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agentrcmedy · 1 year

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Come out of the rubble, stronger than you knew

It’s hard to find the will to fight when all you can do is survive.

- Hang On a Little Longer // UNSECRET, Ruelle

The following backstory is heavily triggering. TW: Childhood abuse, Violence, Bullying, Attempted murder, foul language, prejudice/bigotry, emotional abuse, parental loss, blood, asphyxia, gaslighting, knife violence, physical assault. I’m putting it under a read more so that I do not upset those who do not wish to see such things. For those comfortable with all of the above, I give you feels on Melina’s worst day of her life, and the day her entire life changed for the better at the same time.

Wrenching her front door open with blood-stained hands, Mel’s harsh breathing echoed in the short hallway. Shut it quickly behind her and moved through her home until she reached the kitchen, turning on the sink and running her crimson fingers under the water. That and her weary sniffling were all that could be heard from the brunette as jumbled thoughts rushed around her head so intensely that it caused her head to ache. She understood nothing that was happening to her. The blue, warm to the touch glow that had emanated from her body, the sudden swelling inside of her chest as memories not her own flooded through her and left her breathless.

Everything happened so quickly, she barely had time to process before instinct took over and she felt the urge to save her friend’s life. A prank gone wrong is what it started out as, but when it ended up with someone on the ground bleeding, all laughing ceased as people screamed and started to call 911. Melina jumped in with her basic knowledge of first aid from her nurse mother and tried to put a tourniquet over the limb to stop the flow of blood, and not a minute later, the wound had disappeared against his skin and the entire room was staring at her like she had grown seven heads like a Hydra.

“What the hell?” “Oh my God…” “Witch!” “Monster!” “The fuck did you do?” Voices of her classmates blended together as she just gazed down at her trembling hands with a slack jaw.

“I-I…I don’t know…” she had whispered before holding out her hand to her previously injured friend to help him up.

“Jesus, get away from me. You’re one of those mutant freaks…don’t fucking touch me.” It had stung hearing those words from him, as he had been someone she had had feelings for since their eighth grade year. All she had wanted to do was provide aid until the ambulance had arrived, not become a despised circus act that became horribly harassed until she raced home from school.

“Come on…come off my hands…” Muttering to herself, she poured more soap on her skin and scrubbed at the blood until she was sure her skin would be raw. She grabbed paper towels and wiped off whatever she could before walking back into the living room. And that is when she overheard the door to her father’s study bang into the wall roughly as it opened. With a wince, Mel glanced towards the stairs and wondered if she could just hole herself up in her room; however, that would mean passing him upstairs on the way there. He seemed in a foul enough mood already, so it wouldn’t be in her best interest to antagonize him. Unfortunately, it appeared there was no avoiding him, as feet stormed against the floors aiming for the stairs. She hastily reached for the hoodie on the couch, threw it on over her stained uniform top, and shoved her hands into her front pocket to hide the evidence of what had transpired.

“Melina.” The darkened, icy tone of her father’s voice dropped her heart to her toes. Somehow, she knew that he had discovered the truth regarding what she had done. It was a strange and unsettled sensation in the pit of her stomach, like an overstimulated intuition.

“Dad? I didn’t know you were home…” Keeping her voice even, the teenager glanced up as he landed on the bottom stair and began to stalk into the room.

“I just received an interesting call from a classmate of yours. It did confirm some suspicions I’ve had since the night your mother died.” Overly calm, his rage boiled just underneath the surface, and Mel’s frown deepened at the mention of her mom. The way he spoke of his former wife was callous and unfeeling, but the young woman knew better than to speak up.

“I-I have homework to do. Can I go-?” Standing up, Mel made a step to the stairs with a small gesture of her hand, but soon paused from a sharp pain due to the stronger hand of her furious father enclosing around her wrist and squeezing.

“Sit the fuck down.” There was no request in his stance, and with a soft gasp of discomfort, she took a shaky seat. He sat beside her, too close a proximity as the hatred in his heart left her reeling. How could she feel his emotions so strongly out of the blue like this?

