The waiting room to the trauma unit had only one patient waiting—a teenage boy cradling his arm and sniffling, his mother sitting beside him, comforting him—and a few nurses and a receptionist at the main desk when the double doors to the trauma unit opened, and Dean hurried in, carrying the still unconscious Alicia in his arms; Sam was close behind.
"We need a doctor!" Dean shouted urgently. The nurses looked up at his voice and hurried over when they saw the situation, while the receptionist picked up a phone and paged a doctor. Within seconds a gurney was wheeled over. Dean helped lay Alicia on it, and one of the nurses pulled out a penlight, checking her eyes, another used a scanning thermometer on her forehead, and a third pulled out a stethoscope. She listened to Alicia's chest, and the three nurses began talking to each other as a man in scrubs and a lab coat rushed in.
"What do we have?" he said as the gurney was quickly wheeled down the hall. Dean and Sam followed, trying to hear everything that was being said as they kept pace.
"Female," the first nurse announced, "mid-twenties, unresponsive, bruising on left frontal area, possible concussion, pupillary response normal, temperature is one oh four point two. Cyanosis, with air entry to bases prominently reduced. Respiratory rate is shallow at twenty-seven, BP is one forty over fifty-five, heart rate is one thirty."
"Allie, we're right here," Dean said reassuringly, trying to mask the fear in his voice as he looked down at his unconscious wife. "You're gonna be okay."
The gurney was wheeled through the open double doorway of an unoccupied trauma room, where more nurses and doctors joined, and everyone began tending to the unconscious young woman. Dean and Sam stood just inside the door, unable to do anything but watch in distress.
"Prep her for intubation," the doctor instructed. "I want oxygen supplementation at ninety-four percent, plus an MRI and full chest x-rays. Are those chickenpox spots?" One nurse affirmed that. "Okay, let's get to work."
"What's happening?" Sam asked. "Please just tell us—"
The doctor quickly glanced over at the brothers before focusing back on Alicia. "Get them out of here," he ordered.
One of the nurses came over and gently pushed the brothers out the doorway. "Sorry. You need to leave."
Dean looked past the nurse as another one began cutting open Alicia's shirt. "That's my wife," he insisted, fear radiating from his face.
"What's her name?" the nurse asked.
"Alicia," Sam said. "Spr–uh, Winchester. What are they doing to her?"
"What's wrong?" Dean asked.
"They're trying to figure that out," the nurse answered, "but we need you to stay out of their way so they can help her." She turned and headed back into the room, pulling a curtain around the gurney as the doctors and nurses continued working on the other side.
After a few minutes, a nurse came out to let them know Alicia was being taken to radiology, and they'd be updated with Alicia's condition as soon as the doctors knew anything. Dean and Sam reluctantly moved to the waiting area, now empty of patients, alternating between sitting in chairs and pacing.
Sitting in a chair, Sam stared numbly at the hard floor, then he glanced over at his brother, who sat across from him. Dean just looked at the wall, his face expressionless but his eyes radiating worry, as he absent-mindedly rotated his wedding band. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but then he quickly decided against it. It was over thirty minutes before the doctor walked into the waiting room. The brothers glanced over and immediately got up as he approached.
"How is she?" Dean asked.
"Well, aside from the chickenpox," the doctor said, "Alicia's got a mild concussion—I'm assuming she collapsed?"
"We found her on the floor of our motel room," Dean said.
The doctor tilted his head. "She was traveling while sick with chickenpox?"
"We were already on the road when she got sick," Sam explained. "We thought it was the flu." The doctor nodded, understanding.
"Is she gonna be okay?" Dean asked.
"If it was just the chickenpox," the doctor said, "I wouldn't be terribly concerned, even with the concussion, but she has developed a case of pneumonia—and it's pretty serious."
"How serious?" Sam asked.
"She had a significant amount of fluid in her lungs," the doctor explained, "which we're currently draining, and we've had to place her on a ventilator so she could breathe."
"How the hell did she get pneumonia?" Dean asked.
"It's a common complication with chickenpox," the doctor said. "Am I correct in assuming Alicia never had the disease when she was younger?"
