#whumprilday11

[cuddlepilefics]

Can’t Sleep

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Chan

Caregivers: Stray Kids

Prompts: Can’t sleep, eyes rolled back, weak pulse, urgent care, no time to rest

@whumpril

No one’s POV.:

Chan had been nursing a cold for the past week. It hadn’t been more than a scratchy throat at first but that was soon joined by a persistent, pounding headache. Since they were preparing for a comeback, Chan didn’t allow himself time to rest. There were things that needed to be done and even if he lay down and tried to sleep, his thoughts would be racing, circling everything that was still left on his to-do list and keeping him awake. If he couldn’t sleep anyway because there were so many tasks left to be completed, might as well go about completing those tasks. At least, that was the leader’s reasoning. His dongsaeng’s had told him to rest and recover from his cold first but they hadn’t been successful and not even the reminder that he would end up making himself a lot sicker wasn’t enough to keep Chan from working.

They had seen it coming, well, everyone except for Chan had seen it coming. The other members weren’t all too surprised when their hyung’s health took a turn for the worse. Changbin and Jisung were sweating while working at the studio despite wearing short sleeve but Chan, bundled up in a thick hoodie, was still trembling with chills, so they had to keep the air conditioning off. It was obvious that the Aussie was running a fever. If the chills hadn’t given that away, the flush in his cheeks, that stood out against the sickly pallor of his face, and the glossy shine in his eyes surely would have. His eyes watered from looking at his laptop screen and no matter how many times he dabbed away the tears with the cuff of his sleeves, they were always replaced by fresh ones. The light not only made his eyes water, it also sent stabs of pain through his already aching skull but it couldn’t be helped.

Changbin and Jisung had repeatedly asked Chan to lay down and sleep. He could even take the studio couch if he didn’t want to go back to the dorm but no, the eldest still insisted he couldn’t sleep, so what use was there in laying down? “Hyung, for fucks sake, just rest your eyes or something. There’s no way you can actually see through all those tears. Even if you don’t sleep, your eyes need a break. You need a break”, Jisung argued, frustrated with his hyung for not listening and destroying himself for absolutely no other reason than being stubborn. Nodding along, Changbin hummed: “We’re perfectly on time with our schedules and you can easily afford taking a break. You’ve already made yourself sicker than you would’ve needed to be. Jeonginnie had this cold too but he rested and took care of himself, so it was little more than the sniffles. You on the other hand refuse to do any of that and already managed to start running a fever. Maybe listen to your body’s signal now or how far are you intending to push it?” The rapper just barely refrained from reminding Chan how bad his immune system was due to his usual sleep deprivation but the implication was there.

Jisung was impressed that Chan actually let them drag him back to the dorm when Changbin announced they were done for the day. He would’ve fully expected Chan to argue and insist on staying back at the studio on his own. Little did he know that the leader didn’t find the energy to argue back because his throat hurt too badly to speak and his fever was rising. Sluggishly throwing his belongings into his bag, Chan winced because every move, no matter how careful, made his head thump and he could feel his heart beat pulsating inside his skull. He weakly nudged his sleeve against his septum and gave a wet sniffle, eyes tearing up even more when the pressure in his sinuses increased. Yeah, maybe his bed didn’t sound so awful in the end.

Chan’s vision darkened as he got out of his seat, forcing him to tightly hold onto the edge of the desk. Alarmed by the leader’s quick and ragged breaths, Changbin spun around and cursed when he saw the faraway look in his hyung’s eyes before they rolled back. Wrapping his arm around Chan’s chest, he pushed the leader backwards into his seat and held him there, so he couldn’t fall. “Hey, you with us, hyung?”, the rapper asked but received no reply. Chan’s head had dropped onto his chest, no muscle tension left in his body. Worriedly fanning the older with a stack of lyrics sheets, Jisung muttered: “We should’ve taken him home a very long time ago.” Changbin hummed in agreement, lightly patting Chan’s burning cheeks. He sighed in relief when the Aussie finally came to.

It was safe to say that they took Chan straight home, arms linked because he still looked a little wobbly on his feet. “I’m fine, really”, the leader rasped tiredly, “My blood pressure just dropped for a moment when I got up.” – “Yeah, and your blood pressure regulation would work a lot better if you weren’t feverish as hell and got an adequate amount of sleep”, Changbin shot back and tightened his grip on the leader’s arm when he tripped himself. Jisung rushed to unlock the door and then headed to the kitchen to make some tea for Chan while Changbin guided the leader to his room. Chan was glad to already be wearing sweatpants because the way home had zapped his energy and he simply flopped onto his bed, coughing into the pillow.

When Jisung joined him, he was carrying not only a steaming cup of tea but also an icepack. Shuddering, Chan wrapped his hands around the cup and thanked the younger quietly. Though the steam made his nose run, the warmth and the sweet honey soothed the pain in his throat and the Aussie sipped it slowly, giving watery sniffles in between. It was funny in a way, how his heart could race as though he was running a marathon when all he really did was sip his tea and bury himself under his covers. Was it really that straining? Perhaps he could try sleeping again even if the chances of him succeeding were slim.

Satisfied that their hyung was settled, Changbin and Jisung left the older to get some rest, hoping he’d feel a little better when he woke up. Chan groaned as he tried to get comfortable in his bed. His muscles ached and he couldn’t really find a position that made the pain better but he had to. There was no way he could fall asleep while he was hurting like this. It wasn’t even like he could afford to take a break in the middle of the day. There were still so many things that needed to be taken care of for their upcoming comeback. How could Changbin and Jisung be so stupid to keep him from working? Didn’t they realize how things would get out of hand and their schedules messed up if he didn’t keep track of everything? There was no time to rest.

Feeling his heart race, Chan threw off the blanket and scrambled out of bed only to be hit by a wave of intense dizziness. Right, his low blood pressure…. Chan took a few deep breaths to brace himself for the walk to the door but barely managed to take a few steps before his knees buckled and he could feel himself fall. He had also lost his vision on the way down and groaned when he found himself sitting on the floor, the light assaulting his already sensitive eyes as soon as his vision returned. Chan’s ears were still ringing when he struggled back to his feet and shuffled out of his room.

Changbin and Jisung had holed themselves up in one of their rooms to keep working at the dorm within shouting distance from Chan in case the leader needed anything. In his fever muddled brain, the eldest was convinced to be home alone though. Maybe even hoping his dongsaengs had returned to the studio to keep working. He almost tumbled when he slipped on his shoes but managed to get to the front door, already calling a driver to take him to the company building. Knowing his fellow 3racha members wouldn’t be pleased to know that he returned to work, Chan made up his mind. He’d simply have to use a different studio.

The dance racha was still working on a new choreography to go with their comeback track when Chan arrived at the company building. They almost ran into each other because Chan passed the dance rooms mere seconds before Felix exited to go to the restroom. It was impressive really how the leader’s determination kept him going despite the high fever he was running. He even found himself an empty studio but needed multiple attempts to punch in the code because his hands trembled from the exertion and his vision blurred. Chan heaved a shaky sigh of relief when he finally succeeded and stepped into the studio, shutting the door behind him. His head was spinning once again and he didn’t even get a chance to sit down before his eyes rolled back.

Changbin was satisfied that he hadn’t heard the slightest noise from Chan’s room in a very long time, convinced the older was sleeping deeply. Chan would get frustratingly restless whenever he ran the slightest temperature, so not hearing him toss and turn and fuss with his comforter was a pleasant change because it meant he was too knocked out to move, right? Jisung contemplated checking on his hyung when he needed to use the restroom but decided against it, afraid he’d wake him by accident. Eventually, Changbin deiced to go check on Chan, if only to replace the water bottle by his bed in case it was empty to make sure the leader would stay hydrated. It was safe to say that the rapper was dumbfounded when he realized Chan’s room was empty, comforter balled up at the foot of the bed.

It took a few seconds for the realization to sink in before Changbin started to panic, calling Chan’s name. The leader didn’t answer though, instead Jisung came running, worried that something had happened. A quick check of the dorm proved that their hyung wasn’t anywhere near and he also didn’t pick up his phone when Changbin gave him a call, so the two rappers texted their group chat, asking if any of the members had seen Chan but nobody had. Jisung couldn’t help beating himself up for not checking on his hyung earlier. Chan’s fever had been pretty high after all, so what if he had gotten delirious and wandered off somewhere?

Within minutes, the entire group was on high alert, spreading out to search for their leader. The dance racha was searching different studios on the floor, wondering if Chan’s workaholic self would be self-destructive enough to return to work in such a rough condition. Minho’s head shot up when he heard Felix yell a little further down the hallway. The younger had finally come across Chan’s crumpled form, panicking as he checked for a pulse. Feeling Chan’s wrist, Felix was relieved to find a pulse even though it was fast and weak. Minho was by their side in an instant, elevating Chan’s legs and shaking his shoulders. Eventually, he got a weak groan from his hyung.

