Medical inaccuracies, caretaking, wound care, broken bones mention, past torture, past captivity
Misha jumps into action the second Logan is out of the room. Jesse has curled in on themself, which is definitely not helping their ribs. She can see at least two broken. She's going to need more than just her kit.
"Nora, can you grab clean rags and pain meds? Get the ibuprofen at least and make everyone give you anything they have that's stronger." Nora nods, still looking shaken and rushes from the room.
"Ok Jes, is this all of it? Are your legs ok?"
The give a slow shake of their head "my left leg is..." they trail off "it's fucked"
"That's ok, we'll take care of it. Isa, grab the emergency sheers from my bag."
Misha keeps a tight grip on her emotions as the pants come away. Jesse was right the leg is well and truly fucked. She can see bruising through the splint and all up and down its length. It's badly swollen from the knee down and the ankle looks broken.
"Jes what happened?"
They shake their head, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Jes I have to know so I can help you. I don't need... details, I just- is it broken?"
"It's broken. I don't know exactly..." They trail off. "He- he hit me." Tears flash in their eyes, "with a crowbar. I tried- I couldn't make him stop." Misha reaches for them but they flinch away and her stomach clenches.
Isa comes closer, placing her hand next to them, not quite touching. "We've got you now Jes. It'll be ok. You're safe now."
They wipe vigorously at their eyes, nodding and clearly trying to force a smile. Misha wants to give them time, let them cry, but their injuries come first.
"You don't have to say what happened. Just, is it broken? I don't want to take the splint off unless I have to, but I need to know the injuries." She is grateful to all her medical training. As long as she can forget it's Jesse sitting in front of her she can treat this like just another patient.
"I- it's broken. The shin at least. The knee... I don't know. I think it was dislocated or something, it might've been broken too, I don't know."
"And who treated it? Were they a professional?"
There's a long pause "Adrian Morgan" their voice shakes "he- h- he... he's... he-" they clear their throat and try again "I don't think he's a medical professional, but he has... ex- experience."
She scoffs at that, efficiently checking the splint. "ok, well it does look pretty good.” She admits. Without x rays she won't be able to tell exactly what's broken. "When did all this happen?"
Their eyebrows furrow "less than three days ago? Maybe?" She nods, noting their confusion. Concussion maybe?
“Ok, and why isn't there a cast?”
Jesse shrugs apologetically. “Im sorry. I-” Their voice drops to a whisper again. “I don't think he wanted to waste supplies.”
Misha forcefully calms herself, catching Isa’s eye. She doesn't think she's ever seen their face so stoney.
"Ok, well, was it splinted right after it was broken?"
"No, that happened the next day."
They left you like that for a whole day? she tucks it away. Later.
"How does it feel now? Any numbness? Tingling?"
"I had tingling earlier. It's gone now though, and wasn't from that… I don't think." She doesn't want to know, she asks anyway.
"where was it from?" They flinch, eyes darting away from her gaze again. "Jes I’m sorry I have to ask, but tingling can be dangerous. I need to know what happened to be able to help you.”
“Electricity of some kind.” They whisper, eyes becoming unfocused.
“When was this?”
“I-” Their voice gets even smaller. “Before that man came for me. Was that… yesterday?”
“No, that was earlier today Jes” She says as softly as she can manage, adding “It's been a long day.”
Jesse laughs, it sounds panicked, high and tight, “Oh.”
Residual tingling from electricity isn't terribly uncommon, and is less immediately dangerous than a spinal injury, so Misha dismisses it for now.
"Your leg seems ok, all things considered.” She tries to be reassuring. “I’ll have to put a real cast on it, but I dont have the supplies for that right now and since it's swelling so much it's probably better to wait. I don't want to take the splint off before I can replace it unless I absolutely have to, so do you think this Adrian knew what he was doing?" Misha doesn't miss their flinch at the name and makes a mental note not to say it again.
“I- I think so. At least enough to not let it kill me right away.” Misha's lips purse. She’ll have to take it off and make sure the bastard set it well enough to heal, but for now, it can wait.
The door pops open to Nora carrying several yellow pill bottles and an armload of towels.
"Here" she deposits the supplies on the counter next to Jesse and sits next to Isa on the lip of the tub. They both look overwhelmed, but she might need their help.
"Thanks" Misha shoots them a humorless smile. "Ok jes, are you on any medication right now? Did they give you pills or anything?"
"No?"
“Are you sure? I don't want to give you too much of anything.”
They hesitate. “I’m not totally sure. He never gave me pills before, but…” They trail off. “I don't remember much before the car.” They search the floor, almost guilty.
"How about food? When's the last time you ate?" They hesitate again, for too long, face scrunching up as they try to remember.
"I don't know. It's been..." they trail off "I'm sorry, I just don't remember, they gave me some bread maybe a week ago?"
Misha tries to relax her jaw, soften her expression. It doesn't do the patient any good to see you worry, she reminds herself. She shouldn't have to ask, but
"And how about water, have you had anything to drink?"
"Yes, definitely. They gave me some a few days ago, more water than food."
