A/N- Short chapter because I didn't want to leave the *counts them* 6 remaining readers of this story in limbo. Believe it or not, this was written in 2 hours. My informant on all things medical has worked in a hospital for many years so thanks to her for answering my questions.

Someone asked for angst and here it is. It is unimaginable being a parent in this situation, nothing anyone could ever write could do justice to what must run though a mother or a father's mind.

Disclaimer- Same as chapters 1 - 28.


'Why do you always wear shorts?' Gwen asked as she took her place on the bench, dressed in full club tracksuit and coat. 'Aren't you cold?'

'Legs like this don't deserve to be hidden,' John replied as he watched the teams line up for kick off, Gwen sitting down beside the substitutes.

Downton were away to Swindon Town on this Tuesday night fixture, and it had been a long trip to the south west for the team. Robert didn't see the need for an overnight stop although John had wished they had done so. The team hardy ever performed well after a long coach journey.

Anna approached John then, walking past Robert who was conversing with the opposing manager who was a former team mate of his. 'Remember darling, don't swear too much. This is my last night and I want it to pass as stress free as possible.'

'You know I can't promise that my sweet,' John answered with a smile before noticing the expression on Anna's face. He cleared his throat, before backtracking on his previous reply, Anna already assuming her position on the bench. 'I'll do my best.'

'Okay, showtime,' Robert said as he walked towards the Downton bench, rubbing his hands together. He stood beside his assistant who was watching the captains contest the coin toss. 'What do you think, then?'

'A draw would be an amazing result,' John remarked as his captain, Thomas, chose to take the kick off. 'If we keep their star midfielder quiet, then we'll stop them playing.'

'Don't worry,' Robert said with a chuckle, noticing Nelson Clay geeing up all the players around him. 'I'm sure Nelson will see to that.'

The game was a lucklustre affair, neither team willing to grab the initiative, too afraid to make a mistake. Swindon knew Downton were a threat on the counter attack and so were cautious to throw too many men forward meaning the game became bogged down in midfield. As the clock ticked along to twenty minutes, John and Robert were pleased the team were holding their own.

'Simple balls, Will,' John shouted from his position on the touchline as the midfielder played another long ball into Jimmy which was easily cleared. 'Nelson was on then.'

'Jimmy had made a good run, to be fair,' Robert commented as the ball was cleared up field by the Swindon goalkeeper.

'But to be fair, William may be improving all the time but he is no Iniesta.'

It was then that John noticed a police officer walking his way. Stepping back to allow the man to walk past, John was surprised to feel a hand on his forearm.

'Mr John Bates?' the officer said, completely confusing the man on the touchline. 'We've had some news. From home.'

A sensation of dread flowed through him, John said the first thing that came to his mind. 'My Mum, is she alright?'

The policeman shook his head. 'It isn't your mother, it's your son.'

'Mikey?' John said aloud, the conversation having now gained the attentions of Robert and Anna. His heart was thundering in his chest as he asked the next question. 'What's happened?'

'Michael was involved in a road accident earlier this evening. It seems he was struck by a moving vehicle outside the family home. He been taken to hospital in Harrogate.'

'Shit,' John ran a hand through his hair, his world spinning at a hundred miles an hour. He didn't know what to say, what to think. He turned to Anna who herself was looking ashen, before Robert. 'I've got to get to him. Is he alright?'

'All I know is he's in the best place. There is a police car waiting to take you back up to Yorkshire,' the officer explained.

'What's going on?' Tony Gillingham asked from behind those gathered in the Downton technical area. Robert waved his concerns away, not wanting to distract the players on the task in hand.

'You and the subs go and warm up eh, Tony?' Robert suggested before turning back to John. 'Go. He needs you. And Anna.'

The bench was a flurry of movement as the substitutes ran down the touchline to begin their warm up. Joseph was on his feet, and making his way to see what all the commotion was about.

'Is everything alright, Norm?' Joseph asked, all thoughts on the game completely vanished. 'Creeps?'

'We should get going,' the officer said to John, gesturing towards the players tunnel. 'And Mrs Bates.'

Anna took her husband's hand, he completely in a trance as he walked a pace ahead. Turning her head to look at Robert, he mouthed, 'keep me informed,' to which Anna nodded her head.

Just when life was moving along perfectly.


The car was moving up the motorway at quite some speed, rain which had chosen to fall lashing down the windows. John had remained extremely quiet on the journey, Anna simply holding his hand and willing to be anything he wanted her to be. She was heartened John had turned to her in light of what happened last time. His hand had never left hers since she had taken it on the touchline of the pitch. John was shaking his leg, every so often releasing a shuddering breath.

With the police being vague, John didn't know what to think. How to feel. All he knew was it must be bad to have a police escort all the way to Yorkshire from Swindon. The sensation of Anna squeezing his hand brought John out of his reverie, looking down to meet her eye.

'We'll be there soon,' she whispered as they travelled further north on the M1.

John forced a weak smile before sighing deeply. 'What am I going to do, Anna? What if he, if he…'

Knowing what he was insinuating, Anna hushed her husband. 'You can't think like that. Let's just see what the doctors say when we get to the hospital and take it from there, eh?'

Nodding his head, John turned his head to look out of the window once more. It was sure to be a long journey ahead, both metaphorically and literally.


Jean watched from the observation window to see Michael unconscious in bed, wires and tubes here, there and everywhere. He looked so helpless, so utterly helpless. The past few hours had been the worst of her life, no question. To hear the word resuscitate and know it's in reference to your eleven year old grandson, she wasn't sure life could get much worse than that. Michael had died twice in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Jean had seen him die. She couldn't even contemplate how she was going to live with that, let alone telling her son, the most precious thing in the world to her. She felt responsible. Michael was in her care and Jean had let this happen. Why didn't she just say no when Michael had asked if he could go outside to play football?

