ASJ Fanfiction: Chapters 4 & 5
Warning: this fic contains graphic descriptions of a gunshot wound, along with medical procedure. Don’t read unless that sort of thing is interesting to you.
Hannibal Heyes is gunned down by a dry-gulcher on his way back to his hotel room. He and the Kid stumble into a time portal and wind up in the present day, just in time to nearly be run over by a passing car.
Chapter 4
“You can get out now.” Deputy Burton pulled open the door beside Jed. “Good God, you’d think I was doing a Fast and Furious on you instead of driving the speed limit.”
The Kid fumbled around with the straps and managed to figure out the release mechanism. He climbed out on wobbly legs. No telling what the deputy was talking about, but Jed had never even imagined anything going as fast as that contraption. There’d been other boxes on the street as well, some going the same direction and the really scary ones coming the other way. Somehow, Burton had avoided collision and, after a hair-raising ride, eventually pulled up beside a huge brick building.
“Is this the hospital?” Jed asked, trying to sound like his heart wasn’t about to leap out of his chest in panic. Like he rode in one of those contraptions every day.
“Blue River General, yeah. C’mon, I know where the surgery waiting rooms are.”
Jed followed the lawman through a doorway that magically slid sideways out of their way. They walked down a hallway, turned right, then left, then found another long hallway that led to what looked like a set of rising rooms like he’d seen in a Denver hotel.
“If you get lost,” the deputy said, pressing a button in the wall, “just remember you need Elevator B.”
Jed was already lost. He just hoped Burton really did know how to find Heyes.
They wound their way through a maze of corridors. Some were painted white, others were pastel shades. The floor was painted in colored stripes.
“Forgot to tell you,” Burton said. “You can also follow the red line to the emergency department. That’s where your friend was. If you get lost, they’ll know what room he’s in.”
The Kid followed Deputy Burton until they reached a door that looked like every one of the seemingly hundreds of other doors they’d passed. A sign next to the door read “Surgery Waiting.” Presumably, if Heyes was in surgery, Jed was supposed to wait in there.
The lawman followed him in. Jed tried to calm his racing heart. Bad enough he’d had to endure that terrifying ride here, now he had to try to pretend the deputy’s presence didn’t make him every bit as nervous.
Although Jed was starting to believe something crazy. They’d been in Blue River before Heyes was shot. They’d gone down that alley and over one street. That should have put them behind the hardware store, on a dirt street with no lights. But they’d come out on that strange road, with all those strange machines whizzing around.
He needed to find a newspaper. He needed to find out for sure if his crazy idea was true. Because he sure couldn’t just ask the deputy what year it was - not without sounding like he belonged in an asylum.
There were others in the waiting area, all wearing the same expression Jed imagined was on his own face. Jed and the lawman sat in one corner, as far from the others as they could get. Deputy Burton flipped open the metal box he’d carried inside with him and pulled out a stack of papers.
The “statement” took far too long. Jed didn’t even know the answer to most of the questions, and the ones he did know, Burton didn’t like the Kid’s answer to.
“So you’ve got no phone, no insurance, and no ID at all,” the lawman finally muttered, snapping the box of paperwork shut. “Why did I have to come to work tonight? I could have called in sick.”
The Kid couldn’t make himself care too much for the deputy’s plight. He was too busy watching the doorway across the room. He’d seen several people come through those. He assumed they were doctors or nurses, though they wore odd-looking brightly-colored uniforms. They’d gone to a couple of the waiting families and spoken briefly. In one case, a woman waiting had burst into tears. The other family had followed their man through yet another set of doors and had not returned.
Jed wondered how long it would take for the doctor to sew Heyes up. He couldn’t think about any other outcome, couldn’t think about Heyes not coming out of this.
Chapter 5
“Don’t look now, but your bad boy’s waking up.” Etta shot a grin across the desk. “You should go wipe his brow or something.”
