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sandershospitalau · 4 years

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The Extra Late Night Show

What can I say except surprise?

CW: Surgery, Mentions of Death, suggested death, Talk Shows, POV Second Person, Remus being gross, Virgil mention, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, only a tiny bit of angst at the end, Mostly funny

Archive of our Own

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You blend into the Miami crowds, lost in your own world. You consistently check your pocket to make sure your phone was still there. At this point, you aren’t entirely sure where you are. It's a nice part of town by the look of it, with shiny buildings on either side of the packed road and crowds mulling around you without a care in the world. You have quite a bit to do, but who would want to be doing that? The only way you can think of procrastinating is to take a walk.

You can almost feel the endless viruses floating into your mouth as you pass a gigantic building with more windows than walls. A large open courtyard pushes the building back from the road. Smooth paths cut through tenderly planted flowerbeds, looping around a large statue. The stone statue is a woman with a cloak draped around her modest black dress. She holds her hands to her torso. One hand loosely grips a large crucifix while the other nurses a tiny bouquet of flowers. Oh, now you know where you are! This is the main entrance to St. Gemma's Hospital! You passed by the statue a year ago to visit a friend who had heart surgery here. They got stuck with a pretty big bill (the joys of the American healthcare system), but the doctors did a fairly good job. You’re so distracted by the pretty statue, you’re not prepared for something to fly into your head and send you tumbling into the nearest stranger.

As you get your bearings, you look around for whoever hit you. Standing against the hospital wall with a trash bag over their back like a greasy Santa Claus is someone wearing a dark green jumpsuit, grinning wildly at you.

“Enjoy the show!” the person squeals. Before you can say anything, they race off, the trash bag jumping against their back. You look down at what the person threw at you. It’s a DVD, sitting in a clear case. There’s something written on the case cover in Sharpie.

The Extra Late Night Show!

Starring Remus Duke!

Now, when someone throws a mysterious DVD at you, the usual reaction should probably be to throw the DVD away. But you’ve got nothing better to do. So, nursing your aching head, you pick up the case and make your way towards home. You’ve got a movie to watch.

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The footage pops to life. You see a small office space, or what someone attempted to look like an office space. Shelves line the walls covered in cleaning supplies and napkins. The desk in the middle is a child’s school desk. The nameplate on the desk reads ‘Remus Duke’. Someone begins humming from somewhere off-camera.

“Do do Do do DoOoOoOoO,” they hum. “Do do Do do dooooooooo. Do do Do do Do! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Do do do do do!” Someone pops out from behind the desk. It’s the same greasy person you saw throw the DVD at you!

“Welcome to the Extra Late Night Show!” The person chirps. “I am your Duke of Dirt and King of Chaos, Remus! As always, I have my loyal cameraman, Mitchell!” The camera shakes slightly.

“Dude, this place is a mess,” the cameraman, Mitchell, huffs.

“It’s a janitor’s closet, I don’t know what else you expected,” Remus laughs.

“I thought you had OCD,” Mitchell mutters.

“Nah, my writer decided to throw that out,” Remus scoffs.

“Huh?” Mitchell asks.

“Anywho, welcome to tonight’s show!” Remus declares, dramatically waving his hand overhead. “We’ve got a wonderful line-up for you, folks. Starting off tonight, we’re taking you on a tour of the geriatrics bathrooms! One of the grossest places in St. Gemma’s! Sprinkled throughout this show like eyeball shavings, we’ll include everyone’s favorite segment, Dumpsters of Miami, where I review the contents of my latest dumpster dive, alongside Emergency Room Horror, What’s In My Mouth, and tonight’s Top 5 Hottest Patients! Number 3 will surprise you!”

“You do know I have to work tonight,” Mitchell scoffs.

“Like anyone is going to notice one missing anesthesiologist!” Remus grunts, sitting on his desk.

“Yeah, my boss,” Mitchell huffs. “And the people I’m operating on.”

“But those segments will be highlighting tonight’s main event!” Remus continues. “We’ll be following Dr. D on his rounds tonight as he operates on burn victims and terrifies patients with his morbid scars!”

“Hold up,” Mitchell stammers. The camera pans down, showing Mitchell’s scrubs. “Dr. D? We can’t follow that guy! He’ll rip our skin off!”

“He’s a kitten,” Remus scoffs, waving his hand dismissingly. “We’re friends! It’ll be fine, trust me. Now come on, the geriatrics ward is calling our names!” Mitchell groans and turns off the camera. You decide to fast-forward through the geriatrics ward segment.

You stop at a clip of Remus pushing a large cleaning cart down the hall. St. Gemma’s hallways are just as clean as you remember them. You’re honestly surprised as you realize the dirty man you’re watching is the one in charge of cleaning this place. He polishes off a door handle, giving it a bright shine. He finishes the clean by sticking the doorknob in his armpit.

“You done?” Mitchell grunts.

“We’re almost at Dr. D’s office!” Remus laughs, continuing down the hall. “While we’re there, we’ll get an overview of what he does and convince him not to tear our faces off and let us film him! Here we are!” The camera pans to a wooden door with the words ‘Inter Hospital Consultant’ on it. “The doc’s not a fan of having his name on the door.” Remus pushed the door open and strolled right into the office.

Now THIS is what an office should look like. The room is very professional! Diplomas line the walls, but the names are covered with sticky notes inside the glass cases. The smooth faux-wood desk is clean and tidy, with a computer, a jar of pens and pencils, a black hat, and a phone. The man you assume is Dr. D seats in a comfy modern seat. Long burn scars trail down half of his face and turn a few strains of his black hair white. He wears a black shirt with a yellow tie under his white coat and a pair of yellow gloves. He’s glaring at the camera with an intense stare that makes you look away.

“Dr. Elting,” Dr. D sighs. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for the leg surgery on the 35-year old Latina woman that’s supposed to begin in…” He looks at the clock on his computer. “An hour and a half?”

“Relax, D, he’s with me,” Remus giggles. He sits on Dr. D’s desk and crosses his legs. “I called him in sick.”

“Dude, you can’t—” Mitchell stammers.

“I told them you had explosive diarrhea,” Remus says. “They didn’t ask too many questions. So, D, how does it feel to guest star on the Extra Late Night Show?”

“Your world famous talk show,” Dr. D groans. “It’s wonderful, Remus.”

“Woo!” Remus whoops. He lays on his back, knocking over Dr. D’s jar of pens. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You, my rough-skinned friend, are the star of our show! The audience wants to know what a night in the life is like for a surgeon! What’s it like consulting at other hospitals? You ever get the urge to squeeze someone’s heart and feel it beat in your hands?”

“Remus, Remus, Remus,” Dr. D tuts, shaking his head. “I already have that power. Now leave.”

“Nah,” Remus says. You hear a soft beep from somewhere in the room. Dr. D pulls something out of his pocket. His face tightens.

“A 7-C-3 from the EMTs,” Dr. D mutters. “Emergency surgery.”

“Oooo, what’s that?” Remus purrs, but Dr. D ignores him. He launches out of his chair and out of his office. Remus scrambles off the desk.

“Remus, this is an emergency call, we can’t follow him!” Mitchell hisses as the pair stumbles out of the office. The camera shakes so much, you can’t see much of what’s happening.

“Do it or I’m putting the leftovers from the geriatrics ward in your locker, chicken,” Remus growls. “Bak-Kah!” The camera angles towards Mitchell’s feet as the pair jog after Dr. D.

“You’re lucky I like your humor, Prince,” Mitchell chuckles.

“It’s Remus Duke when we’re filming!” Remus groans. “You have to use my stage name! Get the camera up!” Mitchell pulls up the camera, and you get a better view of the St. Gemma’s halls. Remus runs alongside the edge of the camera. “So, what’s a 7-C-3?”

“I don’t know EMT code,” Mitchell explains. “I think sevens are for burns.”

“Well then no wonder they called D!” Remus laughs. “He’s the best in the business for burns! I’ve handled the ‘hazardous materials’ from those operations, they look like chicken!” You can see Remus do quotation marks around ‘hazardous materials’. The camera pans around a corner just in time to see Dr. D enter a large elevator.

“Welp, he’s gone,” Mitchell says, stopping. “We better end the show.”

“He can’t lose me that easily!” Remus barks. Remus runs into the nearest elevator and presses a button. The camera barely gets inside before the doors closed.

“Dude, you left your cleaning supplies outside Dr. D’s office,” Mitchell remarks.

“If someone steals it, hey, free food!” Remus laughs. His face pops on camera. He’s so close, you can see each individual hair of his mustache. “This seems like the perfect time to cut to the next segment of our show! We’ll be right back!” Static fills the screen before going black.

You think it glitched out for a moment before white words slide into view. ‘Getting Personal With Remus’. Remus’s messy office pops on screen, but the lights are off. The only light in the room is a small fire inside a trash can beside Remus’s desk. Remus sits on top of the desk, staring into the camera with a smile and a wink.

“Happy Valentine’s!” Remus says. “Hope you like the candle. On tonight’s ‘Getting Personal’, we’re talking about how I met Dr. D. It’s quite the story! I was looking for a job when I suddenly stumbled upon a Help Wanted sign for… can you guess? You’re right, Taco Bell! I began working that same day! I loved tossing frozen food into the fryer. Well one day I got a bit too carried away with my tossing and I got shipped to St. Gemma’s with second-degree burns! And Dr. D was my doctor. I got fired from Taco Bell. Once I was all healed up, I got a job as a janitor here, and D and I have been friends ever since!” Remus kicks his leg out. His foot knocks against the trash can and tips it over. Fire begins to crawl towards the desk. “Now back to your regularly scheduled program.” The screen goes black again.

The DVD cuts back to the elevator just as the doors slide open. You vaguely remember seeing an article online about how good the burn ward at St. Gemma’s was, back when you were trying to find where the hospital was to visit your friend. It’s tough to get a good look inside with the moving camera, but you can see plush furniture and gentle lighting over a receptionist’s desk. Voices shout and give orders somewhere in the ward. The receptionist doesn’t seem to care.

“The patient in Room 705 just kicked it,” the receptionist mutters, glancing up at Remus. “You need to clean it out.” Remus ignores the receptionist and jogs down the hall towards the voices.

“Is there enough undamaged skin for the graphs?” one person asks.

“We may have to use some cadaver skin,” another responds.

“Oh, they’re doing skin grafts!” Remus chirps. He stops by a half-open metal door. The sign on the side reads ‘Operating Theater 2, Level 7’. Remus carefully pulls the door open.

“Remus, no!” Mitchell hisses. He grabs Remus’s arm and tugs him back. “You aren’t sterile.”

“I should hope not,” Remus chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows.

“If you go in there, you could spread an infection!” Mitchell groans. “Burn victims are the most in danger from them! You could kill the guy!”

“All in the name of a good show, right?” Remus sighs, shrugging. “Here, give me the camera.” The camera switches hands, and you finally get a good look at Mitchell. His long blonde hair is tied into a ponytail behind him. He’s wearing black scrubs under a thick white sweatshirt. While Remus’s stare bounced all over the place and Dr. D glared into your soul, Mitchell had the eyes of an emotional teenager ready to do something dangerous.

“I’m not getting fired because of you,” Mitchell hisses with gritted teeth.

