#prompt: intubation

[shion-yu]

Day 24: Not breathing

Part 5 (of 8) of the Cliff coma saga for @medwhumpmay, parts 1-4 here: Fever | Flatline | Coma | Coma (#2). To be continued on day 29. I’m also counting this piece (although parts 3-7 all work for this prompt!) for my @badthingshappenbingo space “intubation.”

It had been one month since Cliff had taken a breath on his own. One terrible, impossibly long month where Elliot waited and waited for Cliff to wake up, but he never did. The doctors seemed to be hesitant to start awakening trials this time given the first unsuccessful extubation. They never came out and said it, but Elliot felt the unspoken implication: Cliff was unlikely to be able to make it through another failure.

Elliot had known Cliff’s wishes since the first time Cliff had ended up in the hospital after they’d gotten back together. It was all written down in an advanced directive. Cliff had made it shortly before they began speaking again. Go figure that Cliff would have everything in order, Elliot had thought to himself. It made sense, but having it documented felt so real. After all, most of the time Elliot preferred to pretend the possibility of something going terribly wrong was far slimmer than it actually was. 

The terms were simple. Cliff didn’t want his parents to make a decision he wouldn’t have approved of in the end, which is why he’d outlined things clearly. He didn’t want to be on continuous mechanical support such as ventilation for over three months. If he were to sustain debilitating and irreversible brain damage that reduced his independence to zero, he did not want further medical intervention. Originally his decision maker was named as Moira, his older sister, but when Elliot came back into the picture Cliff told him he doubted Moira would be able to live with having to make that choice. So he’d changed it to Elliot, something Elliot had reluctantly signed for.

“You’re the person I trust most,” he told Elliot seriously. “I know you’d make the right decision.”

Elliot had told Cliff then that he didn’t want to have to make a decision at all. It was all just formalities back then though, at least to Elliot in his state of denial. It scared him how serious Cliff was about it. Now, Elliot wondered if Cliff knew he’d need to invoke the terms of that document sooner than Elliot had ever wanted to imagine.

A month was a long time to wait, and Elliot couldn’t put his life on pause for the entire time. He had to go back to work occasionally, although he refused to travel more than a few hours away so that he could rush back to the hospital if the need arose. His manager was irritated that Elliot wouldn’t turn his phone off even during meetings and interviews, but had to concede to the condition as one of the only things that would get Elliot to leave Cliff’s side at all. Online and to all his fans, everything seemed fine. But his heart wasn’t in it and he found it impossible to compose anything.

The day they reached the one month mark, Elliot gripped Cliff’s hand, bowing his head and brushing Cliff’s hair as he did every day. It was too long now, but at least Elliot kept his face shaved - he knew Cliff hated beard scruff. “Cliff,” he said. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, it’s time to wake up, baby.” There was no answer, and Elliot hadn’t expected one. “I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I miss you so much.”

More silence. Elliot shook his head and kissed Cliff’s forehead. “I’m right here,” he said, pressing his face against Cliff’s. “I’ll wait for you, alright?” Forever if he had to.

Part 6

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Okay so something which I don't think I've ever directly disclosed here before is that my favourite whump ever is intubation whump. I've literally always liked it and I don't know why.

When whumpee's going in for surgery, caretaker- maybe a medic- stands right next to them, holding their hand as the propofol starts to kick in. whumpee goes from being able to speak clearly and coherently to slurring their words, eyelids growing heavier and heavier, until at last they're completely out. limp. as the paralytics kick in too, there are a few seconds where whumpee isn't breathing at all, until the anaesthetist places the tube and watches for the condensation within it.

caretaker can't help feeling a little unnerved. whumpee's usually so talkative, yet now they're so still they may as well be dead, only breathing because a machine is breathing for them.

whumpees in comas, too. they're so sick that it's necessary to keep them on life support, allowing the rest of their body time to recover, but caretaker has to sit by their bedside and hold Whumpee's limp hand, watching closed eyes that they know won't open anytime soon. every so often, a doctor comes in to shine a light into their eyes or ask them to squeeze a hand, but there's nothing except the hiss of the ventilator to let caretaker know that whumpee's even still there in some way. caretaker hopes at least that whumpee is somewhat comfortable, too sedated to feel the discomfort of a tube down their throat or the sticky pads of the tube holder on their cheeks.

or how about whumpees who have been involved in a traumatic accident/have been hurt so badly/are so sick that the paramedics on the scene have to tube them? it's no longer the safe, sterile environment of the hospital, and the paramedics have to lay out all their equipment on sheets beside them, running through a checklist to make sure everything's ready before they start. plus, they no longer have the luxury of time to make sure all the proper medications have been given- the priority is securing whumpee's airway.

that means lots of medications, fast, pushed through IVs while another paramedic preps the tube. while this is happening, whumpee could be deteriorating even more. they might vomit. they might try to get up or hit the paramedics, the injury to their brain meaning they're in distress, not understanding what's going on. all the paramedics can do is clean whumpee up as best as possible, hold whumpee down gently until the paralytic and sedatives kick in, then, when all is quiet, intubate.

this, by the way, isn't your regular old intubation. it's called RSI, which stands for 'rapid sequence induction' and it's done for the most critically ill patients.

maybe do it to one of your whumpees? or just intubate them in general. please. it's very fun to read.

(Partially inspired by @i-eat-worlds post, since you are not alone in enjoying this I promise lmao.)

[faofinn]

28. "I should've stayed home"

Part 1 | Part 2

Tom looked up at her, catching the urgency in her tone. He reached to rub at Finn’s chest, knuckles on bare skin. "Finn, come on, take a breath. You can do it."

"He's not going to, is he?" She murmured. 

"I've got the BVM. Do you want to update them and get the pads on?" Tom asked, swapping the masks over. "There we go, that's getting air entry there. Sats are coming back up. Should we intubate?"

Fao bit his lip, feeling his stomach twist. This wasn’t uncommon for Finn, but it wasn’t good. It was the end of their holiday, that was for certain, and they were desperately far away from their safety net. They had all his paperwork with them, management plans and everything, but it was still worrying. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath, wishing Finn could do the same. 

Finn ended up intubated, crit care travelling with them to keep him sedated and stable. While Sheila travelled with them, Fred and Fao had to follow in the car behind them. With the severity of the situation, they pre-alerted him in, travelling on blues and treating with diesel. It was straight through to resus when they arrived, teams swarming around Finn. As awful as it sounded, Sheila was glad Finn was sedated, he'd have been unable to cope with the fuss and everything on top of him. He was quickly sent for scans, thankfully stable enough to go to CT, but Sheila couldn't help the worry and nausea that curled in her stomach. They were meant to be on holiday. Finn had been doing so well, and now they were in resus, and he was very much not okay. 

The EEG done by bedside was positive, no signs of seizure activity during their test. Of course, they couldn't be sure if the epilepsy was the sole reason for the seizure, or if the head injury had played a part in it too. The MOI itself was concerning, a fall from any height could be dangerous, especially one head first. By some miracle stroke of luck, the scans were good. No new brain bleed or skull fracture, no c-spine (or spine in general) injury. His arm wasn't lucky, quite a significant break to his humerus, but bones could heal.

He was transferred up to ICU, the plan to slowly reduce his sedation see where they were up to. Calls were made to SGUH, an attempt to keep on top of things, and they happily agreed with the management plan. They'd cleaned his wounds while he was sedated, the fracture reduced and splinted while they could do anything. Of course, Fao was by his side the entire time, barely refusing to let go of his little brother's hand.

Fao hated it. At George’s, people knew him now, having done placements and spent so much time with Finn, Steve always spoke to him like a doctor, made sure everyone was in the loop, and knew Finn well enough to treat. The team here had been good, of course, but it wasn’t their normal. Everything felt wrong, Fao had gotten lost more than once in the short time they’d been there, and the ICU was unfamiliar. 

When the fuss had subsided, and Finn was left alone (or as alone as he could be), Fao sunk into the chair by his bed, forcing a deep breath. Fred and Sheila had taken five minutes to run to the shop to grab some lunch for the three of them, making Fao promise to keep them updated but not expecting anything. 

Finn’s sedation had been reduced, and he'd slowly started becoming more aware of his surroundings. It took him forever to realise he had something down his throat, forcing air into his lungs, and he hated it. He tossed his head, trying to breathe with it. There was a flare of pain as his arm moved, and he grimaced, trying to get away.

Fao looked up as Finn fussed, reaching to squeeze his hand. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Fao. That meant he was safe, wherever he was. It was easier to try to squeeze Fao's hand than to open his eyes, and though it was weak, it was there.

“I’m here, just relax, you’re okay.” Fao reassured, squeezing Finn’s fingers. 

He finally managed to work out how to open his eyes, fighting through the drugs pulling him down. As awful as it was, Finn had spent enough time in ICU to know how to breathe with the tube. He took a moment to try to relax, his teeth grinding on the hard plastic.

