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anarchy-and-piglins · 3 years

Text

Somehow Technoblade had managed the spectacular achievement of becoming the odd one out in an entire community made up of rare and strange beings.

The fact that all the other residents were non-humans happened to be what made him different though. Wilbur had told him the history of the commune, how their town was founded with the direct purpose of being a safe place for mobs and hybrids to live in peace, secluded from the humans who hunted them, enslaved them, or would otherwise harm them. Their location was kept secret, hidden from most by enchantments, and they were almost completely self-sufficient in the way they were run in terms of food and stuff.

Only occasionally would somebody wander out to another village, to trade or just to seek a little adventure for themselves. Phil especially was prone to do this – a traveler at heart, his Elytrian nature – and he was the one who had found Technoblade in a rather... compromising position.

If by compromising you could mean having an arrow sticking out your back.

People didn't like Technoblade. And Technoblade generally didn't like people, but he liked it even less when they chased him out of their villages with their bows drawn. Phil had been kind enough to remove the projectile. Technoblade had bravely said it didn't hurt but then secretly dug his blunt nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave white indents. Then Phil had insisted on taking him home to get a proper look at the wound and clean it up.

Not all of the other residents were thrilled with Technoblade's presence at first, scared it could compromise their location. A lot of their tunes had changed when they found out other humans were the cause of his injury, even more so when Techno revealed this was hardly an isolated incident. People didn't like Technoblade at all.

(Most humans had little tolerance for that which they did not understand. And according to them, Technoblade was weird and very hard to understand. Techno understood himself perfectly fine, he always thought they were the weird ones.)

So he stayed and overall things worked out great. There were only minor issues caused by the 'only human around' thing. Their pub was a good example. A few of the others in the commune could simply fly or teleport, and those that couldn't had no problems either since they could rely on inhuman stamina to make the climb tolerable. Techno had a hundred rungs of a ladder he needed to brave with his pitiful human physique if he wanted to get up there. Same thing for Phil's ridiculously high-up birdhouse.

And then one day he got sick.

It was probably his own fault. Last night when it was storming he'd been coming home from mining and gotten completely soaked out in the rain. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably take his drenched clothes off and get warm and comfortable as soon as he got home – the voice sounded suspiciously like Phil when he lectured Techno about fixing his terrible sleeping schedule and eating more regularly. But he had gotten distracted by putting away the materials he'd mined into his chests and starting to smelt the ore and by the time he noticed he was shivering at how cold it was, his clothes were damp more than wet. He lighted the fire and felt too exhausted to bother getting changed, crawling under the covers as he was - though it didn't completely ward away further trembling.

When he woke up his head hurt and there was this annoying tickle in his chest, feather-light touches against his lungs. The clothes had become sticky and uncomfortable, peeling off his skin. Techno coughed into a fist and set out as normal, intent on resuming his tasks where he left off yesterday.

It would probably go away on its own.

Except the coughing didn't stop. Small bursts of it kept coming up when he needed them least. He was in the middle of one when a voice rang out behind him.

"Techno, are you okay dude?" He must have jumped a solid three feet into the air and for a moment Wilbur only chuckled at his reaction.

"I told you to stop doing that," Techno grumbled, a little too sharply. Just because Wilbur could literally appear out of nowhere didn't mean he had to use that ability to sneak up on him for no reason. Techno coughed again, hiding it in his elbow.

"You did," Wilbur acknowledged with a smirk, but didn't apologize. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look I'm doing, I'm headed to the mines." Techno swung his pickaxe up on his shoulder, kind of almost nearly dropping it in the process with how clumsy his hands were being. Stupid.

"It looks like you were hacking up a lung, really." Wilbur's features softened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Techno responded. He started walking again, knowing Wilbur would have a hard time following him while in corporeal form. Especially in the daytime.

"Are you coming to the pub later? I've got some new plans to unveil, think they'll be sick." Wilbur did make a valiant attempt at following him, though he quickly started falling behind, floating inches above the ground and unable to keep up with Techno's human strides.

"Uh, I'll think about it?" Techno answered evasively. He wasn't looking forward to braving that ladder in his current state. His arms hurt just thinking about it.

Wilbur stopped to call after him. "What do you mean you'll think about it?"

But Techno was far enough gone to be able to pretend not to hear him as he descended down his mineshaft.

Techno liked Niki's hair a lot. He'd even told her so not long after meeting her.

It was long and wavy and a nice shade of pastel pink that reminded him of the sunset. Technoblade would consider growing out his own hair that long if he didn't know it was way too unruly to keep in shape and stay untangled. And if dyeing it wasn't such a chore – one he knew he'd be too lazy to undertake as regularly as he should – he might have dyed it from its boring brown shade into something more interesting.

Niki was glad he was keeping her company while she tended to it, combing through it with what he presumed was a comb made of a seashell. Techno didn't tell her he had only really left the mines early because his lungs were starting to strain from the dust down there, the coughing fits getting closer together with less time in between to let him breathe. He sat on the sandy shore and traced patterns into the sand with one finger while they talked.

Niki was telling him about her builds, and expressing her disappointment over how she couldn't easily show them to her friends. None of them could breathe underwater or deal with the pressure common at the depths Niki lived. But she loved describing them in detail.

She was just explaining the sea glass she was intending to use when Technoblade started coughing again. His lungs expressed their displeasure through a series of sharp pangs that shot up into his neck. The sound he made was wet and disgusting, like there was something liquid rattling around inside his chest. Niki stopped talking to look at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? Techno, what happened?"

He tried to wave her away but it was kind of hard with his body still intent on making it impossible for him to get oxygen. Techno closed his eyes against the blurriness of his vision to concentrate on inhaling slower instead. "M'fine." He could feel the phlegm in his throat.

Niki was pulling herself onto the beach a little, trying to get a closer look at him. "Are you sick?"

"No." Getting up so fast was a bad idea. His head spun and he felt incredibly shaky. Techno ignored it. "No, I'm not. It's fine. I think I'll just head home now."

He started walking away quickly. The afternoon sun felt unbearable suddenly, scorching. Or maybe that was the beginning of a fever.

Niki called after him to wait but confined to the water as she was, it wasn't like she could do anything to stop him. Technoblade walked until he crested the hill, already seeing the shape of the other buildings in the distance. He made it halfway through the grass field and then he felt too drained to continue. Deciding to sit down for a bit, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I dunno, we should poke him with a stick to find out."

Techno groaned at the sound of loud voices, ringing painfully around his aching head. He cracked his eyes open – not sure when he had even fallen asleep - and tried to blink the three faces hovering above him into focus.

"Oh, I think he's alive. Kind of." That was Ranboo.

"We could still poke him, just to make sure." Tommy.

Which meant the third person had to be Tubbo.

Techno pushed up on his elbows to get into a seated position, hating how difficult it was. His limbs were weak, as if they were made of jelly or some shit. The light fever had escalated into him feeling like his entire body was on fire.

This was not good.

"-chno? Hey, anybody home?" Tubbo was talking to him, waving one hand in front of his face. If his frown was any indication, Techno had been spacing out for a while.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I think there's something wrong with him," Tubbo said to the others.

"I'm fine." Techno tried standing up but fell back onto his ass a moment later when dizziness plowed into him with the force of a boulder. Tommy snorted.

"Yeah, we can tell." He reached out but pulled his hand back as soon as it came into contact with Techno's skin. "Fuck you're almost the same temperature as Jack Manifold. Pretty sure humans aren't supposed to run that hot."

"I'll get Phil," Ranboo offered, teleporting before Techno had a chance to object.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. This was going to be a thing now and that happened to be the exact opposite of what Technoblade wanted it to be. He just wanted to go home and sleep this off.

"You're not..." Tubbo broke through his thoughts. The boy hesitated, wings vibrating a bit with nervous energy. "You're not like... actually dying are you?"

Techno tried to answer but was interrupted by another coughing fit first. When he was done Tubbo looked even more anxious than before. "Probably not. It's just a cold."

It was definitely not a simple cold. Pneumonia, more likely.

"Oh good."

Techno agreed. Not dying would probably be good, even if he currently felt like death warmed over.

Philza took him to the pub, much to Technoblade's horror.

All his protests and insistence he'd be fine if he was just taken to his house were brushed off easily, especially when Phil took flight with Techno barely able to keep from falling off his back when dark spots took over his vision. If it weren't for Phil's supporting hands keeping him steady he's probably have fallen off.

Normally Techno didn't dislike flying with Phil – despite the other always making some quip about how little Techno weighed for his height. But this time the vertigo was horrible and made him want to puke. Maybe it was fortunate he had skipped breakfast this morning.

They landed on the wooden porch softly, Phil keeping Techno's arm around his shoulder as he put him down to make sure he wouldn't collapse. Techno wasn't about to admit he probably needed that, though he muttered a quick thanks under his breath, which was starting to get more wheezing by the minute. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache.

There were a few beds in the backrooms of the pub, sometimes used for newcomers to temporarily reside. Techno found himself dumped into one, not really caring where Phil went when he left the room. Not when the sheets were so blessedly cool and comfortable. He could have probably fallen back asleep soon if Phil hadn't returned almost instantly.

"I checked with Sneeg, he said this should help a little." Phil sat down on the bed, holding up a cup with the nastiest-looking brown tea inside it Technoblade ever did see. "I'm sorry we don't have any real potions to give you, but he's closest to you in physiology, so I'm hoping this will be enough. We don't exactly have a lot of experience with human illness."

"Did you ask him if it was poisonous?" Techno asked, eyeing the steaming liquid.

"Don't be dramatic." Phil handed him the cup. Techno sighed and downed the herbal tea in one go, suppressing his gag reflex. Medicinal and earthy, it somehow tasted worse than it looked. He didn't think that was possible.

"Great, can I go home now?"

Phil shook his head as he got up again, taking the cup from him. "You're not going anywhere until your fever breaks. You think I flew you all the way up here for fun?"

"Possibly."

Rolling his eyes as he leaves the room, Phil once again came back only a moment later. This time he was holding a bowl of what Techno could only presume was water going by the cloth that was soaking in it. Phil gestured for him to lie down properly and this time Techno obeyed without complaint.

"I think it's best if you stay here for a while," he said while folding the cloth and putting it on Techno's forehead. The coldness of it did feel nice against his pounding headache. "The pub is the best place for us to take turns keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need you guys to keep an eye on me, though. I'm not a child."

"No, you're just a stubborn asshole with pneumonia." Phil drew back a bit, smile faltering. "And also the only human currently living in the commune. We don't have the needed supplies to treat you should this get worse, so I'd rather not take the risk."

And while he did a fair job hiding it, it was undeniably clear Phil was worried.

"Fine, I'll stay." Techno made an effort of showing how annoyed he was by huffing and pulling the blankets over himself. "But can you at least get me a book or something? Won't help much keeping me here if I'll be bored to death."

Phil laughed – light and teasing. Techno liked that a lot more than he did the worry.

"I'll see what I can do."

He spent a solid week in bed.

Much to Phil's relief, Techno's sickness did not get worse. But without proper medicine, it didn't improve as quickly as they would have liked either. He had to get better the old-fashioned way: waiting for his body to fight off the infection on its own.

Most of his time was spent sleeping. Whenever he woke up somebody else was at his bedside, to make sure he could eat and drink. Phil hadn't been kidding when he said they'd take turns. It was almost comforting to know there was always someone watching over him while he slept, though Techno didn't feel the need to say that out loud.

After that first week, he was recovered enough to at least limp out of his room and around the pub. He was too weak to attempt the ladder and any sudden moves were still likely to throw him into a coughing fit that could last several minutes. But he could sit at one of the tables and talk to Niki when she visited.

Or to the others, who all seemed to be coming by a lot more often than was usual.

Wilbur unveiled his plans and talked Techno's ear off about what he was working on. Fundy came all the way to the pub to try and sell him stolen trinkets. Ranboo was always coming around with some new book for him to read, asking him if he liked his previous recommendation.

(None of them visited as often as Tommy though, who always complained about having to be there while fluffing up his wings, yet always stuck around the longest even when Techno told him he'd be fine on his own.)

And with them around, Techno realized that despite being the only human, he had never felt less alone.