“Relax, Anx-Mitch,” Remus says, correcting himself halfway through. The camera pans down and slips just inside the door. The operating theater is split in half. The half you can best see is a long row of sinks below a long window. Through the window you see doctors huddling around a patient. The angle is so bad you can barely tell what they’re doing. You can pick out Dr. D, since his burns pop up under the harsh OR light. He’s focused on the task in front of him, silent while the other doctors discuss how to proceed. He simply works.

“What are you doing?” the receptionist’s harsh voice screams. The camera jumps back and flies through the air, landing in Mitchell’s arms. Remus and Mitchell zoom down the hall with the receptionist’s threats echoing behind them.

“Time for a commercial break!” Remus laughs. He grabs the camera and pushes it down as it cuts to another segment. Here, Remus is outside in the middle of the day, leaning against a large, dirty, green dumpster.

“Here at the Remus Academy of Dumpster Diving,” Remus states with the full professionalism of an actual salesman. “You’ll be taught all the best locations in Miami to score some sweet goods! But don’t come near St. Gemma’s or I’ll steal your kneecaps!” Remus flips open the dumpster with a loud clang. He hoists himself up and tumbles into the half full pit of disease. “For the simple cost of your social security number, you’ll get first hand experience at discovering the untold treasures of garage cans and curbside trash. For example…” Remus pops up with a broken baseball bat. The top half has been ripped off. “Weapons! Or…” He ducks back down and brings up a handful of shredded paper. “Confetti!” He tosses the paper in the air. “Call the number below in the next half hour and you’ll get your dumpster personally looted!” The ‘phone number’ Remus mentioned isn’t even composed of numbers. It’s A#@-JRD-(D#$. “Join the Remus Academy of Dumpster Diving today!”

The show quickly cuts back to Dr. D’s office. Remus is laying on the floor, kicking his legs in the air. The camera sits beside him.

“Can I stop filming now?” Mitchell groans. “My phone’s going to die.”

“Sadly, we couldn’t get more juicy surgery footage,” Remus huffs. “So we’ll just have to wait for D to come back!”

“Surgery takes a while, Remus,” Mitchell scoffs. “Don’t whine about it. It’s only been a few hours.” The office doors creaks open. Dr. D steps inside his office, slipping on his yellow gloves. You get a glimpse of the burns covering his fingers. Remus shoots up like a puppy. Mitchell clambers up, groaning.

“So how’d it go?” Remus chirps. Dr. D slinks to his desk and sits down.

“Do your job, Remus,” Dr. D grumbles, staring into his computer.

“What, too squeamish to share details?” Remus scoffs, sitting on the desk.

“Exactly,” Dr. D sighs.

“Come on,” Remus purrs. He pokes at Dr. D’s cheek with each word. “Come on come on come ON!” Dr. D glares at Remus and the camera takes a step back. He settles his hands flat on his desk.

“I want you to imagine you have some resemblance of medical training,” Dr. D mutters. “You’re creative, I trust it’s not too difficult. Now I want you to imagine your patient is a 30-something man who was nearly beaten to a pulp by his abusive parents.” Something drops in Remus’s gaze. He’s no longer poking at Dr. D. “I want you to imagine yourself in surgery trying to repair the damage to this man, but as soon as you fix one issue, another issue comes up. The man’s body is destroying itself on the table and there is nothing you can do until a fellow doctor announces the time of death.” Dr. D’s words come out as a violent hiss. His fingers clench inside his gaudy gloves. “Now imagine myself in that situation, but the patient was asleep as their apartment burned around them, and tell me if you would be excited to talk about it!” Remus hops off the desk. Dr. D’s hands unclench slightly, though his jaw is threatening to break his teeth.

“I am in no mood for your ridiculous show,” Dr. D grumbles. For the first time in the show, Remus seems softer. His edges aren’t so sharp. His dirty nails rest over Dr. D’s glove. Dr. D fixes his black hat and takes a deep breath. Then he glares into the camera.

“Leave,” he hisses. Mitchell takes off, out of the office and into the hall before the camera cuts. After a few seconds of darkness, Remus’s office space reappears. He’s sitting behind his desk, once again carrying his demonic smile.

“Come on, don’t be shy!” Remus laughs. Someone groans behind the camera. Dr. D steps into view and takes a spot standing behind Remus. He seems a bit calmer than earlier.

“That’s all the time we have for this episode!” Remus chirps, rocking back and forth. “We're ditching the rest of our line-up because I don't care! I’d like to give a warm thank you to Dr. D for being a fabulous guest on our show tonight!” Dr. D seems resigned to his fate, but far more happy than Mitchell ever did. “Tune in next time for live coverage of the Sanders Hospital hosted Nurse’s Rally!”

“A rally?” Dr. D asks, glancing down at Remus. He takes a phone out of his coat and types something in. “...organized by Virgil Lawson.” He puts the phone away again. His expression is unreadable, unchanged from earlier. “Remus, could I assist you in your next episode at this rally?”

“I’d love that!” Remus shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “See you next time on the Extra Late Night Show! Bye, everybody! Do do Do do DoOoOoOoO. Do do Do do dooooooooo. Do do Do do Do! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Do do do do do! ” Remus waves goodbye. The screen turns black. The show is finally done. Without saying a word, you take the DVD out of your player. You gently put it back in its case. You walk into your kitchen. You open up the trash can and put it inside. Then you decide to look up how to rid a home of curses because you are certain there was a violent curse on that DVD.

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@purelyreblogstsedition @watchoutforthefanfics @moonlight22oa @mediocrity-at-best

#remus sanders #deceit sanders #mitchell cartoon therapy #sanders hospital #sanders hospital fanfic #sanders sides #sanders sides au #cartoon therapy #cartoon therapy au #surgery #mentions of death

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aliennopossumm · 2 years

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Be Brave For Them

A little oneshot based on this concept by @kiddiesides !!

CW: fainting, crying, general sickness, hospital mentions, small mentions of repression Characters: Thomas, Patton, mentions of the rest of the sides/Nico Summary: It’s been a long and stressful few days for Patton, he just wants his dad. Wordcount: 1366 words, 7,599 characters

It had only been two days after the initial fainting when Thomas was allowed to be released from the hospital, his parents happily driving him back home whilst Nico took care of their kids. Once he had walked through the door, around 6pm on a Thursday night, he was immediately swarmed by all of his kiddos, hugging him tight and mumbling how they missed him. Of course, throughout the time he was admitted to hospital, visits were allowed, but this time, dad was home!

Nico chuckled softly at the cuddle pile, giving Thomas a quick kiss on his cheek and offering to make them all dinner. He insisted for Thomas to rest, asking Patton to help him with making the pasta for dinner that night - of course, Patton was fully allowed to say no, but the oldest of the six happily accepted.

It did not take long for the food to be finished, Patton silently plating the table with a neutral expression on his face. Nico assumed this was simply tiredness, prompting him to sit down once the meal was finished and placed in the centre of the table. Without question, Patton did as he was told, half-listening to Nico announcing dinner being ready.

The remaining six family members came quickly to the dining area, Virgil still refusing to let go of Thomas. A familiar chatter dissolved over the room, Thomas sharing silly stories from the hospital and the kiddos catching him up on the events that occurred in his absence. However, Patton seemed distant from the conversation, determined to keep his head down as he ate and only speak when spoken too. It did not take long for Thomas to notice this, especially since Patton would often shoot worried glances in his father’s direction, looking back down when Thomas seemed to make eye contact.

Once everybody had eaten their dinner and cleaned up after themselves, the younger kids needing help from Thomas or Nico, the former of the pair gently announced they would all be going to bed a little earlier tonight. Whilst Thomas was in the hospital, he was told that the kids were not sleeping well with their dad gone - now he was back, he wanted to make sure each kid caught up on their lack of sleep.

A few of the younger kids protested this early bedtime, but Patton just quietly took Virgil to help him get ready for bed. Being so young, he hardly understood the concept of when and what bedtime was, happy to have some time with his older brother. Together, the two got changed into the pyjamas, and Patton assisted Virgil in very gently brushing the few teeth he had. Patton did not brush his own, though, too focused on cleaning up Vee’s mouth and bringing him to bed. Silence fell across the smaller’s room, the remainder of their siblings in a bathroom or their own bedroom, getting dressed into comfier clothes. It did not take Virgil to fall asleep, Patton softly making up a story of how Prince Vee helped saved King Daddy when he was feeling sick. Though each word that fell out of his mouth reminded him how completely terrifying the situation only a few days prior was, he pushed through, able to get his brother sleeping soundly.

A built up sigh left Patton’s mouth, kissing his brother’s head and pulling the blanket closer to the baby. He sat lingering for several more seconds, before his brothers called from the other room - Roman was being poked by Remus’ toothbrush, and Janus was yelling about how Thomas “isn’t putting the scale cream on properly!”. With a small, sad smile on his face, Patton made his way towards the rest of his family to be of assistance. I just have to push through 10 more minutes of this, and then I’ll be alone in my room, he thought, gently lecturing Remus to be nicer to his twin. Just a bit longer, then I can sleep, the thought continued, applying the scale cream to Janus’ face the same exact way as their dad, but it was different to him for some reason.

Finally, finally, all of his siblings were sound asleep, making his way to his own room. Of course, he loved his family more than life itself, but being able to walk into a private room for time to himself was a euphoric feeling. He crawled into his bed, getting underneath the covers and pulling a stuffed animal to his chest - a frog that Thomas had bought for him a few years prior at a yard sale, before half of Patton’s siblings had appeared. He gripped the sides of the frog, the stuffed animal that was once so big compared to him now the size of his torso.

Patton started crying. For the past few days, he had been holding it back, trying to be strong. Though a few tears slipped on the phone call to Nico, and his breath shook when they left the hospital for visiting hours, and he stared sadly at the bathroom door whenever he locked himself in there to be alone, he did not sob. He let himself cry for who knows how long, before hearing a gentle knock on the door - he knew it was Thomas, he’d memorised how each member of his family knocked on the door.

Quickly, Patton wiped his tears, sitting up on his bed, “come in.”

Thomas opened the door, smiling sadly, “Hey kiddo. Thank you for helping so much today.” He walked into his son’s room, shutting the door behind him and sitting on his bed.

“‘Course,” Patton mumbled, slightly worried he was going to be told off. Did he hurt Thomas when he initially fainted? Maybe how he lectured Remus wasn’t good enough?

Thomas went to gently ask him if he was feeling alright, but noticed his tear-stained cheeks and red eyes, unable to beat around the bush, fully knowing how insistent Patton was of being “fine” to not worry his father further. “Were you crying, Pattycake?”

The comment made his anxiety jump a little, rubbing his eyes roughly, “Maybe a little, but I’m fine dad, just tired.”

“You don’t need to be fine, it’s been scary, huh?” Thomas spoke gently, taking Patton’s hands so he could not rub his eyes further, “it's just you and dad, kiddo, you can tell me anything.”

Though a few seconds of silence passed, Patton soon fell into his dad’s arms, sobbing into his chest. Most of what he said was incomprehensible, Thomas able to make out the words “sorry”, “scary” and “pressure”.

He did not interrupt his son, gently rubbing Patton’s back and rocking him as he let himself cry. Intermittently, he pressed kisses to his forehead, gently wiping any tears he saw with his sleeve if Patton looked up to meet eyes with him.

The two sat like this for several minutes, the sobs eventually dissolving into sad hiccups and a few more mumbles about how sorry Patton was. Thomas kissed the remaining tears away from Patton’s face, eliciting giggles from his oldest.

