I was listening to the news and they were talking about how to they found a missing woman’s foot, then I hear this,

(rewritten cause I don’t remember it exactly)

“Multiple people have reported things to the police station and these things are now being tested to see if they are human or edible.”

I’m sorry, EDIBLE?!?

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging@ouatwinterwhump,@killian-whump,@sancocnutclub,@killianjonesownsmyheart1,@courtorderedcake,@facesiousbutton82<3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38HEREandHERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animationandart that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHALChapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Saturday)…

In the presence of his Master, Killian lay inert.

There was no escape. Not ever.

No immunity, not in the end. He had resisted as long as he could. But now, he no longer had any control over his body. He could do nothing but lie helpless, paralyzed and at the mercy of the creature endlessly circling. Tapping that eerie cadence around and around, stopping only to prod at him, squeeze and pinch and crush. His ankle. His hand. His ribs.

Killian could not even scream anymore. Sometimes he felt on the verge of knowing why. The tentacle snaking down his throat did not truly hurt, though on occasion it inspired such panic that he would rather be dead than endure its presence any longer. Then the moment would pass, he would lose concentration and forget the invader, and try to beg an instant’s peace, and wonder why even the smallest hint of his pathetic pleas would not come forth.

YOU CAN NEVER BE FREE OF ME. I SHALL HAVE YOU FOR ALL ETERNITY.

Yes, Master.

Had there truly been a time when that commanding voice held no sway? The mantra scripted, the despair half-pretend?

NO MATTER. SAY IT FOR ME AGAIN. FEED ME YOUR MISERY.

No hope.

IT IS REAL THIS TIME.

No hope.

THE BATTLE IS LOST.

No hope.

NO HOPE. NO HOPE, TRIPOD. NO HOPE FOR ANY OF YOU. KILLIAN.

Killian?

*****

Emma burst into the waiting lounge, cursing, her heart pounding as if she’d just sprinted up to the top of the clock tower. Of course they would page her as soon as she ran down to the cafeteria for five minutes; she should never have let her dad talk her into taking a snack break.

“Whale?” she called urgently even as she spotted the physician’s distinctive shock of bleached hair across the room. He had his feet up on a coffee table and looked even more haggard than before; apparently, the past 30 hours had been rough on him, as well. He did not get up when he heard his name, opting to merely wait until Emma had perched nervously on a chair nearby. Dr. Whale gave her a reserved smile before speaking.

“He’s out of surgery.”

For an instant, Emma thought she might black out from the relief. Whale rubbed at bloodshot eyes, continuing,

“We did everything we could for him, for now. His lung has been repaired, his shoulder reduced, and temporary closures provided for his other injuries; they’ll have to be addressed at a later date, when he’s stronger. He’s had probably a dozen units of blood and may require more over the coming days.”

Emma felt a hand on her shoulder and realized that her father must have cleared up quickly downstairs in order to be able to be with her, and then snuck in while her attention had been riveted on the physician’s words.

Whale sighed and stretched his neck.

“I’m not going to lie, Emma; he’s not out of the woods yet. He’ll need constant supervision in the Intensive Care Unit until we’re sure he won’t crash on us at any second. The biggest complication that we’re dealing with right now is the neurological condition which, I can’t even remember if I told you, has gotten exponentially worse since Wednesday.”

“The brain shriveling?” clarified David, and Whale nodded.

“The best thing for thatwould have been to keep him sedated while we work on a therapy, like we did for the others, but for some unknown reason, every sedative we’ve tried has only made everything worse. His blood pressure will fall, or he’ll develop an arrhythmia or respiratory depression or something else equally as dangerous. It’s totally bizarre, and none of the other slaves have reacted this way. Bottom line is, I don’t think it’s safe to keep throwing different sedatives at him and hoping one will stick. We’ll allow him to wake up and just try to keep him comfortable with painkillers.”

Around a lump in her throat, Emma managed to ask,

“But didn’t you say the brain condition is slowed down when they’re sedated?”

“I did,” shrugged Whale. “But faster brain deterioration will kill him slower than a clot caused by low BP would.”

Emma nodded slowly, the long list of threats to her husband’s life squeezing at her heart until she could not speak. Behind her, David quietly asked,

“What about something like total anesthesia? Would that slow the condition?”

“That would be even more risky than sedation,” explained Whale. “With general anesthesia, you always want to use the smallest dose for the shortest amount of time, otherwise all sorts of bad things can happen, from respiratory arrest to brain damage.”

A moment of heavy silence filled the room, uninterrupted by the background noises of the busy hospital. Then Emma squared her shoulders.

“So when can I see him?”

With great reluctance, Whale stood up, unfolding slowly like a man many years his senior.

“Let’s go,” he groaned. “He’s going to be disoriented at first; hopefully you can help with that.” He glanced at David, then back at Emma as he added,

“Only you, though. For the time being, at least.”

David caught Emma’s hand in a quick squeeze. “Give him our best.”

*****

His Master had its clawed hand around his arm, squeezing without involving any of its nails. It hurt the stake driven through his wrist. But that was, after all, its privilege.

Harder, Master. Take what you will. I am yours.

“Killian.”

Bloody hell. Swan was in the church. He could hear her. He could almost see her, if he tried hard enough to open his eyes and focus. Impossible!

I SHALL HAVE HER TOO.

No!

A piercing pinch. A whimper without sound.

Yes… Master…

*****

It could only be an extension of his Master’s recording experiment, but how it was supposed to succeed was utterly mystifying. Any little sound stalled before it even started, not just the screams he wanted to unleash. So how would his Master glean any sort of energy from him this way?

THAT IS NOT YOUR CONCERN.

Killian’s elbow twitched and he felt an immediate jolt of stiff pain in his shoulder. He could not say when he’d been torn loose from his imprisonment, what almost certainly should have been the structure against which he’d breathed his last and surrendered his soul. The figment Emma was back, or perhaps had never left, though their Master had yet to make good on its threats against her. It must wish to drain the last remaining drops of scream energy from him first, wringing him out like a filthy, useless rag, scraping him down to the rind and then beyond.

She called to him. He could not acknowledge.

I AM HERE, insisted his Master. He felt it. Its marks of possession carved into his flesh. Unyielding limbs pinning him, holding him still.

