(Dark Shadows 1966)
@mediwhumpmay
Willie knew he’d made a mistake before he’d even slipped. He had been sawing a piece of wood to size to repair the floor. A hand in the wrong spot. The gulf of time between realization and the consequences. He knew he had messed up. But he could do nothing to stop it.
The saw skipped.
White hot pain across Willie’s wrist, burning and tearing.
He froze.
Willie watched the blood bloom in the ragged wound. He let the saw drop to the floor with a clatter. He dimly heard himself panting. He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t any air. His fingers went to his collar to loosen the buttons there but his hands were shaking too much.
Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision. The room whirled around him.
Blood ran down Willie’s arm from the wound, red and dark. He watched it drip onto the floor.
No, please, no.
It couldn’t happen again. He couldn’t bear it if it happened again.
Willie clamped a hand over the wound. He squeezed his eyes shut. That helped. A little. Not much.
He couldn’t breathe. His heart raced and stuttered. He was dizzy and hot and cold and sweating and oh god-
Those teeth were in him again.
He was alone in the dark. Alone with the monster. He was alone and no one was coming to save him.
Willie scrambled backward across the floor until his back hit the wall. He pulled his knees to his chest. He held his bleeding wrist close to his chest. Covering it. Hiding it.
Yes, hide it. If no one sees, he’s safe. No one can see it.
Warm blood, slick against his skin, coated his hands now.
Don’t look at it. Never look at it.
The wound throbbed and burned.
Willie slumped down to the floor. It was dusty but cool. He was dizzy. He kept his eyes closed. He couldn’t breathe. He was dying, wasn’t he? Dying alone in the dark. Again.
Ringing in his ears. Everything faded away. Faded to darkness.
(original characters/story)
@mediwhumpmay
“Family of Michelle Tate?”
Troy jumped to his feet before he’d even really registered what the nurse had said. Beside him, Daniel stood up too.
“It’s Michael. He’s Michael.” Daniel sighed.
The nurse looked over the clipboard in their hands again and nodded. “You’re family?”
Troy felt Daniel’s hand on his shoulder. “We are.” Daniel said.
That was kind of Daniel.
He wasn’t Michael’s family. He was the one that had gotten Michael into this mess. He was the one who had pushed Michael too hard. Guilt sat in the pit of Troy’s stomach like a stone.
“Follow me.”
Daniel followed the nurse, with Troy bringing up the rear. They led them into a room. The doctor explained Michael’s condition. Troy wrapped an arm around Daniel’s shoulders when the kid started to cry. They were told the visiting hours. They were told that talking to Michael would be good for him. And then, they were left alone.
Daniel sat beside Michael’s bed and Troy didn’t, he couldn’t, he paced around the room. He was sore and exhausted and every step ached. But he couldn’t sit. He could barely look at Michael, lying pale in the bed, covered in tubes and wires.
But Daniel sat as close as he could to his brother without actually getting into the bed. He held Michael’s remaining hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. And he talked.
“Mom and dad know. Mom’s coming tomorrow. I’ll be with her.” Daniel said. “I don’t know when dad will come, but he will. I’ll make him.” Daniel then looked back at Troy. His eyes were red and wet.
“I’ll come tomorrow too.” Troy reassured. “Sharon knows what happened. I called her earlier.”
Daniel nodded then turned back to Michael.
“It should have been me.” Troy felt the words leave him before he realized what he had said. The ringing thought he’d had in his mind ever since he found Tate. The only thought. It should have been me.
“This isn’t about you.” Daniel kept his eyes on his brother.
Troy’s face burned with shame. “I know, I’m sorry, I-”
“It’s okay.” Daniel interrupted and aimed a smile back at Troy. “You’re hurt, you’re grieving, we say weird stuff. But this is about Tate, not you. He saved a lot of people today.”
“He’s a hero.” Troy murmured and wiped his eyes.
Daniel laughed softly. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Yeah.” Troy smiled too. “I’m sorry… I’m just so sorry this happened.”
“I know. Me too. But he knew what he was getting into.” Daniel said. “Troy, you didn’t do this to him. This isn’t your fault.”
