A Brief History of Head Wounds
WN: Well, I haven't written a fan fiction in a hell of a long time, and it would happen to be that I'd turn to a dead fandom, huh? But as I can't find any active RP accounts, here I am! Hopefully there's still people around to read things…
In my natural fashion, the first thing I'm coming in on is whump. As ever, please fav and review, show me the fandom lives! J
That was a long writer's note!
Enjoy the Jeff abuse.
"I need a drink." Just what he'd wanted. Alright, so maybe there were worse things than spending the night with his friends, but he'd really wanted to go to that club. He should've suspected they would've worked out how to trick him there. Oh well. But now Britta had stormed off (after he prevented her from giving everyone ear bleed, for all the thanks he got.) Fully intending to maybe try some of that overly expensive rum Pierce had brought, he got to his feet. Definitely not planning on spending the whole of tonight sober.
The impact was sudden and painful, wooden fan blade striking to back of his head. "Ow!" he ducked his head and shoulders slightly. Why do I have to be so attractively tall? he thought, gingerly reaching up to touch the striking point. Pierce laughing wasn't surprising, of course not - neither was Annie's asking if he was okay. Glancing up, he caught the genuine surprise on her features, the way she was stood. That was sweet. "Barely felt it." Mr Macho told her, but as ever, it didn't stop Annie.
"Well, let me look at it in the bathroom."
"Britta's in the bathroom." Troy pointed out, and Jeff would've tried to deflect the attention if the back of his head hadn't been hurting quite so bad.
Not that he disliked the attention, of course, it just didn't go too well with his whole 'unhurtable' routine.
Instead he was lead off to the kitchen, where Shirley was obsessing over her baking. He hated to admit how nice the food normally smelt - didn't want to enable her, of course - but actually he felt slightly queasy right now.
"Oh no, what happened?" her overly sweetened voice didn't help with the pain now behind his eyes, but thankfully Annie prevented him from making a scathing remark.
"Minor head wound." at the same time as he ran his hands through his hair more thoroughly, checking his fingertips. There were a few red smears and he bit back a curse; must've broken the skin. Britta spoke down the hallway but he wasn't paying attention to her words, eyes now focused on Annie. Shirley scurried off. Good.
"You make a good nurse." he couldn't help the slight smirk on his lips, even though she wasn't actually checking him properly. Seemed more like she was just playing with his hair. But the sensation definitely wasn't unpleasant and he was still a little disconcerted by his mixed feelings for Annie. She seemed to genuinely care, which was… odd, but something he'd gotten more used to over the last year.
"I can't help but worry about you, Annie." the words slipped out - probably something to do with the pain - but he knew they were genuine. He did worry about her. The neighbourhood, her family, the constant risk with the pills… and not in an I-want-to-sleep-with-you way. It was disconcerting for him, to say the least.
"You're very important to me." he let their gazes meet again. She looked genuinely astonished, her expression shifting slightly. He took the lead, as he was used to, tilting his mouth in. And she reciprocated. Okay, this was… good. Nice. Distracting. He let himself relax into the moment, the kiss starting to lead on, until -
"I'm sorry." he blinked in confusion as she pulled away, reading her face. "I just … had a weird, deja-vu. That thing you said about worrying about me?" he was still smiling, still caught up in the moment of the kiss, wondering what she was going to say. Maybe about something he said in the first term? And then…
"It's something my dad always used to say."
The smile slid off his face like butter and he was caught in a mixture of confusion and personal horror. The fact that he'd said something dadlike was … disturbing in and of itself. That threw a strange slant on their… whatever this was. And then there was the idea that he… ugh. He was old, then. Goddamnit, Annie. He resisted the urge to put his head in his hands (god, the back of his head was pounding) and hitched his suave, guarded personality back into place. Talk it out, he told himself, throat bobbing.
"Shouldn't've brought it up! Just reminded me of my dad. Anyway-" and then she leant back in to kiss him.
Unable to hold back the natural revulsion he was now feeling, Jeff brought up his hands to deflect her, leaning back.
"Little makeout 101? Ease up on the dad talk. And, you could uh- " he could feel stickiness on his lips, smell the pungent smell. Almost too sharp and considerably too sickly in his nose. "Ease up on the bubblegum lipgloss." Annie looked mildly offended, but it quickly dropped into her normal pouty Disney business. He looked away, stopping his lean and moving towards the lounge, hearing Abed climbing the stairs. Shirley's shouting reached him. Well, shit. Annie moved ahead of him, into the mess of shouting and horror that was going on between their friends. So, what's new?
Then awkward silence fell. He looked away from the desk, away from Annie, away from everyone in the room. Abed made a comment about the timeline - what the hell was that kid on? - and about how he wondered what other things were going on. Nobody responded. His head was starting ache worse than ever, a pounding that was splintering from where the injury actually was.
"Jeff." he looked around. Abed was looking at him. At his name, several members of the group also glanced around, though Annie was still pointedly looking away. "You seem to be swaying. You should probably sit down. Blunt force trauma is an issue with your kind of injury."
He blinked a moment at the other, then nodded slightly, "Yeah…" he murmured, crossing the space to sink into a chair. He reached up a hand again, touching the wound.
