DoomPet

Chapter 105

"Well... would you like the good news, or the bad news first?" The doctor walked into the small exam room and walked over to a little computer, clicking away at the Slayer's medical file, filling in information. He seemed unfazed at whatever bad information he was holding back from the Slayer.

The Slayer quickly scribbled out a note and held it up, tapping it, 'Bad news first.'

The doctor looked over and laughed, shaking his head. "No, then it will spoil the good news. Good news first!" He turned his swivel chair to the Slayer and clapped his hands together, "You're able to start speaking again! Just a little bit at a time, I'd imagine you know your limits with that." He instructed the Slayer on a few tests to see how much his voice had healed. "You won't sound nearly as nice as you did before and your throat will probably always give you issues."

His first words were more like syllables and prefixes than an "Oh thank god." He could handle the bad as long as he had the good.

Despite the annoying gauntlet of speaking random words to the doctor who would nod and mark something down on a sheet of paper, the Slayer let out a sigh of relief. Once it was over, he nodded his head and went to write out a note, but stopped and spoke instead. "Bad news?" After all his work and healing his voice was about the same as it was once before. It sounded like he was gargling gravel while getting kicked in the balls. The painful tugging sensation was luckily still gone but it stung a bit when he talked, like a sore throat.

"Bad news is you need to keep your burns much cleaner. I'll get you some good soap, not the cheap shit they have in these apartments. Also no more wrapping them with gauze or any kind of covering. I'm refilling your antibiotics-" the doctor babbled on, but the Slayer didn't mind.

He was relieved he still somewhat had a voice. In the end as long as he could muster out an "I love you" to Crüe, Daisy, and the kids. He'd be ok.

Of course, the bad news was still quite bad. The instructions for keeping his wounds clean were horrific, much more horrific than he originally thought. Scrubbing the tender half healed flesh hurt with his hands, but they gave him a brush and demanded he use it or a washcloth when getting a daily bath. He felt like a child.

Apparently his skin was healing so fast, much faster than muscle, they were worried about it healing from the outside and leaving him with a festering mess on the inside, so he had to continuously knock off his deep scabs and meticulously pry open every deep laceration he sustained from debriding his burns before it trapped anything inside it.

Once he got home he greeted Crüe by actually speaking to him and went into the bathroom. He tried for about three minutes to clean his neck before he had tears in his eyes and was calling for Crüe. "Hey, I need you." He was sitting on the side of the tub with a bit of blood running down his neck from where he opened up a deep laceration and found it very much had healed over itself.

Crüe seemed to light up in a panic, he grabbed a towel and tried to hold it to his neck but the Slayer shook his head. "We have to take you to the medbay, how do they expect us to be able to fix this?"

"I did it before," he paused to take a breath and rub his throat, avoiding the wound, "It was easier, years ago."

"Do you need help?" Crüe asked, feeling bile rise in his throat when the Slayer nodded, handing him a hard bristled brush. He helped the man into the tub, leaned his head back and basically started scrubbing his neck going from right under his jaw dragging straight down to his collar bone then up and again. He watched as the Slayer gripped onto the side of the tub and squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

A bit of blood came out of the various deep lacerations along with a bit of gunk Crüe couldn't even fathom to look at. This poor man. The Slayer never deserved any of this. If he had been stronger he could have stopped these horrific injuries.