#(still waiting to get an mri done at the stupid hospital on the big fucking hill. but whatever right. ITS ONLY BEEN A MONTH)
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so two weeks ago my kneecap spontaneously dislocated. no one really knows whats up with that. i get raised eyebrows and “but what did you do”s every time someone sees my splinted leg and asks what happened. so the orthopedist says this stays on for six weeks. then, you can do physiotherapy and we’ll hope this never happens again.
ok, great. so the good news is i CAN put weight on it. the doctor in the hospital gives me a pair of crutches, smiles at me like it’s not 6am and i haven’t been sitting in the er all night, says Just In Case. that’s great too.
the bad news?
i live on the third floor of a building with no elevator.
the building i work in has three floors and one elevator on the opposite side from where we’re located, which can only be accessed with a special key anyway. oh, and there’s construction going on this summer - so actually, the elevator isn’t even going to be accessible. plus, it doesn’t go to the third floor anyway, which is where my classroom is, at the end of the hallway.
that’s fine, though. i take public transit to and from work every day. at least the metro stations have elevators, right? well…14 out of about 70 stations in the city have them. i’m lucky that my local one does - the station i transfer at for work doesn’t have one to the platform i have to transfer to. the one i leave work from has three flights of stairs from the platform to the terminal.
so, keeping in mind i have to go up and down the stairs at work by the whims of my children and supervisors, and the staff room where i have to eat my lunch is on a different floor than my classroom, i’m averaging 20+ flights of stairs every single day. and cannot bend one of my knees, which is at the end of each day about as swollen as it was the day i dislocated it. my doctor prescribed me a month’s worth of naproxen, which my pharmacist was shocked by. she said, usually you only need this for a week. until the swelling goes down.
but the swelling is managed with some ice here and there anyway. so i’ll live. what really hurts is when i’m on the bus - because my commute to work involves two busses and two trains each way - and people trip over my leg because they just aren’t paying attention. i am at the mercy of kind strangers who notice and stand protectively over my leg, when i am lucky enough that upon boarding a bustling bus someone even gives me their seat. otherwise, i’m forced to stand on one leg to avoid putting too much force on my injured one each time we hit a bump.
(three times since my injury i have been the only person to offer my seat to another person with limited mobility on the bus, which every time the person in question has denied while everyone else’s eyes remain down and mouths remain shut.)
and lets not forget - i live in a city where everything is built atop huge fucking hills. at the top of one is the hospital. just below that, my university’s campus and student clinic.
am i just complaining for the sake of complaining? a little bit. but mostly i am thinking about how the inaccessibility around me is actively making it more difficult for me to heal from what is, spontaneity aside, a fairly common injury. i can’t quit my job. i need to attend my appointments. were it not june, i’d have to go to class. i am incredibly lucky to have friends who are willing to help with groceries and laundry, which would be particularly difficult for me due to the number of stairs i’d have to climb with my hands full, but if i didn’t - those are not things i could stop doing for myself and expect to survive for six weeks either, especially when i’m working 40 hours a week with 2+ hours of commuting a day.
anyway. maybe there’s not a lot the average person can do to help people with limited mobility. but giving up your seat on the bus is a pretty good first step and always has been.
#taylor.txt#life update for anyone even remotely interested#gee taylor why arent you writing anything. gestures rapidly. I AM SO FUCKING TIRED#i have to wake up around 5am every day to get to work on time cause i have a walking speed debuff of like 200%#500% on stairs If we’re being honest. god nerfed me for the summer which is SAD because my brain got nerfed for 2 full years and now this#dont take my tone to be indicative of anything though. in many respects im actually doing great and thriving#my real issues are The Brain Disorder which unfortunately i cant do much more than cope with until the end of summer#when im done work and i take my cat to the kitty dentist and put myself an extra few thousand in debt because her old owner couldnt be assed#to take her to the vet once in a while i guess. i dont know. guys my life is such a mess. dont even get me started on gallstones#(still waiting to get an mri done at the stupid hospital on the big fucking hill. but whatever right. ITS ONLY BEEN A MONTH)#but yeah im doing great and i mean that genuinsly like im not being sarcastic in spite of it all
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Going Home (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}
Title: Going Home
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2400
Warnings: Angst and discussion of pregnancy complications, allusions to post-partum depression.
Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set June 1997. I call this chapter, Javier finally having an emotional breakdown.
Summary: Reader gets discharged from the hospital and Javier finally snaps.
Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @longitud-de-onda @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @seeking-a-great--perhaps @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066
“Bruno says he was a little scared.” Josie explained as she pretended to walk the dog up the blanket between them.
“He was scared?” You questioned as you ran your hand down her back, tilting your head to look down at her. “There’s nothing to be scared of, babydoll.”
Javier had been wise to keep Josie out of the hospital with you until after they’d taken you off oxygen and no longer had sensors attached to your head. She didn’t need to see any of that shit. She was still too young to fully understand the situation.
All she knew was that she had a new baby sister.
“Uh-hu.” Josie nodded her little head. “But then he remembered that daddy was big and strong and he didn’t need to be scared.”
Javier was across the room, passing Sofía off to her grandfather. “What was that about daddy?” He questioned, hands on his hips as he approached your bed.
“Bruno was scared, but you’re strong daddy!”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Your mommy is much stronger than I am. If Bruno had something to be afraid of, she’s the one who comforted him.”
“Oh.” Josie said, whispering to Bruno. “Did mommy help too?” She pretended to bark his answer and you couldn’t help but laugh.
Javier reached out and brushed his knuckles against your cheek, his thumb brushing over the rise of your cheekbone. “You look better today.”
“Yeah?” You leaned into his touch, sighing heavily. “I feel better today.”
“You’ve got color in your cheeks.” Javier tilted his head as he studied your face. “And your eyes… still glad to see them.”
Your heart clenched at his words and you lowered your gaze to Josie who was currently walking Bruno up your arm. There was a part of you that was dreading the fact that you were going home. Going home meant having conversations you weren’t ready to have.
Life in the hospital sucked. Monitors beeping, nurses walking in — no one could rest in a hospital. No matter how many times they told you to get some sleep. Javier wasn’t sleeping. The recliner that Chucho was sitting in, feeding Sofía from a bottle, had been left untouched.
It was June third and you were fairly certain Javier had only gotten five hours of sleep since you went into labor. And it showed. There were dark bags under his eyes, his scruff had transformed into a patchy beard, and he looked like the experience had aged him five years. But it wasn’t just this experience weighing on him, you knew the heaviest weight was the guilt he tried to shield you from.
“This is my fault.”
You had heard him.
But the hospital wasn’t the place to confront him about his guilt. Hell, you doubted he’d even humor the conversation once you got home. He looked at you like a man who feared sending the woman he loved to an early grave.
Tomorrow you would be going home. The doctor was pleased with the results of your MRI and the PET scan. The seizure didn’t seem to have caused any lesions or long term issues for you to be worried about. Your blood pressure had stabilized nicely and you had a whole bag full of medicines that would be going home with you.
The doctor had even assured you that you’d likely be able to breastfeed by the end of next week. You just had to keep pumping to keep yourself from drying up. That was one of the many things that was keeping you going. You had breastfed Josie for almost two years and you had been looking forward to having that experience with Sofía too. If she didn’t decide she prefered her father feeding her from a bottle over you.
Not that you could blame her. You hadn’t been there for her.
