Triage (6/12, PG13, Dean, Sam, John)
Title: Triage
Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor its characters.
Rating: PG13 so far. Might be R later, but I doubt it.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Dean, Sam, John, Pastor Jim, OCs.
Wordcount: 3800.
Warning: Grammar (unbetaed!). I'm really really sorry about the tenses, guys...
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sometimes you think you made the right call, only to realize you've made a really big mistake...
eeeeeeffffff
Chapter Seven
John opened and closed his hand, grimacing at the pain in his wrist. He yawned and scratched his stubbled cheek.
When you took away all the drama, hospitals were pretty boring.
And John was willing to bet there was someone out there, an evil engineer or something, that devoted their lives to making hospital waiting room chairs as uncomfortable as possible.
John sat up straight when two nurses came in. He recognized them both. Maria was one of Dean's night nurses. She came by every hour or so to check up on him. She was in her mid thirties, with brown hair down to her shoulders and an unholy love for the color pink.
The other nurse was Valerie. She kept popping up, checking up on them, and John really appreciated it. It also helped that she was a petite blonde and about his age.
What? He was still a man with a pulse, he was allowed to look.
"How are we doing?" Valerie asked.
John usually hated that, hated when people spoke in plural like that, but he let that slide. "He's really pale," John noted.
"Well, that's to be expected," Valerie said. John noticed Maria raising a brow at that, but she said nothing, so John ignored it.
"How are you doing?" Valerie went on, "It can't be easy, what with Sam downstairs and Dean here…"
John made a non committal sound and gave a small nod.
"Is… Mrs. Duffy on her way?" Valerie asked tentatively.
John toyed with the ring on his finger. "There is no Mrs. Duffy," he said.
"Oh," Valerie said, "Well, is there anyone else coming?" she asked, and John looked up at her. Up until that moment, he was pretty sure she was making a pass at him, but now he had some doubts about it.
"No, it's just me," he said.
Valerie nodded. "Well then," she said, and let out a breath, "Sam is probably out for the night, and Dean here is doing…" she glanced at Maria, who nodded at her, "As well as can be expected."
"Yeah?" John moved around in his chair, trying to find a better pose, and winced at the pain in his wrist.
"So I'd say now was a perfect time," Valerie said, crossing her hands over her chest.
"Perfect time for what?" John asked.
"To take care of that wrist of yours," Valerie answered simply.
"I'm fine," John said quickly.
"Please," Valerie said dismissively, rolling her eyes. "I am a medical professional," she reminded him. "Now come on, before your wrist swells to three times its original size."
"Look, I'm fine," John said again, but Valerie raised a brow.
"You're afraid of having your hand set? Had a bad hospital experience or something?" She teased.
"You mean other than my boy laying here in the ICU with a tube town his throat and a… thing in his heart, and a doctor telling me he might not survive?" John shot back.
Valerie seemed lost for words for a second, the wind blown out of her. "I'm… I'm really sorry, Mr. Duffy, I didn’t mean…" she stuttered.
"No, I get what you mean," John said and sighed. "I'm just tired."
"I'm so sorry, I won't bother you again," Valerie apologized.
"No, look," John got up from his seat. He let out a breath. "How long's it gonna take?" He asked.
"It shouldn’t take long," Valerie said, "And we could probably find an ice pack. It should help with the swelling," she offered.
John hesitated, running his hand over his mouth. His wrist was pounding and his fingers were getting numb, but on the other hand… He couldn’t put his finger on it; he just had this really bad feeling.
"I really don’t want to leave him right now," John said at last.
"Twenty minutes, tops," Valerie promised, "His vitals are fine, Mr. Duffy. Your sons are taken care of. It's time to take care of yourself."
John nodded, not taking his eyes off his boy. The nurse was making sense, John knew that. No point suffering when he was already in a freaking hospital. On the other hand, he just had this feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong, and if he wasn’t there to… What?
Hell, what could he do to help Dean anyway?
"Twenty minutes?" He asked, making sure.
"I'll even get you a cup of coffee. My treat," Valerie smiled at him.
eeeeeeffffff
An hour, an x-ray, a splint and a cup of coffee later, John returned to the ICU with a sense of urgency, just in time to see Maria coming out of Dean's room. She smiled at him.
"He okay?" John asked.
"No change," Maria said, "Which is good news," she quickly added.
John nodded at her and got back inside the room, sitting back down on the torture device they called a chair. A few minutes later Maria came back and gave him a blanket.
