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The Host was in the middle of a broadcast when the vision struck him.
It came with no warning, hitting him over the head like a tidal wave. His head hit the desk with a loud thud! as he cried out, one hand flying up to cover his suddenly bleeding sockets while the other gripped his throat.
He let out a low groan, head hanging limply. His ears rang uncomfortably loud. Something wet caked his face. He couldn’t feel his body, everything felt fuzzy and numb. Was he…upside down?
“Hey! He’s still awake! Get the medics over here!”
“Holy shit, is that Dr. Iplier?!”
“Dr. Iplier, can you hear us?”
The Host bolted back upright, breathing heavily and completely disoriented as panic flooded through him. He shook his head, trying to knock some sense back into himself. He was about to bolt out of the room when he remembered the fact that he was still live. “Uh, th-the Host apologizes, but he must cut this broadcast short. Something urgent has arisen that needs his immediate attention.”
He nearly collapsed when he stood, stumbling over to the door. He made his way to the living area, blood dripping between his fingers and from beneath his bandages, his breathing coming in rapid gasps. He leaned heavily against the wall once he arrived, taking a moment to steady himself despite the fear coursing through him. “The Host demands that someone take him to the hospital. Immediately.”
“Jesus Christ – Host! Are you okay, what’s wrong why do you need to go to the hospital?!”
The Host shook off King’s concerned questioning, just shaking his head. “The Host will answer all questions later, but he needs to be at the hospital. He needs to see Dr. Iplier.”
He felt Dark’s crackling aura creep toward him, and he whipped his head in the demon’s direction, tilting it to the side. He tensed when Dark laid a hand on his arm. “Come on. I’ll take you.”
The Host felt a brief period of suffocation and cold as Dark guided him through the Void. But then the scent of sterilization hit him and he was tearing through the halls of the hospital, narrations slurring together as he spoke rapidly. He slammed against the reception desk, scaring the shit out of whoever was behind the counter if the yelp was anything to go by. “Where is Dr. Iplier?!”
When he didn’t get a response right away, his narrations brought forth an image of a young man with wide eyes, staring at him with his mouth open. It was only when the Host felt something wet hit the back of his hand that he realized he was still bleeding. “I…I’m sorry, but he was in an accident, he’s unavailable, but we can –”
“The Host is aware of that, what room?!” He slammed his hands on the counter and the receptionist flinched.
“I – how do you know? He only got here like ten minutes ago, we haven’t even called anyone –”
“What. Room?”
The receptionist shrunk. “207, second floor, but –”
The Host was off like a shot.
He could hear Dark calling his name behind him, but he didn’t care, navigating the hospital with fervent narrations that sounded like slurred nonsense to the outside ear. He quickly found the stairs, running up them two at a time, and he didn’t stop when he reached the second level, slamming the doors open and continuing to bolt through the halls.
He skidded to a halt when his narrations caught the phrase ‘room 207’, backtracking a little before bursting into the room, breathing hard. He visibly sagged with relief when he heard Dr. Iplier shout “Jesus Christ!”, collapsing into the chair at his bedside.
“Host?! What are – are you – what?!”
The Host gave a hoarse chuckle, bowing down to press his forehead to Dr. Iplier’s hand. “The Host had a vision, he came as fast as he could. He…saw Dr. Iplier hurt…what happened?”
He felt Dr. Iplier wince. “Ah. Yes. That.” He drew a deep breath. “I got in a car accident. Don’t freak, it wasn’t a bad one, I’m fine. I mean, I’ve got a few stitches on my forehead, my left arm is broke, I’ll have some pretty nasty bruises elsewhere and I completely totaled my car, but…I’m fine.”
The Host lifted his head again, but not before pressing his lips to the back of his beloved’s hand, massaging it gently with his thumb. “That is…a relief.”
“Oh my God, Host…you’re bleeding a lot. You should go with one of the nurses, they’ll change your bandages since I’m a bit out of commission. You need the shot, too, hold on, I’ll call one –”
“No!” The Host shook his head adamantly, sending blood flying. “The Host would rather not have a stranger see his bare sockets. He’d rather avoid the inevitable questions.”
Dr. Iplier’s tone softened. “I can call Henrik instead. I know you’re not super familiar with him, but I trust him. He won’t interrogate you.”
The Host shifted, still uncomfortable with the idea. “…Fine. But he must come here. The Host refuses to leave Dr. Iplier’s side.”
Dr. Iplier laughed. “You dork, I’m fine. But alright, give me a second.”
Dr. Schneeplestein came and went, barely uttering a word beyond checking up on Dr. Iplier as the Host fidgeted uncomfortably and restlessly as he peeled away his soaked bandages. He was keenly aware of the Septic’s wince when his sockets came into view, but still he said nothing, simply injecting the clotting agent shot into his neck and setting to work cleaning his face. The Host sighed in relief once he left, fresh bandages covering his sockets and admittedly feeling much better (not that he’d tell Dr. Iplier that).
Dr. Iplier snickered, nudging his arm. “I can see that look on your face. You’re more relaxed. Admit it.”
The Host flushed, but he smirked. “Never.” Dr. Iplier laughed again, trailing off into a pleased hum as the Host continued to massage his hand. He paused for a moment, and he heard Dr. Iplier turn his head. “How –” He swallowed. “How did the accident happen?”
“Uhhh…” Dr. Iplier gave a strained, nervous chuckle. “See, funny story, I forgot to take my head mirror off when I got in the car, so when I looked in the rearview mirror the sunlight bounced and I blinded myself.”
The Host’s mouth fell open, not quite believing what he was being told. Dr. Iplier’s hand fell from his own, and he heard Dr. Iplier shift. “…Host? Are you…?”
The Host smacked his shoulder.
“Dr. Iplier is an idiot,” he hissed. He moved to hold his beloved’s hand again, working it with both thumbs and smiling softly with slight amusement. “But he is the Host’s idiot.”
Dr. Iplier snorted. “Thanks.”