#will his immune system end up better because of all the stress testing it is going through at a yound age?

[echoofawind]

Being sick sucks.

[mecchantheotaku]

fuck it i'm still sick and i wanna share my headcanons for the voices getting sick because i'm coping lmao

hero: tries to do things normally anyway, fails miserably because he's terrible at looking after himself.

broken: just lays there miserably, not even trying to recover. genuinely believes this is the end even if it's just a cold.

cheated: complains. a LOT. tries to get shit done but knows his limits. still complains though.

cold: doesn't even notice at first until either it's pointed out or he collapses from overexerting himself. when it's clear he's not healthy and won't be able to do much, he simply tries to just take medicine and sleep until he's better.

contrarian: okay this guy NEEDS to be restrained when sick. anything he'd do will probably just end up getting him sicker. completely unintentionally as well, he's just trying to stress test it.

hunted: does not take being sick well at all. it messes with his senses and slows him down, making him feel weak and helpless. will do anything to get better.

opportunist: gets annoyed at being sick and will try to search for ways out of this. if there's anyone else there, he'll flip-flop between trying to get sympathy and good treatment and trying to spread his sickness on to them out of spite. basically a total brat.

paranoid: his mind tends to wander and jump to outlandish conclusions, like someone looking up their symptoms and freaking out at the very low possibility it's something serious. even worse if he has a fever.

skeptic: gets very frustrated that he can't even think straight with his illness. ends up overthinking it and making it worse.

smitten: ironically the most sensible of the voices when sick. if his beloved is there, he gets worried he'll end up getting her sick too, but other than that he just tries to get over it like a normal person.

stubborn: shrugs off his illness and does things normally anyway. unlike hero, he actually succeeds because even his immune system is tough as nails. the other voices envy him.

[allthisfornothing]

As someone with a chronic illness that I got in my 20s, I genuinely think my life is the same as before. I developed type 1 diabetes way after the usual age (of like 5 years old) and it has considerably restricted my diet, I go to the hospital 4 times a year, and sometimes I get so scared I’m paralyzed.

But frankly life was not "better" before. I got scared of exams and mistakes I’d made and failure to the point that I used to lose sleep and cry for hours. Illness has taught me to pause and get some perspective. I don’t eat refined carbs anymore (for over a year) and the cravings are far behind me. My skin has never been healthier and my cardio has improved. I am now very serious about my health and I have caught 2 things very early that could have been a pain if I hadn’t had blood tests done every 3 months.

My point is: yes, some things are now harder. But I adapted. My levels of anxiety are the same as before, I just get anxious about different things. I have to have a lot of discipline, but once you’ve exercised it for a while, it just becomes part of you. My habits have changed, I’ve changed, and I’m somewhat happier and healthier and somewhat a lot more fragile and limited. I honestly think that happens to everyone and I don’t feel pity for myself or envy of others. Sometimes I even feel lucky that I’m diabetic.

Of course not everyone feels that way, but sometimes I think thinking that you have it worse is what makes you feel like you have it worse. I have a beautiful, meaningful life full of people I love and things I cherish, and yes my pancreas doesn’t work and I need others to make things to sustain my life, but I don’t think for a second that I have it worse than anyone else.

I read these books where people who are miserable because of their choices think "it could be worse, at least I don’t have diabetes" (surprisingly common sentence!) and I feel genuine compassion for them thinking I would never switch my life for theirs.

My partner has psoriasis and he doesn’t feel positive about it at all—it itches, it disturbs his digestion, he’s self-conscious about how it looks—but even he has moments where the light somehow shines on it differently. When I help him put cream on his back or I go out of my way to get food that doesn’t trigger a rash for him or it fades away after a few days swimming in the ocean. In the end it’s a burden that he bears but it’s not something he deals with alone, and it’s not something that gets in the way of his happiness.

We are so resilient to losses and life’s small inconveniences, so trained against stress that’s not from a direct threat to our life, and so supportive of each other’s needs, that I really think we have it better than a lot of people whose immune systems are perfect.

This of course probably doesn’t resonate so much with people who have chronic pain, illnesses that isolate them, or handicaps that restrict their motions, but some of us sick bastards out there are really living it up.

You know what absolutely boggles my mind? That healthy people exist. Genuinely healthy people. No mental illness, no physical illness, no chronic illness. Just healthy. What a life that must be. 

[britishassistant]

From one gut punch to another, but fluff edition: I think Divus hates when Yuu gets sick. Being a test tube baby, Yuu must have missed out on the natural immunities given by typical pregnancy. So when they were really young they would get ill very fast and very terrible. You can’t tell me that first time parents Roger and Anita wouldn’t panic when faced with the dreaded stomach bug. And who else to watch the pup when they run out for supplies then their “Uncle Crew”. At first, Crewel would consider it an triumph that Yuu could get sick since most of his creations have natural immunity, but that immediately changed and suddenly he was panicking too after Yuu had a pretty nasty burst of coughing. After all Yuu is the first creation that he’s ever made that was meant to be fragile, he’s not exactly equipped with how to deal with that. Nowadays Yuu mostly just suffers in silence, but if Crewel happens to hear that a certain reporter is under the weather, The Perfect will mostly likely stumble back into their apartment to find a care package from him with all their childhood treatments and the decent medicine.

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa said: hahaha how about yuu getting sick with a cold, lol the city must be the verge on a civil war with all the villains arguing who takes care of yuu, no crimes where committed but breaking and entering and the occasional medicine theft, they could've had kidnapped a doctor, but nothing says "look i'm husband material" by treating them to get better by helping them themselves. I keep imagining riddle with trey bringing some soup but then being shoved to the side from jade and floyd, with them bringing blankets and medicine, only to be beaten by the savana trio, by them taking a nap with yuu.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon and @coffee-or-hot-cocoa !

And oh. Oh. That makes so much sense and makes me so soft, I declare it canon.

Because Yuu’s lacking in these natural defenses, they tend to be someone who goes all out when they get sick. By which I mean they’re never someone who can have ‘just a light cold’, because their body just goes to the greatest extreme, from 0 to 100 in a matter of hours. They get awful fevers, migraines that leave them hardly able to think, body-wracking coughs, upset stomachs that mean they’re unable to even keep water down, sore throats which quickly devolve into tonsillitis, and that’s if they’re lucky and their symptoms are mild.

And they’ll still try to go to work in this state, because they’re a dumb workaholic.

Yuuken is in charge of turning them around, sitting them back in the car, and driving them home to rest.

It was particularly scary for Anita and Roger when Yuu was small, because chicken pox hit them like a freight train when it went through their class at school, leaving them ill enough for two weeks that they were contemplating taking Yuu to the emergency room so they could at least get the fluids they were losing via IV drip.

Crewel found it fascinating at first, as all of his creations have natural immunity built into them, so nothing can stop them when they rampage. Seeing one of them laid low by a mere disease, it’s a new experience that needs to be documented to its fullest extent to gather valuable data.

Of course it stops being so ‘fascinating’ once it becomes clear how much #Y26 is suffering, how much longer they’ve been bedridden when compared to normal rates of recuperation in children their age, long enough that the idea of them just not recovering at all becomes a viable option.

That’s when Crewel stops collecting data and starts working on a way to cure Yuu or alleviate the worst of their symptoms.

It’s also why he gets so pissy when he finds out what the supervillains are doing while Yuu’s sick. What don’t those numbskull puppies understand about avoiding stressing out the patient and the dangers of weakened immune systems?! Do they want the reporter to stay ill for longer under their antics?? It’s not like they’ll even be able to remember any of the ‘caretaking’ that they’re hoping will earn them brownie points, given how out of it Yuu always ends up!

He usually descends like a fashionable yet wrathful god, chasing the unruly puppies out of the reporter’s apartment with a rolled up newspaper before they can make the situation worse. The best thing they can do is leave their offerings of soup and medicine for Crewel’s perusal and back off quickly. Attempting to force their way in or sneak Yuu out is a fast way to incur Crewel’s cold fury. The Diasomnia, Octavinelle and Savannaclaw supervillain groups learned that the hard way.

Yuuken quickly won Crewel’s favor when they first met by staying as far away as he could when Yuu came down with flu while they roomed together, and doing exactly what Crewel advised him to after he had to leave Yuu in Yuuken’s care overnight, asking sensible questions when unclear about his directives. That at least showed Crewel that Yuuken was willing to do what was necessary to return Yuu to health rather than fulfill a certain ideal of caretaking that’s ultimately more self-serving than actually helpful.

Yuu wakes up a few days later with a can of tuna perched on their chest, grumbling about the remnants of a headache and wondering how much they’re going to need to play nursemaid after Uncle Divvy got done with their supervillain admirers this time.

[blush-and-books]

Juke 48 fluff please...

Prompt #48: “I told you to take care of yourself.”

Ksjahdsf High School AU inspired by the fact that my generation has been so crushed by the pressures of our education system that we would always show up to school with colds and strep and literally anything because we refused to miss school. Double inspired by the morning I threw up at 3AM and had a cold but literally went downstairs and monologued to my mom that I had to go to school bc I had two quizzes that would have been hell to make up and I would have had major anxiety if I missed anything. And she let me go. Triple inspired by the fact that pre-COVID I would get sick routinely 4 times across Oct, Nov and Dec because my peers would also show up sick. So, yeah. Here’s to the american education system 

Luke knows that something is off with his best friend when she finally approaches her locker that Wednesday morning, where he had been anxiously bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for her.

Where she is usually like sunshine to him, glowing brighter than the California sunrise -- a lyric in the song he was planning to show her, but would never admit was inspired by her as well -- she arrives with the pale glow of the moon instead. Julie’s eyes are half-open, and her usually bouncy curls have been pulled back and up unto a messy bun. 

He hasn’t seen her like this since-

“Jules,” he mumbles, half to himself and half to her when she finally looks up and notices him. Instantaneously, he takes an energetic step towards her, letting his hands rest on her upper arms. “Are you sick? Again?”

As if she doesn’t want to hear it, not again, her bottom lip juts out in a pout that is only seen on a miserable Julie Molina before she brushes past him to her locker. Deeply concerned, Luke trails after her. 

“Julie, hey,” he attempts, but she won’t look up at him. There’s a shame in her face while she gets her calculus textbook from her locker, and it’s then that Luke notices the thermos she’s clutching in her left hand. “Let me take this stuff. Drink your tea. Don’t try and talk, I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

She shakes her head, it’s not his fault, she’s the idiot showing up to school sick, but she couldn’t miss today. She just couldn’t. 

Without putting up a fight, she lets him take her backpack and textbook from her possession while she unscrews the lid of her thermos and chugs two big gulps of tea. Temporary relief is brought to her throat, but it doesn’t last long. 

“I-” She attempts, but Luke shoots her a glare and wags a finger at her. Ignoring him, she powers on. “I have a calc test and a history quiz and an English debate.”

“You can make those up.” “But do I want to? Do I want to miss a whole day of notes and work and assignments because I have a runny nose?”

(And a sore throat, obviously. And a headache. She also woke up right before her alarm to throw up, but she hasn’t felt the urge to do that again since. You get the picture though.)

“Jules, I mean this in the best way possible, but you look like there’s a lot more than a runny nose happening here. A runny nose was two weeks ago. This looks like your whole body aches.”

(Fair assessment. It does.)

She lifts her thermos to her lips once again to soothe the throbbing that resulted from her excuses, feeling her stomach twirl in a way that she can’t tell is another bout of nausea or just Luke making her painfully fall more in love with him. 

He, on the other hand, is one step away from hauling her over his shoulder and driving her home himself. He doesn’t know what to do. Julie’s stressed, and the stress has made her vulnerable to colds for the past couple of months, and this is the third time he’s seen her sick. No matter what, she shows up to school -- freshman year, she stayed home sick with the stomach flu, and had a panic attack in the bathroom on the day that she came back. 

He knows because he was in her music class that year. Her best friend, Flynn, had rushed into the music room to explain to their teacher, and he’ll never forget it. 

Coincidentally, it was two months ago, with Julie’s first ceremonious cold of the year, that Luke officially realized that he was in love with her. It was the feeling of seeing her uncomfortable, powering through because she felt like she had to -- he was so proud, yet so worried, and wanted to bring her home so they could watch Tangled and he could make her the matzo ball soup recipe that Alex taught him when they were kids. 

“I know,” she croaks at him, face crumbling. “It does. I feel like shit. But I just have to get through today, and I’ll be fine.”

(After spending six hours at school, another two on homework, pedaling through five bottles of Gatorade and getting four hours of sleep because her throat and sinuses prevent her from any adequate rest. Yeah. She’ll be fine.) ((She’ll still come to school tomorrow.))

Luke knows all of this. In his head, he’s drafting the text to his parents that he’ll type out in his lap during first period to tell them that he’s going to be at the Molina’s for the next couple of days, taking care of Julie. They do have a band to worry about, after all, and their lead singer needs to be in top shape. 

Just looking at her tired face makes his chest hurt. She looks like she hasn’t smiled in a long time. Wanting to comfort her, somehow, he reaches his hands up to cradle her cheeks -- but she swats him away. 

“Luke, no. I’m not getting you sick.”

Fighting her flailing hands, he manages to slip his own to her cheeks, making sure that the fingers that are wandering into her hair rub her scalp. That’s always a calming, relieving feeling. 

“Impossible, mariposa. My immune system is Herculean.”

She looks up at him, fully, for the first time that morning. He can’t help but grin at getting to see her face, no matter how tired she thinks she looks, and even though she thinks he is full of shit she can’t help but mirror his expression. 

“There’s my girl,” he whispers unconsciously. Her skin warms underneath his hands. “Are you alright? Do you have a fever? You’re getting a little toasty.”

Her skin temperature rises from her blush even higher as his hands slip from her hair and to her forehead, pathetically testing for a fever. 

“I’m good,” she shakes her head, trying to brush it off. His eyes refocus on her, and he sighs; the air staying silent between them as she tries to decipher what he’s thinking. 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he insists. “I told you to take care of yourself. Can’t have my frontwoman blowing her nose in between each song at a gig.”

“I’m your frontwoman now? Fuck Julie and the Phantoms, I guess.”

Luke smirks, and for a heavenly moment forgets that the precious girl in front of him isn’t in pain, but she stiffles a cough after her joke. Frowning, he drops his hands to grab hers so that he can hold them up between their chests. 

“You’re my everything, silly. Frontwoman, best friend, study partner, favorite person-”

“-Walking petri dish.”

“Yes. My walking petri dish.”

The joke lightens Julie up. Maybe today, if her and Luke can keep making jokes, she will get through. She can’t think of anything else to say as his lips press against her forehead in a gesture so caring that she would grab his face and move those lips down a few inches if she weren’t, you know, a walking petri dish. 

Before either of them can say anything else, the school bell rings. It’s time for her miserable day to start. Just the idea of sitting still in her math class makes her shiver, and she wraps her arms around herself. 

“Are you cold?” Luke jumps to ask, moving closer to her as the halls start moving with crowds of other students. 

“Luke, I’m fine-”

“My locker is right by your math class. I have a flannel in there. You’re wearing it today.”

“Luke-”

“No arguments. I was walking you to class anyways. I’m walking you to every class, actually. Your backpack weighs more than you do and that’s the last thing you need to feel right now.”

(Not to be creepy, but Julie Molina would marry Luke right now if he asked. Sometimes she wonders if her other best friend, Flynn, is right when she makes jokes about her and Luke being a married couple. If this is marriage, sign her up.)

“Thank you,” she says lightly, trying not to strain her throat. Luke responds with tugging on her left hand, beginning to pull her towards the staircase at the end of the hall. 

“We’ll get you better, Molina. Mark my words.”

Tagging @willexx because you got all impatient on me. love you babe and love you too anon!!

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 16

First time reader click here

Summary/TWs: Trouble is brewing. Canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of wounds and Clint whump. Bad, terrible, no-good medical accuracy. Aliens. Reader is an anxious genius with low self-esteem and PTSD. ✨spicy sadness✨

From now on, chapters will be posted un-beta-ed. She's taking a lil break. 💖💝✨

I liked to think I had made peace with the fact that my boys and girls had one hell of a dangerous job. Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bucky frequently left for missions and while I missed their usual bickering in the background, it wasn't like the tower's common room became absolutely quiet. The fact that they mostly did recon-only missions helped, too, as they would come home unharmed and in one piece. The worry was there but subtle - like setting the table and including silverware for the people who were gone on a mission.

Peter's patrols went less smoothly, usually. He was small and even in his spider-suit, the boy was frequently underestimated by common thugs. Apparently, they didn't know how to read the news - it was blatantly obvious the hero was enhanced. And yet somehow, Pete more often than not sported all sorts of bruises, scratches and tears.

Tony and I routinely tore out our hair over the spiderboy's carelessness. The engineer had a funny way of showing he cared for Peter. Once I got to know him better, my brain dubbed them as Irondad and Spiderson. And it wasn't weird at all, somehow, that I was basically fucking my best friend's dad. Tony never made me uncomfortable, if anything, he went to great lengths to accommodate my whims. Tony continuously found time for me, answered my dumb questions and soldiered through the shenanigans I got up to after having too much caffeine and too little sleep.

Sitting in the quiet, empty common room was unnerving. It was shortly after dinner time - the evening news skipped their usual political debate in favour of the battle that was raging downtown, the reason for my headache and wrung hands.

I missed Tony's running mouth. The aliens the team was fighting looked quite hilarious, murderous intentions aside, and I could only imagine the way Tony and Clint would mock them. Hentai rejects. Tentacle porn knock-offs. The aliens were squid-like, about half the size of a human and very, very slippery, from what I spied on the TV.

