Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt(s), etc.

Roman began to rock back and forth, humming softly as he carded his fingers through Seth's dripping two-toned locks. The smaller man's body was shivering in his arms. The cold water had done wonders for the cuts, but it didn't help his body temperature, which continued to plummet to dangerously low levels.

Dean was pacing back and forth, tearing at his loose dirty blond curls in anguish. He knew that there was nothing he could do for Seth in the bathroom – hell, he'd probably cause more problems than he'd solve – but he couldn't just sit still. Not when Seth was unresponsive in the tub and Roman was not far behind.

"Why the fuck couldn't I have found that damn letter sooner?" Dean kicked Seth's bed particularly hard, enjoying the awful sound it made when the metal frame scraped across the hardwood floor.

Roman stilled. "It's not your fault, Dean. You couldn't have known that this was what was going to happen."

"Us leaving was supposed to make things better!" Dean cried. Roman wasn't surprised to see fat tears coursing down his reddened cheeks. "This was never supposed to happen!"

"Yeah, well, we screwed up. It's not the first time." Roman said softly. "We'll fix it, just like we did before."

"What if we don't get that chance? What if -,"

Roman cut him off before he had the chance to finish. "We can't afford to think like that. He's going to pull through this just fine, just like he did before."

Roman shifted Seth's body and rubbed his uninjured arm, trying to warm him up a little bit. It wouldn't do if they managed to save him from bleeding out, only for him to die of hypothermia. Seth's head lolled to the side, his sopping wet locks leaving dark imprints on Roman's shirt.

"How is the bleeding?" Dean asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.

"It's slowed down considerably." Roman said. The water Seth was in had turned pinkish, but it didn't seem to be getting any darker. That was good. "But he's lost a lot of blood."

Dean threw his cell phone against the wall, screaming in agitation. "Where the hell are the paramedics?"

As if in answer, there was a knock on the door. "Paramedics!"

Dean rushed over to the door and yanked it open, glaring at the two men darkly. They exchanged a nervous glance, before bringing the gurney to the bathroom and lowering it so that they could easily load Seth on it. Once the gurney was set up, they moved into the bathroom. After a second of hesitation, Roman released Seth.

The first paramedic checked Seth for a pulse, while the second took a towel off the rack and a blanket from the bed. When it was confirmed that his heart was still beating, they made to transfer him from the tub. Wrapping his body in the towel, they managed to preserve what little pride he had left, before loading him onto the gurney.

"How long has he been unconscious?" The taller EMT, who was filling out the paperwork, asked.

Dean and Roman exchanged a look, before Roman answered, "We honestly don't know. He was unconscious when we arrived." This was not the answer they'd been hoping for, but they'd have to make do.

"Is he on any medications that might cause the difficulty breathing?" The second EMT asked.

Roman shook his head, "He's just taking his depression meds -,"

Dean reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out a recently refilled bottle that looked like it had never been opened. "I think it's fairly safe to say he's not taking his depression meds."

Dean managed to recover two more bottles of depression medication that looked exactly like the first. So, Seth had been dutifully refilling his medicine, but hadn't been taking it. Had he stopped taking his meds because of what had transpired between the three of them?

No, that couldn't be right. Judging by the number of pills he'd found, Seth hadn't been taking his medicine since… he'd faked his own death. Had he been planning this for that long? Or was this latest incident the straw that broke the camel's back? Dean's heart sank in his chest. Were these pills his Plan B?

Once Seth was strapped down onto the gurney, the EMTs informed them that one could ride in the ambulance. Dean was silent for a moment, before he told Roman to go. He probably should have his ribs checked out anyhow, so Dean would take the rental and ride behind.

Dean had to help Roman up off of the ground, and he tried to ignore the way he groaned as his body cracked unnaturally. He must've felt like shit. "You be careful, okay?"

"Everything is going to be okay." Roman said softly, poking him on the forehead affectionately.

"Yeah." Dean smiled thinly. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Where the hell is he?" A panicked John rushed into the ER, looking frantically for someone that could help him.

"Is there something that I can help you with, sir?" A kindly, older woman touched his shoulder. She was dressed in pink scrubs with a butterfly pattern.

John nodded, "Yeah… I, um… I received a call about my boyfriend. I'm his emergency contact." He found himself fumbling with the words. "They said that he was hit by a… by a truck." His breath hitched.

