ER visit for a fishman
Apr. 16th, 2014 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flatmatewatson[from here]
John was only just starting his shift in the ER. One of the nurses had commented it was a full moon tonight and he couldn't keep from groaning to himself. Nights like those, they usually brought out all the crazy cases. He'd have to keep on his toes.
The next ambulance was starting to pull in and John grabs his stethoscope to come out and help them with the stretcher. "What have you got?"
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"Got?" said the EMT, scratching his head. "Not a damn clue."
The BPRD kept medical personnel on staff in case their agents were seriously wounded in the line of duty. Of course it presumed that the agent in question hadn't gotten separated from the group by a wild who-the-hell-knows and dragged for half a mile before before the sudden appearance of a car scared it enough for the agent's leg to slip out of its jaws.
Abe was lucky he was so rubbery. And lucky that he wasn't poked with a stick until he died from annoyance but rather stuffed into the back seat and driven to a local clinic, from which an equally confused ambulance driver took him to the hospital. What barriers people could overcome when they had protocol to resort to.
"Do I tip?" he was asking when the doors opened. Stress, pain, and a high quantity of bright lights were severely disorienting him. "I don't need a hospital. I just need a nap."
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John has to pause for a full two seconds, trying to figure out what he was looking at. It looked like a reject from the Avatar movies on the cart. He gives his head a shake and tells himself to roll with it, putting his stethoscope in his ears as the paramedics roll it slowly into the hospital so he can work on the way. "I'm Dr. Watson, I'll be the judge of that." Him putting one end against the...for lack of a better word...man's chest to listen to his heart. "What's your name? Can you remember what happened?"
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"I think it might be classified." Abe blinked at him, eyelids coming from the sides rather than up and down. "My name is Abe Sapien."
His leg's been bitten down to the bone by something with massive jaws and there are cuts and scrapes all across his back. Thankfully the beast was tall, or else he'd have a concussion by now from his head banging on the ground. Oddly enough the injuries aren't bleeding as much as those of a human.
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Those eyes didn't look human, it was almost like...a reptile? He wasn't sure, this was a little out of John's league. But when the paramedic pulls the sheet up to show him the leg, he forgets about that. Focusing on the leg injury. He indicates which room for them to wheel towards and stops a nurse to ask for a surgical tray and lots of gauze.
He then joins them as they're moving Abe from stretcher to ER bed, putting his stethoscope back across his neck with a sigh. "Okay, I'll be the one to ask it. Is that a costume?"
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"I get that a lot. It's not. Who are you?" Abe reaches out his arm, trying to get a hand on the doctor in order to answer the question for himself. He needs to get back to the bureau, he's not supposed to be out in public like this.
Can't help it, though. Only have the one leg. Blame the werethinger.
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He sighs. "Right. Not a costume." That figures. He'll just have to hope everything was in the proper place underneath that moist fish like skin so he didn't do more harm than good.
John's busy with getting the leg prepped, more worried than glad that there's not much bleeding. Without a proper skin color, he couldn't tell if this meant the leg was gangrenous already or not. "I'm the doctor for the ER right now. Can you keep still please?" But the guy's already got a hold of his arm, the one that's got the gauze. "Unless you would like to lose the leg while you're here?"
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The hand gripped his arm tightly and Abe's eyes half-closed. When his eyes opened again his arm dropped. "So you are." Dr. John Watson. Something war-related. He was too dizzy to get much else. "I've had worse. Don't take it off, people will get angry at you."
He was fairly sure that his limbs were government property. Were they looking for him? They'd never look at a hospital, he was sure. He'd have to get to a phone at some point.
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The remark earns a wry smile as he's working, putting a local anesthetic on before packing the wound with moist saline gauze. "Other people will be angry? Not you?" He takes a slow breath, not sure what he was working with so he was going with his gut. "Any allergies to anything? Iodine, latex?"
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The anesthetic was a comfort. Abe felt his head beginning to clear slightly, and he craned his neck to try and watch what Dr. Watson was doing.
"I'll be angry, but they've got lawyers." He shook his head to the question. No allergies to that, he'd been through this sort of thing before. A lot. This was just the first time it had happened so far from home or friends. "Actually, if you could get me a phone that would be lovely, the leg can wait..."
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John was cutting off a few more strips as he started bandaging around the leg to hold the packing in place. "I'll take your opinion over theirs if it's all the same to you." Patient first, lawyers after.
He directs one of the nurses, who is trying not to stare, to give Abe a handheld phone. John trying not to picture a family of people like Abe coming in and demanding to know what happened to his leg. He's not sure his brain could cope with that kind of bizarre just yet. "Can you wiggle your toes for me, please?"
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The webbed toes wiggle obligingly.
It takes a few tries for Abe to get the number in correctly, with the way his hands won't quite obey his commands. Finally, he gets in the number that connects him to the receptionist for a waste treatment facility. Supposedly.
"Yes, could you please connect me to the bottom floor? I would like to speak with Bigfoot." It was, in Abe's opinion, a very dull code phrase. He'd have preferred something in old Norse but half the people here couldn't pronounce it. He waited as the receptionist transferred him down to the bureau's actual receptionist.
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Bigfoot? He couldn't be serious.
Just keep working, just keep working, he tells himself as he finishes off the bandage. He uses the end of his stethoscope to stroke up the man's foot, his reflexes seemed normal. There was bound to be nerve damage from something like this, but so far it looked promising.
"If you're calling family..." John can't believe he just started this sentence. "..make sure they know where you're at, St. Bart's hospital. Are you on any medications?"
