this needs to stop happening

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Who: Gilbert Nightray & whoever wants to visit
When: afternoon of the 17th
Where: Skye Medical
Summary: Xigbar's creepy monster dog-thing messed him up good for his part in the newcomer hunt raid. He never saw it coming.
Warnings: slight spoilers for PH, mentions of blood and injury

Gil has been overcome by the darkness a few times in the last few years. For the most part, every time he's gotten out of the situation with scratches and bruises, a couple larger wounds, a bullet wound once. But this time had been different. This time the monster seemed far more interested in hurting him; in killing him. And it was quick enough to do damage while he floundered through attempting to use Raven and failing, miserably. The familiar pain in his left hand told him that he was putting too much strain on the Hatter and B Rabbit's seals, and he'd hesitated as he'd been struck.

Again. And again.

If he'd been conscious, he would have told whoever transported him to take him home. If the Core reacted the same way that it did last time, he'd be healed in no time. A day or two, and he wouldn't have to waste time away from his master in the meanwhile. But he stays asleep during the pick up, transport, and the initial check-in to the hospital. He doesn't wake until halfway through the day, several ribs shattered, a wrist and ankle broken, a concussion, bruises and cuts and gashes up his neck and across his chest and legs.

And every single one of those injuries is healing, slowly but surely, without anyone needing to lift a finger to help him.

Crap.

His eyes snap open at the sound of familiar, rhythmic beeping. That's all it takes for him to realize where he's ended up, the memory of this morning rushing back all at once. Crap, crap, crap! Not good!

He doesn't bother to check if anyone else is in the room first before throwing back the blanket and attempting to run as fast as his healing feet will take him, no matter how many wires and tubes are currently attached to him. Stop him, egg him on, catch the aftermath upon failure. He'll be here for a couple of days.


[ooc - have at it, visitors. also I'm still sick, so tags will probably continue to be slow, but I promise I'll get to them all! thank you for putting up with me!]

Comments

[maddeninghatter]

"So what - so what? Is that all you've got to say for yourself? Miserable creature! Will you give up so easily?"

WHACK! Break's cane swings in an arc and strikes the metal railing of Gilbert's hospital bed.

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The swing and accompanying loud clang surprise him enough to jump and gasp and, as Gilbert is the most graceful lad of them all, choke on his own saliva. Which wouldn't normally be a big deal, except half of his broken ribs still haven't healed properly, so ouch, that smarts.

He groans in pain and curves his spine up to try and lessen the ache, but his voice still comes out strained.

"I'm not giving anything up! I just don't want to make her upset!"

[maddeninghatter]

[ That clang was loud, Break realizes, probably loud enough to get the attention of that truly terrifying head nurse, which is principal reason he doesn't keep hitting the railing or even Gilbert himself. It's more than he can bear, however. How on earth did Reim and Sharon and Lady Shelly manage to refrain from hitting him repeatedly all those years ago?

Suddenly Reim's incessant yelling and finger wagging make sense. Good heavens - he'd always thought of Reim as being an excitable sort of person, but from his present perspective it's clear: the man has the patience of a saint.

...which gives Break an idea. He can't get through to Gilbert, he's tried for ten years, they're too alike (URGH! Every part of him recoils from this idea, even as he knows it's true. They're both fools, in the ways that truly matter). But maybe... maybe Reim can make him understand.

Yes, this is a good plan. As is beating a hasty retreat, before Nurse Helga looks in. He twirls his cane through his fingers and plants the base of it down on the floor with a satisfying click. ]

Get some rest, Gilbert.

[ He turns on his heel and leaves, his oversized boots galumphing noisily. He'll go and be useful and tell people to be quiet and generally fret and seethe silently and make himself even more upset--

No. No, he won't. He'll go to the children's ward and do magic tricks. ]

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[How he's supposed to rest after a conversation like that, he's not sure, but he still slumps back into his pillows and closes his eyes. If he thinks about it, he can feel his cracked ribs healing, and that terrifies him more than he's willing to admit. He rests a hand over his eyes and silently hopes that Oz returns soon; his young master will be a good distraction, and having him close by is always better than not being able to see him.

But even as he lies there dozing, Break's words still echo in his head. What the hell is he not telling me...?]