“When were you going to tell me that you were just like that bitch?”

“What? Dad, what are y-“ Pop. Before she realized it, her head snapped to the side after the back of his hand made a loud contact with her cheek. Her hand shot up to cup the burning skin in disbelief, but his fingers grabbed her chin hard enough to bruise, and forced her gaze back towards his, his eyes almost black.

“You do not ask the questions. I ask, you answer. And you will tell me the truth.” A target of his temper prior, this time felt eerily different. “Nod to let me know you understand.” Her head tilted forward once.

“How long have you known you were a mutant?” He inquired.

“I’m not a mutant…” Smack. The stinging against her face had her shrinking away as far as she was able. Her headache worsened as she shook against his hold. “Dad, pl-please. I don’t know what is happening to me…I swear. I didn’t know.” The grip on her chin tightened as hot tears blurred her vision.

“You can’t tell me you have lived your entire life without knowing what you are. Your mother kept it from me for the entire time we were married…and you see what happened to her? I had wondered how those men suddenly stopped shooting and returned to their cars without checking to make sure she was dead. Now I know it was you.” Melina was utterly confused, and though she tried to pull away from him, the hold he had on her was too secure.

“I don’t understand. How…how did you know they stopped?”

“Did you think you could outsmart me? You thought I would not notice that you’re just like Anna…calculating, secretive, dangerous. She could influence emotions…she called herself a “healer,” but she was a mutation, a disgusting abomination that should have never existed.” It was Melina’s turn to be enraged at the memory of her deceased mother. Swinging with her fist, she caught him against the shoulder, catching him off guard as he fell back halfway against the sofa, releasing her face. He never expected her to finally fight back.

“That’s my mom! She was a good woman. She helped people. She wasn’t a corrupt politician, like you.” She knew the fire those words would stoke. She knew the consequences that would follow if she did not leave at that moment. Scrambling to her feet, Mel glanced to the front hallway and began to race to freedom. A swift grasp of her hair yanked her back as she cried out, and her feet were swept out from beneath her. Her back slammed to the wood floors, effectively stealing the breath from her lungs. While she lay gasping, her father leaned over her with a sneer and threw a kick into her stomach to add insult to injury.

“Stupid bitch. You should have known better. You know better than to upset me.” He paced back and forth as he raked a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulder a few times. “If this gets out, if I send you back to school, my future as mayor will be over. Why did you do this to me?! Why did you have to be born with that bloodline? You’re ruining everything!” Mel rolled over onto her stomach coughing as he growled out his words, trying to think of a way out as he disappeared into the kitchen. “You should have been normal! This is your fault. Your fault I have to do this…not mine…” When he returned, her legs had managed to force her up, though her chest and ribs throbbed with every movement.

“I’ll have to make it look like an accident. You couldn’t live with yourself…you were a depressed child after the death of your mother…I can be quite convincing for the press.” Grabbing the first thing in her hand, which was a statuette on the table beside her, she flung it at him, and he cringed as it glanced off his arm. The extent of his unbridled fury slammed into her like a freight truck as she stumbled back, giving him the time to rush her. He brandished a knife, grabbing her by the throat and shoving her backwards until she hit the wall.

“I am doing the world a favor…humans will never love what you are. They will never accept you. You will always be a freak…you will always be hunted. They will not touch you or be with you. What person would ever want something so defective? Everyone will see you’re a monster. They will be afraid of you. You’ll hurt people. I am saving this world!” Struggling to gasp past her bruised windpipe, every impulse inside screamed at her to resist passing out.

Survive…she heard a whisper in her head as her arm rose up instantly to defend herself, his knife that was aimed for her chest slicing through her hoodie and leaving a deep cut in her skin there instead. Though she wished to scream in agony, her throat became even more restricted as his fist tightened, vision beginning to blur as a fight response took over. Her nails dug into his arm as she thrust her head forward, making contact with his nose. A cracking sound told her it had broken as he howled out his pain, and she felt the grip loosen enough for her to breathe.

