#oc alyaa

"I blame Ethan. It's all on him. Sick. He's sick. Doing that to Cal. Making him wait. He was going to the hospital the next day! The next day! And he's in here," Rory prods at his temple a few times. "He's up in here and I can't get rid of him. Sick."

He runs a shaking hand through his hair. Pulls at it a little.

"Guns are loud. I didn't know how loud they could be," he says quietly. "I don't even think Cal barely moved when it went off. His brain was... he was suffering. I don't even know if he heard it. I don't know how not. So loud."

Rory looks up at you.

"He taped Alyaa's mouth up until it went sore. Her lips. The skin around them? Cracked and red. I hate him. Ethan. I hate him. What if Cal's surgery being delayed has some long term impact? Like, in a few years and something goes wrong? I can't lose him."

He puts his head in his hands.

Callum knocked on the door and waited for David answer. And he schooled his face in to his best concerned doctor expression as opposed to the smile that he was currently hiding. Just about. Almost.

The phone call that had brought him here had been funny but not to David. Alyaa in the background sounding exactly like someone who had not long come around from a general anaesthetic should sound. And Callum knew that all of this was normal. All of this had been explained to David and Alyaa, but listening to a loved one sounding so very much not themselves was very often enough for people to forget the preoperative information.

"This can't be normal," David said, as soon as he opened the door, ushering Callum in quickly.

"No kids?" Callum asked, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it on the peg with the homemade sign about it; Uncle Callum. Childlike writing, smudges, fingerprints. Messy with love.

"They're managing to be quiet. I've bribed them with cake. Come on," David strode on through the house, Callum hurrying to catch up behind him. At the door to the bedroom, David knocked before going in. It made Callum smile more, that small act of care.

"Is you..." Alyaa muttered, trailing off at the end. "Oh! And you!"

"And me," Callum stepped close to the bed and took her hand in his. "Cold hands huh?"

"I wanted the blanket," Alyaa told him, looking down at the spotted throw that was tucked around her. "But I want the stripey one!" Her voice broke into a small, sad wail.

"See!?" David said, hushed but hurried. Nervous. "We don't own a stripey blanket!"

"Ok. Don't worry," Callum sat down next to Alyaa, the bed dipping which tipped her a little to the side.

"Woo it's like a fairground ride!" She laughed, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. "But without a stripey blanket." The sadness in her voice was back.

"I know," Callum said, squeezing her hand. Just for now though I'm going to need you to take a little time to just sit quietly. No talking. Just quiet. OK? Can you do that?"

Alyaa looked up at him, wide eyed with post-anaesthetic confusion and honesty, and nodded.

"Well done," Callum said, then turned to David.

"She's not well!" David said, wringing his hands. "You see? She's not well. And she's so upset!"

"I know how it looks but I promise you that she's OK. All of this? Is just the drugs talking. And you know my promises are good. Yes?"

David looked at Callum for a long moment, then to Alyaa and back again. Slowly he nodded.

"I know," he whispered.

"It's just words," Callum said. "Words that sound like feelings. But I promise you that it's all fake."

"But she is feeling it! Look at her!"

"And," Callum said, quickly, just overlapping at the end of David's talking. Just getting in before David could sink further into a panic. "She was awake when they removed the breathing tube. But she won't remember that either. She won't any of this. It's just words David. Really. Just words."

David sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. Paced a little. Then stopped.

"Just words. You promise."

"I promise," Callum patted Alyaa's hand, kissed her temple, and stood up. "Keep her warm and give her plenty of water. In the meantime I'll take the kids out and run some of their energy off. OK? I'll only go to the park down the way so if you need me I won't be far. She'll be much better even in the time it takes me to tire your little lot out."

"I love you," Alyaa said, looking up at Callum, tears starting again.

"And I love you too," he said, pulling David in to take his spot, passing her hand to his. "I'll see you both in an hour or two. Wouldn't hurt if you both had a little sleep."

Callum left the room, gathering up shoes and coats and snacks and children as he went. Left the house.

Headed to the park. The one without many trees.

"Kids! Keep an eye out as we go past the shops. Let me know if you see a stripey blanket."

TW: Please be aware that this is a written piece of a panic attack.  It may not be everyone's version of what one feels like, but it’s pretty close to how mine feel so I’m drawing on that experience.

Finally I am back with a piece from The Collection Programme!  It’s been too long.  Sorry Rory!

Tagging @haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @pepperonyscience @faewhump @crowned-avery @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies @inpainandsuffering @whumppsychology @nonsensical-whump @ashintheairlikesnow @justabitofwhump

The mirrored cabinet above the sink always had a small sticking point. Every time it was closed, the hinges reached a point of minor resistance and then they gave. Then the door shut. It happened every single time.

The mirrored cabinet above the sink had a very tiny door knob. It was about the dimensions of a bullet if someone had taken the pointed end off it to leave only centimetre or so of it still standing.

The mirrored cabinet above the sink used to have a small and almost flat rubber disc on the inside of the door as a buffer. Something to stop it slamming quite so hard when it was shut  Something to keep it from shattering under pressure.  But that had fallen off some time ago.  A victim of being in the humidity of a bathroom.