"Ok good!" She keeps her voice as light as possible. "Nora, can you grab Jes some water and electrolytes? And also tell someone in the kitchen to heat up the bone broth in the cupboard?" They nod and hurry from the room
"While we wait for food I'm going to start cleaning you up ok? And I want you to take these. Don't worry, it's just Advil. Don't want to give you anything else till you've eaten, and we can be totally sure there's nothing else in your system." she holds out four pills "Is it alright if I start with your back?"
Jesse nods, turning slightly giving Misha access.
Misha wets a rag and begins cleaning the blood from the least damaged areas first, waiting for the pain meds to kick in. They probably won't do much, but any little bit helps.
Nora slips back through the door. "Martin's heating soup. He said he'll bring it when it's ready."
"Good. How's Logan?"
They shrug. "He left the house, apparently."
Probably for the best. She works through the wounds methodically, letting herself be carried away in the work.
She wishes she still had access to the hospitals equipment, but even if she did taking Jes there with AQUA after them would be suicide. She'll just have to make due with what she has.
Misha struggles to keep her emotions in check as she cleans and bandages each wound. She doesn't want to think about where they came from, but each screams it's own brutal story at her.
Hundreds of cuts layered over one another. Burns running up their arms and covering their feet. Broken and poorly healed fingers. Missing fingernails. Broken teeth.
Whoever did this needs to be castrated.
When shes finally done, she records a list of their injuries and watches Isa feed her patient soup.
Isa whispers comfort, but Jesse hardly looks conscious. They stare off into the shower, mechanically accepting the soup.
Of course it was always a possibility this would be what they found when they finally got Jesse out, but somehow Misha never really considered it seriously. Nothing this bad has happened to anyone in their little family. Maybe it was naivety, but she'd never really thought it would.
Their team is so far from being a serious threat to AQUA she just didnt really think theyd waste their time on people like them.
Ever since AQUA started taking the place of government entities, their lives had become a chaotic fight for survival. But survival usually meant fighting for resources, clean water, food, and shelter. They were always able to look out for each other and fight AQUA in order to survive, but never had she imagined AQUA would waste its time on people like them. They aren't a military group or sect of assassins. They're just regular people, trying to survive.
It retrospect it does seem hopelessly naive.
Suddenly she has to know. It's sensitive, she probably shouldn't ask, but she has to know
“Jesse?”
They look at her, haunted eyes looking almost nothing like the eyes of her friend.
“Why-” she doesn't know how to form her question, but the one word is enough
“They wanted me to give you all up.” They say simply
“Why didn't you?” Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper
Hi! Can I get gagged and care taking for Peter, pretty please?
Great idea! I like to think of this as a continuation of blindfolding/gagging Peter
trigger warnings: vaguely implied sexual violence
“Shh, shh, you’re alright.” The man’s voice seems to come from all directions. From even the inside of Peter’s head. “I think you’re ready to come down now. Are you ready to come down?”
Peter nods. Even nodding sends the world into a tailspin. He whimpers. So tired of hanging here. So tired of the wide open spread of his jaw around the rope gag.
The pressure on his wrists eases as the man lowers Peter to the floor. When his feet hit flat against the concrete, his ankles throb. His knees buckle. Unable to support his own weight.
The man slings an arm around Peter’s waist. He smiles, presses a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. Peter flinches, but doesn’t jerk away. He doesn’t want to hang anymore. If he offends the man, he might hang again.
The man carries Peter upstairs and lays his body in a warm bath.
Initially, Peter’s body misinterprets the heat as painful and he jerks up, sobbing. He’s still gagged, but through the bit of cloth he begs, “Please, please, please.”
“Shh, Peter,” the man says. He pushes him deeper into the water. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Your muscles must be so sore.”
They are. And though the water stings against the rope burns, it also eases the deep ache in his shoulders. The throbbing pain through his biceps. The clench in his calves.
He nods. “Thank you.” His voice is all mumbles now. Peter can’t even remember what he sounded like. Scratchy, people used to say.
A little boy voice, the man says.
Peter flexes his tongue against the gag. He wants it out. The rope and cloth are both soaked through with Peter’s stale saliva. The edges of his mouth are scrubbed raw. His lips are cracked, stretched tight over his teeth. He wants it out. Needs it out.
But Peter doesn’t dare ask for it.
The man washes his hair with soap that smells like strawberry. He pours water from a plastic cup over his shoulders and the back of his neck.
His touch is so tender. Peter starts sobbing. He doesn’t know why.
“Oh,” the man says, a low hum that sounds sympathetic. But how could it be? “I’m sorry. What hurts, Peter?”
Peter lifts his right arm. He sprained something in his forearm, and he’s been hanging on it for hours. Every time he turns his wrist, it shoots pain up to his elbow.
The man works his thumbs against the muscle, massaging all the way up to Peter’s bicep. Each press is painful, but a good kind of pain. He looks up to the man with watery eyes, revolted by his own gratitude.
What kind of person lets someone do what this man has done to Peter? What kind of person is grateful to that man?
When he lowers Peter’s arm back into the water, Peter taps a finger against the side of his gag. Questioning.
He’s had his mouth held open for so long, he’s no longer certain it can be closed.
The man shakes his head, kisses Peter’s head again. “Not yet.”
