Learning to Bear It
Part 5
"Okay, all done," Foggy announced as soon as Matt's screams died away into a whimper and then silence. "Now we can get you out of here and into the hospital."
"Uhh," Matt said again, but then he whispered, "You really … smell … like a bear."
"Good thing he's a strong bear," Foggy's father said. "Because he's going to have to carry you up that ladder."
Foggy hadn't thought of that, and looked at the ropes in dismay. Next to him, Matt tried to sit up, cradling his injured arm to his chest. He was trembling visibly, perhaps from cold, definitely from shock.
"Fireman's lift, I think," his father went on. "It's the only way."
"Guess you're right," Foggy said with a sigh. "Sorry, Matt. This is going to hurt. Again."
"I found the keys!" his mother called out, and his father called back, "Great! We'll be right there!"
To Foggy, he said, "You want me to hold the ladder when you go up?"
"Yeah," said Foggy. "Yeah, that might help. Okay, Matt, here we go."
Foggy had never before thought about the fact that bears don't have thumbs, which made it awkward for him to get Matt up and over what passed for shoulders on a bear, or to keep him from sliding down Foggy's back, all without using his claws. His father's assistance also wasn't exactly a big help, but eventually, they managed. Thankfully, Matt had gone limp by then, finally passing out from the pain, and Foggy was relieved as he walked over to the ladder on his hind legs. His father held the ladder from behind, and Foggy started to climb. It was difficult; his bear legs were shorter than his human legs, which meant having to stretch to reach the next rung, and he could only use one of his front paws because the other was trying to keep a grip on Matt's good arm.
The climb seemed to take forever, and of course Matt woke up before they reached the top and started making that horrible "uhhhh" sound again. Foggy winced every time he heard it. When he could finally stick his head up through the hole, he found that he also had to do some fancy maneuvering to get both himself and Matt up through the opening, but at last they had reached the floor above. Still clutching Matt around his neck and shoulders, Foggy moved away from the ladder on three limbs, but although he found it was easier for himself, Matt was threatening to slip off sideways, so he had to stand upright again. He didn't switch back until they were right outside the SUV, despite the skunk stench that made him feel as though he'd had his muzzle right in the skunk's glands when it had sprayed. The smell was only marginally better when his nose became human.
"Hi … Mrs Nelson," Matt murmured. His voice was weak and shaky.
"Hello, Matt." His mother had opened the back door, and Foggy did his best to get Matt into the vehicle without hurting him too much. At last, Matt was on the back seat, and Foggy leaned against the side of the SUV, suddenly exhausted. His head ached ferociously, too, though he hadn't noticed it in the heat of battle.
"Foggy?" Matt asked.
"I'm here, buddy," Foggy said. He really should straighten up and get into the car so they could go to the hospital, but he just … needed a moment.
"This car stinks … like skunk. Makes me … feel sick."
"Yeah, that's my dad. Not that he usually stinks like one, I mean. He turned into a skunk. While we were trying to find you."
"Uhh …" Well, at least it wasn't the silent reaction that had met Foggy's bear announcement.
"He sprayed the car so that we could follow the scent."
"Uhh …" Matt said again.
"It's complicated. We'll talk about it later," Foggy said. Matt was certainly taking it better than Foggy had reacted when Matt's secret life as Daredevil had been revealed. Okay, so Matt was half dead right now and not in any condition to make much of a protest. But then, Foggy hadn't been sneaking out every night to turn into a bear and fight crime, then limping home with various injuries, forever running the risk of being arrested as a vigilante and bringing his friends down with him. He hadn't even thought of his shifting ability when he'd confronted Matt about secrets; he'd actually spent most of his life trying to repress it, or at least ignore it.
In the midst of his ruminations, Foggy's stomach rumbled, and he felt suddenly and inexplicably ravenous. Thankfully, just then, his father came out of the warehouse. "Anna, gimme the keys, I'll drive. Foggy, you just gonna stand around there while your best friend bleeds to death?"
"I'm not bleeding," Matt started to say, and Foggy gave him a little poke in the arm that made him quickly add, "that much."
"Coming," Foggy mumbled, and staggered around to the other side of the vehicle. Once he was inside, he put his elbow on the armrest, leaned his head on his hand, and shut his eyes. He was dreaming about macaroni and cheese, potato salad, even coleslaw when the door on his side opened without warning and startled him awake.
"We're at the hospital," his mother said. "Think you can help me get Matt inside? Your father's going to park this car and come back with ours."
"Um, yeah, sure," Foggy said. What was he doing, falling asleep when Matt was hurt? The brief nap had helped his exhaustion, but only a little, and he felt clumsy and off-balance as he climbed out and went around to help Matt out. Instead of a fireman's lift, which he didn't think he could manage again, even as a bear, he settled for slinging his best friend's good arm over his shoulders, and holding him around the waist. On the way in, however, he tripped on a step. Matt put his leg down automatically to catch himself, then all but collapsed with a cry of pain.
