MediWhump May

@mediwhumpmay

They'd not long been in the back of the ambulance when Finn started to regain consciousness. He spat the airway from his mouth and knocked the mask off his face, rolling onto his side. He'd not yet worked out where he was, but he was always more comfortable on his side. 

As someone readjusted the mask on his face, he jerked back, eyes wide.

"It's alright, just sorting this. It's Finn, yeah? You're alright. You've had a few seizures." The medic said to him. "Your brother’s here, don't you worry."

CW: Blood, infected wound, biting, angel dealing with some serious self doubts

Also I fucking lied I did do a sketch today. Just a sketch tho.

Kotarou didn't need to take off the bandage to know something had gone wrong. The red marks had started to peak out, creeping up his neck from where the demon had sunk it's teeth into him. He had even awoken in a puddle of sweat, neck and body stiff and aching.

He needed to be more careful. After 5 years of caring for Aziphem, he had grown soft, forgotten that this was a demon who could and would kill him if given even a single inch to do so. The two had fought before and while Kotarou had come out on top, it was a hard fought battle that had left him in and out of the infirmary for a week. This was not some low level demon to be messed with, there was something deeper to this creature than what he knew.

@mediwhumpmay: alt 1 - no pain relief

@themerrywhumpofmay: "Thin ice." - chronic pain

Chronic pain, mentioning of past domestic abuse

Follow-up: Days 21 - 30

After 10 days Sam had awoken and he was breathing on his own again. Another week later Tonya, Peter and his girlfriend Emily were there to throw him kind of a welcome party, when he was relocated to a normal room, finally leaving the ICU and being fit enough to state his opinion in more than just monosyllable answers again. After an hour or so Peter and Emily bailed. His friend throwing a silly smirk and blinking at the both of them, implying to give them some private time. Emily had already left the room, Sam just shrugged and stared back at Peter, due to his non verbal allegations.

"Thin ice, my friend. Thin ice." Sam said laughing. Another blink and Peters chuckle was cut off, from the closing door. "What was that about?" Tonya asked naively, when Sam sighed. "Pete's just suggested, that we should finally make out." Sam chuckled. "You want to?" She asked mischievously, but couldn't hold her facade long enough to be convincing. "It'll never work between us. Haven't you seen Speed 1 and 2?" They looked at each other, Sam continued, their eyes still locked. "But I suggest we'll erase Peter from our list of friends and fill that spot with each other period. All in favour?" Without consultation they both raised their right hand and said "Ay." in unison, Sam's arm still in a cast. They smiled at each other even more so.

He tilted his head a bit and pointed at the bandana, that was wrapped around Tonya's right wrist like a bracelet. "I believe, I used to own one just like that." She tilted her head just the same, mirroring his movement. "You must be confused. You fell on your head, remember." She smiled, a gorgeous smile of a gorgeous friend.

#

Weeks just past, but still Sam's recovery took time. Besides his broken bones aching, he had to fight to restore more of his cognitive skills. It was hard, but he managed bit by bit. Peter and Tonya frequently by his side. The painful aftermath of the day they went hiking slowly subsided over time, but his old pain never did. He thought it to be manageable after all these years, but the severe trauma let it flare up again, or maybe just let his capability to bare vanish into thin air. Till that grievous day he had even been able to carry a fully packed backpack again. That was dream of his past now. On top of fractured bones growing back together, road rash and his lungs and kidney healing, the burning pain of neural damage in his back, due to countless beatings and whippings, never disappointed to come and stay any time he though to enjoy some tiny bit of relief. That or headaches as a result of his TBI hijacked him out of nowhere, regularly bringing Sam to his knees. No painkillers were ever really strong enough to push it away completely. The only real relief was the kind of medication, that let him drift off in a dreamless sleep, so he just wouldn't feel anything. But above all, he was still alive.

The rest he would deal with, simply having no other choice than to do so anyway.

