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scientia-rex · 6 months

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Wound Care

Ok so, take this with a BIG grain of salt, because I may be a medical doctor BUT you need to know how much wound care training we get in medical school: none. Zip. Zilch. There may be medical schools where you do, but mine wasn't a bozo factory and there was NO wound care training. Everything I know I learned from one of several sources: an intensive 2-day wound care course I did in residency (highly recommend), the local Home Health wound care nurse (highly recommend), a completely batshit insane old white male doctor who started our learning sessions by yelling Vietnam War stories at me (do not recommend), a hospital wound care nurse (highly recommend), and experience (oh god do not recommend).

The first thing you need to know is that wound healing varies dramatically across the course of a lifespan. Kids? Kids will heal. If they don't, get their ass to a pediatrician because there's something genetic going on. Young adults will heal. Middle-aged adults will heal. You know who doesn't heal for shit? The elderly, and people with severe illnesses, and people with uncontrolled type II diabetes.

Your body needs several things in order to heal. It needs macronutrients, so you need to be able to EAT protein, fat, and carbs. If you are on total parenteral nutrition, aka TPN, aka IV nutrition, you are going to be worse at healing. If you are starving yourself, you are going to be worse at healing. If your body is desperately funneling all the calories you take in to surviving your COPD or cancer, you are going to be worse at healing.

It also needs micronutrients. If your diet sucks, you won't heal. Take a multivitamin once in a while.

There are two CRITICAL skin components to healing: collagen and elastin. Guess what we stop making as we age. Promoting collagen isn't just good for "anti-aging," it's good for NOT ripping your skin apart. Taking oral collagen is probably bullshit because your body is going to have to disassemble it to get it across the intestinal membranes to absorb, but it's also harmless, and if your diet REALLY sucks, who knows. Give it a try. Collagen is made of amino acids; think protein.

Another absolutely crucial component is blood flow. As people age, they start to develop cholesterol plaques lining arteries that eventually pick up calcium deposits. This makes blood vessels less elastic, which is a problem, but eventually also blocks them off, which is a much bigger problem. If someone has the major blood flow to their feet decreased by 90% by arterial stenosis, they are not going to heal for shit AND their foot's gonna hurt.

One component of blood flow I hadn't thought about before going into medicine is fluid retention. The way your body works, blood exits the heart at a very high velocity, but slows to a crawl by the time it gets into capillaries, the smallest blood vessels in the body. Water is a very small molecule and can leave the blood vessel, especially if there aren't big, negatively-charged molecules like proteins like albumin in the blood vessels to hold the water there. And we're built for this--some water is supposed to leak out of our blood vessels when it gets to real little vessels. It gets taken back up by the lymphatic system and eventually dumped back into the bloodstream at the inferior vena cava. But if you aren't making albumin--for instance, in liver failure--you may leak a LOT of fluid into the tissue, so much that your legs get swollen, tight, the skin feeling woody and strange. This isn't fixable by drainage because the fluid is everywhere, not in a single pocket we can drain. And because it puts so much pressure on the tissues of the skin, it often results in ulcers. Congestive heart failure, liver failure, kidney failure--these are all common causes of severe edema, aka swelling due to fluid in the tissues. And they're a real bitch when it comes to wound care, because we have such limited resources for getting the fluid back out, which is a necessary first step to healing.

Pressure is another common cause of wounds. Pressure forces blood out of those little capillaries, so you starve the cells normally fed by those capillaries, and they die. It's called pressure necrosis. Very sick people who can't turn themselves over--people in the ICU, people in nursing homes--are especially prone to these wounds, as are people with limited sensation; pressure wounds are common in wheelchair users who have lost some feeling in the parts of their bodies that rub against those surfaces, or diabetics who don't notice a rock in their shoe.

So, if you're trying to treat wounds, the questions to ask are these:

Why did this wound happen?

-Was it pressure? If it's pressure, you have to offload the source of the pressure or else that wound will not heal. End of story. You can put the tears of a unicorn on that thing, if you don't offload the pressure it won't heal.

-Was it fluid? If it's fluid, you have get the fluid out of the issues or else it won't heal. You can sometimes do that with diuretics, medications that cause the body to dump water through the kidneys, but that's always threading a needle because you have to get someone to a state where they still have juuuuust enough fluid inside their blood vessels to keep their organs happy, while maintaining a very slight state of dehydration so the blood vessels suck water back in from the tissues. You can use compression stockings to squeeze fluid back into the vessels, but if they have arterial insufficiency and not just venous insufficiency, you can accidentally then cause pressure injury. The safest option is using gravity: prop the feet up above the level of the heart, wherever the heart is at, at that moment, and gravity will pull fluid back down out of the legs. Super boring though. Patients hate it. Not as much as they hate compression stockings.

-Was it a skin tear because the skin is very fragile? This is extremely common in the elderly, because they're not making collagen and elastin, necessary to repairing skin. If this is the case, make sure they're actually getting enough nutrition--as people get into their 80s and 90s, their appetites often change and diminish, especially if they're struggling with dementia. And think about just wrapping them in bubble wrap. Remove things with sharp edges from their environments. I have seen the WORST skin tears from solid wood or metal furniture with sharp edges. Get rid of throw rugs and other tripping hazards. I had somebody last week who tried to a clear a baby gate and damn near destroyed their artificial hip.

The next critical question: why isn't it healing?

-Are you getting enough nutrients? Both macro and micro?

-Are you elderly?

-Are you ill?

-Do you have a genetic disorder of collagen formation?

Fix why it's not healing and almost anything will heal. If you're diabetic, find a medication regimen that improves your sugars and stick to it. If you're anorexic, get treatment for your eating disorder. If you have congestive heart failure, work with your doctor on your fluid balance. Wear the damn pressure stockings. Prop up your feet.

If, after those two unskippable questions are done, you want to do something to the wound--apply a dressing, do a treatment--that's a whole other kettle of fish. I'll write that later. The dryer just sang me its little song and I need to put away the laundry.

#the attending dr. kristophine #wound care

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alltheirdamn · 2 months

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A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 12

Summary: Revenge tastes so fucking sweet. Warnings: extreme violence, blood and gore, weapons, dismemberment (sorry...), torture, wound care, shower sex, unprotected piv sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, language Word Count: 7.1k A/N: First and foremost, I am so sorry it took me a bit of extra time to get this chapter posted. I am the WORST at writing action-packed scenes and truly spent a week bashing my head against a wall trying to get it right. (it still isn't good lol) But anyway, pls look past the monstrosity that is ~my writing~ and enjoy the karma Kesi deserves.

