#vicki

Santo Padre vs. Hospital

🤒 Self indulgent ... still sick 😫

----------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @ravennaortiz @privatetruths @secretlysamcro @staley83 @jozzieblood @tuesdayaddamss @mrstelford @tssweets @mamawiggers1980 @youngadult9016 @samcrosfaith @staley83 @bethexo07 @anonymouse1807 @raven1234321 @vaugarkel @callmesev @vagharsnextsnack @lunajay33 @punkrockcakepops @sweetestrose569 @xoxo-sarah @gidgetto

----------------------------------------------------------

⚠️ Warnings: medical equipment, hospital setting, descriptions of pain, blood, some characters might be slightly ooc.

----------------------------------------------------------

A/N: not properly edited

The sterile white ceiling of the hospital room had become your unwelcome companion for the past day. The steady beep of machines and the antiseptic smell that seemed to cling to everything made you feel more isolated than ever.

You'd been drifting in and out of sleep when the sound of multiple motorcycles rumbling into the parking lot jolted you awake.

Oh no, you thought, recognizing that distinct growl of Harley engines.

They found out.

You'd specifically asked the one nurse you trusted not to contact anyone from Santo Padre, hoping to handle whatever this medical situation was on your own. But apparently, word travels fast in small towns, especially when it involves the woman that Hank "Tranq" Loza had been quietly pining over for months.

The elevator doors down the hall chimed, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy boots and hushed arguing in Spanish. You caught fragments - something about "flores" and "no, pendejo, this way" - before your door burst open.

"Mija!" Hank's voice cracked slightly as he rushed to your bedside, his usually composed demeanor completely shattered. His dark eyes were wide with worry, scanning over you as if trying to assess the damage himself.

"What happened? Are you okay? Who do I kill?"

Behind him, the rest of the club filed in like a parade of leather-clad concern. EZ looked genuinely distressed, his book-smart brain probably running through every possible medical scenario. Angel pushed past his brother with his characteristic lack of patience, nearly knocking over a small plant someone had left on the windowsill.

"Jesus Christ, Hank, give her some space to breathe," Angel said, though his own voice carried an edge of worry. "You look like shit, querida, but like, good shit? Hospital shit?"

"That made no sense, even for you," EZ muttered, shaking his head.

Bishop entered last, his presence commanding even in the soft lighting of the hospital room. His weathered face showed the kind of paternal concern that made your chest tight with unexpected emotion.

"How you feeling, kid?" Bishop asked quietly, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it.

"I'm okay, really," you managed, though your voice came out smaller than intended. The sight of all these tough, dangerous men looking at you with such genuine concern made you feel simultaneously protected and overwhelmed. "It's nothing serious, just... some tests and observation."

Hank pulled the single visitor chair so close to your bed that his knees bumped against the mattress. His large, calloused hand hovered over yours, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"You should have called," he said softly, and you could hear the hurt underneath the worry. "I would've... we all would've..."

"Brought the whole damn club to terrorize the medical staff?" you finished with a weak smile.

"Exactamente," Angel grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're very supportive that way."

Coco appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath and carrying what appeared to be an entire grocery store's worth of snacks. "Yo, I got food. Hospital food is shit." He paused, taking in the crowded room. "Damn, did everybody get the memo except me?"

"Coco, she's in the hospital, not summer camp," EZ pointed out, but he was already helping to clear space on the rolling table for the impressive array of chips, cookies, and what looked like three different types of energy drinks.

Gilly squeezed through the doorway. "How's our girl?" he asked Bishop quietly, but you heard it anyway. The casual possessiveness of it - 'our girl' - made something warm unfurl in your chest despite the circumstances.

"She's conscious and giving attitude," Bishop replied with the ghost of a smile. "So probably fine."

The peaceful moment was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly. You all turned to see Creeper standing in the doorway, but something was... off. He was holding an enormous teddy bear - easily three feet tall - wearing what appeared to be a tiny kutte vest.

"I, uh," Creeper started, his usual confident demeanor replaced by something resembling sheepishness. "I thought you might want something to keep you company."

The bear was simultaneously the most ridiculous and endearing thing you'd ever seen. The tiny leather vest even had patches that read "Mayans MC" and "Santo Padre."

Angel burst into laughter. "Bro, what the fuck is that?"

"It's a bear, dipshit," Creeper replied defensively. "Chicks dig stuffed animals."

"It's wearing our colors," Bishop observed, though he didn't sound entirely disapproving.

"Yeah, well, now she's got protection even when we're not here," Creeper said, setting the bear in the corner where it seemed to loom over the room like a fuzzy sentinel.