@mediwhumpmay: no pain relief @themerrywhumpofmay: chronic pain

Whumpee is used to chronic headaches but still hates having chronic headaches. They don’t track how many days they have headaches a month. They know it’s enough that they’ve missed many fun days with friends. They don’t have to tell them plans are canceled for today. Before the headache gets too bad, whumpee looks for pain relief. They look in every drawer in the bathroom and even the dresser. They’re certain the pain relief wouldn’t be elsewhere in the house. The only conclusion is they’re out of pain relief. The only thing whumpee can do is continue until the headache is hard to ignore or lie in bed in their dark bedroom. Except for the fact that they’re bored, so whumpee decides to use their phone.

They get an hour of phone time before the light from the phone is a bother. Whumpee is hoping to fall asleep, as sometimes a nap helps. Other times, the headache becomes much worse when they wake up.

Whumpee struggles to fall asleep. The headache is worse than they thought. They struggle to get comfortable no matter the position they’re in. The bright light from the phone indicating some kind of notification doesn’t help. Without looking at what the notification is, whumpee turns their phone off.

@mediwhumpmay

The cough that the kids had brought home, as they so often did, had gone straight to Harrison’s chest. They knew it would, it always had done. Even before his transplant he’d fall sick easily, especially surrounding his chest. After his transplant the illnesses only got worse, as did the denial. The antibiotics and steroids didn’t fully work, but he didn’t dare tell Tai - he didn’t want him to worry. 

Of course, though, Tai was worried. Hars' immunosuppressants always made his illnesses worse, and the last time he’d got sick just after Christmas had seen him threatened with ICU. This time, Taidgh was sure, was worse. He was still coughing after his antibiotics, too stubborn to ask his doctors for any more help. 

CW: ROMANTISIZATION OF DEATH, death(temporary, he's immortal), anesthetic asphyxiation, angsty bullshit

Even in immortals, the body instinctively fights for life. In fact, Aziphem would have guessed that his body was more determined to live now than in his short mortal life. Even as the fear of death faded from his consciousness, his subconscious was determined to keep living and it brought with it an all-consuming terror he could never acclimate to.

But he could recognize it, amongst the feelings of his body shutting down. He knew how to weather the panicked attempts at life in a scenario in which he was doomed to die. It was like holding a wounded animal, biting and screaming as its life was ripped from it; it hurt as it thrashed, but he knew how to hold it, keep it still until the pain was over. He always expected that fear to be there, unchanging.

@mediwhumpmay: choke @themerrywhumpofmay: the backroom (Snippet for Hidden Killer) 

Three days passed, and as Sunstreaker thought, due to the suspension that the Holiday Killer is in the base and killed a soldier, not one soldier got the hint about leaving his friends alone. He’s concerned about how frequently soldiers are targeting Jamie. Something he’ll have to report to Lennox and Optimus, as dealing with the soldiers himself will eventually get him in trouble.   You know you’ll get in trouble. Sideswipe reminds him. I can’t watch them target her. You know how she is. Sunstreaker argues. Even after I tell Lennox and Optimus, this won’t stop. Remember, Lennox already lectured the soldiers. This pisses me off about Jamie’s past, along with what the soldiers are doing. Rarely does Sunstreaker feel Sideswipe get angry. I’ll try a more gentle warning this time. Sunstreaker tells him. Sideswipe questions what Sunstreaker means, but won’t stop him.

Sunstreaker follows the soldier out of the base and down the street to McDonald’s. While the public place will make the task a bit harder, Sunstreaker isn’t waiting until the soldier returns to the base.  Avoiding the soldier realizing  he’s here is impossible.  Sunstreaker orders food to go but sits at a table across the restaurant from the soldier.  He can still smell the soldier’s fear. Even while fearing why Sunstreaker is at McDonald’s with him, the soldier finishes their meal and throws away their trash., Before going to the back of the restaurant. Sunstreaker knows the restrooms are there but is uncertain if there’s another way out. He follows the soldier, shoving him into the backroom before the soldier can enter the bathroom.   He turns on the light, seeing the terrified soldier. He shoves them to the wall, wrapping his hands around the soldier’s neck. “Listen up, fleshie, I am tired of you scumbags targeting Jamie and Lily. Leave them alone or to get next time won’t be a warning!” He tightens his hold on the soldier’s neck until the soldier starts gagging before releasing his hold and leaves the room to return to the table and finish his food.