You clenched your eyes closed, trying to will yourself not to cry. It was stupid. So fucking stupid. What were you supposed to do? You had had a seizure, they had sedated you… It wasn’t something you could just choose to ignore. But still, you felt like you’d failed her.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Javier questioned, taking your hand into his. “Are you hurting?”
You blinked, hastily wiping at your eyes. “I’m fine.” You lied and you knew that he knew that you were lying. You exhaled shakily, glancing around the room. “Where’s the go-bag? You remembered to pack the camera, right?”
Javier frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
“We didn’t take any pictures after Sofía was born.” You reminded him. “Get the camera and my hairbrush out. I’m sure this,” You gestured to your head. “Looks like a rat’s nest.”
“A bit.” He chuckled, reluctantly moving from your bedside to grab the go-bag. It was meant to be everything the two of you would need after Sofía was born, but it had gone largely unused given how things turned out.
“You are very pretty mommy.” Josie told you, reaching up to pat your cheeks with both hands.
“I’ll take your word for it, sweetpea.” You tapped her nose, making her giggle. “I’m going to need you to get up for just a few minutes, okay? You can go help your abuelito feed your sister.”
Javier picked Josie up off the bed. “You sure you don’t want to wait until we get home?” He questioned, brows furrowed as he looked back to you.
“No. I want to do it here.” You insisted as you pulled your covers off and pressed the button to make the bed sit upright. You inhaled and exhaled slowly, before you moved to get out of the bed. You were a little unsteady on your feet at first, but you focused on your center of gravity just like they’d practiced with you in PT.
“Do you need—“
“Nope.” You helped your hand to stop Javier from trying to help. “I’ve got it.” You assured him, reaching for your IV pole and rolling it with you towards the wheelchair. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but you still weren’t completely stable on your feet.
You looked towards him then, offering him a small smile. “You can brush my hair, if you want to.” You offered, pushing your fingers through the mess on top of your head.
“You sure?”
“It’s just like doing Josie’s hair.” You rolled the wheelchair forward, giving him space to wheel the rolling stool over to you.
Javier was gentle as he went to work brushing your hair, and he carefully picked out knots he encountered. It was nice — relaxing. Strangely intimate. But he was still treating you like you were breakable… which you hated, even if it was true.
“How does that feel?” He questioned, curling his hands around your shoulders. He squeezed gently, three little squeezes that reminded you of his love for you.
“Like I’m going to make you do that when we get home.” You quipped, turning your head to look back at him. “But do you know what the first thing I’m going to do when I get home?”
“Take a bath?”
“Very tempting.” You smiled a little. “But no. I’m going to make you go to bed.”
Javier leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “There’s so much to do when we get home.” He whispered as you played your fingers through his dark hair.
“Your dad’s staying with us to help with Sofía.” You reminded him, tracing your fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck. “We’ve got Monica to help with Josie.” Your brows drew together as he tilted his head to look at you. “You look rough.”
“I feel rough.” He admitted with a sigh, pulling back then. “Right. We were going to take a picture.” Javier didn’t look back at you as he got up and went back to the go-bag to dig out the camera. “Do you want to hold Sofía?”
“You can hold her. Josie can sit in my lap.”
“The lighting is good by the window,” Chucho supplied as he got up from the recliner to put Sofía back in her bassinet. Your eyes followed him across the room, until you caught Javier staring at you.
There was a lot that needed to be discussed.
Tracking down narcos was easy. Going after Pablo Escobar. Grappling with sexism in the workplace. Getting fucking shot. All of that was easy. Telling your partner that you felt like you had failed your daughter before she was even a day old? That wasn’t something that was easily confessed.
You didn’t even want to hold her, even when you did. You were afraid she’d somehow know, innately, that you had done something wrong. That you had failed her. And it sucked that you couldn’t get it out of your head. That your self doubt was overshadowing something that should’ve been good.
It didn’t help knowing that Javier felt guilty. You had wanted this to go right this time. To have an experience that wasn’t marred with stress and pain. But somehow the DEA had managed to overshadow everything again. And they’d keep overshadowing your life until you put the spotlight on them.
——
Monica and Connie had made a ‘WELCOME HOME’ banner for you. They had it strung across the front door of the house and inside they’d decorated with pink and green balloons — matching the colors you and Javier had painted Sofía’s room.
You put on a happy smile about the pseudo-celebration, but you knew Javier could see straight through it. Not that he seemed particularly thrilled about the surprise either.
He’d torn the banner down the second Connie and Monica left for the night.
“I missed this the most.” You remarked as you sank back onto the bed, sprawled out in the center. The hospital bed had been a fucking nightmare on your back and hips.
Javier was just standing there. Staring at you. Hands on his hips and his expression entirely unreadable.
You sat up on your elbows, brows furrowed as you met his gaze. “Babe, what’s wrong?” You questioned, swallowing thickly around the lump of emotion in your throat. “Javi.”
Something snapped.
His expression crumpled and his knees gave out on him. The weight of it all was too much for him to carry now that you were both together behind a closed door.
The sound of a sob rising up from somewhere deep within his chest made your stomach turn. It was raw, primal… true pain.
Javier had buried his emotions for so many years. Emotions left to fester, grief allowed to bore its hooks into him. Sure, he’d let out little bursts of what he felt, but it was never all of it.
It was never all of the anguish he’d held onto.
You forced yourself off the bed, despite how heavy your limbs felt. You sank down onto the floor beside him, taking him into your arms.
There was nothing to be said. Not yet. Not while his hot tears fell against the skin that the crook of your neck. His hands gripped at you, hard enough to leave bruise — bruises you’d relish over the tapestry of bruises on your hands and arms from IVs and drawn blood.
You had never seen Javier sob like this before. You had seen tears, you had seen him cry, you had seen the aftermath of nightmares… but you had never seen him like this. Inconsolable was the only word for it.
“It’s okay, Javi.” You whispered, running your fingers through his hair as you tried to soothe him. “I love you.” You pressed your lips to his shoulder, fingers balling up the fabric of his shirt at his back. “I have you.”
“I almost… I almost…”
“I know.” You ran your hand down the length of his back, “But you didn’t. And it isn’t your fault, Javi.”
Javier stiffened in your arms. “Baby—“
“No, Javier.” You pulled back, shaking his shoulders. “You have to fucking stop. You can’t keep doing this.” Your hands cupped his cheeks then, your eyes pleading with him. “This guilt is going to fucking kill you.”
“You almost died!”
“But I didn’t.” You snapped. “I didn’t die, Javier. And it wasn’t your fault! This could’ve happened to me, stress or not. My physical therapist had two healthy pregnancies and had preeclampsia with her third. It happens and it’s not your fault.”
Javier took your hands off his face, pulling away from you. “But it is my fault. If I hadn’t stirred up this shit with the DEA—“
“We have a four-year-old. I work for the police department.” You reminded him. “My life is already stressful.” You dragged your hands over your face. “But I can’t keep doing this Javier. I can’t handle knowing that you think you’re responsible for everything that goes wrong in my life.”
Javier stared at you.
You swallowed thickly, wringing your hands together. “I can’t handle it, okay?”
“Okay.” Javier nodded slowly.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You questioned, reaching out to brush your fingers over his forehead. “None of this is your fault.”
“I feel guilty.”
“I know.” You grimaced a little as you shifted how you were sitting. “The floor is not kind to a body that just gave birth.” You explained with a strained laugh. “We both need to sleep, Javi. It’s been a long fucking week.”
“Longest week of my life.” He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, before he hauled himself onto his feet.
