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Behind the Veil of Shadows

by kaeera

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Chapter Five: Torn between two ways

From then on, it was all a blur of voices and confusion. John watched in tense silence, Cassie's hand clutched tightly in his, appalled by the state of his own body. He watched how they prepared him for surgery; watched as his father told the rest of his family the news; watched as the surgeon prepared himself; only to hurtle out of the room when they started operating.

One should never be forced to watch medical intrusions to your own body. John would have nightmares for the rest of his life. Which, judging from the current outlook of things, wouldn't be very long, anyway.

"Angel John?" Cassie sensed his turmoil and grew restless, too. "What's happening?"

He almost laughed at that question. How was one supposed to explain the impossible, to a child, nonetheless? "It's…" he began and shook his head. "They are having problems. With me. And…" No. He couldn't explain to her about out-of-body-experiences – she'd only be scared. Instead, the blonde waved in the general direction of his family. "Those are my brothers, and my father. Something's going wrong and worries them, and well, seeing them in distress makes me sad as well."

Cassie nodded in understanding. "They look nice."

Nice? Well, one could describe them in that way. They were in general a good looking family, although John wouldn't have used that description right now. Good-looking they might be, but the lines of worry wiped away the charm. Scott, Gordon and Virgil looked bone-tired, Grandma fretted, Jeff was weary, and Alan…well, he hadn't seen a glimpse of Alan. He'd still be stuck in outer space.

A sharp pang drove through his heart. What if he died here and now? He could say good-bye to most of his family, but not to Alan, because he was on Thunderbird Five. He wouldn't be able to say good-bye to the one brother who shared his love for outer space, who knew the incredible feeling of floating over the Earth by heart, who…

John closed his eyes. No. He refused to let his thoughts wander in that direction. He would fight, and return and live, so that he could talk with Alan about the stars and about life in general. He would wake up, just so he could ease Scott from his worries and be there for him, because it killed him to let his brothers down. He would go back. Somehow, he would find a way.

The door to the operating room closed with a sharp snap. They were doing things to his brain in there! It was enough to make John feel sick.

"I reckon your decision is drawing close, boy." Schnabelewopski snarled close to his ear. "Still having the same mind set?"

John clenched his jaw. "I will go back to my body. I will live."

"Well, at least you're persistent." Was that a glimmer of admiration in the old guy's eyes? John wasn't sure. Maybe it had just been a reflection of the light.

"We need to help Cassie." The girl was humming softly to herself, the childish tune eerily misplaced among the hospital noises.

"Ah, it's 'we' now?"

John glowered at him. "I don't know what's going to happen, but judging from your stories, there won't be much I can do when the…pull finally happens. There's the possibility that Cassie will stay behind. She's just a child, Mr Schnabelewopski. Please, you have to help her. I'll try my best, but if I fail…"

Cassie, upon hearing the conversation, slung a thin arm around his leg. "You're not going to leave me, are you?"

John's heart broke at the tears in her eyes. He felt…overwhelmed, achy, tired. There was no relief, no sleep in the shadow world, and he had seen so much sadness in the last hours, it was beginning to wear him out. "I don't want to, Cassie." He rubbed his eyes. "But…but I might be pulled away, and then I won't be here anymore. God, I hope it won't happen, but I really can't promise…"

The girl, so small and fragile, just looked at him, Fuchur close to her chest. John had the distinct impression that the toy was staring at him, accusing him for even thinking of leaving her behind. No, that was a foolish thought. Stuffed animals didn't have feelings.

But then again, he was a ghost standing in a hospital corridor where nobody could see or hear him; he was able to walk through walls – and hell, maybe toys were alive in this shadowy realm.

Or maybe he was slowly going mad.

"Are you on duty?" Cassie's voice interrupted his mental ramblings.

"What?"

"My Dad's on duty sometimes. He's a policeman, and when he's on duty, he gets called away, even when it's a birthday or in the middle of a plate of cookies." She sounded as if it was the greatest offence in the world to leave a freshly baked batch of cookies behind. "But he says it's very important, because he's fighting the bad guys, like the heroes on TV, and he always makes it up to me afterwards. So are you on duty as well? On angel-duty?"