“That’s it, you’re okay.” Fao said, leaning forwards so his brother could see him. “You can breathe with it, you’re okay.”

Finn made to scrub his eyes, moving the arm not holding Fao's hand. The sudden spike in his heart rate was a clear indication of pain and panic, the drugs clouding his thoughts but not enough to stop the pain.

“Careful, don’t try and move too much.” Fao told him gently. 

The pain had him struggling against the tube, overwhelmed and fighting to catch his breath. He gripped Fao's hand tighter, the flash of fear in his eyes not going unnoticed. 

Fao instinctively reached out, running his hand through his hair. “You’re alright, you’re okay. You can breathe with it, just relax, I’m here. You’re just fine.”

He couldn't manage it, couldn't work out why Fao wasn't helping. He pulled his hand away, reaching for the tube. If nobody was going to help him, he'd sort it himself. 

“Leave it alone Finn, it’s okay.” Fao said softly. “Leave it, that’s it.”

As the monitors continued to alarm, the nursing team arrived to check on him. With Fao's attention on the staff coming in, Finn tried again, his fingers grabbing onto the plastic. He pulled as hard as he could manage, choking and retching as he did so.

The retching from his brother pulled Fao’s attention back to him, heart sinking as he pulled the tube. “Oh, Finn.” He mumbled. He let the staff work as much as he could, but gripped his brother’s hand again, trying to distract him. 

He'd dislodged it enough to be a problem, his monitors and observations screaming their displeasure. He was with it enough to follow their instructions, so they made the decision to pull it completely, in a slightly more controlled manner than Finn had attempted. 

It was nerve wracking, watching them pull the tube. Finn had a horrible habit of fighting it and then just refusing to breathe once it was gone, and it was hard to watch. He kept quiet, letting them do their work, and soon enough it was gone properly. Fao held his own breath as he waited for Finn to breathe again, his heart pounding. 

“Well done Finn, that’s it.”

Finn struggled once they'd pulled it, turning to look at Fao with fear as he gripped his hand tighter. He couldn't manage a breath in, convinced he was going to die.

“You can do it, you’re doing so well.” He encouraged. “You’re okay.”

His breath caught in his throat and he coughed again, the tube having irritated his throat already, and then him making it worse as he'd pulled it. With the cough came another, and then finally, finally, a breath in.  He took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes as he rested his head against the bed in exhaustion. 

“Well done.” Fao praised. “You can rest, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

The nurses adjusted the oxygen, reaching over to put a mask on. Finn cracked an eye open and glared at them, completely unimpressed at the situation. 

Fao couldn’t help but laugh. “Finn, don’t be a dick. You need it, it’s not forever, and it’s better than the tube.”

He turned his face away as they tried again, his eyebrows pulled into a frown. 

"Finn, come on. If you don't, we'll have to go more invasive again. Let me put the mask on, okay? We'll be able to take it off later."

Still glaring at them, he nodded in defeat. He didn't look impressed, but let them put it on, hating that he felt better for it. His voice cracked, barely there, but he tried.

"Thanks."

“Suits you.” Fao teased. 

Finn turned to him, his glare returned. "Fuck off."

“Hey, language.”

"'Urts?"

“What hurts?”

"All."

“Can he have some more pain relief?” Fao asked.

"We'll get you something, Finn. Aside from the pain, how are you feeling?"

He shrugged with his good arm. "Dunno."

“That’s alright.”

"Fuzzy." He managed after a while, glancing at Fao. He pulled his hand from Fao's, clumsily signing drink.

“Drink?” Fao echoed. 

Finn nodded, repeating the sign. His throat hurt, which wasn't surprising, but he didn't have the energy to fix it.

“We’ll see if the nurses can get you something to drink.” Fao murmured. 

"What do you want, Finn? Some juice? Water?"

He forced his eyes open again, giving a heavy sigh in discontent. He turned to look at Fao properly, waiting for him to answer for him. 

Fao stroked through his hair again. “Juice, yeah? Better than water.”

The corner of his lip twitched into a smile, and he gave a small nod. Fao always knew the right answer. 

The nurse gave them both a smile. "I'll go get you some juice, then."

“Thank you.” Fao said, settling back in the chair. “Mum and dad will be back in a minute, Finn.”

He cracked an eye open again, drink? Food?

“They went to go get something to eat, yeah.”

He nodded again, shuffling slightly to get comfortable again. The drugs were still strong, and despite the pain in his arm, he was comfortable and warm. His hand found Fao's and he tapped at him: one, two, three. I love you. 

Fao smiled, instinctively tapping back. “I love you too, Finn.”

Finn gave a sleepy smile, lacing his fingers with Fao's. He knew the pain relief and juice were on their way, but he was tired, exhausted from everything, and five minutes wouldn't hurt. 

“That’s it, get some rest.”

He was asleep almost immediately, quite content. His peace was disturbed by the nurse returning, bringing his juice and pain relief.

"Finn? Finn, sweetie, I've got your medicine." 

Finn startled, a moment of panic before his brain caught up through the haze. He nodded again, offering the nurse a smile. 

"Let me find your arm under there, eh? There we are. Just your pain relief." She hummed, giving it slowly. "There you go, all done. I'll leave your drink with your brother, but just small sips, alright? Just give us a shout if you need anything else."

Fao offered the nurse a smile, thanking her for everything before she left. Then they were alone again, and Fao sighed. “Glad you’re okay.” He admitted softly. 

Finn had already drifted, the drugs making the room spin. At Fao's voice he forced himself to look at him. Even though Fao was far from in focus, Finn gave him a dopey smile, squeezing his hand.

Of course Finn couldn’t really reply, but Fao appreciated the smile. “You’re okay.”

Finn was happy enough to drift, Fao's hand in his hair and the other holding his. He was pain free and warm, so slipped quickly. There was a slight commotion as Sheila and Fred returned, but he was too deep to really give much response. 

Fao turned to acknowledge his parents, offering them a small smile. “He tried to do their job and pull the tube, so it’s out now.”

Sheila paused, her eyes narrowed. "When you say he tried to do their job, you mean he pulled it out?"

“Tried, didn’t do a very good job, just dislodged it. He panicked.”

Fred's heart broke. "Bless him. I know it's awful seeing him when he's in here, but I think George's had it right when they restrained him."

Fao nodded. “Yeah, it’s for his own good. They usually keep more meds on hand, too, but they were good. Got the tube out easily enough.”

"Oh that's good, then." Sheila smiled to herself. "Here, I've got you a drink and a sandwich."

“Oh, thanks.” He murmured, reaching for them. 

"He's been alright though?"

“In pain, but he’s just had some more painkillers.”

"His arm?"

“Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t making loads of sense.”

"Does he ever?" Fred joked. 

“That’s true.” Fao said with a grin. 

"You're not even wrong." Sheila managed a laugh.

“He’s okay, though. Communicated well enough.”

"That's good."

“Yeah. And good he’s got rid of the tube.”

"He still ended up here. He's not had such a bad status in a while."

“Yeah.” Fao murmured. “It’ll get discussed with Steve.”

"I hate that we're so far away."

“Me too. Everything is wrong.”

Finn stretched out with a quiet whine, frowning. His eyes flicked around the room, his expression changing to a grin as he saw his parents. 

"Mum! Dad!" His voice was still rough, barely there, but easily heard in the silence of the ICU.

“Yeah, they came back.” Fao said softly. 

Fred reached to pat Finn’s knee. "Hey, kid. How you feeling?"

Finn sniffed. "Rubbish."

“Gonna feel a bit crap for a bit.” Fao said gently. 

"'m sorry."

“Hey, don’t be sorry.”

"My fault."

“It’s not your fault.”

"It is." He scrubbed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, Finn, baby." Sheila soothed, standing to move closer. "It's not your fault, these things happen."

"I should have stayed home." He managed. "I wanted to go out and I forgot to take my meds because Fao was ready."

"Oh, Finn." She sighed.

Fao made a noise, unable to be annoyed when his little brother just looked so upset. “It happens, Finn. It’s okay.”

"An'-and I threw up last night and didn't say 'cause I thought we'd have to go home."

“Oh, Finn.” Fao murmured. “You should’ve said, you must have felt rotten.”

"I thought you'd be mad at me."

“Never mad at you.”

"Of course we wouldn't be mad at you, Finn." Sheila sighed. "That's being daft, eh?"

“Always tell us things, and then we can help.”

The tears had started to fall and he tried to hide his face. "I'm sorry.c

“Hey, it’s okay.” Fao reassured. “You’re okay.”

[anon911andbuddie]

Hi I was wondering if you where still taking prompts if so I had an idea for a Eddie and Buck one where it’s after the lawsuit and Bucky is back working but everyone is avoiding him and when they get a call they leave him behind to clean. All the stress gets to him and one day while everyone is out on a call Bucky had another embolism. He calls 9-1-1 and another house saves him and the 118 comes back to blood on the floor and two fire fighters waiting to tell them what happened.

