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rosethesongbird · 5 years ago

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The Nurse, the Witch, and the Witchfinder

(Yes, that is a play on “The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe,” I’m terribly sorry, I couldn’t resist. This fic was rolling around in my head last night, and is really just a very self-indulgent exercise to try and practice writing for different illnesses; it’s also stemming from the fact that I couldn’t find many fics about Newt and Anathema, which makes sense as Azi and Crowley are really much more interesting characters--but why not give the American witch and her Witchfinder some more love? Anathema needs a friend!! Anyways, enjoy it, and enjoy me trying to flesh out my OC. I may try to write another part, if I feel so inclined. -R)

“Good morning, Dawn,”

“Mornin’, Ana.”

Dawn’s neighbor peeked over the shrub “fence” separating their gardens.

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Sure, long as you don’t mind me answering your weird question while I’m elbow deep in hydrangeas.” It was mid-morning, about ten, and Dawn’s short brown curls were pulled back into a half ponytail, concealed under a wide brimmed straw hat. A perfect day for gardening, it was, and she needed to unwind after five days of hosting two celestial beings at her home followed by a rough work week.

“Are you working today?” Anathema looked like she had just woken up. Her long hair was piled on top of her head in a haphazard bun.

“No, I’ve got the day off.” Dawn stopped for a moment, thinking. “That’s not a very weird question.”

“Well, no, that was a… preliminary question. The weird question is, would you mind coming by later today and taking a look at Newt?”

Dawn’s focus returned to her planter. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Why, what’s wrong with him?” She picked up a small grasshopper, frowning and squishing it between two gloved fingers.

“Well, all day yesterday he had a migraine, and barely left the bed. Usually he can sleep them off just fine, but he was up all night tossing and turning, and this morning he’s worse,” Anathema yawned. “I just want to make sure it’s not the flu or anything.”

“Does he have a fever?”

Anathema shrugged. “He feels pretty warm, but… he broke our thermometer.” Dawn chuckled. “Plus, my hands are always cold anyway.”

“Hm… alright. Do you think it can wait a couple of hours? Tell you what, I’ll come by around lunchtime, and I’ll bring lunch, if you don’t mind hosting.” she patted her hands together, brushing off the extra soil, and stood up. She stood several inches shorter than Anathema, despite her yard being on the “higher” side of the hill. “Jack’s on travel, so I’m by myself for the next few days. Might as well have lunch with a friend,” she smiled.

“Sounds good to me! How about I’ll make some tea. Iced, to remind us of home.”

“Perfect.” Dawn grinned. “It’ll be our little Yankee secret.”

—

Dawn knocked cautiously on the front door, carrying a lunch bag, her usual handbag looped over her shoulder. The door opened with a squeak after a few seconds, revealing a still tired-looking but washed and dressed Anathema.

“Hey! Sorry,” her voice was hushed. “Newt’s asleep.”

“Oh, no worries,” said Dawn, voice quieted to match. “Poor guy probably needs the rest, anyway.” She walked in, setting her handbag down, and slipping off her shoes. “I totally came here in my house slippers,” she said, grinning.

Anathema struggled to suppress a laugh. “Stop, I’m gonna laugh and wake him up!”

“Oh,” Dawn dug around in her handbag before pulling out a small glass thermometer. “I brought this, too. You can keep it, since your man’s so technologically challenged,” Dawn snickered.

The two women made their way into the kitchen, sharing a quiet conversation about the domesticity of everyday life in Tadfield. Anathema poured them both a glass of ice cold tea.

“There isn’t any witchy magic in this tea, is there?” Dawn said, opening the lunch bag.

“Nope. Just good old fashioned regular tea. Although I can’t say I didn’t try to get Newt to drink a few… remedies."

Dawn laughed, handing the taller brunette a small sandwich wrapped in paper.

“Gourmet cookin’,” she said, taking a bite.

“Mm, just like Mom used to make,” Anathema remarked, smirking. They shared a beat of silence, just “munching,” as Dawn would say.

“So, how’s Newt? Any better in the past couple of hours?” Dawn said, having already eaten three-quarters of her sandwich.

“Not really,” said the witch. She finished chewing before speaking again. “He fell asleep while I was out in the garden, and hasn’t really woken up since. He still seems really warm, too.”

As if on cue, a noise came from the room upstairs, sounding somewhat between a high-pitched whine and a moan. “Anathema,” Newt cried out.

“Oh, poor thing,” Dawn said sympathetically.

“Here, come on up,” Anathema set down her sandwich and gestured warmly to the shorter woman. As the two made their way to the stairwell, the man in the bedroom cried out again, with some urgency. “I’m coming, Newt,” Anathema yelled up the stairs. “Dawn’s here, to take a look at you, too.” Anathema looked back at Dawn, brown eyes meeting each other with a knowing glance. They climbed the stairs, Anathema quietly opening the door to the bedroom, entering first.