“Let go…” she croaked through her lightheadedness, the adrenaline coursing through her veins the only thing keeping her from slumping forward. Yet, there was something else bubbling up inside of her as she willed him to stop, willed herself to live. It was a powerful, almost commanding feeling as her father released her reluctantly as though he was no longer in control of himself or his actions. She lurched to the lamp on the end table and tugged the cord out of its socket before turning and crashing it into his head with whatever strength remained, watching as he crumpled to the floor.

Though he appeared lifeless, her body was assuring her he was not dead. Still holding the now broken lamp, the temptation to swing it down on him again threatened to overpower her as she began to sob, the enormity of everything that had occurred within minutes finally registering in her brain. But then his words echoed back in the silence. ‘They’ll be afraid of you. You’re a monster.’

“N-No…No…You are…” she gritted out weakly as she staggered to the home phone and dialed a familiar number, the only person left in this world that she could trust. Only two rings before it picked up.

“Oh, my Melly Bean! Happy Birthday, love!” The sweet motherly voice of her grandmother rang out, a normally welcome respite that had her sobbing even harder, clutching the phone in bleeding hands as she fell on her knees. Not even a beat passed. “What happened? What’s wrong?” Gone was the softer tone, replaced with alarm and concern.

“Grandma…I’m a mutant…I-I’m a mutant…I hurt Dad…it was self-defense, he was trying to kill me…but I hurt him…” she broke down, shaking her head as she hurriedly stole a glance back at his prone form and prayed he remained that way. “Please help me…I have to go…I-I have to leave…”

There was a silent moment before Connie finally responded. There was snapping on the other end of the line and a soft yet quickened conversation between her grandmother and someone else beside her. She could have sworn she heard her name and then shouted orders from a male voice, but her mind was hazy.

“We will be there in ten minutes, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay. You’ll be okay. We’ll take care of everything.”

“W-We?”

“I work with an organization that cleans up messes for people like us.”

“You…are you like me?”

“There's so much to tell you, later…just know you’ll be safe now. Stay on the line with me. I need you to breathe with me. Are you hurt?”

“Yes…”

“And your father?”

“I, uhm, I hit him...with a lamp. He's unconscious.” The older woman chuckled in her ear, which strangely eased her panic by a little.

“Don’t feel bad. Bastard deserved that. And more.” The bitterness of losing her daughter was palpable before she began to sound out of breath as though she was running somewhere. “You did what you had to, Melina. You’re alive. You are so strong and brave. You hear me?”

“I’m tired.” Her adrenaline had begun to crash as she slid down the wall, and groaned in pain.

“I know…I know you are tired. But I need you to be strong a little longer. I’ll be there soon, and then we’re going to help you. Sweetheart? Mel? Melina! Agent Hill, get this chopper in the air now!” The wounded empath heard none of this, however, as the shock overtook her and she slumped to the floor, unable to remain conscious any longer.

#more than just an agent; headcanons #drabble #tw long post #tw choking #tw cursing #tw childhood abuse #tw physical violence #tw knives #tw blood #tw gaslighting #tw trauma #tw prejudice #tw bullying #tw parental death #FEELS #PAIN CENTRAL #I AM SORRY IN ADVANCE #I HAD TO WRITE THIS OUT #love of flowers and horses; about mel

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somniphobicfox · 9 months

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My aunt called me for a family outing, and I refused because my pain was reaching higher levels and I knew it was flaring up and I just wanted to go to bed. I told her about it, and she goes "I'm tired as well, aren't I going out? I'm so much older than you, I'm still going out with all of you- "

I'm disabled.

I pleaded with my mom to convince her - I was feeling terrible. My pain was sooooooo high I was in tears. And to make matters worse, she told "if you're not coming, then we're not going as well." I felt so terrible.

EVERYBODY told me to suck it up and come along. A cousin was even so sure of why I was hurting, and blamed me for my pain. Told me that I should've listened to her and not done x and that's why I'm in pain.

I'm disabled. I have chronic pain.

