Billy Hargrove (
playingtough) wrote in
revivalproject2023-05-08 07:50 pm
Fortunate Son - Creedance Clearwater Revival
WHO: Billy Hargrove; Open
WHERE: Fountain
WHAT: Showing up in this city beats being dead
WHEN: May 8th
WARNINGS: S3 finale spoilers for Stranger Things?
This doesn't feel anything like Starcourt's floor. The glossy and tiled smoothness of it against his back is missing. It's rough and jagged, like Billy's laying on a gravel road. Or maybe it feels like that as blood seeps out from his sides. It stains up into his white tank top, into the waistband of his jeans. There's faint lines lining his arms and temples where he had been controlled.
Then he feels the pull. Towards a glowing orb and it hurts - fuck does it hurt like hell - to move, but he manages to touch it. And immediately goes down with a yell, brain trying to process all of that and still reeling from being back in the driver's seat of his head again.
Onto his back he goes, blue eyes at the sky again. There's a lot of blood lost from the two wounds, and Billy realizes that's probably why he feels weak. He's not supposed to feel like this, he's Billy Hargrove. King of Hawkins, pretty boy and playboy.
God he's killed so many people in the span of a month, even though it wasn't his fault.
He coughs and finds the strength to wipe away the wetness. Saliva, good, it wasn't blood. He knew coughing up blood was a bad sign at least. He heard about it from-
No, don't think about her right now.
Billy lays there, turning his head to look around. Was there anyone around? He needs to call for help. And he does, a choked out "...help," that has an edge to it because he's not going to be heard as weak as long as he can help it.
WHERE: Fountain
WHAT: Showing up in this city beats being dead
WHEN: May 8th
WARNINGS: S3 finale spoilers for Stranger Things?
This doesn't feel anything like Starcourt's floor. The glossy and tiled smoothness of it against his back is missing. It's rough and jagged, like Billy's laying on a gravel road. Or maybe it feels like that as blood seeps out from his sides. It stains up into his white tank top, into the waistband of his jeans. There's faint lines lining his arms and temples where he had been controlled.
Then he feels the pull. Towards a glowing orb and it hurts - fuck does it hurt like hell - to move, but he manages to touch it. And immediately goes down with a yell, brain trying to process all of that and still reeling from being back in the driver's seat of his head again.
Onto his back he goes, blue eyes at the sky again. There's a lot of blood lost from the two wounds, and Billy realizes that's probably why he feels weak. He's not supposed to feel like this, he's Billy Hargrove. King of Hawkins, pretty boy and playboy.
God he's killed so many people in the span of a month, even though it wasn't his fault.
He coughs and finds the strength to wipe away the wetness. Saliva, good, it wasn't blood. He knew coughing up blood was a bad sign at least. He heard about it from-
No, don't think about her right now.
Billy lays there, turning his head to look around. Was there anyone around? He needs to call for help. And he does, a choked out "...help," that has an edge to it because he's not going to be heard as weak as long as he can help it.

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No one ever said that Tae's bedside manner was the absolute best. Except with children. And he's too old for that.
"I'll have this wrapped in a moment and then I'll ask someone to help me get you to the hospital. Seems you'll be a guest for a bit."
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If he goes home.
Hell, maybe he'll die here.
That's the thought that gets him to soften again, the anger melting a little into... scared. A brief look at vulnerability before his face goes more neutral. "Really won't let me die...right?"
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"Of course not," she says as she wraps the wounds snuggly. "Even if it takes surgery I'm keeping you here. If for no other reason than you've gotten blood on my lab coat and you're going to use one of your replicator rations to get the soaps I need to clean it."
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Which he barely gets out as he hisses at the pain that comes with the pressure from the bandages. He turns his head to the side away from her to cough, sucking in air to do something other than think of the pain.
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"Clearly American," she grumbles under her breath. "Would you rather I let you die? Honestly, it would save supplies and probably headaches."
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"Feels like you're trying to finish the job!" he wheezes back angrily. There's no bite to all of his bark though, and he just settles against the ground. "Try some aspirin if you've got a headache. And a beer."
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"No alcohol with this much blood loss. Or aspirin. It's a blood thinner. It will make you bleed more."
Good thing she has more quality pain medications back at the hospital. For now, though, she pins off the bandage, reaches for his hands, and presses them against the worst wound.
"Hold here. I need to call for some arms to carry you."
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His hands are warm and firm under hers, and Billy does as ordered to hold the bandage. "Don't feel like carrying me like a dame in distress?" It's supposed to be a joke. He doesn't know if it works as one, but fuck it. Whether he dies at the hand of this doctor or the Mind Flayer, it's going to happen.
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As soon as she has her comm out her fingers are flying through a text.
"I'm not holding both of our weights up in a shitty location with high heels."
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Billy knows he's not going to be like his dad and stuff like this is going to test that.
