'Cliffhanger'

Chapter 6

Notes: Virtual Candy to everyone for the awesome reviews, comments, fav's and alerts ;) – thanks you guys. Plus my awesome beta's, PADavis and Amarintha, who have a thankless job … wait a sec, I do thank them? Heaven knows why they complain so much ROFL ;)

Warning: Language and "MWW" (Merciless Winchester Whumping)

John's POV

He's back.

Oh, thank god … he's still alive.

A sigh of relief shudders through my body. My hand fisting into the thick blanket covering my son, my throat aching, as I swallow back my raw emotions.

He's alive. They had to shock him … shock his heart … he nearly died, he nearly died right here in front of me.

I look in silent awe at the medics still working frantically over Dean. They saved my boy … how can I ever repay them for something like that? I almost chuckle at myself, may very well be turning into a chick. The boys would love that, probably use it as leverage against me. I smile at the thought.

My eyes mist up again and I rub at them ineffectually, swallowing hard. God … he's still alive … I just have to hold onto that thought … knowing how close to death he still is right now.

My hand moves up to gently squeeze his trembling arm … his entire body is shaking slightly, probably in response to the shock. I want to tell him that I'm here, that I'm still with him … he needs to know … needs to fight and hold on.

One of the medics is tapping me on the arm. He talks to me through the headset.

"John, we'll be landing in two minutes … we have a thoracic surgeon on route, his ETA is approximately twenty minutes."

I look at him, unsure.

"Thoracic surgeon?"

"Yeah … Dean has a hemothorax, so blood is accumulating in the pleural cavity."

He taps at his own chest and I nod, understanding most of what he's saying.

"The blood accumulation is putting pressure on his heart. That's why he went into cardiac arrest. Plus, we have absent breath sounds on the affected left side. The surgeon will need to find the source of the bleeding and drain the blood with a tube."

I nod again and he smiles at me reassuringly, before he starts rattling of vitals to the dispatch at the hospital.

I look at Dean's still features, the other medic methodically squeezing oxygen into his lungs … my mind drifting to Sammy … wondering if he's even still alive. God, I shake my head … I can't think like that … I need to stay positive.

Exactly two minutes later we hit the tarmac. They lift Dean out of the helicopter and onto a gurney, and take off running, drips held high, as we duck under the decelerating blades. We rush towards the triage doors as more medical staff come streaming out to meet us. I keep up with them as they push Dean down a short corridor, and into one of the resuscitation bays.

The trauma team instantly takes control, the doctor barking orders at everyone as he begins assessing Dean.

I move slowly to the corner of the room, staying out of everyone's way as I try to concentrate on his words, words that are not comforting … but my full focus still remains on my waning son.

"… blunt chest trauma … hemorrhaging … run multiple IV lines … warm, rapid infusion of plasma …"

I watch silently as they cut Dean's clothes from his body. They carefully remove his belt before cutting up both legs and through the waist on each side. Leaving him in thermal underwear? I find myself smiling sadly at that … thermal underwear, kiddo? They make short work of removing those as well. They also cut away his 'Stones' t-shirt. God, he's going to be pissed … he loved that tee.

When they remove the bandages holding his arm in place and the makeshift splint around his leg … I put my hand out against the wall to steady myself.

I can't help my sharp intake of breath when they reveal the dark and mottled bruising wrapping around his torso, along with various bloody injuries revealed as they expose each inch of his battered body. His knee, his leg, his shoulder. I saw them earlier, but they look so much worse now.

The doctor glances up at me briefly, looking at me sadly, but he doesn't say anything … doesn't order me out … and I suddenly feel sick.

"Okay, looks like we have localised bruising and abdominal distension. Let's get a CT scan and soft tissue x-ray immediately to see where these bleeds are occurring."

They quickly push Dean into an adjoining ER room to do the scans. I find myself following stupidly, but the doctor puts his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

"Mr. Davis, is that right?"

"Yeah."

I nod my head, trying to remember the details on the medical insurance card I gave them. Praying that there isn't a problem.

"I'm Doctor Webber, I just want you to know that we're going to do everything we can for your boys."

"Thank you … thanks …"

My throat tightens up again.

"Do you have any news … on Sam?"

He shakes his head, but he watches me worriedly.

