A Curse Upon Thee 27

“This is still a terrible idea.”

Finn rolled his eyes as Dr. Swineheart stood in the sterile glass doorway, clipboard full of discharge papers in hand. The frown visible through the man’s scraggly beard told Finn all he needed to know, consternation and irritation clear as the sunlight through the open window behind him.

Judging from what Ruby had told him, it was also the look of a man who’d just lost a lengthy and drawn-out argument with hospital administration.

“It was your idea first.” And Finn had been nice enough to wait the whole seven days while under heavy medication and dealing with shitty hospital food. “Don’t forget that.”

“Categorically terrible.” Swineheart went on like he couldn’t hear Finn, the man just shaking his head the whole time. “My fault, too. Entirely my fault for only putting ‘one week’ on the initial chart. Absolutely should have pushed for two.” A pen scratched out aggressively across the bottom of forms Finn hoped were his. “But apparently, against all reasoable logic, you’re legally entitled to make terrible decisions regarding your own mortality.”

Finn flashed bright whites at the chubby surgeon. “It’s a constitutional right, Doc.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Don’t know how that’s possible.” Finn’s smile didn’t fade as a thin finger poked him right in the cheek, his girl cooing at his side with a smile of her own. “He can’t help it.”

“…Nurse Sprat, please get the patient ready for discharge before I’m sick.” Swineheart passed off the heavy clipboard into the waiting hands of the full-figured blonde nurse at his side, Sprat immediately stepping up to the side of the hospital bed without missing a beat.

Clicking his tongue, the man looked back at Finn. “Your heart is still struggling to compensate for the trauma of that bullet and the surgery, young man. Your left lung was completely collapsed just one week ago and that is on top of multiple fractured ribs that are still very much in the active healing phase.”

“You’ve told me this, doc.” Ruby’s hands running through his hair was a distraction but Finn managed to focus somehow. “Like multiple times.”

“I’m telling you now,” Swineheart grit his teeth, “that you should be strapped down to a bed with a morphine drip for another two weeks, minimum.”

“Eh.” Finn shrugged. “I’ll rest at home.”

“I’m sure you’ll do absolutely nothing restful from what I’ve heard of your antics.” Finn nodded along, Swineheart lecturing as Nurse Sprat removed the main IV line from the inside of Finn’s left arm. With a sharp stinging rip, the heavy medical tape came free from his skin and allowed that spot on his arm to finally breathe again without replacement for the first time in a week. “But fine. When you’re inevitably readmitted bleeding from the chest, I will do my best not to gloat in front of the entire surgical team.”

“Aww shucks, that’s real kind of ya, doc.”

Ruby’s laugh came soft next to his ear as the sticky heart monitor leads came clean next, the nurse pulling off round electrodes from his chest. Quick efficient yanks one after another took out patches of what non-existent hair he had there.

The sticky heart monitor leads came off next, Nurse Sprat pulling the round electrodes away from his chest with quick, efficient yanks that took out patches of pale skin and hair.

Then came the chest tube.

“Deep breath in.” The plastic tube gripped tight in her gloved hand, the nurse paused to give him a tight look, husky voice as serious as Swineheart’s was sardonic. “And don’t let it go till I say so.”

Finn took in the ordered breath, still-healing ribs grinding together loud enough to be heard.

Oh fuck meee… It didn’t hurt exactly. 

Not really, not in the way that Finn knew pain.

Because Finn did know pain.

The way the thick plastic tube physically slid clean out of his chest cavity was more a profound wrongness; the exact feeling of a foreign object that absolutely should not be moving dragging itself through his internal organs anyway. Nggghh… Teeth grit tight, Finn managed to keep his mouth shut, refusing to give Swineheart the satisfaction of even a grunt.

“Good. Now take that breath out, big guy.” Nurse Sprat pressed down hard on the still-raw site, a thick wad of sterile gauze and some medical tape enough to keep the heavy dressing securely in place. “You’re doing significantly better than most of the guys we get in here.”

“Really, ‘cause I feel like shit kinda.” Finn didn’t bother looking at Swineheart as the man snorted at his attempt at honesty, even if it was an understatement. “If my girl wasn’t here, you might see some tears, lady.”

“And you’re so very brave for that.”

And there’s the sarcasm.
“Now, these…” Sprat’s hands roamed the thick white bandages wrapped tightly around Finn’s torso and over his left shoulder, strong fingers prodding at the edges of his dressings. “These need to be changed and I mean changed daily. You keep them dry and you do nothing strenuous with them on. Absolutely no heavy lifting or cardio. Don’t even try lifting anything past a bag of groceries, are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Mmmmhmm.” Sprat nodded. “Just do as the good doctor says and avoid any loose-cannon cop behavior for the next month.”

“Got it.”

Ruby stepped up to the edge of the bed, a clean black t-shirt waiting in her hands. “Arms up.”

That was easier said than done, but Finn did his best anyway and Ruby helped him navigate the sleeves. Carefully and agonizingly slow, she worked around the bulky bandages that still wrapped his chest and ruined shoulder. Every single movement burned bright flares of pain through his ribs and chest but — jaw locked tight — Finn pushed through the fire.