"Well maybe you should get some sensible shoes. And I wasn't suggesting you drink and operate at the same time. I'm not an idiot. I meant for headaches after you're done carving people." Well maybe you should've used your words then, Billy...
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She grumbles under her breath. He's worse than most already.
How could she have ever thought Tony was bad? This punk was worse.
"I normally don't waste pain killers on myself. But after you it'll be tempting."
Instead she might go investigate that bar.
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He almost moves like he's going to get up, then decides against it and lays down. Billy debates on something, then decides against that too as he waits for the hired help to come to her aid. "How far is the hospital anyways? Maybe I can fucking walk."
Billy can't, but it beats just laying here, waiting for her patience to give out on him.
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Tae stops when a large, heavily muscled and tattooed man with long hair arrived.
"This doesn't look like luggage, Doc," Gladio noted as he moves to kneel by Billy.
"He's plenty of baggage in one package, clearly," she answered. "Try not to jostle him too much."
Gladio nodded. "Obviously. Wish I had one of those potions from Eorzea to help stabilize him. Anyway, hi kid, I'm Gladio, I'll be your ambulance. Bear with me."
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The glare goes from Tae to Gladio. It's then he realizes that he doesn't not the doctor woman's name (nor at this point is he really caring). But he supposes a name is important.
"Billy. Billy Hargrove." The sooner they get this ambulance ride over with, the better. Hell, the sooner he's back in shape, the better.
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Gladio, for what it was worth, just nodded to the boy in his arms.
"How about we rush, Doc? He seems... well, like he got savaged by something."
Of course she just speeds up as best she can in her heels.
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"At least someone can fucking rush," he grumbles. Almost loudly. Billy isn't exactly known for masking himself or anything. "Savaged is an understatement, because I'm dead when I get home." All of it's bitten out, trying not to move too much while Gladio moves and Tae keeps up.
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But Gladio doesn't touch the other stuff. He knows plenty of people who are dead back home. That's just part of the territory. And his attention is on getting him into the hospital.
Once inside Tae was quickly behind them, moving a lot more easily over smooth floors as she directs Gladio around to where they need to get.
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He doesn't like the hospital lights above him. There's a full scowl and he turns his head to bury it away into Gladio. Stalking the halls for a girl, halls that looked sterile with flickering lights--
There's a groan of pain and yes, focus on that. On the pain that the creature gave him. The doctor that was giving him hell and the broad man with muscles Billy dreamed of giving him a ride to the nearest bed or wherever.
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Gladio carries the young man into a room he is directed to by Tae and lays him out onto a bed before stepping back. Tae's already at Billy's side, pulling on latex gloves.
"The shirt has to go. I'm sorry. We'll have someone replicate you a new one later."
Then she's producing scissors to cut it off. Sorry, no more time for nice doctor.
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The bed feels scratchy, but it's also soft and the best thing he's laid on in hours. Maybe days. He's focused on that, that he doesn't notice her cutting off the shirt. It wasn't like there was much of a shirt left to save anyways, the tank top tattered from the one-sided fight at the mall.
"...'S fine, just don't make my shit worse." Muscle flutter in an attempt to get away from the cool metal of the scissors, with Billy gritting his teeth through it. "Fuck."
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"Need some verbal consent, kid. Going to do a transfusion for you. If you have an extremely rare blood type this could be bad. Without it, we've got trouble. Gladio?"
"O-Neg," he says.
"Clean your arm," she directs him, and the big man moves to get an alcohol pad. Yeah, he's clearly been kidnapped as an assistant.
"Do you consent to treatment?"
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Billy doesn't realize how pale he's gotten since Tae found him, how much blood's been lost since then and now. Shit. But she said she wasn't going to let him die right? Right? Even if he's acting like a pathetic piece of shit, right? Billy mutters off his normal blood type and tries to get comfortable. Eyes watch the ambulance - Gladio - go to do as Tae asks, then looks to her.
"...I consent." Because if he doesn't, Billy knows what's going to happen.
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"Good boy," she says as she starts preparing a line for him and Gladio. Once she's got blood going, she'll get to the rest.
"I can't sedate you. I'm going to give you something to put in your mouth. Bit down when it hurts."
When, not if. She grabs a cloth and folds it up, offering it to his mouth.
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The blue eyes watch her red ones and he nods. No sedatives. He could handle that. Despite that tough guy thinking, he accepts the cloth and takes it between white teeth and tries to relax. And he doesn't, but he tried.
For what it's worth, when she starts, he doesn't scream immediately. But the pain grows and he feels like he's going to hurt his mouth with how hard he's biting into the cloth. It gets soaked with his saliva and at one point he does start squirming, but he doesn't make any motion to tell her to stop.
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"I know," she says, her voice a low, soft thing as she works, "I know it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm going as fast and careful as I can. Once we've got you all patched up I'm going to personally get you a big meal from the diner. And maybe some alcohol for pain numbing. Does that sound good?"
Poor kid, he's in a real state of things.
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