#concussions

[stevesbipanic]

Steve's only 25 when it all catches up to him.

It starts off small, things people wouldn't even be able to tell is an early sign of something wrong. Misplacing keys, forgetting which day he has his shifts, what time he's supposed to get Robin. Robin notices though.

Robin knows Steve always keeps his keys on the hook next to Eddie's by the front door, that's where he always finds them, he's not misplacing the keys, he's forgetting the hook exists.

Robin knows Steve has the same shifts every week, they never change because they line up with Eddie's at the record store nearby. Robin knows Steve isn't forgetting what time he's supposed to pick Robin up, he's forgetting Robin moved away a few months ago after she graduated college.

Robin keeps noticing when the kids start calling her because the little things are becoming big things.

Robin notices when Dustin calls and tells her Steve thought he and Suzie were back together, "Like how crazy is that we broke up two years ago, I don't think I've even mentioned her lately."

Robin notices when Lucas calls and tells her Steve asked when his next game was, "The season ended months ago, he came to the finals."

Robin notices when Max calls and whispers softly, "He asked to take me to the skatepark, Robin, I told him I had to help mum. He's forgotten I'm blind Robin."

Robin wished she'd noticed sooner, maybe years ago when Steve was getting knocked around a lot. She wished she'd screamed in the face of those Russians to take her instead. She wished a lot of things when Eddie called her.

"He's in hospital, Birdie, he collapsed at work."

Robin is back in Chicago for the first time since she graduated. She wished she'd visited sooner.

"Do you think the feds are gonna let me go soon, Robbie? I mean it usually doesn't take this long for them to bring me the NDAs."

Robin hopes Steve doesn't notice her eyes going glossy as she runs her fingers through his hair, "Don't worry Stevie, I'm sure they'll be in soon, Dusty is probs just arguing over something in his."

"At least he isn't having to explain he raised a demodog. Did I ever tell you about that Robbie?"

Robin smiles softly, "Yeah but tell me again, don't want to forget any of it."

Eddie gives Robin the gist of what the doctors said, Eddie didn't understand much, a lot of technical words and shit. Too many concussions, more than they knew about most likely. They say it'll probably get worse with no timeframe of how quickly it'll happen, there might be good days, there will be a lot of bad days.

The first bad day comes a week later. Steve barely remembers Eddie, trapped in a time when Eddie was just the kids DM. Eddie sobs in the corridor in Robin's arms. The next day it's like nothing happened and Steve gets discharged. They tell Steve, this time Eddie is the one to comfort him.

"I don't want to forget you Eds."

"It's okay if you do, sweetheart, I'll still be here."

It's Robins idea to start writing everything down. Eddie, Nancy and the kids all help. Filling journals upon journals of stories and pictures of Steve's life to help on the bad days. Steve has to quit his job, Robin moves back to Chicago, they make it work.

On bad days depending on how far back Steve is Dustin or Robin or Eddie will read through the books with him, filling in the gaps of what he needs. On the worst days, Eddie leaves the pile of journals on the bed with a note and waits downstairs to see if Steve will join him later.

They make it work for a few years. Steve celebrates his 30th birthday with perfect clarity. He writes himself an entry in the journal next to a big group picture with Steve and Eddie's matching rings showing.

That July, over a decade since Starcourt, Steve is in hospital again. He'd collapsed at breakfast. Eddie had thought it was going to be one of their good days, Steve had woken up fine, all his memories in tact if a little fuzzy. He'd made them coffee and giggled at Eddie's singing while he made them eggs and just like that it all came crashing down.

Steve's brain is shutting down. They don't know if he'll make it past Christmas. There's more bad days after that. More days with books left on the bed. Most days Steve doesn't even come downstairs. On the good days, Eddie always calls off work. He'd rather be fired than miss a single second of Steve smiling at him like he does, so full of love.

They have Christmas, the whole family comes, they have to bring every chair from around the house and squish in around the table just to fit but it's perfect. Steve sits between Robin and Eddie, face bright and full of love and life. Everyone gives him the tightest hug as the night closes, all lingering, afraid of letting go.

"I love you, dingus."

"I love you too, Robbie."

Later, upstairs in their room, Steve and Eddie go through all the journals, laughing softly at each little note the kids have left. Steve writes his little journal entry, a tradition of good days, and curls into Eddie's arm whispering soft loving words to each other before falling asleep.

Steve never wakes up.

The funeral happens shortly after, all of the family is still in town. Robin holds Eddie afterwards as they go through the journals together. When they get to the last page, they struggle not to smudge the ink with their tears.

Dear Eds and Robbie,

I don't know how many more good days I'm going to get so I'm leaving this here for you now. I love you both so much, you're equally my soulmates and I want you two to look after each other while I'm gone.

Robs, go travelling with Nancy, ok? Thank you for looking after me all these years but it's time for you to go look after yourself. Go see the world for me, tell me all about it wherever I am when you get back.

Eddie, I'm sorry we didn't get as much time as we hoped, I hope you know that even just a day with you has been worth a lifetime with anyone else. Go follow your dreams, write music, perform, show the world how amazing I know you are. I give you full permission to fall in love with whoever you meet along the way, I don't want either of you guys to be alone.

Thank you for giving me a life worth remembering.

Your Dingus,

Stevie

#omfg i sobbed writing this im sorry #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stobin #robin buckely #angst #poor steve #concussions #memory loss #fuck i actually cried so much omfg #ficlet #major character death #tw major character death #tw death

[mindblowingscience]

The study adds to the growing body of science that suggests that “cocoon therapy”—bed rest in the dark with minimal mental stimulation after concussion—isn’t good for patients. Instead, when done under the guidance of a trained clinician, exercise is preferable, says Landon Lempke, a research fellow with appointments at the University of Michigan Concussion Center and the Exercise and Sport Science Initiative, both housed in the School of Kinesiology and first author of the study in the journal Sports Medicine. The observational study monitored more than 1,200 college athletes at 30 institutions nationwide before injury and at injury until medical clearance. The study wasn’t designed to establish a causal relationship between exercise and concussion recovery, but the findings are in line with previous smaller, randomized controlled trials identifying similar relationships. Athletes who began light exercise within 48 hours were considerably more likely to see symptoms resolve than those who did not exercise, with about 2.5 days faster symptom recovery time. Athletes who started exercising roughly eight days or later after injury were significantly less likely to experience symptom recovery than those who did not exercise, and took about five days longer to recover.

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#science #stem #health #medicine #concussions #sports medicine #exercise

[mysharona1987]

#herschel walker #sports #gop #democrats #georgia #concussions #fox news #news

[lifblogs]

#concussion #concussions #head injury #tbi #poll #polls

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

Steve: My toxic trait is that I don't believe in concussions and I just walk them off like a pro

Eddie:

Eddie: Nope, you're seeing a doctor

#and eddie just sits him down and has a serious talk with him about this #eddie cares for his health #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve be walking off his concussions like a pro #he helps steve when he gets concussions yes multiple more concussions because its steve we're talking about #concussions #he's basically jason grace

[thegoblinboy]

Ok but I’ve only seen people discuss Steve getting concussions. But can we talk about him knowing when someone has gotten a concussion? Like Eddie fell pretty hard during that one scene what if not only did he survive but he had a concussion. Just imagine Steve forcing him to stay awake, taking care of him the way he wished he was taken care of. Making sure the other had water and medication while he nursed him back to health. Like I’m imagining a scene where the bats do get Eddie but not in a ‘imma bleed out way’ it’s more like scratches. Just imagine Steve pulling Eddie up, who’s head is spinning and help shielding his eyes from the light. Just Steve Harrington taking care of Eddie but also helping Dustin. Who’s house was destroyed in the earthquake. Like ahhh I could go on about this idea. Just imagine Eddie taking care of steve as well. Like they barely know each other but no one would think to check Steve Harrington’s house. Because let’s be honest his image of being a prep is in stone and every one assumes he would be on Jason’s side.