#technoblade #origin smp #mcyt #shara writes #human techno my beloved <3 #also sickfic mY BELOVED

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comic-book-jawns · 3 years

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Dr. Dani

“Jamie?”

Jamie usually went in early on Tuesdays to handle deliveries, insistent it was a one-person job. Dani had, of course, pushed back. So they’d eventually come to a comprise: Dani would join her every other Tuesday.

Dani had come in last week, though, so today she’d slept in and was now walking in a few minutes to 9. Jamie, however, was nowhere to be found.

The back room was the only place left to check. She’d knocked but gotten no response. So now she was opening it for good measure. If Jamie wasn’t in here, it was then time to start panicking.

But, as it turned out, she was... and Dani immediately started panicking. Jamie was curled up on the floor, shaking, breathing heavily and alarmingly pale.

“Jamie?!”

Dani rushed over and knelt beside her, but she didn’t touch her. Her first thought, naturally, was that Jamie was having panic attack, and she was cursing herself for not being here. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if she had been.

But as Dani continued to process the scene, she realized she was wrong. Jamie’s breathing, while heavy, was slow, controlled — like Jamie was nauseous.

“I’m... I’m fine... will be... happens... sometimes.”

Her mouth sounded a bit full, like she was eating something. She sat up shakily, not meeting Dani’s eyes, and started moving toward the counter to their left. Dani looked over.

A big orange juice carton was sitting on a half-torn paper bag. Some had been poured out into a glass, but the glass was mostly full. And beside them was an open packet of peanut butter crackers. One cracker had a small bite taken off, but otherwise, they were untouched.

As Dani watched, Jamie tried to reach up for the glass. Dani beat her to it, and Jamie slumped gratefully against the counter. Dani handed it to her.

“Thanks.”

Her mouth still sounded full, and Dani hadn’t seen her chewing. It was almost like she was holding the cracker bite in her mouth.

The glass shook as Jamie held it with both hands, slowly brought it to her lips, took the smallest of sips, then slowly lowered it, gasping. Dani cupped her cheek. It was clammy.

“Jamie, do you have hypoglycemia?”

Jamie gave her a blank look.

“You really need to eat but you feel too sick to?”

Jamie’s eyes went wide. She nodded vigorously. Dani exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Jamie’s eyes got even bigger. Dani cupped her other cheek.

“I’m just running out to get something for you. I’ll be right back, right back, I promise.”

Jamie nodded, relaxing slightly.

“One more sip for me, okay?”

Dani took her hands off Jamie’s face, shifting one to her shoulder and the other to the bottom of Jamie’s glass, gently lifting it up. But she let Jamie control the angle, not wanting to force feed her. Jamie again took a very small sip.

“Good, Jay. Good job.”

She knew it sounded patronizing. But she also knew from experience that it was the right thing to say in this situation. And she also knew Jamie.

Sure enough, the corners of her mouth turned up as she laughed at the ostensibly pathetic praise. It was a brief sound, more like a cough, but it was something. Dani smiled as she leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“Right back, I promise.”

*****

“I’m such an idiot.”

She heard Dani breathe in to object, but she kept going.

“Didn’t eat enough yesterday, and this - ”

“Jamie - ”

“Never even occurred to me.”

She looked down at the pack of gum she was fiddling with. Two sticks in and she was already feeling loads better: much less nauseous, much less lightheaded, and the shaking was fading. Years of struggling with this, and she’d never thought to try something she didn’t have to eat or drink to take the edge off.

She looked over at Dani, who was sitting next to her against the counter with her legs out in front of her. Dani was rubbing her knee as she sat cross-legged. It was past 9 now, but Dani wouldn’t hear of leaving her. She was insistent, in fact, they not open before noon at the earliest, knowing Jamie would need hours still to recover and eat. She had a breakfast sandwich — just egg on a plain bagel — ready to go when she felt up to it. And then they would move on to lunch.

Jamie was, as always, in awe of her. To go from having no one to take care of her, to having Dani was quite jarring sometimes — in the best possible way, of course. But this time, Dani had truly outdone herself — knowing Jamie had a condition that she herself hadn’t even known she had.

Granted, Jamie could probably count on one hand the number of doctors she’d seen in her life. It was Dani, in fact, who’d just booked her appointments with a GP and a dentist. She saw Dani smile now as she met her gaze. Dani hadn’t taken her eyes off her once since she’d gotten back.

“So... ”

“Taylor.”

Jamie cocked her head. Dani laughed.

“No, no, not you. I had a student named Taylor. She has it, too. What you have.”

“Hypo... ”

Dani nodded.

“-Glycemia. Just a fancy word for low blood sugar.”

Jamie nodded, processing.

“Low blood sugar... so is that... is that like... ”

Dani gave her an encouraging smile.

“Diabetes?”

Dani took a moment before answering. She didn’t want to hold anything back, but she didn’t want to scare her.

“It can be. It’s a symptom of it.”

Jamie nodded. Dani felt her shaking start to worsen again, just slightly.

“And Taylor... is that... ”

“That’s what she has, yes. But - ” Jamie’s eyes widened. Dani squeezed her knee. “But Taylor has Type 1.”

Jamie nodded again but was still shaking.

“And Type 1, that’s... ”

Jamie had vaguely heard people talk about a Type 1 and Type 2 before, but she’d never been sure what that actually meant.

“Oh, sorry, I - I should’ve... It just means you would know by now... if you had it. It starts affecting you when you’re a kid.”

Dani saw Jamie’s eyes widen once more and realized, kicking herself, that Jamie probably had had blood sugar issues since childhood. She took her hand off Jamie’s knee and cupped her face again.

“No, no, sorry! I’m explaining this poorly.” She sighed. “Type 1 is very serious. That’s why I knew about Taylor, in case something happened at school... If you’d gone undiagnosed this long, you... you wouldn’t... ”

“Oh... ” Jamie looked back down at the gum pack again. “And Type 2?”

Dani put her hand back on Jamie’s knee and resumed rubbing it.

“Well, that usually affects older people.” Even with Jamie looking down, Dani saw her eyes starting to go wide yet again. “Like old people, I mean... And given those abs of yours... ” Dani grinned as she saw Jamie smile shyly and blush furiously, just as she’d intended. “I’d say it’s pretty unlikely you have it... Probably just hypoglycemia, in your case, which is much easier to manage on its own.”

She saw Jamie nod but could feel she was still tense, though her shaking was dying down again.

“And I’d say you’ve been doing pretty well so far.”

Jamie looked over at her, arching an eyebrow.

“No, seriously! That’s - that’s why you stick to protein for breakfast... isn’t it? And eat first thing?”

Over the past several months, Dani had noticed that while she would usually opt for just a coffee and some toast or a pastry, Jamie would always eat a full meal almost immediately after she woke up. In fact, when they’d been on the road, she’d gone for takeout quite early every morning. Dani had just assumed she’d been doing it as gesture — which she still probably had been, but it was making even more sense now.

And she almost never had cereal or juice and would only have a donut or a muffin or a pancake if she had eggs to go with it. And most of the time, it was just eggs — and tea, of course — and maybe some of Dani’s toast. Dani had noticed she was also careful not to have too much sugar at night or, in general, really; and tried to eat regularly throughout the day. Dani had just assumed Jamie ate that way to be healthy. But now it seemed that it was more than that.

Jamie lowered her eyebrow and looked down again. She’d never really thought of it that way. She’d just discovered at a fairly young age, having had to take care of herself, that if she didn’t eat that way, she would feel shitty for the rest of the day or the next morning.

So, naturally, a lot of the time, she had felt shitty, given that it was pretty hard to plan meals when you didn’t always know where your next meal was coming from. But it had never actually occurred to her that she might have a medical condition.

She felt Dani squeeze her knee again.

“We can talk to the doctor about it next week, okay? See what she says.”

Jamie looked over at Dani, her lips curving into that crooked grin. The moment Dani had started looking into local doctors for them in Vermont she’d preemptively assured her that she would go to any and all of her appointments with her, if that was what Jamie wanted.

She rested her head on Dani’s shoulder now, looped her arm through Dani’s and placed her hand on Dani’s, rubbing it as Dani continued to rub her knee.

With her other hand, Dani reached up behind her to the counter, feeling around blindly until she landed on tinfoil. A second later, she was unwrapping the breakfast sandwich in her lap.

“You ready?”

She felt Jamie nod, so she put her hand out in front of Jamie’s mouth.

“Dani?!”

Dani laughed.

“It’s fine.”

“No, I have the wrapper here somewhere.”

She felt Jamie sit up. Smiling and rolling her eyes, Dani ripped off part of the foil and put her hand back up. She felt Jamie pause, then after a moment more of hesitation, spit out her gum.

“Thank you.” Dani quipped, as she squeezed the foil around it, then let it drop to the floor.

She picked up half the sandwich, as she felt Jamie lay her head back down, and brought it to her. Jamie went to take a bite, but then suddenly sat up again and turned to her.

“Wait, have you eaten?”

Dani felt her heart melt.

“Yes, before I left the apartment.”

“Oh, right, right.”

Jamie looked down and laughed awkwardly. Dani leaned in and kissed her temple. Jamie laughed again and looked up, smiling shyly, then leaned her head back down for a third time. Dani brought the sandwich to her once more. She took a bite, and Dani was relieved to feel her actually chew and swallow it.

“Thank you.”

Dani kissed the top of her head.

“Just promise me next time you’ll let me know, okay? And if I’m not there, you call me, right away.”

She felt Jamie nod, then take another bite, chew and swallow.

“Can you just be my doctor?”

Dani laughed, putting the sandwich down and grabbing the oj glass.

“You’ll like Dr. Ryan. She’s nice.”

She brought the glass up, and Jamie took a sip.

“Won’t be as hot as you, though... ”

Dani laughed even harder, putting the glass back down and picking up the sandwich again. Jamie was definitely reviving, but she wasn’t back in full Jamie mode... yet.

“I don’t know... ”

“Oi!” Jamie sat up and turned to her, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “There somethin’ I should know about, Poppins?”

Dani giggled.

“I didn’t say she was hotter than you, did I?”

Jamie cleared her throat dramatically.

“S’pose not.”

She laid her head back on Dani’s shoulder.

“Maybe you’re the one who should be worried, then.”

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t need this sandwich, then.”

Jamie laughed as Dani brought it toward her own mouth. She reached over with her free hand to grab it, then shifted over to sit in Dani’s lap, as Dani slid the foil containing the other half of the sandwich onto the floor. Jamie leaned back against her and sighed contentedly as she felt Dani wrap her arms around her stomach.

“Take another bite, Jay.”

Jamie cleared her throat.

“Right.”

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anarcoqueer1994 · 3 years

Text

You Are My Sunshine

A little Shrinkyclinks fic I am working on. Not beta read so ope.

Steve had retired a few months back, giving Sam the shield. His life had been quiet enough since then, getting a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with Bucky when Bucky returned from the blip. Bucky, though,would still go out on missions with Sam and did some freelance work for the government. Steve would never admit that though his friend was more than capable, he would still get nervous when he was away for days at a time, worried that he would lose his friend for a third time. But overall, it was going fine. That is until one day when one of Bucky's jobs followed him home.

An unfortunate result of the recent Flag Smashers attacks, some anti-super soldier terrorist groups rose-up out of fear. Some wealthy elites, both part of world governments and independent ,backed these groups in secret, supplying tech and money, as they see super soldiers as a threat to their power. They weaponized these people’s fear. These groups were ruthless in their pursuits, ordered to not care who they hurt, as long as they eliminated super soldiers.

Bucky and Sam had faced one of these groups recently, when they attempted to come after and kill Bucky while they were out on an intelligence mission. The two men thought that they had taken care of the group after a long, drawn-out battle, rounding them up to deal with the consequences. What they hadn't had counted on was a second team following Bucky back to Brooklyn, after he and Sam went their separate ways. He had done well to keep he and Steve’s location a secret, but got careless this time, letting his guard down.

