put him under. As everything was finished, he was told to count backwards from ten, and as he did, he slowly grew sleepier and sleepier.

Before he could reach one, he found himself falling into darkness, the last thing he saw being Darry. He hoped that he'd be the first thing he saw when he woke up too, assuming he does at all.

[brucewaynehater101]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPT #25

Surgery, stitches, being monitored, "it's for your own good"

Tw: surgery, lack of consent (for surgery), fighting, blood, suicidal ideation

Mostly canon accurate :)

Brief synopsis: Tim wakes up post splectonomy

Dull pain throbbing near the lower left of his ribs is the first sensation to trickle in. The cold, rough texture of concrete on his back is the next.

With this, he's able to understand three clues: He’s injured, he's on painkillers, and he doesn't know who helped him.

While the bandages wrapped around his torso and the medication indicates his savior doesn't wish him death, it doesn't indicate what they do want with him. They could be a friendly (which is its own cup of fuckery and headaches), or they could be keeping him alive for some nefarious purpose.

He concentrates on what he can hear with his eyes slid shut. Multiple people breathing. Over ten. The sound of water sloshing against a hard surface.

For a moment, Tim continues to just lie there. He should be dead. The sword did too much damage for him to have survived it.

For a moment, he’s disappointed he survived.

Thoughts of Bruce, his mentor, his dad, center him back into reality. Tim may have proven the man is alive, but his work isn't done. No one else believes this. Tim is the only one with the evidence otherwise. Even if he sends it to them, there's no guarantee they'll take it seriously. Tim has to spearhead the rescue or it won't get done.

A soft sigh escapes his lips at his predicament. There's so much to be done before he can rest. He can lament his life then.

Peeling his eyes open, he sees a person dressed head to toe in black. Their eyes, the only portion not covered, widen.

Ninja.

Tim glances to the side only to see wispy green smoke.

Lazarus Pit. Oh gods.

He shouldn't have survived. He should have died. He was going to die. He must have died. There's a Pit. He's been resurrected. Fuck. He's been dipped. Fuck!

He springs to sit up and ignores the stabbing ache in his side. A foot collides with the face of the ninja previously peering over him as he uses his hands to propel him to his feet.

His body automatically counters and attacks as his mind spirals and spirals.

The League put his dead body into a Pit. What the fuck is he going to do?

As he chokes one of Ra's men out, his other arm steals the man's sword. His eyes frantically dart between the threats.

Think… Think! What is he going to do?

More people fall to his antics, but they don't try to lash out. They merely defend Tim's attacks. The teen's brows furrow at this.

Is he already going insane? His body is on fire and they aren't fighting back. He must be losing it.

As Tim brings the sword up to swing like a baseball bat, a shout rings out.

“Stop!”

Tim, despite the fear and panic thrumming in time to the pain in his chest, freezes. A man with what appears to be a white mask strides closer to the teen.

“For your own sake, you must stop!”

With a snarl, Tim continues to maintain a defensive posture. “You bring me back from the dead and just expect me to-”

With an exasperated sigh, the man cuts the teen off. “We did not resurrect you. You did not go into the Pits for healing. You have ripped open the stitches from your surgery.”

Tim relaxes from his tense stance as his eyes drift down to the white bandages that now have red soaking into them.

“Oh.”

The man nods along as if Tim's a kindergartener finally figuring out he needs to raise his hand in class.

As they go over what led to Tim's emergency treatment and what happened to Pru, exhaustion starts to settle further onto his shoulders. He's weary and in pain, but he focuses on the debriefing.

The major points? Tam is being threatened and Tim has no choice but to lead the League. Just another task piling in before Tim can be done.

Red Robin does what he must. He hunts spiders and plans. Every move is monitored and Tim can feel Ra's breathing down his neck. Assassins line the halls, the training grounds, and the missions he sends them on. He’s surrounded by enemies and doesn't have an inch of privacy.

Yet, he still manages to worm his way into the League's computer systems. When it comes down to it, he viciously destroys his own cage.

It's freeing. It's petty.

He has mere minutes before detonation.

For a moment, just one, his feet slow down. He can't help but ponder if he truly needs to escape the base. He could just stay here, feign some inexplicable obstacle, and let the time run out. He could be done.

Yet, as his eyes dart from Pru to Tam, he knows he can't. Pru could save the other woman, but there's still no one left to save Bruce.

Tim needs to keep going. He can't stop now.

Soon, though. It's only a matter of time. Soon, there will be enough reason and enough of an excuse that the teen can finally let go.

All he has to do is save Bruce.

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2024 - Day 25

Surgery | Stitches | Being Monitored | “It’s for your own good”

Contains: generic whumpee and caretaker, needle mentions, mild blood, surgery aftermath, nonconsensual drugging, bedside vigil

Whumpee woke slowly to the sound of rhythmic beeping. It took a moment for them to pry their eyes open, and another to orient themself with where they were. Turning their head, they found Caretaker slumped in a chair next to the bed, dozing with their mouth hanging open.

The pain wasn’t as bad as they thought it might be. Probably had something to do with the IV drip attached to their arm. Pain or no pain, though, they couldn’t keep lying there. This fight wasn’t finished. Just because they got injured didn’t mean that they could stop, there was far too much to do that was way more important than their health. 

Trying to stay as quiet as possible, they pushed themself up off the pillows and swung their legs over the side of the bed. The injury on their stomach felt tight and strange, but not really painful. Caretaker’s head moved slightly, and they froze, but they remained asleep. 

The problem was that they were going to have to disconnect themself from the monitors, and they didn’t know what would happen then. There was no other choice, though. They carefully pulled off the wire, and the room filled with a deafening, high-pitched shriek, sending Whumpee scrambling for the machine. 

A hand gripped their arm, pulling them back onto the bed. “Whumpee! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry!” They winced in apology as they sat back down. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Caretaker leaned over to push a button on the monitor and silence it before turning a glare back on Whumpee. “Why are you up? Have you lost your mind? You just had surgery, Whumpee, you’re going to tear out your stitches and start bleeding again!”

“I’ll be careful!” Whumpee protested. 

“No, you’ll lie back down and stay there until the doctor says you can move.”

They scowled. “I can’t just lie in bed while everyone else is still out there risking their lives. I have to help.”

“You already risked your life, and almost lost it, remember? You’ll be of no help if you collapse or bleed to death. You have to heal first.”

Whumpee shook their head. “There’s no time for that.” 

They stood again, but Caretaker did, too, grabbing them by the shoulders to stop them. “Whumpee, please. Don’t fight me on this.”

