Triage (12/12, PG13, Dean, Sam, John, Jim)
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: 3050.
Warning: Grammar (unbetaed!). I'm really really sorry about the tenses, guys...
Spoilers: None.
Comments: Pretty please with Impalas on top...
Summary: Sometimes you think you made the right call, only to realize you've made a really big mistake...
eeeeeeffffff
Chapter Twelve
Time flies when you're having fun.
It idles by when you're nervous or anxious.
It still passes though, even if it sometimes doesn’t feel like it does.
It had been fourteen days, nineteen hours and four minutes since Dean had been admitted to the hospital when Dr. Horner came by to talk to John.
"Mr. Duffy," Horner started, and John got up from the chair he was sitting on.
"Is it done? Do you have the results?" John asked nervously.
Horner nodded. "We gave him another cranial CT scan. He's on his way back to his room as we speak," the doctor said.
"And the results?"
Horner held up the file in his hand. "Got them right here," he said.
"So? How is he?" John pushed.
"Mr. Duffy, if you wouldn’t mind, I wanted to wait for Dr. McCaffy," Horner said.
"What? Why? There's something wrong, isn’t there? What's wrong?" John's heart raced in his chest.
"Mr. Duffy, I really think we should wait… Oh, here he is now," Horner said, and nodded to his colleague.
"What's wrong with my son?" John demanded to know as soon as Dr. McCaffy came over.
"Mr. Duffy, would you care to sit down?" Horner offered.
"I've done nothing but sit down for two weeks," John snapped. "What's wrong with my kid?"
The two doctors exchanged a look. McCaffy nodded for Horner to go first. "Mr. Duffy, I've looked at Dean's scans," Dr. Horner said, and gestured to a seat.
Hesitantly, John sat down, the two doctors following from either side of him.
"There is no evidence of further bleeding, and the swelling had gone down considerably," Horner went on. John closed his eyes and let out the breath he'd been holding. "I've asked Dr. McCaffy here because I feel there's a need for further action," the doctor finished.
John frowned. "What further action?" he asked.
"I've looked at Dean's stats," McCaffy took over, "I've gone over all the data about his heart and lungs, and I concur with my colleague here," he said.
"The hell are you two talking about?" John demanded.
They told him. And then they told him again, because he had to be sure he'd heard them right the first time. They even said it a third time when he was too dumbfounded to say anything.
They wanted to stop giving Dean the medication that kept him in a coma.
They thought it was time he woke up.
John couldn’t have agreed more.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" John asked, because he got so caught up in the thought Dean was going to wake up that he hadn’t noticed the doctors were still speaking to him.
"I said that we are going to give Dean about ten to twelve hours from the moment we stop administrating the drugs to see if he wakes up," McCaffy repeated.
"If? Wait, what do you mean 'if'?" John asked.
"We still don’t know the extent of his head trauma," Horner reminded him.
"But you think he'll wake up?" John asked, making sure.
Horner smiled at him. "Yes. We do."
"Okay then," John said. He'd been tired before. So very tired. He'd felt so drained. And now all of a sudden there was this thrum of energy coursing through him and he just couldn’t stay still.
"After twelve hours, if he still won't wake up, we're going to have to run some tests," McCaffy said gently.
"What kind of tests?" John asked.
"We're going to take him off life support," Dr. Horner answered.
John frowned. "But those machines are breathing for him…"
"Sometimes, the body needs a bit of a kick-start," McCaffy said. "When we take him off of life support, he should start breathing on his own."
"Should," John said. Both doctors nodded. "And if he doesn’t?" John asked.
"He's going to wake up, Mr. Duffy," Dr. Horner assured him.
"And if he doesn’t, he'll start breathing on his own once the machines are removed," Dr. McCaffy piped in.
"Good," John said, but he still couldn’t get rid of that tiny voice inside his head asking 'but what if he doesn’t.' "And if he doesn’t?"
The doctors exchanged a look. John didn’t consider that a good sign.