Javier held his hands out to help you up, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Javi.” You shook your head as you looked up at him. “We’re both tired.” You brought his hands up to kiss his them, lips pressing to each knuckle. “No one is at fault for any of this. But I am tired and barely holding it together right now.”
“I know.” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “It’s just hard to accept it…” Javier sat down at the foot of the bed, sinking backwards. “That someone isn’t at fault. If it’s me… I can blame myself.”
“That’s not good for your health.” You reminded him, laying down beside him. You shifted close, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “We aren’t as young as we used to be, Javi.”
“No fucking shit.” He huffed, curling his arm around you. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.” You whispered.
There was so much you wanted to discuss. So many emotions you wanted to process but you didn’t know how. There was no amount of research you could do to handle this.
All you could do was sleep and hope that tomorrow would be one more better day.
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Living a Lie: Chapter 2
Thank you for everyone who helped with this fic, including the fantastic @2smittinkittin, the wonderful beta for this chapter, and @kittykatlow, who is still forever supportive.
Summary: Penelope Grace Darling: the name you live by, the only name the world remembers. That doesn’t keep the memories of Y/N out of your head. All you ever wanted to do was create a better world. You thought you were doing that until some unexpected visitors to your hometown turn your world upside down. Can you leave your past behind you in order to keep your loved ones safe? Or will your fragmented memories keep you from the truth?
Pairings: Past Winter Soldier/Reader, Plus sized!Reader. Slow burn Bucky Barnes/ Reader.
Warnings: Dub/Noncon, Rape, Kidnapping, human trafficking (referenced), Underage Rape, Swearing, PTSD, Anxiety attacks, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Non-consenting drug use, underage Drug use, Violence, Domestic Violence, I’m trying to remember what else comes later in the series.
This is a Dark Fic if you don’t like it, Don’t Read It!
Chapter 1
Looking genuinely confused as you try to place the name with the context, your eyes flipping between the four people who were now staring at you. Three highly amused with your confusion and one completely flabbergasted. “Daisy calm down a bit? I am apparently missing something here, and you yelling is definitely not helping me piece it together.”
At this, Clint bends over himself, clutching his sides as his laughter rips through his chest. What a sexy laugh? Even though it’s at my expense. Nat smirks a little longer than her usual quick flashes. Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, extends her hand, “Hello, My name is Wanda, but I’m usually more recognized by my superhero name: The Scarlet Witch. These are my teammates and friends, Natasha, or The Black Widow, and Clint, also known as Hawkeye. It’s very nice to meet you, Penelope. We definitely appreciate the help with the shoes.”
As her sentences click in your brain, your eyes grow as big as your glasses’ rims. Your jaw pops open, “Oh, well, it’s nice to meet you, too?” You say with a nervous laugh, well, this is embarrassing. “Thank you for coming into our store. Daisy, don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to go grab my purse, and then I’m going to lunch.” you face still plastered with saucer-sized eyes as you slip through the curtains.
How could I not know who they were? I know I use Daisy and Bruce as my source of current events, but I should at least know the Avengers’ faces. You grab your purse, slinging it across your body before proceeding out the front door toward the little corner bakery. At least I didn’t act like a complete fool. Daisy is probably freaking out. I shouldn’t have left her alone with them, she’s going to eat them alive. Who am I kidding? They’ll be fine, they are the Avengers, they can handle an over-excited almost adult.
Thankfully, lunch and the rest of your shift flew by without any other famous guests. Your nerves were on the fritz, though; it felt as if someone was watching you. No matter what you did, You just couldn’t relax. Every movement drew your attention. Every sound made you flinch. As Bruce came through the door, you burst at the seams with the need to make your escape. You threw a passing goodbye to your boss as you jogged to your car, not even sparing a moment to change the radio back to a public station. You were out of the parking lot and on the road in seconds, causing Gertrude to complain loudly. Fighting off the sharp edges of the panic that blistered your mind. Within two blocks, you were pulled over, hand clawing at your chest, sight wavering as you throw Gertrude into park. Before you can even think about counting the rails in the fence, your vision is black.
“Пожалуйста, прекратите! [Please stop!]” The high-pitched scream echoes through the small, dark room. “Вам не нужно этого делать [You don’t need to do this].” a shock of pain courses over your back as a second resounding crack follows.
“Тишина [SILENCE],” comes the cold order. “Вы говорите, когда я хочу, чтобы вы говорите! [You speak when I want you to speak!]” two more cracks and, after a second, two more blazing paths are scorching your skin. Confusion is mixed into the muddled neurons of your brain as you hear the metal door sliding open.
Cautiously you lift your eyes, peering over your shoulder, only to be met by another crack that catches you across the cheek. With another bloodcurdling scream, you fall onto your freshly whipped back. Holding a cuffed hand to your sliced cheek, you meet the coldest pair of steel-blue eyes you have ever seen. “Этого достаточно. Они готовы к этому. [That’s enough. They are ready for it]” came the icy baritone through the black mask.
Your assailant scowls at the man. “Пациент не готов. [The subject is not ready]”
The empty-eyed man ignores him as he steps closer to you. “Они готовы [they are ready],” he repeats. He reaches for your arm mechanically. It was as if he was only going through the motions without knowing what he was doing.
You flinch from his extended right hand, cowering away. “Вам не нужно этого делать [You don’t need to do this].” comes the pleading voice that you realize is coming from you.
He continues forward, dragging you out of the room to the scream of the man you left behind. “Она не твоя [She is not yours]!”
Sobbing into the steering wheel of your beloved clunker, you hold onto your thick sides. The black-rimmed, ice-filled eyes continue to hover in your peripheral as you come out of the onslaught of memories. It’s not real, I am in Utah, they are not here, he is not here. I am safe. Coulson promised I am safe. After eight more deep breaths, your thoughts are cut off by a peppy, upbeat melody sung by a flowy lyric-soprano. “I know you can hear this Penny, so pick up, or I’ll sing it higher.” As the melody repeats for the third time, you scramble to pick your phone up.
“Delilah, I hope you realize that the ringtone you made me is, in fact, the cruelest practical joke anyone has ever succeeded in pulling.” You snip the need to portray normalcy coming through in your irritation at one of your best friends.
“I loooove you too, darling.” came the cloying giggle from the other end of the line. “Taylor and I were just talking about the Stark expo that is opening tonight. Also, we haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. Please save me from going to this thing without you. You can interpret Tay’s wild ramblings for me, and you can get out of that dungeon you call a bedroom for a night! It’ll be fun! Pleeeeeeeease~.”
You can see the bright amber puppy-dog eyes she was giving you through the phone. There was no way she would let you off the hook if Taylor was dragging her to the Expo. Knowing Taylor, they had probably pre-ordered three VIP passes months ago and had been secretly geeking out since, waiting to haul us to their favorite displays and setting up the perfect itinerary. But also in their excitement, forgot to tell us about it until now.
With a sigh, you throw your head back onto the headrest. “I’m going whether or not I want to, aren’t I?”
“You know us so well,” came Taylor’s dark-tenor chuckle through the speaker.
“Well, I’m headed to my appointment up there right now. If you want to meet me at the east entrance of the Salt Palace afterward...” You resign, glancing at the radio clock in the dash. “I should be done by the time you get there, but I’ll text you when I’m on my way.” Delilah squeals, and Tay’s hums in contentment.
“See you there,” they both reply. “Drive safe, Drive smart.”