Like I want more content of that. LIKE IMAGINE IF ROBIN HITS HER HEAD TO HARD. She gets a concussion and Steve is literally all over her. Helping her at his and when she isn’t allowed to sleep and her parents want her home he stays up all night talking to her. It gets to the point where he stays the night at the buckleys because the phone bill is so high. Just him driving her everywhere and going over the top. Though Robin loves the attention she makes sure he’s taken care of as well. She makes it clear that he also has a concussion to her parents. They make their own shirts one night writing “concussion Buddies” on it. Yes, I love Steve being taken care of with concussions but I also need more gentle ones where he helps someone with a concussion as a ex athlete who thinks concussions should be taken more serious then what they are by people. Because he’s had them, and now he has problems seeing and hearing. He wouldn’t wish this on anybody.

#steve harrington has head trauma #concussions #steve refuses to leave someone with a concussion out of sight #if Robin gets a concussion it’s all over he will freak out #hurt comfort #stobin headcanons #platonic stobin #codependent stobin #Steve harrington #robin buckley #Eddie munson #dustin henderson #Steddie #Steve x Eddie #dustin and his dads #stranger things #strangerthings #hoh steve harrington #steveharrington #eddiemunson #robinbuckley #dustingenderson #eddie and Dustin #Dustin and Steve #Steve and Eddie #bxb #LGBTQ

[celesticadream]

house md is so cathartic to me when im initially going thru serious illness/injuries, every time. i can’t explain why but i always rewatch during those first few months and if someone can relate pls explain it to me lmaooo

it’s like deeply satisfying specifically if im processing that its happening to me- also while i’m getting lots of tests and dumb ER visits/hospital stays and injuries and doctors etc etc

#like it’s Not That Deep lolllll but it’s inchresting to me #epilepsy #vestibular migraine #breaking my shoulder and wrist and both knees and leg LOL #house md #gregory house #falling bc of vertigo bc of said vestibular migraine disorder #and also #acute pancreatitis #concussions #tylenol OD and apparent cirrhosis #personal #neuro stuff

[frownyalfred]

So concussed Bruce is basically just Broose "Billionaire Playboy" Wayne? Sort of guy who smashes his lamborghini window 'cause he didn't realise his keys were in his other pocket?

concussed Bruce Wayne would realize his Lambo is locked, forget about the keys in his pocket, and fashion a lockpick out of like, a nearby pepsi can, rather than have critical thinking skills for ONE moment.

#asks #bruce wayne #batman #concussions #dc #dc comics #batfamily

[inconsistentracoon]

It won the vote so here it is!

Alternative title, how many times can I make Sora pass out in a single oneshot. Sora takes a tumble in the Underworld and wakes up confused with the worst headache of his life. Donald and Goofy frantically search for him, then are stuck trying to get a very concussed Keyblade wielder to safety.

----

'There were ravines in the Underworld that seemed to stretch on forever, the bottoms hidden by green smog or so far away that light couldn't stretch that far down. For all they knew, some might truly be bottomless. It was hard to know what to expect in Hade's domain. They could only hope that the one Sora had fallen into hadn't been too deep.'

#kingdom hearts fanfic #hurt sora #donald goofy and hercules to the rescue #trinity trio #racoon writes #concussions

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Let the Sun only shine on me through a falling sky- prompt: concussion

Cliff gets a concussion after Morgan accidentally has him punched in the face.

Read it here!

#bthb prompts #bad things happen bingo #concussions #whump #whumpril

[kittymaine]

Come Pick Me Up

// Another fill for Geraskier week. The prompt is hurt/comfort.

Summary: Jaskier is hurt in a car accident and then comforts Geralt. //

The call came in just after Geralt had gotten home from work. It was Jaskier, which wasn’t odd, though he wasn’t expecting the call. He had last seen him that morning when he had kissed him goodbye and wished him luck on his trip. Jaskier was supposed to board a plane around noon to kick off a month-long tour with some other musician friends. He had been excited and had booked a cab to come pick him up that morning and take him to the airport. He had done the same tour every year for the past few years and always seemed to enjoy himself. Geralt missed him while he was gone, but couldn’t begrudge his husband for participating. Jaskier’s music always enjoyed a bump in sales for months afterward and Jaskier was effervescent with happiness for weeks after he got back.

“Hello,” Geralt grunted into his phone, tucking it into his shoulder so he could pull off his boots and toss them near the door.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice carried across the phone line to his ear. His voice sounded faint and tired, so completely unlike himself that Geralt froze where he had been working on his second boot.

“Jaskier,” Geralt replied worriedly, straightening and grasping his phone tightly. “Where are you? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m at the hospital. I need you to come pick me up. Have you gotten off of work?” Jaskier replied, still sounding flat.

“I just got home,” Geralt replied shortly, fumbling to tuck his phone back into the curve of his shoulder so he could step back into his boots. “Which hospital are you at? Memorial or UPMC?” he asked, grabbing his wallet off the side table and yanking the door open. He didn’t bother to lock the door on his way out, hurrying down the hallway of their apartment building and back to the parking garage he had just left.

“Memorial,” Jaskier replied. Again, a short flat answer.

“What happened? Are you medicated?” Geralt asked. He had to keep moving. If he just kept going, he could keep the panic down.

“Yeah,” Jaskier slurred slightly, a little of a laugh in his voice. “It’s that obvious?”

“It’s very obvious,” Geralt replied flatly.

A breathy laugh came to him down the line, which took some of the edge off of Geralt’s panic.

“Jaskier, what happened?” Geralt prompted him again.

“There was an accident,” Jaskier sighed, sounding put out. Geralt imagined he had already related this story many times in the hospital and would probably have to tell it many more times in the weeks to come. “My cab driver cut someone off on the highway and spun out into the median.”

“How badly were you hurt?” Geralt asked. He was in his car and pulling out of the garage by then. He reminded himself to control himself, to drive under the speed limit, not to drive aggressively. If the hospital hadn’t called him, if Jaskier was ready to be picked up and was not being admitted, he must be okay. If Geralt got into an accident due to reckless driving, Jaskier would be stranded at the hospital or worse joined by himself.

Jaskier hummed in his ear. “Not bad, I suppose. It could have been much worse.”

“What are your injuries? Why did you have to go to the hospital?” Geralt asked. He just barely stopped himself from running a red light less than a mile from their apartment. It would be about twenty minutes with rush hour traffic to get to the hospital. Luckily, they lived close by.

“I hit my head on the passenger side window and was bleeding when the EMTs got there. I also had trouble walking on my right knee, so they wanted me to go to the hospital to be checked out,” Jaskier explained. He was starting to sound sleepy. “The doctors said I have a concussion.”

“What about your knee?” Geralt asked, signalling and cautioning himself to wait before making a right at a busy intersection.

“They x-rayed it and said it’s just badly bruised. It’s swollen up like there’s an orange in there, though. It’s gross,” Jaskier laughed again, sounding more than a little giddy.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?” Geralt asked. Jaskier sounded okay, but he was good at masking his fear in Geralt’s experience. He would prefer he not feel he had to tough it out when Geralt could keep him talking until he got there.

“No, that’s okay,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt thought it sounded sincere, but again Jaskier was good at masking his emotions. “I still have paperwork to fill out before they’ll discharge me. Hopefully I’ll be done before you get here.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Geralt said gruffly.

“Okay. Please drive safe, dear,” Jaskier said, concerned.

“Don’t worry about me,” Geralt assured him. “See you soon.”

Jaskier returned the sentiment and then hung up.

Geralt tried to focus on the road and was surprised to see that his hands were shaking. Jaskier was fine. He had just talked to him on the phone. He laughed and joked with him. He was well enough to worry about Geralt. Jaskier was okay. He was okay, Geralt continued to reassure himself.

He had been to war, he had been shot and burnt and seen men and women die. Hell, he had killed people himself. Still, the idea of Jaskier sitting alone and hurt in a hospital made a panic pulse in his throat, it tightened his chest and churned his stomach. He was still surprised, even after being married for years, the depths at which Jaskier could affect him.