“Very funny.” Abby set aside her report and strode to Room 3. ICU made for a rewarding career, but she could do without all the paperwork. And sometimes, without Etta’s smart mouth.
Mr. Smith did seem to be coming out of the anesthesia, tossing his head and moaning softly. Abby checked his vitals: blood pressure still low but he’d lost a lot of blood. Oxygen saturation could be better, too, but that would improve now that he was waking up.
Abby glanced up from the monitor to meet a pair of big brown eyes. Damn Etta anyway - just because Abby had made a stray remark about the man’s good looks. But that was when he was unconscious - with those eyes open, Abby felt a flush rise to her cheeks. Even slightly unfocused from the anesthetic, the man’s eyes were magnetic.
“Kid?” He asked softly, his voice hoarse and deep.
Abby gave him her best professional smile. “If that’s your friend, he’s in the waiting room.”
Smith tried to raise his left hand and discovered the restraints. A look of panic flashed across his face. He burrowed his face in the pillow with a soft grunt. For a moment, Abby thought he was overcome with emotion, but then she realized he was trying to peel away the oxygen mask.
She quickly righted it over his nose and mouth. “You have to leave that on,” she said. “You need the oxygen to breathe properly.”
This close, those eyes were mesmerizing. She had to brush the brown bangs back away from them.
“Lemme loose,” Smith said, visibly fighting for coherent speech. He wasn’t as awake as he seemed and Abby needed to remember that. She couldn’t expect him to understand what she was trying to do. The broken ribs weren’t making his breathing any easier, either. He was panting rapidly, unable to take in a good, solid breath.
“You’re at Blue River General,” she told him, patting his good shoulder. “Once the doctor sees you, I’m sure she’ll untie you.”
“I ain’t,” said Etta from the doorway. “You were on break when they brought him in. Said he fought the EMTs in the ambulance and the staff in the OR. And when they moved him to the bed, he managed to pull his IV out. Wasted a whole bag of saline.”
“Oh, Etta, I’m sure he was just in shock. Neither of us has ever been shot - something like that would make anybody go a little crazy.”
“Well, he’s coming out of it now. Better see if he wants some pain meds before you go all googly-eyed. Dr. Kealy didn’t trust him with a morphine pump.”
“Etta!”
“Bet his name ain’t Smith, neither.”
“Mr. Smith.” Abby ignored Etta’s jibes. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”
He stared blearily at her hand, inches from his nose. “Three. Lemme loose.”
“That’s right, three. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst ever, how would you rate your pain right now?”
Smith yanked hard with his left arm. “Twelve.”
“Try not to fight so much,” Abby said. “You’re just going to make it hurt worse. You might even pull your stitches loose and then where will you be?”
“For crying out loud.” Etta marched to the bedside. She leaned over until her nose was practically touching Smith’s. “Listen up, pal. You ever want out of those restraints, you’d better be an angel for me and Abby here. You just lie still and be good, and maybe the doc’ll let you up when she does her rounds.”
Smith blinked hard a couple of times, but said nothing.
Etta let out a little huff. “I reckon we understand each other. Just remember it don’t pay to antagonize the nurses that have your pain medication. You know what I mean?”
Abby hurried to get the man’s dose. Etta was a top-notch nurse but her brusque manner sometimes grated. Abby had to admit that most of the seriously ill patients responded better to a direct order, especially if they were groggy from their medication. Maybe she should try a little of Etta’s recipe and crack down on the handsome Mr. Smith.
She returned to the room and reached for the IV tube. Mr. Smith watched groggily, his brows lowered. “Hey, I’m over here. Need something for the pain.”
“I’m injecting it into your IV, Mr. Smith. Do you know what an IV is?”
Smith shook his head slightly. His brow furrowed.
Abby pointed out the tubing, showed him where the needle had been inserted into his left hand. “This way we don’t have to make a pincushion out of you when you need more medication.”
One thick eyebrow hiked upwards. “That ain’t natural.”
