Last month was 3 weeks of elective rotations + 1 week vacation which was lovely but somehow I don't feel rested at all. Now I'm back in the PICU with a tough schedule.
I really, really, really need the next 4 weeks to speed by as fast as possible so I can get regular sleep and meals again. Hopefully it will actually start to feel like Spring by then too.
➸ synopsis: "I forgot why I stuck with the sport in the first place.”
His hand reached over the gear shift, sliding his palm into your free one before intertwining your fingers.
“Racing with you though...I think I’m finally starting to remember.”
➸ starring: lee minho x reader
➸ word count: 4k
➸ general content: street racer!minho, established relationship, very slight Cars reference, playing twister in a car
➸ warnings: explicit sexual content(MINORS DNI), car sex, piv(wrap it before you tap it), switch!minho(rare sighting indeed), praise
➸ rating: TV-MA
➸ author’s note: this is at least 3 years old, but it's just a DLC for anyone who loves these characters as much as I do <3(also my writing style has changed so much since then, in a good way)
“Ah, a cliff,” Minho chuckled, peering over the edge before turning to you with a knowing look on his face. “I think I can see where this is going-”
“Relax. If I wanted you dead I would have killed you months ago.”
You stepped up next to Minho, pointing somewhere over the cloud of dust that the car brought to the view. Through the brown haze, he could make out a path, or rather, a track, one that hadn’t been used in years. The turns were overgrown with brambles and weeds of every kind, attempting to reclaim the terrain in between the tires wearing them down every so often.
“Behold,” you yelled rather dramatically, throwing your arms out in front of Minho, “the place where I learned to race!”
“You learned on a dirt track?” He scoffed, looking at you in shock. You however, nodded proudly, reminiscing all the times you had run off the road while attempting to drift.
“My dad taught me to drift here,” you laughed, looking over the field, “he knew I couldn’t really destroy anything out here, and boy was I a reckless driver…”
“Do you visit here often?”
“Not anymore...in fact the last time I came here was…” you paused, furrowing your brows as you searched your brain for an answer. “Actually, the last time I came here was right before we started dating.”
“What? Why?” He laughed, crossing his arms. “I can’t imagine you came out here to practice…”
“No no, I just came out here to talk to my dad.”
“Does he come here often?”
It was at this point that you realized you had backed yourself into a corner, because the topic of your father wasn’t necessarily a light one, and truthfully the reason you went to talk to him was for advice concerning the driver you were currently dating. But Minho didn’t know that, nor did he need to know.
“My dad…” you stared wistfully over the racetrack. Memories of summer days spent in cars, with the radio blasting and the windows down came surging towards the front of your memory, but before they could do any damage, you swallowed them all and put on a blank face.
“My dad died in a car accident when I was eighteen.”
Minho’s head fell, instantly regretting that he pushed the topic further.
“Y/n...I-”
“It’s okay, really,” you whispered, giving him a weak smile. “You didn’t know.”
“I come here sometimes to talk to him, because it’s where I feel closest to him…” you explained, heat rising to your cheeks. “That sounds really corny-”
“No no—it's endearing,” he reassured you, before his face changed to one of concern.
He pondered for a moment, running his hands through his hair.
"How did you get behind the wheel after the accident?"
“I didn’t.”
Shocked, Minho slowly nodded his head in silent understanding, waiting for you to continue.
“I didn’t drive for almost a year, actually,” you chuckled bitterly, kicking a rock off the cliff face. “I resented cars, biked to work, barely hung out with friends…that was probably the worst year of my life.”
“Well hey, at least your carbon footprint went down-”
You shot him a glare, and he nervously chuckled an apology before asking you a question.
“So if you hated driving so much...how did you get to be a street racer?”
“I didn’t hate driving,” you whispered. “I was scared of it.”
For someone like you to be scared of driving, Minho almost couldn’t believe it. You were the most fearless driver he met; or at least, that was what he deduced after that fateful duel from months ago. Aside from that, you didn’t seem to be scared of anything, especially not Minho.
“But my dad, he loved cars, almost as much as he loved me probably,” you laughed, walking back towards Minho’s car. “To stop driving was to stop surrounding myself with the one thing that constantly reminded me of him.”
“So what you just...stopped being afraid of cars?”