"There's blood on your shirt." this time it came from Pierce. "You bleeding? Wow, what a pansy." he laughed, as Jeff pulled his hand back again. The man wasn't wrong. The scalp was still bleeding, and now most everybody had stopped fighting and was staring at him.
"It's fine." he held up his hands slightly defensively - not his best idea when there was blood on his hand - and heard Shirley mutter something. But he couldn't make out the words. "Why don't we just sit down and enjoy the pizza, alright?" the way everyone was staring at them, he had a feeling they were expecting a Winger speech. They weren't going to get one.
"Troy, you got any Tylenol?" he asked, shutting his eyes and wishing the pain would dial back. There was speaking - shouting? - but his ears had started to ring and he couldn't quite make it out. Opening his eyes again, he blinked a couple of times to clear them, seeing that Shirley and Britta were shouting at each other again, Annie was on her phone, Pierce holding the strange doll that had freaked Troy out - Troy was gone, then no, he was emerging from the kitchen - and Abed was stood across the way, staring at him, still holding the slice of pizza he'd been flopping about. Jeff thought his mouth moved but the light was hurting too much so he shut his eyes again, resting his head down on his arms.
A moment later there was a hand on his shoulder, gripping firmly, and he forced his eyes open. The ringing had dialled back to a sort of static, and he could hear Troy, though faintly.
"Jeff? You need to stay awake, man. Annie's called the ambulance." how long had passed? There was a glass of water and a couple of pills on the table, which he didn't remember arriving. Annie was behind him. He could feel her fingers gently probing the wound, though the pain was helping keep him there. Or so he thought. Where was everyone? He blinked forcefully, trying to clear his eyes, noticing that Abed was talking to someone. Must've been Troy, the eyes weren't on him. Another wave of fog rose up and although Troy was trying to shake his shoulder awake, he couldn't help but rest his head down and shut his eyes again.
"Jeff!" Annie? His cheek was stinging. Had she slapped him? "Jeff! Come on, Jeff, wake up - " she was scared. His eyes flickered. Opened. There was a sigh of collective relief.
"Why's erryone starin'… 't me?"
Pierce made a scathing comment and was cut off.
"You appear to have passed out for a moment," Abed informed him, in his usual concise way. "Approximately fourty-five seconds, to a minute, judging by when we noticed. Not long enough to enhance any brain damage but a worrying amount of time. You most likely have a concussion. The paramedics will be here shortly."
"Oh, good." his voice sounded dry and the scrape of a glass caught his attention. He took it from Troy, when it was offered, realising again that Annie was now stood next to him, a hand gripping uncomfortably tight on his shoulder.
Taking slow sips of the water (as instructed), he let his eyes roam the table. The quietness was… odd, but he soon saw it wasn't out of any concern for him. All of them shot him worried glances (except Abed), but Shirley and Britta were sat far from one another, Britta looking giggly and Shirley armed with her 'I-will-be-a-good-Christian-mother' face. Pierce was on his phone. Troy was on the other side of him, picking apart a piece of pizza, glancing between him and Abed. And Abed sat direct opposite, emotionlessly chewing a slice of his own pizza.
"Alright, will somebody shout at somebody or something?" Jeff grumbled, "This is really weird. You're all too quiet."
"We're just concerned about you," Shirley offered up her latest gem. Britta snorted,
"Yeah, of course you are. Now you're done calling me a heathen you can pretend you're this wonderful, Christian woman who cares so deeply about him!" then she burst into giggles.
"Is she high?" Jeff found himself asking, as if knowing Britta couldn't give a straight answer. Then there was a buzz. He groaned, reaching up to his head, shutting his eyes. Troy immediately rushed off to let the uniformed paramedics in. So begins the show, Jeff thought vaguely to himself, trying to hitch a cocky smile into place. By the glances, he failed.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o
"Jeff?" he blinked his eyes open, lifted his head up. Where was he? His brain whirred, clicked into gear, slotted him into the study group and offered up a little selection of memories as to how he got here. Ah. Fuck.
It had been two weeks since their little get together to celebrate Troy and Abed's new apartment, and he wasn't doing too great. Most of the concussion symptoms (confirmed by the paramedics) had faded, though he'd been considerably more aggressive for the few days after. One or two of them had speculated that it was something he was pushing to get away with being nasty, but considering how stressed out he seemed by some of his outbursts, they finally concluded that he genuinely had no control over it. This, though, was still sustaining.
Yes, he'd milked it a bit once or twice, but… ow. He gingerly touched his cheek where it had hit the desk.
"I'm starting to think you need a pillow permanently strapped to your head." Shirley commented, trying to make light of the situation.
"Unlikely, the pressure on the skull from the straps would most likely increase the chances of him fainting." Abed offered.
"Just a joke." Shirley muttered, looking vaguely irritated.
"I think you should go see the doctor again, Jeff." Britta commented, "See if you can't find some herbal tablets that'll help with -"
"Yeah, sure, like some gay little pill is gonna stop that." Pierce snorted, "He just needs to get his act together and stop acting like a girl."
Dead silence followed.
"Guys, I'm fine. I went. They said it would wear off. I'll be fine." he replied, only partially lying. "Now that I've thoroughly embarrassed myself, shall we actually study?" he shook his head a little, trying to ignore the headache that had been pounding the entire morning, and opened his book. Abed continued staring at him, but Jeff pretended not to notice. He was fine. Totally fine.