John thanked her with a smile and a tired nod and covered himself with the blanket, fighting to keep his eyes opened.
eeeeeeffffff
John opened the door and got in the house, tossing his keys on the small table at the entrance. He was tired. It'd been a busy day at the garage, and for some reason, each and every one of his customers was either an idiot or a jerk. All John wanted to do was to get a beer, sit down with his feet up, and close his eyes.
"You hear that? Daddy's home!"
John smiled despite of himself. Mary could always make him smile, even on days like this. And the happy squeal from his son warmed his heart that much more.
"You want Daddy to come? Call him," Mary said, "Come on, baby, call Daddy. Call him to come see."
"Dada!"
John's heart practically melted in his chest and his smile grew wider. Dean talking was new, and John loved it that one of Dean's first words was 'daddy'.
"That's right, call Daddy to come see," Mary encouraged, and John followed her voice to the living room. Mary was standing on her knees on the shag carpet. There were toys strewn all around, and John's little boy was sitting with his back to him, chewing on a plush toy.
Mary smiled when she saw him; bright and big, and caught her son's attention, pointing at John. "There he is. There's Daddy!" she said.
The toddler turned his head, and then his face brightened, and it seemed like the whole world brightened along with it. He clapped his hands and smiled.
"Dada!" the boy repeated in glee and tossed the chewed toy aside. He got up on his hands and knees and crawled quickly towards his father, petting John on the shin as if saying 'come on, Daddy, pick me up already'.
John laughed and bent over to pick his son up in his arms, Dean bouncing with happiness. "You're getting pretty fast there, kiddo," John said and kissed the top of Dean's head, breathing in the sweet baby smell.
"Hi honey," Mary said as she came over and gave him a kiss that made him forget all about his busy day and the annoying clients.
"Missed you," John murmured, and kissed his wife again. "Whoa, hey, buddy!" John cried when Dean started bouncing in his arms, small hands hitting his cheek calling for attention.
"He's excited," Mary laughed.
"Yeah?" John smiled, "Excited to see his Daddy?"
"Excited to show his Daddy what he's learned," Mary teased, and took Dean from him. The boy squirmed in her arms, but Mary just tickled him a little and he buried his face in her shoulder, laughing. John loved that sound more than anything in the world.
Crouching down on the other side of the carpet, Mary put Dean down gently, and quickly caught him when he tried to crawl back to his father.
"Dean," she said seriously, but had to repeat herself to get her son's attention. She picked up a red truck and Dean's eyes locked on the toy. "Dean, go give Daddy the truck," Mary said.
The boy looked back at his father, and then back at his mother and the toy she was holding.
"Come on, baby, give Daddy the truck," Mary encouraged.
"Tuck?" the boy asked.
"That's right, give Daddy the truck," Mary said, nodding.
Dean reached out a chubby hand and grabbed the toy car from his mother. John took a couple of steps closer so he could take the truck from his son, but stopped when Mary shook her head at him.
"Dada tuck?" Dean asked, and reached the toy towards his father.
"That's right, Dean. Go give the truck to Daddy," Mary pushed.
John frowned, wondering what Mary had meant, and then his eyes widened and he nearly choked with pride.
His little boy put the toy on the carpet, and then used it to stand up on wobbly feet. It wasn’t the first time Dean stood up on his own, but it still filled the young father's heart with pride.
"Dada tuck?" the toddler asked again, picking up the truck. And then started walking towards his father.
John covered his mouth with his hand, so proud he couldn’t even make a sound.
Dean made four steps before he fell on his diapered butt, and then got up and kept on wobbling towards John, with his mother cheering him on.
He fell down once more before finally reaching his destination and proudly presenting his father with the toy.
"That's my boy!" John cried, and swiped his son into his arms, tossing him up in the air, and making Dean squeal with laughter. "That's my boy!"
"He couldn’t wait to show his Daddy, could you?" Mary said as she reached them.
John laughed, hugging his son close with one arm and his wife with the other, bad day and annoying customers all but forgotten.
And then something started beeping. A sharp, flat sound.
What the…?
John woke up with a start, blinking to get his eyes to focus. He used the back of his hand to wipe away some drool from the corner of his mouth as his mind played a little game of catch-up.
A nurse came in the room. He recognized her. It wasn’t Maria, but he'd seen her before. "What's going on?" John asked, his heart racing, "What's happening?"
The nurse ignored him. She pressed a button on one of the monitors and the alarm stopped.
"Is he okay?" John demanded gruffly, but the nurse didn’t reply.
She checked Dean's vitals, and then injected something into his central line.
John got to his feet. "What's wrong?" He asked apprehensively.
The nurse spared him a glance. "His blood pressure dropped," she explained, "But I gave him something, and hopefully it'll be enough."
"What do you…? What if it's not?" John asked.