Chan tried to sit up despite the lingering dizziness but there were hands on his shoulders, keeping him down. “Take it easy”, Felix warned, brushing the unruly curls out of Chan’s face to get a better look at his glossy eyes. Feeling the leader’s pulse, Minho frowned: “Do you remember what happened?” – “Hm, Bin an’ Han took me home but…”, Chan muttered, rubbing his face, “That was wrong. I got no time to rest.” – “Yes, you do”, Minho scolded and felt the other’s forehead, “You were supposed to sleep.” The leader only rolled his eyes at him and tried to sit up again. This time they let him.

“Why are you so stubborn?”, Felix asked sadly, still shaken up from having found his friend unconscious, “We talked to Changbin-hyung and Sungie. You’re perfectly on schedule, maybe even a bit ahead of it, so no ‘I got no time to rest’. You do, you just refuse to. Why? You need sleep, you got the opportunity to sleep, yet you come back here to work. Why?” Chan’s eyes flooded with tears as his chest tightened. The younger immediately felt guilty for being so stern only moments after Chan regained consciousness. Scrubbing at his tears, the leader tried to keep his voice from cracking as he mumbled: “Can’t sleep.” Felix pulled the eldest into a hug, heart breaking. “I try and- try b-but. I jus’ can’t”, Chan hiccupped, resting his pounding head on Felix shoulder.

Chan could hear his dongsaengs talk quietly but his mind was too hazy to keep up with their conversation, besides, he was content where he was. Felix was comfy. At some point, Minho left so it was only the two Aussies at the studio. “Chan, we’re going to take you to urgent care”, Felix hummed, tracing his nails down the leader’s back, “You fainted multiple times today, your fever is bad and we can’t even trust you to stay put if we tell you to rest, so taking you home to sleep it off seems pretty useless.” – “No”, Chan whined, almost too exhausted to really argue, “I promise I’ll stay put this time. You could just give me my laptop and I promise- I promise I’ll only get up to use the restroom.” – “Nuh-uh, too late for that”, the dancer denied, gently nudging Chan off of him before getting up and offering him a hand.

Getting back to his feet was a struggle for Chan and he swayed for a moment, leaning heavily into Felix. “Come on”, the younger smiled sympathetically, “Maybe you can get something for your insomnia too at urgent care. At least temporarily till you’re over this cold. I know fevers always make you restless.” Minho had already informed the other members, him and Hyunjin arranging a ride to take Chan to urgent care. Since the dance racha was already with their leader, they decided that Hyunjin and Felix would accompany the eldest, while Minho would meet up with Changbin to talk to their managers together.

Considering how stubborn Chan had been earlier, he put up close to no fight now. Probably because the headache truly made him miserable or simply because he knew that with how lightheaded he was. There was no point in running from Hyunjin and Felix if their arms were the only thing keeping him on his feet…. He was glad that he didn’t have to go alone though. Already not being in a clear state of mind, Chan would’ve felt too vulnerable to accept the mild sedative the doctor offered him if he didn’t have his friends with him. It made him drowsy as he lay on the bed and waited for the IV with fluids and fever reducers to finish, knowing he’d be allowed to leave and sleep off his illness in the comfort of his own bed. How he’d get there, he didn’t know yet, but knew he could rely on his dongsaengs to figure something out.

“How’re you feeling now, hyung”, Hyunjin hummed softly, stroking the hair iut of Chan’s face. Blearily blinking up at the dancer, Chan yawned: “I was hurting all over, that’s better now. Really tired though. Might fall asleep.” – “Please do”, Felix muttered under his breath before smiling: “That’s good to hear. Wouldn’t it be great if you fell asleep? You’d wake up feeling so much better because that’s exactly what your body needs. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to get yiu home safely. Sleep, hyung.”

[losthavenmine]

Whumpril 2023 Day 11: Bedside Vigil

A Beautiful Mind (2001)

[pandoramoments]

Cal sat on his blanket, heavy eyes focused on the door to his little room. He couldn't sleep, didn't dare try as he simply didn't trust the people on Bracca enough to let his guard down. He could hear what st times seemed like endless hordes of people walking past his flimsy door, shouting obscene things at each other in their loud voices.

He shivered as he blinked heavily, his eyes seemed almost sticky when they touched, trying to seal shut. But he just kept trying to kerp them open as he tugged the hood of his newly found poncho up over his head.

"Can't sleep." He muttered to himself, coughing to clear his throat and try to give himself awake. He was alone without his master, but he just needed to wait until the Jedi Council came to get him and find out why their troops had turned on them.

Then he could go home.

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Day 11 Can’t Sleep

Working on catching up on whumpril, so here's day 11.

Back to Mother's son, and the aftermath of Dahlia claiming her son.

----

Freya can’t sleep, Dahlia left her days ago. Freya thought the only time she would was to claim another first born but it was too soon for that, wasn’t it?

Her Finn would be Fourteen now, baby Elijah, nine, so what had caused her interest enough to drag them across the ocean and leave Freya behind.

When Dahlia returns, she has a child with her, one old enough to be her siblings.

She knows it’s Elijah before the boy looks up and she hates the fact she understands that lost look in his eyes too well, hates the fact it’s there at all, her siblings should be safe.

It explains the sudden powerful addition to the link she had felt the night before now not why it was so out of control until Dahlia had taken hold of all their power and smothered it, her little brother hadn’t felt that powerful before he was born and at nine he should have control of it.

Elijah would have been mother’s third child so why did the power feel like a first born, why had Dahlia claimed him. 

“Freya. My son.” Dahlia smiles as she introduces them, her hand on his shoulder, Freya looks between them, while yes they did look concerningly similar, but Freya remembers singing to mother’s stomach and Elijah within.

Dahlia looks all too pleased when she explains, her hand never letting Elijah go and her brother, he would always be her brother, nothing either Dahlia or Esther did would change that, stays still under it.

She doesn’t let herself wonder if he had already felt Dahlia’s anger, how far were her family from here, how long has it been since Dahlia stole him, who was there when she had taken him. Had her brother watched as mother stood by and let him be taken too?

“My poor foolish sister attempted to trade her unborn child for you.” Dahlia tells her, leading the boy closer to her, “this, Elijah is the girl they wanted to trade you for.”

Freya learns as she makes sense of the words that she can hate mother more than she thought, the least Esther could have done was to protect her remaining children the ones she hadn’t stole to slavery instead she offered another, as if the problem was who was taken and not that any of them was taken at all.

And even as she bites back the anger she knows that Dahlia is trying to plant seeds of resentment between them, get Elijah to blame her for what their mother had done so they can be a loney and resentful as her but instead Elijah brightens, smiling at her with true warmth in his eyes.

It’s been so long since someone had looked at her like that with love instead of faint fondness that always vanished when Dahlia remembered how Freya came to be with her.

“Finn told me about you not a lot but-” Elijah starts but never finishes as she throws herself forward and pulls her little brother into her arms away from Dahlia’s grip, cutting him off.

“I so very much wanted to meet you.” she says into his hair, blink back the heat from her eyes and hugs tighter when she feels his arms move around her, ignoring Dahlia’s cold look as the anger she had hoped to inspire failed to appear.

She hated them both, mother and Dahlia, but Elijah was her brother no matter what and she wasn’t letting him go.

—--

Finn can’t sleep in the aftermath of his nightmare coming back and stealing Elijah, of failing his brother, on past nights when sleep would come he used to watch Elijah sleep, count his breaths until sleep finally found him.

Once on the ship as they travelled over here, to a new start, he had held Elijah and when the small babe had stopped breathing in his sleep he had woken him up, afterward when they settled Finn had taken to watching her most nights, it was his small way of being a brother, he couldn’t face the child that Elijah grew into with his nightmare’s dark hair and look but during the night he had kept watch to make sure his brother kept breathing.

He couldn’t now Elijah was gone.

Would never see his brother breathe again.

When Klaus had demanded they follow her to find her to get Elijah back, refused to give it up the way Finn had, Mother had explained the horrible truth, that Dahlia had likely killed Elijah not long after she had taken him, that was likely what she had done to Freya years ago, to take their magic.

Still knowing that mother had used Finn to cast that stupid spell years ago, Freya was mother’s fault but Elijah was just as much Finn as Esther’s, he wasn’t sure he could forgive her for that, he wasn’t a child this time.

