Saving Alan Chapter 15
The ride to the hospital was torture, Jeff was the only one allowed to ride in the ambulance with Alan; any more than that and the crowding would prevent the EMTs from doing their job.
The other 4 were taken to the hospital in cars with the agents. They were all worried, they had been in the life-saving business for too long they knew that gunshot wounds could be fatal no matter where in the body they hit. Obviously they were thankful that Smith was unable to aim properly, no doubt he would have rather aimed for the head. As it was, he had caused enough damage. Virgil, who had the best grasp of human anatomy by far, was terrified that the shot had hit the subclavian artery. It seemed to be in the right general region of the body, and that wound had been bleeding profusely. Add to that the fact that Alan had lost consciousness (whether from blood loss or the obvious hits to the head that he had taken over the course of his time with Smith), and the brothers were absolutely beside themselves. The ride to the nearest hospital seemed to take forever.
When they finally arrived at the emergency department they found Jeff scribbling through the pile of paperwork. Alan had already been rushed off for surgery. Jeff was white as a ghost but did his best to put on his brave face and fill his sons in, "He's been taken for surgery. He's lost a lot of blood; they fear the bullet has hit an artery. He started having trouble breathing on the way here. It seems the bullet has caused a pneumothorax."
They all had enough base knowledge to know that their brother's life was in a precarious position, but they also knew that surgery would take hours. So they waited helplessly…again. It was only the day before that they waited helplessly for news on Alan, and now here they were again. It wasn't fair. Virgil knew that if anything happened to Alan the family would be devastated. He didn't even think they would be able to recover if their youngest didn't make it through this surgery. Alan may not realize this, but Virgil truly thought Alan was the glue that held their family together after Lucy's death. He had been so little and he was injured himself. They had sat at his bedside waiting and hoping for his recovery. Hoping for Alan was the only hope they had at all in that time. And when he recovered they had to put their energy into caring for him, he was too little to care for himself. It kept them from self-destructing, because he needed them. But it wasn't just his helplessness, it was his exuberance and drive for life that had kept them going. Years after Lucy's death, the fact remained the same, they depended on Alan's boyish joy for life. It made it worthwhile to come home from devastating missions when he got to call Alan. Somehow, it seemed, that he was the reason they did what they did. If Alan hadn't been rescued in time all those years ago…. Virgil couldn't allow himself to go down that path of thinking. It was too much. It was too close to his current situation. He needed Alan to make it through this, they all did.
Virgil looked over at his father and each of his brothers; they were a mess. Scott and Jeff were covered in blood. Scott was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Their father had already found a way to busy himself into a near heart attack. He was on the phone calling their grandmother, Lady P, Brains. He was making arrangements with Tracy Industries and the Thunderbirds to take more time off, attempting to track down doctors and nurses to get any kind of update, though nobody had one. Neither Scott nor Jeff had ever been able to be still in times of trouble. They were both men of action. If Alan didn't pull through Jeff would work himself straight to an early grave, Virgil was certain of that.
Scott was much like a second parent to Alan after their mother had died. Jeff was an incredible father. His need for busyness meant that he was somehow able to stretch himself admirably across the demands of running a world renowned business, creating the Thunderbirds, and managing a household of five active sons. But everybody needs help, and that help came in the form of Scott. Scott was nearly twelve years older than Alan, and had been there to babysit and put Alan to bed on the many nights when Jeff was called to work late. Scott wouldn't trade it for the world, it had strengthened his relationship with his youngest brother in ways he never could have imagined.
On the other end of the spectrum was John who was crouched in on himself in a chair in the corner. John had always been the peaceful and calm one of their crew, he didn't need to pace or keep his mind busy. He found no use in pestering doctors for information. He preferred to sift through his thoughts in quiet, without interruption. He had a closeness to Alan that was indescribable. They just understood each other somehow. Maybe it was the love for space that they bonded over or something in that blonde haired gene of theirs.