They had been in the hospital for a few hours now. It was nearly midnight. Michael was stable, heavily sedated. Swelling on the brain. A broken leg. Four broken ribs. That was what the doctors had said. The next twelve hours were crucial. All these clichés she had heard on her favourite television dramas were now very real. And all applied to her Grandson. Her little lad.

Walking back into the room, Jean sat beside the bed and took Michael's hand in hers. He didn't even flinch. She could barely believe that Michael might be able to sense her presence, as the doctors and nurses had insinuated. It was as if he were a doll. And that made her feel dead inside. A boy she had barely known a year but had managed to bring so much joy into her life. A joy she thought she would never experience.

'Dad is on his way,' she muttered, stroking his hand. Her attention was grabbed by the cuts and bruises on his face and his arms. His right leg was in a cast. She released a sob. 'God Michael, my poor babe. My poor, poor babe. Nan would do anything to make this better for you, believe her when she says that. Absolutely anything.'

'Mum.'

Jean looked over her shoulder to see John standing in the doorway, Anna through the glass standing with a couple of policemen. She stood up, slowly closing the gap between her and her boy.

'John,' she gasped before John taking her into her arms completely took her breath away. She broke down then, a sense of relief flowing through her that John hadn't been angry, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her as she was enveloped in her son's arms.

'I've just heard you've been here through it all,' John continued, his voice choked with tears. 'I heard you saw him, you saw him...'

Jean felt her heart constrict in her chest, John unable to say the words that Jean suspected he was trying to. That she had seen Michael die. She decided to divert the path the conversation was taking.

'He has swelling on the brain, broken ribs and as you can see, a broken leg,' Jean explained, the two of them turning their attentions to the bed. 'The next twelve hours are crucial.'

'Could he die?' That was all John wanted to know. That was all that mattered to him. Jean couldn't answer with words, instead nodding her head slowly. That gesture was enough for John to release a groan before letting yet more tears engulf him. Jean decided in that moment it was the most distressing, awful sound she had ever heard. John was openly sobbing and Jean took him by the hand, trying to find from somewhere within herself the strength to encourage John this was no good for Michael.

'Now, the doctors said he might be able to sense, in some way, that we are here. Talk to him, that's what they said.' She tapped the back of the chair. 'Sit down. He might be waiting to hear your voice. I'll go and talk to Anna.'

'Mum, how am I going to...' John stopped himself, looking at his son.

'You're his Daddy,' Jean replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'And this is the card we have cruelly been dealt. I just can't help feeling that...'

'This isn't your fault Mum,' John quickly dismissed her fears. 'He's crossed that road a dozen times and been fine. The policeman told me out there you had been blaming yourself. I don't blame you. It was an accident.'

Jean didn't reply, watching as John now fully focussed his attentions on his son lying in the bed. Allowing them their privacy, Jean left the room. John took Michael's hand in his own, trying to find the right words for this situation. What could he possibly say? His son was lying in a hospital bed, barely alive. His son had died twice. The boy in the bed didn't look like Michael. This wasn't the boy who had entered his life the summer before last and given him, alongside Anna of course, a purpose, a reason to live. But he had to look beyond that. John was all Michael had now, his protector. And he had to be there for him in this dark hour, more than he ever had to be before.

'Hello son, Dad's here,' John began with a whisper before chuckling softly at how ridiculous that sounded, despite the situation. 'You've gone and got yourself into a right mess, haven't you, mate? A broken leg? You'll be out of action for at least six months with that.'

He couldn't help but let his eyes wonder over every inch of Michael, wires attached to him in different places, the beeping of the heart monitor that was almost deafening. Why was his son in this position? How was any of this fair? John suddenly felt anger pooling in his veins before the steady beeping of the monitor turned to that of a tuneless, endless tone. In the next moment, nurses and doctors were rushing into the room, John being almost flung out of the way as those who had entered worked on his son.

'What's going on?' John cried as he watched one of the doctor's charged the defibrillators.

'He's in cardiac arrest,' one of the nurses explained the situation very matter-of-factly as John moved further against the side of the room, unable to avert his eyes from Michael's face.

'Clear,' the doctor said sternly, the nurse who had been carrying out chest compressions on Michael stepping back from the bed. The contraption was placed on his chest, John wincing as Michael's body lifted up from the bed, such was the force of the electricity coming from the paddles.

The longer the doctors and nurses tried to resuscitate Michael, the more panicked John was becoming. Jean and Anna were watching from the corridor, having tried to get in but being encouraged to stay out of the room, given Anna's condition. John hadn't noticed this exchange, too wrapped up in what was happening to his son.

'Why isn't he responding?' John almost bellowed, Anna burying her head into Jean's shoulder upon hearing his tone, even in the corridor. It chilled her to the bone.

'Clear,' the doctor called again, the sound of the defibrillator becoming ever more engrained in John's mind.

'Talk to him, John,' one of the nurses asked, stepping aside to allow John to step towards the bed. 'Hearing your voice might help bring him around.'

John reluctantly took a few paces closer to the bed, looking down at his son's seemingly lifeless body. A nurse was doing chest compressions not a few inches away from where he was standing. John didn't know what to do, choosing to place a hand on his son's forehead.

'Come on, mate,' John said with an anxious lilt to his tone, 'we've got football matches to go and watch. We've got walks to take little Tommy Pink Paws on, and your little brothers or sisters to meet. Don't give up son, don't give up.'

'Clear.'

John was coming to hate that word. He stepped back, allowing the doctor to place the equipment upon Michael's chest. The world that had seemed so perfect not a few hours before was crumbling around him, and there was apparently nothing John could do to stop it.


A/N 2- Sorry.