Din really fucking hated being stuck on a ship with the three Mandalorians. Paz was a part of Clan Vizsla, another house within the Death Watch. While Din hadn’t interacted much with him, the scene in Nevarro was enough to make his blood boil. Paz had never seen Din remove his helmet, but the insinuation he knew had Din on edge. Maybe the apparent relationship between him and the girl led Paz to consider the chances of Din breaking his Creed. Paz wasn’t wrong, but his distaste for Din would cause a problem if it went any further.

All four of them had squeezed into the cockpit of the Gauntlet as they flew towards Oba Diah. For a few hours, there was nothing but silence and building tension between them all. Bo Katan and Koska had removed their helmets early on, proving to be one more thing that set Din on edge. Despite his loyalty to the Death Watch, seeing them so free in their own Clan made him extremely envious. Din had renounced his loyalty but wasn’t ready to completely break free from all he had known.

“So,” Bo Katan said, breaking the silence.

She turned the pilot's seat around to face Din, a smug grin teasing the corners of her lips.

“This girl must be something special if you’re killing in her honor,” she smirked. “Let me guess, you broke your loyalty for her, huh? Took off that shiny helmet?”

Din didn’t respond. Bo Katan could see right through him.

“Does she know what that means?” Bo Katan raised an eyebrow.

“You are no Mandalorian,” Paz growled from beside Din.

Din exhaled heavily, turning his visor towards Paz. While Paz was twice his size, Din wasn’t intimidated; he was just worried that this situation would affect the mission.

“I have done nothing wrong,” Din said.

“Apostate! You have gone against our Creed, and for what? That girl?”

Din was out of his seat, pining Paz against his own with a vibroblade. Paz’s strength outdid Din’s, but Din kept a firm hand on Paz’s cowl to hold him down.

“I am still a Mandalorian!” Din snapped.

“Your loyalty lies elsewhere,” Bo Katan chimed in. “Unless you and her have taken vows to one another, Paz is correct. You have broken the creed within your Clan. In their books, you are no longer a Mandalorian.”

“I am loyal to my Clan,” Din defended, though it felt like a lie.

“You are loyal to her,” Bo Katan argued.

Paz shoved Din, forcing him to stumble back into his chair. Din knew in his heart his loyalty was to her and her alone, but admitting that aloud to other Mandalorians made the weight of it too heavy to carry. Especially with Paz, that admission would come with a fight in words and fists, and he needed their focus on the mission. Din still needed time to learn who he was without his Creed before he could face any more scrutiny.

“Our focus is this mission,” Din said firmly. “Nothing else.”

“I will not stand beside someone who tosses their loyalty at a woman's feet,” Paz snapped.

“You have come to fight, Paz,” Bo Katan interjected. “You both can sort your issues out after. We will fight in return for Mando’s help, and I will not let the rules of your Clan stand in the way.”

Paz had little else to say in doing so, leaving the cockpit and retreating into the belly of the ship. Din sat defeated, watching the galaxy pass by as they flew closer to Oba Diah. His mind was fixated on Kesi and all the ways he would torture him, though he found his thoughts wandering to the quiet moments spent on the Crest with her. Just this one mission, and he’d be home.

The Gauntlet passed through Oba Diah’s atmosphere a day later. The planet was drenched in an endless array of grey clouds and smoke. As they flew further into the city, it became alight in colors of neon green that seemed to dissolve into the smoky haze surrounding the mountain crags. Din had never seen a city built around a fortress, but that’s what it was: a fortress. Nestled between the obsidian cliffs and mountain crags, they flew closer to a large spaceport where several ships were inbound. Bo Katan slowed the ship as they neared the port, her focus dead set on landing somewhere untraceable.

“We’ll be lucky to make it out of here in one piece,” she grumbled.

Koska scoffed at her words, throwing a deadly glare at Din. He knew it was because of his infatuation with killing Kesi that they were all in this predicament, but he didn’t care. He needed this.

“Once this is settled, my help will be returned,” Din swore.

“Oh, I know,” Bo Katan said.

She found a secluded area in the mountain range to land the Gauntlet, giving them enough time to gather weapons and create a somewhat thought-out plan. Din knew that the Pykes were unpredictable, and whatever they were walking into, they needed to keep sharp. He was in full hunter mode now; nothing would prevent him from finding and killing Kesi.

Paz was quieter towards Din now, instead focusing on loading his large blaster—there was a reason why Mandalorians referred to him as the Heavy Infantry Mandalorian.

As Bo Katan lowered the ship's ramp, she adjusted her helmet on her head, Koska following suit. Din felt a sudden wave of jealousy washing over him as he observed their nonchalance with the motion, wishing he could feel that free with his armor. He could be as free as he desired with her but not surrounded by Mandalorians who scrutinized his every move and decision.

“There’s an entrance into the fortress on the eastern edge of the mountain range,” Bo Katan explained. “We’ll move there and secure the surroundings before entering. I’m not sure where Kesi could be located in the fortress, but we need to stay alert and ready for any possible chance of a fight.”

They nodded in agreement and started to hike east towards the entrance. It was no easy trek to the entrance as they encountered unstable ground and falling rocks, but as they neared the fortress, the ground evened out and gave a clear path to the door. Din surveyed the surroundings; his blaster clutched tight as he scanned the perimeter. He gave an ‘all-clear’ sign to the other three, motioning them forward. Paz approached the entrance first, trying his hand at the coded system that kept it locked. Din wasn’t surprised to find it heavily armored, but it didn’t seem to phase Paz as he blasted the system and sent the door flying open.

“Easy enough,” Paz grumbled, forcing his large body through the door first.

It was, in fact, not easy.

The security system of the fortress set off a loud alarm, the entire entrance drenched in red as they sprinted down the hallway. The blaring sound of the alarm drowned out Din’s mind as he raced through the building, his weapon lifted as he readied himself for the fight. Bo Katan and Koska remained further back to guard Din and Paz as they swept through the lower floor, scanning for any indication of straggling spice traders. They came up empty and continued to scour the lower level until they reached an unmanned turbolift.

“Be ready for the fight,” Din instructed, leading them into the lift.

Bo Katan unsheathed her duel pistols, followed by Koska lifting her blaster rifle to eye level as they faced the door. Paz was grumbling nonsense as he readied his weapon, training it at the door for when it opened. The turbolift ascended above ground, the lights flickering red as it came to a stop. Din held in a breath as he anticipated the worst, his weapon mirroring the other Mandalorians.

They knew what awaited them when the doors opened.

