I've been feeling like I'm going to throw up the past few days because of what's going on in Palestine and I just wanted to put out there that if you are able to do so, it's totally valid to talk to your doctor about getting an anti-emetic if stress, grief, anxiety, etc. is making you nauseous. Anti-emetics aren't just for physical illness related nausea. If you're having trouble keeping food down, they're worth a shot.
I can dissociate my way through a lot of discomfort, but all bets are off as soon as I throw up. For some reason it triggers me into this completely inconsolable, crying trembling mess that I have a really hard time coming back from.
Omg I love your writing so much! You make I would love if you could maybe do "think you can make it to the bathroom" with Clint saying that to Natasha
Lovely anons, I had so many ideas for this. It came out a lot longer than I thought, so posted it over on ao3. I hope that you enjoy it.
———-
It’s poison.
At least, that’s what they think it is.
She can’t stop throwing up.
Clint hasn’t left her side, and Tony is frantically running tests. She hasn’t been able to keep anything down the past three days and she’s fucking tired of it.
At first they thought it was food poisoning, they laughed about it.. Natasha doesn’t get sick, and it was odd, her being on the other end of bad food.. But then it didn’t stop. And now she can’t even keep water down.
Bruce is worried, though he tries to hide it, she can see the furrow of his brow deepen when he’s looking at the chart they’ve made. They’ve hooked her up to a IV drip; her constant companion that Clint’s affectionately named Lucky, attaching masking tape with a label and scrawling the name with his hand writing as she was sleeping. Her only reprieve.
Sam and Steve are on the case, retracing her steps whist she is here, trying not to throw up; again.
Nauseousness rolls over her as she spits bile into the toilet bowl, and stands on shaky feet.
Surely, that’s everything.
There can’t possibly be anything left in her stomach, but as it revolts again, she sinks back down and acid pushes its way past her mouth. She spits again, a groan and a curse passing with it.
“How you feeling?” Clint asks from the other room, putting his phone down when he hears movement.
She groans again. Her stomach hurts. Her throat hurts and as she swishes water in her mouth she can feel the cuts her teeth have made in the inside of her mouth.
“Fine.” She hisses out. More to herself than anyone else.
Read more
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
cw: pain, intimate whumper, kidnapping, attempted escape, failed escape, emesis, broken hand, very brief and vague field medicine in the context of tending to wounds, very brief physical violence.
As always if I have missed something please let me know!
Tag list; @whump-tr0pes @whatwhumpcomments @whumpsblog
If anyone would like to be added to or removed from a tag list please just let me know!
Chapter 14: Try to Run
The guard had come in at some point, although how much time had actually passed was a mystery. He had taken his time, almost gently caring for Molly’s wounds. Cleaning. Bandaging. Molly was barely conscious as he worked, hissing in breath occasionally at the sting of antiseptic or the ache of pressure on fresh wounds, then lulling back into a state just between the world of the conscious and living and the dead. Any attempt to lift her head sent a wave of dizziness over Molly that threatened to drown her alive.
The guard didn’t talk as he worked, giving Molly peace. Peace that only existed in the silence. He finished tending to Molly and untied her hands, setting a bottle of water and some food on the floor next to her before grabbing the rest of his supplies and leaving just as quietly as he had come. The door clicked closed softly and Molly is every so faintly aware of his footsteps echoing down the hall, then fading back into silence.
Slowly Molly drifts back to herself. Pain pounds down as she returns to her senses, and threatens to drag her under again. Something nags at her mind floating at the edge of her awareness.
Finally her thoughts begin to come more clearly again and she is able to lift her head. She tries to straighten some, wincing as it pulls on the marks on her back. Slowly she leans down and grabs the water in one hand, licking at chapped lips as she works to get the bottle open, then raises it to her lips, letting the cool water wash down her throat slowly. Slow sip after slow sip she drains the bottle, letting it drop to the floor she pauses for a brief second and then reaches for the food.
It’s simple, just a sandwich and a granola bar but her stomach grumbles. She has no idea how long it has been since she has had something to eat and she scarfs the sandwich down quickly then does the same with the granola bar. Damn, it might have been a good idea to save some of that water.
She sits for a time, rolling her wrists and stretching lightly, trying to find a position that does not provoke pain. A thought solidifies in her brain as it whirls through thoughts and memories. I have to get out of here. Elliot may know I’m alive but he has no clue where I am. I have to get out of here.