@mediwhumpmay: head injury

@themerrywhumpofmay: blowtorch - frostbite

Follow-up: Days 21 - 28 10 days. It had been 10 whole days to determine if Sam would ever wake up again. After Tonya was up and running, she had spend most of her waking hours by his side or at least worrying about his wellbeing. Sharing Sam's room with Peter or they took turns. Peter would come in some time later today. For now, Tonya was keeping Sam's unresponsive shell company. It wasn't getting any easier over time. In addition to all of his injurys, Sam's broken body had the audacity to develop an infection, pneumonia and was almost about to falter from a septic shock. If it hadn't been so critical, someone could have written a medical encyclopedia about his conditions. But it was severe. Every time she visited, she couldn't predict, if she was about to get frostbites from his freezing cold skin or blisters, for him burning up like a blowtorch. He stopped breathing, he bleed internally and he coded within the last 10 days. If he would make it, they couldn't eliminate the possibility, that he may even end up as a nursing case. That rock and following fall did a number on him and actually cracked his skull. The swelling was manageable though. Which was good, because he had enough going on anyway. Tonya never knew, if she could be confident, that he would still be there, when she made her way to the hospital, for 10 whole days. Against all odds, he kept on fighting. His fewer was down by now, and his vitals had stabilised enough, that after all his body had been through, his mind could really use this time to come around again. But he was stubborn. An unspoken fear of his consciousness maybe lost forever was lingering in his room like an uninvited guest refusing to leave. Tonya was by his side, just about to tell him the news about her brothers relationship status, when he started to stir. At first isz was only a little, but then his body was getting more restless by every second passing. His heartbeat picked up, his head moved from one side to the other in all so tiny stiff motions. Low painful moans found their way into the open. The last time there was any sign of Sam moving it had gotten worse. Every time it had gotten worse. In her overwhelming desperation Tonya did what she had done every other time, when she had to witness and whispered her plea, phrased as a dire warning. "Don't you dare die an me, Sammy." She was more than startled when his fearful eyes as big as those of an owl looked at her in pure panic.

Taking this the brain fog kinda route over traditional head bonk (I'll write some concussion shit later)

Cw restraints, IV, brain fog

Wait- that's not Kotarou yall may be saying. That's right!! This is part of the Whumpee trade AU @quietly-by-myself and I've been doing! Behold Vasiliki Christakos, their light mage doctor! I would make a joke about him being in over his head but between him and Constantine they're handling it well... also yall need to go read A Wicked Work of Art over on their profile!!! And thank you for giving me your much more knowledgeable advice on what medications to dose demon boy up with!

Also forgive the procreate art. I can not do lines on an IPad.

___

At first, Aziphem thought it was the shock collar frying his brain. Constantine had been upping the power for results, and as much as Aziphem hated to admit, it was working. His signature sass and threats had started to revert to one word answers as his brain got foggier. He had gotten this far on careful planning, even starting to formulate an escape attempt.

He couldn't really remember what that plan was anymore. It was there, he knew he had a plan in place and it just wasn't coming to him. Trying to find words to tell the mages to fuck off without being shocked had been easier days before. Hell, just coming up with answers to Vasiliki's health questions had him racking his brain.

Apparently this was obvious to his observers.

"If you want your head to feel less foggy, I can give you Ritalin."

"Or you can stop the treatment."

"You know that's not an option."

They had this little routine, where Dr Christakos tried to get him to take a medication, he would tell him to stop the treatment, and the doctor would say no. At this point he was barely focused on the answer.

He was barely focused on anything.

