caretaker manhandling whumpee. having to get them into a certain position for a medical examination, pinning them down while trying to get them medicine/bandages without them squirming and protesting, picking them up when they're lethargic and carrying them in general, grabbing whumpee by the (metaphorical. but not really) scruff before they get themselves into danger...
summary - With James having acted so strangely the night before, you couldn't stop worrying about him. So you decided to go talk with him, even if he was set on being alone. Luckily for you, you knew just where to find him. After all, he was your best friend.
wc [3.4k]
all chapters | <- Chapter 7 - Chapter 9 ->
The next morning, you sat with Marlene and Lily for breakfast, deciding you needed a break from the boys and all their sudden weird behavior. Your plan to escape them didn't seem to work very much though, since after only a few minutes Sirius was taking the seat next to you.
Marlene glared at him from across the table, recalling all that you'd told them about his interrogation over Sebastian to you last night.
"Lovely to see you too, McKinnon," he greeted sourly before turning to you. "Have you seen James?"
You frowned. "No, I thought he was with you guys."
"Well he's not. He's not in the dorm either. None of us have seen him since last night when he was in his weird mood."
You recounted how quiet he was the last time you saw him, hardly stopping to say goodnight before hurrying off to the dorms. You lowered your voice to a hushed whisper. "Have you checked the map?"
"Not yet," Sirius said back.
You thought for a moment, and an idea came to mind that told you the map wouldn't be needed. "I have a feeling I know where he is."
Without another word, you gathered up your things, and maybe a pastry or two, and took your leave out of the Great Hall. A confused-looking Sirius watched you all the while, but you felt as if you needed a moment alone with James anyway. Especially after seeing him look so closed off the night before.
It took a few minutes to make it all the way across the castle, but soon enough you'd made it down to the locker rooms next to the Quidditch pitch, somewhere you knew James frequented when he spent some time alone.
The hall was mostly empty, which you blamed on the fact that breakfast had only just been served, though you managed to catch one boy on his way out of the locker room.
"Hi," you greeted, and the boy stopped in his tracks to peer curiously at you, who clearly did not play Quidditch. "Do you know if anyone's in there?" You motioned towards the locker room behind him.
He followed your eyeline and, after a beat, turned back to you with the ghost of a smile creeping onto his features. "Looking for Potter?" he asked, his tone somewhat amused. You nodded, hiding your confusion.
"Yeah," he then added, tilting his head towards the door in front of you. "He's in there."
You gratefully smiled at him and mouthed a 'thank-you,' striding towards the locker room.
"James?" you called softly as you opened the door, all too aware that technically you weren't supposed to be in the boys' locker room, but figuring it would be empty besides James anyway. To your suspicions, you were right and there was no sight of anyone. That was, until you turned the corner and saw the boy you'd been searching for.
James was standing in front of his open locker, though he'd disregarded it the moment you'd stumbled upon him after what looked like his post-practice locker room state. That is—shirtless. Very shirtless, and practically glowing underneath the sweat from whatever Quidditch skills he'd been drilling.
"Oh, um," you began messily, eyes widening and trying their best not to so obviously take in any area beside his face, but the gleam of his bare and sun-kissed chest was certainly not making it easy. "I can come back-"
"No," James cut in, and the timbre of his voice echoing in the empty locker room had you pausing. "Stay."
You nodded, his voice soft but strong enough that you found yourself standing there, unmoving. He'd clearly not been expecting any visitors, especially not you of all people, to show up in the locker rooms. But if he knew you at all, and he did, he should've known you'd always find him even when he didn't exactly want to be found.
That fact and the unwelcome wandering of your eyes over his chest and abdomen, as if he wasn't staring straight at you watching you do it, had you feeling slightly guilty. You cursed yourself the moment you realized what you were doing, trying to salvage yourself as much as you could.
You cleared your throat. "You weren't at breakfast," you said after you remembered why you'd come to find him in the first place. Your throat felt tight, the spacious and brightly-lit room suddenly feeling cramped.
"I wasn't that hungry," James said simply, and if he felt at all off-put by his shirtlessness and your obvious fit of staring he didn't show it.
"You need to fuel your body if you're gonna be playing Quidditch all the time, James," you chided.
