Caretaker with a cool cloth on a sleeping feverish Whumpee, and Whumpee kinda half wakes up, Caretaker shushes them back to sleep âItâs okay, Iâm just trying to get your fever down. You can go back to sleepâ
it is common knowledge that a lack of sleep causes your immunity to go downhill.
so imagine your whumpee, on little proper sleep, trying to make it through the day/week when one day they feel off. they're more tired than usual, a headache is making itself known, or maybe they have a tickle in their throat. they shrug it off and call it a day.
cue them waking up the next day feeling awful. they're more tired than they were last night, a fever has crept up and their nose is stuffed. the question now weighs on their mind:
should they go to work and sacrifice potential rest, or do they go back to sleeping away the fever?
Long time no see, but I'll share an irl event that happened to me this year
Under the cut for posterity and cause the first story deal with diarrhea.
My family and I went abroad for vacation, and gas a great time. However, my dad and sibling picked up some kinda bug. Nothing major except stomach upset and the runs. We thought nothing of it.
A week or two after vacation I had an induction day for a short course I'm attending. I woke up with a really crampy stomach and a bit of nausea which I dismissed as just nerves. I couldn't focus well on what was being said because of how badly my stomach was hurting. I came home and went to the toilet because, well, it felt like I had to go. It was normal the first time, but the second time was very liquid.
I proceeded to go over four times in a day, had my kneecap pop out and in, and spent two days in bed with horrible stomach cramps.
had to fill it out, here's some elaborations for some of them:
when i was 13, i gave myself a stomach ache by eating a medium sized margharita pizza on my own. not as bad as expected, but i learnt my lesson.
as a kid i got some moderately bad head/chest colds that left me very congested, as a way to make it easier i had to lean over a pot of boiled/hot water and let the steam help ease it. for kid me this was terrifying; it is very moist, and humid, and a towel over my head above a pot of freshly boiled water made all the more scary.
hasnt happened directly, but a roadtrip back home left a lot of kids feeling crummy or had them be sick on the bus ride home. i wasn't sick, but it happened.
as a kid, both me and my sibling got strep throat over the summer
Garcia was on her way back to her office with a fresh mug of coffee. After she'd passed by the bathrooms she stopped, paused for a moment, then backed up. It almost sounded like someone was...
"hrkllbbgg,"
Throwing up in the bathroom, yep. She walked over to the door and knocked.
"You okay in there?" she called through the door.
"...Not really," a voice answered, raspy from vomiting. That sounded like... no it couldn't be, he's practically invincible. "Derek?"
"That you mama?" Derek asked, sounding relieved.
"You want me to come in?" she asked, not sure if mr. macho man himself would be okay with anyone seeing him like this.
"yes please," he groaned.
Garcia turned the knob, surprised to find the door unlocked, and pushed it open. To her surprise, Derek was slumped in the corner of the bathroom, looking more disheveled than she had ever seen the man. His badge and gun were on the floor, along with his belt and his shoes, and his t-shirt was drenched with sweat.
"Derek Morgan what on earth happened to you?" she gasped, moving to crouch down in front of him. She placed a hand on his forehead, flinching at how warm he was. He definitely had a fever.
"Don't know, just kinda off this morning but it just kept getting worse. Thought maybe I needed to eat something but, well, you see how that turned out," he gestured toward the toilet grimly.
Garcia winced in sympathy, wrinkling her nose as she reached over to flush the toilet. "Do you think you're done for now? We should get you home," she said.
"I don't think putting me in a car is a very good idea right now he groaned, shaking his head.
"Well let's at least get you off of the bathroom floor then. How about you go lay down in your office?" she suggested instead.
"Yeah, okay," Derek agreed, figuring he could at least make it that far. "I'm gonna need a trash can though," he added, grimacing as he felt his stomach churning.
"I'll take care of it," Garcia nodded, "Now come here," she stood, holding her hands out to Derek. He grabbed her hands, letting her help him pull himself up off of the floor. He felt shaky, but Garcia wrapped an arm around his waist to help keep him steady as they made their way out of the bathroom.
As they passed through the BAU main office, a few heads turned to watch them pass. The team had gathered in the conference room and was watching them from up there. No one said anything as Garcia and Morgan made their way up the stairs and into Derek's office.
"There's a case," Derek said as Garcia helped him lay down on the couch in his office.
"Don't worry about that," she said, grabbing a blanket from the corner and draping it over him. She pulled the trashcan from under his desk over to sit in front of the couch.
"I should be in there," he protested.
"For what? So you can go puke on some crime scene photos? I don't think so. You're sitting this one out. The team will be okay without you for one case," she shook her head, grabbing a water bottle from the mini fridge in his office and setting it next to the couch.
Derek sighed, knowing she was right. "Well you should go. They need you," he said.
"I'm going," she said. "Trash can and water are on the ground right there. Drink some if you can and try not to make a mess. I'll be back," she added.