"My colleague sent a message to me. Do you know if Dean has ever had an allergic reaction to Penicillin?"

I look at him in confusion, trying to remember … I don't ever remember Dean having Penicillin before …

"I don't think so …"

"It's just, apparently Sam was insistent, he was barely conscious but he insisted that Dean was allergic."

That's all the confirmation I need.

"I trust Sam, he and Dean spend a lot of time together … if he says Dean is allergic to something, anything … I'd listen to him."

"Okay … then we'll use an alternative, just in case."

He leaves me alone again, and it takes ten long minutes for them to finish the scans before they wheel Dean back in. A nurse comes in to confirm that the thoracic surgeon will be arriving any minute.

Doctor Webber and his team are preparing Dean for surgery and I watch as they intubate him and put him on mechanical ventilation. He gags slightly as they insert the tube, but he's still unconscious.

They let me move to sit next to Dean, allowing me to carefully slide one hand to the curve of his neck to gently massage the taut muscles there, while I grip his wrist with the other, feeling the faint pulse beneath my fingertips.

I look at his hand, studying the shape, it's the same size as mine … it used to be so small, used to fit around my fingers perfectly … my boy … my child … dying … I won't accept that!

The doc talks to me through each of the processes he's performing, he probably thinks it will help me to know exactly what is happening to Dean. But all it does is make my gut clench in anxiety.

"He's in what we call the peri-arrest period. He was in cardiac arrest on route, and he's still highly unstable. We'll have him under constant monitoring with preventative treatment … he'll be going into surgery shortly …"

An alarm sounds, making me jump in surprise.

"Shit! Doctor, he's in V-tac again!"

I watch in horror as they roll the crash cart closer, pushing me out of the way, injecting numerous drugs directly into his IV line.

"He's coding."

The monitor next to Dean is broadcasting his erratic heartbeat. There's a whining sound just before they put the paddles on his chest and shock him … his back arches as the current runs through his body.

Oh god … not again … please, son …

Everything becomes a blur of activity, compressions, shocks, readings … but the whining of that monitor is the only sound that I hear.

"Come on Dean, stay with us buddy … okay, charge …"

He's dying … no … I find myself slipping down into the chair behind me, against the wall, my knees unable to hold me upright any longer.

"Please, son."

It's a desperate, whispered plea … a desperate, whispered prayer.

How am I supposed to tell Sammy that you died? Please don't make me do that, Dean … please …

They apply the paddles to his chest again …

"Please, son … just hold on …"

Hum.

Paddles.

Shock.

And finally … finally, after a lifetime of endless fear … the irregular rhythm of a weak pulse … my own heart finally kick starting again, along with Dean's.

"… that's it …"

I want to rush from the room then, I want to throw up … but I can't leave him yet … it was too close … too damn close.

"… start a dopamine IV infusion …"

I look at my boy, making sure that his chest is rising, checking the monitors again to make sure that the regular rhythm is still there. Shit, kiddo … you're seriously killing your old man over here …

They have him stabilized again, and tears burn a path down my cheeks, my hands shaking as I rub them across my face.

"John?"

I look up at the doctor, he's kneeling in front of me, and I chuckle nervously, tension draining from my body.

"Shit."

He chuckles back, nodding his head.

"Yeah, I know, that's why I'm completely grey ... I'm actually only twenty one."

I snort in response. The man's late fifties, at least.

"John, the thoracic specialist is here now, I'm going to join him, scrub up, but I need you to understand something. Dean's blood pressure is so low he went into in hypovolemic shock, which has subsequently led to hypoxia. We're replenishing his fluids to raise his blood pressure and stabilize him enough for surgery.

I can only nod again in a dim-witted response.

"I need you to understand that this operation is going to be very dangerous. Your son is extremely unstable, we've nearly lost him twice … you need to prepare yourself …"

He's silent for a brief second, before adding, "…if you're a praying man, now would be a good time to start."

I look at him then, knowing there's nothing more I can do for either of my boys … I have to leave my most precious possessions in some stranger's care. I've had to do that before over the years … and shit … it's the hardest thing I've ever done, and it never gets any easier.

"We need to get him to the ER now."