And my own mother gave in to peer pressure and I was surrounded by ableists convincing me, blackmailing me to go along with them just so that they don't have to face the guilt of leaving someone behind. It was one of the worst days of my life.

I ended up going, and I cried that night because I was in so much pain. I had been on a bumpy car ride while my arm was flaring up.

Able-bodied people, if you're reading this — please understand that when a disabled person tells you to go somewhere without them, just go. Telling them that you would stay would only make them feel more terrible. And also, believe disabled people when they say they're hurting. PLEASE. Its the one thing we ask of you.

#chronic pain #chronic illness #disability #ableism #ableist #disabled #disability pride month #awareness #disability awareness #chronic #fibromyalgia #central sensitization #central sensitization syndrome #nerve pain #chronic arm pain

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greyturned · 2 years

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head empty no memories / @intcthatgoodnight sent: "Blank mind" (from han)

THE FIRST THING HE NOTICED WAS HOW MUCH his body ached , his limbs felt heavy and his skin felt tight . there was a pounding in his skull that was hard to ignore as well . it took him several moments to even attempt clawing his way back into the land in the living , most of that time was spent wondering what the hell happened to him . he didn’t remember the dogfight he’d been a part of , a battle between Resistance x - wings and First Order TIE fighters . he didn’t remember taking a hit to one of his engines , or the stroke of luck and carefully timed maneuvers that had him crashing into the hangar bay of the Resistance flagship . he’d been too unconscious at the time to know that he’d been pulled out of the wreckage barely alive and brought to the Resistance infirmary . he didn’t remember the screaming of Red - 7! , of Solo! , of Ben! , before it all went dark . he didn’t remember the way he pulled the Force around him to ease his crash landing , an act that very well saved his life .

in fact , Ben Solo didn’t remember anything . not even himself .

THERE WAS A RUSH OF MOVEMENT THAT FOLLOWED the grunt that escaped him when he tried to shit and get an idea as to what the damage was , dark eyes blinking open against the harsh , blinding light of the infirmary . something moved beside him , talking in a strangely mechanical and monotone way that went ignored by whoever was trying to get past it and did so with a relieved exclamation of “ Ben ! ” that had him even more confused . the gruff voice belonged to an elderly man , the relief was matched in his eyes as he asked him how he was . he didn’t know how to answer , didn’t know how to feel in the face of something so ... strange . he didn’t want to be rude either , but he couldn’t help but shy away when the stranger tried to reach out to him . he had so many questions , but the first to come forth was ❝ um ... who’s Ben ? ❞

#* &. incoming transmission. / answered asks #* &. i know what i have to do. / in character #* &. main / free to be you and me #intcthatgoodnight / han solo #pain central

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 2 years

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Genuinely don't think I've seen anyone talk about chapter 25 as a pivotal moment for Dazai so I'm gonna put this out here because I think his reactions here kind of negate that whole omnipotent Dazai interpretation which I hate with every fibre of my being.

Firstly, he's like, clearly caught off guard here. And don't try to tell me he wasn't, because this is just one instance of his genuinely horrified reaction to Q's release and when he realized what was actually going on with Atsushi, Naomi and Haruno.

Him being caught off guard carries significance here because you'd never catch him screwing up this bad later in the series - which is exactly my point.

I wrote a post earlier about how I don't think Dazai really is very much like Mori or Fyodor at all, and I stand by that, because their motives are different. Tldr for that post: Mori and Fyodor are ambitious and proactive, while Dazai is empty/numb and reactive.

What this leads me to believe is that Dazai is less a chess master like those two and more of a contingency planner - he's so good at "predicting" because he is uncannily good at thinking like his opponent and then planning for literally any possibility under the sun he can come up with. He's no gambler. Everything and everyone is practically (and unknowingly) micromanaged. It's almost paranoid in a sense, and I definitely think it's a trauma response to something he went through that we don't know about yet - after all, he was more than capable of this before he even met Mori.

...which brings to me to Mori's influence here. It's straight up like Dazai forgot how willing Mori is to gamble huge risks for a good outcome. It's like he forgot the mafia could be a real threat to his best-laid plans.