So now these militants were in New York in front of their apartment building, threatening to hurt other people, to get to Steve and Bucky. Of course the men don’t back down, not waiting for backup to arrive. The fight had been tense, Bucky and Steve vs 10 well-armed men, but nothing they couldn't handle. So they managed to subdue them. But as a last-ditch effort, one shot something right towards Bucky who had been occupied with another one of the men. It appeared like a red laser beam, almost something out of a sci-fi film. Steve noticed it coming, and not having the time to warn Bucky, jumps in front of his friend, taking the hit. He goes down hard to the ground, unconscious instantly. "Steve!" Bucky yells out, heart sinking. When his friend doesn’t move, he is urged back into action, protecting his now defenseless friend. It takes everything in him not to revert to killing, like the Winter Soldier, but the man who shot Steve was definitely in bad shape by the time backup,government agents, arrived. They round the would be terrorist up and get them hauled away.

As the men are being taken away, Bucky runs towards Steve who is unresponsive on the ground but still breathing. He yells for an ambulance. He scoops Steve up in his arms, and against his chest, kneeling on the ground, whispering "Come on, Stevie…" he feels like this is all his fault. He was the one who brought them there, he was the one the gun was aiming for, and now the love of his life, however unrequited that may be, is lying unconscious on the ground, and god only knows what that laser did. He feels a tear well up in his eye, forcing himself not to shed it. This is not the time to break down. But he is terrified. He hasn’t seen Steve completely unresponsive in years, not since they were kids and he would get into fights and get knocked unconscious. Bucky, then too, would often lose his mind, beating up anyone who had touched his Stevie, whether Steve knew it or not.

But before the ambulance arrives, Steve is opening his eyes again, smiling at Bucky. “Hey Buck.” He sounds completely fine.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief, it looks like whatever the laser was intended to do didn’t work on him. “How ya' feeling, pal?” Bucky smiles back.

“Great, just a little tired, but I don’t feel any different otherwise.” Suddenly, Steve becomes aware of Bucky’s arms still wrapped around him, pulling him close to his chest. He blushes as he clears his throat. “You planning on squeezing me to death, bud?”

Now Bucky is going red, trying to laugh it off as he lets go. “I thought you were dying, punk.”

Steve just laughs back, sitting up right as the ambulance arrives. They bring him to the truck and check him out, giving him a clean bill of health. So, Steve and Bucky return to the apartment. Both showering and then Steve opting to go lay down. Seriously injured or not, being knocked unconscious took a lot out of him.

Bucky sat in their living room, trying his best to block out the events of today. For those few minutes, when he thought he could lose Steve, he had felt like everything around him was going to crash down, burying him in a pit of loneliness and sadness that he knew he wouldn't be able to escape. The thought of losing Steve again made him sick to his stomach. Steve was his everything, even when they were kids in Brooklyn, when sickness would ravage the blonde’s body and he would spend days at the Rogers’ home, sitting near his bedside, or sliding into bed to pull him close to keep him warm. Worried that he could lose his Stevie at any moment. Terrified at the thought. And seeing Steve unconscious today, brought all those feelings back. It was worse than seeing him roughed up in battle, because at least those times he had been conscious. But this time was different. He doesn’t know what he would do without his favorite person in the whole world, the one person who understands him. The person he would do anything for, be anything for, just to make him happy. But Steve was fine, he reminded himself.

So, he tries to shake away those feelings, sending mindless texts to Sam, who had messaged him as soon as he heard what happened. Bucky filled him in, told him Steve was alright. Then deciding to read, he picked up where he left off on The Lord of the Rings. He has to say, he loves these books, always liking The Hobbit, so being ecstatic to find out that the author had written more later. One good thing about waking up in the future. This did the trick, immersing himself into the story, melting away any lingering thoughts of today.

That is until a couple hours pass, and he hears rough coughing from Steve’s bedroom. This catches him off guard. Steve (and himself), don’t really get sick thanks to the fantastic immune system afforded to super soldiers.

He gets up and makes his way to Steve’s bedroom, knocking as he hears the continued coughing fit, punctuated by wheezing. When Steve doesn’t answer, Bucky just opens the door, too worried to care about etiquette. When he enters the room, he stops dead in his tracks. There, sitting up coughing, is Steve. But Steve is different then when he went to lay down, He is much shorter, lacking any muscle mass, skinny, drowning in the navy t-shirt and grey sweatpants he went to sleep in. He looks like he did before the serum, give, or take a few years due to the time he has spent outside of the ice.

Bucky steps closer “Stevie?” He is shocked and worried again.

When Steve finally catches his breath, he looks down at his own hands instead of meeting Bucky’s stare, mortified by his sudden appearance change. The other man stepped closer to the bed. “Steve, I think the ray wasn’t so harmless.” He tries to say plainly, not showing the worry in his voice. For as much as he had been angry at Steve back in the day for letting the military experiment on him, he was ultimately grateful that the serum had helped his body fight back diseases that had tormented him his entire life.

Steve’s bright blue eyes, which always stood out more against his paler, sicklier skin, shoot up and meet Bucky’s and he snaps “You think?” His harsh tone caused Bucky to recoil slightly. Steve, seeing this, quickly apologizes, feeling guilty. “Sorry, Buck…” Bucky nods and steps forward again, taking a seat on the edge of Steve’s bed. "Don't worry about it, it was a dumb thing to say. "Bucky blushes slightly, cursing himself for being such an idiot sometimes.

Steve sighs, not towards Bucky but in general, towards the room.“I’m just frustrated. I woke up a few minutes ago and I was this…and then it got hard to breathe and for the first time in years it felt like I was having an asthma attack. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Something switches in Bucky’s head when Steve calls himself pathetic, something more protective like how he used to feel when they were much younger. He reaches over like it is nothing, placing his hand on Steve’s bony knee. “I’m going to tell you like I did back then. Nothing about you is pathetic. You can’t help what your body does. And you…you jumped in front of a gun to protect me. I wouldn’t call that pathetic. I’d call that being a hero.”

Steve cracks a small smile. “Whatever you say…” He does not believe him but knows Bucky won’t back down on this, he never has. He lets out a shiver. The apartment is freezing. It is February but they keep the heat low since both men had such a high tolerance to cold. Bucky notices his friend shivering. “Oh shoot, I sorry Stevie. Let me get the heat and then…I’m going to call down to the Avenger’s Tower.” Pepper has been keeping it going and he knows she will know who can help them.

Steve nods, hating feeling so useless, but knowing Bucky is there to help. That he can rely on Bucky not to make him feel worse, just be there to support and help him. He used to hate the way Bucky would always step in. He used to think it was because Bucky thought he was weak. But in reality, its because Bucky is the best friend a guy could ask for.

Bucky turns the heat up before making the call. It’s pretty late at this point, so Pepper tells them to come down tomorrow and they will take a look at him. Bruce can be there in the morning to help. Bucky hates that, hates that he has to wait. He is worried about Steve and wants answers now. But he knows she is right. They should just rest, but first thing in the morning Bucky will be down there with Steve.

He makes his way back to Steve’s bedroom not bothering to knock on the half-opened door, wishing he did though. Steve was facing away from him, but he was naked, ass in full view of Bucky. Even when he was small and skinny, Bucky thought he had a fantastic ass, not that anyone would have been able to tell back in the day, Steve always wore clothes too big for him. Bucky blushes as he tries to get out without Steve noticing him, but he is distracted, clumsily bumping into the door framing, causing a loud bang. Steve, turns around, suddenly covering up with the shirt that is in his hand and turning red.

Bucky stumbles through an apology. “I am so sorry…sorry…I…uh...” before just running out of the room like an embarrassed school girl.

Smooth Barnes. He thinks to himself as he slumps down on the couch. He doesn’t know why he got so flustered, it's not like he hasn’t seen Steve naked before, changing around each other all the time as kids. Well, until his dad said they were too old to be getting dressed around each other. That was also the same time his dad had told him that they were too old to be “hugging like that”, too old to be holding hands, “Boys your age don’t need to be that affectionate with their friends'' and “Do you want folks to think you are a pansy?” Bucky closes his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to rid his mind of that memory. He thanks god that his dad never found out how he really felt for his best friend. Not that Steve felt that back, so nothing happened but still. Steve was just a good guy. He sits and tries not to drown in his thoughts.

Steve can’t believe Bucky just walked in on him like this. He feels so unattractive, so weak, and sickly. His mom had told him once that he was just a "late bloomer, but he was still a very handsome person that any girl would be "lucky to have", a sentiment that Bucky would back her up on. He never believed them, and without the serum he would have never "bloomed." To be fair, he also didn’t want "any girl". He just wanted Bucky. And he knows Bucky is not checking him out, why would he be? But if Bucky were to see him naked, he would have preferred it would have been in his serum enhanced body, strong and not so fragile.

He sighs to himself and goes back to what he was doing, looking for something, anything he could wear without it practically falling off him. It's hopeless, so he settles on a pair of boxers that happened to be too small prior to today, now having to roll the waistband to get them to stay up. As far as clothing though, he doesn’t even have a pair of sweatpants he could pull tight enough to prevent from falling off. He frowns to himself, knowing Bucky was a little smaller than him, not quite having the same muscle mass. Maybe he has at least a shirt he could wear and a pair of sweatpants he could pull tight. Bucky does have some pretty tight shirts he wears when he is working out. Steve begins automatically blushing, picturing the way they cling to his muscular chest after working out, before shaking his head back to the current moment.

Given the embarrassing situation that just occurred, he is a little apprehensive about asking. But he knows he has to, already feeling terribly cold in just these oversized boxers. He calls timidly from his room. "Buck?"

His voice snaps Bucky out of his thoughts, instinctively jumping to his feet to see what Steve needs. Walking in this time, he is met with Steve staring at the floor, obviously embarrassed, clad only in some comically large boxers and socks. He feels bad for his friend, who is clearly struggling with this. He tries to stay calm, not letting it show that he thinks Steve looks absolutely adorable...and fucking hot.

Honestly though, Bucky has thought Steve has looked hot, both when he was skinny and when he was muscular, but he has always had a soft spot for his pre-serum appearance, loving how perfectly Steve fit under his arm when he used to pull him close "to keep him warm." He is also very careful about not staring down at the boxers, knowing from accidental glimpses when they lived together in the tiny one bedroom tenement, that even before the serum, Steve was packing a lot more than you would think by looking at him. Bucky had spent countless nights picturing what it would feel like if it was inside of him, ultimately just hurting himself more with fantasies that would never come true.

Realizing quickly that he had been standing there awkwardly in silence, Bucky speaks up. "Um, what did you need pal?"

Steve refuses to look at him, Bucky understanding that this is definitely pretty hard for him. The blonde shyly asks "Um...all my clothes are too big. And um...I know you wear a slightly smaller size. Do you have anything that is tight on you that I could wear?"

Bucky lets out a small huff from his nose, smiling as he says, "Sure thing, give me one moment." Without another word, Bucky turns around and walks out of the room towards his own.

His thoughts have been in a constant struggle with themselves since this happened. He is worried beyond belief for Steve, and what this all means to him. Will he get sick again? Can he be changed back? Should he be changed back? Is it safe? But then a part of himself, a part that he hates, is so turned on by Steve right now, having not seen him like this in years. He is having feelings he has no right to have. He is always attracted to Steve (inside and out), it's always there, and punctuating all their interactions, even if Steve couldn't see it. He was head over heels for the man. But he hates that right now while Steve is in such emotional distress, that he had the nerve to still let his head wander into fantasies. He is appalled by himself and his fucked-up head.

As he reminds himself of his continued shortcomings, he grabs his tightest pair of pants, a pair of compression running leggings, the ones he usually wears underneath some of his other pants. He hopes the stretchiness of them means they are small enough to fit on Steve. He grabs a t-shirt he recently got that is too tight on him, never wearing it but buying it at a yard sale because he had to have it. It's a little embarrassing though, pretty sure Steve has not even seen it before. It was a Captain America shirt from the 80s with a fade shield across the front of it. Bucky had tried it on once, though it was too small for him to even justify it as a workout top.

He anxiously walks back to Steve’s room, trying to make up a lie about the shirt other than "I like it because it makes me think of you and sometimes I take it with me on missions so I can pretend you are with me." Luckily when he hands Steve the clothes, Steve only raises his brow for a second, before smiling and nodding in gratitude for the clothes. Bucky sees himself out Steve could get dressed.

After a little bit, Steve joins him out into the living room. Bucky has to hide a smile when he sees Steve in his clothes. The shirt is still too big for Steve and he can tell the pants must be pulled up high above his waist. Steve chooses not to acknowledge it, opting instead to sit down on the couch next to Bucky.

