hfm_logs | And I Ran [Closed]

Once everyone was accounted for, injuries and all, they began the long, slow process of gett'n their asses back home. Wash and Greg weren't small and after his rather enthused sprint'n and carry'n earlier Leonard doubted his back would be up for lifting a full grown man again. So. Stumble, support, and walk till they found a damn taxi it was.

It took three before Leonard managed to menace one enough to actually TAKE them. Goddamn natives and their goddamn issues. Nevermind he couldn't actually lift the Taxi's back wheels up to keep it from leaving, idjit left his parking break on, it was a good enough threat and comedic circumstance to get them driven the rest of the way back. Gett'n up the STAIRS now, that was the next problem. But Casey was nothing if not intensely helpful and Greg could keep his legs under him long enough to get to the elevator. Leonard figured he could brace Wash on his back long enough to get him where he needed to be.

The sofas in the living room probably weren't the best choice but he wanted everyone where he could see them and treat them at once. Bottles of water were handed out, ice packs made, and once he'd found the damn thing, he started going over the worse look'n of the scrapes everyone had with his dermal regenerator. IT might not hold for much longer without a proper charge, but till it died? He'd patch people up.

The return home somehow managed to be agonizingly long, each step taking all his concentration, yet at the same time he'd be hard pressed to remember any of it later. All Greg could be sure of was that, without Casey or Leonard helping him out, he would never have gotten off the pavement.

Now, slumped on the couch, armored in ice packs, Greg finally felt like he could breathe again. He trusted Leonard to know what he was doing with the crazy future healy thing, and quietly thanked the powers that be he wouldn't have to explain all the scrapes and gashes to Rose. The last thing he needed was her fussing, after all that.

"I... I've got to be honest, you guys." He looked grimly between Casey, Leonard, and Wash's unconscious body. "I really... really don't think I can get up to run tomorrow."

That made Casey snort with laughter. "Might wanna run that by Wash when he comes to. He might still actually try to make you!"

Casey's good mood just couldn't be dampened, even as his friends were sore and injured. They'd recover eventually, after some rest, and when they were all healed up they still would have won the fight, Wash still would have his magic, and they'd be ready to do it again and better.

Not that there weren't things to be grumpy about. Apparently, if Bones ever took don't worry, I'm fine as an answer they'd know there was an invasion of pod people going on. He'd escaped with a few scrapes and bumps and a little wooziness, but he was stuck on the sick couch anyway. Some people took the hits better than others, but would Bones listen? Nooooooo...

"So guess we just gotta go out armed next time, right?" He said, eyes on Bones as he putters around the room. "Yo, Greg, how good're you at knife fighting?"

"No one is leaving the apartment for the next 24 hours unless we need something. No one is running for at least two days, barring Casey. He's the most fit. Wash isn't gonna be let out of his bed for at least five days, he is not look'n good." The tricorder was pinging unhappy little bleeps at him the longer he scanned and patched up their fearless leader. "We're gonna order in for dinner tonight. Pick whatever you want, I got enough from the clinic to cover it."

They could get as fancy as they wanted or as awful. He wouldn't care. No judgement tonight. They'd more than earned a little comfort food and he didn't rightly feel like cooking. Maybe a pie. He'd see what they had that he could make into a pie. "Drink your water Casey-"

"First rule of a knife fight is you're gonna get cut." He rattled it off without thinking, going back over one of the deeper lacerations on Wash's shoulder. "So please tell me you're not all that well versed in it yourself."

Greg was ready to point out he couldn't stay all day, he sort of had someone to get back to, but Casey managed to crash that train of thought entirely.

"Wh--why are we talking about knife fights? Why are knives our first alternative?!" He attempted sitting up as a show of true and demonstrative protest, but his back gave a creak in warning and he ended up just sinking deeper into the couch.

"Oorgh... this is about all the adventure I can stand for the next few days. Or lifetimes. Do whatever you fellas need, I think I have to stick to gardening."

"Hey, it's just about finding the right weapon," he said, drawing from half-remembered words from Master Splinter, "You know, for when your magic wipes you out! Guess you're right though, it's pretty intense."