You couldn't help but giggle, which quickly turned into full laughter despite the tubes and wires attached to you. The sound seemed to relax everyone's shoulders simultaneously.

"It's perfect," you managed between giggles. "Thank you, Creeper. He's very... imposing."

"Damn right he is," Creeper said, puffing up with pride. "Named him Bishop Jr."

"Like hell you did," the real Bishop muttered, but you caught him eyeing the bear with something that might have been amusement.

The laughter was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway - multiple voices now, including what sounded like Taza's distinctive low rumble and Riz's higher pitch mixing with a woman's voice speaking rapid, authoritative Spanish. A nurse was trying to explain visiting hours to what was clearly becoming a small army.

Taza entered first, his weathered face creased with concern as he took in the crowded room. "Shit, looks like half the club beat us here," he said, his voice carrying that paternal authority that came with being one of the older members.

Behind him, Riz appeared looking characteristically worried, his nervous energy immediately filling the space. "How is she? Is she okay? What happened? Did someone—"

"Riz, breathe," EZ interrupted gently. "She's right here, you can ask her yourself."

But before you could respond, two more figures appeared in the doorway. Cricket bounced in with her characteristic enthusiasm, her curly blonde hair catching the light as she immediately rushed to your bedside.

"Oh honey!" Cricket exclaimed, her affectionate nature on full display as she carefully perched on the edge of your bed. "We came as soon as we heard! Are you hurting? Do you need anything? I brought magazines and lip balm and—"

"Cricket," came a calm, analytical voice from behind her. Bambi entered with measured steps, her dark blonde bob swinging as she assessed the situation with sharp eyes. "Let her breathe first, then interrogate her."

Moments later, Vicki swept into the room like a force of nature, her arms full of what appeared to be homemade food containers.

"Move," she commanded, and somehow all six bikers managed to shuffle aside to make room for her. "Niña, you look terrible."

"Thanks, Vicki," you said dryly, though you were secretly relieved to see her. Vicki had always been like the unofficial mother hen of the club, keeping everyone fed and occasionally in line.

"I brought real food," she announced, beginning to unpack containers with military efficiency. "Hospital food will kill you faster than whatever brought you here in the first place."

The smell that filled the room was incredible - homemade tamales, rice and beans, and something that might have been her famous tres leches cake. Your stomach growled audibly, betraying how little you'd been eating.

"There's my girl," Vicki said with satisfaction. "We'll get some meat on your bones."

Hank finally reached over and took your hand properly, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your knuckles. "You scared the shit out of me, querida," he said quietly, meant just for you but audible to everyone in the suddenly too-small room.

"I'm sorry," you whispered back. "I just... I didn't want to worry anyone."

"Too late for that," EZ said gently. "We're family. That means we worry about each other."

The tender moment was shattered when a young nurse appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand, and froze at the sight of eight bikers, two girls and Vicki having what appeared to be a picnic in the hospital room.

"Um," the nurse started, her eyes wide as she took in the leather, tattoos, and general intimidating presence of the Mayans MC. "Visiting hours are... and food isn't really..."

Angel, in a misguided attempt to be helpful, stood up quickly and stepped toward her with a charming smile. "Hey, don't worry about it, we're just-"

The nurse took one look at Angel's tattoos and the patches on his kutte and let out a small shriek, dropping her clipboard and backing into the doorframe.

"Shit," Angel said, hands up in a peaceful gesture. "I'm not... I was just gonna say we're family!"

"You're terrifying her, pendejo," EZ hissed, pulling his brother back.

Hank squeezed your hand and stood up slowly, his movements deliberately calm and non-threatening. "Ma'am," he said in his most professional voice - the one he probably used in his legitimate business dealings. "I apologize for the... crowd. This is our friend, and we were worried about her."

The nurse, who couldn't have been more than twenty-five, looked between Hank's sincere face and the rest of the group, clearly trying to reconcile the polite words with the intimidating appearance.

Vicki saved the day by stepping forward with a container of food. "Mija, you look hungry. When's the last time you ate something that wasn't from a vending machine?"

The nurse's resistance crumbled at the motherly tone and the incredible smell coming from the container. "I... we're not supposed to..."

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Vicki asked gently.

"Sarah," the nurse replied, still eyeing Angel warily.

"Sarah, I'm Vicki. This scary looking bunch are my boys, and this little one in the bed is our family. We just want to make sure she's taken care of." She pressed the container into Sarah's hands. "Now, what do you need to know about visiting hours?"

After some negotiation that involved Vicki's tamales and Bishop's surprising diplomatic skills, you ended up with an official "family exception" to visiting hours. Sarah even admitted that your vitals had improved since everyone arrived.