“Hey, you OK?” Newt groaned in response. Dawn entered the room in silence, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. She took a moment, transferring her thoughts into “work mode,” taking in the sight of her patient.

The man was lying on his back in the bed he shared with Anathema, head propped up slightly on a well-loved pillow. He was holding himself stiffly, almost as if he was afraid to move, and his eyes were shut tight, despite the curtains still being shut in the room. His chest was bare but for the hair that grew there, and his skin was pale yet tinged with the telltale flush of fever, shining with a cast of sweat. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his glasses lay on the nightstand, untouched since the night before.

“Hey, Newt,” Dawn said, softly. “Can I take a look at you?” His eyes, now opened, were glassy; illness shrouding the usual robin’s egg blue.

“Anathema,” he said, slurring.

“I’m right here, babe,” she said, crouching by his side, face betraying her sudden surge of worry. “How are you feeling?”

“Mh. Hot,” he breathed.

“Here,” she picked up a glass of water from the nightstand, supporting him as he struggled to sit up.

“Hold on,” Dawn interrupted. “Let me take his temp first. It won’t be accurate if he’s had anything to drink.” She sat down next to the man in the bed.

“But ‘m thirsty,” he whined, leaning back on the pillow.

“I know, sweetheart. It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise,” Dawn allowed the pet name to slip from her lips. It was a force of habit she retained from work, when dealing with someone so ill.

Newt relented and allowed her to place the thermometer in his mouth. “There you go. Ana, will you set a timer for three minutes? I know I’m gonna forget that glass ones don’t beep.”

“Three minutes, got it,” she said, fiddling with her phone before looking back up to her boyfriend, clasping his shaking hand in hers, strong and cool.

“Can I feel around for your lymph nodes, Newt?”

He shrugged weakly, giving a small noise of approval. “Alright, look up for me?” Her hands gently began feeling around his neck. His skin was not warm to the touch, but hot; and to be honest, she hardly needed to touch him—his glands were visibly swollen and angry-looking. She pushed lightly up on his chin to be met with a groan of pain—causing her to instantly pull her hands away.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Is your neck a little sore?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Stiff,” he struggled to form the word around the thermometer.

Anathema shushed him. “Don’t talk,” she said, comfortingly.

“Well, I won’t touch those again,” said Dawn. “Let me check somewhere else. Can you raise your arms just a little bit?” The man complied, albeit feebly. She pressed gently under his arms, finding more swelling.

“Are these tender at all?” He shook his head slowly, shutting his eyes tightly at the motion.

“Hm. Still have a headache?” he hummed in affirmation.

“Oh, poor baby,” Anathema gently stroked his hair, pushing it off of his forehead.

Dawn turned away from him and frowned, thinking. “Have you been up and walking around at all since you started feeling bad?”

He opened his eyes, looking at Anathema. “Mmh,” he tapped her hand lightly.

“Oh, he did get up yesterday, but he got dizzy and almost fell over, so I had to help him,” she said, Newt moaning again through closed lips in agreement. Anathema’s phone started chiming, loudly, and he groaned again at the sound, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Alright, let’s see,” said Dawn, taking the thermometer from the man’s chapped lips. His face paled suddenly as Dawn was distracted, holding the small glass rod up to the small amount of light coming through the curtain.

“You okay?” Anathema checked in again.

“Nauseous,” Newt sat forward from the pillows, breathing quickly and heavily.

“Do you think you’re gonna throw up?” The witch started rubbing his back in small, gentle circles.

“No,” he said, managing to slur a single syllable word. He immediately retched, a small amount of vomit coming from his mouth and nose.

“Oh, sweetie,” Anathema cooed. “Hold on for just a second, I’ll be right back with a rag.”

Dawn took her place rubbing his back as she left the room. She smiled warmly, meeting eyes with the man for a moment, before his eyes slid closed.

“S’rry,” he coughed, as his stomach contents bubbled up and out of gently parted lips; his body had used all of its energy on the single contraction of his belly, forcing him to swallow the bulk of it again to avoid choking.

“Don’t be,” said Dawn, wiping his lips with a balled-up tissue. “Ana, would you bring some more rags and some cool water?” She yelled down the stairs, trying to be loud enough for the other woman to hear her while not hurting her patient’s sensitive ears.

“Got it,” the witch’s voice was followed by the sound of tap turning on.

