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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

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If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump Day 7

Made to Watch – OC Medic & TBB

Warnings: Get yuh whump here! Fresh, violent whump! Explicit details of torture and physical injuries, blood and minor gore, broken bones, near death, language.

WC: 2795

“I’m beginning to think… going on missions a-alone with you… is a bad i… idea… think-think we’re c… cursed.” The strangled words broke on stuttered gasps, wincing as my diaphragm jerked in a desperate attempt for breath, sending daggers burring through my ribs. Hunter kneeled a mere handful of meters beside me, chained to the floor in clear view of where I hung, metal shackles bound so high above my head, I had to stretch onto my toes to offer some relief to already bleeding wrists.

“I’ll get you out of here, Doc.” He promised, and my heart ached at the guilt and sorrow in his voice.

“Hmm…” I grumbled, eyes sliding shut beneath a listless frown, “…nose itches.” When he didn’t respond, I cracked an eye to just peak down at him, brow raising expectantly. The shock on his face was worth the fresh hurt that shot through my side from the huffed chuckle, and he offered an exasperated sigh, lips just twitching into a weary smile.

The base was supposed to be abandoned. We’d only been sent in to preform a final sweep for abandoned tech or data, maybe take out the occasional forgotten droid. The unexpected subterranean weapons cache and full garrison of mechanical and biological soldiers guarding it had taken us all by surprise. By the time we realized what we’d stumbled into, however, we’d already split into three groups, and the number of guns aimed at the two of us forced us to submit, relieved only in the knowledge that the other four were still free.

The chagrian in charge of our interrogation assumed I’d be the weak link and spent the following hour trying to manipulate Hunter into revealing our squadmate’s location by sicking a B2 battle droid on me. The sound of ribs cracking beneath that metal fist kept echoing in my mind, but I held my tongue, and so did he, needing only a shared look to ensure I hadn’t reached my breaking point until they finally left.

“Think they’ll… opt f-for strealth?” I mumbled absently, eyes sliding shut once more, “Or… just sho-shoot their way i-in?”

“I think you need to stop trying to talk.” He replied bluntly, but the concern in his words was clear. I mockingly mouthed his words in silence, lips twisted in a slight scowl, earning a quiet growl from the man beside me. “Might be a bit of both.” He finally sighed, entertaining my wonderings, “Try for stealth until that doesn’t work, then we’ll be lucky if there’s enough leftover of the base to still get any intel from.” Without bothering to look at him again, I merely gave a small grin. Even without their leader, those four were a terrifying force to be faced with. If not for the knowledge that they were already working towards our rescue, I may have broken long ago, but I knew it was only a matter of time before they reached us.

The violent clang of metal slamming against metal ripped me back to full, agonizing awareness, eyes opening as wide as the swollen flesh would allow as my mind struggled to make sense of the hurt and darkness and cold, body trembling as abused muscles quivered and failed, sending the shackles digging deeper into the ruined skin around my wrists. The hatred burning through Hunter’s eyes was the first thing I saw before following his gaze to the smug, sooty-blue face of the chagrian. Flaking smears of blood still stained the fists of the droid following obediently at his heels. Scowling against the pulsing torture bursting up my side with each shallow breath, I forced myself to stand upright before him.

“I do hope you’ve found your stay enjoyable thus far, for I fear what comforts we’ve allotted you have, unfortunately, expired.” He nearly cooed, overly pleased with himself. “You see: my immediate supervisor has decided that giving up whatever comprises the remainder of your… squad… will no longer be sufficient given your lack of cooperation. Now, I must insist you share with us the access code to Republican military communication frequencies.” A scoff barked from what mockery of a smile I managed to pull split, swollen lips into.

“Very well.” The Separatist sneered and turned his attention to Hunter as the towering machine stalked toward me. “And you? Just a couple words, and you could save your friend here from any additional… unpleasantries.” The Sergeant didn’t move beyond the ebb and flow of heavy breaths, knuckles gleaming from where his hands pulled uselessly at his restraints.

There was no preceding warning before the droid rammed its fist directly into the epicenter of agony bursting through my side with each shallow breath. The air fled me in a barked cry, stomach churning at the crunch of bone. My feet scraped vainly atop the stone floor, body panicked between the sharp hurt tearing through my wrists, the terrible wrongness of ribs grinding at each trembled shutter of muscle, and the fire of lungs screaming for air.

Twice more the droid struck me, the first wrapping around to hit my kidney before it swung its leg up to crack against the side of my thigh. I couldn’t even try to relieve the weight from my hands, torso seizing amidst panicking nerves, abs convulsing in some desperate fight to guard the too exposed flesh, head hanging limp to my chest as my mind raced to make sense of the wrongwrongwrong.

“Shall we try this again?” I barely heard the haughty words, belatedly managing to lift my gaze just enough to find Hunter. The entirely of his attention was locked on me, and I could see fear in those eyes. I wasn’t a clone. I wasn’t trained for this. He couldn’t anticipate my limits, and I saw the dread of that unknown, but I also knew he wouldn’t cave. I knew how it would kill him to put me through the coming torture, but still, he wouldn’t cave. So, I took that choice away from him.

“…don’t… d-don’t you dare….” The shattered words only just escaped on fluttering gasps, almost too quiet even for my own ears to catch, but he heard me. I was certain he heard me. “I can… I…” My diaphragm seized, body wilting beneath each desperate attempt to force air into my lungs. Unfazed, the droid drove its fist into my stomach once more, slamming my back against the durasteel bricks behind me. Chest convulsing in a futile plea for breath, I struggled to exist beyond the burning suffocation, the relentless sensation of warmth slipping down my arms and chin, the sharp taste of iron… Even as darkness threatened the edges of my vision, loathing the way the room spun and stretched out before me, I sought those umber eyes, intent on willing the words I hadn’t managed to say into the look shared between us.

When that metal fist stuck my jaw, I couldn’t bring myself to do more than just keep my eyes open, blindly staring into the swirling shadows. I think Hunter was shouting - vaguely recognized curses that would have made Crosshair smirk. Wait… Hunter shouldn’t be saying anything at all… I vaguely remembered that little tidbit – it’s easier to keep from giving in during an interrogation if you keep perfectly silent. Even shouting insults opens the potential to accidentally yield. Hunter wouldn’t be that sloppy… He was shouting for a reason. My lips twisted into a grin, the faintest wheeze just managing to grind down my throat. His brothers were close.

My vision went white, mind replaying the deafening, wet thud over and over before finally registering the pain swelling into a dense ball near my left eye. Ringing. Spinning.

