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Ringmaster - fall damage
Grian was worried senseless when Scar didn't get up. Having offered to set up a net to catch him if anything went wrong but Scar had insisted he'd be fine. The villain had correctly assessed that there wouldn't be any safety nets in real life. He insisted upon the belief that everything would be fine if he practiced how he'd perform.
But his main mistake was choosing to run, jump, and dash along dilapidated buildings on the outskirts of town. Despite how his blood ran cold with dread, Grian was glad he ignored Scar's demand to stay home. A brief bout of boldness among the wreckage. The less people who went with him, the less that could be used to track him.
He had gotten in a few good runs before one of the floors collapsed; the floorboard rotten with age. Holes poked through it thanks to termites using it as a food source. "Scar!" Grian called out, running through the rubble. Struggling with all his might to pull the pile of wood off of Scar's body. Grian's first thought was the potential dust collecting in the villain's lungs.
Finally getting to his body, Grian pressed his ear to Scar's chest. Hoping to whatever deity pray listen that he was still alive. "You were supposed to stay home, nurse," Scar wheezed out. "Don't talk, you'll just exhaust yourself further…adrenaline's gonna wear off soon," Grian boldly reprimands.
Unfortunately for Scar, he ends up fainting from the agony. His breathing had grown labored. "Hey, stay awake. Scar! I need you to stay awake," Grian lightly tapped Scar's cheek. He didn't think Scar had suffered from a concussion. Granted, he hadn't really had the chance to check. Further up on the concern list was crush injuries as it could potentially overwhelm the kidneys—the pesky bugger that was rhabdomyolysis.
Shaking the thoughts away, Grian proceeded to carry an unconscious Scar home to his apartment. Propping him up on the couch as he rummaged around for supplies, hoping he had remembered to stock up from the last time he had had to patch up one of the Bamboozlers. Even stealing stuff from his job.
"You better not die on me," Grian spoke the "sleeping" villain.
Scar ended up waking up a few hours later with a groan. "Hey, sleepyhead," Grian greeted. Scar realized immediately where he was, having seen plenty of Grian's apartment before. That and the fact there was ice packs wrapped around his sore torso. A makeshift splint around his wrist and ankle; he had dislocated both.
"You had quite the fall. Worst than our first encounter somehow."
"Broke 4 ribs, 2 dislocations which I fixed while you were asleep, and a few lacerations. Also received a tetanus shot."
"Nice to see you too, doc," the words were sarcastic. But this was the best care he'd receive. "Guessing I'm benched?" He already knew the answers, but he wished the answer would be a no. Wishing that Grian would put aside his damn near bleeding heart and clear him anyways .
"Oh, definitely. Surprised your injuries weren't worse. We'll just have to see." Going on tell Scar he better not see him moving from the couch unless necessary. But that was going to be easier said than done. “I will strap you down if needed.” Grian threatened before going about cleaning up his tools. Washing them throughly—still remembering Scar's hands squeezing his throat. How long ago that felt.
Eclipse - arrow damage
"Why does Lizzie get better care than us?" Scar whined from his resident spot on the couch. Referring to Grian's bedside manner. It had been three weeks since his fall injury and now Lizzie had gone and gotten herself injured as well. Great. Now Jimmy would be the singular person on patrol. And he could only do so much by himself. But that was Scar being melodramatic.
"Because she doesn't squirm as much as you two." That and she had been smart enough to not pluck out the arrow stuck in her leg. Possibly the one thing stopping her from bleeding out. Lizzie had further done well to pack around the wound.
HQ, seeing Lizzie excel at close-quarters fighting had switched to targeting her from long range. With it, her injuries were jumping in severity. The main priority was keeping it from Jimmy during the primary assessment. Grian didn't have the best poker face. Every micro-expression scrutinized.
"So, what happened?" That was the million dollar question yet Grian already had a mental image in mind. But his training had taught him to have the patient tell him in their own words in case anything might be missed. That and sometimes the group managed to surprise him.
"…there was nothing left in the tank. Couldn't keep taking the punches so I figured I could flee for a split second. Plan a sneak attack while I remain hidden and catch them off guard. Been analyzing our moves too closely. They had people in the rafters…didn't spot them until it was too late."
"Buggers, looks like you'll have to change up your strategy,' Grian remarked as he checked that the arrow hadn't managed to hit the femoral artery. The marksman wasn't a good shot. They had almost missed Lizzie completely. A moving object was harder to hit than a stationary one. In this case, the arrow had lodged itself in Lizzie's outer thigh. Getting up, Grian handed Lizzie a bottle of brandy.
