A/N: well, it's been a while since I've put an authors note in before the chapter itself! So, apologies for delaying this just a little.

I just wanted to say (although no one actually mentioned it) that the last chapter was supposed to feel a little on the…detached side. It wasn't very long, over-informative, or really even descriptive. I just wanted you to know that my writing didn't just randomly go down the toilet, but that I wanted it to feel a little detached. I think Margaret was a little detached from reality at the time, so it seemed fitting.

Anyways, things are back to normal in this chapter. Well, I should clarify: my writing is back to normal this chapter. ;)

But a friendly heads-up: this chapter is pretty gruesome, and might just be too much for some people. I understand that. It's going to be a lot to swallow.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Margaret took the route to her bedroom with no small amount of trepidation. She did not quite now how she was supposed to feel; indeed she was not even truly able to discern how she did feel. A small part of her did not want to go into that room, to see John laying there in whatever condition he might be in. Part of her feared seeing him in such a way. Perhaps being barred from her room while Doctor Donaldson was seeing to his injuries had done her more harm than good. In the heat of the moment, it had been easy for Margaret to stay by his side. Now with several hours to do nothing but think and worry, it would take so much more courage to walk in there. But a still greater part of her was impatient to be beside him, no matter how dreadful things were at the moment. She did not bother to knock; this was her home-her bedroom-after all. Doctor Donaldson stood at the head of the bed, carefully wrapping a bandage around John's head. And John-

Oh, John.

It was not a gruesome as she expected. But then, the last time she had seen him, he was covered in blood and had a piece of wood protruding from his shoulder. He was wrapped very neatly, almost head to foot, in crisp white bandages. His right leg was elevated by a sling, and he was positioned in such a way that he appeared to be sitting against the headboard with his head currently resting in Doctor Donaldson's hands.

"Mrs. Thornton." He greeted with grim politeness. Margaret did not return any greeting as she made her way forward, eyes stuck on John's unconscious form. "Please, come sit down and I will explain Mr. Thornton's injuries while I tend to yours." Margaret looked over to him and saw him indicate the small stool that usually rested beneath her vanity table. Now it sat beside the bed, just close enough to the bed for Margaret to reach out and touch one of John's bandaged hands. She made her way quietly to his side, and did precisely that. The doctor finished his work with the small snap! of a pin. She watched him work feeling somewhat detached from the situation.

This was a vulnerability she had never before witnessed in John-nor truly any man she had ever known. Margaret thought she had seen him at his worst already, being the only true observer to his mental illness. To see him as he was at that moment: broken, defeated in every possible way, made her see precisely how fragile life was. She had been present for nearly every day of her mothers prolonged death, she had lost her father only a year later, but the true infirmity of life had never been so blaringly obvious as it was in that moment; and it frightened her.

"Shall we have a look at your arm?" Doctor Donaldson asked, his tone set in its usual lackadaisical attempt at lightheartedness. Margaret nodded, her eyes still trained on her husbands face. "He'll be asleep for a long time yet, Mrs. Thornton."

"Will he be alright?" Margaret asked quietly as the doctor began cleaning her arm.

"I have high hopes for him." He rustled around in his travel case before returning his attention to her arm. "He is very lucky-that piece of wood only missed his artery by the grace of God." He muttered the last words as though he still could not believe such a thing had occurred himself. "But it did not do any serious injury, and I was able to close it very well. The wound on your arm is very deep and will need stitches; I will have to send someone to fetch more laudanum."

"No." Margaret said quietly. She could not bring herself to speak louder even though she knew John would not wake. "I will be fine; I can hardly feel my arm as it is." Doctor Donaldson hummed in disapproval but did not contradict her. It wasn't until he resumed picking and dabbing at her arm that he continued:

"His left leg has a severe break, but it was a clean one, and I was able to set it without much difficulty. It will be quite some time before he can walk on it, but it should heal very quickly. Margaret heard him moving items around in his bag once more. "His hands, feet, right calf, and some of his right side have been badly burned. If we keep them clean, they should not scar terribly. There was a rather large cut across his face and scalp that has been stitched, and bandaged.

