This chapter is based off the Grey's Anatomy episodes in season 2, "It's the End of the World" and "As We Know It". You don't need to have watched the episode in order to understand this, but I would say it would definitely help you picture it in your head as you read. I know that's not an option for everyone (Netflix and stuff) so if you'd rather skip this one, I totally understand. And, obviously, I portray Blaine as an emergency room doctor, but this is probably the most medically detailed I've ever gone in one of my fics, so if you don't really like that stuff, then skip it as well. But if you like Grey's Anatomy and some doctor!Blaine, then go for it!
It was a normal morning, a normal Tuesday morning. Blaine woke up late, and struggled to work up the motivation to get out of bed. Kurt was already gone; he had an early morning meeting. Blaine just really didn't want to go to work. He loved his job, he loved the hospital he worked at, and he loved his coworkers, but Blaine just had a weird feeling, a dreadful feeling.
But he got up anyway. He got dressed, poured himself some coffee just the way he liked it, and was out the door before he could manage to run any later.
Blaine had a twelve-hour shift, but luckily those always seemed to pass fairly quickly. The emergency room was unusually quiet, too. Other than a couple of flu patients and a child with a broken arm, there was nothing extremely urgent to attend to. Blaine even managed to get a break long enough to run down to the cafeteria to eat a proper breakfast.
Throughout the morning, Blaine's funny feeling never left him. The ER was too quiet, and he felt like something big was about to happen. Accidents in New York City were all too common, and Blaine could just tell something was bound to go down.
He even confided in his favorite coworker about his weird sense. Holly had known Blaine since the first day of his internship, and always had his back.
"Something just doesn't seem right," he told her. "And I don't know what it is. Do you ever get weird feelings that something will happen?"
"Sometimes," she admitted, sitting down at the nurse's station to file some charts. "It passes after awhile if you just don't think about it. But that'll be kind of hard today, there's hardly anyone in."
Blaine tapped his hands on her desk and tried to appear busy. It was boring days like this that he wished he could just be at home with his son, instead of sending him to the church daycare three blocks from their apartment.
"Here's something," Holly said, clicking something on the computer. "Two patients on their way in. ETA is seven minutes, but there's no other information."
Blaine sighed. Finally he had something to do, but the strange feeling kept its grip on him, only growing stronger as Blaine went out to wait for the ambulance.
"No one had any information on the patients," announced Amanda, a fellow emergency room physician. She was one of the youngest on staff, having graduated medical school early. Blaine enjoyed spending time with her on their breaks; she loved hearing stories about Micah and always put up with Blaine showing her endless pictures of him.
"I just hope it's something good," Blaine admitted. "I've been here for four hours and only got one patient."
Their little conversation was broken up when the ambulance finally came around the corner. Blaine thought it was funny that there was only one ambulance, but supposedly two patients. He hurried along with Amanda- Dr. Perkins, as he was supposed to call her, and Dr. Adams, who had worked at the hospital longer than Blaine had been alive.
When they opened the doors of the ambulance, a bloody, middle-aged woman came out first. She was fighting the paramedics and didn't seem completely aware of what was going on. Dr. Perkins took her away, leaving the real mess for Blaine and his superior- a man, most likely her husband, unconscious, with a huge hole where his chest ought to be.
They moved him slowly, and Blaine took over for the paramedics so that they could leave. He placed his hand over the gaping wound to hold pressure and try to stop the bleeding.
"What happened?" Blaine asked. "Do you have any information on him at all?"
"He's been unconscious the whole time," the woman paramedic explained. "The wife isn't helping, but he's stable for now."
They rushed the man inside carefully, still with no information on him. Blaine didn't even know his name, but as they took him into an exam room, he began to wake up.
"My wife…" he mumbled.
"Your wife will be okay, don't worry." Holly had come in, and was doing her best to calm him down and check him out.
"Intubate him," Dr. Adams said, sounding like he had given up. "We're taking him into surgery, he's bleeding out."
"Dr. Adams, I-I'm not a surgeon, sir," Blaine stammered.
"I want you in the OR," the doctor ordered. "Keep pressure on this man's chest or he will die."
Blaine did as he was told, and stayed by the patient's side the whole time. One of the surgical nurses put a mask over Blaine's face as they got started with his operation. Blaine's premonition had been spot on; this case was the most interesting thing to happen all week.
"Keep your hand still," the head trauma surgeon barked. Blaine forgot his name for a minute; he was so caught up in what was going on. But before he made the first incision, one of the surgical interns burst into the room, and the whispers started.
