SAMCRO vs. Hospitals
I've been feeling off lately so wrote a self indulgent comfort fic.
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Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @ravennaortiz @privatetruths @secretlysamcro @staley83 @jozzieblood @tuesdayaddamss @mrstelford @tssweets @mamawiggers1980 @youngadult9016 @samcrosfaith @staley83 @bethexo07 @anonymouse1807 @raven1234321 @vaugarkel @callmesev @vagharsnextsnack @lunajay33 @punkrockcakepops @sweetestrose569 @xoxo-sarah @gidgetto
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⚠️ Warnings: medical equipment, hospital setting, descriptions of pain, Tig being Tig, some characters might be slightly ooc.
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A/N: not edited properly
The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in your hospital room when you first woke up. Your head felt foggy, and you couldn't quite remember how you'd ended up here. The stark white walls and antiseptic smell made everything feel surreal. You were just starting to drift back to sleep when the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway, followed by what could only be described as controlled chaos.
"Jesus Christ, Hap, you can't just stare at people like that," came Jax's voice from the corridor.
"I'm not staring. I'm observing," Happy's monotone response drifted through the door.
You couldn't help but smile despite the dull ache in your head.
They'd come.
Of course they'd come.
The door burst open, and suddenly your quiet hospital room was filled with leather, denim, and the unmistakable presence of SAMCRO.
Jax entered first, his blonde hair slightly disheveled, blue eyes immediately scanning you for signs of serious injury. Behind him came the rest of the crew, each one looking distinctly out of place in the sterile medical environment.
"Hey there, lass," Chibs was at your bedside in seconds, his accent thick with concern. His scarred face softened as he took in your appearance, and you could see the relief washing over him. "How ye feelin', love?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," you managed, your voice hoarse. "But better now that you're all here."
Chibs reached out to gently stroke your hair, his touch impossibly tender for such rough hands. "Scared the hell out of us, ye did. When we got the call..." He trailed off, jaw tightening. "I was already on my bike before Clay finished tellin' me what happened."
A sharp wave of pain shot through your abdomen, making you wince and clutch at your stomach. The medication they'd given you earlier wasn't touching the severity of it.
"Easy, lass," Chibs murmured, his hand immediately finding yours. "The pain still bad?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice as another wave hit.
"Juice," Jax called over, "come here. She needs distraction."
Juice scrambled over, his eyes wide with concern. "Oh man, okay, distraction. I can do that. Um, did you know that the human brain processes visual information 60,000 times faster than text? That's why, like, when you're in pain, sometimes looking at something can help more than just thinking about other stuff, you know? Like, there's this whole thing about how visual cortex stimulation can actually interfere with pain signals, and I read this study once where they had people look at these really complex patterns and it literally reduced their pain responses by like thirty percent, which is actually pretty amazing when you think about it because—"
"Juice," Opie interrupted gently, "breathe, man."
"Right, sorry, I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous. But hey, did I tell you about the time I accidentally hacked into the hospital's system trying to get better WiFi? Because that's actually a really funny story, well, funny now, terrifying at the time because I thought I was going to get arrested, but basically what happened was—"
Another sharp pain made you grip Chibs's hand tighter, and Juice immediately launched into an even more elaborate story about his various technological mishaps, his words tumbling over each other in his effort to keep your mind occupied.
While Chibs fussed over you and Jax pulled up chairs for everyone, Happy had positioned himself by the door like a leather-clad sentinel. His arms were crossed, and he was staring intensely at every hospital staff member who dared to walk by your room.
A young nurse with a medication cart froze in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in Happy's imposing figure and the tattoos ceiling around his muscles like snakes.
"Um, I need to check on the patient," she squeaked.
Happy said nothing, just nodded and continued staring. The poor girl looked like she might faint.
"Hap," you called weakly, "your terrorizing the nurse."