And that was it. Troy crumbled. Tears filled his eyes. Snot ran. And he sobbed. Daniel got up from the chair and embraced him. Troy wept into his shoulder and hugged him back.
(Mystery Men - 1999)
@mediwhumpmay
“What was he wearing?” Roy limped over to the curb, Eddie guiding him by the arm.
“Shingles.” Eddie grunted as they sat down together.
Jeff shielded his eyes from the flashing blue and red lights across the street. “He had fashioned them into some kind of armor. My forks were nearly useless.”
Roy grimaced as he stretched out his leg.
“You got him eventually, right in the ass.” Eddie added.
“True.” Jeff sighed as he counted his leftover ammunition. “He deserved it. Especially for the nails. Why does one decide to use a nail gun when interrupting a performance of Shakespeare in the Skate Park?”
“Roofing.” Roy grasped the long nail embedded in the meat of his inner thigh and pulled. It slid free, painfully, covered in blood. Roy let out a long whine and held back a sob. “His theme is roofing.” He rasped.
“Oh.” Eddie nodded. “The shingles, the nail gun, the-”
“The rebellion against roofless theater productions?” Jeff finished.
“So weird.” Roy sighed. “But dedicated.”
Eddie caught sight of the bloody nail that Roy held. “Oh no, Roy, you should have let the medics take that out.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Roy waved him off. “I’ve had worse. Besides, they’re busy with Mercutio.”
“I suppose-” Eddie cut himself off. “Oh come on, Roy, you’ve got one in your hand!” He grabbed Roy’s wrist and held it up.
The long nail had flown through Roy’s palm and the tip poked through the back of his hand. It wasn’t bleeding much, but that was because the nail was plugging the hole.
Jeff frowned. “How many did he get you with, Roy?”
“I dunno.” Roy shrugged. He was tired and sore and thinking was hard. “ A few.”
“A few?” Eddie stood up. “How do you not know? Hang on, let’s do a count. I can’t believe I have to do this for you.”
“I can believe it.” Jeff stood up too.
“Going to need a metal detector.”
“Come on, guys. I just wanna go home.” Roy whined.
“Okay, so one in the hand.” Eddie ignored him and began to circle, looking for other nails. “One in the boot. Ouch, straight through your foot.” “Yeah, I was nailed to the stage for a minute.” Roy laughed weakly.
Jeff laughed as well then quickly stopped. “The one from his thigh.”
“Three so far.” Eddie nodded.
“I think that’s it.” Roy grumbled.
“Let’s at least get you checked out.” Eddie offered his hand to help Roy up from the curb. “Also when was the last time you got your tetanus shot?”
“My what?”
Eddie looked over at Jeff, who nodded silently.
“Let’s go to the clinic.”
“Aw, man.” Roy whined.
Ten minutes later, they piled out of Eddie’s car and into the 24-hour clinic. It was quiet around midnight so the wait was pretty short. A nurse took Roy back, and Eddie and Jeff stayed in the waiting room.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” Eddie asked Jeff, flipping through a sticky magazine.
“Oh.” Jeff thought for a moment. “Five minutes.” He answered.
“How about ten?”
“You’re on. I’ll watch the clock.”
Four minutes later, the nurse reappeared.
Jeff stood up. “You owe me dinner.”
The nurse walked over. “Would either of you be able to accompany your friend? He’s…” She searched for a word. “Agitated.”
Eddie stood too. “We’ll both come back.”
The nurse led them back to the examination room. Roy immediately tried to leave as soon as she opened the door.
“Eddie, I’m fine. Let’s leave. Get me out of here.” Roy spoke quickly in a low mutter. “Come on, Jeff, let’s go, let’s go.”
“Whoa, there.” Eddie gently corralled Roy back in, like a spooked horse. “They’re just going to give you a little check-up, Roy.”
“And a shot!” Roy’s voice almost squeaked. “I don’t-... I don’t like…” “Don’t like needles.” Eddie finished.
Roy sat back down on the exam table, pale and sweating. “Yeah.” He whispered.
“We know, that’s why we’re here.” Eddie reassured. “It’ll be really quick. You don’t want tetanus, right?”