"Thanks babygirl," he called after her as she headed to the conference room.
Severe hypothermia is great but as someone who has experienced mild hypothermia, I think it needs more credit.
You don't need medical attention but everything just feels wrong for the hours and days afterward. You can't regulate your body temperature right. You're cold and shivering but the blankets and sleeping bags you're swaddled in have you sweating because youre body hasn't decided you're safe enough to send blood back to your extremities. You want to warm your hands and feet but know that's going to send the cold blood right back deep, deep into your core like daggers.
Dress warmly when you're out on lobster fishing boats y'all...
seeing as my initial headache post is gaining tractions, here's a whump scenario based off of something that happened to me:
whumpee has been feeling under the weather for a day now. starts of sickness like tiredness and occassional symptoms are a nuisance, but it isnt something some rest (or some fresh air) won't fix. their friends encourage them to go out for a walk and stretch their legs. they shrug and go along, what harm could it do?
the cool air is nice an crisp, and their energy perks up. whumpee feels relief at this, and they go about the rest of their day with more strength than earlier. things are looking up for them.
until they go to bed.
whumpee lays in their uncomfortable bed unable to get cool. they're practically burning up with fever (or is it that the old fireplace emits too much heat in winter?) and nothing they do can sate it. their head throbs, pushing against their eyes and forehead. it feels like their brain is trying to escape out of their head. they cannot sleep from the pain.
does whumpee tough it out, or do they seek help from the caretaker? or does whumper get to them first, leaving all of their ways to easing this hell inaccessible thus making it worse?
ăNotes: This is my CM series that I have over on my Ao3, but I figured that some of you over here might enjoy it as well!ă
ăSummary: Emily gets sick at the same time a deranged killer starts cutting up faces in Seattle Washington.ă
ăWord Count: 1.4kă
ăPairing: Jemilyă
ăWARNINGS: Guys. I cannot stress this enough, this is a casefic. I have created a serial killer and I am going into detail. Nothing will happen to our main characters, but there will be descriptions of blood/death. Please don't read if this is something that bothers you. It is purely plot related and (unrelated I suppose) this is an ongoing series.ă
âŸMasterlistsâœ
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
Emily ignored the fuzzy numbers on the thermometerâs screen and put the device away, resolving to take four Advil and take a double dose of non-drowsy cold medicine. She understood that the idea was a bad one, but she had to get through the day. There were mountains of paperwork and JJ had hinted at an incoming case that they would need all hands on deck.Â
The brunette bundled herself in a thick sweater and wrapped a scarf around her neck before taking one last glance in the mirror. She had done her best to cover the high flush on her cheeks and blend out the dark circles, but there was no denying it: she looked awful.Â
Emily almost fell asleep twice in the fifteen minutes it took for her to get to the BAU and she was starting to wonder if her decision to come to work had been a bad one. No, she was just doing what she needed to do. She was going to work, part of daily life. No damn cold would take her out of the game. She was a Prentiss and Prentissâs donât show weakness.Â
She stumbled into the BAU five minutes late (she had somehow forgotten how to get there halfway through the drive) and ran straight into Garcia. The tech analyst squeaked as her files spilled onto the floor and she dropped to the ground, scurrying to pick them up. Emily tried to make herself do the same, but her body just wasnât replying to her brain's commands.Â
The brunette simply watched as her friend collected the papers, struggling to get her limbs to respond. When Penelope stood back up, her hair a bit out of place she frowned deeply and reached out to touch Emilyâs cheek. The profiler managed to take a step away before the hand could connect and forced her political smile onto her lips.Â
âOh my love, you donât look so good.â She said, her voice full of concern.Â
âMâfine Pen. Didnât get any sleep last night.â The brunette chuckled, trying to ignore the slight congestion littering her voice. Plus, she wasnât lying. The persistent cough and aches in her bones had kept her up for most of the night.Â
âOkay, but that really doesnât explain the scarf, Em. Weâre barely into October, it's not that cold yet.â She pressed, not willing to let her concern go. Garcia could tell that her friend wasnât feeling well, not only was it obvious, but she also had sort of a sixth sense for telling what was wrong with the people she loved.Â
âDrop it, Garcia.â She sighed, rubbing her forehead. It felt like there were fire ants crawling over her skin and she was regretting the extra cold medicine. Her mind was already fuzzy with fever and the medication wasnât helping.Â
The blonde took her shoulders, eyes flooded with worry. It was that look that told Emily that she wasnât going to win this one, not with Penelope anyway.Â
âI took DayQuil. Itâs just a cold.â Emily murmured, rubbing her nose on her sleeve. She sniffled heavily and aimed a sneeze into her elbow which certainly didnât help her case. The sneeze sounded sickly and didnât give her any relief from the congestion, in fact, it just made it worse.Â
âThat is not just a cold. You need-â