An irritated-looking Stephen had me equal parts apprehensive and drooling - one after another, he conjured up a series of small portals, teleporting the aggressive octopods only god knew where. It would have looked incredibly badass if not for the exhausted sheen of sweat I could see on his brow, even despite the camera footage being shaky and grainy.

The news footage showed Tony - Iron Man, soaring contentedly through the darkening skies and taking out the squirmy mass of tentacles with his plasma beam repulsors. Steve and Bucky and Loki appeared too, sporadically, being well-oiled murder machines. Nothing new.

Yet, I worried. The little worm of doubt was squirming full-force. I tried to ignore it, yet pacing, sitting and playing Candy Crush got me nowhere. I pestered Friday to order pizza, the team's usual post-mission order plus a large one for me - stress-eating was better than stress-popping-molly in a tower full of superheroes. It took some courage to admit to myself I'd gotten attached enough to be this much from running away from all that in a blind panic.

And it would be the best option for them, really, because they had much sensible things to worry about than me. Yet every time, my selfishness won against even the most logical arguments I presented. I hated fighting myself but it was all I did - not only I was in love with Tony, I loved him.

Even when he forgot about my existence for five days, to emerge from his workshop with a new piece of tech that revolutionised one or another or something else. I loved him when he annoyed the ever living fuck out of everybody, me included, because I knew that it was hilarious to see people getting riled up over totally trivial shit. I loved Tony Stark when he ran away from his feelings, and everybody else's, because he never managed to run far enough. Or he didn't want to. I loved him, because he was like a multilayered puzzle, complex and captivating and beautiful.

I thought a lot about it, more than people would have noticed. For someone as selfish and goal-oriented as me, Tony lived in my head rent-free most of the time. And nobody would find out if I had the choice because let's face it, I'm a short cameo in his life. I'm a fuckin' catch and even then, I can't expect to hold his attention forever. His genius is too brilliant to settle for one when he could easily have the whole damn world.

Another hour consisted of me pacing and accompanying the pizza delivery boys to the common floor. It was hilarious - they were obviously star-struck about walking the same carpet as their heroes. I could see the faint hope of meeting one of the Avengers in their eyes, their posture. All they got was me - in my sweatpants, Tony's tee and no bra. My tits got the attention they deserved, at least.

My lounging was interrupted by a golden circle noisily appearing in the middle of the room, followed by Clint abruptly falling through it with a pained moan. I froze, the pizza in my mouth turning to ash - Strange poked his head through the hole in space, finding my eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Help him, I don't have much time," He breathed and disappeared, closing the portal behind himself.

The pizza piece flew back in the box as I stumbled, jumped over the headrest, kneeling beside Clint in no time. "Bird, tell me what hurts," I demanded. Not that I had a clue what to do. I mean, I knew basic first aid and...

"My leg," He gritted out, curling in on himself. Fear flooded me, limbs turning to lead. Hawk had a good pain tolerance, I knew he could break an arm and not utter a single syllable until he thought it safe to showcase his vulnerability. "That squid motherfucker stung me, I don't know. My whole body is on fire," His speech was slurred.

I nodded, deciding to limit the touching to only the necessary actions. The leg of his pants was torn and the wound itself was shaped like a whip mark, thin and red and angry. It oozed a yellowish pus-like substance, it smelled bitter, almost like stale water and seaweed salad. I didn't know much about aliens but jellyfish stings, I could work with. A short Google check later, I had an approximate plan.

"Friday, run diagnostics." I ordered, taking a deep breath and filing away the fear, the panic and anxiety for later.

"Mr. Barton has a wound that appears to be contaminated with an unknown chemical that is causing an adverse reaction. The elevated body temperature suggests that his immune system is fighting it. I would suggest a blood test to examine the offending specimens."

A blood draw? I could do that. I definitely, absolutely, could do that.

"Bird, Clint, did you hear that?" I gently touched his shoulder only for him to recoil from my hand, muttering unintelligibly. "Pretty bird, I'm going to help you. Let me." My bedside manner needed improvement - with brain running a mile a minute, I babbled utter nonsense as Friday directed me to the needed supplies. Getting the blood was a feat on it's own - I had to physically sit on top of Clint to get but a tiny vial of the red liquid.

A few tears escaped the emotional fortress I had to build within myself. Clint was in so, so much pain - pain I was inadvertently making worse by touching him. I sprinted to Bruce's lab, feeding the sample to be analysed by Friday, tearing through the room in a hurricane. First aid kit, IV, saline, antibiotics. Restraints, too, just in case.

"Analysis complete. The contaminant appears to be acting similarly to a parasitic infection with a short life-span. Primarily feeds on copper, iron and various metals contained in the human body. Does not appear to reproduce or multiply, my algorithms cannot determine the cause of said behaviour. Calculating..." Friday's mechanical voice paused. "I have calculated the approximate duration of Mr. Barton's symptoms. Onset of critical stage in one to three hours. Complete extinction of parasitic organisms in approximately sixty hours."

"Fri, do you think I have a chance of saving Clint before he goes crazy from pain? And have you figured out what's causing it?" My brain was all over the place.

"I have the best faith in you, miss." The AI sounded almost... Comforting? "I am still running multiple diagnostics. My algorithms suggest the organisms may be attacking the nerve endings - reason unclear."

An idea struck me. A crazy, brash, absurd idea. The pathogen was alien and we didn't have antibiotics to kill it. Even if I gave Clint some sort of medicine, it could go awry really really quickly. Besides, wasn't there a medical team for this..?

"Friday, alert the medical suite."

"Request denied. Per Mr. Stark's protocols, only Sir himself and Dr. Banner are authorized to request medical assistance in case of alien pathogen contamination."

"Fuck. Fuck, that makes no fuckin' sense!" I yelled helplessly. "Okay, do you have blood matching Clint's type laying around?" I asked sarcastically. This protocol pissed me off. What was Tony scared of? That someone would steal alien germs? Too late for that, there were plenty of samples all over the sidewalks downtown.

"A-positive, blue refrigerator, top shelf." Friday's answer was curt.

My hands shook. My whole body shook. Clint was laying in fetal position right where I'd left him and the man wasn't looking better - he became paler, dark circles under his eyes, clammy sweat breaking on every exposed part of his skin. Moving him was out of the question - Clint violently recoiled from me once I tried to touch him.

Reluctantly, I dragged the dining room chairs and piled up whatever heavy things I could on top of them, praying to every god that they would hold a trained man trash around in pain. Then, came the restraints. Belts with clips unlike one could see in a movie with a psych ward. I fumbled with them, then with Clint - very slowly, but I got both of his arms fastened and the man rolled onto his back.

"Wwhat... S'appening..?" Hawk finally slurred, cracking his eyes to see my (probably) disheveled and panicked face.

"This is going to hurt, I won't lie. A lot," I rambled, setting up the tools needed for both a blood draw and a blood transfusion. "I'm not a doctor. I'm not a scientist. You have alien parasites in your blood. I'm going to get rid of em," I announced, not mentioning the fact that I had to Google all the things I was going to do to him.

"S'okay, I trust you," Clint slurred again, moving about much more weakly than before. The tips of his fingers began to turn blue and the blood vessels on his face stood out in a pink-purple web. Not good.

My finest thinking moment: laying out some tarp around the archer and putting on gloves and a mask to minimize the possibility of getting infected. I started with the wound first, carefully wiping away the yellowish goop and immediately sealing it into a biohazard container. Some alcohol around the edges, the wound began emanating a faint wisp of smoke as Clint yelled hoarsely. I didn't even react - man, aliens and their germs were fuckin' weird.

Another biohazard container traveled next to Clint's arm. I had a disposable scalpel in one hand and my courage in another - it was now or never. The vein I was cutting was a minor one, but with Clint's body in total disarray, it was an ugly fountain of pinkish-purple liquid that spurted from it. I was no doctor but blood shouldn't have looked like that.

I stared at the timer on my phone. Twenty seconds, thirty, fifty. Eighty seconds, the blood was beginning to have more of a red hue. Clint's breathing slowed, tremors subsiding by a smidgen. One hundred and eighty seconds, the stream was a healthy deep red colour. With a swift motion, I wrapped up the wound, folded his arm, tied off the blood flow higher up his arm with a spare restraint. Clint wasn't moving much anymore; my hand that periodically checked his pulse shook but dutifully did it's job. His heart was working steady.

Compared to having to drain a friend of his blood, setting up the IV with a transfusion was a walk in the park. My mind was empty of any thoughts but for the actions needed to complete the process.

The container with contaminated blood, closed, sealed and put in a plastic bag, along with the gloves and the tarp. My own exposed flesh, meticulously scrubbed with alcohol until the skin became red and raw. All the instruments, Clint's pants, my clothes - in the bag.

The archer himself was laying still, his breathing steady and calm, face no longer looking like he was one step away from the grave. After undoing the restraints, I wiped down every surface we touched with Tony's vodka - rubbing alcohol had run out and I was too emotionally drained to go downstairs and leave Clint for too long. Whenever the booze collided with a stray drop of blood, a wispy smoke emerged. Such an interesting reaction. Part of me couldn't wait to examine the phenomena together with Bruce. The other part was considering the possibility of having a panic attack in a seafood restaurant.

"Fri, keep an eye- a sensor on Clint for me, will ya? I need a shower and some pants," I denounced tiredly, padding to the communal shower. I found respite, however brief, under the steam for a few minutes. Then I found Tony's old tee and a pair of someone's sweats - I didn't care whose. Post-stress adrenaline shivers had me feeling stark naked in the middle of Alaska despite the room being a toasty, comfortable temperature according to the digital thermostat.

Now I just had to think about what to tell the team.

Propping Clint's head on a decorative pillow and covering him with a soft fleece blanket was the least I could have done for the long suffering archer. The floor was hard but I sat next to him, running a hand through his matted hair, my brain an incomprehensible mess.

✨ TAGLIST OF MY LOVELIES (OPEN) ✨

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[thicctails]

Summer Of Whump Day 23 [Sick/Survivor’s Guilt]

Ω

 Crosshair cursed as Cal went limp in his arms, the boy slumping lifelessly. Omega was right behind him, her eyes slipping closed as she wheezed in pain. Both kids needed his attention, but he could only focus on one of them at a time.

 ‘Damn it! This is why I need my vode here, then we could make sure they were both getting the help they need right now.’ He cursed mentally.

 He laid Cal on the ground and pressed his hand against the boy’s stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. Part of him seethed with anger at the fact that he had given that wretched creature a quick death. Keeping one hand on the wound, he leaned over and started checking Omega over. Spots of crimson bled through her clothes, soaking into the fabric and spreading further as the seconds ticked by. The bite on her leg concerned him the most, as the animal’s fangs were quite long.

 “What happened here-!”

 A woman’s voice had his head snapping up. There was a woman and a few kids now standing before him, horrified expressions on their faces. He moved in front of the downed children, bristling with protective fury. The woman, a Togruta dressed in familiar brown robes, moved into a defensive stance, lightsaber in hand but not yet ignited.

 “Easy,” She started, raising one hand, “I just want to help them.”

 “They would not need your help if you hadn’t stolen them.” He spat venomously.

 A flash of guilt came over the woman’s face. “I know, and I’m sorry. We thought that you were working with the Empire.” She inched a bit closer, and Crosshair’s hands twitched towards his rifle. “But I can help them. If you let me, I can save their lives, but we have to be fast.”

 Crosshair’s eyes flicked towards the wounded children, mentally calculating how much medical supplies they had and if he could even carry both of them back in time to use the supplies before they passed away. His decision was made for him when Omega started shaking and sounding like she was choking. He nodded quickly and scooped Omega and Cal up into his arms. The woman and an older teenage Bothan rushed forward, grabbing the other teens who had been injured during the fight.

 “Follow me.” The Jedi said, and he obeyed without argument.

 They ran through a network of caves until finally stopping in a pristine chamber. A pool of water sat in the middle, surrounded by thick white cots. Crosshair placed each of the kids in his arms on their own cot, turning Omega over on her side. She coughed up a horrible mix of foamy saliva and stomach acid, her sides heaving as she vomited. The sight disturbed Crosshair greatly. Clones didn’t get sick, so if someone was puking their guts out, it was usually because of one of three reasons.

 One, the person had had a bit too much to drink.

 Two, they’d seen something so bad it had turned their stomach.

 Or three, the person was dying.

 Judging by how Omega hadn’t been drinking and had been face down in the dirt for most of the ordeal, that left only the third option.

 “I’m sorry I wasn’t faster ad’ika.” He whispered, rubbing Omega’s back.

 Suddenly, the Jedi was beside him, her hand pressing against Omega’s leg.

 “What’s wrong with her?” He asked.

 “The same disease that drove that animal mad is coursing through her bloodstream. I must remove it before it reaches her heart.” The woman said, closing her eyes.

 Omega whimpered under her touch, and the sound was almost enough to make him turn and attack the Jedi to make her stop touching the girl. But he resisted the urge, knowing that Omega needed this Jedi’s help. Not wanting to be useless, he turned his attention to Cal, peeling up his shirt to examine the wound on his stomach. It was a large laceration, going from the tip of his left hip to the start of the right side of his ribcage. Blood spurted from the wound, sticking to the boy’s clothes and sliding down his pale skin. Crosshair cursed and looked around the room, searching for something to wrap the cut with.

 “Bandages are on the left side of the room. Top drawer.” The Jedi murmured.

 Crosshair got up and retrieved the bandages as quickly as possible, grabbing some clothes as well. He dipped the clothes in the water and began to clean Cal’s wound. Once the blood had been wiped away, he could see that it wasn’t as deep as he had originally feared. It would scar, but the boy wouldn’t need stitches. He carefully wrapped the gauze around Cal’s torso, making sure that it was tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not so tight that it would restrict his breathing.

 He ran a hand through the boy’s hair, unsure of what to do now.

 “I didn’t know clones could have children.” The Jedi mused, her voice startling Crosshair out of his own thoughts.

 “They’re- they’re not mine. I’m just looking after them.” He said, a bit shocked that she had thought that he was their father. Had he really gone that soft?

 “I knew that Cal wasn’t yours, but with how quickly you moved to protect them, I thought perhaps young Omega here might have been related to you. She has your ferocity.” The woman replied, frowning. “I can sense that she would be willing to kill to protect those she loves.”

 “Is that such a bad thing?” Crosshair questioned, eyeing her but not fully turning to look at her.

 “For someone like her, it can be. She is strong in the Force, unusually so, but she is inexperienced. She has no way of fighting off the temptations of the Dark side, and if she uses her abilities to hurt or kill, she may end up Falling.”

 “Falling?”

 “Falling means you’ve given in to the Dark side. She’s a wildcard, and her raw power makes her dangerous. There are those who would seek her out and drag her down into the dark with them. In the wrong hands, she could become the Galaxy’s worst nightmare.”

 “That won’t happen.” Crosshair growled.

 “I had a feeling you might say that.” The woman smiled. “You’re welcome to stay here while they recover, if you’d like.”

 “Thank you.” He said, knowing that she was taking a risk by having him there.

 She nodded. “I am Crèshe Master Azeu Mirthver, but please just call me Azeu. There are spare rooms available, or if you’d like, I can set up a bed in here.”

 “I want to stay with them. I need to make sure that they’re okay.” Crosshair said immediately.

 Azeu nodded again. “Omega will need monitoring. Her Force signature is radiating a sense of illness and exhaustion, and I fear that a fever may soon set in.”

 “A fever?” Crosshair arched an eyebrow. “This quickly?”

 “Her immune system is incredibly weak, and she’s practically bleeding stress and pain. This has been a long time coming.” The Jedi sighed, getting to her feet. “I’ve managed to remove the disease, but the puncture wounds are deep. They are the highest risk points for infection, so they’ll need to be checked regularly. I must go check on Tiger and Chex, can you finish applying her bandages?”

 “Sure.” Crosshair said, taking Azeu’s place at Omega’s side.

 “I’ll be back with a fresh set of clothes soon. I’ll be right down the tunnel if you need me.” Azeu said, quietly leaving the cave.

 Crosshair made a noise of acknowledgement as he started to clean the bites on Omega’s leg and ankle. Azeu had cut away part of her pant leg, making it seem like she was wearing shorts on one half and pants on the other. He dabbed at the puncture wounds until his cloth no longer came away bloody, hating how, for most of the time Omega had been around him, she’d been seriously injured or recovering from a major injury.

 “We need to get you some armor, eh shiny?” He joked softly, wrapping the bites gently in gauze. “Where would we even find armor that little, huh?”

 He ran a hand through her hair, smiling when she made a small noise and unconsciously shifted closer to him. Silently, he gently worked out any knots in her hair, occasionally plucking a stray flower petal from her hair. He glanced at them, a small twinge of sadness rippling through him. There had been two flower crowns on the ground when he had leaped down from his vantage point, well made and still mostly intact, if a bit dusty. He hadn’t payed them any mind at the time, too wrapped up in his panic as he tried to save Omega and Cal from bleeding out on the dirt. Thinking on it now, they were probably Omega’s handiwork, as there weren’t any flowers where he had first heard Cal’s voice coming from.

 “We’ll go pick some new ones once you’re better, okay?” He whispered. “But you’ve got to get well first. No running off ‘til we’ve got all of that nastiness out of your system.”

 He turned and looked at Cal, his voice still quiet as he spoke. “And that goes for you too, little jetii.”

