Work Text:
Ed’s smiling softly as he runs a hand through the coarse hair at Izzy’s neck, slotting a leg between his. He’s at Ed’s mercy, backed up against the arm of Stede’s overstuffed couch. It’s intimate, ceding control like this; something he’s realising he desperately missed. It might have been necessary– the years of tiptoeing around each other, rebuilding trust, but Izzy’s grown to enjoy this softer thing they’ve crept into.
But then Ed’s grin turns devilish, hooking a leg around Izzy’s. They grapple a moment, laughing, before Ed manages to push Izzy back over the end of the couch, toppling onto the cushions, and—
“Fuck,” Izzy shouts. It’s his collar, flashing sickeningly in pain. Ed’s still draped over him, hand pressed hard against his shoulder. “Fuck, Ed!”
Ed manages to scramble off onto the floor, looking frantically at Izzy. “Oh shit Iz, fuck, are you alright?”
He knows Ed didn’t mean to. Even as he was falling backwards, shoulder hitting the solid arm of the couch, snap of his collarbone reverberating through his chest, he wasn’t angry. Not exactly. But still—
“No ‘m not fuckin’ alright.” Izzy says through gritted teeth. “Something’s fuckin’ broken.” He tries to sit up but a wave of nausea sweeps through him, dropping him back to the couch with a pained grunt.
Ed looks at him, wide-eyed and pale. “I didn’t mean to, Izzy. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t realize—”
It’s then that Stede appears in the door. “What’s going on?” He’s frowning, glancing between them like he’s piecing together a puzzle.
Izzy closes his eyes, willing this to not be happening. “Ed broke m’ fuckin’ collarbone.”
“Edward,” Stede admonishes. “What the fuck?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ed repeats, smaller this time.
“You can’t just go around breaking people’s collarbones!”
“I’m sorry,” Ed says, “I’m sorry, I— fuck.” He’s scrambling back now, away from Izzy on the couch. “ I didn’t mean to hurt him, I really didn’t mean to do it.” He’s panicking, Izzy thinks distantly, and wrenches his eyes open to see Ed backing away towards the wall, chest rising fast and hard.
“He’s fragile!” Stede continues on sharply, but he’s barely paying Ed mind as he leans over Izzy, gentle hands on his shoulder.
“M’not fragile,” Izzy spits back. He’s not fragile, even if his doctor had suggested calcium supplements for mature men at his last checkup. Bone density loss with age, and the lot. Fuck off.
“Fragile enough that you shouldn’t hurt him!”
Ed’s suspiciously silent and Izzy looks over to see him sunk to the floor, arms around his knees, small as possible. It aches worse than Izzy’s shoulder, and he gathers himself.
“Stede,” Izzy says, carefully propping himself up on his working arm. “Fuck off, will you?”
“What?” He’s frowning, hurt.
Izzy sighs. “Five minutes. Give us five minutes, Bonnet. Then we’ll go to A&E.”
Stede glances at Ed, then back at Izzy. It seems like he’s starting to get it. “Right. Alright” Stede says cautiously, straightening up and padding out of the room
Izzy gingerly sits up, clutching his arm to his chest. It’s not as bad a pain as he’d expect, after breathing through the first few sickening moments. More of a feeling of wrong-ness than proper hurt.
Ed watches wide-eyed as Izzy kneels down carefully, arm still curled protectively around his midsection.
S’not your fault, Ed,” Izzy says softly, hand on Ed’s.
Ed curls impossibly smaller. “It is. You shouldn’t be up—I shouldn’t be here. I said it wouldn’t happen again and I promised and it still did and I—”
“Not your fault,” Izzy repeats, feeling a bit helpless. He’s not good with this, never known how to calm Ed down. They were so volatile for so long. Ed’s claimed to find Izzy soothing, or the like, but Izzy’s never quite pieced together how that could be true. But he’s still got to try, Stede certainly wasn’t helping with all the hemming and hawing over blame. It’s not Ed’s fault, not this time.
“We were just messing around. M’not mad, Eddie.”
Ed’s looking down at his knees. “You’re meant to be mad at me. After the leg, I thought I’d be out of your life forever. Probably should have been. I keep hurting you.”
It takes everything in Izzy not to smile. Sure, he probably shouldn’t have let Ed back in. But he’s never regretted it. Certainly not over this. Life without Ed felt flat, like the beginning of one of those fuckin’ antidepressant commercials where some bloke is moping about at their kid’s birthday party. He’d rather be here, with a broken collarbone, squatting in front of a sniffling Edward a thousand times over.