âGarcia! We canât start without you to present!â Hotch snapped, yelling across the bullpen. His glare was full of impatience, and he sounded as though he would rip them in two if they didnât hurry. Emily started forward but leaned heavily against a desk, a wave of dizziness crashing over her.Â
âYou are so going home.â The blonde grumbled, taking Emilyâs wrist. The exhausted woman didnât protest, no one could see them anyway it didnât matter. Plus, Garcia was keeping her balanced.Â
Emily found herself being dragged into the round table room, the tech analyst only dropping her arm when she knew that they would be seen. Hotch was staring at his watch impatiently, but his expression turned to one of mild concern when he saw his shivering profiler.Â
âJeez Em, you look like shit.â Morgan commented, wrinkling his nose in a playful way.Â
âBite me.â she said in return, plopping down in a chair as far away from him as possible. She pulled the chair close to the table and wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to conserve heat. Reid gave her a sideways glance and scooched away, probably worried about the germs. Emily really couldnât blame him; she was probably a germ fountain.Â
âPrentiss, why are you here?â Hotch questioned, sounding genuinely appalled. He had a strict policy when it came to working while sick: you couldnât. It put everyone involved in danger and he was sure to remind them all of that every flu season. His agents never listened to him, and it always turned into a lecture in which he could usually get them to leave.Â
âI work here Hotch. You hired me. Well, you didnât fire me.â she replied, as sarcastic as ever. Her boss raised his eyebrow, slightly astonished that she was being so argumentative. He sighed as he studied her appearance, taking in the excess makeup and slight shivering.Â
âGo home, come back when youâve been fever free for 24 hours. Garcia, present.â He dismissed her so quickly that Emily wasnât quite sure that it had happened. The brunette stiffened at the comment, her resolve hardening. She would not go home over this shit, it was a head cold, not the plague.Â
âNo. Thereâs a case, it is my job to work cases and catch killers. I donât see you bowing out over a sore throat and the sniffles.â She snapped back, leaning forward in challenge. The two stared at each other for about fifteen seconds, before Hotch backed off, rolling his eyes in frustration.Â
âFine. Penelope, go.âÂ
All Emily could really say about the case was that there was someone in Seattle Washington stealing eyeballs, cutting off ears and noses and dumping bodies in the ocean. She didnât know what the deal was with facial features, but he seemed to hate them.Â
âDehumanizing his victims?â she asked, feeling the need to add her input. He definitely wouldnât let her stay if she was useless to the team, she had to provide some sort of use. Reid nodded his agreement and gave her another little glance.Â
âOr maybe a fetish. There are no other wounds on the body, just the face. Do they know what he poisoned them with?â
âI donât think we can assume the killer was a male yet, there were no signs of sexual assault and poisoning is most typically done women. The disfigurement of the face could be linked to jealousy, it would go with the dehumanization aspect.â JJ added, cutting Garcia off before she could answer.Â
âSorry Pen, go ahead.â She apologized, quickly realizing what she had done. The perky blonde flashed her a smile and shook her head.Â
âNot to worry, sugarplum. It seems that the Unsub is using Arsenic as their poison of choice. Any other questions, my dears?â Penelope was great at acting cheerful while showing them awful images. It was probably because she never faced the screen.Â
âThatâs all. Wheels up in thirty. Prentiss, stay back for a moment.â Hotch ordered, watching as they all hurried out. No one wanted to see the conversation between the two of them.Â
Emily stood and faced him, arms crossed in front of her. She was standing in an almost fighting stance, trying to look slightly intimidating. It was hard to take her seriously with the runny nose and tired eyes. If Hotch was being honest with himself, he truly wanted to take her home and ensure that she rested. He truly cared about his team; their wellbeing was incredibly important to him.Â
âLook Prentiss, I wonât make you stay behind, but only because we need all hands-on deck for this one. In any other situation, you would be suspended for this disobedience. Understand?â He asked, matching her stance. Part of her wanted to argue, but she really couldnât think of a reason for it. It was just her stubborn streak and her fever clouded mind.Â
âUnderstood. May I go sir?â She swiped her fist across her drippy nose and waited for the sharp nod that meant she could stumble back to her desk and lean for a few seconds while she pretended to rifle through her go-bag.Â
She sagged against her desk and took a wheezy breath, wondering why the stupid medicine wasnât working. The brunette let herself sit there for a few seconds then steeled herself against the dizziness, preparing for what was sure to be a long week.Â
A game that I am currently playing has an event going on that caused a lot of havoc. I have my sights on the whumpee/sickie getting a broken arm and a sprained ankle while they try to escape and fight off the invaders. They're in a lot of pain and are just trying to survive until someone drags them to the makeshift hospital for treatment.
Would making them pass out from the pain and exhaustion be unrealistic?
CW: this story contains references to: ptsd, ruptured appendixes and reliving trauma. Read at your own risk.