Gordon was somewhere in the middle of the road. He liked to keep somewhat busy, but was nowhere near as manic as their father or Scott. But his current state was heartbreaking to watch. He hadn't recovered any of his natural carefree mischief. He had broken down and wept before the rescue, which was hard on all of them. Much as they depended on Alan to keep them sane, they also depended on Gordon to keep up morale. The fact that he seemed so hurt and broken only reminded them all how desperate the situation was.
Virgil liked to think that he walked the middle of the road also. He didn't depend on work and activity to keep his mind from spiraling the way Scott and their father did. But he wasn't laying nearly comatose as John was. He was hurting, though. He knew exactly how dangerous Alan's injury had been. Most people think that being shot in the shoulder is no big deal, it happens on television all the time, and the characters always pull through it. But a shot to the shoulder can be fatal if it hits in exactly the wrong place. He had so many things that he wanted to tell his baby brother. He needed Alan to pull through this surgery, he needed him to be okay. The hard part for Virgil was that he knew the extent of all the things that could go wrong in surgery and in the future. It was the curse of having medical knowledge. Even if Alan survived the collapse of his lung and the shot to the artery, he could have limited arm function. Virgil couldn't spare a thought to care about arm function right now, he had to put all of his effort into worrying about whether Alan would make it through surgery.
Frankly, Virgil didn't think this was fair. Alan was just a kid, and he'd already been through so much in his life. He had to remind himself that life was seldom fair, if being a Thunderbird had taught him anything, it's that tragedy doesn't differentiate between good people and bad people, or deserving and undeserving. Tragedy was tragedy. Virgil couldn't handle his swirling thoughts anymore. He began to pray with all his might that Alan would pull through this.
Scott was beside himself and going crazy with pent up worry and energy. He had tried to put some of his energy to use by checking the family into the hotel across the street. But that had only taken a small amount of time. They were going to be there for several days, and nobody had packed any clothes, so Scott made a run to the nearest 24 hour Walmart and picked up a generic clothes and necessities for all of them. When he had dropped everything back at the hotel he had taken a few moments to order in some food for the family, though he knew that was mostly pointless, nobody would be in the mood to eat. He couldn't help it, though. He had to do something, and his father was already taking care of everything on the business end. Besides, he had an intrinsic need to take care of his family, it came with being the oldest brother. With a family as big and close as theirs it was natural for all of them to feel obligated to take care of each other, but Scott was the oldest. It was his duty to make sure they were all okay. His father had made him field commander for a reason; Scott was trustworthy and had a natural ability to make sure all of his brothers were okay.
Perhaps that was why Scott couldn't help but replay Alan's words over and over in his head; how could he not have known they would be coming for him. Alan had been depressed, it was clear from their last family therapy session that Alan still had doubts about where he stood in the family. That killed Scott inside. How were they going to make Alan see how important he was to all of them? Another thought rose up inside Scott, what if Alan didn't survive this surgery? What if he died not knowing how important he was to them? Scott felt his breathing hitch, and he fought to push the thoughts down. His family needed him right now, he needed to stay positive. He couldn't let himself wander into the darkness. Instead he braced himself and forcefully promised that when, not if, Alan pulled through they would be having a long talk about how important he is to the whole family.
Re-entering the waiting room supported Scott's prediction that his family wouldn't be hungry. He hoped that Virgil, being the most conscious of their health habits, would help to rally the others to eat up, but the fact that he had sprung for unhealthy pizza didn't do any favors. Instead Virgil continued to ignore the food as steadfastly as everybody else. Jeff, who was already nearly two days into fasting from everything but coffee, half heartedly tried to get his sons to eat, but the fact that he himself ignored the food did nothing to convince them.
But there was a reason that Scott was oldest brother and field commander. He had a God-given ability to make people do what was necessary for the common good. He pulled himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders, his face a picture of danger. He made a menacing sight, there in the middle of the waiting room, but his voice was quiet. "I got this pizza. You. Will. Eat it. NOW." He'd long ago learned that a quiet voice was more often listened to than a loud voice. There was something more threatening about it, but also people had to strain to hear it, so they were more inclined to follow. It had done its trick, all of his brothers got up and moved toward the pizza. Now, to break his father from his self-inflicted fast. An intentional and unwavering stare at Jeff made his point. At long last, Jeff inclined his head and ate a piece. Before long the pizza had all been demolished.