“You too. I’d suggest taking Trax if you can. The parking is gonna be a nightmare. I can take y’all home when we’re done.”
“Sounds like a plan. See you there,” Tay calls through Lila’s squeals before hanging up.
Staring blankly through the window for a minute before turning on the radio and making your way back into heavy Utah traffic.
An hour later, you pull into the large parking structure, running out of the car and into the blazing summer heat. Fucking Utah drivers. Unable to go a single day without causing some sort of preventable crash. Bursting into the large hospital, you clip your little identification tag before heading to the research lab where they run all their tests. Pulling your shoulders back as you scan your ID and pass the double doors that say: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
You follow the labyrinth of hallways to a small medical-exam room in the furthest corner of the buildings. X-rays, MRIs, and Photos were stuck to lightboards around the room. With a huff, you look away from the gruesome images, towards a devilishly-handsome blond clothed in SHIELD emblazoned shrubs and a University of Utah Hospital doctor’s coat. The modelesque picture on his ID not doing him justice.
“Hello, Miss Darling, only ten minutes early. What happened, you get stuck in traffic?” His aggravatingly-nasal voice pierced through the sounds of him typing on his small laptop, reminding you just how much you dislike this man.
“Yes, actually, Dr. Fenris. There were three crashes on I-15, and then there was a line of cars four miles long getting off for the Expo. I never realized that there was enough parking for that here.” I grit my teeth, plastering on my smile at his joke.
“Well, I see no use dilly-dallying any further; if you’ll change into your gown and then sit on the exam table, we’ll start with that today, then we’ll head to the MRI and X-ray followed by your physical strength and endurance testing.” Dr. Fenris said as you grabbed the scratchy hospital gown off the end of the exam table and started changing. There is no use hiding your body, this man has seen every part of my it over the last four years since you’ve come back to the states. If you were honest with yourself, you would stop these useless exams. The longer they went, the worse you were being treated, and the more you get the feeling that something is wrong. It’s not like they were making any progress in making this “cure” that you are supposedly helping with.
Gown on, you sit on the bed. Legs dangling off the floor slightly as you wait for Fenris to finish whatever he is typing. As he turns his attention to you with a smirk, a wicked glint enters his eye. “Look at that; just as predicted, your healing time has decreased since the last time you got an abrasion. This week we’re going to analyze how your platelets are going to react to different poisons.”
Looking at him cautiously, you move the slightest bit away from his seat.
“Oh silly, we are going to do it in the lab. Just a couple of vials of blood from you are needed. For now, at least.” He placates jovially, pulling out a tray of vials and a winged phlebotomy kit.
You warily keep your eye on him as he comes around to the side of the table. Right as he’s about to stick you, a knock comes at the door. You look at the doctor surprised. He just gives a tight smile, showing a tight smile as he turns to the door, opening it. “Dr. Banner, I didn’t think you were going to come in today.” the jittery surprise made evident his cheerful mask.
“I wasn’t planning on it. Then I noticed that the subject of your tests was going to be in today and couldn’t help but want to see her for myself.” responded the gentle-looking man with salt and pepper hair and black-rimmed, nerd glasses. “My name is Dr. Bruce Banner. I am here to check on the status of Dr. Fenris’ research.”
“Hey,” you say with an awkward little wave, “I’m Penelope, but I guess you knew that already since I am his research,” you can’t help the self-deprecating chuckle and tight smile that follow Dr. Banner’s staring. “You just got to his favorite part. Fenris here was just about to stab me like Vlad the Impaler.” Your anxiety at Fenris’ obvious joy from your pain showing slightly.
Dr. Banner looked at you with complete horror. Turning to Dr. Fenris with a look of disgust. “I should hope not. It would be disappointing if this project were to stop. There is great potential for new knowledge and understanding here.”
Giggling slightly at the furious look Fenris throws you, your chest releases. “It was one time, Ms. Darling. And you healed before you even left the hospital.”
“Doesn’t mean you won’t do it again, Dr. we-are-testing-your-platelets’-reaction-to-poisons-this-week. I feel like my cautiousness is well deserved, and I still hate needles,” you pout. “Now, if you’ll hurry up and stick me so we can get this over with. I’m supposed to be going to the Stark expo thingy. Gotta play the interpreter between my friends. Though, I’m pretty sure they are just using that excuse to get me to go with them.”
Dr. Banner chuckled awkwardly as you turn to him, trying to ignore the deplorable doctor to your right. “Anyway, how hopeful are you for this research Dr. Banner? Are you going to the Expo? I hear that they will be talking about the new renewable resource cells Stark Industries is working on. I hope that they are planning on making them powerful enough to bring about an electric car. There are just too many oil refineries around here to be healthy. I personally would hop on that electric car bandwagon if there was one affordable and efficient.”
As you rambled, two large sterile culture bottles and six smaller tubes are filled with your blood. Dr. Banner keeps out of the way as Fenris goes about testing your reflexes and taking measurements of your leg, inspecting the other doctor’s work before Looking at the pictures, and medical imaging on the wall. “How long ago were these pictures taken?” He finally asks, pointing to the first set of photographs. Your leg was utterly ravaged, exposing the metal skeleton while the flesh looked like it was used as a cougar’s chew toy.
“Four years.” I wince, remembering the carnage that Fury and Coulson had found me in. “Almost to the day.”
“And this one?” gesturing to the next picture; muscle and tendon now in some sense of a sinewy leg. The skin overlying the fragile tissues without much scar tissue.
“Two weeks later. The next is two weeks after that. I can tell you that growing pains are indeed worth all the crying that children do over them.” You joke, looking at the almost normal looking appendage in the picture, then at the more tone,d version currently attached to your body.
“Can you feel it? When did it start?” You could tell that Banner’s questions were from a scientific fascination that made you smirk. He looked kind of like a little boy set loose in a candy store; intrigued, and full of genuine curiosity.
“I can’t really feel it, but my brain started to connect to it a few months after the initial accident. I am kinda glad I can’t feel it though. Getting back feeling all at once makes ‘pins and needles’ look like child’s play. Though according to Dr. Fenris, my body is apparently fully healed, and I could get the feeling back any second.”
“Have you had today’s scans? Can I see them?”
“Not yet. That comes after the blood draw today, Then it’s time for some superhero training. Apparently, it’s not enough to take all my healing into account. I’m also being studied as a Superhuman… Fenris here likes to refer to me as a Supersoldier. I don’t really see how that fits since I never was technically a soldier-”
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind me accompanying you, we can see what you can do. Who knows maybe by the end of today you’ll be vetted into the Avengers.”
“I don’t think that will be a possibility, Dr. Banner. I don’t think SHIELD is a big fan of my existence. I am only useful as a lab rat.”
The man looks to Fenris through the corner of his eye. “Is that right? I have a feeling many things about this research are going to be changing,” a deep undertone of discontent laced through the Dr.’s words.
Throughout the next hour, more medical tests are done. By the time we are back into the little exam room, you are full of pent up energy. Now was your favorite part of these appointments. You get to actually use some of the ‘powers’ that You were given. You could set yourself free.
If you want more Winter Soldier fics, check out @darkficsyouneveraskedfor. They have a great one called Breach.
Thank you all for reading.
Tags are open for this fic; I am also curious to see what you all think. Share your truth with me.