Father would return and mother would explain that Elijah had been killed by a wild animal, Finn knew he would end up dealing with father’s anger, no matter what mother promised, for failing to protect his brother but he would take it, he deserved it.

So Finn doesn’t sleep, it’s not to avoid nightmares, after all his nightmare is real. 

She’s wandering the earth with his siblings' blood on her hands and Finn helped her.

—-

Elijah can't sleep, as he curls under the blanket, sharing the bed with Freya, sometimes Da- mother insists he shares her bed but he knows that just to hurt Freya and during those night’s he normally spelled asleep, since the first night she had asked and she noticed the way he had frozen, too scared to touch her by accident in his sleep.

Finn used to complain, and upsetting his brother was fine, upsetting d-mother wasn’t, he remembered the way Finn had screamed when she came for him, the way Freya watches her for any sudden mood changes the same way he had been learning to watch father.

He misses mo- he winces before he can finished the thought and corrects it to Auntie Esther, even when he knows she the reason he was taken, that she hadn’t wanted him as a child but more importantly he misses Niklaus,  Kol, baby Rebakah and even Finn, he wonders if his younger siblings had forgotten him yet.

It was likely that Kol and Rebekah would never know him but Klaus was the same age Finn was when Freya was taken, he’d remember him.

But he wonders if that’s worst, Finn was always sad when Elijah had managed to get stories of Freya from him, he wouldn’t want Klaus to hurt everytime he remembered him

—-

Klaus can’t sleep, every time he tries, he sees ‘Lijah walking away with the bad woman, to save them, him and Finn. Klaus didn’t understand a lot of what was said by the bad woman, but she had scared Finn and Lijah and then hurt Finn, made him scream and cry.

And Lijah had left with her, had been taken away.

Mama said they couldn’t go to save Lijah, that the bad woman had already killed him, taken him away forever like she had the oldest sibling that Klaus hadn’t known about.

She had made him swear not to tell father, that it was a special secret between them, Klaus didn’t want to, maybe if father had known he could have hunted the bad woman down before she came for Lijah but father scared him so he had agreed.

Father had shouted and screamed, when he returned and mama told him Eliah had been taken by a beast, Klaus had seen him hit Finn when Mama wasn’t looking. Klaus hadn’t said anything he was still mad at Finn for not saving Lijah, he was bigger, it was his job but seeing that had ended any idea of telling father the truth.

So Mama and Father, and Finn seemed to want to forget about ‘Lijah like that had their oldest sister who Klaus had learned was named Freya.

He wasn’t going to let that happen, he was going to make sure Kol and Bekah knew all about Lijah and when he was much bigger he was going to hunt down the bad woman, hurt her for taking his Lijah. 

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Whumpril Day 11- Can't Sleep

While Mindy is in California, Cliff doesn't sleep a wink.

[drabbles-mc]

What Did You Do?

Richie Jerimovich & Mikey Berzatto

For Day 11 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: bedside vigil / "I'm right here"

Warnings: 18+, drugs/overdose, hospitals, language, angst

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I broke my whole entire heart writing this. Idk what else to say about it.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @narcolini @withmyteeth (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

When Richie showed up to The Beef and found the front door unlocked and walked in to see most of the lights already on, something felt off. It didn’t feel like the typical morning when someone else had gotten in before him. The door was open, the lights were on, but the restaurant was silent. Early morning prep wasn’t silent, especially not when Mikey was the one prepping.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he called out, “Yo! Cousin!” He walked behind the counter and made his way towards the kitchen. “You good?”

Every second of silence that followed only caused the discomfort coming over him to intensify. He was fidgeting with his hands even though they were shoved in his pockets. Part of him wanted to call out for Mikey again, another part of him couldn’t force any more words out. He didn’t want to know what a second round of no responses would do to his increasingly erratic heartbeat.

Striding through the kitchen, Richie noticed that while everything was clean, it wasn’t set up like someone had come in early to prep. It was all still, everything packed neatly away from the night before. The light that was starting to flicker by the door to the walk-in, throwing an even more eerie vibe over it all. He shook his head as he made his way towards the office.

He reached up to knock on the door when he saw that it was ajar. There was a strip of yellow light creeping out through the small crack between the door and its frame. He stood there frozen with his hand raised for a moment, unable to shake the feeling of dread that was stopping him from knocking. Clearing his throat, he tried to shake the negative thoughts that he didn’t have any real foundation for in the moment.

Finally rapping his knuckles against the door, Richie forced out an uncomfortable laugh as he said, “You deaf or somethin’ now, Mikey? Jesus, I—”

The rest of the sentence died in Richie’s throat when he pulled the office door open. His eyes widened and he was fairly certain that his heart stopped for a solid few seconds as he looked at the scene in front of him. He saw the empty, bright orange pill bottle discarded on the floor, the lid nowhere to be seen, only for his eyes to travel up and see Mikey sitting in the office chair, completely slumped over the desk.

“Fuck,” was all Richie was able to say as he charged in and over to his friend’s side. Leaning in, Richie looked at Mikey’s face, the fact that his eyes were closed and mouth open slightly only seemed to solidify the worst case scenarios running through his head. He shook Mikey roughly by the shoulder.

���Mikey?! Mikey! C’mon,” he shook him again, “wake the fuck up!”

When he didn’t, Richie felt bile creeping up in the back of his throat. He paced for a moment as he tried to pick one of the million racing thoughts in his head to focus on. Running his hand back over his head, he finally got himself to spring into action. He was so far out of his depth, but even so he knew that trying to do something couldn’t be worse than sitting back and doing nothing.

With more difficulty than he expected, he moved Mikey from the chair to the floor, laying him plat on his back. Richie didn’t even realize the way that he was constantly muttering the word, “Fuck,” over and over again under his breath. He fumbled getting his phone out of the pocket of his track pants before dialing 911. He let the phone clatter to the floor before kneeling next to Mikey’s body.

Pressing his ear to Mikey’s chest, he felt tears prick at his eyes when he didn’t hear anything. He felt no beat, not even the slightest shift of a weak inhale or exhale. Interlocking his hands, he tried to remember where exactly he was supposed to put them to give compressions. All the fucking medical dramas his wife made him watch, he thought that he would’ve picked up a few pointers on how to do CPR.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a woman with an infuriatingly calm voice asked on the other end of the line.

Richie shook his head as he started trying to do his version of CPR. “I uh, I think my best friend might be dead.”

They went back and forth, the operator asking questions and keeping her cool in a way that both kept Richie sane and also made him want to scream at her. He even did, a couple times, but she took that in stride too. She coached him through everything that he needed to do, and somehow he managed to do it even though he was on the brink of combusting the entire time.

“Told him,” he muttered to himself more than the woman on the phone, “told him not to mess with those fuckin’ pills. Told him there were bad fuckin’ news.”

“Sir,” her voice cut through the noise in his head, “please, I need you to give me your address.”

He scoffed, a fresh wave of anger breaking through the tears. ���I told you I’m at The Fuckin’ Beef,” he snapped. “How, how many places called The Beef do you know of?” It was easy to be angry, to take it out on the woman being forced to ask the questions, but the reality of it was that he was far too upset and scatterbrained to remember the street address.

“I understand, sir.” Again, she handled it with no attitude, no problem. “Emergency services will be there soon. Please stay on the line with me until they get there.”

The first responders basically had to fight Richie out of the ambulance. The only thing that finally got him to relent was telling him that the longer they stood there arguing, the longer it was going to take to get his friend to the hospital to get him the rest of the help that he needed.

“If I beat you fucks to the hospital…” Richie threatened as he stormed off to his car, hand shaking violently as he clutched his car keys.

Richie was driving down the road as quickly as traffic and stoplights would let him. He’d never used the horn so much in his entire life. As he was attempting to weave through other cars, he was also trying to get ahold of Carmy and Sugar.

He didn’t know what he expected from Carmy. The kid was states away doing god only knows what in some restaurant packed to the brim with rich, pretentious fucks. But this was about Mikey. He had to pick up if it was about Mikey. Or so he thought. Richie didn’t even bother to leave a message when he went to Carmy’s voicemail. That was a problem that he would sort out later.

He huffed as he scrolled to Natalie’s number in his phone. He hit the call button, hand shaking as he brought the phone up to his ear. It rang twice before he heard Sugar’s voicemail message in his ear. He groaned right through the beep that cued him to start leaving a message. “You gotta fucking call me back, Sugar. I’m serious. Call me!”

The rest of the way to the hospital he kept trying to call. He texted her saying to call him and that it was important. This wasn’t a conversation that he felt like having over text. It wasn’t really a conversation that he wanted to have at all, but especially not over text.