 Maker he is going soft.

 It unnerves him slightly; how easily the two children in his care have made him drop his cold exterior. He hasn’t been this open, this vulnerable, since he’d been a small cadet, just barely beginning to learn what his purpose was. Back when he’d been shiny and wide-eyed and new, just like the rest of his vode. Back before the gruelling tests and painful experiments. Back when he had simply been CT-9904, although he didn’t miss the number designation. He’d worn the name his brothers had given him like a badge of honor, as it was something that had been freely given to him, the first thing that had really belonged to him.

 He thinks about that, about names. Omega, although it is not a traditional designation, is still the identifier the Kaminoans had stamped on her medical charts. It’s a name, but is it truly hers? Does she even know that, if she wanted, they would help her find a new name? Would she want a new name? What would it be? Something soft in nature, he thinks. Hunter and Tech had picked picked their names based on their enhancements, but he doesn’t think Force or Sensitive would make a very good name.

 Flower, maybe?

  No, that’s too soft.

 She’s good with her bow, so maybe Sharpshot or… just Bow?

  No, he doesn’t want her to have to be named after her fighting skills or a weapon like so many of his vode are. They were made for war, but he will do everything in his power to keep Omega as far away from it as possible.

 Omega shifts again, and the movement makes him realize that she’s shivering. Crosshair looked around, searching for a blanket. He can’t see any, so he moves to stand up and go look for the Jedi master to ask her where they are. Omega whines pitifully when he moves away, and the sound has him sitting back down right quick. Her face scrunches up in discomfort, and he can hear her murmuring under her breath.

 “Mnh… Wrecker, snap out of it…” She whimpered softly, and Crosshair’s heart breaks.

 He can’t leave her, not when she seems to be getting some form of comfort out of him being there, but he also doesn’t want her to be cold. There’s only two sources of heat in this room, and he’s not going to put her near Cal, not when he’s injured like he is. That left only himself.

 He’s never been the best cuddle buddy, too gangly and thin to be very comfortable to lay on. Tech had been the only one who could ever find him suitable to use as a pillow, the smaller clone curling up near his stomach. However, he’d been told that he ran warmer than his brothers, sometimes reaching fever-levels of heat after a particularly intense combat training session. So if warmth was what Omega needed right now, he’d simply have to make himself as comfortable as possible.

 He shed his armor and set aside his rifle, leaving himself in only his blacks. As if sensing his sudden increase in softness, Omega lunged for his stomach, pressing her face into the taunt muscles. Crosshair coughed quietly, wrapping an arm around her as he eased himself down to the floor. The area around eye was still bruised from when that damnable trooper hit her with his blaster, so he gently nudged her face so that she was resting with her bad eye off of his stomach. She snuggled down into him, sighing softly. Slowly, her shivers subsided, leaving her smiling as she slipped into a more peaceful state.

 Crosshair huffed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The floor was far from comfortable, but he’d slept on worse. Shifting, just slightly, making sure that no sharp points were poking Omega, he settled down to sleep. The weight was so familiar, so comforting, he found that, for the first time in years, sleep was coming easily. He blinked tiredly, his breathing slowing down as he relaxed. Lulled by the exhaustion of the day and his own heartbeat, he let his eyelids slip shut.

  Cal’s vision was blurred as he cracked his eyes open, groaning. His torso burned, a thin stripe of agony that stretched across his body. Bleary eyed, he reached out to the Force, searching for Omega. Her Force signature glowed warmly, drawing him in. Pushing himself up, he stumbled over to where she was, letting the Force be his guide. As his eyes adjusted to the now dim light, he spotted Crosshair and Omega lying on the ground, Omega’s face buried in the older clone’s stomach. Still groggy from sleep and unwilling to go looking for Master Mirthver, he laid down on Crosshair’s free side, leaning against his chest as he snuggled up to him. An arm fell over his back, pulling him closer. Cal yawned and closed his eyes again. For as long as he could remember, he’d slept alone, no matter if he had been sick or hurt or afraid. He’d always felt like asking to sleep with his Master would have been against the Code, even if he had just awoken from a terrible nightmare and really needed the comfort.

 Now, as he lay in this cave, cuddled up to a clone that, a few days ago, would have killed him for comfort, he found himself wishing that he had sought out that comfort, taken that time to experience the closeness that he only now realizes that he’s been desperately craving. Tears well in his eyes as he fists part of Crosshair’s outfit, and he knows it’s not because of his wound.

 He misses his Master so much that it hurts. It hurts more than any of his previous injuries combined. The guilt had made him feel like he was made of stone, but for the past few days he hadn’t had a moment to feel guilty, to preoccupied with either being terrified for his and Omega’s life or so filled with joy and warmth that he had been fit to burst. But now? In the stillness and quiet? The gnawing feeling came back, making him curl up into a little ball.

 What was he doing? He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to be comforted. He’d been a terrible padawan, possibly the worst padawan! He’d let his Master die, what kind of person did that? All he’d had to do was be faster, move quicker, think quicker, and yet he’d failed. He’d failed, and then he had been alone, lost and left to mourn amidst the wreckage of a war that would soon come to an end in the worst possible way. When he’d been captured, a part of him had wanted to simply attack, to get them to end his life the same they had ended his Master’s. But the fear that had been coursing through his veins had made him freeze up, to not call to his Master’s lightsaber, which was safely tucked away out of sight.

 He thinks, bleakly, that he might have overcome his fear if he had been thrown into that cell alone.

 Omega had been a burst of starlight in his life, the Force around her curious and untameable. She was unlike any padawan or Jedi he’d ever met, so open and bright. She projected her emotions and made no move to shield her thoughts, having no secrets to keep locked away. Being around her was overwhelming but it was good. It was good because he was so focuses on her that there was no time to think about what had happened, what he’d done. She’d saved him, kept his mind from going back to the dark place it had been in during his time alone on Bracca. A dark place that was slowly dragging him back, its sharp claws digging into his mind.

 “Cal?”

 Master Mirthver’s voice was quiet as she stepped into the cave, a bundle of blankets in one arm and a cot tucked the other. Cal sniffed and peered at her, his green eyes wet with tears. The Togruta gave him a sad look, moving over to kneel beside him.

 “What is troubling you, young Ketsis?” She whispered.

 “ ‘m a bad padawan.” He croaked, his voice trembling. “I let Master Tapal die.”

“Oh Cal,” The Crèshe Master crooned, draping a blanket over him, “that isn’t true in the slightest. No one would ever blame you for what happened that day. Jedi Masters that had been training for longer than you’ve been alive couldn’t stop the clones. Master Tapal’s death was not your fault.”

 “Yes it was!” He sobbed, the tears falling freely now.

 His raw emotions and sorrowful cry woke the two clones he had been resting with. Crosshair jolted a bit, his military upbringing making him snap to alertness. Omega was a different story, all slow movements and hazy questioning over their bond. Crosshair drew Cal into a hug, understanding that the youngster was upset but not yet knowing why.

 “What’s wrong?” He asked, rubbing Cal’s back. “It it your cut?”

 Cal pressed his face into the clone’s chest, making a noise of disagreement.

 “He feels guilt.” The Togruta explained. “He blames himself for something out of his control.”

 The Jedi’s words did nothing but make Cal cry harder. Crosshair looked hopelessly confused, unsure of what to do or how to make things better. Omega, now very much awake and practically being suffocated by Cal’s emotions, wiggled her way over Crosshair’s body and pulled him into a hug, holding him as tightly as possible.

 “Let it out.” She whispered. “Let it all out. You’ll never be really alright if you don’t get everything out when it starts to be too much.”

 The redhead shuddered, clinging to her like his life depended on it. Omega winced as she moved her leg, letting Cal cry into her shoulder. Her own tears slipped down her face as she shared his misery and pain, and she leaned against Crosshair for support. The man brought both her and Cal into a hug easily, wishing that he could help more.

 “You’ll be okay.” She rasped. “I promise.”

 Crosshair and Azeu looked at each other, neither one quite knowing what to say or what to do. Omega seemed to be the only one who could truly understand what Cal was going through, but neither adult wanted such pressure to fall on the shoulders of a young child. Azeu tentatively reached out with the Force, but quickly pulled back when she felt a sharp, almost electrical feeling. It was like a force-field, protecting those within and keeping any others out. She couldn’t tell if Cal had put it up in an attempt to shield his broken psyche, or if Omega was, in her exhaustion, was trying her best to protect her friend.

 Unable to do anything other than simply hug the distraught kids, Crosshair murmured quiet comforting words, both in Basic and in Mando’a. After a while, the sobs died down as the children fell back asleep, still holding onto each other. Silently, Azeu and Crosshair constructed a plush bed for them. Crosshair held Cal and Omega close, not wanting them to wake up and start stumbling around in the dark. There was a pool of water near by, after all, and he didn’t want them falling into it. There was no resistance on their end, the duo easily finding a comfortable spot on his chest and in the crux of his elbow.

 “I’ll be back to check on them in the morning.” Azeu whispered.

 Crosshair nodded, laying his head down. The blankets made sleep come even easier, and he quickly found himself back in the darkness of sleep.

   “I hate this.”

 “I know.”

 Crosshair smoothed Omega’s hair down, the blonde locks dampened by sweat. The girl’s face was flushed, reddened by a fever that had taken over her body. Her brown eyes were glassy, fogged over by illness. The sight was distressing, both for Crosshair and Cal. The freckled boy was in his cot, staying there only because Azeu had threatened to move him into a different room if he kept trying to check up on Omega. Crosshair wasn’t looking towards him right now, but he was sure that, if he looked, he’d see Cal sulking. He sympathized with him, but the clone knew that he needed to rest.

 “I‘m cold.” Omega whined, shuddering.

 “You might feel cold, but I assure you, you’re warm as an oven, little verd.” Crosshair replied.

 “Lil’ wha?” Omega questioned.

 “Verd. It means warrior.” The man responded fondly.

 “Oh.” She said, glancing up at Crosshair. “Whatsa warrior?”

 “Someone brave who fights for the good of others.”

 “Y’think I’m brave?”

 Crosshair gave her a kind smile. “Of course. Bravest little clone to ever grace this wretched Galaxy.”

 “Awww.” She giggled, leaning into his hand. “You’re so nice, Crosshair.”

 “I think you’re the first person to ever say that.” He said, ruffling her hair.

 “That’s ‘cause you act too much like a cactus.” Omega replied.

 “What?” Crosshair looked at her, confused.

 “Prickly on the outside, soft on the inside.” She said, sounding very sage.

 “Oh, quiet you.” Crosshair snipped, no heat behind his words.

 “Crosshair?”

 “Yeah?”

 “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

 A bucket was swiftly handed to Omega, and the poor girl clutched it as she emptied her stomach of its contents. Crosshair awkwardly rubbed her back, wincing when she started coughing. He himself had never thrown up, but he’d heard stories from Echo about the time he and his twin, Fives, had gotten blackout drunk. Apparently, it was one of the worst feelings you could experience.

 Once she was done, he offered her a cup of water and helped her get comfortable again. Omega groaned as she lay back down, her face contorting in displeasure.

 “I don’t like being sick.” She whined.

 “I know, I’m sorry.” Crosshair said sympathetically.

 “I wanna go home.” Omega sighed, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

 “Me too, ad’ika. I’m going to try and contact the Havoc Marauder as soon as you’re better.” The older clone said.

 “Why not before?” The young girl asked softly.

 “I don’t want to leave you here while I go look for a signal. You can both come with me once you’ve recovered.” He explained.

 “Why can’t we stay here?” Omega asked innocently.

 “I don’t exactly trust the people who kidnapped you and Cal to be the best babysitters.” Crosshair muttered.

 “They’re not bad people, Crosshair. They thought that you had kidnapped us. They’re all really nice.” Omega glanced down. “Except for Chex, he’s kinda mean.”

 “Kinda?” Cal lifted his head off his cot. “He nearly cut you in half!”

 “What?!” Crosshair growled, sitting up straighter.

 “He thought I was like the chipped clones!” Omega explained quickly “He just wanted to protect his family.”

 “That’s not an excuse for attacking you. Nothing is an excuse for attacking you.” He hissed, pulling Omega closer, as if to defend her from some unseen threat. “You’re a child. You didn’t do anything.”

 “He didn’t know that.” Omega said softly.

 Crosshair hugged her closer, and Omega could hear his rising heartbeat thundering in his chest. She nuzzled his stomach, trying to calm his anger before he did something stupid.

 “Please don’t hurt him.” The blonde haired clone gave him her best puppy-dog eyes. “I don’t want you to start a fight you can’t win.”

 “I can win any fight.” He muttered, but made no move to get up and hunt Chex down, so Omega counted it as a success.

 “He’s still a jerk though.” Cal piped up again. “I kinda want to see Crosshair scare the daylights out of him.”

 “Cal!” Omega scolded, leaning over to glare disapprovingly at him.

 “What?” He asked teasingly. “Don’t pretend that you don’t want to see that.”

 Omega puffed her cheeks out, but her sickness-induced flushness and ruffled hair robbed her of any semblance of intimidation. “Where is he anyways? I lost track of him once things got crazy.”

 “Forming an apology, I hope. He owes you his life.” Cal huffed, before closing his eyes. Omega lifted her head slightly, sensing him reach out with the Force.

 “Oho, he is miserable! He’s as sick as you!” Cal chuckled, before hissing and clutching at his chest. “Ow, ow, ow.”

 “Laughing at someone’s pain? That can’t be something Jedi do.” Omega teased.

 “Not a Jedi yet, still got time to make mistakes.” Cal argued, lying back down.

 Omega huffed, feeling sleep creep up on her. She yawned, stretching her arms.

 “I just woke up, how am I already tired?” She complained, rubbing at her uninjured eye.

 “You’re healing. Sleep, ad’ika.” Crosshair said, pulling a blanket up over her shoulders.

 “One day, I will figure out what you keep calling me.” Omega yawned again, letting sleep bring her into it’s gentle hold.

    Blaster fire, yelling, the smell of smoke.

 Omega cowered, staring up at the uncaring face of the man before her. Steel blue eyes look down at her with disdain, the man’s lip curling with disgust.

 “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little defective. You’ve caused quite a stir, what with your escape on Verbrick. You know, the Kamnioans want you back, but since there are so many little Force users here, I see no reason why we can’t just take one of them instead.” He smirks, and Omega feels very cold. “Kill her, and grab one of the children. Not the redhead, though, that one is to be exterminated.”

 NONONONONONONO!

 The Force becomes alight with her rage and fear, and she calls out to someone, anyone.

She finds someone. She finds them, and the world explodes with noise.

[wizardnuke]

sickfic prompt 38 “Just let me take care of you why are you so stubborn.” for rhodeytonypepper??

“Pep-”

“I’m fine.”

“Pepper,” Tony said. 

“Tony,” she replied, matching his tone without looking away from her tablet. “I need to get this done.”

“I can do it for you,” he said. She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously. I will. You need to rest.”

“I’m resting. I’m on the couch. I have chicken noodle soup on the table beside me and DayQuil running through my system.” She glanced up at him for a moment. “And I need to finish this.”

“Let her work, Tones,” Rhodey said from the other side of the couch. He was folding laundry with a fraction of his usual efficiency, and acting like he wasn’t having any problems at all. He had a high fever, he was going to have problems, but he shooed Tony away whenever he tried to help. 

He dropped the washcloth he was folding, bent down to pick it up, and swayed when he sat back up. His eyes unfocused for a moment, and he shook his head slightly, and then kept working. Tony sort of wanted to scream.

He looked back and forth at them, and he knew he looked nervous and clingy, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “But she’s sick. You’re sick.”

“We’re okay. It’s just a cold,” Rhodey replied. “Not even the worst ones we’ve had.”

“You don’t know that yet,” Tony muttered. He put his hands on his hips, thinking, then: “J, how are their fevers?”

Pepper breathed out through her nose in that way she did when she was annoyed and only sort of trying not to show it.

“Ms. Potts has a low-grade fever of a hundred point one. Mr. Rhodes has a fever of a hundred and two.” 

“I feel fine,” Rhodey said. His hands were shaking, his grip strength was weak. Why was he still working? Why was Pepper still working? They were sick, they needed to rest to get better and they weren’t going to get better if they kept trying to keep busy. They were going to get worse, Pepper had already been sick for three days and Rhodey for two, if they didn’t rest-

“There,” Rhodey said to himself. Oh, good, he’d finished doing the laundry, maybe he would lay down and go to sleep for a bit. Tony stepped forward and picked up the blankets that he’d folded on his first load, ready to put them to use. Rhodey picked up a stack of pants, shifted to the edge of his seat, and eyed Tony warily.

“No,” Tony said. Were his hands tingling? Why were his hands tingling?

“Tony,” Rhodey sighed. Pepper made a vaguely annoyed and agreeing noise.

“You’re sick,” he said again. “I can put those away.”

“I can’t just sit here.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want help?” Pepper asked, looking over to him. Rhodey opened his mouth to reply, looking like he was going to say yes, and-

“Just let me take care of you! Why are you so stubborn?” Tony burst out. His spouses both paused and looked at him, startled. “God! And you call me a workaholic, really. Un-fucking-believable.” He dropped the blankets between them with a huff, then stepped back and pointed at Rhodey, who was looking at him with a mixture of alarm and amusement, and he did not appreciate it. He was not in the mood to be laughed at, not for this. “You! You have a fever of a hundred and two. You’re acting like you’re not graying out every time that you get up to get the laundry or do the dishes, and I know that you are because the last time you tried to walk through it I saw you almost collide with the kitchen counter. So sit down and stay there. I can do the dishes, I can put the laundry away.” His voice cracked.

