Hopefully this satisfies everyone's needs for a little more hurt Dean. lol, I have to say that you Dean fangirls scare me just a bit. I am hoping that I got this as accurately as I possibly could write it as I am not a doctor or paramedic although I have trained to be an EMT. Thanks for reading. Seth
Chapter Five
Hunter and Thor circled an ever widening path, pawing at the snow. At first, Harvey believed they were still picking up Sam's scent as they headed toward where the all-terrain vehicles had been parked a few moments prior, but after sniffing the deep grooves left by the Argo's tracks, they doubled back. It was enough to give him some hope that they were close to where Dean ended up buried beneath the snow.
George grabbed his gear from the second Argo, and strode the distance to where Harvey was standing. Hank followed at a much slower pace, favoring his right leg, his arm clutched tightly around his ribcage. His features were pinched, eyes narrowed to a squint, and even if Harvey hadn't just witnessed him take a swan dive off the ledge with Sam, there was no mistaking he was in pain.
"You should have gone with them," he sternly admonished as he bent and retrieved the younger man's search gear. "Now you're the one who's the liability here."
"That's what I told him, Chief," George piped in, but from experience, they both knew the only thing that would stop Hank from finding a victim once he set his heart to it was if he was knocked unconscious and dragged off the mountain.
Harvey understood the younger man's reasonings, understood what losing his wife to the very thing that he protected others from on a daily basis had done to him. Hank had buried his heartbreak, and with determination unrivaled to anything Harvey had ever witnessed before, he threw himself into saving as many lives as possible. And although Harvey wouldn't consider his longtime friend reckless, he feared one day he would lose him to the snow that had claimed his young bride.
"That's bullshit an' you damn well know it." Hank snatched the search probe out of Harvey's hand, and with an angry glare, he trudged after the dogs. "I'm the best damn rescuer you've got here," he shot back over his shoulder, prodding at the thick snow with the pointed tip of the probe.
"True," Harvey conceded with a smile, "But yer also the most cockiest sonuvabitch I've ever worked with as well."
Letting the comment slide, Hank bobbed his head toward Hunter and Thor. "Think they've picked up Dean's scent."
Both dogs let out excited yelps, digging and pawing at the ground only a few feet away from the ledge. Harvey and Hank grabbed the collapsible shovels from their packs, and hurried to where the dogs were unearthing piles of hardened snow.
"Good boys," Harvey gave each dog a quick pat on the head, scratching them behind the ears as a reward for finding their quarry. Still barking to alert the other rescuers, the two Shepards moved back, and Hank, George and Harvey hastily dug into the hard-packed snow with the probes until they hit upon a solid form. "We've got him." As the other two dug into the concrete that was masquerading as snow, Harvey reached into his pocket, yanked out his hand-held radio and pressed the button, calling to the other rescuers. "Frank, we've found him. Get the others and meet us down beyond the ledge."
"Will do, Chief," came Frank's gruff reply after a moment.
Carefully but quickly they dug a trench around where Dean was laying, and worked inward to uncover him. Hank dropped to his knees, and scooped away the loosened snow with his hands, uncovering Dean's face. Crouching, he tilted his head to the side and listened for any signs that Dean was alive. A deep sigh of relief escaped him when he felt a soft whisper of air against his cheek.
"He's alive."
Under the snow for well over an hour and a half, they hadn't held out much hope to find Dean alive, and it was all they needed to hear to dig in more enthusiastically. Within a few minutes, the other men reached the rescue site, and exchanged places with George and Harvey. Yet for as injured and exhausted Hank was, he refused to stop working to save Dean's life.
"Joey, get the stretcher," Harvey barked out the order, and the youngest member of the search and rescue team rushed to do as he was instructed. "Jeff, have plenty of blankets ready for once he's removed."
"Gotcha." Jeff immediately searched through all the rescuers' packs, and retrieved every blanket they had brought with them.
Before Harvey could even think to issue his next order, he saw Frank pull out his walkie-talkie and radio ahead to the awaiting helicopter. "One man down," the seasoned rescuer tallied off his first observations of Dean's overall condition. "Buried approximately ninety minutes. Unconscious but breathing spontaneously on his own upon extrication."
As a team, they carefully lifted Dean from the ground, and placed him on the stretcher. Jeff was there in an instant to place the blankets over him.