Soft cotton fabric finally settled against his pale skin, he realized he was still aware of exactly how much space the bullet holes had taken up on his torso for things that were so small. 

“Still look like death, Red.” Dark green eyes dropped down, Ruby taking in the bandages visible under the hem of the shirt. “I know this was a hard week for you.”

“Still beat the Grim Reaper.” Granted, it had him spend a week barely conscious in a hospital bed and drugged up to his increasingly weaker and weaker pain meds, but he could only sleep for so long. “Not dead yet.”

“That’s really not a high bar to brag about.”

Finn managed a slippery grin, expression pulling tight at the corners of his mouth. “Best I can do right now, Bee.”

Swineheart stepped back in front of him, a rattling orange pill bottle shoved into Finn’s good hand. “Antibiotics. Take them. Doesn’t matter if you wake up tomorrow feeling perfectly fine, you understand? You finish the entire course. And these…” The head of surgery shook a second bottle, this one slightly smaller. “Pain meds. You’re going to need them.”

“I, uh…” Blue eyes blinked at the bottle of Percocet. “I don’t really like painkillers, Doc.” He really just didn’t need anything sending him to sleep anytime soon. “Not for me.”

“I don’t care what you like. You take the damn pills, McHale.” Swineheart’s glare could have burned right through his glasses and melted the wall. “Or you come crying back to my emergency room when you can’t sleep for three days straight because your ribs are screaming at you for being stupid.”

Alright. Nodding, Finn popped open the second bottle and took a pill in front of the surgeon, dry-swallowing it, before shoving both deep into the front pocket of his jeans. “Happy?”

“…sure.” Swineheart stepped backward toward the door, a sigh leaving the man. “You are officially discharged. Try your hardest not to get shot in the chest again, McHale. At least, not any time soon.”

“Top-tier bedside manner, doc.”

“Uh-huh.” Swineheart didn’t even bother with a parting comment as the man left the room, Sprat right on his heels as they vanished down the hall.

“You’re an absolute idiot, you know?” Ruby’s fingers worked the front of his shirt, finishing the last few buttons with significantly more force than was strictly necessary.

“Yeah.”

“And completely reckless.” 

“Sounds like me.”

“And I’d like it a lot better if you tried not to get yourself killed.” She looked up sharply, green eyes fierce and territorial, hands stilling at his collarbone. “I mean that. No more getting yourself killed. No walking out into traffic. No throwing yourself in front of any more bullets. You understand me?”

Finn reached up slowly, still fighting the ache in his shoulder, and cupped the side of her face with his good hand. A thumb brushed her cheek. “From your lips to-.”

She kissed him before he could finish, pulling the words right out of his mouth. A second later, Ruby pulled back with a sharp smile on her face that Finn would take as something of a threat if he was in any condition to take off his clothes again. “Good. Now let’s get you back to Granny’s before you collapse in the hallway and prove ol’ Swiney right.”

Finn grinned back.

Unfortunately, they made it exactly halfway down the long, sterile corridor toward the main exit before a commotion of chaos exploded at the far end of the wing.

Too many people shouting, all of their frantic voices bouncing off the linoleum and accompanied with the concussive backbeat of running footsteps.

A gurney came rushing past them, wheels squeaking violently as Nurse Sprat pushed the heavy rig as fast as she could, her round face flushed a patchy bright red. Huffing and puffing, the flatly sardonic woman from before was gone, replaced by a consummate medical professional in the middle of an emergency.

But Finn couldn’t care about her.

Not when his eyes caught who was on the stretcher. Henry?

Emma’s son lay completely unconscious on the thin mattress, small frame as fragile as Finn had ever seen it. His skin was sickly, almost chalk-like, and completely devoid of color.

His mom was running right beside him, Emma’s bone-white knuckles gripping the metal side rail like she was trying to tear it off. Henry’s other mother was on the opposite side, Regina’s usual tailored perfection actively fraying at the edges with none of her theatrical elegance showing.

What the… Finn stumbled forward off Ruby’s helping arm. “Emma, what happened to him?!”

“I d-don’t know!” Emma shot back, voice cracking violently down the middle, the sound echoing down the hall as she rushed past him. “He… Henry just collapsed at my house! He won’t wake up!”

Finn froze dead in the center of the hallway, everything almost vanishing to nothing as the entire hospital procession disappeared through the heavy doors leading right into the emergency trauma wing he and Ruby had just left.

As the heavy glass swung shut, blue eyes widened as the invisible radar in his skull spiked, a siren in his senses drowning out the ambient noise of the hospital.

Something clung to the air in the hallway like a perfume. Heavy, suffocating and smelling strongly of apples.

The residual was specific.

Undeniable, almost.

He knew exactly what it tasted like on the back of his tongue.

Because he’d smelled something almost exactly like it burning inside Graham right before his heart stopped beating outside the station.

“Fuck.” 

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

15 Cent – 100 GP

Recover from three gunshots.

ROLL: Imposing Declaration of Title (0) [Asura’s Wrath] {Illusion}:

Whenever you do something dramatic or just something really badass, perception of you changes for a split-­second. Observers see the title or high-­concept description of your current state or action as awesome block characters superimposed on their vision. This applies to named attacks/combat maneuvers, legendary weapons, companions and so on.

Grimoire Points: 600