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"I'm at St. Bart's and no, I'm not on any medication--talking to Dr. Watson, I'm in the ER right now and he's treating my leg--" He held the phone a few inches away. "You see how concerned they are about my health," he said, rolling his eyes. He didn't smile but his voice held a degree of amusement. The phone continued its incoherent, muffled ranting.
The director was always so upset whenever they broke cover. Abe felt it was entirely unfair, it was usually Hellboy's fault and his own record had been nearly spotless until now. They should just go public and get it over with. Abe would let Manning work it out of his system before he spoke to him again.
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"...you want me to talk to him?" John could hear the muffled voice from where he was standing. Sometimes talking to the doctor and finding out what really happened helped anxious family members.
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"I think it would just make it worse." Abe turned the phone upside down, so that the sound would be muffled by the blankets. "He has anger issues. Gets upset easily, his blood pressure's absolutely horrible. On the other hand he's stellar at paperwork." Which to Abe seemed the only reason to keep him around.
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"Mm, I see." Most paperwork fiends had high blood pressure. "Tell him I have another empty room if he wants to come down and join you." John trying to be helpful, the guy certainly sounded like he was two steps away from a heart attack. "That might stop him talking for a bit."
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"I'll bear it in mind. You feel like a man who can handle people attempting to kill him." Abe chuckled to himself as he lay back down. At least they could come and find him, he could relax now. BPRD was good at making him disappear if necessary.
"Do what you have to in order to stop the bleeding but no surgery, please," he said, toes wiggling again. "You don't have my medical records, they do."
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John finally does smile, Abe hit the nail on the head with that remark. Between the war and Sherlock's antics, he was nearly used to people out to kill him. "Thanks."
He scribbles on a clipboard to finish. "Actually, there was little to no bleeding. Which is a little concerning. While it might heal on it's own, if there's no blood flow, likely it will just start to go bad. And then it really will have to be cut off." Yes, he was leveling with the fish man, not sugar coating it. "I've packed it, it should heal from the inside out, but you'll need someone keeping an eye on it. Can you make it to the wound clinic every other day to have it redone?"
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How absolutely darling. He was being quite a professional, even when treating something completely alien to his experiences. "Not to yours perhaps, since I have a feeling the man on the phone is going to lock me in my room for the next month, but we have medical professionals on staff. It's not the first time something like this has happened and I heal quite quickly."
He didn't completely mean it. Manning had a habit of 'grounding' them for bad behavior with ludicrous revocations of privileges, only for everyone else to just go around him and reinstate Netflix rights the next day. If Manning ever noticed it happened he didn't comment.
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Well, it wasn't like Abe was frothing at the mouth or trying to bite him like some animal. He was talking. Like a human being, so really Watson didn't have any other conclusion but to treat him as such.
He frowns at the implication, locking him in a room? "Not literally, I hope. Does this guy treat you alright?" Now he's thinking he should ask what happened in the first place to get a chunk out of his leg.
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Abe had to actually think about that. "Takes care of the necessities, I suppose," he said, shrugging as much as his injuries would allow. "We're fed and housed. There's some mild affection there during the periods when he's not swinging between annoyance and rage."
It had been easier when the professor was alive. He'd been their friend and ally, and held some mild sway over Manning. Now it was just the three of them, and Hellboy had been chafing against the bridle more than usual.
But then, where else was there? They had safety and the only home Abe had known.
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Didn't sound much different than having a pet. John crosses his arms, considering what to ask next. "Have you got somewhere else you could stay? Someone to look after you?"
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Abe tilted his head, not quite understanding the drive of his meaning. "No one living, at least," he said. "Why do you ask? Emergency contact? I have a pair of friends but they're at the same address and the address I'm not allowed to give out."
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"Well...look, probably not my place to say, but you'd mend better in a less stressful environment. And if this guy is going to be keeping you indoors and not watching out for you, you should find someone else to stay with."
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Abe narrowed his eyes, finding something suspicious about all this. "Wouldn't you think a quiet space away from commotion and direct sunlight would be the best thing for healing? Especially with ready access to water."
Abe wasn't sharp on medicine, at least as compared to the occult, but it was what he usually did. Week's nap in the tube, get out, back to business.
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John considers before nodding. "That sounds alright. Water, food, rest. And making sure to keep that wound clean. If you can't make it to the clinic, I could do a house call or two for you.
Doesn't have to be your house." He adds that part because apparently this guy's house was classified.
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"They'd never let you in there." Abe made a small chuckle. Poor Manning, the sand grain trying to hold back the tide. "But I'll see what I can do, if it's that important to you. Not many men would be as professional as you are, with or without military training. I was half expecting to wind up in the tabloids rather than the hospital."
On a hurt leg he wouldn't get far...but Red owed him quite a few favors. On Red's legs and access to an automotive he could get quite far.
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"How did you...?" John hadn't said anything about being in the military. Was this another deduction thing like what Sherlock does? "Well, I figure you could use the help. Not many people can take a wound like that in stride."
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"As I said, I've had worse." Abe raises a hand, spreading his webbed fingers and showing off the strange bumps on his palm. He could say that he didn't secretly enjoy people's surprised reactions to his abilities, but that would be a dreadful lie. "Perhaps I will come visit, if I can contrive a way of getting out of the house on a hurt leg. I feel I've earned some vacation."
He was slightly sore that Manning had gotten angry rather than concerned, and that no one had been able to follow the creature before Abe managed his escape. If the director wanted to call him such a negligent, incautious idiot then Abe would show him incautious. Again his palm glanced across Watson's arm before falling down to his side. "221B, yes? The upstairs room?"