Enjar huffed as he jogged along the cliff edge. He glanced at the setting sun, his ponytail flicking in his peripheral vision as he did. The cold air made his chest hurt as he took in another breath. The sun was setting onto the sea, turning it golden. He came to a gentle stop, looking at the sun, resting his hands on his knees and placing his hand on his right side. âWeird.â He thought, concerned. âI can usually do this without any issue⊠Why am I getting a cramp from this?â
The cramp became worse as he pressed on it, forcing him to lean over and gasp. He had noticed it at the beginning of the week, but he had shrugged it off, but it was suddenly a lot worse today. He shuddered, standing straight as walked over the last small hill, and sighed at the sight of his little home.
The stone cabin attached to the tall, stripy tower was bathed in shadow, the tower glowing in the soft light. Enjar stumbled as he began to make his way back, catching himself before he fell. He groaned, the shiver beginning to settle in his lower back. âI was fine this morningâŠâ He mumbled, annoyed that the cramp seemed to be getting worse by the hour.
Stumbling inside is home, Enjar shivered. He looked around, eyes bleary as he wiped them. Making his way to the bathroom, he turned on the shower, hoping the steam would help relax the muscles. When he finally stepped in, he sighed in relief, melting in the scalding water. He turned it off after standing in it for way too long, as it began to run a little cold. He shivered, desperately reaching for the towel by the door and wrapping it around himself. The movement made the pain in his side worse. He was quaking as he dried off, he rushed to his closet, pulling on the warmest clothes he could find, before climbing into bed.
That night Enjar realised the cramp was still getting worse and he was crashing, feeling terrible as he passed in and out of consciousness through the night. He had pulled all his blankets up over himself, tossed them off and eventually shed his shirt, trying to find the perfect temperature without feeling like he was cooking alive or freezing to death. He groaned, holding his abdomen as the pain radiated through his stomach.
In the early hours of the morning Enjar awoke with a shiver, feeling like death. âF-f-fuck.â He moaned, trying to sit up, only to be wracked with pain. âOwâŠâ He gasped, looking at where it was coming from. âWhatâs happening?â He tried to think as his head spun. He wanted to grab the radio and call for help, it was lying on the floor near the bathroom door.
âNeed helpâŠâ He gasped, feeling like death itself was upon him. Forcing his aching body to rise off the bed, he took a few shaking steps to the doorway, grabbing the radio in his clammy hands, vertigo wracking his mind as he stumbled back to bed. He couldnât stand anymore, there was no energy left.
Lying on his stomach, the only comfortable position he could find, he lifted his heavy head and tried to find the strength to press the button. His vision was blurred and teetering at every movement.
âTower 4 to Base⊠I⊠hhhgnâŠâ He murmured, but he couldnât finish his sentence as his head fell against the pillow with an agonised groan. He tried and failed to hold the button down as his arm dropped over the side of the bed, the radio clattering to get ground, unable to respond to the operator as he drifted out of consciousness again.
~
âTower 4, this is Base. Can you repeat that?â
Matthew spoke into the radio. He was trying to get ahold of Enjar, who wasnât picking up. This was out of character for him, the last time he hadnât it had not been good. He tried again, speaking clearly into the radio, âBase to Tower 4. Do you copy?â silence greeting him in return.
A pit settled in his stomach as he thought about his friend. âEnjar, please. Pick up, god damnit.â He glanced around. Johan, the night shifter who had received to call looked over at him concerned. âIâve been trying for like 10 minutes, nothing.â Matthew shook his head, chills going down his spine. âWhat exactly did he say?â
Johan shrugged. âIt cut off halfway through, he did his callsign, then mumbled something. It was hard to make out, he was breathing into his radio a lot.â Matthew sighed, rubbing his temples. âThatâs weird.â Johan remembered how the escaped convicts had broken into the tower, injuring Enjar quite badly. But again, maybe he was just sleep walking or something weird.
Matthew reached for the radio again. âThis is Base to Tower 4, do you copy?â âšâšSilence.
Another radio crackled to life, causing them to look over at the cubicle where it was stationed. It was just a coast guard boat reporting a storm coming in, the sea plane and chopper would probably have to be grounded. Matthew nodded as he went over to it, taking in the report. There were only three people on the night shift, Johan, himself and the probie, Gunnar. Johan, reaching for his radio tried once more. âBase to Tower 4. Do you copy?â He waited for a reply.
Nothing.
After a few minutes of pacing, Matthew ran his hand through his hair and stamped his foot down. âThatâs it, Iâm taking Gunnar to check this out. Stay here and keep trying, âkay?âJohan nodded, as Matthew began glancing around for the newbie, Gunnar. Finding him, he walked over, tapping the man on the shoulder and smiling.
