Corroded, Ch. 1
The ER at Gotham Central Hospital for Emergency Medicine was quiet, which was never a good sign. Whenever there was a lull, something happened. People shot in drive-by shootouts, GCPD officers sweating out the Scarecrow's neurotoxins, or thugs roughed up and left for the police by the ever elusive Batman.
Edward Wheeler yawned and plucked at his scrubs, anticipating the impending influx of patients that would keep him at GCHEM far past midnight. His shift was originally from eight AM to eleven PM; but shift schedules rarely ran their course. One of the perks about emergency medicine was that there was never a shortage of excitement. Or blood.
"Dr. Wheeler," Ed turned to one of the obstetricians from the OBGYN ward. He gave her a tired smile. "I thought you'd like to know that the hemorrhaging mother you transferred is stable. The fetus is fine and we're going to release her in the morning." The nurse relayed. Edward felt his shoulders sag a little in relief. The heavily pregnant woman had blown into the ER like a hurricane with blood pouring from between her legs. Ed had been the first to receive her and had spent a good hour trying to make her blood clot. When the blood had slowed, he'd had her transferred to obstetrics to have the baby checked on.
"Good to know," He said, "It's always good to hear someone made it through." He eyed a splotch of blood on his scrubs and frowned, not enough patients survived. Ideally, everyone who walked through the doors at GCHEM would leave happy and healthy, and ideally, it would spit people back out with a cast or a few stitches… but life in Gotham often tended to have other plans. Nobody at the hospital was unfamiliar with death. It came with the territory.
"Dr. Wheeler." The nurse tapped her foot. Ed noticed that she was wearing bright pink ballet flats and mentally commended her for putting her shoes in danger. Patients tended to frequently unload their stomachs onto the staff's shoes.
After a second, Edward realized she was still talking to him. "Would you like to go out sometime? Maybe grab a coffee? I know-"Ed stopped her by running a dark hand through his even darker hair.
"That's sweet," He replied, "But my-"A cacophony of yells shattered the temporary quiet of the ER. Available staff rushed to meet the paramedics coming in through the ambulance bay.
"We've got a gunshot wound. Close range!" One of the EMTs shouted. He shoved a rolling gurney ahead of him, and the encroaching doctors and staff fell back. Ed tried to peer over peoples' shoulders to see who had been injured, but nobody would let him through. He caught a brief glimpse of a gloved hand resting limply on the bed; but the patient was whisked away before he could see more. The crowd of staff by the bay door loitered, and it seemed like nobody wanted to take off after the gurney.
"What is it?" Edward asked impatiently. "Who was that on the gurney? Who's going to treat them?" His questions were ignored in the flurry of whispers and murmurs flying between the doctors. Their voices turned from shock and surprise to anger and dissent, and Ed could hear many of his coworkers swearing under their breath.
"I'm not treating him."
"He's a psychopath."
"Screw the Hippocratic Oath; I'm not going near him."
"He can die for all I care."
There was one name that bounced around between everyone's lips. The Joker. Edward couldn't catch more than a few sour words strung around the Joker's name. Either way, it was obvious who had been rolled into the ER, and nobody was really sure what to do about it.
"Who's going to see him?" Ed asked one of the other doctors. The latter had been at GCHEM far longer than Edward had, so he no doubt had at least some idea of what was going to happen next.
The other doctor scoffed. "Nobody, kid. You don't seem to understand or realize just who is in there. He's murdered politicians, abducted people, and whenever anybody so much as sees his card, shit hits the fan." Ed frowned.
"I know, people have told me. Still, it's our duty to-"His protest was cut short.
"Duty can kiss my ass." The doctor snapped, "It'll be a snowball's chance in hell that someone will volunteer to take him. And even if they do, he'll probably code on the table right then and there. Good riddance." Edward wasn't someone who lost his temper easily, but he found his patience wearing thin.
"But if we keep him alive, then he can face trial."
"And probably get off because of all the palms he's greased. Even if he does get arrested, he'll just break out of Arkham again. He deserves this." The other doctor said flatly.
"Fine. I'll do it, if everyone else is being a coward." Edward growled, spinning on his heel and chasing after the gurney. The doctor he'd left behind didn't try to stop him; but Ed could hear him relaying the news: the new doctor from Jump City was going to treat the Joker.
. . .
He looked different than he did on TV.
The Joker looked wan and pale; and his mottled green hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His chest rose and fell heavily; but nobody had even hooked him up to a heart monitor.
