PSL no. 2: cruel wars

[presurgery]

CHRONOLOGICALLY -

i. alternate universe
ii. picture prompt
iii. quote prompt
iv. random scenario
v. psl
vi. stargazing
vii. psl
viii. psl
ix. psl
x. insomnia

Comments

[presurgery]

[ Khan is nothing if not a compliant patient. He moves as he's told to, he answers as he's asked. John's eyebrows are knitted together as he gets as much of the blood and fluids off as possible, before putting the now reddish water away with several soaked pieces of cloth floating in the surface. Unwrapping the bandages, he shakes his head a bit in acknowledgement of the other man's observation - not the last one, the painful one about Mike, but the first. If he feels ready to return to the world of the not half-dead, well then John's doing an all right job, he's going to guess. Not that Khan's going anywhere right now. Pushing him back a little, John leans in over him and starts expertly wrapping his chest up again, closing off the holes littering his torso and keeping the blood flow in, as good as it gets with these sort of injuries. Extensive and inhuman. ]

She has killed a lot of good people.

[ It's a dry, curt statement. True, but unpleasant. He's obviously talking about Sholto here, too, but sure, also Mike. And Khan's people that they've buried. And a good percentage of Europe's population, if they're getting into that. His hands continue to tighten the straps of bandages in criss-cross patterns around Khan's back and chest and that's the most talking he's doing, really. There isn't much to say. It's done. They're dead, Mike's dead, she's dead now, too. Khan's seen to that.

Finishing up, he fastens the loose end off with a safety pin and urges Khan to lie back down completely against the now-level headboard. He's not the kind of doctor to fluff pillows and tug duvets in properly, usually he has nurses to do that, right, but there are no nurses here, now, so John does it himself, efficiently fixing up Khan's bed so the man's as comfortable as possible. ]

We're not going back to normal for a while to come, yeah?

[ Pat pat on top of the duvet, near what feels like Khan's knee. ]

[insuperiorstrength]

[ He doesn't reply. Instead, he leaves John's words hanging between them as the other man fixes up his bed, making it comfortable. He thinks about Rachita's head, exploding between his hands - then, he remembers a night, several really, sleeping curled up with her in the same, small bed, their fingers entwined, back when they'd thought they would always be two. Back to normal? Oh, they are far, far away from that.

Possibly, they've never been anywhere near it.

He lies down gingerly, feeling the exertion of simply staying seated quite acutely. Normally, when healing from debilitating injuries, he'd simply stay down until the pain levels were manageable enough to ignore. Can't do that now, with morphine running through his system and John setting the pace, slow, slower, but more proficiently as well. Less chaotic. He looks up at him for a long moment, blinking heavily, his breathing evening out, completely beyond his control. He thinks about John, curled up in the corner behind the bookcase, very visibly terrified. The choices had been simple at that very moment.

He clings to that now, as he goes back to sleep. ]