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“God, someone kill me already,” Petey muttered.
This day was not going well in his opinion.
First he woke up late and had to rush through their carefully crafted morning rituals, which aggravated him and upset Li’l Petey, neither of who enjoyed a change in schedule. Greg tried to make up for it by making them oatmeal as a quick breakfast, but it wasn’t even their favorite-apples and cinnamon with honey-so not only did he start off on a bad paw, so did his son! And on his second week of kindergarten!! So unfair.
After dropping Li’l Petey off five minutes before start of class, and apologizing profusely, Greg ended up being late which wasn’t too big a deal. The Chief adored him and he was never late before, so this was just a one-off. Petey’s bad mood followed him back home, and he had to spend a little bit angrily pacing around, listening to hard rock so he could get the frazzled nerves and pounding heart to settle down.
When lunch rolled around, he had calmed down enough to think he could do at least one good thing today instead of moping on the couch, and he made Greg and him some alfredo carbonara to eat together on his lunch break. They had been d...dating the past five months, a fact that continued to make Petey fluster up and Greg practically pounce on him to give him kisses.
He only put up a fight because it was funny.
He got dressed in a simple dark blue sweater and shorts since the police headquarters was always cold, and then he made his way there, thinking of how cute it would be to feed his blushing boyfriend. Oh yeah. He was TOTALLY getting ‘best boyfriend ever’ points for this.
Unfortunately, it seemed Villain of the Week decided to attack their dear city, and he stepped right in the middle of an ensuing attack, which led to...
God, if you’re up there, why the hell aren’t you listening?!
The villain-Doctor Dummy or Dinkle or Dodo or something-was busy going on and on and on about his evil plan as officers tried to surround him where he was hovering in the air on a flyer. He had taken a hostage and used some ray gun to put the poor sap in a fucking wedding dress of all things, tying him to a pole nearby.
Petey. It-It was Petey if you couldn’t like, get the hint.
He was pretty impressed in the ray gun if he’s honest, although he’s not sure what that has to do with like, anything. Something about love lost and crimes of passion, which, to be fair, he could totally get. He used to make weird inventions like that and make people turn into jello or kites just for fun.
Maybe this was karma. Maybe it was-oh wait the guy was laughing and motioning at the ground and oh hey Greg!
Petey wondered if the guy would regret not gagging him as he waved his tail lightly, catching a growling Greg’s attention. “Hello darling dearest dear, could you PLEASE blow this guy up already?!” he fussed, and Greg immediately switched from ‘super serious cop dog’ to ‘in love gushy dog’ in seconds, swaying and wagging his tail as he signed various endearing things that Petey could not see from this far up.
He was sure they were something like ‘of course darling cat ‘o’ mine, I will be there soon!’ or ‘I love you’ over and over. One of two.
Chief had the loudspeaker, so he could at least translate. “We’ll get you soon, Petey! And toss this sucker in jail!! No, I am NOT saying that, Dog Man!”
Greg’s whine echoed through the loudspeaker and Petey couldn’t hide a grin as the villain sputtered. “Stop ignoring me! Take me seriously!!”
“Nah,” Petey said, sticking his tongue out as the strange man-he looked more goo than anything-looked his way. “That’d mean we think you’re a threat, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t.”
“Oh?” the villain laughed darkly, approaching him at a swift pace, and Petey tamped down the desire to shiver and stiffen up, glaring instead. “Maybe you’ll take this seriously.”
Petey opened his mouth-to argue? To ask a question? To laugh in his face?-only for there to be a sting echoing through his abdomen.
He blinked, and the villain backed up, starting up a new monologue of taking him seriously and how Petey would die if they didn’t hurry and on and on and on.
Petey couldn’t hear half of it because his ears rang, and he stared down at the wedding dress that fluttered in the slight wind.
A knife stuck out of his abdomen.
Oh.
That’s...
Not good.
He could hear a distant howl and someone screaming, but he couldn’t pay it too much mind. There was a knife in his belly, and every breath made it feel like it was brushing a bone-rib? Spine?-and the white was turning an atrocious red by the second.