The nurse smiled at him. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Duffy," she said, and then left the room.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache starting to form.
Dada tuck?
John sighed and got closer to his son. "You know, your mother always thought you'd grow up to be a trouble maker," he said, running his fingers through his son's long bangs. "In a way, I guess she was right," John murmured. "You're a good boy, Dean. Don’t you let anyone tell you any different, you hear me?"
Please hear me.
John ran his fingers gently over his son's cheek and frowned. He didn’t like how pale Dean seemed. "You hang in there, kid, alright?"
Dean didn’t answer.
John sighed and pulled his chair closer.
"You know, your mother, she always said how much you reminded her of me. You were always trying to imitate me," John said, if only to hear the sound of his own voice. He crossed his legs at the ankles.
"Truth is, you were always your mother's son," he went on, and then lowered his eyes, remembering. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "She had a way with you," John smiled in reminiscence. "You know, I bet if things had been different, you'd be a total mama's boy," he said, almost waiting to hear a disgruntled retort. "I think… I think you're only a trouble maker because I'm suck as a role model."
John looked at his son, but Dean remained silent and still.
"You know, that was the cue for you to say 'no, Dad, you don’t suck as a role model'…" John added, raising a brow, and sighed again at the lack of response.
"Your brother really misses you," John kept talking, hoping, wishing for Dean to answer. "Keeps asking about…"
Another alarm going off made John freeze, the words dying on his lips. His heart was racing in his chest.
"Dean?"
Another alarm, a different one, started beeping as well.
"Dean?" Cold sweat was beading on John's forehead. "C'mon, buddy, don’t do this…"
The same nurse from earlier entered the room and turned the alarms off.
"What's going on?" John demanded. "What's happening?"
The nurse wrote something in Dean's chart and then headed for the phone by the door. John was too far to hear what she was saying.
"Hang in there, Dean. Don’t you give up on me, you hear?" John said with a quiver in his voice.
The nurse left the room, only to return a minute later with a doctor in toe.
"What's going on? What's wrong with my son?" John demanded again, but both the doctor and the nurse ignored him. They started speaking doc-speak, and John didn’t understand a word.
The doctor reached for Dean's chart just as the nurse went to make another call and Maria entered the room.
"What's going on?" John asked again, panic creeping into his voice. They started disconnecting monitors and John started freaking out. "Someone tell me what the hell's going on!" he demanded.
Maria looked up at him, then at the doctor, who gave her a small nod, and then went back to work as a couple of orderlies came in. The doctor took a step closer to John, pulling him away from the commotion.
"Mr. Duffy, your son's blood pressure is dropping," he said.
"Yes, she said that," John said, motioning at the first nurse. "She gave him something…"
The doctor nodded. "Yes." He took a deep breath. "Sir, I believe your son's bleeding internally. It looks like he might have popped a stitch or something. We're going to have to go back in there and check."
"Go back in there? What, like another operation?" John asked.
"That's right," the doctor said.
"Is strong enough?" John asked, "That other doctor, he told me Dean wasn’t strong enough for another operation yet. He- he said Dean might die…"
"Sir, at the moment, we really don’t have another choice," the doctor said, and John felt the room spinning around him as they wheeled Dean out to the corridor towards the OR.
eeeeeeffffff
It was twelve past three in the morning, and John was pacing the waiting room, just like he'd been doing for the past forty eight minutes.
There were other people there; a young couple. The woman's eyes were all red and puffy. She held the man's hand and he just sat with his head down staring at his shoes and biting the nails on his other hand.
Sam bites his nails. John tried to wane him of that habit, but so far he was failing miserably. It was a weird thing to think about right now, Sam biting his nails. John sat down on one of the chairs, only to stand up again and keep on pacing.
The woman glanced at him from time to time, between whispering something in the man's ear and rubbing circles on his back. It made something ache inside John. He really, really wished he didn’t have to go through his alone. Wished Mary could have been there to hold his hand and worry right along with him.
It wasn’t long after that that the doctor walked through the double doors marked 'personnel only', blood on his sterile overcoat. He stopped at a biohazard bin and tossed his overcoat and mask in there, removing his surgical cap with a tired hand. He had a look about him that was all bad news, and John's knees threatened to buckle.
The doctor let out a sigh and stood up straight, and John's stomach lurched. "Oh, God, no," he whispered, hands shaking and mouth going dry. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and yet John's lungs refused to fill. He couldn’t breathe. He just stood there, trying to brace himself for the news he knew was coming, but how could you brace yourself to knowing you'd just lost your son?
John felt like throwing up. Like the walls were closing in on him. Like the world was ending, again.
