Chapter Text
Tommy’s life is a joke. His birth was ironic as it could be. Diagnosed with a weak composition, but being born with pink hair and a tail that swayed angrily. In a world of hybrids, to be a Piglin one, known for having thick skin and a near immunity to pain; what kind of trick were they playing on him?
“You’re my doctor—what do you mean there’s nothing you can do?”
A useless person. The fifth one he’s seen. He’s sure in this chart he’s marked as a shopper as this point. They all give the same weak excuse, they don’t even attempt to try. Goddamnit, he’s sick of this shit.
He’s in pain every day, there’s no moment of rest for him. The fact that there are others who don’t feel some sort of pain in every moment is something that used to keep him baffled, but now it just makes him angry. Why do they get that?
He does everything right—he doesn’t smoke, or drink, or anything like that! Sure, maybe he eats like crap, but not enough for the misery he’s feeling to make since. And they—
They just—
“I’m sorry, I really am. But with the ethics of it, it’s dangerous. You know that, don’t you?”
Of course he does. It’s been shoved down his throat for as long as he can remember. The bitter history between medical practitioners and the Piglin society that has left him in this horrible spot. Some odd fifty years old, the government for some reason thought it would be alright to have their medical officers to use Piglins as test subjects for all sorts of thing—after all, they have thick skin and can’t feel pain right?
Tommy’s the living embodiment of the breakdown of those myths.
“Don’t spout that shit. You’re just a fucking coward. All of you are!”
What a waste of his fucking time.
“The tools don’t even exist anymore—”
“Then make some! I’m so sick of this!”
Anger brews inside, making his skin run hot. Not even the guilty expression on his face makes feel a little better about it all. He kicks the door open, marching out of the office. Another failure.
Goddamn, what is he supposed to do? Just live with it?
~
“Ah, Tommy, you’re late?” Ranboo frowns, his voice soft. Whatever.
“You try getting here when the rain makes your bones ache. I’d kill to see it.”
“Right…it must be difficult being human.”
A decent lie, just enough to get people to take him seriously. When people know you’re a descendant of Piglins, they think you’re a joke when you complain about the surging flareups or the struggle to get out of bed.
It’s easy enough to keep up with it. Keep your tail tucked, lie and say you like dying your hair this color. Tell them you wear red contacts to trick people and keep them weary of you so you don’t get mugged. Wear a medical mask at all times; one, so they can’t see your teeth and two, so you don’t catch whatever these people have.
He throws his locker open, grabbing at his work scrub and pulling it over his long-sleeved shirt.
“Is that safe? It’s still summer, won’t you get hot?” Ranboo asks, as always never minding his own fucking business.
Like I have a fucking choice.
“Do you want to actually help or are you going to bitch at me about everything?”
He hates this part of himself; the way his anger rushes past his mouth before he can think. He knows better, he knows Ranboo is just looking out for him. He knows him; he knows this job is everything to Tommy, so the day he misses it or is late from it, something is up.
That still doesn’t give him to right to pry.
If you asked Tommy if he liked Ranboo, he’d say not really. He’s a vet resident from some snobby university that he can’t even recall, but he’s meek as can be. Easily intimidated. He rubs his hands together, can’t look anyone in the eye when shit gets real. Hesitates all the damn time, even in the surgery room.
He hates that.
He hates that Ranboo has that luxury; he lives pain free and allows himself to be caught off-guard. Tommy wishes he could be like that. That he could be stupid and reckless, that he could be allowed to make mistakes, but fuck, he’s got something to prove and he can’t risk a misstep.
He tosses their cheap ass stethoscope around his shoulders and slips his badge into the breast pocket.
Fuck, I’m tired.
Working night shift is hell. Stupid day shift leaves all the crap they don’t want to do to them. Mind you, there’s only two of them, but eight of them!
He slams his locket shut.
“There better be hot coffee in the breakroom or I swear to god.”