"I'm not terrorizing anyone," he replied in his flat tone, though you caught the slight twitch of his lips. "I'm observing. "
"You're being creepy, man" Juice chimed in, then immediately looked like he regretted speaking when Happy's gaze turned to him.
The nurse finally gathered enough courage to scurry past Happy, who tracked her movement like a predator watching prey. She fumbled with her equipment, hands shaking as she tried to take your vitals.
"Bet you get to see all sorts of veins?" Happy asked her conversationally.
The nurse's face went pale. "I... what?"
"Lots of veins," Happy muttered. "Very accessible."
"HAPPY," everyone shouted in unison.
"What? I was making conversation."
The nurse finished her tasks in record time and practically sprinted from the room. You couldn't help but laugh despite the pain, which made your ribs ache but felt good anyway.
"Nice work, Hap," Tig called out. "You've got a real gift for making people uncomfortable."
"It's a talent," Happy replied seriously.
"More like a superpower," Jax added with a grin. "We should put it on your resume. 'Happy Lowman: Professional Intimidator.'"
"'Will stare at your enemies until they wet themselves,'" Opie added in a deadpan voice, which made everyone chuckle.
Happy actually looked pleased.
While Happy continued his intimidation campaign in the doorway, Tig had become fascinated with the various medical equipment in your room. He was currently examining the blood pressure cuff with the intensity of a scientist studying a new species.
"You know, this would make excellent restraints," he mused, wrapping the cuff around his own wrist and pumping it up.
"Tig, no," Jax said without looking up from where he was arranging the flowers they'd brought.
"I'm just saying, the medical field has really advanced in the bondage department," Tig continued, now trying to figure out how to deflate the cuff. "This is way more sophisticated than handcuffs."
"Tig, seriously, stop playing with—"
"OH GOD, IT'S STUCK!" Tig's voice shot up an octave as he frantically pulled at the cuff, which had apparently tightened around his wrist. "IT'S CUTTING OFF MY CIRCULATION!"
Chibs sighed and moved to help him, pressing the release valve while muttering something that probably wasn't appropriate for mixed company. "Ye daft bastard, it's got a release valve."
"You're an idiot," Opie said fondly, shaking his head.
"A sexy idiot," Tig corrected, rubbing his wrist. "Who almost lost a hand in the name of science."
"In the name of stupidity," Clay corrected from his corner.
"Hey now, there's a fine line between stupidity and curiosity," Tig protested.
"Yeah, and you crossed it about five miles back," Jax said with a smirk.
Tig immediately moved on to investigating the adjustable bed controls. "Ooh, what does this do?"
Before anyone could stop him, he'd pressed a button, and your bed began to fold in half.
"TIG!" you yelped as you were suddenly jackknifed in the middle.
"Sorry, sorry!" He frantically pushed buttons, making the bed go up and down like a carnival ride. "How do I fix this?"
"Just... stop... pushing... buttons!" you managed between bounces.
Juice rushed over to help, but in his haste, he tripped over the power cord and unplugged half the equipment in the room. Alarms started beeping, and the lights on your monitors went dark.
"Shit, shit, shit," Juice scrambled to plug everything back in while Tig continued his battle with the bed controls.
"Are you trying to kill her?" Clay asked, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that made everyone freeze.
"It was an accident!" Tig protested. "I was just trying to make her more comfortable!"
"By folding her in half?" Opie raised an eyebrow.
"The bed is very versatile!"
The chaos was interrupted by the sharp click of heels on linoleum. Gemma Teller-Morrow swept into the room like a force of nature, her dark hair perfectly styled, designer purse clutched in her manicured hands.
"What the hell is going on in here?" she demanded, taking in the scene, Tig still wrestling with the bed controls, Juice on the floor trying to untangle power cords, Happy scaring another nurse in the doorway, and you looking like you'd just survived a tornado.
"We're visiting," Jax said innocently.
"Visiting?" Gemma's voice could have cut glass. "It sounds like you're demolishing the place."
"We're being supportive," Tig added helpfully.