âHow about you and me go for a rendezvous mission?â The young man seemed to light up at the idea. He looked eager to get going. âOf course, sir. Right away.â Matthew huffed, thinking about the scene they could find. âCool. Weâll take the truck.â
~
Gunnar sat in the passenger seat of the massive car as it climbed itsâ way over the rough terrain. No wonder this Enjar guy never came into town, it was such an arduous drive. âSo, weâre going to say hi to a hermit man living in the middle of nowhere? Thatâs it?â He seemed a little underwhelmed. âWell, we are checking on the keeper. He isnât responding to anything and he sent a suspicious message to us. Thatâs a little⊠out of character for him.â Gunnar nodded, intrigued.
âWhatâs he like, Tower 4 dude? Iâve only ever heard him speak on the radio a couple times.â Matthew sighed, trying to think as he dodged another rock. There wasnât even really a road anymore. âEnjar? Uhhh, well heâs⊠He likes his peace and quiet. Heâs not a big people person, and he looks a little intimidating, but heâs really a softie.â Matthew was trying to figure out how to hint that Enjar wasnât a threat, but might not be in a great mood when unexpected guests arrive.
Usually, if visitors swung by unannounced, he would just ignore them until they went away, but after the invasion last year, he seemed a bit more protective of his cabin, despite swearing nothing was different.
A hiker a few months ago had complained to the Base that the lighthouse keeper on the cliff edge had scared them when they walked by. He had been watching and following them for a few kilometres after they had hiked by the lighthouse. When Matthew asked Enjar about this, he had just shugged, swearing he was going that way to check the emergency survival supplies for that part of the hiking trail, the hiker had merely reminded them they had to do it.
Matthew had half wanted to believe it, but he knew Enjar had lied. He was good at coming up with them on the spot but he had a tell. Hiding his hands, clenched into fists behind his body, a dead give away he was hiding something.
âJust, give him some space, he isnât exactly fond of uninvited guests, even me, and in the dark me might not realise itâs usâŠâ Gunnar looked at him, suspicious of the wording. âIs he dangerous?â Matthew raised his eyebrows, gripping the wheel. âNo! Heâs not dangerous, justâŠâ Matthew came to a stop in front of the lighthouse, the light still spinning the cloudy morning.
âJust follow my lead, probie.â
Approaching the cabin carefully, Matthew knocked on the front door, before opening it with a creak. âWeird.â He muttered as it opened. Even before last year, Enjar had never left his door unlocked. âA matter of principle.â As he had justified it to Matthew.
âEnjar? Itâs Matt, you okay?â He called out firmly, as he glanced around the door into the cabin. There was a jacket crumpled on the table, the only thing out of place. âMaybe heâs out?â Gunnar suggested, looking at the empty home.
It was quaint, a closet in the back by a large wooden door, assumedly going to the tower, a small kitchen area and a wooden table, fireplace tucked in the corner and a musty looking sofa beside the door. Beside the sofa, an ancient two-way radio sat next to a modern portable one, or at least the charger for it.
âHuh⊠Thatâs weird.â Matthew pointed at the radio charger, walking in more. âEnjar? You around?â He glanced at the tower door. âIâll go check the tower, keep looking for him.â Matthew instructed the young Gunnar, who beamed and nodded. He was proud of the important job he had.
Matthew had begun to climb the steps to the tower, fearing Enjar had maybe tripped and fallen on them when he heard a yell. Gunnarâs voice. Matthewâs stomach did a flip as he bolted back down the stairs, worried that he may have to wrestle the strong man off his probie. âšâšInstead, Gunnar stood at the door to the tower, eyes wide. âYou need to come see this.â He looked spooked.
Following the man, Matthew entered Enjarâs bedroom, spotting him immediately. He was laying on his stomach, his back, covered in sweat was almost shining in the moonlight. His right arm drooped over the side of the bed the radio brushing his fingertips. âEnjar? You okay?â Matthew murmured, stepping forward and waiting for the other man to stir. He watched as Enjarâs pale back rose and fell slightly, not nearly enough for Matthewâs liking.
Reaching out his hand, Matthew touched his friendâs back. It was freezing. âShit.â He gasped, pulling his hand away in shock. He glanced at Gunnar, who was standing in the doorway, looking confused. âHelp me roll him.â Matthew ordered, causing the probie to snap into action. They rolled the sickly man, who shivered as he was moved, a quiet moan escaping him. âEnjar? Can you wake up for me, man?â Matthew shook his friendâs shoulders, trying to rouse him. After a minute, Enjar opened his eyes, blinking slowly.
âMattâŠâ He rasped, voice dry. âSomethingâs⊠wrongâŠâ He tried closing his eyes again, but Matthew shook him awake. âLetâs get you to the kitchen, huh, near the fire? You need to warm up.â Both men noticed as they helped the lighthouse keeper to his feet that the bed was drenched in sweat. Gunnar picked up a hoodie from the ground and they helped Enjar wrestle it on, before half carrying him to near the fireplace. Enjarâs head drooped forward as the held him up, his legs shaking with every step.