Going to throw out a wild claim here that I don't think is actually all that baseless - I think it's widely assumed that Dazai molds himself to what he needs to be (true!) but I think this misses the idea that he is also easily influenced by the mindsets of the people around him (see: the difference between Entrance Exam Dazai and early manga Dazai, the whole "the longer he was in the mafia the darker and more incomprehensible he became" thing from Stormbringer, how dark his eyes get in the prison sections with Fyodor, etc.). I could go on, but for the sake of not making this post too much longer, let's assume this is true because it suddenly makes sense as to why he failed to predict Q but predicted other events much later that were inherently more difficult to predict:

He was in the wrong mindset. He was thinking like an Agency member, and dare I say, he even got a little complacent. He started to get used to not having to manipulate every last variable - he was removed from a toxic environment - only for Mori to pretty much instantly fuck that up in one scene.

Let's also not forget what happened the last time he miscalculated Mori's intentions.

The consequences of this blunder could've been a lot worse and he knows it.

In his mind, thinking like an ADA member wasn't good enough to stop a potentially awful outcome - awful outcomes that could bring him pain. So, he goes back to what he knows - think like the demon prodigy. Think like Mori. Later on, think like Dostoyevsky. Because it seems to me that he believes as long as he is still working for the light that it doesn't matter if he uses these horrifically manipulative and inhumane methods of getting there. But he is wrong. Darkness within the context of good intentions is still very much darkness, and it hurts people all the same.

In the very next chapter, Dazai arranges Ango's car accident. And he only gets worse and worse throughout the series as he regresses back into his paranoid darkness that manifests as this omnipotent facade - his safety net that ultimately prevents him from developing in a positive, more human direction.

#bsd #bsd meta #bsd analysis #dazai meta #bsd dazai #genuinely wish when people talked about dazai's human qualities #that we talked more about his pain aversion #i really think it's central to every action he takes #he's guarded #manipulative #and always has a plan #how could this combination of behaviours not be related to his avoidance of pain?#storyrambles #god i hope this made sense

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underneaththatblackblanket · 7 months

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"The 200+ Symptoms of Fibromyalgia"

(Note: Some symptoms may overlap)

