Chapter Text
The wind on the coastal cliffs of Paldea was refreshingly fierce, and it roared from the ocean to the tall, dry grass until the whole place looked like a paradise.
And honestly, for Roy, this was paradise.
"Wait up! Just let me see your wings!" Roy shouted, but his voice was snatched away by the wind almost as soon as it left his mouth. He pumped his legs harder, his sneakers pounding against the ground.
Ahead of him, dancing on the updrafts with infuriating ease, was a Wattrel that looked bigger, older, and even more prideful than Roy's own Wattrel. It was magnificent, with black and yellow feathers sleek against the blue sky, and its chest puffed out as it stored electricity from the wind. Then, he dove sharply toward the cliff edge.
"Fuecoco! Use Ember! Try to get its attention!" Roy commanded as he pointed forward.
Fuecoco, trotting faithfully but breathlessly behind his trainer, opened his mouth. A small puff of flame emerged, but the coastal wind immediately scattered it into mere sparks… and then it tripped over a tuft of grass, rolled, and then popped back up with a confused "Fue?"
"It's okay! We got this!" Roy laughed, because the thrill of the chase drowned out any sense of caution. He was an adventurer, and this was what they did - but most importantly, he was a kid. A very athletic, energetic, oblivious kid.
The Wattrel banked left, skirting the very edge of the precipice where the land dropped away three hundred feet into the churning surf.
Any sensible trainer would have stopped. They would have seen the crumbling limestone, the slick patches of mud from the morning mist, and the sheer drop, and they would have realized that no wild pokemon encounter was worth a free fall.
But Roy was not looking at the ground. Instead, he was looking up.
"I see where you're going!" Roy grinned as he adjusted his hat and sprinted forward. He calculated the Wattrel's trajectory, and if he jumped across the jagged rock ahead, he could stop it before it flew out to sea.
He did not, however, see the loose shale hiding under a patch of moss. So when Roy planted his right foot to pivot, ready to launch himself toward the Wattrel, the ground beneath him did not hold and disintegrated.
One moment, he was running, and the next, he was violently falling towards the ground.
"Whoa!!"
In an attempt to hold himself, his foot slid out even more and his momentum carried his upper body forward while his legs went sideways.
He fell hard.
He did not go over the cliff, but he tumbled violently down the steep, rocky incline leading toward the edge. He rolled over sharp stones and scrub brush, and his body battered against the unforgiving terrain.
Fuecoco screamed at the scene, panicked.
Roy instinctively threw his arms out to stop his roll, trying to catch himself before he slid off the precipice. But then, his right arm slammed into a jagged limestone with a sickening, wet crunch.
He came to a stop in a cloud of dust, with his sneakers dangling precariously close to the drop-off. Silence returned, broken only by the crashing waves below and the distant cry of the Wattrel, which had long since lost interest.
"I'm… I'm okay…" Roy wheezed as his lungs felt flattened, and as he felt his partner desperately nuzzle against his head. He blinked and stared up at the sky. "I'm okay, Fuecoco. That was just a little tumble."
He tried to push himself up, but the scream that ripped from his throat was primal. It was not a word, but pure, unadulterated agony that his adrenaline-riddled brain did not process.
Roy collapsed back onto the dirt, gasping, while tears sprang instantly to his eyes. "Ow. Ow, ow, ow." Fuecoco reacted immediately, running around Roy with growing panic.
"I'm fine, buddy, I just…" Roy gritted his teeth and then looked down at his right arm.
The adrenaline that had been masking the pain for the first few seconds evaporated instantly and was replaced by a cold, horrified shock.
His forearm was bent, not at the elbow but in the middle, at an angle that arms were never supposed to bend. The sleeve of his favorite jacket, one he rarely even wore, was torn open and soaked in dark red, and there, protruding through the skin and the fabric, was the stark white jagged edge of his bone.
It was not just broken. It was exposed, and worse, as Roy looked closer with widening, terrified eyes, he saw that the wound was not clean. The fall had driven his arm into the dirt, and the jagged opening where the bone poked out from was packed with dirt, crushed limestone dust, and bits of dry grass.
"Oh," Roy whispered as the color drained from his face so fast it looked like he had vanished. "That's… that's bad."