Her eyes dart to the door, expecting Allegra to come marching through it at any moment as if summoned by her thoughts of escape. She sits as still as possible for a moment, listening for any sounds outside the door. Footsteps, voices, anything that might tell her Allegra is back. All she hears is her own heart beating in the silence of the room. Molly reaches down slowly to begin working on the knots still tying her to the chair. She winces again, each movement sends pain sparking through her body like fireworks in a Fourth of July sky. Suck it up. You have to get out of here.
Molly’s eyes dart back and forth from her fingers which are frantically scrabbling at the expertly tied knots to the door, praying to a god she stopped believing in years ago that no one comes through the door. One rope falls loose and she shifts to work on the next one, groaning as she slowly stretches a knee that has been bent for hours. Another few moments in which she hardly dares to breathe and the rope around her other leg falls free.
She stretches that leg as well before trusting her legs to hold her. Slowly she pushes herself to a standing position. The room spins around her and she grabs the back of the chair to steady herself. Pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, only too aware of each second ticking by. With each breath she is seconds closer to Allegra coming back and discovering her. She pushes another slow breath out between pursed lips, willing herself to steady. Willing the room to stop spinning. I have to get out of here. I have to. Finally the room comes back into focus. Nausea hits and she doubles over the chair, vomiting up her recent meal. Dammit I really should have saved some of that water.
Molly stays there for a moment, letting the nausea pass. When it finally does she straightens up slowly, her nose curling at the smell and sour taste in her mouth. She takes small hesitant steps towards the door, trying to make her footsteps as quiet as possible and willing the world around her to stay still. Finally, she reaches the door, grabbing quietly for the handle. She tries the door, turning the handle slowly and lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when the door handle turns freely and quietly in her hand. The thought that had been floating at the edges of her mind earlier comes back to her now. He didn’t lock the door.
She pulls the door open the tiniest amount, then pauses to listen, peering through the tiny crack in the door. Precious seconds tick by and her heart speeds up in her chest. There is no one outside the door and she can’t hear anyone beyond that. She pushes the door open slowly until it is open just enough for her to slip out. Once she is in the hall she closes the door as quietly as possible and looks around. She is standing in a hallway lit by fluorescent lights with a door on either end. She pauses for a moment. Which way? Which way? Which way? I have to get out of here. Her thoughts chase each other, tumbling clumsily in her brain, making decisions difficult.
Molly makes a decision and heads towards the door on the right. Moving hurts and any movement that is even slightly too fast makes the world start to spin again. Words pound through her foggy brain like a chant, or a chorus. I have to get out of here.
Cautiously she makes her way to the door and opens it. The hinges squeak slightly and she winces at the sound, nearly dropping the door. She slides through and finds herself in a large open room. It may once have been a large warehouse. Now, it’s cold and empty with no where to hide. She shrinks back agains the door as much as she can, and looks around taking in her surroundings. On the opposite side of the large empty room is a door. Above it, and barely visible is a long burnt out exit sign. A rush of emotion floods through her and for the first time she lets herself hope. I’m gonna get out of here. Molly glances around one more time, making sure her surrounding are clear. She takes a deep breath, and begins to make her way towards the door that promises her freedom.
Fifty feet… then thirty… then twenty… then ten. She swears she can see sunlight under the door, eyes focused on her target. I’m gonna get out of here.
She doesn’t even have time to process the sound of approaching footsteps behind her before she feels a cold hand grab her shoulder and she is spun around roughly. A hand connects with her face, whipping her head sideways and knocking her off balance. Another blow sends her sprawling on her back. She reaches a hand out to steady herself, to try and push herself back to her feet. A high heeled boot comes down hard on her hand and she cries out. Her cry is cut off by a hand in her hair and a hand around her throat.
“Now darling, where exactly do you think you’re going?” Allegra croons, eye shards of ice peering down between long lashes. “You should know better than to try to run.”
Do I kinda regret that my post about adoption, abortion, and genocide has gone viral? Uhhhhh kinda. I mean, I’m glad the information’s out there, but I kind of regret that I’m the person getting all the notifications about it and keeping half an eye on the conversation to make sure nothing grossly inappropriate gets said.
I think a really big barrier to getting awareness and support of a lot of really good causes is that it’s so hard to sit with that much pain and horror. There are times that reading through the notes of that post have made me want to throw up because they talked about things that were so awful. I only really talked about what I could bear to talk about, which means there are a lot of horrific things I didn’t cover.
The solution of “just tough it out and don’t look away” doesn’t work for me. I see that as a recipe for burnout, not successful work. Something closer to home, like “listen to and support the people doing the actual work of fighting the problem” is probably more useful and sustainable.