Steve doesn’t want things to be weird. Today has been weird enough, and the last thing he wants right now is his best friend being freaked out around him too. Steve, in the most casual voice he could muster says “Want to order a pizza and watch a movie?” His blue eyes stare, waiting as Bucky turns to look at him.

He simply replies “Sounds good, Stevie. I can call and you pick out the movie?” Steve nods before bending down to look at their collection of VHS tapes (they like those better than a million different streaming services.) He listens as Bucky orders, as he grabs their copy of Snow White. It always serves as a comfort, something connected to their time. He and Bucky went and seen it in the theater. Bucky had secretly saved a little extra to take Steve. Steve cherishes that memory, one of many.

Bucky for his part does everything in his power to not steal a glimpse of Steve’s ass in those leggings, scolding himself when he does anyways. Little does he know; Steve always takes any opportunity he can to check Bucky out.

Once the pizza arrives, they settle onto the couch, and watch the movie. The pizza box starts between them, on the middle cushion as they eat. But halfway through the movie, Bucky can see Steve is shivering, the apartment still too cold for him and his body, that was lacking the ability to properly circulate his blood. He says quietly “Stevie…do you…” he blushes, embarrassed for what he is about to ask, turning his cheeks pink. He reminds himself that it is for Steve’s good. He continues. “Do you want to…cuddle?” Steve gives him a questioning look, so he quickly adds. ‘Because you're cold. I can tell you are shivering, man. Like when we were kids, you can steal my body heat. I’m basically a human radiator.” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

But Steve, regardless, looks anxious as he tentatively nods, moving the pizza box to the floor as he scoots closer, moving very close to Bucky. He looks expectantly at the bigger man to raise his arm so he can press against him, hoping he doesn’t come off as desperate and weak. But Bucky smiles as he obliges, lifting his arm and pulling Steve to his side, arm fitting perfectly around him, like Bucky was made just for Steve. He wants to melt into the feeling. He wants Bucky to never let go.

Steve is careful to keep looking forward, to not let himself get distracted and drawn in by his friend. But it is hard. He has been in love with Bucky since he was 14 years old. He always walked a thin line between appreciating Bucky’s touch as a way to get warm, like when he was sick, or in the one bedroom tenement they were living in together didn’t have proper heat, and loving Bucky's touch as something more. Just wanting to feel Bucky's skin on his, even if it was a selfish little fantasy. But he always craved that touch. Even little things like when he would put his hand reassuringly on his shoulder, or when Bucky would playfully throw his arms around Steve.

But he noticed that since the serum, Bucky had touched him less. Less casually pulling him in by the shoulders and just walking with his arm around him, or climbing in bed to keep him warm. Obviously, he didn’t need that second one any more, but he was desperate for something. Anything. Sometimes he would just squeeze Bucky’s shoulder, or pat him on the back just to feel him. Sometimes when Bucky had a nightmare, Steve would hold him, but that was only because Bucky was scared. No joy in that touch. On rare occasions they would hug, and if he thought about it too long, he could swear something more was there.

Lost in his thoughts, he does not realize the movie has ended until Bucky yawns, snapping him out of his head. "Hey, Stevie I think I'm going to hit the hay. You should too, we are going down to see Bruce and Pepper early tomorrow. Night, man." Steve is still staring ahead but he feels Bucky start to untangle himself from him. As Bucky stands up, Steve does not want the sensation to end, not wanting to lose the touch he desperately needs, the only silver lining of this whole ordeal.

Without putting any thought into it, he reaches for the bottom hem of Bucky's shirt as the other man had turned to walk away. Bucky freezes as Steve hurriedly lets go of his shirt, feeling ridiculous. Steve whispers in a voice that is barely audible. "Can I sleep with you? I'm cold." He feels guilty, knowing he isn't saying the whole truth. He is cold but could have done with a pile of blankets, they aren't in the depression anymore with only one blanket each. This was 2024 and they are way better off now. But he wasn't ready to lose Bucky's touch again.

Bucky clears his throat, suddenly hard to breathe, lump forming before he can swallow it down. Steve wants to sleep with him and Bucky wants this so bad. But he has to remind himself that this is for Steve to stay warm, not because he wanted him. His love fogged mind coupled with his own self-dislike, prevented him from putting together that Steve had blankets to keep him warm. He looks back to Steve, whose face seems torn by something, maybe guilt? Bucky didn’t want his friend to feel guilty so he finally replies. "Of course, Stevie."

Steve’s eyes light up for a moment before he reminds himself not to be so…obvious. Bucky thinks he saw something but plays it off as Steve being relieved over Bucky not making this situation any more awkward. He watches Steve smile shyly as he gets off the couch silently, ready to follow him to his bedroom, so he leads the way.

Once in there, Steve just crawls into bed like it was nothing. He figured he might as well rip the bandage off and just do it. He stays completely dressed because he really was freezing in the apartment. Bucky on the other hand was extremely warm, not used to sleeping with the heat on so high. He doesn’t know how uncomfortable Steve would be if he slept in his boxers but decides to do it anyways. It would be more suspicious of him not to. He knows Steve isn’t dumb and has to realize that he would be extremely warm in these temperatures.

So, Bucky slides out of his sweatpants and T-shirt, throwing them into his hamper. Steve tries his hardest not to watch, turning on his side to avert his eyes. He pretends to be preparing to fall asleep, but, in reality, he is attempting to bargain with his heart to not pound right out of his chest and fly away. They haven’t slept together in more than 80 years, not since before the war.

While Steve is busy forcing himself to pretend to try and fall asleep, Bucky sneaks a look over at the blanket, letting himself smile at the lump under the hidden beneath, blonde hair peeking out. He makes his way over to the other side of his full-sized bed and slides in under the covers. It feels like the most normal thing in the world, like things are more normal than they have been in a long time. He reaches over, turning out the light, before scooting close to Steve. Again, he reminds himself that he is just helping him stay warm. He pulls Steve’s back against his chest, wrapping his arm over his hip. For a moment, Bucky wonders if he is over doing it, if this is too far for Steve.

Steve forgets how to breathe for a moment when he feels himself pressed against Bucky’s body so tightly. He worries he may have an asthma attack. He doesn’t remember them ever being so close, well when they were awake that is. Usually they would only get like this in their sleep. Steve remembers one particular time when he was 19, when he woke up in this position, with the still sleeping brunette’s morning wood pressed against his ass. He had to force himself out of bed and into a cold shower after that. All of this is to say that his position really did something to him, and it took all his energy to keep his breath steady.

They lay in the dark, quietly like this for a while. For all of Steve’s worry, and all of Bucky’s self-doubt over this, both men were content. Both men lie together, keeping their secrets, but cherishing this moment. They lay for a long while before it is obvious that neither man is sleeping. It may be subtle, but it was impossible to not feel the electricity that filled the air around them and every space in between them. It was an energy that has been there for a while. It was something that should have been obvious from the start if it weren’t for the fact that both of them were painfully oblivious.

Steve shifts in the bed, turning so he is facing Bucky. Even in the dark, Bucky could see the light blue tones that make up Steve's eyes. He would be lying if he didn't admit they were the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He has been around the world, has seen so many beautiful things, He has seen sparkling oceans, the large majestic sweeping expanses that surrounded Wakanda, tall, purple mountains throughout Europe, but nothing he could think of could make him feel the way he felt whenever he stared into Steve's eyes.

There are some things he has never admitted to Steve about his time as the Winter Soldier. One of these things being that every so often, he was able to bust through, have a moment of clarity before frozen again. In those moments of clarity, he would think of these eyes, of being home. Staring into Steve's eyes, whether Steve was hulking and muscular, or skinny and small, felt like home to him.

Seeing him like this, back to the way he was prior to war has reminded Bucky that beneath all the bravado and responsibility that came with Captain America, he was still Steve. His Stevie. He knew that though, but he has been so wrapped up in guilt for all Steve has done for him, as well as countless atrocities he has committed as the Winter Soldier, he had refused to think about it. Refused to get comfortable. Refused to just be with Steve, always feeling less then, undeserving.

Steve was like the sun, bright and powerful. Bucky had always been content to be sucked into Steve’s gravitational pull. He felt like Steve was the reason he existed, giving him life. He was just a planet who was lucky enough to be pulled in by the sun. But the sun didn’t need the planet that revolved around it, and he always felt that at some level, Steve didn’t need him. He was afraid that if he tried to be more than a planet, wanting more from the sun, Steve could easily destroy him, reject him.

But Steve has been there all along for him, never changing. Bucky had fallen all those years ago, losing his sun, ripping through space aimlessly. The sun had fought, got himself trapped in ice in the name of his planet. Waking up in the future, getting new planets, people finally seeing what Bucky had seen all along in Steve. But as soon as Steve saw that his planet was alive, he was willing to rip his new galaxy apart like it was nothing, to pull his first little planet back in.

Steve had always loved Bucky, and Bucky had been so wrapped up in the fear of losing his sun, that he never let himself appreciate that. Maybe...maybe it was okay for Bucky to want more out of their friendship...because maybe Steve wanted more.

He doesn't know what makes him do it, but he reaches towards Steve's face, and rests his flesh hand on the golden-haired man's face. Both lay perfectly still for a few seconds before Steve closes his and lets out an anguished sigh. When they open back up, Bucky sees a tear running down Steve’s face, worry is coating his features, his brow scrunched up in a way that Bucky just wants to reach up and smooth out. In a soft voice, the brunette asks "Stevie....what is it...."

Steve closes his eyes again, taking a pained sigh as he moves his own hand softly over the hand resting on his face, doing his best to hold on for a moment longer before he comes clean. "I don't want you to hate me..."

Bucky feels his chest tensing up, not knowing what could have prompted Steve to say that. "What makes you think I could ever hate you? I don't think that is possible. " Bucky replies truthfully.

"It’s...just..." Steve takes a deep breath, before sitting up and staring down at Bucky. Bucky frowns at the loss of contact before sitting up as well, facing the blonde who looked like he might break if Bucky stared too hard. He continues, "It's just, I didn’t need you to keep me warm, Buck."

"What?" Bucky stares back, genuine confusion on his face.

"We have plenty of blankets now, I would have been fine in my own bed. But since this happened, earlier I hated it. I hated feeling small again, weak and sickly. But...there was some good. You...you were holding onto me again, like you would when we were younger….and I missed feeling your arms around me. " Steve is blushing like crazy. "And when we were on the couch, it felt so good for you to be holding onto me, and so I lied. I didn’t want it to end...so I told you I needed you to keep me warm. I'm so sorry, Buck. You must think I'm a freak." Steve takes a deep breath, steadying himself, before pulling the covers off, readying himself to stand up. He stutters "I'm going to go to my own room now…I'd appreciate it if you never bring this up again. I am so sorry."

Bucky is confused, trying to put together what is happening. Before he could respond, Steve had shuffled out of his room, leaving him alone.

Steve drops onto his bed, mortified at himself. He really was pathetic, too scared to even stay and find out the fall out of what he has done. He just admitted to his best friend that he lied to him and used him all because of he wanted to be touched. He wishes he didn’t have this weird crush on him. But he does and for him it has always been Bucky, and probably will always be. It wasn't fair to push that on Bucky, though. He buries himself in blankets, dreading what the morning will bring.

He lays there for a few minutes, mauling over what will happen. Will Bucky move out? Will he not talk to anymore? Did he just mess up everything? All the worse scenarios play in his mind like a horror movie. He feels a tear run down his face and he just lets it happen. Soon tears are covering his pillow,the dam broken, his body shaking. He feels like he will never stop, terrified he just lost his best friend.

He is so wrapped up in his own mess, he doesn't hear the door opening. But then he feels the nattress shift as someone gets inside the covers on the other side. He doesn't turn his head, afraid that he is just imagining it, that he is going to lose whatever is there if he looks. But then he hears "Hey Stevie…I'm cold."

Steve’s head is spinning, what is going on. He finally gets the nerve to turn around, finding a beautiful brunette, his Bucky, smiling at him. "Buck….what are you doing?"

He softly replies "I just told you, I'm cold and need someone to cuddle with, is that okay?"

Steve can’t help the smile that comes to his face as the last few rebel tears fall. Something tells him that the shirtless man in front of him was in no way cold, but he plays along. "Yea, its alright. Will alway be alright…."