"It is important to know that the greatest risk he faces right now is infection. Specifically in the areas with burns. It is vital to his well-being that the bandages be changed regularly, and that the wounds stay clean. Even the smallest infection could cost him his life. Try to keep his upper body elevated as much as possible; he was having trouble breathing earlier, and I would not like to take a chance with him."

"Trouble breathing?" Margaret asked, immediately alarmed. Margaret turned her gaze to her arm, and noticed with a slight that the doctor had already begun stitching the wound closed. She hadn't even felt it.

"Yes." He replied patiently. "There are many speculative reasons for it, but I have not settled upon one for certain. I will continue to watch him very closely in the coming days." There was a snipping noise, followed by a weary sigh. "As for you," He continued, standing and turning to face her. Margaret met his stern gaze with her own rather defiant one. She knew he had planned on lecturing her. "I would tell you to try not to move your arm as much as can be helped, but I feel my request would fall upon deaf ears."

"There is much to be done." Margaret softly. "I cannot be idle; but I will do my best not to aggravate it." To her surprise, Doctor Donaldson chuckled.

"It is more than I expected from you Mrs. Thornton." He smiled at her. "Your other wounds are all superficial; nevertheless try to keep them clean, and keep your arm out of water." He turned from her, and began to pack his various medical instruments back into his travel case. "I will go attend to the other injured, and give you a few moments alone."

"Thank you." Margaret said, hoping that he understood the depth of her gratitude. A thought struck her and she spoke quickly: "The wounded have all been moved downstairs." Doctor Donaldson had his back turned to her as he prepared to leave, but turned and met her gaze, brows disappearing into his forehead.

"Indeed?" He asked, genuinely surprised. He hummed in approval before taking his leave of her.

Alone in the room with her husband, Margaret found her herself at a loss. She wanted to cry-dear God how she wanted to cry until she could no longer-but she refused. She needed to be strong. Not only for herself, but she needed to be strong for John as well. She could not fathom the unimaginable pain he would be in. She also knew that it would be many weeks before he would be able to leave that bed, and he would be irritable, filled with restless anxiety to see what had become of his business, his workers. But there was no business now. The Mill was gone, almost completely destroyed by the fire. It would have to be demolished and rebuilt completely from the ground up, something which Margaret only guessed could take months.

She did not know how long she sat at her husbands side. It might have been hours. Her mind was so occupied with such grim thoughts that she did not hear Nicholas approach until he was beside her.

"He's a strong man Margaret." He stated firmly. "He'll get through this just fine, you'll see." Margaret smiled warmly at him.

"He certainly is." The smile had not left her lips as she turned to see John's face.

"I reckon he won't be pleased when finds out you went in there." Margaret didn't have to ask what Nicholas mean; she was fully aware John would be upset with her.

"People were dying, Nicholas." Her voice sounded oddly dull to her own ears. "What would you have done? In any case he is asleep, and does not need to know." Nicholas chuckled.

"You'll have a right time trying to hide that nasty cut on your arm." She smiled. She had no intention of hiding anything from John. Disapprobation or no, she would not hide that she had gone in to the Mill and come out alive, with his mother no less. He could be angry at her all he wanted.

"There's an inspector downstairs looking for you." Nicholas said. "Should I tell him to come back later?"

"No." Margaret said, regretfully letting go of Johns bandaged fingers so she could stand. "I must speak with him today. He believes the fire was not an accident." Nicholas arched an eyebrow in surprise, but did not reply. Margaret went to her wardrobe and began searching for one of the dresses she normally wore went she snuck out to the Princeton District. She had only caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror once, but it was more than enough for her to know she needed to change. Mindful of the stitches nearly spanning the length of her arm, she found one with shorter, loose sleeves and tossed it over her uninjured arm. She gathered a few other necessities from around the room not caring one bit how improper it might be considered. She's had her fill with the boundaries of propriety.