Geralt went to the front entrance of the hospital initially, but the older man at the information desk redirected him to the emergency department. Geralt rode a stale smelling industrial elevator down one level to the emergency room. As opposed to the glass panels with lush greenery of the expensive looking front entrance, the emergency room had uncomfortable plastic furniture that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the mid 1980s. The ceiling was covered with drop tiles and fluorescent lighting, scuffed tile floors and scratched beige walls. There were two vending machines humming in the corner beside a water fountain and two security guards sitting behind a small cheap particle board desk.

Jaskier was sitting in a wheelchair wearing grey sweats that definitely didn’t belong to him, dozing with his head resting back against the wall.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called, causing heads to swivel in his direction from the few people staggered around the waiting room. Jaskier’s eyes popped open at the sound of his name and he looked around groggily until his eyes settled on Geralt and he smiled wanly. Geralt knelt in front of him, carefully resting his hand on the knee that looked significantly smaller than the other. “Are you alright?” Geralt asked, surprised to find that he felt out of breath despite having fast walked less than three hundred feet.

“Yes, I’m quite alright. Ready to go home, though,” Jaskier said with a warm smile, placing his own hand over Geralt’s on his knee.

“Sir, you need to sign in,” a stern voice said from behind Geralt. Geralt grit his teeth and looked behind him at the young man in a security uniform standing behind him. The man looked bored more than anything else.

“Oh, he’s just here to pick me up,” Jaskier assured the security guard with a charming smile.

The security guard nodded, but didn’t otherwise move away.

At that point, a nurse who had previously been standing behind a round desk a few feet away approached. He put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and bent down slightly. “Do you want to take the wheelchair out to your car?”

“No, I think I’m alright to walk,” Jaskier smiled up at the young nurse.

It suddenly struck Geralt that he had parked in the parking garage and not near the emergency room entrance. He looked up at the nurse with a stricken expression. “I left my car near the front entrance. Can I pull it up to the doors here?”

“Sure,” the nurse replied. “We have ten minute parking for picking up and dropping off. Did you need directions to bring it around?” he asked.

“No, I can find it,” Geralt said, getting up.

“I’ll wait for you at the exit,” Jaskier said, struggling to stand up.

“Absolutely not. Stay in that chair,” Geralt snapped.

“Why don’t I roll you to the exit and we can wait together?” the nurse asked kindly, effortlessly mediating the situation.

Jaskier scoffed, but gave up surprisingly easily. This concerned Geralt, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. Jaskier was obviously tired, sore and medicated. Geralt wanted to get him home as soon as possible.

Geralt was embarrassed by how long it took him to find his car in the parking garage. He had been so frazzled when he parked he took no time to take notice of where it was that he had parked. He was even more embarrassed by how long it took him to find his way from the front entrance to the emergency room entrance. The hospital that Jaskier was at was an old one that had been remodeled many times and had pieces built on so often that all the roads and parking around it were a complicated mess. It seemed to take forever before he could pull his small gray sedan to the front entrance and jump out, but his phone informed him it had only been ten minutes.

The male nurse was good to his word and was standing beside Jaskier’s wheelchair near the automatic glass doors. He took one arm and Geralt took the other and together they eased Jaskier out of the wheelchair. He grimaced as he stood, but otherwise didn’t give any indication of discomfort. Geralt could easily see that he wasn’t putting any weight on his right knee at all.

“These are all of his personal items,” the nurse said, proffering a plastic drawstring bag. “These are his discharge papers as well as his prescriptions,” he added, this time handing over a thin paper folder with some prescriptions paperclipped to the front. “Our number is on there in case you have any questions or run into any issues. We recommend he make an appointment with his regular doctor for follow up.”

“Understood. Thank you,” Geralt said, keeping one hand on Jaskier’s elbow and taking the bag and folder with his other.

“Thank you, Nurse David,” Jaskier said with a smile, as Geralt carefully helped him hobble toward the car.

It seemed to take forever for Jaskier to carefully hop his way on one leg to the car and Geralt found himself dreading taking him back to their apartment from the parking garage. It was a big complex and a long walk to their front door.

Once they were in the car, something in Geralt’s chest settled. Everything wasn’t perfectly fine, but Jaskier and he were together, Jaskier was officially out of the hospital and in less than half an hour they would be home.

“We should stop by the pharmacy on the way home so that we can drop off your prescriptions,” Geralt said, as he shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.

“How do you feel about Taco Bell?” Jaskier asked in a tired voice.

Geralt looked over to give Jaskier a dirty look, but pulled it back after a few seconds. He had been trying to break Jaskier from eating fast food for years. It was garbage food, a point that Jaskier didn’t fight him on, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want it. Usually, Geralt would give him a firm no and possibly Jaskier would needle and whine at him, but Jaskier looked so exhausted. There, in the natural light of the setting sun, Geralt could see the red marks along the side of his face that would surely become bruises by the next day. He had bags under his eyes and looked boneless where he was strapped into the passenger seat.

Geralt sighed. “Don’t make a habit of it,” he said, defeated.

Jaskier gave a silent fist pump and leaned over to rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder for a brief moment. “This is why I married you,” he said before sitting back.

“For the shitty barely mexican food?” Geralt snarked.

“And that,” Jaskier smirked.

They spent the rest of the car ride mostly talking about the car accident and Jaskier’s time in the hospital. The details of the accident, how and why it happened, who was involved and how long Jaskier was stuck at the scene slowly filled in. Jaskier confirmed that the staff at the hospital had given him some pretty good painkillers while he was there and warned him that once they wore off he would probably have a splitting headache. For the time being, he was just sleepy.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked as they pulled up to the Taco Bell drive through.

“A cheesy gordita crunch, two chicken chalupa supremes, a mexican pizza- No! Wait, a crunchwrap- wait! No, okay, a bean filled crunchwrap supreme-”

Geralt groaned. This all sounded disgusting to him, but he tried to contain his revulsion for Jaskier’s sake.

“Okay, all right, and a large baja blast. That’s it,” Jaskier finished with an apologetic look.

Geralt returned that look with a stern look of his own. “This is only because you’re feeble,” he admonished.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jaskier said drily.

Geralt repressed a smile at Jaskier’s cheeky reply and relayed his order to the best of his ability to the teenager on the other side of the drive through.

Their stop at the pharmacy was uneventful. Geralt dropped the prescriptions off and the lady at the desk advised him to come back in a few hours to pick up Jaskier’s medications. While he was doing that, Jaskier fell asleep in the car and startled awake when Geralt came back and closed the driver’s side door.

It was just a short drive from the pharmacy to their apartment building. Once they were parked in their normal spot, Geralt rushed to get out and get to Jaskier’s door before he could struggle out of it. Geralt opened the door and kneeled down beside it. Jaskier gave him a quizzical eyebrow.

“It’s a long walk to the apartment. I think you should let me carry you,” Geralt said with a determined expression.

Jaskier laughed, but stopped when he saw that Geralt wasn’t doing the same. “Oh, you’re serious,” Jaskier said, looking surprised.

“Your knee is still badly swollen and it will get worse if you try to walk on it like that,” Geralt tried to reason.

“I’m not protesting!” Jaskier exclaimed, “Quite the opposite.” He held out his arms with an obnoxious grin. “Take me away, my dear!”

Geralt gave Jaskier an unimpressed look, but it didn’t dim the happy grin on Jaskier’s face, so he figured it would be best to just get it over with.

A few minutes of awkward fumbling later, Jaskier was slung against Geralt’s back, his arms wrapped around Geralt’s neck, one of Geralt’s hands under Jaskier’s good knee and the bag with Jaskier’s food, clothes and discharge papers in his others.

“I guess there are some perks to being married to a beefcake,” Jaskier sighed into his ear once they were in the elevator.

“I’m going to drop you,” Geralt threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jaskier retorted with faux insult in his voice.

Geralt sighed. “No, I wouldn’t,”

Back in their apartment, Geralt settled Jaskier in the bedroom. He helped Jaskier change out of the sweats that the hospital had given him and into his own pajamas. Whatever medication the nurses in the hospital had given Jaskier was starting to wear off to be replaced by the headache he had been warned about. It was already starting to get dark out, but Geralt closed the blinds anyway. Jaskier waved off any additional medication, food or drink beyond the few bites he had taken of his Taco Bell order. He snuggled down in the blankets and seemed to immediately pass out.