They sat him down in a kitchen chair by the fire, Matthew stacking some wood and trying to light it. Gunnar went back to the room, grabbing some blankets and wrapping them around the sick man, shocked at his state. Through the hair hanging limply around Enjarâs face, he could see a large scar. It was trailing down the left side of his face made him look fierce and intimidating, but the gasping, eyeâs squeezed shut in pain and shivers made him look small and weak. Enjar twitched and groaned as the fire roared to life.
âWhat time is it?â Pulling the blankets around himself more, he shuddered, sniffing as he hung his pounding head. Gunnar checked his watch, âItâs 6:30, sir.â Enjar looked up, groaning before he tried to stand. Matthew immediately turned around and grabbed him, guiding him back down to the chair. âYou have to warm up Enjar. Do you have any cold medications I can grab you?â Enjar nodded, âCupboard next to the pantry⊠Small boxâŠâ He tried standing again, teetering on his weak, shaking legs. Breathing was hurting his side and the cramp was getting bad.
âSir. You have to warm up.â Gunnar reminded him, trying to seat the man again, but Enjar looked at him with his stormy eyes, despite being slightly glazed and distant, they still pierced Gunnarâs own. âI gotta⊠turn off the light⊠Itâs too bright for it⊠right now.â The moaned, legs dropping from under him a little before Gunnar eased him back down.
Matthew returned with the meds, giving them to Enjar as he held out a shaking hand. As he took them, Matthew reached around, pulling a hair tie from Enjarâs wrist and wrapping it around his own. He grabbed the manâs hair and began to pull it back from his face, tying it up in a neat pony tail at the base of his skull.
Matthew frowned, âEnjar, itâs about to storm, you should leave it on.â Enjar shook his head, âWhat? But it wasnât earlierâŠâ He added, before another groan, overtook him, waves of nausea forcing him to hunch over. His whole body felt tingly. âI donât get it⊠Colds never⊠get me this bad.â He winced as he held his right side again. âThe cramp is still there⊠Must have really damaged it⊠it feels so much worseâŠâ He shuddered, enjoying the warmth the fire was giving him. âI feel so weirdâŠâ
âYeah, well your house is freezing and you werenât under any blankets. Oh, and you werenât wearing a shirt, so of course you feel strange, youâre cold.â Matthew retorted. The room descended into silence. Matthew was feeling the stress settle in his stomach.
Gunnar was watching the man as who eyed him suspiciously. âI havenât seen you before⊠You a probie?â Enjar finally asked, his shivers slightly less apparent. âYeah. I just got posted here, sir.â Enjar smirked slightly, shaking his head at the title. âSirâŠâ He mumbled, closing his eyes. âI havenât been called that in a long timeâŠâ A few minutes of blinking later, Enjar slumped in the chair, asleep. The colour had returned to his body and he looked warmer, shivering less.
~
Gunnar was sat by the fire, looking at him as Matthew sighed, before going through Enjarâs cupboards looking for food. The poor guy probably hadnât eaten or had anything to drink, so he figured he might as well make something for when he comes around, maybe starting with tea?
âYou know, heâs different to what I imagined.â Gunnar piped up.
Matthew looked up from the pantry, frowning. âHow so?â Gunnar looked at the sleeping man, taking in his features. âI didnât expect him to be so⊠young? I was picturing an old, angry man with a big beard and stuff, not this dude. The scar is cool though.â Gunnar traced his own face, mirroring the trail of Enjarâs own scar.
Matthew smiled. âYeah, but Iâm glad another young guy is out here, all the other guys we have to talk to are grumpy old men with massive white beards, so having him around is good.â Pulling a teabag from the cupboard, he started milling around, preparing the water for the tea.
âSo whatâs a guy like him doing all the way out here anyway?âMatthew shrugged as he poured the hot water into the mug, it wasnât his story to tell. âHe chose to live here. Someone needed to man the lighthouse and he decided to do it. Like I said, heâs pretty solitary, doesnât like talking to people or anything much.â He glanced at Enjar, slumped over in the chair. âIs that why you waited so long for help? We could have got you help soonerâŠâ The expression on his face made Gunnar speak up again. âYou couldnât have known, you know.â Matthew nodded, âI know. Doesnât mean Iâm not scared though, Iâve never seen him sick like this. Something else is up.â
Enjar took that moment to jolt up, gasping and looking around wildly. Matthew rushed over, grabbing his shoulders to ground him. Enjar was mumbling incoherently, gaining his bearings. âWhere am- whereâŠ?â âEnjar, youâre in the kitchen, you were cold so we were warming you up. Iâve made some tea, here.â Matthew walked over, placing the steaming mug in Enjarâs jittery hands. He drank it appreciatively, relishing the feeling of warmth flowing through him.
Enjar sighed, standing slowly, making his way to the kitchen counter and leaning on it. âYou okay? Maybe you should sit back down or-â Matthew started, only for Enjar to shoot him an annoyed look.