“Lock-jaw, Roy.” Jeff chimed in, seating himself in a nearby chair.
“That actually sounds better than the shot.” Roy said.
“You won’t even feel it.” Eddie said. “Besides, you’ve been stabbed before, Roy, how are you scared of needles?”
“I dunno. I’d rather be stabbed. Can they do that? Use a knife? For the shot?” Roy looked around. “Or a scalpel. Anything but…” He trailed off.
“You know.” Jeff tapped his chin in thought. “This reminds me of the time we saved the blood drive nurses from the Blood Bandits and you lost so much blood that they just strapped you in the chair to give you blood with that absolutely enormous needle-”
“Okay, okay.” Roy hopped off the table. “I’m leaving.”
“I can’t let you do that, Roy.” Eddie stood in his way. “As your friend, I am going to make sure you get this shot.”
Roy laughed, pretended to back off, then feinted to the left, and made a dash to the right. He tried to get to the door. But he was full of nails and too slow.
Eddie grabbed him. Jeff stood in front of the door.
And then the doctor walked in.
“What have we here?” She asked.
All three of them stopped struggling.
“Nothing.” Roy straightened his coat.
“Nothing.” Eddie let go of Roy.
“Nothing.” Jeff picked up a fork he’d dropped.
“I see.” The doctor put down her clipboard. “Well, which one of you is Roy?”
Jeff pointed at Roy.
“Thanks, man.” Roy sighed.
“I will take a bullet for you, Roy, but not a shot”
The doctor sighed. “So Roy, you had an accident with a…” She turned a page. “Nail?”
“Nail gun.” Eddie corrected.
“Okay, and how many nails?” “Three.” Roy sighed.
“We think.” Jeff added.
“You think?” The doctor raised an eyebrow.
“Pretty sure.” Eddie admitted.
“Uh-huh.” The doctor paused for a moment, looked over each of them, then proceeded. “Well, let’s get those nails out, Roy. Then we’ll go from there.”
Roy nodded, almost green.
The doctor and an assistant bandaged the thigh wound and extracted the nail from Roy’s foot. The hand was last. Slowly, carefully, the doctor took the nail out and dressed the wound. She kept up a conversation with Roy the whole time, who was visibly relaxing.
Once that was done, Roy sighed. “That wasn’t so bad. Could we save the-... the shot for another day.”
“No, we can’t.” The doctor answered.
“Why not?”
“Because we’ve already done it.” The doctor stepped back. She had been blocking Roy’s line of sight of his other arm.
The assistant was currently pulling a needle out of Roy’s shoulder.
“Oh.” Roy swayed. And fainted.
“There he goes.” Eddie sighed.
“He’s reliable.” Said Jeff.
(original characters/story)
@mediwhumpmay
Caldwell checked his pocket watch again. Bell was late. Bell was usually a few minutes late. But this was ridiculous. He was late by over an hour.
Maybe he had forgotten their standing appointment. After dinner, Caldwell liked to have Bell sit with him by the fire and talk at him for a few hours. He wouldn’t say it was soothing. But he was a man of habit.
Caldwell walked to the window and looked out into the inky black of night, the roar of a late winter rainstorm pounding the glass of the windows.
Well, if Bell wouldn’t come to him, he would come to Bell.
Caldwell grabbed his overcoat and top hat and strode out into the frigid storm.
The walk down the cottage using the gravel drive was much easier than taking the pasture, less muddy too. Caldwell arrived in no time at the cheerful-looking cottage and raised his hand to bang on the door.
But before he could knock, the door was flung open and Mr. Bell’s farmhand, Hogyn stood there in an oversized raincoat and boots. Hogyn looked up at Caldwell, eyes wide. Caldwell looked down at the young man, mouth open. They stood there a moment more before Hogyn stepped aside.
“Come in, Lord Caldwell, please come in.” Hogyn stammered.
Caldwell did so. “Where is Mr. Bell?”
“That’s what I was going out for, my lord. He’s gone missing.” Hogyn jammed a large floppy hat on his head. “I’m afraid something has happened.”
Caldwell struggled to process this but proceeded forward. “I will help you. But what do you think has happened?”