Raising their arms, Whumpee attempted to push them away. “Let me go! I need to help!” They could feel the surgery site pulling, but paid it no attention. 

Unfortunately, they were still weak from blood loss and sedatives. It took Caretaker very little effort to push them back down onto the bed, only letting go briefly to punch a button before pinning them down again. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’re giving me no choice.”

“Let me go, Caretaker!” They were so busy fighting to get up that they barely noticed someone rushing into the room. It definitely caught their attention, though, when the nurse picked up a syringe and held it to their IV port. 

Somehow they had a feeling they knew what was in that syringe. “No…no no, don’t!”

“I’m sorry, Whumpee,” Caretaker sighed. “It’s for your own good.”

Seconds after the drug was dispensed, Whumpee’s eyelids began to grow heavy. “Please,” they whispered, the fight leaving their body. “I need…I need to…” 

They were asleep before they could finish the sentence.

[moonlight0934]

It's For Your Own Good

Bellamy walks into his mother’s office, and he immediately freezes. Octavia is laying on the bed, not moving. He doesn’t even remember the last time that she didn’t run to hug him, or jump onto him when he came back home from school. 

“Is she ok?” Bellamy whispers, sounding frantic. 

“Not really. She was playing with scissors earlier, and she cut herself. I gave her some stitches, but I’m afraid it’s going to get infected if she doesn’t have it treated properly. I don’t know how to treat it any better than I already have,” Aurora says, grabbing Bellamy’s arm tightly. 

“It’s ok, Mom. It’ll be fine. We’ll try to keep it really clean, and if anything happens, I’ll figure something out.” 

She lets out a heavy breath, her grip loosening just a bit. 

“I promise it’ll be ok.” 

Aurora nods, taking a few more deep breaths. 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be freaking out so much. It’ll be fine.” 

Bellamy nods, then walks over to Octavia. He puts a hand on her arm. 

“Hey, O. How’re you feeling?” he asks, keeping his voice low. 

“I’m fine. My hand just hurts.” 

“Can I see?” 

Octavia nods, and holds out her hand. It’s wrapped in cloth, which Bellamy quickly unravels. He grabs the first aid kit out from under the bed, wincing at the jagged stitches. 

That’s definitely going to scar. 

He braces her, then cleans the wound before wrapping it tightly in fresh white bandages. 

“Am I going to be ok?” 

“Of course you are, darling. You know that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I love you too much for that.” 

He kisses her on the top of the head before pulling her up. He climbs behind her, and lets her rest against him. She falls asleep quickly after that. He stays right where he is for the rest of the night, his cheek pressed against Octavia’s hair. However, no matter how hard he tries to keep the wound clean while he’s there, Octavia starts to develop the symptoms of an infection within three days. 

“What are we going to do?” Aurora asks, sounding near tears. 

Bellamy pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Where are the scissors that she cut herself on?” 

“They’re in the top right hand drawer. The really large ones. Why are you asking though?”

“She’s asleep, right?” Bellamy asks, walking over to the desk. 

“Yeah.” 

“That was me asking you to make sure.” 

Aurora walks over, and checks on Octavia, who is still sleeping fitfully. 

“Yeah, she’s still asleep.” 

“Ok.” 

Bellamy pulls the scissors out of the drawer, then presses the tip gently against his own hand. He takes a steadying breath before pushing down, and dragging the scissors across his palm, and down in arm in almost the exact same spot as Octavia’s. Aurora watches, looking slightly horrified. Bellamy walks over to the open first aid kit. He roughly stitches his own arm, biting down on his lip hard enough for blood to well up there too. Neither of them say anything for a while, then Bellamy cleans the blood off of everything. 

“Ok, well, at least we didn’t wake up O.” 

“Bellamy,” Aurora whispers. 

“It’ll be fine. I’ll go down to medical, and get some antibiotics for Octavia tonight. It’ll be fine.” 

Bellamy stays exactly where he’s sitting, his good hand in Octavia’s hair until nine that night. The later it is, the less people are going to be in medical, and the more likely it is that no one is going to ask any questions. As long as the antibiotics work, then he shouldn’t have to go back, and worry about someone questioning how he got cut. It’s actually a pretty simple process. The man who examines his hand is young too. 

“Just come straight here next time. These stitches aren’t great, but none of the ones that you do on yourself probably will be. It’ll be better for you to just come straight here, and let a professional deal with that.” 

Bellamy nods, and just agrees with everything he says. It’s late by the time he gets back to his mom’s office. He offers her the bottle, then drops into a chair. He falls asleep quickly, exhausted from his long day. Once properly medicated, Octavia does get better. She’s back to bouncing around within a week. 

However, Bellamy is starting to feel sick by then, and his arm is taking a lot longer to heal than it should. Aurora has started giving Bellamy worried looks, but Octavia hasn’t even noticed yet. It’s eight days after he cut himself that Bellamy’s walking to class. He’s feeling a little lightheaded, but pushes past it in hopes that it’s nothing. It’s not nothing because he barely makes it into class before he passes out. 

Abby walks into their apartment, her shoulders low, and tears streaking her face. Jake is next to her in a second. Luckily, it’s just the two of them in the apartment since Clarke is off with Wells. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” Jake asks softly. 

“It’s one of my patients.” 

“Oh, did someone die?” 

“No, but he’s fighting an infection and pneumonia.” 

She falls quiet aside from her sobs. Jake continues to rub her back as he pulls her to the couch. 

“Do they not think he’s going to make it?” Jake asks, honestly confused on why she’s so upset. He’s never seen her respond this emotionally regarding a patient. Normally she can detach herself at least to some extent. 

“I’m not sure. It’s not looking good right now. We just had to put in a chest tube to keep the fluid off of his lungs. It’s just that… he’s only fourteen. He’s only a few years older than Clarke, and-” She sobs for another minute before continuing. “The wound placement, I’m pretty sure he did it to himself. He cut himself, got an infection, and is dying in a hospital bed alone. His mother only came to see him once, and it was at night.” 

Self harm, and in someone so young. 

Jake feels tears spring into his own eyes. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know. I feel like I can’t leave him. What if he dies alone? No one deserves to die alone, and I know life isn’t fair, but he’s a child. He’s so young, and he should have to be scared and alone. Especially if he felt desperate enough to try to take his own life. I just don’t know what to do. Even if he does get better, I’m going to have to fight to get him seen by a psych team since it’s not a normal self harm wound. I’m sure that he did it to himself though. I’m completely certain of that much.” 