The world started to go gray at the edges, and he suddenly felt extremely ill.
"Fuecoco," Roy managed to say, his voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. "Get… get Friede."
Fuecoco did not need to be told twice.
The little thing spun on its heel and bolted. It ran until its legs burned and the world blurred, and when it reached the clearing near the Brave Olivine, it let out a panicked, echoing cry.
Friede, luckily, was mindlessly walking on the outdoors part of the deck, preparing to have a battle with Charizard and Cap. But when he heard the cry, he dropped everything and mounted Charizard, because that cry only spoke of bad news.
He turned just in time to see Fuecoco skidding to a stop, eyes wide and shining with fear. Friede followed its gaze, and his breath caught in his throat. Even from a distance, even before he saw the bone and the damage, Friede knew.
He was already moving.
Charizard barely had time to brace before Friede ordered it to fly towards Roy. He dropped to one knee beside Roy, his usual easy posture gone, replaced by something tight and coiled.
"Hey," Friede said, and for once his voice did not sound playful at all. It was low and steady, the way you spoke to something fragile. "Hey, kid, kiddo. Look at me."
Roy's eyes fluttered, unfocused. "Friede…?"
"I'm here." Friede's gaze flicked to the arm, and his jaw clenched hard. He did not let his reaction reach his face, because Roy did not need to see that. "Alright. Okay. We've got you."
Fuecoco pressed itself against Roy's side, trembling.
Friede gently nudged the pokemon back. "Easy, buddy. You did good. You did exactly right by calling for help."
He slid one arm behind Roy's shoulders, careful not to jostle him, and angled his own body between Roy and the drop-off, instinctively shielding him from the cliff.
"You're not in trouble," Friede continued quietly, as if that were the most important thing to say. “Accidents happen. Right now, your only job is to breathe. Can you do that for me?"
Roy nodded weakly.
"That's it. Eyes on me," Friede said. His hand was firm on Roy's back, grounding. "I've got you. We're gonna go back to the ship, okay?"
Only then did Friede signal for Charizard to come closer.
"Don't look at it, kid," Friede ordered, his voice tight. "Eyes on the horizon. Just breathe."
Seconds later, they were rushing through the corridors of the airship, and Roy was on a stretcher, though he could not remember when that had happened. Murdock was running alongside him, looking pale and terrified.
"Is he okay? Friede, is he okay?" Murdock kept asking as he wrung his hands.
"Infirmary, alert Mollie. Now," was all Friede said, though his tone told everything.
Word traveled fast on the Brave Olivine.
By the time the stretcher rounded the corner, Liko was already there, standing rigid in the corridor with Sprigatitto clutched to her chest. Her eyes went straight to Roy, and the color drained from her face.
"Roy?" she whispered, taking a step forward.
Murdock reacted instantly. He left Friede and Roy's side, letting them continue their run to the infirmary, and gently put himself in her path.
"Hey, hey," he said, lowering his voice. "Not right now, Liko."
"But-" she said, her voice trembling as she tried to peer past him. She caught a glimpse of red-stained fabric and immediately felt sick. "I just want to see him. I just want to make sure he's okay."
Friede did not stop walking, but he did look at her.
"Roy's going to be fine," he said, and even though his voice was controlled, there was an edge of command in it. "Mollie needs space to work. This isn't something you need to see."
Liko swallowed hard, her hands tightening around her partner. "I can help. I won't get in the way."
"I know," Murdock now said, more gently now. "That's why I'm asking you to do something else, okay?"
He nodded toward Fuecoco, who was standing frozen in the hallway, staring after the stretcher with wide, horrified eyes.
"Can you stay with him?" Murdock asked. "He's scared, and he doesn't understand what's happening. Roy would want him with someone he trusts."
Liko hesitated for only a second before she knelt down in front of Fuecoco. Liko wrapped her arms around him without thinking. Behind her, Murdock went back to Roy and gently guided the infirmary doors shut, sealing off the bright lights and the urgency inside. But before that, he looked at Liko again.
"We'll tell you when it's okay for you to come in." he promised.
Liko nodded, even though her eyes never left the door.
She sat there on the floor with Fuecoco in her lap, rocking him slightly, whispering reassurances she desperately hoped were true.