Pykes littered the hallway as the turbolift door opened, their rifles sending a downpour of blasts toward the four Mandalorians. Din ducked under the fire, sending a return of shots that forced a domino effect of Pykes falling to the ground. Paz advanced in front of Din, his large blaster nearly incinerating the remaining smugglers that stood in their way.

“Good work,” Din panted.

Paz huffed at his words, stalking forward as they turned down another hallway. Bo Katan and Koska flanked Din’s sides, their helmets whipping back and forth for any other Pykes on their tails. Despite their arguments on the ship, Din was grateful for their help because he knew he wouldn’t have survived this alone.

The hallway opened into a large operations room, the screens covered in static and blinking lights. Bo Katan surged forward to inspect the operation systems, checking for locations within the fortress that might be useful. Paz remained in the doorway, his blaster set to kill in case anyone ventured their way. Once Bo Katan located a map of the fortress, Din’s eyes wildly searched it for any clues. The entire Pyke fortress was a series of mazes that led to various operation rooms or spice mills. Din had a hunch Kesi would be in one of the main operations rooms, so he set his sights on traveling higher to the heart of the building.

While they gathered information, another grouping of Pykes rounded the entrance, circling them until they were outnumbered. A slew of shots rang out from both sides, some of the shots hitting the hardware within the room and lighting the systems on fire. They had to move now before things got worse. All four Mandalorians fought their way out of the smoking room and maneuvered over the dead bodies as they searched for another escape route. Din led them back into the hallway toward another turbolift, keeping a mental note of which operations rooms he wanted to tear apart, all the while fantasizing about the way he’d torture Kesi.

The turbolift opened into the heart of the fortress, the hallway lined with Syndicate members waiting to strike them down. Each advanced at a deadly speed, their rifles more powerful than the last group they encountered. Din surged forward, dropping to a crouch as he tore through the bodies with his vibroblade. Din was bloodthirsty as he watched them drop to the ground, their masked faces staring blankly at the ceiling as they continued through the fortress. He was ruthless with each kill, striking some with his blaster while he tore into others with his blade. The other Mandalorians didn’t hold back with their violence, either, their body count adding to his as they moved in deadly silence.

“Check every room,” Din commanded. “If you find Kesi before I do, you alert me. He’s mine.”

The violence laced within Din’s words forced them to agree in silence as they split up, each tracking the halls on their own. Din moved through the main hallway of the fortress, the alarm still blaring in the back of his mind. His armor was doused in red light as he lurked around the corners, dropping Pykes where they stood. Some of their shots landed against his armor, but they made no impact on the beskar covering his chest or arms.

He approached the first row of rooms lining the hallway, the metal steel doors taunting him with each step. Din nearly vibrated with rage when he hijacked the last room, the remnants of sabacc tables and spice dirtying the ground. He was losing his sanity with each step, knowing how close he was to finding Kesi and coming up empty every time a new room appeared. Standing in the final empty room, Din let out a frustrated yell, sinking his fist into the metal wall until it dented.

“Mando!” Bo Katan’s voice broke through the rage-filled thoughts in his mind.

She appeared at the room entrance, her helmet flicking to the wall and back to Din’s heaving body. He schooled his features, straightening his shoulders as he waited for her to speak. He desperately needed to hear those three words leave her mouth.

“We found him,” Bo Katan said.

Din’s vision went red.

Bo Katan led him down a series of pathways, already covered in bloodshed and death left by her and Koska, till they reached a standalone room. Din clipped his blaster back onto his weaponry belt as he followed Bo Katan through the broken doorway. He wouldn’t need a gun for this death; he wanted to draw out the pain until there was nothing left of Kesi.

Paz had Kesi pinned to the floor, Koska flanking his side with her blaster raised and aimed at Kesi’s head. Din stepped into the room and motioned for her to lower her weapon. She stepped aside, letting Din take her spot.

“Leave us,” Din said, angling his head toward the doorway.

“We can kill him right now,” Paz argued.

Din’s helmet snapped toward Paz, and he wished Paz could see the dangerous glare twisting his facial features. Gnashing his teeth together, he waited for Paz to relent and leave.

“He’s mine,” Din snapped.

Paz gave one stiff nod and retreated into the hallway.

Kesi laughed, exhausted, as he slumped against the wall, his teeth barred and yellow eyes gleaming under the flashing red lights. The color distorted his features, his face shadowed and mocking as he stared at Din.

“All of this chaos for some whore?” He taunted.

Din’s fist made contact with the center of Kesi’s face, bone cracking the only noise above the alarm system. This was just the start of what he wanted to do to the vile piece of shit in front of him. Kesi doubled over, groaning and clutching his bleeding nose, and Din took a slow step forward, crowding him against the ground. Lowering himself into a crouch, he gripped Kesi by the hair on his scalp, forcing him to meet the visor of his helmet.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Din growled.

Kesi spit blood at Din’s helmet, the splatter minimal across the visor. Din wished Kesi could see the murderous grin he had as he watched him writhe under his grasp.

“You realize the type of people that will hunt you down, right?” Kesi laughed, blood coating his teeth.

“Let them.”

Din unsheathed his vibroblade and angled it at the base of Kesi’s neck. Dragging the tip across the skin, he relished at how the blood slowly pooled to the surface. Releasing his grip on Kesi’s hair, Din reached for Kesi’s hand and bent it sideways, followed by another harmony of cracking bones. Kesi wailed in pain, thrashing against Din’s hold.

“You touched her once,” Din accused. “That needs to be fixed.”

Steadying the broken hand, Din took the blade to Kesi’s first finger, sawing against the bone until the flesh fell away along with the digit. He paid no mind to the sound of Kesi’s cries as he moved to the next finger, repeating the mutilation until his hand was void of all five fingers. Blood seeped into Din’s glove as he tossed the damaged hand aside, reaching for Kesi’s other to deliver the same torture.

“Stop!” Kesi begged as Din tore into the first finger.

“Did you stop when she begged?” Din seethed.

Kesi only whimpered, his body shaking with a mixture of pain and blood loss.

“I didn’t think so,” Din said.

With all of his fingers disposed onto the ground at his feet, Din lifted the blade back to the edge of Kesi’s jaw. The man was practically a heap of flesh and blood, his consciousness slipping with each passing moment.

“Hell is too good for someone like you,” Din whispered.

He drew the bloodied blade across Kesi’s neck, a gurgled sound seeping from his lips. Din stepped back to watch as it stained his tanned skin and tattered clothes, the color of it darkening with each flash of the red lights in the room. Kesi’s body crumpled to the floor, his eyes staring blankly at the walls. Din wasn’t done yet.