“Tell me the codes.” Pressure… my thigh… locking around where that damn droid kicked me. I vaguely felt my body jerk, but that hold only tightened. A choked whimper caught in my throat. Tighter. “The codes.” My other leg dragged against the floor. Tighter.

“You kriffing coward! I’m the one with the karking codes! Let them go!” Panic drew me back from the fringes of unconsciousness. Run. Run. Run. Couldn’t see, wide eyes blinded by the hurt and fear as my body strained against that relentless grip. Tighter. Already broken gasps grew frantic, escaping in fleeting grunts of pain. Every cell screamed at me to do something, limbs lashing out for anything that might grant me some hope of escape, writhing violently.

I didn’t hear the raw cry tear from my throat. I barely even felt the molten heat shooting up the limb in rhythmic bursts. It was the sound that consumed me. That deafening crunch. It reverberated through my body on repeat. Again. And again. And again. Marking a lapse in time, some terrible disconnect between my mind and reality.

Muted. From across some great distance, I felt the concussion of an explosive, saw the door blow inward several feet as the pale blue chagrian spun around with terror in his eyes; heard the whir of gears as the B2 crumbled beneath a volley of blasterfire just as it began to turn.

“I’m fine, dammit! Help Doc!” The fury in Hunter’s shouted words drew my gaze lazily toward him, body falling, sinking, fading…

“…-ake. Come on, Doc; need you to stay with us.” Something cool… my cheek… I think someone was touching me. I tried to find them; vaguely certain I was able to make out the deep concern in Echo’s pale face seconds before a pressure send sharp pain pouring through my side. I was barely able to flinch, some choked huff of a whimper fleeing me in staggered gasps.

“-ribs, and I presume that femur as well.” That meticulous, calculating tone was a strange comfort despite my inability to gather enough strength to search for the brilliant pilot amidst the distorted shadows. “I’ll need to split the leg before we can retreat.”

“Where’s Wrecker?” Hunter… I felt myself fading, existing only in the echo of their rushed voices.

“Clearing a path to the surface for us.” The arc answered. I think he moved away from me, vaguely aware that I couldn’t feel the ever-present chill of his hand against my cheek anymore. A moan caught in my throat as something shifted ever so gently against my thigh, but, when that touch suddenly constricted, locking the limb straight with a merciless swiftness, I could make no sound beyond the faintest wheeze, muscles seizing throughout my body before finally collapsing into weak, shallow sobs.

“Okay, we can open these restraints, now.” Tech stated, voice stiff. I didn’t see who retrieved the key from the chagrian’s corpse, couldn’t remember even seeing how the man had died, but, when that sharp metal pulled away from the broken flesh, it rekindled a hurt nearly forgotten amidst the overwhelming agony of my leg, my ribs, the throbbing heat of my face…

Sporadic fits left my arms twitching as someone carefully guided them down to my sides, and my back arched against the hurt grinding through my shoulders. I couldn’t keep track of each touch, barely aware of several hands supporting me until I lay trembling on the stone floor.

“There is little we can do for their ribs without the proper equipment.” Tech warned, words floating meaninglessly overhead.

“If we move them like this…” Hunter started to argue.

“Better than staying here.” Cross… I hadn’t realized he was with them until hearing the reluctance in his voice.

“Alright… Echo, keep that leg stable.” Something shuffled beside me.

“Doc? Hey-hey; come on back.” Something brushed gently through my hair, dragging my attention reluctantly into some tattered facsimile of focus. “Gotta get you out of here.” Hunter… I was certain the blurred figure looming over me was Hunter. “I know it hurts, but I need you to try to stay awake, okay?” Words… what was he saying? The tender movement against my scalp was a blissful comfort when everything else hurt so much. That touch slipped down the back of my head, my neck until his arm eased itself beneath my shoulders, wrenching a small gasp of pain from me as the movement shifted my side.

“I know… I know, but we have to move.” He murmured, easing me further up against his chest. My hand darted out, fingers clawing weakly at the sleek fabric of his blacks, unable to gather enough strength to do more than tremble against him, broken whimpers catching on faltering breaths. His other hand slipped beneath my knees, and I turned into him, face hiding against his neck at the realization of what was happening.

My throat closed around the beginnings of a scream as he stood, Echo’s hand carefully steadying my leg with a firm grip just above my knee. In the same motion, Hunter leaned back, letting my weight rest atop his chest more so that in his arms. What sliver of relief it granted from easing the pressure away from that ruined thigh barely registered, body revolting against still panicking nerves and the agony that position sowed through my ribs.

He didn’t wait for me to settle, gait smooth despite the speed of his movements. Through some distorted mockery of consciousness, I saw Crosshair running beside us, rifle strangely mute even as bloom of fire shot from the long barrel. Couldn’t breathe. Tech fell in behind us, while Echo moved to take point. Some whisper of logic told me I should be afraid. The massive silhouette of Wrecker loomed ahead of us, arms swinging to direct us through the maze of hallways. I felt my chest try to move but couldn’t draw even a whisper of air into lungs crushed beneath uncooperative ribs, and I knew I should be afraid. Hunter’s gait faltered, and I thought for a moment I heard my name.

Something warm whispered over my face. Sunlight. He was screaming. I could feel the vibrations in his chest. My side didn’t hurt as badly anymore; my leg barely a distant annoyance as I eased into the comfort of his strength, the subtle earthiness of his scent. If I focused, I could just feel the thudding of his heart. It was quick, but it was familiar. I just had to focus on that… Not the chorus of panicked shouting, nor that lingering sense that something was terribly wrong… just listen to that gentle th-thud…th-thud…

“Doc?” I didn’t want to answer him, didn’t want to fight the terrible heaviness of my eyelids, but I couldn’t stand the depth of worry in that voice. I couldn’t convince my left eye to move, but I just managed to crack the right, frowning weakly at the blurred colors and gleaming lights. Almost instantly, that light dimmed, and a tiny sigh of relief fluttered over swollen lips. Slowly, I noted the short-kept mess of silver curls… couldn’t make out anything more, but I didn’t need to.

“C… Cr”

“Shh.” Hearing that gentle hush in his raspy voice was nearly enough to ease me back into a blessed sleep. I didn’t want to sleep yet. I wanted to rid him of that worry, but it took every fleeting whisper of strength I had to keep that eye from slipping closed once more. “You took a pretty bad beating. Do you remember what happened?” I thought over his words for a long while, chasing flitting thoughts in some futile hunt to answer him. My head just shifted in a nod. I remembered the hidden base, being captured with Hunter… the droid. Brows pulling together in a weak cringe at the very memory of it, I had to fight not to let my attention wander to those injuries, vainly straining against the urge to tense even a single muscle to test the validity of that fear.

