Chapter Two

Not Going To Lose Another

David's car pulled into to the hospital just as the EMSA ambulance carrying the accident victim was arriving, with sirens and alarms blazing in the air. The noise was unusual for that time of the night, so many people had gathered along the sidewalk surrounding the hospital, wondering what had happened to the person in the ambulance. They now watched from afar as the large, white vehicle pulled up to the front doors of the hospital.

David, himself, didn't know much about what had happened. The nurse hadn't told him much over the phone, only that it had been a car accident, that the injuries were serious and that he needed to come immediately. He had only heard about one victim, which caused him to wonder what had happened to the person driving the other car. Had he survived? or was he killed?

What also happened to be running through David's mind was how terrible is luck was. True, his luck was not nearly as bad as the two people in the car accident, but still. Usually, the other doctor who worked at Storybrooke General, Dr. Victor Whale, had the night shift at the hospital, however he was out of town for the week at some medical seminar. Had he been in town, David could have happily been sleeping at that moment. But, however, he wasn't.

There was someone who needed his help.

He parked his car, locked it behind him, and ran up to the entrance of the hospital, meeting the two EMTs who were carrying the man on a large gurney. Nurses had run out of the hospital to greet them, directing the men through the double glass doored-entryway. David followed behind them, and, once in the lobby of the building, he slipped off his jacket and threw it onto nearby chair. He ran back to the EMTs.

"A John Doe broadsided by a car. No blunt force trauma, though severe scarring along the legs and abdomen," the EMTs barked at him as he rushed with them through the front desk of the hospital and back towards the operating rooms. "Heavy loss of blood."

Running quickly, David directed them towards the main wing of the hospital. "Bring him over here," he said, pointing to a large, empty space near the windows. Already nurses had set up an IV stand and all the other necessary equipment at the spot.

"What about the other driver?" he asked.

"Didn't make it." David stopped, wondering if he knew the other driver. Deep inside, sadness itched at him, though he didn't have time for it. One life had already been lost, they weren't going to lose another.

The EMTs followed where directed and pushed the gurney to the space. Unfastening the restraints, they lifted the unconscious man off the gurney and onto the operating table. They quickly moved out of the way for David and the nurses, taking away the gurney with them.

With the men out of the way, David could finally get a look at the guy: he was unconscious, the force of the accident probably knocking him out instantly; cuts and wounds were scattered across his body, the largest of which were gashed across his abdomen and his left leg. Both were bleeding badly, despite the thick bandages that the EMTs had wrapped around it. His shirt and pants were all torn apart, partially due to the accident and partially due to the emergency aid. He looked terrible.

As much as David wanted to instantly start trying to assist the man immediately - any second wasted could result in this man's death - he knew he to sterilize himself first. There was a procedure, and if he didn't clean off his hands and arms throughly, he could risk infecting the patient. He didn't want to worsen the situation.

Hurrying as fast as he could, David rushed over to the nearby sink, washed his hand quickly, though thoroughly, and slipped on latex gloves. He ran back to the man as nurses surrounded him.

"I need four quarts of blood," David commanded to one of them as a nurse stuck an IV into the man. Just by glancing at the sheets underneath the man, he could see they had already been deeply stained by blood. This patient needed a blood infusion, and fast.

While he waited for the blood to arrive, David checked his other injuries. It appeared that the two major things were his scars on his abdomen and leg. He didn't seem to have any head trauma, though David decided to order a CT scan as soon as the blood arrived.

"Where did the accident happen," he asked another nurse.

"Down on West 16th Avenue, near the park." David clicked on his flashlight and checked the man's eyes. They responded, which was a good sign. His vitals were stable, though he had lost a lot of blood.

He looked at the man as nurses hurried all around him. "We're going to try and fix you," he whispered.

Killian Jones' thick eyelashes fluttered as his eyes slowly parted open, foggy vision greeting him. The man moaned loudly as he awoke from his unconscious state, the grunt at the bottom of his throat escaping through his teeth. Still a bit groggy, he wondered where he was - somewhere with really uncomfortable sheet, he thought - and what had happened to him.