Mollie was already there when the doors to the infirmary closed. She stood in the center of the room like a general on a battlefield, with her pink hair pulled back sharply as she snapped latex gloves onto her hands.
"Status." she barked without looking at Friede, her eyes locking onto Roy.
"Compound fracture, right ulna," Friede reported as he wheeled the stretcher into position under the bright lights. "He fell on a cliffside, there's significant contamination. Dirt, rocks, the works."
Mollie moved, and she did not walk so much as teleport to Roy's side. She took one look at the mangled arm, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the damage. She saw the bone, and she saw the blood, but mostly she saw the dirt.
"Chansey, prepare the irrigation trays. Saline, four liters. Get the Betadine. I need the fracture reduction kit and the debridement tools," Mollie ordered. Her voice was ice cold, and there was no warmth in it, only professionalism and logical thinking.
Roy looked up at her, his eyes wide and wet. The shock was starting to wear off, and the pain was returning with a vengeance, a throbbing hammer striking his arm with every heartbeat.
"Mollie…" Roy whimpered. "It hurts. It really hurts."
"I know," Mollie said, though she did not look at his face. She was cutting away his sleeve with medical shears and exposing the gruesome injury fully to the harsh lights. "Friede, hold his shoulder. Murdock, hold his legs. He's going to thrash."
"Can't you… can't you give him something?" Murdock asked, his voice trembling as he looked at the jagged bone. "Put him to sleep?"
"Not yet," Mollie said grimly. "He's in risk of shock, and I need to check for nerve damage before I sedate him heavily. Plus, this wound is packed with soil, and if I don't clean it out right now, he loses the arm to sepsis in days. I need to know if he can feel what I'm doing."
She turned to her tray and picked up a large syringe of local anesthetic.
"Roy, listen to me," Mollie said as she finally looked at him. Her blue-gray eyes were intense and frighteningly serious. "This is going to be bad. I cannot lie to you. I have to clean the dirt out of the inside of your arm, and then I have to pull the bone back into place."
Roy shook his head as panic rose in his chest. "No. No, don't touch it, please don't touch it."
"I have to, Roy." Mollie said. "Friede, hold him."
Friede's heavy hands clamped down on Roy's left shoulder and chest. "I've got you, Roy. I'm right here. Look at me. Don't look at the arm."
Mollie did not count to three. She just worked.
She injected the anesthetic around the wound edges, but Roy barely felt the needle pricks over the screaming agony of the break. Then she picked up the irrigation nozzle.
"Flushing the wound." she announced.
The stream of saline hit the exposed bone and torn muscle.
Roy screamed.
It was a high, thin shriek of a child who was hurt and scared. He instinctively tried to jerk away, his body arching off the table, but Friede held him down, his own face twisted in sympathy.
"I know, I know," Friede murmured near Roy's ear. "I've got you."
Murdock held his legs harder, though he himself looked seconds from crying at seeing Roy in such a state.
"Hold him still! He'll hurt himself harder!" Mollie snapped, because there was no time for gentleness here. Every second the dirt stayed in the marrow was a gamble with infection. She worked ruthlessly, using forceps to pick out larger pieces of gravel and grass from the torn flesh.
"Please stop! Stop it!" Roy begged, sobbing openly now. "I want to- it hurts!"
Mollie ignored him, because she had to. If she stopped because he was crying and screaming, she would not do her job, and Roy would suffer the consequences. She focused entirely on the wound, her world narrowing to the difference between clean and contaminated.
"Halfway done," Mollie stated to herself, her voice tight. "Chansey, more saline."
"Chansey!" It handed over another bottle, looking distressed but remaining professional.
For ten minutes, the infirmary was filled with the sounds of Roy's crying, screaming, and the disturbing sounds of cleaning a catastrophic wound.
Finally, Mollie set down the forceps. "The wound is clean. Now I need him under. Fully."
She turned to the IV stand and adjusted the drip, pushing the sedative through in a slow, steady stream.
"Roy," Mollie said, her voice cutting through his sobbing. "I need you to listen to me. I'm going to put you to sleep now. When you wake up, it's going to be over."