"You were unconscious," Grian dryly remarks, already hearing the question brewing in Scar's head. Back in the zone, the physician removed the packing material and picked up a pair of forceps. Using a cotton swab to dab debris from the wound. Making sure to clear the dried blood from around the arrow. "Ready?" Grian placed a stabilizing hand on Lizzie. Checking in before he went and yanked the arrow out. "Not really…but I'd rather it be out quicker." Taking a deep breath in, she nodded. "Let's do it."
Grian counted down from three; three, two, one. Gripping the arrow with the forceps, pulling it out of skin and muscle. Lizzie grit her teeth, able to feel its departure. Catching her breath, she asked, "no stitches?"
"No, I'm gonna use a glue adhesive. Less scarring that way." Pulling out some gauze, he wrapped it around her leg. Keeping the bandage in place. "You'll still be out of commission for a few weeks but less than fall guy here." It was amazing news to Lizzie's ears.
"Wait, who's going to tell Jimmy?" Scar piped up after his brief bout of silence. Voicing Lizzie's thought as well. Thinking she could get out of it due to her injury.
"Not me. You two can pick straws. But one of you has to tell him. Rip the band-aid off." Grian heard the two of them bicker and squabble as he went about making a pot of tea.
Boogeyman - burn damage
verything felt off when the Bamboozlers took time off. Whether it be a presumed vacation or them not feeling up to their usual chaos. The decision came when the final guy got burned. Literally. There was a new super on the scene who didn't care about having a clean fight. Whole ends justify the means sort—if there's a will, there's a way.
They had known Boogeyman's whole thing was being invisible until hit. So they brainstormed ideas regarding how to make Jimmy visible. Through their research, they found an instance where NASA had to deal with hydrogen leaks. Burning hydrogen couldn't be detected by the human eye so they used brooms to detect.
But this super was sadistic about the way they used this information. Knowing Boogeyman's vague location, they lit the spot ablaze. Correctly guessing and sinking the battleship. Jimmy immediately fled from the fight, blisters bubbling along the skin on his shoulder.
Running into Grian's apartment, gunning straight for the kitchen sink. Grian stops him when he sees Jimmy sets the temperature to cold. "No, no, no, do not. And I mean do not set it to cold. You need cool water, a little colder than lukewarm. Otherwise you're just going into the other extreme." He scolds while fixing Jimmy's mistake. Letting him go once it was the proper temperature. Jimmy bit his lip to keep from cursing, "I didn't expect them to do this!"
"You're telling us that a superhero did this?"
Jimmy gives Lizzie a withering glare. "Yes! I don't like them either, but why would I lie about this?" She puts her hands up in an offensive gesture. "Wasn't accusing you. More than anything, it's absurd."
Grian waited for ten minutes before guiding Jimmy to the kitchen table. "Wait there, don't know if I have any aloe vera in store." Checking the medicinal cabinet in his bathroom that held more over-the-counter products. Finding what he was looking for, he made his way back to Jimmy. "You mind me cutting your suit?" It wasn't a request, Grian was gonna cut it either way. Because right now, they couldn't risk the fabric sticking to his skin.
Jimmy got out a quick "no," before Grian got to snipping. "Don't we need to pop the blisters?" He dared to ask. Grian's head shot up at such a speed, the other two villains in the room looked at each other. Concerned that he had experienced a bout of whiplash. "Absolutely not. If we pop them, it'll risk infection. And not the type of infection where you can get rid of it with antibiotics. But the type that can turn septic." Grian stopped himself before he started rambling off about staph infection and MRSA.
"Now if they pop on their own, that's fine. Currently, it's a second degree burn. What we can do at the moment is douse it with aloe vera and give you some painkillers." Lizzie grabbed the painkillers and a Gatorade, handing them to the burnt man. "Down the hatch." It was all awkward…the atmosphere was thick with tension.
"I know I don't have any say in what you three do but consider yourself out without a doctor." Grian announced as he finished wrapping Jimmy's now aloe vera covered shoulder in loose bandage. He needed a break. "What about check ups on—?"
"I'll still do check ups on your ribs and his burn. Lizzie's is close to being healed up and I've already gone over physical therapy exercises she can do." His reply was cold and clipped. Clinical. "But after that, you will have to find somebody else. I'm sorry."
Ringmaster + Eclipse + Boogeyman - faulty care
Grian stuck true to his word. He had even changed the locks on his apartment door to show that he meant it. The group at first was angry. The locks were nothing, they could just go through the window. But the windows were also now locked and there was an alarm system set up. It had cost Grian a pretty penny to get installed but he considered it worth the effort. Worth the expense.