When he got to the hospital, he was practically sprinting through the hallways trying to find where he was supposed to go, or at least find someone who could tell him where he was supposed to go. For a few minutes he didn’t realize why it was so hard to see in the fucking hospital, but then he realized it was because he had too many tears in his eyes to be able to see past him.

“They brought my cousin here,” he said as he leaned over the nurses’ station counter. “You gotta let me see him.”

The woman was obviously tense, hoping that Richie’s worry and urgency wasn’t going to turn into something that was a problem for her. “When was he admitted?”

“I don’t—” He shook his head, dropping it into his hands for a moment. “Probably like five fuckin’ minutes ago!”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to—”

“And I’m gonna need you to let me in so I can make sure that he’s not fucking dead!” He pointed aggressively to the maze of walls on the other side of the main desk.

The woman that he was talking to took a deep breath, setting her shoulders back just a little as she geared up for whatever was coming next. “Sir. I need you to give me your cousin’s name.”

He deflated slightly at the question. “M-mikey.”

“Last name?”

“Berzatto.”

The woman nodded as she typed it in. Her eyes scanned the computer monitor in front of her and she let out a small sigh before she looked back up at Richie. “You can’t see him yet.”

“What?!”

She stood up out of her chair so that she was a little closer to being eye-level with Richie. There was still a decent gap between them, but she lessened it enough to prove a point. “They are working on your friend. When they’re done with the procedure and he’s stable in his room, you’ll be able to see him.”

“Pro…procedure? What fucking—”

“I can’t say anything more,” she said with a shake of her head, a bit of sympathy in her voice that hadn’t been there before. She gestured to the small waiting room. “I, or one of the other nurses here, will let you know when you can see him.”

Richie wanted to argue, wanted to continue on his warpath, but there was something about the look in the woman’s eyes that sucked all of the fight out of him. The events of the morning were all starting to catch up to him at once. So, instead of yelling and bickering, he simply nodded and tried to find a seat in the waiting room that was as far away from other people as well. He tried calling Sugar one more time, but instantly went to voicemail. So she either shut her phone off, or finally got sick of him and blocked him. Either one was equally likely.

Richie’s eyes were glued to the tile floors of the waiting room, one leg bouncing uncontrollably. He felt like his heart hadn’t slowed down at all since he’d gotten there even though he had been sitting as still as he could the entire time.

He didn’t notice that there was someone standing in front of him until they cleared their throat. Looking up, he saw the nurse from before standing there, arms hugging a clipboard to her chest. “You can see him now.”

It should’ve been a reassuring thing, to be able to see him, but for some reason it felt like Richie’s stomach dropped even more. Swallowing hard, he nodded as he rose to his feet. Running his hand down his face, he asked, his voice not sounding at all like his own, “Is he…did he…you know…”

She nodded, understanding exactly what he was asking based on his half-sentences. “He’s still unconscious, but he pulled through. I don’t know when exactly he’ll wake up, but you’re more than welcome to wait with him until he does.”

There was a tremor to the breath that he let out as he nodded. “Yea, yea. Okay. Thank—thank you.”

When the nurse dropped Richie off at the door to Mikey’s room, he found himself still hesitating to go inside. All he could think about was the sight of him slumped over the desk in the office. He knew that that wouldn’t be what he was walking into this time, but it was all that he could picture. After a few seconds of shaking his head at himself, he stepped in and saw Mikey laid out peacefully on the hospital bed. He was tucked in like he was taking a fucking nap, not recovering from an overdose on pills.

His voice was quiet and shaky as he walked over to the bed. “What the fuck, Mikey?” He shook his head, dropping down in the chair beside the bed. “What the fuck did you do?”

Richie only managed to sit in the chair for about twenty seconds before he had to get up and start pacing. He wandered around the room, touching everything that didn’t seem breakable or like it would cut off whatever life support wires and tubes they had Mikey hooked up to. He just knew that he couldn’t sit still, couldn’t just sit at Mikey’s bedside twiddling his fucking thumbs. He kept checking his phone, hoping to see either Carmy or Sugar’s name flashing across the screen. Each time he was met with an empty lock-screen.

On his umpteenth lap around the hospital room, Richie spotted the bag filled with Mikey’s belongings, everything that was on her person when they loaded him into the ambulance. Ripping the bag open, he dug around in search of Mikey’s phone, letting out a sigh of relief when he found it. Taking it out, he typed in the code to unlock it without even having to think about it.

As one final hail Mary, he dialed Sugar’s number. The relief in his chest was indescribable when he didn’t get sent directly to voicemail. After a couple rings, she picked up and answered with, “Thank god. Are you with Richie right now? Can you tell him to stop blowing up my fucking phone? I’m at work. He knows that some of us work, right?”

It was hard for Richie to speak past the lump in his throat as he said, “Hey, Sug.”

“Richie?” She sounded confused and annoyed for a moment, but then after a second of silence, her tone switched as she asked, “What’s going on?”

His legs finally gave way and he sat down. “It’s…it’s Mikey.”

“What the fuck is going on, Richie? What happened?”

“I’m at the hospital. He’s,” he coughed in an attempt to hide the emotion in his voice, “he’s okay but you really, uh, you gotta get down here.”

“Shit. Fuck. Yea, yea okay. I’ll…I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright.”

They didn’t exchange a goodbye, Sugar opting to just hang up the call. Richie kind of preferred it that way, really. All things being equal, that was the nicest exchange that the two of them had had in a long time. He tossed Mikey’s phone onto the bedside table, sighing as he let his face drop into his hands. He could feel the tears spilling over and he didn’t even have the energy to try and stop them.

He snapped his head up when he heard the rustling of sheets on the hospital bed. Fresh tears filled his eyes when he saw Mikey reaching up to rub his eyes. He blinked hard a couple times, confusion taking over his face as he looked at the IV tubes that were plugged into his arms.

“Shit,” Richie finally forced out, a smile on his face despite all the heaviness in his chest.

Mikey turned and looked at him, his face paler than usual and an expression on it that Richie couldn’t quite read. It was like Mikey was trying to be himself but he couldn’t quite swing it. No one would’ve been able to blame him for that.

“Richie?” his voice was gravelly, like the back of his throat had been scraped raw.

“Yea,” he said, not sure what else he was supposed to say in a situation like this, “it’s me. I’m, I’m right here.”

“Hey.”

Richie didn’t know what was more genuine, the smile on his face or the ache in his chest as he stared at his bed fried laid out in the hospital bed. He was glad Mikey made it, of course he was glad Mikey made it. But there was so much that needed to be done now, so many conversations to be had. And, for all the talking that the two of them did, Richie had the nagging feeling that this was one thing that was going to be tough to get Mikey to be straight about.

“What’d you do, Mikey?” he asked, quiet as he’d ever been.

“What?” Mikey tried to play it off, tried to flash his usual smile that would transition him from one topic to the next seamlessly.

“What do you mean what?” Richie shook his head. “Do you, do you know where you fuckin’ are right now?”

“I know, I know.” Mikey slowly tried to move himself so that he was sitting a little more upright. “I got, you know,” he coughed, “carried away. I’m good.”

“You’re not good, cousin. You,” the lump came back in Richie’s throat, “you were dead in the fucking office.”

“Richie—”

“No, Mikey.” He stood up out of his seat. “I’m not joking with you right now. We’re not just going to move on from this. I, I told you not to mess with those fucking pills and you—”

“You were right. That what you wanna hear?”

“No! That’s not what I wanna hear! I don’t give a fuck about being right, Mikey. You died! Is that, is that not clicking with you?!”

Mikey sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back over at Richie. “What do you want from me, Richie?”

“I want you to be real about whatever the fuck has been going on with you lately. I want you to, you know, I want you to at least pretend that you’re taking this seriously.”

Deep down he knew that Richie was right, but he wasn’t ready or willing to cop to that. He wasn’t ready for everything that was going to happen in lieu of admitting that things had spiraled way too far out of control. So he did what the Berzatto’s did best—avoided the fucking problem.

“When are they lettin’ me out of here?”

Richie sighed in defeat, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Didn’t get that far. Was too busy asking if you were actually going to wake the fuck up to worry about when they were gonna let you out.” He dragged his hands down his face. “Sugar’s gonna be here soon. You gotta…get right before you see her.”

“Get right?”

“Yea. You can’t be acting like this when she comes in to see you. She’s probably been crying her fucking eyes out the whole way here and she can’t come in and see you sitting in bed acting like an asshole who doesn’t care that he just OD’d. You better fake that shit, cousin.”

“Richie—”

“I love you, you know.”

Mikey’s façade faltered for a moment. “I lo—”

“But I’m really, I’m fuckin’ pissed right now. So I’m,” he shook his head, “I’m gonna go meet Sugar in the lobby, I’m gonna go back to the fuckin’ restaurant, and I’m gonna make sure the place doesn’t burn down while you sort the rest of this shit out.”