He shook his head at you, eyes maybe a little warm but probably slightly annoyed. "You sound like my mum."
You breathed in your laugh at the warm memories of his mother from every summer you spent with him. "I'll take that as the highest of compliments then, J."
You swore you saw his lips quirk up at the nickname at the end of your warm sentiment. Maybe he was thinking of your summers together then, too, or maybe he was still questioning why the hell you'd chased him into the locker room. A silence passed over you both for a moment. You were still standing by the door, him at his locker some feet away, wordless.
"But seriously," you continued, taking an intentional step closer to him as you spoke. "You okay?"
James's eyes lifted from where they'd been settled off somewhere in the distance, meeting your own for only a split second. "You really love asking me that question."
You tilted your head at him, knowing he was only being avoidant. "James."
His expression revealed little to nothing, and it was like he refused to meet your gaze from that point on. "I'm fine." Following through with his dismissiveness, James turned away from you then, his front to his open locker and his back, his very bare back, to you. He began putting away his things, the muscles visible to your eyes churning with each action. You ignored that on top of his aversion.
"Are you sure?" you asked. "Because I know that last night you didn't exactly seem 'fine' and all, or, I don't know, you seemed upset," you fumbled to voice. "And then I talked with Remus and he kind of mentioned that you might be upset because of me and-"
"He did?" You could see him tense as his words broke your rambling. Either you'd begun to melt his sudden cold exterior or you'd frozen it even further.
"Yeah, he did." You spoke slowly, words cautious. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it, I promise." You paused there, giving him an opening to respond, but he didn't. He didn't even turn your way, his back still to you as he began organizing whatever he had in his locker. Your worrying kept your mouth running. "And if I did something to upset you, then- "
"You didn't." James finally turned around, shifting your view of him from his back to his front, and you could see in his eyes that he was holding something back. He looked uncharacteristically shy, his voice coming out softly but withdrawn. "You didn't do anything to upset me."
"That's good to hear," you said, even if you didn't truly believe it. "But you're clearly upset about something. I mean, you're out playing Quidditch before half the school's even woken up."
He shrugged his bare shoulders. "I do that all the time."
"Without telling any of the boys?" you questioned. "Sirius didn't even know where you were. We were gonna use the map."
James stared at you silently for a second, as if he was considering something up in that brain of his, but he stopped the action with a slight shake of his head and another shrug. "Look, I don't know what you want from me." His tone was growing more irritated with every word you pulled from him, and it was starting to not only annoy you but hurt you.
"I just want you to tell me what you're upset about-"
"I'm not upset, alright?" He practically cut you off, shutting his locker door with a jarring echo, but the sound was less alarming than the flinch you noticed in James's face. You shifted your gaze downward. Maybe you'd been too distracted by his reserved front or his unexpected shirtlessness to notice the bandages on his wrist.
Your brows pulled. "What's wrong with your wrist?"
James's eyes darted to yours at the question, and then down at his wrapped wrist as if he'd forgotten all about it. Knowing James and his unruly way of living, you reckoned he probably had. "It's nothing." He threw the shirt he'd most likely recently taken off over his shoulder, apparently ready to ignore your prying all over again.
You stared him down disbelievingly. "James."
He paused his endless movement to offer you a better answer with a sigh. "It started bothering me a few days ago during practice." When you continued frowning down at the injury, he added, "It's no big deal. I hardly notice it."
"You just flinched." You narrowed your gaze. "Now stop being all mysterious and let me at least look."
Giving in to your doting, James took a seat beside you on the wooden locker room bench, his legs facing the opposite side of yours. The skin of his shoulder brushed against your own, which you ignored.
Ever-so-carefully, you picked up James's hand and laid his wrist in your palm. His skin was surprisingly soft, something that contrasted the material of whatever bandage he'd used to cover his injury that'd clearly been chafing angrily against his skin. You eyed the messy bandage work and suppressed any urges to scold him, figuring he was already sitting here against his will.
You glanced up at him from where you sat, only a few inches between the two of you, and looked at him for approval to do more. His eyes searched yours for a beat, maybe in question, and then he nodded.
Steadily, you used your other hand to begin unwrapping the greying gauze, focused on the sound of your own tight breathing and the steadiness of your hands working the bandages. They'd definitely needed rewrapping if not just being thrown out and replaced altogether.
