Thanks to Loopy Lou, Lotty de Bonte, and Sally Hopkinson aka Alice's White Rabbit. We're a team, right?

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. The original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Chapter 5

"Bella, call for an ambulance. Edward, let's pick him up."

Jasper gave directions in a steady voice; his friends seemed to believe he knew what he was doing. In fact, he only supposed he'd recognized the symptoms of a possible stroke. He could be completely wrong, but one thing he knew for certain: he wouldn't just stand there and leave the man unattended.

Carlisle's body was feather-light and so fragile in his and Edward's arms. They took him to the nearest room, which, luckily, happened to be a bedroom, and placed him gently on a bed.

"Tissue. I need a tissue," Jasper went on. "And let's cover him with a blanket. He's cold; he shouldn't lose body heat."

Bella rushed frantically and returned with a towel and a roll of toilet paper from the adjacent bathroom. She handed them to Jasper and whispered, "Will these do?" Jasper nodded and snatched the supplies from her trembling hand. He wiped the dribble from Carlisle's chin while Edward was tucking a blanket around the freezing body.

Carlisle was following their every move with his mad eyes. Unexpectedly, he tried to speak, but what came out of his mouth was mere slurred nonsense. More dribble appeared on his lips, and Jasper wiped once again. The young man placed a palm on the wrinkled forehead and tried to calm his neighbor. "Hush. Help is coming." Carlisle's good leg started moving under the blanket, forming a nervous rhythm. He was giving signals, which Jasper couldn't read; somewhere between being impatient, or hurting, he kicked and pounded the bed, unable to deliver an intelligible message. Jasper couldn't know what the suffering man was trying to convey until he noticed tears in the unblinking eyes.

"He's in pain, dammit! Let's turn him to his right side, Edward! Quickly!"

Edward stood numb and petrified for a fraction of a second, until, seemingly, his brain functions unlocked and he hurried to help.

How does he know what to do? Edward wondered. Carlisle's kicking leg had calmed down immediately, and they sat and waited, silent. Seconds and minutes dragged agonizingly until the ambulance siren brought them up to their feet again.

Emmett was shot in the arm. The material of his blood-soaked shirt was clinging to his open wound, so he tore the sleeve off while he was running; his steps didn't falter.

He had no idea where he could hide. He just ran and ran through the streets; passersby averted their eyes from him—a criminal in a dire situation, apparently—and avoided him, making way, never bothering to look twice.

He wasn't calling for help or collapsing on them, after all.

None of the three friends were allowed to see Carlisle after he was taken to intensive care. They stood in the hospital lobby, waiting for some news, any news.

Bella needed coffee. She spotted a vending machine but was bitterly disappointed to find out the stupid thing was out of order. Thank goodness, another visitor informed her there was a working one on the next floor. She had no choice but to leave her companions and go. Coffee was a must. She asked if anyone wanted refreshments and went on her quest.

After Bella was gone, Edward's gaze wandered over a middle-aged couple, seated on a very uncomfortable sofa near the window. They were holding hands. Their relative, or a friend, was struggling with death inside that intimidating hospital unit, possibly losing the fight. The couple conversed in hushed voices, the woman squeezing the man's hand every other minute. A bit later, a nurse approached them and spoke to them in a sympathetic voice. The couple burst into tears. They clung to each other in a desperate embrace, shoulders shaking, fists gripping at collars, the woman's wails echoing through the thick air of the lobby.

Edward was sweating. A phantom hand had clasped around his throat, reducing the supply of air to his lungs to a life-threatening minimum. He was frightened and anxious, and too confused by his feelings. He had only met Carlisle the day before, and these emotions were utterly irrational. But he knew: he was afraid of death. He abhorred the thought of death. The violence of his abhorrence at this particular moment shook him to the core. His frame slumped; he realized he was pathetic, not able to be brave in the face of bad news. And while his soul was in turmoil, his brain fought to find the courage to learn to cope with the disappointment and the loss. He managed to take a deep breath and attempted to square his shoulders.

"A little pessimistic, aren't you?" Jasper's voice came from close proximity, just behind his back. Firm hands rested on his hips and implied, pushing, that he should turn around. Next thing he knew, dry lips were planting a succession of featherlike, nearly non-existent kisses, following an uninterrupted trail around his neck, while Edward moved and turned, then his jaw was nestled in a heap of golden silk. He took another deep, although a little shaky, breath, and the hospital stench was replaced by a consoling, musky fragrance.

Edward wanted the moment to linger. Although he was now startled by the pleasurable warmness that ran through his veins, and terrified by the impulse to hold a man tightly, as close as possible and as long as possible, he wanted the moment to last forever. But he closed his eyes for several seconds, and when he snapped them open, he pushed Jasper away.

"I'm scared," Edward whispered, only for Jasper to hear.

"I know," Jasper whispered back. "But listen to me," he went on in a louder voice. "People are different, Edward. Made of different material. Some are fighters, and some are not. Those who are meant to be fighters are different too. Some fight injustice, in general. Others fight their own fears. The latter type, they are the bravest. That's what you have to remember. Be brave."

Easy to say, Edward retorted in his mind. I have a whole lot of fears to fight.

For the rest of the day, he pretended that moment had never happened.

Emmett remembered it was recommended to stop the bleeding by pressing onto a wound. He tore his other sleeve off and continued through the streets pressing the piece of cotton material firmly against his limp arm.

The neighborhood around him was familiar now. One block away was where Carlisle lived. That's where Emmett headed. Finally, he felt hopeful.

When Bella came back to the lobby, she noticed a greater distance between Edward and Jasper. She also noticed they stood with their fists clenched, as if preparing for a brawl. She was about to ask what had happened while she was away but the door of the ICU opened, and one of the doctors they'd seen earlier came out and approached them. The three froze in place.

"Your friend feels better now," the doctor announced and smiled.

Three pairs of lungs released the breaths they were holding with a swoosh.

A/N Ahhh, sighs. I was worried, too.
Btw, do you guys think there's a sentence here which deserves fanart? Like, a visual?