“Not exactly,” you said, leaning against the hood. “It was really slow trying to get back into it, but then I met Changbin and the rest of the gang, and seeing them drive…” you looked up to the sky, and Minho could see the tears that you were holding back as you smiled, “it made me feel like he never left.”
Minho wasn’t entirely sure of how to comfort you, but he threw caution to the wind and embraced you in a hug, toned arms and cologne enveloping you almost immediately. And for a moment, you were glad that he couldn’t see how easily the tears fell from your eyes once he did that. It almost made you fall for him more, seeing how caring he was when he wanted to be. He didn’t even let you go until you gently pressed on his sweater vest.
“Your dad would be thrilled to know how good of a driver you are now,” he whispered as he pulled away, smiling. “I heard you're the best in the city.”
“Stop it,” you laughed, punching his arm. That sparkle that returned to your eyes made him feel at ease again, thankful that he could bring any sort of ease to you before the air grew quiet again.
“I know a lot of drivers,” you began, leaning off of the hood, “a lot of them drive just to get to places, some drive for the adrenaline rush, or money, or fame, or to ‘be the best’,” you glanced at him playfully, to which he feigned offense.
“For me...I drive to keep the memory of my dad alive.”
For Minho, it was moments like these that made it hard to pinpoint when exactly you had started backing your way into his heart. The ridiculously cocky girl that he met months ago he had come to realize was only a facade, for underneath all of the snarky remarks and banter was a girl that cared deeply for the people she loved. From staying up late with Yeji so she wasn’t alone when she worked on her car, to giving him lessons on drifting, Minho found that to him, you were more than just a rival.
And he was lucky that you even felt the same way.
He could feel his heart beat faster as you made your way inside his car, and he knew it wasn’t from the rush that driving gave him.
“Hey I don’t think I’ve ever asked,” you spoke up, watching Minho land in the driver's seat, “why did you start street racing?”
“Well,” he began, slumping against the leather seat, “I mean I was a professional racer for a minute but, to tell you the truth, I started because I lost a bet.”
Your mouth fell open, not viewing Minho as the type to gamble, but you let him continue.
“I won’t bore you with the details, but I owed someone money, and I knew of some people that did street racing for cash prizes...one thing led to another and I was able to pay the guy back, but not before I was hooked on the sport.”
He looked to you, who had a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at the absurdity of his backstory, but he only gave you an eye roll before continuing.
“At first I loved it, but I started to get obsessed with numbers and time trials and being the best, and I forgot why I stuck with the sport in the first place.”
His hand reached over the gear shift, sliding his palm into your free one before intertwining your fingers.
“Racing with you though...I think I’m finally starting to remember.”
The car fell silent for a moment, Minho staring deep into your eyes, and you tried your best to keep a straight face, but it was useless. You burst out laughing, ruining the atmosphere, and Minho sighed loudly, pretending to be annoyed.
“Too cheesy?”
“Absolutely,” you snorted, folding yourself in half from the laughter.
“But y/n,” he cooed, leaning over the center console to pull you over to him, “you make my heart race-”
“Gross, get away from me!”
Any bystanders would have thought that two little kids were occupying the front seats of an expensive car with the way you two were now wrestling, limbs flying about and squeals leaving your mouth every other second. Finally, you pushed his arms back far enough over the middle aisle to ensure that he couldn’t tickle you, giggling madly at his little frustrated pout.
However your giggling was abruptly cut short by Minho’s lips on yours, and while being silenced wasn’t your favorite pastime, you had to admit that this was probably your favorite way of being shut up.
Not that you’d allowed anyone else to do that other than him.
His fingers reached over the center console to cradle your jaw, and a dizzying jolt of excitement seemed to shock you where they met your skin. Rather than melting you, that set your skin ablaze, and suddenly you were pressing onto his mouth with equal force, earning a satisfied sigh from him as he tilted your head slightly. The space between you two was diminishing, but not as quickly as your impatient self would have liked, and as he pulled away you had to stop yourself from chasing after his lips.
He held a fiery gaze at bay with a look of mild amusement, a little surprised at how quickly you were unraveling for him, but before he could say something snarky, you took matters into your own hands.
Clambering over the seat, you braced yourself on various parts of the car interior before situating yourself on Minho’s lap, trying not to laugh at Minho’s failed attempt at an unaffected look towards your suggestive actions.
You made a quick mental note that he liked being straddled, but before you could waste any more time, his electrifying fingers held your chin, pulling your lips back into a gentle kiss.