GENERAL

1. Activity level decreased to less than 50% of pre-illness activity level

2. Cold hands and feet (extremities)

3. Cough

4. Craving carbohydrates

5. Delayed reaction to physical activity or stressful events

6. Dryness of eyes and/or mouth

7. Edema (Oedema)

8. Family member(s) with Fibromyalgia

9. Fatigue, made worse by physical exertion or stress

10. Feeling cold often

11. Feeling hot often

12. Frequent sighing

13. Heart palpitations

14. Hoarseness

15. Hypoglycemia (blood sugar falls or low)

16. Increased thirst

17. Low blood pressure (below 110/70)

18. Low body temperature (below 97.6)

19. Low-grade fevers

20. Night sweats

21. Noisy joints – with or without pain

22. Poor circulation in hands/feet

23. Profuse sweating

24. Recurrent flu-like illness

25. Shortness of breath with little or no exertion

26. Severe nasal allergies (new or worsening allergies)

27. Sore throat

28. Subjective swelling of extremities – (feels swollen Bu can’t find anything)

29. Sweats

30. Symptoms worsened by air travel

31. Symptoms worsened by stress

32. Symptoms worsened by temperature changes

33. Tender or swollen lymph nodes, especially in neck and underarms

34. Tremor or trembling

35. Unexplained weight gain or loss

PAIN

36. Abdominal wall pain

37. Bad hip pain

38. Burning Nerve Pain

39. Chest pain

40. Collarbone pain

41. Diffuse swelling

42. Elbow pain

43. Exacerbated Plantar arch or heel pain

44. “Growing” pains that don’t go away once you are done growing

45. Headache – tension or migraine

46. Inflamed Rib Cartilage

47. Joint pain

48. Lumpy, tender breasts

49. Morning stiffness

50. Muscle pain - widespread

51. Muscle spasms

52. Muscle twitching

53. Muscle weakness

54. Pain that ranges from moderate to severe

55. Pain that moves around the body

56. Paralysis or severe weakness of an arm or leg

57. Restless Leg Syndrome

58. Rib Pain

59. Scalp Pain (like hair being pulled out)

60. Sciatica-like pain

61. Tender points or trigger points

62. TMJ syndrome

63. “Voodoo Doll” Poking Sensation in random places

NEUROLOGICAL

64. Blackouts

65. Brain fog

66. Carpal Tunnel

67. Feeling spaced out

68. Hallucinating smells

69. Inability to think clearly

70. Lightheadedness

71. Noise intolerance

72. Numbness or tingling sensations

73. Photophobia (sensitivity to light)

74. Seizures

75. Seizure-like episodes

76. Sensation that you might faint

77. Syncope (fainting)

78. Tinnitus (ringing in one or both ears)

79. Vertigo or dizziness

EQUILIBRIUM/PERCEPTION

80. Bumping into things

81. Clumsy Walking

82. Difficulty balancing

83. Difficulty judging distances (when driving, etc.)

84. Directional disorientation

85. Dropping things frequently

86. Feeling spatially disoriented

87. Frequent tripping or stumbling

88. Not seeing what you’re looking at

89. Poor balance and coordination

90. Staggering gait

SLEEP

91. Alertness/energy best late at night

92. Altered sleep/wake schedule

93. Awakening frequently

94. Difficulty falling asleep

95. Difficulty staying asleep

96. Excessive sleeping

97. Extreme alertness or energy levels late at night

98. Falling asleep at random and sometimes dangerous moments

99. Fatigue

100. Light or broken sleep pattern

101. Muscle spasms/twitches at night

102. Narcolepsy

103. Sleep disturbances

104. Sleep starts or falling sensations

105. Teeth grinding - "Bruxism"

106. Tossing and turning

107. Un-refreshing or non-restorative sleep

108. Vivid or disturbing dreams/nightmares

EYES/VISION

109. Blind spots in vision

110. Eye pain

111. Difficulty switching focus from one thing to another

112. Frequent changes in ability to see well

113. Night driving difficulty

114. Occasional Blurry vision

115. Poor night vision

116. Rapidly worsening vision

117. Vision changes

COGNITIVE

118. Becoming lost in familiar locations when driving

119. Confusion

120. Difficulty expressing ideas in words

121. Difficulty following conversation (especially if background noise present)

122. Difficulty following directions while driving

123. Difficulty following oral instructions

124. Difficulty following written instructions

125. Difficulty making decisions

126. Difficulty moving your mouth to speak

127. Difficulty paying attention

128. Difficulty putting ideas together to form a complete picture

129. Difficulty putting tasks or things in proper sequence

130. Difficulty recognizing faces

131. Difficulty speaking known words

132. Difficulty remembering names of objects

133. Difficulty remembering names of people

134. Difficulty understanding what you read

135. Difficulty with long-term memory

136. Difficulty with simple calculations

137. Difficulty with short-term memory

138. Easily distracted during a task

139. Dyslexia-type symptoms occasionally

