Last Saturday, I worked 14 hours and was dead on my feet.
Sunday, same, but had to take a resident at my job to the hospital.
Yesterday, went to do OT, and could barely manage.
Today, kid #2 was up at 4am, and refused to sleep, then went to school.
I tried so hard to rest, and kept having nightmares while I was home by myself, and I can feel my body getting a cold. And, on top of it, my stomach turned, and refused dinner after I took my antidepressants. And I had my head in the toilet as a result.
So, I'm on my bedroom floor, feeling like hell, with 2 more days ahead of me. I just want sleep. Any kind of sleep. My mouth and stomach feel sour, I'm exhausted and can't just sleep, and I just want to make it to Friday.
help me break my writer's block? 🔨 send me three words + a character or pairing and i'll write you a little scene
Thanks for this anon! I tossed this in my angelverse/wingverse since there's a scene later on that fits this perfectly!
TW: Guns, brief blood mention, brief mention of medical procedures.
Esteban opens his eyes to a bright light. He immediately winces, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to get himself accustomed to the harshness of the light in the room. He can hear some shuffling next to him, but he doesn't quite have the strength yet to tilt his head to the side and see what's making that noise.
Above him, there's a small flash of pink and then the outline of someone stands over him, blocking away some of the light from his eyes so he can focus better.
"-steban?" the figure speaks, his voice hopeful and soft. "Esteban? Can you hear me?"
Esteban opens his eyes to a bright light. He immediately winces, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to get himself accustomed to the harshness of the light in the room. He can hear some shuffling next to him, but he doesn't quite have the strength yet to tilt his head to the side and see what's making that noise.
Above him, there's a small flash of pink and then the outline of someone stands over him, blocking away some of the light from his eyes so he can focus better.
"-steban?" the figure speaks, his voice hopeful and soft. "Esteban? Can you hear me?"
"Mmm." Comes Esteban's eloquent reply. In his defense, he truly had attempted to speak, his lips just haven't managed to catch up to his brain yet.
"Oh thank god." the voice above him says, and now that Esteban has a little bit more clarity, he thinks it sounds suspiciously like Pierre.
"P-Pierre?" he chokes out, grimacing as his tongue feels thick and dry within his mouth. His throat is parched as well, and his eyes dart around looking for any source of -- "Water?"
"Shit, one second." Pierre disappears from view, and that bright light is back in Esteban's eyes again. Now that he's had time to adjust to it, though, it doesn't seem nearly as harsh as it did a few moments ago.
While he waits for Pierre to, he assumes, get him some water, Esteban takes stock of his body. He takes a deep breath which, bad idea, very bad idea - a sharp pain throbs in his upper left abdomen, right beneath his ribs and close to his side. He barely contains a yelp of pain, and he lifts up the sheets with trembling hands to see a very neatly placed pack of bloodied gauze taped to his side.
It comes back to him in a hurry, then. The sound of bullets, the searing pain in his leg and his side, the way Jos had so coldly said, "Kill him." before a hidden army of men ambushed Esteban with the intention of taking his life.
And he survived? How --
"I have some water." Pierre says as he reenters the room, quick to shuffle back to Esteban's side. There's even a little bendy straw in the glass, which Esteban would laugh at if he had the strength. "Here, I'll help you. Just take it slow so you do not make a mess of yourself."
Pierre holds the straw to Esteban's lips, and Esteban is grateful for the assistance. He leans forward with just a small wince, taking small, measured sips of water to help moisten his mouth. The water is cool and refreshing, and the desire to gulp it down is one that Esteban has to work to keep from breaking the surface. Small sips, like Pierre said, are best for him now.
After a few more, he frees the straw from between his mouth and lays back against the pillows in his bed.
"How long was I out?" He asks, his voice sounding much more stable now that he's had water.
"I think for maybe half of the day, give or take." Pierre replies, placing the glass of water down on the bedside table. "Alex worked on you for a while. You - uh - you almost died."
Esteban's heart sinks at Pierre's words, blunt but not unkind. There's a sliver of something desperate and sad in his voice as well, and judging by the way Pierre turns his head and casts his gaze down to the floor, Esteban can tell it had been bad.
"Maybe. But I am alive now, right?"
Pierre nods distantly, like it isn't enough. Perhaps it isn't - perhaps being alive and awake right now simply isn't enough to help balance out the trauma of Pierre having seen him like that. Esteban remembers being hit in the leg and lower chest with bullets - he can only imagine the state in which he had been brought back to the sanctuary. Pierre hadn't even been out on that mission with him, he was probably minding his own business when the doors to the sanctuary slammed open and Esteban was rushed inside.
"You were shot twice." Pierre says instead, clearly not interested in answering the question. "There was so much blood. Charles said you were in shock, and Alex took you away before I could even see how bad it was. I would not have even been able to say goodbye, you asshole."
Esteban finds the strength to laugh humorlessly at Pierre's accusation. "I did not ask to be shot, Pierre. I can assure you that." He breathes, resting a hand over the bandaged wound at his side. The pressure makes him wince, and Pierre's eyes snap up in concern immediately. “I’m okay, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” Pierre shoots back, letting out a weary sigh as he rests his head against the wall. Esteban watches as Pierre’s one remaining wing, fluffy and bright pink, unfurls from behind his back and stretches out into its full length. The color really is gorgeous - Esteban has always thought so, even back when they were kids. Just the sight of it is almost comforting, like he wants to be wrapped up in Pierre’s wing safe and warm, away from the horrors of their world.
“I am. I’m alive, shockingly, and I have you here with me.”
Pierre’s breath audibly falters at that, and Esteban trails his gaze from the fluffy wing on Pierre’s back, to his eyes. There’s an emotion in Pierre’s expression that Esteban cannot quite place, but it stirs something deep inside of his chest, something fluttery and warm.
“Easy for you to say, you did not have to watch yourself go through hell the way I did.” Pierre huffs, leaning up from the wall and scooting his chair a little closer to the side of Esteban’s bed. “I think it will be a long time before I forget those screams.”
Esteban winces, and a new feeling blossoms at the pit of his stomach: guilt. He’s already done so much to Pierre in his life, he’s already put Pierre through hell and back more than once, more than twice - it’s no wonder he’s so upset. And he’s right, Esteban got to sleep through the scary parts - the parts that likely involved digging bullets out of his chest and his leg (and he doesn’t remember that at all, even if Pierre said he was awake and screaming).
“You’re right, I don’t remember that. I only remember trying to run from the guns and then waking up here like this, with you. If I was awake for anything in between, it is gone from my memory.”
Pierre scoffs, shaking his head as though he’s annoyed with Esteban. He probably should be, for all Esteban is aware. Despite this, Esteban reaches a trembling hand out towards Pierre, an invitation and an apology all wrapped up into one small gesture, and smiles when his peace offering is immediately accepted. Pierre’s hand is warm in his own, his grip tight, and now that they’re touching like this, he can feel that Pierre’s hands are trembling, too.
“I’m just glad you are okay now. Alex said as long as you woke up, you would survive.” Pierre explains, rubbing his thumb over Esteban’s knuckles. Esteban hums thoughtfully in response. “And you are a stubborn bastard, so here we are.”
“Here we are,” Esteban parrots, offering a cheeky little grin. “I’m glad you were here when I woke up. Thank you for taking care of me.”
Pierre returns the smile with one of his own, finally looking relaxed and genuine for the first time in this entire conversation. He gives Esteban’s hand a squeeze, before shaking his head in amusement, “Just do not expect me to do it again.”