“Natural or not,” Etta interjected, “you’re gonna leave that alone if you know what’s good for you. Doc Kealy’s not going to be happy if she has to cart your skinny ass back into the OR.”
Abby could tell the instant the pain medicine kicked in. Some of the tension left Smith’s face and shoulders. He let out a soft sigh and settled deeper into the pillow. His brown eyes still held confusion, but he looked at Abby and a deep dimple appeared in one cheek.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, slurring the words a little bit. His shallow breathing made long pauses between the words. “My arm’s going numb. Just untie me long enough to stretch. I won’t tell nobody.”
“Did you hear a word I said?” Etta put fists on ample hips and leaned over again. “I got me an ex-husband thinks he can put on the charm and get whatever he wants. I’ll admit he ain’t as good as you, but I can spot the action a mile away.”
Smith yanked at the restraints again, winced when the movements tugged at his wound. He bent his knees, tried to pull his legs loose. Those thick eyebrows came together again. “Don’t,” he muttered
“Don’t what?” Abby asked, bending over him, trying not to blush again.
“Don’t let me die tied up like this.”
“Oh, honey, you’re not going to die.” She started to sweep those long bangs away from the eyes again.
Etta cleared her throat loudly. Abby glanced over to see her cross her arms and give Smith a good long glare.
“You ain’t gonna die if you behave yourself,” she said loudly. “Just go back to sleep and concentrate on getting well.”
“You crazy?” Smith paused to catch his breath, tugged at the restraints. “I got shot. Right where it counts. Everybody knows what happens when you’re coughing up blood.”
“Are you coughing up anything now?” Etta tugged at the elastic on the face mask, tightening the fit and ignoring Smith’s glare. “Doc Kealy spent five hours sewing that chest up. The least you can do is be grateful and behave.”
“Still hurts to breathe. Can’t just sew up the outside and pretend everything’s OK.”
“It hurts because you’ve got two broken ribs,” Abby said, trying unsuccessfully to elbow Etta out of Smith’s face. “Those are going to take awhile to heal up, but trust us - you’re going to be fine.”
“Unless you cross me,” Etta said. “Then I’m going to slap you right into next week.”
Hannibal Heyes is gunned down by a dry-gulcher on his way back to his hotel room. He and the Kid stumble into a time portal and wind up in the present day, just in time to nearly be run over by a passing car.
Chapter 4
“You can get out now.” Deputy Burton pulled open the door beside Jed. “Good God, you’d think I was doing a Fast and Furious on you instead of driving the speed limit.”
The Kid fumbled around with the straps and managed to figure out the release mechanism. He climbed out on wobbly legs. No telling what the deputy was talking about, but Jed had never even imagined anything going as fast as that contraption. There’d been other boxes on the street as well, some going the same direction and the really scary ones coming the other way. Somehow, Burton had avoided collision and, after a hair-raising ride, eventually pulled up beside a huge brick building.
“Is this the hospital?” Jed asked, trying to sound like his heart wasn’t about to leap out of his chest in panic. Like he rode in one of those contraptions every day.
“Blue River General, yeah. C’mon, I know where the surgery waiting rooms are.”
Jed followed the lawman through a doorway that magically slid sideways out of their way. They walked down a hallway, turned right, then left, then found another long hallway that led to what looked like a set of rising rooms like he’d seen in a Denver hotel.
“If you get lost,” the deputy said, pressing a button in the wall, “just remember you need Elevator B.”
Jed was already lost. He just hoped Burton really did know how to find Heyes.
They wound their way through a maze of corridors. Some were painted white, others were pastel shades. The floor was painted in colored stripes.
“Forgot to tell you,” Burton said. “You can also follow the red line to the emergency department. That’s where your friend was. If you get lost, they’ll know what room he’s in.”
The Kid followed Deputy Burton until they reached a door that looked like every one of the seemingly hundreds of other doors they’d passed. A sign next to the door read “Surgery Waiting.” Presumably, if Heyes was in surgery, Jed was supposed to wait in there.