Geralt retreated back into the living room of their small apartment. He put the remains of Jaskier’s food in the fridge. He knew from experience that cold take out was almost as good to Jaskier as hot. He read through the discharge papers that the nurse had provided him. They mostly expanded on the instructions that Jaskier had repeated to him. Most of them were in reference to the concussion. They said that Jaskier would likely suffer from headaches, light sensitivity and fatigue. He needed as much sleep as possible to recover. He needed to stay off of and ice his knee as much as he could.

After reading through the discharge papers, Geralt opened the bag with Jaskier’s belongings and stopped.

Inside the bag were all the clothes that Jaskier had been wearing that morning, his shoes, his wallet and his carry on bag. His clothes were by far the most concerning. They were splashed with blood, especially his hoodie and t-shirt, and had been cut off of him with shears, jagged cuts bisecting his clothes down the front. Even his pants and underwear had been cut off of him. The clothing lay on their kitchen table in a pile, Geralt carefully plucking the pieces apart as he tried to make out exactly what had happened to them. Eventually, after minutes of breathing through his nose to try and calm himself down, Geralt took the clothing in one big handful and shoved them to the bottom of the kitchen trash can. He could buy Jaskier new clothes later, if he was upset about it. There was no repairing the damage done.

Geralt suddenly felt restless. Jaskier was asleep and he didn’t want to leave him alone in the apartment, so Geralt ended up pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. After a little while of stomping back and forth, he turned on the TV with the volume down low and turned on the news. The droning voices of the reporters and the pacing helped with the terrible feeling in his stomach that the bloodied clothes had brought back. Eventually, he was able to settle down enough to make himself a simple dinner and get ready for bed.

He was careful getting into bed beside Jaskier, but he didn’t have to bother. Jaskier was snoring loudly, his arm thrown out above his head and his mouth open. In the pale light of the streetlights streaking between their blinds, Geralt could make out the white gauze square taped to Jaskier’s forehead dotted with red that had previously been hidden beneath his hair.

Geralt still felt anxious. Jaskier was home and safe, so why did he still feel so uncertain. He worried he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but it seemed that as soon as Geralt settled down on his back he passed out, the stress of the past few hours quickly catching up to him.

The next day, Geralt got up early to call off work. Jaskier slept in late and Geralt didn’t dare to bother him. It was almost noon by the time Jaskier fumbled out of the living room hopping on one leg, causing Geralt to shoot up from where he was sitting on the couch and rush to his side.

“You should have called for me. I would have helped you up,” Geralt scolded.

Jaskire grumbled, but if any of it was actual language, Geralt couldn’t make it out.

“Are you hungry?” Geralt asked, helping Jaskier to the couch to lay down.

“No, but I am sore. Do we have any painkillers?” Jaskier asked, shielding his eyes from the dim light that managed to come into the living room past their closed curtains.

“I picked up your prescribed painkillers this morning,” Geralt said, going to the kitchen to get the small bundle of pill bottles he had picked up from the pharmacy. “You’re not supposed to take them on an empty stomach,” Geralt cautioned.

Jaskier groaned in distaste, but otherwise didn’t respond.

“Do you want your Taco Bell from yesterday? I put it in the fridge,” Geralt asked.

Jaskier’s head popped out from behind his hand at that. “Oh! I had forgotten about that. Yes, I’ll eat that,” he agreed happily.

Geralt pulled a face as he grabbed the greasy bag of fast food out of their otherwise pristine fridge. He put it on the coffee table in front of Jaskier as he struggled into a sitting position.

“How’s your knee?” Geralt asked, eying his right knee. It looked almost back to its normal size, but it was hard to tell under Jaskier’s pajamas.

Jaskier had a soft shell taco shoved into his mouth, so he didn’t try to answer. Instead, he reached down and rolled up his pajama pants to reveal his knee. The swelling had gone down, but there was still a good sized knot sitting to the right of his kneecap. Unfortunately, the swelling had largely been replaced with a huge mottled purple bruise that took up all of Jaskier’s knee and most of the right side of his leg.

Grunting in surprise, Jaskier pulled the taco out of his mouth to say, “Well, that is both better and worse than I expected.”

Geralt’s face crumpled at the bruising. It looked terrible. He tried to console himself, to remind himself that he knew that there was no lasting damage, that it was just a bad bruise. The visual, especially on someone he loved so dearly, was too upsetting to dismiss.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, as he got down on his knees and pressed both hands gently over Jaskier’s bruised leg.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, pressing one hand on top of both of Geralt’s and leaning toward him. “It’s okay. It looks much worse than it is.”

Geralt knew that was true. Jaskier was absolutely right. The bruise was ugly, but it would fade in the next few weeks and leave no trace behind.

“You could have died,” Geralt said, instead of all of those very reasonable things. “When I thought of not having you with me anymore, I-” Geralt choked on the words, the events of yesterday crushing down on him all at once, all the thoughts he had been pushing down rushing to the back of his throat.

Jaskier pressed his other hand to the side of Geralt’s face. “It was scary, I know,” he said quietly. “I was lucky that things worked out the way they did. I for one am happy that I’ll have many more years to spend with you,” Jaskier murmured, pressing his lips to the side of Geralt’s face.

“I was so worried,” Geralt ground out, not sure what else could capture what he felt or had been feeling since he got Jaskier’s call.

“I’m sorry, love,” Jaskier whispered, peppering kisses down the side of Geralt’s face.

“I should have been there. You should have called me right away,” Geralt grumbled, melting under Jaskier’s kisses, though he wanted to hang onto his fear and anxiety.

“I know. It took hours, but it felt like everything was moving so fast. I will call you right away next time,” Jaskier agreed, pressing lips to Geralt’s neck.

Geralt gently pushed Jaskier back by his shoulders.

“There won’t be a next time,” he said with a serious face.

Jaskier frowned. “Geralt,” he sighed in exasperation.

Geralt shook his head. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t help it. He almost wanted to keep Jaskier in their apartment forever, never let him take any risks again, but he knew that was foolish. Jaskier thrived on social interaction, on meeting people and entertaining. He was also more fearless than most people Geralt knew. He wouldn’t let the accident slow him down.

Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s neck instead of holding his disapproving gaze. “Perhaps I’ll drive you everywhere from now on,” he said.

Jaskier snorted. “Yes, that will surely work. Vesemir will like that.”

Geralt grimaced at the name of his boss. He didn’t want to think about work. Vesemir was understanding that morning, but he wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“Perhaps you can take the bus from now on,” Geralt said instead.

“Yes, because the bus is certainly safer,” Jaskier responded.

Geralt was silent about that. Jaskier again was not wrong. Geralt hated when Jaskier was the reasonable one.

“Perhaps we can just fuck and laugh and live as much as we can for as long as we can,” Jaskier suggested and Geralt grunted in agreement. Jaskier could be wise sometimes. He supposed he was lucky to have blundered his way into marrying the man.

“Did you want to get started on that first part?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt pinched his side, making him jump and smack him on the back. “You have a concussion,” Geralt said in an unimpressed voice.

“I’m feeling much better,” Jaskier said innocently.

“Eat your shitty tacos,” Geralt sighed and Jaskier pouted.

But, he did eat his shitty tacos. And, they did get to fucking a few hours later. So, everything turned out okay in the end.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #fanfiction #alternate universe - modern setting #hospitals #concussions #car accidents #kittywrites

[woodsfae]

After all the concussions, trauma, and learning French, I really thought I had lost Spanish forever. I have tried to pick it back up intermittently over the years and failed and failed. But in the six days so far of being in Bogotá, it's been coming back to me so fast! And I'm picking up and remembering new vocabulary so quickly I'm astounding myself!

Tonight I successfully told someone (without looking up any vocabulary!!!) how long we would be in Colombia, our general travel plans, that Partner worked remotely for awhile but now we were on vacation...and even more impressively for me, I understood what he was asking in order to tell him that! Such a treat! Thanks, brain!!

#woodsfae #woodsfae in colombia #concussions #head trauma #language learning #spanish #tbi #traumatic brain injury #ptsd #c ptsd

[sweetwhumpandhellacomf]

[Image ID: a photo of doctors reading the results of brain scans. Text reads: Sep 15 National Concussion Awareness Day.]