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bittersweet | 25
pairing: stiles stilinski x oc
a/n: wow, did I actually stick to my promise of updating more often? I guess so. hope you enjoyed this chapter and please tell me what you thought!
warnings: mentions of a psychiatric hospital, violence, and angst.
wordcount: 1756
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Stiles
I exchanged a sad look with my dad as he pulled the car up in front of Eichen House, neither of us knowing what to say. So instead we opened the doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
I stared up at the building. It was scary as shit. Like something straight out of a horror movie. Normally it would be the last place I wanted to go to. But I knew this was for the best for everyone else.
I felt dad's stare on the back of my neck. This was probably the last thing he wanted to do as well, but at least he respected my choice.
I brought my gaze away from the building when I heard rapid footsteps approaching, followed by the sound of a motorbike. The motorbike pulled up first. A sigh escaped my lips as I saw who it was. This was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
As Scott pulled off his helmet, Valerie appeared beside him, the sound of her footsteps coming to a stop. She braced her hands on her knees and wheezed, trying to regain her breath. Had she really ran all the way here for me?
Scott quickly got off his bike, Valerie following behind him, though still a bit out of breath. Scott looked between me and my dad quickly before asking, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because we wanted to avoid something like this," said dad seriously.
"It's only 72 hours," I said.
Valerie turned to me, her facial expression both incredulous and angry. "This is the same place where Barrow came from," she cried. "The guy who had a tumor full of flies and tried to kill me!"
I looked down at the ground. I just couldn't bear looking at her face any longer. It killed me. Cause all I could do was think of what I'd done while possessed, how I'd hurt her, and how good it felt to do so.
"You don't know everything yet," said Scott, his desperate eyes locked on my dad.
"I know enough. Nogitsunes, kitsunes, oni, or whatever they're called."
"No, that's actually all surprisingly correct," I said.
"Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's... And it terrifies me. I'm headed down to L.A tomorrow to talk to a specialist."
Valerie snorted. "Wow, you found a specialist of evil, Japanese fox-spirits who has the ability to fake diseases?" she said, crossing her arms. "The fact that it looked exactly like your wife's proves that it was just a trick. You don't have to be a medical expert to figure out that that's impossible! This is just another trick to mess with your heads, and leaving for L.A and checking your son into a psychiatric hospital isn't going to solve any of that!" Valerie's voice raised with every word, though she managed to compose herself enough to not start screaming. I could see the angry flare behind her eyes. I needed to redirect that anger towards me. I'm the one who deserved it.
"He's not putting me in here," I said. "I am. This was my decision." Valerie turned to me, the anger in her eyes being replaced by shock and, if I wasn't mistaken – hurt.
"Stiles," said Scott gently, "we can't help you if you're in there." I didn't know which was worse, Valerie's hurt or Scott's sadness.
"And I can't hurt you."
Scott seemed caught off guard, but he immediately recomposed himself, the desperation in his eyes growing as he continued. "Deaton's got some ideas, Argent's calling people... We're gonna find something. And if we can't-"
"If you can't... If you can't, then you have to do something for me, okay? Make sure I never get out."
---
Valerie
Just as Kira was about to knock, Scott appeared on the other side of the door. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw us through the window of the back-door.
"What are you guys doing here?" he asked after opening the door.
"We wanna help," I said as I walked into the house. Kira following after me.
"Not sure that's such a good idea," said Scott as he closed the door after us.
"Because of my mother?" Kira whispered, keeping her gaze on the floor.
Scott shook his head. "No. I know that's not your fault."
"Yeah, but it still feels like it is." Kira glanced at me before looking back at Scott. "And if we can help, shouldn't we?"
"People who help us usually end up getting hurt. Badly," said Scott. If he hoped that would scare us off he was dead wrong.
"Yeah, but we've been practicing," I said.
Scott furrowed his brows. "Practicing what?"
"We've been picking this up really fast," said Kira, pulling the case off of her shoulder.
I nodded. "Like crazy fast."
Kira pulled the katana out of the case, almost impaling Scott in the process. Luckily, Scott's supernatural reflexes allowed him to lean back in time.
"You sure about that?" he asked.
“Sorry. Watch.” Kira turned to me and I pulled out my sword as well. We started swinging our swords at each other. Blocking, ducking, the whole deal. We let out instincts take over and fight for us. We were totally on the same page, in perfect sync. There was a mutual trust between us that surprised me the first time I noticed it when we were practicing earlier. We were both 100% confident that the other wouldn’t hurt us. Even describing what we were doing as fighting didn’t feel right. It resembled more a dance than a fight.
Maybe Kira could really be a true friend. I hadn’t dared to think that this would happen so soon after Erica’s death. And yet – it did.
We finished our dance by striking dramatic poses like we were in a fucking anime or something. We turned towards Scott, who’s expression could only be described as awe.
"Okay. You're coming."
---
Kira and I sat hunched together next to Scott and Allison in between two police cruisers. Scott had explained the plan to us several times, to make sure we didn't forget it. Now I'm pretty sure I could recite it in my sleep.
Inside the delivery-van was a silver finger that contained a scroll with information on how to exorcise a nogitsune. When the coast was clear, Kira and I were supposed to put a tracker on the van. Ethan and Aiden would then meet the van in the middle of the road, pretending that their bikes were broken, and while they distracted them, we were supposed to break into the van and steal the scroll without being noticed.
Easy enough.
Allison turned to face Kira and I. "You're up," she said.
Kira and I exchanged looks before sneaking out from between the cars and running towards the van. We attached the tracker, and just as we were about to run back, we heard the back-door tp the station open. We exchanged panicked looks before quickly crawling to hide behind the other side of the truck.
We heard the deputy open the passenger-door, before walking around to the back of the truck. If he only turned around, he would see us.
But then, the backdoors to the van opened, and a big guy with a shaved head jumped out and dunked the deputy's head against the metal-door, effectively knocking him out.
This could not be good.
We watched as Scott and Allison approached the man as he rummaged through the contents of the van, Allison's crossbow raised. Kira nudged me, and I could read in her eyes that she had a plan. She gestured her head up towards the van's roof, and I understood what she was saying. I nodded and Kira walked towards the back so she could climb up easier, and I stood up, edging towards the corner of the van, ready to jump out.
"We need that finger," said Scott, alerting Bad Guy Number Two to their presence. As he turned towards them, I could see the silver finger we needed in his hand.
Bad Guy Number Two grinned. "Why should I give it to you?"
"There's a briefcase in there with $150,000 in it," said Allison.
"The scroll inside this prosthetic finger is worth three million," Bad Guy Number Two argued, making a decent point. I just kept my eyes on Kira on top of the van's roof, waiting for her to make her move so that I could follow.
Scott tried putting on his best alpha-face. "Give me the finger," he said. Bad Guy Number Two raised an eyebrow. "You know what I mean."
With that, Kira jumped off of the roof and onto the guy's back. I flew out from behind the van, jumping at him from the side. But he just threw Kira off of him and immediately grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me in the same direction.
"I guess negotiations are over."
Everything happened so fast. I hadn't even stood up again when Allison had shot the guy. As soon as he had removed the arrow, Kira and I jumped at him. But he just grabbed us by the throats and lifted us up.
I was desperately clawing at his hand, trying to get him to let me go, but he was much stronger than me. He squeezed my throat hard. Until I could barely breathe and I started seeing black spots. Then just before it was too late, he threw Kira and I against the wall again.
I could barely move, and it was even harder to keep my eyes open, but I managed to stay conscious enough to get the gist of what was going on.