"Oh, shit, buddy, I'm sorry!" Foggy cried, flailing for balance to keep both of them from going down. "You okay? Did I make things worse? I made things worse, didn't i?"
"It's just … a crack," Matt gasped, obviously trying to play it down, which made Foggy feel even worse.
Inside the emergency room, a nurse got them a wheelchair for Matt. Foggy lowered Matt gratefully into it as the nurse asked, "What happened?"
"My partner was kidnapped and tortured!" Foggy replied. "They drilled holes in his arm and leg, right through the bone!"
"Do you need me to call the police?" she asked, checking the wounds. Foggy glanced down, too, and was horrified to note that new trickles of blood were running out of some of the holes in Matt's leg.
"I know an officer at the precinct, I'll call him later," Foggy said. His stomach growled again, and was it just his imagination or was he starting to feel faint? "I just want to make sure Matt's all right first."
"I'll get you the forms to fill out," the nurse said, went away, and returned a minute later with the promised paperwork. Foggy took the clipboard with a sigh and handed it to his mother, then wheeled Matt around to a space in the waiting room in front of two empty chairs.
"Do you think there's anything to eat around here?" Foggy asked as he slumped down. "I can't believe I'm so hungry!"
"You've used up a lot of energy, shifting … things … around that you're not used to shifting," his mother said. "I'll go see what I can find."
"Thanks, Mom." Foggy sighed, and got to work filling out the forms. The nurse returned with a quick bandage for Matt's leg, and adjusted the footrest so that it was horizontal, then went away again with vague assurances that it wouldn't be long before a doctor could see him.
Several minutes later, after Foggy had finished with the forms, his mother came back with sandwiches and juice from a vending machine. Foggy practically inhaled them, and it was only when he'd finished that he remembered his friend. "Hey, Matt, you want something?"
"No, thanks." After a moment, Matt added, "It's better if I don't eat … if they have to do surgery."
"Surgery?" Foggy almost choked on the last swallow of juice. "Matt, what else is wrong with you? Usually, you're all "I've just cracked every bone in my body, but I'm fine, don't worry, I can still tap dance," and now you're talking about surgery?"
"I can't tap dance," Matt replied, and Foggy wanted to hit him.
"That was just an example, buddy! But seriously, what else did they do to you?"
"They didn't … do anything else. Just … the drill. But I can't put any weight … on my leg … and I can feel … it's not good."
"So when you say, "it's just cracked," you mean, it's really shattered?"
"Um … maybe not shattered …"
"Oh, Matt," Foggy's mother sighed. She took his good hand in both of hers and just held it. To Foggy's surprise, Matt screwed up his face and swallowed hard, as though trying not to cry.
"Mr Murdock?" called the nurse. "Matthew Murdock?"
"That's you, buddy," Foggy said, standing up and reaching for the handles of the wheelchair. "Want me to come with you?"
"Yeah," Matt choked out. "Please."
In the end, it turned out that the bone in Matt's leg was not shattered, only cracked. To be sure, it was a rather large and deep crack, right along the top of one of the drill holes, but it didn't count as a complete fracture because it didn't go all the way through. The other drill holes were more numerous than Foggy had expected, and the doctors debated for some time whether to put a cast on Matt's leg, or just a splint, like his arm.
"Yes, put him in a cast," Foggy said. "A full body cast, from neck to toe, otherwise he'll jump out of bed to-morrow and start tap dancing again."
The doctors gave him curious looks, but he didn't care. Somebody had to protect Matt from himself.
"Boxing, Foggy … it's boxing," Matt corrected him, then added, "Please … no cast. My skin is so … sensitive. And I won't start … boxing again … for at least a week."
"A week? Say ten days, and we've got a deal," Foggy conceded. "And boxing, tap dancing, what's the difference? Just a few extra arm movements, that's all."
The doctors grinned. Matt just looked pained.
In the end, they decided that a splint would do the job, along with a stern warning for Matt to keep his weight off his leg as much as possible for at least two weeks. Matt also managed to convince them that he didn't need to stay in the hospital and couldn't afford it anyway, whereupon Foggy offered to swipe a bedpan for him on the way out. One of the doctors laughed and commented on the good idea, but Matt merely frowned disapprovingly. Foggy ignored it. Matt also got a prescription for antibiotics to ward off any possible infection from dirty drill bits, and the doctors told him to have his regular health care provider check both his leg and his arm in two days, just to make sure. Then the doctors prescribed potent painkillers that Foggy knew Matt would never willingly swallow, and finally, everything was finished and they were ready to go.