God, it’d be nice to get to a place where things didn’t have to escalate to crimes against humanity before they got addressed.
(Tw for blood ig?) Ok so I had a bloody nose today and it made me consider: how would Gavin react to having one? Because you can taste and smell the blood even after it’s stopped bleeding…
Oh man, he would struggle. A lot. He'd be constantly dry-heaving, dizzy, shaking, terrified. He'd want someone to hold him and protect him - anyone but Vera. Vera he wouldn't want anywhere near him. But Isaac? Holding him gently, smoothing his hair, giving him sips of cool water... and having his gun right next to him? That's what Gavin would want
This is a series. Start here, continued from here.
This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, and Vera.
AO3
Masterlist
~
Content warning: migraine, emesis, death mention, mention of parent killing a child, implied noncon drugging
~
The room was moving slowly around Gavin, but he was lying still. He blinked his eyes open and winced as even the soft light from the crack in the curtains stabbed into his eyes, feeling like a knife directly into his brain. He squinted and groaned softly as his eyes slowly focused on his own hands, bound in front of him and lying on a pillow, and Isaac, lying next to him on his back, his pinky just touching Gavin’s.
Gavin stirred, and froze as the pain behind his left eye pounded harder. His stomach churned. He twisted his hands against the rope and winced as it bit into his skin.
He squinted – why was his left eye so blurry? – and looked at Isaac where he lay. Gavin didn’t want to wake him; he seemed peaceful, relaxed, his mouth open slightly, the muscles of his face soft and loose. Another wave of nausea rolled over him and he squeezed his eyes shut. He gently placed his hand on Isaac’s shoulder.
Isaac jerked awake with a gasp, his eyes darting over the room, his right hand curling into a fist. Gavin collapsed against the pillow with a moan. Isaac found Gavin and froze, then relaxed, all at once.
“Hey,” Isaac said, with a soft smile. His gaze flicked to the rope still around Gavin’s wrists. “Oh, shit,” he murmured, and hesitantly reached out. “Can I—”
“I’ll get Finn,” Isaac said, and Gavin sighed with relief as the knot came away. “Maybe they—”
“Just a headache,” Gavin said tightly. He carefully rubbed his wrists where the rope had cut into them, just a little, while he slept. “It’s… it’s just…” Just the movement of his hands was enough to tip the room around him. He heaved forward, leaned off the side of the bed, and vomited into the small trashcan there. Sweat broke out over his skin.
“I’m getting Finn,” Isaac said in a rush, practically leaping off the bed. He opened the door and disappeared down the hallway. Gavin groaned as he slumped with his head hanging off the side of the bed. As the blood rushed to his head, the pounding grew even worse, although Gavin didn’t know how that was possible. He dry heaved once, then retreated back until his head lay against the cool of the mattress. The cool felt good.
“…n’t know what’s wrong,” came Isaac’s voice as he approached their room. “I just woke up and he was—”
“Don’t turn on the light,” Finn said, their voice coming from the doorway.
Thank god for you, Finn. Please, please don’t turn on the light.
“Oh. I… why, is that…?”
“Just… give me a sec.”
Gavin could hear the soft sounds of padded feet on the floor, but quieter than normal, as if… as if Finn was trying to be quiet. Even so, the sound crawled under his skin and made him feel sick with it. The air moved around him as Finn knelt beside the bed.
“Careful, I…” Gavin’s mouth was numb. “I… I puked.”
“It’s fine,” Finn said, their voice barely louder than a whisper. “Ellis has had morning sickness all week. It’s just puke. You woke up like this?”
“Y-yeah,” Gavin mumbled.
“No recent head injuries?”
“Not… recently…” Gavin laughed, once, then moaned as the pain in his head ratcheted up another notch. “Oh, god.”
Finn huffed out a laugh of their own. “Okay, fair enough. Ever had this happen before?”
“No,” Gavin groaned. “Oh, fuck, what’s…?” He pressed his hands against his head, desperate to push away the pain. “What is this?”
“It’s a migraine,” Finn said gently. Gavin flinched as he felt Finn’s cool fingers against his head, carding gently through his damp hair. He groaned and pushed weakly into the touch.
“Honestly, I’m surprised we aren’t all having them,” Finn murmured, a smile in their voice. “They’re a really common symptom of stress. And—”
“You’re the ones who were stressed,” Gavin said, weakly. “You’re the ones who were being tortured.”