Which of its appendages was slender enough to slip inside a nostril? Killian had no recollection of that particular trick.

“Hold still–”

DO NOT MOVE, TRIPOD.

Something twitched deep down inside his chest, sparking a powerful urge to retch. The Master’s device between his teeth confirmed itself as not-tentacle by its texture and flaccid presence, no roiling, pulsating muscle beneath its rubbery exterior, and yet it began moving again, this time sliding up his throat and exiting in one long, slippery slither, its tip scraping irritated muscle as it went.

Gagging hurt, but coughing was worse.

“Breathe,” urged many voices, Emma’s and at least one other. Z, if she weren’t dead and could speak. Or maybe it was only after death that she would.

FILL THOSE LUNGS WITH SCREAMS.

*****

When Dr. Whale had first led Emma inside, she would have sworn it was the wrong room. Her emaciated husband was simply unrecognizable, even compared to what she’d seen of him the day before. Discolored, withered, and limp, taped and wrapped, sickly pale skin free of dirt but painted with a sheen of sweat. After so many situations just like this, she probably should be at least somewhat accustomed to all of the gadgets necessary for life support, but they shocked her every time. Whale’s team had at least traded the I/O line for a more long-term central line, which she knew would cut down on the number of needle sticks necessary for blood sampling and the like.

Emma sighed. He was going to hate this. He always did, but now the parallels to his time as the Vocivore’s slave–not in control of much of anything, feeling trapped and helpless–would make it that much worse. Not to mention the damage to his hand that would take away all autonomy.

Well, she told herself, it was a miracle he was even around to hate it. And besides, it would be different this time. Magic would return soon; it had to. And then, even if she couldn’t heal everything completely, she might be able to shorten his length of stay in his least favorite place.

No, she realized. She now knew of several places that would rank lower than this.

“Killian?” she called again, tenderly stroking his bony arm. In the 15 minutes she had been with him, he had showed some brief flashes of near-awareness: slight limb movements, fluttering of his eyelids, minute grimaces eliciting pangs of sympathy within her. In response to her voice, his heart rate would pick up momentarily, though it was difficult to tell whether that was from glad recognition or startled anxiety. In between, however, he would settle back into a frightening stillness that only the monitors proved could not be death.

A few minutes ago, a couple of nurses had removed the endotracheal tube from his throat after Whale had declared him stable enough to breathe on his own. The bout of choking that followed was painful to watch, but Killian still seemed mostly out of it as they attached an oxygen mask to his battered face. His eyes fluttered briefly open but did not focus before slipping closed. Since then, it was back to nothing again.

Whale appeared beside her and leaned over Killian in order to have a listen to both lungs.

“He’ll come around in his own time,” he assured Emma. “This is not unusual after such extensive surgery.”

*****

Something had changed.

The paving stone had warmed, softening into something almost comfortable, a concept so unfamiliar as to be suspicious. The persistent cooing from up above mingled with an utter cacophony of bewildering sounds, none of which belonged to any reality within the horribly familiar confines of the sanctuary. And the light touch on his arm, the gentle stroking along intact flesh… for the first time, it was not altogether unpleasant. Which would only confirm what he no longer feared: total, unreserved surrender.

Does it please you, my Master?

The end of the deception and the fight.

IT IS GOOD.

He could feel it prodding at his chest with its cold, unyielding legs. He did not pull away. No horror stirred his heart, though he knew it wanted something of him.

WAKE UP.

More places were being petted, encircled, or invaded than his Master had limbs to account for; nothing made sense. And why was it insisting he wake up when he was already awake? Perhaps he could appease it with a groan.

Killian coughed. His whole throat felt raw as if acid slime had eroded all the tissue away.

I may no longer have any screams to give.

His ankle spasmed. Stabbing, burning cramps spread up his wrist from an oddly immobile hand. But his Master seemed unfazed by the revelation and continued its touching.

“Please–OPEN YOUR EYES–Killian. It’s time–YOU MUST WAKE–wake up now.”

The babbling had returned, voices on top of voices, all begging to be heard amidst the rolling of whitecaps pitching the floor into sudden, violent motion, squashing him down as though he weighed a thousand pounds, and in an instant, Killian was retching like the greenest of new recruits on their first day at sea.

If he’d thought coughing hurt, his stomach trying to eject what wasn’t there took that pain and magnified it a hundredfold.

“…Pretty common, too, after anesthesia…”

Shut the hell up, Whale, and let a man die in agonized peace.

HE WON’T ASPIRATE WITH THE NG TUBE CLEARING HIS STOMACH.

“Trust me.”

His Master’s suit had turned white.

The bucking slowed, gravity returning to normal from his feet upwards. Killian’s eyes were watering in lights far too bright and colorless, lacking any hint of refracted hue.

It wasn’t a white suit. A white coat.

“Killian?”

Tilting his neck even the slightest degree seemed to drive iron stakes all around its perimeter. Killian blinked away the tears into which his Master’s image had dissolved, leaving behind only smeared shapes and hazy colors as it bellowed a whisper,

I REMAIN.

His first in-focus sight had to be of bloody Whale, leaning over him in professional study. But the physician’s voice hadn’t been the only one to blend with the Vocivore’s menace.

“Swan?” he mumbled, almost noiseless, and promptly gagged. What he’d taken for a tentacle tightened on his arm in trembling reassurance.

“I’m here, Killian.” She moved into his field of vision and his weary eyes looked into her face, desperate for the calm that only she could provide. “You’re safe; you’re at the hospital. You made it.”

Though his vision remained blurred and unsteady, there was no mistaking the relief on her face, nor the steady stream of tears coursing down her cheeks as she tried to smile.

Sudden, paralyzing panic overtook him; he could not remember… his Master, it was there, always there, but beyond its looming presence… only fragments. A life. Such a precious life… and a corpse…

“Wh…” he tried, then, “H…”

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” interjected the bothersome physician. “You had a tube down your throat to help you breathe, and there still a smaller one going down into your stomach to help with nausea and for feeding later.”

The majority of Whale’s words got lost in the storm clouds of confusion and worry, and Killian chose to ignore the rest. But moving to keep Emma in view brought a wave of such intense pain that the room lights went out and a high-pitched, pressurized buzzing filled his ears.