This one is long overdue. It has been started in my drafts for a long time. And I finally got to finish it. Hope you guys enjoy it.

-Scarlet 📕

Content warnings: Blood, coughing, struggling to breathe, panic, fear, passing out, intubation, pulmonary embolism, ambulances, hospitals, pain, guilt, anger.

Away Team

Buck looked around the empty station and felt the pain in his chest get worse. The call had the full crew out. As the pain persisted Buck realized it wasn't the usual ache that came with working these days. No, this was a different but familiar pain. It hurt, and he felt a cough in his throat, even deep in his chest. He reached up to where his radio should be and remembered he didn't have his radio on him. Why would he? It was just another way for them to yell at him. So he grabbed his phone, and as stupid as it made him feel, he dialed 911. Coughing as he did. He did his best to explain between choking coughs and gasping breaths. He somehow managed to get his location out as he dropped to his knees in the vacant truck bay. He looked down and frowned. He'd just cleaned that floor, and now it had blood on it. Bobby was going to be so pissed. Buck could hear the dispatcher's voice through his speaker, but he was no longer able to understand her. He blacked out.

His consciousness returned with a sudden jolt. The coughing made his chest burn, and something was in his throat. It all hurt. A firm hand stopped him from pulling at the tube in his throat. 

"Easy, Buckley," an unfamiliar voice told him. "You're having a hard enough time already. No need to make it worse." How did they know his name? Where was he? Buck looked around and realized he was in an ambulance. He looked up to see a paramedic he didn't really know. The confusion must have been clear on his face because the paramedic sighed but smiled. 

"You called 911, do you remember?" He thought about it, and he remembered what had happened. He nodded as much as he could. 

"Okay, that's good," the paramedic smiled. "I'm Mel. I work with the 122."

Buck nodded again in acknowledgment.

"I have to ask, Buckley," Mel said. "Dispatch said you told her it was an embolism. You have one before?" 

Buck nodded. 

"You on blood thinners?"

He nodded again. 

"You take your meds today?"

Buck tried to remember if he did. He half shrugged, an action that didn't help his sore and exhausted body. 

"Okay," Mel nodded as she began to check his vitals again. "That is honestly more than I figured I'd get with the tube in. Just relax now, Buckley. We'll be at the hospital soon."

"You seeing this, Bobby?" Chim asked as they neared the station and saw a fire engine that didn't belong to their house in front of the bay's open doors. 

"Yeah," Bobby said as he eyes the truck as they got closer. 

"What the hell is the 122 doing here?" Eddie asked as they pulled in beside the engine. 

"Let's find out," Bobby said as he got out and approached the pair of firefighters that were blocking them from pulling into the station.

"Captain Nash?" One of the men asked.

"That's me," Bobby looked between the men. 

"Is that blood?" Eddie asked as he joined them. He looked around the empty bay. "Wait, where's-"

"Buckley will hopefully be at Good Samaritan by now," the second firefighter said.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, his heart rate picking up as he took it all in. There were discarded gloves and blood on the floor. 

"We were going to ask you the same thing," the first said.

"Who are you?" Chim asked.

"Morris and Jameson from the 122." The one named Jameson said.

"What happened to Buck?" Bobby asked.

"He called 911," Morris said bluntly. "Never had a call to another station before. Our captain said it never really happens.

"Why? Is he alright?" Eddie asked.

"He was coughing up blood," Jameson answered, gesturing to the spots on the floor. “Heard something about an embolism.”

"That can't be right," Eddie said. "He is on blood thinners." 

Morris eyed Eddie skeptically. "Diaz, is it? That's why we're here to talk to Captain Nash. Our captain has a few concerns."

"Where is your captain?" Chim asked. 

"He decided it best to go with Buckley," Jameson told him. “Said the guy sued the department once already and that he wanted to make sure he didn't have any reason to do it again. Best care and all that." 

"He dropped the suit," Hen said. 

Jameson shrugged. "They said that, but we're still confused on how an embolism risk is not only on duty but alone. That seems a bit-"

"He isn't working calls. That is why he was here," Bobby said. "A sort of light duty."

"So you're a man down on calls?"

"For now," Bobby said. 

"Riiight," Morris said. "Might be for a lot longer now."

"So he had another embolism?" Bobby tried to get the conversation back to how Buck is now. 

"It was what dispatch said he managed to say," Jameson answered. "She wasn't sure because sounded like the guy was coughing up a lung, and from how we found him, I believe it. The guy was collapsed on the ground struggling to breathe and coughing up blood. So seemed right to the medics. They got a tube in, we loaded him up and got him out of here."

"Oh, Buckaroo," Hen said as she shook her head. She reached over and gave Eddie's shoulder a squeeze. He'd gone quiet and a bit pale as they listened to them talk. 

"But honestly, we're a bit confused because Deluca used to talk about how close you guys are, but your own guy had to call for us? How does that even happen?"

"It is a long story," Bobby sighed. 

"We got until the boss calls us out, and I'm sure the chief will want to hear." With that, Bobby took the two firefighters to his office.

"You okay?" Hen asked Eddie.

"He is on the blood thinners. How could this happen?" Eddie asked, his eyes glued to the blood splatters on the ground. 

"Well, meds can fail," Hen said.

"But they usually don't-"

"He couldn't remember if he took them," they all looked up to see another member of the 122 come through the doors.

"What?" Eddie asked. 

"Or at least that was what I could figure out with just yes and no questions in the rig," she said. "He might be on them, but he had to have missed more than just one dose for this to happen." She gestured to the mess on the ground.

"He was awake? Is he okay?" Eddie asked. 

"He was conscious and as okay as someone can be with a tube shoved down his throat, though I guess his sister said he'd had a trach before, so I guess he has had worse."

"Maddie is there?" Chim said as he pulled out his phone. 

"If that is his sister, then she was on her way last I heard from my captain."

"But is he-" 

"As fun as this game of 20 questions is, where are Morris and Jameson?"

"In talking to our captain," Hen said.

"Can you take me to them?" The medic asked. 

"Sure, he'll be glad to hear Buck was awake." Hen said as she leads her toward Bobby's office. 

Chim pulled his phone from his ear. "Maddie's not answering."

Eddie rubbed at his face and looked down at the blood again. "Why wouldn't he call us?" 

"You're seriously asking that?" Chim said, causing Eddie to look up at him.

"What the hell does that mean?" Eddie said. 

"I mean, if you haven't noticed, this whole situation is a disaster. I thought that scene at the store was bad, but been more than a bit frosty around here since he came back."

"Don't you put this all on me. That’s-" Eddie said, a sharp edge to his tone.

"I'm not. I just-" Chimney started. 

"This is on all of us," Bobby said as he approached them. "But mostly me. I should have been keeping a closer eye on him." They all watched as the 122 went back to their vehicles and left. 

"Can we go see him?" Eddie asked. 

"After we get this place cleaned up."

Buck woke up to the sound of harsh whispers.

"No, this is all your fault. You had one job, to keep your team safe, including my brother. You don't get to pick and choose who on your team you care about. You are their captain, his captain-"

"Mads," Buck managed to call out. His voice sounded off to his own ears, and his throat felt like someone sandpapered it. But at least the tube was out. 

"Hey, take it easy. Your vocal cords took a bit of a beating," Maddie said as she rushed back to his side and held up a styrofoam cup with a straw. He took a drink, and it helped soothe his throat a bit, but not much. He looked up at the door and saw Bobby standing in it. Buck forced himself not to flinch but must have failed when he felt his sister squeeze his hand. 

"This is what I didn't want to happen," Maddie glared at Bobby. "You-"

"I know this is my fault," Bobby said. "I know I failed Buck. I figured he'd be fine at the station, that he-"

"He is sitting right here," Buck grumbled.

"I know, and I am so sorry Buck," Bobby said. "This should never have happened I-"

"If the 122 hadn't read you the riot act, would you even be here?" Maddie asked.

"Of course, he is still a part of the team, still one of us." Bobby nodded.

"Got a funny way of showing it," Maddie huffed.

"Maddie," Buck cautioned. 

"No, Evan," Maddie held his hand between hers. "They treated you terribly. You dropped the suit and did everything they asked, and they still let this happen."

"They didn't make me miss my meds," Buck admitted.

"About that, Buck, when did you stop taking them?" Bobby asked.

"I didn't intentionally do it. I just ran out and couldn't get to the pharmacy because I had to work."

"You should have told me. I would have-" Bobby started to say.

"Don't," Maddie cut him off. "Do not make him feel bad about this. You assigned his shifts. You assigned him every chore in the book. He could have died, and you guys would have come back and found him dead in the station. The one you are supposed to be in command of."

"I know, and that is something I have to live with,” the captain admitted, “Knowing how close we were to losing Buck, and it was absolutely preventable. If we had just paid more attention."

"Damn right you should have," Maddie said, glaring at him. 