Finn blew out a slow breath through their lips. Finally, they turned to Isaac and said, “Please explain to your boyfriend what a dumbass he is. I’m going to get some ice. One of the theories about migraines is that they’re caused by a blood vessel in the brain dilating and putting pressure on the surrounding tissue. Ice on the back of the neck can constrict the—”
“Not a dumbass,” Gavin whispered, trying to ignore how his cheeks flushed. Isaac’s boyfriend? If he didn’t feel so fucking… sick…
“Yeah, sure, Gavin,” Finn said gently, and the air moved again as they stood. Their voice faded until it sounded like they were standing outside the door. “I’ll be right back, Isaac. I’ll bring a clean trashcan and clean that one. I could try to get my hands on some rizatriptan, too. A classmate of mine used to take it for her migraines. It works pretty well, from what I hear. If this is gonna be a regular thing—”
“You mean this is gonna happen again?” Isaac whispered. “Finn… he… he doesn’t fucking… Finn, just… just tell me what to do. Okay? Just… tell me what to do. He… he takes care of me, all the goddamned time. Finn, please…”
“Isaac… breathe. It’s a migraine. It sucks, but it isn’t life threatening, and there are medications that treat it. I can ask Edrissa if she knows any herbal remedies. She might—”
“You… you won’t tell her who it’s for, right? I mean…”
Finn laughed, softly. “I won’t let her poison him, Isaac. No, I’ll say it’s for Ellis. She’s been going absolutely bananaballs over that baby. She’d be happy to help.”
A pause. “…okay. I just… Finn, he… he doesn’t deserve this. After everything he did… I mean, yeah, no shit he was stressed, he walked the fucking wire for three weeks in that fucking nightmare mansion, for us. And… this is how he’s repaid?”
“I know. Believe me, I know. We’re all dealing with… various versions of this. Ellis says their morning sickness is way worse than the first two times. I’m pretty sure Tori’s got an ulcer, and Vera’s back pain has been… I mean, yesterday she could barely get out of bed. And… well. You’ve seen Sam. Although they’re getting better every day.”
“Yeah, but… Finn, could… could this be… I don’t know, a result of the head injury I gave him? I mean, that was almost a year ago now, but… could something that long ago be causing it?”
Gavin’s chest ached at the guilt in Isaac’s voice. He wanted to call out to him and tell him no, this wasn’t from the head injury, he was sure of it… but he felt if he raised his voice, his brain would catch fire and come melting out his ears like hot cheese. The thought made him gag.
“I… don’t think so. I mean… yeah, technically, it could be from that, but it’s way, way more likely that it’s from the stress. I mean… don’t tell Ellis I said this, but… I’ll never doubt his place in the family again, because of how much he sacrificed for us. His mother would have skinned him alive if she ever got even a hint that he wasn’t hers, and that he still cared about us. And he did all that anyway. It would have been… much, much easier for him to just go with it, and let her kill us one by one. I mean, she might have still killed him, but she might not. And he would be… I mean, fuck, Isaac, he was… tortured. And the torture he put himself through, lying for us… what he made himself do to you…”
“I know,” Isaac said brokenly. “There’s… no way I could ever thank him enough for what he did for us. For… for me.”
“You have a lifetime to try, Isaac.”
For a moment, the pain faded, pushed right out of Gavin’s head by his shock. He’d hoped they’d let him stay, but there was some small part of him that believed they were only letting him stay until rumors of their survival had faded, and he could be released again with minimal risk. He’d hoped they’d want him, as part of their family. He’d hoped Isaac would let him stay by his side.
The pain rushed back in and Gavin whimpered softly. Finn and Isaac were silent for a moment. The smell of his vomit was making him sick. He pressed his face against the mattress.
“You… you think he’d want me for that long? A lifetime?”
Finn sighed. “You’re both dumbasses. Yes, Isaac, I do. You’re… you’re literally the first person to ever show him what love looks like. You think he took you just for shits and giggles? I mean, for that reason, too, but… I think he wanted to see what it was that made you so special that you’d give yourself up for Sam.”
“I’m not special. Anyone else would have—”
“You are to him, Isaac. And to the rest of us, too, but absolutely to him. Now… let me go get some ice, okay? I can grab the trash can in a sec.”
“No, I… I can do that,” Isaac said, his voice low and gentle. “It’s fine.”
“…okay. Well, I’ll be back. Grab the trashcan from the bathroom.”
“Yeah.”
The voices faded. Gavin floated in the pain, every heartbeat grabbing him and pulling him back down into his body. The room moved slowly around him, the sour smell of his own sick rankling in his nose. There was a rustling, and when Gavin peeled his eyes open, there was a fresh trashcan on the floor beneath him. He sighed and pulled the covers up over his head.