"You're being shitheads," Gemma corrected sharply. "All of you."
"Ma—" Jax started.
"Don't 'Ma' me, Jackson. Your supposed to be making her feel better, not giving her a migraine."
Clay snorted. "Tell us how you really feel, Gem."
"I feel like I'm surrounded by a bunch of grown men who have the emotional intelligence of toddlers," she shot back. "Which, let's be honest, isn't far from the truth."
She surveyed the room with the eye of a general assessing a battlefield, then immediately went into full mother mode. "Everyone out."
"Ma—" Jax started.
"OUT." Gemma's tone brooked no argument. "You're stressing her out, and she needs rest, not whatever circus act you idiots are putting on."
"But we just got here," Juice protested weakly.
"And you've already broken half the equipment in the room," Gemma pointed out. "Go get coffee. Come back in an hour when you've all remembered how to behave like civilized human beings instead of a pack of wild animals."
"We're not that bad," Tig said with a pout.
"Trager, you tried to turn medical equipment into sex toys."
"I was being innovative!"
"You were being a shithead. Now go."
The men began to file out, but Chibs hesitated by your bedside. "I don't want to leave ye, lass."
Gemma's expression softened slightly. "Twenty minutes, Filip. Then you go get something to eat."
Chibs nodded gratefully and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll be right back, lass."
Once the room had cleared except for Gemma, the older woman immediately began straightening up, fluffing your pillows and adjusting your blankets with the efficiency of someone who'd been taking care of people her entire life.
"Men," she said with fond exasperation. "They mean well, but they have the finesse of a bull in a china shop."
"They were just worried," you said softly, wincing as another wave of pain hit.
"Oh, honey, we were all worried." Gemma's tough exterior cracked slightly. "When Chibs got that call, I thought he was going to lose his mind. I've never seen him move so fast. He was already halfway to his bike before anyone could stop him."
She settled into the chair beside your bed, her expression serious. "What happened, sweetheart? And don't give me any of that 'I'm fine' bullshit. I can see right through that."
You found yourself telling Gemma everything - how you'd been feeling overwhelmed lately, how you'd been trying to handle things on your own, how you'd apparently pushed yourself too hard. She listened without judgment, occasionally reaching out to squeeze your hand.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," she said finally. "That's what family is for. And like it or not, you're family now."
"I didn't want to be a burden—"
"Stop." Gemma's voice was firm but kind. "You're not a burden. You're one of us. And we take care of our own."
The door opened quietly, and Chibs peeked in. "How are ye feelin', lass?" Chibs approached your bed as if you were made of spun glass.
"Tired," you admitted. "But better. The pain's starting to ease up a little."
He settled carefully on the edge of the bed, his hand finding yours. "I was so scared," he said quietly. "When I saw ye lying here..."
"I'm okay," you assured him. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Ye better not," he said, his accent thick with emotion. "I can't lose ye, lass. I just can't."
Your moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of arguing in the hallway. Through the small window in the door, you could see Tig apparently having a animated discussion with a doctor while the rest of the crew watched.
"What is he doing now?" Gemma sighed.
"I think he's trying to get medical advice," Chibs said, squinting through the glass. "For his... proclivities."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Gemma muttered, standing up. "I'll be right back."
She marched out of the room, and you could hear her voice cutting through the discussion. "Tiggy, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I was just asking about the therapeutic benefits of—"
"NO. Whatever you were asking, the answer is no."
"But Gemma—"
"No buts. Literally. Leave the poor doctor alone."
About an hour later, there was a soft knock on the door. Bobby poked his head in, looking around cautiously.
"Coast clear?" he asked in a stage whisper.
"Come in, Bobby," you said with a smile. "Gemma's gone to get coffee."
Bobby slipped inside, and you noticed he was carrying a small paper bag that he was trying to hide behind his back.
"How you feeling, sweetheart?" he asked, settling into the chair beside your bed.