Grounding the sole of his boot between Kesi’s shoulder blades, he yanked Kesi’s head up and tore into the flesh and bone of his throat until his head fell from his body.

It wasn’t enough to fix the past, but it was enough to satisfy Din.

The other Mandalorians didn’t question Din when he emerged from the room drenched with Kesi’s blood. Bo Katan gave him a knowing nod, grasping his shoulder as they turned to leave. Din was in a murderous haze as they rewound their way down to the east entrance, still on alert for other Pykes. So far, they were clear as they rounded the path back to the Gauntlet.

“We need to go back to Nevarro,” Din huffed.

“I’ll give you a week with your girl, and we'll leave for our mission,” Bo Katan replied. “No backing out now, Mando. You did us a favor, and now you owe me.”

“I understand.”

The ramp lowered to the ship, and they began climbing up. From the corner of his eye, Din spotted a Pyke lurking on the ship's west side, barreling toward them. Din flipped his blaster from his hip, but not fast enough to avoid a sharp pain threading up his abdomen. He heard the remnants of footsteps running down the ramp behind him as everything around him faded.

You were getting stir-crazy in the confines of the room Karga had stuffed you into. You had the freedom to leave as long as he oversaw your every move, but without Din, nothing interested you. Which was pretty fucking pathetic. Never could you have imagined your life revolving around a man—it was sort of laughable. But you loved him, and that outweighed the unfortunate butterflies in your stomach swirling about.

You had sat yourself by the window most of the morning, watching the citizens of Nevarro roam about the main street. Though most of the town was filled with bounty hunters and drunken gamblers, you could spot small families occasionally. That pang of jealousy still thrummed inside your heart as you gazed upon them; you hated that you couldn’t have that life. You hated that you couldn’t give Din that same life, too. If he ever wanted to have a family, it wouldn’t happen with you, and that was a truth you’d have to learn to live with.

As the morning passed into early afternoon, you caught a glimpse of a ship passing through the atmosphere. It was Bo Katan’s ship; you knew that much. Your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough through the inn and streets; your breath ragged as you finally made ground toward the docking port. It wasn’t until you saw Paz Viszla carrying a limp body down the ramp that your body stood paralyzed.

It was Din.

“What the hell happened?” You nearly screamed, barely avoiding stumbling into Bo Katan. She kept you at arm's length despite your body fighting against her hold. You tried to conceal your worry, but you failed… poorly. Din’s hand was clutching his side, blood pooling over his glove. You didn’t even have time to understand why the rest of him was caked in dried blood, either, but you had a terrible hunch you knew the reason.

“A Pyke snuck up on us as we were leaving,” Bo Katan explained, still keeping you feet from Paz.

You schooled your expression as Paz laid Din on the ground, followed by a pained groan muffled through the modulator. You pushed off Bo Katan, crouching down to inspect the wound.

“You couldn’t have fucking helped him?” You yelled at Bo Katan.

She pulled her helmet from her head, her eyes filled with anger as she glared down at you.

“We barely made it out of Oba Diah alive,” she explained. “They hunted down our ship through the atmosphere and nearly shot us down. You’re lucky any of us survived.”

You shot to your feet, jabbing a finger into her breastplate, followed suit by Koska raising her blaster at you. You paid no mind to the weapon in your face as you barred your teeth at Bo Katan.

“Do you want his help for your own mission?” You cocked an eyebrow. “Then help.”

“He doesn’t want our help,” she argued. “He kept asking for you. So you help him. He’s no good to us if he’s injured, so the sooner he can heal, the sooner he can fulfill the side of his deal.”

You could barely contain your anger as you snapped your head toward Paz. You pointed to Din’s weak body and gave silent instructions to lift him.

“Bring him to the Crest,” you ordered. “I’ll take care of him. All of you need to fucking leave.”

“Remember, little one, he did this all for you,” Bo Katan said.

Her words were close to breaking you, but you wouldn’t give her that power. You had hated her from the start, and in that moment, you really fucking hated her. You hated her for the reminder that you were the reason Din had gotten into the mess, and more importantly, you were the reason he was injured. You’d carry that guilt for your life.

It took both you and Paz to carry Din up the ramp of the Crest, Din moaning with each step. He had mumbled your name a few times as you held his side, forcing tears to sting your eyes. He was alive; that was the important thing right now. Once Paz situated Din on the floor of the cargo hold, you screamed at him to leave and waited until the ramp closed to finally lose your shit.

You held Din against your body, his helmet tipping to the side, the cold metal grazing your skin. The coldness of it stung, eliciting a wince from your mouth, but you pushed past it as you came to wrap your arm around his shoulder. Glancing down at his side, you peeled his hands away, exposing the gnarly gash. It was still slowly leaking blood, the tear in his pilot suit soaked in crimson colors. The fabric itself was seared away, the weapon that caused it far more violent than a standard blade.

“Vibroblade,” he choked out, answering your wondering thoughts.

Your eyes shot up to the helmet, watching as it rocked to each side, his focus fading quickly. Your hand squeezed his bicep, forcing him to stay focused on you. You examined the wound again, seeing that it had penetrated through the thickest layer of his skin. It would need more than bacta spray and a med patch, but you would try what you could to suture it.

Din let out a low groan, his helmet smacking back against the wall.

“Hey!” You snapped. “Mando, you gotta stay with me, alright?”

“Din,” he sighed. “We’re alone.”

Your head rested against his arm momentarily, your pulse thumping in your ears as you tried to assess the situation. Fingers reaching up under his cowl, you pressed against his jawline, feeling for a pulse under his sweating skin. It was there; it was faint. No matter what, he had to stay awake and alert.

“Din,” you whispered. “Din, can I take your helmet off?”

He didn’t respond, his muscles growing lax under your hold.

“Din!” You hissed frantically.

Without a response and permission, you pressed the latches on either side of the helmet, letting it crash against the metal floor as you tossed it aside. The chestnut curls of his hair stuck to damp, tanned skin, the remnants of battle plastered across his face. His brows were furrowed in apparent discomfort, thick eyelashes fluttering as his eyes remained shut. You swiped a finger over his cheek, collecting a rolling trail of sweat as it fell from his brow. In any other situation, you would be pressing your lips against his urgently, but this wasn’t the time.

“Din,” you said quietly, “I’ve got to get the bacta spray, okay? I’ll be right back.”