The doctor walked slowly and John closed his eyes, biting his lower lip, fingernails digging into his palms just to keep from falling apart.
"I'm so sorry," the doctor said solemnly, "We did everything we could…"
John opened his eyes and frowned. He turned back to see the doctor standing in front of the young couple; the woman sobbing quietly into the man's chest.
The doctor kept talking. He sat down with the grieving couple for a few minutes, but John didn’t even notice. His legs turned to jelly and he stumbled, nearly missing the chair he was aiming for.
His hands were shaking, hell, his whole body was shaking, his heart racing a mile a minute. Black spots appeared in his peripheral vision, and somewhere in the back of his mind John realized he was probably hyperventilating. Not that he could do anything about it at the moment.
Someone put a Styrofoam cup in his hand, helped him to a few sips of cold water, but none of it registered past his mantra of oh, God.
John slapped the nurse's hands away and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the flare of pain in his wrist. He stopped the doctor just as he was about to disappear through the double doors again.
"Hey doc, what about my son?" John asked hoarsely.
The doctor frowned at him, as if not understanding what John was talking about, and then he remembered. "Oh, right. Duffy," he said, nodding. "He's still in surgery. Dr. Edwards is with him." At John's blank stare, the doctor added, "He's a very good surgeon." John kept staring, mind too slow to move past 'we did everything we could'. "I really should go back in there…" the doctor said and, sidestepping John, he left.
John kept standing there for a long moment before coming to his senses. He turned to the nurse's station on unsteady legs and asked for directions to a payphone. He didn’t even remember getting to it; one minute he was talking to a nurse and the other he was looking in his pockets for some change.
He dialed the number automatically, never really realizing what he was doing. The phone rang five times before it was picked up.
"Yes?" Said the sleepy voice on the other end of the line.
"Murphy?"
A sigh. "Damn it, John, do you have any idea what time it is?" Jim Murphy grumbled and yawned. "John? John you alright?" The pastor asked apprehensively when John didn’t answer him.
"I'm sorry about the time, Jim," John said when his throat had let up enough and words could finally get out of his mouth.
"What's wrong?" The pastor asked, now sounding wide awake. "Are you hurt?"
John looked at his bandaged wrist and closed his eyes.
"John?" Jim pushed.
"Jim," John said heavily, his voice a cry for help.
"The boys?"
John nodded, even though his friend couldn’t see it over the phone. He blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay, and let out a shattered breath.
"John?" the pastor prompted.
"I thought I was gonna lose him," John whispered, "I thought Sam was going to bleed to death in my arms." John shook his head and angrily wiped his tears.
"Oh, John…"
"He was…" John wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "He was just bleeding everywhere. His stomach was slashed open. I really thought I was going to lose him, Jim."
"Where are you?" Murphy asked.
John was too exhausted to keep from crying anymore. His shoulders shook as he wept quietly.
"John? You need me to get there? I can stay with Dean…" the pastor offered.
"We got him to the hospital in time," John said, nodding miserably.
"Thank God," Jim said, and John looked up, blinking his tears away.
"They… They say Sammy's gonna be okay," he said.
"That's great news, John," Jim said, and John closed his eyes.
"I think… I think you should get here," John said.
"Of course," the pastor said quickly. "Where are you?" He asked, and John gave him the town and hospital name. "I'll be there as soon as I can, John. I promise."
John nodded. "Good," he said. "That's good." He wiped his nose again, and sucked his lower lip between his teeth. "You should hurry," he added, and let out a breath. "You should really hurry, because… Because I think… I think Dean might need a priest. Or, you know."
There was a moment of silence before Jim spoke again. "John?" he asked hesitantly.
"They say… They say he might not make it, Jim. They're saying there's a chance my son could die," John said brokenly and started crying again. "They're saying Dean could die."
"I thought you said it was Sam that was hurt," Jim said, a little confused.
"That's what I thought," John said brokenly. "He was bleeding so much and I… I just… I don’t know, Jim," John shook his head and the tears kept falling down his cheeks. "Sam was falling apart in my arms and I guess I dropped the ball," he admitted. "God, I saw something wasn’t right with Dean, but I just figured it was shock, and Sam was losing all this blood…"
"People make mistakes, John. The important thing is Dean's being taken care of, right?"
"I told him to drive," John went on, "He had a concussion and I told him to drive. I told him he had to get Sam to the hospital, and then I went after that thing. I just… God, Jim, what if…"
"No what ifs, John. Dean is going to be okay," the pastor said confidently, "The boy's even more stubborn than you are. He won't leave his family behind."
"Just… just get here before he dies," John choked, and then hung up the phone.