140. Feeling too disoriented to drive

141. Forgetting how to do routine things

142. Impaired ability to concentrate

143. Inability to recognize familiar surroundings

144. Losing track in the middle of a task (remembering what to do next)

145. Losing your train of thought in the middle of a sentence

146. Loss of ability to distinguish some colors

147. Poor judgment

148. Short term memory impairment

149. Slowed speech

150. Staring into space trying to think

151. Stuttering; stammering

152. Switching left and right

153. Transposition (reversal) of numbers, words and/or letters when you speak

154. Transposition (reversal) of numbers, words and/or letters when you write

155. Trouble concentrating

156. Using the wrong word

157. Word-finding difficulty

EMOTIONAL

158. Abrupt and/or unpredictable mood swings

159. Anger outbursts

160. Anxiety or fear when there is no obvious cause

161. Attacks of uncontrollable rage

162. Decreased appetite

163. Depressed mood

164. Feeling helpless and/or hopeless

165. Fear of someone knocking on the door

166. Fear of telephone ringing

167. Feeling worthless

168. Frequent crying

169. Heightened awareness – of symptoms

170. Inability to enjoy previously enjoyed activities

171. Irrational fears

172. Irritability

173. Overreaction

174. Panic attacks

175. Personality changes –usually a worsening of pervious condition

176. Phobias

177. Suicide attempts

178. Suicidal thoughts

179. Tendency to cry easily

GASTROINTESTINAL

180. Abdominal cramps

181. Bloating

182. Decreased appetite

183. Food cravings

184. Frequent constipation

185. Frequent diarrhea

186. Gerd-like Symptoms

187. Heartburn

188. Increased appetite

189. Intestinal gas

190. Irritable bladder - "Angry Bladder Syndrome"

191. Irritable bowel syndrome - IBS-C, IBS-D

192. Nausea

193. Regurgitation

194. Stomachache

195. Vomiting

196. Weight gain - unexplained

197. Weight loss - unexplained

UROGENITAL

198. Decreased libido (sex drive)

199. Endometriosis

200. Frequent urination

201. Impotence

202. Menstrual problems

203. Painful urination or bladder pain - "Interstitial Cystitis"

204. Pelvic pain

205. Prostate pain

206. Worsening of (or severe) premenstrual syndrome (PMS or PMDD)

SENSITIVITIES

207. Alcohol intolerance

208. Allodynia (hypersensitive to touch)

209. Alteration of taste, smell, and/or hearing

210. Sensitivity to chemicals in cleaning products, perfumes, etc.

211. Sensitivities to foods

212. Sensitivity to light

213. Sensitivity to mold

214. Sensitivity to noise

215. Sensitivity to odors

216. Sensitivity to yeast (getting yeast infections frequently on skin, etc.)

217. Sensory overload

218. Sensitivity to pressure & humidity changes

219. Sensitivity to extreme temperature changes

220. Vulvodynia

SKIN

221. Able to “write” on skin with finger

222. Bruising easily

223. Bumps and lumps

224. Eczema or psoriasis

225. Hot/dry skin

226. Ingrown hairs

227. Itchy/Irritable skin

228. Mottled skin

229. Rashes or sores

230. Scarring easily

231. Sensitivity to the sun

232. Skin suddenly turns bright red

CARDIOVASCULAR (Heart)

233. “Click-murmur” sounds through stethoscope

234. Fluttery heartbeat

235. Heart palpitations

236. Irregular heartbeat

237. Loud pulse in ear

238. Pain that mimics heart attack - "Costochondritis"

239. Rapid heartbeat

HAIR/NAILS

240. Dull, listless hair

241. Heavy and splitting cuticles

242. Irritated nail beds

243. Nails that curve under

244. Pronounced nail ridges

245. Temporary hair loss

OTHER

246. Canker sores

247. Dental problems

248. Disk Degeneration

249. Hemorrhoids

250. Nose bleeds

251. Periodontal (gum) disease

252. Need for early hysterectomy

#fibromyalgia #chronic pain #chronic illness #chronically ill #invisible illness #spoonie #pwd #disability #hidden disability #sharing is caring #disorder #neurological disorder #central nervous system #nervous system disorder #mental health #health #awareness

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thephilosopherspetcat · 3 months

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Just because a certain, or popular disease "fits" your symptoms doesn't mean you have it.

I get that it can be hard to get a formal diagnosis, but until you do, PLEASE DONT SPREAD YOUR PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AS FACT AS FAR AS THE DISEASE GOES.

self-diagnosing for *personal* reasons is perfectly fine. if it helps you to just run with that diagnosis, privately, until you can have it confirmed or find the actual thing wrong with you, then go for it!

But please stop shouting to the world:

"Oh I have EDS and I experience xyz because of it!"

Because you are changing the perception of the disease to the public (healthcare workers included) by claiming that diagnosis, and you might be totally wrong.