Ethan and Aiden had shown up and were now kicking Bad Guy Number Two's ass. They were just about to land the finishing blow when Lydia, who had come to Allison's aid, yelled at them to stop.
"You want him to come after us?" asked Aiden.
"Scott," Ethan continued. "We've seen guys like this. Trust us. He's dangerous."
"So are we," countered Scott. I certainly didn't feel that way right now, seeing as I hadn't been any help at all in this stupid fight. At least I had fully healed now. Kira as well. We stood up hand in hand, looking to Scott. "And he looks smart enough to remember that."
Scott reached down and picked out the finger from Bad Guy Number Two's pocket.
"We're here to save a life. Not end one."
(not my gif)
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How about Starlingale - 26. “Don’t move, it’ll be okay.” ?
It wasn’t often that a fleeing suspect got the drop on Nightingale.
Unfortunately, as he always tells me, being good at magic doesn’t equal being invincible, not by a long shot. There’s a lot that Nightingale can do, but people can shoot him from a distance. People can spring stuff on him. People can send a lux-blinding grenade at his face and then trip him, and then stab him point-blank as they make their getaway. If this sounds extremely specific, that’s because it had just happened.
I of course hastened to get to him. Our rogue practitioner could be arrested another day. Right then, I got to my knees next to Nightingale, who tried, weakly, to get to his feet.
“Sir, stay there, I’m calling an ambulance.” I put a hand on his shoulder while fishing out my phone with the other. “Don’t move, it’ll be okay.”
“Peter...” Nightingale murmured, and trailed off with a sigh. I looked at him, studying his face. His eyes were unfocused, trailing over me in an uncoordinated way. Was he losing too much blood? Our suspect had unfortunately pulled the knife out on their way out the door. Concussion? He’d hit his head pretty badly when repelled by that grenade.
I switched my phone on. “Better call Walid too while I’m at it,” I said, making my voice light. “He’ll be overjoyed to get to put you in the MRI again, sir. Can you apply pressure here?”
Nightingale’s hand slid over mine just as I pulled it away from the wound. I wiped the blood off on his suit jacket. It was ruined anyhow.
“Peter...” he repeated. “Tell me, is this it?”
Something cold grabbed my insides.
“Nnn-ooo,” I said, attempting to sound casual. “You’ve had worse, sir.”
And the fact that that was true - I’d seen Nightingale get shot before, and he had very much fought in a war - made this worse, somehow. This was not how Thomas Fucking Nightingale was supposed to croak, people.
Blood was oozing from beneath his fingers now; soon we’d have a pool on the ground. I didn’t think he’d heard me at all and, this alarmed me more than anything else, he was smiling.
“‘M I finally done? Can I go see everyone?”
Right. Okay. Look, that was just the concussion and/or the blood loss talking.
“Sir, your friends are going to have to wait a little longer. Keep putting pressure on there.” I dialed the number for the ambulance, my hands shaking.
Nightingale frowned at me, in that mildly disappointed way he does when I’m telling him about the next big variation of a forma I invented.
“I want to see David,” he whispered.
Right. I was officially in a panic now.
With the ambulance on its way, I put my phone down and pressed Nightingale’s hand back over the wound. “Absolutely not, sir, you’re staying right here with me.”
When Nightingale sighed this time, he sounded... put-upon. Like I was holding him back.
This wouldn’t do.
“Sir...”
His eyes stayed glassy and unfocused, his breaths too flat. He seemed to not hear me anymore. Or, worse yet somehow, he lacked the resolve to want to.
This wouldn’t do.
“Sir...” Internally, in some way, I steeled myself. “Thomas.”
He inhaled, sharp, rasping, surprised. He struggled now to focus back on me. Good.
“Please. I very much need you here still.”
Nightingale’s mouth opened and closed, as though he was attempting to form words. Only a vague sound slipped out.
“I mean it,” I said. “I need you.”
And, reeling with the frenzy of the moment, I leaned in and kissed him on the lips.
---
Later, when Nightingale woke in the hospital, I wondered if we were going to be doing that thing where we both ignored this ever happened. We’d go on with our lives as if I hadn’t kissed my boss on the lips, and things would go back to normal. And I was trying to figure out whether that was something I wanted, or something that would make me feel horrible.
What actually happened turned out worse.
Nightingale all but ordered me to his hospital room a little less than a day after he had regained consciousness. And he received me in his hospital bed like a Victorian lady of delicate health received visitors draped on her fainting couch. Not that Nightingale draped himself, mind. But he had the demeanor to it, and the pallour from losing a risky amount of blood, which only served to heighten this Consumption Chic look he had going.
When he spoke to me, though, his voice had returned to his usual, no-nonsense and just that slight bit aloof.
“Peter,” he said, “I must commend what you did for me back there.”
I figured it was his way of saying thank-you for calling him an ambulance, so I replied, “You’re... welcome?”
He continued, “I am glad you said and did what you said and did to keep me hanging about. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and in my right mind... I would never have considered abandoning my post. I have an obligation towards you as my apprentice.”
I could do nothing but blink mutely. That sure was... one way to interpret the words ‘I need you’. Maybe he did not remember the kiss.
But then he cocked his head, gave me a pale ghost of a half-smile and added, “Of course I won’t be expecting a repeat performance, so don’t worry about that.”
And that’s Nightingale for you. The mind bloody boggles. I mean, sure, I’d sort of been suspecting... Nightingale is, in his own special way, one of the most out-and-proud individuals I’ve the pleasure of knowing, and I know I’m - not to brag, but - I know he considers me easy on the eyes. But him thinking that I’d play that as some sort of trump card, to tell him whatever I thought he needed to hear in a life-or-death situation? Without meaning it?
And certainly, two roads diverged in this moment. In one trouser-leg of time, to say it with the great Sir Terry, I sort of nodded, thanked him for being so understanding, and walked out the door, taking my conflicted feelings elsewhere. But that sounded bloody miserable and stupid, so I stayed sitting where I was, in the horrible plastic chair by his bedside.
“Sir...” Well, in for a penny. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Thomas. I’m sure it’s really great and noble, what you’re trying to do right now, but I did kind of actually mean it.”
Nightingale looked at me, completely silent for a moment. In a moment he’d speak up, I could see it coming from a mile away already, Peter, this is a horrible idea. We’re almost a hundred years apart in age, I’m your superior officer for goodness’ sake, also I thought you were straight?
But he just grabbed a handful of my shirt and hauled me in for another kiss.
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flares
chapter: 28/?
summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy.
word count: 3232
rating: mature
warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine
a/n: My apologies for any inaccuracies in the MRI scene. It is, despite my best efforts, one of the tests I’ve never had done and the research I did varied a lot by hospital. Huge thanks to @obsessivelymoody for beta’ing!
Ao3 link || read from beginning
Taylor comes to pick him up early.
She has a red flannel wrapped around her waist and her hair in a bun and he feels like a right mess standing in front of her in his joggers and old t-shirt. It was the most hospital appropriate outfit he could think of. The internet says you need to wear a gown for an MRI and Dan’s not particularly interested interested in changing in and out of skinny jeans today.
He’s not particularly interested in much today. His mum would call it depression. Dan’s pretty sure it has more to do with the sleepless night full of bad memories echoing in the back of his brain.
“Wanna stop somewhere for lunch before we head over?” asks Taylor. She’s leaning against the door frame now, staring up at him like she can tell his mind is elsewhere.
Dan’s never been that great at hiding it from her.
“Can’t,” he says. “I need to be fasting for blood work.”