~
Rosaline is sleeping so peacefully, he almost doesn’t want to disturb her. She’s an 11-year Australian Shepard who came in for a mysterious lump on her back leg. After some tests, she was diagnosed with lymphoma.
He undos her cage, peaking his head in.
“Well girl, those dumbasses on day shift finally figured out what that nasty bump is. We’re gonna get rid of it good!” He slips the line through the one of the gaps in the cage. He grabs the end of her butterfly catheter, and connects it to her IV solution. “Hopefully this makes it go away.”
He should give her an extra treat when she wakes up. This place is so cheap they limit them each to one and most of the dogs here don’t even like them, which is why Tommy has his secret stash of the good treats hidden in his locker.
He grabs his caliper, placing the first end against one side of the bump. He cranks the other one until it’s lush to the other side. Rosaline’s foot kicks up, more of a reflex.
“Yeah, I know, must be freaking cold.” He apologies, rubbing at her head to calm her and lull her back into sleep. “3.9 centimeters, huh…”
He was hoping it would be down further, since according to the day shift’s chart from yesterday, she came in with a 4 centimeters.
“It’s better than nothing, plus you’ve only been getting the solution for two days. That’s some great progress, Rosaline. Good job.” He scratches behind her ears and closes the door.
#042204 provided patient #68691 with Doxorubicin 30 mg m−2. Cancerous site on back leg was measured at 3.9. Did not observe previous feeding. #68691 seemed alert and sleeping well. Will continue to monitor closely for reactions to the intravenous drip.
The radio chitters at the charting area, “—the intensity of the fight increases! It just doesn’t seem like Fume can keep up Corvus! WOAH! Be careful out there, they nearly blew away WH24’s helicopter. Are you alright Tu—?”
He presses the off button on the radio.
“Why the hell do they have this up here?” It’s not an old radio, but rather it’s modern looking. Like one of those you see children playing with, a hand held of some sort. “Maybe if you guys were less obsessed with freaking fights, you could actually get your work done instead of leaving it to me.”
He has to remind himself to stop gritting his teeth together. He’s got enough health problems at it is and there’s not like there’s anyone whose going to help if he does end up with breaking shit.
“I hope they don’t break the doors again, it was annoying to clean glass up.” He huffs.
Leaning back, he stretches his arms up, feeling a few pops as he does.
“I need to catch up with BMC.” They just released a new booklet full of new journal articles in regards to not just medicine in veterinary, but the upcoming scientific discovered and experiments.
Despite how annoying they are to read, it brings a certain peace to him.
“Can’t wait till I publish my shit.”
What a day it will be then.
~
He grabs the tiny pitiful trash can underneath the table, pulling his mask down and spitting into it.
“Who the fuck made decaf?” He wipes at his mouth, pulling his mask up. Now he feels queasy, fuck.
This is the most boring aspect of the job. Sitting at the entry desk just waiting for people to come in. At daytime? He’s sure those shitty people can’t keep up with the pace of emergencies and appointments. But at night? It’s boring.
People rarely come in during this time, not unless they have an emergency. Like their dog ate chocolate or their cat is throwing up. Or those freaks that bring their cat in with a list of concerns that all amount to them being a cat, for goodness sake.
Well, it’s better to overcare than not care at all.
He’s seen a few times of owners bringing in their dogs, letting them get to worst state possible.
He still feels awful from the last one; a 3-year old miniature black poodle who came in so matted, they struggled to even get an electric razor through. When they finally did, the skin was torn and infected at the legs. The weight and damage of the matting had caused intense pain and tearing.
He wanted to jump over that table and knock the owner’s light out, because it could’ve been prevented. Animals get matted, it happens all the time. Groomers are expensive, but one of the interesting aspects of this place is that they will groom an animal, with a reasonable price.
In the end, the dog had to be put down.
“How fucking depressing,” He sighs.
Well, nothing’s happening here, let’s go see if he can still one of day shift’s lunches or breakfast for the following morning.
The glass door of the entryway slams open with immeasurable force, he almost thought it broke. He turns quickly back, about to cuss Fume out because this will be the second time it happened on his shift and no one else’s—
“Please, please, help me!”