Mikey knew when he’d lost an argument, so he just nodded. “Alright.”

Richie stepped towards the door to his room, stopping to make an amendment to what he’d said. “If anything else goes down, you fucking call me, alright? Because I’m, I’m still here for you.”

Mikey knew that Richie wasn't one to lie, for better or worse, but he still found himself asking, “Yea?”

He nodded. “Yea.”

The two of them stared at each other for another moment before Richie finally let himself out of the room. He felt like he was walking out of the room with a completely different set of weights resting on his shoulders than when he’d walked in. As he made his way down the hall, hoping to run into Sugar before she blasted her way into Mikey’s room, his mind started to peel apart everything that had happened over the course of the morning.

Before he could spiral too far, he could hear Sugar’s voice as she spoke with presumably the same woman that Richie had talked to not too long before.

“I know that he’s here, so please, let me—”

“Sugar,” Richie cut her off, his voice devoid of any of the humor and sarcasm that it usually had when he talked to her.

Turning to look at him, it was the first time that Natalie ever looked anything besides annoyed about seeing him. She didn’t look happy about it, per se, but there was definitely something akin to relief on her face.

Striding over to him, she stopped right in front of him. Her eyes were red and puffy—he’d apparently made the right prediction about her crying on the way to the hospital. “Is, is he okay? Where are you going? What happened?”

Richie motioned with his hands for her to slow down. “He’s out of it, but he’s alright.”

“What happened?” she asked, the hurt look on her face saying that she already knew the answer.

“Pills.”

She shut her eyes tight for a moment. “Fuck.” Wiping the tears off of her face, she came back around to the other question she’d originally asked him. “Where are you going?”

“Restaurant.”

She scoffed, like she couldn’t believe that he was just going to walk away. “Are you serious?”

“What, do you wanna go cover it, Sug?” He sighed. “I don’t think he needs me right now anyway. You,” he gestured towards the hall where Mikey’s room was, “go and talk some fucking sense into him.”

She didn’t have it in her to get into addressing everything that he’d just said. Instead, she asked, “You talk to Carmy?”

Richie shook his head. “Neither of you fucks picked up your phones.” He huffed, staring up at the ceiling as he said, “This is why you don’t give toddlers fucking smartphones.”

Natalie shook her head, already pulling out her phone to text Carmy. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Right.”

Richie went to step by her when she reached out, gently resting her hand on his forearm to stop him. “Richie?”

He couldn’t hide his confusion at the soft gesture. “Yea?”

She gave a short nod. “Thank you.”

He took a deep breath, nodding as he told her, “Family, right?”

She let out a shaky exhale as her hand dropped back to her side. “Family, yea.”

[astaldis]

@whumpers-monthly​  @whumpril​

Chapters: 3/?     Words: 7,820 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Geralt of Rivia, Vesemir (The Witcher), Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Coën (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion 

Relationships:Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Cahir Mawr Dryffyn aep Ceallach & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Cahir, Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Vesemir, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy & Vesemir, Jaskier & Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt of Rivia

Summary: At Kaer Morhen, Cahir tells Ciri something that makes her scream ...

Excerpt from Chapter 3: 

"Fuck," Geralt says after a moment of silence.

"Fuckety fuck, that is bad indeed," Jaskier adds with a deep sigh. "Come here, darling, let me dry those tears." He fishes a frilly, pink handkerchief from his vest pocket and, hugging her even closer, gently dabs at Ciri's eyes. Yet, now the tears begin to flow for real and Ciri starts to sob uncontrollably in Jaskier's arms. Tears of grief for her dead grandfather and grandmother, for the loss of her childhood, her home, for all the death and destruction and pain that followed, but also for the evil things she has done and is ashamed of. And for Cahir who might be dying because of her.

"Here, my daughter, drink this. It will make you feel better." Geralt holds a mug in front of her tear-streaked face when the sobs finally cease. Surprised, she looks up into his concerned face. In her grief she did not even notice that he had left the room.

Ciri takes a sip. Warm milk with honey. It does make her feel better. And very sleepy. As soon as the mug is empty, Geralt and Jaskier tuck her in. Then Jaskier starts to sing a lullaby for her. It is not the one she expected but one she has never heard before. A fairytale song about a little tin soldier with only one leg and his tiny ballerina, and their eternal love. It is beautiful and sad and exactly what she needs to finally fall asleep, secure in the knowledge that her family is always there for her. Never lost, always found, like in the fairytale.

[em-writes-stuff]

bedside vigil + “i’m right here”

@whumpril day 11

warnings: hospital setting, iv, bullet wound

hero, villain, doctor

700 words (!!!!!)

part one here | part two here

---

Hero blinks awake, fluorescent lights nearly blinding her. Monitors beep steadily around her and something whirred every few seconds. She jerks up, supporting herself with her elbows. Next to her, five cups of coffee are on the bedside table and…so is Villain. 

His legs are drawn up to his chest and his chin rests on his knees. He’s snoring softly and for a second, Hero forgets who he is. She stares at him, eyes squinting under the harsh light and, maybe for the first time, she sees him. His beard is patchy with grey hairs and wrinkles are as plentiful as his scars. One of his eyebrows has a slit and she gets the impression he did that by himself. 

He opens his eyes, pulling back into the chair and stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “Hey,” he says, rubbing his eyes, “You’re awake.” 

She pulls her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her arm, “I’m awake.” 

“Let me get your doctor.” 

He stands up and grabs a few of the cups, rattling them before tossing them in the trash on his way out of the room. Hero closes her eyes for a second before opening them again and looking for her things. 

The door opens again and Villain walks in with a doctor in tow, she smiles and stands in front of the bed, “Hi, I’m Doctor. I’ve been taking care of you. Do you need to call anyone?” 

Shit. Sidekick’s probably worried sick right now. “How long have I been here?” 

“About seven hours. I expected you to wake up earlier but I guess you’ve been running overtime. Plus the infection wouldn’t help with anything.” 

“Infection?” 

“Yeah, that bullet wound? Whoever treated it didn’t do a very good job. There was still some metal lodged in the muscle. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” Doctor says. 

Hero squints at her, “I treated it. I thought I got all of it out but I guess I missed some.” 

Doctor blinks in surprise and glances at Villain. He shakes his head. “Right,” she finally says, “Well then. You did a pretty good job for doing it yourself. I’d prefer next time you coming to me. Of course, it would be best if there wasn’t a next time.” 

Hero nods along, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Where’s my phone?” 

“All your things are in this bag,” Doctor says, pulling a bag out from seemingly nowhere and handing it to Hero. “Your phone should be in there with it.” 

“Actually…” Villain says, reaching behind him for the windowsill, “I took a look. I know, I know, lecture me later. It was ringing like crazy about an hour ago so I answered it. Sidekick’s on his way. He told me he’d be here as soon as he could be.” 

Doctor glares at him, “You know better.” 

“It’s fine, he probably did the best thing honestly. Sidekick has a habit of going nuclear when he can’t find me. Did my parents call?” she scrolls through her calls and sighs when she doesn’t see either of their names. “That’s good.” 

Villain and Doctor share another look and Hero clears her throat, “Well, I should probably get ready to go, do I need to stay?” 

Doctor sputters and blinks in surprise, “You should probably stay here at least for a few more hours. I just dug metal out of your leg and the infection’s still clearing up. I’d recommend just…” she guides Hero back onto the bed and covers her with the scratchy hospital blanket, “Resting for a while.” her pager beeps and she curses, “Damnit, I have to go. Villain, please keep her here until she can walk on that leg without limping.” 

He mock salutes and waves her out of the room with a gentle smile. 

Hero stares at him and frowns, “What now?” 

“I’m right here, and I won’t leave until you tell me to or Doctor makes me, so…it’s up to you.” 

She keeps her eyes trained on him, eyes narrowing the longer she stares until she finally sighs and falls back into the bed, “You can stay. I’m not explaining everything to Sidekick.” 

[uuuhshiny]

Russell Crowe in Tenderness 

I’m right here

[acasualcrossfade]

Whumpril Day 11: Bedside Vigil

Watching Over You

Written for @whumpril Day 11 Nightmares | Bedside Vigil | “I’m right here.”

Marvel, Thor and Loki

Words: 526

Loki is badly hurt and exhausted after his time on Sakaar. Thor watches over him as he rests.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the opening door shook Thor from his half-asleep doze. 

