A/N:
 Thanks or still reading this story andof course a big THANK YOU to my beta 6footer =)

31. Battles – There's always a last one

S.

After Ryan's break down, which I didn't witness, everything went very fast. The past few months are nothing but a blur. Three days after Ryan confessed into my wife he had to be transferred to ICU, because his circulation collapsed. He had become so weak that with each passing day more machines were keeping him alive. The only straw which was left: he was breathing, but it was only a matter of time until he was too weak and started failing to breathe on his own. Seeing her still emotional son lifeless like that broke her. She didn't manage to go back to the hospital afterwards. It was too hard for her to see this again. She wasn't able to live through this nightmare again. From that point I spent day after day at his side. I couldn't leave him alone there, whether he was aware of my presence or not. Seth took my turn once in a while, so I could go home, get changed, take a shower, go to sleep and get some decent meal. It was obvious to me that he didn't feel confident under this situation, but he wanted to be there for his friend and hence he shoved aside his own fears. I think this had made him a much stronger man than I'll ever be. He grew to a self confident man. I wished him other circumstances to grow under, but there was no alternative, at least out of his point of view. Anyway, I'd lie if I said that it didn't bother me at all to face the possibility of never being able to talk to Ryan again, to never hug him or tell him that I'm proud to be his big brother. I all too often had to brace myself from throwing around with anything that I could grab or from screaming at doctors and nurses, who placated me in an attempt to hide the hurtful truth of what was happening in front of me. In fact, I never understood why, after the doctor declared all cancer cells for being gone, they still didn't proceed with the transplant of my bone marrow. I bottled up my frustration about that, thinking that the doctors knew well what they were doing. Honestly, I thought I knew better than them. These are the feelings of a despaired brother, who's not yet ready to lose his brother. I remember well that one night when I nearly assaulted his doctor…

I was sitting by his side, his hand in mine. I couldn't concentrate on anything else but him. I was restless. I tried to read a magazine that night, but I never got what I was reading. After I had to read a page the third time, and still couldn't focus on the article printed on it, I gave up. Something was beaming from him, but I can't tell what it was. It took all my attention, though. It was no movement, no noise. Everything seemed as it seemed before. No change. The nurse entered the room, to check in his vitals, I guess.

"Good evening Mr. Cohen." She greeted me. I was well known. Probably they thought of my as a maniac, sitting beside his unconscious brother, talking. No, this really wasn't a reasonable behaviour at all.

"Hey." I greeted her back.

"How are you today?" She used to chat with me, while she was working on Ryan. I thought it was kind of her. Better than ignoring me, as the doctors used to.

"A little restless, to be honest." It's a strange thing, but nurses – if they are good – give you the feeling as if you could talk about everything to them.

"Waiting for him to wake up? Don't worry. I can imagine that he's only taking a break to rest properly before he starts for the rest of this track. I'm sure he'll be fine soon." She was always positive about it. Maybe she has had a special feeling, I didn't have. Maybe it was only her experience, which made her more optimistic than I was.

"I hope so. Unfortunately I can't be that optimistic as you are." I really regretted my rationalism. I begged for being hopeful and optimistic.

"It's not as difficult as you think it is. What makes you doubt that he's not preparing for coming back to you?" She asks me, meanwhile clipping the chart back onto the rail at the foot of the bed.

"I don't know. Probably all the battles he already fought. I can't keep from thinking that he might be tired of it and that this is the one battle, the straw that breaks the camel's back – his back."

"Do you think, he'd been fighting that long, if this was the case?" She said with a warm-hearted smile, an expression I met way too less those days. She patted my shoulder and then left me. I turned my attention back to him.

"Please let her be right, even it that means I don't know you as good as I though I did." I told him.

I sat there, I have no idea for how long, and nothing happened. I tried to get back to my magazine, but when I opened it on the page, I'd stopped reading, I didn't even remember what the article was about. Frustrated I threw it into the bin and found my way to get a coffee and some fresh air. I wanted to clear my thoughts. It must have been late at night. The streets were silent and it was dark. I felt the urge to phone my wife, but I resisted. She needed to rest. Her nerves were at the edge and I could see how hard she fought her own battle: the one against the bottle. I wanted to support her, but she made me understand that this was her battle and only she herself could fight it. My son and my father in law had a close eye on her and promised me to call as soon as any sign of a relapse occurred. When I went back to his room I found the doctor standing above my son, doing some tests or something.