“T’s okay. Made my peace with it all. Still here, aren’t I?” Izzy’s not sure what else to say, so he shuffles closer to Ed, running a hand against his cheek. “This one’s not your fault.”
Ed exhales, seeming to finally make it back onto steady ground. “Right, yeah.” Then, he blinks, as if again realizing what’s happened. “Fuck, Iz, we’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
Izzy huffs a laugh. “I’m fine. Help me up, would you?”
Stede pops back in as Izzy’s groaning to his feet. The twat was probably hovering right around the doorway. Izzy’s not bothered, though. Stede’s a part of this all, too. He swoops in and presses a gentle hand to Izzy’s back, as if he needs to be fucking steadied.
Izzy resists the urge to shrug him off; an attempt to spare Stede’s feelings, he’d like to be able to tell himself, but truthfully he’s feeling a little shaky. Any jostle of his arm sets off a lilt of sickness, and he clutches it tighter to his chest.
Ed busies himself gathering a bag of Izzy’s things without being asked. Phone and wallet from the bowl next to the door. Water bottle—Izzy’s only one, a cheap and dented flask they’d had made years ago for the shop, part of Fang’s short-lived plan to get merch. As if they fuckin’ needed it, never had much of an issue keeping clients. Fuck. S’not like he can work with a broken collarbone, Izzy realizes. Ed had to break his fuckin’ right side.
“I’ll have to call Fang to cancel my appointments,” Izzy mumbles, more to himself than anything.
“I don’t think anyone will mind,” Stede says gently, rubbing Izzy’s back as he ushers him out the door.
“Course they’ll fucking mind.” Izzy bites back a worse retort. Clients will mind, certainly. But s’not like it can be helped, and he’s not well interested in a snit with Stede. “It’s fine. I don’t take much time off anyway, can afford a bit.”
“I can—” Stede seems to cut himself off, settling on “It’ll be alright.”
Izzy feels a surge of affection for the man. Stede might be an oblivious twat, but it seems like he’s trying to listen. If nothing else, he’s putting on a good show of not offering to throw money at Izzy’s problems. In practice, well— Izzy’s yet to see a bill show for that overpriced prosthetic the NHS wouldn’t dare cover. He's decided it’s best not to question it.
Stede opens the back for Izzy, then hops into the driver’s seat. Izzy looks pointedly at Ed, gesturing into the open back door. It’s not hard to tell Ed is still unsure, worried he’s not meant to come. Fuckin’ idiot. But at Izzy’s silent coaxing, he obediently slides in. Grunting, Izzy clambers next to him. There’s quiet a moment; Stede pulling up directions, couldn’t find the way to his own fuckin’ asshole without Apple maps. Ed staring at his own lap— but then the car clicks to life and Stede starts some asinine chatter about traffic on the M6 and Izzy scoots to close the few inches of gap between himself and Ed. Ed is stiff for a moment, then seems to let out a breath, wrapping a gentle arm around Izzy. “M’sorry Iz,” he says again, quiet.
“I know you are. S’alright.” Izzy settles against Ed’s shoulder. It’ll be a long ride— Stede’s place is far north, tucked into the countryside. It’s something Izzy used to find detestable in the man, the idiotic fucking extravagance of it. But he’s found himself staying over most weekends, and making the forty-minute drive out plenty of evenings besides. He’s had plenty of time to peruse the libraries, drink fancy fuckin’ coffee from the espresso machine. He doesn’t hate it.
But he’s not well pleased with it when every jolt of the gravel road jostles his shoulder, sending dull stabs of pain through it. It’s nothing really, not when compared to his leg, or any number of the injuries he’s picked up over the years. Not comfortable though; he can feel the bones shifting in ways they’re not meant to.
An especially precipitous drop has him cursing. Stede apologizes ineffectually.
“S’fine, Bonnet. Just consider driving around the potholes and not through.”
“It’s dark out,” Stede protests. But he slows down a bit, weaving more gently through the rutted road.
By the time they reach A&E, Izzy knows his face is probably betraying the discomfort he’s in. It’s a struggle to get out of the car, even with Ed’s proffered arm, and even more of one to pick his way through the busy waiting room to reception. Five hours, they tell him. Five fucking hours until he can get an X-ray.