Go to Part 6
"Uhh," Matt said again, but then he whispered, "You really … smell … like a bear."
"Good thing he's a strong bear," Foggy's father said. "Because he's going to have to carry you up that ladder."
Foggy hadn't thought of that, and looked at the ropes in dismay. Next to him, Matt tried to sit up, cradling his injured arm to his chest. He was trembling visibly, perhaps from cold, definitely from shock.
"Fireman's lift, I think," his father went on. "It's the only way."
"Guess you're right," Foggy said with a sigh. "Sorry, Matt. This is going to hurt. Again."
"I found the keys!" his mother called out, and his father called back, "Great! We'll be right there!"
To Foggy, he said, "You want me to hold the ladder when you go up?"
"Yeah," said Foggy. "Yeah, that might help. Okay, Matt, here we go."
Foggy had never before thought about the fact that bears don't have thumbs, which made it awkward for him to get Matt up and over what passed for shoulders on a bear, or to keep him from sliding down Foggy's back, all without using his claws. His father's assistance also wasn't exactly a big help, but eventually, they managed. Thankfully, Matt had gone limp by then, finally passing out from the pain, and Foggy was relieved as he walked over to the ladder on his hind legs. His father held the ladder from behind, and Foggy started to climb. It was difficult; his bear legs were shorter than his human legs, which meant having to stretch to reach the next rung, and he could only use one of his front paws because the other was trying to keep a grip on Matt's good arm.
The climb seemed to take forever, and of course Matt woke up before they reached the top and started making that horrible "uhhhh" sound again. Foggy winced every time he heard it. When he could finally stick his head up through the hole, he found that he also had to do some fancy maneuvering to get both himself and Matt up through the opening, but at last they had reached the floor above. Still clutching Matt around his neck and shoulders, Foggy moved away from the ladder on three limbs, but although he found it was easier for himself, Matt was threatening to slip off sideways, so he had to stand upright again. He didn't switch back until they were right outside the SUV, despite the skunk stench that made him feel as though he'd had his muzzle right in the skunk's glands when it had sprayed. The smell was only marginally better when his nose became human.
"Hi … Mrs Nelson," Matt murmured. His voice was weak and shaky.
"Hello, Matt." His mother had opened the back door, and Foggy did his best to get Matt into the vehicle without hurting him too much. At last, Matt was on the back seat, and Foggy leaned against the side of the SUV, suddenly exhausted. His head ached ferociously, too, though he hadn't noticed it in the heat of battle.
"Foggy?" Matt asked.
"I'm here, buddy," Foggy said. He really should straighten up and get into the car so they could go to the hospital, but he just … needed a moment.
"This car stinks … like skunk. Makes me … feel sick."
"Yeah, that's my dad. Not that he usually stinks like one, I mean. He turned into a skunk. While we were trying to find you."
"Uhh …" Well, at least it wasn't the silent reaction that had met Foggy's bear announcement.
"He sprayed the car so that we could follow the scent."
"Uhh …" Matt said again.
"It's complicated. We'll talk about it later," Foggy said. Matt was certainly taking it better than Foggy had reacted when Matt's secret life as Daredevil had been revealed. Okay, so Matt was half dead right now and not in any condition to make much of a protest. But then, Foggy hadn't been sneaking out every night to turn into a bear and fight crime, then limping home with various injuries, forever running the risk of being arrested as a vigilante and bringing his friends down with him. He hadn't even thought of his shifting ability when he'd confronted Matt about secrets; he'd actually spent most of his life trying to repress it, or at least ignore it.
In the midst of his ruminations, Foggy's stomach rumbled, and he felt suddenly and inexplicably ravenous. Thankfully, just then, his father came out of the warehouse. "Anna, gimme the keys, I'll drive. Foggy, you just gonna stand around there while your best friend bleeds to death?"
"I'm not bleeding," Matt started to say, and Foggy gave him a little poke in the arm that made him quickly add, "that much."
"Coming," Foggy mumbled, and staggered around to the other side of the vehicle. Once he was inside, he put his elbow on the armrest, leaned his head on his hand, and shut his eyes. He was dreaming about macaroni and cheese, potato salad, even coleslaw when the door on his side opened without warning and startled him awake.
"We're at the hospital," his mother said. "Think you can help me get Matt inside? Your father's going to park this car and come back with ours."
"Um, yeah, sure," Foggy said. What was he doing, falling asleep when Matt was hurt? The brief nap had helped his exhaustion, but only a little, and he felt clumsy and off-balance as he climbed out and went around to help Matt out. Instead of a fireman's lift, which he didn't think he could manage again, even as a bear, he settled for slinging his best friend's good arm over his shoulders, and holding him around the waist. On the way in, however, he tripped on a step. Matt put his leg down automatically to catch himself, then all but collapsed with a cry of pain.