“Yeah.” He sighed. Something moved between us, paused in a moment of hesitation before finally reaching forward. The tenderness of his touch, fingertips only just whispering atop my hair nearly ruined me, shuttered breath escaping me as my eye closed in contentment. Encouraged, he carefully let his palm rest against me, thumb sweeping slowly against the balmy skin of my forehead.

“We’ll be back at Kamino soon.” He murmured before letting some of that familiar venom return to his voice. “You’re supposed to be our medic. Not much good to us if you keep trying to get yourself killed.” I could feel myself beginning to fade, but managed to look for him once more, just finding that brilliant flush of amber, and he stilled beneath my gaze. I wanted to tell him that I’d suffer through this and so much more if it meant keeping them safe, but the thought barely whispered through my mind before falling back into the emptiness of sleep.

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alinladaru · 1 month

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Med-PaLM and Med-PaLM 2: Revolutionizing Medical Industry

Med-PaLM (Medical Pre-trained Language Model) is a cutting-edge AI language model that has been specifically designed to cater to the complex and diverse challenges in the field of medicine. Developed by OpenAI, Med-PaLM represents a significant leap forward in medical language understanding and has the potential to revolutionize various aspects of healthcare, research, and patient care. This…

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#Med-PaLM #Med-PaLM 2 #Medical industry #Medical Language

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womenaremypriority · 5 months

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Tired of apologetic love for the pussy… y’all shamed ‘pussy hats’ for ‘white feminism’ and act like feminists who spread positivity and love for the vulva art ‘womb fetishizing gender essentialists!’… Pussy is EVERYTHING. Women are still being killed for having our periods. The word for ‘hysterical’ comes from ‘womb’. Women are still being told having a hymen means we’re a virgin. Women are still having the husband stitch done to us against our will. We deserve to never apologize or feel bad for loving our bodies and our genitals, and you can deal with it.

#My post #feminism #feminist #female solidarity #female erasure #medical misogyny #misogynistic language #radical feminism #radfem #radblr #My bangers

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sofiaruelle · 11 months

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He's a lil confused about cuffing season but he's got the spirit

#stardew valley #stardew harvey #sdv harvey #by spirit i mean the big boi vaccines #and maybe big boi ceterizine #doodle #the more you pass out in the mine the higher the medical bill #'sorry your insurance doesnt cover my early greying hairs i get for worrying about you dear farmer'#give me a sassy doctor #the sass/nagging about your poor self preservation is a love language

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trek-tracks · 5 months

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Graphic design is my passion

(Please buy Spock's line of T'Shirts)

#star trek #star trek tos #spock #t-shirt #the apple #t'shirt #sometimes it's logical to be a little bitch #there is no logical reason in the apple for spock to complain that the medication that just saved his life made him nauseous #he just loves to bait mccoy #spock's favourite book as a child wasn't the little prince #it was the little bitch #cw language #cw gendered language

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karuuhnia · 9 months

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... ... So anyway, what do you say for "kick the bucket" in your native language?

In German we say "den Löffel abgeben" (= "to turn in/hand over the spoon") or "ins Gras beißen" (= "to bite the grass") among other things.

_______

Please do not alter, repost/reupload or redistribute my artwork anywhere! (Reblogging is perfectly fine, of course.)

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #tf2 heavy #tf2 spy #tf2 medic #German language #karuuhnia draws

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zarla-s · 1 year

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I was talking with my friend yamina about German endearments for these two and she suggested Großer (big boy (fond)) which was too cute, I had to do something with it.

[patreon]

#team fortress 2 #heavy #medic #heavymedic #red oktoberfest #z art #z comic #very beautiful very powerful #i love my gigantic husband #i was wondering if there was something that fit better than schatzi or liebling and this is perfect #she says medic in german has an interesting mix of professionalism and respect mixed with some rude language #he uses the formal you! and apparently sounds like how someone his age would sound like at this time period #i just love stuff like this don't mind me #(she thinks his fake german in english is hilarious)

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faeriekit · 2 months

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Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny learns a few more words with practice.

Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.

…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.

They don’t even sound all that mean.

It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.

Firstly: horrible.

Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.

So. Uh. That’s…gross.

He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.

God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.

…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.

Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.

…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.

“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”

Anyway.

Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.

None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.

He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.

And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.

For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…

Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.

…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?

(It did, didn’t it?)

(…Didn’t it??)

His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.

It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.

Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.

He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.

...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.

He is sick. He has been sick.

The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.

He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.

And then he feels something weird.

Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.

There is something solid sticking out of him.

Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.

And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.

His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.

People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.

Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.

He doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.

They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.

It’s the lady. He knows her.

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.

She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?

She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.

“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”

She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.

Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.

But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.

“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.

There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,

Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.

When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.

Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.

They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.

It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.

The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.

Danny frowns.

The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.

The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.

Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.

The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.

And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.

Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.

Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.

The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.

Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.

She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.

“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.

The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.

It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.

#*hip checks through the door* hey losers! Guess who uses Arabic numbers!! Two earths!!#also if ANYONE is shitty about stoma bags or ostomy bags on this fic or in this chat I'm going to fight you. Lots of people have them.#they're usually a temporary procedure and even if they're not they're pretty normal and a lot of people have them. I knew at least one #like haha this is a body horror fic but ostomy bags are a REAL THING that people HAVE as part of their medical journey DO NOT be rude!!#So what we know of his injuries now: messed up legs. Messed up guts. Messed up chest. Is there more...? Who can say. 👀#health and hybrids #dp x dc #dcu crossover #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #incarceration to elopement to healthcare pipeline #His healing is speeding up and his language is getting better! When can we get a Diana POV?? <- me to me

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neuroticboyfriend · 8 months

Text

i know us schizos can be relatively lax about the word schizo... but for people who aren't on the schizophrenia spectrum, please remember... it is a slur, or at the very least, a derogatory term. maybe don't say it (unless we're okay with you calling us it), especially not to separate yourselves from us.

context: i just saw someone say "i'm not a fucking schizo" when talking about their misdiagnosis and resulting trauma. this could have been done without using a slur, especially given how much we also face misdiagnosis and medical/psychiatric trauma. we're in this together, not apart.