"I know, and you can't possibly know how sorry I am." Bobby turned to look at Buck and took a few steps closer. "If you want to transfer out, I would understand, we all would, and I know nothing can change what we did, but I promise if you come back things will be better."

"Why would I transfer? What house would want the guy that sued his boss and the department?" Buck said, his face reflecting his depressive state. 

"Well, the 122 was quick to call us out. One of the old 118 crew had told them about us, and what they saw didn't mesh with that idea, and they had a lot of questions. You made quite an impression on them. I'm sure you could-"

"You promise if I come back that everyone won't hate me, and I will get to do more than grunt work, right?" Buck asked. 

"I assure you most of the team has already changed their tune," Bobby said.

"I don't know,” Buck said, his doubts clear in his tone. “Eddie was so pissed before-"

"I'm sure if Eddie was still angry he wouldn't be out in the waiting room,” Bobby informed him, “the others too."

"Unless he came to yell at him some more," Maddie grumbled.

"If his reaction when we got back to the station was anything to go by,” Bobby said to try and assure them, “I doubt he'll do much yelling, but only Eddie can really answer that."

"So you are really sure they don't hate me?" Buck asked.

"We don't hate you, Buckaroo," Hen replied. They all looked up to see Hen, Chim, and Eddie at the door. 

"Right," Buck said, not really believing her. 

"Buck," Hen started but was stopped by Eddie.

"You might not believe us now, and that's on us," Eddie said as he moved closer to Buck's bed. "And if we have to earn that back, we will.”

Buck looked up at his sister. “Is this really happening? I’m not dead, right?”

“They’re lucky you aren’t dead, or your lawsuit would look trivial compared to the hell I would have raised,” Maddie admitted without hesitation. “And as tempting as doing it anyway seems and as much as I’d love to see these 3 sweat it, I won’t do that to you.” She squeezed her brother’s hand. “You’ve been through enough.”

“I just want to go back to normal,” Buck said. 

“Evan…” Maddie started.

“We can’t go back, can’t change what is done,” Bobby admitted. “Believe me. I wish I could. But we can do better going forward.”

“And we will,” Eddie stated.

“All of us,” Hen added.

“Yeah, what they said,” Chim nodded. 

Maddie shook her head but asked, “And you’ll make sure he gets back on his feet and stays that way?”

“Of course,” Bobby agreed.

“You swear you’ll actually have his back this time?” Maddie looked at Eddie.

“On my life,” Eddie answered. 

“I will hold you to that, Diaz,” Maddie told him.

“Maddie, please, I just-” Buck started.

“I’m not going to be sorry about holding them accountable, Evan. You wouldn’t be here if they did their jobs. I’m not going to stand here and listen to them make empty promises. They don’t get to try and save their own asses just because another crew called them out.”

“We won't make the same mistake again,” Bobby assured her. 

“I’ll make sure they don’t.” They turned to see Athena standing in the doorway.  

"Good," Maddie says. She did still trust Athena.

"I just want to go back to work," Buck says.

"And you will after you're cleared for duty," Bobby says.

"But they will not be standing in your way this time," Athena says. “Their superiors have assured me.”

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that even I got a call from the fire chief and the captain of the 122. And they will be keeping an eye on things. And so will I."

Buck groans and drops back against the pillows. 

"Evan," Maddie says. "It means they are taking this as seriously as it should be. This sort of thing should never have happened." She glares at her brother's team. "The chief probably just wants to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"And it won't,” Bobby insists. “We'll take whatever punishments the department sees fit. If that's having to put up with inspections and even an investigation, that's fine. We'll do it."

"Technically, I don't think we broke any written rules," Chim points out. Earning a glare from Maddie. "But it was still wrong," he adds. "Hen and I should have stepped in when you came back." 

"We should have been checking in with you on how you were feeling and how the meds were going," Hen adds. "We're the medics on the team. Everyone's well-being is supposed to be even more important to us. And we botched that."

"We never wanted this to happen," Chim says. "No one wants you to suffer."

Buck huffs, but it turns into a cough. 

Eddie is at his side before he can even get a breath in.

"Slow breaths, as deep as you can without it hurting," Eddie tells him. He goes to put a hand on Buck's back, but the younger man flinches. And Eddie pulls away like he was burned. Maddie rubs her brother's back instead. 

"Thank you for the update, but Evan needs his rest," Maddie says sternly. Shutting down any further conversation. "Athena, you are welcome to stay, but I must ask the rest of you to leave."

"Understandable," Bobby acquiesces. "Let us know when you're feeling better, Buck. Then we can discuss your schedule." Buck nods. Bobby turns to the team. "Let's go." He can tell Eddie wants to fight him in this. "We can discuss this later."

Once back at the station, Eddie stares at the now clean spot that was the only hint that Buck had ever been in trouble. 

"Eddie," Bobby starts. "You need to give him time. Maybe we both need to start by telling him why we've been so hard on him. I know you hate seeing him hurting as much as we all do, but Maddie is right. We owe him an explanation. We owe it to him to fix this. To be better. I'm going to go call the chief. We may be in for a tough few weeks, but it's…well, it's deserved. We made this mess. I made this mess. Now it's time to face the consequences." He gave Eddie a pat on the shoulder before heading to his office. 

Bobby was right. They needed to fix it. And Eddie had a good idea of where to start. If Buck was still in the hospital in the morning, Eddie was going to bring Christopher to see him. If he was back home, then he and Christopher would bring him breakfast. Either way, starting tomorrow morning, Buck would have Christopher back. It may take Buck longer to let Eddie back in, but this would be a start. A peace offering. Yeah, that was a good plan. But first, he needed to call Carla and endure whatever lecture he was about to get. She has been Buck's friend longer than Eddie was. She would not be happy about what happened, but he was sure she would help him. She would help for Christopher's and Buck’s sake. She cares for them both. Eddie might have to work to get back in her good graces now too, but maybe a few added paid days off might help. Maybe. Either way, he had a plan.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: intubation, medical

Intubation pain.

That’s the prompt.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2023 - Day 28

This was originally supposed to be for Day 11 but I had an even better idea for that day! c:

TWs: car crash, impalement, hospitals, medically induced coma, intubation mention

Bedridden | Semiconscious | Light Sensitivity

"He's just being kept asleep to make sure that his body has more time to heal. The doctor will check tomorrow to see if he's ready to wake up. " The nurse had explained. "It looks scary, but he's comfortable and not aware of anything."

Bastian didn't give a fuck. He hated it anyway. His Mariano was covered in tape and wires and had tubes going in his arms.

One was going down his throat to help him breathe.

Bastian had even been told that he wasn't allowed to hold Mariano. He could touch him though, as long as he didn't mess with the equipment or electrodes. So he'd be careful.

One of Mariano's chilly hands lay between both of Bastian's. His thumb slid along bandaged, scraped knuckles. He'd have to ask someone for another blanket when they came by again. Mariano always hated when his hands or feet were cold.

Bastian's head ached. No concussion, the scans and doctors said. Scrapes and bruises. Cuts from flying glass. Soreness all through his shoulders, but only in the muscle. Minor whiplash. All of it was minor. Even their backpacks had survived, no worse for wear.

He'd been lucky. Or Mariano had been unlucky. It didn't really matter, in the end.

The silent peaks and valleys on the monitor were steady. The nurses swung by frequently enough to check on how Mariano was doing. They'd had his blood type in stock, and the surgeon had been good at what she did. She was a specialist in this sort of trauma, they'd reassured Bastian.

He just kept replaying it in his head. Their light turning green, and how Mariano shifted gears in his dumb manual car as confidently as always. The sound of the horn blaring at the driver's side. Blinding headlights shining behind Mariano, through his hair. How Mariano's hand braced against Bastian's chest just before everything became chaos, as though he could do anything the seat belt couldn't.

Mariano had looked so calm after that truck had hit his sedan. He'd leaned back in his ruined, crumpled seat once they'd skidded to a stop, dark eyes immediately flicking over Bastian before looking at himself. Even when he'd seen the jagged chunk of plastic door paneling embedded in his upper abdomen, he'd just taken a shaky breath and nodded. His hands had been just as cold when Bastian had held them, then.

It didn't matter how long it took for Mariano to wake up again. It didn't matter how many surgeries he needed. Bastian would still be there at his side, warming his mage's hands for him and making sure he had enough blankets.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

also from intubation! maybe they're waking up from a pretty long surgery or a coma, and when the tube is removed, their throat is so sore that even if they had the strength to speak, it would be too painful to.

whumpee just ends up laying back against the pillows, swallowing with a wince past the roughness, as caretaker sits beside them, stroking their hair.

"I know... I know. you don't need to speak. it's okay."

A character who is hoarse; be it from sustained screaming, smoke inhalation, swollen aftereffects of strangulation, scratchy throat of sickness- rasping out their words, voice laboured and weak and almost painful to listen to as one contemplates just what each word feels like in the cost to force it out.