The early light of the morning was just beginning to paint Loki’s room walls. Thor pushed himself upright in the small plastic chair he’d set up next to his brother’s bed. His back whined as he stretched, and Thor did his best to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Loki slept fitfully on his side, his bandaged wrists peeking out from under the covers. He knew there were more wrapped around his torso and ankles. His mind recalled the words the doctor had said. 

Most of his injuries were from repetitive motions. He was probably bound or in chains.

Thor knew his brother well enough to know that if it was anything he’d never stop fighting for, was his freedom.

And this time, it almost killed him.

He’d never seen Loki with anything more than a few cuts and bruises, but even those faded quickly. His seidr healed him or he’d try and cover it with a glamor. Thor learned that with Loki’s seidr exhausted and also recovering, his healing was slowed. The sound of Loki’s breathing was the only sound in the room. It was hitched and uneven, but Thor was grateful his brother could breathe on his own. 

“Just here to change his dressings,” the nurse said easily. He rolled in a tray filled with bandages and solutions.  

Thor fought the urge to retort; wasn’t his brother exhausted? Didn’t he need the rest?

He tried to remind himself that these nurses were the ones that had helped when they first touched down on New Asgard. And, they had volunteered to watch over Loki from the comfort of their home. 

Still, Thor’s chest tightened as Loki jerked awake at the nurse’s touch and at the way Loki’s eyes slid open. Loki’s dull green eyes exhaustedly tried to make sense of his surroundings and were searching, searching, until they caught sight of Thor. He steadily stared at Thor as he tried to speak. 

The sight made Thor reflexively tighten his grip around his hammer. Whatever had happened to Loki on Sakaar, he wanted someone to pay for it. “I’m here.” His voice was hoarse, but Loki’s eyes never left him.

Etches of pain and anguish lined Loki’s face as the nurse carefully redressed his wounds. Thor was by his side the entire time, speaking soft words and telling Loki stories of when they were younger. The stories told in his hushed voice kept Loki distracted and calm, and when the nurse nodded that he’d finished, Thor continued as he lay Loki on the bed.

And when Loki was laid on his other side, his fresh bandages stark white against the cream of his blanket, Loki slipped into sleep easily, and when his breaths deepened, Thor pulled the blanket up to his brother’s ear. Thor took residence in the plastic chair again. 

The sun continued to move around the room, painting sunshine and shadows over Loki’s bed as the day moved on.  And Thor kept watch as Loki slept, one hand loosely wrapped around his hammer, ready to protect his brother from anything. 

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Sleepless

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Renata can't sleep. She quickly finds that Priya can't either.

For @whumpril Day 11: Can't Sleep.