About half the mutants and monsters he fought used some sort of blade, and he had friendly spars against his fair share of real pointy things. Maybe it WAS a bit much for a beginner. "I'll just make you a taser, no prob."

He chugs about a third of the water bottle before adding, "Plus we kinda rocked it there towards the end. Once Wash's back on his feet we'll be practic'lly unstoppable!"

Wash was pretty sure he wasn't on the pavement anymore.

Of all the first thoughts to have while waking up, it wasn't the worst. He was on something soft, and the conversation sounded calm - at least, as calm as conversations ever got around here - and that meant the situation had improved, right?

Right. Okay.

But he couldn't lie here forever - he had to get up. He had- he had to- oh, there was something-

"-you know, for when your magic wipes you out!"

Right. That was it. He had magic now. He had to learn how to use it, because he sure as hell hadn't been doing too hot without it. He had people to protect. Much as he hated it, he also had a war to win, and he couldn't do that with a weapon he couldn't use.

But before he could even think about that, he had to get up first.

He struggled back to full consciousness, opening his eyes just in time to hear his name. "Gimme a day," he managed, voice hoarse. He didn't sound too good, but a day was still all it would take to have him up and running again. He could do this. He'd had worse.

He started to roll over - to get off the couch, to sit up, to do something that didn't involve being flat on his back - but didn't get very far before a wave of exhaustion and nausea slammed into him. He stopped where he was, half on his side, and groaned heavily. "Worst. Hangover. Ever," he groused into the couch cushion. "Of all time."

Okay, maybe this was going to take more than a day.

"Hold up Greg, I got somth'n for your back. Lemme finish clos'n this up first. Casey, we need to work on finesse, precision, and stamina before we start calling ourselves 'unstoppable'- and if our magic wipes us out we won't be well enough TO be us'n the knife or whatever." It was almost familiar, poking holes in arguments while his hands were busy sealing up hurts. Despite the strangeness of the morning it was more than a little soothing. Something normal. Something to settle him after that blind moment of panic earlier. Still the kid did have a few good points, work'n on alternatives so their magic DIDN'T wipe them out, that'd be worth look'n into. Find'n something they could all handle- that'd be for the best.

Even if he hated the idea of putting Greg in a position where he'd have to do violence. it didn't suit the man. Hell it didn't suit the kid for all he was good at it and it CERTAINLY didn't suit him- he was a doctor, not a solider. But he could see the point of it. He just- rathered that they didn't haveta.

Cuts sealed he moves away, pulling a hypo from the kit and flipping through what medication he had left. With some time and a little labwork he could probably brew up replacement cartridges for the tool. For now he used it sparingly- but after a day like this? He wasn't gonna hold back on them. There was bound to be a muscle relaxant left- not that he got a chance to look too much before Wash was groan'n and roll'n over like an idjit.

"You are gonna be on bedrest for a week. No argument. And quit mov'n, idjit. Y'gonna make yourself sick." At least he didn't try to sit up and make it even worse. Relaxant forgotten for the moment he flipped through till he found the cartridge he was look'n for, slid it into place, and jabbed Wash in the side of the neck with the force he usually reserved for Kirk. "Give that about five seconds, should help with the head and the stomach. Greg, lean your head up?"

He plucked another cartridge from his medkit, set it in place, and depressed the hypo against the side of his neck- much more gently than he had for Wash. "Give that about five to ten, your back should loosen up."

Edited 2015-08-25 01:13 (UTC)

As relieved as Greg was to hear Wash coming to again, he couldn't muster more than a tired grin. "Welcome back, Wash." It would never make sense, to him, how people could still have the energy to move after all that--or even the desire to move, even without energy. Greg just too deeply respected the value of some good R&R. "Rest a while, buddy, you earned it. Saved our bacon back there.

"But really, guys, I don't need a weapon or whatever. They don't even work right on those things, do they?" Backup plans were all well and good, but it would be better to make sure they actually worked. Either way, Greg was still having trouble wrapping his head around the idea of fighting at all; even after all the time he'd been here, he'd done a pretty good job denying the necessity until today.