[lawrencespen1777]

Assorted Whump Prompts

Whumpees taking really hard hits in front of caretaker, but there’s no time to stop and check on them. Caretaker has to keep doing what they’re doing while conscious of whumpee knocked flat on their back and struggling to get up.

Whumpee trying to still participate with the team while sick. Has to keep stopping to puke. They hide it from everyone, but caretaker who tries to get them to slow down.

Fevers that come on suddenly. They’re fine in the morning, shaky and aching by the time they see caretaker at home that evening.

Stoic whumpees having panic attacks after a trauma. Trying to hide them because nobody else is having any reactions or the incident was minor.

Won’t go to the doctor and now has to go to the Emergency Room.

Whumpee that’s doubled over in pain. Caretaker has to help them walk, slowly.

Whumpee that’s too dizzy to stand. Caretaker makes them sit down and stay down.

Whumpee insisting they’re okay after a huge hit to the head just to immediately puke and almost pass out.

Feverish whumpee wakes up in a hospital and freaks out on caretaker. They have to be sedated.

Whumpee coming in and out of consciousness due to illness or pain medicine and having fragmented conversations with caretaker.

Whumpee hiding a long illness until caretaker notices weight loss and/or shaking hands one day.

Caretaker taking whumpee to the ER because they can’t hold down water long enough to take medicine.

Stoic whumpee that really, really can’t handle seeing his own blood.

Whumpee knowing they’re going to probably have to be intubated soon and trying to prepare caretaker.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” when it actually is very much as bad as it looks.

“I’ve got it,” when they actually very much do not got it.

Whumpee has been sick or injured for a very long time and is super weak. Gets mad when they spill water trying to lift the cup to their mouth.

“I think something’s wrong,” after drinking something that tasted off.

Cold sweat knowing they’re going to be sick in a car.

Falling asleep standing up because they’re exhausted. Bonus if they’re talking to someone and suddenly wake up because they reached out to grab their arm as they swayed.

Whumpee getting the breath knocked out of them. Caretaker asking if they’re okay, but they can’t respond just lay on the ground and gasp for air.

[whumpgifathon]

Hello! And welcome to my brand new whump gifmaking challenge! I'm your host @aceofwhump and I'm excited to bring a whump challenge specifically created with gifmakers and visual artists in mind.

The challenge begins August 1, 2024!

Rules:

All gifs posted must be made by you. Do not just post gifs using the gif keyboard and claim them as yours and do not repost other people’s gifs. No AI-generated content please.

Various mediums are welcome! So long as the visual art aspect is the focus you can make whatever you want. Yes this is primarily a gifmaking challenge so everything is geared towards that but any visual art is welcome. If you draw, make moodboards, edits, videos, etc you’re welcome to participate!

You can use the prompts however you like. There is no wrong way to use a prompt. Feel free to interpret them however you wish. If you think it counts as whump? It's whump! Make it! Angst, comfort, emotional whump, small things, big things, it all counts so no need to over think it.

Tag all potential triggers (things like emeto, gore, nsfw, blood, eye whump, rape/noncon, etc.) When in doubt, tag it.

Tags to use when posting so I can find your ppst: #whumpedit, #whumpgifathon, #whump gifs

Please try to include the show/movie title, character names, and episode number (if applicable) somewhere either in your tags or in the post caption. This way anyone interested in watching it can find it easily.

An example of a way you can caption your gifsets:

@whumpgifathon | Day #: "prompt description" Show/Movie title, episode number, character name

And here's the prompt list!!! I hope you guys like it and find it inspiring but not overly challenging!

Remember that this is a relaxed event!!! I just want to offer my fellow visual artists some inspiring prompts and an opportunity to have some fun. So sit back, relax, and have fun!

Text version below:

Whump Gifathon - August 2024 Prompt List

Day 1: Space Oxygen Deprivation | Time Loop | Experiment

Day 2: Feeling Sick Fever | Infection | Delirium

Day 3: Environmental Earthquake | Storm | Hypothermia

Day 4: Captivity Chains | Caged | Rescue

Day 5: Water Shipwrecked | Drowning | Waterboarding

Day 6: Skills Try out a new technique you haven’t tried before using your favorite whump trope as inspiration!

Day 7: Emotional Crying | Panic Attack| Fear

Day 8: Hospital Ambulance | Intubation | Waking Up Disoriented

Day 9: Battlefield Explosion | Gunfire | Field Medicine

Day 10: Temporary Effects Blinded | Amnesia | Poisoned

Day 11: Recovery Sling | Pain | Seeking Support

Day 12: We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Straight Jacket | Forced Injection | Hallucinations

Day 13: Aesthetic Highlight your favorite whump aesthetic

Day 14: Sleeping Nightmares | Exhaustion | Passing Out

Day 15: Trapped Impaled | Buried Alive | Locked Inside

Day 16: Western Cauterized | Bitten | Hanged

Day 17: Comfort Hugging | Blankets | Gentle Touch

Day 18: Broken Broken Bones | Emotional Breakdown | Broken Spirit

Day 19: Relationships What is your favorite type of whumpee/caretaker relationship? Platonic? Romantic? Familial? Show me!

Day 20: Blood Bloody Hands | Bleeding Out | Covered in Blood

Day 21: Fantastical Nonhuman | Resurrection | Magical Healing

Day 22: A Knock to the Head Headache | Knocked Out | Bloody face

Day 23: Travel Gone Wrong Car Accident | Plane Crash | Train Delrailment

Day 24: Magic Magical Exhaustion | Cursed | Possession

Day 25: Period Drama Pick a time period of your choice and highlight the whump!

Day 26: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying Grief | Resuscitation | Presumed Dead

Day 27: Superheroes Overused Powers | Powers with a Side Effect | Villain

Day 28: Torture Beaten| Flogging | Choked

Day 29: Restrained Zipties| Rope Leash | Medical Restraints

Day 30: First Aid Ice Pack | Stitches | Bandages

Day 31: Colors Highlight a specific color in your art

Alternate Prompts:

"Stay With Me" Begging Heat Exhaustion Bedside Vigil Self Surgery Taser Scar Reveal Collapsing Protective Electrocution

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

🎃⁀➷ 31 days, 31 tropes for Whumptober *ੈ✩‧₊˚🕷️🍂

1. hypothermia

2. bleeding out / exsanguination

3. intubation

4. field amputation

5. strangulation

6. gunshot wounds

7. hallucinations / delirium

8. bruises

9. broken bones

10. induced coma

11. drown / hypoxemia

12. blood seeping through bandages

13. panic attack

14. hidden injuries

15. vomiting

16. hyperventilation

17. severe burns

18. character going into shock

19. heatstroke

20. allergic reactions

21. psychological trauma

22. stab wounds

23. asystole

24. infection / character’s blood or wounds become septic

25. character getting poisoned

26. amnesia

27. force feeding

28. night terror

29. surgery / vivisection / autopsy

30. electrocution / shock therapy

31. character haunted by ghosts of a.) their victims whom they’ve killed, b.) people they failed to save, c.) their loved ones, d.) their enemies — the choice is yours

TAP HERE FOR; 31 DAYS, 31 SPOOKY PROMPTS FOR WHUMPTOBER

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1377

Whumptober #27: Voiceless | Laboratory

Your whumpee is kept in a laboratory to be tested on. They undergo many surgeries for the scientists to take samples, make modifications and conduct tests. If your whumpee has powers, maybe they’re trying to find the source/to what extent the powers affect the whumpee. If they’re a creature-of-sorts, maybe they’re trying to study their body/see how they can genetically recreate their traits. Maybe your whumpee is just human, but due to their advanced skill set, the scientists go looking for some super-human aspects that just aren't there. 

Due to the nature of the surgeries, the whumpee is almost always intubated. However, the scientists are far from careful when doing so/removing the tube. This results in the whumpee’s vocal cords being damaged. As a result, they feel even more helpless as they can’t even articulate curses at their torturers, nor can they comfortably talk/sing to themselves when they’re alone.

Your whumpee remains voiceless and powerless during the ordeal, to the point that they just give up.

[whumplump]

Day 24 of @augusnippets

Prompt used: medical complications (bonus prompt)

CW: medical whump, sickfic, mentioned lung injury, mentioned intubation

Although it dawned and dusk every day, that strong white light in the hospital seemed like it was always daytime. Whumpee woke up but immediately closed their eyes shut, uncomfortable with the brightness. Caretaker's hand holding theirs made them feel a little calmer.

Caretaker could hear the distant sound of the mask helping Whumpee breathe. They squeezed their hand to get their attention.

“The doctor said your lungs are really bruised, Whumpee." They came closer to whisper the last part, being careful with Whumpee's sensitive ears to loud sounds. "They said they might have to intubate you."

Whumpee's eyes brimmed with tiredness. They weren't listening properly because of their deplorable state. If they were, they would certainly be panicking.

Caretaker reached out to stroke their sick friend's hair.

"It's going to be okay... It's going to be like taking a long nap…”

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

The long awaited pt2 to the pneumonia/intubation Whump post (this one)...