She sniffles, desperately wrapping her arms around Jake like he can magically make her feel better. 

“Well, how about we leave Clarke with Jaha and Wells tonight, and we can stay with him together? Or I can stay down there with him if you need some time for yourself. That way he won’t be alone, but the burden doesn’t fall solely on your shoulders.” 

“I want to go with you. It’s not a burden, he’s not a burden.” 

Jake hugs her closer, his heart hurting for his wife, and the child that he doesn’t know and hasn’t met. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Bellamy Blake. His mother is Aurora Blake. She’s always been known to be a recluse. I asked parents with kids his age, and she’s never been to any of the school events, or taken him to any of his extra stuff. Apparently he’s going to join the guard when he’s older.” 

The “if” he gets there stays hanging in the air untouched. They stay there in silence for a few minutes before Jake gets up. He covers Abby with a blanket before wiping his eyes. He walks to the Jaha residence. He lets himself in with his key, and peeks into the kitchen. Jaha is sitting in there while the kids are in the living room. 

“Hey.” 

Jaha looks up. 

“Jake, come in. What’s going on? I thought you weren’t picking Clarke up for another half hour.” 

“Actually, can she stay with you two tonight? Abby has a young patient that might not make it, and he’s been alone. She wants to stay with him tonight.” 

“Of course. What’s going on with that?” 

“I’m not entirely sure. Apparently his mom is always absent. It’s not something that you need to worry about though. We’ve got it covered on that front. I really appreciate you letting Clarke stay here tonight. I’m going to tell her now.” 

Jaha nods. 

“Of course, anytime.” 

Jake walks over to Wells and Clarke, who are discussing their homework. 

“Hey, pumpkin.” 

“Dad, you’re early.” 

“Actually, I came to tell you that something came up for your mom and me. You’re going to be spending the night here.” 

“Are you both ok?” 

Jake nods. 

“Yeah, we’re both fine. I have a pair of your school clothes here for you to change into in the morning. You were dressed casually enough that I didn’t think you’d need anything else.” 

“I’m good, thanks. Goodnight, Dad. I love you.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart.” 

“Can you tell Mom the same thing?” 

Jake nods, then kisses Clarke on the top of the head. He walks back over to Jaha at that point, thanks him one more time, then heads back to his own apartment. It’s less than thirty minutes later when they walk into the infirmary together. Jake lays eyes on Bellamy, and his chest constricts. He’s underweight, his face sunken, a chest tube through his side. He looks near dead especially with his complexion being as pale and waxy as it is. 

He’s so small. Could that have happened in just a few days? 

Abby sits down beside Bellamy’s bed. She takes his small hand in hers, stroking the back of his hand. His other hand is heavily bandaged, the white bandages dwarfing his delicate fingers. Jake sits beside Abby, just watching the boy’s face. He stirs a few times, but ultimately stays quiet. That night is one of the longest of Jake’s life. Abby eventually falls asleep, tears in her eyes, still holding Bellamy’s hand. 

Jake doesn’t sleep a wink. His eyes keep shifting between his wonderful, empathic wife, and the child in front of him. Everything about this situation makes him want to scream, especially as a parent. He can’t imagine something happening to Clarke, and not being there for her. They go back to their apartment in the morning, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

It takes a couple more days, but Bellamy does start to improve. Jake and Abby are both there when he wakes up. Jake catches his gaze almost immediately. He has dark brown eyes that are clouded over with confusion. Abby doesn’t notice immediately, but Jake takes a step towards him, resting a hand lightly on Bellamy’s leg underneath the blankets. 

“Where-” Bellamy rasps, looking around. 

“You’re in the infirmary.” 

“Who are you?” 

Abby turns around. 

“Jake, can you step out? I’m going to do a quick examination. Can you go get-” she trails off, looking him dead in the eyes. 

Jake nods, and walks out. He goes to inform the psych team that agreed to meet with Bellamy that he woke up. They say they’ll be down there in a few hours at the very least, so Jake heads back to wait outside. He doesn’t end up having to wait long since Abby was almost done when he got there. A nurse motions him back in. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Bellamy says, his eyes wide and scared. 

“Look, Bellamy, it’s ok. You can tell me what happened. Did someone else cut your arm, or did you?” Abby asks, still standing close to Bellamy.

“It was an accident. I did, but I just slipped while cutting something. I was using way more force than I should have been.” 

“How did you develop an infection then?” 

“I was being stupid. I wasn’t taking care of it like I was supposed to.” 

“Look, there are too many inconsistencies in your story. We’re going to have to put you on psych watch.” 

“I didn’t mean to though.” 

“It’s for your own good. If you didn’t do anything on purpose, then the professionals will clear you. You can go back to life and recovery like normal.” 

Bellamy looks anxious and unsure. Jake walks over. 

“Hi, Bellamy, I’m Jake. It’s ok, you don’t have to be scared. Even if you are hiding something, we can help you. You’re going to be ok.” 

Bellamy shakes his head. 

“I don’t want anything to do with you. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” 

“I know, I’m just trying to tell you that we can help if something is going on.” 

“There’s nothing for you to help with. What are you not getting? It can’t be that hard to understand. It wasn’t on purpose, and no one hurt me. It was just a stupid accident. I was being careless, and now I’m having to pay for it here.” 

Jake nods, taking a step back. Bellamy does end up getting checked out by the psych team. They all got the impression that he was hiding something, but nothing detrimental to his health, so they let it go. Jake doesn’t see him again after that, and if Abby does, she never mentions it. Eventually they have to learn how to let go of the situation, and just hope that he’s alright.

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in Let me out (Выпусти меня)

[deerestlou]

doodle + adam in that one part of the og saw script where he just starts stripping in front of lawrence. i giggled a little

[onlythegoodpretzels]

Blood Duty

Kotallo this time! With a fic and a WIP of art!

This is for Whumptober 2024's prompt surgery!

On AO3: Blood Duty (3447 words) by OnlytheGoodPretzels Chapters: 2/2 A marshal under a knife is always dangerous, no matter how much he understands. Dekka will take him through it.

(I could not finish this illustration for today, ohmygod Tenakth tattoos.)

Or, if you like, read it under the cut:

Dread climbed Dekka’s armor when she saw the mismash of paint colors shambling up the path. Lowland and Sky together, squadless, was never a good sign. Neither were any Tenakth moving so slow.

A runner split off, pelting to the Grove’s palisades. “Chaplain! Treason!”