“Damn,” says Taylor. “Guess we’ll have to gorge on gross hospital cafeteria food between tests then, huh?”
The reminder that he has more than one test to get through makes Dan’s stomach go tight. His whole morning has been a mantra of just get to blood work, over and over again. He’s had blood work before. He can handle blood work. It’s what comes after that has nausea erasing whatever hunger he might feel from fasting.
He doesn’t think he’d be particularly inclined to eat, hospital cafeteria food or not.
“Guess so,” he says. “Sucks to be us.”
The corner of Taylor’s mouth quirks up in a bitter sort of smile. She steps back, motioning out the door with one arm. “Sucks to be us, indeed.”
---
The blood work clinic is a small room in the far corner of the hospital. There’s a bunch of plastic chairs pressed too close together and partitions made of cloth that look entirely too cheap.
Dan’s sitting between a mum with a baby and an older lady who’s been tapping her cane against the floor since before he arrived. He can’t complain, though. His leg has been bouncing frantically since the moment he sat down.
Taylor’s standing by the door, leaning against the wall with her phone in one hand and gaze locked on him instead of the screen. He wishes she was sitting next to him. Her presence would probably be more calming than the wriggling baby that keeps accidentally kicking him in the leg.
Really, he wishes Phil were here. Phil would hold his hand, press their feet together, whisper–
“Daniel Howell?”
He looks up. A nurse in red scrubs is standing at the desk with a clipboard in her hand, smiling.
His knees wobble when he pushes himself to stand. All the leg vibrating has left his one foot feeling vaguely numb. He takes a stumbly step forward. He’s not sure if the shakiness is because his body is broken, or because his brain is yelling at him that he doesn’t want to be doing this.
The woman who was sitting next to him knocks her cane against the floor.
“Excuse me,” she says, voice too loud and shrill. “I’ve been waiting longer than him. A young healthy lad like him can certainly handle the wait.”
Dan swallows. His chest has gone even tighter. Part of him wants to yell at her that he’s by no means healthy and maybe she should stop assuming things just because he’s young. Mostly, though, he wants to curl in on himself, sink into his chair and tell her to just fucking go first, it’s not like he cares.
He almost does, but then the nurse is saying, “His appointment was just booked earlier, ma’am. I’m sure it won’t be long before you’re called in.”
The old lady huffs. The nurse smiles sympathetically. Taylor calls out to tell him she’ll be waiting in the hall.
Dan just trudges forward, and slips into cubicle number three when the nurse tells him too.
---
She arranges her colour coded vials on the table as she says, “I’m sorry about that.”
Dan shrugs, just the arm that isn’t laid out, waiting for her to do whatever she has to. “I’m used to it,” he says. The corner of her mouth quirks up like she has no doubt that it’s true.
He watches her pull an elastic from a box on the desk. She tugs it between her gloved hands before slipping it around his arm, tying it far too tightly for Dan’s nerves to handle. It snaps against his skin, squeezing his arm painfully, and he has to dig his teeth into his lip to keep from making a sound.
“Have you had blood work done before?” she asks.
He hums. It sounds strained. “A time or twenty.”
Her response is a laugh. She tugs an alcohol swab from another box and tears the top of it open. It’s cold and wet against his inner arm. It fades to lukewarm pretty quickly.
“Okay, then you know it’s going to pinch a bit.” She grabs the needle this time. “You’ll probably want to look away.”
Dan doesn’t. He watches her press her finger against the bubble of his vein. Watches her press the tip of the needle against where his skin’s a sickly shade of white.
It stings. Dan’s long since learned how not to wince through this kind of pain.
“You good?” says the nurse.
He nods. There’s a click as she presses the test tube into place. Dan watches his blood bubble up into the clear plastic.
He wonders if there’s actually something wrong with it this time.
---
“You should at least have a cookie,” says Taylor.
She’s gotten a disgusting looking sandwich from the hospital cafeteria and has a bottle of orange juice clutched in one hand. They’re standing in line to pay now, in front of a cash manned by a woman with a hair net who looks like she’s been mindlessly scanning things for hours.
In front of them, there’s a couple holding each other close who look terribly worried. Then, a man in a suit who looks like he would rather be literally anywhere else.
“I’m not hungry,” mumbles Dan.
“Yeah, well, you should still eat,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to after you get blood drawn?”
“That’s after you donate blood. They take more,” he says. It’s barely a whisper.
He snags a double chocolate chip cookie off the shelf next to them anyway. And then a second one, because double chocolate chip sounds like a flavour Phil would like, even if it is atrocious hospital food.
Taylor just smiles.
---
The nurse in diagnostic imaging hands him a clipboard full of paperwork and a pen.
He sits down on another uncomfortable plastic chair to fill it out. There’s no baby next to him this time, no grumpy old lady to get mad at him for needing care, just Taylor and the near silent tap of her finger against the screen of her phone.
All the paperwork is about various types of metal that might be implanted in his body. He checks no for all of it and hopes his mum never forgot to tell him about a bone he needed set as a toddler or anything.
With his luck, she probably did and the MRI is going to go horribly wrong and–
“Stop shaking so much,” whispers Taylor. “It doesn’t actually help, you know.”
“I know.”
His leg keeps bouncing anyway, just a little slower.
Taylor nudges her elbow against his. “Go hand in your paperwork. It’ll occupy your mind for, like, at least thirty seconds,” she says.
Dan does, still unsteady and shaky. He’s decided it’s probably the anxiety by now, the bitter clutch of fear that always comes when he steps into buildings full of doctors. He almost drops the pen as he hands it over. The lady just smiles at him and tells him the MRI tech should be here to get him shortly.
When he sits back down, his legs starts bouncing again.
Taylor looks up at him, offering a sad smile. “Play some Angry Birds?” she offers, like she’s decided it’s hopeless to distract him.
Dan tries anyway.
---
He’s about to lose this level for the sixth time in a row when his phone starts vibrating.
Dan almost drops it in surprise, but the screen lights up with Phil’s contact photo and the ache between his ribs fades just a bit. He flashes the screen at Taylor quickly before standing, rushing off to an emptier corner of the hospital as he swipes his thumb across the screen to answer.
“Hi?” he says. It’s a whisper, wavering.
Phil’s response sounds like a relieved sigh, just a quiet breath of, “Dan.”
It makes him smile. He was asleep when Phil left for work this morning. This is the first time he’s heard his voice today.
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to catch you before your MRI,”says Phil. “I was all worried I’d gotten the wrong time and you’d already be in the test and I wouldn’t get to talk to you.”
He’s rambling. That makes Dan breathe easier, too.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he says.
Phil chuckles. “I’m hiding in the loo.”
“Oh,” says Dan, because, well, that’s quite sweet. It’s quite Phil. “You’re hiding in the loo just to talk to me?”
“I know you’re anxious,” says Phil. “And I know Taylor’s there but this feels, like, big? And I wish I could be. There. With you.”
Dan almost says I wish you could be, too, but he doesn’t want to make Phil feel bad. He hopes it can go unspoken. Or maybe he’ll tell Phil later, when he won’t need to spend the rest of the day feeling guilty that he can’t leave.
Right now he just says: “I got you a gross hospital cookie.”
Phil laughs again, happy and surprised. “You did?”
Dan hums. “It has two whole types of chocolate,” he says. And then, quieter, “It made me think of you.”
