#so at least the crp portion should be medically correct
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Whumptember 2023, Day 11
“There’s nothing else I can do”
Last resort | Character death | Medical whump
The Bee’s Whumptember Masterlist
~1490 words
CW: probably wrong medical procedure based on my own limited medical training and experience, wishing for death, blood, implied knife wounds, technical medical talk, mentioned past torture, brainwashed whumpee, medical malpractice (but the good kind ig?), needles
(Continued from Day 10: What Are You Doing To Them. Turns out Detective does save Whumpee after all. kinda. heh.)
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Where… where was Whumpee? This was all much too white, much too bright. New noises pounded on their eardrums. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Hanging limply by their wrists, crimson red blotting out their dark flesh so that it was practically a second skin? So good and pretty for Whumper, because they couldn’t struggle anymore and couldn’t be entertaining anymore, so dead was the only way Whumpee could make Whumper happy? They were supposed to be dead. They wanted to be. That was the only way they could be useful now.
Something was poking and prodding at them. Multiple somethings, multiple someones. Whumpee shifted uncomfortably and tried to move away, only to find they couldn’t. Straps. They were strapped to a bed, and the bed was jostling around. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Every slight movement exacerbated their dizziness.
Had Whumper decided to keep them alive after all? Maybe this was just some new form of torture. That must be why Whumper put some sort of face mask on them. Poison, maybe. Whumpee would gladly take it. Even if their wounds made them so, so weak, even if the bright lights made them want to scream, even if they could barely feel what was happening to their body, even if the flurry of movement around them confused them, especially the agonizing poking and prodding.
Even if some dark horrible part of their heart fluttered because maybe, just maybe, Whumpee was being saved. If only… No, no, Whumpee didn’t want to be saved. Whumpee wanted to please Whumper and be good for them. That was their only job in life.
Was Whumper even here? They usually liked to talk while torturing Whumpee.
No, Whumpee was good. Whatever Whumper wanted, Whumpee would do, even if this wasn’t their usual style. They would take it because they had to, and they wanted to. They wanted to. They would always take it, always, always, always, always, always…
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Detective frantically patted Whumpee’s cheek, and their eyelids twitched open again. Barely. One of the EMTs shoved Detective out of the way with an understandably authoritative “Move,” and got to work wiping off a staggering amount of crimson just from the crook of Whumpee’s elbow. They quickly placed and taped down the IV before readjusting the oxygen mask on Whumpee’s face for the third time, as the other EMT worked on staunching the blood endlessly gushing from the various gaping gashes and stab wounds all over their body.
“They’re losing too much blood, tourniquet and elevate the limbs more and focus on stitching and pressure on the torso and head.”
Detective leaned back into the corner as much as they could. They almost wished they hadn’t climbed into the ambulance. They almost wished they’d listened as the personnel yelled at them to get out, before Detective’s determined glare and crossed arms made them decide it wasn’t worth trying to force Detective out when time was already a very precious and very quickly dwindling resource. Almost.
They smiled to themself, despite everything. If nothing else, even if Whumpee didn’t end up pulling through, at least they had made that sick sadist pay. A mist of red spraying to the walls. A second bullet. That was all Detective could have wanted.
Whumpee shuddered on the gurney, momentarily thrashing under their restraints before falling still again.
“Don’t they need blood?” Detective called, jarred out of their thoughts. They started taking a mental tally of all visible wounds again. “They lost so much, and we don’t even know–”
“Yes, they do,” EMT1 interrupted, not looking up from their tourniquet. “We don’t have any, they’ll get it at the hospital.”
Detective sputtered. “They’re not gonna make it to the hospital! We’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s gonna take–”
“Look,” EMT1 spun on Detective. “We can’t do anything about it, or else we would! Now stay out of the way or I’ll have you thrown out of the damn vehicle.”
They harshly tied off the tourniquet and moved to the next one. Then their face softened again. Just slightly. “We want them alive just as much as you...”
“I’m a universal donor!” Detective pleaded. “O negative! Take my blood!”
EMT1 paused and stared at Detective before remembering themself, shaking their head out and continuing to fuss over a particularly nasty gash. “Absolutely not, we can’t know that for sure, we can't test it, not to mention the malpractice suit alone would–”
“Shit!” The other EMT called suddenly. “Heart stopped beating, beginning compressions! Two, three, four…” They started pushing into Whumpee's chest before they even fully finished the sentence. The one chewing Detective out dashed to grab the AED machine, slammimg the two pads onto Whumpee’s chest around their partner's working hands, before rushing to the side of Whumpee’s head, tipping their head up and preparing to give life-saving breaths.