It’s just a guy. Drenched in dirt and some blood, carrying what looks to be an injured crow in his arms. He looks around his age, blonde hair peeking out beneath his purple hoodie.
“My bird—it—it got hurt. The fight outside, I was just—”
Goddamnit, where does day shift keep the gloves? He’s desperately pulling open drawers, but he guesses they don’t deal with this shit like he does.
“Hurry, this way!” He urges the owner to follow himself, heading into an exam room, and pulling gloves on quickly. He reaches out for the bird, but the owner seems hesitant. Like there’s any time for that!
“This bird—it’s—”
“Really important to you?” He fills in the gaps. “I get that. I know that. I can see it. Right now, I’m your only chance for it to stay that way. I need you to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
Slowly, he places the bird in his hand and Tommy lays it on the exam table.
“Tommy, I heard some commotion—” Ranboo ducks in the room and his jaw drops. “What are you doing?!”
“Examining an injury. Either you can help me or bitch at me.”
“You should’ve came to me—I’m your resident!”
Oh ho ho. Some backbone, finally.
“Have you ever worked on birds? Read articles on them? Treated them?” He glares at him because this is not the time. “I didn’t think so. Either go see if we have some avian blood for a crow or similar, or let me focus man!”
He can hear Ranboo’s flustered sounds, like he’s trying hard to gather a response, but can’t. He’s too focused on inspecting the site.
“How exactly was he injured?”
The bones are all in good shape. Sometimes those fights cause buildings to shake or cause concrete to break off, they get a lot of crush injuries, but that doesn’t seem the case here. There’s not a sharp line, like if it came into the contact with a weapon.
The blood has matted near the center of the body, which is not good. A bird getting injured anywhere is hard enough but on the body? Through the blood, it even looks a like a hole…
You can’t be serious—
“The—the police was chasing someone and—”
“It got shot?”
The owner shakes his head.
“Unbelievable!” He huffs in shock. “Stupid Fume ruining every life expect his goddamn own—”
A huffy, out of breath Ranboo bursts in. “We had some healthy raven donor blood.”
“Good enough! It’s a bullet wound. Doesn’t look through to through. Can you get it started?”
Ranboo nods, “Grabbing a 25-gauge, I’m going to go through the left wing.”
“Sounds good, I’m going to pressure hold the site. Hang that blood and start on anesthesia."
“On it!”
Despite Tommy’s bitterness, when they both get focused on a case, and let everything else fall to the background, they work like an oiled machine. It all falls into place.
“Listen, he’s going to need surgery so he’s going to need to be put under. We have to get the bullet out and patch up the opening.”
Just as he says that, the bird starts freaking out like it hadn’t before. There were a few cries, but for the most part, it was complying unusually good for an animal in distress.
He used his other hand to rub at the top of it’s head.
“It’s okay,” He smiles, after all, animals go off your energy. “You’re going to be okay, birdie. Alright? You’re in good hands.”
It seems to relax a little, but he can tell it’s guard is up.
“I need to be there then!” He insists.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
The owner seems caught off guard, “Uh, Purpled.”
“And this one?”
“P—Phil.”
“Okay, I know you’re panicking, but listen to me; I know Phil is your family, you don’t want to see him like that. You need to wait here, but I swear to you, he’ll be just fine. Let me do my job.”
Purpled’s hands curl into fists, his face looks irate.
It’s hard to not be there for a loved one.
Or at least he assumes. He’s an orphan after all.
“I’ve got you guys. I promise, okay?” He offers a pinkie.
Purpled curls his around Tommy, frowning. “I don’t think pinkie promises are as strong as you think.”
“To me, they are!”
He’s done this a few dozen times. Whenever something happens to a pet, usually the kids come along.
“Okay, anesthesia going in.” Ranboo calls, placing another 25-gauge needle in the other wing.
“You take care of the charting and paperwork on this one?”
“Yeah, yeah, go!”
