Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Oh, Nurse! Or Izumo's Day At The Hospital ❯ Oh, Nurse! Or Izumo's Day At The Hospital ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: for wildwesternwind, prompt: stump

Rating: R for language and adult themes

Warnings: nothing the rating doesn't already account for, I think.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Blah, blah.

 

--

 

Izumo stares forlornly at his arm, bandaged to his elbow, limp on his stomach like the broken and useless weapon it is. He swears he can still feel his hand there, can still flex his fingers. When he tries, though, there is nothing but a jolt of pain shooting up from his wrist, a result of the fading meds and muscles jostling his wound.

 

His head tips back against the pillow. He stops trying.

 

--

 

“Sucks, man. That was your dominant one, wasn't it?”

 

Izumo closes his eyes, as if not seeing his friend's pity somehow makes it easier to admit. As if he hasn't already gone over all the ways this is going to change his life, all the skills he's going to have to learn to do with his left. How he'll form seals. Hell, how he'll even button a pair of pants.

 

He nods.

 

Silence stretches after that, long enough for it to become awkward even between them. Izumo opens his eyes and sees his visitor watching him with a strange expression.“What?” he finally asks.

 

“I was just thinking it'd make fisting a lot easier, eh?”

 

This is Kotetsu in a nutshell, ever the perverted optimist.

 

Then he frowns. “Though you probably can't call it fisting anymore. I don't know what you'd call it. Arming? Stumping? They just don't have the same effect.”

 

Izumo pinches the bridge of his nose and counts backward from ten. He's saved from having to murder and dispose of his best friend when Sakura comes in with a clipboard.

 

“How are you feeling?” Short and to the point, as always, with little more than a cursory smile. It's not like they're on the best of speaking terms, not with the way Kotetsu always behaves around her. Which makes him guilty by association.

 

Izumo answers honestly. “Sore.”

 

She clicks a pen and starts taking notes. “Rate it.”

 

He sighs. “I don't know. It's fine until I try to move something.”

 

She nods, glances at the monitor next to the bed and starts writing again. “We closed the wound, but you've suffered a major trauma. The area will be tender for a while.”

 

Izumo rolls his eyes. He's heard this spiel a few times already from different people. It just needs time, and it'll be all better. Medics, he thinks grimly.

 

“Put this under your tongue.” She's holding out a thermometer, and, knowing better than to argue with her, Izumo acquiesces like a good, little patient.

 

It's while they're waiting for her annoying, little machine to beep that he notices Kotetsu. He's leering, eyes undressing his care-giver. He doesn't have to say a word; Izumo already knows every detail of what his friend is thinking. Their eyes meet over a pink head briefly before Kotetsu makes a fist and starts gesturing wildly behind her. It's obscene and disturbing and fucking hilarious.

 

Izumo tries, really, but he snorts and almost spits the thermometer across the room. The oblivious medic glares at him in response.

 

“At this point, the main thing we worry about is infection. You don't want to lose your arm, do you?”

 

Izumo has to force himself to scowl. “'Course not.”

 

“Then I suggest you take your temperature regularly. Come back immediately if it goes up, if there's any redness or swelling, or if the pain gets worse. Otherwise, I'll see you in three weeks. We can talk about prosthetics then.” She hands him a prescription, and with a curt smile, she's gone. He's now a free man.

 

Kotetsu steps back up to the bed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. This time Izumo has absolutely no idea what he's thinking.

 

“Prosthetics, huh?”

 

Izumo nods. Yeah, missing hand. Hello.

 

“So can you get different attachments?”

 

He laughs. “What, like a hook or something?”

 

“Or something.” Kotetsu grins, eyes narrow and lots of teeth. “Forget fisting. If you don't ask her about vibrator attachments, I will kick your crippled ass.”

 

While his friend is crowing in amusement at his own genius, Izumo's traitorous mind immediately conjures an image of one of those studded, glitter-filled devices spinning in place on his wrist. Great. He'll never be able to unsee that. Kotetsu can threaten to kick his ass, tie him to a chair and force him to watch fucking musicals. He's not asking anyone, let alone Sakura, if they make anything like that.

 

It doesn't stop him from wondering if she'd like something pink and textured. Or is she a glass kind of girl? Or maybe. Maybe she'd prefer something a little more natural.

 

With a shake of the head, Izumo laughs, despite himself, his injury, everything. “Let's get out of here before you get me in trouble again.”

 

Kotetsu's grin turns feral.

 

Busted. Oh well. It's certainly not the first time. Izumo does level him with a stare, though. “Not a word,” he warns.

 

His friend shrugs, his goal already accomplished. “Hungry?”

 

“I'm starving.”

 

 

 

 

End.