"Dr. Anderson." Blaine remembered the surgeon's name. Dr. Cooley. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. "Dr. Anderson, don't move your hand, not an inch."
Blaine nodded, getting concerned. The dark feeling in the pit of his stomach had returned. Dr. Cooley whispered something to the intern, and he took off down the hall.
"What's going on?" Blaine asked innocently. Dr. Cooley didn't listen. He hustled everyone out of the room, all but Blaine and the anesthesiologist.
"Don't move, Anderson," Dr. Cooley repeated. Blaine got the message; he wasn't planning on moving anytime soon, but he just wanted to know what the heck was going on.
But when he heard whispers and murmurs of the words "bomb squad" as the nurses and interns filed out, Blaine grew even more panicked. Suddenly, he wanted to be as far away from the operating room as possible.
It was just Blaine, the anesthesiologist, and Dr. Cooley. Blaine tried to remain calm and still as he learned what was going on. The patient had been messing around with a homemade bazooka. There was ammunition inside of his chest, and if Blaine moved, he could detonate it.
"C-can someone call my husband?" Blaine asked quietly, looking down at his hand on the man's chest. "My phone is in the locker room."
"One of the interns can do that, yes," Dr. Cooley nodded. Blaine figured, since he was the one keeping everyone alive, that Kurt deserved to know what was happening. "Blaine?"
Blaine looked up. He couldn't help but notice Dr. Cooley wasn't calling him 'Dr. Anderson', but Blaine liked it that way. Everything felt so much more personal now.
"Yes?" he said. He didn't want to think about everything that could go wrong. He would hold his hand still, the bomb squad would take over, and everything would be okay.
"We're going to get out of here." Dr. Cooley had a low, gentle voice. "The bomb squad is coming any minute now."
Blaine nodded, still overwhelmed. He knew he should have stayed in bed that morning. So much depended upon whether or not he moved his stupid hand. Whether or not he saw Kurt or Micah again, whether or not any of them made it out of the operating room.
The more Blaine thought about it, he started to laugh a little bit. "Dr. Anderson?"
"Sorry," Blaine apologized, focusing on staying still. "But how the hell does someone shoot themselves with a bazooka?"
Dr. Cooley pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "The patient's wife said he was doing some World War II reenactment. It's funny how something so seemingly small wound us up here."
Blaine nodded, but didn't say anything else. He wanted so much for this to just be a bad dream.
What felt like an eternity later, Dr. Cooley talked to one of the interns through the door.
"Dr. Anderson, your husband is on his way here. We didn't go into detail about what's going on so not to worry him," the surgeon announced. Blaine nodded. He would get to see Kurt soon, if he could just get out of there…
Dr. Cooley had to step out to talk to the head of the bomb squad. Blaine was left alone with the anesthesiologist, who was monitoring the patients every breath he took on the ventilator. Slowly, he got up from his stool, and backed away towards the door.
"Doctor?" Blaine asked. No. He couldn't be left alone. Blaine was almost shaking as it was. He was honestly terrified; the thought that he might not ever see his husband and son again left Blaine almost in shock.
"I've got kids," the anesthesiologist shrugged. "Don't touch the ventilator, and he stays alive. Got it?"
Anger boiled inside Blaine's chest.
"I have a kid too, you know," he replied, clenching his teeth. "I have an eight month old baby who might not ever get to see his dad again."
The doctor shrugged again, as if there wasn't anything he could do about it, and then he was gone. Blaine took a breath, trying to stay still. That was it. He would never see Kurt again. He would never see Micah smile and babble at him again.
The door opened. Blaine hoped it was the anesthesiologist, but it was just Dr. Cooley. Blaine saw bomb squad members roaming the halls, but none of them entered the operating room.
"Where's Dr. Johnson?" he asked. Before then, Blaine hadn't known the name of the anesthesiologist.
"H-he left," Blaine said. "He said he has kids, and he left because he didn't want to die."
Dr. Cooley pressed his hands over his face and took a deep breath.
"Look," Blaine went on, "my husband is going to be waiting for me when he gets here. Can these guys just come and take over so I can get my hand out of this guy's chest?"
"They're coming in soon," Dr. Cooley assured him. "They have to assess the rest of the floor and look at some scans we took of this man's chest. Then they'll be in here to work on him. Just keep your hand there, no matter what you do."