The nurse turned her attention back to her patient. The rise and fall of his chest was shaky but even, his neck muscles stood out in tension. The witch entered the room, carrying a bowl of water and a stack of washcloths. She wet one of the cloths in the water, wringing it out; then wiped his chin, neck, and chest clean of any remains of his prior sickness.

“Will you give me a couple, Ana?”

“Sure,” she obliged. “What was his temperature?”

“Pretty high,” the nurse frowned. “40.4 C, so… like 104-and-a-half Fahrenheit? Approximately?”

“Oh, wow,” said Anathema, with concern. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she brushed Newt’s hair off of his face again, allowing her hand to comfortingly linger in the dark brown curls.

“Well, it can be,” Dawn applied one of her cloths to the base of the man’s neck. “As long as it responds to treatment, it shouldn’t cause any harm, but we’ll keep a close eye on it.” She lifted the man’s arm, rolling up another rag, then wedging it in the pit of his arm, next to the sensitive swollen glands. He didn’t move as she applied the same technique to the opposite arm, both arms falling limp by his side. His body jerked suddenly, a trickle of bile escaping his lips; breath catching, and an involuntary cough, the rest of his body still completely limp.

“You okay, Newt?” said Dawn, eyebrows furrowed. The man didn’t respond. “Hey, c’mon, wake up,” she gently patted his cheek with an open hand, the skin still pyretic under her palm. His head lolled toward Anathema before his body suddenly stiffened—back arching, hands clenching into fists, a choked cry. His body began to shake violently.

“Oh, my god!” Anathema cried out, pulling her arms away, second-guessing, then returning her hands to his shaking body.

“Turn him on his side,” said Dawn, lifting one side of the man’s body and turning him toward the witch. “It shouldn’t last more than a few minutes.” Newt continued to shake, Anathema gently stroking his upper arm, Dawn looking at her watch. After about two minutes (by Dawn’s count,) the tremors ceased, and he once again went limp.

“Oh, Newt,” said Anathema, softly.

“We should be safe to put him on his back again. He’ll probably be really disoriented when he wakes up, though,” Dawn made eye contact with her. “Just a fair warning.”

The two women sat silently there for a moment, a heavy feeling of worry coming over the room, both of them lost in thought. Newt suddenly took a breath, gasping, moaning. His eyes slid halfway open, neck tensing again.

“Hey, sweetie,” Anathema’s hand moved to his cheek. “You okay?”

He moaned again, pushing his face into her palm, eyes squeezing shut once again before relaxing.

Dawn suddenly noticed an odd feeling pooling in her stomach, realizing she was tensing her jaw. Her gift of discernment was sometimes almost like a sixth sense in times like this, her unconscious mind tipping off her thought process that something wasn’t right.

“Newt, let me see your eyes,” she pulled a pen light out of her pocket. He turned his head toward the sound of her voice, almost as if he was moving in slow motion. His eyelids twitched, too little energy left to even open a fraction, and he let out a small “Mh” sound.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she said, voice measured and calming. Anathema’s hand moved to rub the back of his head. Dawn reached out to pull up on one eyelid, flashing the small light into the blown-out pupil, which didn’t budge in response. She let out a curse, and moved to the other eye, which reacted in the same way—which is to say, not at all.

“Shit, Ana, he needs to get to the ER like, now,” Dawn said, sitting back. “No pupillary light reflex. Something’s going on with his brain.”

Anathema stiffened, eyes darting around Newt’s now unresponsive body in the bed. “How are we going to get him in the car? There’s no way he could get down the stairs.”

“Call 999, it’s faster,” Dawn pulled the covers off of Newt’s legs. His pajama pants were soaked through with sweat. “Tell them he had a seizure, and had a head ache yesterday, and now he’s not responding,” she said, as the witch pulled out her cell phone. She stood up, beginning to pace around the room, frantically speaking to the emergency services operator.

Far off, a siren started, ambulance tyres peeling out of a parking lot. The nurse held the hand of the unconscious man, rubbing comfortingly up and down his arm, as the witch collected some of her things in a large tote bag, still holding the cell phone to her ear.

“Do you want me to come?” Dawn whispered.

“Yes,” Anathema let out all the breath in her lungs at once, anxious. “Yes, please come along. I wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.” Just then, they heard a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Dawn said, jumping up from the bed. “You stay here with him.”

—

The double doors in A&E burst open with a flurry of activity. A gurney, surrounded by several nurses and a doctor, followed by two women—one tall, tears pricking at her eyes, one short, jaw set, determined, in her element.

“What have we got?”

“Temp 40.5 and rising, Doctor,”

“Let’s get him on ice. Paramedics place that IV?”

“Yes, sir. They suspect meningitis,”

“Any neuro symptoms?”

“Patient suffered a seizure at home, and another during the ambulance ride. Pupils are nonreactive.”

