#toddlers are so valid. teething pain fucking sucks

[loumauve]

clawing at the walls. shredding the sheets. would bite the wooden doorframes if I could.

[nancywheelxr]

Could I prompt you with Diego needing stitched up/some kind of shot or needle related treatment and being terrified enough that Luther, Klaus, and Five all team up to try to get him through it? (especially if Luther's surprisingly the most sympathetic of all of them during all of it)

Hey, there! Hope you like it, anon!

They should have gone to California with the girls.

Diego could be laying in the warm sand right now, the calming sound of the ocean lulling him to sleep in a golden beach, a cold drink in his hand.

That could have been his day.

But no, they just had to stop in Chicago first. And then, when they heard of it on the news, they just had to meddle in the bank robbery.

And of course, of course, somehow all of that had lead to Diego being stabbed in the stomach. To be fair, it’s just a flesh wound, more of a nuisance than anything, but still. It hurts like a bitch and it’s soaking his uniform with blood, dripping all down his legs as they make their way back to their hotel room.

Luther and Five immediately disappear inside their room, bickering about bathroom privileges, and Diego has no doubt Five is going to cheat his way into showering first.

In his own room, Diego sits carefully at the edge of his bed, hiding a wince when pain shoots through his body and his vision blurs for a second. The bed across his creaks as Klaus throws himself on the mattress, sighing theatrically.

“Don’t be silly,” Klaus tells the empty air near his bed while Diego catches his breath, so he figures Ben is rooming with them for the night too. “Of course not, I think we would have noticed something like that.”

Whatever nonsense they’re arguing doesn’t matter, because Diego has bigger problems to deal with like the fact his blood is beginning to stain the sheets and the carpet, and that’s going to be hard to explain to the cleaning lady.

“Hey, Diego,” Klaus calls, laughing, “you wanna hear this. Ben thinks you got stabbed.”

Well shit. So death turned Ben into a fucking snitch, huh.

“That’s ridiculous, right?” He pauses when Diego says nothing, and shit, now Klaus is sitting up, eyes going wide as he takes in the bloody sheets and Diego knows he’s probably looking like shit too. “Oh my god, is that blood? Did you really get stabbed? Diego!”

“I may have gotten slightly stabbed,” Diego grits out, pressing a hand to his stomach and grimacing when it comes out red. “But tell Ben snitches get stitches.”

Klaus jumps to his feet, frowning worriedly as Diego peels his shirt up, peering at the gash on his abdomen. Look, he’ll be the first to admit it does look bad, and sure, it might hurt like hell, and sure, he’s a bit dizzy from blood loss by now, but it definitely doesn’t warrant the way Klaus gasps horrified and begins banging on the wall, calling Five and Luther from the next room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Diego demands, trying to cross his arms but giving up when it jostles his injury. “Stop it, they’re gonna–”

The telltale blue light flashes as Five jumps in the middle of the room without his jacket and his tie askew. “What? What’s the problem now?”

Not a second later, Luther is stumbling through the door, looking around for a threat. “What’s going on?”

Before he could say anything, Klaus announces, “Diego got stabbed!”

“Lightly stabbed,” Diego feels the need to point out, awfully defensive for someone bleeding out in a hotel bed.

“This looks bad,” Luther makes a face, flinching, “we should take him to a hospital, come on.”

“And do you want to be the one telling the staff that sure he was at that bank robbery, but he’s not one of the half dozen robbers with stab wounds?” Five snaps, actually coming closer to examine the wound. He pokes around the cut and Diego bites his lip not to give away the pain. “It’s just a flesh wound, but it needs stitches, he’s lost enough blood as it is.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Diego shoots back, pulling his shirt down and angrily batting the hand away. “I’ll be fine with a bandage, thanks.”

“Do we even have a first aid kit?” Klaus asks, ignoring Diego’s very valid protests and immediately hurrying out of the room once Luther tells him that yes, there’s one in the car. It’s a little heartwarming, up until the point where Diego remembers this is a complete overreaction.

You know, this would never have happened if they all got separated rooms like Diego wanted. In fact, a whole lot of things would not have happened if only they had listened to Diego because Diego is clearly the more sensible one out of them all, but god forbid Luther ever listened to him.

They might have taken a wrong road somewhere and missed the highway to California, but then again, that’s on them for leaving Klaus with the map.

“This is ridiculous,” Diego tells them, shrinking back in the bed when Klaus comes back with the kit and Five starts rummaging through it in search of thread and needle. “No one is getting anywhere near me with that,” he protests, pointing at the needle in Five’s hand, and if his voice rises in the end, embarrassingly high, they don’t mention it.

“No offense,” Klaus says, approaching cautiously, “but that would’ve worked better if you weren’t still bleeding in our carpet.”

Luther follows him, hands raised in front of his chest, “look, it’s this or facing the cops at the hospital, but we can’t let you bleed out with a gaping cut in your gut.” And that’s so unfair because they know Diego is still not in good terms with the police, and Five probably has fingerprints in half a dozen unsolved cold cases, so that’s not a choice, not really. When Luther and Klaus haul him up, Diego is forced to grit his teeth and let them. “Come on, up you go. Let’s get him in the bathtub.”