"I must go." She said at long last, disappointment and longing threatening to overpower her will. "Will you stay with him? At least until Doctor Donaldson returns?" Nicholas smiled reassuringly at her.

"Of course I will." He said.

"Thank you Nicholas." Her voice trembled slightly with emotion, but she suppressed them. She had responsibilities. She could not hide away and hope they would resolve themselves. So she tightened her grip on her belongings, cast a lingering glance at her husband, and left the room.

She went in to one of the nearby guest rooms to attempt to clean herself as best as she could. It wouldn't be as thorough as if she bathed, but there was no time for that. She would have to make do with a clean face and dress. She could have changed and refreshed herself in her room, but it felt wrong to do so. For the time being, her bedroom had become a public location. In any case, she would have been unable to leave the room had she stayed any longer. One by one she removed her many layers, being mindful of her injuries, until she was left only in her chemise.

Her arm was by far the worst of her injuries. It raked a jagged path down her shoulder, stopping just below her elbow on her forearm. Oddly enough she did not feel any pain from it. In fact, it was the only injury she did not feel; but she counted it as an unexpected blessing and did not question it. Her hands had taken some minor burns to them that were blistering, but it only hurt if she stretched her fingers out. Cuts and bruises aside, the only other injury she could see was her nose. It was bruised and somewhat swollen, most likely in protest to her smashing it against the door to John's office. But the bone was sound, and it offered very little inconvenience to her. It was refreshing to clean some of the grime off her face. She dressed quickly, tying her corset as tightly as she could on her own, before heading in search of the inspector.

She found him waiting in the Mill yard, casually expecting one of the many piles of burned rubble. This was the first time she really saw the full extent of damage done to the Mill. The sky was abnormally cloudless, giving off a frustratingly false sense of cheer, but showering the remains in a bright light. It was still heavily smoking in some areas, but had largely been reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble. Margaret suddenly realized how very fortunate it had been that their own house hadn't gone up as well. The only part still standing was John's office, and even so, the damage was extraordinary.

"Mrs. Thornton." The inspector's greeting drew her out of her thoughts. Margaret realized now that this was the same inspector who questioned her on Leonards' death.

"Hello Mr…Mason?" She must have guessed right because he looked pleased.

"Yes. I'm sorry to disturb you at such a time, I heard that Mr. Thornton was unwell…" He trailed off, looking as though he immediately regretted mentioned her husband. Margaret tried to smile reassuringly at him, but knew it was not as friendly as she meant it to be.

"What have you found?" Margaret asked, attempting to clear the awkward tension from the air.

"Nothing yet, ma'am." He replied, snapping straight back into professionalism. "I have interviewed several witnesses, but there are some things that don't rightly add up. I was wondering if I would be able to get your full account, as well as that of Mr. Thornton's."

"I would be glad to help you," Margaret said, once more surprised to find her voice sounded strangely devoid of all emotion. "But I am afraid my husband will not be able to testify at the moment." Mason nodded, and Margaret wasted no time in giving him her side of the story in as much detail as possible.

"I had been at my father's home…" She trailed off for a moment, silently remarking that Mr. Hale's funeral felt as though it had occurred years before. "I had just come in through the Mill gates when the explosion happened. It threw me backwards against a wall." Inspector Mason nodded encouragingly, his hand flying furiously over his notepad. "And then John found me, and took me inside the house." It was an extremely simplified version of events, but Margaret did not feel the need to divulge everything that happened after John found her.

"But you didn't stay in the house." The inspector stated as if he already knew. "Several people witnessed you coming out the side door, there." He added in answer to her unspoken question, while pointing out the door.

"Y-yes." Margaret stammered. She didn't understand why his statement unsettled her. "I went in to the Mill."

"Why?" Was he serious?

"People were dying! I could not just stand there." She looked at him incredulously.

"I meant no offense, ma'am." He replied hastily. "I just need it for your testimony." Margaret nodded. "What did you do? Once you were inside, that is."