"If the drugs are out of his system and he doesn’t wake up," Dr. Horner said slowly, "If we take him off life support and he can't breathe on his own," he exchanged another glance with McCaffy. "Mr. Duffy, should that happen, it would mean Dean's head injuries are much more severe than we think they are."
"Okay," John nodded. "And then what?"
"Well, brain surgery would ordinarily be the next step," Horner said. He sounded a little uncomfortable. "But I doubt it would be the case here."
"Because Dean will wake up?" John asked, making sure.
"Well, yes," Horner said, and then loosened his collar a little bit. That's when John's stomach dropped to his feet. "But, you see, if he doesn’t wake up and doesn’t start breathing on his own… Mr. Duffy, chances are your son will never wake up."
John's heart stopped. His world ended.
McCaffy slapped his back. "No reason to think about that now, Mr. Duffy. These are good news," he said.
Yeah.
If Dean didn’t wake up in twelve hours, he never would.
Great news.
Damn doctors.
eeeeeeffffff
Fifteen days, eleven hours and fifty three minutes. That's how long it took for Dean to open his eyes after he'd first passed out in the hospital.
Fifteen days, eleven hours and fifty three minutes, and John had nearly missed it.
Dean had been off the coma-inducing medication for eight hours and twelve minutes when their affect had finally abated.
The thing is, people don’t realize how boring it is watching someone sleep. Even if said someone was clinging to life by their fingernails. They just lay there, sleeping, breathing in and out, and nothing changed.
John didn’t even realize it was happening; one minute he was biting his nails, the next he was pleading with his son to open his eyes - and then the next moment his own eyes became so heavy he allowed them to close. He didn’t mean to sleep, of course, just rest his eyes for a bit. Well, best laid plans and all that.
John woke with a start when one of the machines monitoring Dean's vitals went off. His heart raced a mile a minute and his blood ran cold in his veins. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked on shaky legs over to Dean's bed to try and figure out which monitor sounded the alarm.
It took a couple of seconds for John to realize Dean was looking at him, with wide eyes and panic written all over his face.
John's own eyes widened and his throat closed in surprise. "Dean," he breathed, just as a couple of nurses rushed in the room. The nurses started jotting things down on Dean's chart and tending to the monitors, all the while Dean's face grew more and more pale and his panic intensified.
John grabbed Dean's hand in his and leaned in closer to his son. He brushed Dean's hair away from his face. "It's okay," John said in a strangled voice, "I'm right here, Dean. I'm not going anywhere," John promised.
Dean's eyes locked on him and John smiled at his child. "Just hold on, son. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I promise," John repeated.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, and a second later, another monitor began to wail.
"What's going on?" John cried, "What's happening?"
The nurses were running around in the small room; one was tending to the monitors while the other brought a syringe over and injected something into Dean's central line.
Dean squeezed John's hand weakly and didn’t let go, and John figured this would have been a bone-crushing squeeze if only his son had had the strength. And then Dean started choking.
"Don’t just stand there, do something!" John yelled at the nurses, "Go get a doctor!"
"Mr. Duffy -"
"Don’t you Mr. Duffy me, help my son!" John demanded angrily.
"Mr. Duffy!" The nurse snapped, with the same voice his mother used to use when John had done something wrong. "You need you calm down," the nurse added warningly.
"Like hell I do," John growled, "My son's in pain!"
"Your son is panicking, Mr. Duffy, and so are you," the nurse went on. "If you want to help your son, talk to him. Calm him down," she said just as the other nurse injected Dean with something else.
"What are you giving him?" John asked, a little apprehensive.
"A sedative," the nurse replied.
"What? Why? He just came out of a damn coma!"
The nurse sighed and exchanged a glance with her colleague. "Mr. Duffy, your son is overexcited. This isn’t good for him. It puts too much stress on his heart, and right now, his heart really can't handle too much stress, do you understand what I'm telling you?" she asked.