“For the love of God, Hook,” Dr. Whale was saying, muffled at first but slowly clearer as Killian’s senses returned. “Hold still; there’s about 101 places you could tear open and we just finished putting you back together.”

Killian could only gulp unsatisfying breaths under the weight of the several cannonballs that seemed to be piled on his chest. In a much more patient tone, Emma pleaded,

“Try and relax, Killian; everything is fine. Hope is fine. The monster is dead. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Hope. It was Hope, the corpse. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead. Emma was saying one thing, but he saw another. Hope dead. Maybe Emma didn’t know. So many terrifying scenes jumbled in his head. So much screaming and pain and despair. And Hope’s corpse, there among the flashes. The wounds were real. The Master was real. But Hope dead was not?

How would he ever be certain?

Emma’s touch; that felt real. Whale and his lackeys, as they performed their checks and asked questions he could not possibly comprehend… less so, but then again, their knowledge struck him as far beyond anything he could ever conjure.

Whence came the corpses?

I HAVE CONSUMED THEIR SCREAMS. THEY ARE DEPLETED.

His Master once again circled his bed. And Killian closed his eyes. Resigned to the torture.

*****

Emma watched her husband slip back into a troubled slumber and scrubbed at her face. The brief moment of clarity had been equally as encouraging as heartbreaking. He knew her; that was certain, and momentarily seemed to soothe at her touch, but the long periods of terrified delirium before and after had been difficult to stomach. Not to mention the apparent anguish that any small movement caused him.

Whale finished scribbling a progress note and pursed his lips. “Well, that went about as well as could have been expected. His neuro scores are encouraging, so we don’t have to be as concerned about hypoxic brain injury.”

Clearing her throat, Emma resumed resting her hand on Killian’s arm. Whether or not he consciously felt her presence, subconsciously she had to believe that she could provide a bit of a buffer between him and his nightmares. “Sure didn’t last long.”

“Combination of post-anesthesia and his pain meds. Really, sleep is the best thing for him, as long as it stays peaceful like this.” He checked a readout on the complicated IV pump and made a quick adjustment. “It’ll probably be like this the first few times. You may have to keep reminding him where he is and all that; he might not remember each time he wakes up. By tomorrow morning, I’d expect him to seem more alert and possibly stay awake for longer periods of time.”

The physician yawned and did not even seem sorry. “It’s going to be another long night, Emma. People in and out frequently. You’re welcome to stay, but no one would be surprised if you decided to go home for a couple hours’ sleep.”

Emma shook her head. “I need to be here for him.”

“Your choice.” He headed for the door. “Don’t hesitate to call someone if you have any questions or concerns.”

After he left, Emma watched Killian breathe, reassured by the small cloud of condensation that formed on the inside of his mask each time he exhaled. Then she composed a quick update to her father; she knew he would take care of spreading the word to everyone else waiting for news. That accomplished, she settled in for her lonely vigil.

Killian had endured a month’s worth of little to no rest, and low-quality sleep when he could get it. Compared to that, three or four nights of watching at his bedside was nothing. 

________________________________________________________________

I do not know if I truly desire a relationship, or if I am simply envious of those who do have one.

??????!!!!

(nothing much, that’s just my constant mood <3)

what are you even talking about

I don’t know anything about anything

I know a combination of a staggering 0 things

Knowing things is not something I relate to

So I gave writing on here a rest for awhile. I thought I would take life by the balls and try to actually live it instead of complaining about it. If I really think about it, Ireland isn’t bad at all. Yes it may have been hard to get established and yes I may have had way higher expectations, but the reality is that I have everything I really want. I have a job (some people see it as seedy, some people think I don’t have a degree and should work towards “doing better for myself” and some people assume that I’m a student and simply don’t have time for any other job. But it’s a job that allows me to see my boyfriend. Allows me to travel and allows me to be outside), I am with the person I really wanted to be with and thought that I lost forever, and I am able to travel. Really what’s so wrong with those things. I should be greatful.

While things are better I still go through rough nights, and last night was one of them. Mozart and I have found it difficult to get into a groove we are completely happy with. Because we both work nights we find it hard to do things during the days, and we find it hard to hang out with other people. He found a group of guys that get together every couple of Saturdays to smoke after work so that helped a bit, but we still don’t really have a friend group. Which frankly is sad after being here for so long. That may be my fault I guess. Maybe I am selfish with time. I’m afraid that I may loose him again or that really we only get to spend one, and if we are lucky two days a week fully together, that I kinda just want it to be the two of us. But I know the lack of social interaction with other people is really getting him down and frankly me as well. I loved being in the UK not because the place itself was so fantastic, but it was because of my friends. I feel lost on how to make friends though, it’s definitely something I need to work on.

Mozart and I are really good….until we aren’t. I feel like things are okay and we are happy and then things come crashing down around me and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened. We had a big blow out last night over something so incredibly stupid that I can’t remember. But then a whole lot of things came out. He states he cant do this anymore, thag the only thing holding us together is the house. He told me that he doesn’t think of the future and can’t be pressured into marrying me, or even being with me. That the likelyhood is that we will break up, because a lot of couples do. (Personally I am an optimist so that statement killed me) he also said something to me that I am still personally trying to deal with. He told me that he is okay with us being monogamous but he frankly wouldn’t care if he were to go polyamerous, which completely shocked me. Personally, I don’t think I could do that. He told me that it is just ego in the way, but I would be crushed. He said he would never cheat, but that’s just how he feels.

He said all of this while he was tipsy and after a while of talking/arguing we decided to give it a rest. He stated that some of the things he said was true but the way he conveyed it wasn’t the best. That when he gets mad he can sometimes feel trapped because we have a place together but the reality is, that most of the time he is really happy. And the whole poly thing? Well maybe that will have to be a discussion for today. I guess you can never say never but I frankly can’t really see myself doing it.

What bothers me the most though is that in a heated argument he will say all these things that devastate me and then at the end of it track back by saying they just came out wrong, leaving me to try to figure out what he really means, what parts are true and what parts simply came out wrong. I think this time I have gotten it. I know I pressure about the future, it is just because I’m scared. We both have things to work on, we both have our lives to get in order. So really I don’t know what’s going to happen. And while that’s frightening it’s reality.