Your hands landed on his chest, and you took this opportunity to slide them up to his neck, slowly feeling every ridge of him through his sweater vest. He couldn’t conceal the smirk that appeared once he picked up on what you were doing, and in return he bit your lip playfully, as if to tell you to behave.
Your growing impatience had no intentions of doing that, however.
Needless, to say, his lip biting only spurred you on, and you returned the favor with a few open-mouthed kisses along his jawline, watching how his eyes fluttered closed in silent delight as he sighed. At last, he quit being shy and let his hands wander downwards, resting on your waist as you leaned farther into him.
When his lips found yours again, the kiss that resumed was more intense than the previous ones, and you were sure that your heartbeat was matching his rapid pulse under your fingertips. Hushed gasps replaced the chaste giggles from moments before, and you wanted to push him a bit further; sliding your hands along his bare shoulders in an attempt to free him of the crisp white button down that was loosely hanging off of his frame.
He pulled away momentarily, shrugging the sleeves off of his arms and breaking the kiss to get his wrists past the cuffs, then swiftly tossing the shirt against the passenger side window before turning back to you.
Something about the way you hovered over him, face flushed and lips swollen, made him lose all resolve and snap beneath you, pulling you flush into his chest with one arm around your back while the other slid into your hair, gently tugging at the strands as his tongue slid inside your mouth. Your body turned to mush, making you grateful that Minho’s sweater vest was still between the two of you for you to ball up in your fists, clutching onto him like you were clutching onto your sanity.
You shifted in his lap, liking the closeness but not entirely comfortable with your positioning and in doing so, Minho inhaled a sharp breath, breaking the kiss. Panicking for a moment, you thought you might have hurt him, but it was quite the opposite, and upon realizing this you glanced down to see that his pants weren’t looking too comfortable either.
“Sorry,” he winced, not meeting your eyes in fear of the knowing look you would have on your face. “We should probably-”
You cut him off, leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, passionate kiss, laced with a small but noticeable hint of desire, and when you pulled away you were met with a flushed Minho, clearly trying to ignore the way you were sitting on top of him.
“...move to the backseat?” you answered, waiting for him to get the memo.
“Wait...here? You want to do this here?” he whispered, eyebrows furrowing in shock.
“You don’t?”
“I do! I just thought that I would be moving too fast for you and-” you brought a finger to his lips, tilting your head in amusement.
“Moving too fast? For me?”
You watched as his face turned from one of concern to one of annoyance, and you giggled mischievously as he rolled his eyes, huffing slightly.
“I…I was trying to be considerate and here you are, making fun of me…”
“I do appreciate your concern,” you responded playfully, pulling at the strings at his neckline, “however…”
You shifted your hips once more, this time intentionally grinding yourself against him as he trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, and before he could grip you any tighter, he reached over to the door handle.
“Get in the backseat.”
Probably a little too excitedly, you hopped out of the car and into the backseat, kicking off your shoes as Minho put the key into the ignition and rolled up the windows, as well as turned on the air conditioning to combat the heated atmosphere inside the car. He followed after you, closing the driver’s door and jumping in next to you, just barely closing the door behind him as you threw your arms around his neck.
Neither of you could tell if he was pushing you down more or if you were pulling him; either way you two were level with the seat cushions in seconds, frenzied hands doing everything they could to feel the other’s skin under their fingertips. Minho’s sweater vest flew off first, him tugging it off quickly to stop you from stretching the knit to shreds in your desperation.
Your shirt was next to follow, Minho’s teasing finally coming to a halt for him to whisper “off” as he tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you both momentarily sat up for him to pull the shirt over your head and onto the floor. The break from contact was only for a moment though, Minho pushing you back down to litter hot kisses across your now exposed collarbones. You gasped involuntarily, squirming from the light suction as your hands fumbled with his belt, finding the metal buckle a bit too complicated for your lust clouded mind.
“In my...back pocket,” Minho whispered, resting on his elbows to lean against you, “grab my wallet.” His focus went back to moving his lips along your neck, occasionally letting his teeth nip against the skin as you whimpered, hands sliding down his back to the edge of his pants. His leather wallet poked out from the left side, and you took it, looking for a particular foil square. Needy as you were, you weren’t completely delusional.