I think we should make whumpees aware of concussions to celebrate!

#whump #concussions

[ihathbenobiwankenobied]

rip skull (the clone and obi-wan’s)

Part Eleven of 212th Medic Skull Has Had Enough on ao3

| Part two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Summary:

Obi-Wan is concussed, it’s Cody’s fault, and Skull doesn’t have time for this banthashit.

(Or, another follow-up to Skull's infamous run-in with the 212th's newest secret couple. This time, Obi-Wan get's a concussion at a party and as a result, the rest of the 212th gets in on the secret)

Word Count: 4,000 (exactly)

Skull received the text comm message at two in the morning from Waxer. He was awake– of course– because he couldn’t sleep knowing that he was going to be called anyway. That’s what usually happened when the 212th were involved. 

It had been decided by Waxer and Boil’s one collective brain cell that there would be a celebration in the Negotiator’s refectory to celebrate the destruction of the droid factory on Corellia. It was the same factory where Skywalker had destroyed the kriffing Sith artifact that had brought Kenobi to his knees, so Skull hadn’t been opposed to its disintegration. 

However, he wasn’t exactly on board with a planned celebration that Waxer said would involve–  getting karking wasted– and that was it. 

Skull wasn’t exactly the– getting karking wasted–  type, so he had respectfully passed. Regardless, he knew as well as anyone, where alcohol was involved, someone would get injured and at least one medic would have to be in their right mind if that happened. 

So, Skull took to his quarters and set about reading an article he had discovered on a newly developed form of bacta treatment.

Hours later, the first comm came in.

General. Come get.

Skull’s eyebrows rose as he eyed the message attempting to decipher it before he sent a response. It either was an attempt to trick him into going to the party, or a very poor attempt at describing an injury.

What? Why?

He settled on the question, hoping he would get a response before he started pulling on clothes. To his surprise, within seconds, a response appeared. 

Can you get him? Think Cody broke him.

Skull audibly groaned and shuffled underneath his sheets where he had settled in bed for the evening. 

Fine. Get him sitting or something, please. 

Skull sent his response and pulled on a set of blacks and some boots. He took his medkit from where he had tucked it by the door, and began the fairly long walk from the medical wing down to the refectory. 

The roar of music and men yelling could be heard from far down the long hallway, reminding Skull once again how much he enjoyed the serene silence his own quarters had to offer. He hoped he would only have to deal with it for a few minutes, probably drag Kenobi back to his quarters to sleep off the alcohol.

Turning the corner into the refectory, Skull frowned. The room was dark except for the glow of red and orange lights that had been strung around the room. Pounding music that Skull could feel deep in his chest filled the room guiding the movements of many of the vode where they swayed in the center of the makeshift dance floor.

He peered around the dark room, ignoring the odd comment about how he finally decided to show up, and tried to find the General. That failing, he looked for Waxer instead, finding him across the room standing beside a long table that was filled with the various spoils of the 212th’s missions to different planets and cities. 

Waxer laughed loudly, breaking away from the group that surrounded him, and stumbled toward Skull with a sloshing Trandoshan ale in hand. 

“Skully!”

Yeah, he was wasted. Waxer knew Skull would handcuff him to his medical bed if he used that name on any ordinary occasion. 

Skull took a step back, shielding his blacks from the splashes of ale that slid over sides, “Woah, how about you just– stand still.” 

Waxer obliged for the most part, save for swaying where he stood, giddy smile spread across his face. “Sorry.” He slurred out and Skull held back another sigh.

“Where’s the General?” He asked pointedly, still eyeing the perimeter of the room for a sign of him. 

“He’s right over–” Waxer pointed toward the far side of the room where several tables had been pushed against the wall, then frowned. The General wasn’t there. “Or, um, he used to be there?” 

Skull rubbed a hand over his forehead, cursing himself for not just coming to keep an eye on things anyway; it would probably have made his life easier. 

“Do you think he left? Was anyone with him?” Skull asked, doing a final sweep of the space and finding that the General was not, in fact, in the refectory. 

“I don’t know… Cody?” Waxer shrugged, frowned, and waved his arm toward the door. “Guess someone better find him.”

“Amazing train of thought, Waxer.” Skull grumbled and turned on his heel. 

He headed in the direction of Kenobi’s quarters figuring it was a good start. Though he hadn’t seen the General, much less Cody, drunk before, he figured that neither would let themselves get drunk enough they weren’t semi-aware. Hopefully, that meant one of them had made the rational decision to get to their quarters. 

Skull walked for some time, listening for any chatter in the halls and checking in empty rooms to no avail. He was close to giving up, and instead heading in the direction of Cody’s quarters instead when he heard a loud thump, and an equally loud groan from up ahead. 

Raising an eyebrow, Skull headed in that direction, preparing himself for an inevitable sight. 

He rounded the corner and nearly tripped over something on the floor before he steadied himself and took a step back. 

On the floor, General Kenobi sat with his back pinned to the wall, knees raised to his chest, and head hanging downward. Beside him, Cody sat with an arm extended, tissue in hand. He was pressing the tissue against a bloody gash that grazed the side of Obi-Wan’s forehead. 

“Skull?” Cody murmured, eyes hazy when he looked up at Skull.

“Yeah that’s me. What the hell happened?” He crouched down, placing his kit on the floor.

Obi-Wan didn’t move, just kept his head lowered between his knees. Skull opened his kit, already reaching for gauze to replace the tissue. 

“Um–” Cody averted his eyes, then closed them, “I don’t think I wanna say.” The words were slurred out, indicating Cody had more to drink than he usually did. Skull was confused by the answer. 

“Why not?” He asked, then gently tapped on Kenobi’s shoulder, earning a groan from the man. 

“Just– don’t want to say.” Cody answered in a whisper, head lolling to the side and eyes closing. Cody was tired– clearly– and Skull was beginning to think he wouldn’t be useful at all when it came to extracting information. Instead, he decided to focus his attention on Kenobi.

“Cody, can you hold this against his head instead?” He held out the gauze. Cody took it and and shakily placed it against the still mildly bleeding wound. Skull wasn’t worried, it looked like it was beginning to clot, but before he could use bacta, it needed to stop. “And Sir, can you look at me?”

Skull touched Obi-Wan’s shoulder again with a gentle hand, trying to coax him to look up. 

Another groan.

Skull waited a moment, contemplating trying to press his hand underneath the General’s chin to pull his head upward, but Kenobi very slowly began to raise his head. 

Skull wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t for the General to look so… confused?

“Erm– Skull?” Kenobi asked innocently, almost like he had not heard the conversation Skull and Cody had been having over his head for several minutes. He was squinting, not quite looking at Skull’s eyes. Blurry vision, Skull made a mental note.

“Yes. Sir, how are you feeling? You have quite the gash there.” Skull pointed toward the gash where Cody still held the gauze. Skull was sure it was done bleeding, but if it was keeping Cody occupied for the time being, he wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“...not good.” Kenobi answered after a long pause, and shifted uncomfortably.

Great. Wonderful detailed description Kenobi.

Skull sighed, “In what way, General?” He hoped whatever effect the alcohol was having on the conversation wasn’t going to render Kenobi as useless as Cody had been.

“Don’t feel good,” Kenobi repeated, then, without warning, turned away from Cody and vomited just a few inches away from Skull’s shoes.

Oh kriffing hells. 

Skull held his breath for a second waiting for a second retch, but thankfully, it didn’t come and Kenobi sat back up slightly. Cody looked on with something like confusion, sympathy, and disgust written on his face. Skull knew the Commander didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for watching others vomit.

“Cody, go over there and comm a janitor.” Skull demanded, pointing down the hall. Cody didn’t move for a moment, then seemed to decide getting away from the alcoholic smelling vomit was a better idea.

With him out of the way, Skull pulled out the extra disposable towels he kept in his medkit and placed a few over top of the puddle and used another to wipe Kenobi’s lips off. Usually he would hand it over to the General himself, but it didn’t seem like Kenobi was very much in control of his own movements. 