Phil doesn’t respond to that. He stays quiet. Only his breathing can be heard over the line and it’s probably stupid that Dan finds that comforting, but he does. He leans against the white wall in the far corner of diagnostic imaging, staring at where Taylor’s looking back at him, and tries to make his own breaths match Phil’s.
He imagines Phil counting for him, like he used to do when Dan’s chest spasmed and his breathing stopped. It helps.
Even when he’s not here, Phil manages to help.
Dan’s trying to come up with some way to tell him that when Phil whispers, “How are you holding up?” His voice cracks halfway through, goes as soft as it was when he’d count.
It makes Dan’s eyes sting. “I’m trying,” he says.
“You can do this,” says Phil. “We’ll order pizza when I get home and pretend this never happened, okay?”
Dan smiles. “Okay.”
And he stands there, listening to the steadiness of Phil’s breathing, until Phil decides he’s been in the loo a suspiciously long time and has to say goodbye.
When Dan sits down again, his leg isn’t bouncing.
---
The MRI tech is a man who hands Dan a gown and tells him in no uncertain terms to take every piece of metal off his body or else he might die.
Well, he’s kinder about it than that, but that’s the gist of it and the morbid part of Dan’s brain finds it oddly funny.
It takes him way too long to put the gown on. His limbs feel awkward. He almost steps out of the room with his ass fully out until he realizes it’s meant to loop around him a second time. It’s just enough to have a laugh bubbling out of his chest, past the angry bubble of anxiety.
The MRI tech is standing in the hall when Dan steps out. “I’m Alex, by the way,” he says. “I’m gonna explain the test to you before we begin, if that’s okay?”
Dan nods, even though he’s not sure he wants to know.
Alex leads him into the room. It’s almost empty, save for the giant tube and bed in the center of it. There’s a pillow on the bed, and a weird stand looking thing right at the head. That’s it. It looks horribly uncomfortable. Dan’s back already aches at the thought.
Alex starts explaining everything. Dan tunes him out halfway through.
---
The MRI bed is in fact uncomfortable.
Dan’s shoulder blades feel pointy against it, despite the pillow wedged beneath them. His head is resting in the stand, not quite at an awkward angle, but not exactly natural either. He stares up at the ceiling as Alex wedges a second pillow under his legs. It takes some of the pressure of his hips, but just barely.
Still, when Alex asks if he’s comfortable enough to stay still for the whole examination, Dan nods.
A set of foam earbuds is pressed into his hand. Alex just watches him as he clumsily shoves them into his ears.
Then the bed is moving upwards and back just a little. Alex reaches for something behind Dan’s head. It’s a giant thing that looks sort of like a cage and makes Dan’s chest go tight, an exhale getting stuck there as Alex situates the stupid thing right over his head.
“I know it looks scary. I promise it just sits here, though,” says Alex, his voice muffled by the ear plugs.
Dan nods. He’s pretty sure he’s still not breathing. Suddenly, all he can see is Alex’s scrubs and white walls and giant white bars obstructing his vision and he kind of wants to just get up and run.
“You’re gonna be okay,” says Alex. He presses something else into Dan’s hand. “This button will call me if you need anything, okay?”
He nods again. The lump in his throat is too big to speak.
His eyes feel wide as he watches Alex reach over to the machine, pressing a button that makes the bed move backwards until Dan’s in the middle of a dark tunnel, surrounded by metal on every side. He never thought he was claustrophobic but maybe it’s the fact that the MRI machine looks like it belongs perfectly in a hospital.
Dan’s never been good with hospitals.
He doesn’t hear Alex say anything before he walks away, doesn’t hear any footsteps or anything else until the exam room door is slamming shut.
The next time he hears Alex speak, his voice is scratchy over the intercom.
“Are you ready to begin the test?” he says. “Remember, once it starts, you can request to take a break at any time. I need you to stay as still as possible while the test is progress. The machine will make loud noises. That’s normal. The ear plugs should help.”
Dan swallows. He stares up at the two bars of metal hanging right above his face and says, “I’m ready.”
“Okay,” says Alex. “If you get nervous, just close your eyes and think of somewhere you feel safe.”
---
Dan spends the entire MRI thinking of Phil.
He imagines the drape of Phil’s arm over his shoulders, the press his lips to Dan’s hair. He pretends it’s the soft blanket Phil bought him pressed against his skin, instead of whatever itchy thing the hospital gave him. He tries to convince himself all the noises the MRI makes are just sound effects in a movie.
He thinks of how soft Phil’s voice was when he first found out Dan was sick.
Of how gentle Phil’s touch is when he knows Dan’s sore.
It helps. The pressure in his chest eases and it takes less effort to keep his eyes closed and when Alex steps back into the room, Dan’s surprised a whole forty-five minutes has passed.
His chest feels achy for a whole new reason afterwards, a strange sort of empty he hasn’t felt in a while. He changes out of the gown and into his clothes while staring blankly at a spot of grey on the hospital’s white walls. When Taylor asks how the test went, he just shrugs and tells her it was as expected.
Not that he really had any expectations.
She drives him home in silence and offers to stay until Phil gets home, but Dan tells her he’s fine, just a little tired. The anxiety and anticipation kept him up last night and he could really use a nap, is what he tells her.
After she leaves, Dan settles on the sofa.
He runs his hand over the softness of the blanket for a while, letting his brain get lost in the memories of the day Phil got it for him. After a moment, he gives in and tugs it tight around his shoulders, wrapping it over his chest like he used to do with his duvet when he was little.
The fabric smells like him and—faintly—of Phil.
Dan sits there, enjoying it, and tries to figure out what the warm feeling in his chest really means.
What he told Taylor must have been true, because he’s still sitting like that when he falls asleep.
---
Phil wakes him up by running his fingers through Dan’s hair.
There’s a smile on his face when Dan blinks his eyes open, a softness in his eyes that makes Dan smile back. The blanket is still wrapped tight around him. He’s too warm and the heat makes a dull ache throb under his skin but part of him doesn’t want to untangle himself from it.
“Smells like pizza,” he mumbles.
The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, amused. “That’s ‘cause I got pizza,” he says. “And some of those cookies you like but never want me to order.”
Dan pouts. Phil just runs his fingers through his hair again, so very gentle, before pulling away.
He sets up the box of pizza on the coffee table, and brings Dan a plate so he can eat without leaning forward too much. Dan unravels himself from the blanket just so Phil can sit next to him properly, their legs pressed together without the thick fabric between them.
Normally, they’d watch TV while eating.
Today, Phil asks, “How were the tests?”
Dan shrugs. He knows Phil can probably tell it’s a lie when he says, “Fine.”
They eat in silence after that. Phil lets Dan have both the Domino’s cookies in favour of eating the shitty one Dan brought him from the hospital. It should make him happy. It does, except the quiet gives his brain space to process the day and suddenly his whole body feels heavy again.
It feels like after his doctor’s appointment. Dan feels, stupidly, like he could cry.
There’s a bruise blooming on his arm, and his bones ache from the harsh press of the MRI bed against his body and the lingering tightness of anxiety in his chest. Phil just snags his plate from between his weak fingers, sets it on the table, and settles back onto the sofa next to him. He drapes his arm around Dan’s shoulders, just as Dan had imagined earlier, and pulls him closer.
“Is it dumb that I missed you today?” he murmurs.
Maybe it should be, but Dan missed him, too.
#phan#phanfic#phanfiction#dan and phil#flares#callie writes words#owo what's this?#a flares chapter? in less than a month?#a miracle tbh
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