With that, Bucky pulls Steve into his arms, Steve’s head falling onto his chest as the other man holds him close. Both men able to fiy fall asleep.

Maybe not quite a confession yet, but its babysteps. As long as they keep moving forward,they could take their time getting there.

#bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers #steve x bucky #captain america #tfatws #sam wilson #marvel #shrinkyclinks #stucky fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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cobblepot-comfort · 5 years

Text

Some drama and trouble for our devoted pair:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157339/chapters/43808419#workskin

Not Just a Walk in the Park

For the first time in a long time, Oswald woke up alone.

He was holed up in a tiny cell 6 ft by 4 ft.

It was dark, and it took his eyes a while to adjust and make out his surroundings.

He had been placed on a shallow mattress on the floor. He had one thin blanket to cover himself with.

The floor was hard, and his leg was killing him, as he had been lying awkwardly on a shallow mattress on top of a cold, hard surface.

He struggled to his feet, groaning and wincing, and looked around him. He really needed his stick but of course, that had been taken from him in the attack.

His head was also fuzzy and aching, they must have stuck him with some kind of drug to keep him unconscious. However, what really concerned him was not his physical pain, but the fact he was alone and he remembered Jim shouting something, recalled hearing a shot before he was knocked out - just after the bag was thrown over his head.

His heart lurched - he felt sick. What happened to Jim? Where was he, what did they do to him? Was he shot?

He shivered not just from the cold but also the fear that something awful could have befallen Jim.

He limped slowly and painfully over to the metal cell door, yelled and commenced banging on it. He hit the door so hard that it bruised then lacerated his knuckles. They cracked and bled, but still he beat his fist over and over.

“Show yourself! Show yourself!” he cried, over and over again, until he was hoarse, until he had almost no breath or voice left.

He stood there gasping, regaining his breath, readying himself to launch another tirade at the silent, unhearing door.

“You cowardly bastards!” he cried. “Where are you? Who are you? What do you want with me? What have you done with Jim?!”

He sobbed with anger and fear - but at this point, he allowed anger to be the dominant emotion. Anger was an energy. It would stop him from going under, from surrendering, giving in to whatever mental torment - and in all likelihood, physical torture - they seemed hell bent on putting him through. Whoever ‘they’ were. Why didn’t the cowards make an appearance, show their faces to him?

Then after what seemed like an eternity of screaming abuse at a blank door and getting nil response, he finally collapsed in exhausted tears. He hobbled back to the makeshift bed he woke up in, pulled the thin blankets they had provided around himself, trying to keep warm, and cried himself bitterly into a fitful sleep.

He slept and woke in fits and starts, thinking he heard noises periodically, but then finding it was all in his head. The effects of the drug had not completely worn off and he so he was still feeling physically tired even though psychologically, his nerves were jangling.

In his waking moments, he remembered walking with Jim in the park, so carefree and in love. It had been a beautiful spring day, he remembered. He had no idea what the weather was like now, as there were no windows to look out of.

He also had no idea what the time was as ‘they’ had taken all his jewellery including his watch - but the worst thing of all was the engagement ring, finding that now his finger was bare. They took that too!

His angry, heartbroken tears fell afresh. “I’m so sorry Jim,” he whispered, as if Jim was there to hear his confession. He couldn’t help holding himself accountable for the loss of the precious treasure given to him with such love and devotion all that time ago.

He recalls Jim’s smile, his gentle hand on the small of his back, and the warm late spring sunshine on his face as they walked along together. That moment was one of the happiest of his life and this day should have been so perfect….

Their wedding was now just two months away. They had been full of excitement, full of hope for the future.

Why hadn’t he listened to Jim? They should have brought those two goons along for protection. Oswald had always nurtured a certain amount of healthy paranoia, it had helped him to stay alive - but being with Jim had made him feel invincible somehow, safe, protected, and he had begun to feel more calm and relaxed about everything in general. Love would conquer all - he had come to believe that now more than ever.

Now he was paying the price for his complacency, holed up in this disgusting damp, dark jail cell, God knows where, all alone and isolated.

But despite all this, he would feel much happier if he knew Jim was ok. As long as Jim hadn’t paid the price for his carelessness….

Where were his captors, and when would they come to him and tell him what the hell was going on?

He didn’t care what they did to him, as long as Jim was safe.

Oswald hadn’t noticed the small surveillance camera positioned high up at the far corner of the room.

Enzo stood there watching the footage on the monitor, smiling to himself.

Yeah, let him cry himself to sleep, the stupid fag. As if he could have got the better of me, he thought. Him and his hubris! Him and his fag cop boyfriend. He would so enjoy torturing the little bastard.

He wasn’t keen to identify himself - in fact the hostage negotiations were all being conducted through a third party. Contracted out, as it were. That would confuse the GCPD, put them off the scent.

He just had to decide if he would, ultimately, let this scumbag live or enjoy eventually putting him out of his misery with a bullet in his brain. Because that’s what he would be begging for in the end.

Earlier that day:

“Let’s go for a walk in the park!”

Oswald smiled at Jim across the breakfast table, stirring the sugar into his bitter black coffee as he spoke.

Jim bit ravenously into his second slice of toast, thickly spread with butter and preserves.

They sure had worked up an appetite last night!

“Yeah, why not? It’s a nice day for it.”

The sun was indeed shining, brighter than it had done in a while.

It was a shame to waste it.

“I have a feeling this is going to be a great weekend!” he grinned. Ozzy smiled back, dazzling him with his bright blue eyes, put down his coffee spoon and teased the soft spikes of his ravishing raven mane with his elegant fingers.

“Me too.” Oswald smiled with affirmation, winking his pretty blue eye. He reached for the preserves.

“I’ll just call up Stan and Lee, they’ll want to come with us I suppose,” Jim said, beginning to punch in their numbers on his cell.

These were Oswald’s two new bodyguards, who seemed to be taking their job very seriously. Almost too seriously, Jim thought, although he was still grateful that they were around to protect Oswald.

And they had come highly recommended by the employment agency. Gabe had made sure of that - he wanted reliable men to take care of his boss while he and Zsasz were busy making the wedding arrangements - or as he put it to Oswald, sorting out a big problem in the Narrows.

“No, Jim - I really don’t want those two hanging around us today. I want to be alone with you.”

“I know sweetheart, I want to be alone with you too. But - well, after the trial..you know, after what Enzo said….”

“He doesn’t scare me!” Oswald scoffed, then he took a big bite out of his toast. “Besides, they wouldn’t dare do anything when we’re out in broad daylight in full view of the public,” he continued indignantly, brandishing his toast crust. “That wouldn’t do their case any good! And besides, Detective Gordon - I feel safe with you.” He gave Jim an extra wide feline smile.

Jim’s heart fluttered, as it always did when Oswald looked that way at him. He took a breath and collected himself.

“Oswald - please, seriously, I want to be sure you’re safe - we need this backup, at least until we can get enough evidence to put Enzo behind bars,” Jim frowned anxiously.

Oswald cocked his head and smiled softly at Jim. “Ahhhh Jim,” he sighed. “I’m so touched that you care for me so deeply. I do love you for that. But really, Jim - honey - I’m sure there is nothing to worry about.”

Oswald had been a very high profile witness for the case.

He hadn’t held back - especially as the person on trial, Gasparo Carrara, was the right hand man of Enzo Leccese.

He had provided enough evidence to send him down for a long time.

And when Commissioner Loab had asked what he wanted in return, all he said, as deadpan as you like, was, “To help the GCPD, sir, is all I want.”

What he wanted most was to make Jim proud and to get back at that homophobic bastard Leccese, but he didn’t say either of those things out loud. These were personal things that meant something only to him and his beautiful fiance.

Back at the GCPD, everyone had expressed their gratitude - the guy was a cop killer who had put away four of their colleagues in that bank raid - and even Barnes made a point of thanking him.

“There is no honour amongst thieves, Captain Barnes - you should know that!” Oswald had joked, deliberately playing down his role in the outcome.

“No comment! Just glad you could help,” had been the good humoured reply as Barnes had offered his hand.

The look on Jim’s face had been a picture as he had approached the two of them and seen Barnes smile and shake Oswald’s hand. Wonders really would never cease!

And as he had reached them, Barnes had turned, still smiling, and said, “Hey, Jim.” He had coughed awkwardly. “Erm - by the way, you two - now you’re both here - I believe congratulations are in order. I’m sorry, guys, that it took me this long. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Later, Jim told Oswald that his wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of amazement had been priceless….and so, so pretty….

But now, after the glory was done, after all the back slapping and celebrating and bonding was over, there was that fear that somehow, there would be repercussions. Serious ones.

If Oswald felt that he certainly wasn’t showing it, thought Jim. He was so brave, resilient and tough! But he was very worried about him.

He wanted to protect him. He loved him so much it hurt.

And he had nearly lost him once before, which was once too often. That still stung him - he would never forget it.

He would kiss the scar on Oswald’s chest often, to show him he would never forget his heroism.

And now, he had risked his safety again. They had a new threat hanging over them, that black cloud in the form of Enzo Leccese.

#jimwald gobblepot

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absolute-barbarism · 6 years

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2, 6, 12 for Marcello, 4, 6, 19, 27 for Jacques, 6, 12 for Cas? ~ 👀

[oh SHIT these are so many questions I feel so blessed…also you must have liked question 6 LOL teasing. Thank you for sending this in man!!!]

Marcello

2. What is their pain tolerance? Do they close their eyes and block it out, or go into a full blown panic?

Oooooh, that depends…If he knows something is going to hurt, he can usually calm down and get it over with by not thinking about it at all. And a few things are selective; being beaten, slapped, things like that have scarily little outward affect on him (mainly because he’s not afraid of what he already knows whoops have i said too much-)But pain he doesn’t know the source of, or didn’t see coming? Horrifying concept to him. He would fall apart and panic if he was ever shot or stabbed, or met with some sort of bodily pain that he doesn’t know why he’s experiencing. He hates torture porn movies like Saw and commonly worries about being put into a situation like that. Case in point, he would rather never feel pain at all and does a semi decent job at making it look like he doesn’t care, but once he’s pushed past his limit, he can’t calm himself down at all.

6. How easily do they cry? Is it different alone vs in public?

A lot easier than you would think. He’s actually far more prone to crying in front of people as opposed to alone, as solitude has always been a form of coping to him. The quickest way to work him up is to betray him, which is a hard task since it’s so difficult to earn his trust in the first place. Talking about his deeper feelings out loud also has a tendency to make him feel overly vulnerable and emotional, and if you really wanna see him cry, be one of his students. Whenever they’re hurting, he’s hurting a hundred times worse and does everything in his power to fix their problems, even if it looks impossible to solve.

12. Do they have someone they trust during their own time of need, or do they prefer to handle it alone?

Marcello’s accompanist is a character my lazy ass has yet to fully develop or name, but I want him to fill this exact role. He’s calm, patient, pretty much the exact opposite of Marcello in almost every way, and that’s why he needs him. When there’s a problem in his life, he wants to hear a voice that isn’t his own nagging at him, one that will suggest the best resolve even if it isn’t one he wants to accept. He treats his accompanist with the utmost respect, although refraining from confiding in him often as he’s scared of burdening him with too many problems.

Jacques

4. What are the most telltale signs that they’re sick or injured?

Everything. This man believes he is the height of subtlety. He is not. When he’s sick, he’ll barely say a word even against Cedric’s teasing, which comes to a slow once he starts to realize Jacques doesn’t feel well, and he’ll take frequent breaks outside or in the bathroom just to have a moment and gather himself. Which proves pretty fruitless once he returns to the kitchen and starts coughing all over again.

When he’s injured, say a problem with his shoulder for example, it’s pretty much the same story with very little talking and breaks to get himself together. The only difference is that he’s visibly frightened as he goes about his duties- Jacques is even more scared of pain than Marcello, easily the most scared out of the bunch. This is the kind of thing that Cedric will notice immediately and either demand he or Jacques take care of it or that Jacques goes home to rest, met with an argument that Jacques can’t keep up with because he’s in pain and concedes pretty easily.

