Chapter Text
The nurses stopped whispering the moment he stepped into the operating room; it was hard not to hear his footsteps. Even if he didn't wear his classic leather shoes, every step echoed down the corridors.
Victor Frankenstein was known for his successful work life. He started medical school earlier than everyone else and finished it as a honors student. He was bold in his early years, jumping to every opportunity and chance to climb higher. A newbie could ask to any other staff, and they would have tons of stories to told about him. Like when he decided to burst into the hospital manager’s room and demanded answers about why his work was given to someone else.
They said He just didn’t want to be a good doctor. He wanted; he needed- he had to be the best of best. People might view him as cold and even harsh in his interactions. He could delicately fix a tendon but could never stand someone whining over blood. He was a professional and never let his emotions get over him.
He pulled the plastic gloves down to make them fit as he glanced over the patient. he walked around the patient once, to inspect the body and wounds. One nurse next to him started to give information about the boy.
“it was a car crash and he was sitting on front seat, glass shards sprayed across the body, they’re not near any fatal organ, but he already lost blood.”
Victor nodded once, his eyes still on the boy. The boy was sedated by one of the nurses, problaby.. and treated with emergency help, so he took his sweet time to inspect the muscles. He could guess this boy’s diet choices, what kind of training he does just by the muscles but there wasn’t any more time for it. He cleared his throat to get himself together.
It started calmly, Victor removing the glass with steady precision and stitching the muscle back quickly, efficiently. Time mattered, delay increased the risk of infection, and he moved as if his hands already knew the outcome. The nurses stood close, assisting in silence, passing instruments when he needed them. Even without instruction, the difference between them was obvious.
Victor was closing the shoulder muscle when, suddenly, a huge hand clamped around his wrist. He froze, a sharp breath catching in his throat as he stared at the grip holding him. The hand didn’t belong to a nurse. it was bare, ungloved, and far too large.
Victor’s eyes traveled upwards and he looked at his patient’s face. Wide open eyes, one shining lighter than the other. How could this happen? He was supposed to be sleeping… victor couldn’t sedating him enough…. victor took a deep breath; they looked at each other as a nurse started to notice what’s happening. Victor slowly reached out for the cpap mask, but he froze again when a gravelly, half-lucid voice broke the silence.
“Who… are you…”
Victor was already in awe about how this patient woke up from anesthesia but speaking? He was almost left speechless. He motioned the nurse to grab the mask and give it to him, so he can assist the patient. “I’m victor Frankenstein, your doctor” he clarified it, placing a steadying hand over the patient’s, earning a faint, restless whine. The other hand twitched, trying to tighten its hold. Victor didn’t pull away.
“You’re safe,” he added quietly. “You’re in my care.” ...” he patted the boy’s hand before pulling his hand away and holding his head to stabilize, so they could sedate him back but...
The boy leaned his cheek on the hand, as if it were there to caress him... Victor held his head until he slept back and then Victor let the breath out he didn’t know he was holding. He looked stressed, he was stressed. His, oh so called the perfect surgeon, patient awakened in the surgery because he didn’t sedated them correctly. He almost rubbed his face until he looked at his bloody gloves; he shook his head to gain his senses. He must continue the surgery, but his nerves were spiked. Victor attempted to claim his senses back by clenching his fists then opening them. Finally, he returned what he was doing, the nurses were obviously surprised, but Victor only gave them a harsh look.
“Anesthesia awareness is rare but it happens,” he said with a sharpness. “The patient feels no pain. We continue.”
His gaze flicked back to the boy—now unconscious again. Intrigued. Uneasy. And acutely aware that this mistake, if reported, could cost him far more than his reputation.
The rest of the surgery continued in silence. Victor spoke only once, a sharp correction directed at a nurse, and then nothing more. As soon as the procedure ended, he handed the patient over and left—almost fled—seeking distance, seeking air, seeking anything that would quiet his mind.
He shut himself into the nearest bathroom and locked the door behind him. The gloves were ripped off and discarded, red smears left behind like an accusation. He leaned over the sink and turned the tap on full. Cold water hit his face, sharp and unforgiving, forcing a breath from his lungs. The world slowed. The spinning eased. For a moment, there was only the sound of water and his own uneven breathing.
His hands tightened around the porcelain.
Then, suddenly, he struck it.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid-”
The words came out harsh and breathless, teeth clenched as he spat them at his own reflection. He couldn’t believe it. He had handled it smoothly. no panic, no visible mistake. The nurses hadn’t noticed or he did not care if they did. his mind refused to see any other mistake.
That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that it had happened at all.
What mattered was that he had forgotten. That for even a moment, his precision had slipped. There were no excuses he would allow himself—not fatigue, not pressure, not the chaos of the OR. His ego wouldn’t permit it. He had built himself on perfection, on control. To fail, even briefly, felt like rot under the surface..
For a moment, he wanted to hit himself instead. Like his father did it.
He wasn’t a twelve-year-old boy anymore, forever disappointing his father. He was past that. At least, he told himself he was. Yet the ghosts of that shame lingered.
he ripped out the surgical cap away from his hair. It relaxed his muscles a little bit. Victor leaned against the wall, massaging his forehead slowly.
He hated cigarettes.
But today, he might make an exception.