TBC
Previouslies: 1 >> 2 >> 3 >> 4 >> 5 >> 6 >> 7 >> 8 >> 9 >> 10 >> 11 >> 12
Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor its characters.
Rating: PG13 so far. Might be R later, but I doubt it.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Dean, Sam, John, Pastor Jim, OCs.
Wordcount: 3800.
Warning: Grammar (unbetaed!). I'm really really sorry about the tenses, guys...
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sometimes you think you made the right call, only to realize you've made a really big mistake...
eeeeeeffffff
Chapter Seven
John opened and closed his hand, grimacing at the pain in his wrist. He yawned and scratched his stubbled cheek.
When you took away all the drama, hospitals were pretty boring.
And John was willing to bet there was someone out there, an evil engineer or something, that devoted their lives to making hospital waiting room chairs as uncomfortable as possible.
John sat up straight when two nurses came in. He recognized them both. Maria was one of Dean's night nurses. She came by every hour or so to check up on him. She was in her mid thirties, with brown hair down to her shoulders and an unholy love for the color pink.
The other nurse was Valerie. She kept popping up, checking up on them, and John really appreciated it. It also helped that she was a petite blonde and about his age.
What? He was still a man with a pulse, he was allowed to look.
"How are we doing?" Valerie asked.
John usually hated that, hated when people spoke in plural like that, but he let that slide. "He's really pale," John noted.
"Well, that's to be expected," Valerie said. John noticed Maria raising a brow at that, but she said nothing, so John ignored it.
"How are you doing?" Valerie went on, "It can't be easy, what with Sam downstairs and Dean here…"
John made a non committal sound and gave a small nod.
"Is… Mrs. Duffy on her way?" Valerie asked tentatively.
John toyed with the ring on his finger. "There is no Mrs. Duffy," he said.
"Oh," Valerie said, "Well, is there anyone else coming?" she asked, and John looked up at her. Up until that moment, he was pretty sure she was making a pass at him, but now he had some doubts about it.
"No, it's just me," he said.
Valerie nodded. "Well then," she said, and let out a breath, "Sam is probably out for the night, and Dean here is doing…" she glanced at Maria, who nodded at her, "As well as can be expected."
"Yeah?" John moved around in his chair, trying to find a better pose, and winced at the pain in his wrist.
"So I'd say now was a perfect time," Valerie said, crossing her hands over her chest.
"Perfect time for what?" John asked.
"To take care of that wrist of yours," Valerie answered simply.
"I'm fine," John said quickly.
"Please," Valerie said dismissively, rolling her eyes. "I am a medical professional," she reminded him. "Now come on, before your wrist swells to three times its original size."
"Look, I'm fine," John said again, but Valerie raised a brow.
"You're afraid of having your hand set? Had a bad hospital experience or something?" She teased.
"You mean other than my boy laying here in the ICU with a tube town his throat and a… thing in his heart, and a doctor telling me he might not survive?" John shot back.
Valerie seemed lost for words for a second, the wind blown out of her. "I'm… I'm really sorry, Mr. Duffy, I didn’t mean…" she stuttered.
"No, I get what you mean," John said and sighed. "I'm just tired."
"I'm so sorry, I won't bother you again," Valerie apologized.
"No, look," John got up from his seat. He let out a breath. "How long's it gonna take?" He asked.
"It shouldn’t take long," Valerie said, "And we could probably find an ice pack. It should help with the swelling," she offered.
John hesitated, running his hand over his mouth. His wrist was pounding and his fingers were getting numb, but on the other hand… He couldn’t put his finger on it; he just had this really bad feeling.
"I really don’t want to leave him right now," John said at last.
"Twenty minutes, tops," Valerie promised, "His vitals are fine, Mr. Duffy. Your sons are taken care of. It's time to take care of yourself."
John nodded, not taking his eyes off his boy. The nurse was making sense, John knew that. No point suffering when he was already in a freaking hospital. On the other hand, he just had this feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong, and if he wasn’t there to… What?
Hell, what could he do to help Dean anyway?
"Twenty minutes?" He asked, making sure.
"I'll even get you a cup of coffee. My treat," Valerie smiled at him.
eeeeeeffffff
An hour, an x-ray, a splint and a cup of coffee later, John returned to the ICU with a sense of urgency, just in time to see Maria coming out of Dean's room. She smiled at him.
"He okay?" John asked.
"No change," Maria said, "Which is good news," she quickly added.
John nodded at her and got back inside the room, sitting back down on the torture device they called a chair. A few minutes later Maria came back and gave him a blanket.