It came in flashes--the skull, the room, the not-your-landlady, just enough for Abe to find a view of the door.
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John looks at the hand curiously, not sure what the bumps signify. "How did you get these?"
He all but starts as the fish man tells him where he lives. "Okay, hang on, is this a wind up? Did Sherlock send you in?"
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The bumps are all-natural, though without an overt purpose. Abe's best guess is some kind of 'psycho-receptor' that allows him to channel his abilities into reading the past of whatever object he touched.
Sherlock was...the man with the skull, yes? Tall, thin, not dissimilar to him in terms of thin fingers and mild inhumanity. He'd gotten a brief glimpse of that. "Psychic, I'm afraid. If I wasn't going through shock I'd probably know what you had for breakfast. Do you think Sherlock has fishmen on tap?"
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"You're psychic?" Well. That's cleared that up then. John's a skeptic though, shaking his head. "I just patch up people's bodies, the mind is a little out of my field." And really, Sherlock does the same thing by just looking at him, so why not this person?
"Sherlock's a detective...honestly, I wouldn't know." He lives with the man but it's not like he knows everything about it. Knowing more than most doesn't always cut it. Like that one time he came home covered in blood toting a harpoon.
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"I've never met the man. I only know that you've been around him." A detective, how interesting. Abe had never met a private detective, only read about them in his massive library. "I'm almost in the same line of work myself, though it's a bit more dangerous than what he would deal with." One elegant hand gestured to his bitten leg.
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John shrugs that information off, "Lots of people know that, thanks to the blog." His writing was possibly the only record of what Sherlock was really like during a case.
"Are you? ....can I ask, what exactly did that to your leg? A dog?"
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Blog? He'd need to look into that matter. Manning should take his pills and get the agents scrambling soon, Abe doubted he'd have much time left in the hospital.
"Only in some respects. Too large for a werewolf, too hairy for your average wight and those rarely come this far south anyway. I'd have studied it further if it wasn't trying to eat me."
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If John hadn't been a part of the Baskerville Hound case, he might have found that werewolf statement ridiculous. But as it was, he almost believed him. "So it was definitely an animal?" Teeth like that, Watson would hope nobody else ran into it.
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"Well, that would depend on your definition of animal. Physically speaking it would appear to be an animal but not one known to your average zoologist. It could be one of any number of living, undead, demonic, constructed, or otherwise supernatural beings." Abe rattled off the information as calmly as Watson diagnosed medical conditions.
Could be an extremely mobile fungus, for all he knew. The Mi-Go might have started diversifying.
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John just nods, writing out a prescription for painkillers and tearing it off the pad to hand to him. "Well...as your doctor, I recommend not running into it again if possible. He might decide to finish the leg."
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Abe takes it, reading it carefully. Unsure if he can have that one. Probably best to check. "If it appears again, I'm sure they'll be bringing in much bigger--"
Guns, he would have said, or perhaps half-demons with said guns, but he pauses midsentence. Abe half-turns and then lies down on the stretcher again, hands over his chest. "I do believe my ride's here."
And if one listens closely one can hear the sound of the government rapidly approaching, badges flapping in the wind. Abe's fingers tap thoughtfully against his chest.
"...how badly do you want me to be at your clinic in two days?"
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John would have said guns. Or weapons in general. Maybe a large net.
He looks up as the agents are filtering into the ER. This was not going to be pleasant, he can see that already. "You sure you want to go with them?" John may be one person, but he can be pretty stubborn when he wants to be.
"If you want your leg to heal properly, then yes, you do need someone to dress it again."
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Abe eyes the door. "At this point I think I trust you more than them." He's a bit miffed about them leaving him to be dragged to death, and then not being happy when he turned out to be alive. Abe's not as immature as Hellboy but he does still have the ability to carry a grudge.
The fishman sits up awkwardly with his hands on the bed rails. The agents are trying to come between them, as if hiding Abe from John's view will magically make John forget he existed.
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John lets out a breath through puffed cheeks. "Alright."
He's not having this patient taken away by some government spooks. The first one through the door gets a very stern, "Excuse me, this is a hospital. Unless you're needing emergency care, which I doubt, you need to sign in at the desk."
John moves between them and the fishman on the stretcher. "I'm with a patient, do you mind? Out."
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The agents shove him back, ready with their cover stories. Wanted criminal, the fish suit was a costume he used as a disguise, government wants to talk with him. Contact details would be given that went to nowhere and Abe would simply vanish into the ether.
Abe, usually so compliant with the government conspiracy, raises his voice so he can talk over them. "I'm not going. The doctor knows what he's doing, come back later."
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"Hey, watch it." Oh, Watson is not happy about this. Even if they had a right to take Abe, he wouldn't be happy about it. He pulls his arm away from the agent trying to move him away and plants himself next to the hospital bed. Now this was personal.
"I don't care how you want to paint this one with whatever story your PR section can cough up, that's not my concern. The man has a chunk out of his leg and needs medical attention." He's directing this all to the lead agent in charge, though it does seem like it's going in one ear and out the other. "You go against the patient's wishes, you're going against me. Unless," John throws out there, trying to get them to listen. "You want me to start talking to the press about how the government can just pull anyone out of the hospital against their will. Especially if they're not 'normal'." He makes air quotes to supplement that argument. Nothing against Abe, he's just playing the hand that's been dealt to him and hoping they'll back off.