He tried to think back through his day.

It had been a day mostly of travel for Killian, spent almost solely on the road in his small car. He was moving from Boston, where he had lived for the past three years, to a small-town in Maine called Storybrooke. Killian had never been there before, but he had wanted to move somewhere new. He had grown tired of his life in Boston, and hoped that his art and music career would flourish more in a smaller-town. Usually for most people it was the other way around, Killian knew that. But he wasn't like most other people, or at least he didn't so anyway.

Killian was motivated more by what he felt than by anything else. It had gotten him in some trouble in his past, though it was always how he had been. He always chocked it up to being an artist.

So, he had packed up all his belongings, which didn't amount to much more than a guitar, clothes, some boxes and various forms of art supplies, from his tiny, studio apartment on East Street into his car and set off for the remote town in Maine.

He had arrived in town, last he could remember, and had driven by some park. He wondered if he was still in Storybrooke…

As Killian tried to figure out what had happened, David, across the room filling a report out about the man's injuries, noticed he had finally woken up.

It had been two hours since Killian had first been brought into Storybrooke General by the ambulance. David and the nurses had been able to stop the bleeding, and had tightly re-bandaged his leg and abdomen. Having stabilized him, they were able to perform a CT Scan, which they were still waiting on the results from. But, his waking up was a good sign.

David set down his pen and the report. His eyes moving towards the man, he walked over to his patient, who didn't seem to notice him.

"You're awake," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face as he stopped up against the foot of the man's bed. Earlier he had been unable to clearly see the man due to all the blood, but now he was about to definitively see the man.

His patient was a tan, handsome guy in his late twenties, with bright blue eyes and wide lips. He had dark-colored stubble decorating his chin, and shiny, black hair that gleamed under the ceiling lights. His thick, black eyebrows gave the man a seductive look, one that, even from his position in a hospital bed, made several of the female nurses already start to fawn over him.

David could understand the attraction. Already, he too felt an instant appeal inside to the man.

"W-where am I, mate?" Killian sleepily asked, his vision slightly blurred from the bright lights. He squinted his eyes, adjusting to the room.

"You don't remember?" This time, it wasn't a good sign. David worried that he may have brain injuries.

"The last thing I remember…" Killian answered, thinking back to his last available memory, "Was driving my car by a park on some street. What happened to me?"

"You were in a car accident," David replied, "You were beat up pretty badly. You are in the hospital now, where we've treated most of your injuries."

"Am I still in Storybrooke?" He asked groggily.

"Yes, this is Storybrooke General Hospital. Can you tell me your name?" David wanted to check to see if his memory loss was serious. He was able to talk, which meant his verbal skill was still functioning, so that was good.

Killian looked around the room, his eyesight adjusting to the light. It was a large, white and cream-colored area, with several empty beds and several nurses running around. From the room's several windows, he could still see it was night outside. In the corner of his eyes he could see a large, golden and silver crest hanging from the wall. Below it read: Storybrooke General Hospital.

"Uh Killian," he said, recalling it from his memory. He looked back at David. "Killian Jones."

David nodded and wrote the name down on the patients records, which he had grabbed from the counter where had he been working. He didn't seem to notice his patient fall back against the pillow, fast-asleep again due to his pain medication.

"Alright, well Mr- " David stopped, looking at Killian. A sympathetic smile formed across his face as he turned away from the man and walked back to the counter, letting Killian rest.

It was about another four hours until Killian finally woke up again, coming to it much the same way as he had before.

"Water…" he called dryly to David, who was standing not far away examining some documents. Killian's CT Scans had come back negative for any brain damage, which was incredibly lucky for what he had been through.

He set down the papers and walked over to the man. He grabbed a plastic cup off a nearby stand, poured some water from the sink and handed it to Killian. He drank it heartily.

"Thanks," he said drowsily. He handed the empty cup back to David, and looked at him plainly.

"Is there something else I can get you?" David asked.

"Yeah uh… you got any gin around here?"