Bodyslam

Gutwrench

He looks up from his phone when he hears the subtle shift in breathing pattern.

Mikey groans and his eyes drift open.

"Hey," Mitch says softly when Mikey's eyes find him in the chair next to the bed.

"Thirsty," he whispers. "Is it over?"

"Yeah, it's over," Mitch grabs the plastic cup of water from the little wheeled table, angling the straw towards Mikey's mouth so he can drink. "Everything went great. Is it easier to breathe now?"

"A lot."

"The hole wasn't too bad but since they were in there piecing your ribs back together they went ahead and sewed up your fucking lung. You win for most disgusting injury."

Mikey manages a weak smile. "When can I wrestle again? And where's blondie?"

Yes, of course Scott's location is secondary only to the future of Mikey's career. "He's in the waiting room with Kevin, they weren't allowed in until you woke up. And I don't know when you can wrestle again but you will. Some sports doctor is coming to see you tomorrow and the surgeon said you should make a full recovery."

His eyes close again, momentarily. "Thank fuck."

"Seriously." Mitch finds the remote control thingy and presses the nurse call button.

"How long have I been here?"

Mitch glances at his phone to check the time. "Probably nine hours now? You spent a chunk of that in surgery."

"Hmf," Mikey grunts. "Don't remember most of it. How long have you been here?"

"Almost seven, I think. It's kinda blurring together."

The door swings open and a far too cheerful nurse strides in. With much-appreciated efficiency he says hello, checks Mikey's vitals, and jots a note with his patient's dinner request before turning his attention to Mitch. "He can have visitors now, but just two at a time for tonight. His doctor will reassess after morning rounds tomorrow. Can I get you anything?"

A Xanax? Can he ask for one of those? "No thanks," Mitch summons a smile, hopefully a convincing one, and the nurse strides out of the room as quickly as he'd entered.

"You should go get some sleep and some serious hydration," Mikey mumbles, trying and failing to stifle a yawn and a smile. "You're a fucking wreck."

Mitch flips him off. "Don't make me regret sitting in this hellhole all fucking day for you, asshole. Am I that obviously hung over?"

"Very," Mikey nods. "I can tell and I'm out of my fucking mind on something because I can't feel shit."

"You're not on anything fun," Mitch corrects him, tapping out a text on his phone. "Bad for your lungs. They injected some shit into your rib nerves, that's why you can't feel anything. Kev and Scott want to see you, how 'bout I switch out with them?"

"M'kay, but please go home and get some sleep. Thanks for being here."

"I will, and of course I'd be here."

***

The next hour simultaneously drags and flies by. As soon as Scott and Kev take their turn to visit with Mikey, Mitch navigates the labyrinthian hallways to the nearest exit. He needs air - fresh air, real air, not the stale, sanitizer-tinged canned shit he's been breathing all day. He doesn't even realize how different the outside world feels until he makes it a few steps out the door, his head involuntarily tilting back and his lungs gratefully drawing deep breaths.