At least when Kotarou cut him open he could fight back. The procedures were grueling and violent, but he knew how to deal with violence. Here he was being tortured by a simple IV bag labeled by just a number. He had no idea what was going into his body and yet it was slowly dulling his mind.

Teeth and claws were his weapons but they were useless without his mind. He needed the fog to clear up.

"Vasiliki-- wait." The demon murmered, almost hoping the doctor wouldn't hear him. No such luck.

"What is it Aziphem? Is there something else you need me to look at?" A cold tired response, lacking the care a doctor normally would show.

"I... changed my mind." Aziphem's face burned in shame at admitting this little defeat. He had to do this, he needed his mind sharp to get out. "I... I'll take the drugs. Only if they make me feel less... foggy."

There was a slight pause as Vasilki looked him over, as if checking to see if Aziphem had any other immediately apparently motives for becoming agreeable.

"I'll check my notes and figure out a starting dosage for you." The doctor jotted something down on his clip board. "I'm glad you're finally opening up to the idea of medication. Hopefully it will prove to you I am trying to be humane here. "

Oh he hated that and Aziphem glowered angrily at the doctor. He just had to remind himself. This was not him breaking to Vasiliki, this was Vasiliki caving to his plan. The situation was still under his control. At least he could pretend it was.

@mediwhumpmay

@mediwhumpmay: head injury @themerrywhumpofmay: lake, frostbite

What was supposed to be a fun snowboarding trip turns into a disaster as s whumpee and their friends get caught in a snowstorm.  They all end up separated. Of course, whumpee’s phone is dead. However, they question if there’s a phone signal up on the mountain. They know they’re not leaving a trail of footprints thanks to the storm and that they need to keep walking, hoping they’re going in the right direction.  

The whumpee questions how long they’ve been walking as the storm passes. Hoping to find shelter or their friends soon.  They’re getting tired but know they need to keep moving.  Worried they were going the wrong way as they only see woods around them.

Three of whumpee’s friends finally fund each other and search for whumpee. They find a path of footprints that turn into a path of plowed snow. The friends follow the path to a frozen lake, except for one spot. They’re horrified to see whumpee floating in the water. Without talking to each other, one calls 922 while the other two look to see if they can get whumpee out of the water.

The two successfully get whumpee out of the freezing water but worry it’s too late. Hating they can’t begin warning whumpee. They can’t do anything but wait for help to arrive.

The time between getting whumpee out of the water and being able to see them dragged on to whumpee’s friends. They knew whumpee was in a bad state but were hoping for good news. “They need a miracle to survive,” the doctor tells them, “severe hypothermia, frostbite, and a head injury.” The friends now have their answer about how whumpee ended up in the lake. “The only good news is the frostbite wasn’t severe enough that we had to amputate fingers or toes,” the doctor adds, “I know it’s nothing considering the state of whumpee. Please take care of yourselves while visiting them. I’ve seen people neglect themselves while visiting critically ill loved ones or friends.” The doctor leaves the room, leaving whumpee’s friends alone. Wondering if they should say goodbye now or pray for a miracle. Trying not to think about how serious whumpee’s head injury is. Knowing it’s pointless to know while whumpee could die overnight.  Due to all the machines, they can’t sit by the bed.

Three hours pass, whumpee’s friends are woken up by the dreaded long beep on the monitor. They know to leave the room. Watching medical personal rush into the room. Once again, they wait, feeling like time is dragging on.

@mediwhumpmay: no screaming

@themerrywhumpofmay: "A picture's worth a thousand words."