Caretaker's glad Whumpee's so out of it from all the meds they're on. If they were more aware, they'd likely be terrified.

After all, the equipment that the doctors are pulling over on carts, laying out on the sheets, is enough to make Caretaker feel nauseous- they keep eyeing the metal device the doctor checks over, the one that muted whispers have denoted as the 'laryngoscope'.

They sit beside Whumpee's bed (they're allowed to for the time being, until Whumpee's actually asleep and the real procedure has to begin), holding the hand that hasn't been invaded by a cannula site. A nurse is positioned at Whumpee's other side already pumping them full of drugs that have Whumpee drifting, eyes open but barely there. Caretaker strokes their hair, giving them a wobbly smile as yet another dose of something or other is pushed into Whumpee's cannula.

"I'm right here, whumpee. I'm right here with you, sweetheart. Just try to relax."

The latter message is more for themselves than Whumpee, if they're honest. They're the one with a racing heartbeat- Whumpee's is slower now, as indicated by the dull beep-beep of the monitor they're hooked up to. Their breaths are slower too, so shallow that if they weren't already due to be intubated, Caretaker would be slamming on the emergency button.

"Propofol's going in now." One of the doctors says. Caretaker knows enough to understand that this means sleep, for Whumpee, is imminent.

Sure enough, within seconds of the syringe's plunger being pushed down, a glaze enters Whumpee's eyes, the lids becoming heavy. They open their mouth, tongue darting out to wet chapped lips for a moment as if they want to speak, but Caretaker, unshed tears in their eyes, shushes them gently.

"Hey, just sleep now, alright? Everyone's looking after you. Sweet dreams, Whumpee. Night night."

Whumpee's glassy gaze fixes on Caretaker's, narrowing and narrowing as their eyes drift closer to being closed until...

Out.

Caretaker leans forward, lower lip trembling slightly, and kisses Whumpee on the forehead, just as the doctor steps up behind them.

"Alright, we're gonna get started now. it's probably easier for you to wait outside and-"

"No." Caretaker interjects, tears nearly spilling over. "Sorry, no, I- I need to be here. I won't... I won't get in your way, I promise, I just- I need to be here for them."

And so they remain. They remain when the doctors place the mask over Whumpee's face, murmuring to each other about sats and correct timings. They remain when the principal anaesthesiologist brushes a fingertip below Whumpee's eyelashes, checking for movement and finding none. They remain when the same anesthesiologist stands behind Whumpee's head, removes the mask and tilts Whumpee's chin towards them, gently pulling open their mouth and sliding the laryngoscope in.

The blade slips into place too easily, Caretaker thinks. there's too little resistance. Whumpee should be gagging, thrashing about, screaming for help, but instead they lay unconscious and unmoving as it's driven deep into their throat, pushing their tongue out of the way to give the doctors a clear view of their vocal cords.

"Tube." the anesthesiologist says tersely. That long snaking tube, already lubricated, is placed atop a gloved palm.

Caretaker is tempted to look away as it's inserted, but their eyes are fixed. They watch as it's threaded past the laryngoscope, through the opening of the vocal cords that only the doctor can see. They watch as it slots fully into place and the anesthesiologist adjusts it, leaving it to rest against Whumpee's lower lip for only a moment before the cuff is inflated and the ventilator is hooked up to it instead.

And as the circuit is completed, Caretaker would think Whumpee dead- their eyes are closed, everything is so still, and whenever the tube needs a slight adjustment, they're floppy beneath the touch of the adjuster. Only when Caretaker looks closer do they see the continual, regular fogging of the tube with each assisted breath Whumpee takes- a sign that they're living, at least.

The anesthesiologist glances over at the screen, which to Caretaker looks merely like a smattering of numbers and wave forms.

"We've got N tidal CO2. Everything's connected. Secure the tube and continue to monitor."

With that, they step away, their primary task complete, and a nurse steps in instead- already equipped with an ET tube holder. Caretaker watches them gently press one of the sticky pads against Whumpee's cheek, then moving to the other cheek to apply the other pad. Between them, the tube is secured in place, and at last Whumpee is... Whumpee is...

Caretaker doesn't even realise they've moved to the bedside until they shakily lower themselves into the seat there, listening to the wooshing of the ventilator and the beeping of so many monitors.

Whumpee is... sick. really sick.

They've known it for a long time, of course, but seeing Whumpee intubated, sedated in an intensive care unit, their cheeks pale, sweat beading on their brow... it hammers reality home even further.

Home.

Whumpee isn't going to be going home for a long while yet.

[faofinn]

DAY 10: difficulty breathing

@febuwhump

When Fao’s phone rang in the middle of the night, he startled awake, fumbling for it in the dark. He’d been out for dinner that night, definitely wasn’t sober, but the adrenaline was already doing a pretty good job of fixing that. They didn’t give him much information over the phone, just that they’d got a GSW and their rough location, in code so they’d be safe if anyone else happened to be listening. They were too far out to get back to the basement, and Fao would need to meet them halfway to treat. 

He woke Ely, gave her a quick update, and pulled on some clothes, the first thing he found on the floor, his shirt and trousers from the evening. He didn’t have time to go looking for anything else, and bolted out of the house. There was kit in his car, and he knew there was kit in the van. He wasn’t sure what he’d need, but between both he’d probably have everything he needed. He sped through the streets to the meet location he’d been given, ditched his car somewhere safe, and scrambled into the van. 

“What am I doing? Talk to me.” He asked breathlessly. 

Harrison had become combative as he deteriorated, struggling between conscious and not. It scared the men, and they'd all taken a step back, too uncomfortable to help.

Fao was a welcome sight, his reputation preceding him. 

"Uh, Harrison got shot. He won't let us near him, so we haven't."

Fao’s heart sank. Of course it was Harrison. “Oh, good. Just him bleed out all over the van, then.” He snapped, quickly throwing his hair up into a bun. “I need proper light, one of you sort that.” His voice was cold, commanding, rolling his sleeves up and quickly looking Harrison over. It wasn’t hard to see where the blood was coming from, and he shifted his weight to brace himself as he grabbed gauze and put as much pressure on it as he dared. “You. Come here, take over the pressure.”

“I, uh, I…” 

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it. Cover my hands with yours and hold the pressure until I say otherwise. Unless you want to start an IV? No? Didn’t think so.” He snapped, as the other man took over. He wiped his bloody hands off on his shirt, and shifted over slightly to Harrison’s arm, eyes looking critically for a vein as he rifled through the kit. 

The pain somehow got worse. Harrison wasn't sure how, but it did. He cried out through gritted teeth, trying to arch away. It took a moment to coordinate, but he started swinging, trying to get away. 

Fao ducked out of the way, catching Harrison’s fist and gently forcing his arm back down. “Harrison? It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s Fao, I’ve got you. Try and relax, you’re safe now. I’m helping, alright? Let me help.”

"He's going to hit me!"

“He’s half unconscious, try harder to dodge him.” Fao shot back. “I’m working as fast as I can.” He gritted his teeth as he tried desperately to get a vein, struggling with poor light and Harrison’s struggling. He got one eventually, shouting triumphantly. It wasn’t enough, and he wanted more access, but he could at least get some pain relief in, hopefully settle him. 

Harrison twisted as Fao shouted, whining as he tried to get away. His chest heaved as he struggled to get his breath, the feeling he was drowning all too much. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Fao soothed. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay, Hars. Just focus on doing that breathing, let me to do the rest. Giving you something for the pain, now, gonna make it easier.” He told him, quickly checking the drug before he gave it. 

His shouts died down into cries, quiet whimpering softly to himself. The pain had started to ease slightly, making it easier to focus. It made breathing more difficult, though, and he couldn't stop the panic coursing through him. 

“You’re okay, that’s it. Well done, keep breathing for me.”

He turned his head, looking towards Fao's voice. "Help."

“I’m helping, I promise.”

"It hurts." He managed, finally managing to focus on him. 

“I know, I know. I’ve given you some painkillers, they’ll work soon.” 

"'m dying."

“No you’re not. Just focus on your breathing for me, let me sort the rest.”

"I am." 

“That’s it, good.” Fao reassured. There was so much blood, and he was really struggling to properly control it. The van went over a bump and jolted, and Fao tried to brace himself on his knees. “Fucking hell.”

Harrison whined, trying to pull away from the pain. It was everywhere, though, and there was nothing he could do.

“Well done, that’s it.” He soothed. “I’ve got you.” He stretched for his kit, rifling through to try and find what he needed. He needed a trained someone, anyone who he could trust. Not Harrison’s little team. 

Frustrated and tired, he started fighting against the other man. He got a solid elbow in their ribs, the relief of pressure against his side just bliss. 

“I know, I know.” Fao murmured, moving to try and pack the wound. 