As soon as you found it, he sat up against the seat, finally allowing you room to breathe as he quickly undid his belt, and your brain started working again, telling you to rid yourself of the shorts caging your arousal. The denim disappeared in seconds, and you looked up to see Minho pulling down his pants and boxers in one go, wincing slightly as his hard red length sprang up against his abdomen. The sight of it throbbing had your core clenching in anticipation, and you could do nothing but wish that Minho would put the condom on faster, or better yet; do it yourself.
Almost painfully slow, he slid the rubber on, but as soon as he looked to you to cage you between his arms again, you ditched your underwear and stretched a leg over his thighs, straddling him once again. An eyebrow raised in pleasant surprise, hands hovering over your hips cautiously, but a hurried nod was all it took for him to hold you tightly, waiting for you to begin your descent.
Just like the rest of him, his shoulders felt firm under your palms, and you buried your head at the junction of his neck and shoulder as your entrance pressed against his tip. A silent gasp was shared between the both of you as you slowly enveloped him in your tight heat, followed by a low rumble from his chest. Whimpering slightly, your fingers dug into his hot skin as you adjusted to his size.
“...Do you want any help?” He whispered, and you slowly pushed yourself away from his chest. The burning desire to move was blazing inside your core, so you shook your head, figuring your own desperation would fuel your stamina for now. His hands slipped upwards to rest on your waist as his head leaned back against the headrest, bracing himself for your movements.
With a small raise of your hips, it felt like flames of pleasure were licking your every corner, and a small moan threatened to escape your throat from the friction. Minho was holding back too, for whatever reason, but you didn’t miss the slight groan that vibrated in his chest, or the way his fingertips pressed into the flesh of your sides a bit harder.
Sinking back onto him made your mind fuzzy; the only thing you could think about was how much you needed to do that again, and again, and with nothing in the way of that, you created a pace that was somehow too much but also not enough, for either of you. Your chest burned with the need to vocalize every time you sank down, while Minho had resorted to leaving the space between you full of shallow breaths, thick with the desire to meet you halfway into every movement.
The way that he was filling you up was more than satisfactory, and to keep your mind somewhat grounded, you leaned down and connected your lips again, electric kisses distracting you from the delicious burning sensation below.
Minho was not having it however; he wanted to hear you, so he distracted you with his mouth in other ways.
Moving away from your mouth, he kissed up your jawline, over to your ear, which you would quickly realize was extremely sensitive to Minho’s hot breath against it. And definitely more sensitive to his voice, in this particular situation.
“Y/n,” he whispered, pressing a kiss just below your earlobe, “can you go faster for me?”
You must have clenched around him hard at that, because his breath hitched in his throat, stifling what would have been a moan as you picked up the pace.
“That’s it...that's my girl,” he almost moaned, tipping his head back as his hands slid up to hook around your shoulders. His hips started to jut up into you, and that combined with his arms pulling you down further every time your hips met was slowly turning you into a whining mess.
The sounds of your bodies meshing together was the dominant sound in the car, aside from Minho’s breathless pants and your endless whimpers, and the sun was far below the horizon now, long shadows finally disappearing and blending into the darkness inside the vehicle. The car was starting to rock back and forth in time with your movements, and the aching need for release was building just as fast as your stamina was diminishing; Minho noticed how you clung to his bare shoulders, signaling that you couldn’t keep up for much longer.
“I...can’t–” you sputtered out, your body close to giving out in the exhaustion and overstimulation of it all. Minho stilled your movements, pulling you off of him as both arms wrapped around your back.
“Slow down sweetheart, I’ve got you…” he whispered, laying you back onto the seat. He hovered over you, guiding himself back into your entrance before resuming a much slower pace, one that made you feel his every ridge, and in a sense this was slightly worse compared to riding him, because you could feel your orgasm approaching with the slowness of a bullet train.
For Minho, it was becoming increasingly difficult to not just drive himself inside you until you screamed his name, but he could save that for later, for now he thrusted inside you with a slow deliberation, and he relished in the way your nails clawed at his arms.
You felt like you could barely keep your eyes open, but when you could, it was a sight to behold. His honey skin was just barely caught in the remnants of the sunset, beads of sweat rolling down his neck and sticking to the various necklaces he was wearing, or dampening his beep brown hair. His face and neck were tinted with a slight glow of red, as well as his lips, which you were only to catch a glimpse of before he dipped down to taste the skin of your chest.