âIâm fine. Thanks for everything, Matt.â He groaned, leaning his head in his hands. âIâm going back to bed, make sure to lock the door on your way out.â He shivered again. âI really donât think I should leave you here alone.â Matthew argued back. âYou need a hospital Enjar. You canât even stand.â Enjar sighed, shoulders sagging. He knew Matthew had a point, but he couldnât bring himself to go to a place like that. Not after last time.
âIâll go later. Right now I just wanna sleepâŠâ Enjar mumbled, wincing as the cramp began to ache. âWhatâs wrong?â Matthew asked. Enjar slumped against the counter as a wave of nausea hit him. âI donât know. I have this cramp and it- aargh!â He gripped his side, his legs failing him a little.
A white hot pain ripped through his abdomen causing him to cry out, a desperate, pained sound. He fell to his hands and knees, shaking as the two coast guards ran over, âEnjar!?â Matthew called out to him, but the world was already going fuzzy. âMatt... I canâtâŠâ Enjar suddenly felt quite light and dizzy, as he fell on his right side sending another burst of pain through him. He cringed, gasping in shock before his eyes glazed over and he fell still, breathing hard.
âEnjar!?â Matthew shook him roughly, but he didnât respond, staring at nothing and grunting quietly as he tried to breath. âShit.â He whispered. Gunnar snapped him out of his panic. âSir. Letâs get him out of here, I donât think we have time to wait for help, and the storm-â A rumble of thunder interrupted him. Matthew looked up at Gunnar, scared.
âLetâs move.â He agreed.
They lifted Enjar, whoâs muscles were pulled taught as he shuddered. âHurts⊠to breatheâŠâ He gasped, as the two coast guards carried him to the truck, rain beginning to fall steadily. Matthew looked at Gunnar, panting. He took a steady breath and then nodded. âOkay. You get in the back with him, keep me updated. Iâll drive.â Gunnar nodded and they clipped Enjar into place on the seat.
Hopping in the other side, Gunnar watched Enjar lean heavily against the door, blinking slowly and taking short, quiet breaths that were hitching badly. Enjarâs left hand was gripping his right side and he winced every time they went over a bump or dip.
As they got to the main road, Enjar moaned loudly, shuddering as he fell forward, held up only by the seatbelt. Gunnar reached across him and sat him up, watching as Enjarâs head lolled back against the head rest. âSir! Heâs out!â He yelled at Matthew, who glanced around and began to floor it, grabbing the radio and telling Base to call ahead to the hospital.
They were still 10 minutes out and had already been driving too long, Gunnar was unsure if they would make it in time. He held Enjar against him as the manâs breathing began to grow uneven and hitch even more. His body was growing pale and his heart was beating so fast Gunnar could feel it through his chest. He watched, desperate to do anything as Enjar became clammier, his gaping breaths shaky and uneven as he began falling in and out of consciousness every minute or so.
By the time they reached the ER entrance, Enjar was barely conscious. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he breathed in rattling breaths, moaning quietly in pain. He was limp in Gunnarâs arms as Matthew hurtled around the car, pulling open the door as Gunnar released Enjar from the belt.
Ejar fell heavily into Matthewâs waiting arms as four nurses rushed from the entrance with a stretcher. They worked to load Enjar up, and within seconds were ready to move again. They took one look at him and bolted away, leaving Matthew and Gunnar panting as the rain began to fall in torrents onto them. They looked at each other, unsure of what to do. âYou go inside, Iâll park this. Weâre gonna need to call Base I think.â Gunnar murmured, staring at the ground, Matthew nodded, shuffling towards the ER entrance.
~
Enjar awoke to a dark room. A mask was placed over his face and he couldnât breathe. His limbs jerked as his breathing quickened in fear, despite the pain that it caused. The gasped and cried out before a masked face appeared in his blurry vision. He tried to lift off the mask, but firm arms grabbed them, holding them down.
âHey.â They voice of the face said. âHey, eyes on me. Eyes on me. Enjar right?â Enjarâs eyes were wild with panic as the scent of the hospital filled his mind. He tried to look at the face, who was repeating the phrase, but it was all echoey and distant. The face began to do large nods, slowly and evenly, guiding Enjar back to a slightly less panicked state.
He mumbled, trying to tell them to stop whatever they were going to do, but the face held him firm. âYouâre about to go into surgery, the surgeon is just gloving up okay? Youâre really sick, weâre gonna help you. Just try and breathe for me okay?â
Enjarâs gasping breaths calmed a little, and he saw another masked face appear. âHey there, Iâm Doctor Mathieson. Youâre safe, okay?â Then, turning to the other face, Dr Mathieson asked in a low voice, âDid he just wake up or?â The first face nodded, âYeah, I though he was out for the count but he just randomly sprang up and started freaking out.â
Dr Mathieson nodded, and a two more hands touched Enjarâs shoulders making him twitch in shock.