Angel-duty. I wonder where kids get their ideas...what comes next? A package of angel-donuts?

John smiled. "Yes, I reckon you could call it that." He had given up trying to convince her that he wasn't an angel. If it comforted her, she was welcome to believe in him.

Then a least one of us has faith in me.

"Cute. Really cute." Schnabelewopski, whom John had totally forgotten, snorted.

The blonde turned pain-filled eyes on him. "Will you promise?"

"Promise what?"

"Promise to look out for her."

Schnabelewopksi leaned heavily on his walking stick. "I might."

"You might?" Hot anger flared up. John, tired, frustrated, and at the end of his rope, was ready to explode. "You MIGHT? Damn, do you even have a HEART? She's a child, for heaven's sake! She doesn't deserve this! What's with you? Just because you didn't have the courage to return to your life, or take the final step, you feel that you have the right to criticize everybody else? You are SUCH a HYPOCRITE! I'm sick of your narcissist behaviour. I'm sick of- of- EVERYTHING!"

He threw his hands up in the air, breathing hard.

Schnabelewopski regarded him calmly. "Are you finished?"

"I'm a long way from finished!"

"Fine." Suddenly, fire flashed in the old man's eyes. "Listen, kiddo, you don't understand shit of what's going on. And if I were you, I wouldn't talk about things I have no knowledge of. You are currently walking a thin line, and yet you use your energy to fight with me? Remember, it's your life that's slipping out of the hands of those white-coated doctors, and you ain't doing nothing to improve it!"

As if to underline his statement, a nurse left the operating room and hurried down the corridor. He could hear agitated voices, and then pain exploded in his head.

John groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Damn, it hurt, like his eyes were on fire, burning and throbbing and pulsing.

"Angel John!" came Cassie's alarmed cries, and then Schnabelewopski's satisfied snort. "You see?"

The pain lessened somewhat, leaving him exhausted and spent. The anger dissipated, John not really being a hot-headed person anyway. He balled his hand to a fist and concentrated. "Okay. I don't want to fight. We're obviously not going to agree. But…but please, I beg you, take care of Cassie!"

John despised begging, hated how vulnerable it left him. Still, feeling Cassie's small hand on his thigh, he knew he would do anything to protect her.

There was another one of those unidentifiable gleams in Schnabelewopski's eyes, and then, to John's immense surprise and relief, he nodded. "Alright, lad. But now you'd better look out for yourself."

"Thank you." It came from the heart.

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They had been operating for over an hour and things weren't looking good. John was a nervous wreck by now, his hands trembling, and his mind in overdrive. Cassie, sensing his mood, remained silent, but snuggled up close to him. John didn't know who was comforting whom; but he didn't really care anymore.

For the umpteenth time, he had to fight down the wish to go in there and see for himself. His natural curiosity clashed with the fear of the unknown. And besides, he didn't want to leave Cassie behind.

"Angel John?"

He was really growing tired of that title. It carried more responsibility than he could bear, but how could he disappoint the girl, who had so little left? "Yes?"

"I feel strange."

John's head snapped around. Indeed, Cassie looked peculiar, washed out, pale, just as before, just as…damn.

"Oh no!" She was getting pulled again, he was sure. "Cassie, explain it to me, what are you feeling?"

The girl frowned. "Like…like I should be elsewhere."

Schnabelewopski laughed. "Seems I promised for nothing. The girl's leaving before you."

"How do you know that this is for real?" John snapped back.

"Experience."

"…John?" Cassie's eyes widened. "It hurts…"

John slung an arm around her. "It's okay, Cassie, I'm here. Don't be afraid. It's just telling you that it's time for you to go back."

The little girl doubled over, as a wave of pain rolled through her. A lonely tear trickled down her cheek and she whimpered. "But it hurts!"

"Oh Cassie…" Professional training kicked in, urging him to speak in the same reassuring voice he used to calm down panicked victims. "I know it hurts, but you have to endure it. You want to go back, don't you? Go back and play with Fuchur in your own room? Wait for your Dad when he's coming home from one of his rounds? Remember the bike?"