“He’s been feeling poorly these past few days. And then he went out to fix the pasture fence in all this weather. I couldn’t stop him. He’ll catch his death, my lord, sir.”
Caldwell nodded. “Let’s go then. Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good lad. Take the north end, I’ll take the south. We will meet in the middle.”
And they braved the storm. The rain that pelted down was icy and torrential. The wind ripped across the countryside and it was all Caldwell could do to keep his overcoat closed. His top hat was soon gone. Torn off by a gust. Caldwell headed to the pasture fence and began to work his way along it. He called out for Bell many times, his voice swallowed by the storm.
Caldwell lost the feeling in his ears and fingers. His boots filled with rainwater and mud. His clothes hung heavy, drenched and freezing.
He should have brought a lantern. He should have brought a search party. Bell should not be out in this.
The thought that his dear friend was already dead kept whispering into Caldwell’s thoughts.
Tears mixed with the rain on his face.
Caldwell crested a small hill and realized that he’d almost finished searching his share of the property. And no sign of Bell. Unless…
Caldwell squinted through the downpour at a dark smudge. Something lying in the close cropped grass.
Bell.
Caldwell ran forward as best as he could, slipping and sliding in mud and runoff. It was a person. In a dark coat. Laying face down on the ground.
Caldwell turned the man over.
It was Bell. He’d found him.
Bell’s eyes were closed and rain was beginning to pool in the hollows of his eyes. His dark hair was plastered to his face. He was very pale. So pale.
Caldwell shook his friend. “Bell!” He called.
Nothing. No response.
Caldwell put a hand to Bell’s cheek. He was cold.
Caldwell swallowed hard and took his friend in his arms. Carefully, slowly, he made his way back to the cottage.
When he could, Caldwell looked to Bell’s face. If only he would open his eyes. Or stir. The man lay limp and cold against Caldwell’s chest. Bell was such an animated man. His eyes sparkled and he sang so sweetly. To see him like this, lifeless. So close to death. Caldwell felt his heart clenching.
Hogyn met him along the way.
“You found him, my lord, is he?” Hogyn did not finish the question.
“He’s breathing.” Caldwell answered as they entered the warm cottage, dripping puddles onto the floor. “We need dry clothes. And stoke that fire.”
“All of us needs dry clothes.” Hogyn shut the door and began stripping off his coat and hat. “Lest we catch our death too.”
“No, no.” Caldwell set Bell onto his small bed with a sigh. “I can’t. I have got to go for a doctor. Bell is very ill.”
Hogyn had come over by now. “He hasn’t said anything.”
“Nothing.” Caldwell set his jaw and leaned over his friend. “Bell.” He gently shook Bell’s shoulder. Bell’s head sagged to the side. Caldwell pressed a wet hand to Bell’s wet cheek and stroked it.
“Bell.” He urged again. Willing Bell to wake. To respond. But nothing.
Caldwell backed away, blinking tears back. “He won’t wake. Keep him warm. I will return with a doctor.”
Hogyn was stoking the fire. “What doctor would come all the way in this weather, respectfully, my lord?”
“The one I intend to pay very well.” And Caldwell dashed out into the storm again.
(Dark Shadows 1966)
@mediwhumpmay
As soon as Willie woke up, he regretted it.
Every inch of him ached. Stiff and sore. Lying down hurt. Getting up hurt. Might as well get up.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaning. His head began to throb. Dawn was just beginning to peek into the room, illuminating the dust and the rot.
Willie looked back to his pillow. A dark red and brown stain lay there. His nose must have bled in the night. He touched his swollen and tender cheek.
The flash of a wolf’s head cane and sharp words.
Willie left the bed and padded over to the mirror on the wall.
He thought about things so far. He thought about the distant past that was a few weeks ago. Before he’d come to Colinsport. Before all of this. Before him.
And nothing had really changed.
And that struck a hollow, empty chord within him.
Willie remembered getting into scraps as a kid. Scraped knees. Busted lip. Talking big only to get hit again. He’d always been covered in scabs and bruises.
When he became an adult, it was the same. The scraps were bigger. Brawls. He just talked bigger and bigger.