He twisted again, curling away from Fao. His scream died on his tongue, his hands pushing against Fao's. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” Fao muttered. He was happy enough with the packing, and moved to try and get a listen to Harrison’s chest. It was loud on the van, and he struggled to keep his balance as he listened, swearing to himself. 

Harrison could feel himself slipping, the ceiling of the van swimming in and out of focus. Even the pain couldn't keep him conscious, his head lolling.

Fao’s stomach twisted as Hars lost consciousness, but he was relieved in a way. At least he wasn’t in pain. He didn’t like what he was hearing at all from his chest, and dug in his kit to find what he needed for a chest drain. It certainly wouldn’t be perfect, but it would do. He didn’t even bother talking to the other men as he grabbed a scalpel, found his landmark, and made the cut. 

He definitely felt that, and he cried out again, but he wasn't with it any more. The men beside Fao retched, especially as blood quickly poured from the drain.

Fao rolled his eyes as the men retched. What he wouldn’t give for Steve or Finn or someone. Trying to manage this completely on his own wasn’t working. He took a set of obs as best he could, blood soaking his trousers and making them cling to him. The numbers he got back were more than a bit concerning, despite his interventions, and they weren’t getting any better. Fuck. 

Harrison coughed and choked, spots of blood on his lips. His resps were through the roof, his heart rate doing its best to compensate for his blood pressure circling, for his blood volume pooling on the floor. He managed to catch Fao's eye, and he met his gaze with panic and fear in his eyes. 

Fao locked eyes with Harrison. “I’ve got you, Tomcat. You’re gonna be okay.” He told him firmly. Things were just consistently getting worse, though, and Fao felt considerably out of control. He gave as much TXA as he felt he could, but it wasn’t close to enough to help the bleeding. 

“How far out are we?” He snapped, asking whoever cared to listen. 

"We've still got at least fifteen minutes."

“Fuck’s sake.” 

Hars could feel himself slipping again, missing parts of the conversation. He grabbed for Fao's top, his hand leaving more bloodied streaks across it. 

"I want Steve."

“We’re gonna be with him really soon, Hars.” Fao murmured. “He’s gonna be waiting for us at home.”

He shook his head. "I'm not gonna make it."

“As if I’m giving up on you. I’m gonna make sure you’re okay, alright? Hold on for me.”

He knew Fao was trying his best, and he’d continue to do nothing but. He trusted Fao with his life, and they unfortunately kept ending up in situations where it was tested. It didn’t take a genius to know he wasn’t okay, and the small bit or working brain he had left had worked out it probably wasn't going to end well. 

He forced his eyes open again, though he didn't remember closing them. "It's okay."

Fao’s repeat set of obs were no better. In fact, they were worse. He swallowed thickly, digging around in his pocket for his phone. He needed to talk to Steve, needed someone medical he could talk to, to reassure him he wasn’t completely out of his mind. 

He chucked it on the floor of the van on speaker as it rang, and he prayed he’d answer. 

"Fao, talk to me. I heard the call for medical."

“It’s Hars, and it’s bad. We’re still miles out, in the back of a shitty van, and all I have is my kit.”

Hars stirred again. "Steve?"

"Hey, Hars. You causing problems for Fao, eh?" He tried to sound light for him, but even he could hear the waver in his tone. He cleared his throat. "What's happened with him? Head to toe, obs, and what kit do you have?"

“GSW, it’s gone just under his vest, entry is the abdo but exit is further up into the chest. Haemothorax on the right. I’ve got a drain in but it’s putting out so much fucking blood. Pulse 138, BP 76/50, SpO2 94 on high flow, Resps sitting at 36, he's still not getting chest rise on the right. He's with it enough, but he's starting to pass out and stay out. I've given the TXA but it's just not stopping. The floor is covered, I'm covered. It’s my kit, it’s decent. Airway kit, ket, paralytics, TXA. I’m just out of my fucking depth here, nobody else knows a fucking thing and I feel like I’m going insane.”

Steve took a moment. Well, fuck. "Right. Take a breath. Reassess, keep going ABCs. You need to get on top of that bleeding. He's not going to be able to compensate forever. Have you got anything to give? Will they follow instructions?"

“I know he won’t compensate forever.” Fao snapped. “I’ve got saline but no blood. They’re fucking useless, hadn’t touched him at all when I showed up. Not even put pressure on.”

"Fucking hell. Okay. Fluid bolus, see if that helps his pressure at all. He's not going to hold his airway by himself if he goes, so just be careful."

Fao quickly set up the fluids, wiping his hands on his trousers as he struggled with the connectors. Fluids running, he forced himself to breathe. “Alright. Fluids in. I want to sort his airway before it becomes a problem.”

"If you're thinking RSI, you need to trust they can help." 

"Steve." Harrison interrupted again, apparently unaware of the conversation. 

“I don’t think I’m going to have a choice, Steve. I’m watching him deteriorate in front of me, and we’re still miles out.”

"You can see him, not me. Do what you think is best."

Unimpressed by Steve's lack of response, he shoved at Fao with a frustrated grunt. "Steve."

Fao huffed. “Thank you, Hars.” He muttered under his breath. “He’s very insistent that he wants you, Steve.”

"Hars, we're just trying to help you."

"No." He shook his head, though Steve couldn't see, and Fao wasn't sure he didn't realise that. 

“We are, I’m doing my best right now Hars. Focus on breathing like I said.” 

He sniffed, setting himself off coughing again. The pain exploded again, despite the morphine, and, once more, slipped under. 

God, it was just getting worse. He hated watching Harrison slip into unconsciousness again, powerless to stop it. 

"Fao, talk to me." Steve's tone was tense, and Fao could hear him pacing. 

“Unconscious again, I’m repeating obs.” Fao replied, his own tone similarly tense. 

"Come on, Hars. Don't do this." Steve murmured, wishing he was there with them. 

The blood pressure cycled, protesting at the numbers. It continued tightening, way into the two hundreds, and Harrison gave a whine. He tried to pull away from it, panicked. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just give it a minute, I know it’s uncomfy.” Fao murmured, but it wasn’t a good sign. He knew full well it wasn’t high enough to need that kind of pressure - it was just struggling for a read full stop. 

Harrison, of course, didn't listen. He twisted away, an unintelligible shout in both pain and frustration. 

"Hars, listen to Fao. He's looking after you."

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” Fao tried vainly to soothe. But sure enough the blood pressure gave up, failing to get a read, and Fao’s stomach dropped. “Fluids haven’t done shit. It won’t even read, just cycles until it gives up.”

"You're going to have to give more, you can't RSI that low. Has he got a radial?"

It took Fao a moment. “No. Nothing.” 

"Give him fluids."

“I might as well just pour them on the fucking floor.” Fao muttered, but swapped the bag over to give more. 

"Just try."

“Yeah, they’re running.”

Harrison screwed his face up, managing to squint at Fao. He was sure he'd heard Steve too, but the huddle of men behind Fao were too small to be him. 

“That’s it Hars, you’re alright.” Fao said softly, half as reassurance for himself. 

"Where's Steve?" He slurred, more of a mumble than anything. 

“On the phone with me.” Fao replied. 

"Right here, Hars."

“Both of us are looking after you.”

"Sorry."

“Don’t apologise.” Fao said firmly. 

Harrison lapsed back into silence, somewhere between conscious and not. As the blood pressure started again, he whined once more, but didn't pull away. 

Harrison’s blood was drying on his hands, as Fao waited for the machine to read, praying it would give him something. Just a number would be better than the endless cycling. 

Harrison's breath caught in his throat again, and his frown deepened. He knew Fao was looking after him, and Steve was there too, somewhere. He could see Fao leaning over him, doing things in slow motion. Which left Steve..

"Dad?"

Fao’s stomach twisted, and the noise Steve made over the crackled phone line was less than dignified. 

“I’m right here, Hars. I’m right here, I’ve got you.” He replied, his voice wavering. “You’re going to be okay.”

He seemed to have a sudden rush of energy, though his observations were still terrible, and his prognosis even worse. 

"Thank you." He muttered softly.

Fao sucked in another deep breath, forcing himself to re-focus. He had to keep doing this. “Blood pressure is a little less shit. I’ve at least got a number.”

"That's good." Steve managed. 

Harrison reached for Fao’s hand, for a moment of comfort in his desperation. 

Fao squeezed his fingers. “I’ve got you.” He murmured. He laid out his airway kit with the other hand, leaving smears of blood all over it, though he didn’t notice. He needed the blood pressure up a bit more before he could fully RSI, but it never hurt to prepare. 

The squeeze managed to help, a tiny hint of a smile gracing Harrison's blood-splattered lips. He tried his best, his fingers twitching in Fao's before his eyes rolled. It didn’t take long for things to go south, as Hars took a breath and then stopped. 