"Better. The pain medication is finally starting to work."
"Good, good." He glanced toward the door, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I brought you something. The good stuff."
Your eyes widened slightly. "Bobby, I don't think I should—"
"Not that kind of good stuff," he chuckled, pulling the bag from behind his back.
"The really good stuff." He said with a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows.
He opened the bag to reveal homemade cookies, the smell of chocolate chip and something else wonderful wafting out.
"You baked for me ?" you asked, surprised.
"Shhh," he said, looking around dramatically. "I figured you could use some real comfort food, not whatever cardboard they're serving you in this place."
"Bobby, these smell amazing."
"Secret ingredient," he said with a wink. "Biker Loveeeee. Or maybe the extra vanilla. Don't tell Gemma I'm feeding you cookies before dinner."
You took a bite, and it was like a warm hug in food form. "These are incredible."
"Been perfecting the recipe for years," he said proudly. "Started baking when I was trying to quit drinking. Keeps the hands busy, you know?"
"Well, these are definitely the good stuff."
"Damn right they are. And there's more where that came from. You just focus on getting better, and I'll keep you supplied with proper baked goods."
The door opened, and Chibs walked in, immediately suspicious. "What's that smell?"
"Nothing," Bobby said quickly, shoving the bag behind his back again.
"Bobby," Chibs said in a warning tone.
"It's cookies," you said, not wanting to get Bobby in trouble. "He brought me cookies."
"Can I have one, Love?" Chibs said with a wolfish grin reaching for the bag
"Get your own," Bobby said, as you clutched the bag in mock defense. "These are for the patient."
As the day wore on, the crew settled into a more manageable routine. They took turns sitting with you, each bringing their own particular brand of comfort and chaos.
Juice had become your unofficial pain management specialist, launching into increasingly elaborate stories whenever he saw you wince. "So there was this one time I was trying to upgrade the security system at the clubhouse, right? And I may have accidentally connected it to the neighbor's garage door opener, which sounds innocent enough, but you have to understand that Mrs. Henderson has this really specific schedule for when she puts her car away, and suddenly every time someone walked past the motion sensor, her garage door would start opening and closing like it was having a seizure, and she thought her house was haunted..."
His rambling stories were oddly comforting, the steady stream of words giving your mind something to focus on besides the dull ache in your stomach.
Even Clay's usual gruff demeanor replaced by something almost paternal as he squeezed your shoulder and promised that everything would be handled while you recovered.
"These sumbags giving you any lip?" he asked, gesturing toward the rest of the crew with a smirk.
"No more then usual," you replied with a weak smile.
"Good. If they get out of line, you let me know. I'll sort them out."
But it was Chibs who never left your side for long. He'd pulled his chair as close to your bed as possible, his hand almost constantly touching yours, as if he needed the physical contact to reassure himself that you were really okay.
"Ye scared ten years off my life today," he murmured during one of your quiet moments together.
"I'm sorry," you whispered back.
"Don't be sorry, lass. Just... promise me ye'll tell me when things get too much. I can't protect ye from everything, but I can damn well try."
"I promise."
The afternoon brought more visitors, each member of the crew cycling through with their own brand of support. Tig had convinced a nurse to let him wheel you around the ward "for exercise," which had resulted in him racing down the hallway until Gemma caught him and threatened to tie him to a chair.
"I was being therapeutic!" he protested.
"You nearly ran over an elderly man with a walker." Gemma corrected.
"He was moving really slow!"
"He was ninety-three years old, you moron!"
Happy had taken up permanent residence outside your door, his intimidation factor having reached legendary status among the hospital staff. A new nurse had tried to enter your room earlier, taken one look at Happy's tattooed scowl, and immediately turned around and walked the other way.
"I think you're scaring away the medical professionals," you told him.
"Good," he replied. "They bother you too much."
"They're just doing their job."
"So am I."
"Your job is to terrify healthcare workers?"
"Today it is."