He grunted in response, his lips twitching as if to say something. You halted, waiting for any sound to leave his pursed mouth. But nothing came. Leaving a chassed kiss on his forehead, you found your way to the refresher to grab the med kit, thankful he had restocked it when you arrived on Nevarro. Collecting everything you needed–wound cleaner, bacta spray, sutures, med patches–you rushed back to Din, watching as his chest rose and fell softly.

“You still with me?” You asked. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, his body leaning into your touch slightly.

“Hmph,” was all that came from his mouth.

“Good enough for me,” you sighed.

Eyes roaming back to the gash on his side, you tore away more of the suit’s fabric to make enough room for the wound cleaner. Dumping the liquid onto your hands, you started massaging it against the soft skin covering his ribcage. Din grunted as the liquid stung his open wound, the chemicals working overtime to sanitize the extremity of the injury. It would be a miracle if he came out unscathed from an infection. The more your hands worked around the skin, the more he flinched away.

“Stop fucking moving,” you snapped. “I can’t help you if you keep jerking away from me.”

You hadn’t meant to be so mean, but it was the underlying worry bubbling to the surface. You weren’t mad at him; you were just mad. Mad that it was your fault he left in the first place. Mad that his fixation on killing Kesi led him to be attacked by the Pykes. Taking a moment to breathe, you wiped your hands on your work pants, the caked-on blood smearing across the linen fabric. That was never coming out, you thought to yourself.

Realizing you forgot a towel, you improvised, ripping apart your shirt to clean off the skin around the wound. Din winced again, this time his body twitching away from you as you touched him. Reaching a hand up to his neck, you tried soothing him, only for him to respond otherwise. With a violent grip, Din grabbed your wrist, the leather of his gloves digging into the tendons of your forearm. Yelping in pain, you glanced up, seeing his eyes set ablaze in anger and confusion. Twisting your arm harder, he hunched over you, face moving closer to yours with each constriction.

“Hey!” you cried, “Din, it’s me!”

Still, he was unwavering, the anger too blinding for him to see past. You used all your strength to pry his fingers from your arm, only to be matched with the same strength from his own, pinning you further against the ground. You pleaded silently, watching the emotions stir within the brown of his eyes. Glimpses of reality flickered back and forth, the hold of the past a stronger vice than the present.

“Din!” You nearly screamed.

That caught his attention.

Ripping your arm from his loosening grip, you stared at him in stunned silence, rubbing the finger marks that bruised your wrist. His eyes washed over you, up and down… up and down, until he settled on your face with an apologetic look. Your name fell off his lips with a broken rasp.

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, the anger in you simmering, “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I hurt you,” he said, hand lifting to hold your face.

You batted it away, grabbing the bacta spray and giving his wound a long coating of the medicine. He yelped in pain, the initial shock of the chemicals stunting him from speaking again.

“No more than getting yourself hurt,” you snapped. You resprayed the medicine, his body flinching from yours. “You should have never done this. I wasn’t worth this.”

“Angel,” He choked through a few breaths.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “You know I’m right.”

“I needed to do this.”

Frustrated, you laughed, tossing the bacta spray half away across the hold until it clattered against the refresher door. Din’s head turned from the bottle to you, his brows knit with confusion. Peeling away the backing of a med patch, you smoothed it over the wound, rubbing it over and over mindlessly. He winced again under you, this time locking his fingers around yours in an attempt to stop your sadistic behavior.

“Enough,” he rasped.

“If you had just let it go, you wouldn’t be hurt. You should have stayed,” you continued, talking through your anger. Your hand smoothed the patch down over and over and over again until he finally squeezed your fingers until the bones ground together. You yanked your hand away, sitting back on your heels as you watched him analyze the bandaged cut. With med supplies covering the ground, half your shirt torn off, and his helmet missing, you could finally see Din piecing together the situation you had been left in.

He sighed.

“He deserved to die, angel. I swore I’d go after him, and I’m sorry I got hurt. There would always be that risk of getting hurt, and I’m sorry it happened,” he conceded.

You paused, watching as his eyes batted themselves close. His lips parted slightly, chapped from the oxygen intake over the last several minutes. Every inch of his face was covered in exhaustion and pain, the worry lines in his skin far more prominent than ever. Reaching up again, you thumbed over the small patches of gray in his beard, rubbing it softly as the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

“What’re you smiling for?” You grumbled, pitching the coarse hair between two fingers.

Peaking out one eye, Din stared you down, capturing you in the dark brown of his eyes.

“You’re beautiful. And I missed you.”

“And you’re lucky to be alive,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot. You had me scared that I would lose you.”

Din wrapped an arm around you, hugging you gingerly to his side, exhaling your name. You took careful consideration in not leaning against the freshly cleaned wound, your weight leaning more into his shoulders than anything else. He huffed a long sigh, his lips connecting with your forehead for a long, thoughtful kiss.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I’m sorry you had to in the first place.”

“You left me no choice.”

Several moments passed without a response from him, the only sound being the light buzz of the cargo hold. His body rose and fell softly with each passing breath, his face finally softening as he rested. As long as his wound was cared for, he could rest, and you would let him. Peeling yourself out of his arms, you cleaned up the mess of supplies in the quiet, retiring to the cockpit to sit in silence.

Above all else, you were mad at yourself. You could pin your anger on Bo Katan, but it was useless. You could easily pin your anger on Din, but you knew the reason behind his actions. He promised you freedom; he promised you Kesi would be caught, and that’s what you wanted, right? It had been everything you wanted, yet seeing him injured and hurt made you rethink it all. Was this how he felt after the attack on the Crest?

But this was different. He had the help of three other Mandalorians and still came out injured. This could have been avoided if you hadn’t even been introduced into his life in the first place, but you wouldn’t let your mind roam to those invasive thoughts. Feeding into those thoughts brought you right back to that instinct to run. All you did was ruin everything around you, regardless of Din’s own choices; ultimately, it was your fault. Yes, you were free now, but that didn’t wash your hands clean of the blood on them.

Hours passed before you heard rustling in the cargo hold. Climbing down from the cockpit, you found Din in the refresher, the sound of water softly echoing beyond the door. His armor and flight suit were piled on the bed, and his weapons belt hung inside the armory across from the refresher. Your eyes lingered on the blood covering the beskar armor, a chill running up your spine at the thought of what he did. Kesi was dead—more than dead, by the looks of it.

The steam of the refresher left the cargo hold warm and humid, and the idea of warm water on your body seemed much better than staying in the freezing lower deck.