Greg considered waving off Leonard's administrations, but the doctor was too quick darting from one patient to the next for him to do anything but rub the spot afterwards, slightly bewildered. "Oh. Uh, thanks. Man, the future's neat. No needles, no spit. I hope we invent one of those soon."

"Hey, Wash. Welcome to the magic club!"

Casey was only kind of listening to Bones as he watched him flit around the room. Talk, talk, talk, blah, blah, blah, trying to argue with him that they weren't as awesome as they were. What was the point? They had a fight to win and now they knew how to win it. More or less. Most of the work was taken care of as far as Casey was concerned. Now it was just the fighting left. That was the fun part.

The future tech was cool though. Casey kind of wanted to take it apart and see how it worked, but he could save that for later.

"I'm just talkin' for escapes and stuff! Seemed like they slowed down with a whack to the head." Maybe he could remember the formula the turtles used for smoke bombs. He watched Wash try to turn over and shook his head. Dude was still trying to get up, just like Leonardo did when he was down after a big fight. Leader types really were all the same.

Wash tried to argue - he didn't need a whole week; he'd be fine after a day; seriously he just needed some sleep - but it just came out as another moan. Okay, maybe what he was thinking didn't quite match up with the reality of the situation. Maybe he-

There was pressure on his neck and a sharp hiss, and that train of thought derailed immediately. Wash froze, breath caught in his throat, waiting for the sedative to take effect, for the fog to rush in and overwhelm his mind, bury his strength and wipe his focus until he couldn't stay alert couldn't think could only remember couldn't remember which memories were his-

But nothing happened. He actually felt even more awake. It hadn't been a sedative - he'd just thought it was, learned from forced repetition that that was what came out of a medgun to the neck, but- but that wasn't the case this time.

Then what the fuck-

Bones came near him again and he lashed out, grabbing Bones' wrist and yanking with all of his strength. Admittedly, there wasn't much of it right now, but hopefully he had enough leverage or at least a low enough angle to bring the doctor down to his level. "Don't ever do that again," he snarled, voice wavering on the last few words. He wanted to be angry - because anger was easy, because anger worked - but he wasn't. He was tense and shaking and trying too hard not to panic.

It'd been a rough morning. It'd been an excitable morning, it'd been a dangerous morning. Between the sheer relief of getting everyone home and the immediate swap over to his medic mentality Leonard forgot something important: These were his people, but they weren't his crew. They weren't from his time, they didn't know what his tools were, or what his medication was, or how any of it worked. He griped and bitched and talked about be'n a doctor all goddamn day but when all he had to do was wave a regenerator over skin or use a hypo to fix up hurts-

to people not from home, it looked weird. It was strange, it was different, and he'd been so caught up in 'mend mend mend' that he'd completely forgotten to walk them through what he was doing and why. More importantly- and more horrifying in retrospect-

He hadn't asked for their consent. Sure, patching up scrapes? That was one thing. The hypo, however- hell he took it on faith that the tricorder would tell him that what he had would work and wouldn't effect them adversely.

Shit.

Wash grabbed and yanked and Leonard didn't rightly fight him, going to his level easily. Slow like he'd handle a patient that was distressed (because Wash was nothing if not fucking distressed) he explained himself. "Hypospray. It was a painkiller for your head, somth'n for the nausea, an immunobooster and some vitamins. Greg-"

he spoke without turning, eyes and attention mostly on Wash. "I gave you a muscle relaxant for your back. I should've asked and told ya what I was do'n before I did it. Old habits die hard, all that. This ain't my Sickbay and y'all aint my crew, you're not obligated t'do what I recommend or be bullied into treatment on my say so. Even if I do strongly recommend we all take a day to start."

A beat passed.

"Wash- I'm gonna put the hypo down now, awright? It's gonna go back in it's case." He didn't move yet- waiting for some kind of nod or reaction from Wash first and foremost.

Edited 2015-08-25 05:29 (UTC)

Suddenly things had gone from exhausted but casual recovery to uncomfortably tense. Greg looked between Wash and Leonard, cleared his throat, and gave a nod neither would see.