6. How easily do they cry? Is it different alone vs in public?

Not very easily at all. It would take a lot of effort to even get him to the point of trying not to cry. He’s a grown man, been through loss, disappointment, anguish, etc…but he isn’t very used to blaming himself. With Cedric, his pride is already challenged in all sorts of ways. Every now and then, he’ll say something out of retaliation and see it visibly hurt Cedric’s feelings, creating a sort of heavy guilt in his chest that he would normally chalk up to the other person deserving it. Apologizing is when he gets the most emotional, tearing up and blinking it away to apologize properly, which Cedric will point out as a half hearted joke and reignite their “hate how much I love you” relationship all over again.

Jacques is probably a bit more prone to crying if he’s by himself, being the chronic worrier that he is and only making it worse when he’s alone. It’s a damage to his dignity, but he’d rather let himself feel upset without anyone watching than risk losing face.

19. Are they honest to themselves, or do they ignore feeling hurt or sad?

It takes a certain kind of problem for Jacques to ever be honest with himself. I’m in love with this annoying brat who can’t keep his mouth shut? No, no, that’s totally false. I feel embarrassed about my accent and cultural differences? Non, it’s the Americans who are wrong.

After accepting his anguish and guilt over Celeste’s death, Jacques has been able to acknowledge when he feels a certain way, but it’s typically only over a grave problem. If he really thinks he has a right to be hurt or sad over something- which is almost never- he’ll let himself feel that way and take some time to himself. However, it’s usually Cedric that has to point out to him how he isn’t even acknowledging painful things that have happened, and that’s something he deeply appreciates him for, although he can’t deny feeling fed up that someone so much younger gives him so much emotional advice.

27. Have they overworked themselves into sickness or collapse before?

YES HE HAS THANK YOU FOR ASKING OMG

Jacques is a very hard worker, deriving a lot of his pride from his accomplishments and his standing among coworkers. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel too proud when he woke up on the ground next to the oven one day with about eight people standing over him (this sounds like the start to one of my fanfictions i’m gonna try to keep this brief lol)

During the week where a third of the kitchen staff was out with the flu, Jacques took over a great deal of responsibility and a lot more hours than he was used to, with too much time spent working to realize he was coming down with it too. All he remembered before his collapse was Cedric telling him something about using the wrong knife, then grabbing it from his hand and yelling, and then he suddenly woke up on the floor. Needless to say, Cedric took him home after that. For more deets, call 1-800-absolute-barbarism.

~Cas~

6. How easily do they cry? Is it different alone vs in public?

It takes so much to make this man cry- luckily, so fucking much happens in this OCverse. Cas is good enough at controlling himself to hardly risk getting emotional, but alone he either numbs himself out or breaks down, the latter having happened once already in his office after the announcement of Carter’s escape from prison.

If he’s out of it enough he can get pretty emotional in front of other people, though. Too sleep-deprived, too much caffeine, too stressed in general, once all of the above has been met he can pretty much just start talking about how upset or scared he feels without even realizing who’s around him. When he gets this out of it, you could literally say anything to him and he’ll forget about it three seconds later. The squad finds this terrifying, thankfully a rare occurrence, and will usually beg him to go home until he finally does, although they know he’s not going to sleep there either.

12. Do they have someone they trust during their own time of need, or do they prefer to handle it alone?

He would prefer to handle it alone, but Charles is the least tolerant of his bullshit. He knows exactly how Cas can get when he’s upset about something deep and has a decent ability to point out exactly what it is. On top of that, he and Cas are closest in standing despite Charles being of a lower rank than most, giving Cas very little to scold him with about his informality and will instead just stand there and listen while Charles tells him he needs to get his shit together.

When he does deliberately go to him though, Charles listens with an open heart, despite being known to probably like Cas the least. He knows from the director that Cas is a special case, not just in skill but in who he is, and does his best to offer the easiest solutions to help his current situation, although it’s not always best in the long run.

Thank you so much for these questions again!!

#asks #thank you!!#whump #illness/injury #hurt/comfort #collapse #pain #emotional whump #anxiety #so much good stuff

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acyborgkitty · 6 years

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I just finished watching Jennifer Brea’s incredible documentary Unrest on Netflix. Watch it now. Everyone should.

My story.

I became ill suddenly, and severely, in September (I think) of 2016. I had just moved to Providence in August from San Francisco, without my partner of 10+ years, to take a teaching job at Brown University. I was teaching a poetry workshop for Frequency Writers, a community writing group, as well as a class I developed for Brown’s Literary Arts department, Experimental Poets of Color. Providence is a city I love, and even though the gig was adjunct (i.e. no job security, no health insurance, etc.) I wanted to be in Providence, and I wanted to be teaching in my fiend. I had health insurance through the ACA at the time, and though I had been diagnosed with several mental illnesses many years before (major depression and general and social anxiety disorders) I felt that my hearth was well managed with the medication I was on.

I was so happy to be back in Providence, I would walk for hours around the city, sometimes 7 miles in one stretch, listening to music and books. I was thrilled to be teaching the class I desperately wish I had been able to take at any point in my education (which includes three masters degrees), and to be nearer to my friends and family who live in Boston and the surrounding areas. I missed my partner, but we’ve been long distance for much of our relationship (the price of being an artist in academia), and it seemed like he was getting ready to leave San Francisco and head back east himself.

It was the second meeting, I think, of the Frequency open poetry workshop. It was Wednesday night. I walked to the community gallery space on Carpenter St. where we held our meetings early, unlocked the doors, and made myself some tea. It was a normal night. At some point during the workshop I started to feel exhausted, sick, like I was getting a cold. I pushed through, but took a Lyft home. I woke up the next day and still felt bad. Worse, even. I cancelled that day’s class and stayed in bed. By the next week I still wasn’t feeling any better. I went to the CVS clinic to see if I had the flu, which was going around and apparently quite bad that year. I didn’t, I was told it was just a bad cold, and to take some cough suppressant for the bad cough.

I thought maybe I wasn’t sleeping well - I was tired all the time - and maybe that was making the cold last longer than normal. I had had (undiagnosed) chronic pain for years which had started in 2007 in my first year in grad school. It was especially bad in my neck and lower back, so I had spent years and a lot of money finding a really good mattress. But I had housemates that were young, noisy, up late, so I invested in an eye mask, noise-cancelling headphones that I slept in, and a white noise machine. I had to teach my classes, but I would show up, teach, and come immediately back home and stay in bed until I had to teach the next class. I spent several weeks like this, thinking it was just a cold, until someone pointed out that colds, even very bad ones, don’t last for several weeks.

I made an appointment with my primary care doctor in Boston. I’ve struggled finding doctors that take me seriously, like most women and non binary people I imagine, especially with chronic and challenging illnesses. This doctor listened to me, and was gentle, and that was pretty much all I could hope for. He examined me, and tested me for mono, strep, walking pneumonia (which I’d had before, and which was basically the closest comparable experience I had). I had none of them. Then we tested my thyroid, my B12 levels, and my immune functions. He found nothing wrong with me.

A digression on chronic pain, including a digression on trauma.

I had gone down a diagnostic wormhole several years ago when I’d first started getting tests to see if we could find an underlying cause for my chronic pain. It started in Iowa City, where I did my second graduate degree, and included MRIs, x-rays, testing for immunological disorders, cancers, and basically anything they could think of. Eventually I was referred to a psychologist, because they determined my pain might be a physical manifestation of trauma. And I’d had my share of trauma.

A digression on trauma. I grew up with an emotionally abusive mother who, though never diagnosed, meets all of the criteria for narcissistic personality disorder. I ran away from home as a teenager, living on the streets for most of a year, before re-establishing a relationship with my family, primarily my father who helped me get an apartment, back into school, and eventually into college. At that point my mother re-entered the picture, and my father stopped helping me pay for college, so I worked sometimes as many as 5 jobs while completing my undergraduate degree. I met my partner in undergrad, and he has been an immense help for me in recovering from my trauma, but like so many who were experienced long-term abuse as children, I probably will never be un-affected by my experiences.

So the trauma angle seemed at least plausible to me, and I went to a year’s worth of sessions with two different people, one a psychologist who specialized in and studied the manifestation of trauma as physical pain, and another who practiced CBT and meditative mindfulness therapy. Both helped immensely with my emotional state, but my pain persisted. So when I moved away for my third graduate degree (my first move to Providence) I transferred care and we started the diagnostics all over again. This time I saved all my records - I have my MRIs and my X-rays still in some box somewhere. We did CAT scans and I went to scores of specialists including an orthopedic surgeon who recommended surgery; a chiropractor who works with the Boston Ballet Company who diagnosed me as hyper-flexible and gave me strengthening exercises to do that actually seemed to help somewhat; and a neurologist who found nothing wrong with me at all. After four years of referrals and diagnostics, I found a integrative care physician who listened to me break down in her office, prescribed an anti-depressant that is also a sedative to help me fall asleep, and helped me come up with a plan to manage the pain. Massage, chiropractor, walking and stretching, the anti-depressants, 800mg Ibuprofen when I needed it, and Vicodin when nothing else helped.

After all of this, I wasn’t eager to go down another diagnostic chase.

Back to 2016.

By this point it was the middle of November. I was so sick that I couldn’t feed myself, I couldn’t do laundry, I couldn’t leave the house except for to teach, and then I spent the next 24-48 hours recovering mostly in bed from the fatigue it caused me. I was experiencing sever cognitive deficiencies, most notably my ability to process and retain information, and my ability to speak. It felt like I had dementia, or what I imagine dementia to feel like. I would read the same sentence over and over again and not understand it, or not remember it when I started the next one. I would fight to get up to go into the kitchen, only to forget what I was there for. Did I need water? Had I fed the cat? Did I need to use the bathroom? My father and brother were taking turns coming down to my house to prepare food for me for the week, and to get my groceries, and to do my laundry. I needed help with everything. I could do one, maybe two things in a given day. Those things included brushing my teeth and feeding the cat.

I couldn’t even research my condition, given my cognitive symptoms. I was angry, and many days I felt like it would be better to die. I couldn’t read or write, so I took up embroidery as a way to try to keep my life worth living, a way to keep making art.

In January, 2017 when my partner came to visit for his winter break, we went to my doctor together. I couldn’t remember the questions he wanted me to ask, and I couldn’t have remembered the answers anyway, and I certainly couldn’t get myself there and back without help, so him coming was the only way I was going to get there. I don’t remember much of the appointment, but I do remember my doctor suggested that I might be experiencing a severe prolonged depressive episode. Based on my previous diagnosis of depression. Based on the fact that there seemed to be nothing wrong with me, physically.

My partner didn’t buy it. I sort of did, or at least I didn’t have the energy to dispute it. My partner started researching, aggressively, and a few months later he came up with something. Maybe, he said, it was my copper IUD. Maybe I had copper toxicity. My doctor said that was impossible, that the IUD can’t cause copper toxicity, but my symptoms aligned, and there are thousands of women on the internet who have experienced copper poisoning from their IUD. So one day in April, my best friend took me to the hospital and I had mine removed. The next day, I felt better. Not 100% better, but maybe 40% better. The next day my partner and I went for a walk, the first time in almost a year I had felt able to do that.

I kept feeling better. Not getting better, but I stayed feeling about 40% better. A few days I felt almost entirely myself, but then the next day I would be exhausted again. I could do things, but if I pushed too hard, I would collapse and pay for it for days. I learned about spoons, and disability culture and activism. I learned about setting my limits, and prioritizing. I said no to almost everything, because almost nothing was worth the risk of incapacitation for me.

My brain started to recover too - I could read. I started writing in my journal, not poetry but at least writing of some sort. I felt hopeful that I was recovering. We bought a house, a big old Victorian that needs TLC, and I moved in there with 4 other queer artist friends. I didn’t get the tenure-track job at Brown, but I did get another adjunct offer to teach Book Arts, and I accepted - something I definitely couldn’t have done at my sickest, given that it’s a 15-hr a week studio course.

But now, a year post-removal, my memory is still a problem. And I still get exhausted a lot. A lot more than I used to, before I got sick. But the anecdotal evidence on the copper IUD detox forums says that it could take years to fully process the toxicity out of your system. The most severe days might be attributed to “dumps” - when the body releases stored copper all at once - and those days feel like my worst ones did when I was at my sickest. I had thought that when I felt better, I would start to do things again, go to poetry readings, have dinner with friends, go for walks, be part of the community I’d moved here because I loved. But I still say no to most things, or write them down in my calendar and don’t go. I know that if I push too hard, I’ll pay for it for days. And “too hard” is a moving target - it changes seemingly randomly, and I don’t know when I’m approaching it until it’s too late. Then I’m in bed for days.