He grabs the bag of blood and the anesthesia with him as he places him on a tray to take him out and into the surgery room.
~
He scrubs at his hands, getting all the germs off of them before holding his hands up, using his back to open the door to get in. There, he’s met with Ranboo already in his sterile garb and Phil completely knocked out and he’s connected to the heartrate and oxygen machine.
“Here, be still.” Ranboo says as he slips the sterile yellow garb on him through his arms until the back follows along. He grabs one end of the strap. “Spin.”
Then comes the gloves, Ranboo places the under gloves on until they meet his garb and tighten it around it. Then, he places the outer gloves on.
“Ready?”
Ranboo smiles. “Your case, your cut.”
“Like I was gonna let you touch a bird.”
He positions himself over the table, looking down at Phil.
Every time he’s in the surgery room, there’s a sense of glee that overcomes him. As if this is the place he’s meant to be.
~
“Tweezers.”
“Is there a reason you chose to go for that first instead increase the size of the opening for easier access?”
Ah, yes. Ranboo’s resident teaching mode. Now, this part he likes around him, because no matter how easily intimidated the guy is, he’s still his teacher.
“I’m attempting to limit the overall damage and shorten the healing time. It’s better to attempt with the initial opening and then cut if need be.”
“Good,” He can tell underneath Ranboo’s mask, he smiled.
Ranboo places the tweezers in his hand.
~
“The bullet nearly missed his heart. It looks like we won’t need to repear that at least.” Tommy says. “Any closer and it would’ve nicked it. Damn, how can they be so reckless?”
“One could ask you the same thing.”
“Look, I know I’m an ass with one heck of attitude. But I don’t around shooting things in hopes of capturing someone.”
He tilts the tweezers, trying to grasp at the brass bullet. It’s slippery due to the blood.
“Don’t you think they’re dangerous?”
“They’re not the ones breaking buildings. Did you know what cases clinics get the most around here? Superhero-related injuries. Crushes, cuts, on and on.”
“They wouldn’t have to do that if there were no villains.”
When he removes this bullet, the blood is going to spill out, since the bullet has been holding it place. He’ll need to have a few things on standby.
“Whatever man. They got no training I hear. How dumb is that?”
“Where did you hear that?”
He’s got a proper grasp on the bullet. Good.
“The news, duh.”
“You believe everything you hear?”
“About shit I don’t care about? Yeah…” Now to pull. “He’s going to start bleeding once I pull it. I got a good grip. Let’s get suction and gauze on standby.”
Ranboo turns around, grabbing the suction tool, and twisting the tray to have the gauze right next to him.
“Pulling…” The bullet is stuck so he gently twists it, to get the skin and blood around it to release it. Soon, as it moves a little, blood starts to pool at the injury site.
“Suction.” Ranboo places the thin opening of the tool alongside, sucking it out of the way.
“Okay, on three I’m gonna yank it.”
“Got it.”
“1…” He tightens his grasp on the tweezers.
“2…” He shifts his wrist for a better ideal angle.
“3!” He yanks the bullet out, quickly placing it on the specimen tray. “Switch me!”
Ranboo passes the suction tool. Tommy quickly tries to suck up the blood, as Ranboo grabs at gauze and starts placing them in there.
~
The clocks continue to tick on, a little annoying to his ears. Why couldn’t they get a silent one?
“Tweezers.”
Ranboo places them in his hand.
“Going to check if bleeding has stopped.” Carefully and slowly, he lifts up the blood-soaken gauze. When he sees no new blood, he slowly starts placing it in the specimen tray.
He lets out of a sigh of relief.
“Were you worried?”
Tommy rolls his shoulder, feeling some pops as he does.
“It would’ve been more difficult to try to sew the vessels, I would’ve had to extend the opening then.”
“Then, what’s next?”
“We wash out of the wound and apply an dressing. Allow the skin to heal itself and put on some strong antibiotics.”
“Why don’t you sew it close?” Ranboo says as he uses the saline solution and suction to carefully clean out the wound.