Contains: Insomnia, exhaustion, complicated sibling relationships, some caretaking

~~~

There was a noise coming from somewhere inside the manor.

Once, Renata might not have heard it. But the transformation that had been forced on her had heightened her senses, making her hyper-aware of every shift and minor movement for what seemed like miles. It was something she normally didn’t mind, even reveled in, but now, when she was already finding it difficult to sleep, it came as nothing but a nuisance.

Heaving a deep sigh, she shoved the blankets off and stood. If she wasn’t going to be sleeping anyway, she might as well investigate what the noise was.

The manor was dark, but she could find her way through nonetheless, her gaze piercing even the veil of night as she made her way downstairs. The aggravating, repetitive sound came from below the main floor and its dark halls and elegant architecture. She made her way into the basement, eyes narrowing as the sound grew louder and sharper in focus.

The shuffling of footsteps. The clanging of metal. A soft, familiar voice grunting with exertion.

As silent as Renata was as she made her way into the training room, Priya still glanced sharply at her as she thrust her rapier into one of the training dummies. It pierced straight through the chest, joining one of several holes already made in the construct.

“What are you doing?”

“Training.” Priya’s voice was monotone as she stepped back, readied herself, and lunged forward again. A slight scowl flickered across her face as she impacted slightly to the left of where the dummy’s heart would be. “Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Heard you making noise.” Renata crossed her arms. “Why are you training in the middle of the night?”

“I couldn’t sleep either.” Her motion to return to her ready stance wasn’t as fluid this time. Hesitation or exhaustion? “I figured I might as well use this time for something useful.”

To anyone else’s eyes, Priya’s lunge might have looked the same as the ones prior. To Renata, her thrust into the center of the dummy was just a bit slower than before. “And how’s it going?”

“Fine.” There was the slightest edge in Priya’s voice as she drove the rapier further in. “Did you need something?”

Her hand shook ever so slightly as she tugged the rapier back out. Renata narrowed her gaze. “No, just— are you okay?”

“I said—” Priya changed her stance and spring forward again. Her thrust went wide, and a growl crept into her voice— “I’m fine.”

“Clearly. You’re really nailing these basic drills. No signs of exhaustion at all.”

“Renata—!”

“Look.” Renata swiftly cut Priya off as she whirled on her, face tightening in frustration. Renata didn’t flinch. “There’s only so much you can do with a dummy. Why don’t we spar? I’m up anyway; I could use a workout.”

For a long moment Priya didn’t move, instead studying Renata with an intense gaze. Then some of the tension drained out of her. “Alright. But only a few rounds. I don’t want to keep you up too long.”

“You’ve been up far longer than I have.”

“And?”

“I just don’t think it’s fair for me to have to go to bed before you do.”

Priya didn’t quite roll her eyes, but the exasperation on her face was clear. “Fine. After we spar we’ll both go to bed. Deal?”

Renata grinned, already making her way over to the rack of practice weapons. “Deal.” It was clear Priya needed the sleep, and this seemed like the best way to get her to do it. And if Renata ended up tired enough to ease her insomnia, all the better.

[septic-skele]

@whumpril Day 11: Can't Sleep

Sans jolted awake in a cold sweat, fingers digging into his sternum to brace it from buckling and a metallic aftertaste akin to rust ingrained between his teeth. His jaw throbbed viciously from the force with which he’d been clenching in his sleep but he wasn’t quite ready to pry his hands from his chest to rub the sensation away.

You’re okay. You’re here, you’re breathing. His clammy palms tracked the rise and fall of his rib cage, however shallow. And he’s…Papyrus was awake as usual, exclaiming about something in an online chat on the other side of the wall. He’s okay too. Everything’s fine. Just chill out. And by chill, I don’t mean cold, so…you can stop shaking now.

Any time now. You’re breathing, you’re—you’re—

Sans’ head spun with the speed at which he sat up, lurching toward his trash tornado for a bag in which to retch.

[dogdaysareover365]

Whumpril day eleven

Stay Alive

Fandom: Big Hero 6 (2014)

Rating: Teen

AU to So I'll Cry 'Cause It's Over (And Smile Because We Had You)

Hiro shouldn't have been in the fire. He shouldn't be laying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life while a tube helps him breathe. However, that's the reality, and there's nothing Tadashi can do.

@whumpril day eleven - can't sleep

[callofdooty]

Somehow I Feel Hopeful

Also posted onto AO3

Fandom: Call Of Duty: Ghosts

Summary: Written for Whumpril Day 11:Nightmares | Bedside Vigil | "I'm right here."

"Despite the pain tearing him apart, both inside and out, he held onto his confused anger, his disbelief. Rorke, who held himself so high, was now something he'd once hated. Was it too far to call him a hypocrite? Clearly, they'd done something to him, morphed him into a monster (the one he was always capable of becoming) but Ajax couldn't help but feel angered by it. Betrayed. They trusted him. Believed in him.

And they left him to die.

No. They looked for him for weeks. They'd searched high and low for him. Elias would have turned the whole world upside down looking for him, and Ajax would have followed suit.

But they didn't. Rorke (and his own mind) reminded him coldly. And so, there he was. Holding onto threads of hope. Hope that his team - his family - knew where he was. Hope that they'd get there in time."

OR: Ajax survives the events of Struck Down; he and Keegan find comfort in each other.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Alex V. "Ajax" Johnson/Keegan P. Russ

Warning/labels: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Vaguest allusions to torture, talk of death/dying

-

He barely made it. 

If they’d gotten there an hour, a minute, a second later–

But they didn’t. He reminded himself. They’d gotten there in time. Ajax was here. Ajax was alive. And Keegan had been driven up the wall with every agonising moment he wasn’t by his side. Just knowing wasn’t enough. He needed to hold Ajax’s hand in his, needed to see Ajax alive and awake and not seconds away from dying - he wanted to see anything other than that.. Dreadfully resigned look he’d had back at the stadium. 

That… That’s a sight Keegan knew he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. It’s already been the subject of many nightmares. Well. As many as you could get when your idea of “resting” was intermittent naps between busy work and fretting endlessly over the well being of another. 

Now that he was here, hunched over in an uncomfortable chair, he’s started to realise just how exhausted he is. It always seems easy to just keep going - burning the candle at both ends - when you’re kept so occupied. But after sitting there, doing nothing but waiting… The Nothing started to feel less like nothing, becoming a weight that fell and pressed onto his head and shoulders, draping over him like the world’s shittiest weighted blanket. 

He can’t stay awake forever, though. And waiting until Ajax finally woke up was a gamble. So he rubbed his hands across his face with a sigh before leaning back into the (still uncomfortable) chair, arms folded across his chest. It wasn’t so much being lulled to sleep as being dropped off of a canyon into it. He was out like a light before he could even realise. 

It was a welcome surprise that he wasn't plagued by vivid, morbid visions this time around. At least, not any that he could recall. When he came back around sometime later, he wondered briefly whether it was a lucky break, or he’d become desensitised to them already. How long he was out was any guess. Maybe an hour, maybe twelve. No part of him seemed any less exhausted and weighed down. 

The lingering grogginess threatened to pull him back to sleep. He's not exactly sure what drew him awake, or at least he wasn't in the moment. But then, his attention was drawn quickly to Ajax, who twitched, flinched. Almost immediately, it was followed by unsteady, panicked breaths that pulled Keegan right out of his chair to stand at Ajax’s bedside, mind already whirring with worry. 

Ajax's mutters were hardly coherent, barely understandable, but it doesn’t take a genius to know what - who - Ajax was muttering about.

Before Keegan could do much else, Ajax shot awake with a small gasp and Keegan was quick to carefully push him back down, holding his shoulder to keep him from moving too fast; from hurting himself. The muttering continued, with Ajax continuing to plead with someone that wasn’t there (anymore.) A rush of anger attempted to choke Keegan right then and there, but he swallowed it back, pacifying it with concern and love rather than the seething hatred collecting in his chest like smog. His touch remained gentle despite the internal struggle. 

Ajax. Focus on Ajax.

“Shh… Shh, Ajax, it’s okay.” With his free hand, he gently cupped Ajax’s face, lightly running his thumb over his cheekbone. The broken pleas stopped, but the panicked heaving didn’t ease up just yet. It’s hard to watch. Hard to stomach. Ajax shouldn’t be going through this. He doesn’t fucking deserve this shit. All Keegan can do is hope his efforts are enough. “I'm right here, sunshine. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“Keegan…?” Ajax’s eyes  finally opened, watery and red and tired. The sight of Keegan seemed to be a relief, if the tension that melted off of him was any indication. Wasting no time, he reached up and pulled Keegan in, the both of them instantly wrapping their arms around each other. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. Noone’s gonna hurt you here.” Keegan rumbled, holding Ajax as close as possible, as protectively as possible. Whether it was the words, the touch or the sight; Ajax's panic receded, slinking away to hide and wait out for another time to strike. It wasn’t a fix-all, but neither expected it to be. The momentary reprieve was enough, at least for now. After the shit they’ve gone through…

“Keegan…” Ajax whispered again, voice hoarse and barely anything above a whisper, “I… It’s…” A pause. The words escaped him, too heavy to hold onto. His brows furrowed for a moment. He tried again. “It was him…” 

Rorke. The enraged beast inside Keegan’s chest yowled, clawing at his lungs, his heart, the prison bars of his ribcage. It was a wonder how he kept it at bay; a hitched breath being the only thing to show for its frenzied efforts. Placated with future bloodshed and justice, the fleeting rampage stopped and he refocused, waiting for Ajax to continue at his own pace.

“I- H-He…” A shudder, “He’s not… He’s not the same…” As Ajax spoke, he seemed to struggle with himself, teetering on the edge of despair. Whatever they did to him, Keegan doesn't even want to imagine. To have Ajax, of all people, in this state... Ajax, who sees the light in any situation, Ajax who's always fighting back... “They did something. They changed him… He…” A spark flashed in Ajax’s eyes, and the panic rapidly returned, tears falling as his words fell apart again. “F-Fuck, Keegan, I-He-... I told him… I-I told h-him– I’m s-so sorry…” 

Fear lurched inside Keegan’s gut. As much as he didn’t want to admit, those words were nothing short of terrifying. The more the Federation knew, the more fucked their chances became. And now with Rorke on their side...

No. Not right now. No panicking. There's still time.

“Hey, easy sunshine. You did your best. It could’ve been any of us.” At least, any of the original Ghosts. Even hearing the name - the desperate, choked out warning Ajax had given at the stadium - had him feeling like he’d been submerged in Arctic waters. His blood froze - the world froze - in an instant. He could only imagine what it was like to experience it first hand. Alone. He’s pretty sure even Merrick wouldn’t have been able to walk away from that bombshell unscathed. "We'll figure it out, alright? Like we always do. We can talk about it when you're doing better." 

As Keegan spoke, he resumed the small, soothing movements of his thumb from earlier, wiping away the tears that fell into its path. And Ajax looked up at him with a look so broken yet so filled with trust and love and hope. A look that simultaneously broke his heart and put it back together again. A mix of adoration and relief - sweet, sweet relief - surged through him, and he gently pressed a kiss to Ajax’s forehead; an action that proved comforting to the both of them. In the fragile, quiet moment, they looked one another in the eyes, wordlessly communicating as much. The love there was less like a feeling; more like an indisputable fact. Logic. Common sense. Not in a way that felt mandatory or forced, but in a way that felt… natural. Like breathing. Grass is green, the sky is blue, Ajax and Keegan love each other; more than words could ever truly describe. “Get some rest, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Ajax was hesitant, and Keegan couldn’t blame him one bit for it. After going through all of that - torn down and hurt by someone once thought to be safe, someone held in such high regard - it’s only natural the idea of sleeping would be off-putting. He looked like he had so much to say, but each passing moment only seemed to drain him further. Struggling against his eyes that were closing against his own will, he gave a weak tug to Keegan's shirt.