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Abe is told to be quiet and stay in his place. He's ignored in favor of John's rather inspiring tirade against the powers that be. Casually he lets his hand fall back and press against the hospital wall behind him. A moment's pause as his eyes closed to better take in the layout of the facility.
It's an old building. Those always have twists and turns, odd little corners where centuries of rehab have changed the architecture into something confusing and unrecognizable. He has the map in his head and they do not...but here's hoping the doctor doesn't mind what he's about to do to his leg.
The agents, meanwhile, argue back with gag orders and threats of being taken down for intense questing under accusation of interfering with a government investigation. Whatever garbage they can come up with to enforce the fact that they are The Law and can do whatever they feel like.
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John is used to the run around. He was in the army, he knows what men taking orders looks like. He argues back, "I'm saying you can't have him till I've made sure he's safe to release. And if he doesn't want to go with you, I want to see in writing who gets the say that he doesn't get to make his own decisions." He does glance over to see what Abe's reaction is to all of this. Why does he have his hand on the wall?
"Don't make me call security up here to discuss hospital policy. You guys might not make it through that kind of lecture conscious." He's only half kidding about that.
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Abe meets John's gaze and then twitches his head subtly towards the door. He steels himself, waits until the agents are all trying to bureaucrat-babble John at once, and then carefully puts his legs over the side of the bed. Deep breaths here. This will hurt. But he's had worse, and with far worse chasing him.
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Is he going to...? John tries not to wince as he realizes he's the only one that saw that nod to the door.
Sigh, well there goes his handiwork on the leg. He makes himself a distraction instead away from Abe. Flagging a nurse outside the room, "Can you get me security? We have a situation..."
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The only notice the agents get is the sound of webbed feet racing for the door. Abe's breaking the masquerade in style as he dashes out into the hallway, a blue blur streaking past surgeons and orderlies. This is foolish, he notes, but he feels he's entitled a bit of youthful rebellion. Never had a youth, really.
The agents lose him at the cancer wing. They canvas the place but the more experience know it's a lost cause. They're battling a psychic and Abe, used to fighting things with good senses and large claws, has gotten very good at hiding.
Abe finally keels over in one of the maintenance closets. The anesthetic, thankfully, is still in effect but there will be hell to pay when it wears off.
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And just like that, the agents leave the ER. Very quickly. Leaving John with a confused nurse and questions from security that have just showed up. He tries to explain the situation but really, it's just too bizarre. "Just...try to get the government agents out of the hospital if you can."
He has to go back to patching people up as they come into the ER. This was already a memorable day. "What have you got next for me Sarah? Godzilla on a stretcher perhaps?" No, thankfully it's just a kid with a sprained wrist.
After a few more hours of work, he walks back to the changing room and sits on the bench with a sigh that could have been a groan of relief. Pulling his scrub top up and off, he opens his locker up to get his clothes.
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It took a great deal of fishy stealthing but Abe's made it back up to the locker room. Combination locks, thankfully, which means he can steal the combination off the past things done to him and hide under a pile of dirty laundry just in time for John to come in.
It's really at this point that he starts wondering if he made the right choice. This isn't exactly comfortable. When the right man finally comes in he gives a happy sign of relief.
"Hello, doctor," says the pile of clothes.
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He nearly drops his shirt while he's pulling it out of his locker. Looking around for the voice.
"....who's there?"
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The laundry shifts and Abe throws off the pieces covering his upper body. "I am," he says, a bit sheepish.
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His jaw about hits the floor. Then he's hurrying to the fish man's side to help him to sit. "Good heavens man! I thought you'd gone by now." His concern for the man's leg and wellbeing after running like that. "Keep your weight off it, sit." He bends to check the bandage.
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"Gone where, exactly?" Abe sits on the bench and puts his leg up, wincing. "The anaesthetic's starting to wear off, by the way, so if you happen to be able to get your hands on more I'd be quite obliged..."
Abe's tried to fix the bandage as best he can, and yes that is duct tape trying to account for fallen-off medical tape. You don't have much to work with in a utility closet. Fortunately nothing's started bleeding again.
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John tuts over the bandage, shaking his head. "I'll have to do it over." But he can't blame Abe, he blames those annoying agents for this. "If you can wait here, I'll grab what I need and come back?" He grabs his scrub top and pulls it back on. Might as well play the doctor while being one.
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"Of course," said Abe, trying not to look at the damage he'd done to his leg. "I do apologize but it was the only way to lose them...they wouldn't have left without me otherwise. And you might have gotten into a lot of trouble."
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"It's alright, not your fault." John excuses himself and heads for a supply closet. He returns with his arms full of gauze, medications, and syringes. Setting them on one end of the bench and directing Abe to put his leg up onto it, or lay down if he can. "It's not quite a stretcher but it will have to do." If he was still here, those agents might be too.
He sets into taking off the old dressing and packing a new one. "Who were those guys anyway?"
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Abe lifts it with with some effort, wincing in pain. His face and neck are wet from a hospital sink (he can only endure so long) but he'd endeavored to keep the wound clean until it can be treated.
"My coworkers, my handlers, or my keepers, depending on how you wish to interpret it," he said, speaking through gritted teeth. They're employed by the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. We're the only people qualified to take down whatever it was that did this to me in the first place."
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"Paranormal Research??" That was a real bureau? Who would have thought it possible...
John wraps the leg carefully, finishing it off with an ace bandage to keep it in place this time. "I'd hate to see what happens to people not qualified."
"Alright, there you go." He cleans up the space, putting the spare gauze and supplies back into the small box he had. "Where do you want to go from here?"