It wasn't long after they finished that a doctor finally stepped into the waiting room. He introduced himself as Dr. Ashton. Jeff looked, for all the world, like he was about to lose the pizza he had managed to eat. Scott couldn't blame him, because he felt similarly. It was exactly as Virgil had feared, the subclavian artery had been hit, causing damage to the brachial plexus and causing the pneumothorax. Basically, that was the artery that supplied blood to the main artery in the arm, causing air to gather outside the lung and collapse it. The brachial plexus, a bundle of nerves that controls arm function, had been injured. All was stabilized for now. Further surgery would be needed for full function of Alan's arm to return. But for now the family clung with gratitude to the news that Alan would be alright.
In addition to the gunshot, Alan had sustained a number of injuries to his head, including a crack to the side of his skull, which had caused a concussion. The family braced themselves, and stepped into the room. Gordon sucked in a breath upon seeing Alan, he looked so small and vulnerable, covered in cuts and bruises, his head wrapped in an enormous dressing. But they were reassured by the steady beeping of the monitors that he was hooked up to. They had to remind themselves over and over that he was going to be okay. They would be so much more convinced of that if Alan would only open his eyes for them. But for the time being Alan needed his rest.
None of them wanted to leave the hospital that night, but the truth was it was already the middle of the night, and they had been up constantly for nearly two days. They had woken up on Tuesday morning expecting a normal day, only to be faced with their worst fears that afternoon. They stayed up all night on Tuesday waiting and searching for their brother, Wednesday had been spent in chaos of the continued search and finally tracking their brother down, only to spend Wednesday night in the hospital. It was the wee hours of Thursday morning, and they were exhausted. Jeff rightly convinced them that they were going to be no good to Alan or to themselves if they continued to push themselves. Since Scott had procured a couple of rooms at the hotel across the street, Jeff was able to convince his sons to take a few hours of rest. He made them promise not to come back until they had showered and slept for at least 8 hours. Everybody wanted to object, knowing that Jeff had been awake as long as everybody else, but their father stubbornly plopped himself down in the chair beside Alan's bed, and pulled a blanket around himself as if to say that he was actually going to get some sleep. They all knew better, that Jeff would stay awake as long as he could, just watching Alan. But their arguments were lost in their throats, because it made them feel better that at least somebody would be there if Alan woke up.
Gordon walked over to his brother's bedside, smoothed back his hair, and whispered in his ear. "I'll be right across the street, Alan, rest and get better now. I need you."
The others followed a similar pattern, then they left together to go to the hotel. Gordon found that even though he was exhausted he had trouble sleeping. If the tossing and turning in the bed next to him was any indication, then Virgil was having trouble as well. He would wager a guess that in the connecting room John and Scott were having the same battle. The thoughts were spinning in his head. Scott had confided to all of them that Alan didn't think they were coming for him. It was a disturbing thought. It proved that Alan hadn't fully healed from his struggles with depression. And that wasn't surprising, he had only been in treatment for less than a month.
What was this going to do to him? Having been kidnapped and tortured by the person who essentially set the depression into motion in the first place wasn't going to do any favors for Alan's mental health. Gordon didn't think he could handle his brother becoming suicidal again. It wasn't right, his little brother was so important to him, he couldn't handle losing him. And he didn't understand how Alan couldn't see how loved he was. But Gordon would do anything to let Alan know that he was a vital part of the family. He would be patient, he would walk through the fires of Hades to let Alan know he was loved.
First Alan had to make it out of the hospital alive. True, he was through the worst of it, but the next few days were going to be touch and go. Complications could still arise.
The rest of the night was long for Gordon (and for all of the family). Exhaustion eventually took over, and he fell into a fitful sleep. His nightmares were fueled by Alan surviving his latest ordeal only to fall into a depression so deep that it ended only by suicide. And Gordon felt so convicted that it was his fault, that if he'd only been open to Alan about how much he loved him, then his brother could have made it through. After a time, Gordon couldn't fall back asleep. He needed to get to his brother's side. He needed to be there when he awoke.