“...yeah, okay,” Rhodey said, his amusement gone and concern evident in his expression. He sat back. “Read you loud and clear.”

Tony didn’t acknowledge his response. He turned to Pepper. She had turned the tablet off and was watching him with her head cocked to the side and eyebrows knitted together. “And you are going to work yourself into an early grave. You got sick in the first place because you’ve been working non-stop for three weeks,” he waved a hand, “thank you for that, you are a brilliant CEO and I’m so glad that you’re running SI, but you aren’t going to get better unless you take a break and rest. I know that neither of you like inactivity. I get that, I do, you’re both brilliant and I love you very much and I want you to get better.” He took a step back and crossed his arms tightly. He took a deep breath. “Please.”

“Oh, honey,” Pepper murmured.

“Tones,” Rhodey said softly, like he was talking to a spooked animal, which made Tony want to snap at him but he didn’t because he was sick, his face was ashy with exhaustion and nausea, probably, and should Tony have yelled at him? Well, he hadn’t yelled, he wouldn’t do that, but he had been speaking pretty forcefully and what if he was going to stress them both out and they’d get even more sick, he was going to make it worse and they would take longer to get better and what if-

“Hey. Hey, nope, don’t check out on us now,” Rhodey said firmly. Tony snapped back to reality, where there wasn’t just static and constant, unending regret. “Tony.” He pulled a blanket off of the stack and spread it over his lap, and Pepper did the same, still watching him with soft eyes. “Sit.” 

He blinked again.

“Tony,” Pepper murmured. “Sit. Just for a second.”

Tony sat. Rhodey turned to him and took his hands in his too-warm ones. Pepper pressed her shoulder against his back and leaned her head on the back of his shoulder. “Listen to me. I’m about to drop a truth bomb on you, okay? You ready?”

“Sorry,” Tony said, and he shook his head. 

“We’re not upset with you,” Pepper said. “We needed to hear that, and we’re going to listen,” Tony relaxed a little, relieved, “but you need to listen to us for a moment, too.”

“...okay,” he said.

Rhodey’s expression was serious, and concerned, and Tony saw understanding there, too. “Hey.” He squeezed his hands. “Out of the three of us, you have the worst immune system.” Pepper nodded against his back. “It’s bad when you get sick. You don’t bounce back easily, you always end up bedridden, and you have to be hospitalized more often than not.” He smiled wearily. “But neither I nor Pepper have reduced lung capacity like you do. Neither of us have a history of getting pneumonia or bronchitis from a cold, or even the flu. Even if it’s bad, we don’t get as sick as you do and we will get better. Okay?”

“You don’t get as sick as I do,” Tony repeated, slowly, because he hadn’t thought of that at all. Of course they didn’t. They were healthy, they could- they could breathe when they got sick. Tony couldn’t. He’d forgotten that that wasn’t normal.

Rhodey nodded. Pepper hummed in agreement and rubbed her face against his shoulder like a cat.

“We understand why you’re scared, and it’s a good reason to be,” she said, “but we’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m not scared,” he objected, more for show than anything. It was weak. Rhodey rolled his eyes. It made him feel a little better.

“You are.” Her tone was blunt. “It makes sense. We don’t fault you for it, and we understand why you’re mother-henning us-”

“I’m not-”

“You are. It’s okay, we don’t really mind it, but you can’t get yourself so worked up about this, honey.” She turned to press her chest against his back, and she circled her arms around his waist. Her forehead pressed against the back of his neck, she was warmer than she had been before this, and he made himself take a deep breath. “It’s not healthy. You’re not going to make us more sick if you sit down and tell us that you’re really worried. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice you were so upset.”

“Me too. Tell us before it gets to this point and you give yourself a minor heart attack,” Rhodey said, and his warm tone didn’t match his teasing words. He was still holding his hands. Tony didn’t consider pulling away. “Okay?”

Tony ducked his head. “Yeah, okay,” he said. 

“And you’re right.” Pepper’s voice was muffled against his back. She sounded tired. “I shouldn’t be working, it’s just gonna stress me out more. I have people who can do my job for a couple of days- you might have to do some paperwork.”

“Done,” Tony said. He felt her smile. 

“I get restless,” Rhodey said, “but you’re right, I almost passed out last time I got up.”

“Don’t do that,” Tony said, a little helplessly. “I can find something easy for you to do, or you can tell me to get you a- a puzzle or a Rubik’s cube or something.”

“A Rubik’s cube,” Rhodey repeated, a smile growing on his stupidly cute face. “Because I’m how old, again?”

“Oh, shut up, I’ll get a couple of the six-by-six ones and race you.” Rhodey’s eyes brightened with interest. Nerd. 

“Could he beat you?” Pepper asked, sounding genuinely curious. Tony paused, considering.

“Say no,” Rhodey said.

“No,” he repeated obediently. She snorted. Rhodey tilted his chin up in challenge. Tony didn’t really know why everyone thought he was the cocky bastard when Rhodey was right there. 

Tony turned away from him and he slumped against the back of the couch, still smiling, still cocky, but tired. Pepper leaned back to let him move, and then when he was also sitting with his back to the couch, draped herself over his lap. Her head rested on Rhodey’s thigh, and he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“Got any instructions for me, Mr. Stark?” She asked in a very, very poor imitation of her usual businesslike tone. Her face was fever-flushed. Tony bumped his shoulder into Rhodey’s with a hum.

“Well, Ms. Potts, I think you should take some time off,” he said, nailing his own usual I’m the boss tone, thank you very much. “I have other people who can do your job, you know.”

“‘re you replacing me, Mr. Stark?” She slurred. He huffed and rubbed at her back. He was going to get them both a cold compress, and some headache medication, because he recognized the tightness around Rhodey’s eyes and the way that Pepper pressed her temple against his thigh. He pressed his palm to the nape of her neck for a moment to test her fever- a little too warm for comfort in his opinion, and she relaxed a little bit more. Rhodey put his arm around Tony’s shoulders and leaned against him.

He was going to move. In a little bit. Soon. “Certainly not, Ms. Potts. You’re irreplaceable.”

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Quarantine

Summary: After an accident at work leaves the reader exposed to a dangerous virus, she has has to spend two weeks in quarantine with her ex-boyfriend, Dean...

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x Nurse!reader

Square: Accidental Confession

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, fluff

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​

“Two weeks!” you said, a pair of gloved hands pointing for you to continue walking down the hall. “You can’t stick me in quarantine for that long!”

“It’s just a precaution, mam’,” said the man in the sealed up tight rubber suit. You groaned, following him down the hall until you rounded a corner, spotting someone else sitting in the room you were going to be stuck in.

“I am not sharing a room with him for two weeks!” you said.

“Get in the room mam,” he said. You whined but walked ahead, knowing you had no other option. You saw Dean tilt his head up from one of the beds as you were led through a pair of special doors that sealed behind you. Another opened and you entered the room, yet another pair of doors sealing behind you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Dean, standing up and going to the door. “I want my own room!”

“There’s only the one room. You both have to stay in there for the next two weeks,” said the man through the glass wall. “You were given instructions on how to get anything you need and will be provided food on a regular schedule or at request. You will be monitored from the other window bay.”

“I already hate this,” you groaned, kicking at the door you knew wasn’t opening anytime soon. The man walked away and that small hallway quickly went black, your focus going to the wall of glass windows with people moving around on the other side.

“I got an idea. We don’t talk to each other,” said Dean.

“Fine with me.”

12 Hours Later

The light in the window bay was dimmer as only one woman sat behind a desk outside. It was late and you figured most people were gone home. Or they’d listened to Dean’s complaints to give the two of you at least a little privacy. He was laying on one of the hospital beds, tossing a ball against the far wall and catching it. You couldn’t stop pacing the room though, couldn’t get yourself to relax.

“You’re not claustrophobic. Why are you freaking out?” he asked without looking at you.

“Maybe because I potentially have a horrifying disease with no cure and am going to die very painfully,” you said.

“You always worried too much,” said Dean, tossing the ball over your head as you walked past.

“You were the worrier, not me,” you said.

“What were you doing up on the fifth floor anyways?” asked Dean, pausing when you didn’t answer. “You weren’t...coming to see me, were you?”

“As if. Coffee machine on fourth was broken,” you said. “No one ever goes to the doctors lounge on fifth so-“

“So that’s how we both got exposed to the lab accident down the hall,” he said, tossing the ball again. “Why don’t those assholes have to be stuck in here?”

“They were wearing suits and are being monitored at a secondary location,” said the woman over the intercom, both of you jumping.

“Eavesdropping much? So what, are we in the dying room?” asked Dean. The woman gave Dean a long look before she flipped off a switch, the intercom quiet again. “Well that answered that question.”

“What? You aren’t afraid?” you asked Dean.

“Not really,” he said. “I’m exposed to crap everyday and I never so much as get a cold. I’ll take my chances that I’ll be just fine.”

“So...you seeing anyone?” you said. Dean narrowed his eyes. “Or should I say, sleeping with anyone?”

“I can sleep with whoever I want,” he said.

“Sure. Just this time, make sure not to cheat on the poor girl,” you said.

“Is that why we broke up? You actually think I cheated on you?” he asked as he sat up. “I remember trying to talk to you about it but you just left, moved out while I was at work, never said a word to me again.”

“I knew you’d lie,” you said.

“You’re so fucking dumb. It’s a good thing we did end things,” he said.

“Don’t be mad because you got caught,” you said.

“Sure, whatever. I’m a cheater,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t try to talk to me about it or anything.”

“I saw the texts, idiot,” you spat back.

“I was planning a fucking surprise for you, idiot,” growled Dean.

“A fancy restaurant and hotel room? What, the ‘I’m dumping you for another woman’ surprise?” you scoffed.

“More like the ‘can my friend put that crap on her credit card so you don’t find out’ surprise,” he said.

“Nice excuse,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“It’s the truth,” he said.

“Yeah. I totally see why you would suddenly start acting shady and have other women buy hotel rooms for you,” you said.

“I was gonna ask you to marry me you dumbass. I was going to surprise you, go way overboard and all that romantic shit. But I guess I’m just some cheating scumbag that was wrong about the kind of woman I wanted to marry if she wouldn’t even talk to me about it,” he said.

You swallowed hard, staring at him.

“Oh? Got nothing to say?” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” you said.

“Why did you assume I was a bad guy? You didn’t let me explain,” he said.

“I’m going to bed,” you said, plopping down on the mattress with your back to him.

You woke up with a headache, Dean quietly reading for most of the morning. By lunch you felt sweaty and were making excuses to run to the bathroom.

“Hey,” said Dean, making you jump in the shower when he came inside.

“What?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself. You peered around the shower wall at him, Dean closing the door behind him.

“You’re sick,” said Dean, reaching a hand out to your forehead.

“Don’t touch me. I might kill you,” you said, turning away.

“You aren’t that kind of sick. You’re anxious and it’s making you feel crappy which isn’t good for your immune system and considering our situation, that needs to be in working order,” he said. “We stow our crap for now, be civil.”

“I’m mad at me, not you,” you said.

“Well ease up before you actually get sick,” said Dean.

“We have worked in the same hospital for the past six months and you never once thought about coming to me?” you asked.

“I thought about it but...I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I was trying to respect it,” he said.

“You were gonna marry me?” you asked.

“Maybe it’s better this happened. We realized the kind of people we are,” he said.

“Yeah. I’m an idiot,” you said, resting your head against the shower wall.

“Even if you thought I lied, why didn’t you say something?” he asked.

“Dean-”

“You literally can’t run away from this conversation,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the door. “Talk.”

“Heather’s...pretty,” you said with a shrug. “I figured you were bored with me and wanted someone...better.”

“Heather is my friend and that is all she is,” said Dean. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“I didn’t want you to humiliate me, alright? Everyone already knows I dropped out of the residency program because I couldn’t hack it. If you cheated on me with the pretty girl in our year too…” you said, cursing to yourself. “I wound up becoming a nurse. I couldn’t even-”

“Hey. A patient attacked you when your resident didn’t say anything about him being a psych case. Everyone understood when you didn’t want to be in med school anymore,” said Dean.

“Leave me alone, Dean. Please.”

Three Days Later

You were physically feeling better, the doctors saying that five days with no strange tests results yet was a good sign. But you were still stuck with Dean and he was doing his best to get you to talk again.

“I would never cheat on you, you know. I was yours til the day I died,” said Dean. “You just left.”

“I know that, Dean,” you gritted out, squeezing your stress ball for the millionth time that day.

“I can’t get over the fact you thought I cheated,” he said.

“Oh yeah. Well, you’re only a top surgical student and handsome and smart and funny and a bunch of other shit and we both know you settled for me because your mom was hounding you,” you said.

“You really think I thought so little of you?” he said.

“I think I’m stuck in here with you and I want to be on the other side of the planet right about now,” you said.

“You’ve thought I cheated on you for sixth months,” he said. “I know how you can twist things and let them get to you. I bet that one took the cake.”

“Just stop talking. Please,” you said, throwing your pillow over your head.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because it was easier to think it was your fault but it wasn’t, it was mine and on top of still not knowing if I’m going to die, I have all that guilt suddenly on me so I’m sorry I’m not in a chatty mood,” you said, curling up into a ball.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

“No,” you shot back, knowing you were two seconds from losing it. You swore you’d never cry over him again. But you felt a shudder run through you and then you were burying your face in your pillow, trying to take deep breaths.

“Y/N,” said Dean, a hand suddenly on your back. “It’s alright. I’ll shut up about it.”

“You never could stand it when I cried,” you said, wiping your face off. The bed dipped behind you, Dean’s back pressing up against yours.

“Well we both fucked up. I can’t be pissed at you for not talking to me when I gave up on trying to talk too,” he said, rubbing the spot between your shoulder blades.

“Don’t make me feel better,” you said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you can’t be so forgiving,” you said.

“There you go, assuming things about me again,” he said but there was no malice in it. Neither one of you said anything more until they started to dim the lights out in the hall. Dean went back to his own bed but he let you have his extra blanket, something he used to do when you were having bad days.

You sighed as you curled up into the thing, willing yourself to sleep.

“Have you been on a date since…” said Dean, tossing the ball to you from the other side of the room the next day.

“Nope. You?” you asked.

“Nope. Hard to find someone willing to deal with random shifts and my unique personality features,” he said. You laughed as you threw the ball back, Dean smiling.

“Unique personality features. I like that,” you said.

“Beats labeling yourself as a self-depreciator,” he said. “Girls aren’t attracted to that.”

“You beat yourself up too much,” you said.

“That’s something we always had in common,” he said. “Never seemed to scare you away though.”

“I see something in you that you can’t. Stuff you hate, I like,” you said with a shrug.

“I lost a patient a few months back. I could have really used you around,” said Dean after a moment.

“My dog died. Well, my parents dog,” you said.

“Skippy? You loved that dog,” he said.

“What are we doing Dean? We aren’t a couple anymore,” you said.

“Maybe we can try being friends again,” he said. “If I end up dying, I’d rather do it knowing we were friends again.”

“I thought you said you weren’t scared,” you said.

“I lied,” said Dean, tossing the ball back to you. “Friends?”

“No. I don’t deserve that,” you said.

“I thought I was the self-depreciating one,” he said. “Come on.”

“Okay,” you said, rolling over on your bed to face him. He gave you a smile from his own, your eyes shutting after a minute. “You know the patient wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Yeah. But it’s my job to save ‘em,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about work. Hey, did you ever go to Europe during the summer like you were planning?”

“No. I didn’t want to go,” you said.

“You were so excited though. What happened?” he asked.

“I was so excited to go with you. I never made reservations, just went home to my parents for a week instead,” you said.

“I’m leaving the hospital,” said Dean. You opened your eyes, Dean’s hair falling down over his forehead where it was jammed against the pillow. “Going to do a family practice. One of the docs over there retired and it being a family practice and all that, the benefits from the state, they pretty much pay your student loan off for you. They need more of ‘em. Plus there’s less stress, normal work hours...there’s an opening for a nurse there too. I was thinking of recommending this chick.”

“Who?” you asked.

“Who do you think?” he said. “You hated night shifts from day one of med school. What’s the harm?”

“Dean.”

“Y/N.”

“Slow. We can’t…we need to try and be friends first,” you said.

“Alright and we can be work friends too. We live, promise you’ll consider it,” he said.

“I promise,” you said.

“Okay. I can live with that.”

Three Weeks Later

“Dr. Winchester,” said Sally who’d been showing you around the office. “This is nurse Y/L/N. Today’s her first day. Dr. Winchester just started earlier this week.”

“Dr. Winchester hates being called doctor, don’t you,” you said with a smile.

“I keep telling Sally that but she don’t listen,” teased Dean. “Y/N and I go way back.”

“Oh really? That’s great. Dean you mind showing Y/N around the rest of the way? I got a toddler in three waiting for a lollipop,” said Sally.

“Sure thing,” said Dean, smiling at you once she took off. “So...glad to still see you around and kicking.”

“We both got clean bills of health. They said it was stress that made me feel crappy during it,” you said, Dean humming. “You uh, like it here?”

“Yeah. There’s not that competition bullshit we dealt with. No cliques and we all get to go home everyday at 4:30. It’s awesome,” he said.

“Wow, eight hour days. Not sure what’ll you do with having a life again,” you teased.

“Was thinking of asking this nurse if she wanted to come over for dinner tonight,” he said. You stared at him, Dean smiling. “I got your favorite pasta.”