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shootingstarpilot · 6 months

Text

A scene that will only be referenced in the next chapter, but I was overcome with the urge to write it out anyway:

Boil catches Stitch's entry onto the bridge out of the corner of his eye.

He elbows Waxer, grinning. The kid's got a pair of crutches under one arm, and they'd both noticed the way the Commander had been leaning on the holotable, stubbornly ignoring the General's not-so-subtle disapproving look and the chair Waxer had fruitlessly nudged into place behind him.

This is going to be a show.

Stitch scans the bridge, eyes narrowed, until he catches sight of the Commander. He walks forward, stopping a few respectful feet behind him, and--

waits.

Thirty seconds pass.

Then a minute.

More and more eyes are landing on him. Poorly-muffled giggling blooms across the bridge.

"Hi, Stitch," Waxer says cheerfully.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says politely, his gaze flickering sideways in acknowledgement before returning to Cody's back.

Cody's shoulders slump.

Eventually, the holocall ends. General Kenobi is the first to turn around.

"Hello, Stitch," he says, smiling faintly. "Can I help you?"

"No thank you, sir. I'm waiting for the Commander, sir."

There's only so long Cody can avoid turning around, and he knows it. With a long, deep sigh, he turns.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says brightly, and thrusts the crutches forward. "You forgot these."

"Those aren't mine," Cody says immediately. "I left mine in my office. I'll grab them after."

"These are yours," Stitch says patiently. "I put a sticker on them when Helix first gave them to you. See?"

He points. Cody leans forward, searching despite himself--

His expression flattens out.

"It's a lightsaber," Stitch says helpfully. "Needle made it. He said you'd forgotten your crutches before, and I thought a sticker would be helpful for you to remember which are yours. Helix says taking initiative is a good thing."

"I... see."

He still doesn't take them.

Stitch sighs. "Is this because Helix yelled at you for kicking droids again, and you don't want to prove him right?"

"No," Cody grinds out, and Waxer muffles a wheezing laugh in Boil's shoulder. General Kenobi's expression is carefully blank.

"Is it because--"

"They're uncomfortable," Cody sighs. He lowers his voice, conscious of their delighted audience, and there's a ripple of coughing and clearing of throats as people turn back to their assigned tasks. "They-- my shoulders keep cramping. I need to be able to fire a blaster, Stitch. I'm minimizing my movement as much as possible, I promise."

"Uncomfortable," Stitch echos, looking baffled. "Why didn't you say so, sir? Give me-- ten minutes, please. I can fix that. I'll be back soon. Can you sit down in the meantime, please?"

"I'll make sure he does, Stitch," the General interjects, and Stitch nods seriously.

"Thank you, sir," he says, and nods at them both before vanishing out the door.

"You're enjoying this far too much, sir," Cody hisses, as Kenobi carefully helps him settle into the long-ignored chair.

"My dear Commander," Kenobi says, laughing, "I'm simply glad it's not me this time."

Cody's glare could incinerate a Hutt. The General remains cheerfully unaffected.

When Stitch returns, he brings with him a painstakingly adjusted pair of crutches. Layers of cotton batting is tied carefully to the pads, and the grips have been adjusted a few levels upwards.

"Try these, please," he says, handing them over.

Cody reluctantly accepts them. "All right. Later, when I--"

Stitch is looking at him very expectantly.

He sighs. "Yes, Stitch."

He levers himself to his feet and takes a few halting steps. Boil watches, fascinated, as astonishment flickers across his expression before it settles into a quiet resignation.

"This-- is better," he mutters. "Very much so."

Stitch beams. "Thank you, sir! And you'll make sure to use them until you're cleared?"

"Yes, Stitch."

"And you won't forget about your follow-up tomorrow? You can have a juice box. Or a pudding cup. You can choose. Needle got some."

Waxer coos. Cody glares at him.

("That's KP duty for you," Boil whispers. "Just you wait.")

"I won't, Stitch."

"Good. Thank you, sir. And- Helix told me to tell you that you- that you're lucky you got me and not him, sir, because he'd be, um- a damn sight louder, sir, because he's got no patience for- for idiots, sir."

A beat.

"That's from him, sir," Stitch repeats anxiously.

Cody sighs. "That's all right, Stitch. Well done."

Stitch brightens immediately, rocking back on his heels. "I'll save you a chocolate pudding cup, sir, if you like. Those ones are the best, so they tend to go fast."

A smile flickers across Cody's face. "Thank you. I'd appreciate it. You're dismissed."

Stitch salutes-- shiny little tubie, small gods-- and vanishes out the door.

Kenobi has given up the game entirely, now, and is grinning broadly. Cody turns on him immediately.

"Stop that."

"Stop what, my dear?"

"The thing you're doing with your face."

"Smiling?"

"Smugly. Yes."

"I'm just pleased with our medics' professionalism, Commander."

"I've got two dozen witnesses to that for the next time you try to dodge them."

"Noted. Can I have your pudding cup?"

"No."

#shoulder the sky #stitch the medic #codywan #teasing is a perfectly valid love language

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er-cryptid · 1 month

Text

Skeletal System Orthopedics Abbreviations

AKA = above the knee amputation

anti-CCP = anti-cyclic citrullinated peptide

AP = anteroposterior

BKA = below the knee amputation

BMD = bone mineral density

C1 = cervical vertebra 1

C2 = cervical vertebra 2

C3 = cervical vertebra 3

C4 = cervical vertebra 4

C5 = cervical vertebra 5

C6 = cervical vertebra 6

C7 = cervical vertebra 7

Ca = calcium

Ca²⁺ = calcium ion

CDH = congenital dislocation of the hip

DEXA = dual-energy x-ray absorptiometry

DXA = dual-energy x-ray absorptiometry

DIP = distal interphalangeal joint

DJD = degenerative joint disease

ESWT = extracorporeal shock wave therapy

Fx = fracture

L1 = lumbar vertebra 1

L2 = lumbar vertebra 2

L3 = lumbar vertebra 3

L4 = lumbar vertebra 4

L5 = lumbar vertebra 5

LLE = left lower extremity

LUE = left upper extremity

MCP = metacarpophalangeal joint

NSAID = nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug

OA = osteoarthritis

ORIF = open reduction and internal fixation

ortho = orthopedics

P = phosphorus

PIP = proximal interphalangeal joint

PT = physical therapy

QCT = quantitative computerized tomography

RA = rheumatoid arthritis

RF = rheumatoid factor

RLE = right lower extremity

ROM = range of motion

RUE = right upper extremity

S1 = first sacral vertebra

T1 = thoracic vertebra 1

T2 = thoracic vertebra 2

T3 = thoracic vertebra 3

T4 = thoracic vertebra 4

T5 = thoracic vertebra 5

T6 = thoracic vertebra 6

T7 = thoracic vertebra 7

T8 = thoracic vertebra 8

T9 = thoracic vertebra 9

T10 = thoracic vertebra 10

T11 = thoracic vertebra 11

T12 = thoracic vertebra 12

THR = total hip replacement

tib-fib = tibia-fibula

Patreon

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

Text

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump 8.5 (Extra per request)

No Anesthesia – OC&TBB – Wrecker’s overzealous efforts to destroy a building lead to Doc getting pinned in a dire situation.