“Hey!” EMT1 yelled out to Detectives. “Come here and work the AED, it’ll prompt you on everything you need to do–” EMT2 finished their thirty compressions, and EMT1 stopped their orders to give two full breaths into the mask. Whumpee’s chest rose and fell with each breath before falling still again. EMT2 continued their compressions. EMT1 dashed across the cabin to press on the wounds again. ”--and make sure to yell ‘clear’ when it’s scanning AND when a shock is advised and then press the button–”
“They’re back!” EMT2 yelled again, ear pressed closely to Whumpee’s mouth and two fingers on the carotid artery. “Pulse weak as measured at the beginning, breathing normal. Continue as we were, and pay close attention to vitals!”
EMT1 froze, chest heaving shakily. “Okay, okay, nevermind, uh, go back to the corner…”
“Please, I’m O negative, I can help,” Detective begged. “They’re not gonna make it–”
EMT1 reeled on them, eyes fiery and wet, practically shaking, holding tense hands in front of themself placatingly as if they wanted nothing more than to grab Detective by the throat and hurl them out of the ambulance.
“We cannot give an emergency blood transfusion with your blood!” they yelled, breath ragged, whipping their hand up to silence Detectives protests. “We can’t verify the blood type, and if you’re wrong, they will die, and that’s not even touching on the amount of malpractice I’d be committing. There’s nothing I can do to–”
“Oh, lay off and just do it,” EMT2 called out from the other side of the gurney, pressing a cloth into Whumpee’s stomach wounds. “Guy’s a detective, they know their blood type, and you and I both know that the patient’s heart still somehow beating is one in a billion.”
They reached across Whumpee to grab their partner's arms and press them down onto the cloth so they could grab something from the cabinets, snapping at Detective to do the same, and Detective fell in right next to EMT1.
“We’re also what, twenty minutes away from the hospital? The will of God themself couldn’t keep this patient alive for that long without a transfusion.” They nodded to the blood still steadily pooling onto the floor, covering all their shoes in a dark crimson, soaking through the bottoms of their pants with a morbid stickiness.
EMT1 stared at Whumpee, searching over their frail frame as if the answers to their life were going to be etched onto Whumpee’s skin. Only different etchings, cuts, and deep purple and black bruises could be found, standing out brilliantly against Whumpee’s practically gray skin. They turned their eyes desperately to their partner, then Detective, then their partner again. “Do it. I’ll continue care until blood can be administered. If this doesn’t work, it's on your ass.”
“Always is,” EMT2 muttered with a jarring laugh. They beckoned Detective over as their partner worked in a flurry behind them, quickly tying a tight rubber tourniquet around Detective’s upper arm. “Try to keep still, lean on the wall. Get some water from the sink, too. You’re absolutely sure you’re a universal donor?”
EMT2 grabbed them by the elbow and shoved the needle into the vein without waiting for a response. Detective swallowed. “I’ve done this before. Never been more sure in my life.”
EMT2 nodded as they finished, rushing away to help with Whumpee again just as thick blood suctioned up through the thin tube and into the waiting blood bag. Detective was already starting to feel a bit woozy. Great time to remember their fear of needles.
They forced their gaze away from the slowly filling bag, over to Whumpee lying half dead on the gurney with the EMTs rushing around them, patching them up with practiced precision. They watched with baited breath each time their chest rose and fell, hoping the next one wouldn’t be their last. Up, down, up, down. Don’t pass out. Then back to the blood draw kit, sucking out the lifesaving liquid from Detective so it could continue its journey in Whumpee.
God, this had better work.
@whumptember
#whumptember2023#whumptember day 11#day eleven: theres nothing i can do#day eleven: medical whump#day eleven: last resort#whump#whumpee#caretaker#whump writing#writeblr#“but bee you didnt like day ten!”#“why are you writing a part two?”#turns out i like writing about detective and them emts because its a lot more action or something like that lol#something about completely conditioned and trained whumpees just doesn't hit the spot for me#also i am cpr certifiead and a lifeguard#so at least the crp portion should be medically correct#at least at the time of posting#the rest tho idk
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