John was only just starting his shift in the ER. One of the nurses had commented it was a full moon tonight and he couldn't keep from groaning to himself. Nights like those, they usually brought out all the crazy cases. He'd have to keep on his toes.
The next ambulance was starting to pull in and John grabs his stethoscope to come out and help them with the stretcher. "What have you got?"
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"Got?" said the EMT, scratching his head. "Not a damn clue."
The BPRD kept medical personnel on staff in case their agents were seriously wounded in the line of duty. Of course it presumed that the agent in question hadn't gotten separated from the group by a wild who-the-hell-knows and dragged for half a mile before before the sudden appearance of a car scared it enough for the agent's leg to slip out of its jaws.
Abe was lucky he was so rubbery. And lucky that he wasn't poked with a stick until he died from annoyance but rather stuffed into the back seat and driven to a local clinic, from which an equally confused ambulance driver took him to the hospital. What barriers people could overcome when they had protocol to resort to.
"Do I tip?" he was asking when the doors opened. Stress, pain, and a high quantity of bright lights were severely disorienting him. "I don't need a hospital. I just need a nap."
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John has to pause for a full two seconds, trying to figure out what he was looking at. It looked like a reject from the Avatar movies on the cart. He gives his head a shake and tells himself to roll with it, putting his stethoscope in his ears as the paramedics roll it slowly into the hospital so he can work on the way. "I'm Dr. Watson, I'll be the judge of that." Him putting one end against the...for lack of a better word...man's chest to listen to his heart. "What's your name? Can you remember what happened?"
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"I think it might be classified." Abe blinked at him, eyelids coming from the sides rather than up and down. "My name is Abe Sapien."
His leg's been bitten down to the bone by something with massive jaws and there are cuts and scrapes all across his back. Thankfully the beast was tall, or else he'd have a concussion by now from his head banging on the ground. Oddly enough the injuries aren't bleeding as much as those of a human.
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Those eyes didn't look human, it was almost like...a reptile? He wasn't sure, this was a little out of John's league. But when the paramedic pulls the sheet up to show him the leg, he forgets about that. Focusing on the leg injury. He indicates which room for them to wheel towards and stops a nurse to ask for a surgical tray and lots of gauze.
He then joins them as they're moving Abe from stretcher to ER bed, putting his stethoscope back across his neck with a sigh. "Okay, I'll be the one to ask it. Is that a costume?"
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"I get that a lot. It's not. Who are you?" Abe reaches out his arm, trying to get a hand on the doctor in order to answer the question for himself. He needs to get back to the bureau, he's not supposed to be out in public like this.
Can't help it, though. Only have the one leg. Blame the werethinger.
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He sighs. "Right. Not a costume." That figures. He'll just have to hope everything was in the proper place underneath that moist fish like skin so he didn't do more harm than good.
John's busy with getting the leg prepped, more worried than glad that there's not much bleeding. Without a proper skin color, he couldn't tell if this meant the leg was gangrenous already or not. "I'm the doctor for the ER right now. Can you keep still please?" But the guy's already got a hold of his arm, the one that's got the gauze. "Unless you would like to lose the leg while you're here?"
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The hand gripped his arm tightly and Abe's eyes half-closed. When his eyes opened again his arm dropped. "So you are." Dr. John Watson. Something war-related. He was too dizzy to get much else. "I've had worse. Don't take it off, people will get angry at you."
He was fairly sure that his limbs were government property. Were they looking for him? They'd never look at a hospital, he was sure. He'd have to get to a phone at some point.
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The remark earns a wry smile as he's working, putting a local anesthetic on before packing the wound with moist saline gauze. "Other people will be angry? Not you?" He takes a slow breath, not sure what he was working with so he was going with his gut. "Any allergies to anything? Iodine, latex?"
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The anesthetic was a comfort. Abe felt his head beginning to clear slightly, and he craned his neck to try and watch what Dr. Watson was doing.
"I'll be angry, but they've got lawyers." He shook his head to the question. No allergies to that, he'd been through this sort of thing before. A lot. This was just the first time it had happened so far from home or friends. "Actually, if you could get me a phone that would be lovely, the leg can wait..."
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John was cutting off a few more strips as he started bandaging around the leg to hold the packing in place. "I'll take your opinion over theirs if it's all the same to you." Patient first, lawyers after.
He directs one of the nurses, who is trying not to stare, to give Abe a handheld phone. John trying not to picture a family of people like Abe coming in and demanding to know what happened to his leg. He's not sure his brain could cope with that kind of bizarre just yet. "Can you wiggle your toes for me, please?"
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The webbed toes wiggle obligingly.
It takes a few tries for Abe to get the number in correctly, with the way his hands won't quite obey his commands. Finally, he gets in the number that connects him to the receptionist for a waste treatment facility. Supposedly.
"Yes, could you please connect me to the bottom floor? I would like to speak with Bigfoot." It was, in Abe's opinion, a very dull code phrase. He'd have preferred something in old Norse but half the people here couldn't pronounce it. He waited as the receptionist transferred him down to the bureau's actual receptionist.
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Bigfoot? He couldn't be serious.
Just keep working, just keep working, he tells himself as he finishes off the bandage. He uses the end of his stethoscope to stroke up the man's foot, his reflexes seemed normal. There was bound to be nerve damage from something like this, but so far it looked promising.
"If you're calling family..." John can't believe he just started this sentence. "..make sure they know where you're at, St. Bart's hospital. Are you on any medications?"