“Are you feeling any better, kiddo?” Patton quickly nodded at the question, making Thomas smile sadly, “you did so well, Patt, I wouldn’t have known what to do when I was 12.”

Patton sniffled softly, muttering how he needs to know to keep his brothers safe.

He felt his father cupping his face in his hands, melting into the warm skin - a few smaller tears fell again. Truthfully, Patton was so scared, mumbling to Thomas on how he tried his best to stay brave to not worry any of his brothers.

“You did so well, kiddo,” Thomas smiled sadly, kissing his nose gently, “let me make you a hot chocolate, we can stay up longer watching TV, yeah?”

Patton nodded happily at that, grabbing the frog stuffie again to bring with him. Thomas noticed, cooing happily.

“You still have Strawberry?” he asked softly, stroking the one-fluffy material of the stuffed animal. Patton nodded, making Thomas beam, “We should get you a new stuffie, hm? I think Build-a-Bear has frogs, don’t they? We could go together, just you and me!”

Patton nodded, “I’d like that…”

#fun fact ive had writers block for months and did this whole thing in what. 4 hours?#the power of hyperfixations ig #tw hospital #tw fainting #tw sickness #tw repression #hurt/comfort #sanders sides hurt/comfort #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #fanfic #patton sanders #thomas sanders #dad thomas #virgil writez #writing #fanfiction

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four-rabbit · 3 years

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Here lies Roman García Lopez

Roman is not dead, calm down

This is just a small oneshot from the ghost au about Roman coming out as trans to Remus when they were teenagers.

Warnings: swearing, hospitals, self-deprecation, misgender, mentions of transphobia, talks of death

Obs: in some descriptions I'll be refering to Remus and Roman with she/her pronouns, but thats specifically when I'm describing their thoughts and they are referring to themselves or each other with those pronouns, since Remus didn't know he was trans here and Roman is coming out. When I'm not describing their thoughts I'll be referring to them solely by he/him pronouns.

If you tag this as r*mrom I'll punch you

The twins used to be best friends. They would play in the backyard and braid each other's hair and laugh and cry and almost forget all the ways that the world was cold and merciless.

So so merciless.

The Duke analyzed his nails as if they were the most interesting thing he had ever seen and the silence was so dense it could be cut with a knife. He wanted to talk, he really wanted to. He wanted to talk about the last movie he watched and gossip about their classmates and make jokes that were questionable to say the least and wanted to see her sister laugh and look alive again. But what would she say? At this point, what did they have in common? What could she do? Open her mouth just to throw all that filthy that was inside her mind at her poor sister? Talk about her life and about how she was a disgusting piece of garbage? Ruin those few hours that they had together? Yeah, as their mother would always say, if you have nothing nice to say just shut up.

The Duke felt like he never had anything nice to say.

"How is school going?" The one in the hospital bed started. Panic dominated The Duke's eyes and he didn't move for a good ten seconds, looking like he wasn't even breathing until he shrugged.

"As shitty as always, you know. The usual stuff"

"I wish I was there" The Princess sighed.

"Nah, you don't, it's the most boring thing ever, I got a shitton of homework and also tomorrow I got a fucking chemistry test and I don't even know if I'm going to study, you got it easy, dude" as soon as those words left his mouth he regretted it "No, I'm kidding, that was stupid, this sucks too I know, but if I could I would just leave school, I mean who cares?"

"You can't do that. School is important"

The Duke didn't say anything. He had a lot of answers but none of them were nice. And he wanted to be nice to The Princess, at least. He had lost everybody else, even Virgil, even Virgil, she was not going to lose her sister too.

"Why did you call me?" Finally said.

"What?"

"Dad said that you wanted to talk to me. Specifically. Why?"

"I have to ask you for a favor"

"What is it? Yes, I can get you drugs" The Princess raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"What? I'm sure it would make the hospital more interesting, no judgments."

"No. No, it's not that" he was so tense and that was stressing the Duke out. He closed his mouth shut because when he was nervous he rambled and when he rambled he always ended up saying the worst possible things. The Princess took a breath as if it was a battle to take the words out of his throat.

"I'm afraid that I'm going to die"

"A lot of people are" said before he could contain himself. That should have earned at least a chuckle from the Princess but he didn't make a sound.

"No. No. I mean- what I mean is…" he decided to just rip it off like a band aid "I feel like I’m going to die in a few days. I think-"

"Bullshit!" The Duke snapped without warning, startling his brother. "You have no fucking right to say that!" Is it really that easy to make him cry?

"It's true! I- I can feel it, okay? Death is following me"

"Death has always followed you, you stupid fuck, you're like a godamn death magnet!"

"Yeah but it's different now, I- look, how I know doesn't matter, I need you to do something for-"

"I'm not doing shit for you!" Ok that's a lot of emotion for someone who was completely numb the entire week, Duke's body has grown unused to feelings apparently, as he was shaking and burning and screaming and crying and wanting to curl up in a ball and die.

"Just listen-"

"Fuck you!" The Duke covered his ear to show that he wasn't going to listen but also suddenly because everything was too much. Too much noise, too much light, too much, too much. "I'm going to tell your doctor and she's going to say that's bullshit because that's bullshit you can't just die!" Yelled at the top of his lungs. She couldn't lose her sister, no, no, everyone but her.

"I need you to change my name in my gravestone!" said as loudly as his brother, sitting up. That took The Duke by surprise and he uncovered his ears in confusion.

"What?"

"When I die, mom and dad will pay for a gravestone and its going to have a name on it"

"You're not-"

"Fucking listen to me! I don't want to die too, for fucks sake, but I need to be ready when it happens!" The Princess finally snapped in his despair to be listened to. His brother stopped and seemed to consider his options until, slowly, sat down again.

"What do you mean, [...]?" he said his brother's deadname.

"Exactly that. That name. It's not my name"

"Are you high?"

"Look" he ran his hand through his hair, frustrated "I had a lot of time to think. I- I did some research and… I- I'm not a girl" The Duke didn't say anything. For once in his life he had no idea what to say. "Yeah. I've always felt like that. Like something was… off. Wrong. That someone made a mistake when-" he gestured toward his body "I'm not telling mom and dad. They wouldn't understand, they never understand shit. But I know you will, sister"

"Wait, hold the fuck up, what are you saying? If you're not a girl, what the fuck are you then?" The Princess swallowed, scared to say it out loud. There would be no coming back if he did it. He raised his hand to compliment the teenager in front of him, shaking from head to toe.

"I'm- Roman. Nice to meet you." he was crying already, trying to not let his voice fail him "I'm your brother, I'm a trans man and I don't want to die just to be remembered by the wrong name"

Trans man. Trans. A word that was known but still sounded like a secret. Forbidden.

The Duke looked at his brother's hand. Then he looked at his face, with his long hair and tears and all that fear in his eyes.

And he understood, that was what scared him the most.

"Something was off. Something was wrong. Someone made a mistake"

"I don't want to be remembered by the wrong name"

He understood every single word on a deep personal level, he knew that despair, that fear.

He shaked his brother's hand, who immediately melted in relief.

"Roman. You're going to live." Said with that same caring voice that he used when they were kids and Roman had nightmares and he would sing lullabies completely out of tune until his brother fell asleep, delicately cleaning his brother's tears. “You're going to live and you're going to make sure that mom and dad remember you right. I promise"

"But what if I-"

"No! No" The Duke interrupted, not allowing his brother to finish that phrase, not again. "You know what. You're coming with me" announced, starting to look through the closet for some clothes his brother could use.

"... what?"

"We are leaving this shithole"

"I can't leave the hospital [...]!" deadname.

"I don't want to be remembered by the wrong name"

The Duke closed his eyes and when he turned back to his brother he was smiling almost maniacally.

"Yes, you can" he found some sweater pants and a black tshirt "Here, put this on. This place is fucking you up. Mom is fucking you up, this is her fault. We are going out and you're going to live. You're going to live" an idea came to his mind "Do you want to cut your hair?" Roman looked at the clothes on his hands. Then at the teenager looking at him full of expectation. Deep down Roman knew. Staying there was not helping. It was making things worse, he knew even deeper down. And if he was dying he wanted to die by his sister's side.

"Yes. I want to cut my hair" admitted. He didn't hate his long hair, it was pretty and brushing it was relaxing. But he hated how it made everyone think he was a girl. "But mom will be pissed"

"What doesn't piss that woman off?" Exclaimed exasperated and Roman opened the smallest grin.

"Yesterday they gave me strawberry juice instead of orange juice and she threw an entire fucking tantrum"

"Exactly. If she was a little bit whiter she would be a textbook Karen" that made Roman giggle.

"She would. Are we actually doing this?"

"Of course we're! Now get ready, Princes- Princey" Roman smiled widely.

"I like Princey"

"I thought you would" Roman got dressed and The Duke gave him his black hoodie.

"So you won't get recognized" explained.

"I'm sure nobody is going to try to arrest me if they see me sneaking out, thank you very much. Also what was the last time you washed this? It smells like shit" actually Roman would never comment on it out loud but his sister was generally a mess. With hair that wasn't brushed in days and wasn't washed in an even longer time, smudged make up all over her face and dirty baggy clothes. If only he had connected the dots before it was too late.

"I'm sure you'll survive" replied sharply, opening the door.

The hoodie didn't help.

" What are you doing here Ms. Garcia? Do you want anything?" The first nurse that saw them was quick to ask.

"Ahn…" The Duke opened his mouth to explain. Then close it again.

"I just wanted to take some air, my sister came to visit me and we thought it would be cool to go outside real quick" Roman came to rescue him.

"Your sister…" slowly her gaze went to the other teenager "Oh, you. I'm not sure I can allow that. Not without your mother's permission"

"You can come with us, then! My mom wouldn't like to know that you're keeping me stuck in my room. Like a prisoner" the nurse looked worried. Their mom had a reputation around the hospital and it wasn't a good one.

"Just five minutes, okay?"

"Wonderful!" Roman winked in his brother's direction, who opened a smile and they were both guided toward the front of the hospital, where there was a small decorative garden.

"What now?" The Duke whispered, gesturing toward the nurse with his head, she was way too close. Roman looked around and his eyes stopped at one specific point.

"There"

"What?"

"There's a cat"

"I don't see anything"

"Its because its not alive" the animals souls were the easiest to attract and even control. "Her" Roman said in an almost sing-song voice. The cat tilted its head, an empty hole in the place where its left eye was supposed to be and, without warning, threw itself at the nurse, emitting a meow that from her perspective came out of thin air and made the poor woman scream in surprise.

"Now!" And Roman started running. His brother only stopped to giggle before running too. When she noticed that the kids were missing they were already far away.

"Fuck, that was fun!" Roman exclaimed as he recovered from the run, still breathing with some difficulty. His brother enjoyed the feeling for a little longer. He almost felt alive for a minute.

"Of course it was, it was my idea"

"I mean I was the one who fooled the nurse, all you did was stutter"

"Oh, shut up. It's not my fault everyone likes you best"

"Everyone is stupid. You're the cooler twin"

"Don't you come at me with your compliments!" Roman laughed, a genuinely laugh that filled his brother with happiness and warmth.

"Right. What do we do now? I'm still totally down for that haircut"

"Well first of all we're going to steal some scissors because I'm totally broke-"

"Oh my god!" Roman exclaimed in disbelief "My own sister! Wanting to make me a criminal!"