“Do you think it would be best to go elsewhere?” Stede asks, hopeful.
“Saturday night at A&E’ll be like this anywhere, sir. Should consider yourselves lucky that your friend is perfectly stable; it’s always better to have a long wait time than be rushed in.”
“Five hours is just abominable,” Stede protests, “what if something happens—”
“With all due respect, he has a broken collarbone. He’s not in any danger.”
“That’s not—”
Izzy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, S’ usually like this, Bonnet. Settle down.”
Stede seems like he’s about to start protesting again but Izzy and Ed are able to steer him towards some open chairs. Izzy shoots the receptionist an apologetic look. Not like they control wait times in this shithole.
Once the three of them are settled, a nurse brings intake paperwork. Something about their system being down, have to do the physical forms. Izzy holds the clipboard a moment, dumbly, trying to figure out how to fill it out left-handed before Ed takes it. Izzy doesn’t put up a fuss, but knows it’s just a show—Ed doesn’t know shit about his medical history.
Sure enough, Ed’s biting his lip, wiggling the pencil.
“What are you stuck on?” Izzy rasps.
“Is it ‘63? You’re 2 years older than me, so that would be—”
“1962.” Izzy huffs a laugh.
“You don’t know his birthday?” Stede admonishes.
“I know the day!”
“Oh hush, Bonnet. I can remember my own birthday, don’t need Edward to.”
Ed knows more than Izzy expects—the really esoteric bits. That his uncle had died young of a heart attack, that he gets hives from clindamycin, but not amoxicillin. Izzy can’t help but laugh when reading back through it. Ed’s filled out a great deal of the medical history right, but checked the box for no permanent disabilities. Seems like he’s forgotten Izzy’s missing a fucking leg.
“I didn’t forget!” Ed protests, “Just didn’t really think of it. I dunno.”
“It’s alright, everything else looks good. Thanks, Ed.”
Ed flags down a nurse to relinquish the papers to, and they take Izzy back for a preliminary check. Broken, of course. A fucking child could have told him that. Izzy’s given a sling and a little paper cup of pain meds, and he’s sent back out to wait. The meds kick in fast, and Izzy lets some of the tension out of his chest.
Stede looks around. “Reception is starting to clear out, I wonder if it will be a shorter wait than we’d feared?”
“Not fucking likely,” Ed says, “these things always take forever. Five hours is probably a stingy estimate.”
“Yeah, when’s the last time you were in A&E, Bonnet? Had to wait 8 hours, once. We went out for drinks and pinball, and came back and still had time for a nap in the chairs.”
Stede laughs, a bit self-conscious. “Don’t really suppose I’ve ever been, to be honest. Once Louis had a bad case of strep, but I stayed home with Alma. Mostly we’ve just done things private.” Before either of them could rag him for it, he turns the question back. “When’s the last time you were in?”
Izzy gives him a look. Fucking idiot.
“Oh, right, yes. Besides that, I suppose.”
“Been in plenty. Him and Jack, more than me,” Izzy says, cocking an elbow at Ed.
“Last time was probably when I knocked those teeth out,” Ed muses. “Remember that?”
“How could I fuckin’ forget.”
“Were you in a fight?” Stede’s obviously impressed, and Izzy’s almost sorry to burst his bubble.
When Ed doesn’t immediately deny it, Izzy snorts. “Go on then, Ed.”
“Ah, well, not that time. Was running after Jack, trying to beat him back to the flat, and tripped.”
“He left his laces untied,” Izzy adds.
“And that’s why I get zip-ups now!” Ed concludes, kicking up a boot for emphasis. “Hasn’t happened since.”
“It may not have been a fight, but that is still quite badass,” Stede says, smiling. Worst part is, Izzy can tell he means it.
“We came up with a great bit to entertain the waiting room, too,” Ed adds.
Fucking Christ. Izzy prays Ed won’t explain that one further.
No such luck. At Stede’s prodding, Ed explains a game they used to play. Really it was Ed and Jack’s game, Izzy considers himself more of a victim than a contributor. Whenever they were in at A&E, or really, any sort of waiting area, they’d riff out some invented drama: shagging imaginary roommates, stealing jewelry from each others’ mothers. That time Ed knocked his teeth out, the three of them had the whole waiting room convinced he got them knocked out by a guard after trespassing in Buckingham Palace and stealing one of those silly bearskin hats off the man’s head.