Well, at least he knew one of the symptoms included in not feeling good. 

Making quick work with the tube of bacta and a small bandage, Skull covered the gash on the side of Kenobi’s head.

“Alright, General. Other than nausea, why else don’t you feel good? What hurts?” He simplified the question, hoping a direct answer might result. 

“Just–” Kenobi cleared his throat, and screwed his eyes shut, “It’s bright.” He settled on after a moment. “Head hurts. ” 

“Did you hit your head? Is that how you got that?” Skull pointed at the gash and Kenobi looked confused.

“What?” He reached up and touched his head, “Oh.” 

“Did you hit your head?” Skull asked again and Kenobi looked no less confused, so Skull turned toward Cody who now stood looming over the two of them, already done with comming the janitor. “Cody– did he hit his head pretty hard?” Skull repeated to the Commander.

“Yes.” Finally, a straight answer. 

Skull had already made the mental conclusion that what he was most likely looking at was a concussion, but it helped to have an explanation for how it happened. 

“How hard? And against what?” Cody swayed on his feet and stared at Skull with a wide-eyed, unblinking expression. 

“Um– yes hard.” Skull looked at him expectantly, and cleared his own throat.

“Alright,” Skull began when Cody offered no further explanation; he was going to have to ask again once they had gotten the General back to his quarters and comfortable before he tried to ask again, “Help me get him up, then. We need to get him laying down before I head back to the medbay for a stretcher.” 

Cody’s eyes somehow got even wider, “A stretcher?” He slurred out. 

“Yes– seems he’s got a concussion. I’ll need to run a scan on him to see if there is any bleeding in his brain.” 

“He’s not bleeding anymore.” Cody said. Skull ran a palm over his face and ignored the drunk idiocy that rolled out of Cody’s mouth. Really, he wasn’t in the mood. 

“Just– help me.” Skull demanded, and hooked a hand under Obi-Wan’s armpit, coercing Cody into doing the same.

Obi-Wan immediately scrunched his eyes closed, a slight whimper emerging from him as soon as they lifted him into a standing position. “Feeling alright, Sir?” Skull asked, though he knew the answer was probably no.

“Dizzy.” Kenobi answered and kept his eyes shut. “Need’a sit.” His words came out slowly, and he attempted to bat away Skull’s arm where it was hooked over his shoulders. 

“Sorry, Sir, but we need to get you to your quarters. Just a short walk away.” Skull hated to have to make him walk, but he wasn’t about to leave the drunk and concussed General on the hallway floor for anyone to see. 

In Kenobi’s own words, that would be rather undignified.

So, Skull and Cody pulled him towards his rooms. The General barely reacted, his feet unsteady beneath him as they brought him into his quarters, heading straight for the bed. 

Skull helped Kenobi to sit, demanding Cody just sit on the bed and wait for me to get back. 

He positioned a trash can between the General’s feet and quickly left to head toward the medbay to retrieve a stretcher. To his surprise, he was able to make it there and back in only twenty minutes, and in another ten, following another round of retching, they were headed toward the medbay. 

  “Cody– I’m asking again now because in about two hours you definitely won’t tell me– what the kriff happened?” Skull stood with his arms crossed just outside of the room where Obi-Wan was receiving his scan. Skull pointed to a chair when Cody stumbled over his own feet.

Cody sat heavily, an unusually dramatic sigh leaving his lips, “We didn’t mean for it to happen…” Cody muttered, words trailing off. 

“I’ll ask Waxer if you won’t say.” Skull threatened when Cody’s sentence did not continue. Skull crossed his arms over his chest and waited with as neutral of an expression as he could manage.

“Fine. Fine.” Cody began with a huff, “You know the tables? The round ones that are–” 

“Yes, Cody, I know of the karking tables in the refectory.” Cody blinked rapidly, turned his head to the side, and then continued like Skull had never interrupted.

“I guess we were um– kissing– on top of one.” Cody’s voice was quiet and his eyes were trained on the floor between his feet. Skull could hardly hold in his shock. While a number of the vode in 212th knew that Cody and the General were a couple, many did not; it wasn’t exactly advertised information. Of course, if they had been publicly making out in the refectory, now the whole kriffing 212th knew. 

Not-drunk Cody was going to have an absolute fit. 

Skull was going to have a fucking field day.

Holding in his laughter and schooling his expression, Skull continued, “And?” 

“And Obi-Wan might have… fallen off? Backwards.” While Skull was equally amused with Cody and Kenobi unintentionally outing their relationship, he wasn’t quite as amused with the information of how exactly Kenobi had sustained his concussion.

“You know, Cody, I thought you and Kenobi were a little more responsible than everyone else, but I stand corrected.” Skull said, shaking his head. He watched Cody’s lips sink into a deep frown, eyes screwed shut. 

Then, unexpectedly, Cody’s eyes opened again and tears slid down his cheeks rapidly. He sniffled and wiped away the tears with the backs of his hands. 

If Skull had been shocked before, he was even more shocked now. 

Cody was a weepy drunk. 

“Cody, It’s alright.” Skull managed to say, hoping it would soothe his alcohol-addled brain. “It’s not just your fault.” 

Skull went to stand next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back. After a couple of minutes, Cody stopped and looked up, frown still written on his face and eyes red, “Is he almost done?” The Commander asked.

“Soon.” Skull answered with a sigh. 

It was another twenty minutes before Kenobi’s CT scan was complete and Skull looked over the results the second it finished. He’d set the General up in the nearest room and guided Cody inside to sit with him while he reviewed the results.

To Skull’s relief, there wasn’t any bleeding in the General’s brain. He had been worried by the state of Kenobi in the hallway, but alcohol had certainly contributed to making the concussion seem worse than it was. Regardless, he knew Kenobi was bound to complain about the five days of bedrest that Skull was going to impose on him. 

“So no bleeding in the brain, but we will need to talk about care tomorrow morning when you both are sobered up. Now– let me take you back to Kenobi’s quarters.” Skull offered the General a hoverchair and a mask to keep out the brightness of the hallway lights. To Skull’s surprise, he accepted without complaint, other than a disapproving grunt. 

The walk was silent for the most part, save for an occasional half-assed question from Cody, and Skull was more than happy to watch the pair settle into the General’s bunk. While it was as disgusting as usual to watch them curled up in each other’s arms, Skull was willing to give them a pass since they weren’t quite aware of how blatant they were being. 

Skull grabbed a glass of water for Kenobi from the kitchenette, forced him to drink half of it, inserted a hypo of a light painkiller into his neck, and made an exit with an eye on the clock on his way out. 

Skull cursed under his breath and sluggishly made for his rooms, eyes closing for a few seconds here and there as he walked. 

Wasting no time, he set an alarm for five hours later and crawled into bed. 

  Cody felt sick the second his eyes opened. Nausea swelled in his chest as he lurched from the bed, making for the refresher without a second thought.

He emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet the second his knees hit the floor and found that all that came out was a liquidy substance that smelled something like a mix between acid and alcohol. 

Right. Alcohol. 

Cody groaned, head pulsing as he remembered the events of the night before. He’d had at least three too many, but it wasn’t enough to make him forget everything.

Obi-Wan. The party. The concussion. Skull. 

It flooded back with a river of shame. Typically he wouldn’t drink more than two or three beers, and that was if he did drink, but somehow Waxer convinced him to try some Corellian Vodka he’d purchased.

It turned out Corellian Vodka was stronger than other types. Cody mentally reminded himself to murder Waxer the next time he got the opportunity.

Cody stood, nausea somewhat at bay, and hobbled to Obi-Wan’s bunk to find him still fast asleep on his back. He flicked on the light and sat on the edge of the bed, hand crawling up to look underneath the plaster across the side of Obi-Wan’s head. 

Beneath it, the skin had mostly healed, but Cody could see the outline of a gash and large red mark that would certainly evolve into a bruise. Cody replaced the bandage and was about to try and find a bottle of painkillers when he heard a gentle knock on the door. 

Mind still foggy, he trudged to the door and flung it open. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Skull who was armed with a medkit and a tray with two to-go cups in it. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Skull muttered with false-cheeriness and a smug smile that Cody still hated with a passion. “Going to let me in?” 