Love abundant, everlasting
only comes when we’re not grasping
Truth can bind the eyes to the sky
but with a heavy heart you cannot fly

Air cannot be jarred and hoarded
labeled, priced, and then imported
Love cannot be only mine
but with each breath my heart aligns

When I’m left no longer clinging
to my pains and wants and thinking
Evidence of Love is singing
to my heart through piqued up ears

I climbed the mountain, fell in darkness
felt my heart sink, saw the ground
but as I thought the end was here
it dissipated into sound

If life is beating, then retreating;
dancing ‘round the burning bush
Death is left when ash returns
to cradling, beautiful, silent hush

Me confundes.

Eso es lo peor y lo mejor que me puedes hacer.

Como alguien puede tener pupilas tan grandes y mirarte.

¿Miras como me confundo? ¿O tu también te pierdes?

Cuando vas a mirar como te escucho.

From the diary of The General Manager of Catastrophe

I have a slight feeling this could be my offical title. Day 4: Thursday I wake up really early and think about skipping this day completely. I can’t. I sigh and run down to start the workflow. I leave my chef the note that I am at the hairdresser’s next door is he comes before I am back. I get a free haircut from a young lady who is still training. My hair is weirdly straight. I pass the key to…

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On uncertainty and things that may cause problems and my constant strive not to be worried

This is a text in defense of EU migration to the UK I wrote when I still had hope, on the last day before the referendum day: I think there are some misconceptions around EU migration to the UK that I feel I should counter. TL;DR: how the EU migrants are not so bad as some people would like everybody to believe. There is no narrative from the other perspective, I am afraid. But I am brave and I…

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Confusion

This is part 4 of Snow In The Dark. Been a while I know but hope you like anyway.

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary: Snow is trying to understand her pull towards Riddick.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language I think that’s it.

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P : @here4thespice

Part 1Part 3

The memory of how I met Jack faded from my mind when a bottle fell from Paris’ bag. He quickly turns to retrieve it but not before Riddick reaches it first. 

They stand up at the same time. Paris looks like he is about to puke and Riddick looks more threatening till Paris introduces himself.

“Paris P. Ogilvie.” He says nervously.

“Antiques dealer, entrepreneur” He says, sticking his hand out.

I watch Riddick take it with a smile growing on his face.

“Richard B. Riddick. Escaped Convict. Murderer” He says casually making me have to bite my lip to hold back a laugh.

I knew it wasn’t meant to be funny but it was from how relaxed he said it.

RIddick opened the bottle and lifted it to his mouth. Paris quickly told him that it was very expensive.

“But by all means help yourself.” He says, as Riddick downs what’s left of it.

I have to bite my cheek when I watch him hand the empty bottle back to Paris.

“Oh umm thank you.” He says, nodding his head and quickly scurrying away.

I shake my head and start my own walk behind him. Riddick behind me.

When we got to the small town they found everyone delighted including myself when we found a ship.

I didn’t bother trying to investigate further, not having much knowledge when it came to that stuff. Instead I walked around with Jack letting her expoller the different houses.

I walk around seeing all the different stuff placed around. I pick up a picture on the table in the living room seeing an average family photo inside of it.

I wrinkle my brow wondering why this was left. Looking around the house even more I realize that everything was left. If you took away the layer of thick dust everywhere it looked as if the owners still lived here. Like they would be home any minute. 

I was leaning against the wall as she played with a toy lizard. She suddenly stopped and turned around with a pair of clippers in her hand.

“Can I cut my hair?” She asks, hope filling her eyes.

“Why do you want to cut your hair?”

“Well ya know.. It’s hot here.” She shrugs, making me chuckle.

“Sure, kid. Sense, it’s hot.” I say knowing good and well why she was doing it but might as well let her get it out of her system. 

She grins and rips off her hat and moves to a mettle mirror on the wall.

“I’m gonna go see if I can help the others. Come find me when you’re done?”

“Yeah okay.” She says, nodding her head but not really listening to me.

Rolling my eyes I leave the house stepping into the blistering sun. I settle for walking back towards the ship but stop when I see Riddick walking by himself.

I knew I should have gone towards the others, faintly hearing some of them yelling about finding water. Maybe I even should have gone back inside and helped Jack with her hair but instead I found myself following him.

He was a bit ahead of me and so I had plenty of places to hide if he looked behind him. I don’t know what possessed me to follow him but I wanted to see what he was doing. He was meant to be such a big bad guy but I haven’t seen him do anything to earn him that title yet.

I don’t follow him for long before I lose him. Turning a corner and he is suddenly gone. I look around the different containers used as houses but find nothing.

I turn to head back towards the way I came but stop when Riddick drops down in front of me, making me jump.

He pushes me up against the wall of the house behind me. It’s hot on my skin. Him leaning into my personal space, getting his face very close to mine.

“Are you following me, Snow?” He asks, my name rolling off his tongue in a way I didn’t know could sound that attractive.

“Yes.” I say.

I watch him lift an eyebrow as if he didn’t expect me to tell the truth.

“Why?” He asks standing back up but still keeping me pressed into the house. His hands were on either side of my head so I was blocked between him and the wall behind me.

“I don’t know.” I say once again being honest.

“You seem to fascinate me for some reason.” I say, taking a breath.

My heart is starting to pick up. It wasn’t from fear. No it was a feeling I recognized but I didn’t understand how I could be getting turned on just by standing here.

“Hmm.” He growls out. That sound makes the feeling in me grow. I closed my eyes, blushing at how my body was reacting. I couldn’t help but wish he would lean closer but instead he pulled away from me.

“Come on. I would rather have you in my sights.” He says turning to walk off.

Despite having free will and knowing I shouldn’t follow him I do exactly that. Walking behind him  trying to understand what has gotten into me.

Since I met him I was drawn to him. Something deep inside me pulled towards him. I don’t know what it was. Attraction? Possible. He was attractive. Desare? That was a possibility as well. I clearly wanted him. The thoughts I have had about him in just the past few hours of knowing him proved that. But there was something else. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Something that scared me if I thought about it long enough. Something inside me that told me I belonged with… to him. 

I push those thoughts down as I follow him towards a large building. It is the largest one of them all.

When he stops to pick something off the ground I stop. Him doing it again only a few feet closer to the building picking up something else.