John thanked her with a smile and a tired nod and covered himself with the blanket, fighting to keep his eyes opened.
eeeeeeffffff
John opened the door and got in the house, tossing his keys on the small table at the entrance. He was tired. It'd been a busy day at the garage, and for some reason, each and every one of his customers was either an idiot or a jerk. All John wanted to do was to get a beer, sit down with his feet up, and close his eyes.
"You hear that? Daddy's home!"
John smiled despite of himself. Mary could always make him smile, even on days like this. And the happy squeal from his son warmed his heart that much more.
"You want Daddy to come? Call him," Mary said, "Come on, baby, call Daddy. Call him to come see."
"Dada!"
John's heart practically melted in his chest and his smile grew wider. Dean talking was new, and John loved it that one of Dean's first words was 'daddy'.
"That's right, call Daddy to come see," Mary encouraged, and John followed her voice to the living room. Mary was standing on her knees on the shag carpet. There were toys strewn all around, and John's little boy was sitting with his back to him, chewing on a plush toy.
Mary smiled when she saw him; bright and big, and caught her son's attention, pointing at John. "There he is. There's Daddy!" she said.
The toddler turned his head, and then his face brightened, and it seemed like the whole world brightened along with it. He clapped his hands and smiled.
"Dada!" the boy repeated in glee and tossed the chewed toy aside. He got up on his hands and knees and crawled quickly towards his father, petting John on the shin as if saying 'come on, Daddy, pick me up already'.
John laughed and bent over to pick his son up in his arms, Dean bouncing with happiness. "You're getting pretty fast there, kiddo," John said and kissed the top of Dean's head, breathing in the sweet baby smell.
"Hi honey," Mary said as she came over and gave him a kiss that made him forget all about his busy day and the annoying clients.
"Missed you," John murmured, and kissed his wife again. "Whoa, hey, buddy!" John cried when Dean started bouncing in his arms, small hands hitting his cheek calling for attention.
"He's excited," Mary laughed.
"Yeah?" John smiled, "Excited to see his Daddy?"
"Excited to show his Daddy what he's learned," Mary teased, and took Dean from him. The boy squirmed in her arms, but Mary just tickled him a little and he buried his face in her shoulder, laughing. John loved that sound more than anything in the world.
Crouching down on the other side of the carpet, Mary put Dean down gently, and quickly caught him when he tried to crawl back to his father.
"Dean," she said seriously, but had to repeat herself to get her son's attention. She picked up a red truck and Dean's eyes locked on the toy. "Dean, go give Daddy the truck," Mary said.
The boy looked back at his father, and then back at his mother and the toy she was holding.
"Come on, baby, give Daddy the truck," Mary encouraged.
"Tuck?" the boy asked.
"That's right, give Daddy the truck," Mary said, nodding.
Dean reached out a chubby hand and grabbed the toy car from his mother. John took a couple of steps closer so he could take the truck from his son, but stopped when Mary shook her head at him.
"Dada tuck?" Dean asked, and reached the toy towards his father.
"That's right, Dean. Go give the truck to Daddy," Mary pushed.
John frowned, wondering what Mary had meant, and then his eyes widened and he nearly choked with pride.
His little boy put the toy on the carpet, and then used it to stand up on wobbly feet. It wasn’t the first time Dean stood up on his own, but it still filled the young father's heart with pride.
"Dada tuck?" the toddler asked again, picking up the truck. And then started walking towards his father.
John covered his mouth with his hand, so proud he couldn’t even make a sound.
Dean made four steps before he fell on his diapered butt, and then got up and kept on wobbling towards John, with his mother cheering him on.
He fell down once more before finally reaching his destination and proudly presenting his father with the toy.
"That's my boy!" John cried, and swiped his son into his arms, tossing him up in the air, and making Dean squeal with laughter. "That's my boy!"
"He couldn’t wait to show his Daddy, could you?" Mary said as she reached them.
John laughed, hugging his son close with one arm and his wife with the other, bad day and annoying customers all but forgotten.
And then something started beeping. A sharp, flat sound.
What the…?
John woke up with a start, blinking to get his eyes to focus. He used the back of his hand to wipe away some drool from the corner of his mouth as his mind played a little game of catch-up.
A nurse came in the room. He recognized her. It wasn’t Maria, but he'd seen her before. "What's going on?" John asked, his heart racing, "What's happening?"
The nurse ignored him. She pressed a button on one of the monitors and the alarm stopped.
"Is he okay?" John demanded gruffly, but the nurse didn’t reply.
She checked Dean's vitals, and then injected something into his central line.
John got to his feet. "What's wrong?" He asked apprehensively.
The nurse spared him a glance. "His blood pressure dropped," she explained, "But I gave him something, and hopefully it'll be enough."
"What do you…? What if it's not?" John asked.