"Laughter is good medicine," she said, though she still gave Angel a wide berth.

"See?" Angel said triumphantly. "I'm therapeutic."

"You're something," you replied, settling back against your pillows as Hank adjusted them behind you with careful attention.

The room had transformed from sterile and lonely to warm and chaotic. Coco was teaching EZ some kind of complex hand game in the corner, while Bishop and Gilly were having a quiet conversation about club business by the window. Creeper was explaining the finer points of his bear's protective qualities to anyone who would listen.

Vicki had taken over the small table and was organizing food like she was planning to feed an army, which, considering the appetites of the men in the room, wasn't far off.

And Hank... Hank hadn't let go of your hand since he'd properly taken it, his thumb still tracing those gentle patterns that were becoming hypnotic.

"How did you even find out I was here?" you asked quietly.

"Small town," he replied simply. "Plus, you didn't answer your phone. I was about to file a missing person report."

The casual admission that he'd been calling you regularly made your heart skip in a way that had nothing to do with your medical condition.

"I'm okay," you said again, more for him than for anyone else.

"I can see that now," he replied, bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "But next time, call me. Por favor."

Your Spanish was still limited, but you knew enough to understand the 'please' and the weight behind it.

"Prometo," you said carefully, remembering the word for 'promise.'

His smile was brilliant and relieved, and you realized that maybe being protected by the most dangerous men in Santo Padre wasn't such a bad thing after all.

As the afternoon wore on, the chaos settled into something more comfortable. Bishop had somehow convinced the hospital staff to bring in extra chairs, and the room had taken on the atmosphere of someone's living room rather than a medical facility.

Angel was regaling everyone with an increasingly elaborate story about a customer at the scrapyard who tried to trade a live chicken for car parts. EZ kept interjecting with corrections, which only made Angel's version more outrageous.

"I'm telling you, this chicken was a damn escape artist," Angel insisted. "Had to chase it around the yard for twenty minutes."

"It was five minutes, and you tripped over your own feet," EZ corrected.

"Shut up, boy scout." Angel waved him off.

You found yourself laughing despite the lingering fatigue, the sound drawing satisfied looks from everyone in the room. Hank's attention rarely strayed from you, his protective instincts clearly on high alert, but he'd relaxed enough to join in the conversation.

Creeper was explaining to Gilly why the teddy bear's kutte was accurate "The patches are proportionally correct, see?", while Coco had discovered the bed's controls and was having far too much fun making it go up and down.

"Coco, stop playing with her bed," Vicki scolded, though she was trying not to smile.

"This shit's like a carnival ride," Coco protested, but he stopped pushing buttons.

The easy camaraderie was exactly what you needed - a reminder that you weren't alone, that you had people who cared about you enough to stage what amounted to a hospital invasion.

As evening approached, some of the group began to drift out. Bishop left first, after extracting promises that someone would call if anything changed. Gilly and Creeper followed, though Creeper spent ten minutes giving you detailed instructions on the bear's care and feeding.

"He doesn't actually eat," EZ pointed out.

"It's about the principle," Creeper replied seriously.

Vicki packed up the remaining food, pressing containers into your hands with strict instructions about when and how to eat everything. "And you call me if these idiots don't take proper care of you," she added with a pointed look at the remaining Reyes brothers and Hank.

"We got her, Vic," Hank assured her.

"You better," she replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gathering her things.

As the evening wore on, the group slowly thinned out. Bishop left first, followed by Taza and Riz, though Riz extracted multiple promises that someone would call if anything changed, his worry making him hover until Taza physically guided him toward the door.

"She's in good hands, hermano," Taza assured him, giving you a gentle nod before they left.

Cricket was reluctant to leave, practically bouncing on her toes with nervous energy. "Are you sure you don't need me to stay? I could braid your hair! Or we could do face masks!"

"Cricket, the woman needs rest, not a slumber party," Bambi said practically, though her tone was fond. She'd spent most of the visit quietly observing, occasionally offering practical suggestions about comfort or logistics.

Coco, who'd been trying to catch Bambi's attention all afternoon, made one last attempt as they prepared to leave. "Hey, Bambi, if you want to grab a drink sometime—"

"No," Bambi replied flatly, not even looking up from organizing her purse with methodical precision.

"Come on, I haven't even finished asking—"

"The answer is still no," she said, finally meeting his eyes with a look that could have frozen hell over. "It was no yesterday, it's no today, it'll be no tomorrow."

"Damn, woman," Coco muttered, but he was grinning. "I respect the consistency."