"I need gloves and a surgical tray." Ed ordered, startling the two EMTs that seemed comfortable just glaring at the bed. They left, and Ed gently clipped a sensor onto one of the Joker's long, pale fingers. The heart monitor beeped a slow rhythm that was asynchronous to the Joker's breathing. Edward quickly kept going. He hooked a finger around the Joker's vest and pulled it open so he could inspect the criminal's chest. A bullet hole sat on his abdomen, with the far edge touching his right oblique. Ed hissed through his teeth.
"Who the hell had the balls to shoot you?" He murmured. He reached out to turn on the overhead light, but a cold hand leapt up and snatched his wrist. Ed could hear the heart monitor trilling over the blood thundering through his ears. The Joker's eyes were wild and wide. Sweat poured down his face, making the makeup on his skin bleed.
"Do it." He snarled, "Or… don't." He chuckled weakly and yanked Edward closer to him. The young doctor immediately started spouting his normal introduction that he gave to all his patients.
"M-my name is Edward Wheeler. I'm going to help you." He promised. Up close, the Joker was even more terrifying. His eyes were bloodshot, and Ed was too afraid to pull away from him. The Joker fell back on the bed and released his grip as he succumbed to a fit of hacking and convulsing.
"No, no! I need those surgery tools! Now!" Ed roared, fully in control once again. There was no answer. He stared down at his unconscious patient and debated his options.
If the Joker went untreated, he'd die. Ed could blend back into the mass of doctors and staff who'd refused to help.
Or he could purposefully kill the psychopath and claim heroism at the expense of his medical license, conscience, and Hippocratic Oath.
Or….
He could do what he'd sworn he'd do when he got his license- help everyone- no matter their race, religion, sexuality, or views. Criminal or superhero. Politician or pauper.
Ed quickly gathered everything he needed, and then pulled a pair of surgical gloves onto his hands. He wasn't trained for surgery, just emergency medicine. Even if he could stabilize the Joker, there was no telling what he'd have to do next. He took a deep breath, then picked up the forceps and scalpel and went to work.
. . .
There was a lot of blood. More than Ed was expecting. Maybe it was just adrenaline, or the identity of his patient; but Ed found himself working quickly and swiftly. He cut through the subcutaneous layer of skin and fat, then probed around for the bullet. It was nestled right under the liver and beside the Joker's left kidney. It had slightly perforated the membrane of the liver, so Ed flushed it and used a self dissolving glue to seal the tear. He could hear the Joker's breathing stabilize along with the beeps of the heart monitor, and the thought gave him solace. He was doing his job correctly, to hell with all the other doctors. The second half of the procedure was easy, he gently flushed the wound, let the skin and fat fall back into place, and sutured it up himself. Ed made sure to connect the Joker to an IV bag to keep him hydrated, then checked his vitals one more time before leaving the room.
He'd almost expected the hallway to be crowded with staff trying to see the infamous Joker; but it was almost empty. People seemed to had remembered their duties and gone back to work, although Ed knew he'd probably be the topic of gossip all over GCHEM for a good while.
"Who gives a shit." He muttered. He checked his watch and realized that he'd worked far past the end of his shift. He'd spent over two hours on the Joker, and he was ready to go home and crash. Edward gathered his things, clocked out, and drove home; eager to feel the warmth of his own bed.
When he got home, the neighbors above him were arguing. Ed unlocked his apartment and tossed his bag and coat to the ground with a groan. He pulled out his phone and quickly sent the text he should have sent as soon as he left GCHEM.
Got home safe. He texted. A few minutes later, his phone pinged.
Goooood. Long shift? Ed smiled dryly at his phone.
U wouldn't Blieve. The JOKER was shot. Ed knew he'd get an instant reply. Dennys couldn't not be interested, if not at least curious or slightly worried.
NO. The immediate text read. The second part joined the first soon after. Holy shit who got him? Ed pursed his lips. He knew he was breaking patient confidentiality; but everyone else had already broken the rules anyway. He tentatively typed in and sent his best guess.
Batman?
No who treated him.
Oh. Me.
ED. OMG. Edward sighed. He was tired; and Den would keep him up all night explaining what had happened.
Tell U 2morrow. Exhausted. Love U. He texted. Dennys picked up on his reluctance- he was good like that.
K. Lock Ur doors tho. Love U 3 Ed smiled and tossed his phone aside. With a groan, he peeled off his scrubs and tossed them into the laundry room. He collapsed on his bed in his boxers, but fell asleep on top of the covers.
He didn't dream.