Can you share a little more on what bunny w. EDS is like in your soulmage au?
Growing Pains
Totally! I choose to imagine the parameters of the universe change day by day so while the boys might have felt bunny's pain on her period on a certain day maybe the next anything written on one person's skin shows up on the other, or they can taste what the other is eating a different day. Constantly changing so they can't feel her pain in this one....did I spend most of the day on this? Yes. Yes I did.
I wrote this w.out one specific illness in mind because I've been pingponged between diagnoses all my life. So its just technically how you/Bunny go about telling the boys you live with chronic pain.
Read more under the cut!
Aching joints, the stiffness in your muscles the overall soreness in your body. All of it was something you were used to pretty much since puberty, and since you lived a pretty full life, most people didn't think much of it- not even your soulmates.
Let's be honest, there were red flags. Obviously, they met you when your shoulder was out of place, but they're ER physicians; if anyone is taught to think horses instead of zebras, it's them.
They knew you weren't 100%, and frankly, it's not like you were going out of your way to tell them all the problems you've had.
You'd learnt a long time ago how much of a burden it is on the people around you to be the sick one, and no matter how wrong your therapist told you that was, you pushed everything down until you flared.
Ever since you and your mates moved in together, you'd mostly been on the day shift schedule, allowing you to leave the same relative time as Robby (barring the odd night shift here or there).
The two of you made a habit of leaving work together, sometimes stopping for dinner or just going straight home. But when Robby went to pick you up from the lower floor of the Pitt and was greeted by a stranger telling him you had taken a half day, he was immediately on edge.
Robby would never admit it outloud but if he went over the speed limit to get home, that was between him and the traffic camera down the street.
The house was quiet when he got there. His chest tightened.
“Bunny?” he called as he stepped inside, keys barely making it into the bowl by the door.
He kicked off his shoes and moved further in, more quickly now.
“Bunny?”
Robby’s jaw tightened as he moved down the hallway to the bedroom. He knocked once, already pushing it open before waiting for an answer.
“Bun…” he whispered.
The room was dim.
Curtains drawn. Lights off except for a warm-toned lamp in the very corner of the room. And there curled up on top of the covers, only half under them, like you hadn’t even had energy to settle in properly. One arm was tucked awkwardly against your chest, the other was draped loosely across the mattress with a brace. A heating pad sat half-shifted under your lower back, no longer centered where it should’ve been; one hip and knee were propped up by pillows, and an icepack along the back of your neck near the very top where skull met spine.
Your breathing was shallow and tight.
He was at your side in seconds.
“Hey, Bunny.” His tone was low and comforting.
He brought his hand up to your unbraced arm to take note of your pulse. Tachy.
“Hey,” he repeated, quieter now. “What’s going on, sweet thing?”
Your head turned, and eyes cracked open slowly, unfocused for a second before finding him.
“…hey.” Her voice was rough.
Robby swallowed. “You took a half day,” he said gently. “Nobody told me.”
You gave a weak shrug that barely indicated movement, closing your eyes again. “Sorry, I should have messaged.”
“It's okay- just talk to me, alright,” he said, crouching slightly so he was more level with her.
“It’s just a flare,” she muttered. “I’m fine.”
Robby stilled and took a breath, trying really hard not to be lead attending Robby, but supportive soulmate Robby in this moment.
“I think I’m missing some context here.”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, shifting slightly, regretting it as a sharp wince crossed your features.
“Okay,” he said softly but firmly. “No. We’re not doing the ‘I’m fine’ thing right now. You and Abbot are gonna send me to an early grave with this shit.”
You huffed weakly. “I am–”
“You’re not,” he cut in, still gentle but leaving no room for argument. “You’re obviously in pain.”
That got you to look at him again. “I… I don’t want you to look at me like– like it's all in my head.”
There was something so much more vulnerable than what he normally gets to see of you now, “…it’s normal,” she said, quieter. “This…For me.”
Robby glanced at the heating pad, adjusting it properly under her back before pulling the blanket up over her more securely. “Where does it hurt?” he asked.