Cassie nodded through the tears.

"Good. Think of that. Concentrate. Can you tell me about it? Tell me about your bike?"

John cast a help-seeking glance at Schnabelewopski. 'What should I do?' he mouthed, while Cassie started a stammering tale about her last biking adventure.

Schnabelewopski frowned. "Get her back to her body. It might help… sometimes the-"

- pain, barrelling into him with sudden force, fire, agony, and the sudden need to be somewhere else –

John gasped. Schnabelewopski's words were drowned out, morphed into a garbled symphony of sound, and the only thing that was keeping him grounded was his tight hold on Cassie. He suppressed a wince and tried to focus, his mind doing cart-wheels.

No. It can't be happening. Not now. Cassie needs my help, I can't leave her now, I have to send her back to her body, somehow…

He shoved the feeling back down, like he always did when his concentration was needed. It was a skill he had mastered to perfection – don't give in to the worry, focus on your work, think of a solution, the others are relying on you, don't let them see your fear – although it took him all his remaining willpower to do so.

He tilted his head, trying to get rid of the buzzing sound, and turned aching eyes on Schnabelewopski. "So…we have to…get her back to her body?"

The old man's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "It might help."

"Okay." John stood up, only his stubbornness keeping him from keeling over, and gathered Cassie, who was sobbing heavily, in his arms. "Let's go."

He marched ahead, not wanting to give Schnabelewopski the chance to notice what was going on. "Shhh," he whispered to the girl, as she clung to him with all her might. "It's going to be alright. I'm taking you home, Cassie. Just think of going back. Think of how much you want to go. I always loved biking. When you have learned how to do it properly, you have to race down the hills – it's the most fun you can have, almost like flying!"

John talked and talked, reminding her of her life, coaxing her to remember, to concentrate, to endure the pain, all while the world tilted sideways, merged from colours to grey and back to colours again.

- every breath like fire in his lungs, racing down his windpipe like magma, torturing him in his need for oxygen –

No! Concentrate, John Tracy!

His grip on Cassie tightened. "It'll be okay, Cassie, you'll see," John whispered, almost as much for his own comfort as for Cassie's. "We'll pull through this. And when we're out of the hospital, I promise you, I'll take you to the biggest amusement park ever, and we can spend hours in the toy section…"

"…park?" Her voice was thin, too frail, and yet there was a tremble of hope in it. John again marvelled at the strength of children.

"Yes, a huge park!" He tried to smile through the pain. The urge to be somewhere else grew more intense with each step he took away from his own body. "With slides and many rides and candy floss and…"

"Tigger?"

"Tigger?" John blinked, his mind blank until he came up with the familiar figure of his childhood. God, did they still read that?

"I'm sure there's a Tigger, and maybe Pooh as well, or Piglet."

Cassie smiled shyly. "Cool."

The turned around a corner, and there they were, in front of Cassie's room, where it was remarkably calm compared to John's OR. The blonde took a deep breath and braced himself.

"You ready, Cass?"

The black-haired girl nodded, her eyes full of fear, but her face set in a mask of determination. A real little trooper, John reflected with no small amount of pride, she'd make good IR operative later on. If she survives this.

With bated breath, they stepped through the wall. It took all of John's willpower not to give in to the pull he was experiencing; instead he focused on the bed, surrounded by blurry figures, focused on the pale body of a little girl.

"Concentrate, Cassie," he whispered to the trembling body in his hands. "Go back to your parents."

The world tilted, lost its colour for a moment, blended with something else – something sinister, darker – but John stubbornly refused to let go. Cassie was depending on him.

"You fool!" Schnabelewopski cursed somewhere behind him. "Stop trying to help her, you're only making it worse for yourself-"

Voices, snatches of conversation, someone shouting, the beeping of a heart monitor – images overlapping, and amidst of all, Cassie, sobbing quietly through the pain.

"Go back." John whispered, a gentle hand caressing her hair. "Go back to your parents, to your life. Don't be afraid. You'll be okay. Just go. Don't give up, Cassie. Never give up. Keep that in mind. You can do this. I know you can do this."

