25th October, 9am. Prison cell.

[therealpm]

*Peter's head feels groggy.  He's been taking the new painkillers for three days now, and has spent much of his time in a supine haze, unable to feel any pain.  At first he was able to concentrate enough to hold conversations with The Machine when John was out of the room, but as time progressed he became steadily more detached- floating free in his own imagination.

Today, though, John is late with the painkillers and the opiate fog is beginning to wear off.  The pain in his veins and accompanying feeling of being nibbled from the inside out has died down since the beginning of treatment- Peter supposes that either he has become accustomed to it, or his wolf form has mostly died and there is little left for the mixture to attack.  What is new is a feeling of dampness under his shoulders, sacrum and heels, that sticks and stings when he tries to move.  He turns his head and sniffs.  The sheets smell appalling and he can just see a spreading sickly yellow stain out of the corner of his eye.  He gags, and tries to call for someone, but his mouth is dry.  Rattling the restraints does little beyond reminding him of the bruising on his wrists and ankles.  He tries to shift from the dampness slightly, and resigns himelf to waiting.*

Comments

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*Running late, John makes his way to Peter's cell as fast as possible, hoping the painkillers won't have worn off already. He lets himself into Peter's cell and is met with an almighty stench. Instinctively he covers his nose with his sleeve.*

Good grief, what on earth-

*He spots Peter. The man looks horrendous. He's clearly in pain and the IV is empty again.*

Peter?

*John goes over to the bed, the smell stronger with each step. When he gets to the bed, he undoes the straps and spots the bruising on Peter's arms. He swallows back the sound he was about to make - Peter would hate pity at a time like this. Instead, John takes one of the painkillers out, puts it on the plate and holds it in front of Peter.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter struggles to sit upright: sores protesting as he moves. His arms are weak and his head spins. The cotton shirt is clammy with sweat and pus. It sticks to his skin.

His hand shakes, but he manages to get the pill under his tongue without dropping it. A feat of which he finds himself to be inordinately proud.

Half out of curiosity, and half to distract himself whilst John changes the catheter bag and the IV, he draws himself into a cross-legged position and examines his heels. The skin is broken- the edges enflamed and crusted with dried fluid. A thick red line trails from one sore up his calf.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John finishes what he is doing and looks up. He spots the bedsores on Peter's feet.*

...Peter, they are going to need to be seen to before they get any worse.

Either I can sort them out, or I can call DEFRA and see if it would be possible for them to send someone. It's your choice.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He shivers, damp shirt sending chills down his spine.*

Need a new shirt.

*He twists, shoulders protesting at the movement, and eyes the bed.*

New sheets.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

I'll take that as a wish for things to be done as quickly as possible, then.

*John brings the chair close to Peter's bed.*

I'm going to need your help with this bit, Peter.

*They work together to maneuver Peter into the chair. John summons a new set of bed sheets - including the bottom, waterproof one (thank goodness they still have some of those for the children) - and changes the bedding. He then helps Peter back into bed, making sure he is on his front.*

*John summons a blanket and strategically places it over Peter.*

I'm going to clean these now, so there might be a bit of pain. Hopefully you won't feel it, but I think it only fair to warn you.

Please don't kill me for this...

*John fetches the kit DEFRA left for him and retrieves the saline solution and a few sets of bandages. He places them down on the desk next to the bed. With a wave of his hand, John makes Peter's clothes disappear, the strategically placed blanket remaining where it was set down. He then sets about cleaning and bandaging the wounds as efficiently and impersonally as possible.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*By this time, the painkiller is beginning to take effect, and Peter can feel himself dropping back into the haze. He barely notices being helped back onto the bed. By the time John has sorted out the blankets, Peter is aware of little beyond his own lightheadedness and a feeling akin to seasickness as the room seems to slowly rock from side to side.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*The last dressing in place, John puts Peter into the recovery position. He changes and moves the IV bag to a more suitable place, then shifts one set of straps round so that the arm without the IV in can be secured to stop Peter from scratching and causing himself harm. The arm with the IV is secured, though not as tightly given the angle his arm is at to the edge of the bed. All sorted, John pulls the covers over Peter to stop him getting cold.*

You're going to have to keep the pressure off your back until these things heal. I'll return to change the dressings soon.

*John tidies up the room, notes down what he has done on Peter's notes and, after checking that Peter is ok, leaves.*