dog day afternoon

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

Hospitals being seen as a place to die rather than get better makes sense to people like them. Wounds that can’t be sewn together with jagged edges leaving puckered scars slow you down, hold you back—they are the knolls of death and they are welcome. Do not resuscitate at its finest work. Their ghosts will be happy to leave their gunshells rather than their battered husks, alarms a faint beep-beep-beep and the hiss of air pushed through tattered lungs.

They understand this. The boy doesn’t.

Hospital cots laid out in the hall, squeezed together where there’s barely room toe-or-edge wise are better than rocks and dirt and another man using your sleeping bag to wipe off his jizz. Those connected to heart monitors can’t do much without the nurses freaking.

Vel passes the boss’ doorway, peeks in. He’s covered in bandages from head to toe, but the exuberant grin couldn’t split his face [even sans the stitches holding it in place] when he sees Pip still unconscious and peaceful. His presence must draw Badou’s attention, his nose isn’t even dripping snot when that single eye meets his. Comforting.

“Wanna go get some real food?” He wiggles a hand around the armful of snacks he’s hauled this far in lieu of a wave. The teen turns his back, once again vigil at Pip’s side.

“C’mooon,” the soldier cajoles, “it ain’t healthy to just sit here. He’ll be alright, always pulls through. Just goes to show how professional we are—“

“Will you fuck off.” The boy’s voice is iron and rust to the halfway clean room, the starch white sheets curled in his fist where he doesn’t dare put his hand anywhere near their captains.

That’s how he asks nicely. So Vel shrugs, drops the snacks in a chair beside the door, and hightails it in search of any of the others who can still walk. He finds Dante and Juno laid up side by side in a room, lucky bastards. They’re covered in bandages as well, and one of Dante’s arms is elevated in a sling.

“Yo! Let’s go to the burger place next door,” Vel insists, all bright eyes and a big grin. The two of them just look at him, gazes flickering down to their prone bodies covered in starch white sheets.

“You’re kidding, right? I just regained consciousness.”

“I got a catheter—“

Vel waves his hands and scoffs, brow furrowing because he’s got such party poopers to deal with.

“Whatever, all I hear is bitch, bitch, bitch. I’m not bringing you jack shit, either.” And with that he stalks off to charm the nurses into letting him out of here.