Getting the memo, they went about finding another under the table physician that could heal their wounds. But everyone they found—they weren't Grian. So they went back to the old tried and true method of doing it themselves. How hard could it be?
They needed help—all three of them had gotten infections from poorly done stitches. Buying a burner phone, they called him. Aware that he wouldn't pick up otherwise. He had blocked all of their numbers. "Hello?" The physician absentmindedly picked up the phone after the third ring. Used to after hour call from his coworker, Mumbo. But it wasn't Mumbo. "Hello? Anyone there?" The Bamboozlers were surprised that it had successfully worked.
"Grian—don't hang up. It's bad. Not as bad as Jimmy's burn which thank you for helping with—"
"Scar. What do you guys need?" Releasing an exasperated sigh, interrupting Ringmaster. "Antibiotics probably, disinfectant. All of us," Scar's words are rushed. Lizzie and Jimmy's ears are pressed to the phone as well. Attempting to listen in—forgetting that the speakerphone exists. "Alright, fine. C'mon over, just knock loudly on the door. Or shout." They couldn't see him but the physician pinched the bridge of his nose before hanging up.
Past the locks and alarm, they all sat somberly as they waited. "You're right, the stitches are infected." Having found the tell-tale signs; fever, pus, and redness. Looking inflamed and angry. Wetting three towels, he placed one on each of the trio's foreheads. Instincts telling him to break the fever. "I don't. I don't want to know what happened, not this time. Think the infection is karma enough." His words were harsh but he couldn't find any other way to express it. None of them objected, not wanting to be kicked out.
One by one, he works on cleaning their wounds properly. Some antibacterial soap and water. Undoing the stitches on Lizzie and Jimmy to help drain the pus. "You three really go through these painkillers like candy," he remarks. A bit of lightheartedness to break the mood. But also a trio of villains who couldn't go to the hospital for any of their injuries were bound to go through more painkillers than the average Joe. Not of the Hills variety.
Grian slumps in a nearby chair, clawing off the blue, latex gloves. He hadn't even managed to change out of his scrubs when Scar called. He had been working overtime at his day job to ignore the guilt of kicking them out. But seeing the arrow embedded in Lizzie's outer thigh and the burn along Jimmy's shoulder—it was all too much. Especially when it was the work of those who dubbed themselves the hero. Choked by the fear that he might see them die.
Grian - how the tables have turned
He was burnt out. Running on fumes for the past few months. And it finally got to the point of adversely affecting his own health. The Bamboozlers hadn't heard from the physician for a few days. The reversal of roles felt weird; a deep sense of unease. Feeling the need to check in on him, they went directly to his apartment after their latest bout of chaos. No injuries in sight for once.
"Grian? Buddy, where are you?" The first thing they did was disable the alarm. Beyond that, they discovered that all the lights were off in the apartment. Dishes piled up in the sink with takeout boxes on the table. There wasn't even a kettle brewing on the stove. "Guys, listen," Lizzie pointed out. Someone was in the apartment. Grabbing their attention, they all heard it.
The coughs and wheezy breathing. Following it down the hallway, they stumbled upon a gravelly feverish Grian. Asleep and wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. A mostly empty box of tissues on the nightstand. Used tissues strewn around said box. "So what's the plan?" Jimmy asks the other two.
Lizzie placed a hand on Grian's forehead—still warm. "Gonna put the kettle on, get some soup in him. Some decongestants. Depending on how lucid he is, a shower. We need to break the fever." With that, they proceed to move like chickens with their heads chopped off. An organized sort of chaos. Lizzie ransacks the medical cabinet while Jimmy and Scar occupy the kitchen. Bumping hips, Scar waited for the kettle to whistle as Jimmy managed to find a can of soup in the pantry.
Gathering back in Grian's bedroom, they partially unwrapped his cocoon before shaking him awake. "Huh, what are you guys doing here?" They don't answer right away. Instead prompting him to take the decongestant. Spotting how he grimaced at the taste, Scar gave him the tea. "Thought you knew by now that we take care of each other. Consider this us repaying the favor for everything you've done."
"Think you can keep food down?" Jimmy spoke, lifting up the bowl of chicken noodle soup. Grian's voice was hoarse, "yeah, I can eat." Shakily swallowing a few spoonfuls. Glancing at each other, the trio without words thought the same thing; "is he going to be okay?"
They're unable to suggest a shower, Grian's already fallen asleep after eating his fill of soup. Snoring away like a freight train. "He'll pull through," Lizzie claims.
"How do you know?" Jimmy shoots back.
"Just do."
That and with everything the group had gone through, he had to. Indeed he did roughly a week later. Grian did have to tell them to stop walking on eggshells around him. Insisting he was fine.