“What is it?” I ask walking closer to him.

With him still knelt down, he holds up a pair of broken glasses.

“That’s weird.” I say, as he stands up.

“The houses are the same too. Their stuff is just forgotten and left behind.” I say, him turning to look over his shoulder at me.

He lets out another humed growl but doesn’t say anything. I’m starting to realize he wasn’t much for talking.

He takes a few steps forward checking the doors. They seem to be locked. I faint giggling can be heard from the other side.

“They chained them closed.” I say, more to myself than anyone. Despite that Riddick still nods slowly.

Reaching up to grab the tarp hanging off the building he lifts it up to reading Coring Room, over the door. 

I didn’t get a chance to say anything, a whistle filling my ears. Both me and Riddick snap our heads in the direction, finding Johns standing there with his hands on his hips.

“You’re missing the party.” He says looking at us.

“Come on boy.” He says patting his leg then walking off like Riddick was a dog that would follow.

I look up at him expecting a reaction but he only pulls the tarp all the way off revealing Jack on the roof ready to pounce down on us.

Her gasping at being caught.

Riddick looks up at her as if he expected her to be there.

“You’re missing the party. Come on.” He says mocking John’s southern accent.

He turns to walk back towards where the other survivors are.

“Come on Jack.” I say, looking up at her.

“I almost had you two.” She whines jumping down to the ground.

“How did he know I was there?”

“I think he was just pulling the tarp off kiddo.” I say not wanting to hurt her pride.

But i didn’ believe that. Riddick seemed to know things before the rest of us even thought about it being a possibility.

Me and Jack walked into one of the other buildings just to hear the tail end of Imam’s prayer.

I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I saw the glasses of water sitting on the table. Walking up to grab one, I feel eyes on me.

I didn’t get to see who they belonged to when I noticed everyone was looking in my direction. I quickly realize everyone is looking at Jack.

“What?” She asks, looking around.

“It’s the winner of the look-alike contest.” Paris says poking his thumb towards Jack.

With her now shaved head and roughly made goggles it was easy to tell who she was trying to look at.

I ignore his comment and smile behind the cup placed to my lips. I thought it was cute and understandable.

I was honestly glad I wasn’t the only one who had a fascination with Riddick.

“Who were these people, anyway? Miners?” Paris askes.

“I don’t know. Looks like geologists.” Sharon says holding up a crystal of some kind.

“You know an advanced team ,moves from rock to rock.”

“Nice of them to leave so much stuff here.” Carolyn says looking about as worried about everything that we all felt.

“Why did they leave their ship?” She asks looking at Johns, him glaring at her.

“It’s not a ship. It’s a skiff and it’s disposable really.” Johns says looking nervous.

“It’s more like an emergency life raft, right?”

“Yeah they probably had a big drop ship take them off planet.” Sharon says, looking hopeful, I start to say something but am cut off.   

“These people didn’t leave. Come on.” Riddick says his deep voice making my insides rattle.

“Whoever got Zeke got them. They’re all dead.” He says throwing the rag he was using on the ground. Then putting his goggles back on.

“You don’t really think they left with their clothes on hooks…-…Photos on the shelves.”

“Maybe they had weight limits. You don’t know” Sharon says.

“I know you don’t prep your emergency ship unless there’s an fucking emergency.” He says grinning at her.

“He’s fuckin’ right.” Jack says 

“Watch your mouth.” Johns says, making me glare at him.

I didn’t get a chance to teathen him before Carolyn started talking.

As if the man read my thoughts I suddenly felt a large presence behind me. I swallow and glance over my shoulder. Riddick standing a few feet from me. But close enough to make my heart pound.

“Has anyone checked the coring room?” Riddick says, making me realize I missed a question.

With that said everyone heads out to go look for the missing boy. Me and Ridick being the last ones out I’m stopped when he grabs my wrist and spins me around.

I let out a gasp when he presses me into the wall holding my wrists so my arms are pinned down by my sides.

“What are you doing?” I ask looking up at him.

His face expressionless but he wouldn’t be pening me to the wall if he wasn’t thinking of something.

He doesn’t say anything, only leans closer to me.

“Do I stink or something?”

I shiver when a low growl leaves his throat. He pulled away from me just as quickly as he grabbed me and left towards the direction of the group.

I take a breath collection myself before I follow them. Wanting to know what was up with Riddick.

janekfan:

Fugue - Chapter 12 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

“Bravo! Excellent!!” Ingo felt slow, heavy. Like the words he knew by heart were filtering out of him through honey. “I am glad that I fought so hard against a wonderful Trainer like you.” In truth he had barely been a challenge. He wondered if they were disappointed. “That’s right! You grow stronger by matching yourself against a strong opponent.” For a split second he forgot what was supposed to come next despite having recited these words hundreds if not thousands of times before. He ducked his head to shield aching eyes from the harsh lights of the battle subway. Think. Just. Think. Did they notice? How out of sorts he was? Perhaps Emmet was right and it was too soon to come back after the Team Plasma attack just a few short weeks ago. But he was languishing at home. Unable to sleep. Full of nerves and worried he wouldn’t be ready for the next time. Especially if he wasn’t even there.

Ah. The words had seen fit to return.

“Please do your best and run toward the destination, an even higher state.” The trainer thanked him and left.

And not a moment too soon. Haxorus caught him as he stumbled and he let himself hang there in her arms for a moment, willing his stomach to settle. Nauseated since setting foot in the cab, Ingo wondered if he’d in fact come down with something. The train slid into the station; Ingo fought the desire to slide to the floor, instead straightening with intent and righting his cap, taking comfort in the familiar actions.

“Let us get you taken care of.” He patted Haxorus on a sturdy armored plate before recalling her and stepping purposefully onto the platform.

“Bad run today, Boss?” Ingo nodded, regretting it when Gear Station swirled around him. “Better luck tomorrow!”

“Yes, I certainly hope so.” It wasn’t fun for anyone if he couldn’t even put up a fight. Squinting against the light emanating from the screen in front of him, Ingo debated putting off the paperwork for one more day. According to his timeline, he was late. Everyone else’s, he still had days. It rankled, leaving things unfinished but even though he had the time, he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal.

Failing the station, again.