Stripping out of your torn and bloodied clothes, you slid open the refresher door, the soft hiss of it closing lost beneath the sound of the falling water. Behind the fog and steam, you could see the silhouette of your bounty hunter, his tanned skin glistening from the water. His back was to you, giving you a complete view of his broad shoulders. While his hands worked their way through his damped curls, you could see the flex and movement of his back muscles, along with the scatters of scars that covered his skin in clusters. Small slashes from past battles, memories of bounties, years of fighting… all displayed in an array of darkened marks against his skin.

Finding your way into the small space, you hugged your body against his, wrapping your arms around his torso. You could feel the way his body tensed and released as he adjusted to your chest flush with his back. He was warm, and you inhaled the lingering smell of gunpowder and sweat on his body. His hands snaked around your arms, fingers trailing down to interlock with yours. Your mouth roamed over his skin, kissing each scar as you moved across the planes of his shoulder blades. His fingers squeezed yours, drawing your own hands to his lips. With each kiss you placed, he left his own on your fingers, his soft lips covering you in tender kisses.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you around to face him.

His eyes were soft in the dim lights of the refresher, his eyelashes covered in water droplets as he looked down on you lovingly. Din roamed his hands over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips as you leaned back to dampen your hair. Feeling him press against you, you pulled him down to meet your lips, the water falling over both your open mouths. Noticing him harden against your leg, you leaned into him, eliciting a soft moan from his lips.

“Let me take care of you now,” he rasped, his mouth nipping at your jawline. “Let me make things better.”

A warmth spread low in your body in response to his words, wetness growing between your thighs as his hand trailed lower. He brushed a finger up your inner thigh, a shiver running through your body as you bucked against his hand.

“Din,” you said breathlessly.

Din had you pressed against the wall in one smooth motion, the cold tile stinging your skin. His hand coaxed your thighs further apart, a calloused finger drawing hard, slow circles around your clit. Keening, your head fell against his chest, your core clenching at each movement of his fingers. He responded to your growing whimpers as he slipped a thick finger between your wet folds, curling it deep inside you until you released a loud moan. Slipping another finger in, Din pushed his hand further against your wet cunt, his thumb finding itself comfortably against your clit. A blinding ripple of pleasure clouded your vision as your nails dug into the tensed muscles of his biceps.

“Right there,” you panted, hips pushing forward to feel the curl of his fingers in the deepest part of you.

A growl vibrated through his chest as his fingers moved at a rougher pace, drawing you right to the brink of your orgasm. Letting out an exhausted cry, you clenched around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand until his fingers were covered in your juices. As he pulled his fingers from you–drawing a small gasp from your lips–he bent down to meet your lips with a passionate kiss. Teasing your own open wider, Din deepened the kiss as your name fell off his tongue in a soft admission.

He was insatiable.

But you had other plans.

Using what little strength you had, you pivoted until he was pinned against the wall, his pupils blown wide with lust. You rubbed your hands over the expanse of his broad chest, fingers curling through the hair that covered his tan skin. You made sure to avoid his bandaged wound, seeing a small stain of blood leaking through the med patch. Kissing over his sternum, you let your weak legs draw you down, a trail of kisses leading the way as you positioned yourself on your knees. The placement of the water behind you hit your back in warm waves, the pressure of it soothing you as your fingers dug into the dip of his pelvic bone. Din let out a soft groan, his eyes never leaving you as your tongue danced over the soft flesh of his stomach.

He was achingly hard by the time your mouth roamed to his cock, the tip leaking with precum already. Leaving gentle kisses along the length of his cock, you gazed upwards to find him wrecked with wanton need. You were working at an agonizingly slow pace, and he was at your disposal. With the tip of your tongue, you drew a long, steady line from the base of his cock, a deep shudder echoing through his body. His hand tangled itself in your hair, his fingers scraping against your scalp as he urged you to take him in your mouth. Letting him guide his cock into your mouth, you suppressed a moan as it hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” he exhaled.

He thrust into your mouth, slow at first, then picking up speed as he felt your lips adjust to the girth of his cock. Your eyes stayed trained on him, watching as his jaw fell slack each time you swallowed him. You felt his body as it began to tense up, the peak of his orgasm straining through his muscles as he tightened his grip on your hair. You circled his cock, the sensitivity too much to bear as he finally spilled himself into your mouth. Swallowing hot ropes of cum, you waited until he softened to release him, a string of saliva connecting from the head of his cock to your wet lips. Grinning up at him, you kissed the soft skin of his thighs, sitting back on your heels as the water cascaded over your scalp.

Your rest didn’t last long as Din reached down, gripping your elbow and yanking you back to your feet. His lips were on you, hot and urgent, as his tongue dipped inside your mouth. He moaned deeply into the kiss, the salty taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. His fingers dug themselves into the plush curve of your hips, their grip bruising and rough as he laid claim over you.

You mewled against his lips, your hands tangling themselves in the curls at the base of his neck, tugging softly as you felt his cock harden against your thigh. His mouth roamed down your neck, sucking marks into the skin–marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. You gasped as his teeth sucked down into the sensitive flesh between your neck and shoulder blade, just as his hands urged your thighs around his waist. With little effort on his end, Din hauled you up until your ankles were crossed at his lower back, your thighs widening to brace against his hips.

“You want me to show how badly I need you, angel?” He whispered, his voice low. “Need me to prove it to you?”

“Please,” you begged.

Taking himself in his hand, Din coated himself in your slick, splitting you open as he buried himself to the base of his cock. A cry escaped your lips as a hum of satisfaction left his. With a hand on your ass and the other braced against the wall, he thrust into you with violent strokes, each one hitting your core in blinding precision. He knew the exact spot that halted your breathing and left you wordless with nothing but high-pitched whines.

“This is how badly I need you,” he gritted. “I fucking need this cunt; I fucking need you. Fuck, so good for me.”

You cried out, your body clenching as the ache inside your stomach grew until you couldn’t contain it anymore.

“Din!” You sobbed.

He was relentless, his thrusts more brutal with each force into you, and you could feel the tears spilling down your cheeks as you came. Your cunt pulsed hard as you clenched around his cock; his strokes halted as you squeezed around it. There was a choked sound lodged in his throat, and his own body tensed as he spilled himself inside you. His nails dug into the plush skin of your ass, his body grinding against your wet cunt as you continued throbbing around him. He hung his head a moment, mouth open as he panted heavily. Your own body was wracked with pleasure, a sting of pain coursing through your cervix from how cruel his movements were. As he slipped out of you, you could feel the mixture of your cum spill down your inner thigh, the spraying water washing it away as he guided you back onto your feet. The soreness in your thighs now would be thousands of times worse tomorrow, but you didn’t mind.

You liked the reminder of him.