"Yeah," Sam replied.
"Whoa, whoa," Dean said. "Look, me and my brother, we both had chickenpox when we were kids, and the worst we got was spots and feeling like crap for about a week."
"You were both kids," the doctor said.
"What difference does that make?" Dean asked.
"While chickenpox is more of a nuisance in children," the doctor explained, "in adults, symptoms can be more severe, even life-threatening, with pneumonia being the most common complication."
"'Life-threatening'?" Dean asked. "Are you saying Allie could die?"
"There's a twenty-five percent chance, yes," the doctor replied grimly. He saw the distress on their faces. "Look, we're doing everything we can to keep that from happening. Like I said earlier, we've started her on a ventilator, and we're draining the fluid from her lungs. We're also treating her fever and infection with an aggressive treatment of antibiotics, and we're monitoring her to make sure she doesn't develop sepsis."
"Sepsis?" Sam asked, concerned.
"What's that?" Dean asked, noticing his brother's expression.
"It's a response from the body during a widespread infection," the doctor explained. " If we can't treat Alicia's pneumonia, there is the possibility the infection could spread to the rest of her body."
"Meaning?" Dean asked.
The doctor looked serious. "Meaning systemic organ failure—and death."
"Is there anything good you can tell us?" Dean asked. "I mean, what can we do?"
The doctor shrugged slightly. "We wait," he simply replied, almost apologetically. "Right now, it comes down to the treatments, but more importantly her and her will." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a few small things, holding them to out Dean. "Here." Dean and Sam saw the two iron bracelets and Alicia's wedding band, and both brothers stiffened with concern.
"Why the hell are you giving these to me?" Dean asked.
"You're her husband," the doctor replied. "You should have—"
"Why isn't Allie wearing them?" Dean demanded.
"We had to remove them for the MRI," the doctor explained, "or it could have caused her serious injury or rendered her scans useless."
Dean's expression quickly changed as his jaw set. "What room is she in?" he demanded.
"Well, with her chickenpox still in the contagious stage," the doctor replied, "we've had to isolate her in—"
"What room?" Dean repeated more forcefully.
The doctor just stared at him, stunned for a moment. "Uh," he said, composing himself, "she's in Room Six Oh Three in the IC—" Dean brushed past him, marching off. Sam and the doctor watched him walk around a corner, then the doctor turned back to Sam. "I'll keep you updated."
"Thank you," Sam replied as the doctor left. He took a few steps, intending to follow Dean, then he stopped as a thought crossed his mind. He closed his eyes, debating silently, then he sighed as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone.
The lights in the private room were dimly lit, the blinds from the single room closed. Dean gently clasped the second bracelet back around Alicia's left wrist before taking the chair he'd pulled up next to her bed. He gently held her hand, checking one last time to make sure her wedding band and the first bracelet were secured before he glanced at her face, just staring at her as he tried to keep his composure.
The young woman lay in the hospital bed, dressed in a white shirt and blue hospital pants. Her spots were cleaned and covered with fresh ointment, and it seemed as if more spots were in the process of erupting. Her eyes were closed, and she had a breathing tube coming from her mouth; she was hooked up to various monitors that were steadily beeping and giving off different readings. The whole setup brought back memories of when Alicia had been cured only a little over a month ago—and it was almost too much for Dean to bear.
"Allie," he said softly, his voice cracking, "I don't know if you can hear me right now, but you gotta fight this. Sam and I…we need you. You're…you're part of the team, you know." He chuckled a bit. "And I'm still a jackass, so you gotta stick around until I'm not one anymore, remember? You promised." His smile faded, and he blinked back tears as his chin wavered. "Please, Allie. You can't leave me."
Across the room, unseen by the hunter as she leaned against the wall near the window, was Alicia. More precisely, it was Alicia's spirit. She looked the same as her physical self—same clothes and spots—but minus being hooked up to machines. Her arms were crossed, and she didn't appear too unsettled by the out of body experience, but she avoided looking at her physical self as she walked over and stood next to Dean's chair.
