Work Text:
You wake up to your phone blaring loudly throughout your entire home, jumping up and almost tripping over your own feet as you stumbled out of bed. You reach the phone after the third or fourth ring and answer it groggily, already grumpy from being rudely awakened at such an ungodly hour.
“Hello?”
“Nurse L/n?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake! You just got off your shift a couple of hours ago, could you trust anyone to leave your patients the fuck alone while you were gone?
“Yes, you’ve found her.” You try to keep the bitter aftertaste your own words leave in your mouth from leaking out into the phone, but you get the feeling the exhausted secretary is just as tired as you are and understands your pain just a little bit. One of the reasons you’d never wanted a desk job, being a nurse was so much more ‘exciting.’ Technically you were a doctor now, but everyone at Smith’s Grove got attached to calling you Nurse L/n, so the name stuck even as your experience exceeded the formality.
“It’s Myers, he’s—” You don’t bother to allow her to finish, you’re already yawning into the phone and casually dismissing the conversation.
“I’ll be over in a few, Agatha, is Loomis there?”
“Does it matter?” Yes, Yes it does matter. If he is there it’s probably the problem.
“I guess not, see you soon.” You hang up the phone with a groan and go back to your bedroom to get ‘dressed’ which is truly just throwing a coat over your T-shirt and changing out of your Pajama bottoms into a pair of sweatpants. You didn’t care to be in uniform when you were called in at four in the morning like this, and quite frankly neither did anybody else, you supposed they felt bad for you. You were the only nurse that got called in so much.
You’re a bit more awake as you pull into a reserved parking space in the parking lot of Smith’s Grove, walking into the lobby to see a disheveled Agatha at the front desk, who gives you a sympathetic look as you pass her. You don’t bother to check in anymore, everybody knows who you are and why you’re here anyway.
You completely ignore Loomis as he gives you an expectant look, one of an entitled parent that thinks they can get their kid anything they want. Michael is not his kid and Loomis doesn’t know a damn thing about what he wants.
You resist the urge to give the man what for after being woken up at this hour as you slide your access key card into the slot to open Michael’s door, and everyone goes silent. You close the door in their faces and turn around to see a heaving Michael struggling against two security guards who you recognized as his med escorts. You catch a glimpse of silver and you notice one of them has a syringe, most likely something to sedate Michael with. You know Michael hates being drugged, especially against his will, which is likely why he was freaking out in the first place. hell, you would too. You once again get the feeling Loomis somehow set him off and the prick of a doctor realized he bit off more than he could chew, so he had him sedated.
Catching the slight panic, and vulnerability in Michael’s angry dark eyes, you quickly take control of the situation.
“Excuse me, gentlemen I’ll take it from here.” All three pairs of eyes flicker to you and Michael’s struggling ceases, but once the guards have loosened their grip Michael is ready to strike. You are quick to speak before he gets the chance to crush the guard’s skull into shards of cracked bone and flesh. “It’s alright, Michael.”
“Nurse L/n, we are under direct orders to sedate Myers so he can be moved to—”
“Did I fucking stutter? Get out, he’s my patient, not Loomis’s.” Never again. A brief glance of hesitance between one another, the guards flee from the room and out of the danger zone, most likely happy to have narrowly dodged a possibly life-threatening experience. If the rumors of Myers had anything to say about it.
Sighing tiredly and rubbing your eye, you walk forward and take Michael’s bloodied hand, your fingers brushing over his scabbed knuckles in a small gesture of reassurance. Michael appeared visually calmer in your presence, as he always was, or perhaps just happy to have escaped being drugged another night without consent. Whichever reasoning it was, he was relaxing, and that was a good sign.
“You owe me one, Myers. Get your ass into bed.” You playfully order, though your tone came out much more robotic than you’d anticipated under the density of your exhaustion. “Looks like we’re having a sleepover tonight.”