Log: Matt & Wade

[x-daredevil.livejournal.com]

Monday night, the leftover Chinese food that Matt got on Sunday reared it's ugly head once more.

(Log of Chinese food coming)



The medlab was not a place that Matt liked. It smelled like a doctors office, though not quite so bad as a hospital, and there were machines there that made strange noises. Venturing down though, Matt's head hurt, even with the sound proofed room and everything that was supposed to help him. It was a horrible migraine and he really wanted to put an ice pick through his ears. He'd been puking for a while though it seemed to be paused for the moment and had finally dragged himself to find the medlab to get something for it.

Shuffling down, he tried to remember the way he had been told when he had been given a walking tour of the school. Really, once he had found the right level, it was just a matter of following his nose, provided that he didn't upchuck in the process. Going through the door, he was practically assaulted with what Matt could only describe as a wrongness. Something smelled rank. Heaving, he tried not to puke again.

Wade was all curled up around his favorite little trashcan. Immunotherapy was just as much of a bitch as the regular chemotherapy had been. The dry heaving, at least, had stopped for a little while, so he was laying on his side, utterly exhausted and still nauseated, sweat beading his browline. And then... he noticed the kid standing in the doorway who looked like he was going to hurl, too. "Great," he said, voice rough from the amount of abuse his throat at suffered today. "We can have a vomit party. B.Y.O.T. Bring Your Own Trashcan. There's another one by the door. Don't throw up on me, kid."

That was when the stench of puke hit him and Matt fell to his knees, cane clattering to the floor as he groped blindly, literally, for the trash can in time to aim for it. He didn't make it. Once he was finished, he sniffled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I don't feel good," he said pitifully. "Doctor?" He didn't recognize the voice of the guy, but that didn't mean anything right now. He just wanted a doctor. He wanted the anti-migraine medications. Or for someone to knock him out. Something.

Watching the kid miss the trashcan, it took Wade a moment to connect the dots between the cane and the groping and the missage. "Damn," he said, his entire body going slack for a minute as he worked up the mind over matter shit in his head so he could force himself up and hold onto the urge to dry heave. He hadn't had anything in his stomach when he came in for treatment and, given the total lack of appetite he tended to have for most of the day after the immunotherapy, he wasn't planning on putting anything else in it. That meant dry heaves were useless, entirely unproductive, and Wade... needed productivity right now.

He forced himself up, gripped the trashcan for a moment, let the knuckles of his free hand go white on the edge of the mattress as he fought off the dizziness that only compounded the nausea, and then slid off the bed. "I'm coming up on your right, kid. Just hang on and we'll get you situated, then we'll get a doctor in to see you. I'm not one, but I can at least keep you from stepping in the... oh God. Old Chinese. Oh man." He held his own trashcan for a moment and tried really, really hard not to breathe. No breathing, no breathing, no breathing.

Wade couldn't close his eyes, though, because he needed to actually see the kid and he needed to not actually step in the old Chinese upchuck himself. So he held his breath and, once he was within range, took the kid's elbow so he could pull him up straight. "C'mon, let's find ourselves a different room." Then he led the kid out of the room they'd been in and down the hall a bit. "Nice... and steady."

Steady was more of a hope than a reality at this particular moment, but it was a testament of how bad Matt felt that he didn't protest being manhandled by...whoever this was. "Sorry," he muttered, "I thought I was done," he added though it didn't much matter right now. All he wanted right now was to curl up and try to make this pass and go away. He hated migraines. They were a complete buzzkill. He stumbled along, staying upright, but only barely. His cane had been left behind and normally that would cause Matt to be in a panic, but he was too busy focusing on not puking again to worry about it. He didn't want to move anyways.

They made it to another room, one with two beds, and Wade found another trashcan for the kid after getting him settled on his side. He handed over the new trashcan and said, "Okay, you stay there, I'll get a doctor. I'll be right back." So far, the mind over matter stuff - and controlled breathing - seemed to be keeping his own nausea at bay, but he was keeping his own trashcan tucked under his arm just in case.

He found Hot Doc Jean and told her where the kid was and about the mess, then went back to the room he'd been laid up in and got the kid's cane as well as his own laptop before heading over to where he'd left the kid.

Hot Doc Jean was just finishing up with an IV full of something that Wade hoped like hell was anti-nausea meds for the kid. Once she'd exited again, he shuffled inside.

Matt was the definition of pathetic as he lay there in his pajama, which consisted of a pair of cut off pants, knees up at his chest and one arm around the trash can. It had already seen a little use too. His hair was plastered to his forehead. Normally, when he left his room, even while wearing his pajamas, he had his glasses on over his eyes since they bothered people. Not tonight. "Th-thanks," he whispered, curling up a little more.