"I'm right here, Dean," !Alicia said as she knelt beside Dean, knowing he couldn't hear her but still wishing he could. "I'm not leaving," she shrugged, "not that I have anywhere else to go." She started to put her hand over Dean's when there was a shuffling sound. Both hunters looked over to see Sam stood in the doorway, staring at Alicia with worry, not seeing the young woman's spirit either.
Dean straightened up, clearing his throat, trying to look calm and collected. "Where the hell were you?"
Sam ignored him. "Any change?"
"Does it look like it?" Dean asked curtly. He stopped and sighed, frustrated.
Sam just nodded, understanding. He silently watched for several moments as Dean just stared at Alicia. "Look, Dean, if you—"
"Save it."
"I'm just saying, if you want to talk, I'm—"
"I said save it," Dean interrupted harshly. "There's nothing to talk about. She's gonna be fine, okay?"
"You heard what the doctor said, Dean. There's a twenty-five percent chance she might not make it."
"Yea, and there's a seventy-five percent chance she will," Dean retorted. "As her husband, I'm gonna focus on those odds instead of just giving up on her."
!Alicia sighed, patiently. "Guys, please, not now."
"Dean, no one's giving up on her. I'm just thinking maybe her chances would be higher if we'd gotten her to the doctor earlier."
"Oh, so this is my fault, huh?" Dean asked defensively as he stood up and faced his brother.
"Guys, don't do this," !Alicia pleaded. "Please!"
"Dean, I'm not—"
"Just say it, Sam," Dean interrupted angrily. "It's my fault Allie's like this." He looked down at Alicia, focusing his attention on her wedding band.
Sam paused, seeing his brother's expression; he looked like he was contemplating something. "Dean?"
"Excuse me?" Everyone looked over and saw a man with glasses, wearing a suit and carrying a clipboard. He looked between the brothers. "I need to speak with Mrs. Winchester's husband." Dean and Sam glanced at each other, then Dean headed out of the room while Sam and !Alicia stayed in the room.
"What is it?" Dean asked, slightly annoyed as he joined the man in the corridor.
"We know this is a stressful time," the man said, almost like he was reciting from a script.
"Yeah, okay," Dean said, standing with his arms crossed. "No offense, you can skip the garnish. What, did her insurance lapse, or what?"
"We're sorry to ask," the man replied, "but, um, did your wife ever make her wishes known in regards to what she would like done to her body in the event of her death?" He saw Dean's startled and confused expression. "You know, burial, cremation—"
"What are you talking about?" Dean interrupted, frowning.
"We understand there's never really a good time to discuss this," the man continued, "but want to make sure everyone's prepared just in case—"
"You listen to me," Dean said, his voice low and deadly. "I'm only gonna say this once. She's not gonna die. She's gonna be fine, 'cause she's already been through a helluva lot worse than some damn chickenpox, and she's come out just fine."
"I apologize," the man said sincerely.
"Why are you talking to me like she's gonna die, huh?" Dean asked angrily. "I do my job! Do your jobs! Save her!"
The man nodded. "Of course," he said patiently. "They're doing everything they can."
Dean suddenly punched the directory sign board behind the man, the glass spider-webbing from his impact; when he removed his hand, there was a small amount of blood mingling with the fractured glass where Dean's knuckles had been cut. The man stared at Dean with wide eyes as the hunter looked back at him, his face changing as he used every ounce of strength to not hit the man himself.
"Walk away from me," he warned the man. The man just continued to stare at him in stunned silence. "Now!" The man hurried away, leaving Dean alone. The hunter breathed heavily, his hand hurting, but he ignored it as he took a deep breath and turned around. He stopped short when he saw Sam standing in the doorway to Alicia's room, looking at his brother with concern. Dean just stared at Sam for a few moments before setting jaw and marching down the corridor. Sam thought about following him, but he simply sighed and turned, heading back into Alicia's room, passing !Alicia as she looked worried.
(End of Chapter 6)
Author's Note: Whenever you see !Alicia, that's referring to her when she's in her spirit form; it's not a typo.