Youngbloods of the World, Stand Up and Fight

The "Miss Missing You" Concept

Lots of brotherly/sisterly fluff in this chapter.

Enjoy you nerds.

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When Hope finally came back to her senses, she saw that she was lying on her back under a bright light, and another girl with dark hair was standing over her. Every single inch of her body burned like it was on fire. Deep cuts had been carved into her skin, and blood was oozing out of them, streaming down her skin in tiny red rivers.

Suddenly, a new pain exploded in her left arm and she let out a low hiss, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Well well well, look who’s awake,” a voice said from above her, a smirk evident in her tone. Hope bit her tongue, turning her head to look up at the figure standing above her.

The girl did indeed have a smirk pulling at the edge of her mouth, her soft brown eyes twinkling with maniacal intelligence. “I was hoping you’d stay asleep for the duration of the disinfecting. It’s the part that hurts the most.”

“Yeah, no kidding…” she breathed, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Once the blurriness was almost completely gone, she saw that most of her body had actually been cleaned off. It was just in a few places where the cuts were still open, and small streams of blood were escaping her body. Hope looked up again, squinting at the bright light and trying to make out the towering figure above her. “Who are you, anyway?”

“The name’s Rina,” she answered, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, and then grabbing a rag that was damp with some kind of chemical. “I’m the medical genius on board this bus. And I can tell, just by lookin at you, that this is really gonna hurt.”

With that, she pressed the cloth to one of the largest open gashes on her patient’s body. Hope let out a shrill scream, her back arching off the table, as tears welled in her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood that remained on her face.

And this continued. For a ridiculous amount of time. Every single second of it, was immensely painful. The sting of the disinfectant chemicals shot through her body like a million needles piercing her skin from the inside out. After a while, her screaming got so loud, that Rina actually had to stop and take a break.

Coincidentally, that’s when Hope heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a familiar voice.

“Is she okay?” she heard Patrick ask as he slowly entered the room, looking over her cautiously. Rina shrugged, tugging her gloves off and throwing them on a table.

“Okay as she can be. The worst part’s over. I just have to stitch up the really bad ones, and bandage most of them. Including this real nasty one on her forehead. Thankfully, I was able to keep her hair clean after I’d washed it,” she answered, grabbing a needle and a spool of thread. Hope tensed, kind of shying away from the tools. Did she want to be fixed? Yes, she did. However her irrational fear of needles was trying to convince her otherwise.

Apparently noticing the terrified look on her face, Patrick knelt down and looked her straight in the eye. “Would you feel better if I held your hand while she did it?”

Biting her lip, she nodded, and Patrick took her hand, squeezing it in response.

It stayed like this for about another hour and a half. Rina carefully stitched Hope’s wounds and bandaged them, while Patrick held tightly to her hand. If she tensed up, or hissed, or cried out in pain, he’d squeeze her hand in reassurance. Sometimes, he’d even mumble an, “it’ll be alright, just hang in there,” or a, “she’s almost done, you’ll be okay.”

By the time Rina was done, Hope was completely bandaged, taken care of, and also slightly sleepy.

“Come on, we should let her rest,” Rina insisted, making her way out of the room.