Red didn’t look good on him. He was orange with black stripes. Red didn’t look good on him.
His tail didn’t even thrash as he sucked in a breath, and then another, watching the knife bob in place, and all he could think of was being thankful the man didn’t pull it out, because he’d heard stories in Cat Jail about stuff like this, scars of knife wounds and ‘don’t pull it back out you’ll bleed out’ and ‘this one almost killed me’ about a wound on their side, was the knife there, was it, was it, was it-
He coughed sharply, vomiting up blood that spattered down against the floor as he slowly sunk down, his head feeling dizzy and face clammy as he stayed tied there, his thoughts whirling through mud and fog.
Despite their numerous battles and fights, he’d never once pulled a knife on Greg, nor the reverse.
New scar, he thought incredulously.
Who will pick up PJ? Came another thought as he felt the flyer shudder and a fire burst in an engine.
He hopes they don’t bury him in the wedding dress, he’d haunt their asses for decades.
He-
Where is he? Please. Don’t-Don’t touch him-no-
Everything’s too bright, he’s got-it’s time to pick his son up from school-he was going to take his boyfriend lunch-
There’s something loud, beeping, make it stop, stop, stop STOP STOP-
Someone’s warm paw curls with his, and finally, he can relax, even if people are still yelling...
Waking up-again-hurt, but in that way that you’re aware there’s pain, but it isn’t happening yet.
That didn’t make a lick of sense, but he thinks he should be forgiven for it due to the...everything.
The hospital room he wakes up in (yes, not a morgue, let’s go!) is...like every other hospital room he’s been in. Crisp white, smelling of disinfectant, obnoxious beeping noises...nothing’s changed from when he was ten, so that’s...something.
He can twitch a paw, just barely, but his body feels like it’s weighted down, and not by Greg sleeping on him. It feels like he’s been drugged from ear tip to toe claw as they ripped into his belly, drained him out, and hung him out to dry. It’s good to stay still then, but now he wants up, he wants to leave, he’s never been very good with hospitals-
The door opens quietly, and a woman walks in. Not Nurse Lady, so must be one of her coworkers. Her hair is a vibrant green, and he has to praise the tattoo curling from wrist to under her scrub sleeve. It’s very pretty.
Dragon or rose, something swirly, he can’t see it all the way.
The woman pauses, giving him a soft smile. “Petey, you’re awake, that’s good,” she says in that quiet voice nurses often have, stepping over to the beeping monitor and tapping on it. “You’re very stable for losing so much blood, it went through your stomach and nicked a rib, nearly got your liver. But we’ve got you fixed up, just need you taking it easy for a while.”
Petey made a soft noise, hacking a bit at some strange sensation in his throat. She motioned at him to sit up, and he winced both at the pull in his stomach and the various tubes stuck to his arms and...one in his nose?
“Gastric tube, lot of uses that one has,” she says lightly, and he doesn’t ask what it meant that he had to have that. He just follows her instructions on coughing hard as she pulls it out of his nose, shuddering at the sensation and licking at his paw to smooth over his nose over and again. She hides a laugh as she puts it to the side, and he shakily raises his paws up.
He can read Greg’s signs, it’s actually very easy to do, but doing the same feels so awkward and clunky that he hardly does it unless it’s with PJ. Teaching the kid together is a family bonding event and it’s...fun.
‘G-R-E-G-?’ he signs slowly, because if he speaks, he’ll throw up, he can feel it.
The nurse tilts her head, mouthing the letters slowly then nodding when he makes signs ‘D-O-G’ instead. “Ah, Officer Dog Man! He stayed as long as he could, but someone said he had to pick up your son from school. The Chief said he would but between you and me, I think he really wanted to talk to him about it, and these kinds of things come better from parents.”
Petey glances at the clock nearby, trying not to roll his eyes. It’s an hour before pickup, but he can’t fault his boyfriend from wanting the comfort of knowing their kiddo was okay. He nods slowly, grimacing as he shifts a bit, and she helps him, adjusting a blanket and moving the rails a bit so he could brace on them and move up a bit.