The silence in the empty locker room was distracting you, or maybe it was the fact that James sat so silently next to you, watching your every move. In your peripheral, you could see the hard plain of his chest rising and falling as you worked on his wrist. You chased the view away, lowering your head more until all you could see was your hands and his.
It took another moment to fully unwrap his wrist, your perturbation only heightening each time a new inch of bruising skin was revealed. You held the uncovered limb in your hands, frowning and fighting back a gasp at how not-fine the injury seemed.
"Merlin," you whispered, taking in the redness that'd come from both the bandages and the visible swelling. Slowly, you bent his hand forward ever so slightly, and even that action had James tensing in your hands, the small inhale he took more than audible to you from next to him. "You're telling me you hardly noticed this?"
James gave another aggravating shrug. "It only got this bad this morning. Must've slept on it wrong."
"Or maybe it was from you overworking it out on the pitch just now." You gave him a look. "You're lucky it's your non-dominant hand."
You scanned over the injury for another second and then placed his wrist on your lap gingerly. You turned to get your wand out of your bag but remembered the pastries you snagged from the Great Hall for him.
"I brought you food from breakfast, for after I finish with your wrist." You nodded to your bag. "I even got a chocolate croissant. Your favorite." You felt your lips tugging into a smile. Godric, you really did sound like a mother.
"You didn't have to," James insisted delicately, though you saw his eyes soften momentarily.
"I had to pay you back somehow for all the food you sent up to my room the other day. I never got to thank you."
James shook his head. "I got your thank you note."
It took a second for you to recall the scribbling of your quill against napkin, something you'd done in a hurry in your dorm but meant every word you wrote. You felt your cheeks warm at the memory and under James's gaze that you swore you could feel dancing across your face.
You focused back down at his hand that rested on your lap, taking ahold of your wand and pointing it steadily at the discoloration around his wrist. You certainly were no Madam Pomfrey, but you'd learned some basic healing spells over the years from being the boys' honorary on-hand nurse every time they came back still achy after full moons.
Even with that knowledge, you knew not to try anything too experimental on James's sensitive wrist. Delicately, you lifted his arm again before softly muttering the most appropriate healing spell you could recall. His arm felt especially heavy in its limpness, but you could tell James was still tense. You moved the fingers that held his arm back and forth slightly, a soothing gesture as you dragged the tip of your wand over the bruises. The pointed wood grazed over red-and-purpled skin but left it void of discoloration as it moved.
Your lips parted at the sight that never failed to seem brilliant to you, no matter how many nights you spent alongside your friends in the nurse's wing as she tended to them. You didn't look up to see his expression, but you could feel James's fingers soften in your grasp, hear his breathing shallow.
You worked on his wrist with your wand for another minute before you were satisfied, moving it around slightly and humming softly at the lack of discomfort he seemed to have. For safe measure, you lifted his arm from atop your thigh again and began rebandaging it, more neatly this time. Your fingers grazed against now healthy-colored skin, his long fingers limp in your hold but seeming more alive now that the wrist they were attached to was stronger.
You closed off the bandage, tucking in what needed to be tucked and scanning over your work once more for good measure. You leaned forward slightly to make sure the bandage wasn't twisted on the side of his hand you couldn't see and felt a soft and featherlike something brush against the top of your forehead.
Taken out of the intense focus you'd had on his wrist, you looked up to find the culprit of the feeling. It'd been one of James's curls that'd brushed against the top of your head, a sensation nauseatingly familiar, but you were more concerned with the way he was looking down at you.
Looking didn't seem a proper word for it, maybe studying or staring a better fit, but all train of thought had gone off the rails when you met his eyes. They were hazel, you knew that fact better than you knew the back of your hand, but now they seemed to sink into a deeper color, something heavy behind the way he was looking at you. And maybe you were only imagining it, but you could've sworn his gaze was angled to an area near your parted lips.
You blinked in alarm as your breath caught in your throat, not knowing what to do with all the weight of his stare but feeling like moving was impossible anyway with the way he seemed to suffocate you, all without moving a muscle. You were so close to him, close enough to see the heavy rise and fall of his very bare chest and every movement in his face. His breathing was thick, and yours was getting heavier by the second. Something shuttered inside of you as your brain recalled the only other time he'd looked at you in this way, right before he kissed you over Spin the Bottle.
