Work Text:
Dinner was interrupted by Cleo’s communicator ringing.
Not pinging with a message, or a whisper. No, whoever it was, they were calling. They were calling her, which better mean that it was important or else she was going to murder whoever it was, truce between filming sessions be damned. She didn’t care.
Answering, she started, “What—”
“Joel’s not breathing—and we don’t—what do—” Grian choked out, very clearly having a panic attack. Immediately, Cleo was on her feet, looking at Etho. He was on his feet, too, frowning.
“Hold on, Grian. Slow down, slow down. What’s going on?”
“Joel—isn’t breathing. He passed out.” Gasping, Grian forced out, “He isn’t breathing.”
“Okay. Did he hit his head on anything?” She asked. On the other side of the line, she could hear Grian gasping weakly. He was panicking. Or maybe Jimmy was panicking as well, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t quite hear.
“I—I don’t think so.” Grian said. It sounded like he was breathing normally, so the panicking was Jimmy. That, or Joel had started breathing.
“Alright. I’m going to come over as soon as I can, do you mind if I bring Scar and Bdubs with me?” He hesitated. Both of her boys looked up, then shared a glance with one another. “Grian.”
“Ye—yeah. Please. I think we need help.”
“Okay. Put him in the recovery position and monitor his breathing. He should start on his own. Do you want me to stay on the line?”
“I—no. I think I—we need to focus more on this.”
“Alright. Take your time.” Cleo replied. “We’ll be there as fast as we can.” She hung up, then turned to her boys.
“Is everything okay?” Scar asked, while Bdubs was already pushing himself upright.
“We need potions. Joel’s having a medical episode and so we need to help him.” Nodding, the two looked at one another.
“I’ll go get the potions. Scar, why don’t you grab your medical kit from your room?” Bdubs darted off. Wheeling around, Scar sped off. Cleo watched them both go.
“Alright, I guess I’ll grab food, then.” She said, because…well, the other option was that Joel passed out from a lack of food. Does Scar have something to check blood sugar? Actually, wait, he might need some more oxygen. I should go and get the tank.
She hurried off as well, trusting Bdubs and Scar would do the right thing.
When they got to the Bad Boys’ place, not even five minutes later, Joel was still unconscious and Grian and Jimmy were still freaking out.
Lying on the floor on blankets that were clearly ripped off of the Bad Boys’ beds, in the recovery position, Joel was at least breathing. He looked pale, though, lips tinged with blue and face pallid. Hurrying to his side, Cleo crouched down and pulled the oxygen mask out, strapping it to his face. “Okay, so he should be alright. He started breathing on his own, right? Did he lose a pulse?”
Jimmy was being comforted by Scott, who had popped up when Cleo called for help in the chat with Joel. Arms wrapped around him, Scott murmured the question to him. Jimmy replied something. Looking at her, Scott said, “His heart rate slowed down, but he kept a pulse. Just not his breathing.”
“Too bad Lizzie isn’t here.” Bdubs said, sighing.
“I’ll try and get a contact to her.” Scott replied. Pulling Jimmy to his chest, he wrapped his arms around him, held his communicator out in front of Jimmy’s face as he typed. He was basically clinging to his friend’s back like a koala. Turning back to Joel, Cleo checked his pulse. His heart rate was quick, a bit frantic. A twitch passed through his shoulders.
“Alright. Ask her if Joel has any potential medical problems. Scar, do you have a glucometer on you?” He handed it over. Picking up an alcohol wipe, Cleo settled Joel’s right hand in her lap, used the wipe, and then stabbed his middle finger. The sharp click was just one of the sounds in the room—Scott was reassuring Jimmy, Scar was reassuring Grian, and Bdubs was shuffling around with the medical kit. When she looked at his face, checking for a reaction, Cleo frowned. No reaction. He was unconscious.
Behind the mask, Joel was breathing rather shallowly. Okay, okay, she looked down at Joel’s blood sugar levels. The glucometer beeped. She glanced at the numbers—normal. Okay. Not blood sugar, unless he’s not diabetic or not prone to hypoglycemia. Maybe he needs food anyways, or something else happened. Lizzie probably knows.
“Scott.” She asked, not looking up. “Has Lizzie gotten back to you?”
“She has.” Carefully, Cleo folded up her jacket and shoved it under Joel’s feet to get his blood back to his head. Reading over the texts, Scott reported, “He’s prone to vasovagal syncope. Means he passes out every once in a while. She says…okay, okay, so it sounds like he just had an episode in his sleep. That happens sometimes, she says he needs some food, maybe some water, and he should wake up on his own. Uh…any twitching is fine, it just means his body is reacting to getting enough oxygen.”
“Okay,” so they were doing the right thing. “Anything else?”
“So, she says that he might have a panic attack when he wakes up. Also normal. He’s more likely to have an episode when he’s stressed or hasn’t eaten.”
“He was both.” Grian forced out. “We all forgot to eat lunch before we went to bed, we ended up just—taking a nap, because we were tired. Jimmy and I woke up because we were going to make snacks, we wanted to wake him up—”
“And you found him not breathing.” Humming, Cleo turned back to Joel. She’d bandaged his finger, but when she touched his cheek with the back of her hand, she felt the chill there. With a low sound, his eyes twitched. Brows furrowing, he jerked again. “Hey, Joel. You’re okay, you’re alright.” She began to rub his arm, gently.
As he came to, Joel started to curl in on himself. Cleo kept rubbing his arm, reassuring him the whole time. His eyes squeezed shut tighter, then cracked open. His mouth opened as well. With a low whimper, he snapped his eyes open all the way, surging forward. A panicked cry left him.
“Easy, easy, Joel. You’re okay.” Rubbing his arm, Cleo moved, pulling his head into her lap. He grabbed at the oxygen mask. Gently, she cupped the back of his neck. His wings fluttered against the blankets. Brown, turquoise, and gold feathers flexed. Cleo didn’t touch them, she didn’t dare touch them. That was something that the other Bad Boys could do, or that Lizzie could do. Maybe even Scott could touch them, but Cleo wasn’t close enough even if she was the one trying to reassure him. Sweat beaded on his face. He dug his heels into the floorboards, tossed his head to the side. Another whimper left him. “Hey, hey, grab my hands. Grab my hands, Joel.” She said, reaching out. He latched onto her hands, squeezed tight. “There you are. Deep breaths, deep breaths, honey. You passed out, you’re okay. We got you.”
Joel sobbed, wings beating against the blankets and the floor. He was panicking harder. Behind the mask, he grimaced. Another cry left him. His grip on Cleo’s hands tightened.
“Easy, easy,” She reassured. Scrambling over, pulling away from Scar, Grian knelt by him. Cleo let him take over.
Whatever Grian did, and whatever Jimmy did when he managed to join them as well, it worked. Joel calmed quickly, curled into Grian’s and Jimmy’s arms as they murmured to him. He dropped his head against Grian’s collarbone, oxygen mask squishing into the bridge of his nose. Watching him, Cleo pulled away, working with the medical kit. She gave the three Bad Boys their privacy. Scar and Bdubs hurried off to the kitchen, working to get some food for them.
They’d call Lizzie later, for both her and Joel’s sake.