Her breathing became quicker, rasher, and then she flickered, lost her outlines, her colours, as if something was draining her. At the same time, the hammering pain in John's head increased, screamed for attention. He swayed on the spot, blinking against the bright circles in his vision.

Cassie's expression changed. First, she looked frightened, then surprised, and finally, elated, happy, peaceful. She looked at something John couldn't see, her eyes bright. "Ma!" She exclaimed loudly. "MA!"

By now, she was nearly translucent and weightless in his arms. Fuchur fell to the ground, forgotten in all the confusion. Just before she disappeared completely, she turned around to John, smiled brightly and kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you, Angel John," she whispered.

Then she was gone. Only the tingling feeling of her kiss remained on his face.

John felt panic surge inside him. What had happened? Had she returned? Or had she died? His gaze flickered to the body on the bed, but she remained unmoving. Almost out of reflex, he bent to pick up Fuchur – just as another wave of pain hit him, this time so intense that he crumpled to the ground in a heap of boneless misery.

He groaned, an almost animalistic sound, and tried to curl up to escape the pain, but it was relentless.

- "Pressure is building! We have to drain-"

Suddenly Schnabelewopski was there, towering over him. "Serves you right, you foolish bastard! Won't be my fault if you die here and now just because you had to help a little brat."

"Is…Cassie…alright?" John managed to ask through gritted teeth.

- "Get the breathing stabilized!"

"Don't worry about her! You have to get back NOW! It's almost too late as it is!"

"Back…where?" Too much pain, too many noises. What voices was he hearing? Why was everything blurred? John rolled around, tried to get up on his knees and nearly tumbled to the ground again.

"To your body, you idiot!"

The memory slithered back, made him realize that his life was dangling on a silver thread right now. "Body…" John crawled to the wall and managed to heave himself in an upright position. There was no way in hell he was going to die like this..

- "Pulse erratic, blood pressure dropping…"

"Let's go." The pain was immense, but John was used to dealing with pain, and so he forced himself onwards. Schnabelewopski hovered – yes, hovered! He hadn't thought that the old guy had it in him to care – by his side, coaxing him along the way.

The hospital corridor looked strange, almost otherworldly, a mix of swirls and colours and shapes, people moving past him like ghosts. No. He was the ghost. And soon he'd vanish like a puff of air...

John bit his lip. He wasn't going to give up. No matter how bad the pain, he would go back to his own body, to his own life, to his family! He was a fighter, dammit, and somehow, he would fight his way back!

(Even when you are going to be paralysed?)

It didn't matter. Gordon had been paralysed, and he had won in the end. John could do it as well, could beat the odds, if only given the chance. But giving up meant not even having the chance in the beginning. And besides, it wasn't even certain. It was merely a possibility.

(Even when your family might look down on you?)

They would never do that. Pity him, maybe, but they would try their best and hold together, just as they always did. They would support him, always. He trusted them. Loved them.

(Even when you might be a mental vegetable for the rest of your life? In a family of over-achievers, of heroes? Won't you feel left out?)

That won't happen.

(Are you sure about that?)

I'm not going to let it happen.

(You can't change the course of nature.)

I can damn well try!

"Boy! Focus!" Schnabelewopski's rough voice was a welcome distraction from the nagging stream of words in his head. "You're slipping!"

"I know," John barked back, too tired to restrain his temper. "I'm trying, goddammit!"

"Trying is not good enough for ya!"

They were nearly there, just around the corner, and he could see the distant faces of his family, carved with worry and stress. I'm coming, his mind screamed while his body protested. He felt himself stumble, crashed through the ground and didn't even feel it, because he was disconnected, because everything else was…blurry, not really there.

He heard Schnabelewopski cursing, but the words slipped his attention. Don't. Give. Up. The sentence hammered in his mind in synch with the pain, urged him to crawl forward, every thought about dignity forgotten. It didn't matter.

Everything flickered, like a damaged light in the subway, like a slowly dying candle, and he teetered sideways, lost contact, lost control…

- "We're losing him!"