A foolish thought considering Ingo was doing no such thing, especially by putting off paperwork, but no matter how frequently he reminded himself, it never seemed to change his mind.

Keep reading

Fugue - Chapter 12 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

“Bravo! Excellent!!” Ingo felt slow, heavy. Like the words he knew by heart were filtering out of him through honey. “I am glad that I fought so hard against a wonderful Trainer like you.” In truth he had barely been a challenge. He wondered if they were disappointed. “That’s right! You grow stronger by matching yourself against a strong opponent.” For a split second he forgot what was supposed to come next despite having recited these words hundreds if not thousands of times before. He ducked his head to shield aching eyes from the harsh lights of the battle subway. Think. Just. Think. Did they notice? How out of sorts he was? Perhaps Emmet was right and it was too soon to come back after the Team Plasma attack just a few short weeks ago. But he was languishing at home. Unable to sleep. Full of nerves and worried he wouldn’t be ready for the next time. Especially if he wasn’t even there.

Ah. The words had seen fit to return.

“Please do your best and run toward the destination, an even higher state.” The trainer thanked him and left.

And not a moment too soon. Haxorus caught him as he stumbled and he let himself hang there in her arms for a moment, willing his stomach to settle. Nauseated since setting foot in the cab, Ingo wondered if he’d in fact come down with something. The train slid into the station; Ingo fought the desire to slide to the floor, instead straightening with intent and righting his cap, taking comfort in the familiar actions.

“Let us get you taken care of.” He patted Haxorus on a sturdy armored plate before recalling her and stepping purposefully onto the platform.

“Bad run today, Boss?” Ingo nodded, regretting it when Gear Station swirled around him. “Better luck tomorrow!”

“Yes, I certainly hope so.” It wasn’t fun for anyone if he couldn’t even put up a fight. Squinting against the light emanating from the screen in front of him, Ingo debated putting off the paperwork for one more day. According to his timeline, he was late. Everyone else’s, he still had days. It rankled, leaving things unfinished but even though he had the time, he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal.

Failing the station, again.

A foolish thought considering Ingo was doing no such thing, especially by putting off paperwork, but no matter how frequently he reminded himself, it never seemed to change his mind.

Ingo slipped quietly into the apartment, not wanting to disturb Emmet if he was napping and indeed, saw him cascooned on the couch, head pillowed on Galvantula and broken leg elevated via Durant’s strong back. It was a far cry from the drugged oblivion he’d experienced when first arriving home, but while recovering from a concussion, his younger brother still needed his rest. Ingo toed off his shoes and hung up his coat, waving a silent hello when Durant threatened to move. Cap on its peg and tie pulled loose, Ingo touched the backs of his fingers to Emmet’s forehead, just below the fading bruise at his hairline. No fever. Good. Meant he was healing right on schedule. With such a complicated break the surgeon had been worried about post operative infection.

“I am Emmet.” Bleary-eyed, he came awake under Ingo’s hand, yawning. “How was work? Any strong challengers?”

“Always.” He paused before admitting, “some of them are too strong.” Ingo didn’t want to go into how distracted he’d become. How he’d been soundly defeated more often than was his wont. How he was ruining their reputation. “How are you feeling?”

“Hm. Leg hurts. But not too badly today.” A tiny squeak heralded the rustling and Ingo raised a brow when a small yellow furball full of static crept sheepishly out of the wide leg of his brother’s pajama bottoms.

“Emmet?”

“I am Emmet, yes.”

“Why is there a Joltik in your pants?”

“They are helping!”

“There are more?”

“Can I take a shower?” Ignoring that the response did not answer his questions, Ingo frowned. “I am gross.”

“Yes.”

“Mean!” Pulling Emmet up, Ingo helped him stand on his one good leg, acting as a human walking stick with an arm slung around his waist. A bevy of tiny creatures crawled back from whence they came. “Electric current helps.”

“Do not get your cast wet.” Especially if there were additional stowaways hidden. His little brother flapped a hand in his direction, already peeling off his sleep shirt. Emmet was bruised nearly all over, a patchwork of healing purples, greens, and yellows, and while Ingo’s own skin was nearly a mirror image, he couldn’t stand to see his younger brother so stiff and sore. The hot water would help. “Call out when you are finished. I will make something to eat.”

It was strange.

Gear Station should be bustling with patrons and yet.

The lights were off. The trains silent. The offices closed and locked. Ingo checked the time and couldn’t read his xtransceiver but even so, there should always be someone here, someone on duty even in the dead of night. It wasn’t. Ingo was certain he’d left the apartment at the correct hour.

“Hello?” Experimentally, he cried out, wincing at the booming sound of his voice echoing down the tunnels. It was too quiet in here and when he turned around to leave he found himself face to face with a pile of rubble. “Emmet!”

Not again.

Not again.

Not again!

Ingo threw himself at the mountain of rock and stone, clawing desperately with already dislocated and broken fingers. He hadn’t been able to wear his gloves since the first attack, still waiting to remove the splints and this would set him back further but Emmet was trapped in there. Ask him how he knew and he’d be unable to explain but as a big brother!!

“Emmet! Emmet, answer me right now!”

“I am Emmet.” Ingo whirled around, breathing harsh, dust like razors slashing up the inside of his throat until he tasted copper on his tongue. “I am fine.” Shaking, wide eyed in the dark, Ingo stepped forward on quaking legs.

“Brother, you–”

Something was horribly wrong.

Emmet was horribly wrong.

Twisted and malformed, crooked grin lined with far too many teeth stretching from ear to ear.

“Were you scared? Ingo?” Entirely too still. Unnaturally still. “I was. Yup!”

“I, no. We found–” His breath bubbled in a hollow, caved-in chest. Frothing down his chin as he laughed with a sound like drowning.

“Stop staring!” Reflexively, Ingo snapped his head to the side so fast it hurt but Emmet was there too, face pale and wet with crimson, tears carving a glittering path through the gore. Smile like a wound. “You did not even look for me.”

“No! No, I swear it, Emmet! I swear I looked!”

“You are looking now.”

“Emmet!”

“You left me.”

No.

“You left me.”

No no no.

“Have you always hated me?”

Nonononono!

“NO!”