“I thought we said friends,” you said.

“Yeah well I changed my mind. I was dumb, you were dumb. We didn’t talk and I’m not throwing away the best thing that ever happened to me over a misunderstanding. I’m not ready to be proposing right now but give me a few months. I just want to make you dinner again,” he said.

“I don’t know if I trust myself not to hurt you like that again,” you said.

“I trust you. Please. One date,” he said.

“...You get those breadsticks too?” you asked.

“Duh,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

“Alright. Six?” you asked.

“It’s a date, sweetheart.”

[topsytervy]

Colorful Notes ~ Pope Heyward

Naming and knowing how to end my writings is my Kryptonite, I swear.

Blurb: Pope stops by your house after school while your sick and informs you his notes are boring.

Word Count: 1,451 (it's a short one peeps)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of a cold?, spelling/grammar mistakes, there's not really anything else that needs a warning I think.

~~~~~~

You laid on your couch a sniffling, coughing mess as some random soap opera played on your tv. Well, random being the Young and the Restless cause you saw it on Hulu and decided you had nothing better to do. 

You were called in from school by your father, much to your dismay considering you had an AP world history test that day, and were forced to rest. 

You heard a knock on the front door before it opened, a familiar voice calling throughout your house. "Y/N! Sweetheart!"

"In here, Pope!" You called out, immediately regretting it when you started coughing.

Within a couple of seconds, the face of your sweet boyfriend came into view and you smiled. 

"How are you feeling, baby?" He asked, walking over to the couch and setting his backpack down next to it. 

He placed a quick kiss to the top of your head as you sat up. "Like shit. And when I figure out who got me feeling like shit, they will be feeling like shit when I punch them for making me miss a test." You grumbled. Pope let out a small laugh as he sat down, pulling you into his side. You rested your head on his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. "Please tell me you brought me my homework."

"I did but your dad told me not to give it to you because you'll do it now and you need to rest. He thinks you got sick cause of stress and I think-"

"You think it was John B cause he was sick that one day." You cut him off and he shot you a look.

"I think your dads right." Pope finished, emphasizing the 'I' in his sentence.

You pouted. "I think he's wrong." 

Pope rubbed your back and sighed, changing the subject. "What on earth are you watching?"

"The Young and The Restless." 

"Why?" 

"Well, there's 48 seasons of Young and the Restless and I started thinking about how easy it is for us nowadays to go through an entire season. We go through a season as if it's a hot knife cutting through butter. So I wondered how long it would take me to watch all 48 seasons if I didn't just stick to a season a day which made me do the math and if I can get through 2 seasons a day, I can watch all of it on 24 days. I now have a goal to watch all 48 seasons before day 24 hits all while keeping up with everything happening." You rambled.

"And how long are these episodes?" Pope inquired.

"The show started in 1973 and up until 1980, episodes were about half an hour. Every episode after 1980 is about an hour."

"Sounds like you have your work cut out for you then."

"Well, I need something to keep me busy, Pope."

"You're not gonna be sick for 24 days sweetheart which means you won't be able to watch at least 2 and a half seasons a day if you wanna get it done before day 24 because you'll be back at school." He reasoned.

You grinned. "I know. Which is why once I'm back at school I'm dropping the knowing what's going on bit. Then it can just play while I get ready, or eat, or do homework." Pope rolled his eyes and reached for the remote but you pulled it away from him. "I'm only half a season in and this is season 5, bucko."

"Alright. Alright. I just thought maybe," Pope sighed, reaching over and unzipping his backpack and pulling out some of his notebooks. You perked up at the movement, pulling away from Pope and staring at your boyfriend. "I have all these boring notes from the past week and they're so dull. I thought you would want to do your thing and make them a little less dull but I guess not." He shrugged.

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. "Pope, you are the greatest human being on earth. Do you know that?" 

"You tell me everyday." He smiled before getting up to go grab your gel pens from your room.

This wasn't the first time Pope had done this. Letting you doodle/color code his notes when you were bored or needed a break from whatever or even to just calm you down. It was enough to keep you relaxed while also engaging your brain.

Freshman year was the first time he ever let you do it and since then, he hasn't liked his notes in just boring pencil. He also hasn't thrown away any of his notebooks and barely lets anyone touch them, besides you of course, in fear that someone will destroy your work.

"Please John B. I just wanna do something." You pleaded.

You sat at a table in the library during study hall, all your homework done, with your friends Pope, John B, and JJ.

John B looked over at you. "They're notes, Y/N/N. I'm throwing all of them in a bonfire at the end of the year. It's pointless."

You rolled your eyes before turning them onto JJ. "JJ, can I please do something with your notes. I'm dying of boredom over here." 

JJ laughed.  "Bold of you to assume I took down notes. Come on, Y/L/N. I thought you knew me better than that."

"Why didn't you take notes?" 

"I can give you many reasons. One is why waste paper on useless shit. Deforestation and shit exists. Save some trees. Two is because then I don't have to buy new notebooks next year and I can save some money. Three is why the hell would I when I can just look at yours or Pope's." JJ listed before resuming his paper airplane. You stared at JJ and he glanced back up before sighing. "This is actually for science this time. Don't worry. I'm not gonna use it to piss off the librarian."

You were about to say something when a notebook was pushed towards you. You looked across to see Pope with a small smile. "Knock yourself out."

You grinned before opening it up and grabbing your gel pens from your backpack.

JJ leaned in close, knowing of his best friends small, but growing, crush on you. "Fuckin' whipped, dude." He chuckled which caused Pope to hit him.

Since then, Pope made sure to write light enough so you could trace over the words and left enough space for small doodles if you felt some were needed.

"Do you have a color scheme in mind?" You asked, sitting on the living room floor and laying out all your pens in front of you with Pope's science notebook opened to where you left off.

Pope thought about it for a minute before shaking his head. "You do whatever you deem fit, sweetheart." 

You grinned before turning your full attention onto the small project in front of you, reading over the words in front of you to see what colors you wanted to use. 

Pope sat behind you, playing with your hair as he watched you do your thing, content written all over your face. 

"I love you." You told him after a while, sniffling as you felt your nose begin to run

Pope smiled, kissing the back of your head as he reached for the box of tissues that sat beside you guys. "I love you too. Snot and all." He responded, holding the box out in front of you.

You grabbed a tissue with a pout before blowing your nose, Pope reaching for the trash can to bring it closer. "I hope I get you sick." 

Pope laughed. "Good luck with that. My immune system is solid, baby. It'll take more than this to get me sick."

You rolled your eyes before looking up at him and tapping your lips. "Kiss." 

Pope laughed once more as he shook his head. "Nice try, Y/N/N, but no."

You narrowed your eyes at him "I'll get ya, Heyward. I'll get ya when you least expect it. You won't even see it coming."

"I bet you will. Until then, and by then I mean better, all kisses will be placed on the cheek, hand, shoulder, top of the head, back of the head, and forehead." 

You made a face. "That's rude." 

"So is getting me sick. Now are you gonna do your thing or argue with me?"

"Both." You responded as you went back to Pope's notebook.

Pope smiled as he wrapped his arms around you and placed his head on your shoulder. "Bring on the debate then baby."

~~~~

[corvaux]

The Nightar Part 3

In this chapter of the story we will talk about the birth of the first Nightar and how her upbringing would change the fate of the known galaxy.

Doctor Dage Lunaris had successfully completed a project that even the most advanced technology and fifty-something odd scientists couldn’t figure out. Thanks largely in part due his mind. Both for it’s capability to remember the intricacies of this project, as well as it’s ability to dip into the sea of the void without being lost. For the moment.

The infant wailed and she appeared to be in perfect health. The one thing the good doctor didn’t consider was the fact that he would have to raise this child and figure out how to direct her towards his goals. He wouldn’t admit it to himself at the time, but he treasured her as if she were his own. 

Several years went by on the dark planet. Lunaris’ mind edged closer to insanity and he had to do everything in his power to keep himself sane. In the beginning, it was a much more difficult task. Either using old clips he had on a holo-disk or exercising excessively to break free from the void’s grasp. Yet, it continued to whisper to him, every day the words grew clearer than the last. He believed it was inevitable that he would, indeed, succumb. After his first year of dealing with this, he finally got aid.

Rose, the Nightar infant was now a toddler. Becoming vocal and chaotic as all children are wont to do, gave Lunaris a distraction from the whispers. Sometimes it would be a brief respite only lasting a few minutes due to the child’s crying. As time went on, days went by, she became a distraction in his life. One, that would save his mind. 

Rose learned to walk in her first year of life, then very basic Common half a year later. Her development was so quick, that by the time she was no longer a toddler she had full capability to speak and matched the eloquency of her father. Yet, she was still far from understanding. Being stuck on a dark planet for years was difficult when the stories and books she grew up with described a ‘sun’ or cities. Magical far-off places that could not be seen.

Feeling sympathy for the child, on her seventh birthday, he took her to the capital of the Scarlet Empire: Earth. The spires had multiplied in the relatively short time Lunaris was there and he could only feel his hatred reigniting. Although, the hatred would be extinguished upon seeing his daughter’s pure and innocent glow as she explored the streets of Crimson Heart, the largest city. Stopping strangers to ask them random questions, collecting what most would consider trash, and admiring the buildings. 

Lunaris called his desires into question as he watched his daughter. Is this hatred worth it? Do I really need to dismantle this great city? Maybe I should bring her here and we could carve out a life for ourselves. 

After the week of exploring the city, Rose asked thousands of questions about not only Earth but beyond. She had read about so many wonderful things across the galaxy, unique people of all shapes and sizes, robots and plants that could talk. Though sometimes tedious, the doctor found her enthusiasm too great for this dark, secluded planet. Taking the ship to a remote planet very similar to Earth with a society that kept it’s distance, but allowed Rose to learn more about the universe first hand. 

Around her eleventh year, she had come down with an illness. In the past, she had minor illnesses caused by the penumbral radiation or this lush planet’s completely alien bacteria. But the symptoms were quite severe. What started as casual mentions of being warm or hot during cold climates became a burning sensation very similar to that of a fever. Lunaris had begun to panic as she had never shown any serious illnesses before, the genes allowed her body to create the perfect defense against such things. No other child or even adult showed these symptoms on the entire planet which lead the good doctor to one conclusion: This is because of her genetic makeup.

Returning to the Mebsuta system, the penumbral laboratory, he ran as many tests as possible. The routine physical he performed came up with nothing, which led him to begin exploratory surgeries. The thought of hurting his own daughter, especially since he didn’t have anesthetic, pained him deeply. The tests finally discovered the issue, her body was not just overworking itself but overheating. All energy was being diverted just to keep her body alive, the genetic makeup was coming undone and causing her body to slowly collapse.

Lunaris traveled to Earth in hopes of talking to some of his old colleagues into helping him save his daughter. He contacted and met with dozens of scientists but they either turned him down to avoid being caught in the same situation he had years ago or because of her origins. All hope seemed lost, his one and only daughter would die any day now due to an imperfection he couldn’t fix. Or maybe he could. Maybe the very thing that helped create her... could be asked to help save her. 

As fast as he could, he took his overheating daughter who had completely collapsed into a coma back to the penumbral planet. The whispers had never truly ceased, only pauses when his daughter was in his life. Now that her life was on the line, he admitted his mind to dip into the sea of the metaphysical once again. 

And like magic, the answer came to him. Another part of his life’s work was the improvement of nanobots, a subject that he ceased upon his facilities’ destruction. The void gave him exactly what he needed, schematics, memories of his previous life. The bargain seemed to be in Lunaris’ favor as he worked day and night to create cybernetics and nanobots that would recreate the human’s immune system. Said nanobots would replace most of her blood cells, bacteria, and even act as it’s own immune system. Replacing the need for most would consider vital organs. Some parts of the body would go into shock during this procedure and cease to work from not only stress, but a lack of connection to the brain. They had to be cut out and replaced with implants that would perform the same features as the organs or nerves. 

By the end of the gruesome surgery, Rose was revitalized. Her body returned to normal temperatures, ceasing to overwork itself. And thanks to the cybernetics, she had begun exploring her new capabilities. Her energy levels tripled, eating was no longer a chore as it no longer caused ‘weight’ in the stomach, she even felt lighter. She was in perfect health and felt better than she ever could’ve. But the doctor could not say the same. His surgery was perfect, which would’ve been impossible for him if it wasn’t for the void taking his senses. During the surgery, his stress, his pain, his hatred, his fear, grew to such unmanageable level. The man who had fought insanity for so long finally gave in completely.

The years would be difficult for Rose as her warm and caring father had become a fraction of his former self. Losing his mind in all of these emotions changed him into a terrifying exaggeration of his hatred during the years following his fall from grace. Exploration was no longer a vacation, it was a mission. Games went from being simple exercises to deadly practices. Every year, Rose found her hope and light dwindle away. She too, was changing. Instead of the hopeful daughter who saw a bright universe, she had become the antithesis for modern society. 

Next time we will tell the story of Rose’s dark descent and how her actions lead to the greatest assassination in the recent history of mankind. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not Losing You (Part 4)

Summary: The reader has a confrontation with her parents before Dean gets some news about his prognosis...

Masterlist

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x reader

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, life-threatening illness, implied past sexual harassment/assault

_____

You froze halfway down the hall of the hospital the next morning. There were your parents standing outside of Dean’s room. You took a step forward before Sam rounded the corner and walked over to you.

“I’m not entirely sure how they found out about the Liam situation,” said Sam, pulling you away to a quiet hallway. “I’m guessing the douchebag had something to do with it. Either way, they know and Dean is pissed at them. A lot. I need them to leave. The stress isn’t good.”

“I’ll get rid of them,” you said as you closed your eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I don’t know and it’s not my business. Let’s save whatever this is though for a little time from now, alright?” he said.

“Yeah,” you said. “Benny and Cas will be by later they said. They should cheer Dean up.”

“I’m sorry Jess and I were out of town last night. Dean told us about your fight. We would have-”

“Sam. I’m okay. I’ll deal with this,” you said. After forcing a smile, you headed back down the hall, waving the two of them to you and away from Dean’s room. Sam walked past them and you frowned when they followed you to a waiting room. “What is wrong with you two? This is not the place-”

“Well we couldn’t find an address for you and since you refuse to answer the phone, we came to the one place we thought we could find you at,” said your dad.

“This is a hospital. We are in a very special area of the hospital mind you. The people here need rest and calm and you two showing up at my recovering boyfriend’s hospital room…” you said, tilting your head back. “Outside. Now.”

Three minutes later you were in the visitors parking lot, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.

“Y/N-”

“Mom…” you said, holding up a hand. “Never, and I mean never, come here without my explicit permission again. Either one of you.”

“You are acting-” said your dad, your mom putting a hand on his chest. He took a deep breath and sighed. “You’re angry with us. We understand. But this Liam guy? Why didn’t you ever talk to us?”

“What part of you disowning me made you think I would ever speak to you about anything ever again?” you asked.

“You walked out on us,” he said.

“George grabbed my ass and you said I was making it up, then you said I was overreacting and that I’d embarrassed you two in front of the family and you really wonder why I wouldn’t tell you about fucking Liam? A situation that was a million times worse? I walked away because my parents didn’t believe me and then said maybe I’m single because I don’t realize when men are attracted to me. The last thing I need is dating advice from you two,” you said.

“Are you okay?” asked your mom. You shrugged but tilted your head.

“For the first time in a long time, actually, yeah, I am. My life is far from perfect but I have some good people in it now,” you said. She gave you a half-smile, watching you lean against a light post and cross your arms. “What do you want?”

“We came to apologize and make sure you’re okay. We couldn’t find an address for you,” said your dad.

“I’m kinda between places right now. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s,” you said.

“You two must be pretty serious,” he said. “How long have you been together?”

“Two months give or take,” you said.

“Two months?” asked your mom. “You’re already living together?”

“If you’re going to judge a situation you know nothing about-”

“We’re surprised is all,” she said.

“You said that’s a special part of the hospital,” said your dad.

“Yeah. It is. My boyfriend has cancer. It was fatal until he had a transplant done and there’s been ups and downs but after the next few weeks...odds are he’s going to be okay,” you said.

“He spoke to us for a moment before you arrived. He told us you were his donor,” said your dad.

“So.”

“So you’ve been going through a lot lately, obviously. We don’t have the full picture and…” said your dad.

“Spit it out already,” you said.

“I am sorry. We’re both sorry. We were wrong to not believe you and to tell you to brush it off and...we’re sorry. There was nothing wrong with you being single. We were assholes. We’re sorry. We know something is wrong. We don’t know what but we want to help however we can,” he said.

“I’ll think about the apology but I don’t want your help right now. You two have to rebuild our trust. From scratch. You will have to earn it back and maybe then, I will accept future help. But until then, the best thing for you both to do is to give Dean space and me too to be honest. If I decide I want a relationship again, I will contact you, understand?”

“Okay,” said your mom, digging into her purse. “We understand. We’ll be in town. We’ll let you know where we end up staying but we’ll wait for you to come to us.”

“Thank you,” you said. She held out an envelope at you and you took it, rolling your eyes when you opened it up.

“It’s $5,000. If you need it-” she said before you stuck it back in her purse.

“Mom. It’s your money, not mine. I’m okay. Please give me some space and time. That’s what I want from you both right now,” you said.

“Alright,” said your dad. “If you ever need help, just let us know.”

“I will,” you said as you headed back inside.

“Y/N? Doing what you did for that the young man...we screwed up but we must have done something right,” he said.