Cody wished he had the energy to protest, or even slam the door back in Skull’s face, but instead, he stepped aside. 

Skull headed straight for the bed and placed the medkit where Cody had been laying before. “I’m not sure how much you remember, but Obi-Wan got a concussion last night.” The medic rifled through the kit, then produced an IV kit and what Cody could tell was a hydration pack. 

“I remember.” Cody muttered, his voice more gruff than usual, “And you’re here for what reason?” He said, sitting at the bottom of the bed by Obi-Wan’s feet. 

“To give you some instructions for care. He’ll be on bedrest for five days.” Skull said and Cody watched him make quick work of pulling Obi-Wan’s arm out from underneath the covers to fix the IV. Just then, Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered open. He immediately squinted, then covered his eyes with his hands.

“Kriff.” Obi-Wan swore, and Cody’s eyebrows rose without his permission; Obi-Wan hardly swore. 

In an almost comical repetition of events, Obi-Wan ripped his arm away from Skull and tumbled out of bed on unsteady feet to head toward the refresher. 

On any other day, Cody would have followed him there to rub circles onto his back, but this time his own stomach would betray him. Instead, he stayed put and watched Skull shake his head.

“What?” Cody bit out shortly from between his teeth. 

“The two of you are going to be the death of me.” Skull said, tone matter-of-fact, then shrugged.

Cody cringed at the sound of Obi-Wan’s own stomach contents being expelled into the toilet.

A minute later, Obi-Wan appeared from the fresher. Underneath his eyes there were dark blue circles, and his face was much paler than usual. He continued to squint, which prompted Skull to flick off the overhead light in exchange for the dim lamp on the bedside table. 

“Welcome to the land of the living, Sir.” Skull said, and Obi-Wan grimaced as he settled back into the bed, “To catch you up, you have a concussion, and you’re hung over. Now, Cody, get his tunics off, will you?” Skull continued and he fiddled with something in his medkit again.

Cody did as requested, even as a headache pounded inside of his skull. He was sure whatever Obi-Wan’s head felt like was millions of times worse.

Obi-Wan let out a soft whimper as Cody helped him.

“It’s alright.” Cody whispered in his ear, low enough Skull wouldn’t hear and gently ran a hand through the unruly strands of copper hair on Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan practically melted into his touch and Cody felt bad when he pulled away.

“How are you feeling this morning, Sir?” Skull asked as he fixed the IV in Obi-Wan’s arm and attached the hydration pack to a portable pole he’d produced from his medkit. 

“Quite… bad, actually. My head hurts.” Skull snorted softly. Cody watched Obi-Wan take fistfulls of his hair, his breathing uneven and pained. 

Skull said something else, something Cody wasn’t paying attention as he tried to work out what had exactly happened to cause the concussion. He racked his brain for what felt like hours, but came up short. He recalled being in the refectory, and surrounded by many drunk brothers, but there was no clear picture of anything that stood out to him.

“Cody?” He heard suddenly, and Skull was looking at him, unblinking. 

“Oh– um, sorry.” Cody murmured and cleared his throat when his words continued to come out in a deep grumbled tone. 

“I just need you to listen for another moment.” Skull said. “Now– make sure he’s resting and sleeping, and keep him hydrated. I’ve brought you caf and Kenobi a decaffeinated tea to start. He can have one of these hypos each day for three days, then just regular painkillers should do the trick. Also, keep the lights dim or off. No datapads, Kenobi.” Skull handed Cody a plastic bag with the three hypos, “Any questions?” 

Cody didn’t say anything, just shook his head, and immediately regretted it when pain spread up his neck.

“Great.” Skull stood and snapped his medkit closed, then briskly headed for the door, “Oh, and one more thing, Cody.”

There was that smug smile again, the one Cody couldn’t stand on a normal day and especially not when a hangover was involved. Cody narrowed his eyes.

“Seeing as you haven’t mentioned it yet, I though maybe I’d enlighten you to how exactly the concussion happened.” Cody’s heart skipped a beat. “You told me last night you and the General were making out in the refectory, on a table, and Kenobi fell off.” 

Kriff. Fucking kriff it all.

Skull said the words flatly, like they didn’t shock Cody to his very core. 

The whole 212th knew now. Everyone knew. 

“Fuck!” Cody loudly groaned into his hands, ignoring the way Obi-Wan winced.

“See you later, boys.” Skull called as the door slid closed behind him. 

Fuck, Cody didn’t know who to murder first, Skull or his entire battalion. 

#hello there #I bring yet another 212th Clone Medic Skull fic #this time #concussions #codywan #codywan whump #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #crack #crack fic #funny #secret relationship #the 212th #oc 212th clone medic skull #212th shenanigans #fanfiction #fanfic #hurt obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #waxer

[prodigal-explorer]

anaroceit week - day six - four months in the future

@anaroceitweek

prompt: hiding/library

relationship: eventual/implied romantic anaroceit

word count: 2.1k

(cw -> implied bullying, concussions.)

---

Virgil’s lungs were starting to hurt. But he had to keep running. 

How was he supposed to know that refusing to do the football team’s homework one time would lead to him getting jumped every time he was alone? It was just an attempt to gain some freedom, and perhaps a spine, after being trapped in the frustrating cycle of being forced to do the football team’s bidding. Football wasn’t even that impressive, in Virgil’s opinion. Sure, it took a lot of strategy and physical strength, but it didn’t give anybody the right to order other people around. 

They were getting closer now; Virgil could just feel it. He had to stop running and find somewhere to hide before they caught up to him. Rounding the corner, Virgil thought fast, diving into the nearest door and shoving it open, closing it behind him quietly and quickly. 

It was a bit of an awkward thing to do, considering how quiet the area had been before Virgil burst in. The air felt practically still, like nothing in the room was moving except for Virgil. Everything about this place felt hazy, like Virgil was walking through a dream. He couldn’t quite make out the details of anything, and every time he squinted to get a better look at something, it just fuzzed more and more. So for the sake of his vision, Virgil stopped squinting. 

The shelves, piled high with books of all different thicknesses and colors, seemed to go on forever. Virgil vaguely recognized this place as the school library, but something about it felt different. Besides, according to Virgil’s knowledge, the library was on the other side of the school. 

Come to think of it, Virgil didn’t remember seeing this door until today. 

“Virgil, what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

Virgil turned to see who had addressed him, but as soon as he saw that red and white football uniform, he crumpled to the group, his legs giving out in shock as he quickly scooted against the door. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay??” Virgil cried out, his words tumbling over each other in fear. “I’ll do your dumb homework, I’ll do everyone’s homework! Just leave me alone-” 

“What…what are you talking about?” 

The boy wearing the uniform was somebody Virgil recognized. Roman Mendoza, the newest member on the football team. He had gained popularity quickly, not just because he had looks that modeled movie stars, but also because he made it onto varsity as a freshman. His features definitely gave away his age, considering that he was a lot smaller and slighter than the other members, and he had a permanent, smiling sheepishness about him that made him seem more like an excited puppy than a ferocious wolf, which was what the other members of the team reminded Virgil of. 

And here, in this strange, mysterious place, the boy seemed even more sweet, as he knelt down before Virgil, his brown eyes round with worry and compassion. Though everybody knew Roman to be arrogant and a bit of a braggart, nobody could deny that he cared a lot about everything around him. Virgil couldn’t count the number of times he had watched Roman, standing off to the side and wringing his hands while the football team terrorized him. Never once had Roman joined in. 

It looked like he wasn’t going to here either. 

“What are you wearing?” Roman asked, tilting his head. “Why did you change?” 

“I didn’t change,” Virgil replied, growing more and more confused, especially when Roman took his hand and kissed it. 

“Don’t worry, my dear, there’s some water in my bag.” 

Virgil couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose in pure, unbridled lostness. My dear??? What the hell was going on?? 

As if it was second nature, Roman helped Virgil up, walking hand in hand with him to where the tables were at the library. Another boy that Virgil only vaguely recognized was sitting at the table where Roman seemed to be going towards. 