Stede, of course, has decided this is an absolute riot. “What if we did it right now? It would pass the time quicker, certainly.”
Izzy thinks this is a terrible idea. But he’s got that pleasant floatiness from the oxycodone, so he can’t be bothered to stop it.
Ed leaps in, not needing any more of an invitation. “I can’t believe you slept with Izzy,” he says loudly, dramatically. “How could you!”
Stede doesn’t immediately pick up on it, so Izzy sighs. “Yeah, how could we,” he deadpans, looking pointedly at Stede.
It’s enough for Stede to jump in. “It was a fit of passion, darling. It won’t happen again. I know he’s your brother, but he seduced me on the night of our wedding! I couldn’t help it!”
Fucking freaks, the both of them.
“It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life! And then to walk in on you in the honeymoon suite, dressed like sexy nuns, bending each other over! I just don’t know if I can trust either of you again.” Ed lets out an almost convincing sniffle.
“Oh sweetheart, I promise I can make it up to you. What if you got a turn with Izzy in his veil and habit? I would just watch and tell you how beautiful you are.”
“Oh, but Stede,” Izzy rasps. “Aren’t Ed and I brothers?”
Stede pauses a moment, thinking. Then his face lights up. “Stepbrothers, you’re stepbrothers. Always yearned for intimacy, I’m sure. And I could provide the beautiful opportunity to find each other, sensually.”
Even Ed, ever the actor, can’t help but laugh at that. “I think that could work, yeah. I’m so blessed to have such an understanding and thoughtful husband.”
The two of them kiss, then take turns kissing him, careful of his shoulder. Fucking ridiculous, is what it is. He’d feel worse about the show if it wasn’t midnight on a Saturday in A&E. Everyone in a 20 foot radius is a uni student drunk off their fuckin’ ass.
Characteristically, their side of the waiting room has quieted, everyone looking at each other, reeling after witnessing the performance. And on top, the whiplash of seeing three old men kissing in a hospital waiting room. Izzy doesn’t mind. For once, he’s not too bothered to be gawked at.
After that, things get hazier. Stede nips out to get them some late night Maccy’s—only fuckin’ thing open. He returns with a huge assortment of items, Izzy only manages a few bites of a veggie burger and some shite tea. They end up giving plenty away to the uni students, who seem to have recovered from their earlier performance and are eternally grateful to be fed.
Izzy’s slumped over completely onto Ed’s shoulder, both of them half-dozing when he’s finally called back.
“Israel Hands?” the nurse confirms, and Izzy nods, shuffling blearily behind her. Stede and Ed move to follow, and the nurse stops them. “Wait out here a moment,” she says stonily.
“They’re my partners,” Izzy says quietly. “Like to have them come with.”
“We’d like them to wait outside,” the nurse repeats. She’s not giving a reason, but Izzy can make an educated fucking guess. He looks back to Ed and sees the hurt on his face, knows he can too.
Stede seems confused but doesn’t argue, stays put when Ed doesn’t make a move to follow. Izzy does his best to offer them both some sort of reassuring smile. Hopes he can get this over easily.
The nurse is at least kind enough to take his vitals, ask a few questions about how he’s feeling before she starts in on it. It’s not his first rodeo— sure it's different this time, really and truly an accident, instead of a moment of taking things too far. But it feels the same, Izzy thinks. One wrong move and he’ll absolutely fuck things.
“Your intake forms say you were tussling and fell on the couch,” the nurse says gently, “but I was just hoping to hear what happened from you, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s about it. My partner pushed me back onto the couch then tumbled down over me, but came down too hard on my shoulder. It was an accident.”
“Do you often roughhouse like this?” The nurse seems genuinely curious, as if she can’t imagine people past a certain age having a bit of fun. Christ.
Izzy shrugs. “Sometimes. Not often, I suppose.”
The nurse sits down, as if to appear as even less of a threat. “Mr. Hands,” she says, “Your medical history is a lot longer than most. You’ve had a lot of accidents and injuries, and many of them are flagged as potential domestic situations. We just want the best for you, and to make sure you have a safe and comfortable situation at home.”
Fucking patronizing. Izzy takes a breath, trying to remind himself it’s just protocol. “I do have a safe and comfortable situation at home,” he parrots. “Ed’s not hurting me, and I don't even reckon Stede could if he wanted to.”