The nurse smiled at him. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Duffy," she said, and then left the room.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache starting to form.
Dada tuck?
John sighed and got closer to his son. "You know, your mother always thought you'd grow up to be a trouble maker," he said, running his fingers through his son's long bangs. "In a way, I guess she was right," John murmured. "You're a good boy, Dean. Don’t you let anyone tell you any different, you hear me?"
Please hear me.
John ran his fingers gently over his son's cheek and frowned. He didn’t like how pale Dean seemed. "You hang in there, kid, alright?"
Dean didn’t answer.
John sighed and pulled his chair closer.
"You know, your mother, she always said how much you reminded her of me. You were always trying to imitate me," John said, if only to hear the sound of his own voice. He crossed his legs at the ankles.
"Truth is, you were always your mother's son," he went on, and then lowered his eyes, remembering. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "She had a way with you," John smiled in reminiscence. "You know, I bet if things had been different, you'd be a total mama's boy," he said, almost waiting to hear a disgruntled retort. "I think… I think you're only a trouble maker because I'm suck as a role model."
John looked at his son, but Dean remained silent and still.
"You know, that was the cue for you to say 'no, Dad, you don’t suck as a role model'…" John added, raising a brow, and sighed again at the lack of response.
"Your brother really misses you," John kept talking, hoping, wishing for Dean to answer. "Keeps asking about…"
Another alarm going off made John freeze, the words dying on his lips. His heart was racing in his chest.
"Dean?"
Another alarm, a different one, started beeping as well.
"Dean?" Cold sweat was beading on John's forehead. "C'mon, buddy, don’t do this…"
The same nurse from earlier entered the room and turned the alarms off.
"What's going on?" John demanded. "What's happening?"
The nurse wrote something in Dean's chart and then headed for the phone by the door. John was too far to hear what she was saying.
"Hang in there, Dean. Don’t you give up on me, you hear?" John said with a quiver in his voice.
The nurse left the room, only to return a minute later with a doctor in toe.
"What's going on? What's wrong with my son?" John demanded again, but both the doctor and the nurse ignored him. They started speaking doc-speak, and John didn’t understand a word.
The doctor reached for Dean's chart just as the nurse went to make another call and Maria entered the room.
"What's going on?" John asked again, panic creeping into his voice. They started disconnecting monitors and John started freaking out. "Someone tell me what the hell's going on!" he demanded.
Maria looked up at him, then at the doctor, who gave her a small nod, and then went back to work as a couple of orderlies came in. The doctor took a step closer to John, pulling him away from the commotion.
"Mr. Duffy, your son's blood pressure is dropping," he said.
"Yes, she said that," John said, motioning at the first nurse. "She gave him something…"
The doctor nodded. "Yes." He took a deep breath. "Sir, I believe your son's bleeding internally. It looks like he might have popped a stitch or something. We're going to have to go back in there and check."
"Go back in there? What, like another operation?" John asked.
"That's right," the doctor said.
"Is strong enough?" John asked, "That other doctor, he told me Dean wasn’t strong enough for another operation yet. He- he said Dean might die…"
"Sir, at the moment, we really don’t have another choice," the doctor said, and John felt the room spinning around him as they wheeled Dean out to the corridor towards the OR.
eeeeeeffffff
It was twelve past three in the morning, and John was pacing the waiting room, just like he'd been doing for the past forty eight minutes.
There were other people there; a young couple. The woman's eyes were all red and puffy. She held the man's hand and he just sat with his head down staring at his shoes and biting the nails on his other hand.
Sam bites his nails. John tried to wane him of that habit, but so far he was failing miserably. It was a weird thing to think about right now, Sam biting his nails. John sat down on one of the chairs, only to stand up again and keep on pacing.
The woman glanced at him from time to time, between whispering something in the man's ear and rubbing circles on his back. It made something ache inside John. He really, really wished he didn’t have to go through his alone. Wished Mary could have been there to hold his hand and worry right along with him.
It wasn’t long after that that the doctor walked through the double doors marked 'personnel only', blood on his sterile overcoat. He stopped at a biohazard bin and tossed his overcoat and mask in there, removing his surgical cap with a tired hand. He had a look about him that was all bad news, and John's knees threatened to buckle.
The doctor let out a sigh and stood up straight, and John's stomach lurched. "Oh, God, no," he whispered, hands shaking and mouth going dry. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and yet John's lungs refused to fill. He couldn’t breathe. He just stood there, trying to brace himself for the news he knew was coming, but how could you brace yourself to knowing you'd just lost your son?
John felt like throwing up. Like the walls were closing in on him. Like the world was ending, again.