His white-rimmed eyes were enough for her to vault down to him, catch his arm. He was young, Sky Clan. Curse Tekkoteh for sending dregs! “Steady, soldier. What ---?”

He lurched out of her grip, waving wildly backward. “Regalla, at the Embassy! M-Marshal Kotallo!”

Shit.

Dekka hadn’t registered the white between the two lowland warriors. Kotallo’s lines bent wrong and crooked. He couldn’t be walking. “Report inside.” She pushed the warrior up the stairs, already running. “Chief’s guard, with me!” Please, if they carried him this far, let him be alive.

Fury flew in Dekka’s hands. Regalla, always sure there hadn’t been enough blood!

Ten above, Kotallo was walking. Or he was hobbling, arm wrapped wrestle-tight around a warrior’s shoulders. The other Tenakth huddled close around him, but didn’t touch his left side. Dried blood smudges covered him from chin to leg, garish and dark in the lush lowland green.

Kotallo’s eyes were barely a clenched line in his face. Sweat canyons carved through his paint. Every muscle stood separate in his neck.

And he clutched his left arm tight to his side, and wrap sheds around it were blood-black.

Shit shit shit.

“He needs a medic!” the warrior holding Kotallo gasped as Dekka reached them. “We-we did what we could, Chaplain, but I’m not sure --”

“R-Regalla -- Aghhhh!” Kotallo fought his eyes open, his growl gutted and hoarse. Hate made his skin look like stone. “D-declared war. We --- the Carja -- dea -- aaagh…” Dull choked gasps cut him off and his legs trembled, forcing him to hold tighter. The third time he tried for breath a dull cracked cry shredded out instead.

But it was his arm that commanded Dekka’s attention. He dug it tighter to his ribs, crusted blood glistening against his marks. The angle of it…the rolling twitch it dragged along his jaw, mouth open in a silent retching quiver…his hand was gone.

And though he looked toward her, Kotallo’s eyes never focused.

Dekka blocked out the rest of the conversations. The chief guard commander could handle the rest, but not this. They might still lose a marshal yet. “Quiet, soldier.”

Kotallo squinted, weaving dangerously, trying to find her. She came to his side and reached in slow to press her thumb to his headdress. Just as she had years ago setting his first marshal mark. “Your chief will take his report when he’s ready.”

Even that little force tipped him.

But Kotallo winced, swallowing raggedly. “D-Dekka…”

“Yes.” Dekka grit her teeth, feeling his gasps rattle on her fingers. Were the others she’d marked gone? She couldn’t worry about them now. “You made it. Regalla didn’t strike here.”

Kotallo snarled, low and choked. The rawness of it twisted in Dekka’s feathers, anger clenching her arms until the fronds hissed. Regalla thought sending pain like this to their doorstep would frighten them. What it would do was sing vengeance, like the fury burning in Dekka’s hands now at the thought of Kotallo limping all this way.

“Ch-chief?” Kotallo twitched, grimace carving deeper. Trying to straighten up, the idiot. 

Dekka pressed knuckles to his breastplate. “Safe. Hold Still.” The force of his shaking ached in her wrist.

Orders still worked, thank the Ten. Kotallo stilled, eyes open but darting. “G-good…good.” He must know she was there, though, because he let the chief’s guard heave him onto the stretcher when it came. Kotallo howled but he didn’t attack anyone. That was the best they would get today.

Dekka waited just long enough to be sure he was down. She had to speak to Hekarro, now.

______________________________________________________________

The shadow of war hunched over the Grove as Dekka hurried to the sleep rooms. Teharra’s report was clear and curt. The broken remains of Kotallo’s arm had Bristleback hate leeched in. The hasty field job, cut and cauterized, saved his life this long. But blaze in the wound had done its work, too deep to pry out.

For him to survive, they had to cut the attack off at the source.

This, and then Regalla.

Hekarro’s grief held him impossibly still when she left him staring at the throne room flickers. “Call him back,” had been his orders. “We can’t lose him too.”

Dekka had no intention of losing anyone else. The tags laid at the base of the throne bit so sharp. She’d give Hekarro her full report later. He was with the survivors now, though it sounded like they’d been trapped at a distance while Kotallo fought in the thick of it. And Dekka had her own calls first. A marshal under a knife was always dangerous, no matter how much he understood.

She could hear the right hut twenty paces off. Rough, sharp groans clouded the air. Dekka ducked inside.

“The Chaplain will be here -- “ Teharra’s face lit up with relief. “It’s alright. She’s here.”

Dekka nodded, setting down her bow loudly and slowly. “Kotallo.”

Kotallo sagged against the dark. He curled, hand wrapped across his knees, holding himself up as if by the grip alone. Each time he gasped he twitched, bowed tighter around his wounded limb. Armor and ornaments scattered the rug around him, so he hadn’t stopped Teharra removing them. Or hadn’t managed to. But now he looked coiled, a burrower ready to strike.

He looked up, gaze drifting slow and dull.

Good. So he’d been aware enough to drink Teharra’s liquor. They wouldn’t be able to do this at all without something in him to blunt the pain or his strength.

Teharra nodded. “He’s had a flask, but he won’t take more.” He sighed. “Marshals.”

Dekka smiled despite the tight pang in her chest. “Always at the ready, as much as they can be.” Hopefully one was enough for Kotallo. He rarely drank more ale than brought his brash back out for spars, and Teharra’s brew was rust-bitingly strong. She was glad he’d been aware enough to accept that much.

Dekka stepped closer. “Marshal. Ready?”

“Read…Ready.” Kotallo scowled, fighting against the slurring words. He squinted at Dekka, fist clenched. “Ch…chief?”

She’d only heard bits and pieces from the survivors on her way out. An ambush. Machines tearing through the marshals, Regalla’s traitors on their backs. This close, Dekka could see the dark seep of bruises in Kotallo’s marks. Cuts glinted in the blue-black stain ringing his left arm and side. The same impact echo showed dark and edged in the gap of his sternum and all the way down at his knee between the white bands.

Something enormous crashed into him, or blows all swung from the same side.

It must have been terrible.

“Planning our retaliation.” Dekka made sure he met her eyes. She wondered if he didn’t remember or was so worried he had to ask again. “He’ll want to see you after this.”

Relief hazed across Kotallo’s face. He was young enough for Hekarro’s approval to fill a void Dekka could only just remember. Maybe it would help him through this. Still, Kotallo hissed, slumping. Violent quivers ran across his bruises. “H-he…nhh--it’s bad…”

Sky Clan and their understatements. Dekka nodded. “I know. We’ve had worse.” She hoped that was true, but truth wasn’t her goal here. She moved slow, watching for strikes, and touched Kotallo’s strained knuckles. “Teharra needs to work. Lie down.”

