AN: I apologize for the delay. I fractured a bone in my foot and sprained my ankle while playing sports. I was focused more on my injuries than this. I also apologize for any medical inaccuracies. My research was not very extensive.
Xoxo, Roses
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The color drains from your face as you stare at the Baroness' injury. The combination of the Dalmations barking, the guests' voices, and the police sirens make your ears ring. You shove away your anxiety, swallowing the burning bile that rises in your throat.
The Baroness is your priority. Positioning your hand over the stab wound, you keep pressure to stop the bleeding. Her hands cover yours, pressing feebly. You offer her a weak smile that fades when you notice she's struggling to keep her eyes open. Placing your free hand on her lower back, you whisper. "Stay with me, pretty girl. Stay with me.".
Her eyes flicker open. She leans the majority of her body weight on you. Resting her head on your shoulder, you kiss her temple. She staggers alongside you, and you shout for help. She winces from pain and the volume of your voice. Silent tears flow down your cheeks as you mumble apologies between your screams.
Witnessing the Baroness' pain breaks you. Her grunts and winces cause more tears to fall from your eyes. Ambulance sirens invade your thoughts. A smidgen of relief flows through your veins before your nerves wash it away. You listen to the Baroness' shallow breathing as she hobbles beside you, relying on you entirely.
You lead her to the ambulance. An EMT immediately rushes beside her, taking some of the Baroness' weight from you. He helps her lay on a stretcher and loads the bed into the emergency vehicle. You hop into the back with her, clutching her hand. You whisper reassuring words as you stare at your intertwined fingers. Her warm red blood coats your palm sickeningly. Your stomach flips at the sight.
She stares up at you with watery eyes. Pain and vulnerability paint her face. Her voice is broken and weak as she mumbles your name. Your heart shatters as you soothe her, rubbing your thumb over her shaking hand. "Shhh, pretty girl. You'll be okay.".
You drown out the EMTs' conversation, gazing into the Baroness' drooping eyes. Caressing her cheek with your free hand, you catch bits and pieces of the conversation. "Severe hemorrhaging... Bp 90/60... Her heart rate's 120. She's tachycardiac...".
Their rapid-fire words flow through one of your ears and out the other. Tears pool in your eyes as you helplessly watch the Baroness suffer. Her breathing becomes short and heavy. She stares at you with more fear in her eyes than you've ever seen before. Her grip on your hand slackens, and you panic.
"Victoria. Victoria, no, please." you cry. The Baroness' eyes flutter close as she loses her fight for consciousness. The wires connected to her chest send the monitors into a beeping frenzy. The EMTs shove you out of the way, frantically tending to the Baroness as the ambulance pulls into the hospital.
Shouts of medical terminology and the noise of the monitors buzz in your ears. You barely register the firm grip on your arm, dragging you away from the scene. You watch over your shoulder as medical professionals roll the Baroness' gurney through a set of double doors.
Life and death with the faint, unmistakable scent of blood seeps through the veil of antiseptic, flooding your nostrils. Blinding white overhead lights blur your vision. Your chest rises and falls with sporadic breaths. The nurse holding your bicep leads you to a cold metal chair. Your thighs stick to the metal as you sink into yourself.
You feel a weight on your knees. Glancing at the veiny hands covering your kneecaps, you notice a gentle smile. The nurse, a younger woman, stares into your eyes sympathetically. Tears cloud your vision, but she looks oddly familiar. You squint, attempting to get a better look, but you're distracted. She runs the pads of her thumbs over your legs to soothe you, effectively pulling your focus from her facial features. "She'll be okay, love. Her title makes her our top priority," she reassures you.
You stare at the blood coating your hands. Her blood. It mixes with your skin tone and stains your palm. The dark red patch on your silver pantsuit makes you sick. Nausea washes over you, and you swallow the bile that rises in your throat. The nurse notices you gazing at the stain. "I'll get you something to change into. Okay, love?". She leaves to get you some different clothes.
You nod shakily, nostrils flaring in an attempt to prevent more tears. Your attempt was fruitless. Salty tears roll down your cheeks, stinging your eyes, and your breathing quickens. A pressure settles over your chest, squashing your heart and lungs. Each breath burns your trachea, becoming shorter than the last until you're hyperventilating.
Panic surges through your veins as you double over. Thoughts rush through your brain like a river while your pulse pounds underneath your skin, begging to escape. Your clothes feel too tight, too constricting. You pull at the bodice of your pantsuit, scratching yourself in the process.
The river of thoughts washes over you. The current is too strong, yanking you under before you can reach the surface. You drown in the deep sea of despair, choking on your tears and ragged breaths.
Your brain blocks out the sounds around you as you panic. The murky water of thoughts surrounds you. You reach your hand above the surface, a feeble attempt to save yourself.
A familiar weight on your knees grips your hand, draining the ocean that trapped you. You glance up to the same understanding smile as before. She grounds you to this moment, coaching you on your breathing. "There you go, love. Just like that. Inhale. Exhale. Perfect, love.".
With the nurse's assistance, your breathing evens out, and the pounding thoughts still. She rubs her hands over your legs and coos softly. When you're able to focus, you make eye contact with her. It's difficult because your eyes are puffy and swollen from your tears. Her sweet smile brings a sense of relief to you. She offers you clean clothing without saying a word. You accept the clothes with a weak, teary smile. "Thank you...". "Stella.". You furrow your eyebrows at the name's familiarity but brush it off. "Thank you... Stella.".
You ignore the peculiar feeling and head towards the restroom to change. Dressing in an itchy pair of scrubs, you examine yourself in the bathroom mirror. Black mascara streaks paint your red, swollen face. Sighing, you clean yourself up as best as you can. You don't want the Baroness to be concerned for your well-being instead of her recovery.
Sluggishily leaving the restroom, you return to the waiting area. You slump into the cold metal chair. Resting your head in your hands, you sink into yourself as you wait for the Baroness to get out of surgery.
A few hours later, Stella returns with a sickeningly sweet smile. She taps your shoulder, and the surgeon accompanying her informs you of the Baroness' post-op status. "She's stable but unconscious. She's lost a lot of blood, and her recovery will be rough. Take your time with her. I'll visit when she wakes.". You nod along with the surgeon frantically, thanking him as he leaves.
Stella puts a comforting hand on your shoulder and addresses you softly. "Would you like to see her?". "Please," you beg softly. She nods and roughly leads you to the Baroness' room. Her nails dig into your skin, and a scowl paints her face.
Air catches in your throat as realization washes over you. Now that you've stopped crying, you have a clear view of Stella's face. Although her hair is a different color, and her makeup distorts her complexion, you know exactly who she is.
Cruella De Vil.
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Someone Competent
Fanfiction*Slow Updates* Baroness von Hellman x Fem reader You're the Baroness' loyal assistant and the only person she can stand to be in a room with for more than 15 seconds. She's slowly starting to warm up to you, and you don't know why. Is it because yo...