As evening approached and visiting hours were ending, the crew began to say their goodbyes. Each man stopped by your bed, offering their own version of comfort and promising to check on you tomorrow.
Happy, surprisingly, was the most touching. He stood awkwardly by your bed for a moment before leaning down and very gently kissing your cheek "Feel better," he said in his monotone voice. "I'll keep scaring the nurses for you."
"Thank you, Hap." you said, meaning it.
Tig bounded over with his usual energy, but his hug was surprisingly gentle. "Next time you need to use medical equipment, call me first. I'm practically an expert now."
"I'll keep that in mind," you laughed.
"And if you need any more... therapeutic consultations, you know where to find me," he added with a wink.
"Tig," Jax warned.
"What? I'm being supportive!"
"You're being inappropriate."
"I'm being multifaceted."
Juice was the hardest to get rid of, still rambling as he gathered his things. "So I was thinking maybe tomorrow I could bring my laptop and show you this documentary about pain management through audio frequencies, because there's actually some really interesting research about how certain sound waves can interfere with pain signals, and I know you were hurting earlier so I thought maybe it could help, plus I have this really good noise-canceling headphones that might make it more effective, and—"
"Juice," Opie said gently, "she needs to rest."
"Right, sorry, rest is important for healing, I read that somewhere, or maybe I heard it on a podcast, but either way, sleep is when your body does most of its repair work, so I should probably go and let you sleep, but I'll be back tomorrow with the documentary and maybe some of those crackers you like from the vending machine, the ones with the cheese, not the peanut butter ones because those are disgusting—"
"JUICE," everyone said in unison.
"Okay, okay, I'm going. Feel better!" He finally left, still talking to himself as he walked down the hall.
Even Gemma seemed reluctant to leave, fussing over your blankets one more time. "You call if you need anything," she said firmly. "Anything at all."
"I will."
"I mean it. Day or night. Sweetheart."
"I know. Thank you Gem."
Finally, it was just you and Chibs. The room felt enormous with just the two of you, and suddenly all the emotions of the day caught up with you.
"I really scared you, didn't I?" you asked quietly.
"Terrified me," he admitted. "When I got that call, I thought... I thought I might lose ye before I ever got to tell ye how much ye mean to me."
"Chibs—"
"No, let me say this." He took your hand in both of his, his calloused fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "I love ye, lass. More than I've ever loved anyone. And I know I'm not much to look at, and I know the life I lead isn't safe or easy, but—"
"I love you too," you interrupted softly.
His eyes widened. "Ye do?"
"Of course I do. How could I not?"
The smile that spread across his scarred face was blinding. "Ye have no idea how long I've wanted to hear ye say that."
"I'm sorry it took me ending up in the hospital to say it."
"Don't care how I got to hear it, lass. Just matters that I did."
He leaned down and kissed you softly, and you tasted relief and love and the promise of tomorrow on his lips.
"Get some rest," he murmured against your forehead. "I'll be here first thing in the morning."
"You don't have to—"
"Try and stop me," he said with a grin. "Besides, someone needs to make sure Tig doesn't try to reprogram your bed again."
"And someone needs to make sure Bobby doesn't sneak me too many cookies."
"Aye, that too. Though I have to admit, they were pretty good."
"Don't tell him I said this, but they were amazing."
"Your secret's safe with me, lass."
As he gathered his things to leave, he paused at the door. "Sweet dreams, lass. I'll be thinking of ye."
"Chibs?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. All of you. For caring so much."
"Always, lass. Always."
And as the door closed behind him, you settled back into your pillows with a smile, Bobby's cookie wrapper crumpled in your hand. Tomorrow would bring more chaos, more laughter, more of the beautiful madness that came with being part of the SAMCRO family. But tonight, you were surrounded by the warmth of knowing you were loved, protected, and cherished by the most unlikely family you could have ever imagined.
The heart monitor beeped steadily beside you, and for the first time all day, it sounded like a lullaby.