"It, uh, it's all right, guy. If every porkchop were perfect, we wouldn't have hot dogs. It's been a rough morning, a little relaxant's just what I need, probably." Whatever sciencey thing it was, it sounded like something everyone could use right about now. Anything to break the tension. The last thing they wanted after this morning was more drama.

"Hey, you know what else we need? We were saying something earlier about ordering in, right? 'Cause, man, I am famished. Anyone knows what's open this early?"

Edited 2015-08-25 06:51 (UTC)

Woah.

Something big just went down and it wasn't really clear to Casey what exactly it was. He hadn't really thought much about what Bones was doing; it was more-or-less what his friend Donnie did back home whenever anyone needed patching up beyond a few bandages or a splint, and Casey understood about as much then as he did now. Donnie was a brilliant kind-of-a-jerk too, and Casey just trusted him to do what was needed.

But whatever happened between Wash and Bones...well, something about the hypo had set Wash off in a way that Casey had never seen. He leaned forward to watch Wash, who was clearly distressed. If this had been one of the turtles, he would've run over there to check on him immediately and it would have been appreciated, but it seemed like a bad idea this time.

Good thing Greg came in with the save. "...I could go for some pancakes or somethin'."

Try as he might, Wash couldn't stop shaking. He could usually see the breakdowns coming - he could usually see the signs, feel the memories bearing down on him, give himself time to shore up his walls and prepare. It had been a long time since the last time he'd been triggered out of nowhere and it had happened in a place he'd just started to call a home with people he trusted and he hadn't seen it coming and he could not stop shaking.

He was expecting Bones to fight back, to yell, because these things happened and he needed to get over it and keep moving like he always did-

But he wasn't fighting back. He was...he was explaining himself. And apologizing. And waiting for Wash to react, treating him like he was a scared animal liable to take Bones' head off-

Because that was exactly what he was acting like.

His grip loosened, then dropped. "Warn me next time," he managed, inwardly wincing at the waver that wouldn't leave his voice. He wasn't okay - not right now. He needed time time alone - he needed to regroup, to sort through his thoughts and lock away the ones that weren't his. Normally, he'd be in his armor; normally he'd just shut off most of the helmet feeds and the radio and take some time to himself in the temporary darkness and quiet. But he wasn't in his armor, and he didn't have the strength in him to get up off the sofa, let alone get to his room.

He reached behind him, fumbled for a few moments, and yanked the blanket off the back of the sofa, pulling it over him and curling up under it. It was stupid and juvenile and he'd already been fucked over two separate times today and it wasn't even eight in the morning and he needed this.

He took slow breaths - in for five, out for ten - and listened in the space between them, slowly reorienting himself. The padded room was years ago. He was in control. He was okay. He could do this.

And breakfast sounded really fucking good right then. "Bacon," came his muffled input from under the blanket. At least his voice didn't shake too badly on that one.

"I'll ask." Better than warning, requesting permission. It should have occurred to him to do that earlier- but now he knew one more thing about Wash. Something about the hypo, the placement on the neck, or whatever had just happened was a trigger. Soldiers had PTSD but that? A hypo was a medical device, anything similar would likewise have to be a medical device. Whatever set him off, whatever Wash had been through was medical in nature and sure, he'd seen the scars and wondered but-

A war was a war. A hospital? Was meant to be restful. Later he would ask. For now he took the freedom he was given to set the hypo aside and settle down in front of the sofa, not really wanting to move. Much as he'd like to settle Wash with a hand on him like he would Jim- he ain't Jim.

Space for now, grounding contact later.

"Diner around the corner delivers if you give 'em an extra five on top of the cost. They do a damn good breakfast." He rubbed at his wrist, frowning more at himself than anything else. "Extra platter of bacon for Wash. Chicken an' Waffles for me. Y'all call it in, number's on the fridge. I'll pay."

Once more, food came to rescue any tense situation. Greg added a heaping of eggs to the order, just for all the proper breakfast food groups. At some point, someone who could use their feet put some coffee on to perk, too.