"Good evening." I greeted him, to make him aware that I was back.

"Good evening Mr. Cohen."

"How's the verdict?" I asked him.

"Well, I don't want to raise any false hopes, so…not too good. I rather doubt that Mr. Atwood will wake up again. And if he wakes up, I doubt the transplant will contribute much to his recovery. His last treatment was long ago, and we can't keep on with it as longs as he's unstable like that and added to that the costs of this here…so…" While the man was talking rage grew in my stomach. My stomach was tensed that it hurt and I was unable to keep the anger down. I couldn't let this man spill the death verdict of my brother. This arrogant man, who talked about my brother as if he was a factor in an economy test, was bargaining for what was coming towards him, he metaphorically begged for it. Ryan was a still living human being to me, a precious one.

"Stop talking as if you can weigh out the life of a human being with money. The bills you're sending happily are all paid, so we have all right to wait and hope that he'll recover. Your medical degree doesn't give you the right to talk to me like that."

"Mr. Cohen, I'm sorry about my harsh words, but even you have to face the facts. I'm sorry that all your efforts aren't repaid in a more favourable way, but the cure in form of a donation comes too late for your son." I haven't told the doctors and nurses that Ryan was my brother. I only got the privilege of staying with him 24/7 through the father-son-relationship.

"Too late? You're refusing to transplant since you gave paradoxically the go for it!"

"I'm not refusing, I can't. Medically it is irresponsible to transplant under these conditions!" Now even the doctor screamed.

"How shall I know that you conduct your duties correctly?" He could have been telling me anything and I was doomed to believe him, because I have no knowledge on the field of medicine. I can't judge the situation. I could merely listen to my feeling.

"Mr. Cohen, I can assure you that I didn't make this decision arbitrarily. There are serious medical reasons for my decisions and I'd appreciate it, if you accepted them, and recognised my medical knowledge."He tried to calm me down, but he failed. Some inner beast came to surface and I couldn't control it. I was angry and black rage enveloped me into its veil of inappropriate judgement.

"I don't give a shit about your degree and your knowledge! I want…"

"Sandy, no reason for going postal." It was this tiny whisper which caught my attention and calmed me down immediately after I realised it wasn't the man in white talking to me.

"I'm certain that the man is only doing his job." This sentence brought my full attention to the bed where the voice came from. I looked back at the doctor whose face was a mixture of confusion and disbelieve. I had no time to think about the man and went straight over to Ryan, who watched me out of exhausted eyes, but wide awake. Although I heard him and saw his eyes open, I had trouble to process that he was back under the living. I carefully touched his cheek. He was so fragile that I feared his face might crumble under my touch. He blinked at me a little strangely. I struggled to suppress the tears of relief that welled up in my eyes. I didn't find the right words to express what I felt when he opened his eyes again, giving the first life sign after weeks of silence.

"This is impossible, but it happened." The doctor said. "You know this young man better than anyone ever will." He added, while patting my shoulders. In that night I've learnt that doctors and nurses take different view points from things and that nurses were blessed with some kind of unfathomable perspicacity.

"Never scare the hell out of us like this again."I told him, laughing and crying at once: laughing, because only Ryan inherited this gift to simply turn away from death; crying, because the new won hope offered me relief I haven't felt before.

I'm grateful that Ryan found his way back to us that day. It helped not only rescuing him. It helped all of us. Kirsten found her equilibrium and went back to visit Ryan every day. Seth's face lightened up at the news and he was back at his babbling sarcasm and irony in no time. I marked the date red on which the doctor asked me for coming to the hospital. Finally the day has come. This date is my personal holyday. It was the day on which I got my brother back. Inwardly I'm still confused about my feelings. I don't feel the same way about my other siblings as I feel about Ryan. Probably I still feel more like a father for him. And what does Ryan feel? I don't know, but I think he does well with the brother relationship. He's more relaxed around me and we manage to talk and joke around again. That's a good sign and it tells me that his decision to leave for a while, after his recovery, was the right one. It seems as if it helped him to sort things out, with us and himself.