Kotallo’s brow and nose clenched pain-low before he fought them flat. He sighed raggedly, the sound catching each time his bruised side twitched. Were the ribs broken? A snarl-shape trembled into his lip as he glanced at his arm, then turned sharply back to her. “Watch…” Kotallo’s voice broke and he winced, the pain crumpling back into his face. “Watch for machines…she…”

He finally released his knee to catch Dekka’s thumb. He shivered, fighting not to fall without the brace, a fight he would clearly lose. “She had machines…c-controlled them…somehow.”

Chills ridged up Dekka’s back. She needed to know more about that, but not now. Now she needed to answer Kotallo’s fear. She returned the handclasp, keeping her voice firm and even. “I’ll keep watch. I promise.”

Kotallo searched her face. His expression changed sluggishly, from drawn to relieved to exhausted. He braced against her hand. And when he started to fall again, he stopped fighting it.

Dekka held on, pulling to slow his fall, but Kotallo still whimpered through grit teeth hitting down, left arm slipping. Teharra ducked into the gap, stabilizing it and guiding it down. That set Kotallo growling shrilly, glancing wildly in too many directions as he tried to find what was hurting him.

Dekka let him go. No sense making him feel more trapped. “The chief’s guard will take care of it. You just have to focus.”

Kotallo panted, blinking dazedly toward her. Then he arched, keening, clawing at the rug as Teharra peeled the wrap off his mangled arm. Dekka winced, bitter taste in the back of her mouth. How long had he been stifling that sound whenever someone jostled him?

Bared, the destruction was gut-twisting. The stitches at Kotallo’s bloody wrist couldn’t hold the wound closed fully, so bone glinted at the end. The skin was mottled purple and black, darker at the wrist. Ragged scabbed gouges bent the swollen flesh in awful spirals up his forearm. Like he’d been processed by a Scrounger. They rippled and wept as he flinched. The smell of bleed and tear hit like a punch.

Teharra caught her eye and nodded before he bent down. Dekka swallowed. She’d seen many machine wounds and every single one looked inhumanly awful. If the medic thought it was possible, her duty was simple and clear.

Kotallo hissed through setting the tourniquet. He searched the room sluggishly, breaths tight and ragged. The position on his back made it worse. That worked in their favor.

When Teharra brought down his knife, Kotallo howled, recoiling, but he was choked enough to fall back almost instantly, coughing. Each time Teharra shifted Kotallo gurgled, searching shakily for Dekka, a low unyielding sound deep in his chest.

He wouldn’t be able to do this without something to hold.

Dekka leaned over him. It was hardest when there was nothing to fight. Tenakth Kotallo’s age had rarely uexperienced that kind of pain. “Soldier, I need that report. What did this?”

Kotallo twitched, relief fighting into the sweat and bruises on his face. “R -- hhhghh --” His chest spasmed, stomach to neck. “Regah -- !“

Blood, bubbling fresh. Kotallo roared, teeth creaking they clenched so hard. Teharra pinned his shoulder, shushing softly as he dug his knife in again.

 “Regalla.” Dekka broke eye contact long enough to spit on the ground. “Yes. How were you hurt?”

“ B--bhhh. Khhh--aghhh!” Kotallo flattened into the rug, kicking frantically as the blade chewed into him. Dekka pinned him, hands flat to his chest, the shattering force of his spasms jarring up and through her to ground in the dirt. “Brist -- khh! Bristle-b-back…”

Kotallo suddenly snapped his head down, hand writhing against Dekka’s knee. “Javv--AAAH! I w-wouldn’t let…” The words rushed out like he couldn’t bear them in his mouth. “H-he didn’t --- N-no!”

By the Ten! The pain was setting him off, forcing him to see what he had in battle. Dekka realized with a start her hands were flat over the bruise on his chest, where something struck him so hard it painted him black. She cursed and pushed harder. “What happened to the Bristleback, Kotallo?”

“S-sp…!” Kotallo choked, fighting weakly against her, but not enough. Not enough to jostle Teharra, or knock the glow-blade off course as it came down again, sizzling. Kotallo’s scream felt like it split the arena walls.

Dekka focused on the jagged thrum of the sound from Kotallo’s bloodied ribs up her arms, deep into her bones, right into her heart. Let it lodge there. She’d take it. She’d listen to what Regalla did to their soldiers, swallow it down bitterness and all. And she’d send it straight back into that traitor’s chest when the time was right.

Let everyone hear it. Let Hekarro hear it and be ready this time.

Lulls in bloody work like this were short and sharp. Teharra switched tools. Kotallo sagged, streaming sweat. “S-spear,” he gasped, slow and toneless. “Sp-spear. Ja--h-he speared. It pinned me.” His knuckles knocked against Dekka as if to push, but he was too uncoordinated. His wild searching of the hut intensified, tears caught in his paint. “C-can’t get loose. C-crush.”

Dekka hadn’t though she could feel more ache, but there it was. These bruises were from a Bristelback burying Kotallo? Like he was already dead as the sand drank his blood? The image chilled all the way to her spine. No wonder the warriors who saved him looked so haunted.

“It’s not here.” Dekka risked letting go one hand to brush Kotallo’s face, drawing his head down to the rug looking at her. “I have you.”

Had Regalla missed him then, down beneath the machine?

Kotallo winced, blinking hard, heaving. Shudders ran all the way down his ribs. His eyes focused violently as Teharra shifted. “D-Dekka…?” A broken bark of sound, clawed out hoarse and frayed.

Damn, so brave. “Yes. That’s right.” Dekka shuddered. The bone-biter flashed its jagged teeth in the corner of her eye, lighting Teharra’s rigidly focused face. She held it separate, looking only at Kotallo. “Yes. The Bristelaback. How did you evade Regalla, marshal?”

She didn’t really want to know if her old sparring partner found other downed marshals, or what she did to them. Regalla could be cruel and now she was beyond all honor. But Dekka hadn’t been in that bloody dirt, so she wasn’t going to fall short of those who were.

Bone grating sounded like nothing else.

Kotallo fought, joints snapping with the kind of desperation that made lizards bite after their hearts stopped beating. Dekka caught his hips with her knee, pinning his torso with an arm bar dug in at the collarbone. Kotallo wailed and roared, pulse sputtering against her fist at the crook of his ear. But even though he bared his teeth animal-sharp at the pain, he couldn’t move her.