Greg may or may not have dozed off while they waited for the food to arrive, which means he absolutely did. As tense and anxious as he may have been about any number of things, above all, he was tired. As far as he figured, anyway, everyone could use the time to keep catching their breath. Everything else could come when they all had the right amount of brain to process.

It was only once the food arrived and spread over the coffee table before the couch, filling the room with wonderful smells, that he was able to start feeling properly like a living person again.

Casey made coffee. Got plates and forks. Answered the door and brought the food over to the table. Anything he could do that wasn't just sitting around. He could have used the downtime to sit and goof off but the tension in the air drove him to just...do things.

As far as he could tell, he was the only one who could stand to be up and about and the only one who could keep the mood in the mood from getting unbearable.

"Grub's on!" He announced loudly for those who were sleeping, "How do you guys take your coffee?"

Wash spent a few more minutes under the blanket breathing and trying to sort himself out. It was only after he stopped shaking and was fairly certain he could function like a normal human being (or whatever counted for normal around here, at least) that he pulled the blanked off his face and stretched out on the couch.

Given the quiet in the apartment and the exhaustion that followed close on the heels of a spent surge of adrenaline, it wasn't long before Wash fell asleep where he was, flat on the couch and half under a blanket. He startled awake when the door opened, but didn't wake up fully until Casey's announcement. "Strong," he replied, the word muffled by the fact that his face was still half-buried in the sofa. He'd sit up once coffee happened. Really he would.

Greg and Casey were a godsend, Bones decided. Between the two of them they got a meal ready, delivered, and handled and most of the odd tension dissipated. He'd have to bake 'em a pie or something when he was up to standing in a kitchen. Or standing period, the carpet was pretty damn comfortable for the moment.

"Black, two sugars. Thanks, kid." Bones sat back, medical kit squared away for the moment, head tipped up to where Wash was on the sofa. He looked a little better, he supposed, but more bedrest, proper food, and less stress would be good for him. "How you hold'n up?"

"Milk," Greg added through a yawn. The food finally lured him into sitting up, pushing paper plates towards the various spots, and then carefully beginning the experiment of how much he could stack on top of a waffle.

"You really saved us back there, man. It was pretty darn cool." Wash was clearly feeling like hell, so there was no harm in trying to pump him up a little. "What was that, wind stuff? Haven't seen that one before."

"Yeah, seriously! That was so metal!" Casey called back from the kitchen, offering the highest compliment he knew. "Fought a guy with wind powers once. He could make, like, the biggest tornadoes I've ever seen!"

Casey has only ever seen one tornado, but that's not important. He brings a tray of mugs over to the table, only spilling a little. "Dude, when you learn to trash Nox with that stuff you'll be tossin' 'em like footballs!"

"'M'okay," he murmured to Bones before giving sitting up another try. It took him a bit - slow and steady, using the back of the couch for support - but he made it upright and immediately reached for the bacon, snagging a couple of pieces. He was feeling better already.

He paused at the compliments. "Dunno," he replied, reaching for the one mug of black coffee on the table. "I was starting to think I didn't have magic at all." It was a very casual admission of a very real fear - that he'd spend his whole time here useless, unable to fight or protect anybody. Evidently that wasn't the case anymore.

The start of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Tornadoes, huh."

"I put forth the motion that practic'n tornadoes happens far, far from the apartment." Shit blew up around them often enough as it was. For now he'd rather not deal with that and instead focus on keeping his people patched up.

or on the coffee. Coffee was good. Coffee didn't go out and get cut up and complain when he fixed it either.

He took his mug and slumped back, sipping before picking at his food. "Will say this much- it was like a goddamn photon torpedo went off."

"Well," Greg took a bite out of a carefully constructed waffle-chicken-egg sandwich, "seems like it was worth the wait, yeah?"

He took a moment to really, deeply appreciate what was happening in his mouth. Oh man. Food is great. Excuse him, he needs more syrup. He glanced sidelong at Bones as he mentioned the blast.

"Sure popped my ears. Don't think I could hear anything for a good while after." He swallowed his mouthful. "Probably better to leave tornadoes for later. Don't wanna wipe you out like this every time."

And I Ran [Closed]

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