“It’s just that this many injuries warrants us checking in properly about this. It says Mr. Teach was even the driver of the car in the—”
Izzy squeezes his eyes shut, cutting her off. “Look. Ed and I had a volatile relationship for a very long time. He’s been to A&E as much’as I’ve been. And we didn’t live an altogether safe life outside of it. You may have grown up with fucking RuPaul, but it wasn’t always sunshine and roses. But Ed’s good to me. They both are. Accidents fucking happen, and I don’t appreciate being mistrusted on this. The two’o them make me happy.” Izzy can feel his voice break a bit as he says it.
“Oh. Ah, sorry,” the nurse says quietly, flustered.
“No—” fucking hell. “I’m sorry, I know you were trying to help. Thanks for caring enough to ask,” he adds, bizarrely. The drugs apparently have him spouting the shite Stede would say.
“Oh, of course. I’ll go let your partners know they are welcome in,” she says, seeming grateful to have a task. “We’ll get an X-Ray tech in with you soon to take a look at that shoulder.”
It’s obvious from the moment they walk in that Izzy’s lost the entire night’s progress with Ed. He’s looking impossibly guilty, like he really did break Izzy’s collarbone in some fit of rage.
“Come here, you twat,” Izzy says, sitting up and holding out an arm to Ed.
Ed takes it, giving Izzy the ghost of a smile.
“It’s all alright,” Izzy says. “Reamed out the nurse for even suggesting it. Seems like she believed me.”
“You didn’t call her a cunt, did you?” Stede pipes up.
“No, I didn’t call her a fucking cunt. Christ, Stede, I don’t try to make it a habit to go around calling women cunts.”
“Just checking,” Stede says. “You’re not exactly shy with it, and I wouldn’t want the hospital lodging a complaint.”
“Well I didn’t. S’not when I use— fucking whatever.” Izzy turns back to Ed, softening. “You alright?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Been a long night, is all.” He’s uncharacteristically quiet, but not quite so pale.
Izzy snorts. “Yeah, it has. Be over soon, I think.”
Mercifully, an X-Ray tech finally wheels a cart in and takes some images, shooing Ed and Stede into the corner.
“Can we see it?” Stede asks, poking his head towards the machine.
“Sure, yeah.” The tech flips the screen around and shows the image. And Christ. It’s not just a crack, the bones are fully fucking separated. Hardly near each other. Inferior displacement with foreshortening, the tech calls it, pointing a thumb at the screen. Fucking hell.
Izzy doesn’t want to ask, already fuckin’ suspects. But he does anyway. “What’s the recovery like, then?”
The tech shifts uncomfortably. “Well, a doctor should really look over these and talk about options with you, I’m just here to take the images.”
“I’m sure you see enough of these to know what I should expect.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. It’s a nasty break, that’s for sure. I’d say we’ll likely recommend surgery for it. Would take a while to heal on its own, if it even can.”
Izzy sighs. “I’m not having surgery,” he says, resolute, when the tech leaves the room.
“Sweetheart,” Stede starts, then drops it at Izzy’s obvious bristle. “Let’s just see what the doctor has to say.”
“Right,” Izzy says, adjusting his arm and wincing in pain. They’ve been here long enough that it’s starting to throb again, aching all the way across his shoulder. Ed and Stede look about as miserable as he feels, both of them sunk into chairs beside him. He knows he should be making a bit of an effort, knows Ed’s feeling fragile. But he can’t bring himself to do it. He half wishes the two of them would push past his shit mood, offer him a hand, scooch in beside him on the table. But he knows he’s acting like a prickly fucking bastard. Doesn’t begrudge ‘em for it.
The doctor says the same thing. He recommends surgery, though it isn’t always necessary in these situations. There’s a reasonable chance it’d heal on its own, but certainly not a guarantee. And especially at his age, it’s a risk he doesn’t think Izzy should take. But what part of Izzy’s life hasn’t been a fucking risk.
They send him home with some prescriptions, and a number to call to schedule surgery. “Fuckin’ waste of time, that was,” Izzy grumbles.
“Not really,” Stede protests, “It’s not as though you would have slept anyway. And it’s a good thing we have the referral, we can give them a call first thing tomorrow.”
“Not having surgery, Bonnet.”
“What? The doctor said it was highly recommended, that it might not heal if you don't have the procedure done.”
“Yeah, I was there too. Don’t have fuckin’ amnesia, just a broken collarbone.”