John gasped as he tried to understand what was happening. He glanced at Schnabelewopski – was that worry in the old guy's eyes? – tried to formulate a sentence, anything that reminded him of the fact that he was still there, that he still existed, even in some horrible, twisted way. But no sound came from his lips.

He crashed to the floor, connecting hard with the tiles, but felt no pain. Everything greyed out; John felt as if a deep void had opened up under him, sucking him inside. Voices were yelling, but he couldn't understand their words. The colours swirled, the lights flickered – no, he flickered! - and then everything dissolved, just like sugar in a glass of water, slowly disappearing, blending with the background...

- "He's slipping!"

The voice echoed through his mind, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Something was wrong – John could almost sense the worry, the hurry, the frantic concentration.

The walls melted and the floor tilted upwards, buckling and waving like an untamed horse, throwing him off balance. Another flicker, and then the familiar hospital faded out, as the walls seemed to cave in, threatened to swallow him whole.

"What the..." John cursed, but his own voice sounded empty. It was difficult to see in the blurry shadows, almost as if he was surrounded by thin, wisp-like smog. He blinked to clear his vision and faced back up the slope. But despite his best efforts, he felt himself slowly sliding down, away from whatever was waiting for him up there. With the walls so close, it almost reminded him of a...

No. That was way to cheesy.

And yet he couldn't deny it. One part of him was still in the hospital corridor – the background noise like a very faint hum – and then there was this other part, standing in a much narrower corridor that resembled a tunnel.

A tunnel.

Unbelievable! John shook his head in astonishment. "I can't believe that this is actually happening..."

His voice echoed through the emptiness, breaking the heavy silence into tiny little pieces. "I mean, come on, a tunnel – nobody really believes that stuff like this really happens!" he was halfway annoyed with his subconscious; couldn't it have come up with something a bit more original?

He waited for some snide comment of Schnabelewopski, but none came forward. John turned around, only to see that the man was still there, but...faded out, greyer, blurry around the edges. His mouth was moving, but the blonde could hear no sound. Only if he concentrated very hard, he managed to make out weak mumblings; it was as if Schnabelewopski stood behind a thick wall and tried to communicate through it.

"Can you hear me?" John said very loud and clearly.

Schnabelewopski nodded and then frowned. His hand clutched tightly around his walking stick, but John had already gotten distracted by some movement in the swirling shadows. What was that?

"Now I think now I'm really going mad," he murmured under his breath, wincing at the nagging pain in his head. Damn, the only thing he wanted to do was to wake up – was that so difficult to achieve? He wanted to go back to his life and see whether Cassie was okay...he wanted...

The floor lurched and John was thrown backwards, stumbling down the steep slope. His arms windmilling wildly, he tried to catch his balance, but it proved to be difficult on the slippery floor. The blonde was on the verge of falling as suddenly a hand shot out of the swirling grey and clamped around his wrist.

"No, zat's not ze way you vant to go," a female voice said in a thick, heavy accent. John's head shot up and he gave a startled gasp as a figure started to emerge from the nothingness in front of him. The features came into focus and revealed an old lady, clad in a yellow blouse and a cotton skirt. She smiled at him, gently, with a tiny frown of disapproval on her face.

"What?" John looked at Schnabelewopski and then back. The old man seemed as clueless as him, gaping at the newcomer like some fish out of the water.

The woman laughed and pointed up the hallway – tunnel – slope – whatever. "Zere is your goal. Komm schon, you vant to see your family, nicht?"

Her accent – German, John dimly realized – and her looks were very familiar, but he couldn't quite place them. Frantically, he tried to make sense of what was happening. "Do I know you?"

"Oh, you do not remember? Meine Güte. I am Eva-Maria Stäubler." Behind her, the shadows flickered again.

John took an involuntary step backwards as he saw more figures emerge from the fog. This was getting downright scary, and he seriously contemplated running away. But the woman's grip prevented him from moving.

Another wave of pain passed through him and John clenched his teeth, suddenly oh so very tired.

The shadows emerged and became substantial, just like the old lady in the front.