Cricket giggled and grabbed Bambi's arm. "Come on, let's leave them to their family time."

Soon it was just you, Hank, Angel, and EZ. The room felt enormous compared to how crowded it had been, and you realized how much you'd enjoyed the chaos.

"You guys don't have to stay," you said, though you hoped they wouldn't take you up on the offer.

"Like hell," Angel replied immediately. "What if you need something? What if that scary-ass bear comes to life?"

"It's not scary," you protested weakly.

"It's watching me," Angel said, eyeing the bear suspiciously. "I swear its head moved."

EZ rolled his eyes. "It's an inanimate object, Angel."

"That's what it wants you to think."

You were laughing at something Angel said when you felt it - a sudden, alarming warmth spreading beneath you. The sensation was wrong, too much, too fast. Your laughter died as you looked down to see crimson seeping through the white hospital sheets.

"Hank," you whispered, your voice small and scared.

He followed your gaze and was on his feet instantly, his face going pale. "Nurse!" he called out, his voice carrying a note of controlled panic. "We need a nurse in here now!"

Angel and EZ were up immediately, EZ hitting the call button repeatedly while Angel moved to block the view from the hallway.

The blood was spreading faster now, more than you'd ever seen from your own body. Your head began to feel light, fuzzy around the edges as the warmth drained from your face.

Sarah rushed in, took one look at the situation, and immediately began moving with professional efficiency. "I need everyone out," she said firmly.

"Like hell," Hank replied, his voice deadly calm in the way that meant he was barely holding it together.

"Sir, I need space to work—"

"I'm not leaving her," he said, positioning himself where he could see your face while staying out of the way.

Another nurse appeared, then another, their movements quick and coordinated. You felt yourself drifting, the voices becoming distant and echoing.

"How long has this been happening?" you heard someone ask.

"This is the fourth episode in twenty-four hours," Sarah replied, her voice tight with concern. "Every six hours, like clockwork. We can't figure out what's causing it."

"I'm... I'm okay," you mumbled, though the words felt thick and strange in your mouth.

"No, you're not," Hank said quietly, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. His usual composure was cracking, worry etched deep in every line of his face. "But you're going to be."

The medical team worked around you both, checking vitals, drawing blood, administering IV medications. The bleeding slowly stopped, but not before you'd lost enough to make the world spin when you tried to focus.

"We're running more tests," one of the doctors explained to Hank, his voice professional but concerned. "The pattern suggests something specific, but we need to rule out several possibilities."

Through your hazy state, you could see Angel pacing in the hallway while EZ stood sentinel at the door, both of them looking like they were ready to fight something they couldn't identify.

You woke the next morning to find Hank asleep in the chair beside your bed, his hand still holding yours even in sleep. He looked exhausted, stubble darkening his jaw, but he'd clearly refused to leave.

Angel was sprawled across two chairs he'd pushed together, snoring softly, while EZ was somehow sleeping sitting up against the wall with a book open in his lap.

"The others are in the waiting room," Hank said softly as he stirred. "Cricket's been making friendship bracelets for the nursing staff. Bambi organized a schedule so someone's always here. And Coco..." she paused with amusement, "Coco tried to flirt with the night nurse and got banned from the cardiac wing."

Despite everything, you found yourself smiling. "He hit on the cardiac nurse?"

"Apparently told her his heart was 'racing' and needed her professional opinion," Vicki said, rolling her eyes. "Bambi had to smooth things over with the charge nurse."

"I'm okay," you said, and this time you meant it more completely. The fog had lifted, the weakness was manageable, and you were surrounded by people who'd turned a terrifying night into something bearable through sheer stubborn love.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Bishop: "Heard you're doing better. Proud of you, kid."

Then Taza: "Take your time healing. We'll hold down the fort."

And Riz "Do you need anything? I can bring anything. Seriously, anything."

Cricket had sent approximately fifteen messages, ranging from heart emojis to detailed reports about which nurses liked which snacks.

Even Bambi had texted: "Glad you're stable. Let me know if you need help coordinating anything."

You looked around the room at your sleeping protectors, at the evidence of care and concern scattered everywhere, at the ridiculous bear still standing guard, and felt overwhelmingly grateful.

The medical crisis had been scary, but what it revealed was that you had a family who would literally reorganize their lives around making sure you were never alone when you were vulnerable.

Hank squeezed your hand gently. "Ready for another day of organized chaos?"

Through the doorway, you could see Cricket waving excitedly as she spotted you awake, Bambi calmly gathering what looked like a folder of information, and Coco trying to sweet-talk a different nurse while Taza watched with amused resignation.