Warnings: Very heavy whump in this one, with a couple moments of descriptive gore and medical procedures, impalement, difficulty breathing, near death, cursing. TW: claustrophobia

WC: 5116

Watching them work was a thing of beauty; the way they adjusted effortlessly to each other’s movements without the need for speech; how they seemed to glide over the debris-covered streets of this ruined city, strong limbs carrying them with an effortless grace that I could watch for hours. Unfortunately, the trio of elite soldiers darting toward the capital building weren’t meant to be the focus of my attention.

While Hunter, Echo, and Tech gave the appearance of charging the final stronghold of this decrepit city head-on, Wrecker was already traipsing about the far side of the towering structure with Crosshair perched in a nearby building as cover. I’d been positioned in the building just in front of the target, ordered to oversee this side of the battle to ensure our route back to the Marauder was clear.

“Does this mean I get a rifle, too?” My earlier tease hadn’t been serious, though there had been some knowingly futile hope. Crosshair’s dismissive, bored glance was all the answer I needed, but I caught the smirk that touched those thin lips as he’d turned away.

The pair of pistols offered a comforting weight at my waist, but, from this vantage, I was purely a pair of eyes. Sweeping the macrobinoculers away from the brilliant displays of prowess effortlessly dodging enemy fire, I searched the path back toward the ancient fungal forests lining the city, but the streets were empty beyond the occasional robotic limb ending in a tangle of wires.

“Wrecker, eta?” The growl of the Sergeant’s voice was a welcomed change against the terrible quiet from being so high above them, and I found myself automatically searching for flashes of black and red armor darting between mounds of rubble. Once, this had been a thriving metropolis, towering skyscrapers jutting up in stark contrast to the softer shapes of surround fungi as millions of everyday civilians went about their lives.

Now, barely a handful of towers still stood, but so many citizens remained, hiding, trying desperately to survive long enough to find some hope for the future. Taking out the opportunistic pirates holed up in the capital building would be the first step in granting them some chance to rebuild in the wake of what those ignorant to the horrors of war would call a victory.

“Ready when you are!” Wrecker nearly shouted gleefully, his excitement an instant boon to the oppressive quiet.

“We’re clear. Do it.” Hunter’s order barely finished before the world shook beneath a massive eruption. I felt my breath catch in my throat, macrobinoculars falling to my chest as I stared in shock at how slowly it fell; only noting a gentle tilt at first, but then, as though the structure itself merely gave it, the entire thing wilted. It sounded like rain from up there, the tumble of stone atop stone singing in the same cadence of an angry storm. Vaguely, I noted that the building now visible beyond where that tower had just been concealed Crosshair somewhere in those unending levels of dark glass.

“Wrecker, what in the karking hells was that?!” Hunter roared, and I could clearly picture the thick vein pulsing in his neck.

“Just, yuh know, figured I’d make sure”

“Kriff - Doc! Run!” What? Was that panic in Crosshair’s voice? He didn’t panic… he… I’d just forced myself to my feet, hands pushing atop the heavy medpack I’d been using as a rest when that first whisper of confusion stole over me. Moving… It felt like…

Dread. Cold and fast and flooding my veins with lead. The world outside the window was shifting, sliding, rising. It was easier to see it that way: like everything else was moving instead of me, because, if that wasn’t the case, if I was wrong… I was dead. My eyes darted back across that now empty space once more, as though there was some hope of finding those amber eyes, some hope that he might reveal a miracle to save me at the last second, but then I was cursing myself, feet scrambling beneath me to race away from the window lest I find myself falling through it.

The way my stomach flipped. The disorientating dance of unstable flooring beneath me was its own hell, but I didn’t stop, fleeing madly through the maze of corridors. How high up was I? Four stories? Five? How many seconds had it taken the capital building to finally plummet? How could I possibly reach anywhere remotely safe in time?

I could hear everything begin to fall apart. It didn’t sound like rain anymore. It was loud and relentless, and the dust filled the air too quickly for me to even realize I was suffocating beneath it until it obscured my sight barely a foot from my face. The floor began to drop, folding beneath the weight of an immeasurable mass of stone and metal overhead, tilting into such a steep angle, my feet began to slide out from under me, hands shooting forward for something, anything to grab onto. Something crashed against my chest as the last bit of solidity vanished beneath my toes, and the hurt of jagged edges burring between slats of armor didn’t matter because at least it wasn’t crumbling into the abyss below.

The desperation that drove me to cling to that ledge, the frenzy fueling my limbs as I scrambled up, and the sudden exhaustion in that exact second I realized I’d made it, body flopping onto my side as I dragged sharp gulps of air through my gaping jaw; it was all a mere blink of raw panic, and it robbed me of every thought and memory and dream until the distant hum slowly solidified into a voice.

“Doc! What’s your status?! Are you okay?!” Hunter’s voice shouted from my comm. I watched my hand reach for it before my mind caught up with the motion, fingers trembling too violently to grasp the narrow cylinder for just a few seconds too long. “Doc!”

“I’m okay.” I found myself whispering, body painfully tensed, frozen, but the sharp relief in the chorus of sighs drew a small smirk to my lips. “I… I think I-” It was such a strange thing. I didn’t hear the floor crumble, nor feel that terrible weightlessness of falling… but I heard the tiny gasp; that quiet, sharp intake of air, and then the flood of indistinguishable voices flooding my comm was the only thing I could focus on as my body plummeted the handful of stories to the mess of rubble below.

“…!” What was that?

“…-ease say…thing…” Fading in and out.

“-oc! … me?!” Muffled.

“Over h…!” A rhythmic tabbing.

“… see her!” Maybe… water?

“Be care…! …unsta…” No… footsteps?

“Kriff.” It was the horror in that voice that finally breached the fog distorting what fleeting sliver of reality surrounded me. Crosshair… If he sounded like that… something must be wrong… couldn’t sleep anymore.