Ingo jolted so badly he crashed out of bed and onto the floor, scrambling into the space between chest of drawers and corner, gripping his hair and pulling, pulling, pulling until the pain cleared the darkness from his mind. The image of his little brother–

“No.” Whispered, salt on his lips. He let his head fall to the side, pressing his forehead against the cool paint, an anchor point as everything reeled around him. Calm down. No good to anyone like this. Had to calm down. He could read the clock now. Barely an hour had passed since he’d fallen asleep and when he tried a slow breath, it came as a sob. Again. Again. Again. Until the pounding in his temples quieted and the air in his lungs became useful.

Emmet.

Dragging himself to his feet, Ingo made his way across the hall, covering his face with his palms as he sank into the desk chair. Eelektross tilted its head in confusion and Ingo couldn’t bring himself to answer the silent question, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d start screaming and never be able to stop.

Emmet.

Here and whole and healing.

Ingo hugged himself tightly, until he could feel an ache in his fingers, held himself there, stiff and silent until the sun rose, casting rosy light onto the opposite wall.

“Oh! Sweet Arceus!! Ingo!” Emmet sat up, swinging his broken leg carefully over the side of the bed with a wince and leaning forward, cupping Ingo’s cold face with both hands. “What are you doing? Are you okay??”

“Could not sleep.” No need to mention the nightmares. The fear that he’d kill him with his negligence. His weakness. Ingo couldn’t even meet his eyes. The thumb ghosting over his cheek blistered and burned and he could feel Emmet searching his expression in an attempt to glean information.

“Remain home today.” Ingo shook his head, pulling away in a daze. “Ingo?” Damn his leg, by the time he’d wrestled his way onto his crutches, his brother was gone.

Grateful there were very few challengers today, Ingo sat huddled on a battle subway bench shivering in his coat and trying to maintain control of himself. He’d been nearly sick on the train because of the wheels pounding along tracks and enclosed space echoing with attacks and commands. The light flashing past the windows was like a strobe and made him ill just looking at it.

He wanted to lay down. He wanted to go home.

And abandon them, just like you did Emmet.

More so than before, Ingo struggled to find his balance in the subway car. Where usually it was a comforting sway, now he was more akin to a small boat at sea, tossed relentlessly around by the waves. When the platform doors parted, he fell into the agent manning this station.

“Boss? You alright?” The depot agent frowned as he quickly righted himself, coming to their own conclusion easily enough. “No, no, you’re not. You haven’t been for a while. I’m calling Other Boss.”

“No!” He’d grabbed them by the shoulders before he even knew he was moving. “No.” Withdrew gently, tried to find equilibrium in fixing his cap. “Please. I. You are correct. I apologize for needing the remainder of my shift off.”

“It’s really no problem. We understand.” They offered him up a sad smile. “Just get some rest, okay? You’re exhausted, Boss. We, all of us, we’re worried for you.”

Because he couldn’t keep himself together.

Head spinning, hurting fit to fracture, Ingo couldn’t seem to remember how exactly he got home, not with the sidewalk dodging out from under his feet like it had, or what he was supposed to be doing at the moment. All he knew was the ache in his skull, his upset stomach and its threat to rebel as he closed his eyes against the rolling walls of his room. Chandelure chirped in worry, her cool arm pressed against the back of his neck which helped, but not enough, not nearly enough.

“Ingo? You in here?” The light streaming through the open door lit a fire behind his eyes and he bit back a whimper. “The Station called. Wanted to make sure you got home?” The noise and the light combined were too, too much and Ingo heaved over the wastebasket in his arms. “Ingo!”

His older brother was curled up around a bin with his back pressed against the wall. How had he missed this? Ingo groaned in misery, laying a cheek on the rim of the basket and closing his eyes.

“’Pologize for w'waking you, Emmet.” Ingo shook with delicate tremors, caught between someplace too cold and too hot and the effort of staying quiet. His voice betrayed him further, shaky and small, fading in and out. He hadn’t made a move to get up, fingers tightening on the plastic and breath quickening. “Need to… you n'need your rest.” His throat clicked with a heavy swallow.

“Brother?” Emmet crept further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “What about you?” Softly, softly, lest he spook him. Something was verrry wrong. “We should see a doctor.” While he longed to fold Ingo up and keep him safe, he had no other option but to sit on the bed. If even he made it to the floor, Ingo was in no state to just pick him up again. They needed help.

It was good that Elesa had a key.

“I knew it was too soon.” She kept her voice down, barely a whisper, shut the door quickly, and Ingo’s shoulders still hunched around his ears.

“He will not get up.” Emmet couldn’t keep the note of panic out of his voice. He’d been sitting. Watching. Useless while Ingo grew worse, grew pale and sick and weepy. “He will not agree to go to the hospital.”

“He won’t talk to you?”

“I do not think he can.”

“Ingo?” Elesa knelt beside him, resting a hand on the nape of his neck and giving a reassuring nod to a near frantic Chandelure. “Did you forget?” Meaningfully, she glanced at Emmet, mouthing an apology before turning back to his twin. “Your brother has an appointment today.” Ingo looked up at her, eyes bright, as though he might cry. “I’ve called a car. We can all go together. Here, let me help you up.” Tall and lanky, it took the assistance of his Pokemon to get him to his unsteady feet and he leaned heavy, shaky on Elesa.

The sunlight had him hissing through his teeth and Elesa got him into the vehicle as quickly as possible before bundling Emmet in with his crutches. She’d called ahead to the hospital that treated them after the attack and may have used a connection or two to get them into a room and out of sight of the public before their presence caused a scene.

If Ingo hadn’t already been in obvious pain, Emmet would have smacked him himself. He’d missed his last two appointments and thankfully, now that the doctor had him she wouldn’t let him leave but he wasn’t keen on cooperating. Likely, she explained, something to do with the concussion he’d sustained during the cave-in not healing correctly. Emmet didn’t understand completely, but he understood enough to know Ingo had neglected to care for himself in his efforts to care for him. Currently, the doctor was trying to cajole him into removing his button down for an exam.

“Why?” Missing a lot of words and it was never a good thing when Emmet’s words outnumbered his older brother’s.

“We are twins! Yep!” Emmet tried to keep his tone light, sincere. “The doctor needs to compare.”

“Bright in, i'nere…” It wasn’t. Ingo’s fingers fumbled on the buttons and before he could get frustrated, Emmet reached out.