I’ve been having an especially bad few days. Maybe a week. Maybe more. My memory, my brain isn’t good at sequence anymore, or keeping track of time. It’s frustrating, because I can’t keep track of my own symptoms. Sometimes I remember to write them down, and sometimes I forget, or am too tired. And there’s no one here to watch me, or help me - my partner doesn’t move here until June. Today, for example, I got up at 11 and I fed the cats. And I was so tired that I lay down, and just...passed out. I don’t remember falling back asleep, but then I woke up at 6 pm. I fed the cats again, and then had to go back to bed. The last week has been similar: do just what is necessary, then back to bed. It feels like I’m sick all over again.

I have had my period, which can be associated with copper dumps. I’m not saying it’s not copper “dumps,” or that it’s isn’t related to copper poisoning. But I watched Unrest and thought: “maybe this is what I have, too?” So many of those scenes were heartbreakingly familiar. I wept through most of it, because Jennifer was saying the things that I’d been feeling. About feeling like it was a good day when all I had done was survived it. About feeling like my life had ended, and that I had a new one now, one that sometimes didn’t feel like a life at all, but one that I still didn’t want to give up. About not being listened to, about not being believed. I wept at the thought of having a diagnosis, after all this time. Of maybe finally at least knowing what is wrong with me. Maybe.

But I don’t know how to find out. I don’t currently have health insurance, because the premium on my ACA policy from last year went up by 50% and I couldn’t afford it anymore, and adjuncts at Brown who teach fewer than 4 classes a year don’t get health insurance, and I’m only teaching 3, and I am barely able to do that; this semester teaching 2 classes took every bit of energy I had. I will get health insurance starting in September when my partner starts his new job in Providence, and maybe then I can get some answers. If I have the energy for it.

My story doesn’t have an ending yet. I’m in bed, as I have been all day. Writing this was the most writing I’ve done since I got sick. I’m grateful for that. It feels like, thanks to the work that Jennifer has done, an important story is at least starting to be told. Not just mine, but one that is shared by millions.

#chronic fatigue #chronically ill #m.e.#m.e./cfs #me/cfs #unrest #millionsmissing #iud copper toxicity #copper toxicity #spoonie #chronic illness #meaction #disability

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glasgowgirl92-blog · 7 years

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Linstead: The Playlist - When someone stops loving you.

Okay, so this originally wasn’t next. However conversations with @halsteadpd have been full of realisations and this was one of them. You’ve rocked this week in listening to me rant and rave and discussing all kinds of theories with me! So this one is for you.

There should be another one of these up on Monday and hopefully another Lullaby chapter, too!

Anyway, this is When Someone Stops Loving You by Little Big Town and really, for posterity, you should listen to it while reading this. It just adds to the whole ugly crying experience. This piece is angsty as all get out and really should have trigger warnings probably, I just don’t know what to tag.

Still gotta button up your collared shirt The one she used to button down Sleep on the mattress where her body left a curve Or maybe just the couch

The only time Jay was usually in either a suit, his military green or his Police blues these days were court appearances or funerals. Which is why when the chance to go undercover as a uniform had come up, Jay had jumped at the chance. Give himself a different set of memories in the uniform.

The case had closed now, and Jay hadn’t bothered to change back into his regular clothes, he’d finished his paperwork and headed straight home, making one stop on the way. It had been months. Months of nothing but silence. He’d fallen into his routine and it was unshakable, he’d been numb. He’d been numb until he’d heard Al talking to Voight about how she was doing in New York and suddenly he’d felt sick. He’d broken out in a cold sweat and he’d had to go make himself coffee in the breakroom to calm himself back down. The raw grief gripping him hard. It had felt like someone had torn his heart from his chest and all of a sudden he was empty again. Hollow. But the agony had stayed, taken up residence in his chest, and it beat like his heart did. Every step, every breath hurt and he had no idea how it was going to work.

So on the way home; to his new apartment, one that didn’t have floor to ceiling windows and band posters, he’d stopped at the liquor store. He’d promised Will that he wouldn’t do this again, promised the guys at his support group that he’d talk it out, but he didn’t much feel like talking about this. Not tonight anyway. Tonight, he wanted an escape. He wanted the numbness back. He didn’t feel strong enough to talk it out, to actually voice the thoughts that had been bouncing around his head since the moment she left the breakroom, leaving him stranding there, gripping the counter. Jay had hated the pity in her eyes, hated the way she left him, but he hated the hurt in her eyes more – knowing he was the one who put it there.

His key turned in the lock and he pushed the door open, his tie and jacket being tossed haphazardly in the general direction of the coat hook, his vest following suit. He walked into the living room, pausing in the doorway, debating a glass, but deciding he didn’t need it. He snorted at the blanket and the pillow on the sofa. He hadn’t slept in an actual bed since he walked out of her – their – apartment. He’d tried when he moved in here. But sleep wouldn’t come and he found himself back out on the sofa. Will had found it strange when he needed a place to crash that he got the bed, but he decided not to question it.

Jay dropped onto the sofa and placed his badge and gun on the table, nudging them over with his foot as he leaned back and put his feet on the table, reaching for the remote and turning the sports highlights on. Removing the bottle of whiskey from the paper bag, he opened and it took a large swig, wincing as he swallowed and coughing, but taking another swig. After the third, the amber liquid went down smoothly and he settled himself back into the cushions, the last few years flicking through his mind.

He loved her. Probably had from the moment he set eyes on her; hearing her give Antonio shit. That raspy voice of hers and then her laugh. Just thinking about his now was like a punch to his gut and he took another swig to dull the pain. She’d given him a look when he walked in, called him cocky. He’d bit back the original retort and went for something along the lines of fitting in well here. She’d laughed. Voight had told her to take the grasshopper under her wing, show him the ropes. She’d been his first female partner. She’d set the bar. Erin Lindsey had been a fucking storm in a teacup and Jay Halstead had been the one shattered and scarred when the china had cracked and sprayed in various directions. He’d do it all again, though. Every single little thing. He’d break apart a million and one times to save her; take the fall, take the hit. He knew this just as sure as he knew his army number, just as sure as he knew tomorrow the sun would rise and set.

Jay had never loved anyone the way he loved her. There was something about her that he couldn’t stay away from and it wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t something that he could figure out. She was an enigma to him and his world just felt better knowing that she was gonna be there when he went to work; long before they had started dating, long before he’d gone to her high school reunion with her, he’d known she was going to turn his world upside down.

He swallowed hard and took another drink; something swelling in his chest that he didn’t want to name, but the pain was real. He’d take another bullet in the shoulder. Hell, he’d take a bullet anywhere at this point for this ache to go away. Jay had only known this feeling one other time in his life and as his mind tried to go there he took a longer drink of the liquor, coughing but letting his eyes drift close.

Erin Lindsey was it. That was clear. She wasn’t like the rest of them. She was broken and beautiful and pulled together. She’d left him before. Technically three times, but who was counting? He wasn’t. She’d chosen the job over him; her job. He’d told her he understood that being her partner was enough; but he couldn’t tell her how he slept better with her in his bed, couldn’t tell her she’d been the one to keep him together, to keep the nightmares away. She needed to keep her job and to please Voight. Jay loved his job; but he’d always loved her more. He’d have given his damn badge to keep her, but he understood her want to keep Voight onside.

Then she’d quit. She didn’t tell him; barely looked at him when he’d finally tracked her down. She didn’t care. She’d left him. She’d walked away from him when he’d begged her for closure. He’d needed it, couldn’t deal with the fact there was no goodbye. Just like this time. He took another drink and realised that this was turning into a game of Never Have I with his own damned mind. He’d chuckled, but it was humourless. It sounded broken and fake and he cleared his throat.

She’d come back that time. She’d been the one to save him from the drug Lord after 24 hours of hell. She’d come into the room like a fucking angel and while she looked like hell? She’d been so beautiful in that moment. She’d come back before, the thought offered hope, but as quickly as it rose it was squashed back down. Erin had said she could handle it; handle whatever demons he was fighting, carry the weight of his luggage from war. Under the guise of needing time, though, of them both needing time, she’d taken his confession of seeking help and fled. Then after some pretty painful cases, some heart wrenching interactions, she’d gone.

He'd given the ring back to Will on Monday. Hadn’t said anything, just handed it over. That’s when Will had followed him out into the parking lot and begged him to talk it over. There was no point in talking, however. No point at all. He’d been talking for months, once a week. Didn’t fix him. It broke him on a weekly basis.

How do you talk over not being enough for someone? How do you talk about needing space and getting so much more than you bargained for? How do you talk about someone leaving without saying goodbye? How do you talk about not being worth that much? Jay scrubbed a hand down his face and took another drink before glancing at the bottle and letting out another humourless laugh. He'd managed to drink around a third of the bottle in the half hour he’d been in apartment and the hangover was going to be a bitch when he woke up; but a physical pain was something easier to deal with than the thoughts in his head.

There was another thought circulating; but he’d been pushing that one deeper and deeper. He couldn’t look that one in the eye yet; Jay knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this in check if he did. He’d managed so far at keeping his tears at bay; keeping the tidal wave grief inside for close to a week. He figured he’d past denial and anger, skipped bargaining and was now in the deep depressive state of losing someone. He just didn’t want to be here, wanted to get to the acceptance. Wanted to reach the part that everyone thought he was at. They’d expected him to be there months before she’d taken the job in New York. Except, he wasn’t. Couldn’t. Hope of a reunion was definitely a cruel mistress.

Jay felt his stomach churn and decided that perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was probably the wrong idea; but he was already starting to feel more relaxed, less tense. He was already beginning to go numb. He put his feet on the floor and stood, taking two steps before his stumble had him catching the leg of the coffee table, tripping up and hitting the floor, his hand knocking the small table he’d taken to dumping the keys and sending it flying, the table hitting the floor and the contents of the drawer scattering everywhere. Luckily enough he’d had the wherewithal to keep the bottle from hitting the floor. He pushed to his knees, cradling the bottle and taking another drink as he assessed the damage, wondering if anyone would call the cops or come see if he was okay.

He doubted it. No one actually cared. He’d probably lay here for days before anyone would come looking for him. The thought was a sobering one and Jay took another long pull from the bottle before putting it down on the floor and crawling towards the wreckage, because it was safer this way and it wouldn’t hurt so much if he fell over. There were the usual things in that drawer; spare batteries, bullets for his gun, an address book, a pen and paper, a candle and a lighter. He gathered the items up, dropping some again and then finally putting them all in the drawer and righting the table, sliding the drawer back in.

A piece of paper caught his eye, near the entrance to the kitchen and he reached to get it, wobbling slightly but catching himself and dragging it towards him. When Jay turned the paper over, his breath caught and his word spun. It was a picture of him and his mother, he was about 5 and she was smiling at him as he played with his police car. Jay felt the bile rise in his throat and he put the photo on the table as he stumbled to his feet, crashing shoulder first into the wall and groaning before finally making it to the bathroom and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He managed to get his knees under him as he hugged the porcelain, body shuddering through the heaves of his body. Bourbon never did taste quite as good coming back up as it did going down. When he finally was reduced to drive heaves he wiped his mouth and pushed to his feet, flushing the toilet and moving to the sink to rinse his mouth out. He caught sight of himself in the mirror when he spat into the sink and saw his mother’s eyes looking back at him in place of his own and suddenly couldn’t hold it in anymore; his shoulders shaking as he dropped to the ground again.

His mind was spinning as he allowed himself to feel the rush of emotions; the loss and loneliness, the hurt and the fear, the bitter heartbreak and disappointment, the feelings of inadequacy and emptiness. Jay’s entire body began to shake as he drew his knees to his chest for protection; not fighting the tears as they finally came. Allowing himself to mourn the loss of his relationship; sobbing harder, gasping sobs, as the reality set deep into his bones and the pain rocked him from his core.

Erin had left him multiple times; proved time and time again that she was fine without him; that in their relationship, he was the one who loved the most and he was okay with that. Why was this time so different? Why was this time so final? So permanent?