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"I'm at St. Bart's and no, I'm not on any medication--talking to Dr. Watson, I'm in the ER right now and he's treating my leg--" He held the phone a few inches away. "You see how concerned they are about my health," he said, rolling his eyes. He didn't smile but his voice held a degree of amusement. The phone continued its incoherent, muffled ranting.
The director was always so upset whenever they broke cover. Abe felt it was entirely unfair, it was usually Hellboy's fault and his own record had been nearly spotless until now. They should just go public and get it over with. Abe would let Manning work it out of his system before he spoke to him again.
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"...you want me to talk to him?" John could hear the muffled voice from where he was standing. Sometimes talking to the doctor and finding out what really happened helped anxious family members.
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"I think it would just make it worse." Abe turned the phone upside down, so that the sound would be muffled by the blankets. "He has anger issues. Gets upset easily, his blood pressure's absolutely horrible. On the other hand he's stellar at paperwork." Which to Abe seemed the only reason to keep him around.
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"Mm, I see." Most paperwork fiends had high blood pressure. "Tell him I have another empty room if he wants to come down and join you." John trying to be helpful, the guy certainly sounded like he was two steps away from a heart attack. "That might stop him talking for a bit."
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"I'll bear it in mind. You feel like a man who can handle people attempting to kill him." Abe chuckled to himself as he lay back down. At least they could come and find him, he could relax now. BPRD was good at making him disappear if necessary.
"Do what you have to in order to stop the bleeding but no surgery, please," he said, toes wiggling again. "You don't have my medical records, they do."
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John finally does smile, Abe hit the nail on the head with that remark. Between the war and Sherlock's antics, he was nearly used to people out to kill him. "Thanks."
He scribbles on a clipboard to finish. "Actually, there was little to no bleeding. Which is a little concerning. While it might heal on it's own, if there's no blood flow, likely it will just start to go bad. And then it really will have to be cut off." Yes, he was leveling with the fish man, not sugar coating it. "I've packed it, it should heal from the inside out, but you'll need someone keeping an eye on it. Can you make it to the wound clinic every other day to have it redone?"
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How absolutely darling. He was being quite a professional, even when treating something completely alien to his experiences. "Not to yours perhaps, since I have a feeling the man on the phone is going to lock me in my room for the next month, but we have medical professionals on staff. It's not the first time something like this has happened and I heal quite quickly."
He didn't completely mean it. Manning had a habit of 'grounding' them for bad behavior with ludicrous revocations of privileges, only for everyone else to just go around him and reinstate Netflix rights the next day. If Manning ever noticed it happened he didn't comment.
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Well, it wasn't like Abe was frothing at the mouth or trying to bite him like some animal. He was talking. Like a human being, so really Watson didn't have any other conclusion but to treat him as such.
He frowns at the implication, locking him in a room? "Not literally, I hope. Does this guy treat you alright?" Now he's thinking he should ask what happened in the first place to get a chunk out of his leg.
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Abe had to actually think about that. "Takes care of the necessities, I suppose," he said, shrugging as much as his injuries would allow. "We're fed and housed. There's some mild affection there during the periods when he's not swinging between annoyance and rage."
It had been easier when the professor was alive. He'd been their friend and ally, and held some mild sway over Manning. Now it was just the three of them, and Hellboy had been chafing against the bridle more than usual.
But then, where else was there? They had safety and the only home Abe had known.
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Didn't sound much different than having a pet. John crosses his arms, considering what to ask next. "Have you got somewhere else you could stay? Someone to look after you?"
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Abe tilted his head, not quite understanding the drive of his meaning. "No one living, at least," he said. "Why do you ask? Emergency contact? I have a pair of friends but they're at the same address and the address I'm not allowed to give out."
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"Well...look, probably not my place to say, but you'd mend better in a less stressful environment. And if this guy is going to be keeping you indoors and not watching out for you, you should find someone else to stay with."
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Abe narrowed his eyes, finding something suspicious about all this. "Wouldn't you think a quiet space away from commotion and direct sunlight would be the best thing for healing? Especially with ready access to water."
Abe wasn't sharp on medicine, at least as compared to the occult, but it was what he usually did. Week's nap in the tube, get out, back to business.
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John considers before nodding. "That sounds alright. Water, food, rest. And making sure to keep that wound clean. If you can't make it to the clinic, I could do a house call or two for you.
Doesn't have to be your house." He adds that part because apparently this guy's house was classified.
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"They'd never let you in there." Abe made a small chuckle. Poor Manning, the sand grain trying to hold back the tide. "But I'll see what I can do, if it's that important to you. Not many men would be as professional as you are, with or without military training. I was half expecting to wind up in the tabloids rather than the hospital."
On a hurt leg he wouldn't get far...but Red owed him quite a few favors. On Red's legs and access to an automotive he could get quite far.
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"How did you...?" John hadn't said anything about being in the military. Was this another deduction thing like what Sherlock does? "Well, I figure you could use the help. Not many people can take a wound like that in stride."
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"As I said, I've had worse." Abe raises a hand, spreading his webbed fingers and showing off the strange bumps on his palm. He could say that he didn't secretly enjoy people's surprised reactions to his abilities, but that would be a dreadful lie. "Perhaps I will come visit, if I can contrive a way of getting out of the house on a hurt leg. I feel I've earned some vacation."
He was slightly sore that Manning had gotten angry rather than concerned, and that no one had been able to follow the creature before Abe managed his escape. If the director wanted to call him such a negligent, incautious idiot then Abe would show him incautious. Again his palm glanced across Watson's arm before falling down to his side. "221B, yes? The upstairs room?"