If you get to be brother why do I have to be sister?

Remus ignored that thought for the time being.

"You're not going to regret it! We can steal some chocolate too!" replied, putting his arm around his brother's shoulders. Roman rolled his eyes.

"Oh my life would be so dull without you" The one that would call himself Remus in the future smiled. And I wouldn't be alive without you, thought to himself.

#roman sanders #remus Sanders #creativitwins #ghost au #rabbit writes #fanfic #cw swearing #tw hospital #tw death mention

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transromansanders · 3 years

Text

Happy birthday, Roman! I wrote angst!

Ship: Roceit

TWs: hospital mention, crying, suicidal ideation (tagged just in case)

Roman stood at the edge of the water, tide lapping at his feet. It was cold. He didn't notice. Nor did he notice the salt in the air, indistinguishable as it was from the salt dried in tear tracks down his cheeks.

He took a few steps into the freezing water that soaked through his socks, until it reached his knees at the highest point of the tide. The rocks below his feet were smooth with the passage of time under the repetitive tide. He reached down into the water to pick one up. It was oblong and brownish-black in color.

He drew his arm back and threw it as far as he could. It made a splash as it hit the water, then it was gone. Roman's chest heaved with his labored breaths, and a fresh tear wiped away some of the mark of the old ones.

He continued forward, legs dragging in the water. Soon the waves reached the edge of his hospital gown. Then his waist, then his chest, until he let his feet come up from the bottom so he was floating on top of the icy water. His arms and legs splayed, he floated over the waves, watching the sky. It was grey and foreboding.

There was splashing behind him. He couldn't bring himself to care. He closed his eyes. Then there were hands on his shoulders, then they left, and one arm was placed under his back, the other under his knees.

He was being carried, and, ever so slowly, he was drawn out of the water, shivering in the wind. A soft sob escaped him, a small and broken sound.

"I know, my love," a sweet, smooth voice soothed. "I know. It'll be alright."

Roman nodded against Janus' chest, forcing a deep, hiccupping breath. It would be alright. But not right now.

#sanders sides #roceit #roman sanders #janus sanders #roceit fanfic #hospital #hospital mention #crying #angst #roman angst #tagging #suicidal ideation #just in case #roman writes

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little-kat07 · 3 years

Text

Heartbeep

Sanders sides oneshot; No editing, we die like Patton’s relationship with Roman in POF (haha *cries*)

Pairings: Mentioned Logicality, Implied Prinxiety

TW: Peaceful Death, implied hospitalization, mention of a paper cut, Bittersweet ending, Life after death

Roman let another wheezing breath come and go.

Patton held Roman's wrinkled hand with tears behind his eyes. He smiled. "Hey, dad."

Roman took a second to process and then smiled back. "Patton! I haven't seen you since you moved to Georgia with your husband!"

Patton nodded and traced his thumb in a circle motion on Roman's palm. "Yeah. The doctors called me. I'm so sorry I haven't visited more." He choked on the last few words. "Oh, dad. I'm s-so sorry…"

Roman shook his head. "Oh no, starlight… you're all right. I can't blame you for wanting to stay home with that wonderful man of yours."

Patton grinned softly and chuckled. "I was so scared you wouldn't like him. That night I brought him home."

Roman grinned the best he could. The beeping of his heartbeat (was it supposed to be beeping? Doesn't it usually just beat? Where's that sound coming from?) came every couple seconds in the background.

"I didn't like him, to be honest. He was so formal and dense." Roman laughed, although something in the back of his head told him it didn't sound quite like a laugh. "But then you got that papercut and he looked like he was going to call an ambulance!"

Patton chuckled and only more tears spilled from his eyes.

Roman frowned. "Starlight, why are you crying?"

Patton tried to wipe them away furiously, they were hot and sticky on his face and hands. "B-because you're going awa-ay. I don't want you to- Dad, I barely spent any time with you! I was such a horrible son, and I can't be without- y-you-" he found his throat was closing up and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the breathlessness in his chest.

Roman shook his head again. He wasn't entirely sure what Patton meant, but he was so upset and it was difficult to see his son like this.

"Patton, no. You are such an amazing boy!" Roman squeezed his hand and beamed as best he could without exhausting himself. "Every day I feel so lucky to have raised you, and the fine person you are now. When i'm gone, you'll have your husband and your little boy to keep you going. You're so strong, dearest."

Patton beamed and nodded. The tears didn't stop. He was halfway certain that they never would.

"Now," Roman said haughtily, shifting in his bed and ignoring the sharp pain that went up his side, "Why did you come all the way down here?"

Patton blinked. "The doctors said you knew…"

"Knew what?"

Patton gulped and his voice threatened to stop working. "...Dad, the doctors say that… you're, uh…" Patton shook his head and found difficulty continuing, but thankfully, he didn't have to.

Roman gasped and for a split second, Patton saw wonder spark in his eyes.

Roman was looking at the door of the room (the door was white, why was it white? Didn't he paint it red a couple of years ago?) Where, to him, stood a teenage boy, about 16, with raven hair and a hoodie.

"Virgil?" Roman rasped.

Memories flooded into Roman's normally quiet mind. Memories of drive-in's and 2-am fast food, of sneaking out in the middle of the night and laughing with this boy.

...But that was decades ago. And Roman was old and weak, and Virgil still looked so young. And beautiful.

Roman failed to remember what happened to Virgil back then.

Virgil smiled and nodded. "Hey Ro. Long time no see."

Roman grinned a grin so distinctly joyful that Patton had never seen before. "...dad, what are you looking at?" He asked tentatively, eyes darting to the door, where he saw no one.

Roman saw Virgil walk over and put a hand on his. It started glowing. Roman looked down at it and everything came together in one sharp thought.

"Oh," he realized. He looked up and met Virgil's dark, shining eyes. "Really?"

Virgil nodded. "It's time, buddy." His face flashed with sadness for a moment. "Sorry you didn't get to do all that stuff you wanted to do."

Roman shook his head, still beaming. "No, of course not. I'm as happy as can be."

Virgil raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You'd be happier if you had beat me in that scrabble game that one time."

Roman feigned offense. "You were cheating! I know it!"

Patton stared at his father with such a look of confusion and sadness that it hurt to see. "D-dad. Who are you looking at?"

Roman looked over at him. "You can't see him?"

Patton shook his head sadly as though Roman was lost. "Dad, there's nobody there."

Roman frowned. He looked to Virgil. "Can't you make him see you?"

Virgil shook his head sorrowfully. "Not unless he's about to die." After a moment, he tugged lightly on Roman's hand and Roman watched in wonder as a second form of his hand melded out and back in. "It's time to go."

"Let me talk to him some more?"

Virgil nodded, smiling gently. "As long as you need."

Roman looked to Patton, who looked hopelessly lost. Roman smiled and lifted his hand from Patton's grasp to cup his cheek. "You're so strong, sweetie." With a great effort, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on Patton's forehead. Patton closed his eyes for a moment while more tears streamed down.

They beamed softly at each other for a moment. "I've got to go now," Roman said gently, squeezing Patton's hand. "You'll be okay."

Patton gasped and said in a panic, "Wait!" Before digging in his pocket and pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper.

When he held it up to Roman, Roman gasped. It was a family photo of Patton, his husband Logan and their little boy.

Patton sniffed. "I-i just- I realized you've never seen a picture of Janus before. Me and Logan adopted him a few years back."

Virgil reached over Roman and pulled a spirit copy of the photo out of it. "For you to keep when you go upstairs," he whispered, winking.

Roman felt his heart swell and he beamed. "That's my grandson?"

"Mm-hm."

"He's beautiful."

Patton's smile was something no actor, not even Roman, could attempt to mimic. It was sad and helpless and loving all rolled together and welded with sunlight.

Roman smiled at him and squeezed Virgil's hand, which he could actually feel now. "Bye, Starlight."

Patton let out a shaky breath. “I love you.”

And then Virgil pulled on Roman's hand and Roman sat up, out of his body. younger and stronger and happier and it was beautiful.

Virgil grinned. "It's been a while."

Roman nodded. "Yeah. I missed you, emo."

“‘Emo?’ Is that what kids are saying now?”

Roman laughed and smiled and thought perhaps he would never be sad or frustrated again.

---

Hi, author here! I’d like to say that some people might think it’s Ageist to say that a person becomes younger in their spirit form. In this universe i’ve created, when you die, you embody the age that you loved the most. Whenever you were happiest, or however old you wish you were. So if a person was happiest embodying an older form, they will be an older spirit. I’m not sure if this helps but I’m a very small fanfiction writer, so I really don’t want to offend anyone. Have an amazing and awesome day!!!!!!

#prinxiety #tss #sanders sides #tss fanfic #tss fic #ts prinxiety #roman sanders #creativity sanders #ts roman #ts creativity #sanders sides fic #tw death #tw paper cut #tw implied hospital #did i do okay?#logicality #ts logicality

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writingsoftheghost · 4 years

Note

i forget what number but “i almost lost you” with logicality? 🥺 i’m sorry sorry for spamming u with logicality requests i JUST LOVE THEM if u want i would also like dukeceit? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Oh gosh sorry I forgot all about these lol

Warnings: accident, near death, car crash

Patton wakes up in the hospital, the last thing he remembers is driving to work, he was running late.

He whines as he tries to sit up, soft hands are on his shoulders in an instant.

“Hey, hey, Pat, no.”

Patton looks up to see his boyfriend, his eyes were puffy and red.

“Lolo...”his voice comes out scratchy. “Why are you crying?”

Logan looks at him incredulously, fresh tears forming in his eyes, “I almost lost you! Why wouldn’t I be crying! Th-they called me while I was a-at wor-work! Sai-said you got in an acci—” Logan takes a deep breath “—an accident.”

Patton makes a noise, “Oh Logie, I’m sorry.”

Logan looks at him like he’s lost it, “You didn’t do anything wrong! God, I’m sorry, Pat. I was just so worried. You’ve been out for two days, love. I couldn’t...I don’t...I wouldn’t be able to handle losing you...”

Patton grabs his hands, “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry I scared you, Logie.” He tugs on Logan’s arm until he’s close enough for Patton to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Logan pulls away with a soft smile, “You’re forgiven.”

Patton chuckles, “Good, I love you.”

Logan nods, “I love you too, so so much.”

Taglist:

@idont-freaking-know @aceawkwardunicorn @kawaiikat54 @emo--nightmaree @a-yeet-bop-bop-boom @me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink @katlikethesword @tranquil-space-ninja

#logicality #asks #prompts #fluff #hurt/comfort #sanders sides #fanfic #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #ts logan #ts patton #writing #patton sanders #logan sanders #glasses gays #car crash #near death #hospitals

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ultrafangirlishness · 4 years

Text

Roman and Summer from @a-valorous-choice's To Make A Home are sibling-vibe goals. I couldn't not draw this precious scene (plus it gave me the perfect opportunity to try drawing Summer!)

Alternate caption: When we all collectively sent praise to the Good Lord for Roman finally going to the hospital 🙏

There's so much I wish I could improve about this--I literally have NO idea what it looks like to stay the night in a hospital, nor how to draw in perspective, nor how to properly shade--but I eventually had to just say "screw it", or it never would've seen the light of day.

Other versions are under the cut! I just liked this one best.