Roy's eyelids were already drooping, the fight draining out of him as the drug pulled him under. "Mollie…"
"I've got you," she said, and this time her voice was almost soft. "Close your eyes."
He did.
Within seconds, Roy's body went slack, his grip on the table edge releasing, his breathing evening out into the deep, steady rhythm of general anesthesia. The tension drained out of the room like a held breath finally released.
"He passed out," Friede sighed out.
"Good. That's what I needed." Mollie's hands moved with new speed and precision now that she could work without a screaming child fighting her. She turned to Chansey. "Prep the intramedullary nail kit. I need the titanium rod, the targeting guide, and the drill."
"Chansey!" It moved to the surgical tray, laying out the sterilized instruments in a clean, precise row.
Mollie pulled the overhead surgical light closer and repositioned Roy's arm under its harsh glare. She examined the fracture site with fresh eyes now that the wound was clean and the muscle was fully relaxed, her fingers tracing the edges of the break with careful precision.
"The contamination is cleared," she murmured, more to herself than anyone. "Bone fragments are displaced but salvageable. I can nail this."
She looked up at Friede. "Hold his shoulder steady, just as a precaution.”
Friede nodded, his jaw set, and placed both hands firmly on Roy's left side to brace him.
Mollie picked up the targeting guide first, a rigid metal frame that she clamped to Roy's forearm just above the wrist. It would keep the bone aligned while she worked. Then she picked up the drill.
The sound of it spinning up filled the infirmary, a sharp, mechanical whine that made Murdock flinch and look away.
Mollie did not hesitate. She positioned the drill at the end of the ulna, just above the wrist joint, and drove it in with controlled, steady pressure, creating the entry point for the rod. The bone gave way with a grinding resistance, and she worked methodically, clearing the path.
"Almost there," she said quietly, not to any of them but to herself.
She set the drill down and picked up the titanium rod, a long, thin shaft of surgical steel that caught the light. She held it up for a moment, checking its length against Roy's forearm, then slid it into the entry point she had drilled.
Inch by inch, she guided it up through the hollow center of the ulna, using the targeting guide to keep it perfectly aligned. When it reached the fracture site, she slowed, her hands impossibly steady, and eased the rod through the gap, pushing the displaced fragments back into position as it passed.
The sound was a faint, wet scrape of bone against metal.
Mollie locked the rod into place at the top and secured it with a screw at each end, using a small torque wrench to tighten them with precise, even pressure. The bone was no longer in two pieces. It was one, held together by titanium, and it would stay that way.
She exhaled and set down the wrench, examining her work and tilting the arm slightly under the light to check the alignment. Satisfied, she nodded. "Chansey, irrigate the entry site one more time. I'm closing now."
Her hands flew. She stitched the surgical entry point first, small and clean, and then turned back to the larger wound where the bone had broken through. She closed the torn muscle layer by layer, working inward, and then sealed the skin over it, neat and tight. Then, she packed the wound with sterile gauze, wrapped the arm in layers of padding, and finally applied the cast, molding it to his forearm while Roy remained mercifully unconscious.
Only when the cast was hardening and Roy's vitals were stable on the monitor did Mollie step back.
She peeled off her blood-stained gloves and dropped them into the biohazard bin. Her hands, which had been steady as rocks while she was digging gravel out of a child's arm, gave a single, violent tremor.
She clenched them into fists, took a deep breath, and turned to the others.
"He's stable," she said as her voice returned to its usual flat, stoic register. "The bone is fixed. Titanium rod, locked at both ends. The wound is clean. I've started him on high-dose IV antibiotics to prevent osteomyelitis."
Murdock let go of Roy's legs and slumped against the counter, looking green. "That was… that was awful. I've never heard him scream like that."
"He fell down a cliff, Murdock," Mollie said, though her eyes were softer now as she looked at Roy's sleeping face. "He had every right to scream."
…
When Roy woke up, the lights were dim.
He felt heavy, as though his body was made of lead, and his brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton. The sharp, screaming agony in his arm was gone, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache that felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.
He blinked, trying to focus.
"Welcome back," a soft voice said.
Roy turned his head, and Mollie was sitting next to his bed. She was not wearing the blood-spattered medical coat anymore. Instead, she was back in her usual clothes, sitting with one leg crossed over the other and looking tired.