The lawman followed him in. Jed tried to calm his racing heart. Bad enough he’d had to endure that terrifying ride here, now he had to try to pretend the deputy’s presence didn’t make him every bit as nervous.
Although Jed was starting to believe something crazy. They’d been in Blue River before Heyes was shot. They’d gone down that alley and over one street. That should have put them behind the hardware store, on a dirt street with no lights. But they’d come out on that strange road, with all those strange machines whizzing around.
He needed to find a newspaper. He needed to find out for sure if his crazy idea was true. Because he sure couldn’t just ask the deputy what year it was - not without sounding like he belonged in an asylum.
There were others in the waiting area, all wearing the same expression Jed imagined was on his own face. Jed and the lawman sat in one corner, as far from the others as they could get. Deputy Burton flipped open the metal box he’d carried inside with him and pulled out a stack of papers.
The “statement” took far too long. Jed didn’t even know the answer to most of the questions, and the ones he did know, Burton didn’t like the Kid’s answer to.
“So you’ve got no phone, no insurance, and no ID at all,” the lawman finally muttered, snapping the box of paperwork shut. “Why did I have to come to work tonight? I could have called in sick.”
The Kid couldn’t make himself care too much for the deputy’s plight. He was too busy watching the doorway across the room. He’d seen several people come through those. He assumed they were doctors or nurses, though they wore odd-looking brightly-colored uniforms. They’d gone to a couple of the waiting families and spoken briefly. In one case, a woman waiting had burst into tears. The other family had followed their man through yet another set of doors and had not returned.
Jed wondered how long it would take for the doctor to sew Heyes up. He couldn’t think about any other outcome, couldn’t think about Heyes not coming out of this.
Chapter 5
“Don’t look now, but your bad boy’s waking up.” Etta shot a grin across the desk. “You should go wipe his brow or something.”
“Very funny.” Abby set aside her report and strode to Room 3. ICU made for a rewarding career, but she could do without all the paperwork. And sometimes, without Etta’s smart mouth.
Mr. Smith did seem to be coming out of the anesthesia, tossing his head and moaning softly. Abby checked his vitals: blood pressure still low but he’d lost a lot of blood. Oxygen saturation could be better, too, but that would improve now that he was waking up.
Abby glanced up from the monitor to meet a pair of big brown eyes. Damn Etta anyway - just because Abby had made a stray remark about the man’s good looks. But that was when he was unconscious - with those eyes open, Abby felt a flush rise to her cheeks. Even slightly unfocused from the anesthetic, the man’s eyes were magnetic.
“Kid?” He asked softly, his voice hoarse and deep.
Abby gave him her best professional smile. “If that’s your friend, he’s in the waiting room.”
Smith tried to raise his left hand and discovered the restraints. A look of panic flashed across his face. He burrowed his face in the pillow with a soft grunt. For a moment, Abby thought he was overcome with emotion, but then she realized he was trying to peel away the oxygen mask.
She quickly righted it over his nose and mouth. “You have to leave that on,” she said. “You need the oxygen to breathe properly.”
This close, those eyes were mesmerizing. She had to brush the brown bangs back away from them.
“Lemme loose,” Smith said, visibly fighting for coherent speech. He wasn’t as awake as he seemed and Abby needed to remember that. She couldn’t expect him to understand what she was trying to do. The broken ribs weren’t making his breathing any easier, either. He was panting rapidly, unable to take in a good, solid breath.
“You’re at Blue River General,” she told him, patting his good shoulder. “Once the doctor sees you, I’m sure she’ll untie you.”
“I ain’t,” said Etta from the doorway. “You were on break when they brought him in. Said he fought the EMTs in the ambulance and the staff in the OR. And when they moved him to the bed, he managed to pull his IV out. Wasted a whole bag of saline.”
“Oh, Etta, I’m sure he was just in shock. Neither of us has ever been shot - something like that would make anybody go a little crazy.”
