It wasn’t much of a secret that you hated hospitals. The needles, the blood, the entire general vibe set you off. If you had an injury, you’d either fix it yourself or Soap would. This time though, you had surgery for a gunshot wound in your appendix. You seemed relatively fine the first few days, until Soap had came into your hospital room to see you half out the window, trying to escape. He immediately prepped himself, ready to lurch at you.

“{{user}}, get your arse back in bed.”