“You’re not bad people. You made mistakes. I have to decide if I want to forgive you is all,” you said. “I gotta check on Dean. I’ll contact you later.”

You headed back inside and up to Dean’s room, grateful to find him back in bed resting.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you said, leaning against the window. He sat up in bed and gave you a smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I told them to give me space. They finally believe me it seems. Somehow they found out about Liam. Probably from him. He was probably hoping they’d take his side,” you said. You turned around, Dean tsking you. After a moment you took a seat and looked over, Dean smiling at you.

“Do me a favor. Give them a chance to apologize,” he said. “One of us should have a relationship with our parents and for me that ship has sailed.”

“I’ll try. Your friends Benny and Cas, they’re good guys,” you said.

“Yeah. They’re alright,” he smirked. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Me too,” you said. “I’m sorry I got so mad. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. You were just trying to protect me.”

“It’s not an excuse like I said before. We’re together. I need to tell you things like that,” he said. “We’re okay, sweetheart.”

“Still feeling better?” you asked.

“Yeah. More energy today for sure. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

One Month Later

“Rossy,” said Dean, practically jumping out of his seat when the doctor walked in his office.

“Quite the crew here today,” he said, looking over your head at Sam, Jess, Benny and Cas. “Alright. As I’m sure you’re all aware, Dean’s had a rough few months. He underwent a transplant and participated in a specialized treatment plan to help his immune system come back.”

“Rossy,” said Dean, bouncing his knee. “Can I go home or not?”

“Always impatient,” said Dr. Ross as he took a seat behind his desk. “I know you’re itching to go home Dean but we need to make sure you’re healthy enough first.”

“What’d my tests show?” asked Dean, grabbing your hand. “Am I still screwed?”

“Remission,” he said with a smile, Dean letting out the breath he was holding. “With no signs of it coming back which is a very good sign. Your counts are in a normal range. You’re still a little underweight but once you begin to eat regularly again, I don’t worry about that.”

“I can go home?” he asked.

“Yes, you can go home, Dean. As you know, the first year is the hardest but you’re doing well. I need you to keep a close eye on yourself so we can nip anything in the bud if it pops up but I am cautiously optimistic about the odds of recurrence right now,” he said.

“So how do we know that it ain’t ever going to come back?” asked Benny.

“We don’t. We don’t know if any of us in this room will get sick someday either. But these milestones are important and Dean’s been hitting them and then some,” he said.

“Say it doesn’t come back,” said Sam. “What...does he…”

“I gonna live long enough to get old or did this thing screw that up for me I think is what Sammy’s trying time ask,” said Dean.

“If you take care of yourself and we get through the rest of this year with no major setbacks, I see no reason you couldn’t live a full and normal life,” he said.

“If I get through the rest of the year,” said Dean.

“Yes but it’s been two months already. A majority of the time, if something were to go wrong, it would have happened. I’m not saying you’re in the clear yet but I would say you can call this one a win today,” he said.

“Good,” said Dean, squeezing your hand. “That’s...good.”

“Y/N,” said Dr. Ross after everyone left the office, Sam off with Dean to help him get discharged. “A quick word if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?” you asked.

“I’ve had this conversation with Dean before but I felt we should have it as well. Most donors do not have the...relationship you do,” he said.

“Are we like...not allowed to kiss or something?” you asked.

“No, no,” he laughed. “You may do any and all things a couple would ordinarily do. I would advise holding off on anything physical until he gets more strength back. But I wanted to talk to you, ask how you’re doing after the transplant.”

“Fine?” you said. “Dean’s the one-“

“You underwent a medical procedure too. We took a bit more than we wanted to and I’m not the only one to notice you’re looking a little rundown still. I know this is a stressful process but you need to take care of yourself. I’ve made it clear to Dean that I want you both to take some time and rest. Hang around home for the next week or so. No work. Try to recover,” he said.

“I appreciate it Dr. Ross but-“

“No buts. You will do this, hm?”

“I need to work.”

“I will give you a doctors note and I know you work with Jessica so stop making up excuses. Sit. Rest. Enjoy the company of your boyfriend in your own home,” he said. “Understood?”

“Okay, okay,” you said holding up your hands. “I’ll take it easy.”

“Good. You guys deserve a break.”

Four Months Later

“Dean, I’m home,” you said, carrying some groceries into the apartment. He was quiet on the couch as you went past. You set the bags down and returned. “Dean. What’s wrong?”

“My parents know about me being sick,” said Dean. “Sam called. He figures it was Liam since they’re getting close on wrapping up your case.”

“Have you talked to them?” you asked as you sat down.

“No. They don’t know where I live. I haven’t spoken to them in years,” he said. 

“Do you want to talk to them?” you asked.

“I don’t know. It’s been a long time. Things didn’t end well and they’ll be angry I didn’t tell them,” he said.

“I’m not going to say that you should. I know my own parents are...questionable right now but they did move here to be close to me. They’re trying and I’m trying to forgive them. I’m more concerned with the best thing for you,” you said.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe they’ll be more understanding when they see how successful the garage is,” you said.

“It wasn’t just what I wanted to do for a living that led to everything,” he said.

“I kinda always figured that. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you said.

“Dad and I weren’t getting along because of the whole mechanic thing. It was no big deal though. We would have gotten past it. But...Sammy and I were in a little car accident. My dad was wasted when we got home and we told him about it. He lost his cool,” said Dean.

“He hit you,” you said.

“He was mad. Then he turned to Sammy and I thought not gonna happen and so I hit back,” said Dean. “It turned into a fight and after it was over, I left for good. I told my mom what happened but she made an excuse for his behavior and that wasn’t good enough for me. I get it. I was a hot head back then too but I wanted an apology and I never got it. Now, it’s been too long.”

“Sam still has a relationship with them, right?” you asked.

“Yeah. He says dad’s a different guy but he was always different with Sam. He’s never mentioned wanting to reconnect with me though so I always figured that bridge was burned,” said Dean.

“Do you think they still love you?”

He turned his head and looked at you, offering a small nod.

“Do you still love them?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “But I won’t go to them. If he wants to apologize, they both do, they can come to me.”

“You can always offer to meet them in public, that way they don’t know where you live,” you said.

“Yours still don’t know you lived out of your car for half a year, do they,” he said.

“No. They know about Liam but I told them that since the case is settled, I don’t want to talk about it ever again,” you said.

“When do you get the payout?” asked Dean.

“Two weeks,” you said, looking around. “We can buy a townhouse, something bigger than this if you want.”

“How much is it again?” he asked.

“I never told you the actual figure,” you said, looking down at your lap. “It’s a lot.”

“How much a lot?” he asked.

“Seven figures a lot,” you said. 

“Shit. Rich people will do anything to keep shit quiet. How much time is he serving?”

“To be determined. I let the other family members off the hook for the payout. I don’t care about the money. I just want Liam put away and he will be so I’m happy with that,” you said.

“I never found out what he did to you,” he said.

“Liam...told everyone that I sexually harassed him at work and got physical even, against his will. He was my young attractive boss and I was his underling. He convinced everyone I hurt him and did things to him. Bastard,” you said.

“He did those things to you though.”

“I turned him down. No one turns him down. I turned him down over and over again but I didn’t report it because if I got fired, I had nowhere in town to go or no one. I wasn’t in the best state of mind back then. He called me into this conference room he was working out of one night, a big deadline project sort of deal. I thought it was just work and then I got dizzy and he had slipped something into my coffee. He touched what he wanted and did what he wanted and when I came in the next day to report it, he’d already spread the word about what I’d done to him,” you said.

“You know...I won’t let anyone do that to you ever again. I know you can take care of yourself and he tricked you but just in general. I’m not gonna let someone hurt you like that,” he said.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you either,” you said, taking his hand in yours.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” he said.

“Ditto,” you said, poking the scar on his arm from his IV line. He brushed his thumb over the spot.

“I should be dying you realize. I should have half a year left, if that,” he said. 

“No, you really shouldn’t,” you said, leaning over and kissing him.

“I hit six months okay. Rossy said that’s a big milestone,” he said.

“Still nothing?” you asked.

“It’s not back. Fingers crossed,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder. “Right?”

“Right?” you asked.

“I know you went to Rossy’s office earlier this week. You came home kind of quiet like,” he said.

“I donated more marrow,” you said. “Not as much as before but it wore me down.”

“Does someone else need-”

“It’s for you,” you said. He cocked his head and you smiled. “Just in case.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I donated for research. If you ever...if it ever came back, years from now, not that I’m expecting it to but if it did...I want them to have a healthy sample so they can figure out a better cure for you, something more permanent,” you said.

“You got to stop saving my life, sweetheart. It makes it really hard for me to use the I left my dishes in the sink excuse,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you said. He was quiet but smiled for a few minutes, running his finger over your hip.

“I need to talk to my parents,” he said. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

“How are you feeling?” you asked Dean that night as you settled into bed. 

“Better,” he said softly, taking a deep breath. “I never knew my dad went to therapy after that whole thing.”

“Did he seem different?” you asked.

“Yeah. I think the whole me almost dying thing put everything into perspective,” he said, snuggling into you, a shuddering breath leaving his body. “I don’t want to go through it again. I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“I can’t promise it won’t ever come back, Dean,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “But there’s a lot of stuff we don’t know will happen either. Accidents or getting sick or whatever. But we can’t live being scared of everything.”

“You sound different than when we met you know,” he said. 

“I’m happier,” you said. “I was...neither one of us were in great places when we met, Dean. But you changed my life all because you asked if I was okay.”

“Granted I was also about to pass out,” he chuckled.

“Yeah but you were kind. I forgot what that was like,” you said.

“You wanted to be my friend despite everything,” he said, turning his head towards yours. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” you said, kissing him gently, his lips soft as he rolled over and pulled you into his chest.

“Do you want to do something fun this weekend? Take a trip?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’d really like that,” you said, rubbing your hand up and down his arm. “No camping though.”

“If I hit my year mark with no badness, you are so going camping with me,” he said. “Deal?”

“Alright, alright,” you said. “Maybe we could make it a group thing. Invite the boys and Sam and Jess.”

“I can agree to that,” he said. He took a deep breath and you felt him finally start to relax from the day. “You okay?”

“Mhm. You?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. I’m okay again, sweetheart . Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you want to marry me?”

You sat up in bed, your heart skipping a beat.

“I know I said two years but I got a good feeling,” he said. “What do you say? Want to put up with me for however long that is?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as he pulled you into a kiss. “Yeah. I take care of you, you take care of me. It’s our thing after all.”

“Wouldn’t want to stop now,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. “Sweetheart?”

“You’re still okay, right?” you asked.

“Still okay,” he chuckled. “I was gonna say, you lost the bet.”

“I did not,” you laughed. “You cheated and asked early.”

“Sue me. You are far too attractive for your own good,” he said.

“Sure I am, Casanova,” you said, getting another kiss from him. “I got my hottie.”

“We both got our hottie’s,” he said. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

______

[zairapvrker]

disabledsos day!

Author’s note: heya everyone! i took some time off of your requests, and i apologize for that, because in the past couple of days i’ve been working on this fic for this amazing and wonderful project! disabledsos was born to bring visibility to fans who are dealing with any sort of disability and spread awareness to make the community feel loved within the fandom. if you wanna read more about it, and i really encourage you to, i’ll leave the link for the original post here: https://skinnylukes.tumblr.com/post/613965381647876096/attention-5sos-fanswriters thank you so much to @skinnylukes for reaching out to me about this, i feel very honoured to partake in the project you’ve created with so much dedication and love.  i tried my very best to educate myself about the disabling disease i’ll be writing about, however i apologize if some details are missing or wrong. please feel free to correct me, constructive criticism is always welcomed! and to all of you strong, amazing, beautiful people who fight everyday, i’m so proud of you all and my heart goes out to you, never give up, we’re all here for you! i keep you in my thoughts, always. 

Multiple Sclerosis (MS) is a potentially disabling disease of the brain and spinal cord. In MS, the immune system attacks the protective sheath (myelin) that covers nerve fibers and causes communication problems between your brain and the rest of your body. Eventually, the disease can cause permanent damage or deterioration of the nerves. Signs and symptoms of MS vary widely and depend on the amount of damage and which nerves are affected. Some people with severe MS may lose the ability to walk independently or at all, while others may experience long periods of remission without any new symptoms. MS can occur at any age, but usually affects people between the ages of 16 and 55. There’s no cure for multiple sclerosis. However, treatments can help speed recovery from attacks, modify the course of the disease and manage symptoms. These last ones can vary from person to person and differ greatly and over the course of the disease depending on the location of affected nerve fibers. Symptoms often affect movement, such as numbness or weakness in one or more limbs that typically occurs on one side of your body at a time, or the legs and trunk, electric-shock sensations that occur with certain neck movements, tremor, lack of coordination or unsteady gait. Vision problems are also common, such as partial or complete loss of vision, usually in one eye at a time, prolonged double vision and blurry vision. People with MS may also develop muscle stiffness or spasms, paralysis (typically in the legs), mental changes such as forgetfulness or mood swings, depression and epilepsy.

“Mikey, I’m home!” you yelled as soon as you’d entered your shared apartment. Your roommate, and best friend, was almost always on the couch playing videogames but the headset he used to play made it hard for him to hear any sound outside of the yelling of his friends. That’s why you always had to be loud when you came home from work, slamming the door and calling out for him to notify him of your presence.

It had been an incredibly hard day, your stress levels were through the roof. It seemed you forgot pretty much every task you were supposed to do, remembering only when reminded, and couldn’t keep your focus. After all, you were in charge of much and with the imminent publishing of a new article, you’d blamed it on the general chaos that overtook the entire office.

“Hey, you” you nudged Michael’s shoulder as you sat down next to him on the couch, making his head turn in your direction. A smile opened up on his face upon seeing you finally home. “Hey, you’re back!” he exclaimed happily, stamping a kiss on your cheek. You giggled watching as he bid goodbye to his friends and shut the TV off. “So, I haven’t had the chance to get started on dinner-“ he started, sheepishly. “Michael!” you reprimanded with a smile on your face, slapping his arm playfully. “But I did think about what kind of take out to order” he justified, his arms up in surrender, the same amused smile you showcased on your face etched on his. You’d sighed. “And what is it?” you asked giggling. “Chinese, of course” he rolled his eyes. “Alright, but you call!” you pointed a finger at him as Michael nodded, getting up to go change out of the clothes you’d worn for the day.

Michael was quick to grip your hand to offer some sort of support as he saw you falter in your step, almost falling back down on the couch, while getting up. “Is everything okay?” the concern in his vice was clear. You squeezed his hand, waiting for the dizzying sensation of shock to pass and your sight to go back in focus. “Yeah, yeah” you reassured, slowly opening your eyes. “It’s been a long day” the smile you gave him was meant to ease his nerves, but Michael couldn’t help but worry as he watched you make your way to your room with a hand constantly pressed to the wall, in search for stability.

That evening you weren’t as talkative as usual, in fact, Michael did most of the talking. He told you about how one of the strings of one of his students’ guitar had snapped while he was tuning it for him and hit him in the face but had to laugh it off with tears in his eyes, his friends, the latest news. You just said it was a chaotic day at work, that your boss had yelled at you so much you thought your head was going to explode. He hugged you tight, offering to go and key her car if needed, which made you laugh softly. Feeling very tired, you excused yourself out of the usual Friday movie marathon. Michael smiled sweetly, saying it was okay and wishing you goodnight. He really is the best ever, you thought as you went back you your room.

The only way you could describe what happened when you woke up the next day was a nightmare. You almost though it was. You wanted to roll around to turn your alarm off, which even on Saturdays woke you up so you wouldn’t waste the day away in bed, but found you couldn’t. The motion was second nature to you, literally managing every day with your eyes closed, however the immobility of your torso made your eyes crack open as the alarm kept on going off.

Michael, on the contrary, liked to sleep in on Saturdays, so when he heard your alarm keeping on blaring he got off the bed and marched towards your room. When he opened the door he found you hopelessly trying to reach the alarm over on your nightstand but failing miserably. “Will you turn it off?” he huffed, going over to do it himself, yawning.

“I’m trying!” you snapped back, trying to sit up and failing. “I can’t feel my torso” you reasoned out loud, feeling the panic slowly set in.

“What?” Michael asked concerned, his eyes wide, as he took a seat beside you on the bed.

“I don’t know” it was safe to say you were confused. “I think it’ll go away, it may be the stress” you were trying to find a possible answer, pushing back the fear as best as possible.

“The stress?!” he exclaimed, his arms flying up. “You can’t feel half of your body and you think it’s stress?” clearly, he wasn’t as good as you were at rationalizing.

“Mike, it’ll go away” you voiced, his tone wasn’t helping you remain calm, his doubts the same as the ones you had but were trying to push at the back of your mind.

“Do you want me to help you sit up?” he asked then, offering his hands to hold onto. You nodded, slowly letting him help you with the motion.

Over the next couple of weeks, mostly spent in bed or on the couch and always requiring Michael to help you with every movement, the situation seemed to get better and worsen at the same time. The numbness was, in the span of a day, left behind in favour of wobbly legs and dizziness, you were always fatigued and tired. You had taken more days off of work in three weeks than ever since you started working. But just when you thought you had made it out of the woods, everything went downhill.

“It can’t go on like this” Michael sighed as, once again, he picked you up from the floor when your right leg had failed to support your weight while standing up from the couch. “We’re going to the ER” he stated, looking at you in the eyes.