His hand slipped under you momentarily to unclasp your bra, and you just barely helped him slip it off your shoulders, dropping it on the floor beside you. His lips then went back to work, kissing along the sensitive swell of your breast as your core clenched tightly around him, spurring him on even further.
A hand came up to cup one of your breasts, thumb lightly running over your hardened nipple as your back involuntarily arched, and Minho could tell that you were close, with the pitch of your moans getting higher by the second.
“Almost there?” He asked, half curious for your sake and half for his; he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take you before he would start to unravel.
“Yes...close, so close,” you cried out, syntax becoming nearly impossible.
His lips latched onto your neck once more, sucking to leave a deep red mark there as his thumb and index finger rolled your sensitive bud, and that combined with a few more deep thrusts had you twisting in pleasure until finally, you reached your peak. You were sure there would be marks left as your nails dug into his back, your loud moan reverberating around the car interior as Minho slowed his thrusts, relishing in the way you tightened around him.
It was only a minute before Minho was gasping for air himself, on the tip of ecstasy as he sheathed himself inside you at a fast pace, not wanting to overstimulate you for longer than he needed to. Luckily, his resolve broke quickly, and you could feel his warm release filling the condom before he pulled out, chest heaving.
You both fell mostly silent in the afterglow, spent but definitely satisfied, both of you just enjoying being in each other’s embrace before having to get cleaned up. The faint sound of the nearest highway was now the loudest sound in the vehicle, and the sky was turning into a deep shade of cobalt blue, every remnant of the sun now buried under the horizon line.
After a minute you started giggling, a funny thought running through your mind.
“What?” breathed Minho, starry eyes gazing at you through long eyelashes.
“It’s just-” you paused to laugh again.
“When Changbin wanted us to make good use of his car, I don’t think this is what he had in mind…”
Okay, so this happens only once in a blue moon but I got home from my night shift this morning feeling like an absolute badass.
On the way home, I regaled my spouse with the story:
Coming in, I ran into one of the fellows. I am now only locuming at the institution at which I completed my fellowship, so the fellows don't see me often and I don't know this cohort as well as the prior cohort, but I've worked with this particular fellow for multiple shifts since I've moved.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Your shift doesn't start for a few hours."
She laughed. "I know, there was an issue with another resident's schedule so I volunteered to cover a few hours of their shift since I saw you'll be the staff on. I was just excited to work with you."
I was very flattered but of course Imposter Syndrome will never let us have nice things so I am simultaneously flattered and stressed.
Shortly after we received our department handover, I got a call about one of our patients presenting with a complicated pneumonia with multisystem dysfunction due to significant diarrhea and subsequent dehydration leading to acute kidney injury. As expected, their labs are an absolute mess, but everything is holding steady and the patient's on all the treatments needed to correct their underlying pathophysiology.
One of my biggest pet peeves about my fellowship institution is that the emergency department is essentially viewed as "lesser" than, and often our subspecialists speak to us like we're idiots. Unfortunately, this attitude is quite pervasive into our trainees as well, and so despite the fact that I completed the same training (and then some) as the senior pediatric residents that accept/refuse our consults, they will often be fairly condescending toward our department. (I have many feelings about the fact that my institution lets trainees REFUSE consults as it is abysmal for patient safety, but that's besides the point...)
All this to say that I'm sort of steeling myself for this discussion.
"Hi, it's Sabrina in the emerg, how can I help you?"
"Hi, I'm the senior peds resident calling about that patient. We are still talking to the PICU about them because we were thinking they probably need a bicarb infusion since their bicarb is still low."
"Ah! Okay, I see where you're coming from, but at this time the PICU will really not have anything additional to offer for this patient and therefore they would not be the appropriate admitting service. I understand what you're thinking about the low bicarb, but we have to realize that this patient has a mixed primary metabolic acidosis from their GI bicarb losses, but also a primary respiratory alkalosis from their pneumonia."
"Okay..."
"Giving this patient a bicarb infusion would actually be really dangerous, because once you rapidly increase that pH, then you can knock out the kiddo's respiratory drive and then we run into issues with respiratory failure and possible arrest."
"...Okay, but what about the low potassium?"