"I went into John's office and found Mrs. Thornton-his mother-unconscious on the floor. So I brought her back to the house. By the time we escaped the fire, everyone had been rescued." Well, almost everyone, her mind helpfully interjected.

"Mrs. Thornton?" The inspector said, still scribbling on his notepad. "Hmmm. And where was Mr. Thornton?" Margaret tried very hard not to be irritated with the inspector. He was only doing his job after all. But with every new question, especially those regarding John, she found herself wanting to yell at him for bringing the subject to light.

"Trapped inside the Mill." She said, jaw clenched.

"How did you discover this?" He asked.

"Nicholas Higgins informed me that all the workers were accounted for, but that he couldn't find my husband to inform him. From there we assumed that he was still inside. A worker approached us (whose name I do not know) and informed us that he had seen John go in the direction of the storage house but that he did not return. As for how he made it out of the Mill, you will have to speak to Nicholas Higgins on the matter, as he was the one who organized the search party." Margaret spoke so quickly that she was entirely out of breath by the time she finished, and no less irritated by the questioning. Inspector Mason seemed to realize that he upset her, and did nothing more than thank her before bidding her a good day. It was several minutes before she felt calm enough to go return to the house.

Margaret had tried, really tried, to simply go back upstairs and sit with John. But reality superseded her wishes, and she spent the majority of that day downstairs, tending to the wounded. Although there had been a great many volunteers to show up in the late night and early hours of the morning, they could not stay forever. Many had children at home to tend to. Others had a spouse, child, relative, or friend to have been injured, even killed in the fire, and did not stay. The body count in the Thornton household slowly decreased as people left. Those without life-threatening injuries could be taken back to their home. Many poor souls succumbed to their wounds and were taken to be with the others who had perished. It truly was a gruesome thing, the fire. It not only damaged the material, but the immaterial as well. Peoples bodies, emotions, their very souls had been irreparably harmed. And Margaret had not escaped such harm either.

There had been so much death. So much tragedy, and despair. She held the hands of a terrified little boy as his leg, burned beyond repair, was amputated below the knee, and as he later bled to death. She helped to stitch a young woman's face back together. She tied a bandage around the eyes of a child whose eyesight had been claimed by fire. She cleaned gaping wounds with no hope of closing, comforted those in agony, offered water to those who were thirsty, and closed the eyes of those who died while she tended to them. And all the while her thoughts were on the words of her husband, spoken so harshly to her at the time, of the three-hundred corpses he had to dispose of in the last fire.

There was a brief moment where Margaret had spoken to Fanny. She had forgotten of her sister-in-law's presence until she had quite literally bumped into her on her way to the kitchen for more hot water. To say Fanny had been surprised by her appearance would have been a gross understatement. She let out a terrified yelp and placed a hand over her chest.

"Margaret!" She cried. "Oh my, you're in such a state!" Margaret ignored the comment, but greeted her in kind.

"How is your mother, Fanny?"

"Oh she is much better!" Fanny exclaimed with a bright smile. "She's only just woken; already clamoring to get out of bed and see John!" Margaret's heart sank. Mrs. Thornton did not know of her son, and Margaret had forgotten all about her. She would have to be informed, and Margaret would have to be the one to do it. "I was coming to find you," she continued hurriedly, completely unaware of her brother's perilous situation. "I must go home before dark. I'm going to collect some of Mama's possessions and return with Watson, but we will be back in time for dinner!" And with a predictable flourish of her skirts, Fanny disappeared out of the front door before Margaret was able to speak otherwise. Margaret had not even had the time to consider how she would approach her mother-in-law with such terrible news when Doctor Donaldson called to her.

"Ah, Mrs. Thornton!" He exclaimed, looking quite pleased. "I come bringing good news!" Margaret's heartbeat, already elevated just from the appearance of the doctor, beat even faster.

"And?" She asked, unable to keep the slight excitement from her voice.