"I know, I know," Blaine said. He felt one of his fingers twitch, and panicked for a moment. "Dr. Cooley, I can't do this, I have to get out of here."
"No!" the surgeon ordered, holding out his arms as if that could stop Blaine from moving. "Dr. Anderson, if you move, we could die. Just keep still like that for five more minutes."
Blaine took in a breath and bit his lip. Just an hour earlier, he had been complaining about how slow the day had been. If only it were guaranteed that he would live to see another.
The head of the bomb squad slowly opened the door to the operating room, and Blaine looked on helplessly as he whispered with Dr. Cooley, the two of them occasionally glancing over at him.
Blaine looked down at the patient, and for a second, he hated him. Blaine was risking his life for a man who was idiotic enough to shoot himself. He wasn't even a surgeon; he didn't deserve to be trapped in the operating room when he could be with Kurt. Of all the ER doctors, it just had to be him.
Finally, the endless whispers got on Blaine's last nerve. "Okay, look," he spoke up. "I'm not a patient, you don't need to whisper about me. Can we just be straightforward about what's going on?"
Dr. Cooley turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. "The main oxygen line for this hospital runs under this operating room. If this bomb goes off over that oxygen line, the whole building is in immediate danger."
"What we just need to do is move," said the bomb man, who introduced himself as Mr. Yates. He was a young man, almost as young looking as Amanda. "We need to get out of this room. You keep your hand still, and we do this very smoothly, because we don't have any more time to waste."
Blaine didn't see how they could safely transport the man when he hadn't even been allowed to move so much as his little finger. But the two other men seemed ready to go, so Blaine couldn't just stand around, either.
"Dr. Anderson? Are you ready to do this?" Dr. Cooley asked. Blaine hesitated for the slightest second, and then looked him in the eyes and nodded.
They moved slowly, just inches at a time down the hall. Blaine focused on not tripping, not letting his hand move out of place.
"You're doing great, Blaine," Mr. Yates complimented.
"Where are we going?" Blaine asked. The stress of the move was wearing him down. He wanted to get out of the hospital and never come back, not ever.
"OR one," Dr. Cooley announced, pointing down the hall. It seemed like a mile away.
"Alright, when we get in there, Dr. Cooley is going to make an incision, and Blaine, you're in charge of pulling the ammunition out, while keeping it level and still."
It sounded so easy. But Blaine knew there was a fine line between life and death. He understood that a lot more clearly after what had gone on that day.
The gurney hit a bump in the tile floor, and everyone stopped, holding their breath. Blaine swore his heart was about to beat out of his chest.
"It's okay," Mr. Yates whispered. "One step at a time. Let's keep going, nice and slow."
Blaine nodded and took a small step. The operating room still felt like a million miles away. He was more than ready for it to all be over. He never wanted to set foot on the surgical floor again.
"Blaine, we're almost there," Dr. Cooley told him. Blaine nodded, and step by step they made their way into the OR. Once everything was settled, Dr. Cooley got ready to operate.
"Dr. Anderson, are you ready?" Mr. Yates asked. Blaine nodded as Dr. Cooley tied a mask around his face for him.
"Yeah," Blaine said quietly. He tried his best to focus on what he had to do.
"I'm going to make an incision so that it's large enough for the ammo to pass through it. It's going to start to bleed heavily, Dr. Anderson, you're going to have to do this quickly and carefully," Dr. Cooley ordered.
"Level," Mr. Yates added. "Slow, steady, and level. No sudden movements."
Blaine nodded, and felt his heart start to beat fast again. His life- all of their lives, depended on how carefully he was able to move the stupid bazooka bullet.
"I got it," Blaine said, even though he seriously doubted himself. Time seemed to slow down, and eventually come to a stop as the surgeon cut open their patient. Blaine closed his eyes as Dr. Cooley did his work, and tried to tell himself that it would soon be all over…
"Done. Dr. Anderson can go ahead," Cooley finally said, setting down his scalpel.
"Alright, Blaine, wrap your hand around the base slowly," Mr. Yates instructed.
Blaine stared across the room at the floor. He couldn't do it. He couldn't risk his life for these people.
"Anderson, now," Dr. Cooley ordered him. Blaine shut his eyes again and exhaled. Every breath could easily be his last. He just wanted to bank as much time as he could get.
Blaine pulled his mask down with his free hand. "Make sure someone finds my husband. Someone needs to tell him, he can't find out that I'm dead through the media."