Fewer dream, helplessness, desperation, domestic abuse, beating, sensation of suffocating

Follow-up: Days 21 - 27 It was the first time he didn't wake up on that damn rug. He was standing or more was pressed with his face against the wall. Maybe he didn't actually wake up, instead blinked himself to this very moment? He couldn't really remember what happened or how he got here. Just that it was painful and unfortunately HE was still here. It seemed his head was running on autopilot, only pulling his conscience in, when shit hits the fan. His head was foggy, everything so heavy and it hurt so much. Still, the thought, that he couldn't endure anymore, was there, but it was pushed away. Like someone had dragged it away from the frontline and back into a crowded group of faceless people. He knew it was still there, could take a glimpse on where it vanished in the crowds, but it wasn't demanding all his attention anymore. Or maybe, he was just too tired. But unfortunately something else, something cruel was still demanding all his attention. He was back in his own hell. A big hand around his jaw, squeezing, made him grit his teeth, while he was pressed in the wall from the big figure in his back. Swallowing was near to impossible, as was breathing. The hand covered his mouth. It was the wall of his own bedroom from years ago. The ugly face from the devil himself right in beside him, hot stinking breath on his cheek. It was so hard to concentrate. "Mommy is home. So, I dare you to make a sound or she'll be getting your punishment. Nod, if you understand." Was hissed in his ear from a deep terrifying voice, carrying a smirk. Hot tears started overflowing his eyes, he desperately nodded like his life depended on it. The hand around his jaw went a bit upwards covering his mouth completely by now, even narrowing the possibility to get the most amount of oxygen through his nostrils. He knew it would eventually come, yet Sam wasn't prepared for the hard merciless punch between his rips right above his kidney. Despite everything inside of him trying to muff his scream, a painful grunt slipped out of his covered mouth, muted by the big hand, while his eyes closed in utter desperation. His body tried to falter. He wanted to move to the side, bring some distance between his flesh and the executing hand for the wrath of God, as this bastard so often stated. But it didn't help. He was flipped forcefully, in the same motion his back was pushed against the wall, pushing all the hard-earned air right out of his lungs again. The next hit followed right on his solar plexus. The grin on his counterparts blurry face extended. That disgusting warm sweaty hand never left his face. "I dare you. Another sound..." No more words needed to clarify the warning. Sam couldn't tell if the pain was worse or the failed attempt to properly breath and swallow. He tried to wiggle away, but he was just too weak.

Another punch, another grunt. "Told ya." Effortless his feet were swept from under him and Sam touched down painfully, still trying to mute his agony and desperation. The fear, that this sadistic fuck would lay hand on his mother, even if she was a bitch, who was most definitely sitting next door and despite her intoxicated state fully aware, of what was happing here, was still too overwhelming. Even for his jaw being freed after the next punch somewhere in his gut, he couldn't really take a proper breath at all. His stepfather was gloating over him, another smirk on his face. "Oh, you should see yourself. A picture's worth a thousand words just now." A cruel laughter that let Sam's blood freeze solid. "I dared you, hahaha. But finally, you're were you belong. Weeping on the floor." 'There was something about 'daring' he needed to remember.' Jumped through Sam's head, he didn't know what it was. But it seemed important. Just a heartbeat later the man was back, pushing Sam's hands away from his aching neck and exchanged them with his own, but not in an attempt to help. One went over his mouth and nose completely, while the other squeezed mercilessly down on his windpipe. 'Don't you dare die on me, Sammy."

Bright white was blinding him, but yet his vision swimming. But the light only brought much more pain with it. Suddenly the rushing sensation of darkness swallowing him, came before he realised the feeling, that he was being suffocated by too much oxygen. (That was the moment he woke up with the tube down his throat, trying to pull it out.)

TBC

A spiritual successor to Day 26 (Here)

@mediwhumpmay

MediWhump: no screaming WhumpMay: chair TW; torture, knife, blood, gore, human dissection, beheading, graphic kill, mention of suicide (Snippet from Hidden Killer)

Sunstreaker doesn’t bother trying not to kill soldiers if they disrespect him, but now they better be careful not to disrespect Jamie and Lily. He would have loved to send a message with the body of the soldier who beat Lily, but he wasn’t risking bringing the body back, and he certainly wasn’t carrying a body off a cruise ship. Sunstreaker knows he has to be careful, remembering the challenge he and Lily had just to be allowed to be together and the challenge he has getting Jamie to befriend him. Seeing Jamie upset pisses him off before finding out the cause. Not that it’s any better, but the issue is not a soldier. Sideswipe assures him. Remember, she went home the other day? Unbelievable, she can’t catch a break. I know she deals with scrap less here, but I hate soldiers target her and Lily. Sunstreaker tells his brother. Glad they don’t target Jasmine or Audrey. That would be fragged up targeting a toddler, but she’s always with an adult. Leave Jamie alone for a while. Sunstreaker agrees though he wants to see if art will help her mood.