"I believe your husband is showing the first signs of waking. I thought you might like to be there to greet him." Margaret smiled, invariably please with the news. Even through all the excitement and anticipation, she unconsciously glanced back towards the room her mother-in-law was resting in, and beyond it the rooms housing all the injured. "Do not worry yourself Mrs. Thornton." He scolded gently. "They will be fine without you, and you would benefit from some time away from them." But it wasn't the injured who occupied Margaret's thoughts, feeding guilt into her system.

"No, it's not that…" She said quietly before turning back to face him. "It's my mother-in-law. I do not think that she knows yet about her son." Doctor Donaldson's face darkened.

"Go," He said grimly. "Be with your husband. I will tell Mrs. Thornton what has become of her son." Margaret smiled, and thanked him profusely before heading to her bedroom. True to his word, Nicholas stayed by John's side in her absence, and was there to greet her when she walked in the room.

"Margaret." He greeted, a smile brightly tucked away in his hazel eyes. Margaret smiled at him while hurrying to the washbasin to cleanse her hands of blood, and took her place at John's side.

"Hello, Nicholas." She called as she washed. "Has he woken yet?"

"No, not just so." Nicholas replied, though he sounded very hopeful. "But his hand's been twitching for a good two minutes. Doctor reckons its him coming round." Margaret saw it then, his hand twitching. Excitement bubbled up inside of her at the sight, and she took his hand in her own.

"John?" She called. "John, can you hear me?" He did not respond, but his hand continued to twitch. "I'm here John." She said, reaching up to brush several strands of his hair out of his face. The hand in hers began to twitch repeatedly. Margaret looked down at it in confusion, noticing that it was not one hand, but two.

"I wonder why his hands are shaking?" Nicholas questioned from the opposite side of the bed.

"Perhaps it's a side effect of the laudanum." Margaret speculated. Margaret look to him once more. "John?" His jaw was clenched, his trembling hands soon turned to shaking hands and arms. "Nicholas, go get Doctor Donaldson." While her voice was calm, she knew it perfectly projected her uncertainty. Nicholas looked as though he might protest leaving her there alone, but did not have long to contemplate his decision. John's shaking hands progressed into wild convulsions.

"Nicholas go get Doctor Donaldson now!" She cried, panic gripping her chest. John's arms and legs suddenly snapped rigid, and his entire body thrashed with violent convulsions. "John?!" Margaret cried, suddenly more terrified for his life than she had been through the entirety of the previous night. She could hear his voice, the sound of his strangled suffering through his tightly clenched jaw. Without warning the leather rest holding his leg upright snapped, as his convulsions intensified. In the space of one moment he thrashed right to the edge of the mattress and Margaret threw herself at him to keep him from falling off. It was in that moment that Doctor Donaldson, Nicholas, Carter, and a heavily limping Hannah Thornton burst into the room.

"What in God's name happened?!" The doctor cried. Margaret, who was temporarily distracted by the sudden appearance of four people, lost her grip on her thrashing husband and tumbled to the floor underneath him.

"Get him off of her!" She heard Nicholas cry. "He might hurt her." That was a very distinct possibility, Margaret realized. John was very obviously not in control of his own body, and writhed as though in a perpetual state of agony. But she could still hear his strangled voice, as though he was fighting with himself. She tried to wriggle out from underneath him, but he was too heavy.

"I think he's choking!" Margaret cried, desperately hoping they could hear her.

"Damn!" The doctor swore loudly in response. If it had been another moment, Margaret would have remarked upon how very surprised he must be to forget his impeccable sense of professionalism and curse. But she was far too preoccupied to think of such trivial things at that moment. The three men tried to flip him on to his back, but he was flailing to wildly for anyone to get near. Somehow Margaret managed to pull herself up into a sitting position and pull John to her chest, clutching him tightly. All together, less than sixty seconds had passed from the start of his convulsions to the moment she pulled him to her. But the damage that had been done in those seconds was most discouraging.