"No, Blaine, not now," Mr. Yates said firmly. "Don't talk like that. Come on. Grab the base. His blood pressure is dropping, we need to get this done."
"No!" Blaine pleaded, the dam finally bursting. He didn't cry; Blaine never cried if he could help it. "Both of you, you should just leave! We all can't die."
"Dr. Anderson, no one is dying today," Dr. Cooley insisted.
"Blaine, we're all going to get out of here, and you'll get to see your husband once you pull that ammunition out," Yates said. "Okay?"
Blaine wanted to nod his head, to accept that they would be okay. But that wasn't the truth. They weren't okay. Blaine just wished he had stayed home…
He curled his fingers around the cylinder of the ammo.
"Gentle," Yates reminded him.
Blaine tugged on the end of it, his hands nearly trembling, barely breathing as he focused intently on his every move.
He saw it, and he wanted to rip it out of the patient's stupid body. He wanted to be done, but Blaine knew if he let it slip, even a tiny bit, that they were all gone. He handed the bullet over to Yates, not letting go until it was secure in his hands. Once Blaine released his fingers, he breathed the sigh of relief that he had been holding all day. Their lives no longer hung in his hands, but in Yates'.
"You did good," he said, nodding at Blaine.
Blaine couldn't reply. His arms fell limply to his sides, and he watched as the young man slowly stepped out into the hall, holding the ammunition out in front of him.
Once Blaine had calmed down slightly from the shock of the last ten minutes, he poked his head out to see what Yates was going to do with the bomb. Two other men assisted him as he walked ever so slowly down the hall.
The blast caught them all off guard, naturally. Blaine instinctively threw his hands in front of his face, but that didn't stop him from being thrown back onto the tile floor, and his head smacking the ground uncontrollably.
Blaine didn't remember much else. He remembered lots and lots of yelling, a brief flash of orange flames, a dull throbbing at the base of his skull. He remembered being helped to his feet, checked over, and sent to the locker room to clean up. Blood was everywhere, both from the (still) unnamed patient, and Mr. Yates. Blaine was numb as he scrubbed it all off. The only thing that motivated him not to stand in the shower all night was the hope that Kurt was still in the lobby, waiting for him…
He put his street clothes back on, but didn't bother with his hair. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible. The ding of the elevator nearly gave Blaine a heart attack, but when he finally made it down to the main lobby by the entrance, he saw his husband. Kurt was hunched over in the little waiting room chair, tuning out all the commotion that took place around him. Blaine knew he had to be terrified.
"Kurt," Blaine mumbled, pushing past anyone that was in his way. He saw Kurt look up, and Blaine latched onto him, wrapping his arms so tightly around his body that he was certain Kurt was getting crushed underneath his grip.
Blaine heard Kurt crying into the collar of his shirt, and he pulled away and looked at him.
"We could hear the explosion, you know," Kurt sniffled, talking a mile a minute. "No one knew anything, I thought you were dead until about thirty seconds ago."
Blaine just thought about how he had been in that OR, not knowing if he would ever get to see Kurt again.
"I-I hit my head, but it's okay," Blaine told him. "It's gonna be okay." He tried to reassure both Kurt and himself, because he didn't see himself forgetting the day's events any time soon.
Kurt pulled Blaine into him again, and Blaine just let Kurt hold him for a minute.
"You're shaking," Kurt said. "Let's go pick up Micah and go home. I'm sure you're ready to get out of here." Blaine nodded, still in a daze, but he didn't want Kurt to let go of him. He had been so certain that he would die, that he would leave Kurt to raise their baby all on his own. The thoughts haunted him, and Blaine tried to push them away as the two left the hospital together
When they stepped outside into the frigid December air, Blaine took a deep breath, suddenly finding a new appreciation for just how quickly everything could be all over. And he didn't want to waste another minute.
Author's Notes:
So this is definitely... different, but I had Jess (my awesome Tumblr friend) proofread it for me, which gave me the green light to go ahead and post it. I know it's kind of some heavy stuff, but I've been telling myself for weeks that I would write it, so yesterday I actually sat down and did it! I hope, if you're a Grey's fan, that you sincerely liked it. But please let me know! If no one likes it then I won't do anything like it again, it all depends on the feedback I get.
On a separate note, this is probably my last update before I go back to school, but I'll still be working on prompts as much as I can, so if you have anything you'd like to see then just send it my way! (Especially Blaine. I have about a million Kurt prompts and only a few Blaine-centered ones). Thanks in advance for leaving a comment!