There were too many people an not enough sounds.
It was too dark and the mask was making him feel claustrophobic, and the memories were starting to flash in front of his eyes every time he blinked.
His torso hurt at every breath, it felt like his guts were being ripped out. His breathing was still quick, scared whimpers escaping as he gasped for air. His mind was scattered.
It was just like last time...
A second nurse, Anja watched as the condensation on the mask grew and shrank rapidly, Nurse Ellisson was holding this man down by the arms and talking to him. Anja kept steady hands on the manâs shoulders, surprised at how freaked out he was. She supposed it was scary, waking up like this with no context. She looked at his wild, scared grey eyes searching her face, a long, nasty scar traveling down the side of his face pulled taught as the muscles tensed.
Looking up, she heard the anaesthesiologist come in and mumble hello. His lunch break had been interrupted by the and he wasnât happy. âWho have we got here- Oh, I know you.â He spoke softly, suddenly softening a little, his Syrian accent seeming to light a spark in the manâs eyes. âEnjar.â The manâs eyes darted towards the voice, a slight hint of recognition in them.
âItâs Doctor Fayed. Iâm gonna put you under, okay.â Enjar twitched again, groaning softly. âI know, I knowâŠâ Dr Fayedâs eyes squinted as he smiled softly under his mask. âThe mask will come off soon I promise. I know you donât like them.â He looked up at the two nurses holding him by his arms and shoulders.
âIâm going to do gas I think, I donât wanna risk him jumping at the needle. Heâs too twitchy.â Enjarâs memories flashed again. He didnât want to go under, he didnât want to remember. He began to hyperventilate, gasping for air, but the mask was constricting it.
âHey, hey, eyes on me.â Dr Fayed spoke softly, Enjarâs eyes flicking to meet his. âI know you donât want to, but I promise you wonât feel a thing. I need you try try and breathe normally, can you try that for me? Itâs okay if you canât, but it mean's I'll have to put you under with a needle.â Enjar shuddered in pain, but nodded, closing his eyes and trying to slow his breathing, with shaking breaths.
âWe need to start now.â Dr Mathieson pushed, but Dr Fayed held up his hand to make him wait. âHe needs a minute. Give him time, he can get there.â Enjar drew in a shaking breath, meeting Dr Fayedâs eyes. âYou ready, Enjar?â Enjar nodded slightly.
He watched as the oxygen mask was exchanged for another one, bigger and with a big, air filled cushion. He tensed as it was pressed against his face, a streak of panic rushing down his spine. It was too claustrophobic, he couldn't do this, his eyes desperately glanced at Dr Fayed.
âYouâre safe, Enjar. Deep breath for me.â Dr Fayed spoke softly, his voice calming Enjar down a little. He took in a deep breath, his head beginning to feel foggy.
â10, 9,â Dr Fayed began to count slowly and Enjar watched the room blur.
â8, 7, 6â Dr Fayedâs voice became echoey and distant. Enjar's eyes slid shut, unable to to keep them open anymore.
â5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Yeah he was gone by 6.â Dr Fayed chuckled slightly. âLetâs get him hooked up, then you can begin.â
He glanced at his friend's face, now more relaxed, but still a hint of stress and fear etched into it
sicktober is in two-ish months and i haven't written anything because:
how do i adapt the prompts to my current fandom?
it doesnt take place in a modern setting (and i feel it might be lazy to just set it in modern times just for the sake of it) and it is kinda all over the place with its advancements.
I feel like headaches are underutilized in whump. Pain most anywhere else can be ignored to some extent, but a headache? That's in your brain. Right next to all the synapses and receptors you're willing to ignore it. A little harder.
Nobody can see the pain, it's not a visible injury, so people can struggle to sympathize. They might even not believe you, say you're being dramatic.
And a bad headache, it can do awful things.
Can make a normally kindhearted person short and snappy, too agonized to take the time they normally do with things.
Can reduce the smartest, most insightful people to an animal running on instinct, their braincells too caught up in the burning, stabbing, throbbing to come up with any thoughts more complex than "Fuck, this hurts."
Can drive someone to near madness, the pain so intense and long lasting that they feel like they're dying, that dying might be a better option. Crying out for mercy, for peace, for death.
And when the headache is over? No evidence of it. No physical scarring. No long lasting physical effects. No sympathy from others past a couple of "I'm glad you're okay now"s. You just have to move on now, it's over so get yourself together.
And what if it comes back? Sometimes you can tell, can feel the faint tingle in your skull, but sometimes it'll strike again, months later, with zero warning. If it was bad enough the first time, you might spend weeks on edge, nervous of another one creeping up on you.
Plus, there's just so many types of headaches. Dehydration, exhaustion, sinus congestion, just plain old "no real reason" ones. Do they stab just behind one eye? Do they wrap your head like a tight rubber band? Do they burrow from the inside of your brain like a parasite?
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