Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed, or any of its characters… I just wish I did.
Author's Note: Another chapter written… I hope I didn't keep you all waiting to long. It doesn't look like anyone is ready to skin me yet. I took longer on writing this chapter because I wanted to make sure I got some things right. I tried to remember my own ride in an ambulance, but since I was kind of unconscious for part of it like Chris currently is (not for a football injury though).
---------------------------------------------------------
Wyatt was silent, holding Chris's limp left hand in his right and rubbing it with the other. He watched the paramedics secure the doors and felt numb. The male paramedic climbed up front, settling into the driver's seat, while the woman remained in the back with Wyatt and Chris. She grabbed a clipboard, scribbling some notes on it, and then grabbed several things from drawers and cabinets around the ambulance.
"Hey bro, you need to open your eyes okay?" Wyatt said quietly, squeezing his little brother's hand in encouragement for him to do just that. Chris didn't stir and he was so pale. He didn't like seeing Chris laying there, motionless and looking so vulnerable, nor did he like how helpless he felt at not being able to do a single thing for him except sit uselessly at his side. The woman grabbed a nonrebreather mask; turning on the oxygen she then put the mask over Chris's nose and mouth.
Wyatt watched the light misting inside the mask, which was a relieving indication that his little brother was breathing. Shallow breathing was still breathing. The female paramedic came around to Chris's left side where Wyatt was sitting. "I'm going to need to take his blood pressure, sweetheart," she said to Wyatt. Her voice sounded so calm to Wyatt. It was comforting and frustrating all at the same time. Wyatt slid over to give her room to work, and chewed on his lower lip as he watched the woman take Chris's vital signs and note them down. She pulled a penlight out, pried Chris's eyelids open and shined it in both before jotting whatever it was she saw down too.
The ambulance started forward, heading off of the grass of the football field into the parking lot and then out onto the road. As the wheels turned onto the road the siren started up and Wyatt knew the lights must have been flashing too. When Wyatt was little he had always imagined what riding in the back of an ambulance with the lights and sirens going would be like. Last year Wyatt had wrecked their mother's car and he'd had his first ride in the back of an ambulance. It hadn't been as much of a fun experience as his childhood imagination had made it out to be. Now, in his second ride in an ambulance sitting in here with Chris as the patient, it wasn't any better.
"What's your name sweetheart?" the paramedic asked Wyatt. She got up and moved back around to Chris's other side, making more notes on her clipboard.
"Wyatt," the blonde youth managed to get out, though his voice cracked slightly. He kept watching Chris's breath form condensation on the inside of the oxygen mask, kept waiting for some indication that Chris was stirring, and kept feeling so afraid that those misting breaths might stop. He couldn't think like that. Chris was going to be fine. A part of him wished he had his mother's power to freeze. He thought about it more than once, how he would have frozen the paramedics so he could try to heal Chris. Now that the paramedic had gone back to the other side, Wyatt slid back into place and resumed his guarded hold on Chris's hand.
"Wyatt, I'm Cathy… And you're his big brother, huh?" she asked. Wyatt only nodded mutely in response, not quite trusting his voice. Wyatt gave Chris's hand another light squeeze, silently hoping for one in return. The paramedic was talking to him again, "You two must be awfully close. We're going to take good care of him." Again Wyatt's response was non-verbal; he didn't even look up at her. He thought he saw a flicker in Chris's eyelids.
"How old is he?" Cathy asked, trying to get Wyatt to answer some of the necessary questions about the patient's history and at the same time trying to ease some of Wyatt's fears.
"He's fifteen, he'll," Wyatt started and felt his voice waver unsteadily again, "…he'll be sixteen next month." Chris's fingers twitched against Wyatt's hand and Wyatt's breath caught for a moment.
"Does he have any allergies? Is he on any medications?"
"He's allergic to sulfa drugs," Wyatt answered, grateful for knowledge of Chris's medical history, then shook his head to the second question. Please wake up. . Chris's fingers twitched again. Wyatt took a deep breath and closed his eyes, sending up a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening. When he opened them again, he looked earnestly towards his little brother's face. Maybe he was finally waking up. "Chris? Hey, there bro, can you hear me? You need to try to open your eyes…"
The paramedic set her clipboard aside and stood up, standing over Chris on the opposite side from Wyatt. She had abandoned her questioning of the older brother, now that the patient seemed to be waking. Chris groaned softly and his eyelids were indeed fluttering. Wyatt felt a huge relief that Chris was waking. Gradually Chris's eyes opened a crack, squeezed shut in a grimace of pain, before opening up cautiously.
"…Wh…Wyatt?" Chris's voice was soft, muffled from the mask over his nose and mouth. Wyatt squeezed Chris's hand again and felt a very weak squeeze back. He stood up so that Chris could see him, since the cervical collar prevented him from turning his head.
"Yeah, bro, I'm right here," Wyatt said with a comforting smile. Chris's eyes were bluer than they were green and filled with pain. As relieved as Wyatt was to see Chris conscious again, he would have given almost anything to spare him whatever pain he was experiencing right now. He looked so confused and disoriented, frightened.
Cathy looked at Chris, "Hey sweetie, I need to ask you some questions. Can you tell me your name?"
"…C…Chris," came the muffled response, "I… it hurts… Wy… I want mom…"
"Mom and Dad gonna meet us at the hospital. I'm right here though, and I'm not going anywhere," Wyatt said. "Do you remember what happened?"
"…we were winning?" Chris asked in a small voice, sounding confused as to why Wyatt wasn't still at the game. "…what are you…s…someone hit me?" he groaned out. It was somewhere between a statement and a question.