“Well, he’s coming out of it now. Better see if he wants some pain meds before you go all googly-eyed. Dr. Kealy didn’t trust him with a morphine pump.”
“Etta!”
“Bet his name ain’t Smith, neither.”
“Mr. Smith.” Abby ignored Etta’s jibes. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”
He stared blearily at her hand, inches from his nose. “Three. Lemme loose.”
“That’s right, three. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst ever, how would you rate your pain right now?”
Smith yanked hard with his left arm. “Twelve.”
“Try not to fight so much,” Abby said. “You’re just going to make it hurt worse. You might even pull your stitches loose and then where will you be?”
“For crying out loud.” Etta marched to the bedside. She leaned over until her nose was practically touching Smith’s. “Listen up, pal. You ever want out of those restraints, you’d better be an angel for me and Abby here. You just lie still and be good, and maybe the doc’ll let you up when she does her rounds.”
Smith blinked hard a couple of times, but said nothing.
Etta let out a little huff. “I reckon we understand each other. Just remember it don’t pay to antagonize the nurses that have your pain medication. You know what I mean?”
Abby hurried to get the man’s dose. Etta was a top-notch nurse but her brusque manner sometimes grated. Abby had to admit that most of the seriously ill patients responded better to a direct order, especially if they were groggy from their medication. Maybe she should try a little of Etta’s recipe and crack down on the handsome Mr. Smith.
She returned to the room and reached for the IV tube. Mr. Smith watched groggily, his brows lowered. “Hey, I’m over here. Need something for the pain.”
“I’m injecting it into your IV, Mr. Smith. Do you know what an IV is?”
Smith shook his head slightly. His brow furrowed.
Abby pointed out the tubing, showed him where the needle had been inserted into his left hand. “This way we don’t have to make a pincushion out of you when you need more medication.”
One thick eyebrow hiked upwards. “That ain’t natural.”
“Natural or not,” Etta interjected, “you’re gonna leave that alone if you know what’s good for you. Doc Kealy’s not going to be happy if she has to cart your skinny ass back into the OR.”
Abby could tell the instant the pain medicine kicked in. Some of the tension left Smith’s face and shoulders. He let out a soft sigh and settled deeper into the pillow. His brown eyes still held confusion, but he looked at Abby and a deep dimple appeared in one cheek.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, slurring the words a little bit. His shallow breathing made long pauses between the words. “My arm’s going numb. Just untie me long enough to stretch. I won’t tell nobody.”
“Did you hear a word I said?” Etta put fists on ample hips and leaned over again. “I got me an ex-husband thinks he can put on the charm and get whatever he wants. I’ll admit he ain’t as good as you, but I can spot the action a mile away.”
Smith yanked at the restraints again, winced when the movements tugged at his wound. He bent his knees, tried to pull his legs loose. Those thick eyebrows came together again. “Don’t,” he muttered
“Don’t what?” Abby asked, bending over him, trying not to blush again.
“Don’t let me die tied up like this.”
“Oh, honey, you’re not going to die.” She started to sweep those long bangs away from the eyes again.
Etta cleared her throat loudly. Abby glanced over to see her cross her arms and give Smith a good long glare.
“You ain’t gonna die if you behave yourself,” she said loudly. “Just go back to sleep and concentrate on getting well.”
“You crazy?” Smith paused to catch his breath, tugged at the restraints. “I got shot. Right where it counts. Everybody knows what happens when you’re coughing up blood.”
“Are you coughing up anything now?” Etta tugged at the elastic on the face mask, tightening the fit and ignoring Smith’s glare. “Doc Kealy spent five hours sewing that chest up. The least you can do is be grateful and behave.”
“Still hurts to breathe. Can’t just sew up the outside and pretend everything’s OK.”
“It hurts because you’ve got two broken ribs,” Abby said, trying unsuccessfully to elbow Etta out of Smith’s face. “Those are going to take awhile to heal up, but trust us - you’re going to be fine.”
“Unless you cross me,” Etta said. “Then I’m going to slap you right into next week.”