“I love you,” he said, kissing your head softly. “I’m sorry for scaring you today, but I’m not sorry for what I did. You’re free now… you’re free.”

Fresh tears clouded your eyes as that realization settled in. You were free, and you were his.

“Thank you,” you sighed. “I love you.”

You glanced up at him, your bounty hunter, eyes aglow as he looked down on you. A gentle smile played on his lips, yet it didn’t fully meet his eyes. You could tell he was in pain as your eyes wandered down to his wound, seeing blood soaked through the med patch far more than you recalled from moments ago.

“You won’t heal if you keep fucking me that hard,” you teased.

“I guess I’ll never heal then,” he countered, pulling you flush to his chest.

You laughed, tilting your head to meet his lips.

“Let me clean this up,” you said, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Later.” It was a warning. “I’m not ready to heal up just yet.”

Later, you’d ask him about Oba Diah, but you only wanted him and that taste of pure freedom.

#mando x reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando #mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfiction #ao3 #tw blood and gore #tw violence #wound care #sex makes everything better right?

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

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

Sequel to Flinching.

Is this the softest Echo fic I've ever written? Yes. Did I cry while writing it? There is no video evidence. @actuallybarb thanks for requesting a second chapter!

Febuwhump Day 2 Ch 2

Flinching – Med OC&Echo

Warnings: Reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, some cursing, wound care, energy crash from excessive bacta use, non-intimate undressing, some self-deprecating thoughts

WC: 2,583

The painful control mediating his intentionally even breaths did little to hide the violent tension pulsing through Echo’s taut body with each thrumming beat of his heart. I could feel it in the rush of blood surging through the pulse point of his inner arm, watched it in the ball of muscle locking around his jaw, and I loathed the knowledge that I was the cause of it. Numb to the ache shooting through the abused lip caught between my teeth, I found myself straining for silence in my every tentative movement, struck beneath the weight of fearing my very existence in that moment was enough to further fuel his anger, and I loathed my own timidness just as violently as I loathed the cause of that rage.

“We’re not going to let something like this happen again.” The deep quiet in his whispered promise was so displaced against that frightful anger that I couldn’t help but look up to see the perfect stillness in those amber eyes; the conviction burning through his every word as the man I’d come to treasure for his gentleness suddenly embodied the powerful visage of the GAR’s most elite soldiers. It was easy to forget the simple fact that he’d earned his title of arc trooper; that the exceptional strength of his towering form was merely a small part in what made him such a dangerous force, but, in that moment, I could see a determination in those eyes that only a fool would doubt, and, for the first time in days, I felt safe.

My gaze fell away at the hiss of the medbay door sliding open. Stepping away from him, I ambled numbly about the room to gather my supplies, dreading the crash I knew would hit me mercilessly after smearing that blue gel over my wounds. At the first hitch of breath from abused muscles balking beneath the weight of a tube of bacta, Echo quickly stepped forward to take it from me, hand only just whispering against mine to ease the thick container from my grasp.

“Just tell me what else you need.” He said softly. Maker, I hated this… I’d sprinted through waves of enemy fire carrying over half my body weight in gear to reach wounded soldiers, but, in that moment, I couldn’t manage even retrieving my own damn bacta… Motioning vaguely toward the handful of supplies I’d already gathered, I managed a small shrug.

“That’s probably it, I think.” The words felt so small, and I found myself cringing at the mere sound of them. Tomorrow… Tomorrow I would force that bouncing smile back in place. Tomorrow I would remember every horror I’d faced and conquered. Tomorrow I would remember that I was strong, and I’d find a way to draw back my shoulders and plant my feet beneath me so I could stand tall beside these amazing soldiers – these amazing men… but, as I felt his hand settle gently against my back, I had to grant myself permission to be weak, if only for that night, and, amidst the quiet concern and utter lack of judgement from the man beside me, I found some way to forgive myself for it.

“I’m guessing most of the bruises aren’t just on your face.” He started tentatively, and a small huff left me at the quiet apology in his hinted words, head just shifting in a brief nod. “Are you okay with me helping you? I could get you a blanket – something to help keep you covered.” There was that gentleness I so loved him for; somehow finding a way to draw a small smile to my lips even through the haze of emotion that had robbed me of my strength and left me so deathly tired.

“It’s fine, Echo.” I breathed, shooting him a ragged shadow of a smirk. “Not like I don’t have a breastband on. Plus, medic school has a way of stripping people of that kind of shame.” He let out a knowing chuckle, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had similar experiences from his arc training. Still, when I reached up to undo the clasp at my neck, he turned away in some instinctual offer for privacy.

My fond smile lasted just until I’d begun rolling the skin-tight material up my chest, muscles seizing at the movement. Gritting my teeth against the unavoidable hurt, my hand tightened around the black fabric, scowling with the effort to push through the sharp pain tearing through my back and shoulder as I strained to silence the tiny hitches in my breath, the whimper I only just managed to choke back until finally caving, body trembling against the exhaustion and pain and blinding frustration.

“Echo,” his name left my lips in a quiet plea, “um… could you… I seem to be struggling a bit with this damn skinsuit.” He hesitated only a moment before turning back to me, brows just tensing above the darkness that filled those gorgeous eyes.

“Yeah,” he sighed softly, “turn around.” With a slow breath, I turned my back to him, absently reaching out to steady myself against the ledge of the counter. Still, I couldn’t fight back the way my body tensed at the first brush of his hand over the strip of exposed skin at my waist. “Sorry – hand’s probably cold.” He murmured, pausing only briefly in a silent offer for me to pull away.

“Actually, cold sounds pretty nice right now.” I whispered despite the way my body already shook, but the thought of that cold touch against the swollen and bruised skin just hidden by the thin layer of cloth promised a comfort I couldn’t help but crave; a balm to sooth the heat collected in mistreated flesh. Reassured I hadn’t changed my mind, Echo carefully slipped his thumb between the sensitive skin and the bottom hem of my shirt, movements impossibly gentle as he wedged the fabric up an inch at a time, shifting smoothly from side to side.

I knew exactly what he saw that made him suddenly freeze, heard the screaming absence of breath as the air staled in his lungs; felt the way his eyes burred into the mass of dark purple just beneath my rib. Without a word, his touch dragged across my back to push the shirt up just that much more, and he released a tense, shaking exhale. Movements softening into something that threatened to break me, he continued so slowly, I barely felt him until his fingers only just whispered against my neck to grip the bundle as he stepped quietly around me. I fought to hide the grimace twisting over my lips as I tried to move my arms enough to help him slip the garment over my head, but his quiet words quickly stilled that futile effort.