“Jesus Christ,” Klaus mutters, stepping back once they laid Diego down, and okay, it does look a lot worse in the brighter light of the bathroom, and the dizziness is getting a lot worse, Diego has to admit. Maybe a few stitches would be a good idea, he likes his guts where they are inside his body, thank you very much.

“Well, it looks like I’ll have to be the one doing this,” Five grimaces, sounding clinical and resigned, antiseptic already poised, and rolls his eyes when Luther makes a helpless gesture and Klaus takes yet another step back. “Useless,” he mutters, setting the kit down by the bathtub.

“Do you know how to stitch wounds?” Diego asks, talking through the sting of the antiseptic as he pulls his shirt up while Five cleans the cut.

“What part of hitman do you people don’t understand? Would you stay still?”

Luther shuffles forward, gloves surprisingly gone, and holds Diego down by the shoulders, ignoring the furious glare sent his way.

“Thank you,” Five says, pausing before turning back to Diego. “Now, I know you have a phobia, but–”

The rest of his sentence is lost when Diego catches sight of the needle, gleaming silver in the artificial light, and the panic that rises inside his ribcage is suddenly overwhelming. His mind is already fuzzy and Diego struggles against Luther’s hold, trashing inside the bathtub. “No, fuck this, I changed my mind– let me go, asshole!”

“Diego, hey, Diego– Klaus, get his legs,” he hears Luther order, but it sounds far away, echoing oddly in the tiled bathroom. “Diego, look at me. Hey, hey, you lost a lot of blood and you’re aggravating your injury. You need stitches. Do you understand?” He waits until Diego reluctantly nods. “I know this sucks, and it’s going to hurt, but it’s the only way, okay?”

“Screw you,” Diego spits out, glaring at them all. “But fine.”

Five starts without warning and it’s a good thing both Luther and Klaus are holding Diego down, because he flinches with his whole body, hands grasping uselessly at the porcelain sides of the bathtub.

His breathing speeds up and his chest is beginning to feel like a sinkhole, caving in and crushing his lungs, and his heart is drumming wildly, deafeningly loud in the silence, and Jesus, it hurts like a motherfucking–

“So, I heard it’s raining in California,” says Luther, awkward as only he and Vanya ever manage to be.

“What?” Klaus frowns, huffing breathless in his effort to keep Diego still.

“Yeah. Allison called last night. Big storm there, she says. So no beaches, it seems.”

Another minute of silence goes by before Luther tries again.

“I’ve never been to California.”

“Good for you big guy. I mean,” Klaus quickly amends, and Diego didn’t miss the meaningful glare Luther pinned him. “Me neither! Have you ever been to the West Coast, Diego?”

Five nearly snorts at that, and Diego casts a look that he hopes carries exactly what he thinks of this shitty small talk, but he still answers. “No. Should have gone with them though.”

“I don’t know,” Luther muses, “I don’t think the weather is very good for your black clothes.”

“Are you seriously gonna insult me right now– holy shit, what are you doing? Stabbing me again?”

“If you would stop squirming,” Five grumbles, but his hands are gentler when he resumes sewing, “maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“You’re doing good, buddy,” Luther pats his shoulder like Diego is some sort of unruly toddler, “we’re almost done.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Diego says with feeling.

“Don’t be rude,” Klaus chides, poking his leg, “we’re being supportive. Keeping your mind off the–”

“I heard Maine is great this time of the year,” Luther talks loudly, so stupidly earnest that Diego has to snort.

“Ben says Florida would fit us better.”

“I would never willingly set foot with either of you in Florida,” Diego tells him honestly because he doesn’t want to imagine the kind of chaos that would ensue.

A sting pierces his stomach, and Five announces, “I’m done, you can look now.”

Diego looks.

The wound is sewed up neatly across his abdomen, the blood cleaned off even if his clothes are a lost cause. It’s a better job than half the times Diego had to go to the ER and he didn’t even faint this time.

“Thanks,” Diego mutters, refusing to look at either of them, and lets his head loll back at the edge of the tub.

Klaus turns away, busying himself at the sink, turning the faucet all the way on as he washes his hands, and Five presses a couple of pills on Diego’s hands. “For the pain,” he says quietly.

Diego quickly swallows them dry.

“This is way more exciting than California,” Luther tries for cheerful, helping him up. “I bet Allison and Vanya are just watching TV and eating ice cream.”

“Yeah, really dodged a bullet there,” Diego snorts, sounding a lot less sarcastic than he had intended, but he blames it on the tiredness and the pain. The mattress feels like heaven after the bathtub.

“We can go get ice cream,” Klaus volunteers as if his shirt isn’t stained with blood too. “Do you want strawberry or chocolate chips? Nevermind, stupid question, cookie dough is the superior flavor.”

“Coffee for me,” Five calls, claiming Klaus bed for himself.

Luther drags a chair between the beds, “strawberry for me.”

“You are all wrong, but we’ll be right back,” Klaus says haughtily, pointing a stern finger towards Diego. “And no dying until I’m back.”

The door closes behind him and the sounds of his bickering with who they hope is Ben drifts into nothing. Diego closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Today has certainly been a busy day, and it certainly could have gone better, but at the very least they might make it to California by the end of the week after all and the promise of ice cream is enough to make him feel better about making a fool of himself a few moments ago.

It’s just his brothers, he supposes. They’ve all seen each other in worse shapes before. All in all, he might even be grateful.