Chapter Text
Beep...
Beep...
Beep...
That was the first thing Howard's exhausted, heavy mind picked up on when he came back to the waking world.
And he absolutely hated it.
The fact that that irritating sound was the first thing he registered only makes waking himself up all the more difficult, especially when his body started to catch up and he was struck with the realization that he was sore.
Actually, sore might not even be the correct word to describe his current state. Rather, perhaps a more accurate description would to be say that his whole body feels like it had been set on fire and then shortly afterwards he was run over by a semi-truck going at around fifty miles an hour, and dare he say that this awful feeling is exemplified when his brain manages to pick up on the fact that certain areas of his body were experiencing a horribly heightened sense of pain.
His head feels like it was about to split in two, the lower half of his face feels like parts of it had been ripped off, his chest ached and burned with every breath he took (something weird was in his nostrills and around his face, he can barely recognize it through the pained haze he was in but it...he thinks it's helping him breathe).
His eyes, heavy and tired, makes the horribly miscalculated move of trying to open up to try and get a better look at his surroundings to find out where he was right now.
And as soon as he did that, he was met with a blinding light from above that forced him to snap his eyes shut again, the hiss he let out was barely audible to his thumping, pain filled head.
In short, everything really, really sucks right now.
Howard would love to go back to sleep, but his body refused to allow him this small luxury on account of the pain he was in. Every attempt he made at relaxing to sleep it off only ended with him getting jolted awake with another bout of pain whether it'd be through his head, his mouth, his chest, and especially that godawful beeping sound, despite how tired he feels, and it was starting to drive him crazy. Was sleep really too much to ask for?
With a frustrated sigh, Howard tries opening his eyes again, the blinding light that practically incinerated his cornea now a lot more bearable but still unpleasant to witness. He takes to slowly letting his eyes open up bit by bit to prevent more than necessary unsolicited light filter through his eyes, until they can readjust to light again.
When he's able to see his surroundings again the next time he opens his eyes, he's now able to properly see a white ceiling with a singular lightbulb above him, the light no longer as unforgiving as it was the first time he opened his eyes.
Howard turns to look to his left, gathering that the annoying beeping he's still hearing is somewhere in that direction. He finds a large heart monitor beside him, green lines running up and down in a somewhat fluctuating pattern with every breath he took. To his right was an IV rack with a clear plastic bag hanging from it, looking just about empty from his perspective. There was also an IV drip connected to his right hand, sending in nutrients into his system, and the lower half of his face was covered in bandages, particularly around the mouth area.
It doesn't take long for him to figure out that he's in a hospital, especially when he manages to look down at himself with much effort and much still stabbing pains in his head and sees that he's wearing a thin hospital gown in place of his usual clothes, with bandages wrapped around his upper chest and neck. He also registers that the things in his nose were those oxygen tubes that are shoved up the nose to help with breathing, the nasal cannula he thinks they're called.
Now that he's (mostly) lucid and awake, Howard tries to remember how exactly he ended up in the hospital to begin with. His head ached even more as he tried to recall his memories, as if the act of recollection itself has become akin taking a sledgehammer and smashing it into his skull multiple times.
But as he got past the hazy pain and even hazier memories, he stills.
The island, that cursed isle.
Doctor Morose, a man so, so vile.
That crumbling ancient city, the horrors within having retreated.
And Phillip, his friend who desperately needs to be treated.
Phillip, where is he? He should be in the hospital too, but what of his condition? How is he faring? Is he okay?
what if he's already dead
No! Howard immediately shuts down that fleeting thought. No, Phillip cannot be dead! He- He must be on the mend!
But you saw his injuries, and how they added to his existing miseries. The traitorous, poisonous thought replies almost mockingly. It sounds...painfully familiar, like a viper whispering and leaking poison into his ear before killing him. He's lost so much blood, and it wasn't made better by the mob flood. Perhaps you were too late, and now poor Phillip has met his ultimate fate.
Shut up! Shut up! Phillip is not weak, a rock is not enough for him to break!
It's late at night, imagine how the doctors feel working with this little light? Perhaps during surgery one slipped up, and now the rest has given up.
Howard doesn't know how it happened, nor does he know when it happened, but he felt it. He felt his breathing pick up in speed, hear blood pounding in his ears, all the while more horrid thoughts invaded his mind.
It didn't matter how hard he tried to get his mind under control, tried to convince himself that all is well. He can't stop thinking about it, the possibility that perhaps Phillip has...
Phillip can't be gone, not after all they've been through, not after he accomplished the impossible.
Right?
"-ir? Sir- are- ou- ay?"
His vision has blurred and his hearing was overtaken by the sound of pounding blood by this point, so whoever it was that called out to him, their questions fell on muffled ears and their face was blocked out.
He thinks the voice is calling out to someone. He can't really tell at this point.
He barely recognizes any of the other faces that came into his line of sight, their features blurred and unrecognizable and too clinical looking for his liking, but he does recognize the hands that came down onto his shoulders, edging between the line of gentleness and roughness, confusing his brain just enough that it caused another bout of panic.
He thinks- he thinks he hears voices. He can't recognize any of them, they all sound so far away yet so close and- and-
Howard feels his dry throat hurt and the pain in his mouth rise, and it was at that moment did he realize that he was screaming, his own screams muffled and dulled from the bandages over his mouth and the blood pounding in his ears.
"-ir- lm- own!"
"-tor, some- doc- ere!"
"-op -before -urt -self!"
Indecipherable voices were all around him, dissolving into incomprehensible white noise in his ears and only adding to the cacophony of noise in his head, which in turn only made him panic more.