“How is that human allowed here?” Sunstreaker hears a soldier, “I heard she was going to kill herself three years ago, but she was allowed to keep coming back here.” The soldier is shoved to the wall, a hand over his mouth. They’re near an unused room no one knows Sunstreaker uses as a torture room.

Even though it’s been a while since Sunstreaker has tortured a soldier, the room is still prepared for the next victim. A chair in the middle of the room below a light. Sunstreaker was able to change the lights so that only that light turns on.  The Autobots can see in the dark. The soldier being dragged worries about where he’s being taken even though he knows it’s a room in the base, even as he’s forced into a sitting position and tied up.   “Untie me!” They demand. “No! I should talk scrap about you, but you won’t feel like Jamie does. I think you deserve physical pain, but no screaming!” Sunstreaker starts slowly cutting the soldier’s arms in various spots. The soldier bites their tongue to not scream even as Sunstreaker moves to cut the soldier’s legs. Smiling at the blood going down his legs better than the blood on his arms. He wanted his victim to be quiet but misses the screaming.  Screams or no screams, he has to send a message to the soldiers in the baser. This soldier must die. Sunstreaker smiles hearing the soldier scream in pain as he stabs deep in the abdomen. Creating large incisions for organs to fall out. The soldier looks at what’s going on in horror, knowing the end is near. Sunstreaker then moves the knife up, repeating what he did to the soldier on the cruise ship. The soldier is dead in seconds. He cuts the limbs off and beheads the soldier.  Once the mess is cleaned up, he figures out how to distribute my message across the base overnight.

Soldiers and Autobots are horrified, finding human body parts and organs across the base. Sunstreaker listens to the conversations around the cafeteria. “The killer is here,” he hears several soldiers say. This is not what was supposed to happen. Sunstreaker thinks. Even if they’re all terrified, if they’ll leave the two femmes alone, then I’ll accept the fear.

@mediwhumpmay: alt 2 infection

@themerrywhumpofmay: knife - rug burn

Fewer dream, helplessness, desperation, torture, beating, emotional whump, suffering in general

I may have exaggerated here a tiny little bit, but I do like them beaten, bloody and broken :-P

If you like, let me know, what you think. Thanx for reading.

Follow-up: Days 21 - 26

Sam thought this chapter had been closed years ago. He didn't understand, why he was back here, back "home". But it never actually felt like any kind of home, more like spending part of his life in a torture chamber.

'What was his name again?' Sam couldn't even remember this fucks name, who used to make his life more than miserable on a daily basis for years. But unfortunately he could remember the fear and he most definitely could remember the pain. There was so much of it, physically and emotionally.

Sam was laying on a soft surface, breathing in dusty air. It smelled old and used. The pain in the lower part of his back was screaming at him, while he tried to open his eyes. Crumbs, probably bread and maybe some chips, that was the first thing he saw.

His head was pounding like he received a hard kick to the left side of his skull. He knew such a feeling, so it was highly possible, that it actually was s kick to his head inflicting this kind of pain. But he couldn't remember anything. When he tried to focus, there was really nothing he could remember atball, except this room and never ending pain. It always kept coming.

Someone was screaming at him. A high pitched scream, just one note. He pressed his eyes shut, his head on the verge to explode.

The sound was interrupted by someone shouting. "I said. LOOK. AT. ME." Sam cracked his eyes open against all the signs in his aching head not to. Moving his upper body to take a look to the blurry figure standing by his feet, demanding his undeviating attention, was just pure torture.