“Fuckin…everywhere,” you admitted finally. “But my hip mostly.”
“Okay.” He brushed a hand lightly through her hair, something soft and grounding. “What do you need from me?”
“Just stay with me, please.”
And he did.
~
After you dozed off, he called Jack and gave him a rundown. He also eventually got up to shower and make dinner– actually convincing you to eat something was difficult, but it wasn’t until the next day, when you were feeling slightly better, and the boys were between shifts that you gave them the rundown.
“I’m a mess,” You say. Holding up a hand to stop Jack’s incoming retort. “I mean medically.”
You took a deep breath, patting the large plastic bin you brought out. “I’ve had so many diagnoses, over the years, and no specialist I’ve had can ever agree on one thing…In middle school, my pediatrician said it was growing pains– that it would all go away with time, until it didn’t. Then, as a teenager, a rheumatologist said JHS, my geneticist said HSD, and my physical therapists thought hEDS… and I’ve just been managing for so long. I don’t even care what the name is anymore.”
You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until you finish talking.
Robby looks… still. Like he’s trying very hard to choose his next words carefully.
“…how long?” Jack asks, finally, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. You shrug, picking at the edge of the plastic bin.
“Honestly, I was, like, seven? Eight? That’s when things started getting bad.”
Jack exhales sharply through his nose, leaning back. “And no one,” he says slowly, “has been able to give you a straight answer since then?”
You shake your head.
“They all have opinions,” you say with a small, humorless smile. “Just not the same one.”
Robby finally moves, sitting down beside you instead of across from you.
“Bunny,” he says gently. You already don’t like the tone. It’s too careful. Way too doctor-y.
“I’m fine,” you start automatically–, Jack makes a noise. Not a full groan. Not quite a laugh.
“Absolutely not,” he says, pointing at you. “We are retiring that phrase. Immediately.” Robby reaches over, taking your hand, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It’s a lot,” you admit. “And it’s not like there’s a fix or a cure. I didn’t want to be…” You trail off but make eye contact with them both. Robby’s grip on your hand tightens slightly.
“You don’t get to decide that for us,” he says quietly. “You’re not a burden,” he continues. “You’re our partner.”
Jack nods immediately. “Yeah, it's not like you see Robby grabbing my leg off and smacking me with it when I get to be too much, and you always offer to rub his back on the couch. We’re in this together,” he gestures to you and the bin. You take the hint and slide it over to them, allowing them to look through it all.
Physical copies. Of everything, doctors' notes, intakes, PT notes, disks from MRI’s and ultrasounds, everything you’ve ever had access to, more than what's in MyChart.
“I’ve just… always handled it myself,” you say.
“We can tell,” Jack mutters. And you roll your eyes at him, “Not in a bad way,” he adds. “Just… you shouldn’t have had to. I wish you didn't have to.”
Underneath all the paperwork, the bin was still full–Robby was slowly taking things out: one at a time. Braces. KT tape rolls. Pain creams. Heating patches.Reusable icepacks/rings. A TENS unit. Medications. A folded-up resistance band. Printouts of exercises
“…Wow,” he murmurs. “You’ve been managing all of this on your own?”
You shrug. “Mostly.”
Then Jack closes the bin gently. “Okay,” he says, sitting back. “So here’s what we’re not gonna do. We’re not gonna let you keep doing this alone,” he continues.
Robby nods. “And we’re not going to pretend this is normal just because it’s been your normal.”
You open your mouth. Then close it and try again.
“I don’t even know what you’d do,” you admit.
“We start by understanding it,” he says. “Properly.” Jack points between the two of them. “You’ve got two trauma docs sitting right here. We can at the very least coordinate care better than whatever you’ve been dealing with so far.”
“And advocate,” Robby adds. “Make sure you’re actually being heard.”
Some of the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding easing just a little.
“Thank you.”
And for the first time since you dragged that bin out of the closet… It doesn’t feel like something weighing on you alone.