"Lay with me, please?" He muttered quietly, hopefully. And who could decline such a thing? It was a tight fit, and a delicate dance around all of Ajax's injuries, but they made it work, carefully slotting together in the way they always did. Ajax buried his head into Keegan's chest, shakily sighing. "Never been so... scared before..." The confession is hushed and fragile.

...

And, above all, it's enitrely, terribly honest.

Nothing could quite compare in Ajax's mind. Even the memory of Sand Viper didn't feel as foreboding as this. Getting caught was one thing, it already had his nerves going. But getting dragged out there, surrounded by the enemy, only to come face-to-face with the man he once considered an ally? Not just that. He'd been a guide, a leader, a protector. A man that fought with righteous fury over his teammates getting hurt, now looking down at him with that brutal, seething hatred. A hatred he only ever directed at his enemies. A hatred that very few survived the receiving end of. 

'You look like you've seen a Ghost.'

His blood ran cold. Anxiety and genuine fear dropped in his chest, several tonnes constricting his lungs, making his heart skip. But in the face of his world being flipped, in the face of a nightmare, Ajax pushed back. He had to. He held himself strong, defiant, all traces of fear shoved deep down in favour of something stronger. 

And a prideful part of him wants to say that it lasted quite a while. Despite the pain tearing him apart, both inside and out, he held onto his confused anger, his disbelief. Rorke, who held himself so high, was now something he'd once hated. Was it too far to call him a hypocrite? Clearly, they'd done something to him, morphed him into a monster (the one he was always capable of becoming) but Ajax couldn't help but feel angered by it. Betrayed. They trusted him. Believed in him. 

And they left him to die.

No. They looked for him for weeks. They'd searched high and low for him. Elias would have turned the whole world upside down looking for him, and Ajax would have followed suit. 

But they didn't. Rorke (and his own mind) reminded him coldly. And so, there he was. Holding onto threads of hope. Hope that his team - his family - knew where he was. Hope that they'd get there in time.

Rorke probably felt the same way all those years ago. But that didn't matter anymore. 

With time, the threads broke. The pain was too much. The information was bare bones but enough, forced out of him at his breaking point, and the second it was, he was cast aside. Left to die in a room tinted red, his hazy thoughts wandered to Grim and Torch, their faces crossed out on the far wall. A sinking feeling hit him. Had this been their fate too? Were they just as scared as he was? Trapped, knowing so much but unable to do anything except lie there and tremble, nerves set alight by an unending agony, not all of which was physical.

This is it. I'm going to die here. He'd thought to himself.

Terrifying that he became so resigned to the idea.

"Ajax!" The call had brought him back a little. It seemed distant at first, but then Keegan had been there, pulling Ajax up and into him immediately after. Amongst the overwhelming, foreboding sense of doom, he was comforting presence, and even now, Ajax knows that if there was any place in the world he'd want to die, it would be in Keegan's arms.

Is such a thought selfish? Maybe it is, but Ajax is only human. 

The sight of Keegan and Merrick gave him one last valiant rush. With a newfound desperation, he tried to warn them. Rorke is behind it all, Rorke was hunting them all down, Rorke knew too much, too much and it was all his fault and--

"Ajax...!" he was pulled from the memory by Keegan's soft yet urgent voice. He's still shaking. He's still in pain. But the looming sense of dying ebbed away as he, once again, grounded himself, holding on tightly to Keegan's clothing. The front of Keegan's shirt had been soaked by tears, and it took a minute to register that they were his. Far too lost in his memories - dreams? - that he hadn't even noticed the next wave of sobs tearing through him. Keegan pulled him closer, muttering more assurances that Ajax melted into, exhausted and shaking.

A dull sense of frustration trickled creeped up inside him as well. He hated feeling like this, hated feeling so fragile. Shattered into pieces that barely even reflected everything he thought himself to be, everything he aspired to be. Everything that he was. He's been through many horrors, unknowable horrors that noone should ever have to witness, and yet this is the thing that tears him down the most. The thing that renders him to ashes, and it was someone he thought could never hurt him.

Fuck.

He could feel himself spiralling again, so instead he held onto Keegan tighter, trying his best to banish the thoughts that plaguing his mind, latching onto the last scraps of positivity he had.

Alive. Safe. Here. With Keegan. 

Here. Alive. 

Another chance. A fighting chance. 

They'll figure it out, like they always do.

He can't do much else in the moment, other than bury his face into Keegan's chest and take comfort in the contact (contact that he thought he'd never have again.) So that's exactly what he does. He lets himself have the comfort.

"We're gonna be okay..." he feels the statement more than he hears it.

"Everything's always okay when you're around." He replied sleepily. Keegan huffed.

"I'll do my best to live up to that." A promise. One that neither of them were sure they could fulfill, but would try their best to nonetheless.

"Already are." A few moments passed, and Ajax settled down once more to sleep. The ache of his body was getting to him, but before he dropped off, he muttered one more declaration, yet another thing he thought he'd never be able to do again. "... I love you."

"I love you." Keegan whispered back, tracing soothing patterns across his back, "Love you more than anything else in this world. 'nd we're gonna make it that son of a bitch's problem as soon as we can."

"'s that you asking me on a date?" Not the response he'd been expecting, judging by the way he laughed.

"Yeah... Yeah, I guess it is."

"Good... Looking forward to it..."

"Get some rest, Sunshine."

Yeah. Pain. Aching. In the comfort of Keegan's arms, Ajax finally lets himself rest again.

[whumpwriterforlife]

Whumpril Day 11 - Alt. 1 Ice Pack

Fandom: Call of Duty (Modern Warfare II). | Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley & John "Soap" MacTavish | For @whumperscorner

The mission had taken much longer than anticipated, the few terrorists that had survived the initial attack pulling them into an intense game of cat and mouse. The frustration had burrowed deep under Ghost's sternum, lingering even when they passed their detainees off to the right people and headed back to base. For the most part, the source of his frustration could be traced to the man walking in front of him, Sergeant John MacTavish, and his tendency to attract trouble everywhere he went.

Soap held himself tensely, his breaths shallower than they should've been. He was most definitely hiding an injury, but from what Ghost had been able to tell, he wasn't actively bleeding - not heavily at least. His best guess was that the idiot had hurt his ribs, either as a result of a close-quarters fight with one of their terrorist or a bullet to the vest. Whatever the reason was, Ghost was not about to let him play it off as if nothing had happened.

Once they reached the barracks, Ghost nodded his goodbyes to Price and Gaz, waiting until they had disappeared from view to grab Soap and drag him into one of the vacant rooms.

"Ghost, what—"

Ghost let go of him in favor of closing the door behind them before facing the Sergeant. "Strip."

Soap's eyes grew incredibly wide, his lips parting soundlessly. It lasted for all of a second a second that greatly amused Ghost — before he snapped out of it and plastered a wide grin on his face. "My, Lt., shouldn't you treat me to dinner first?"

Ghost pressed his lips in a thin white line, his arms crossed. "Vest off, Sergeant, unless you want me to drag your ass to medical instead."

"I'm fine, Ghost," Soap huffed, mirroring Ghost when he crossed his arms as well, though it only proved Ghost's point when he winced and let his arms fall down at his sides. He glowered like a scolded child.

"Clearly," Ghost said, his voice dry with sarcasm. "Want to try that again?"

Soap muttered something under his breath, but his shoulders sagged in defeat. He reached for the straps of his vest, looking at Ghost. "Took a round to vest from distance. It's nothing."

"If it's nothing, why'd you hide it?"

"Ghost, seriously?" Soap groaned and let his vest fall to the floor. He rolled his eyes when Ghost only stared at him in response. "What, you want me to take my shirt off?" He pulled it over his head along with his neck gaiter. Underneath, on the left side of his chest, was a large, reddish purple bruise where the bullet must have hit. "There."

Ghost stared at him in silence, long enough for Soap to shift awkwardly on his feet. "That's a busted rib if I've ever seen one."

Soap looked down at his chest, and Ghost did not miss his grimace when he saw the damage. "Yeah, well…"

Ghost snorted at the slight embarrassed blush that crept up Soap's neck, shaking his head. "Put your shirt back on, Johnny, and let's go find you an ice pack."

[astaldis]

Prompts: “You look pale”, Comfort Food, Bedside Vigil

Chapters: 8/9 Fandom: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg

@whumpril​

Usually, Jaskier sleeps like a log and there is not much that can wake him up, unless, maybe, a major earthquake, or Geralt pouring a bucket of icy water over his head. It has happened, not the first, but the latter one. This night, though, it is different despite him being dog-tired. Must be his worried subconsciousness that makes him wake up again and again during the night. Still half asleep, he gets up to check on Yennefer. And to put another log on the fire so it would not burn out and the room become too cold for the sick sorceress. All through the night Yennefer is sleeping so deeply that Jaskier is not entirely sure if she is indeed asleep or unconscious. Is there even a difference? Common sense tells him that, yes, there is. It is a lot easier to wake somebody up if they are just asleep, right? But as he does not intend to wake Yennefer, there is no way of telling, is there? From time to time, she gives a low moan or whimpers in her sleep. Do people do that, when they have lost consciousness? Damn, he has no idea. He should have taken some medical classes back at Oxenfurt Academy. But how on the continent could he have foreseen that one day he would be in need of this kind of knowledge? At least he is pretty sure that as long as somebody is breathing and has a pulse, they are alive. And Yennefer does and has. Her hands and forehead do not feel quite as cold to the touch anymore, must be a good sign, too. The blankets and the fire seem to help. She still looks awfully pale and is far too quiet, though. Perhaps that is what is worrying him so much? Because normally the sorceress is so very much alive, the air around her sparkling with vivacity and fiery temperament. Now, this special sparkle appears to be gone ...

With first light, Jaskier gets up to fetch more wood for the fire and water to make tea. He is horribly hungry, too. With all the bad stuff happening the day before, he totally forgot to eat. Come to think of it, he has not even had breakfast yesterday. No wonder he feels starved. Yennefer might be hungry, too, when she wakes up. But would it be a good idea for her to eat anything yet? And if so, what? Something that is easy on the stomach, warming, nutritious and reviving, all at the same time. Gods, he should have taken a class for dietitians, too. Well, no use puzzling his head over this just yet. First, Yennefer has to wake up, and then he will come up with something. He always does. After all, he is a master of improvisation. The pan with the long-cold scrambled eggs is still on the stove. Hm, is it safe to eat? It appears to be okay, no glass splinters from the window in it or anywhere in the direct vicinity of the food. So, cold egg on buttered bread it is for him, could be worse. Miraculously the only tea pot in the house has also survived yesterday's battle and is already filled to the brim with fresh, steaming hot peppermint tea. The smell alone is nicely reviving.

It seems to work on Yennefer, too. When he sits down on the edge of the couch with his breakfast, the pepperminty aroma spreading throughout the room, Yennefer gives a soft moan and blinks her eyes open. Yaskier gives her a broad smile.

"Good morning, darling. How is my sleeping beauty doing today?"

"Shitty as fuck," she groans. "Can you just kill me?"

"No way, my love. No killing anymore anywhere near me. I've just so managed to get all that sticky Redanian blood out of my hair and face. Not to mention my beloved leather coat, it'll be a hell of a lot of work to clean that one, just sayin'." He sighs exaggeratedly, then gives her a worried glance. "But you do look pale. What about having a nice cup of tea instead of this killing thingy?"

Continue reading on Ao3: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45159151/chapters/116483422