He blinked and it felt like a lifetime consisting of a mere second had passed. He just couldn't tell.

Every muscle, probably even every bone in his body was protesting. Something in his chest seemed to shift. More pain.

But there was an even worse distraction from that constant dulling sensation, when he saw the figure moving. A foot came up and stumped down suddenly. He was about to close his eyes and brace himself for the coming pain, where ever it was going to explode. But the result was instant. A sharp red hot crack and his left leg shot agonising horror from nerve endings up his spin right into his brain.

White, all he saw was bright white. He couldn't breath. The pain was crawling at the walls of his consciousness, until he was suddenly overwhelmed by weakness.

(That was the moment his broken tibia was rearranged.)

#

The smell was there again. He was still laying on this soft surface, when his eyes opened the next time. His head hurt so much. The left side of his face was pressed into the soft ground. He was laying on a carpet or a rug. A low groan left his mouth without him actively participating. "...AT. ME." 'Oh no, he was still here too.'

Sam was suddenly grabbed by his legs. White hot pain instantly rushed up from his left. More pain from his ribs, his stomach, his back, his everywhere.

The person was still blurry but much bigger and stronger than him, even on a normal day. He was pulled by his legs, which actually felt like the guy was trying to pull his legs out. Sam wanted to grab for something out of reflex, but his right hand was useless and even the left had no chance for a strong grip, because everything was covered in blood. Everything was painted in red, even his own vision. Fingers just useless crawling at the floorboards behind that rug and slipping. He, his mind was slipping.

Sam hadn't realised, he was screaming his heart out to deal with the all consuming pain. But it was too much, his last strength just faded away and he was dragged along. His body went slack and was merciless pulled away over miles and miles, over a damn rug. His left cheek and alll of his head felt dirty and bloody all of a sudden. Or was he just reminded of how it had already been feeling before?

Still, he was dragged on over that damn rug. Just like when you're about to lose consciousness and fall. You fall into blackness and fall and fall, but you'll never reach the bottom consciously.

(That was the moment his face and head wounds, not even inches away from the swelling under his skull cap, were cleaned from all the dust and dirt. Stone chips surgically removed and everything stitched up again.)

#

He was still laying on that damn rug, when his eyes reluctantly opened the next time. It must have been a magical rug though, because for him being dragged on it for miles, he was back at the beginning.

The smell had mixed with something else. It was disgusting, antiseptic. He had problems breathing. It was so hard all of a sudden.

Sam couldn't hear him, but he could feel that man was still present. Still fighting for a deep breath, Sam was flipped to his back without warning. The big brutal fist instantly connected with his ribs, something snapped. It felt like a carnivore had sunken its teeth right into his chest. Biting, blinding pain.

"Andrew Samuel Cooper." There was so much pain, yet his mind sneaked this thought into his brain, that nobody had called him by his first given name for years.

It had been straining to breath before, but suddenly it felt like all air was sucked out of him. There was nothing and nothing came in, despite his frantic attempts. More punches and kicks. He just couldn't. His body was thrown from one side to the other.

His mouth opened like a fish out of the water, but nothing happened. There was any kind of relief.

His stepfather was over him again. The big kitchen knife in hand. It was sparkling. 'Why the hell would it sparkle? The room was dim and dusty. Sunlight never really got a chance to bring some life inside due to closed curtains everyday.'

The maniac forced himself onto Sam. The weight alone felt like he was trapped under a tombstone. Sam tried to twist away, but he had nothing left to fight with. "... if you decide to give up on me..." Like some angry news anchor was speaking out of the radio in the next room.

Just like that, the knife hissed through the air and went down right inside his flesh, between 2 ribs. It was a big knife and that sadist started to turn it, spreading these 2 ribs.

Sam had no air to scream with. A diversity of different muscles just clenching. "...kick your ass back down." Someone was screaming in the background, but whatever it was, it was making no sense and he was too occupied with other vital stuff right now.

Suddenly one relieving breath just "happened". Then all went away.