Chansey was there too, standing right next to his pillow.
"My arm…" Roy mumbled.
"Is fixed," Mollie finished as she nodded toward his right side.
Roy looked, and his arm was encased in a bright red cast, his favorite color, and elevated on a pillow. It looked clean, and it looked safe.
"Did I…" Roy hesitated as the memories of the procedure came flooding back, including the pain, the screaming, and the begging.
Heat rushed to his cheeks, and it was not from fever. Tears welled up in his eyes again, hot and stinging.
"I'm sorry," Roy whispered as he looked down at his lap.
Mollie tilted her head. "What are you apologizing for?"
"For crying," Roy sniffled. "For screaming. Adventurers are supposed to be brave, and I was… I was a baby. I tried to pull away."
He expected a lecture, and he expected Mollie to tell him he was reckless, that he should have watched where he was going, and that he had made her job difficult.
Instead, he felt a weight on his good shoulder.
Mollie had leaned forward and placed her hand there. It was not the iron grip she had used during the procedure. It was gentle and grounding.
"Roy," Mollie said. "You snapped one of the major bones in your body in half and filled it with rocks. If you hadn't screamed, I would have been worried there was something wrong with your brain."
"But Friede…"
"Friede was terrified too, and so was Murdock." Mollie said bluntly. "He just hides it better."
She stood up and motioned to Chansey, and it stepped forward and gently nudged its soft, round body against Roy's uninjured side.
"You sat through the debridement," Mollie continued. "Do you know what that word means? It means I had to scrub raw meat, and you stayed on the table. You didn't fight us, not really. You let us help you."
She picked up a glass of water and held it for him.
"Bravery isn't about not feeling pain, Roy," she said, her voice quiet but fierce. "And it's not about not being scared. You were terrified, and you were in agony, and you got through it. That is brave."
Roy took a sip of the water, and the cool liquid soothed his throat, which still felt raw from the screaming. He looked up at Mollie, searching her face for any sign that she was just saying it to make him feel better.
He only saw honesty.
"You really think so?"
"I know so," Mollie said.
A small, weak smile tugged at the corner of Roy's mouth. "It still hurts."
"I know. The nerve block is wearing off, and I can give you something for that now." She checked the IV pump. "But first…"
The door to the infirmary whooshed open.
"Special delivery!" Murdock's voice was hushed but cheerful as he walked in carrying a tray. On it was a steaming bowl of stew that smelled rich and spicy, which was Roy's absolute favorite.
"Mollie said you needed to replenish your energy," Murdock said as he set the tray down on the rolling table. "And I thought hospital food is boring, so I made the Spicy Berry Stew."
Roy's stomach gave a traitorous rumble.
"Can I eat?" Roy asked Mollie.
"Slowly," Mollie commanded, though she was already rearranging his pillows to help him sit up. "If you throw it up, I'm not cleaning it." she joked.
Roy managed a real laugh this time. He reached for the spoon with his left hand, and although it was awkward and his hand shook, he managed to get a mouthful of the savory stew. It tasted like home, and it tasted like safety.
"Thanks, Murdock," Roy said with his mouth full. "Thanks, Mollie."
Mollie watched him eat for a moment, her eyes tracking his movements, checking his color and noting his pain levels. She saw the exhaustion in his slump, but she also saw the resilience. The spark was not gone. It was just dimmed for the night.
"Don't thank me yet," Mollie said as she moved toward the door. "You're on bed rest for at least three days. No running. No climbing. And absolutely no running near cliffs. Plus, no moving your arm for a loooong while.”
"Aww, Mollie!"
"Three days, Roy. Or I give Chansey permission to use Double Slap."
She stepped out into the corridor, and the door slid shut behind her.
Once she was alone in the quiet hallway, Mollie leaned back against the cool metal wall. She closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky exhale, then rubbed her temples where a headache was starting to form.
She looked down at her hands, which were steady again.
"He's okay," she whispered to herself, repeating the mantra she needed to hear. "You fixed it. He's okay."
Inside the room, she heard Roy laughing at something Murdock said. It was a little weaker than usual, but it was genuine.
Mollie pushed off the wall and straightened her jacket. There was no time for panic now. She had things to do.