Thank the Ten she could hold him. And she hated it so much. Kotallo was stronger than her. Dekka hated that he wasn’t right now.

Kotallo writhed beneath her even though he couldn’t break through. Dekka didn’t think he could see her, and she could only hope he wasn’t seeing the Bristleback. His white smudged on her knuckles, bleeding off in the sweat. Like Regalla tried to wipe the marshals’ stories down into the sand she thought belonged to her.

“Out -- “ Kotallo suddenly clutched at her sash. “F-fire hair, n-neverseen---” When she looked his eyes were glazed, forced almost closed by the deep gouges the pain tore in his face. But he was focused. Holding on to what he saw. Words bubbled out like the blood spatters Teharra burnt closed. “Neverseenoutland--aaah---f-foughtch-challenge--Gr--AAAH!”

An outlander?

Dekka tried to shift enough for him to feel her tug in return. “A Carja challenge Regalla? Brave.” She leaned down, holding him through the spasms.

She didn’t think Kotallo could feel anything through the sawing teeth. But she had to try.

After interminable time and screams, Teharra shifted at her shoulder. Roasting flesh smell roiled much closer to Dekka’s face than before. She looked, letting the glow-blade sear its echo-ache on her vision to watch it press to the curve where Kotallo’s elbow had been and now was carved away. The blood was so red it seemed like it would never allow another color, even though Dekka knew that wasn’t true.

Teharra nodded, gratitude tight in his face as he set the glowblade aside and took up his needles. He set to closing the flesh around the new end of Kotallo’s arm, stitching the muscles back home.

Before Dekka could respond, Kotallo slumped under her, breaths watery and ragged, full-body trembling. She lurched up so she wasn’t crushing his chest. “Kotallo?”

He muttered, still trying to answer her, but no words formed in the sounds. Dekka pressed her palm to his cheek and sagged with relief when skin-warmth met it. So no blood-chill, thank everything. She tapped his cheek. “Kotallo!”

Teharra’s wounds weren’t like battle hits. They could shock even the strongest warriors into strange states. Maybe losing the bone was more than Kotallo could hold like this.

Kotallo flinched, bumping Dekka’s hand. He slid one eye open. Pain-drunk now, loose and shaky as new-walking cadet, he nudged closer. It took a long time for any recognition to bleed over his face. Kotallo wheezed, fingers twitching. “G--Grudda…”

The desert champion. Certainty stabbed into Dekka. The braggart joined Regalla. “He isn’t here.”

Kotallo bared his teeth in something like a smile, though it couldn’t reach the grooved pain lines in his face. “H-he’s dead.” He clutched his hand to his ribs, panting so fast it shook him. “Ahh--at least---I saw…that…”

Dekka let her full scowl out. She had no patience for Kotallo’s brand of dramatic, regardless of whether he was conscious or not! She clasped his thumb, hard, pulling him away from the bruises. “You’re not dying today. And if you did, I would make you sharpen every weapon in the Grove.”

Kotallo flinched, fumbling in her grip. Confused. The tangle of needles and cut and fingers was probably more than he could parse right now. But he returned the grip. So faint it felt like a brush of wind. “Y…yes…Ch…”

His strength was almost gone. He’d spent so much just getting here, and then making the Ten proud under Teharra’s teeth. Dekka felt him losing cohesion, fingers slackening. She forced herself not to panic. Kotallo was breathing. He showed no sign of stopping. If the pain took him under, it would be a reprieve for all of them.

Still, she hated him fighting to see her. Dekka pressed her thumb to the deep pain lines in Kotallo’s forehead, joining her sweat with his. “The chief still needs your report after this. He’ll want to know what happened to Grudda.”

The pressure nudged Kotallo’s eyes closed, as she’d hoped. He shuddered, each breath he took climbing into her wrist. “S-she…killed…him.” A faint smile dragged at the corner of his mouth. “S-strength…o-of the…Te…”

He went still, head sagged into her hand. Finally, finally out. He still protested faintly to each dip of Teharra’s thread, but the sound was so soft it was barely a hum in Dekka’s fingertips. She let herself breathe, and stay. And wait.

The thick blood smell leveled, pierced with balm-sour and char.

She checked Kotallo’s pulse, even though she could see him breathing perfectly well. “Teharra?”

Teharra wrapped his tools. “He’s survived this far. He should be clear if he wakes up tomorrow.” He paused, reaching to run his hands over his face, but caught it before he smeared himself bloody. Instead, he blinked at Dekka. “He will…”

Dekka took a moment to turn to Teharra, fully meet his eyes. She didn’t want Regalla’s fear to reach any farther than it already had. “Yes. He knows we need him.”

Teharra nodded, teeth grit. Seeing a marshal carved this deep shook him, even after all he’d seen. Dekka had her work cut out for her once she finished here. Teharra stood, lifting the bloody wrapped bundle of Kotallo’s arm. “I’ll report to Chief and see to this. If…he’ll ask for you.”

Dekka shook her head. “He won’t. There are no marshals to keep the Watch. No clanmates he’d recognize.” She traced the mountain lines on Kotallo’s forehead, trying to smooth some of the pain there. “Tell Chief I’m ready to report. And send anyone in need of guidance here to me.”

Teharra saluted. “Walk with the Ten, Chaplain.”

“And Hekarro can wait for you to wash!” Dekka called after him. She settled, half an eye on Kotallo’s short, wincing breaths. They all needed her. Everyone in the Grove, even Hekarro. And she'd do it. She’d see to them all. That was her duty as Chaplain. Tonight this was the tip of her spear.

Dekka gathered Kotallo’s breastplate off the floor. Sitting by his head, so he’d see her if he woke, she picked the dried blood out of the tines. By morning, maybe this would be something she could give back to him, for all the things no one ever could.

[musewrangler]

THUD.

Veers whipped his head up from the passage he’d been reading on his datapad to see a bloodied hand gripping his windowsill shortly before a curly head appeared, and then the rest of a slim body as another cadet hauled himself into Veers’ room.

Max was on his feet instantly as the other young man moved from his hands and knees to lean against the wall, panting and looking up at him with a bruised countenance.

“What the HELL…?” Veers began when he heard shouts outside.

“Plase,” the other cadet whispered, mouth and nose bleeding sluggishly. “Plase, I jist nade ta catch ma breath. An’ Ah’ll bay out o’ yore hair.”