“Janus, could you pass me my water? Virgil needs some,” Roman said. 

The boy named Janus was very short, shorter than Virgil, even, and his eyes were a striking light green, so bright that they almost looked yellow. He had vitiligo across one side of his face that made him look paler than a ghost from that angle. And he was breathtakingly gorgeous. 

And he passed Roman the water bottle. 

“Here you go, love,” he said nonchalantly, flipping the page in his book and not looking up from it. 

Okay, what was the deal with all these pet names? Virgil was starting to feel more and more like he was in a dream. Roman passed him the water bottle and Virgil drank the entire thing without hesitation, not stopping until it was all gone, and by the time he finished, he was feeling a bit less winded. 

“So what happened?” Roman asked. “You’re wearing totally different clothes, and it looked like you were running from…something.” 

“Really? I was running from something?” Virgil scoffed in disbelief. “You don’t say. Maybe asking your little friends will help you figure out who I was running from.” 

“What…are you talking about?” Roman asked. “The team’s not practicing today. The team only practices on Mondays. And- I told them to stop pushing you around. Are they still not listening??” 

Roman continued to ramble, growing a bit more panicked with each word. But Virgil could only focus on one thing that he had said. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, looking up at Roman with his eyes narrowed. “Today is Monday. If this is the team’s idea of a joke, it’s really fucking stupid. I would know what day of the week it is.” 

“Virgil, it’s not Monday. It’s Thursday.” 

Janus’ voice cut through Roman’s as well as Virgil’s, causing both of them to stare wide-eyed at the sharp-tongued boy. Virgil didn’t know anything about this boy, but he found himself being quiet for him anyway. As if he knew intrinsically that whatever Janus had to say about the situation, it would probably be sensible. 

“Okay, let’s all just calm down. Clearly, there’s a bit of a mix-up here, but we can figure this out,” Janus reasoned. “For now, let’s just focus on getting everyone feeling better. Virgil, you can have some of my water too. You literally look like you just got out of a marathon. Roman, let’s keep watching this show. Virgil, you can watch too, if you like.” 

“Yes!” Roman said excitedly, “Don’t worry Virgil, we didn’t watch too much without you. This is the episode where it’s between Autumn and Bailey!” 

Virgil had no idea who the fuck Autumn and Bailey were, but before he knew it, Roman’s arm was around him, pulling him closer so Virgil could get a better view of his laptop screen. Janus was on the other side of him. This felt strangely familiar, even though Roman had never touched Virgil before in his life. Virgil noticed that he smelled strongly of vanilla, and his smooth skin was a bit sweaty. Maybe football players just always sweat. But strangely, Virgil didn’t find himself feeling grossed out by touching Roman’s sweaty arm. It almost felt…exciting. 

This reality show with brightly dressed 20-something year old women competing for a role on Broadway was more entertaining than Virgil had given it credit for at first. He couldn’t really pick out what any of the women were saying, too focused on Janus and Roman beside him, but there was a screaming match, and that was vaguely fun to watch. 

As Virgil let his guard down and relaxed, he started to grow tired. It made sense. He had been running for a while, and Virgil was the first to admit that he was pretty out of shape. Though it was strange, he let his entire body weight rest upon Roman, and he closed his eyes, deciding to get some sleep. He was still a little put off by Roman, but at this moment, at least, he seemed safe. Even if he was entirely too loud and clingy. 

But maybe Virgil liked his loudness and clinginess. It was endearing. 

Virgil drifted off to sleep, the last thing he heard being a loud crash. And then, nothing. 

—

“He’s waking up! He’s waking up!” 

Virgil rubbed his eyes slowly before opening them, starting to sit up. He was confused, as he was able to hear Janus’ voice. Why was he shouting like that? Virgil had only been sleeping for a few minutes. Then, he realized that he wasn’t in the library at all. 

He was at the school nurse’s office. And Roman wasn’t next to him anymore either. In a very embarrassing position, Virgil had been cuddling a pillow as if it were a person, and his face burned upon realizing this. He sat up completely, and let go of the pillow, looking for Janus. He was wearing something totally different, and his eyes didn’t hold that same air of recognition that they did just a few moments ago. 

“You took a pretty bad fall,” Janus said, walking over to Virgil. “You’re lucky that Roman found you and carried you all the way here.” 

“What…?” Virgil grumbled. “What about the library?” 

“You’re awake!” 

Roman rushed over to the bed and threw his arms around Virgil. Vanilla. Just like earlier. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay! I’m sorry I didn’t do something sooner, I’m sorry I let this go as far as it did- I just- I didn’t want to-” 

“Calm down, buddy,” Janus said, awkwardly and stiffly patting Roman on the back. “He’s disoriented. Talking some crazy about the library. Take a seat and let him get a grip.” 

“Buddy?” Virgil mumbled. 

Where did buddy come from, after all those pet names, and the cuddling, and the affection? Why were Janus and Roman acting like they didn’t even know each other? 

“What’s your name anyway?” Roman asked, “Come to think of it, what’s both of your names?” 

Oh. They didn’t know each other. 

Virgil blinked rapidly, his heart hurting from how fast it was spinning, and how much thinking he had to do. The library, hazy and dreamlike. Maybe it really was a dream. But if it was, then why was it so detailed? Why did everything feel so real? And how did he know Roman and Janus in the dream without knowing them now, and how was the dream so accurate? What was going on?? 

Roman stared at Virgil with those same big, concerned brown eyes, and Virgil’s heart stuttered for a moment. 

Janus gently placed a small ice pack on Virgil’s head, which Virgil was starting to realize hurt terribly, and the way Janus’ fingers brushed against Virgil’s hair made him blush. 

“I’m Janus,” he said, as if neither of them knew. “Nurse’s aide. She’s at a meeting now, so I’m taking over until she comes back.” 

“I’m Roman,” Roman said back. “I…uh…I was confused about why I was the only one at practice. So I went down the hallway, and that’s when I found- the rest of the team. And you.” 

Virgil realized quickly that he was the “you” that Roman was referring to. 

“I’m Virgil,” he said. “I’m nobody.” 

“That’s not true,” Roman protested quickly. “You’re certainly fast. You were running so quick before they threw that book at you that I thought you were on the track team.” 

“They threw a book at me??” Virgil asked. “I didn’t feel it.” 

“Well, they threw it at you, and you fell down,” Roman recalled awkwardly. “You were passed out. Cold. The team left to start conditioning, but it…didn’t feel right to just leave you there, y’know?” 

“You did the right thing, Roman,” Janus said. “Virgil, you probably have a concussion, considering that you fell on the side of your head. Your ankle is twisted too, but it doesn’t seem to be any sort of fracture or break. We’ll be able to tell better when the nurse comes back.” 

“What do we do in the meantime?” Roman asked. 

“I suppose we wait,” Janus said. “Talk a little.” 

And as Roman and Janus talked, and Virgil joined in as much as he could (though his head was throbbing worse and worse with each passing minute), he decided that maybe he could get to know these two some more. They seemed nice, and if the dream had been accurate about everything else, maybe their personalities matched too. They certainly seemed to now.  It was silly to feel such a way towards people that he technically barely knew, Virgil knew this. But as he watched Roman’s curls bounce, and how Janus curled his lip upwards to smile, showing off his beautiful, sharp teeth, Virgil realized with embarrassment that he was down bad. What an interesting thing to come with a concussion.

#anaroceit week 2023 #anaroceit week #anaroceit #sanders sides #thomas sanders #tss #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #ez's writing #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #implied bullying #bullying #concussions

[we-the-human]

Nex Benedict’s death has been ruled as a suicide. Speaking from experience with a family member who also suffered an unexpected suicidal fate while in the throes of a concussion; head injuries can cause suicidal ideation. I urge people of any age with head injuries, or who are close to people who have a head injury, to be vigilant… suicidal thoughts and ideation can be exacerbated or even come out of nowhere.

In this case, Nex had experienced bullying in their life and I would not be surprised if the head trauma played an exacerbating role on their state of mind at the time.

#trans #nonbinary #lgbt #lgbtq #Nex Benedict #head trauma #concussions #mental health