“Echo, Crosshair; get the Marauder here, now!” Hunter… needed to find out why he was so worried… “Wrecker, start clearing that debris off of her – carefully!” I don’t know how long my eyes had been fluttering listlessly against the distant thought that I needed to wake up – to help them, but only darkness continued to stare back at me. The sound of skittering pebbles seemed to reverberate all around me; couldn’t figure out where it had come from… couldn’t remember why it mattered. That familiar voice continued speaking in the darkness, but the words vanished in distorted murmurs and distant thunder.

I didn’t notice the weight until it shifted; some impossible pressure spanning across my chest, down my stomach, across my hips, pinning my left arm and leg fast against whatever frigid, uneven surface lay beneath me, digging into my back and calf. Once I felt it, however, it consume me; and I wondered how long my torso had been shuddering beneath failed gasps, body simply too weak to push against that heaviness and the agony even the slightest movement sent shooting throughout my chest. Drowning; stomach churning amidst the sharp tang of iron.

Something wrapped carefully around the back of my neck. A hand. I felt their fingers slip under my helmet to gently tilt my head up just enough to ease the bucket off, and my eyes slammed shut against the assault of blinding lights. Another touch quickly settled over me, blocking out that blinding brightness. Touch… I was… The terror of the reality surrounding me began to clear, and I wasn’t surprised by how violently I trembled.

“Can you hear me? Doc! Can you hear me?” Scowling against the fear and cold. the agony tearing through my lung, the burning of suffocation screaming for a breath I couldn’t force past shaking lips, still, I dragged my gaze to the dark visor only just visible over the edge of those fingers. My vision blurred, cringing against that terrible brightness once more as he quickly withdrew his hand to wrench off his helmet. Hunter…

“Look at me, Doc!” There was a fear in that order, but the touch of his palm slipping over my cheek was nothing if not gentle. My gaze just managed to find his when that weight shifted once more. My jaw trembled against a choked scream I simply didn’t have breath to voice, some useless wheeze catching in my throat as my body seized beneath the bursts of sharp fire burring through my chest, my leg; white-hot and so deathly wrong, it flooded my eyes with tears and sent my heart racing in panic.

“Careful!” Hunter barked, attention snapping up to someone I couldn’t see over the mound of rubble. Brows drawing together, I felt my blood run cold as some dreaded understanding washed over me. That rubble… trapped… I was-

“No-no; hey Doc, I need you to look at me, right now.” He forced the rushed words into some belated façade of calm, hand dragging my gaze away from the towering pile of metal and stone and destroyed belongings once treasured by now displaced citizens. I initially attempted to fight him, staggering mind fighting to make sense of just how abysmal my situation was, but whatever strength I once processed was quickly dripping onto the shattered remains of civilization laying beneath me, seeping over dust and debris in a crimson pool of stolen warmth.

“Listen to me,” That wasn’t an order, “Come on, Doc; just look at me.” He was begging… He knew how bad this was, and he was afraid for me in a way that consumed me. There wasn’t a damn thing I would do to fix this, and that realization was a nightmare I wasn’t ready to address… but I could do what he said. If only to grant him some vain comfort in the futile belief that he still held some sliver of control over this. For whatever time I still could, I would grant him that, and the encouraging smile that just touched his lips when my eyes found his once more was more than enough reason.

“Good,” He murmured, “The Negotiator’s already en route to meet us. After we get all this off you, we’ll have you in their medbay within the hour. You just need to stay with us until then, okay?” I couldn’t answer him beyond a tiny nod, chest still seizing beneath the shallow flutters of frantic gasps that I tried desperately not to count. I didn’t see Wrecker begin pulling at that final, massive chunk of debris.

White. Stopstopstopstop. Shouting. Nails bent as my fingers clawed into the stone beneath me. Muscles contracted, flailing, useless. Hearts aren’t meant to beat that fast. How could it be so impossibly cold even as that searing, shrieking, rending heat tore through my chest? The nerves were panicking. Everyone was yelling. My chest bucked, straining to cough, copper flooding my mouth, trickling down my cheek. It tickled, and some part of me knew it was blood.

“Stay with us! Dank farrik! Stay with us!” I could feel the air wash over my face as he screamed my name, hands grasping my cheeks just hard enough to ache in some desperate plea to draw my attention back to him. Floating. Like I’d somehow become disconnected. “No-no-no, Doc, please!” Even through the fear and pain and consuming need for even a moment’s reprieve, that terror in his voice is what ruined me. I felt my eyes moving, rolling blindly about the nothingness before me for several seconds before some hint of color slowly returned. Shapes. Movement.

“Good-good; you fight, dammit – you stay with us!” The relief in his order growled through clenched teeth.

“There appear to be rebar”

“I saw them, Tech.” Hunter snapped, but quickly forced himself to release a quick breath. “I know.” There was a silent apology in the sighed words. I could feel the tension seeping through my chest, robbing me of what minuscule whispers of air those worthlessly fluttered gasps could offer, but I forced my gaze to remain on the man still kneeling over me despite how my vision blurred and spun.

“She has a hemopneumothorax – air and blood are pooling in the pleural space causing her lung to collapse. I’ll have to insert a chest tube to relieve the pressure.” Wrecker should have interrupted him… Why didn’t he interrupt him - balk and the wordy description and mock his brother for overexplaining? I’d never wanted the normally loud and cheerful man to talk over that brilliant pilot before, but I would have given almost anything not to hear those words spoken aloud, body already tensing against the coming pain. Desperate pleas burned atop my tongue, forced into silence at the simple knowledge that it would only hurt them, and, still, Tech would have to push through.

“If it were one of us where you are,” Hunter started quietly, drawing my attention eagerly back to those dark eyes, “would you do any less?” Frowning through a scowl, something like sobs shook through me. Ass. My head shook weakly. If any one of them had been trapped in this nightmare, I’d stop at nothing to see them live another day.

“Didn’t think so.” He murmured before drawing a deep breath. “I want you to bite down on this.” Body heavy with a growing sense of exhaustion and helplessness, I had to strain to look for him. I think it was his glove, twisted inside-out into something of a ball. My jaw shifted listlessly, lips barely managing to part, and I could see the worry spike in those gorgeous eyes, but he said nothing about it, palm carefully whispering over my cheek as his thumb pressed against my chin to help me open my mouth enough for him to slip the wad of fabric and armor and a tang that I would forever associate with forests and dirt and something feral and utterly him between my teeth.