A tall, grubby looking man in miner's clothes came to a stop right beside her, his overalls splattered with blood. Behind him stood a small Asian man wearing an apron, his eyes twinkling, and next to him, a middle-aged Mexican woman. There were more in the background – a business man, a basketball player, a teenage girl dressed in pink, a farmer with a straw hat.

Every one of the faces painfully familiar.

John's eyes widened in shock. No! It couldn't be! This was impossible, it was pure madness...and yet his eyes weren't lying to him. The faces were clearly outlined in the sharp, cold light of the corridor, couldn't be mistaken for anything but what they were.

Victims.

Dead victims.

"How..." John began, the desperate need to understand like a flame in his chest.

"It doesn't matter. Ve are here to help you." The answer was gentle, understanding.

"But you are..." He couldn't bring it over him to finish the sentence.

"Dead?" The Asian man spoke up. "Of course we are. But the fact is, you are not – not yet."

He looked into their faces – kind, filled with compassion – and swallowed. He had seen every one of the faces, and each time, it had taken a little out of his heart. Each time had brought a nightmare, questions of guilt flung at himself. Each time had been horrible.

They had died. And he had been there.

John swallowed, as the familiar memories washed over him.

The old lady had been involved in a terrible highway accident in Germany. He remembered how she had introduced herself to him, her face contorted in a grimace of pain. John had spent hours cutting her out of the car, only to find out after the rescue that she had died a day later in the hospital from her wounds.

The miner had been one of those involved into a mine collapse in Russia. John had spent several hours talking to him and his colleagues through a small opening until International Rescue finally found a way to get them out. The man had talked about his wife, his three children, and the scrappy family dog, while John had desperately tried to keep him alive. But his injuries had been too severe and the miner had died on the way to the hospital.

And there were more, many more – people from rescues, people whom John had tried to help, and whom he had failed, because they had died, because he had been too late, because their bodies had given up...

Behind him, Schnabelewopski gasped, his presence growing stronger as he stepped closer to John. He, too, must be realizing what was going on.

Faces from past. There was only one reason why...

"Are you here to punish me?" John asked, mouth dry.

"Punish you?" A voice from the far back spoke up. "Why should we want to do that?"

"Because I couldn't rescue you." Failed rescues always gnawed at his gut, and he could remember these very clearly – the sleepless nights, the constant 'what ifs'. It didn't matter how often Scott told him that it hadn't been his fault, John still felt guilty. Often he had wondered what those people would say if they could talk to him again; he had dreamed about them, accusing him, hating him, blaming him.

And now he was here, in this strange inbetween place, facing the figures that haunted him in his nightmares.

"You died." He whispered, a single tear trickling down his face. "I remember how I stayed with you...but in the end, it wasn't enough, and you...died..."

"Oh, du dummer Junge – silly, stupid." Maria tutted. "Ve are not here to punish you. Are ve?" The last bit was directed at the others. A chorus of 'Nos' followed and then a squeaky voice piped up. "We wanna help you, mister." The comment came from a strawberry-haired teenager, chewing bubble-gum and grinning wildly.

"This is outrageous." Schnabelewopski breathed beside him. "This has never happened before."

John stayed mute, too baffled to say or do anything. First he met the ghosts of his past, and then they wanted to help him?

Help him?

John held up his hands in a gesture of complete loss. "But why?"

"Well, when people help you, you want to help them back." The Asian man intoned softly.

John shook his head. "I didn't...couldn't help you. You died!"

Sympathy shone in Maria's eyes. "I might have died, but I remember very clearly zat you talked wiz me. When I was in ze car, I vas very afraid. My huzband was dead, and I vas alone. It vas horrible. But you came with those great machines and started vorking. And you talked. I remember zat I listened. It was beautiful. You made everyzing so much easier. I forgot my fear. I even forgot ze pain."

"She's right." The Asian man interjected. "You helped me keep my head when everything around me was in total chaos."

And then, as if a tidal wave had started, there was suddenly a flurry of voices. Everybody wanted to say his piece, so that John nearly staggered under the flood of well-meant comments.

"...every time I heard your voice on the radio, it calmed me down..."

"...Wegens u was ik niet alleen toen ik stierf..."