You gulped, seeing the worry in his sparkling greens clear as day. Truth was you were worried too, but you were always used to downplay the discomfort you were in, brushing it off as if it were nothing. However, this was going too far and scaring you to your very bones. Nodding you agreed and he helped you prepare a bag in case you had to spend the night at the hospital, praying you wouldn’t have to, as silent tears made their way down your face.

Michael hated to see you like this, you were always so cheerful and bright, this was really taking a toll on you. He heard the quiet sniffles coming from you when he entered the room, finding you where he’d left you on your bed, folding a shirt into the duffle bag next to you. His heart had been held captive in a painful clench the last few days, the worry truly never leaving him and the confusion messing with his head. He took a seat next to you, putting his own change of clothes in the duffle, and taking your hands in his. Bringing them up to his lips, he left a light kiss on your knuckles.

“We’re getting you through whatever this is, alright?” he could hear his own voice faltering, watching as more tears pooled in your eyes. “I’m right here” he assured when you threw yourself into his arms, holding you tight. Next thing you knew, he was picking you up, almost forgetting the duffle and going out to his car. You made sure to turn off the lights and lock the door behind you.

The hours that followed were a whirlwind, dragging you down and down until you were sure you hit rock bottom when finally the results of all the tests and consultations with the doctors came to an end. All that you were sure of was Michael’s hand holding yours, fingers intertwined, when you were called back into the doctor’s office, from the waiting room full of other patients, and your legs failed to support you. Your best friend was the first to be at your side, followed by the doctor herself and a bunch of people in the waiting room. You couldn’t understand a thing that was going on, too many voices talking at the same time as you were sat on a wheeling chair and finally brought into the office. The diagnosis hit you like a slap in the face and you were sure you only heard half of the words that left the doctor’s mouth. “Multiple sclerosis is common at your age” “We will have to run more tests to make sure of what the complications you’ve developed are” “In some cases it is very hard to diagnose, but looking into the symptoms you’ve described and MRI we were lucky to find out right away” “Unfortunately, it was pretty quick to affect your legs, clearly causing an impairment we need to assess” “There are ways to help you regain the ability to walk independently, if you’re lucky”

She’d used the word lucky a lot, you’d noticed, while talking. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel like that at all.

Calling your family to tell them the news had been extremely difficult, knowing that they were far away and could only visit so many times took a huge toll on you. You hated to admit to yourself that the positive outlook you’d always had on life was quickly fading in favour of judgement-clouding pessimism. The first night back from the hospital you’d spent crying after days of not letting a single emotion shine through. Hearing your sobs shattered Michael’s heart and it only got worse when he entered your dark room and held you as you shook, gripping his t-shirt in tight fists and wetting it with salty tears. He’d seen you at your lowest and he was determined to bring you back.

Making you listen was hard, the wall of hopelessness you’d built around you seemed insurmountable, but Michael was as determined as ever. He wasn’t about to let you fall any deeper into the pit of anger and frustration that never seemed to leave you.

“Have you listened to what the doctor said?” he asked pushing your wheelchair through the park near your apartment building. It was a beautiful day and he was determined to get you out of the house.

“No, Mike, I was tired” you mumbled, looking over at the kids running after each other in a game of tag.

“The more you refuse to move, the more it’ll hinder your exercises in physical therapy” he reminded, stopping near a bench so he could sit down and look at you in the eyes while having this conversation.

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do?” you snapped. “Waltz out of this fucking chair and go for a jog?” you pointed to a pair of joggers who were about to pass you by.

“Well, one day you might be able to!” he insisted, making you shake your head with a scoff.

“And what if I’m not? What if I’ll never walk again?” you wanted it to sound harsh, convinced of what you were saying, but your voice betrayed you, breaking at the end.

“What if you do?” he asked back softly, hoping that his point got through to you. And it did. You took in a shaky breath, looking away from his hopeful eyes, not bearing to see how much he’d believed in you when you didn’t.

--

Michael was there for you through every up and down: he held you when you couldn’t fall asleep because your anxieties and worries were eating away at your peace of mind, he was there to listen when you listed all the reasons why you believed you wouldn’t be albe to do this, always offering reasons why you could right back. He came to every appointment of physical therapy you had, he was with you every time you had to go to the hospital for check-ups or visits and was also there when it was explained to you that you had Relapsing Remitting MS, which meant that you would have episodes or spikes after periods of time without any new symptoms and it was a possibility that you could slow down the progression of the condition and manage symptoms, possibly walking on your own again if you were consistent with medication and exercising.

And while you were still worried, you couldn’t help but stare at the doctor with wide eyes. “R-Really?” you asked her, a smile threatening to slip at the mere thought of being able to stand for more than two minutes without the help of anyone.  

“Really” she confirmed as an elated sigh escaped you, Michael squeezed your hand, happy to see you hopeful.

It became routine for you two, when he came home from work right about when you shut your computer off as your part-time shift ended, to immediately start exercising. He was happy to finally see you as combative as you once were, determined to fight this off as much as possible.

“You gotta!” he reminded with a laugh from his spot beside you as he saw you panting on the yoga mattress in the middle of your living room. 

“I don’t wanna!” you whined covering your eyes with your arm. He chuckled, lifting it slowly as you peered up at him with one eye opened. 

“Come on, it’s the last set!” he encouraged and you huffed, knowing he was right. Propping yourself up on your elbows you looked at his adorable smile and rolled your eyes. Michael helped you up, slowly walking you to the wall, and stopping a foot away from it. He eased down with you into a sitting position as you let your back rest against the wall, finally letting go of you.

“Look at you, walking up to the wall without tripping!” he crossed his arms over his chest, smiling as you silently counted the seconds you needed to keep in position for. You chuckled, seeing proudness in his eyes. Once the squat exercise was over, you stood up with wobbly legs, only one hand resting on the wall behind you for support. You smiled widely upon seeing the look on his face.

“You can stand on your own?” he asked a little shocked as you nodded. “Since when?” he smiled brightly, quick to offer his help to walk back to the couch and sit down.

“Yesterday the phone was ringing, it was my mom, I forgot it on the shelf behind my desk and you weren’t at home, so I just… tried” you shrugged. Michael scoffed with a bright smile. “I almost tripped, but I fell back on the chair before I could”

“Atta girl!” he hugged you tight. “I’m so proud” he rocked you from side to side, making the both of you giggle.

It was taking incredible effort but you saw the improvements every day, slowly there was no need for you to hang on to the parallel bars at you sides as you hesitantly put a feet in front of the other, walking the short distance. There was no need for your nurse, or Michael, to help you stand up from a sitting position and you were even able to stand while you prepared your cereals in the morning before your best friend helped you walk to the dining table.

Slowly, Michael was able to go back to his normally longer shifts at music school as you found it easier and easier to move through the house either with crutches or, on the days when you were too tired, with your wheelchair.

“Need help?” Michael asked as you were in the kitchen microwaving some popcorn for your movie marathon.

“Nope!” you yelled back, leaning against the counter as you waited for the device to beep, crutches at your side. “Okay, maybe” you second guessed once you put the popcorn into the bowl.

Michael was quick on his feet, entering the kitchen with a lopsided smile, leaning on the door frame with one shoulder as his hands went to the pockets of his basketball shorts.

“Can you take the bowl?” you smiled sheepishly. He chuckled, nodding as he complied. “Thanks” you blew a kiss his way, steadying yourself on the crutches and making your way to the couch. Michael stayed back, watching you.

“Staring is rude” you snickered, sitting down and laying your crutches down on the floor.

“I wasn’t staring” he defended, making his way over. You cocked an eyebrow at him with a smirk.

“I was admiring how far you’ve come” he added, bringing some popcorn to his mouth as he sat down.

“Sure, Clifford” you laughed, reaching for some popcorn too.

“I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “Eight months ago you barely wanted to get out of bed, now you’re walking around the house and are basically a fitness instructor” you scoffed as he giggled.

“Just wait till new symptoms show up in a few years” you sighed, pressing play on the movie. Michael snapped his head in your direction, his brows furrowed.

“Hey, no, don’t talk like that” he almost scolded.

“Mikey, it’s fine, I made my peace with it. My life is always going to be like this” you gestured to the crutches and the wheelchair in the corner, shrugging.

“No, it’s not” he couldn’t help but raise his voice a little, disbelieving of the words that were leaving your mouth. “You’re taking back the life that this tried to pry from you, you’re fighting and it’s working. You’ll be able to walk again soon and if new symptoms show up you’ll learn to monitor them and make them your bitches”

“My bitches?” you couldn’t help but let an amused snicker out. You saw the left corner of his mouth tilting up, trying to keep the laughter at bay, after all, you were too.

“Yes” he said resolutely. “I’m helping you through this, remember? Every step of the way” it wasn’t time to cry, you reminded yourself, pushing back the tears as you nodded.

“Thanks Mikey” you let your head rest on his shoulder, sitting back. He just left a kiss on top of your head, resting his cheek against it as you both focused on the movie playing.

--

“Michael, come here!” you didn’t like to scare him, you really didn’t, but when he slowed down the fast jog he made over to you room, panting slightly and ready to help however he could, a glint of panic in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel the need to suppress your laughter. “Stay there” you said, watching confusion grow on his face, as he settled by the door.

“What’s wron-“ you shushed him before he could finish, slowly sitting up from your bed. Michael watched as you stood up without the need to hold onto anything, starting to walk  towards him without needing any help. His mouth opened in surprise and you smiled, finally reaching him.

“Hi” you said, a feet away from him. You didn’t have the chance to see his glassy eyes, full of pride, because he was quick to engulf you in his arms and pick you up to spin you around just once, as you giggled elated. He held you tight, his face hiding in the crook of your neck.

“Are you crying?” you asked slightly amused, feeling your skin getting wet.

“No” came the muffled response from him. “You did it” he whispered, still not moving.

“It’s not the end of anything, but by the looks of it… I can walk on my own now” you said, bringing a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for never giving up on me”

“Thank you for not giving up on yourself” he sniffled, finally looking at you with probably the brightest smile you’ve ever seen him display over the course of the last year and a half. You smiled too, a single tear of joy running down your face which Michael was quick to dry with the pad of his thumb.

He left a sweet kiss on your forehead. “We need to call everyone!” he jumped up in joy only seconds after, making you giggle, taking you by the hand like he’d done over a million times by now and walking with you to the living room.

“You need to chill” you said, sitting down on the couch next to him.

“Never!” he exclaimed, quickly searching for your mom’s contact. He really was the best, you thought looking at the one who had been by your side through one of the toughest of times and was sure to be there for you for anything that would come your way in the future, with a sweet smile.

[cristinablackthornkingson]

Shadowhunters Short Story #63.

Thank you to @lightwoodalltheway for messaging me with this prompt, it was a great idea and I really enjoyed writing this story!

It is a bright August day in London, 1903 when 18 year-old Thomas Lightwood finishes the cure to the demon poison that killed his sister just a few weeks ago. 

Thomas, Cordelia, Lucie and even Grace had gone to great lengths to get the last ingredient for the cure, practically risking their lives by sneaking into the gardens at Tatianna’s Chiswick home to get the plant that would finish the cure. Of course non of them were complaining, The Herondales, Fairchilds, Lightwoods and Carstairs would do anything for one another, even Alistair helped out by persuading Charles to allow Thomas to use Henry’s laboratory to finish off the cure, and staying behind to help him. 

It had only taken Thomas about 20 minutes to finish off the cure, but they were the most terrifying 20 minutes of his life. He may have watched Christopher and their Uncle Henry working on this cure, for weeks now, but he was no scientist like them, he had never done anything like this before and he was terrified to fail, it was too late to save his sister, but he could not bare the idea of it being too late to save all the others who are attacked too, all because of him.

After what feels like an age, Thomas finishes the cure and sits back from the work bench, his shoulders sagging in relief, now he can only hope it really will work. 

“There.” Thomas says in a tone of relief. “There, it’s done. I have finished it.” 

“How do you know? How do you know it will work?” Alistair asks in a curious tone. 

“Well, Kit and Uncle Henry wrote down every step needed to make this cure once they figured out exactly how to make it, the last thing we needed was this plant from my Aunt Tatianna’s garden, though I suppose we will not know for certain if it works, until we try it.” Thomas  explains, rubbing at his heavy and bleary eyes, exhausted from worrying so much about Christopher and from working on the cure. 

“Well then we best go to The Silent City, every second is precious.” Alistair says, helping Thomas to his feet, clearly able to see how exhausted and worn out the other boy is. Thomas nods as he slips on his coat. 

“Thank you Alistair, for persuading Charles to allow me to use the lab and for staying behind with me.” Thomas quietly says.

“I-I did not do anything, I just sat here and watched you, no more use than Matthew’s dog.” Alistair quietly says.

“You kept me company in an extremely stressful and terrifying situation, you had faith in me, unlike Charles. And, I think you are far more charming than Oscar, though do not tell Matthew I said that or he will disown me.” Thomas laughs, as he and Alistair ascend the stairs and walk out into the courtyard, toward the carriage. 

“I did not stay for you or your sake, it was for Charles, to give him piece of mind and make sure you did not blow up his house.” Alistair snaps, spoiling Thomas’ good mood.

20 minutes later the boys arrive at the nearest entrance to The Silent City. They make their way down to the first level in complete silence, Alistair walking behind Thomas, holding his witchlight so they can see where they are going and so he can catch Thomas if he slips, while holding the cure.

When they reach the first level they are greeted by Brother Enoch, who almost makes a very jumpy and nervous Thomas jump out of his skin, when he steps out of the shadows. 

Thomas Lightwood and Alistair Carstairs, what brings you to The Silent City? Brother Enoch’s cold and toneless voice echos in their minds. Thomas swallows nervously before beginning to speak. 

“W-we... we need to see Uncle_ Brother Zachariah, please it is urgent, it is in regards to the cure for the demon poison, for my cousin Christopher and everyone else who has been afflicted by the poison.” Thomas stammers nervously. 

Very well, follow me. Brother Enoch says, before soundlessly turning and making his way down the next set of stairs, never once checking to see if the boys are following him.

A few minutes later the arrive in the infirmary of The Silent City, a bare stone-walled room with two rows of single beds with starch white sheets, standing out against the dull grey of the walls and floor. At least 10 of the beds are taken up, all with Shadowhunters who were attacked by the Khora demons.  Thomas’ gaze is drawn straight to Christopher, who is in the bed nearest the entrance. His face is pale, his brown hair lying flat for once, when usually it is stuck up at every odd angle imaginable, his eyes are closed and his glasses have been neatly and lovingly folded and put on the nightstand, next to his bed. 

In this moment Thomas feels as if he has been pushed to the very edge and can no longer cope, seeing his beloved cousin so ill and on the brink of death is threatening to push him over the edge and send him into complete despair and panic, he already lost his sister, he cannot lose his cousin too. Thomas and Christopher are possibly the closest out of the all the cousins, and always have been. They grew up together, Thomas was Christopher’s biggest supporter and defender, right next to Anna and Cecily and Gabriel. He had happily sat and listened to Christopher talking about science and inventions for hours and hours, Thomas had bought Christopher his first real science book, at age 10 with money he had been given for his birthday. He helped Christopher acquire his own beakers, test tubes, etc, so he would not have to constantly be borrowing Henry’s.

Christopher was Thomas’ first baby cousin, he had only been 18 months when Christopher was born but he can still remember walking into The Basilias with his parents and sisters. and seeing his Aunt Cecily sitting in one of the beds with her hair tied back, Uncle Gabriel at her side and a tiny little baby in a pale yellow onsie and wrapped in flame orange colored blanket. He had been fascinated by the baby, his baby cousin Christopher, and was delighted when Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel let him hold Kit. It was in that moment that Thomas and Christopher’s bond began, Thomas immediately felt protective of his baby cousin and did not want to let him go. When Cecily and Christopher came home form The Basilias a few days later, Thomas begged his parents to take him to see his cousin everyday. He had loved helping his Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel with Christopher, always devastated when he himself fell ill and was not well enough to go see Christopher, or to have Christopher over, due to his weak immune system not being able to handle even the flu.

Over the years, when Thomas was still ill and sickly, before he got better, when he was allowed visitors, Christopher would come sit by his bed and tell him all about the latest news in the world of science and talk to him about his latest inventions or read to him from his science books. 

Now the roles are reversed, Thomas is the one visiting a very ill Christopher, and he simply does not know it he can take it. 

You may wait here, Brother Zachariah will be along in a moment. Brother Enoch tells them, before stepping back into the shadows, no doubt to make sure they are not up to no good. 

Sure enough, a few minutes later Brother Zachariah steps into the room, his hood drawn back, the way it had always been when he would visit Thomas and tend to him, when Thomas was ill as a child. 

“Uncle Jem!” Thomas exclaims, darting to his Uncle’s side. “I finished it, the cure for the demon poison, I have it here!” He exclaims in a rushed tone. 

Well done Thomas, how must it be given to the patients? Jem calmly asks. 

“It’s a salve, we need to put it on their wounds, that is what Christopher and Uncle Henry told me.” 

Very well, let us try it and hope it works. Jem says, gently taking the box containing the salve, from his nephew. 

“Give it to Christopher first, please. We would not have found this cure without him, he should be healed first.” Thomas says in a shaky tone. Jem nods.

Alright, you come with me Thomas, if this works it will be good for Christopher to have a friendly and familiar face to wake up to. Thomas nods and follows his Uncle to Christopher’s bed.

As Jem unwinds the bandages around Christopher’s chest, Thomas kneels next to his cousin’s bed, holding his hand tightly. 