After a long moment, several minutes or several hours, he couldn’t tell, he felt the mattress dip as someone sat next to him. The blanket was drawn back from over his head, and a cool compress settled on the back of his neck. He groaned softly as the cool pushed away the nausea for a moment.
“Thanks, Finn,” he whispered. Then, fingers trailed gently through his hair, and he whined softly. He’d know that touch anywhere. “Isaac,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Isaac said softly, his hand moving slowly across Gavin’s forehead. “I asked Finn to let me bring you the ice.”
“Mmm,” Gavin moaned, and his eyes slid shut again. “Thank you.” His left eye ran tears into the sheets.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” Isaac whispered. “I… didn’t know what you needed.”
“Neither did I,” Gavin mumbled. “Ice is good, though. And… and you. You’re… good.”
Isaac huffed out a laugh. “Ah. I just brought the ice—”
“But… it feels good. Thank… you.”
Isaac was silent for a moment. “Yeah, Gavin,” he said after a while.
Every heartbeat pounded in Gavin’s head. For a while, the ice helped. Gavin stirred and opened one eye, cringing when the light from the hallway stabbed into his head. “Do you… do you need to do anything else today?” he said weakly.
“I don’t have anything to do but be here with you,” Isaac whispered. “Unless you want me to go.”
“No,” Gavin sighed. “Stay… please?”
Every breath, every second, seemed to move through Gavin in slow motion. He thought back to the headaches he’d had after Isaac put him in the hospital. Those never lasted for very long, because whenever he started complaining of a headache, his mother would give him something that made him sleepy and dizzy, and he’d crawl back to bed and doze until it was over. For the first time since reaching the north, fear sunk into Gavin’s chest that if any of the team got sick – and Finn couldn’t help them – they were hundreds of miles away from the state-of-the-art hospitals that kept him alive when he’d been close to death. He curled into himself and tugged gently on his own hair, desperate for relief.
The compress on the back of his neck began to warm. Gavin whimpered, tears of frustration running from his eyes. He felt trapped in his own head, assaulted on every side by the faint light from the hallway and curtains, and by the sounds of the others somewhere else in the house.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, was a vague memory of another cool hand on his head, a soft kiss in his hair, a low voice, soothing him as he lay in bed. Pain spiked in his head and he shoved the memory away. He didn’t need to think of her, not now.
Isaac’s hand slid down the back of his head and down his neck, under the compress. “Let me get a new one,” he said softly. The mattress bounced slightly as he stood. Gavin lay still as he walked out of the room, although all he wanted to do was to cling to Isaac, beg him to stay. The headache was getting worse.
A moment later, an eternity later, the mattress dipped again.
“Hey,” Isaac’s voice whispered, and Gavin could have sobbed with relief. “I have some tea… try some?”
Gavin moaned and obediently lifted his head. A cup pressed to his lips and he took a sip. It tasted herbal, sweet, with a hint of spice as well. There was a faint sound as Isaac put the cup on the nightstand.
“Wh-what is it?”
“Something Edrissa made,” Isaac murmured. “Tea with peppermint, lavender, ginger, rosemary, and honey. She said those herbs are good for migraine.” He pressed a fresh cold compress to Gavin’s neck.
Gavin moaned weakly. “She… tell her thank you,” he whispered.
“Hm. Maybe someday,” Isaac said. His voice sounded sad. “For right now… that tea is for Ellis, as far as she knows.”
“I hate lying to her,” Gavin whispered. “If she ever finds out, she’ll… she’ll hate me.”
The unspoken words hung in the air between them: she already hates you.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Isaac murmured. “You can tell her once you’re better, if you really want. Right now, let’s just… focus on getting you over this. Finn already called into Burmingham to see if they carry riza— I don’t remember what it’s called. Sounds like they can order it and have it in within a week.”
“Hope I don’t get another migraine before then,” Gavin rasped, and pushed weakly into Isaac’s hands as he stroked his hair.
“Yeah,” Isaac said weakly. “Me… me too.” Isaac’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “Can I… do anything else? For you? I mean… do you need anything else?”
“I just need you,” Gavin whispered, not caring how that sounded. “Can you… can you just… I don’t know. I just want you with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Isaac said gently. His hand moved down to gently massage the back of Gavin’s neck. “Is that… okay?”
“Yeah,” Gavin sighed, and shuddered as another wave of nausea rolled over him. “That’s… that’s good.”