"...the way you talked with me about my flowers was so gentle and it distracted me from the pain. I wasn't afraid when I died, and that's all thanks to you..."

"...usted ahorró mi alma..."

„...doumo arigatou gozai-masu..."

„...une lumière dans l'obscurité..."

"...Sie haben alles in Ihrer Macht stehende getan. Und dank Ihnen war ich die letzten Stunden meines Lebens nicht alleine..."

"...you couldn't save me, but you saved my children. I'll be forever grateful for that..."

Words in all kinds of languages tumbled at him, but they all carried the same message: gratitude, acceptance, relief. None of them were hostile, or angry, or even bitter.

"I-I don't understand..." John stuttered, giving in to the gentle pull Maria was exercising on his wrist. He stumbled along as she goaded him up the slope.

"You don't need to," the old German smiled, "Let's just say zat it's now our turn to help you."

She tugged him along, and suddenly there was a comforting hand on his shoulder, and another one on his back, urging him along. He threw a desperate glance over his shoulder. Schnabelewopski stood there, looking at him with a half-smile on his lips.

"Well, I'll be damned," he coughed and the walking stick thudded once more on the ground, making John wince. "I reckon all your speeches had some merit after all."

"Mr S-" John began and then cringed as the pain hummed in his chest.

"Don't you worry about me." The old man barked, but there was an undertone of gruff affection in it. "Do as those people tell ya, and go back and help some other folks. You already did your rescue job out here."

"Come on, boy."

The voices encouraged him to go further, even though the ground became steeper and steeper. John gritted his teeth; he couldn't give up, not with all those people supporting him. Still, he waved at Schnabelewopski, who was being swallowed by the swirling fog. "Will we meet again?"

"I doubt it," came the distant reply.

"Well, then...thank you."

The laughter swapped back. "I didn't do anything, kiddo. It was all your work. But it's not over yet."

"You might vant to come wiz us as vell," Maria's gentle voice floated towards Schnabelewopski. "I zink you have been around long enough."

Schnabelewopski grinned lopsidedly. "Well, someone's gotta take care of the newcomers."

"And that someone has to be you?"

"Might as well."

John listened with half an-ear, astonished at the sudden insight. Somehow he'd always expected that the old guy was unable to pass on, due to some ties that kept him linked to the real world. But his answers hinted into a different direction – was he actually staying out of his own free will?

"Are you sure?" Another voice floated past him, full of compassion.

Schnabelewopski barked a laugh. "I once chose to stay behind. My work is not done yet. With this earthquake, there are a lot of spirits that need rescuing – and the young man over there showed me what it means to keep fighting."

Maria, her hand still firm on John's arm, smiled. "You are a good man, Gustav."

At the mention of his given name, the old guy became grumpy again. "Well, do what you have to do. There's a hospital waiting for me."

John stared in wonder, unable to believe what was happening. Schnabelewopski stepped back, into the churning fog, his outlines slowly blurring.

And then pain cut through him like a knife. He doubled over, panting through the fire in his lungs. It was nothing like the physical pain he knew; no, it ran deeper, seemed to cut right through his soul. Sympathetic voices murmured close to his hear, and above all, Schnabelewopski's last words floated through the red haze.

"Take care, John Tracy."

He blinked, but the fog engulfed the old man and then he was gone, just like that.

"What..." he stammered. "What is he?"

"Maybe ze little girl was right when she said zere was an angel here."

"An angel?" John echoed.

"A self-appointed one, anyway."

"Self-appointed..." John's mind had barely begun to grasp the meaning of the words, as the blinding headache hit again.

"Avancez." A male voice this time, sounding urgent. "Retournez."

"...go….back…" John stuttered between gasps. Yes, of course he wanted to go back, but he was so tired...maybe if he could rest for a second, just a little bit...the pain increased, like a hot iron in his lung.

"...b-back…" John tried to concentrate on his family, on everything that was important. Tried to ignore the nagging voice that painted his future in the darkest colours. Tried not to think of the fact that the doctors were doing things to his brain right now. That he might be disabled – handicapped – unstable – stupid.

