Heath knows as soon as Tyson's elbow lands. A burst of pain, blinding in its intensity, stabs through his throat down nearly to his chest and it's all he can stand to not scream in agony right there, as his body is twisted into a pinning combination and his team loses. He sees out of the corner of his eye as Drew tries and fails to stop the pin, barely making it to the apron before the three count is called out by the referee. He still can't move, afraid that that same old pain will make itself known once more, so he lays where he'd been left, staring vacantly up at the lights. So many worries flittering around in his head, like what this could mean for 3MB, both on the music front and the wrestling front, and why it had to happen on Christmas Eve when he was planning on going caroling with his bandmates, and they had that single planned for New Years, and...
He stares blankly at the lights as Jinder and Drew come to his aid, rolls him out of the ring while their opposition celebrates in the ring, and as soon as he hits the floor, all of the pain comes crashing down around him, causing him to almost spasm as he grabs at his throat and rolls around in agony, his bandmates immediately realizing that something's not right. Drew tries to comfort him, keep him still, while Jinder yells for the trainer.
The man's there quickly, leaning over him and trying to pry his scrabbling fingers away from his throat. "Heath!" Drew snaps, gripping his shoulders almost painfully. "Let the man work! We gotta make sure you're ok." His thick accent breaks through the painful fog in Heath's brain and he releases his hold painfully slow, eyes fluttering as the trainer begins feeling around his throat and jaw.
Heath shudders and stares blankly upwards as the trainer mumbles out orders to the others surrounding him and finally he's allowed to sit up, the pain ebbing and flowing with each movement, no matter how minor. "Wha-" he struggles to say but fails as more burning agony stabs up his windpipe, leaving him breathless.
"Don't talk," the trainer warns him as he looks on balefully.
Drew takes over, heavy hand resting between Heath's shoulderblades to support him. "What's wrong with him?" His voice is tense, eyes dark and grim- as are Jinder's.
"Looks like he took a solid hit to the throat. Could be a number of things, won't know until we can examine him further," the trainer explains grimly, removing his hands and quickly collecting the few things he'd scattered around. "Let's move." He gives clipped commands but, instead of letting the shorter referees awkwardly help Heath to his feet, Jinder and Drew take over, easing him to a standing position and locking his arms around their shoulders as he seems to have little strength, his each breath raspy and painful while his throat swells in response to the trauma he'd endured. The on-call doctor greets them as soon as they're back up the ramp, running his own fingers along Heath's jaw and throat, shaking his head. Drew and Jinder share worried glances as murmurs about his breathing and how best to reduce the swelling quickly is volleyed back and forth between the doctor and trainer, none of it sounding exactly pleasant.
"Does he need a hospital?" Jinder speaks up in a lull of their discussion, stepping back after helping Drew ease their bandleader onto the cot in the trainer's room, giving the doctor room to take over.
"I think we can manage it from here," the doctor hedges after a moment, running his fingers against Heath's throat once more, relieved to find that the swelling hasn't gotten much worse than how it'd been from the ramp. "Let's apply ice packs to reduce the swelling." Once this is done, he grips Heath's hand tightly. "Hey, Heath. You with us?" Drew and Jinder both release soft, relieved breaths once their friend's eyes flutter open in response to this, the discomfort and confusion on his face almost painful to see for his friends. As he reaches up to brush away the cold item pressed against his skin, Drew and the doctor both grabs his hands and stops him. "No, it's an ice pack to reduce swelling," the doctor explains calmly. "You need it. Leave it. Trust me."
He looks all the more confused and anxious until Drew and Jinder both catch his eye and nods at him, their quiet confirmation of the man's words somehow soothing him slightly. Time passes by slowly as the two healthy members of 3MB keep an eye on Heath, the doctor and everything else carrying on around them. It's quiet, the only sound a soft buzz from the monitor in the corner showing what else is happening on the evening's Raw.
After almost an hour, the door clicks open and Heath opens his eyes with a grimace as a familiar voice bites into the silence. "Well, what scrape did Slater get himself into now?"
"Barrett," Drew drawls, rolling his eyes at the Brit as he leans against the doorframe and looks into the office with a bland expression on his face as Jinder speaks up, "He can't talk. Now's probably not the time for-"
A smirk spreading across Wade's face, he walks further into the room and, ignoring both McIntyre and Mahal, takes in Heath's prone form, his eyes softening only minisculely as he examines the ice pack still against his throat and side of his neck. "Lost your voice, Slater? Sound sensitive people around the world are probably rejoicing about now, any break from your attempts at singing is welcome." When Heath opens his mouth to try to yell back at him, Barrett rolls his eyes down at him and huffs. "Stop while you're behind, Slater. Don't strain yourself with another poor attempt at an insult."
The leader of 3MB almost looks apoplectic at this, the doctor stepping forward like he's about to intercede, but Heath raises a hand towards him, glare still locked on Wade. He clicks his teeth together angrily before grabbing a forgotten, half-melted ice pack from the table next to his cot and throws it at his former Corre leader, eyes now gleaming with satisfaction, which only grows when Wade snatches it out of midair, his own smirk spreading as the tension in the room thickens, Jinder sitting on the edge of his seat in anticipation of having to break up whatever fight comes from this.
But instead, he freezes as a faint chuckle comes from Wade's lips, the taller man dropping the pack harmlessly back onto the table and rolling his eyes at Heath. "Is that the best you've got?" he sneers, settling down on the chair next to Heath's cot and getting comfortable as the West Virginia native makes a face at him. After a few moments, he leans forward once more. "I wonder if all of this will affect your snoring- I might actually get some sleep tonight."
It's Heath's turn to roll his eyes and Jinder glances over at Drew, unaccustomed to the two men's bickering- as one sided as it is at the moment. "You'll get used to it," the Scot says, sounding almost bored as he picks at a fingernail. "They're always like this. Whatever you do, make sure to never room with them or ride with them."
He blinks, barely comprehending. "Alright."
Before Wade can continue poking at Heath, the doctor intercedes, quickly checking his throat and breathing out. "Heath, we're going to keep you maybe an hour longer. By the looks of it, the swelling is starting to go down. You'll need to continue using ice packs as needed, and I want you to schedule an appointment with your doctor back in Florida, but I'd say you're going to be ok. I'm advising you not to talk for a few days, I want you to rest your vocal cords while you recover."
"Can that be a permanent recommendation?" Wade interjects, teeth flashing as Heath glowers over at him. But there's a look of deep uncertainty in his eyes that all of them notice and Barrett sighs, turning to look at the doctor, all traces of humor leaving him. "It won't be permanent, right?"
"No," he says, half-smiling as Heath relaxes. "His throat is swollen, perhaps a bit bruised and strained right now, but with time, it'll heal and he'll be able to talk normally again."
"Fantastic," Barrett says half-sarcastically, instantly dropping his somewhat more considerate attitude. "Now he can stop pouting." Once the doctor finishes adjusting the icepack and retreats, the half-bickering continues as Jinder and Drew watch on.
"And yet they're... friends?" the Punjab asks, his eyes wide, still not comprehending all of this.
"Yeah."
"...How do they not kill each other?"
Drew shrugs his shoulders, lips twitching. "Your guess is as good as mine."