John just stared at her, a chill running through his spine.
"Talk to him," the other nurse piped in, "Let him hear your voice. Calm him down enough for the sedatives you start working."
And John did. He leaned in close and promised his son that he was right there, that he wasn’t going anywhere, that everything would be fine. He kept on talking, keeping his voice as soothing as he could, until Dean's struggles subsided and he succumbed to the effect of the drugs in his system once more.
eeeeeeffffff
John called the apartment the moment he was able to hold the phone in his shaky hands without dropping it.
It was Sam who answered the phone on the second ring.
"Dad?"
John frowned and looked at his watch. "Sammy? What are you doing up at three in the morning?"
"Is he awake? Is Dean okay?" Sam asked.
John smiled. "Yeah, he woke up," John said, and then had to pull the receiver away from his ear.
"Pastor Jim! Dean woke up!" Sam yelled, loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.
John could hear Murphy on the other side of the phone, saying a prayer.
"Dad, we're coming over right now," Sam said excitedly.
"Sam, no," John said and smothered a yawn.
"What? Why?"
"Because there's no point," John answered and rubbed at his aching neck. "He's asleep again."
"He's in a coma again?" Sam asked apprehensively.
"Nah, just sleeping," John replied. "They gave him some sedatives, and now they're running some tests, so I'm sure it's okay if you let Jim get some sleep. And while you're at it, get some shut eye yourself, kiddo."
"But I want to see Dean," Sam insisted.
"And you will," John agreed, "But not tonight. I just wanted to call and let you know. I'll call again if there's any news. Tell Jim the two of you can come by after ten for visiting hours, okay?"
"Okay, Dad," Sam said, and John smiled when he heard his son yawn.
"I love you, Sammy."
"You to," Sam said, and then hung up the phone.
John let out a breath and rubbed his eyes, trying to decide if he should get a couple of hours of sleep or a cup of coffee.
Sleep won.
After all, if Dean was allowed to get a few more hours, surely his old man could enjoy the same perk.
eeeeeeffffff
Dean slept for seventeen hours straight.
The doctors used that time to extubate him, removing both the tube that helped him breathe and the NG tube from his nose. They used a nose cannula to help supply him with oxygen, and ran countless more tests.
The next time Dean opened his eyes, John was there, reading a newspaper. He only realized Dean was awake when his son tried to snatch the paper from him.
John smiled at him. "Hey, kiddo," he drawled, "Had a good nap?"
Dean tried to answer, but no voice came out. He grimaced in pain.
"Hey, hey, wait," John said, and quickly brought over a glass of water with a bendy straw. He held the straw to Dean's lips. "Small sips, okay?" John asked, making sure.
Dean took a few sips. It seemed like the simple act of drinking was enough to drain the energy out of him, and he closed his eyes.
John caressed his head. "I'm going to go get a doctor to see you, okay?" He said, and Dean's eyes flew open, his heart monitor picking up.
"Okay, okay," John said quickly and held on to Dean's flailing hand. "I'm not going anywhere, okay Dean? I'm right here. I'mma stay right here, okay?"
It hurt. Seeing the fear and uncertainty in Dean's eyes, it hurt John deep in his gut. He kept stroking Dean's hair until the heart monitor regained its slow and steady pace.
"That's better," John said softly. "Do you know where you are?"
Dean looked around the room, moving his head as little as possible, and then closed his eyes with a tiny nod. John squeezed Dean's hand to make him open his eyes.
"Do you know why you're here?" John asked.
Dean seemed to be thinking it over, then finally gave a little shrug. He tried talking again, but nothing came out. Frustrated, he just mouthed 'hurt'.
"I really should get a doctor," John said, and Dean shook his head adamantly.
He let out a cry of pain and pressed both hands to his temples.
"Dean," John tried, but Dean ignored him. John just rubbed small circles on his son's leg. "Okay," he said, "Okay, I'm not going anywhere, Dean, I promise."