“Hold on,” Veers told him and moved to the window to lean out and look over the quad. The lights had come on as darkness fell, but he could clearly see the four figures moving from Amedda Hall down the broad walk that ran parallel to Veers’ barracks.

“Hey!” he yelled at them. “Keep it down! Some of us are trying to study!”

The four cadets stopped and he recognized two of them. It was mutual.

“Veers! You seen a little runt scamper this way?”

The others laughed and Ryner grinned broadly.

“We’re runt hunting. You can join us!”

He was aware of their favorite past time. And since all of them were Daddy’s boys or from monied families, they frequently got away with it.

Beside him, at his feet, he felt the injured cadet try to move and he reached down to place a firm, restraining hand on the other’s shoulder, ignoring the small noise of pain this elicited.

[alicewritingstories]

Whumptober 2024 Fills Part 2: Meeting and Memory

AO3

Fandom: Linked Universe

Central Character(s): Legend, Wild, and Sidon

No.2: TRUST ISSUES | Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No.4: HALLUCINATIONS | Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No.15 Alt21: Survivor's Guilt

No.17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO | Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No.22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES | Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No.25: SURGERY | Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No.28: DENIAL | CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No.30: RECOVERY | Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

Warnings: Blood, injury, near-death, survivor's guilt, brief mention of suicide (confirming a character is not suicidal), past canonical character death.

---

Legend cut down the last of the attacking lizalfos and hurried over to the wounded hylian he'd just rescued, dismissing the magical shield he'd thrown up in front of the young man - boy, really; he barely looked older than Hyrule.

"Easy," he said. "I'll get you down. What's your name?"

The boy looked up from where he was clutching at the spear pinning him to a tree. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that made it out was a nasty wet cough and a gout of blood. His tunic was more purple than blue and a mixture of black and red blood was matted in his long fair hair.

Legend knew that if someone was impaled it was dangerous to remove the thing impaling them, but he couldn't leave the kid like that. He was already clearly slipping into shock, the color gone from his face, his eyes drifting out of focus. If he passed out and sagged against the spear, it would get much worse.

Legend let out a huff of breath and snatched up one of the lizalfos' jagged blades.

"Hold it as steady as you can," he told the kid, then sawed through the shaft of the spear in a few quick strokes. That would make things a little easier, at least.

The boy whimpered softly, another mouthful of blood spilling from his lips.

"OK, I'm going to cut the shaft behind you." Legend caught the boy's chin and looked him in the eye. "This will hurt. Stay with me, OK? You're going to be fine."

"Get it… out?" the boy pleaded.

"I can't. It'll do more damage coming out than it did going in. One of my friends can heal you, but we need to get you to him first and I can't get the spear out completely until then."

The boy whimpered again, turquoise eyes falling closed, but he didn't protest.

Legend took a deep breath, then slipped a hand down the boy's back, giving himself a bit of space between him and the tree. He winced as the boy whimpered, but moved as quickly as he could to cut the spear shaft and catch him as he collapsed, lowering him carefully to the ground.

"Still with me, Kid?" he asked.

"Still… still here." It was little more than a groan, but audible.

Legend snatched some bandages from his bag and started padding around the remains of the spear shaft, wincing as blood started to seep through the bandages almost at once.

"Stay with me," he kept saying. "You're going to be OK. You did great against those monsters; just stay with me."

The boy nodded, coughing up more blood.

How am I going to get him back to camp? I can't carry him, not with that pole in his guts…

"What's your name?"

"Link."

Legend froze for a moment, wondering if he'd heard correctly, his eyes flying back to his companion's face.

His new brother's face.

"Well…" he said with a laugh that sounded a little hysterical in his own ears. "How about that? My friends and I have been looking all over for you."

Link's eyes had focussed and he was frowning, but then he forced a smile. "How come?" he asked, his voice a little high. "Looking for your bananas back?"

Legend went back to bandaging, his heart beating a little faster. If Link was already getting delirious, he must have lost even more blood than Legend had thought. Perhaps he was bleeding internally too.

Link squirmed slightly with a moan and Legend quickly moved to hold him down.

"Keep still!" he said, trying not to snap and not quite succeeding. "Moving around might cause more damage."

Link looked at him, eyes wide and dark with pain and fear.

"You're going to be OK," said Legend, starting to wonder which of them he was trying to reassure. Maybe a good, loud blast on an ocarina would serve as a signal whistle. "You're going to be OK. I'm going to get you to my friend and he'll heal you. Just stay with me."

Link laughed: a shrill, deranged sound. "No chance!" he said.

With another groan of pain, he snatched a small glowing block of carved stone from a holster on his belt, tapped it twice, and dissolved right under Legend's hands into tendrils of blue light.