"No worries," Wade said, making his way over to the kid and propping his cane against the nightstand. His eyes were opaque, a milky blue that bespoke total blindness, and so Wade continued, "I put your cane against the bed." Reaching out, the took the kid's hand and led it to the cane. "If you need it, that's where it is. The bathroom's to the right of your bed. About six feet away. There's a chair to the left of the door. My bed's over here, right across from where you're laying. I'm going to go lay down now and try really hard not to throw up."

The IV hurt like hell going in, but now that it was there, it wasn't so bad and Matt was hoping that the medication and stuff worked. Reassured about his cane, Matt didn't pull away from Wade even though he was breaking about a billion rules of dealing with Matt right now. He could yell at the man later. When he had more energy to yell and wasn't puking. Matt did not like to be touched though, especially without someone asking first. There were too many people who thought it was perfectly fine to just grab the blind kid to get him where they wanted him to go and all that and Matt never stood for it. Right now though...this guy had some good reasons to and Matt was not in any shape to protest. "Who you?" he asked, voice gravely.

"Wade," he answered. "Resident cancer patient currently undergoing the pleasures of round two." Crawling up onto his own bed, Wade sat the laptop on the table next to him and turned out the light because it was starting to hurt his eyes. "Who're you?"

"Matt Murdock," he replied, his Manhattan accent thick, "Uh...blind guy. The throwing up isn't an every day thing, really," he tried to assure Wade. "Migraines and headaches are."

"Good to know," Wade said, closing his eyes even though the room had darkened for the most part. His mind over matter thing might've worked for a bit, but the nausea was coming back and, on top of everything else, he had fever and chills to go with it. That meant that, after all the excitement, he found himself shivering a bit. "Just let me tell you this, Matt Murdock. Immunotherapy is awful." Using his foot to pull the blanket up off the end of the bed, Wade wrapped it around himself and his trusty trashcan, then tried to relax his center so he'd stop shivering. It worked, but only a little. Fine tremors still ran through him and his feet were absolutely freezing.

Uncurling for a moment to pull the blanket at the bottom of the bed up over him a little, Matt tried not to wince at the itchiness. "I'll remember that," he agreed, clutching at the trash can as he felt a wave of nausea hit him. A moment later he threw up, but at least now he managed to get it in the trash can so that was something of an improvement. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," Wade said, shaking his head a little. "Not your fault. Just... yeah." He shook his head, the pillow beneath his cheek a little rougher than he was used to. "It's not late, but you should try and get some sleep anyway. Might help for when the meds kick it."

"It's too loud," Matt replied. "I hear...air vents and machines that go ping," he had no idea he had made a Monty Python reference. "And...you're loud," he added. He'd probably pass out eventually, but Matt wasn't one to go to bed quickly. "Anyways, not a kid that's gonna wake up and mommy makes it better. I know that," he felt bad, he wanted someone to make it all better. He'd take company like this, it was better than nothing, which was what he normally had. Or expected.

"Sorry," Wade said, working to keep his teeth from chattering. "'s just... really. Fucking cold, okay? I'll try to be quieter." Until the fever hit, which it probably would sometime soon. And then he'd be throwing blankets off of himself like they were going out of style.

"No," Matt shook his head and then stopped. Bad idea. Slowly, he moved so that he was sitting and clutched at the trashcan, trying not to puke anymore. His stomach certainly had to be empty by now, right? Once he thought he might be okay for a little, he grabbed the blanket on his bed and tossed it at Wade. It was scratchy anyways. "There," he said, laying back down. That was exhausting. "Don't matter. Can hear your heartbeat."

"Thanks," Wade said, shifting the blanket that'd landed near his midsection up and partially around his shoulders. He had to make sure it didn't obscure the trashcan, though. "And that's kind of creepy, just saying. At least nobody'll ever be able to sneak up on you."

Was it creepy? Matt sometimes forgot that he wasn't supposed to be able to hear things like that, "Can't help it," he rasped, "S'my powers. Enhanced senses."

Wade chuckled weakly. "Yeah? I've got a healing factor. Fat lotta good it's doing me now."

It took Matt a couple minutes in his sick-addled state, but he finally asked, "How'd you get cancer if you got a healing factor?" that didn't make any sense. And now he had a new power to add to his list of 'cool powers he didn't have.' Because having enhanced senses sucked.

"That, my young, vomiting friend, is exactly what everyone's trying to find out. Ugh."

Blind. Not dumb. Good to know. "Sucky," he replied, heaving a little, but not actually losing anything anymore. With luck, his stomach was empty now. It had been a while since he'd had food poisoning or anything like this. "I don't recommend the Chinese place that delivers here from town."

"Never seemed to bother me before," Wade commented. "But I'll keep that in mind."