After a moment or two, Dean seemed to have composed himself enough to try and speak again, but John couldn’t understand what he was saying. Dean frowned and tried yet again.
John shook his head. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I don’t understand," he said.
Dean motioned at the water and John brought it over, allowing Dean a few more sips. He pulled the cup away when Dean started choking on the water.
"Hey, take it easy," John said as he put the cup aside and pressed the nurse call button.
Dean nodded lightly. "Sam?" he managed to croak.
"Sammy's fine," John said, "He's at the apartment with Jim," he added. "They were here earlier, but you were out of it."
Dean gave another small nod, wincing. "Safe?" he whispered.
John brushed his fingers over Dean's cheek. They'd removed the stitches a few days ago. There wouldn’t be any scarring, John could tell.
"Yeah, your brother's safe," John said.
Dean closed his eyes, licking his cracked dry lips. He opened his eyes again a moment later. "Insurance?" he whispered.
"Don’t worry about it," John said. He was actually doing a pretty good job with the whole denial thing. Wasn’t gonna think about the insurance. Not yet. No one had asked him any questions so far, and John thanked his lucky stars at that. He wasn’t going to poke that tiger with a stick anytime soon.
"I kept our first names," John informed Dean. "Last name's Duffy."
Dean frowned. "Like the duck?" he asked, and John laughed.
"Yeah, like the duck," he said. God, he loved that kid.
Dean's eyes were growing heavy and John sat back down.
"Dad?"
"I'm right here, tiger," John said, "Right here."
"I see our patient's finally decided to join the party," Latisha said. She looked at John, who got up on his feet.
"He's in pain," John said.
"Did he…?" Latisha asked, and John nodded.
"Oh, sorry love, I can't give you anything. Doctor's orders," she said.
Dean struggled to open his eyes, and Latisha smiled at him. "You know, they told me you had pretty eyes, but I just had to hang around here to see for myself," she said with a smile.
Dean just closed his eyes again.
"You know, if he was feeling better, he'd be taking advantage of you by now," John said. "Why can't you…?"
"Doctor's orders," Latisha cut John off. "And I'd just have to hang around and find out, now, wouldn’t I?" she winked at John. She noted some information down on Dean's charts.
"I'll go get Dr. Horner," she said when she was done. John nodded at her and she left.
He turned to look at his son again. "Hey, you still awake?" John asked, making sure.
"No," Dean said in a small voice, and John smiled at him.
He remembered that feeling; the feeling of being so tired, so very tired, but still not wanting to sleep. Not willing to miss anything. He had that feeling around Mary, remembered having it after the boys were born.
John frowned. "You scared the shit out of me, boy," he said in his stern voice, but there was no heat behind it. "And just so you know, you're grounded."
That brought a small smile to Dean's lips. A quirk of his lip, really, nothing more, but it was more than enough for John.
"No 'm not," Dean mumbled, and John let out a breath.
Huh. Breathing seemed easier somehow.
"Oh, no?" John asked, amused but trying to pretend he wasn’t, "You scare me like that again, and I'm coming with you on all your date from now until you're forty."
The tiny quirk of Dean's lips grew into an almost-smile. Dean opened one eye, and then there was a full blown smirk.
Oh. Right. Teenager.
John Winchester had fought a war. He'd been battling ghosts and monsters for years. Somehow though, the thought of being a chaperone to Dean of all people made John recoil. That boy had no shame, and he was never above making a point. Especially if it involved girls.
"No, scratch that," John said, "I'd just send your brother with you," he added. "Everywhere. And I'd order him to tell me everything."
That sounded like a win-win situation, at least as far as John was concerned.
"Is just mean," Dean murmured, making John laugh.
"I love you, kiddo," John said and brushed Dean's cheek with his fingers again. "I'm gonna wait here with you until you fall asleep, and then I'm gonna go unleash your brother on you. That okay?"
"It'd totally backfire anyway," Dean muttered and fell asleep.
(Fin)
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