There was no warning. My body jerked against the violent intrusion of ice and hurt burring between my ribs, each panicked twitch of muscle tearing at the lengths of metal piercing my chest. Something pressed against me, pinning me down as my jaw clamped shut.

“Almost done.” The gentleness of that murmur ripped a fresh sob from me, and, a moment later, that sharpness digging through me stopped, fading into a terrible, throbbing ache. “Alright, you did good. Just breathe.” He praised, easing the glove from my lips. I wanted to scream at him that I couldn’t breathe. That my body was dying, and I didn’t want them to see me like this; that I was so, so terribly tired; that I just wanted to rest, if only for a moment, but my diaphragm jerked taut, wrenching a tiny gasp into failing lungs. It was the deepest breath I’d managed since waking, and part of me loathed that teasing glimmer of hope.

“We’re ready – why isn’t that thing off of her, yet?” Crosshair snapped.

“There are several lengths of rebar protruding from the bottom that have impaled her chest and leg.” I didn’t have to see him. I could hear his dread in the weight of his silence.

“Now that the Marauder is nearby, we must move quickly.” Tech prodded, and the weak, relentless tremble stealing through me grew violent. There was no thought beyond the desperate screaming of nerves still raw from the last time Wrecker attempted to free me from that final boulder, mind suddenly unable to remember anything beyond that pain, beyond the overwhelming certainty that I wouldn’t survive it again.

“Wait!” I gasped, straining to grasp some manner of clarity with which to plead my case, certain I could find a valid reason to somehow avoid the coming hurt, but I merely heard my terribly frail voice beg, “Wai-wait.”

“Doc, you know we can’t.” The apology in his voice broke me, wincing at how the sharp sob jostled the screaming flesh surrounding those metal stakes.

“Well… She’s got painkillers in that bag, right? We can give her those – take the edge off, at least?” Wrecker asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately, anything we have that depresses the nervous system, also depresses the respiratory system; hers, of which, is already severely compromised.” Tech stated automatically. “Additionally, I am unsure where her bag landed, and have only what supplies I brought myself.”

“If we don’t hurry up, she won’t need painkillers.” Crosshair hissed.

“He’s right.” I watched the muscles ball over his jaws as the Sergeant looked over his shoulder to his brothers. “Crosshair stabilize her chest. Wrecker, lift it smoothly on his count. Tech, be ready with the coagulant.” Something passed between them in silence before the sniper quickly kneeled beside me, absently pulling the gloves from those skillful hands, and I hated the way that tremble redoubled at the simple realization that he was about to touch that ruined flesh.

“Don’t look at him, right now – look at me.” The rich smokiness of Hunter’s voice was a comfort in itself, but when it dropped into such a gentle murmur, if only for a moment, nothing else mattered, and I instantly found myself moving to obey him as he shifted to position himself between me and the others, blocking my view of their final preparations.

“You remember that little talk of us becoming settlers?” He was whispering, body just curling over me, and it felt so easy to pretend, to melt into any reality other than the one around me… I answered with a small nod. “The settlers of Clone Force 99 wouldn’t get very far without their medic… You going to abandon all that ruckus of city life to keep on adventuring with us?” The broken smile that pulled unsteadily at my lips held none of the terror and pain fighting to overwhelm me, but I could taste the sadness in it.

“Ca-can’t get r…rid of me…” I gasped on what useless huffs of air my ruined lungs could hold. He smiled back with that same threat of heartbreak before his shoulders jerked with a sharp breath, attention shifting briefly behind him. When he turned back to me, the dread in his eyes turned my blood to ice.

“Listen to me; we’ve got to get this thing off you – you ready?” I felt the automatic movement of my head shaking, trapped in some horrified denial that this was happening… but I knew there simply wasn’t time for that… Brows pulling sharply together, I turned hard eyes up to his, and I knew he saw how deathly afraid I was as I gave a firm nod. Again, he eased my lips apart to slip that glove between my teeth. “Alright. You just focus on me for a while, okay?”

Something slid between my torso and the mass of stone, and I could feel the shredded muscles twitching in some futile plea to escape. The knowledge that it was Crosshair’s fingers offered no relief. In a moment of yielding to that mounting fear, my arm lashed out, hand latching onto Hunter’s wrist.

“Hunter…” It sounded like I was pleading, begging around teeth already burring into his glove, and I hated it, but then his thumbs began dancing gently over my cheeks, wiping at tears I hadn’t noticed fall, and his touch was the only comfort in a nightmare of hurt. In that moment, I couldn’t fight the depth of my own need as I stared up at him.

“I know.” He breathed, remorse and guilt weighing each syllable.

I didn’t hear Crosshair’s signal. I didn’t hear the rumble of stone beginning to shift, nor whatever attempts at calming words fled those dancing lips as Hunter’s hands locked me in place. My back fought to arch, muscles thrashing for any relief, but Crosshair kept me pinned down. What useless wisps of air I’d held tried to escape in a barked scream, diaphragm seizing, but my throat closed too tightly even for that. My jaw snapped shut, eyes wide. Tearing. Ripping. Rending through me with such a violent sense of wrong and panic and cold.

“We’ll find someplace beside a river.” His lips brushed over my ear, cheek flush against mine, and I could feel how his fingers shook where they’d tangled into my hair. “Tech’ll design some overly fancy place to live, and I’m going to need you to deal with him and Wrecker bickering while we build it.” That sharp tang of copper… My chest bucked, but couldn’t manage to rid my mouth of that nauseating heat. “Echo and Cross can hunt so I can help you keep the peace.” I could feel the tissue drag against the textured ridges along the metal, felt them chip against my rib, and my stomach flipped. “Bet you can convince Cross to pick up knitting – make everything matching scarfs by winter.” Echoing… why was his voice echoing like that? I didn’t like the way it blurred with that horrid sound of churning meat, the wet sucking of floundering lungs; that distant thudding.

“…please.” My name sobbed from lips twisted into a scowl. “We’re so close, Doc; just hold on.” Hold on? Couldn’t… the very rigidity of my bones seemed to abandon me, jaw falling slack, body barely tensing beneath the occasional huff of a cough, but even that autonomic effort to clear my lungs enough to draw breath was failing.

Whatever relief that distant recess of my mind hoped to feel as that final inch slipped free fell frightfully silent. I felt how my body moved beneath freshly panicked touches and shouted orders; felt them push me onto my side as Wrecker’s massive hands shifted around Crosshair’s to apply pressure to the wounds; felt Tech began packing each puncture with foam, felt it sink through me and swell. I felt some fleeting attempt at a whimper choke over numb lips as Hunter held my head steady as though there were still some point to maintaining some semblance of support lest unseen injuries to my neck render me paralyzed, felt his lips continue that pleading dance against my ear before straining to make out his words.