"Oh, shit, buddy, I'm sorry!" Foggy cried, flailing for balance to keep both of them from going down. "You okay? Did I make things worse? I made things worse, didn't i?"
"It's just … a crack," Matt gasped, obviously trying to play it down, which made Foggy feel even worse.
Inside the emergency room, a nurse got them a wheelchair for Matt. Foggy lowered Matt gratefully into it as the nurse asked, "What happened?"
"My partner was kidnapped and tortured!" Foggy replied. "They drilled holes in his arm and leg, right through the bone!"
"Do you need me to call the police?" she asked, checking the wounds. Foggy glanced down, too, and was horrified to note that new trickles of blood were running out of some of the holes in Matt's leg.
"I know an officer at the precinct, I'll call him later," Foggy said. His stomach growled again, and was it just his imagination or was he starting to feel faint? "I just want to make sure Matt's all right first."
"I'll get you the forms to fill out," the nurse said, went away, and returned a minute later with the promised paperwork. Foggy took the clipboard with a sigh and handed it to his mother, then wheeled Matt around to a space in the waiting room in front of two empty chairs.
"Do you think there's anything to eat around here?" Foggy asked as he slumped down. "I can't believe I'm so hungry!"
"You've used up a lot of energy, shifting … things … around that you're not used to shifting," his mother said. "I'll go see what I can find."
"Thanks, Mom." Foggy sighed, and got to work filling out the forms. The nurse returned with a quick bandage for Matt's leg, and adjusted the footrest so that it was horizontal, then went away again with vague assurances that it wouldn't be long before a doctor could see him.
Several minutes later, after Foggy had finished with the forms, his mother came back with sandwiches and juice from a vending machine. Foggy practically inhaled them, and it was only when he'd finished that he remembered his friend. "Hey, Matt, you want something?"
"No, thanks." After a moment, Matt added, "It's better if I don't eat … if they have to do surgery."
"Surgery?" Foggy almost choked on the last swallow of juice. "Matt, what else is wrong with you? Usually, you're all "I've just cracked every bone in my body, but I'm fine, don't worry, I can still tap dance," and now you're talking about surgery?"
"I can't tap dance," Matt replied, and Foggy wanted to hit him.
"That was just an example, buddy! But seriously, what else did they do to you?"
"They didn't … do anything else. Just … the drill. But I can't put any weight … on my leg … and I can feel … it's not good."
"So when you say, "it's just cracked," you mean, it's really shattered?"
"Um … maybe not shattered …"
"Oh, Matt," Foggy's mother sighed. She took his good hand in both of hers and just held it. To Foggy's surprise, Matt screwed up his face and swallowed hard, as though trying not to cry.
"Mr Murdock?" called the nurse. "Matthew Murdock?"
"That's you, buddy," Foggy said, standing up and reaching for the handles of the wheelchair. "Want me to come with you?"
"Yeah," Matt choked out. "Please."
In the end, it turned out that the bone in Matt's leg was not shattered, only cracked. To be sure, it was a rather large and deep crack, right along the top of one of the drill holes, but it didn't count as a complete fracture because it didn't go all the way through. The other drill holes were more numerous than Foggy had expected, and the doctors debated for some time whether to put a cast on Matt's leg, or just a splint, like his arm.
"Yes, put him in a cast," Foggy said. "A full body cast, from neck to toe, otherwise he'll jump out of bed to-morrow and start tap dancing again."
The doctors gave him curious looks, but he didn't care. Somebody had to protect Matt from himself.
"Boxing, Foggy … it's boxing," Matt corrected him, then added, "Please … no cast. My skin is so … sensitive. And I won't start … boxing again … for at least a week."
"A week? Say ten days, and we've got a deal," Foggy conceded. "And boxing, tap dancing, what's the difference? Just a few extra arm movements, that's all."
The doctors grinned. Matt just looked pained.
In the end, they decided that a splint would do the job, along with a stern warning for Matt to keep his weight off his leg as much as possible for at least two weeks. Matt also managed to convince them that he didn't need to stay in the hospital and couldn't afford it anyway, whereupon Foggy offered to swipe a bedpan for him on the way out. One of the doctors laughed and commented on the good idea, but Matt merely frowned disapprovingly. Foggy ignored it. Matt also got a prescription for antibiotics to ward off any possible infection from dirty drill bits, and the doctors told him to have his regular health care provider check both his leg and his arm in two days, just to make sure. Then the doctors prescribed potent painkillers that Foggy knew Matt would never willingly swallow, and finally, everything was finished and they were ready to go.
Go to Part 6