“Well, yes. But I figured you’d come out of that discussion intending to call the surgeon.”
“Well. I didn’t.”
Ed reaches across the backseat, as if to touch him, but pulls back. “C’mon, Iz. The recovery is two or three months without surgery, if it even heals at all. I know you hate all that shit, but the doctor has a point.”
Izzy looks resolutely out the window. “I’m not having it. Body’s fucked enough as it is, what’s one more issue to pile on?” He knows this isn’t helping things with Ed, knows it hurts when he says this shit. But he can’t bring himself to put on a face about it.
“Izzy,” Ed says, pleading. “I know you’re not happy with me right now. But you can’t just let this be. It won’t heal.”
Izzy bends over, rubbing his temples. “Fuck, Ed. I’m not trying to fucking punish you. I just— I can’t do this again. Can’t go through it—” He feels himself whimper, wishes he could keep himself under control. “‘S my fucking choice,” he grinds out.
“I know it is,” Ed says softly, putting a tentative hand on his good shoulder. Izzy shudders through a breath, but Ed leaves his hand there, thumbing small circles on it.
It’s not until the side door opens that Izzy realizes the car is stopped. Stede’s gently nudging him over, sliding into the backseat with him and Ed. He’s on Izzy’s bad side, not quite able to properly spoon up to him. But he’s got a hand on Izzy’s cheek, and one on his back, rubbing evenly, mumbling how it’ll be alright.
Izzy’s crying in earnest now, little shuddery breaths. Feels fucking ridiculous, but he can’t stop it. Can’t do anything but sit there, letting them hold him, shaking like a fucking leaf.
It didn’t use to be like this— the medical shit. He never liked it; strangers touching him, the weakness of it all. But fuck, he just can’t take it now. Can’t deal with the idea of any of it, being so fucking helpless again. “I just don’t think I can,” Izzy says, miserable.
Stede hums. “We’d go, all go. Be there together. They’d get you checked in, then we’d go up to get you prepped.” For once, Stede’s not patronizing. He’s just talking through it, slow and even. “Then you’d go down for surgery, and I suppose we wouldn’t be there for that bit. But then you’ll wake up and drink some water, and we’ll get you dressed and take you home. And we’ll get takeout and watch some of your dull DMAX shows, and you’ll feel like absolute arse for a few days, but then you’ll feel better.”
“Fuck off, Bonnet,” Izzy mumbles, but it’s all fondness. He’s finally gotten his breath under control, started to uncurl.
“Fucking off,” Stede affirms, smiling. He kisses Izzy’s temple before hopping back out and into the driver’s seat. Ed’s still holding him, though, steady and sure, and Izzy relaxes into it.
When they finally make it home, Izzy is well and truly shot. They all are, but Stede makes a valiant effort to stay chipper. He collects an absolutely abhorrent amount of pillows and dumps them on the bed, as if that will somehow solve his problems.
“You trying to make me a fucking nest, Bonnet? M’not a baby bird, just need something to put my arm on.”
Ed snorts. “You’ve got a broken wing like one.”
“He’s sort of fluffy too,” Stede muses, “like one of those scraggly little eagles.”
Izzy doesn’t dignify it with a response. What the fuck is wrong with these people? But he does do a bit of pillow architecture, figuring out a way to prop himself up with his arm still elevated. Ed tucks up next to him, slinging an arm over his middle, and Stede on the other side of that. Usually the king-sized bed makes him laugh, but right now it’s quite nice, not so claustrophobic. His shoulder still hurts, but Izzy hopes it’ll be manageable overnight. He feels— well— not as terrible as he feared. He takes a breath. “You’c’n call the surgery tomorrow.”
To Stede’s credit, the man’s not gloating, but Izzy can tell he’s inexorably pleased to hear it. “Oh, well, that’s fantastic. I’ll see if we can get you something soon.”
“So I won’t change my mind?” Izzy asks wryly.
“No,” Stede admonishes, “ just to get it over with soon. I don’t like to see you in pain, you know.”
Izzy could say any number of things at that. Bull-fucking-shit, for one. And for two, Stede didn’t seem to mind seeing him in pain the other week, lap full of Izzy’s stinging arse. And on top of it all, he’s pretty sure Stede’ll just call around privately if he can’t get Izzy a NHS appointment in the next couple days, not say anything until they arrive. But he just gives a noncommittal hum.