“The doctor will show you both how to keep the wound sterile and safe. Here, let’s make sure you can hold down some water.”
Eugh.
He took it back, he doesn’t like this nurse (Trudy, it says on her nametag) because she puts him through his paces. Lift your arm this way, cough twice, take a sip of water, say a word, rate your pain on a scale that doesn’t make sense, do we need to up your morphine, on and on and on.
...the good thing was, when she finally left, leaving him in a bit of a cotton-headed vibe of new pain meds dripping in and not feeling the zing of pain from his tail for once in weeks, Greg and PJ finally show up.
He perks up, the instant purr coming from his chest rattles the wires and ups his heartbeat, and he has to hold back a hiss of pain as Greg looks like he’d found the answer to life itself as PJ squirms in his arms. “Papa!! Daddy, put me down, I gotta hug Papa!” he cries, and Petey sighs, holding out his paws with a small shush.
“Not so loud,” he rattles out, hiding a cough as their tiny son gets passed between them, quickly moving PJ from climbing in his lap to his side. “Mm-mm. Gotta avoid my belly for a while. Big ouchie.”
“Big ouchie,” PJ echoes, sniffling back tears as he nuzzles in close, kneading at his hospital gown with a whimper. “Daddy said you got hurt! Papa! You’re supposed to be um, um, not...provoka-ting evil people!”
“Who taught you ‘provoking’?” he rasps out, squinting at Greg who just slumps in the chair nearby, leaning in to cup his chin and give him the softest kiss they’ve had in a while.
Okay, he can forgive Greg-or, most likely, Chief-for teaching Li’l Petey that one, so long as he got a lot of sweet kisses like that. He leans in for another when Greg leans back, chuckling as PJ whines and climbs up his arm to settle against his neck, still small enough to do so. He only gets so possessive when sick or when one of them is hurt, and refuses to let them ‘be ooey gooey!’ together.
Greg looks like he’s been ran over a few times while also juggling firebombs, he’s missing his jacket and only has on a tank top, and his tail is tucked between his legs as he signs. ‘How feel?’
“They have given me so much drugs, you might wanna investigate,” he whispers, grinning at the sharp laugh he gets in return. Everything feels far more settled when Greg places a paw over his where he’s cradling PJ’s tiny body. “Honestly? Probably far too good for being stabbed, but uh, I’m sure I’ll feel it. Later.”
Greg looks far too guilty for someone who wasn’t even there when Petey got snatched so he pinches the back of his paw, making the big ol’ puppy pout and whine. “None of that, ya jerk. I’m sure we put each other through worse paces than this.”
‘Worry,’ Greg traces the word over Petey’s paw, and he leans in, happy to feel that large fuzzy head lean against his.
“Yeah well...” he doesn’t shrug, because the motion feels like it might make him want to curl up and cry, but he makes a noise that amounts to it. “Looks like you get to play nurse for a couple’a days. Joy.”
PJ squeaks, untucking from his shoulder to peek up, stars in his little green eyes that mimic Petey’s. “Doctor Li’l Petey and Doctor Daddy to the rescue!”
“Mm-hmm,” Petey says, because the medicine’s clouding his usual thoughts, an unfortunate and unwanted side effect. But he can’t resist the siren call of sleep for too long, so he nudges PJ back down, sighing as he plunks his head back. “Settle down, kiddo, or you’ll have to cuddle up with Daddy.”
“Noooo,” PJ whines, and he gets a bedfellow for the moment, tucked against his neck as Greg shifts closer, licking his cheek and smothering the smell of hospital with the smell of family and baby and Greg.
“Wake me up when I can get home,” he mumbles, and he can feel another lick against his cheek, then a nudge as Greg licks PJ’s head, soothing the youngster into a nap, and he only feels half guilty about drifting off to sleep so fast.
He has to get his energy up to survive being doctored by these two, after all.
...he’s sure it’ll be fine. It’s his family after all. What could go wrong?