I know what he's asking of me … he wants me to say goodbye … but I won't …

Instead I get up, and move back to my son on unsteady feet, before leaning forward, like I did with Sam, and kissing him gently on his forehead. He already smells like hospital disinfectant … it reminds me of death, that thought makes me shudder … before I carefully brush my fingers through his short hair, whispering, "I'll be waiting here for you, kiddo … don't you go anywhere … that car won't polish itself."

They finally start pushing him out, and I follow them up to the swing doors that take him away from me. Watching through the small glass window as they wheel him quickly to the surgery. Watching until he disappears behind more large doors.

I stand like that for the longest time. Knowing that both my kids are down that corridor. Both of them are fighting for their lives …

When I find myself again, I'm standing over the basin in the restroom … water pouring down the drain as I stare at my reflection. Dark stubble, dark lines, deep wrinkles … too pale … and eyes, haunted eyes that shouldn't belong to me. What happened? How did I get to this point? How did I manage to lose everything?

If my boys die … if they don't make it through this … I know with a certainty that I'll lose my own will to live … I don't want to be in this world alone, without them. I was trying to make it a better world for them … damnit … if they're gone, then there's no point, there's no point to any of this.

A tear drops into the swirling water, disappearing into the darkness below … and I cry then, cry like I've never cried before, collapsing to my knees as sobs wrack my body.

Please god … if you're out there … if you're listening … please don't take my boys from me … please … I'm begging you.

Time moves slowly … matching my pace … it's two hours later, and I'm still walking around the hospital aimlessly. I have my dog tags and Dean's amulet around my neck. Their other possessions are safely tucked in my pockets.

Every time I ask the bored nurse on duty if they have any news … I get the same irritated response.

"They're still in surgery, Mr. Davis. The doctor will see you as soon as they're finished."

So I just walk around. Walk down passageways, drinking cups and cups of stale coffee, walk outside in the gardens, the crisp air making me shiver, and then returning to sit on one of the hard plastic chairs. My leg bounces irritably on the linoleum floor … but still no updates.

On my fifth patrol around the premises, I find a small door, leading to an even smaller chapel. I squeeze into one of the chairs, resting my elbow on my knees, rubbing at the thick stubble covering my chin.

I look up then, at the beautiful stained glass window … a scene with a dove flying over a green forest, a twig hanging reverently from its beak.

But it's the white painted wooden cross acting as the center piece that catches my attention. A single white cross … it's beautiful. Such a humble symbol, and yet so powerful. Probably why they use them in all the war memorials … those fields of endless, orderly, and perfect white crosses, a mark of bravery, of faith … and of peace.

I pray again … praying for my sons, for this endless battle with evil to be over … praying for retribution for Mary … but I don't pray for myself … I don't deserve redemption.

Cause even though I'm sitting on holy ground, praying … I know with a certainty that if anything happens to either of my boys … I'll find some way, any way to save them. If god won't help me, then I'll find someone or something who will. I remember Bobby telling me about people who summon demons … I'm not sure how it works, but I'll read up on it, do research … because if that's the choice I'm left with … I'll make it.

Shit … that reminds me, I'll need to phone Bobby, probably Caleb … and Jim.

Someone enters the chapel and I stand up too quickly, the room spinning a bit. It's a doctor, one I don't recognize.

"Sir … you're with Sam and Dean … you came in with Dean?"

"Yes, that's right."

He looks at his clipboard.

"I see here that you're their father."

"Yes."

My heart is instantly hammering in my chest

"I'm Dr DeMarco. I operated on Sam. He's just come out of surgery, they're moving him to intensive care … please, maybe you should take a seat."

My legs weakly obey his request as I fall back into the chair behind me, swallowing uncomfortably.

"The prognosis for both boys isn't looking very good."

I look at him with sick dread.

"Dean?"

"I'm sorry …"

No … oh god no … my breath stops … everything stops …

"… we still have no news about Dean."

Shit! I think I'm going to have a fucking heart attack any minute now.

"… and Sammy?"

"He has extensive trauma injuries but our main concern was the results from the CT scan. Sam has a subdural hematoma caused by a depressed skull fracture with an intraparenchymal bleed … it's a very serious condition. We had to drain the fluids to relieve the pressure building inside his head."

"God … please tell me he'll be okay though … when will he wake up, when can I see him?"

He looks at me with unveiled sympathy and I find myself shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Davis, but I'm afraid Sam has slipped into a coma."

TBC