Leon + recovery for lab whump, please! <3
Ohhhh absolutely! 🥰 This is entirely gratuitous and self-serving medical stuff, but somehow I feel like you won't mind hehe
"That's it, just a few more steps!" the nurse holding Leon's hand coaxes sweetly, ignorant of the pained grunt he can't help but let out when agony explodes through his entire torso again. He's already panting from the effort despite the nasal cannula supplying oxygen to his sinuses, sweat beading on his aching body beneath the gown he's been given to wear and dampening the bandages that cover surgical incisions in various states of healing all across his body. He holds tighter to the mobile IV/oxygen pole and forces socked feet to shuffle weakly forwards, teeth gritted.
The nurse is holding the miniature, portable heart monitor they have him hooked up to to keep track of his vitals even when he isn't in his bed, humming. "You're looking stronger today, love," she says, tucking the device back into the pocket of Leon's gown and ignoring the glare he shoots her way. If he was stronger, he would rip the thing from his chest and bash her over the head with the IV pole---except, just sitting down on his bed again is a gargantuan task, exhausting even with the nurse's arms guiding him down.
Well, the weakness, and the fact that Leon's learned it's better not to fight if he wants to keep the 'privilege' of his own (though still limited) autonomy. His last refusal to participate in mandatory testing had resulted in an awful NG tube for feeding for a week, along with around-the-clock supervision to make sure he didn't pull the damn thing out and find something to eat besides brownish sludge. The phantom sensation of it snaking down his throat still makes him shudder. The time before that, when he'd managed for the third time to rid himself of IVs and monitors, had gotten him sedated for his trouble and pinned down so they could implant a much more permanent central line, the end of which is currently attached to whatever bag of mystery solution they've decided to drip into Leon's veins today.
"Excellent work, love," the nurse coos, the sincerity in her voice making Leon's stomach flutter anxiously for a moment before he ducks his head away and lets her check his monitors again. She turns to survey the room and frowns in confusion, hands coming up to rest on her hips. "Hmm. I swear I brought you a wheelchair earlier, but I guess I'll need to go look for one. Just wait here, dear, and I'll take you down the hall for dinner."
Leon just nods, eyes closed and head bowed. Fuck, he hurts. Aside from the recent surgical procedure that makes it feel like he's been fucking autopsied alive that's healing in his abdomen, his joints and skin ache with an underlying sensation of sickness, his every breath nauseated and tense. Part of it has to be the drugs they make him take every morning---trying to get out of that had made them do a painful procedure while Leon was awake, so he's learned to be a good boy and take his medicine when he's told---but the rest of it is definitely BOW related. That's what he'd seen evidence of in the lab he'd infiltrated nearly six weeks ago now, anyway.
They'd been expecting him.
Wherever they took him to after tranquilizing him and tying him up, it's somewhere underground, not a single window lining the halls or cell rooms. He's not locked in or anything, is allowed to roam wherever he wants so long as he doesn't disrupt any monitoring equipment on his body, but the facility is mazelike and too well-guarded to even attempt an escape attempt. He'd know. He's tried it several times. He still has bruises from it.
The sound of wheels rolling towards his room makes Leon sigh and swipe a trembling hand over his face, sheer hopelessness chipping away at his resolve not to let them turn him into a pathetic, obedient lab rat. He doesn't want to end up like the few other 'patients' here who are also permitted to walk around the facility when they aren't being tied down to be anesthetized for experimental surgeries, blank-faced and unable to speak in anything but mumbling. He doesn't know what's been done to them, but a lobotomy isn't out of the question if the glaze in their eyes means anything. It could just be the T-virus or some other mind-eating disease, but Leon figures it's best not to test fate. They've promised to keep him alive and healthy so long as he cooperates, and he doesn't have much choice but to believe them.
The nurse comes into the room humming pleasantly, pushing one of the creepy, old-fashioned wheelchairs that seem to be everywhere in this place. She smiles. "Here we go, love. I hear they're serving pudding tonight for dessert, so let's get you to the cafeteria."
"Oh," Leon says, not bothering to hide the tiredness in his tone. "I can't wait."