And the more he panicked, the more pain he felt. More pain, more panic. It quickly became a vicious cycle that he can't seem to break out of. The voices trying to reach out to him weren't making things any better.
And to make matters worse, one of those voices he was hearing was louder than the rest, more comprehensible than the others.
He wishes he couldn't understand it, especially when it sounds so awfully familiar as it snarls and mocks him in ways only he can hear.
Useless brat, you're more worthless than a potato sack. Can't even handle five minutes all by yourself? No wonder he never came for you himself.
What's happening to him? Why is it- why is it getting so hard to see? Why is it- getting- so hard to breathe?
More voices were flying over his head, clashing with each other in the noise. It's too loud, it's too loud. Why won't everyone just shut up and stop making such noise-
"-ie?"
Howard shuts his eyes, trying to block out the incessant noise that way. He doesn't want to listen, didn't want to hear anything anymore.
"Howie?"
...Huh? Why does that voice sound...
"-wie? Howie?"
That nickname...only one person calls him that...but he can't really be here, can he? (He really hopes he is)
"Phillip, what are you doing?" Another voice, familiar and also similarly kind to the other one he heard just now. "Let the doctors take care of this! Your head is bleeding!"
Did he...hear that right?
"Sir you can't be here! You have to go back to your room. The patient will be fine in our care."
"You shouldn't be up and about this soon sir! Go back to your room!"
The person - Phillip, it has to be Phillip. He's not hearing things, right? - doesn't seem to care at all though. "Howie! Howie?"
Howard turns his head in the direction of where the voice came from to the best of his ability, ignoring the pain in his head as best as he could to focus on looking to where the voice was coming from. His vision was still blurry and unfocused, so his initial impression of the figure was that of a really badly made painting someone made by splashing a whole bunch of colors together, and it wasn't helped by the fact that it looked like there were other people behind the figure trying to drag him back somewhere.
"You're going to hurt yourself more if you stay here!"
"Let's get you back to your room, alright sir?"
No, no please don't take him now. I have to know if he's truly safe and sound.
"No...not yet..." There it is again, that kind familiarity of the voice so unlike the recognizable cruelty of the other voice he was hearing. And once he registered that, his vision started to clear up enough for him to make out the exact details of the person saying those things.
Curly hair and a face framed by facial hair underlining the chin...he can't forget the name that belongs to this face.
Phillip. It really is him.
He looks...awful, to put it plainly. He was wearing bandages around his head that were starting to turn red already (and Howard swears he can see blood trailing down the side of his head) and his eyes were struggling to stay open, exhaustion and drowsiness clear on his face and he was most certainly ready to collapse and sleep for a week. A doctor and a nurse were on either side of him, trying to drag him away without risking hurting him further.
And yet, despite all of that, he manages to stay relatively close to Howard, and to muster up a weak, tired, but sincere smile for him.
Phillip...Phil he tries to say, to convey even half of the pure, unrestrained relief he has seeing him alive and well, and to convey to the doctor and nurse holding onto him to let him stay. All that came out though was a low muffled mumble.
"Calm down, Howie." Phillip says, in that familiar tone of voice he uses when he's saying something he considers to be humorous. "It's- ha- gonna take much more than..." He winces. "...some rocks to kill me, right?"
If Howard's face wasn't covered with bandages, he would be showing off the goofiest smile imaginable. Instead, he tries to communicate his appreciation with his eyes instead, hoping he looks genuine and not stupid looking.
Based on the look on Phillip's face, he seems to get the message.
The sight of Phillip, alive and well and smiling, helped the rest of Howard's body to relax and come back to reality. It wasn't a quick process, the pain was still there, everywhere in his body and everything hurts a little bit more, but at least he wasn't freaking out as much as he was anymore.
"Alright, now that the patient has calmed down..." An unfamiliar voice speaks up after clearing their throat, belonging to the doctor making sure that Phillip doesn't fall on his face. "...we're gonna have to escort you back to your room now, Mister Maude, and you'll likely need to have another surgery to repair your broken arm again."
Howard stills for a moment when he heard that, an icy feeling spreading across his heart and body.
"What? I don't...feel a thing though..." Phillip mutters in confusion and exhaustion, his eyes barely open at this point.
"That's only because you have painkillers running through your system and are still feeling the effects, because otherwise you would be feeling all the strain you put yourself through." The doctor sighs, putting a hand on Phillip's back while the nurse flanking his opposite side to steady his good shoulder, a familiar looking woman having been gently pushed aside (Angelique! His brain remembers. He's so glad that she managed to make it out alive as well). "Now come along, the patient needs to have his injuries checked and his bandages changed."
"But..."
Phillip turns to look at Howard, his tired eyes clear with worry over him, looking like he wants to stay with him if only to make sure he's okay.
Howard wanted to say yes in any way he could. Yes, please let Phillip stay, please don't take him away again.
No. A voice, not unlike the poisonous one he heard before, hisses in his ear. You've caused him enough trouble. He's been through enough hustle. He needs proper rest from his perilous quest.
And from you.
"The patient will be fine, sir." The doctor who isn't currently escorting Phillip out the door says to him, before turning to Angelique. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room now, we're going to perform a brief checkup on the patient's wounds, we'll update you once we're finished."
Angelique nods in understanding, turning towards Howard with a small smile on her face. "Get well soon, Howard. Sorry that we had to remeet under these circumstances."
Howard feels that same cold, anxious feeling fill his body once again. The idea of being alone with people he doesn't know fills him with dread, and he doesn't know how it came to be.
But he doesn't get to try and ponder on why, for his eyes suddenly felt heavy and the pain that had been gnawing at his body dissipate from existence.
And before he knew it, he fell asleep once again.