The hits got harder.
But he learned how to hit too. And he gave as much as he got.
Willie thought and thought and tried to remember a single moment of this life where he hadn’t been bruised. Or bloody. Or in pain.
He drew level with the mirror, realizing he couldn’t remember.
This was just how it was.
His reflection stared back at him in the dim and cold morning light.
A pattern of cane-bruises marched over his face, dark and thunderous.
Willie’s tongue found a tooth, loosened by the blows to his face. He wiggled it. Opened his mouth. Stuck his fingers in. And ripped the tooth out.
Blood covered his fingers and blotted his lips. He slipped the tooth into his pocket.
Willie smiled at himself, bloody and gap-toothed.
At least his outside now matched his inside.
(Original characters/story)
@mediwhumpmay
“That’s not good.”
“What now?” Caey drawled.
Omen stumbled over the corpse of the large salamander and fell to their knees in the leaf litter and decaying wood. The beast was still twitching, tendrils of cold fog rolling from its open mouth and lolling tongue.
The tiara tied to Omen’s belt vibrated and glistened, speaking directly into Omen’s thoughts. “What did you do now? Do not keep me in suspense.”
Omen drew in a shuddering breath and with trembling, bloody fingers, pulled up their tunic. “Not good.” Their words came thickly, as though it was difficult to speak.
“What?” Caey trembled at Omen’s belt.
“Got bit.” Omen fell onto their side.
“By the salamander?”
Omen’s eyes fluttered closed. “Got bit.” Omen repeated.
“Yes, yes, I know!” Caey actually sounded worried.
Omen’s fingers clumsily untied Caey from their belt and brought the tiara to their forehead.
“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you treat your wound?” Caey sputtered as Omen shoved him onto their head. “Omen?!”
Omen’s breaths became wheezing and they struggled to speak. “Venom. You have… to fix me.”
Now that Caey rested upon Omen’s brow, he could sense where their wound lay. It was a throbbing, ragged bite wound upon their left side, still bleeding, and the aforementioned venom was working fast. Too fast.
Omen’s legs began to stiffen and convulse.
“Omen, I don’t have magic. I can’t fix you, you idiot!” Caey shouted into Omen’s thoughts. Caey’s awareness was split between his own knowledge as an object of power, and what Omen could see. Now that they put him on their head, Caey would feel everything Omen felt. See everything they saw.
Omen was fixating on the pale, cloudy sky above, between the brown leaves of late autumn. Caey could feel the pain of tense muscles and the fire in their veins. Did they just want him to suffer alongside them? Why had they put him on?
“Ca-...ey.” Omen hissed through gritted teeth.
“Yes? What should I do? I do not know what you want me to do!” Caey babbled.
Caey could feel Omen’s heart racing.
“When I stop…sh-shaking.” Omen choked. Caey felt something warm, and thick roll from their mouth and dribble down their cheek. “Take control…walk me- to healer…p-please.”
Omen had never put Caey on before.
Omen wouldn’t. Omen knew Caey’s power of possession.
Omen trusted him now.
Caey didn’t know how to feel about this.
But he knew he would do it. He would save Omen.
“I will.” Caey said quickly.
Omen’s body became painfully tight and wracked with convulsions. Every limb stretched taut to breaking. Their heart raced. Bloody foam spilled from between gritted teeth. Omen seized and seized for what seemed like hours. Eyes rolled back in their head. Caey could see only darkness.
Caey, planted firmly on Omen’s sweating brow, rode the waves of pain with his friend. He spoke soothing words into their feverish mind. And as soon as the convulsions died down, Caey took hold of Omen’s body. They were broken and in so much pain. But he ran. Stumbling. Falling. Getting back up. And running. To save Omen’s life. He had to.
(BBC Merlin)
@mediwhumpmay
Merlin didn’t know how long he had been hiding in the thorn bushes. The shouts of the bandits and their crunching footsteps in the snow had long died away. But he dared not move. He could not move.
The deep wound in his thigh made it impossible.
Merlin shivered. The sun was going down.