"Ah, yes, with the AKI this child has I understand that the potassium is not increasing despite the fluid repletion with potassium-containing fluids, but in this case the potassium is not low enough to put them at risk for cardiac arrhythmias or the like and therefore it's unfortunately a waiting game while their kidneys recover so they can actually hang onto their potassium again. I totally understand how stressful it is for the pediatrics ward when you have these complex multisystem issues given your limited resources, but thanks to all the teams, the management to correct the underlying pathophysiology is in process and at this point, repeating labs is really to ensure there is no deterioration rather than to monitor for improvement. We will probably start to see improvement after the next 12 hours or so, but for now, the fact that things are holding steady is actually exactly what we're hoping for."
"Yeah, okay..."
"You are doing such a great job keeping a close eye on the labs and for sure, if things actually get worse rather than hold steady, then it'd be very reasonable to discuss again with the PICU team. Let us know if there's anything we can do to support you in the meantime!"
...Interestingly, the patient was admitted and transferred up to the pediatric ward within 20 minutes of hanging up the phone.
Sometimes you really do feel like you can doctor! (Also: generalists and fellow emerg docs, don't let anyone ever tell you that you're dumb--you know things! You are a specialist in your own right and that's extremely powerful.) When the Imposter Syndrome comes calling... sometimes you just answer the phone like a badass.
tl;dr:
Me explaining to peds intake why we shouldn't give a bicarb infusion to this kid with a mixed primary resp alkalosis + metabolic acidosis: 🤌🏻 you'll give her a problem with the respiratory drive... And she'll arrest and it'll be bad
Disclaimer: Because it’s a one-man project, this is not perfect. Please understand if I made a mistake and please tell me if I made a mistake so that the next release will be better. Thank you!
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 - A continuation of a prompt from Whumptober, which in itself is a continuation of a Sicktember prompt 😅
“Stay put for a minute, I need to organise a space for him. One minute, alright?”
"Just getting everything organised." He reassured. "Thank you for taking us seriously."
“I’m sorry it’s taken this long for someone to take you seriously. We’ll get this sorted now.”
"Thank you."
Harrison turned to his husband, stroking through his son’s hair. "I knew he wasn't well, Tai."
Tai sighed. “He’s being looked after now.”
"What if they left it too long?" He whispered over Kieran's head.
“They’ll get it sorted.”
"Yeah."
Kieran gave a quiet whine, his hands over his stomach again. He curled into his dad, trying to seek some relief.
"You gonna be sick again, Kit?"
He nodded, his eyes wide. “My tummy hurts.”
Harrison's heart broke further, and from the look he exchanged with Tai, he wasn't alone. His husband shoved the empty bowl at them, pressing the call bell for some more.
One of the nurses appeared a short while later. “Sorry it took so long, can I help you- oh. You poor thing. I’ll go and grab you some more bowls, two seconds.”
"Thanks." Harrison was beyond stressed, rubbing Kieran's back and muttering soft encouragement between bouts. "You're alright, Kit. It's better out than in, right?"
The nurse appeared moments later with more bowls and tissue. “Here, and let me get rid of some of these used ones, yeah?”
Kieran roughly wiped his mouth, though immediately vomited again. He made a small noise, a brief frown appearing on his face before everything happened at once. The bowl fell from his hands, tipping into his lap and he seemed to just crumple. Harrison was immediate to support him, but the worry and fear was so clear in his tone.
"Kieran? Kit? Kit, open your eyes, please, Kit."
Tai’s stomach dropped, the fear rising. He darted for the curtains, looking around for someone to help just add the nurse reappeared.
“I’m going to get a doctor, alright? Hold on for me.” She told them, pressing the alarm.
Harrison kept Kieran on his side, though he was still curled into him. Kieran was still stubbornly unconscious, everything becoming so much worse as he started vomiting again.
"Shit." Harrison whispered under his breath, shifting Kieran further over. He wiped his sons mouth, trying to clear as much as he could. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to their family.
When the doctor appeared, his decision was easy. “We’re going to resus now, alright?”
Harrison glanced up. "On the bed?"
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Steve had heard the alarm, had seen it was his grandkid's room, and rushed over, meeting them as they were wheeling Kieran out. Harrison was balanced on the bed, supporting a very clearly unconscious Kieran, the pair covered in vomit. Tai was white, far clear in his face, and even the doctor's face was guarded.
"What happened?"
Tai gravitated towards Steve, relieved to see someone else. “I don’t know. He was sick, and then sick again, and then he just went.”