You tried to chase the fluttery, dizzying feeling away, but it stayed fixed in place within your stomach. Did he know how he was looking at you right now? Like he was deep in thought, but as if his mind was blank, hypnotized. Like you'd entranced him. Like he didn't mind. Like he wanted to ...
The door to the locker room slammed open, and you'd never turned your head so fast in your life. You were sure James did too, but you were too busy staring at the unfamiliar strawberry-blonde boy standing in the doorway to be sure.
"Crap, I'm so sorry Captain," rang the short boy nervously, eyes shot wide as he took in the proximity of you and James, his shirtlessness, and most likely the flush in your face. James stood up and you followed suit, noticing the distance he'd already put between the two of you. "I didn't know you were in here. I just came for my broom polish. "
James cleared his throat, curtly nodding at the boy. "It's alright, Crembley." His voice took on the assertion of a levelheaded Quidditch Captain and showed no sign of the unstableness you were feeling from beside him. You didn't know how the hell he did it.
That thought, along with seemingly hundreds of other ones, ran through your head whilst the kid James addressed as Crembley ran through his things in the locker by the door. All you could hear was the shuffling of his things and the ringing in your ears as you waited. Daring to look over, James's head was perched downward in the silence, and he didn't show any signs of discomfort besides the subtle tick of his jaw.
It felt as if an eternity had passed before the boy found what he needed, carrying a round container in his hand as he closed his locker and walked back towards the door. "See ya Captain," he smiled thinly, probably noticing the thickness in the air. He nodded to you politely as well, albeit awkwardly, before taking his exit, leaving you and James alone in the locker room once more.
The silence was deafening. You looked down at your shoes and then at James, who somehow seemed like he was standing even farther away from you than before. You took a breath in to speak before you even knew what you were going to say, but James beat you to it.
"You should go." His voice cut through the silence and echoed through the room and your head unwelcomingly, tone low and sober.
You blinked at him, brows pulling into a line. "What?"
"I mean," he continued, seeming to correct his blunt tone before you could question it. "You're gonna miss Transfiguration."
His explanation didn't have you feeling any less confused. Your forehead creased and you squinted at him and his tense, broad shoulders. "So are you. James, what-"
"I'll meet you there, okay?" he still hadn't looked at you fully, eyes pitched somewhere too low or too shifted to either side of you to be truly at you. You didn't know what was going on, the questions you'd been trying to get answers to still swirling across your mind, unanswered. You tried to force him to meet your eyes, at least give you that respect, but he wouldn't. As you stared at him and the unwavering projection of his hardened gaze, you gave up trying to shift it.
"Okay."
Your heart throbbed in your chest, tired from the work it'd been put through in the span of a single minute. You suppressed the feeling, gathering your bag and throwing it over your shoulder. You took steps towards the door and James, but paused, remembering something.
"Here." You reached into your bag, pulled out the pastries you'd brought for him concealed by a napkin, and held them out for him to take. For a second, he didn't move, and you thought he might reject your offer entirely from whatever mood he'd been consumed by and send you on your way. But he was still James, the one you'd known since forever, and he took them from your hand timidly.
"Thanks," he said, almost a whisper, and he met your eyes then for only a second. You didn't miss the flush of his cheeks that you were sure matched your own, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. His eyes were guilty and quiet and a muscle in his jaw worked as he looked down at the food in his hand. He kept his gaze on it as you pushed open the locker room door and rushed away, feet moving you as your mind stayed stuck in the locker room, replaying its scenes like they would make anything that'd just happened clearer.
MEA Skin Repair Market Expected to Reach USD 14.10 Billion by 2035 Driven by Growing Aesthetic Treatments and Healthcare Advancements
The MEA Skin Repair Market is experiencing significant growth as consumers increasingly seek advanced skincare solutions, wound management products, and aesthetic treatments. The market was valued at USD 7.17 billion in 2025 and is projected to reach approximately USD 14.10 billion by 2035, expanding at a CAGR of 7.00% from 2026 to 2035.