“Alright. Let’s get a cranial CT, start IV antibiotics and corticosteroids, and get a lumbar puncture ordered pending CT results.”

“Yes, Doctor,” one of the nurses split off of the still-moving mass of people, toward a desk. Another nurse joined up in her place, laying blue gel packs around Newt’s motionless body.

“Oh, Dawn, I thought you were off today,” said the doctor, looking up at the two women closely following the man in the gurney.

“I am. This is a friend,” she said, confidently. “And you forgot to order labs, sir,”

“Of course,” the doctor gestured to one of the other nurses, who rushed over to join the other woman at the desk.

“Let’s go straight to ICU, no wasting time.” One of the nurses pushed open a door to an empty room, rushing inside.

“You still with us, Newt?”

Newt groaned behind his oxygen mask, half-lidded blue eyes glassy and unseeing. One of the nurses pulled away the gel packs with the blanket, opening a paper envelope with a loud crinkling sound and applying leads to his body.

“We’re gonna transfer you to a bed, mate, so stay still for a minute for us,” a male nurse remarked as they picked Newt up, lying him gently on the bed, pulling a pair of socks onto his feet and half-covering him with a blanket, in one swift and well-practiced motion. Anathema sat down in a seat near the bed, putting her head in her hands. Most of the nurses left the room, the two remaining finished up placing the leads on Newt’s body and beginning their usual checks, the noise in the room mostly quieting except for the beeps of machines being set up and the two pairs of women speaking softly to each other.

“You okay?” Dawn placed a hand on Anathema’s shoulder. “He’s in good hands, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Anathema’s voice cracked with emotion. “I just can’t help but wonder…if I had read what Agnes sent, would I have been able to…”

“To prevent this?” Ana nodded, wiping her eyes. “Well,” Dawn said with an exhale. “There’s no way of knowing now, and no sense getting wound up over it all. What’s best is for us to be strong. For him,” she said, leaning down to eye level with the seated woman.

“I guess you’re right,” she said, sniffling.

“Knowing what you told me, she probably predicted you would burn them.”

Anathema chuckled. “That may be true.” She sighed. “It’s just that… he trusted me. When I decided to burn them. We’d barely known each other a day, and he trusted my judgment. Now I just feel like maybe he shouldn’t have blindly gone along with the crazy witch lady.”

“Didn’t the ‘crazy witch lady’ kinda save his life?” Dawn gave her a half smile. “Oh, I don’t know. The crazy witch lady and the nerdy guy sort of helped save the world and all. No big deal.”

Anathema smiled.

“Look, I’m just saying. He trusted you then, and now? He trusted your judgment to let me come take a look, and here we are,” Dawn stood to full height, crossing her arms, watching the nurses do their work. “If you hadn’t asked me to come by, I don’t know what would have happened.” Anathema nodded.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“Hm?” Dawn turned her head to look at her friend.

“For coming to help, I mean.”

“Oh, no problem. It’s sort of my thing.”

The two women were silent for a moment, listening to the nurses.

“What was the temp?” said the nurse at the computer.

“I got 40.8,” said the other woman. “Oh, and put down GCS 9. E3 V2 M4 at 13:52,”

“Got it.” She leaned over to another machine. “Sats look good,”

“Yep,” the other nurse fiddled with the IV bag. “Heart rate’s a little high, though, about 103.”

“Do you ladies need anything? Water, an extra chair?”

“An extra chair would be great,” Dawn remarked.

“Not a problem. We’ll be right back with that, and we should be getting our tests set up shortly,”

“Sounds good.”

The nurses left, the three neighbors now alone in the hospital room.

They sat there all through the rest of visiting hours, watching Newt be pricked and poked and carted around to various tests. He had awoken a few times, never lucid, always exhausted. They had at least gotten a confirming diagnosis, bacterial meningitis, and were reassured that the man should recover after a few days in hospital, although the fever had not come close to breaking. The attending physician had also prescribed some preemptive antibiotics for Anathema, who was eventually persuaded by Dawn to take them, alongside some old home remedies, of course.

Dawn had left at the end of visiting time, going home to prepare for a day of work ahead. “I’ll try to see if I can’t get in here tomorrow,” she said, before leaving. “The attending is a buddy of mine, so I bet I can weasel my way in. And,” she laid her hand on Anathema’s shoulder, “try to get some rest.”

“I’ll do my best.” The witch smiled.

“See you tomorrow,” said Dawn, flippantly raising a hand as she walked out the door.

#good omens #whump #h/c #hurt/comfort #hospital whump #meningitis #tw: emetophobia #tw: vomit #anathema device #anathema #newton pulsifer #newt #witchfinder army #practical occultist #professional descendant #my writing

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