It came in flashes--the skull, the room, the not-your-landlady, just enough for Abe to find a view of the door.
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John looks at the hand curiously, not sure what the bumps signify. "How did you get these?"
He all but starts as the fish man tells him where he lives. "Okay, hang on, is this a wind up? Did Sherlock send you in?"
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The bumps are all-natural, though without an overt purpose. Abe's best guess is some kind of 'psycho-receptor' that allows him to channel his abilities into reading the past of whatever object he touched.
Sherlock was...the man with the skull, yes? Tall, thin, not dissimilar to him in terms of thin fingers and mild inhumanity. He'd gotten a brief glimpse of that. "Psychic, I'm afraid. If I wasn't going through shock I'd probably know what you had for breakfast. Do you think Sherlock has fishmen on tap?"
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"You're psychic?" Well. That's cleared that up then. John's a skeptic though, shaking his head. "I just patch up people's bodies, the mind is a little out of my field." And really, Sherlock does the same thing by just looking at him, so why not this person?
"Sherlock's a detective...honestly, I wouldn't know." He lives with the man but it's not like he knows everything about it. Knowing more than most doesn't always cut it. Like that one time he came home covered in blood toting a harpoon.
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"I've never met the man. I only know that you've been around him." A detective, how interesting. Abe had never met a private detective, only read about them in his massive library. "I'm almost in the same line of work myself, though it's a bit more dangerous than what he would deal with." One elegant hand gestured to his bitten leg.
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John shrugs that information off, "Lots of people know that, thanks to the blog." His writing was possibly the only record of what Sherlock was really like during a case.
"Are you? ....can I ask, what exactly did that to your leg? A dog?"
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Blog? He'd need to look into that matter. Manning should take his pills and get the agents scrambling soon, Abe doubted he'd have much time left in the hospital.
"Only in some respects. Too large for a werewolf, too hairy for your average wight and those rarely come this far south anyway. I'd have studied it further if it wasn't trying to eat me."
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If John hadn't been a part of the Baskerville Hound case, he might have found that werewolf statement ridiculous. But as it was, he almost believed him. "So it was definitely an animal?" Teeth like that, Watson would hope nobody else ran into it.
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"Well, that would depend on your definition of animal. Physically speaking it would appear to be an animal but not one known to your average zoologist. It could be one of any number of living, undead, demonic, constructed, or otherwise supernatural beings." Abe rattled off the information as calmly as Watson diagnosed medical conditions.
Could be an extremely mobile fungus, for all he knew. The Mi-Go might have started diversifying.
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John just nods, writing out a prescription for painkillers and tearing it off the pad to hand to him. "Well...as your doctor, I recommend not running into it again if possible. He might decide to finish the leg."
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Abe takes it, reading it carefully. Unsure if he can have that one. Probably best to check. "If it appears again, I'm sure they'll be bringing in much bigger--"
Guns, he would have said, or perhaps half-demons with said guns, but he pauses midsentence. Abe half-turns and then lies down on the stretcher again, hands over his chest. "I do believe my ride's here."
And if one listens closely one can hear the sound of the government rapidly approaching, badges flapping in the wind. Abe's fingers tap thoughtfully against his chest.
"...how badly do you want me to be at your clinic in two days?"
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John would have said guns. Or weapons in general. Maybe a large net.
He looks up as the agents are filtering into the ER. This was not going to be pleasant, he can see that already. "You sure you want to go with them?" John may be one person, but he can be pretty stubborn when he wants to be.
"If you want your leg to heal properly, then yes, you do need someone to dress it again."
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Abe eyes the door. "At this point I think I trust you more than them." He's a bit miffed about them leaving him to be dragged to death, and then not being happy when he turned out to be alive. Abe's not as immature as Hellboy but he does still have the ability to carry a grudge.
The fishman sits up awkwardly with his hands on the bed rails. The agents are trying to come between them, as if hiding Abe from John's view will magically make John forget he existed.
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John lets out a breath through puffed cheeks. "Alright."
He's not having this patient taken away by some government spooks. The first one through the door gets a very stern, "Excuse me, this is a hospital. Unless you're needing emergency care, which I doubt, you need to sign in at the desk."
John moves between them and the fishman on the stretcher. "I'm with a patient, do you mind? Out."
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The agents shove him back, ready with their cover stories. Wanted criminal, the fish suit was a costume he used as a disguise, government wants to talk with him. Contact details would be given that went to nowhere and Abe would simply vanish into the ether.
Abe, usually so compliant with the government conspiracy, raises his voice so he can talk over them. "I'm not going. The doctor knows what he's doing, come back later."
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"Hey, watch it." Oh, Watson is not happy about this. Even if they had a right to take Abe, he wouldn't be happy about it. He pulls his arm away from the agent trying to move him away and plants himself next to the hospital bed. Now this was personal.
"I don't care how you want to paint this one with whatever story your PR section can cough up, that's not my concern. The man has a chunk out of his leg and needs medical attention." He's directing this all to the lead agent in charge, though it does seem like it's going in one ear and out the other. "You go against the patient's wishes, you're going against me. Unless," John throws out there, trying to get them to listen. "You want me to start talking to the press about how the government can just pull anyone out of the hospital against their will. Especially if they're not 'normal'." He makes air quotes to supplement that argument. Nothing against Abe, he's just playing the hand that's been dealt to him and hoping they'll back off.