(for those of you who don't know the story, don't worry, he's just sleepin' :)

I actually had another version where there was a silhouette in the light streaming through (implied to be Henry checking in on them) but honestly it was just distracting haha

#tmah #tmahfanfic #tmahfanficart #to make a home #ts roman #roman sanders #roman angst #oc #tw hospital #hospital imagery #my art #digital art #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanart #sanders sides #ts fanfic #ts fanart #a valorous choice #hurt/comfort

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edupunkn00b · 3 years

Note

⭐

This (rather old) Fanfic "Director's Commentary" Ask has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time while I decided how to respond.

My first thought was a fluffy little thing on my latest Intrulogical one shot, 💚💙 Do You Think Perhaps We Watch Too Much Doctor Who 💙💚

But that didn't sound like me.

So, instead, I want to talk about that Logince scene in Play Us A Song.

This story is one of the few that I have shared with people I know IRL/meatspace. It felt abstracted and metaphorical enough to hide behind, even though it is a human AU and brutally honest in the parts that reflect my actual experience. This story, in particular, was written as Stephen King recommends, where you let the story guide you. Set up the characters, the setting, and then turn them loose.

Early versions of this story were so much fluffier. It truly followed the prompt, just a little touch of 'oh, my ex-boyfriend used to listen to me play and after we broke up, I just can't touch the piano any more... Oh, unless..."

The first breakthrough was answering what's the real reason why Logan stopped playing. There was no breakup.

Then, what's the real reason that he started seeing a specialist 2000 miles away from his home. Why did he notice Virgil's jacket? And did Virgil notice him?

Why didn't he want that piano to come with him? There's something in the piano.

And why would he suddenly open up to Roman and admit he needed help? Because he'd been down this path before alone and if there's no-one to observe you, you get committed.

Once I had those answers, the story became clear.

#fanfic ask game #director's commentary ask game #Do You Think Perhaps We Watch Too Much Doctor Who?#Play Us A Song #ts logan #ts remus #ts roman #Logan Sanders #Remus Prince #Remus Hyde #Roman Prince #cw gun #cw suicide #spoilers #cw hospital

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julia-loves-cupcakes · 4 years

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"You shall never taste salvation until you have left safety behind to find it."

Hello! @whatwashernameagain :D I heard your birthday was a bit ago, so I thought I should post this as a late b-day gift!

I'm dying to be with you is a fic that has not only made me feel a lot of feelings, but also made me, like never before, want a fictional book to exist! (Like, it sounds so good, I want it so bad XD)

It's written incredably with some lovely pining, and one of the many things I love about the way you write is how well you explain and develop the relationships of each character, regardless of the fic, be it romantic or not. It makes you understand very clearly how and why they think in such a way and I find that really amazing!

So thank you so much for the time you spend writting! And I hope you had a great birthday♡

Have a good night/day!

#sanders sides #I'm dying to be with you #Virgil sanders #Patton sanders #Roman sanders #hospital #fanfic rec #fanfic fan art #don't forget to read the tags #also #Writer Roman gives me life #now I need to read the new chapter of khs #XD #my art

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yavannah · 1 year

Text

Anaconda Fanfic

Continue...

May contains harsh language and violence, read at your own risk

For a moment it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop to the floor, then the very familiar click of the gun as the trigger was squeezed. Danny acted, he pushed Westridge aside so that he crashed into the hospital bed and fell to the floor, howling in pain as the plastered leg ripped in hellish agony as it hit the floor.

After a moment, the pain began to ease a little and he bent down to look at Danny, who lay motionless on the floor, a red puddle spreading beneath him, as well as on his shoulder.

"Danny," Westridge said quietly, then glanced quickly at Sanders, who was striding toward Alejandro and Bushika.

Alejandro pulled her behind him, protecting her from Sanders. Before Sanders could touch her, someone hit him and he crumpled against the empty bed and slid off it onto the floor.

"I said no! I won't let you touch her!" came an angry roar and Westridge was partially toppled over Sanders.

"Dad!", Bushika cried, afraid that Sanders would hurt dad or something worse.

But luckily for him, the pistol had fallen out of Sanders' hands and slid somewhere out of reach. Sanders tried to push Westridge off top of him, but he fought back as best he could under the circumstances.

Suddenly Alejandro screamed and pointed somewhere past Westridge and Sanders. Bushika turned to look in the same direction. The door Sanders had firmly shut was open and something large and dark was creeping into the room. Frightened, Bushika pressed herself firmly against Alejandro and they backed away as far as they could.

Westridge and Sanders also watched the reptile, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The giant Anaconda crept towards Alejandro and Bushika, but stopped for a moment and turned his gaze towards Westridge. For a moment the two stared at each other and finally Westridge shook his head in denial, at which point the giant reptile glanced once more at Alejandro and Bushika, until it began to crawl slowly towards Westridge and Sanders.

Sanders howled in terror and half pushed, half knocked Westridge off top him, sending him flying backwards onto the floor. The plastered leg clattered against the floor, causing Westridge to yelp in pain and utter a bunch of curse words.

Despite the pain, he struggled to his feet and saw the giant snake approaching Sanders, who made a desperate lunge for his weapon, which was sliding away.

To Be Continue...

#anaconda fanfic #based on 1997 anaconda movie #anaconda 1997 #warren westridge #jonathan hyde

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sandershospitalau · 5 years

Text

Familiar Faces

(Trigger Warnings- Remus, Deceit, Attempted suicide, gangs, mentions of death/kidnappings, flashbacks)

Archive Of Our Own

————————

“Don’t get me wrong, sir, I know I’m gonna need some help starting out,” Nurse Venzon stammered as they padded through the halls of Sanders Hospital beside Virgil. “I’m just surprised that the director of nursing decided to be the one to help me.”

“We need all the good nurses we can get,” Virgil huffed, shrugging. “Until we can get the politicians to cancel that stupid nursing education bill, good hires are gonna be rare. Sanders Hospital needs to make sure its new hires can actually do their jobs.”

“Oh,” Nurse Venzon said, pursing their lips and staring straight ahead. “Alrighty then.” The two nurses looked like pale, lanky, purple sticks as they walked down the halls.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Virgil sighed, a tiny smirk he was pretty sure counted as comforting twitching on the edge of his mouth. “Like you said, you’re just starting out. Someone’s gotta show you the ropes.”

“Right,” Nurse Venzon said, nodding. The pair of nurses hugged the wall as a bed whisked past them, surrounded by residents and attendings. Nurse Venzon’s saucer sized eyes followed the bed. Their head spun around trying to see the bed all the way down the hall. Virgil’s smirk grew. The untapped excitement of a nurse fresh out of nursing school was always a treat.

“So we’re almost to Ms. Sutherland’s room,” Virgil explained, glancing at the room number behind him. “As the newbie, you’ll be stuck with grunt work. That means lab results, samples, prostate examines- well, probably not the last one with Ms. Sutherland.” Nurse Venzon nodded along to everything Virgil said. “When the doctor’s in the room, they usually control the scene, but you’re the one who’ll be with her more. But you heard all this in your orientation, so I won’t get into more details.”

“Got it,” Nurse Venzon chirped, bouncing on their toes.

“So,” Virgil huffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Tell me about our patient.”

“But don’t you already know about her?” Nurse Venzon asked.

“I know her,” Virgil muttered. “I want to know if you do. Talk to me like you’re the expert on her and I’m the newbie.”

“Ok,” Nurse Venzon huffed, shaking out their hands. “Our patient is Natasha Sutherland, female, she/her, age fifty-two. She’s been seen at Sanders numerous times over the last few years for treatment involving her chronic back and neck pain. The pain is linked back to damage gained during her service in Iraq. A lot of her forms had St. Gemma’s insignia on them, so I believe she used to get treatment there until the VA stopped helping her. Lately the pain’s increased to a point where her usual home therapy isn’t working, so she’s opting for a surgical solution.”

“Good job,” Virgil said, pushing himself off the wall. “Let’s go meet her.” Virgil had to admit, as he padded down the hall with Nurse Venzon, a new case was as good of a break as he could get from the Nurse’s Rally. He’d been running all over the hospital, getting signatures from nurses to participate in the rally. Even though Roman was helping head up public announcement of the protest, Virgil had been interviewed enough times to last for the rest of his life. And then there were the semi-decent politicians emailing Virgil constantly about their support or ‘respectful disagreements’ with the upcoming march. Being a public figure was exhausting. How did Roman do it?

“Then how else do you suggest I relax?” a voice that sounded similar to General Leia Organa muttered through a half open door.

“Watch TV?” another voice suggested. “Maybe Grey’s Anatomy?”

“I’m in the hospital and you want to watch Grey’s Anatomy,” the first voice scoffed. “Of course.” Virgil tried not to roll his eyes when he realized that was Ms. Sutherland’s room. He knocked on the door and pulled it open completely.

“Ms. Sutherland?” he called into the room. Ms. Sutherland’s room was one of the smaller ones in Sanders, but it was big enough for her bed, the two nurses, and the chair beside the bed where her guest sat. Ms. Sutherland had close cut, traditionally masculine, sandy hair mixed with spots of gray. Her muscled arms rested on her lap. Her face had enough sharp features to cut paper, with vibrant cheekbones, a sharp tipped nose, and small lips. If Virgil was asked to pick out who he thought was a soldier out of a crowd, he would pick this woman. The person in the chair beside her looked to be a few years older, with more gray in his long brown hair. His hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. It touched the collar of his dark blue sweater and made him look like a sailor. He had the same sharp nose as Ms. Sutherland, but with softer cheeks and a pair of circular glasses dangled precariously on the edge of his nose.

“Just call me Natasha,” Ms. Sutherland huffed, waving a hand dismissively. “There’s too many Ms. Sutherland’s in my family as it is.”

“Whatever you prefer,” Virgil sighed. “My name’s Nurse Lawson, and this is Nurse Venzon. You’ll be seeing a lot of us during your stay here.” Nurse Venzon waved to Natasha.

“Nurse Lawson,” the man in the chair mumbled. He glanced up at Virgil. His eyes scanned the nurse up and down. A smile formed on his lips.

“Uh…” Virgil said. “Yep. That’s my name.”

“Hank, the little games you play with people aren’t helpful now,” Natasha sighed. The man, Hank, pushed the chair back and stood up.

“Now isn’t life strange,” Hank chuckled. “You dyed your hair since we met. I’m guessing you don’t recognize me?”

“Uh, no, sorry,” Virgil said, shaking his head. Hank chuckled, picking at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Would this jog your memory?” he asked. His bulky fingers slipped his left sleeve up, wrist out to the nurses. Long pink scars trailed up his wrists. Some were poorly healed, picked and scabbed into permanent markings, while the longest of the bunch were fainter, the mark of a doctor’s help. “The doctors at St. Gemma’s did a good job.” The memories clicked into Virgil’s head in an instant.

————————

(Years prior...)

Virgil Lawson would never understand how anyone in their right mind could have hired Remus for their maintenance staff. The man could easily have been Oscar the Grouch's long lost brother. Who escaped from prison. And then burned down Sesame Street. With every day, Virgil became more and more certain that the big brass of St. Gemma's were utter idiots.

"I mean, isn't that sort of blood more sanitary than other blood?" Remus asked. He leaned against his janitor's cart as he walked alongside Virgil. His mop dragged behind him, leaving a long wet trail on the tiled floor. "Vampires should use that blood! It's perfect for the lesbian vampires, isn't it?"