Just a few seconds after Jem applies the salve to Christopher’s wounds, Christopher begins to stir. Soon the color returns to his face and he blinks open his eyes, squinting at the bright witchlight filling the room. 

“Kit! Are you alright? How do you feel?” Thomas asks in an urgent tone, leaning forward to push Christopher’s hair out of his face, cupping his face in his hands and looking for any sign that the cure did not work. 

“Ahh get off Tom! You are worse than mama for fussing.” Christopher exclaims, pushing his cousin’s hands away. 

“Sorry, but you are alright?” Thomas asks, handing Christopher his glasses. 

“Yes, I am perfectly fine. You did it then, you finished the cure?” Christopher hopefully asks, slipping his glasses back on and pushing himself up into a sitting position. Thomas nods. 

“I did, but you did all the hard work Kit, you and Uncle Henry. By The Angel I am just so glad you are alright, I could not have bared it if I lost Barbra and you.” Thomas says in a relived tone. 

“It was a three person effort Tom, you, me and Uncle Henry, it could not have been done without any of us.” Christopher says, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Actually it was more of an 8 person job, I could not have gotten the final ingredient without Jamie, Lucie, Cordelia and Grace, and Alistair helped too, he persuaded Charles to allow me to use Uncle Henry’s lab to finish off the cure. I think Lucie is going to end up writing a story about what we went through to get that last ingredient, most of us almost died, but I know we would all do it again, for you.” Thomas tells his cousin. “Can I hug you?” He asks, knowing Christopher does not like to be hugged or touched at all really, he hates it when Cecily ruffles his hair or kisses his cheek and calls him her brilliant little boy. 

“Only if you promise to tell me the story of how you and the others got the last ingredient.” Thomas grins and hugs Christopher tightly.

“I will do anything you want Kit, I am just so glad you are okay.” He says, ruffling his cousin’s hair as he pulls back from the hug. 

“Gah! When did you turn so sappy Thomas? You know when mama says to give me a hug for her, you do not literally have to do it.” Christopher grumbles, making Thomas laugh.

“Uncle Jem, when can Kit come home?” Thomas hopefully asks, grasping Christopher’s hand again and looking at Uncle Jem, who is now tending to Ariadne. 

Soon Thomas, a day or two perhaps. But do not worry, you can come visit him as often as you like now. Jem assures him, seeing glimpses of himself and William at that age. If Thomas were not already 18, Jem would not have been surprised if he and Christopher became Parabatai.

“Tom, did you bring me any of my science books?” Christopher hopefully asks. If he is to be stuck down here fro two more days he would like to use the opportunity to do some more reading for his next experiment or invention. 

“Afraid not, old chap. I was mostly concerned about getting to you before the demon poison did. I will bring some tomorrow if you like.” Thomas offers. Christopher smiles and nods. 

“Thank you Tom, oh and if Cordelia is coming could you ask her to bring some of those lemon tarts she brought to the picnic in regent’s park?” Christopher hopefully asks, his eyes back to their usual brightness and full of intelligence and kindness. Thomas laughs and nods. Only their Christopher would be thinking of science books and lemon tarts after coming back from the verge of death. 

Thomas stays with Christopher for about another hour, before Jem gently tells him that Christopher needs to rest now, but Thomas can come back in the morning. 

“I will see you tomorrow Kit, I love you.” Thomas says, teasingly ruffling his hair again. 

When Thomas reaches the exit to the room, he is greatly surprised to see Alistair still there, leaning against the wall, witchlight in hand. 

“Alistair! I thought you would have left an age ago.” Thomas says in a tone of surprise. 

“I had to wait for you, I couldn’t very well take the carriage and leave you here, Lightwood.” Alistair informs him, folding away his mundane newspaper. 

“I could have walked.” Thomas says, as they start climbing the stairs. Alistair shakes his head. 

“Too dangerous, with the Khora and Mandikhor still out there, you know what the Clave said, we should travel in pairs or groups now, never alone.” Alistair says.

“Oh, well thank you.” Thomas says, still a bit shocked that Alistair waited for him. 

“That’s alright. Listen, Lightwood. Would you... perhaps like to go for a drink? You probably need it after the evening you have had and frankly, so could I.” Alistair asks, trying to keep the shy tone out of his voice. He does not want Lightwood to realize that he actually likes him, as more than a friend, and wants to spend time with him. 

“Alright, we could go the The Devil Tavern, if non of the others are there we can go up to the room the boys and I rent, so we can actually hear one another when we talk.” Thomas says, as they walk toward the carriage. 

An hour later, Thomas and Alistair are sitting in opposite arm chairs in The Merry Thieves rented room, above The Devil tavern, talking as they sip on glasses of brandy.

“Cordelia has told me about this place, it must be nice to have somewhere private to gather with your friends, away from nosy adults.” Alistair quietly says, looking around him and wishing he had somewhere private like this where he could meet Charles, so they did not have to sneak around, stealing kisses for five minutes here or there. If they had a room like this they would not have to worry about anyone seeing them. Alistair is sure if he looked he could find somewhere like this, but Charles would likely never agree to it. He seems ashamed of his feelings for Alistair, and though he says he loves him, Alistair is not convinced. The only thing Charles seems to love is his job.

“It is, I love my parents and sisters... well, sister now, but it is nice to get away sometimes and spend time alone with my friends. You know, I am sure the others would be happy to accept you into our little group, I could ask them.” Thomas says, sending a spark of hope through Alistair. It would be nice to have friends, and maybe he could confide in these friends about his preference for men. Christopher’s sister Anna is exclusively attracted to women, Matthew Fairchild is attracted to both men and women, and even sweet Lucie seems to harbor feelings of more than friendship, for his sister.

“Do you think so?” Alistair hopefully asks, sitting forward eagerly. 

“Yes, absolutely, I will ask them the minute I next see them, you will fit in perfectly with us!” Thomas cheerfully tells him. Alistair’s heart races with the thought of possibly being accepted, of finally having people to confide in. He never thought Thomas Lightwood of all people, would make him feel the way Charles does, but treat him so much better than Charles treats him. 

Maybe it is the alcohol, maybe it is the stress after such a long day and the relief of knowing that all those who were attacked by the Khora are now well, or maybe it is just his own desire. Whatever it is, it is what makes Alistair set his glass down, drop to the floor next to Thomas, take his face in his hands and kiss him.

[southeastasianists]

All across Asia, and around the world, people have been urged to keep a safe distance and maintain good personal hygiene amid the coronavirus pandemic. But if your “home” is a prison dormitory that holds five times the 100 inmates it was designed to, doing either is almost impossible.Overcrowding is the norm in the prison systems of many developing nations, but the Philippines has long held the dubious distinction of having one of the most jam-packed in the world.

In Manila City Jail, one of an estimated 933 correctional facilities in the country, sweaty bodies lie in cells, toilets, stairways and other poorly ventilated areas, as inmates try to grab some sleep wherever they can. Some even have to take turns.

Poor living conditions – such as the subdivided units or caged homes that impoverished Hongkongers live in, packed migrant workers’ quarters in cities across Southeast Asia and slums with no running water – are traditionally fertile ground for disease transmission.

But with Asia’s largest prison systems plagued by low health care standards and a limited ability to test inmates, experts say any outbreak is likely to be deadlier than in the general population. Already, the suspension of prison visits to prevent the virus from spreading has taken a toll on the mental well-being of inmates.

Field workers and researchers interviewed by This Week in Asia say now is as good a time as ever for the authorities to reduce prison populations and consider initiatives to reform justice systems, while channelling more funds into rehabilitation and health programmes for inmates.

“I actually think things are in dire straits,” said Clarke Jones, criminologist and senior research fellow at the Australian National University. “Prisons and jails [in Southeast Asia] have become so neglected and overcrowded that it will be near impossible to manage if Covid-19 takes a real hold.”

Jones said official records were not transparent and publicly available information on jails was limited.

“There have been many deaths but they are kept secret, not recorded, and [the bodies are] cremated soon after death,” he said. “I don’t think we will ever know the true infection and fatality rates … due to corruption, lack of reporting, and lack of any health care.”

The problem of overcrowding is compounded by chronic underfunding and a general lack of resources. Across Metro Manila’s 47 jails, for instance, “one single doctor is responsible … for a staggering 45,000 inmates”, according to Tobias Brandner, a prison chaplain and professor at the Chinese University of Hong Kong who wrote a research paper on the subject last year.

“Around HK$550 (US$71) per inmate per year is budgeted for medical needs,” he wrote, adding that for food “less than HK$10 (US$1.29) is available per inmate per day”.

“Not surprisingly, most of the visitors in the entrance area of the [Manila City Jail] wait with large food containers for their relatives behind bars,” Brandner said.

A lack of food further increases the prison population’s vulnerability to a coronavirus outbreak, as malnutrition compromises the immune system.

The fact that “most people who are incarcerated in Asia are young, between 15 and 30 years old … is a good thing” when it comes to Covid-19, said Ziad Tohme, a former doctor who works with the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC).

Amid rising concerns about the psychological health of prison inmates cut off from the outside world is the well-being of one group – pregnant prisoners and the 19,000 or so children who live with their mothers behind bars around the world.

“The anxiety and stress created by not being able to communicate with family members or seek mental health support are of significant concern for vulnerable women who have often experienced traumatic violence,” Rope said.

She added that ongoing assessments of the pandemic’s impact on women prisoners showed that those in some areas had it better than others.

“For example, in Kenya where women rely on charities and family members for sanitary pads, they have had a shortage of these vital supplies because such visits are now banned,” she said. “We also know that women are greatly impacted by separation from their children and, at a time like this, it is of huge concern.”

Fear of the pandemic among prisoners has led in recent weeks to several violent riots in detention facilities, such as in Indonesia.

“Inmates are under huge pressure,” said Brandner, the professor, noting that violence could erupt in other prisons. “They are as fearful as everyone else, but they are cramped together, they don’t have anywhere else to go and now they can’t receive regular visits.”

Brandner said that in places like the Philippines, the pandemic was creating “an imbalance in the ecosystems of some prisons”.

Religious groups would often go in and offer food, personal hygiene items and free medical consultations, as well as spiritual and practical advice to mitigate prison hardships – but most of this has stopped.

“It has a great impact on the psychological, material and spiritual well-being of the inmates,” Brandner said. “This isolation is a high price to pay.”

But inmates have not been left completely in the lurch. The ICRC has donated dozens of tablet devices for prisoners in the Philippines to use to call their relatives.

In the Manila City Jail – on the country’s largest island of Luzon where a lockdown has been imposed – visits have stopped but personnel have remained inside the jail, as part of a “carefully worked out and documented strategy to prevent the entry of Covid-19”, said Jones, the criminologist, who recently spoke with the warden there. The facility had not recorded any infections as of end-April.

“Morale is high due to the psychosocial programme they are running for personnel and inmates alike,” he said, adding that a Skype room was set up for inmates to stay in contact with loved ones.

“There are no security issues or unrest as the inmates are kept well informed and consulted on most management issues.”

Official data shows that the Philippines’ prison system is running at about 500 per cent over capacity. As of March, there were 134,748 detainees in the country – a number that has ballooned in recent years largely due to the government’s bloody anti-drugs crackdown.

More than 300 of the country’s prisoners have been diagnosed with Covid-19 – most of whom are housed in detention facilities on the island of Cebu. At least four have died.

But detainees are reporting higher death rates, according to Human Rights Watch, whose deputy Asia director Phil Robertson said “unreported deaths of inmates show the urgent need for the Duterte government to be transparent about the spread of Covid-19 inside the country’s overcrowded prisons”.

In response to the pandemic, Filipino authorities recently released about 10,000 inmates, including some who were serving sentences of six months or less, those being held ahead of trial who could not afford bail, and certain sick and elderly prisoners.

Harry Tubangi, health-in-detention programme manager for the ICRC who is based in the Philippines, noted that the crisis presented uncharted territory for the authorities.

He said his organisation had helped set up five Covid-19 isolation centres for prisoners with more than 500 beds in total, but the length of time waiting for test results – sometimes “more than a week or two weeks” – had made things challenging.

“First thing is to identify suspected cases and isolate them, and then be able to test them and determine the level of severity,” he said. “You also have to sort out patients who have Covid-19 from those who have other infectious diseases, such as tuberculosis.”

Thousands of inmates in Philippine prisons are thought to die of infectious diseases every year.

In total, the country has officially recorded more than 10,000 coronavirus cases and upwards of 650 deaths – numbers that are only expected to rise as it struggles to bring the outbreak under control.

The country is not alone in having prisons that are poised to become a flashpoint for the virus.

In Pakistan, where more than 22,000 infections have been confirmed, about 100 prisoners had tested positive as of April 21 – but the authorities there are only testing inmates who show symptoms, according to Ali Haider Habib of advocacy group Justice Project Pakistan.

Even though prison visits have been suspended, Habib said there had still been a large influx of inmates – about 500 new prisoners a day in some facilities.

“With such a massive churn rate and with prison staff going in and out, Pakistan’s prisons could be on the verge of a serious outbreak if a preventive strategy and contingency plans are not implemented effectively,” he said.

There were many vulnerable detainees in Pakistan, Habib said, with some of the most at risk being the elderly and those with pre-existing medical conditions.

About 2,400 inmates were already infected with other diseases and viruses such as HIV, while 600 or so had a mental illness – putting them “at particular risk because they are not always able to understand and follow instructions or maintain personal hygiene”, Habib said, citing the Covid-19 deaths that were reported after an outbreak in two psychiatric wards in South Korea.

As well as reducing Pakistan’s prison population, Habib called on the authorities to take other “emergency measures”, such as ramping up testing capacity for both prisoners and staff “and ensuring adequate medical facilities along with the presence of doctors and health care professionals”.

In neighbouring India, prisons were placed under lockdown and thousands of pretrial detainees released on parole after the authorities discovered the virus had begun to spread through the country’s correctional facilities.

It is unclear how many Indian inmates have caught Covid-19, but 19 detainees of Madhya Pradesh state’s Indore Central Jail and 77 inmates at Arthur Road jail in Mumbai tested positive last week.

Madhurima Dhanuka, lawyer and head of the Prison Reforms Programme for the Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative, told the Associated Press measures needed to be taken soon in India or things would “become extremely difficult”.

“It is a terrifying situation,” she said.

Last month, Indonesia announced that about 30,000 inmates were expected to be released to curb the spread of infection inside correctional facilities. Myanmar also said that about 25,000 people would be freed unconditionally, while Iran granted more than 85,000 people a temporary release and told them to await further instructions.In Thailand, where a group of inmates escaped after rumours of a coronavirus outbreak, jail sentences for 8,000 inmates have been suspended.

Kittipong Kittiyarak, executive director of the Thailand Institute of Justice, said the authorities should consider implementing alternatives to imprisonment as well as ordering a temporary or early release for vulnerable groups and those with non-violent, minor offences.

But even this would not be enough to avoid “catastrophic consequences” in the midst of this pandemic and any similar future crises, he said.

“The virus has brought to the foreground systemic problems that have existed in criminal justice policies for decades, and that is the overutilisation of incarceration as the primary form of sentencing,” he said.

“Especially in this part of the world, punitive drug policies have led to a sharp rise in the number of prisoners.”

In Australia, a group of more than 370 lawyers, academics and advocates signed an open letter urging the authorities to release prisoners, or at least consider the possibility of doing so.

The country’s most populous state of New South Wales had taken steps to pass emergency legislation allowing the government to release selected prisoners early, said Lorana Bartels, a criminology professor at Australian National University who co-authored the open letter.

But no releases have yet happened and “overall, the response has been to focus on measures such as increased hygiene, isolation and distancing, rather than using this as an opportunity to review the operation of the criminal justice system more broadly”, she said.

The pressure on Australia’s prisons was only likely to increase, Bartels warned, given legislation that may not allow those accused of transgressions considered particularly offensive in a pandemic to be released on bail.

While Australia had been relatively successful at minimising community spread of the coronavirus, which had helped prevent major prison outbreaks like the ones seen in the United States and elsewhere, Bartels said she was disappointed at limited moves made to address the penal system’s underlying issues.

Among these are the “over-representation of indigenous people [and] people with poor physical and mental health”.

She said she was among those calling for “justice reinvestment” – or diverting the significant amounts of funding allocated to prisons in Australia to “evidence-based community projects that address the underlying causes of crime”.

According to the latest Penal Reform International report, the majority of people in prison around the world come from disadvantaged backgrounds and are likely to have a history of abuse and neglect.

Brandner, the prison chaplain and professor who also advocates for reducing global prisoner numbers, said that the Philippines’ judicial system needed to be reformed.

“People spend a very long time in detention without being sentenced,” he said.

“Also, more people could serve their sentences in the community instead of being incarcerated.”

Jones, the criminologist, agreed, saying it was difficult to reform a country’s correctional system without a wider change in its judicial system.

“Corruption plagues most systems in developing countries, so most of the money going into rehabilitation or health care gets siphoned off to correctional personnel,” he said.

“Many facilities don’t want to reduce congestion levels as they will lose out on the food budgets, and therefore won’t get money in their back pockets.”

In some cases, Jones said, it was prison gangs – rather than the authorities – who provide inmates with health care and rehabilitation using their own resources.

Tohme, the ICRC expert, said that countries tended to see prisoners as a financial burden, with many among the general populace disconnected from life inside detention facilities.

“But everyone is at risk of being detained. You can drive your car and run over someone,” he said. “Health care in detention is a human right and a public health issue.”