"Temp, 22.9 degrees," George called out, already working on intubating Dean, and Frank was quick to relay the information. Once he had Dean intubated, Hank took over with the ventilations as the paramedic worked quickly to evaluate for any other life threatening injuries. Pulling back Dean's eyelids, he flashed a penlight in them. "Pupils dilated, sluggish response to light." As he continued to access Dean's injuries, the other rescuers cautiously stabilized him to the board, readying him for transport. "Blunt force trauma to the chest and abdomen. Possible femur fracture," he added as he lightly pressed his fingertips against Dean's leg, feeling for any crepitation. "Dislocated knee, open fracture to the left Tibia."
"Just scoop and run," came the voice of the paramedic aboard the helicopter after Frank tallied off the mounting list of injuries. "We've gotta get that temp up or it's really not gonna matter if he's got a head injury."
"Gotcha," Frank replied, but didn't have to bother relaying the order as the team of rescuers were already lifting Dean off the ground, and within a moment they were heading toward the Argo. "Loading him up now. We should be there in about fifteen minutes."
"Alright, Rescue One, we'll be waiting," the paramedic called back over the radio, "Keep him as warm as possible and keep monitoring his temp."
"Will do."
SNSNSNSNSNSN
The moment Dean was transported onto the Medivac and was en route to Saint Anthony's Hospital, the two paramedics aboard the helicopter peeled back his blankets, cut away the damp, frigid clothing that clung to his skin, and wrapped him in warming blankets. Hank, who had refused to allow anyone else to take over doing ventilations, continued to pump lifesaving oxygen into Dean's lungs as a young, female paramedic hooked him up to a heart monitor. The bluish line on the small screen jerked up and down at an irregular rate, and as the copter jostled in the turbulence Dean's heart rate became more erratic.
"Can't you do something about keeping this damn thing more steady," Hank shouted to the pilot above the din of the copter's engine.
"Strong winds comin' out of the west, nothing I can do about it," the pilot hollered back over his shoulder.
"Saint Anthony's, this is Mercy Flight Two," the female paramedic called into the mouth piece attached to her flight helmet. "En route with one male patient, approximately twenty-seven years of age. ETA ten minutes. Severe hypothermia. Core temp 22.3. Intubated on site. Registering heart arrhythmias."
"Mercy Flight Two, this is Doctor Collins," came a voice over the helicopter's intercom. "We'll be waiting for you. Minimize any motion and continue monitoring his vitals. Keep us informed of any changes."
"Will do." As the petite, female paramedic worked to slowly bring Dean's temperature back up to normal, her male partner set to work on his other injuries.
"Possible closed head injury," the male paramedic said after flashing a penlight into Dean's eyes. "Right radius deformity," he added, careful to touch Dean's skin as little as possible as he continued his assessment.
"There appears to be bruising to the chest and abdomen," the female paramedic noted, jotting down all the information as they gathered it. She glanced up at the monitor, checked Dean's heart rate, and shook her head. "Damn it, how much further, Ed?" She shouted to the pilot.
"About five minutes."
"Saint Anthony's, this is Mercy Flight Two," she called into her mouth piece again, "Patient is in ventricular fibrillation. Requesting permission to start defibrillation."
"Mercy Flight Two," came Doctor Collins' voice over the intercom after a few moments. "You have the go ahead to start with defibrillation. No more than three shocks, and then continue with life saving measures."
"Starting on defib," she said, confirming the order. Removing the paddles from the machine to her left, she set the charge, and with her arms raised over Dean's chest, she waited until she heard the machine beep. "Clear," she ordered, and both Hank and the other paramedic lifted their hands in the air as she delivered the first charge. Dean's body arched upward off stretcher, then slumped back down. Tilting her head to the side, she glanced back up at the monitor. "No change." She moved the dial, increasing the jules, and waited for the machine to charge again. "Clear," she commanded, and delivered the second shock. Once again, Dean's body arched upwards, and then fell back against the stretcher. "Come on, damn it," the paramedic cursed, noting the line flattening out to become a straight line across line across the screen. "I'm not letting you flat line on me."
Damn it, Dean, don't you die on me. Hank watched helplessly as the paramedic delivered the final charge, but the line remained constant across the screen. I promised Sam I wouldn't let you die on me, an' you damn well aren't gonna die. Not now. Not after you survive an hour and a half underground.
"Shock him again," Hank shouted, and not about to give up on the dying man, he resumed ventilations. "Please, just one time."
"Protocol and direct orders specified no more than three shocks," the petite paramedic dictated, but bit at her lower lip as if unsure and looked as if she was pondering doing as he had asked.
"He's not dying here like this. His brother expects him to live, so you fuckin' better make sure he does."
"I'm sorry, I can't go against direct orders," she said with a shake of her head. "I truly am sorry."