As his sobs grew louder, the pain tearing through him at an alarming rate along with the one thought he’d tried to keep buried.

Everyone woman he’d ever loved had left him.

When someone stops loving you It don't keep the sun from rising, the clock from winding, your heart from beating Even when you want it to

#linstead #linsteadfiction #linstead fanfiction #jay halstead #jay and erin #ChicagoPD #chicagopdfanfiction

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cosmosogler · 7 years

Text

a job offer was made.

i woke up early, but left late. felt lethargic and didn’t want to see people.

class went fine, until the end. we got out 13 minutes late so we only had 2 minutes to prepare for quantum. i didn’t get to go to the bathroom. that ended up being ok though.

we got our midterms back. i got a 58%.

well, quantum started, so i had to put it away quickly and get my other notebook out. i made it 35 minutes into that lecture before i got up and went to the bathroom.

when i got in the stall i turned around and put my head against the door. well, i put my arm against the door, and put my head against my arm, because i don’t know what happens in there.

i didn’t really, feel very strongly about it, at first, but i knew i needed to be alone for a few minutes. the thoughts got to be a lot though.

it feels like nothing i do even matters. why even try. i’m so stupid. i thought i could make things better...

not every day, but a lot of days, i wonder if i made the right choice. but i don’t really want to make any other choice. i guess my parents spoiled me. i always need to get what i want.

i mean, i barely ever do, even when i ask for it or work hard for it. but i am stupid, and i was thinking, maybe, this time, it would be different?

i don’t understand. i knew what the questions wanted. i knew i’d gotten that information before, twice even, for some of the questions! nothing on that test was a surprise and i knew that. i even found myself understanding what was happening better as i derived some energy equations. i used my accommodation time and took it slow and felt satisfied with what i could accomplish without running up against the clock.

what happened?

did i just not... study enough? i know “it’s a start” isn’t the same as “i did good,” but... this was the most i’ve ever done, aside from when i studied for the physics gre.

people who did really good on this midterm got the same gre percentile as me. why am i so different when i take written tests? why am i so stupid that i can talk about quantum and explain stuff to my classmates, but the second a professor asks me to demonstrate what i know, i suddenly don’t know ANYTHING?

i don’t understand.

so i continued my grade school tradition of crying in the bathroom. this time was kind of better because i didn’t make any noise. i waited until the red left my face and went back to class.

a couple of my classmates seemed pretty down too. i found out after quantum that i actually didn’t do the worst in the class, by a kind of noticeable margin. suzanne said that it might not get curved, but that the percentages don’t work the same way in grad school. she said the class grade typically gets split into two major groups with the higher group getting an a and the lower group getting around a b.

it was really discouraging because if i had done as well on the rest of the test as i did on the first third, i would have passed with a good grade. something in my brain stopped working after i got through the first problem and i didn’t notice.

i didn’t put any effort into making jokes today but i did mumble to luis on the way out for lab practice that “at least i moved up in the class rank since the prelims. since i did infinitely better on this one than that one.”

he didn’t talk about his grade with me. i didn’t think about it really but i did notice he didn’t put much effort into looking not dead today either.

the lab was good. i looked around and said “ok who’s going to be my victim this week?” and i immediately picked soham and said i wanted to get to know him better. by working for several hours on a basic physics lab, we would accomplish getting to know each other better.

he was a little bossy at first but he cooled off once we got everything working properly. it didn’t take long to figure out why he was kind of fussy about the lab though.

we were really, really good at it. i joked that he lined up the radius on the thing so well that there couldn’t possibly be even an atom out of place. he laughed and made rock-out fingers at me.

the professor said errors on the order of 5% would be good if you knew what you were doing. ours were under one percent. we finished first.

“yeah, team hypercompetence!” i cheered when our second error reading came out to like 0.8%. after that he started leaning on me for calculations a little more while he took data. and we took notes for our lectures.

we also didn’t leave the hanger on the spinning bar to get launched off even once. a couple tables around us did. forget to take off the hanger before starting to spin the thing, i mean.

that gave me a whole hour to mope before my e&m test. i sat at my desk and clicked idly at a logic puzzle while everyone else sat at their desks and clicked idly at their computers. none of us really offered any jokes. i was so bummed i didn’t know what to do with myself.

at 2:55 i went to take my test. suzanne wished me luck and i thanked her and told them all to have good luck during their lecture. wasn’t sure what else to say.

the test went kind of awful? i knew what the questions were and how to set up the problems and the general procedure, it was basically harder versions of what i had just gone over with suzanne last night. i felt like i was forgetting a step somewhere even though i made sure to explicitly show how the boundary conditions affected my theoretical model of the system and where infinite series could be chopped up to lead to “more efficiency” in calculations based off my conjured equation. the professor had been big on that in class.

i think i got one answer either completely right or almost right, but i don’t want to commit to that. i didn’t finish the first problem though even with the extra half time.

i dunno man i guess being bummed AND intimidated by the professor had like a negative effect on my ability to perform on a test or something? that was mysterious.

afterward i went back into the office and we all dicked around for a while before anyone wanted to leave. harrison tried to cajole me into joking about my sarcasm some more but i wasn’t really having it. i don’t really remember what it was like to just be nineteen.

like i had started this blog by then and i remember when i was nineteen. but it was so eaten up and engulfed by how severe my depression was getting that i just... don’t remember anything else except feeling so horrible that reality stopped meaning anything. so it’s hard to gauge how much energy a nineteen year old should have or what kinds of things people that age would normally think about. he is in the unusual position of being a graduate student but at the same time, like, he’s practically my brother’s age. being a teenager sucks.

i wasn’t really going anywhere in particular with that. just trying to understand my classmates a little better i guess. where they’re at and where they’re coming from. what a good response might be.

anyway my writing time is ended but i’m gonna keep going because important stuff happened after that too.

so around 4:50 or so we left for the bar, me and jennica and keegan and rebika. harrison was really dodgy about our invitation and left pretty abruptly when we were ready to go. i expressed the desire to beat up his mother to the others after he left.

like he doesn’t have to drink or anything but he is an adult and should be able to go out with his colleagues on a friday at least.

we sat outdoors since the weather was basically great. a bunch of guys sat at the table upwind of us and started smoking huge cigars which really irritated my throat. i started having coughing fits again so we moved tables.

i’ve noticed over the last week or so that i jump about three feet in the air every time i am touched unexpectedly. and if my classmates get too close to me when we are clustered together for whatever reason, or when jennica tries to lean in and gestures wildly, i shuffle away.

she’s a very enthusiastic story teller. she was showing me a map on her phone today while covering basically the whole screen with her hand and scrolling around violently so that i actually felt motion sick.

anyway i didn’t drink. i told suzanne i wasn’t really in a very good position to be drinking right now. i had to wait like 20 minutes at the bar to even ask for food though. i guess someone has to go last. and by “last” i mean “after every person who comes up to the bar after all my friends have gotten their drinks and left.” the bar apparently is able to substitute tempeh for basically any meat in any of their dishes so i got buffalo tempeh mac and cheese. it was interesting. keegan expressed interest though. maybe he’ll get it next time.

i stayed at the table talkin with the other graduate students (some first year, some second year, some later, one from astronomy, etc) until it was dark. i didn’t stop feeling sick and miserable though. but i did find a time to visit the bank with jennica to set up my own private account with no mom germs on it. we’re going on tuesday after we’re done teaching. and suzanne told me about a much cheaper apartment complex that seems to have everything i pay for here AND more space. it’s like 300 dollars a month cheaper. actually my classmates seemed concerned that i was spending so much money on rent for a studio apartment. suzanne’s the only one who’s actually been into my home so far though and she was able to compare a lot for me.

i think i will move into that place next year instead of staying here. i like it here, it’s perfectly acceptable, but the money i could save would really add up... i could buy nice food instead of 7-minute rice sides. or, like, buy a ticket to disneyworld every month or something, i don’t know. or pay for my own insurance, or something.

on my way out i was stopped by some grad students i’ve spent time with but not personally spoken to. i mostly heckle the one guy while he plays ping pong but he’s really super good at it. he bought his own paddle and everything, but sometimes trick shots on a wobbly uneven table just don’t work out and it’s fun to tease.

anyway this guy motioned for me to come over and said his friend was required to do some recruiting. and that he’d been smoking weed, i guess? the guy looked like he’d been hit by a truck. and he misheard a lot of my questions but we got that cleared up pretty fast when he was having very strange reactions to questions like “is this a shadowing-for-a-day sort of thing or is it a work-all-summer-i’ve-sold-my-soul-to-you sort of thing?”

he wanted me to work in his lab. he said he’d seen me loitering outside the e&m professor’s lab a couple times this semester. i’d seen him too while i was loitering.

i’ve read all the posters in that hallway a couple times over each. the e&m professor doesn’t really do short answers to short questions. everything’s gotta be a 30-minute production. like that time i had to wait outside his office for 35 minutes.

anyway he said i might like working in his professor’s lab, which works with ultra low energy matter. i brightened. he said it was mostly helium isotopes. he might have said other stuff but i was trying to get, like, the location of the lab out of him so i didn’t hear everything he said. i made a memo on my phone to go talk to him on monday before my office hour.

i kinda struggled with this new information while i was heading out of the bar and dislodging my bike from the rack outside the church next door. and while i was biking home. and while i was taking off my backpack, and while i was brushing snoopy and giving her a good pet-down.

like i’ve been so busy... i’ve had “talk to a faculty member about their project” on my to-do list for a week now and i haven’t been able to even go upstairs to look at their project titles. i’ve been trying so hard to be proactive but i really don’t have energy to actively do literally everything in my life. and this, kinda random, opportunity gets dropped in my lap. i feel kind of suspicious about it. like this could go a number of ways.

on the one hand, it might be a fun thing to learn about for a few days while i get introduced to other faculty members. or i might stick with this for a while. or forever. i get the feeling this is going to be a major life point coming up but i don’t have any real evidence other than an uneasy feeling.

i also don’t have the grades to justify being really for real actually hired to work under a professor. i just really like working with machinery and i feel like i’m decent enough at it. “born to be an experimentalist,” suzanne smiled during our lunch break today. we get pizza during the practice lab sessions. we are supposed to be paying for it but i think our supervisor forgot about that. i wonder how many groups of grad students he’s “forgotten” to get payment from.

i’m decent with machinery, but i get the feeling if i spent time developing the skill i could get really good at it. i like fixing things. even during our advanced labs in undergrad i kinda liked troubleshooting and seeing all the very strange ways stuff could go wrong. it was frustrating because we were on a serious time crunch, especially with the part we needed not actually available any more, but i dunno. i get it in a way i can’t very well with math.

just gotta figure out how to link the two and i might be good to go as far as having a real life job that’s not teaching goes.

i liked programming too. computers always do exactly what you tell them to do. i think it’s really funny how badly stuff can go sideways, even if troubleshooting for eight hours might get “i’m going to give myself a hernia” levels of frustrating.

tomorrow i’m going to bike over to gamestop and see about getting that marshadow that’s been distributed. and i think i want to swim, too. groceries will probably be on the small side this week since mom never paid back that 900 money that i actually do need. she never explained why she took it either.

i’m very suspicious that it’s a “surprise” that i neither asked for nor approved of, and which a very large portion of my money has been used for.

might be a paycheck +10% i’m just not going to get back. basically an entire rent payment down the drain.

opening a new bank account for myself will be a good thing i think. i’m glad jennica is going with me.

it’s now 11:10, which is 25 minutes past when i have decided is my “stop writing” time. it’s been a long day... next week is gonna bring a lot of trouble i think. between the bad grades and the “free speech” exhibition on thursday and not being able to see my drc aid for another week in a row and the new lab arrangement which is still very nebulous... i dunno. i’m real tired.

at least snoopy had a good evening. i petted her, wiped her down with the dandruff wipe thing, brushed her, gave her cookies and some catnip, AND played with her for a while. she didn’t feel like playing back today but after talking with other people about their cats i’m starting to think that might be normal for some cats.

also i scratched my face REAL bad last night and it’s been hurting all day. i did a pretty good job of not messing with it today though. i will try to continue not hurting myself. i promise it was an accident, i was half asleep at the time.

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