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Abe is told to be quiet and stay in his place. He's ignored in favor of John's rather inspiring tirade against the powers that be. Casually he lets his hand fall back and press against the hospital wall behind him. A moment's pause as his eyes closed to better take in the layout of the facility.
It's an old building. Those always have twists and turns, odd little corners where centuries of rehab have changed the architecture into something confusing and unrecognizable. He has the map in his head and they do not...but here's hoping the doctor doesn't mind what he's about to do to his leg.
The agents, meanwhile, argue back with gag orders and threats of being taken down for intense questing under accusation of interfering with a government investigation. Whatever garbage they can come up with to enforce the fact that they are The Law and can do whatever they feel like.
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John is used to the run around. He was in the army, he knows what men taking orders looks like. He argues back, "I'm saying you can't have him till I've made sure he's safe to release. And if he doesn't want to go with you, I want to see in writing who gets the say that he doesn't get to make his own decisions." He does glance over to see what Abe's reaction is to all of this. Why does he have his hand on the wall?
"Don't make me call security up here to discuss hospital policy. You guys might not make it through that kind of lecture conscious." He's only half kidding about that.
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Abe meets John's gaze and then twitches his head subtly towards the door. He steels himself, waits until the agents are all trying to bureaucrat-babble John at once, and then carefully puts his legs over the side of the bed. Deep breaths here. This will hurt. But he's had worse, and with far worse chasing him.
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Is he going to...? John tries not to wince as he realizes he's the only one that saw that nod to the door.
Sigh, well there goes his handiwork on the leg. He makes himself a distraction instead away from Abe. Flagging a nurse outside the room, "Can you get me security? We have a situation..."
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The only notice the agents get is the sound of webbed feet racing for the door. Abe's breaking the masquerade in style as he dashes out into the hallway, a blue blur streaking past surgeons and orderlies. This is foolish, he notes, but he feels he's entitled a bit of youthful rebellion. Never had a youth, really.
The agents lose him at the cancer wing. They canvas the place but the more experience know it's a lost cause. They're battling a psychic and Abe, used to fighting things with good senses and large claws, has gotten very good at hiding.
Abe finally keels over in one of the maintenance closets. The anesthetic, thankfully, is still in effect but there will be hell to pay when it wears off.
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And just like that, the agents leave the ER. Very quickly. Leaving John with a confused nurse and questions from security that have just showed up. He tries to explain the situation but really, it's just too bizarre. "Just...try to get the government agents out of the hospital if you can."
He has to go back to patching people up as they come into the ER. This was already a memorable day. "What have you got next for me Sarah? Godzilla on a stretcher perhaps?" No, thankfully it's just a kid with a sprained wrist.
After a few more hours of work, he walks back to the changing room and sits on the bench with a sigh that could have been a groan of relief. Pulling his scrub top up and off, he opens his locker up to get his clothes.
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It took a great deal of fishy stealthing but Abe's made it back up to the locker room. Combination locks, thankfully, which means he can steal the combination off the past things done to him and hide under a pile of dirty laundry just in time for John to come in.
It's really at this point that he starts wondering if he made the right choice. This isn't exactly comfortable. When the right man finally comes in he gives a happy sign of relief.
"Hello, doctor," says the pile of clothes.
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He nearly drops his shirt while he's pulling it out of his locker. Looking around for the voice.
"....who's there?"
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The laundry shifts and Abe throws off the pieces covering his upper body. "I am," he says, a bit sheepish.
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His jaw about hits the floor. Then he's hurrying to the fish man's side to help him to sit. "Good heavens man! I thought you'd gone by now." His concern for the man's leg and wellbeing after running like that. "Keep your weight off it, sit." He bends to check the bandage.
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"Gone where, exactly?" Abe sits on the bench and puts his leg up, wincing. "The anaesthetic's starting to wear off, by the way, so if you happen to be able to get your hands on more I'd be quite obliged..."
Abe's tried to fix the bandage as best he can, and yes that is duct tape trying to account for fallen-off medical tape. You don't have much to work with in a utility closet. Fortunately nothing's started bleeding again.
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John tuts over the bandage, shaking his head. "I'll have to do it over." But he can't blame Abe, he blames those annoying agents for this. "If you can wait here, I'll grab what I need and come back?" He grabs his scrub top and pulls it back on. Might as well play the doctor while being one.
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"Of course," said Abe, trying not to look at the damage he'd done to his leg. "I do apologize but it was the only way to lose them...they wouldn't have left without me otherwise. And you might have gotten into a lot of trouble."
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"It's alright, not your fault." John excuses himself and heads for a supply closet. He returns with his arms full of gauze, medications, and syringes. Setting them on one end of the bench and directing Abe to put his leg up onto it, or lay down if he can. "It's not quite a stretcher but it will have to do." If he was still here, those agents might be too.
He sets into taking off the old dressing and packing a new one. "Who were those guys anyway?"
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Abe lifts it with with some effort, wincing in pain. His face and neck are wet from a hospital sink (he can only endure so long) but he'd endeavored to keep the wound clean until it can be treated.
"My coworkers, my handlers, or my keepers, depending on how you wish to interpret it," he said, speaking through gritted teeth. They're employed by the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. We're the only people qualified to take down whatever it was that did this to me in the first place."
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"Paranormal Research??" That was a real bureau? Who would have thought it possible...
John wraps the leg carefully, finishing it off with an ace bandage to keep it in place this time. "I'd hate to see what happens to people not qualified."
"Alright, there you go." He cleans up the space, putting the spare gauze and supplies back into the small box he had. "Where do you want to go from here?"