When he'd received the call, his heart had plummeted in his chest. How the hell had Randy ended up in front of a truck? The EMTs had said that the driver hadn't lost control of the truck, but that Randy had to have stepped off of the curb in front of it. In short, Randy had tried to kill himself.

The woman ran a comforting hand over his arm. "I'm afraid you're not going to be much help to him in your current condition, sweetie. He's in surgery right now – I'll take you to the waiting area, okay?"

John was positively shaking, "How bad is he?"

"Fairly badly off." She said gently. "But he managed to hang on until they got him into surgery."

"Will he make it?" Finally, he found himself able to voice the question that had been rattling around in his head ever since he'd received the call. "Will he… make it off the table?"

The woman smiled sympathetically. "The doctors that are in there with him right now are the best we have. I'm sure that they will do everything in their power to make sure your boyfriend pulls through this."

They arrived at the waiting room and the woman fixed him a cup of coffee. He sat down in one of the plush armchairs, looking around at the otherwise vacant room. Not many others waiting for loved ones in emergency surgery, then. She handed him the cup of coffee and he thanked her with a grateful smile.

She left then, having to return to her shift. All alone in that room, he tried not to think about how much pain Randy must've been in to see no other alternative but to step off that curb in front of a truck. According to the woman, his ex-boyfriend was still alive, and he should be focusing on that.

Randy was a fighter. He'd pull through this, and John would be there with him, every step of the way. He'd help him through the therapy, both physical as well as emotional. And if there was permanent damage, then they'd deal with that too. Together. Randy didn't have to feel like he was alone anymore.

"Randy…" he closed his eyes, feeling the tears come, unbidden. "Randy… You're gonna be okay, Randy. You're gonna be okay."

Seth was taken straight back into surgery, and Dean arrived at the ER about fifteen minutes after Roman arrived with the ambulance. He collapsed into the seat beside his boyfriend, looking as if he'd aged about twenty years on the ride over. But as bad as he looked, Roman looked about one-hundred times worse.

Neither had had time to change, so Roman was splattered with blood and bathwater. His eyes were hollow and vacant, and he had a little cup of pain medicine in his hand. Apparently, one of the doctors had looked him over and prescribed them to ease the pain from his damaged ribs.

"He's going to need a blood transfusion." Roman said, running a hand over his face. "Several, probably. He looked white as a fucking sheet."

There was a moment of silence, then, "I assume they took his straight back to surgery."

"Yeah." Roman nodded. "They don't know how long it'll take, but they're confident that they'll at least be able to stabilize him." He said.

Dean pointed to the pain medicine, "Why haven't you taken it?"

"I'm just not ready to, yet. That's all." Roman said.

He was wallowing in his pain, holding onto it like it was his last connection to Seth. In a way, it kind of was. The last time they'd really talked to Seth, he was screaming at them as he beat Roman into oblivion with a steel chair. As much as it hurt, that was how he'd wanted to remember Seth. Not as he'd seen him in the bathtub.

"You look tired." Roman said suddenly, giving Dean a once-over.

"Yeah, I am." Dean confirmed. "But I feel like a real ass for saying that, considering that I'm the one who woke you up. You should be the one that's resting."

Roman slowly raised his arm, placing his hand on Dean's neck and gently pulling his head down to rest on his shoulder. "Just close your eyes and sleep. You're not any use to anyone like this."

But Dean wasn't about to go down without a fight, "You need to rest more than I do."

Roman sighed, "Let's not argue about this, okay? Just let me take care of you, okay?"

Dean sighed. Much as he wanted to take care of Roman right now, he acknowledged the fact that Roman needed this in order to feel like he was in control of something. He was the caregiver, the one who looked out for everyone else. It was difficult for him to accept that sort of care from someone else.

"Go to sleep." Roman said softly, comfortingly. "I'll wake you up if we hear any news, okay?"

"Okay." Dean said, already feeling his eyes grow heavy.

As soon as Dean was out, Roman took the pills and swallowed them dry. The doctor had warned him that they'd make him drowsy, but Roman couldn't afford to fall asleep. Most likely, he'd walk the fine line between consciousness and unconsciousness until the doctor returned from surgery with news on Seth.