"Ok, you need to stop," Virgil grunted. Remus simply laughed and stroked his greasy mustache. Virgil kept his hands in the pockets of his black scrubs. Why the scrubs for the psychiatric nurses were black, Virgil would never understand. It made him seem less like a helpful hand and more of a grim servant of death. Not that he didn't like black, it was easily one of his favorite colors, but who's heard of black scrubs? Even Remus had a better color scheme with his dark green janitor's jumpsuit and the blue flowery logo of St. Gemma's stitched onto the chest.

"I don't see why I should stop!" Remus snorted. "You're the one who brought up vampires! I'm just suggesting places to get blood!"

"I'm not using actual blood for my vampire costume," Virgil huffed. "Do you realize how unsanitary that would be?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Remus laughed. Virgil groaned softly. He'd walked into that one, yet again.

"Unless you want Nurse Patty to throw down on you, I suggest you head off," Virgil sighed, stopping beside the third-floor elevators. "I'm heading to the psychiatry department."

"What fun awaits you there?" Remus chirped. He stuffed his mop into the bucket of murky water attached to his cart.

"Jumper watch," Virgil muttered as the elevator beeped and the doors slid open. Virgil padded to the corner of the large elevator. Remus boarded alongside him.

"Oof," Remus groaned. He leaned both elbows against the rails lining the elevator. "Details?" Virgil's guts hurt as he gave into Remus's demands. This was the most fragile moment of someone's life, and he was sharing it like it was no big deal. But what could he do? Remus was unstoppable when he wanted something. It was better to give him what he wanted. It would save Virgil a world of trouble.

"Overdose," Virgil mumbled. "Plus wrist damage. His sister found him. He's physically stable, but not emotionally."

"So you're his babysitter for the night!" Remus chuckled. "Fun times all around! You might be able to catch a few ZZZs while you're there. Your eyes are particularly dark and stormy tonight." Remus leaned over and booped Virgil's nose.

"Yeah, you try explaining to three different families that their loved one's treatment isn't working," Virgil snapped, rubbing his nose. The elevator beeped, and the doors opened up. "Now go. Not to say seeing you get chewed out by Patty wouldn't make my day, but I'm too tired to deal with that crap. Go clean the pediatric waiting room, there's always some kid vomiting in there." Virgil shoved past Remus and left the elevator.

"Whatever you say, oh dear Anxiety!" Remus chirped. He gave Virgil a melodramatic bow as the elevator slid shut.

"Don't-" Virgil snapped, but the elevator was already closed. "Don't call me that." Virgil shivered as cold air brushed past him. He rubbed his pale arms, wishing he'd grabbed his hoodie before coming up. He stalked away from the elevators and into the guts of the St. Gemma's psych department.

Most of the psych department was devoted to therapy and medication. Offices dotted the off-tan walls between informational and inspirational posters. Each office was the shiny face of the emotional dumpster fires that lurked in the long-term patient rooms beyond. Most of the offices were dark now- after all, who would schedule a session for the middle of the night? Virgil continued on, blocking out the muffled shouting that he drew closer and closer towards.

A single window looked into each of the tan rooms. In this department, patients often lacked privacy privileges. Virgil kept his gaze forward as he repeated the room's number in his head. He tried not to flinch when he heard a muffled scream bounce through the walls and when his fellow psych nurses scurried past him. He was used to the panicked screams of patients with brain damage and deep, difficult mental illness. Why should he be as jumpy as a visitor? His shoulders tightened, and he continued on.

His patient's room was towards the end of the department, near the hallway window that led to the fire escape. Naturally, bars covered the window. Virgil tried to drop his shoulders and knocked on the door.

"Come in," a familiar voice inside said. Virgil gritted his teeth, frowning, and entered. Harsh yellow lights flickered around the room. Like most of the rooms in the psychiatry department, the tan walls and white tiled floors were mostly barren. There was a TV that stood higher than any person of normal height could reach, with a matted recliner in the corner. A small stand sat beside the bed pressed against the wall. Virgil's patient, Hank Dragon (Virgil thought they were pulling his leg when he read the name), laid in the white bed, IVs trailing to his arms. His hair was a sweaty brown mess streaked with gray that reached the base of his neck. His small eyes were focused on Virgil. Had he already come down off the high caused by his medication? Was he staring off into space where Virgil conveniently stood? When Virgil moved to the side of the room, Hank's eyes followed him. Alright, he was definitely looking at him. He was also glancing at the doctor who stood by his bedside.

The doctor's black hair was smoothed back against his head with hair gel. A few dots of black paint sprinkled his doctor's coat. A perfectly straight black bowtie sat under his neck against his yellow polo. Blue rubber gloves stretched over his thin, still hands (at least he wasn't wearing those dishwasher gloves of his or, God forbid, the bowler hat). Then again, perhaps the bowtie was meant to distract patients from the wrinkled, scarred skin trailing down the left side of the doctor's face. It snuck under his collar and snaked around his face, claiming his ear and turning strains of his black hair brown. A brown eye and a golden eye scanned the numbers appearing on Hank's main monitor.

"What's up, doc," Virgil scoffed, leaning against the door with crossed arms. Dr. D looked up.

"Ah, Nurse Lawson," Dr. D sighed. "You're here."

"I'm sorry, was I not wanted at this exact moment?" Virgil laughed, grinning.

"Mr. Dragon, this is Nurse Lawson," Dr. D explained. "He'll be keeping you company, now that he's finally decided to grace us with his presence." Dr. D padded around the bed and towards Virgil. Hank's eyes followed him across the room. Virgil kept his fists from clenching as the doctor approached. "I trust you've been filled in on Mr. Dragon's medical details."

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I wasn't," Virgil huffed.

"Regardless, if you need any refreshers, you've got his board," Dr. D sighed. The board he was referring to was on the wall to Virgil's left. It was a rectangular whiteboard with various columns of information. Patient name, medication schedules, admittance, and other info. Stuck in the corner of the board were the words 'Watch- Virgil Lawson', scribbled under the medication schedule. "Goodnight, Mr. Dragon. Virgil." Virgil scooted away as Dr. D opened the door. His coat flapped behind him as the door clicked closed.

“Hank Dragon,” Virgil gasped softly as Hank slipped his sleeve back over his scars.

“What are you doing, Hank?” Natasha huffed.

“Tasha, you’ve got a great nurse taking care of you,” Hank laughed. He strolled over to Virgil and slapped his shoulder. “I can’t believe it! Virgil Lawson, treating a Sutherland kid once again!”

“Oh, are you siblings?” Nurse Venzon piped in, their wide eyes bouncing between Hank and Virgil.

“My older brother changed his last name shortly after he moved away from home,” Natasha explained. “I would like some clarification, Hank. When did Nurse Lawson treat you?”

“Well, Natasha,” Virgil said, picking at the inside of his scrub pockets. “The night after your brother’s… his, uh-”

“Hank and I don’t mince words,” Natasha sighed. “You can say attempted suicide. Words only have power when you give them that power.”

“Well, when he went to St. Gemma’s, I was assigned to his case,” Virgil explained.

“Lawson here helped my feet find solid ground!” Hank laughed, shaking Virgil’s shoulder. “Spent the whole night in my room chatting with me.”

“I see,” Natasha said, eyebrows raised. “Your help was greatly appreciated, Nurse Lawson.”

“Sorry, Tasha, I can’t get over this,” Hank chuckled, shaking his head. “We need to catch up! You know, see how our lives have gone since then!”

“I’m sort of working right now,” Virgil said, pointing at Natasha.

“Right, right,” Hank laughed, letting go of Virgil. “You got a lunch break or something? We could have lunch, my treat! You like ramen?”

“How do you think I survived nursing school?” Virgil scoffed.

“I know this ramen place, it’s not that far from the hospital,” Hank said. “We can eat there! What do you say?”

“How about we check on your sister first?” Virgil said, pointing towards Natasha. “Nurse Venzon?”

“So Natasha,” Nurse Venzon chirped, squeezing past the two men, finally given a chance to do something. “Let’s get your information updated.” Nurse Venzon’s words left Virgil’s conscious train of thought as Hank settled back into his seat. He hadn’t thought of Hank Dragon in a long time. That offer of ramen sounded a bit too good to resist.

————————

"Someone needs to teach that man some bed-side manners," Hank muttered as Dr. D closed the door to his room. His half-focused eyes trailed onto Virgil, following his every move.

"That’s just how he is," Virgil huffed. He trudged across the room and sat on the arm of the matted recliner. Hank let out a soft bark of laughter.

"The man needs to find another job, then," he muttered.

“Do you want to find something on TV or keep insulting Dr. D?” Virgil grumbled, cocking his head towards the TV.

“Dr. D,” Hank mumbled, shaking his head. “Dr. D. Doesn’t he have a name?”

“Of course he has a name,” Virgil snapped.

“Then what is it?” Hank asked. Virgil grabbed the TV remote sitting on the nightstand and flicked on the TV. America’s Funniest Home Videos popped onto the screen without sound. “Turn it off. I wanna sleep.” Hank closed his eyes and rested his head so he faced away from Virgil.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Virgil huffed, stalking around the bed. He crouched to Hank’s level and shook his shoulder. “You still have a cocktail of drugs you need to work out of your system. No sleeping for you.”

“I woke up at four this morning,” Hank sighed, turning his head to the TV. “Can’t I take a five minute nap?”

“You could try,” Virgil scoffed. He settled back on the arm of the couch. “But then I’d have to break out the airhorn.”

“There are other patients on this floor,” Hank scoffed. “You won’t wake them up.” Dang it. Even with half-focused eyes, Hank saw right through Virgil. The nurse let his mind wander as the TV played clips of crying toddlers and old ladies slipping on front porches. He’d had his fair share of sleepless nights, but being stuck in this room watching Hank would be a bit more difficult. Perhaps Virgil could ask one of the nurses to bring him some coffee. If the other nurses didn’t fear him, maybe. Remus would probably bring him coffee. On the other hand, Remus in a room with a suicidal person was a recipe for disaster.

“Are there photos?” Hank asked, not looking at Virgil.

“Considering I’m not a mind reader, you’ll have to be more specific,” Virgil huffed.

“They take photos during surgery, don’t they?” Hank asked. “For records, or something? Can I see the photos from my surgery? I’d check the results myself, but…” Hank lifted his right arm barely an inch off the bed before it fell back down. Thick bandages wrapped around his wrist.

“That’s not happening,” Virgil grunted.

“Alright,” Hank sighed. Virgil bit his tongue as questions hopped around his head. Hank didn’t need any stupid questions. All he needed from Virgil was a watching eye to keep him safe.

“I do have another request though,” Hank said.

“If it’s something that involves me leaving the room, no,” Virgil muttered.

“The new episode of Grey’s Anatomy is on tonight,” Hank said. “I thought I wasn’t going to see another one. Considering I’m still kicking, might as well watch it.”

“Now that’s something I can do,” Virgil said. He flicked through the TV channels, news stations and cartoons and ads flashing by. He settled on ABC, which was in the middle of a Grey’s Anatomy trailer. Half an hour later, the show’s theme played through the room. In a few ways, this was a good improvement to Hank’s condition. He was looking forward to something, even though it was something so small. Like Virgil always reminded himself, tough love worked. Even if it hurt.