Rory opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink every morning to get his deodorant out. Then he put it back and shut the door.  Every day.  Except that this time when he sprayed his deodorant, he got some on his hand.  Just quickly, he ran the water and rinsed it off before putting the can back in the cabinet and shutting it. His fingers slipped on the tiny door knob and it got away from him. For the briefest moment, the hinges caught and held before the motion carried itself through and the door swung shut. It banged once, loudly, the blow not cushioned by the tiny disc of rubber that wasn't there any more.

He caught his reflection and all he could see was red.  All he could hear was the bang ringing in his ears.  All he could do was give in to gravity when his knees buckled from under him and he dropped to the floor.  The only noise he could hear was the shouting, the shooting, the shouting.  His shouting.  What was he shouting?  Callum.  He needed to untie Callum.  He needed to keep Alyaa calm.  A story.  He had to invent a story to keep them all safe because without that they were done for.  Alyaa must be calm.  Please be calm.  Callum's brain.  It's hurting him it's hurting him it's hurting him and what's this new noise?

He had his hands clamped tightly over his ears so how a yelling, a rhythmic breath in and yell out over and over was so loud he could not work out.  How was it so loud?  How was it so close?  It was wordless and horrifying, like hell was breaking loose and he was too frightened to run from it.  And when hands found him and held him he pushed back, because if hell was so close that he could hear it, then he was close enough to be pulled in to it.

And through the demons and their screaming, somewhere through their raised cacophony, something as close to angelic as he had ever heard before said his name.  And kept on saying it.  Over and over, gentle and soft.  And the other side of his body which felt too tensed to ever untwist itself, beautiful hands beat the demons away from him and held him so that they wouldn’t be able to get to him.  How very brave.  How so brave, that there where two forces were there to save him when it was so dangerous to be anywhere close.  

One force with touch and one force with words stayed while he shook and shivered and cried until it all ebbed out and away from him.  Until just tiny, featherlight tremors quietly shook him on each exhale.  Slowly, he allowed his arms to be drawn away from his chest so that his hands could be held, the feeling of being opened up and exposed not quite so terrifying now that the demons seemed to be in retreat.  

Neither force seemed to mind his sweaty palms.  Neither seemed to see any shame in the tears that had streaked down his cheeks.  Neither had covered their ears when he had covered his.

They sat with him, and held him, and pressed their bodies to his so that he could use up their heat while he shivered.  And as he sat, and as the screaming gave way to silence, their faces finally came into view.

Callum.  With his brain that was never slow and never stupid.  That had stopped hurting him.  Callum with his little patch of hair that they had shaved for his surgery but that was just starting to grow back, softening the scarred line with blonde fuzz.  Alyaa.  With her strength that could ward away hell itself, no matter what she said to the contrary.  

Rory looked at them.  At Callum, and then at Alyaa.  

Ok.  Here it is!  The Bad Thing is happeneing and Rory is starting to get whumped!  CW here for victim blaming, self blame, self hatred, whumper playing whumpees off against one another, threatening to whump a woman and a tape gag of course!

Tag time!

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @crowned-avery @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies @inpainandsuffering @whumppsychology

He was laughing.  It was muted by a hand to his mouth.  Knuckles against his teeth.  But he was laughing.  She didn't dare look at him.  Didn't dare make eye contact for fear that somewhere through the terror and dread, that somewhere in the horror of her emotions, the hated of him might be showing on her face.  Taking that kind of liberty would only lead to trouble. 

Beyond the basement door and blissfully, briefly unaware of the ridicule and hurt coming their way, Rory and Callum carried on talking.

***

"I miss Haz,"  Callum muttered, a slight slur to the words.  A slip at the edge.  He had shuffled over to Rory with an ease born of history despite the fact that his hands were bound behind his back.

Dear diary

It happened. He's gone. I mean sure, I knew he would because he's Callum and he's awesome and anyone would be lucky to have him in their lives.

It's just. It's just that I can't help but wish that it was my life that he was in. I would never Select him. He's not something I could...I don't know. Not something I could force into my life.

But now he's gone? It's like when you've been out in the sun so everything looks off-colour when you come back in. It doesn't look right anymore. And it's not getting any better.

I drank too much and bothered my neighbour and i think I cried at her. She'll never be my friend now.

I'm a dick.

Umm... colours. Umm. For Master? I umm. It's. Yes. Shame is not nice. Not nice. *he rubs at his head* I could help? Help her not be ashamed for a bit?

*he nods, knowing, certain that she will feel like he does when he's allowed to atone*

Complete and utter terror. He would yell her name frantically over and over down the phone. He'd be screaming at her to answer him, please, just answer, anything, just say something.

When the phone cuts out, he'd be trying to work it all out, out loud. Talking to himself as he dashes about getting shoes and wallet and jacket, dry mouthed and sweating, swearing as he goes. Working out where she must be, trying to phone Callum then realising that he's in the a&e department and hanging up after about two and half rings because he knows that Cal won't be able to pick up.