(That was the moment they needed to insert a chest tube and fixate fractured ribs, that had shifted and pierced his lung.)

#

Still this damn carpet. He was surprisingly pulled back to the moment again. Everything felt like just a heartbeat ago, but he couldn't tell. His head was kind of denying such a short timespan, but his body was still so tired and weak.

His right arm was hold in a hammerlock-tight grip. He was thrown onto his stomach in a merciless movement, pushing all air out of his lungs again. He could remember filling them with some glorious oxygen just some moments ago, right?

Then he was kicked in his lower back, again and again. He couldn't think, he couldn't fight. He just could silently endure, this bastard working his frustration out on him, like so often.

The all so familiar and even more so disgusting warning-signs came just at the same time as bitterly burning stuff crept up his neck. He heaved, his body screamed, the knife-wound burned. Everything was overwhelming him. But the kicking didn't even stop, while he was laying on his side, suffering to even be alive. Everything felt so unbearably hot in addition now too. He couldn't take that anymore. He just couldn't.

He was gagging and at the same time desperately fighting for air. He just couldn't anymore.

Deep, painful, horrendous screams were ripped from him, while every new kick shot agonising pain from his lower back right through his abdomen.

He just couldn't. His strength was pushed out of him with every bloodcurdling scream. Then finally mercy pulled him into blackness.

(That was the moment they had to stop repeated internal bleeding from his ruptured kidney.)

#

Someone was slapping and shaking him, lightly punching him into his solar plexus. He was so cold all of a sudden and kind of felt like he was coughing, but he was sure he wasn't. He actually thought the last thing he did, was breathing. Crying, screaming AND breathing. Now he just couldn't anymore. All other sensations had stopped. Everything that remained was pure utterly panic. He was back there. Back HERE, again.

His wide eyes adjusted to the sadist sitting above him. The pressure on his lungs and stomach was just overwhelming. 'No, no, no.' The man's hands went to Sam's neck and started to press down on his windpipe. He just wanted to breath. Hot tears were overflowing his eyes.

There was absolutely no air. He was so alone and frightened. 'How long? How long did he have to endure all this? Maybe he should just give in? Maybe he had finally suffered enough! Maybe all this could finally be over.'

One hand was still crushing his windpipe, while the other forced his mouth open, pushing inside. He was gagging and suffocating at the same time, until darkness took him away.

(That was the moment they had to force a breathing tube down his throat, because his body hadn't had anything left to fight pneumonia off anymore.)

#

The carpet was still there from the feeling under him. He couldn't smell it anymore, but he could breath. Or more, there was actually oxygen. Whatever this was, breathing was better, but it felt like he had no real part in it. Yet, that was okay. He was too exhausted to do anything anyway, even breathing. After that was covered, there was nothing left to think about.

Sam was laying on his back. He couldn't move even an inch. His whole body was covered in sweat, but he felt freezing cold nevertheless. His arms and legs were shackled by an invisible force. His body was hurting all over, everything was so heavy.

Suddenly, pure, unalterable loneliness used that unoccupied spot in his mind and crept into his soul again. He couldn't take this anymore.

He wanted to be left alone, but he just knew a new wave of punishment was just about to break at the shore of his capability to endure. But he just couldn't.

He wanted to be left in peace, or just left, or just peace to fade away.

The nameless human devil appeared out of nowhere. A slap, a punch, a kick and he settle onto him again. The pressure pushing down on his hurting body was even worse this time.

But he had nothing left to fight, neither bodystrength, nor will. So he gave in.

But it didn't stop that sadistic fuck to torture him furthermore. The bastard started hitting him in the middle of his chest, as if training on this little ball boxers use. 'Don't you dare die on me, Sammy.' Whispered through his head like a light, warm summer breeze. 2 real bad punches to his solarplexus. Silence, then white, hot frizzling pain.

'By God, where the fuck did he get that taser from?'

(That was the moment they needed to resuscitate him.)

TBC (here)