The frigid, wet snow has soaked deeply into his clothes, contrasting with the hot and sticky blood oozing from his leg. Merlin sighed. Closed his eyes for only a moment. Just a moment. He was so tired.
So tired.
Snow had begun to fall again.
“Merlin!”
Merlin was shaken awake, thigh throbbing with fire. He gasped.
Bandits.
They were after him.
His eyes flew open and before he really saw anything, he sprang away from whatever had grabbed him. He struck out and tried to twist away from the grip on his arm.
“You idiot! Stop it!”
Merlin stopped. The voice was familiar. His vision cleared and Arthur’s face swam into view, cheeks pink with cold.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur’s voice was entirely too loud. The bandits would hear. They would find them. And Merlin was too tired to protect Arthur.
Merlin opened his mouth to warn Arthur.
Prince Arthur stuck his torch upright in the ground and began to haul his manservant to his feet, dusting snow from his clothes. “We have been looking for you for hours. What are you doing napping in a bush? In the snow?”
As soon as Arthur let go, Merlin crumpled, pain flaring in his leg. He gasped as he hit the ground.
“What is wrong with you now?”
“Leg.” Merlin whispered.
Arthur didn’t try to pick him up this time but instead brought the torch closer to examine Merlin’s leg.
“You’re hurt.” A rough gloved hand probed the wound.
Merlin jumped and cried out. “Yes.” He panted. “Bandits… attacked me while I was-”
“Gathering herbs for Gaius.” Arthur finished, removing his hand quickly. “I know, he asked us to look for you when you didn’t come back. This is still bleeding, Merlin, we should- What should we do?”
Merlin saw Arthur looking at him for help, eyes wide, face white. Arthur was scared. Arthur didn’t know what to do.
Merlin swallowed and nodded, trying to focus. What would Gaius do?”
“I’m cold and-”
Before Merlin had finished speaking, Arthur had taken off his cloak and wrapped it around Merlin’s body.
Merlin smiled a little at the warmth and closed his eyes.
“And?” Arthur prodded him. “What else?”
Merlin opened his eyes again. “The wound, I need to look at it. Either bind it or sew it. Got to… got to clean it.”
“Can’t I just get you back to Gaius?” Arthur frowned. “He can fix you up.”
“No.” Merlin shook his head, the world spinning a little. “No, it’s still bleeding. I might not get back in time.”
“In time for what?”
Merlin gave Arthur a look.
Arthur met his gaze then nodded. “Right, yes, dying. Sorry.”
“Obviously.” Merlin sighed. He thought a moment more. “Can you start a fire?”
“It’ll be difficult with the snow.”
“I know.”
“I’ll do it.” Arthur got up. “I’ll get kindling. Don’t die while I’m gone.”
Merlin huffed out a laugh. “I’ll try.” He tried to put pressure on the wound and winced in pain.
Merlin drifted a little. Arthur came back pretty quickly and using the flint that Merlin carried in his bag, started a little campfire. Merlin finally began to warm, the feeling returning to his fingers and toes.
“Better?” Arthur asked, finally sitting down nearby.
Merlin nodded.
Arthur leaned forward. “Now what?”
Merlin swallowed hard. “I need to look at the wound, close to the light of the fire.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Arthur stood up again and helped Merlin slide closer to the fire.
“Thanks.” Merlin grunted and looked down at the slit in his pant-leg, dark with blood. “Do you have a knife so I could-”
Arthur leaned forward and just ripped the pant-leg open, revealing Merlin’s thigh and the ugly, oozing wound.
Merlin sighed. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.” Arthur looked at the wound. “That looks bad, Merlin.” His voice had become tight.
“I know.” Merlin opened his bag and began to dig around. “I think-... I think I have to suture it.”
“Like sewing? What are you going to use for needle and thread out here, idiot? I should have taken you to Gaius.”
Merlin held up his small sewing pouch under Arthur’s nose.
“What’s this?”
“My sewing kit.” Merlin smirked a little.
“You carry a sewing kit everywhere you go? You are such a girl, Merlin.”
“A prepared girl.”
“You have me there.” Arthur admitted.