It wasn't very long until the violent convulsions ceased, but Margaret could feel his entire body shaking, emphasized by an occasional twitch. It was the warmth growing on her side that worried her the most, however. The warmth of blood soaking into her clothes.

"I-I t-t-th-think that one of his w-wo-w-wounds has reop-p-p-pened." Margaret did not realize how visibly shaken she was by the entire experience until she spoke. Tears threatened to fall once again, but still she suppressed the urge to release them. They would not help her.

"Come, lets try and move him back to the bed." Doctor Donaldson said quietly. Margaret realized then how very silent the room was with the absence of the commotion. It unnerved her. Nicholas, Carter, and Doctor Donaldson all reached down and gently pried John away from her, before lifting him up onto the bed. She took Carter's proffered hand and got to her feet, immediately rushing to John's side to help with the bandaging.

For all the durability his splint possessed, it did not survive John's episode, and consequently his leg needed to be reset and the stitches completely removed and redone. Margaret thought she might be sent away as she had been before, but the doctor never commented on her presence, so she began to work on removing the dressings from John's shoulder. Perhaps now that he had witnessed her assisting the many victims of the fire, he was not as concerned as he had been. Proper ladies did not usually involve themselves in such matters, and perhaps if had been any mill other than Marlborough she would no have. But now she had seen much, much worse than the sight before her. The wound in John's shoulder had indeed reopened, stitches ripped from their proper place, and the bleeding was much heavier than it appeared before the bandage was removed. She made quick work of removing them, pressing a clean cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding while she waited for Doctor Donaldson to finish resetting his leg.

"Higgins." He said lowly, looking at John's face with something akin to suspicion. "Go and fetch more wood for a splint."

"Aye, sir." Nicholas replied, briskly departing from the room. Margaret now studied the doctor's face with an intensity that could rival even John's piercing gaze. There was something he was not telling her. A murmuring of voices in the dark corner of the room drew her attention away from Doctor Donaldson.

"Mrs. Thornton!" Margaret exclaimed. Upon seeing her mother-in-law, she realized that she had indeed seen her come into the room behind Carter, limping heavily, but determined nonetheless. Margaret had been so wholly preoccupied that she completely forgotten about her. Again. From the corner of her eye she saw the doctor stand to his full height and fix Mrs. Thornton with a glare.

"You should not have gotten out of bed." He said sternly. "Your ankle is damaged enough, and you need not aggravate it by walking." Mrs. Thornton moved forward, ignoring the arm that Carter offered, but stumbled and was forced to accept it anyway.

"If you thought I would stay in bed while my son lay injured, you were mistaken." She said passionately. She met Margaret's eye then, and Margaret saw a softening in her expression that she had never known before as she took her place next to her at the bed. Margaret turned back to face John, increasing the pressure on his shoulder.

Snap!

Her head snapped to her left, and Margaret was alarmed to see that the doctor set John's leg back in place without any warning at all. But something wasn't right about this. There was something she had missed, but couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. It wasn't the suspicious actions of the doctor, the way he continually looked up at John with…disappointment, or even the terrifying fit John had just been in. The realization struck her:

Doctor Donaldson had just set John's bone back into its proper place, and John hadn't made a sound.

It wasn't right; Margaret had seen more than enough trauma in the last twenty-four hours to know as much. Unconscious or not, the pain of setting a broken bone was enough to illicit some form of response. And there had been nothing from John. Not even a pained expression. She had been watching his face at the time, she would have seen it. But no, his face looked calm; not peaceful as though in sleep, but calm. It wasn't right.

"You've noticed it as well, Mrs. Thornton?" He asked, addressing Margaret. She nodded, even though she did not know what it meant.

"Noticed what?" Mrs. Thornton asked. "What's happened!" But the doctor was spared making a reply by the arrival of Nicholas with the splint.

"It was the best I could find." He said, handing over the uneven lengths of wood.

"It will have to do."