• specifically for hEDS, I know so many people who have DIED from it and in the same day I hear a doctor tell me "EDS is just a tiktok trend..." and an hour later 50 comments on a tiktok video telling a stranger with hyperextended elbows that "you must have EDS! You're so flexible!" as if hEDS is just a flexibility issue and not the literal proteins in your body being malformed, rupturing organs, paralyzing intestines, and having your brain literally fall out of your skull.

Peace & Love,

a girly with cEDS who just read 20 posts under the ehlers danlos tag with varying degrees of "basically i have eds but also ive never actually been told that by a doctor, but here's my eds advice" (and a lot of that advice is actually horrible to give to someone with a collagen disorder).

#chronic illness #chronically ill #gastroparesis #central line #ehlers danlos syndrome #chronic pain #classical ehlers danlos syndrome #ceds

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

Text

hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.

in short, my writing comfort zone <3

The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.

“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”

“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”

“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”

Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.

“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”

“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”

Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”

It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe.

The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach.

“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”

“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad.

Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”

“Especially you.”

Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”

“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”

“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.”

Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed.

That’s not.

That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”

Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what.

Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good.

Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”

Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”

“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”

“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”

“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”

“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”

“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.

Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?

He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting.

Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation?

Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind.

Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”

“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”

Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes.

The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.

For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left.

He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.

Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense.

Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-

His phone is ringing.

Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-

“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.

“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler.

“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”

All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.

“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”

Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”

“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.

“B. Beagle, yeah.”

The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.

“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it.

“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”

Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.”

Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.

“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs.

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”

It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot.

The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.

“Are you sure-”

“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.

Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on.

Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway.

“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan.

Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands.

It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”

Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.

“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “

Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-

When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer.

“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”

Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”

“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.

Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”

Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”

He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”

Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.

Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.

Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal.

Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.

Wally flatlining on a metal table.

Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-

“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway.

Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier.

Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors.

Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare.

That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.

Looks like he doesn’t have a choice.

Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”

“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”

They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones.

Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness.

“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road.

A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting.

The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace.

Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.

[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]

It’s bad.

The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman.

Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.

“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”

Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own.

When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him.

If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it.

For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things.

At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?

Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning.

Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…

What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors?

That he didn’t make it?

The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.

“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”

The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without.

“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”

Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”

“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties.

“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”

“He’ll make it?”

Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”

Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand.

“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks.

“I’m not sure-”

“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.”

Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”

Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.

“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.

Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”

Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time.

“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”

“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”

“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”

Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?

In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves.

“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”

What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet.

Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.

One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time.

Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.

Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.

We’re doing our best.

“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”

Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on.

The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time.

“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”

Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.

“How can I help?” he asks instead.

“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes.

“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was… what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”

It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.

“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”

He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-

“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts.

Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”

It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing.

Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.

“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”

It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there.

“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”

Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again.

A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.

Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained.

They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-

Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.

#IM SORRY FOR ANY HOSPITAL/PROCEDURAL INACCURACIES IM NOT TRYING TO BE ACCURATE AT THE MOMENT #except for the injuries. those are realistic and i did my due diligence. read a lot of first hand accounts! medical pages!#ohhhh this was so cozy to write #i mean. not as familiar as actual on-screen injuries but yk #its been too fluffy in here.#this is a mild example of my usual tastes and habits when it comes to fic & fiction #WHUMP CENTRAL BABEYYYYYY #i like it messy and painful!!! Lets Fuckin Go!!!!#this is a prime example of me not being able to shut the fuck up when writing #my scenes & convos just go on and on and on and on....#but yes! enjoy! the Crash arc is very thoroughly planned out in my head and lately its one of my favorite things to imagine before bed <3 #bedtime stories can be fictional characters going through horrible injuries & emotionally hurting each other #snippets from the bog #i will repeat what i have said multiple times before #i take the comic relief character. i hurt the comic relief character #i could have posted the little carnival half-scene. i could have #but ive been feeling stressed and caged and i need to let out some steam #and this is how i do that. controlled fictional violence <3

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