Merlin unrolled the pouch and pulled out the roll of gut and a curved, sharpened fish bone. His trusty needle. He’d made it last summer and was rather proud of it.
Merlin prepared the needle and thread and sat up against his bag and Arthur’s rolled up cloak. This was the best view he was going to get of the wound. Merlin raised the needle.
“Wait, wait.” Arthur stopped him.
“What?”
Arthur gestured towards the wound. “Is that it? You’re not going to clean it? Or take something for the pain?”
Merlin frowned. “Arthur, Prince Dolt, we are in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing to clean it with. And I have no herbs for pain, nor any way to prepare them. My main concern is just not to lose enough blood that I die. So I will suture this. Bind it. And then we can get back to Gaius for the other things. Understand?”
Arthur had gone a little pale, but nodded.
Merlin took a breath and began to sew.
The first suture was awful. The second was worse.
Well, they were very neat. Gaius would be proud. But they hurt so much on top of the fiery pain of the sword wound.
The third made sweat bead on Merlin’s forehead and upper lip. The fourth had him panting.
In the middle of the fifth, Arthur asked. “Does it hurt?”
Merlin didn’t take his eyes off his work and couldn’t really form words. He had just enough energy to grunt.
“Right, sorry.” Arthur kept quiet after that.
The sixth made the blood drain from Merlin’s face. He stopped counting after that. Or he lost count.
He tied off the last suture and cut the gut. Arthur pressed some strips of cloth into his hands and Merlin managed to bandage the wound, tying it with numb and blood-stained fingers.
His whole leg throbbed. The forest spun around him. Merlin closed his eyes.
A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other supported his knees. He floated away.
(Original characters/story)
@mediwhumpmay
“How-” Tate cleared his throat, his voice rough with a sore throat. “How far is it now?”
Troy craned his neck to look at the IV bag behind Tate’s bed. “Not even close.”
Tate sighed and closed his eyes. “Sorry. You can go. You don’t have to stay until they discharge me.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it, I-”
“Kid, I’m staying. Sharon knows where I am. Julia’s in bed. I’ve got nowhere to be.”
Tate sighed.
Troy added. “I want to be here.”
“Bull.”
The room was quiet but the rest of the hospital outside was loud with beeps and talking and fast-paced steps, despite the fact it was close to midnight.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Troy asked.
“Is it close to halfway?”
Troy didn’t bother looking, but kept his eyes on Tate. “Not even close.”
Tate grimaced as he swallowed. “I don’t know. Didn’t think I was that sick.”
“Your blood sugar was low. When did you last eat?”
Tate sighed. “What are you? My dad?”
Troy waited.
Tate thought back to the past day. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Just half a bagel. He lowered his eyes to his hands in his lap. “I ate breakfast.”
“Jesus, Tate, what the hell? I can’t work with you if you aren’t taking care of yourself.” Troy stood up and ran his hand through his hair.
Tate touched the spot where the IV entered his arm, wincing. “I had a bad day.”
“All it takes is one bad day!” Troy’s face was red.
“I’ll do better.” Tears started in Tate’s eyes and he wiped them away. He really didn’t want to cry in front of Troy. Not after all this. Fainting and being taken to the hospital was humiliating enough.
“I’ll do better.” He repeated.
“I’m sorry.” Troy crouched down by Tate’s bed. “Hey, kid, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“You can go.” Tate wiped his eyes one more time. “It’s fine.”
Troy nodded. “I know. But I’m gonna stay.”
“It’s fine.” Tate mouthed, finger tracing the tape that held his IV in place.
“Hey.” Troy nudged Tate’s shoulder.
Tate looked up.
Troy nodded at the IV bag. “It’s almost halfway.”
Tate smiled and swallowed hard.
Troy put the back of his hand to Tate’s forehead. “Fever’s down.”
“Thanks, dad.” Tate rolled his eyes.
“I’m not old enough to be your dad, kid.”
“Well, you’re acting like one.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Pizza after this?” Tate asked, unsure of Troy’s response. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m starving.” Troy settled back into the angular hospital chair.
Tate smiled and leaned his head back against the bed. “Awesome.”
“You’re paying though.” Troy grunted.
Tate grinned.