“Stuff we don’t want can get trapped in there. It’s better to wash and dress it daily until it heals itself. If there’s something we don’t see, the antibiotics can take it from there.”
“Well done.”
“You know if you were like this more, I might actually like you.”
“Well, I think you need some humility.”
“Something like that—it’s not possible.” He huffs. He wraps the dressing around Phil. “Okay, you transport and I’ll inform?”
“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Tommy rolls his eyes.
~
He scrubs his hand harshly, until they’re horribly dry. He steps out in order to get a paper towel from another room, wiping them actually dry.
He tosses his sweaty face mask into the bin and washes his face.
He grabs a new one from this room, pulling the straps tight.
~
Purpled looks worried, staring down at the ground. Guilty even.
That’s a bit ridiculous considering he didn’t shoot the bird. The cops did.
He pushes past the surgery doors. At the sound, Purpled looks up and jumps up from the waiting room.
“How—”
“He’s fine. Everything went well.” Tommy smiled.
Purpled lets out a breath he must’ve been holding for the past couple hours, his shoulders relaxing.
“I told you right? I take my promises seriously.”
Purpled laughs, wiping at his eyes. “Thanks man. Where is he?”
“Sorry, but he can’t go home yet. We removed the bullet but we don’t stitch wounds like that. You can take him home tomorrow, come around the same time. Long as he’s eating and out of shock, he can go home. You’ll have to wash his wound, dress it, make him take his antibiotics, and he’ll need rehab.”
“Rehab?”
“Well, it was his body, so might harm his balance. Just to be safe. It’s traumatic so he might be scared to fly. You can do it here. We’re trained in it.”
“Right…okay.”
“He’ll be okay. He’s in good hands.”
“But I’m guessing your night shift, I don’t know the other people. We don’t—I don’t trust people well.”
Weird. That’s a bit odd. Usually patients are pleased by everything he’s given him.
“He’s—he is my only family. So.”
Well, he could use some overtime. Even if he has to deal with the shitty people from day shift staring at him like he’s a ghost intern.
“It is just tomorrow…I could take over his care until then. It won’t be any issue.”
Purpled seem flabbergasted.
Isn’t that what he wanted? This guy is weird.
“Awh!” Purpled jumped up, reached for his arms, and grasped tight. What the hell??
“Really? I mean—jeez! There’s not many vets like you, you know! Man, you’re awesome um—uh—”
“Tommy,” He huffs, a bit annoyed at being shaken like this.
“Tommy! What a name!”
The fuck does that mean?
“Right…” He pulls Purpled’s hands off of him, brushing his clothing.
“I’m not dirty, you know.”
“You have dirt and blood on you. You should go home and get changed properly. You’re no use to anyone, even animals, if you’re a wreck.”
“Huh, yeah I get it.”
Huh??
“Then, I’ll see you okay!” Purpled grins right. He has some sharp canines, weird.
Oh, whatever.
#69031 was brought in with a bullet wound to the chest. #042204 examined and diagnosed it. It was determined it was thoracoscopic debridement surgery. #110203 assisted in surgery. Bullet extraction complete. #69031 is under overnight supervision. #69031 requires daily washing and dressing. #69031 is on enrofloxacin 10 mg tablets once a day. Will continue to watch and monitor...
Ah, his eyes hurt.
“Must’ve been staring at the screen too long…”
“You haven’t moved in an hour, so that makes sense.”
Tommy jumps, “AH!”
“Oops, sorry.”
“Dude, you scared the crap out of me! I can’t believe I didn’t hear you, I have great hearing.”
“Ah, well…enough about me. Why don’t you take a rest on one of the couches? I can watch over Phil for a few hours. I heard you say you’re staying until after tomorrow’s shift. Is that wise?”
“Hell yeah it is.” He huffs. He stands up, the chair falling behind him. “If anything happens with him, you better wake my ass up! My case remember.”
“Yes, yes, please get some sleep while you can.”
“Yeah, yeah…”