“Let me.”

Emmet narrowed his eyes as he swept them over the bruises for the first time. Extensive and still dark, they spread down his back in mottled patterns like a Spinda’s spots and while Ingo was quiet under the doctor’s gentle hands, Emmet fought against demanding answers from him.

Why had he kept this pain a secret? Emmet could have, would have helped! Did Ingo think he wouldn’t have?

When she shined a penlight into Ingo’s eyes to check his pupils, he yelped, turning aside immediately to dry heave and finally she stopped in her examination of him. Tugging Emmet back into the small, private room where Elesa was waiting, she explained a nurse would help Ingo get settled.

“I want to observe Ingo overnight. He’s rundown and exhibiting a lot of post concussion symptoms.” She marked down some notes on her own xtransceiver and hummed thoughtfully. “Your brother has lost more than a few pounds since you were both here last. When did he return to work?”

“Too soon.” Elesa crossed her arms, worry evident in her expression despite the ire in her words.

“Alright. I’m going to prescribe him something for sleep. Sometimes, strange as it sounds, head injuries can cause insomnia.” Emmet should have known. Should have asked. Ingo was prone to insomnia even at the peak of health. “It doesn’t look as though he’s been sleeping well and with parts of his brain trying to overcompensate for jobs they’ve never done before, he’s likely exhausted.”

“What. What does that mean?”

“I’ll send you home with some information, but it means he’ll need to rest and let himself heal.” Emmet caught Elesa’s eyes. He didn’t want to leave Ingo here, alone. What if he woke up and he wasn’t here? Or he became confused? Or upset?

“Emmet?” Despite the gentle touch he nearly jumped out of his skin. “They’re going to take care of him, okay? We’re going to go home and get things ready for tomorrow so Ingo doesn’t have to worry about a thing!”

“Your friend is right.”

“I am Emmet. Want to see him.”

“Of course.” He didn’t wait, let Elesa take care of collecting Ingo’s prescription, shouldering his way back into Ingo’s dark room and not missing how he looked nearly as bad as the days following the attack. He’d slept a long time and now they were here again. “You can touch him.” The doctor had followed. “You won’t hurt him.”

“I know that!” He didn’t mean to snap at her, really. But the very idea– “I am Emmet. Ingo is my brother.” Carefully, he traced one of the ink-dark shadows beneath Ingo’s closed eyes before grabbing hold of his hand, mindful of the line taped to the back of it.

“For rehydration, some vitamins and other medications to help make him comfortable.”

“Ingo can come home tomorrow?” At her nod, Emmet leaned down, pressing their foreheads together for a brief moment and blinking away tears. “Okay.”

Elesa tucked Ingo in while Emmet continued his memorization of the pamphlets the doc had given him yesterday. Ingo didn’t want to sleep but the medication he’d taken was like boarding a non-stop train to oblivion.

“Emmet…needs…” Petulant, Ingo tried to knuckle the sleep out of his eyes, grateful that the pain had markedly decreased since. Yesterday? Memories were fuzzy and he had little desire to parse through them at the moment.

“Right now, you need to rest.” Elesa watched him fight it, miserable, torn between responsibility and total collapse. “You’re going to close your eyes. And if you’re lucky, I’ll get take out from that place you like tomorrow.” She smiled softly as his body went lax. He’d be lucky. He deserved it and when he shuffled out of his room more than fifteen hours later Elesa wasted no time placing their regular order.

“Ingo!” By virtue of Galvantula in his lap, Emmet couldn’t even attempt to leap to his feet. “How do you feel?” His older brother looked thoughtful and, honestly, much better than before.

“Somehow, still very tired. That does not seem right.” Ingo very nearly whined as he took his spot on the couch. Too weary to sit up, he leaned on Emmet to read over his shoulder and almost immediately passed out again. There’d be time to go over things later considering they were both on mandatory leave for the next two weeks at minimum. Ingo would need the doctor to sign off on his return to the station. He’d bristled at the restriction a split second before Emmet laid into him.

“I feel I must apologize to you both and to all our friends and coworkers at Gear Station.” The trio were gathered in the living room, shoveling noodles into their faces while some train documentary or another ran quietly in the background when Ingo paused. “As your older brother, I should have handled this whole situation better and I am so sorry for my negligence. I should have protected you, Emmet.”

“Ingo.”

“I had a responsibility to you and I failed. You were badly hurt and I. I.” He clenched his teeth. “I am supposed to take care of you. I am supposed to keep you safe.”

“You did. You do!” Emmet didn’t want Ingo to feel this way, especially when it wasn’t true! He wouldn’t hear this for a minute more!

“Did you forget you were injured too, Bidoofus?” Before Ingo could gear up to argue, Elesa continued. “Working yourself into the ground was very irresponsible!”

“Verry irresponsible!”

“And even if you’d walked out of the station without a scratch–Ingo. You still deserve rest.” She dashed the tears from her eyes. “Please stop punishing yourself for situations outside of your control.” He stiffened at the expectation of a bone-crushing hug, melting into her arms when it was instead gentle and warm. She had a point and now that he was thinking more clearly, he could nearly make it out. “I’m going to call Emmet everyday to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“That’s a threat!”

“Emmet meant to say promise.”

“I am Emmet! It can be both!” There was a beat of silence before Ingo shook with laughter, relenting to their special brand of care. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop putting his little brother first, but for the both of them, he would try to let him return the favor.

During A’s recovery, therapy appointments/visits occur like clockwork in order to maintain a memorable routine. 

However, one day A wakes up, and realises they’ve slept past the time the nurse comes to do their rounds. Had they slept through it? They don’t normally… They sit and wait, noting that soon the physical therapist should be arriving. When they don’t, A worries more: even more so when their friend/significant other doesn’t arrive at their scheduled time. 

It’s at this point (running low on painkillers and patience), that A takes it upon themselves to investigate. 

They could find that 1) The friends/doctors/nurses have all been kidnapped and being held hostage in another medical ward and require saving. Or 2) An evil entity roams the halls, chasing after A at every chance they get until A manages to evade their pursuit.

Either way, it all ends when they wake up again… in their bed and surrounded by the medical team and worried friends.

Apparently their condition worsened due to an infection, and they had spent the better part of a week staving off a near deadly fever.