Legend stared at the bloody grass where he'd lain for a moment, then buried his face in his hands with a stream of curses. All he could hope was that Link had at least teleported to somewhere someone could help him.

~~~

The shrine jump deposited Link gently on his feet, but as soon as he had fully materialized he collapsed to his knees, clutching at the spear shaft still running through his body.

"Help!" he cried as loudly as he could. "Someone, help!"

Here in Zora's Domain, he knew he was as safe as he could be anywhere. They had the best healers and this was the home of one of his closest friends. He was just grateful he'd been able to get his Slate into his hand before the yiga had realized what he was doing; it would have been easy to restrain him. Holding him down had clearly taken no effort at all. It didn't make sense that someone who wanted him dead had defended him from the lizalfos and saved his life, but he didn't want to find out why the assassin might have wanted to bring him in alive.

Suddenly he was lying on the ground, unsure how he got there. Maybe he'd blacked out for a moment. "Help!" he cried again before breaking down into another coughing fit, trying not to panic at the thick, metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

Finally, he heard running footsteps, the splash of someone wading through the pool that surrounded the shrine.

"Link!" cried a familiar voice. "What happened? Someone go and get Prince Sidon!"

"Bazz…" Link reached out vaguely and one of the Zora guard's large hands closed around his.

"It's going to be OK. We'll have you healed in no time."

Link nodded with a sigh. At least here he was safe.

After that, things were a blur for a while. He was aware of being lifted and carried, a vague impression of Sidon frantically calling his name, the bitter taste of a hearty elixir being forced down his throat, the cool touch of healing magic.

"Mipha?" he called softly before he was even aware he was doing it, pulled back for a moment to those mercifully-few times during his quest when he once more died on the battlefield and Mipha's Grace had brought him back to life. "Mipha?"

He knew she was gone. He knew he didn't really remember her as anything but a gentle presence dragging him back from the edge. But the feeling of dying and her magic washing through him was so familiar he couldn't fully believe it. She was still here. Surely, she hadn't abandoned him entirely.

Another blur. Voices, hands turning him this way and that, bandages wound tight around his body.

Finally, it all settled. He was wrapped in blankets, lying on a soft waterbed, and when he opened his eyes he was surrounded by the soft glow of Zora's Domain.

"Link!" Sidon lunged into his field of vision. "Are you awake? What happened?"

"I'm awake." Link sighed and started trying to shove himself upright. Sidon slipped a large hand behind his back to support him.

"Be careful. You're healed, but only just and the healers said you were to rest at least another day. You lost a lot of blood."

Link nodded, settling back as Sidon arranged his pillows to support him. He examined the Zora's face as he sat back. Zora couldn't cry the way hylians did, but Sidon's usual huge grin was nowhere to be seen and the muscles around his eyes and mouth were tense. That was as much an indication of his feelings as tear tracks would have been.

"I'm sorry," said Link, not sure what else to say. "I didn't know where else to go."

Sidon shook his head. "Link, I told you you would always be welcome. I'm honored you came to us for help."

Link smiled, relaxing his head back against the pillows. "I knew I was safe here," he said with a sigh. After a moment, he explained, "I had another close call with the yiga clan."

Sidon let out a little huff of breath. "A close call? You had a spear shaft through your whole body," he said, his voice raw. "The healers said that with the force it must have taken to drive it through like that you must have been pinned to something. I'm… just glad you were able to get free. And I'm glad you managed to do some bandaging. You'd bled right through, but it bought you a little bit of time. Even so… I think they were worried you wouldn't survive the surgery to remove it… What… To impale you like that… I didn't think that's what they did."

Link shook his head a little. "It's even stranger than that. The spear was from a lizalfos. The yiga could have just left me to the monsters or taken my Slate so I couldn't escape and then stood and watched me bleed out. He killed them, then he got me down and he was the one who started bandaging the wounds." He shivered.

Sidon's expression hardened. "Why change now?" he asked. "They've never tried to take you alive before."

"I don't know. That's what worries me." Link sighed. "He never dropped his disguise, either. He took care of me and insisted that he could get me to a healer. I suppose he hoped that would mean I wouldn't put up a fight, but it was so strange… I might have been convinced if he hadn't slipped for a moment when he found out who I am." He didn't like the thought that the yiga clan's acting was improving and he couldn't shake the memory of the concern in his would-be kidnapper's eyes. It had all seemed so genuine. He had wanted to trust him and accept his help. "I… suppose Zelda and I will have to be even more careful." Much more careful and they wouldn't talk to anyone they didn't already know. He bit his lip, feeling trapped. He loved Zora's Domain, but he didn't want to live a life in which there really was nowhere else he could go to truly be safe and comfortable.

The defeat of Calamity Ganon had been supposed to bring him some peace.

"We'll get word to Zelda. In the meantime, don't worry too much," said Sidon, patting Link's shoulder. "You're safe here for as long as you need."

Link smiled. "Thank you," he said fervently.

Sidon squeezed his shoulder, then let go and sat back in his chair with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. Link couldn't help noticing that he still looked tired and stressed.

"Is anything else wrong?" he asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

Sidon winced, rubbing his eyes. "It's just… You called for Mipha while we were healing you. It… made me think of her, that's all."

Link looked at his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for," said Sidon quickly, lunging forward to enfold both of Link's hands in one of his. "I… I'm sure she'd be happy to know… that you got some comfort from thinking of her."

Link sighed. From what he'd been told and the few scraps he had for himself, that was probably true.

"I barely remember her, Sidon," he said sadly. "I want to. And for a while, during my quest… she was there. Her spirit was with me. She saved me… so many times. But now she's at rest and… I'm still here." He looked down at the large red hand wrapped around his. "It… seems so unfair that I'm still here and she's not."

Sidon squeezed his hand. "Link?"

He looked up. His friend's expression was stricken.

"You don't… want to die, do you?"

Link shook his head. "No, no, not at all. No, I just… I'm not even sure what I mean. I just feel it sometimes: that she was there so many times to save me but when it mattered… I wasn't there for her. I lived and she died and even after she died she kept bringing me back to life. It… feels wrong."

Sidon looked down for a moment, then said quietly, "I barely remember her either. I was so young when she died. But I remember her patience and her kindness and… I think she'd have been happy at least one of the other Champions lived. And I think she'd want you to keep living. Really living."

Link sighed. "I know. I know it doesn't make sense. It's just… while she was here as a spirit… she was still alive in some way. Even if just in me. And now she's gone. It's just… that's why I was calling for her, I suppose. I miss her. Even though I hardly know her. And I wish… I wish I did. She seems like someone I… would like to know."

Maybe even someone I would fall in love with.

"Maybe there's some part of you that does remember," said Sidon with a small, sad smile. He squeezed Link's hands, as if to reassure them both.

Link smiled back. "Maybe." He relaxed back against his pillows, looking up at the ceiling. Maybe he did remember the woman he might have been planning to marry. Maybe that's where this feeling of longing and loss came from.

He wasn't sure about that, but the idea was something.

"Thank you, Sidon. For everything."

Sidon chuckled, not quite his usual laugh but close. "No, Link, thank you." He moved to pat Link's shoulder again.

"You want a hug, don't you?" asked Link, glancing at him.

Sidon didn't reply out loud, but the way his smile broadened slightly told Link what he needed to know and, with a smile of his own, he held out his arms. Sidon grabbed him and squeezed him hard enough to make him yelp out a laugh.

"When I heard the alarm and saw them carrying you up from the shrine, I feared the worst," said Sidon in his ear, his voice rough.

Link sighed. "I'm fine, thanks to you all."

"Good. And if I have any say in it, you'll stay that way. Don't worry about the yiga. You have plenty of friends to keep you and Zelda safe."

Link smiled, relaxing his head against his friend's shoulder. "Thank you."

[the-dubbel-experiments]

Surgery Record. 11/25

3b’s arm has been replaced with a mechanical version, capable of studying 3b’s nerve movement and copying them. And by the word of King Porky, part of its spine has also been removed, replaced with two mechanical wings, although it is unable to fly. Due to a small oversight, part of 3b’s left (our right) eye has been removed. We are currently unable to find materials to replace it mechanically, so it has just been covered with a bandage.

[callaeidae3]

Whumptober2024 Day 25: Surgery | Stitches | Being monitored

The last part of an emergency field surgery, yet still concerned about the dangers and risk of shock...