The paramedic smiled a patient smile, but there were questions that she needed to ask, especially now that Chris was lucid and able to respond, "How many fingers am I holding up, Chris?"
"…Tw…Three, but they're blurry…" Chris's voice wavered and Wyatt felt the younger teen's fingers twitch against his hand. Chris squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, looking like he was trying to stop his swimming vision and catch his breath. There was pain etched into his delicate features. When Chris opened his eyes again they were watery and he looked more scared than Wyatt had ever seen him. "…hurts to breathe…"
"You've probably got some cracked ribs, just try to take slow, easy breaths," Cathy said gently before asking another question, "Can you tell me what else hurts, Chris?"
Chris looked like he was thinking hard, trying to figure out what it was that was hurting him exactly. "…my right side… arm… everything…" he whimpered, "Leg… I don't… feel…." He closed his eyes and Wyatt had a feeling that Chris was trying to calm himself. Wyatt had his lower lip caught between his teeth, gazing worriedly down at his injured sibling and trying desperately to send reassuring feelings towards him.
"M…my head feels… feels like the marching band is playing in it," Chris offered with a pale excuse for sarcasm, "…and like Wy's buffalo butt is sitting on my chest..." That was a little bit more encouraging to Wyatt than anything else. If Chris was even attempting being sarcastic, he must be somewhat all right. A look of agony ripped across Chris's face and forced him to squeeze his eyes shut and moan quietly. That threw Wyatt's hopes out the window. His panting, panicked breaths were misting faster against the oxygen mask. Chris's hand tightened its grip on Wyatt's further with each hyperventilating breath. He was scared. Wyatt was scared too.
"Calm down, sweetheart, slow easy breaths okay?" the EMT said in calming tones. The woman's urgent form of calm was meant to be soothing. Chris opened his eyes again, fear shining bright in their azure hues. "You have a concussion and a couple of broken bones, but we're taking you to the hospital and they're going to patch you up good as new. Okay?"
"Okay," Chris didn't sound convinced to Wyatt, but he did relax enough that his breathing wasn't quite so ragged. Wyatt tried not to frown, rubbing his brother's hand between his.
"Did you get the number of the bus that hit me?" Chris weakly mumbled at Wyatt with that familiar sarcasm.
"Yeah, bus number eleven, and he ran a red light," Wyatt said, smiling down at Chris, "I had a little moment of road rage and rammed his fender for wrecking my little brother."
"The other guys are gonna be mad if we lose," Chris said, "You should've stayed and finished the game."
"Yeah right," Wyatt responded, "Not a snowball's chance in hell."
"They'll dog you on Monday for leaving the game just because I took a little bump to the head," Chris mumbled, downplaying his injuries. It didn't work very well as another wave of pain crossed his face and left him panting again.
The EMT was on the radio, calling ahead to the hospital and relaying letters and numbers and saying things in the background that Wyatt couldn't make sense of. Wyatt wasn't really paying attention to her though.
"They'll get over it. My baby brother comes before any stupid football game," Wyatt swallowed hard, trying to keep the humor going, "Besides, I figured it was either come with you and get some free peanuts or stay there and get myself kicked out of the game for creaming that guy. How often do you get a chauffeured flight through San Francisco complete with flashing lights and fanfare?"
"I think I'd rather skip the ostentatious ride," Chris slurred quietly, "there are other optional and much more practical means of transportation."
"Are you trying to use words from those SAT prep books on purpose?" Wyatt asked, wryly, "It doesn't make you sound smart, it makes you sound retarded… and badly in need of a life."
"You're just jealous because you suffer from acute limited vocabulary," Chris mumbled, "Maybe you should ask to see someone at the hospital too, they might be able to help you with that." Worry tugged at Wyatt again over the fact that Chris's eyelids were drooping again.
"Chris, keep talkin' to me," Wyatt encouraged.
"…I'm sorry Wy…hurts… and… just… want to sleep…" Chris slurred, "…hurts…tired…"
"Chris, hey, Chris, don't go back to sleep," Wyatt said more urgently, "Keep your eyes open, you gotta stay awake. Why don't you tell me about that equation of yours for a perfect pass?"
Chris's eyes took a slow drowsy descent down, but he opened them again, and slurred something incoherent to his brother. Chris's hand went slack in Wyatt's and Wyatt saw his brother's eyes had rolled back and the lids were closing over them again. "Chris! Open you eyes, do you hear me?" Wyatt demanded, unable to keep the alarm from his voice.
Chris had seemed fine just a minute ago, well not fine. He couldn't be fine with a neck brace, strapped to a backboard with at the very least a concussion, broken leg, broken arm and probably bruised ribs if not broken. Wyatt didn't want to begin to think about the worse injuries, the internal ones that might be there. That would cause his brother to slip unconscious again. Chris might not have been exactly fine a minute ago, but at least he had been alert and talking to him, joking…
"Chris, c'mon," Wyatt pleaded, rubbing his brother's hand a bit more vigorously. Wyatt was the one close to hyperventilating now as he tried to rouse his brother to no response. "Christopher! Please don't do this…"
The paramedic dropped the radio and moved over quickly, getting right into motion. Wyatt moved back so he was out of the way, but held onto Chris's hand like that alone would pull Chris back to consciousness again. Cathy shouted up to the front of the ambulance, "Greg, what's our ETA?"
"Five minutes," the man in the front called back.
"Better make it two."
---------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: So, there you go. I finished that update. There were more scenes that I wanted to include in this chapter, including one with the Aunts figuring out that something was wrong. Another Piper P.O.V. and arriving at the hospital, but I'll save those for the next update. Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter. I'm going to try to get to each of you to respond with thanks individually. What do ya'll think? Hit the button down there and let me know. I need some love and so does poor Chris.