“Fuck.” Fao muttered, snatching up his kit. He couldn’t put this off any longer now, he needed control of his airway. Unsure just how conscious he was, having watched him flick in and out, Fao chatted away to him as he sorted it, half to keep himself from losing it. “Alright Hars. That’s you finding your limit, hmm? It’s okay, I’ll take over from here. Got some meds to get you off to sleep now, so you can have a nap whilst I do the hard work.” He quickly pushed the ket, watching him carefully. There were men clustered around Harrison’s head, and Fao snapped at them to move, which they did. Happy with his sedation, he pushed his roc, bagged until he was happy with it, and snatched up his tube and laryngoscope. He was rusty with his intubations, of course, so what better time to practice than in a dark, moving van covered in blood? But Harrison, for all he made Fao’s life difficult, apparently wasn’t a difficult airway, and Fao got it first time. He shouted triumphantly, checked his placement, and then secured it. 

“Tube’s in, airway’s secure.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. "Good. Well done."

Fao couldn’t breathe for Harrison forever, not if he was going to continue to manage the bleeding. “Which one of you lot is the most competent here? Who’s not a complete idiot?” He asked. 

They were all quiet, slightly afraid of Harrison and definitely afraid of Fao. After a moment, one of them stepped forward.

"I can help. What do you need?"

Fao looked up. “Are you capable of breathing?” 

"For him?"

Fao huffed. “Essentially, yes. Every time you take a breath, I want you to squeeze this to breathe for him, too. Can you do that?” He asked, demonstrating. “I can’t sit here and do it, I’ve got other stuff to do.”

Panic flashed across his face. "Okay. Yeah." He swallowed, taking a moment. It was Harrison. He'd got him out of shit so many times before, it was only fair to return the favour. "I can do that."

“Just whenever you breathe, breathe for him too. Just got to think about breathing. Okay?”

"Okay." He moved to take Fao's place. "I can do that."

“Shout if you get stuck.” Fao murmured, and moved away, to carefully take yet another set of obs, praying they were better than before. 

Steve hated being so far away, so unable to do anything. "Fao, talk to me."

“I’m taking obs.” Fao shot back. “I’ll tell you stuff when I know it.”

"You just went silent. I need to know what's happening."

“I’m trying to concentrate!”

"Fine, hurry up."

“Going as fast as I can.” He muttered. For once, Harrison’s obs had trended slightly upwards, and Fao was glad of it. “A bit better. SpO2 has come up, as has his BP.”

"Good. The tube will be helping with his sats."

“Yeah, that’s why I did it.” Fao said flatly. 

"I just mean that he's not going to be resping at fifty or some shite."

“Yeah.”

"How's the bleeding doing?"

“Still fucking bleeding.”

"I've put a call out for more blood, you just need to get back."

“I’ll need the whole trauma setup.” Fao muttered, doing his best to manage the bleeding. “Can you go up and wake Ely? I’m going to need her.”

"Everyone's up. They're just sorting the basement out."

“Good.” Fao was relieved he had a team waiting for him. 

"If the second lot of fluids helped, you can give him another 500 bolus."

“It’s helped, but I don’t know for how much longer. I’ve got no pressors, and limited fluids.”

"You just need to get him back. If he's still got pressure, give it."

“Giving it now.” He muttered, trying to push his hair out of his face. 

"Give me a run down of his obs once you've done that."

He finally got it connected and running, discarding the spent bag. His ‘assistant’ was doing well ventilating, surprisingly, and so he quickly started on obs. He hated having to do this in such an old fashioned manner, he missed his hospital conveniences and continuous monitoring. 

But as he started, he just knew it was wrong, and when he didn’t find a pulse, his stomach twisted. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 25-26 & 29-31

Prompts: Can’t stay awake | “You’re safe.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drugging, Overdose, Allusions to past child abuse

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You shouted, keeping your eyes on Daryl while Tomi loudly rummaged through cabinets and drawers behind you. “Daryl. Daryl, stay awake.”

“M’tired.” The archer mumbled, eyelids heavy, breaths slowing before your eyes. 

“Tomi!” You snapped again. 

“They injected him with some sort of opioid. I need narcan.” Things were flying around, hitting the floor as the surgeon continued his frantic search. “How’s his breathing?”

“Too slow.” You shook Daryl again. Each time he responded, you felt a short lived relief but it never lasted long. “Daryl, stay with me. Look at me.”

“Y/N…tired…”

“I know but you can’t sleep.” Those normally sharp blues were dull, his pupils contracted to barely there black dots inside the pale cerulean. His eyes closed, head lolling forward. “Daryl? Daryl!” He inhaled sharply, giving you hope that he might regain a normal breathing pattern. 

He didn’t. 

“Can’t…can’t stay…”

“You have to. Just for a few more minutes okay?” You hadn’t seen when the man had used the syringe, only catching Daryl yanking it from his neck to angrily toss it aside before plunging his knife through the attacker’s skull. It wasn’t even a minute before the archer staggered back against the wall and slid down to where he still sat. “Tomi!” When Daryl’s eyes closed this time, he didn’t reopen them. 

“I’m trying!”

“Daryl!” His breaths were further and further apart, agonizing torture to know that one would eventually be his last. 

“If he stops breathing, you need to breathe for him.”

“Al-alright.” You could do that. You placed two fingers to his neck, counting the beats over and over, witnessing that number fall each time. “Please, please.”

“Got it!” Tomi dropped down beside the archer, foregoing any measure of sterilizing to just jab the needle into the muscle of Daryl’s bicep. 

“What now?”

“We wait. He never stopped breathing. The narcan should level him out enough to move him safely.” The nod you gave was curt and unbidden, your sole focus was the rise and fall of Daryl’s chest. “Okay. Okay, good. It’s picking up. I’ll get a stretcher. Keep watching his breathing.” Another nod. 

“Daryl, can you hear me?” Unresponsive. At least each breath was coming in at a slow, but steady pace. You could work with that for now. The wheels of the stretcher were loud in the otherwise empty hospital.

“Vitals are stable for now. I grabbed all the narcan but we need to have access to intubation supplies and IV fluids.” At your confused expression, he added, “I’ll need to insert a tube to help him breathe for a while if he struggles to on his own.”

You nodded calmly before the two of you struggled and fumbled to get Daryl onto the stretcher. Truthfully, the thought of Daryl needing a machine to keep breathing was horrifying. For that moment, you just continued to watch his chest, breaths remaining steady and unlabored. 

It took only moments for an IV to be inserted and fluids to begin running into the archer’s hand. His breathing slowed only once more and one last dose of narcan was administered. 

Hours later, Tomi concluded that Daryl was out of danger and would likely wake up at any moment. So you waited, instinctively listening for danger as employees returned to the hospital, the walkers having been cleared as well as the living threats, thanks in part to the man on the bed in front of you. 

You couldn’t wait to get him home and sleep for at least a day, snug against his side with your head over his heart, able to hear each beat and feel each breath. 

Finally, his fingers twitched in your hold, his head rolling back and forth on the pillow, face scrunching. 

“Daryl?” You stood, leaning over him. He hated hospitals. The memories of so many visits when he was a child, broken bones and open wounds at the hands of his father. You wanted to be the first person he saw and heard, in hopes of easing that anxiety. 

His eyes were clouded, tired and unfocused, when they finally landed on you. “Where ‘m I?” He slurred, still appearing to be exhausted and slightly influenced by the drug working its way through his system. 

“You’re in the hospital. You’re safe and you’re gonna be okay.” You squeezed his hand, smiling when he weakly reciprocated. 

“Tell me what happened?” His eyes were already trying to close, most likely without his permission but leaving him with no choice. 

“When you wake up. I’ll tell you everything when you wake up.”

Daryl hummed and inhaled deeply before settling into a peaceful sleep; one you didn’t fear and from which you knew he would wake. For now, though, you’d rest your head on the hand holding his and count his breaths like counting sheep until you joined him in blissful unawareness. 

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Intro Post

This is an 18+ fetish blog. I am 37, cis queer woman. I was on old birth kink Tumblr before the purge and am back now after a few years.

I mostly write short birth stories on reblogs and sometimes some original longer fiction. I don't RP. You can send story prompts, if you like, but no guarantee I'd ever get to them.

Likes:

Long, very painful labors

Long pushing and crowning

Hospital births (stirrups, IV's, catheters, being monitored)

Medical intervention when the patient is struggling (forceps, vacuum, episiotomy)

Painful birth injuries (broken pelvis, broken tailbone, serious tears, ruptured uterus)

Surgical intervention (either a c-section after a very difficult vaginal attempt or repair of birth injuries, up to and including hysterectomy)

Post birth pain (crying while delivering the placenta, whining while tears are stitched up, in a lot of pain going in to or being wheeled out of surgery, being really sore after birth)

Nursing struggles (engorged breasts, pain while nursing, being milked with a breast pump while tears are sewn up or the patient is waking up from surgery)

Not birth related, necessarily, but I also love gynecological and abdominal surgery fantasies, especially around the patient being intubated and then waking up in a lot of pain.

Dislikes:

Children in the room while the person is birthing

Water births

Sensual births (I'd rather their face be screwed up in pure agony, not ecstasy)