“Just a few more, then we’ll get you out of here.” He promised. “Echo’s just outside. You hear me?” I couldn’t feel that hurt anymore. Not really. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, Doc. Not now.” But I could still fell his warmth. “We’re too damn close for you to give up now.” The calluses of his fingers. “One more – just one more.” What was… was he crying? I was certain I’d felt his shoulders jerk ever so slightly. “Please… stay with me.” I think I tried to move – to find those eyes; to show him I was trying…

“That’s it! Move!” Crosshair shouted. The way the world tumbled around me; the shock of sunlight robbing my already fleeting vision… I tried to listen; tried to find them through the distorted mockery of reality, but everything was spinning too quickly to find even a whisper of logic beyond the certainty that I knew I was as safe as I could possibly be in their hands, and I didn’t doubt that it would be enough.

Despite a lifetime in hospitals and medbays, still my nose crinkled at the sharp scent of antiseptic. The beginnings of a moan caught in my throat with a choked grunt of pain, body shuddering beneath the deep ache that bloomed in my chest.

“-sy; try not to move yet.” Echo… I’d know his voice even in a chorus of his brothers. Brows drawing together in a weak pout, I forced my eyes open, squinting slightly against the way the dim colors blurred. “Hey,” The greeting left in a huff that sounded like it desperately wanted to be a sob, “It’s good to see you back in the land of the living.” I let that pout pull up into a brief scowl, before offering a fleeting glimpse of a smile.

“We’re still aboard the Negotiator,” He explained quietly, lips settling into a gentle smile of his own as he stepped closer to my bedside, and I was pleased to find my vision slowly clearing enough to find those amber eyes. “Don’t push yourself if it hurts, but can you talk, yet?” Of course, I could, if only because he asked. Mouth parting slightly, I drew a purposeful breath, but let it out with a slight shutter, body hesitating beneath the foreign sensation that should have been commonplace.

“Yeah.” I managed on my second attempt, voice hoarse, but it easier than I’d anticipated, and the beaming grin it brought to Echo’s still pale lips was well worth the effort.

“Great,” He sighed in relief. “They had to replace parts of that lung, but the medbay here is topnotch – only had to keep you on bacta for a couple days before they’d grown enough to replace the damaged sections.” I listened passively to his explanation, not bothering to interrupt him with the reminder that I was intimately familiar flagship medbays.

“They’ll have regrown me a whole new set of lungs by the time this war ends.” I grumbled, heart soaring at the quiet chuckle it drew from him. “Wher- mgh.” I started, but the instant I tried to look around, the muscles around my ribs balked.

“Whoa – I said not to move.” He chided, expression twisting in a sympathetic grimace as he carefully laid his hand over my shoulder. I tried to do just that: to let my body melt back against the thin cot, but it was several seconds before those frantic muscles began to still.

“That’s it; easy.” He murmured quietly. I felt the chill sweep through me beneath the icy sweat that broke out over my skin, quickly soaking into my hair and the pale patient gown. “Might have a couple rough days of recovery ahead of you, but the hard part’s over.” He promised, “And we’re not going anywhere until you’re back on your feet.” The suddenness with which those words ripped a sob from me and flooded my eyes with tears should have surprised me, but, beneath the overwhelming rush of relief, I couldn’t bring myself to care, gaze darting back to him in a quiet gasp. His tongue swept quickly over his lips, expression mirroring the tentative hope bursting through my chest.

“Yeah – General Kenobi cleared it. Between him and Cody, there’s not really a lot of people high enough rank to overrule… so… we’re not going anywhere.” Finally, I merely let myself crumble amidst that relief, tears falling silently down my cheeks. His grip tightened slightly around me as he continued. “The others got kicked out – the medics here are pretty strict on the one-visitor rule, so we’ve been taking shifts.” I tried to show him the depth of my gratitude in the weak smile that tugged at my lips, and I didn’t doubt how clearly he understood.

I wasn’t sure when I’d fallen asleep, but it felt like I’d merely blinked before suddenly finding myself surrounded by the others. The beginnings of a chuckle quickly devolved into choked, painful coughs. Someone carefully pulled me up enough to lessen some of the strain, and I wasn’t surprised when Hunter’s deep voice whispered in my ear.

“Shh, if that control-freak of a medic hears you, he’ll kick us out again.” Despite my best attempts to hold it back, a fresh burst of laughter brought with it the same breathless coughs. Another hand gently swept along my back in a slow, soothing rhythm. Blurring eyes shifted to find Echo, lip caught between his teeth in worry. Too-quick breaths escaping in a painful wheeze, I slowly managed to regain some bit of control, body melting into the warmth of their touch.

“You lot look like shit.” I mumbled, noting the dark circles around their eyes, the way the normally rich gold of their skin appeared almost sickly even in the blessedly dimmed light. The collection of scoffs only fueled my weary grin.

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Crosshair said dismissively, arms looping over his chest, but even his lips hinted at a smirk.

“I don’t think any of us have gotten much sleep since we landed.” Hunter admitted, thumb shifting almost nervously over my shoulder. I let my eyes slip closed, head resting against him as my still quick breaths began to ease into something closer to normal.

“H-hey Doc?” Something about Wrecker’s hesitant call broke my heart. I quickly sought out those mismatched eyes and found myself mourning the sorrow in them. “I’m… I’m real sorry about… well, I should’a just followed the plan ‘stead of… yuh know…”

“Wrecker.” His name sighed through a worried frown, fingers of my right hand flaring in invitation. He paused for a mere moment before stepping forward, and, not for the first time, I silently remarked on just how small I was against him as he carefully slipped his hand around mine. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” I assured him quietly, but my words offered no balm to his guilt. “It was a mistake. You learned from it, right?” There was no judgement in those softly spoken words, and he offered a small nod. I instantly rewarded him with a broad smile. “Alright then.” I said simply, “lesson learned. I’m okay. You’re all okay… Nothing to forgive.”

“You mean it?” He pressed, still tensed as though expecting some sharp words, and I wanted so desperately to pull him to my chest as whisper promises and reassurances to him until he believed me.

“I mean it.” In the moment, however, those firm, loving words were all I could manage, but, at the relief that eased the tension from his shoulders, it seemed enough.

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