"Du hast es gleich geschafft." The hand on his arm, tugging him forward, up the steep hill, towards the foggy end of the corridor. "Don't rest."

"go…back…to Dad…and Scott…and Virgil…" John swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. "…and Gordon…and Alan…and Grandma…"

So tired.

The names lost their meaning, as the faces of the persons belonging to them were washed away by another surge of pain and confusion.

His knees grew weaker and he started sliding downwards, his tumble to the floor only prevented by the many hands that were keeping him upright. "'M'tired..."

John stumbled into something solid and was dragged upwards again, half-carried by the Russian miner. "Thanks..." he murmured, but was too weak to make sense of the whispered Russian reply.

"Ve are close, so close. Don't now give up." A voice whispered into his ear. Maria.

Never give up.

John forced himself to keep his eyes open, even as the leaden tiredness threatened to drag his limbs to the ground. The voice of his eldest brother echoed through his head, Scott sounding serious and collected, the concern hardly evident in the clipped words.

Never give up, John, because there's always a chance. But if you give up, this chance will be lost. It's easy to give up – surviving is the hard part.

For a short second, he wondered when Scott had told him that sentiment, but then he remembered.

The mumbling of voices increased. John bit on his lip, searched for the last ounce of will-power in his body – the one that kept him going even under the most difficult odds, whatever his body told him – and balled his fist. Maybe he wasn't as strong as Scott or as tough as Gordon; but damn, he was a Tracy as well, and even though his brothers considered him a scholar, he was a fighter just like them.

Something hot trickled down his cheek…tears? He recoiled in shame, but couldn't stop them from falling. Damn, he didn't want to die like this, it wasn't fair…

He squared his shoulders through the agonizing pain. "Won't give up."

"Damn right you won't. Your family needs you. And we need International Rescue." Someone murmured in his ear, and then Maria was close to him. "Go on, son. Go back home."

They were right. How could he have forgotten? His family needed him. International Rescue needed him. Cassie needed him.

But most of all, he needed to be alive, to be with them, because he was too young to die, because there were so many things he hadn't achieved yet..

John dragged his feet along, half-carried by his gentle self-appointed helpers. How ironic, one small part of his brain mused – the rescuer was being rescued by the rescuees. But the other, bigger part gave in to the exhaustion and a mind-numbing tiredness. Slowly, he could feel every train of thought starting to close down, just like a computer shutting down open programs.

The blonde allowed himself a small smile at the mental comparison – seemed as if one part of his job even followed him into his dreams – and then he gave in to the gentle pull, his energy spent.

"Not yet," a voice whispered. "Take the last step."

Numerous hands shoved him forward, into the swirling abyss of colours and fog. John reacted automatically, his long legs bridging over the deep spasm that was suddenly under him. For an eternity, he seemed to be flying, hanging suspended in the air – just like being in outer space – and then his feet hit solid ground again, the impact jarring his bones.

John immediately fell to his knees, panting through the pain that distorted his vision. Leaden weights dragged down his arms, and then something weird happened. Instead of generally hurting, he could place where it hurt – his right arm, his stomach, his feet, his chest, but worst of all, his head.

He was pretty sure that there was a reason for that, but his brain had ceased working altogether. Then the chorus of voices started up again, this time far behind him. John glanced back through eyes that were already at half-mast and saw them waving at him.

"Well done!"

"Gut gemacht!"

"Goed-gedaan!"

"Au revoir!"

"Good luck!"

The voices laughed and congratulated him, and he gave a weak wave back, too exhausted to say anything. And then he finally gave in to the darkness and slipped away, just barely aware of where his body was falling to.

And in a small room on the same floor of the hospital, a little raven-haired girl opened her eyes.

To be continued...


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No guarantee about the languages. The German was easy (Obviously. Although I hope I managed to get the accent right; it's pretty difficult to analyse myself), and French was okay, but the rest...let's just say that I had to rely on some Internet translators, and you know how reliable they all are. :P Translations are not that important, I think, but if you want to know them drop me a line and I'll tell you.

We've finally reached the peak of the weirdness. It's all downhill from now on.