"Kids can do that." He tried to convince, wrapping an arm around Tai. "It should be just a faint, just a response to all the vomiting."
“And Hars just… is Hars. He knows what he’s doing.” He mumbled, leaning against him.
"They're looking after him. He's gonna be okay."
“Finally.” He hated this. Hated thinking about the what ifs. Hated thinking his son was stuck with the same, miserable disease he was stuck with.
Steve pulled him in for a hug, holding him tight. "He's got all of us in his corner."
“He has. I’m just worried about him.”
As they pushed the bed into the bay, Kieran began crying, deep, whimpering sobs. Harrison's heart broke again, wrapping himself around his son, brushing through his hair.
Tai moved closer to his husband and his son. “We’ve got you, it’s going to be okay.”
"Daddy?" He asked quietly, whimpers breaking through. "I don't feel very well."
“I know, Kit. It’s okay, the doctors are looking after you. You’re going to be okay.”
"I want Alfie."
“He’ll come and see you later.” Tai said gently. “He’s looking after Levi now.”
"Oh. What about me?"
“We’re looking after you now.”
"But I want Alfie too."
“You can see him soon.”
Harrison hummed, his hand still in Kieran's hair. "Kit? Why don't we swap your pjs for some hospital ones? Get you nice and clean again, yeah? And they're gonna want to stick some stickers on you too."
“You’ll feel much better in clean clothes.” Tai told him gently. “Dad and I will help you, yeah?”
Kieran didn't have the energy to argue, letting them help. It didn’t stop the embarrassment though, his cheeks flushing red as he saw the mess he'd made. The panic had started to overwhelm him again, worried he'd be more than a little told off for the mess. Of course, nobody cared about it. It had been an accident and everyone knew that; it wasn't as if Kieran had asked to be that poorly. After plenty of reassurance, he was settled on the clean bed once more, leads and wires attached everywhere.
At some point, Tai had taken a photo, dropping it in the group chat to keep everyone updated. As sick as he was, he was settled. There were a few more tears as he was cannulated, the plan to sedate and insert more stable caths when he was ready. He was started on fluids, his blood pressure so low even for a kid. Insulin eventually too, a desperate attempt to start shifting things in the right direction - he'd worsened dramatically even since they'd first been seen.
While it was the middle of the night and he was bound to be tired, he'd only become more drowsy and irritable, and unfortunately for him, hadn't managed to entirely stop being sick.
With the help of a little sedation, they ended up getting more access, and passed an NG. He needed cranial imaging, and it was easier to manage when he was clinically as stable as he could be. And, with as much access as possible, just in case anything went south.
It seemed to be an age, but the scans came back clear and he was on his way to the PICU. Steve followed them, and while Kieran wasn't 100% with it, he felt better for having his grandad there too.
Kieran somewhat changed his mind once they'd transferred him, calling out for Tai. In the end, he hopped up on the bed with him, hiding his fear of all the needles and wires and machines and - everything. He wasn’t there for him, Kieran needed him. With a happy noise, Kieran snuggled closer, his head on his dad's chest, his favourite place to be, listening to the beats of his heart. He was quiet for a long while, and Tai was almost certain he'd fallen asleep amidst the low hum of Harrison and Steve’s conversation.
"Dad?"
"Mm? You alright, Kit?"
He gave a long sigh, still apparently feeling the sedation too. "Are we the same now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Because you have to take your…your antisugars."
He smiled. "My insulin, yeah. That's what's in that bag there, too. I think it's nearly 100% that we will match, though, so I'll be able to help with every single thing you need, and you can ask me anything at all."
"Promise?"
"Of course, Kit." He sighed past the lump in his throat. "You know how Daddy is a super doctor too?"
He nodded, looking up at Tai.
"Well, when I got diagnosed with 'di-ah-bee-teas'," he sounded it out properly for Kieran. "Daddy made sure to teach me everything. Sometimes he would even do my checks for me because I was a bit of a scaredy cat! But if you need me to help, or even daddy to help too, all you're gonna have to do is ask. I'm sure even grandad Steve would do it for you, too, if you asked nicely."
Kieran managed a laugh, snuggling closer. Tai's murmuring reverberated through his chest, and the circles he was drawing on his son’s back didn’t help keep the tiredness away. It didn’t take long for him to slip into sleep, content on Tai, and protected by his entire family.
