One look at Sam's white face in the old black car's passenger seat, a moment listening to his quick, hungry breaths, and Amelia knew Dean's assessment was pretty accurate. Sam stared at her for a full thirty seconds until alarm dawned in his old eyes -- bloodshot at the moment, unfocused and dilated. "She shuh -- De -- You sai
( ... )
Dean skidded the car into the clinic's parking lot and slammed to a stop. Sam, minimally conscious, braced himself automatically against the dashboard as Amelia flew forward and struck the back of the front seat. Dean killed the engine and lunged from the car to help Sam stand, tugging and bracing him in a way that spoke of long practice and total disregard for whatever was going on in his own ribs. Amelia darted ahead of them in her wooly loafers and sleep shirt, lead them to the service door, and punched in her security code. She flicked on the lights of the laundry and storage room, braced the door open with a cardboard box, and dug a set of scrubs out of the dryer while she waited for Sam and Dean to arrive
( ... )
"Do humans get GDV?" Amelia asked herself. She grabbed her stethoscope off its hook by the dry erase board and pressed the bell to the grotesque bulge in Sam's abdomen, then flicked him with a finger. There was a dull thud. Something solid, not air. Not GDV, that would be stupid, but something. She rested both hands and the stethoscope on Sam and listened, hearing the soft distant rasp of Sam's gasping, the faint flutter of his straining heart, the sinister silence of his digestive tract, and something . . . strange. Faint. A soft rapid whud-whud-whud-whud, and a soft glide. Something brushed against her palm from inside him.
Disturbed, she stepped away. "He needs surgery."
"So quit fartin' around and get started."
"This is not a discount hospital, you asshole!" Amelia exploded. "This is a vet clinic! I'm an animal doctor! I can try to stabilize him, but if you care about Sam half as much as I do, you'll get him to a human O.R., with a full surgical team that's seen the inside of a human abdomen, that has staplers and endoscopes"No
( ... )
Sam was sprawled out uncomfortably on the bare steel pediatric surgical table in his boxers, his legs almost touching the floor and his arms taped to the bottom to hang in a half-way natural position at his sides. Dean had rolled up one of the clinic's thread-bare beach towels to prop his head up. He was looking at her, his eyes a little clearer now, his mouth tight with pain.
"Is Dean right about the thirty minutes?" she asked softly. "I can stick him with a sedative, knock him out, and get an ambulance here. We don't have to do this."
"Ten," Sam hissed between paints. He flicked his eyes at the wall clock. "Ten now."
Amelia swallowed hard. "You're gonna be awake for this," she told him. His eyes widened, and she hurried to reassure him. "It's okay, they do this in cows all the time. I'll do a local. But you need to hold very -- very -- still, so you don't eviscerate yourself, okay
( ... )
The stomach was completely taut, not just from the stay sutures, but from the thing inside it, the thing with the linear and cylindrical mineral radiographic silhouette, and the skull and the teeth and the tiny soft whup-whup-whup-whup. "I'm going to take the -- the object out now," she announced. "Do you know if it's, um
( ... )
Closing was uneventful, but nerve-wracking. Amelia sewed up Sam's stomach, took Dean off stay suture duty so he could pour five liters of saline into his brother, changed gloves a second time, took a quick feel around Sam's abdominal cavity to make sure she hadn't missed anything that might be important -- "Like what?" Sam had demanded, shivering and staring with huge eyes at her arm buried past the wrist in his guts -- whip-stitched his abdominal tendon back together, and, after a quick spray of the last of the lidocaine, the skin. It wasn't one of her worse skin closures, but she was pretty sure human hospitals didn't send people home with green monofilament in their skin. The linoleum was a morass of blood and salt-water, like usual after a laparotomy on a big dog
( ... )
"Here's Tock's morphine," Amelia changed the subject, holding up a loaded syringe. Dean stepped aside so she could peel some of Sam's blankets off and push the drug slowly into his injection port. Sam watched warily as it flared through his veins, and, too late, Amelia thought to ask, "You don't have a problem with narcotics
( ... )
She was going to lose her license and go to prison. Or she would if Dean reported Sam's death; they seemed more the "bury him under the old oak tree" type. She was going to kill Sam, he was going to get peritonitis and die, because she was going to do an enterotomy solo.
Even with this one paragraph, you made her more likable than cannon. Why can't we have *this* Amelia?
Maybe that could be a new genre: character modification. Does it count as OOC if it's how the character *ought* to be have?
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Disturbed, she stepped away. "He needs surgery."
"So quit fartin' around and get started."
"This is not a discount hospital, you asshole!" Amelia exploded. "This is a vet clinic! I'm an animal doctor! I can try to stabilize him, but if you care about Sam half as much as I do, you'll get him to a human O.R., with a full surgical team that's seen the inside of a human abdomen, that has staplers and endoscopes"No ( ... )
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"Is Dean right about the thirty minutes?" she asked softly. "I can stick him with a sedative, knock him out, and get an ambulance here. We don't have to do this."
"Ten," Sam hissed between paints. He flicked his eyes at the wall clock. "Ten now."
Amelia swallowed hard. "You're gonna be awake for this," she told him. His eyes widened, and she hurried to reassure him. "It's okay, they do this in cows all the time. I'll do a local. But you need to hold very -- very -- still, so you don't eviscerate yourself, okay ( ... )
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And laughing at the green monofilament stitches and the bottle of foaming wood glue.
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Thanks so much!
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You did such a great job with this prompt!
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Thanks!
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She was going to lose her license and go to prison. Or she would if Dean reported Sam's death; they seemed more the "bury him under the old oak tree" type. She was going to kill Sam, he was going to get peritonitis and die, because she was going to do an enterotomy solo.
Even with this one paragraph, you made her more likable than cannon. Why can't we have *this* Amelia?
Maybe that could be a new genre: character modification. Does it count as OOC if it's how the character *ought* to be have?
Reply
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