“I’ve got it.” Even that brief attempt to force such a simple movement left me struggling beneath gritted teeth and too-quick breaths, but that didn’t matter when I saw the ice in Echo’s carefully blank expression, eyes studying each mark of that man’s fury marring my chest, the vivid outlines of his hands clearly defined in nearly black shades of purple along my arms and across my throat just beneath where the neckline of my shirt had been, before finally settling on the ruin of my face.

The horrified rage that kept fighting to wrench his expression into a scowl left me frozen, guilt twisting through my chest. I should have just done this myself – should have taken care of it days ago so they never found out to begin with. The tiny tremor in his hand as he reached for me broke my heart, and I couldn’t bring myself to even breathe as his fingers fluttered across my ruined cheek almost too softly for me to feel before carefully slipping around the back of my neck. With such painstaking care, he lowered his forehead to just settle against mine, and I felt the way he shook beneath each purposefully regulated breath, eyes clenching shut against some fleeting struggle for control, and I couldn’t stay silent in the wake of his hurt.

“Hey… I’m okay.” I don’t think I believed those words until I found myself needing to breathe them into the shuddering air trapped between us. “I’m okay, Echo.” My hands moved on their own to whisper softly over the trembling muscle straining against his jaw. “I’m okay.” Only after several more strained breaths did he finally pull back, hand lingering on my neck for just a moment longer as his eyes locked onto mine with a sorrow and guilt that sent tears clawing up my throat. With a final, sharp sigh, he tore his gaze away, stepping back to reach for the tube of bacta.

He couldn’t seem to bring himself to meet my eyes again as he began meticulously covering each discolored patch of skin with that cool gel, touch such a gentle caress, I couldn’t help but find myself leaning into it. The few areas struck hard enough to split the skin, he carefully bandaged with textbook precision. After he tended to my back, I could have thanked him, relieved him of any obligation driving him to address each exposed patch of dark bruises in turn, but I knew that look in those haunted eyes. There was nothing he could do about what had happened, but, this, working to lessen the damage already done, this was with within his power, and it offered as much comfort to him as it did to me. So I stayed quiet, eyes watching the tender movements of his hand as he worked to remove even the memory of that man’s touch.

When he finally turned his ministrations to my face, that tension stole threw him anew. Lips just twitching into something that wanted to be a smile, I let my fingers brush over his wrist.

“It’s alright, Echo,” I promised gently, “you don’t have to-” but before I could finish, he silently raised his hand to the hard lump on the side of my jaw, guiding the clear blue gel carefully along the bruised skin of my cheek, over the painful gash on my lower lip, fingertips just tracing the swollen bridge of my nose. I let my eyes close as he circled the dark flesh surrounding my left eye, and didn’t notice the way my head began to sink forward until my name whispered gently over his lips.

Chest swelling with a nearly forgotten breath, I belated pushed myself back up, eyes reluctantly opening just enough to search for him. The worry pulling his pale face into the beginnings of a frown sent a flush of heat up my neck.

“I’m fine.” I assured him, though even I could hear the slight mumble in my words. “Side effect of using so much bacta.” A hum caught in my throat as I tried to blink away the haze of exhaustion. “And I haven’t… hmm… been a few days since I’ve been able to get much sleep.” His hand slipped carefully around my arm to steady me against the way my body had begun to sway, and I just noticed that tension steal back over him. Forcing some bit of alertness back into my faltering mind, I looked up at him; saw the way his attention had locked onto my hip, and I didn’t need to look to know he could see the outline of a thumb, that he knew the rest of the handprint wrapped around my waist just beneath the fabric.

“Unless you’re terribly eager to get me out of my pants, I think I can take care of the rest.” I whispered, pleased to hear that teasing lilt playing once more with my voice, and even the weak huff of a chuckle it drew from him was a balm to the terrible weight lingering between us. He glanced away from me a moment, jaw working over words he hadn’t yet managed to form before letting his gaze shift tentatively back to mine.

“Why don’t you take Hunter’s cot tonight?” He asked quietly, and I couldn’t hide my surprise at the offer. “He’s on watch for a while and…” The way his words stumbled over his tongue left me frozen, “I’d honestly just feel better if we can keep an eye on you.” A flush of color crept up his neck, silent plea screaming through those eyes. I didn’t answer for a moment, trying to come to terms with the idea, but I was too tired to grasp the thought for long. I just wanted to sleep; to be free of the wretched memory of that night. I didn’t realize how much I truly didn’t want to be alone until hearing the simple need in his words.

“If he doesn’t mind…” I replied hesitantly, failing to fully stifle the whisper of hope in my voice. A relieved smile flashed across his lips, shoulders straightening as he drew in a deep breath.

“I’ll talk to him to make sure. Finish up, and I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” I gave a small nod, hands already reaching for the waistline of my pants as he turned to leave.

I barely remembered the automated motions of lathering those last few bruises hidden around my hips in bacta before stumbling to my personal locker, the way my hands fumbled with the far more forgiving fabric of my sleepwear; the moment my body tried to collapse, falling heavily against the wall as my balance failed me in a strained attempt to step into my shorts.

The distant call of my name sounded more like a memory than a voice, and it wasn’t until hearing the tap at the door that a hum caught in my throat in some useless attempt at a response, only catching a brief glimpse of Echo as the door hissed open before that merciless weight dragged against my eyelids, body slumping sideways. I didn’t hear the quick flurry of words as Echo darted across the room, but the flush of recognition was all I needed to melt into his touch as he quickly pulled me against him.

“Hey-hey; you still with me, Doc?” The warmth of his breath tickled across my scalp, mind begrudgingly working to find some meaning in his voice.

“Mhmm.” The grumble barely made it past my lips, feet belatedly shifting to find purchase beneath me.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed, huh?” The warmth that touched his quiet murmur only further robbed me of any will to move, eagerly pressing further into him. “I know; that stuff can really take it out of you… Come on – just hold onto me, okay?” The world seemed to dance for a moment, wrenching some fleeting whisper of awareness back just enough to find the gentle concern in Echo’s eyes, and then nothing else mattered because I realized he was holding me.

“Echo.” His name stumbled over my lips, head wilting to rest thoughtlessly against his shoulder. “’m so tired.” I could feel his thumb brush softly over my arm as he started slowly through the ship.

“I know,” he breathed. “That’s good. You need to rest. We’ll keep watch.”

Body already rocking beneath the leisurely ebb and flow of exhaustion-dulled breaths, I managed a final hum in some fleeting recognition of his words and readily let the steady rhythm of his strides lull me into a blissfully empty sleep.

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