"Why is he so pale?" Carter asked, speaking for the first time since entering the room. All eyes turned back to assess John's face. In just moments, it had changed from a typical paleness of an injured man, to a sickly grey pallor. Doctor Donaldson reached forward and touched the back of his hand to John's hand, arm, and finally his face.

"Higgins, build up the fire!" He barked. "Carter go and get more blankets, we need to warm him up!"

"Doctor what's happening?!" Margaret cried.

"Keep pressure on his shoulder Mrs. Thornton!" replied over his shoulder as he rushed to the fire; he conveniently did not answer her question.

"Doctor what has happened to my son?" Hannah questioned fiercely, looking as though she might attack him. He appeared on Margaret's right with a thin, flat metal object; the tip of which was glowing red with heat. When he placed it in the fire she did not know.

"His body is shutting down." He said distractedly, pulling the bandages on John's shoulder out from beneath Margaret's hands. He placed himself directly in between Margaret and her husband before plunging the glowing hot piece of metal directly into John's shoulder.

"What are you doing?!" Hannah screamed. She tried to push past Margaret to get to Doctor Donaldson, but Margaret turned and held up her arms in protest.

"He is cauterizing John's shoulder, Mrs. Thornton!" She said quickly. "He has to stop the bleeding."

"When did you become a medical expert, Miss Hale?" She snapped, still attempting to get past her. Margaret ignored the sting she felt with her mother-in-law's blow, but focused on keeping her from further harming John or herself. The doctor sighed loudly and set the metal object on a dampened piece of leather located on a nearby table. Again the unusual feeling that bothered her only a few moments previously, made itself known to her at once. Something else was not right. For Doctor Donaldson had (for all intents and purposes) just stabbed John in the arm with a red-hot metal bar, and he had not made a sound.

"Your daughter-in-law has experienced much in these last hours." Doctor Donaldson replied. "And she was correct; I needed to stop the bleeding immediately. I am sorry to say that it will scar rather badly now."

"Will he be alright?" Margaret rushed. "You said his body was shutting down?"

"It is certainly attempting to." He replied. Carter reappeared with an armful of blankets that the doctor then spread out across John's inert form. "We will have to keep him as warm as possible, and be sure to keep the fire hot. He is lucky I do not give up so easily."

"There is something else," Margaret said suspiciously. "You noticed it earlier, and even now I can see it upon your face." The doctor looked somewhat guilty.

"I fear…" He began slowly. "That Mr. Thornton may be comatose."

A/N: Hey, at least I warned you that it was going to be hardcore. So, I know a lot of you might not like this chapter, for a multitude of reasons. That's ok. It's…dark, and gruesome, with a lot of unusual interactions and some very out of character scenes. But rest assured, its not going to be like this forever.

A few interesting facts for you, because I will never be able to justifiably explain it in story, because the disorders did not have termed names until the early 20th century:

1) That big-time fit John had was a seizure. Very common in coma patients, most especially those suffering from head trauma. Caused by inflammation in the brain.

2) The bit at the end, where Doctor Donaldson starts yelling for wood…John was going into hypovolemic shock, a condition unnamed until the 1970's. Its caused by severe blood or plasma loss, as usually seen in burn victums, accompanied by oxygen deprivation. (commonly used term of "shock actually has a very broad spectrum of symptoms, as there are four different types. Hypovolemic is the most common.) It causes rapid heart beat (tachycardia), rapid respiration (breathing too fast), and diminished blood pressure (weak pulse). Sorry to get all nurse nerd technical on you….

Anyway…

I'll tell you this much, just because I KNOW I've been writing dark and depressing stuff for a very long time and you're probably tired of it. Honestly, I am too. So here it is, a super spoiler just to brighten your day: No, John is not going to die. You don't really believe I would put you through all that shit just to kill him off do you? Even I'm not that heartless… No, John makes it out of this; and that's a beacon of hope you'll be able to hold onto.

Also, I didn't really edit this chapter because I needed to get it out of my hair. It was incredibly difficult to write. Yeah, it's lazy, but there's the truth of it.