The doctor walked slowly and John closed his eyes, biting his lower lip, fingernails digging into his palms just to keep from falling apart.
"I'm so sorry," the doctor said solemnly, "We did everything we could…"
John opened his eyes and frowned. He turned back to see the doctor standing in front of the young couple; the woman sobbing quietly into the man's chest.
The doctor kept talking. He sat down with the grieving couple for a few minutes, but John didn’t even notice. His legs turned to jelly and he stumbled, nearly missing the chair he was aiming for.
His hands were shaking, hell, his whole body was shaking, his heart racing a mile a minute. Black spots appeared in his peripheral vision, and somewhere in the back of his mind John realized he was probably hyperventilating. Not that he could do anything about it at the moment.
Someone put a Styrofoam cup in his hand, helped him to a few sips of cold water, but none of it registered past his mantra of oh, God.
John slapped the nurse's hands away and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the flare of pain in his wrist. He stopped the doctor just as he was about to disappear through the double doors again.
"Hey doc, what about my son?" John asked hoarsely.
The doctor frowned at him, as if not understanding what John was talking about, and then he remembered. "Oh, right. Duffy," he said, nodding. "He's still in surgery. Dr. Edwards is with him." At John's blank stare, the doctor added, "He's a very good surgeon." John kept staring, mind too slow to move past 'we did everything we could'. "I really should go back in there…" the doctor said and, sidestepping John, he left.
John kept standing there for a long moment before coming to his senses. He turned to the nurse's station on unsteady legs and asked for directions to a payphone. He didn’t even remember getting to it; one minute he was talking to a nurse and the other he was looking in his pockets for some change.
He dialed the number automatically, never really realizing what he was doing. The phone rang five times before it was picked up.
"Yes?" Said the sleepy voice on the other end of the line.
"Murphy?"
A sigh. "Damn it, John, do you have any idea what time it is?" Jim Murphy grumbled and yawned. "John? John you alright?" The pastor asked apprehensively when John didn’t answer him.
"I'm sorry about the time, Jim," John said when his throat had let up enough and words could finally get out of his mouth.
"What's wrong?" The pastor asked, now sounding wide awake. "Are you hurt?"
John looked at his bandaged wrist and closed his eyes.
"John?" Jim pushed.
"Jim," John said heavily, his voice a cry for help.
"The boys?"
John nodded, even though his friend couldn’t see it over the phone. He blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay, and let out a shattered breath.
"John?" the pastor prompted.
"I thought I was gonna lose him," John whispered, "I thought Sam was going to bleed to death in my arms." John shook his head and angrily wiped his tears.
"Oh, John…"
"He was…" John wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "He was just bleeding everywhere. His stomach was slashed open. I really thought I was going to lose him, Jim."
"Where are you?" Murphy asked.
John was too exhausted to keep from crying anymore. His shoulders shook as he wept quietly.
"John? You need me to get there? I can stay with Dean…" the pastor offered.
"We got him to the hospital in time," John said, nodding miserably.
"Thank God," Jim said, and John looked up, blinking his tears away.
"They… They say Sammy's gonna be okay," he said.
"That's great news, John," Jim said, and John closed his eyes.
"I think… I think you should get here," John said.
"Of course," the pastor said quickly. "Where are you?" He asked, and John gave him the town and hospital name. "I'll be there as soon as I can, John. I promise."
John nodded. "Good," he said. "That's good." He wiped his nose again, and sucked his lower lip between his teeth. "You should hurry," he added, and let out a breath. "You should really hurry, because… Because I think… I think Dean might need a priest. Or, you know."
There was a moment of silence before Jim spoke again. "John?" he asked hesitantly.
"They say… They say he might not make it, Jim. They're saying there's a chance my son could die," John said brokenly and started crying again. "They're saying Dean could die."
"I thought you said it was Sam that was hurt," Jim said, a little confused.
"That's what I thought," John said brokenly. "He was bleeding so much and I… I just… I don’t know, Jim," John shook his head and the tears kept falling down his cheeks. "Sam was falling apart in my arms and I guess I dropped the ball," he admitted. "God, I saw something wasn’t right with Dean, but I just figured it was shock, and Sam was losing all this blood…"
"People make mistakes, John. The important thing is Dean's being taken care of, right?"
"I told him to drive," John went on, "He had a concussion and I told him to drive. I told him he had to get Sam to the hospital, and then I went after that thing. I just… God, Jim, what if…"
"No what ifs, John. Dean is going to be okay," the pastor said confidently, "The boy's even more stubborn than you are. He won't leave his family behind."
"Just… just get here before he dies," John choked, and then hung up the phone.
TBC
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