The market is benefiting from growing awareness regarding skin health, increasing incidences of chronic wounds, rising demand for cosmetic and aesthetic procedures, and continuous improvements in healthcare infrastructure across the region. As healthcare providers and consumers prioritize faster healing, scar reduction, and skin restoration, demand for innovative skin repair products and technologies continues to rise.
Key Factors Driving Market Growth
✨ Growing Popularity of Aesthetic Procedures
The increasing demand for non-invasive and minimally invasive cosmetic treatments is creating strong opportunities for skin repair products and devices. Consumers are seeking solutions that support skin rejuvenation, post-procedure recovery, and overall skin wellness.
🏥 Improving Healthcare Infrastructure
Many countries across the Middle East and Africa are investing heavily in healthcare modernization, expanding access to advanced wound care treatments and dermatological services. These developments are supporting wider adoption of skin repair solutions.
🩹 Rising Prevalence of Chronic and Acute Wounds
An increase in diabetic foot ulcers, surgical wounds, burns, traumatic injuries, and pressure sores is driving demand for effective skin repair therapies. Healthcare professionals are increasingly utilizing advanced wound care products to improve patient outcomes and reduce recovery times.
🌿 Growing Consumer Awareness of Skin Health
Consumers are becoming more conscious about maintaining healthy skin and preventing long-term skin damage. This trend is fueling demand for moisturizers, serums, topical treatments, and specialized skin repair formulations.
The MEA Skin Repair Market is expected to witness robust expansion over the next decade, supported by advancements in regenerative skincare technologies, increasing healthcare spending, and growing demand for aesthetic and wound care treatments. As innovation continues to improve treatment effectiveness and accessibility, skin repair solutions are likely to play an increasingly important role in enhancing patient care and skin health across the region.
uv never felt true pain till u got cut while peeling oranges and the citrus juices just keep going into the cut putting ur hand into agony but u gotta keep peeling the other 8 oranges
This is a heads up for my disabled, ADHD, fat, and chronically ill followers that may have to deal with injuries and topical infections! This stuff is awesome for if you have to look after a wound that you can't easily reach or clean multiple times a day.
Gentian Violet is a non-prescription topical antibacterial liquid that contains a blue skin-dying agent. My wound care doctor is fat, and his patients are largely bed-bound, bariatric, or otherwise can't keep up with rigorous wound-cleaning and bandaging routines for stuff like injuries or flareups of cellulitis infections.
This stuff stings pretty bad at first when it's applied and stains your skin a really potent blue color. Once the Gentian dries and dyes your skin, it means that you have a painted-on antibiotic membrane over your wound that you don't have to bandage, and keeps its seal on your wound for TWO DAYS. That includes with regular showering/bathing.
If you have memory issues, this stuff is fantastic. Not only does it stay active and killing bacteria for 2 days, but the reason the stuff is dyed so potently is so you remember to reapply it when the dye fades. When the dye starts to show your regular skin through again? Time too reapply!
If you have motion, mobility, or fatigue problems, this stuff is fantastic. Especially if you're looking after a wound that's in a tricky place to keep clean all the time without having to fully shower, you can literally use cotton swabs (no double-dipping, please! It's not sanitary!!!) to paint the area, and don't have to concern yourself with it again for another couple of days, giving you extra time to rest and heal, and more time to avoid feeling overwhelmed and panicked because you're "not taking good enough care" of it.
If you're allergic to bandage adhesives or get contact dermatitis from wound dressings, this stuff is great. Sometimes an injury or wound needs dressing just for the sake of the healing process rather than avoiding infection, but for ones where that isn't a concern for you, Gentian is a really good alternative for if Stuff That Cuts Off Air To Your Skin gives you problems.
All in all? It stings like hell at first, but my actual doctor told me that he regularly treats patients with full-limb wounds, and they suffer no ill effects for having large portions of their bodies painted with it instead of bandages and gauze.
If it seems like it might be helpful for you, please do talk to your doctor about it. In my state, it's non-prescription and my doctor gave me my bottle for free. Just be careful with using new medical products, and always remember that it's okay to say, "I can't do that easily. I'm disabled. Can you please provide alternatives for me?" when it comes to medical staff pushing you into care regimens that are more destructive than healing for you.
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