“No way,” Remy gasped, pulling off his sunglasses for dramatic effect. “No. Way. In. Hell.”

“It’s a small world, I guess,” Virgil sighed, leaning against the counter of Remy’s little cafe. Remy’s brown satchel sat bundled on the counter beside the cash register just behind a glass tip jar. His little coffee shop name tag clung to his white shirt and a dark stain clung to his jeans (the mishaps of coffee).

“You’re drowning me with tea,” Remy chirped, an almost wicked smile spreading across his face. “So he’s here now? Not at St. Gemma’s?”

“His sister’s here,” Virgil explained. He drummed his fingers against the counter top. “He’s here to keep her company.”

“And you didn’t recognize the sister’s name when you got assigned to her or whatever?” Remy asked.

“It’s not like we exchanged contact information back then,” Virgil huffed. “Besides, his last name is Dragon, and hers is Sutherland.”

“Dragon,” a voice at the back of the little cafe scoffed. “That sounds like the name of a basement dweller with a D&D addiction.” The other person working with Remy turned around with a cup of fresh coffee in his hands. He too had an obsession with wearing sunglasses indoors, those his were circular and more like tiny mirrors attached to his face. He wore black leggings and an all-black long-sleeved shirt. A black yarn shawl wrapped around his neck, strings climbing over his shoulders.

“That’s quite the criticism coming from a dude we only know as ‘The Critic’,” Virgil scoffed, putting air quotes around the name.

“Dr. Sanders knows my name,” The Critic chuckled, grabbing a sharpie and scribbling a name onto the coffee cup.

“Yeah, cause he’s our boss,” Virgil huffed. “You can’t exactly get hired without a name. You’re the director of food services, why are you even here?”

“Exactly, Francis,” The Critic said. He strolled beyond the counter and towards the sea of seats filled with cafe customers.

“That’s not my-” Virgil snapped, but the Critic was already gone. “What does that mean? Remy, what does that even mean?”

“Whatever,” Remy chuckled. “Your order’s almost ready. You’ve got a lunch date to get to.”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Virgil groaned, elbows on the counter, head in his hands. “This is weird enough as is. I mean, this isn’t what being a nurse is like. Most of the time, you take care of a patient and you never see them again. Now I’m supposed to go get ramen with this guy?”

“You agreed to it,” Remy scoffed.

“I agreed to it,” Virgil groaned. Remy slid a cup across the counter.

“Just relax,” Remy sighed. “If he’s a weirdo, you can pull out that kung-fu of yours and deal with him. Take a break, and enjoy the free food.” Virgil took the cup and handed over a few bills. He dropped $5 in the tip jar and stalked towards the exit.

Maybe Remy was right. Virgil had been working through lunch the past few days on the rally. Maybe this would be good for him. It was just lunch. Lunch with a stranger. Virgil should have grabbed his hoodie- things were always better with a bit of his mom’s flannel at his side.

————————

“You haven’t asked yet,” Hank said halfway through the new episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

“Asked what?” Virgil asked, glancing at the man.

“All day, people have been asking me the same question,” Hank grumbled. “‘Why’d you do it, Hank? Why’d you try to throw your life away?’” Hank gently waved his unbandaged arm in the air. “You haven’t asked me yet. Waiting for the right words to say?”

“I haven’t met many people who self harm or try to commit suicide that want people to pry into their darkest moments,” Virgil scoffed. “My job is to make sure you don’t try it again. It’s not to figure out why you did it.”

“Eh,” Hank chuckled. “That’s fair.”

“My only question is why you want to watch a medical drama when you’re literally in a hospital,” Virgil muttered, waving a hand at the TV. Hank laughed again, the same sort of soft, short bark he did before.

“You do have a sense of humor, don’t you, Nurse Lawson?” Hank chuckled. “Tasha would have said the same thing.”

“Who’s that?” Virgil asked, sliding into the body of the comforter.

“Tasha’s my little sister,” Hank explained, a tiny smile emerging. “She’s a lieutenant, fighting back ISIS and such over in the Middle East. Well, not right now. She’s finished a tour of service, came home last week.” The barely living smile slipped away. “Memory’s a little foggy. Pretty sure she found me. I think I forgot she was home again.”

“There’s always a catch in plans,” Virgil muttered. “Guess you should, you know, never try it again.”

“Heh,” Hank sighed. “You’re probably right.” The empty space in the room filled with the soft tunes of whatever indie song was playing over the surgery on TV. “I don’t think I help Tasha’s army credentials a lot.”

“That’s not how the army works,” Virgil huffed, totally unsure of his statement. “They don’t care about someone’s sibling.”

“Even if that sibling is a criminal?” Hank scoffed. Virgil’s entire body tensed. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t murder. I ran with some gangs in my past. Some time in jail sorted me out. Can you turn off the TV?”

“What, no more Grey’s Anatomy?” Virgil asked, restoring his false air of confidence.

“No one knows the full story,” Hank muttered. “Not even Tasha. She doesn't know everything I did. I just want someone to know. I'm sick of keeping everything in. It's made me sick. ” That was all Virgil needed. He flicked the TV off and hopped off the recliner. He rolled his shoulders, even though that didn’t help his terrible posture.

“Alright then,” Virgil huffed. “Spill it.”

“You want all the details?” Hank asked. “They aren’t all pretty.”

“I want the full story,” Virgil growled, glaring down at Hank. He’d do whatever Hank needed to recover. After all, he wasn’t the only person in the world burdened by all the hidden details of a life story. Virgil was in the same boat. Even if Virgil had no one to confess to, he would give Hank someone.

Virgil pushed open the door to the ramen shop. The wall beside the door was a large mural of a cartoon alligator slurping on a bowl of ramen. The words ‘Gator Noodles’ stretched over the alligator’s face. The theme song of an anime Virgil couldn’t remember played over the speakers. Servers stalked around the square pale wood tables with trays of deep bowls filled with soy sauce soaked ramen. Rich afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows facing the street. Pastel colors covered the restaurant, like Virgil was stepping into a children’s anime. Virgil’s mouth watered as soon as the bell on the door chimed and the smell of soy sauce hit his nose.

Hank sat at a booth against the wall, closest to the bathrooms. He flipped through the pages of a gray paperback book. His fingers tapped against the table to the rhythm of the song overhead. With the basics of kung-fu going through his head, Virgil approached Hank’s table. The former patient noticed Virgil before he got there.

“You came!” Hank laughed, his voice still retaining the barky laughter from that night in St. Gemma’s. Hank slid a menu into his book and stood up.

“You invited me,” Virgil muttered, suddenly feeling very out of place in his scrubs. He really, really should have changed.

“Tasha was certain you wouldn’t show up,” Hank chuckled. “Sit down, sit down.” Hank slid back into the booth. Virgil shoved himself into the other seat and quickly grabbed a menu pressed under a metal stand of sauces.

“I didn’t recognize you when I saw you again,” Hank admitted. “The purple hair threw me off.”

“Yeah, uh, I started dying it a while back,” Virgil said, self-consciously pulling at a few strains of his hair.

“Check this out,” Hank said. He pushed his book across the table. It was a gray cover with prison walls near the bottom that read ‘Locked In.’ “You’d be surprised how many criminals have written books. This is only one of the books I picked up after we met. Never was much of a book guy, but it gave me something to do.”

“Good for you,” Virgil said, nodding. He glanced around the restaurant, hoping someone would come by and take his order.

“You seem happier,” Hank remarked. He slipped his book into his lap. “Less… I dunno, dark?”

“How much do you even remember about me?” Virgil asked, squinting.

“I’ll be honest, there are parts of that night that are totally lost,” Hank chuckled. He rested one elbow on the table and waved his hand around like a joystick. “But you? You are preserved in perfect detail. I mean, you’re the first person I ever really talked to about my issues.”

“I’m someone people can vent to,” Virgil sighed, shrugging.

“I know that now, but here’s the thing,” Hank huffed, pointing at Virgil. “You did not look all that welcoming. The black scrubs you nurses wore made you look more like angels of death.”

“St. Gemma’s is idiotic like that,” Virgil sighed.

“Sanders seems to be a good fit for you,” Hank sighed. “St. Gemma’s was fine and all, had some great care and fancy techniques, but you feel more human at Sanders, you know?”

“I know,” Virgil sighed, smiling.

“There was something off about half the folks there,” Hank chuckled. “Like that doctor who did my surgery, the one with the scars on his face.”

“Dr. D,” Virgil muttered.

“Right!” Hank barked. His hands soared around him in giant windmill patterns. “It’s still a weird name, even after all these years.”

“Are you ready to order now?” a server popped out of nowhere beside the booth, notepad in hand. Finally. Virgil pointed to the miso ramen dish on the menu, while Hank ordered the shoyu ramen. The server disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

“Alright,” Virgil sighed. “The question’s been on my mind all day, and I’m pretty sure you’ve answered it by now, but- how are you doing?”

“Well, it’s been an uphill battle,” Hank admitted, resting his wild hands. “I fiddled around with medication to help me until I decided to drop it all together and try something else. I’ve been seeing a therapist once a week, probably spent enough on therapy to cover those med school bills I hear so much about. Tasha’s been a big help too.” Virgil nodded softly. His insides churned. Even talking to him as a patient was easier than this. How was he expected to respond? Virgil just tried to settle his insides and make the ramen cook faster.

————————

“I’ll be fair, I’m not a storyteller,” Hank sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Most of this probably won’t make sense. Should I start at the beginning?”

“It’s your story,” Virgil muttered. Hank closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. For a moment, thoughts of Hank falling asleep and not waking up flooded Virgil’s head. But Hank opened his eyes again and started telling the story.

“I wasn’t a poor kid growing up,” Hank explained. “My family had cash, enough to live in one of the nicer parts in this city. Tasha was born a year after me, so we basically grew up together. I think my parents had the idea that I’d join the military out of college, maybe be a Navy guy like my dad. Tasha was always more like him, though. I took after Mom. More domestic, kinda, since I liked cleaning and cooking and whatnot. God, I loved cooking. Loved running around the kitchen. Didn’t make me a popular kid, though. Tasha and I really just had each other in school. She was the one who stood up to people for me.” Virgil couldn’t hide a little grin. After all, he’d been like that too- knitting and stitching and playing with whatever scraps of cloth he could find in his free time. But when was the last time he knitted something?

“When I started high school, Tasha was only in the eighth grade,” Hank continued.

“So you didn’t have any friends?” Virgil finished the thought.

“Right on the nose,” Hank sighed. “For the first part of the year, at least. Without Tasha, I didn’t know what to do with myself. No one talked to me after the first day. Eventually I made a friend, a guy I thought was a loner like me. Other guys like us migrated towards him. If you were a weirdo that everyone ignored, you had a place in our little group. You lost your mom and you’re angry at everyone around you? Come join us, we’re gonna drink on the beach. Everyone insult you for bad grades? Grades don’t matter when you’re skateboarding down the street. That’s right, I was a skater boy.” A dull ache swirled through Virgil. The ache had been with him since he graduated nursing school and got his job at St. Gemma’s. It was that ache that discovered St. Gemma’s, in a convoluted way. “I was an absolute idiot in high school.”

“Most people are,” Virgil muttered.