The surgery is shockingly mundane, more or less exactly how Stede described it. Izzy knew it would be. It's just— he couldn’t keep himself from thinking on how it’d been, after the accident. The days turning to weeks in hospital, the pain of it, desperate gnawing pain, or else the sickening IV haze. The feeling of having lost everything at once.
It had almost been too much to bear. It was too much to bear, really, but what else was he going to do? And he hadn’t been alone, not really. Shop crew would visit him, even in the beginning when he wouldn’t talk to them. Would hardly look at them. They took him home, they stayed with him, even when he was being a right bastard. He threw a shoe at Archie, once, when she wouldn’t get the fuck out of his apartment, but she just dodged it and laughed. Made him some soup. It didn’t make things less awful, the crew. But— well, he’s still here now, isn’t he? He’s still not quite sure how he can repay them. They’ve instated a semiweekly movie night at Izzy’s, claiming he owes them the homecooked meal and beers, But Izzy has a suspicion they might, in fact, just enjoy spending time with him.
And he’s not alone now, either. Ed and Stede aren’t there when he wakes up, but are allowed in just afterwards and fawn over him in a way he doesn’t altogether hate. Izzy only puts an end to it after Stede tries to ‘here comes the aeroplane’ him a ritz cracker.
“Don’t even think about it,” Izzy says, batting Stede’s hand away. “C’n we get out of here, anyway?”
“Think so, once you eat a bit of food.” Ed’s grinning, the little shit.
Izzy pointedly does not take Stede’s proffered cracker, but grabs one off the plate. He eats a few halfhearted bites. He’s not particularly in the mood, but knows the nurses genuinely won’t let him leave without at least trying. His throat’s fucking killing him, but water isn’t a help. He wishes he was home with a mug of tea. Herbal tea— another bit of Stede’s fuckin’ influence.
His prayers are answered when a nurse comes by and quizzes him on discharge instructions, then finally takes out his IV line and signs him out. Stede goes to pull the car around and Ed wheels him out, sprinting him down the breezeway when nobody’s looking. Izzy clings to the arm of the chair, laughing. They’re both a bit disheveled when they get to the car, but Izzy’s pretty sure they got away without Stede suspecting
It’s a long ride home, and Izzy can’t stop wiggling his fingers, trying to get feeling back. No fucking shot. He knows it’s saving him the pain, but he can’t convince himself that the numb arm is preferable. It’s too similar to his leg, freaks him the hell out.
Ed must notice, because he pokes Izzy in the arm. “Should only be for twelve hours, right? Might even be less; when they did my knee it started hurting like a bitch after six.”
“Mm. real comforting, Ed.” It is, though, nice to know it might be sooner. Sort of nice to know someone else is keeping an eye on his hand too. That though he can’t feel it, it definitely exists.
“Should use it to touch yourself,” Stede says from the front seat. “Much better than when you’d sit on your wrist as a teen.”
“Oi, not all of us were fucking freaks. Besides, Isn’t that what you two are for?”
“I guess we must be slacking on our duties, then,” Ed says mock-salaciously, running a hand across his thigh. He stops before it's anything more than a joke, but leaves the comforting weight of his hand on Izzy’s leg. It’s grounding, something to focus on past the numb tingling of his arm.
The numbness is starting to wear off by the time they’ve bundled him onto the couch, and he grudgingly accepts some prescription pain relief. It puts him in a pleasantly floaty mood, unbothered by his twinging shoulder.
To Stede’s credit, he at least offers to put on one of Izzy’s minidocs. But Izzy can see in Stede’s eyes that he’s desperately hoping he says no, and takes pity.
“S’alright, I won’t subject you to that. Probably too out of it, anyway. We’c’n watch Alone as long as someone recaps what’s happened once I’m sober.”
Ed and Stede don’t have to be told twice, cuddling up on either side of him and queuing it up. There’s something irresistible about watching those American twats try to survive in the wilderness, even Izzy can’t deny it.
When this thing between them first started, he’d worried it would only go on until Ed had assuaged his own guilt; or worse, wanted to be sure he’d made the right choice in Stede. He held them at arm's length, afraid of getting hurt. But how could he deny it now, with Eds hand on his thigh, and his head pillowed in Stedes lap? Even as Ed and Stede debate the merits of using your only tarp as a fishing raft, they’ve both got hands on Izzy. He lets himself drift, kept safe in the anchor of their hold.