“That’s fair,” Hank admitted. “I think I took the cake, though. Most high school idiots stayed out past curfew or went to a few crazy parties. Meanwhile, my friends and I decided to get initiated into a gang of heartless little- like i said, stupid.”

“These guys were the only friends you had, right?” Virgil asked. “I can see anyone getting themselves into that situation. Doesn’t make you stupid.” Something clawed at Virgil’s chest. He ignored it for the moment.

“I was ruining my life and I didn’t even know it,” Hank scoffed. “Even after Tasha got to high school, I was long gone. I was out all night doing drug deals and pushing people around and playing with stolen guns. I stopped getting bullied. I thought I found people who cared about me. I got pretty good at running from the cops. I was having fun.” Hank’s good hand moved towards his bandage. Virgil grabbed his wrist and set Hank’s arm back to his side, gripping his wrist just a bit too tight. The arm was limp in Virgil’s grip.

“Don’t mess with your bandages, ok?” Virgil sighed. “We need to let them heal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. “It took me till after high school, when Tasha was just getting ready to graduate from West Point, to snap out of it. Ya see, that friend of mine dragged me into a kidnapping. It was some kid, not that much younger than I was when I joined. He said the kid was just collateral, some junkie owed us cash or whatever. He had nothing to do with anything, he didn’t deserve to get hurt. I got out of there as soon as I could, and I dialled 911. Heh, imagine what that operator was thinking. ‘Yes, hi, I would like to report a kidnapping. I just kidnapped a child and would like to return him please.’” Hank let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t think I said that exactly, but something like that.”

“Geesh,” Virgil groaned.

“I sat out there, waiting for the cops to show, and when they did, I brought them in,” Hank explained. “The guy I spent all of high school with, thought he was my best friend, he pulled a gun on me. Got shot in the shoulder for his troubles. Since I helped find the kid, I got some deals, so I got sent to a different prison than my friend and a shorter sentence. My parents stopped talking to me after that, which I honestly deserved. Tasha was the only one who stuck around. She’s too good for me.” Scenarios danced through Virgil’s head. Hank sitting in jail, Hank getting a gun pointed at him, Hank’s fear at his friend, Virgil’s fear at his friend- no, what was he doing? He was making things about himself. That wasn’t right!

“When I got out of jail, Tasha helped me rebuild my life,” Hank sighed. “She let me stay at her house, paid me to take care of the place when she was deployed. Since I had a gang out for my blood, I didn’t leave the house much. It was me and my thoughts all the time.”

“A horrible idea, really,” Virgil muttered.

“You said it,” Hank chuckled. “I didn’t have a schedule to follow anymore, so I just slunk around. I was a burden to Tasha. I’d ruined my life, and I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t get a job, couldn’t get a place of my own. I’ve done a lot of bad things, but I couldn’t do anything about it. The only option for me was to remind myself of how badly I’d screwed up and how horrible I was.”

“You feeling regret is a good thing,” Virgil huffed. “It means you know you made mistakes. It means you aren’t that horrible.”

“Not sure how true that is,” Hank muttered.

“I’m serious,” Virgil grunted, crossing his arms. “How many people would have the courage to call the cops on themselves?” Hank’s gaze trailed between his hands, opening and closing his fists.

“Maybe,” Hank sighed. “I still took my sister’s cash. I wasted away in her house, ordering fast food and binge-watching TV all day. The few times I left were for groceries or with Tasha. She wouldn’t give up on me. So I gave up on myself.” Silent words of understanding and empathy entered Virgil’s head. Memories of mirrored emotions fluttered past. They both sat in the dim hospital room, each thinking different, but depressingly similar thoughts.

“I don’t think there’s much I can do to help,” Virgil admitted. “That’s a lot to unpack.”

“You let me tell my story,” Hank sighed.

“I’m also staying with you,” Virgil declared. “You’ve got two people who aren’t willing to give up on you now. Your sister, and me.”

“A horrible idea, really,” Hank chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well,” Virgil huffed, throwing his hands in the air. “It sucks to suck, I guess.” Hank’s mouth twitched. Virgil’s shoulders flew to his ears as Hank let out a loud bark of laughter. His chest heaved, his laughter making him bounce on the bed. For the first time in a while, Virgil showed a genuine smile. It was tiny and barely visible, but it was there, without sarcasm or anger or fear.

“After all that, he still sang Happy Birthday?” Hank laughed, stirring his ramen with a chopstick.

“They jacked up his painkillers,” Virgil scoffed. “He was out of it. Logan never sings, ever.” Virgil took a bite of his ramen. He really hoped he was eating normally.

“These friends of yours sound great!” Hank declared, taking a large bite out of his ramen. Noodles clung to his chin, but he wiped them away and let them plop onto the table.

“They’re tolerable,” Virgil said, smirking.

“They’re loyal, from the way you talk about them,” Hank said through a mouthful of noodles. He swallowed, then said “If I had found friends like that as a kid, I probably would have turned out better.”

“Alright, they’re great,” Virgil admitted, shaking his head. “If Roman heard me say that, his ego would grow ten sizes too big.” Virgil stabbed at his ramen. Thoughts danced on the tiny ripples in the soy sauce. He might as well tell Hank. He kept gushing about Virgil changing his life, so he probably wouldn’t get laughed at. “You keep saying I changed your life, but I’m thinking you changed mine too.”

“How?” Hank asked, glancing between Virgil and his ramen.

“The people I was with were toxic,” Virgil explained. “I wasn’t in a good place. I was trapped at St. Gemma’s in the same way you were trapped with that old friend of yours, and your sister’s house.”

“The house is less of a trap now,” Hank chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I still live there, but it’s a lot happier.”

“I thought the others were my friends, but…” Virgil sighed. “As you were talking, I realized they weren’t good for me. I was dying. It’s what drove me to join Sanders, in the end.” Hank’s bark of laughter ripped through Virgil’s ears.

“Nice to know we both made a difference,” Hank chuckled.

“I need to head back,” Virgil sighed, slipping out of the booth. “Thanks for the ramen.”

“Thanks for talking to me!” Hank laughed, scrambling out of the booth. He held his hand out to Virgil. “It really was great to see you.”

“I’ll probably see you again, considering I’m on your sister’s case,” Virgil said. He gritted his teeth and shook Hank’s hand. Awkward awkward awkward! Why was his hand all loose and weird?

“Yeah,” Hank said, nodding. Virgil shot Hank a two-fingered salute and, checking his pocket for his phone, strolled towards the exit of Gator Noodles. The anime music ringing through his head finally stopped. Virgil tugged at the collar of his scrubs and sighed. It really wasn’t the worst lunch ever. It was rather nice, if Virgil was being honest. But what it really was was a reminder- a reminder of what Virgil had escaped. He let out a long, deep breath. He stuck his hands into his pockets and started on his walk back to Sanders Hospital.

————————

(Years prior to Hank Dragon and Virgil Lawson’s first meeting…)

Virgil’s fellow nursing graduates screamed around him as their hats flew into the air. Virgil only tossed his a little bit above him- he didn’t want to lose the memento of all his hard work. The end of nursing school. The day had finally arrived. His graduating class hugged the people around them, sharing high fives and cheers. Virgil was perfectly happy to stand there, not touching anyone, and fix the hat back on his head.

His classmates swarmed towards the stands where their families waited, cheering for their kids and siblings, sharing the accomplishment. Virgil padded the opposite direction, towards his now former university. He had no one in the stands for him. His family was back in Atlanta, waiting for him to drive home. It wasn’t like Virgil wasn’t a bit annoyed his mom couldn’t come to his graduation. She’d been there for all his other major events. Still, it couldn’t be helped. His mom had so many backed-up sessions at the tattoo shop, she couldn’t drive down to Florida now. That was honestly preferable. Now that he was done with school, he could finally go home. He could find a job in Atlanta (after all, he’d gotten nursing licenses for both Georgia and Florida, just in case), stay with his mom until he found the right apartment, and start his life. And that was, quite frankly, terrifying.

Virgil paused underneath a tree thick with large, green leaves. He shuffled under his robes and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his dress pants. Sure he wasn’t supposed to have the phone during graduation, but what if someone called needing something? He leaned against the tree and dialed his mom’s number. He looked into the leaves above as the phone rang and, for a few moments, his anxiety was lifted.

“Hello?” someone asked on the other end of the call.

“Hey Mom,” Virgil said. “I didn’t fail nursing school, it seems. I’m not sticking around for all the kissing and crying and whatever. Once I get some stuff from my apartment, I’ll start heading home.”

“Who is this?” the voice asked.

“Uh…” Virgil stammered. “Virgil? Your son?”

“You’re her son?” the voice gasped. “She had a son?”

“Wait, you aren’t Mom,” Virgil huffed. Something churned in his stomach. “Who is this?”

…

no.

…

No.

…

No no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO-

He was burning underneath those itchy, itchy robes. Everything hurt, everything was too much, the world was too much. The grass stabbed his feet, the tree ran daggers down his stiff, burning shoulders. He wasn’t sure when he sat down. His hat fell off. His tears hadn’t come yet- even in his worst moments, the tears were always the last thing to show up- but the stabbing, choking sound coming out of his throat was enough for now.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when he wasn’t there, oh God he wasn’t there, how could he not have been there, he should have been there!

“This graduation had become much more interesting,” someone muttered. “It seems the joy of the moment has become too much for you.” Virgil didn’t bother opening his eyes. He stayed curled into himself, trying not to suffocate. “In case you’re too panicked to fully process that, that statement was sarcastic. Let’s try to breath, shall we? Maybe then I can understand if what you need is a few tissues or an ambulance.” Virgil’s hand flew out, dismissing whoever stood beside him. He didn’t need someone poking their nose into this. He couldn’t even say what it was. Words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“It may not be clear to you,” the stranger huffed. “But I am trying to help you. If you can’t talk, then I’ll figure things out the best I can. We’ve got a phone here-”

“Don’t touch that!” Virgil roared, eyes flying open. A black gloved hand was reaching for the phone at Virgil’s side. Virgil grabbed the phone and held it to his chest. He finally looked up at the stranger trying to help him. Scars ran down run side of his face, illuminated by the sun poking between the leaves. It looked like someone had taken a torch to half this person’s body.

“So you can speak,” the stranger sighed. They crouched to Virgil’s level. Their heterochromatic eyes tried to stay level with Virgil’s. “I am sorry to have upset you further. Perhaps I could have a name?” Virgil’s fists rested against his forehead, pressing into his skull as the tears, the late-comers they were- finally decided to show up.

“Virgil,” Virgil choked out, still sobbing.

“Virgil,” the stranger said. Virgil’s name rolled off his tongue. “Like Dante’s guide through the inferno. Poetic. You were the only one to go this way when the caps flew. I can only assume that whatever happened, it’s a new development. Since no one else seems to have noticed your distress, I suppose you’ll need my help.”

“You can’t help,” Virgil snapped. “I don’t even know you.”

“Then let’s change that,” the stranger sighed. He put his hand to his chest. “You may call me Dr. D, or simply D for now.”

“What-” Virgil stammered through his sobs. “That’s not a name.”

“I don’t entrust my name to many, so that is what I go by,” Dr. D huffed. He settled onto the grass in front of Virgil. “Now then, Virgil. Would you like someone to talk to?”

————————

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#sanders hospital #sanders sides au #sanders sides #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sanders hospital fanfic #virgil sanders #suicide #attempted suicide #gangs #kidnapping #mentions of death

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