A/N: Hey all, it's chapter 36! :)

But first, a special thanks to all the dedicated readers who have continued to follow this story! The amount of positive feedback has been amazing! It's been a while now, and I can honestly say that 'Follow the Sun' is slowly beginning to draw to a close. I'm not sure how many more new stories I'll be posting on this site after I finish the ones I've already uploaded but you can continue to follow me on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own under the same pen name: Naturelover422. I'm fairly new to those sites but slowly coming into my own. If for whatever reason I stop posting here, you'll find ALL my stories over there! Don't give up hope, though. I'm not one to leave anything unfinished!

:)

-Naturelover

The several previous seizures from the night before had ended nearly as suddenly as they had unexpectedly gripped her patient; the intensity of them managing to zap him twice of his life-force altogether. He was revived on both occasions to the relief of his nurse, and all for a while seemed like it was striving for the better. But this most recent of seizures… The one that had occurred mere minutes ago… The one that had caught her completely off guard… had had a different approach from the start. It had come on slowly… Gradually at first. A twitch here… A twitch there… And before any necessary degree of precaution could be taken, Lennon's entire body was involved to the fullest and most extreme extent; instantaneously and involuntarily overpowering the emotion-filled human eyes of his caretaker with something that select few had ever have been unlucky enough to experience.

As the nurse helplessly looked on, attempting to restrain him all on her own, the tormented musician continually convulsed whole-bodily for what easily seemed like several minutes at a time; wildly and ferociously thrashing about his bed like he was under demonic attack. Equally disturbing, remained the fact that there was nothing she could do but watch his unnerving descent as he helplessly did so, desperately waiting out the unruly seizure's end, her heart breaking all the time for him. For this very reason, she didn't like the commanding nature of seizures. In fact she downright despised them and the damage that they were capable of causing. Despised them with a passion some medical personnel would think irrational. Why? They were among the most terrifying of everything the caretaker had ever witnessed during the entire course of her nursing career and she'd seen many a death. To her naked eye, they were forever presenting as nothing short of a wicked, otherworldly night terror unnaturally having leaked into the corporeal realm of reality. And no matter what their strength consisted of or who they were happening to, they always seemed to border on supernatural… The thrashing, the drooling, the uncontrolled convulsing… all coupled with those eyes, unseeing and feral… Once one had managed to see such a deviation from the mundane, there was no unseeing it. The brain was a powerful thing. And even malfunctioning, it remained just as powerful. A fascinating concept… but equally unsettling, as well.

The seizure had ebbed away after a short while more, an additional eternity in the older woman's mind, leaving the young rhythm guitarist impossibly still and impossibly pale. As she watched an air of calmness descend upon him like an eerie yet sinister fog somewhat reminiscent to pre-death in all its finality, she found she didn't have a good feeling this time.

The complete contrast was startling. Like light versus darkness. The sun versus the moon. The eerie stillness hurrying in on the heels of a destructive storm. Nothing remotely good could possibly come from this… It rarely did.

There were few times outside her medical career, that the nurse had ever felt such an unusual calm about her. Originating out of 'Tornado Alley' in the southern portion of the Midwestern United States, Oklahoma to be exact; she was no stranger to the threat of tornadoes or the damage they were known to create. Never for as long as she lived, would she ever be able to forget her endeavors as a small child surrounding the fragility of life. Following several close calls. Life or death situations, she later grew to realize. One of the many reasons she had decided to become a nurse.

Her memories were still so fresh. Still so real as though she had merely lived them yesterday rather than nearly fifty years ago… Memories that stemmed from the still so vivid trials of her family as well as many others in similar predicaments, all urgently seeking out necessary safety and shelter from each their property's storm cellars. She'd never been thoroughly capable of understanding the danger at so young an age… but she'd always gone along with it figuring she had to. As though it were a ritual. The accompanying panic that would follow her and her entire family as they bolted from the house as though running for their lives, spoke for itself.

Thinking back, she could almost still feel the unmistakable wrath of the wild wind whipping its resistance all about her as it threatened to carry her off as though she were nothing more than a rag doll. She could almost see the vibrant lightning continuously flaring up across the dark sky, charging the very atmosphere with an enhanced electrical current she could feel with every ounce of exposed skin. She could almost sense the deafening sound of thunder as it coursed through her very body shaking her entire frame as though she were too made of paper. In the distance, tornado sirens were always just within earshot, rising deftly above the dangerous commotion and imminent destruction, as they wailed out their unearthly warnings, beckoning to impending doom. And how threatening the sky would appear to be as they'd frantically darted across the yard for protection. Stretched over them like a dark and ominous veil, it had always managed to hold court; appearing to be in complete control of everything and everyone unfortunate to be caught beneath it.

Reaching the storm cellar with always just enough time to spare, her family would then huddle together with lanterns and a battery-operated radio listening for updates on the weather. When it deemed them safe to emerge, they'd guardedly do so climbing up the thick cement stairs back into open air; many other nearby families doing the same. The initial ascent into the newly calmed atmosphere that would follow every tornado threat was every bit as frightening as the storm itself had been. Maybe it was the shock that fed such feelings and their resulting perceptions. Regardless, the nurse had never liked it.

Much like she didn't like what was happening here in the present. Feelings were much too similar now. In fact, they were very much the same.

No matter the situation, the eerie calm following an extremely traumatic event was always the same. Tense. Ominous. Menacing.

The nurse had hardly managed to maintain pleasant feelings the first few times she'd been granted the displeasure of seeing John seize… But there was now the vague and alarming feeling that something was undeniably different here at the very existing moment. Something was wrong in all the tranquility that now held the room captive as though it were merely an audience frozen in permanent captivation. No wonder the silence felt eerie. No wonder it felt wrong. Something was in the process of happening or… something had already taken place… It was a terrible feeling.

Tensed up for unknown reasons, the slightly apprehensive nurse swallowed back a growing lump in her throat, making the conscious decision to look him over as was expected of her.

Still, whispering soothing words of comfort as though Lennon could and would benefit from it, the nurse worked deftly to check his vitals. She worked delicately in spite of growing, overwhelming feelings of anxiety and apprehension. She worked in spite of the fact that something was palpably amiss. According to the medical board, it had never been considered a good idea to mix the unexplained with the solidity of science but… the nurse sometimes found she had this uncanny ability to sense different energies… as strange as most people would think it sounded. While she tried not to mix such overwhelming sensations with the seriousness of her job at hand, there were rare instances in which these feelings would become much too powerful to ignore. This was one of those times, hence why she very well couldn't shake the sensation that something was truly out of kilter. These feelings, to an extent, were never wrong either. And it was never long before actual facts would begin to support her suspicions… As she diligently continually worked to assess John Lennon's condition, she couldn't shake the impression that it was already occurring. The facts were already falling into place.

Normally she could get a mumble from him by now. A murmur. All of which serving as a vague confused attempt at failed communication. He'd flutter his eyelids and look at her. Sometimes seeing her… sometimes seeing through her. And heralded by glazed, glassy, unfocused eyes, he'd drift off again to some far off land that sense surely wasn't a part of. An ever-changing land of fever dreams and delusions… This time, the frantic nurse had been mentally struggling to will an outcome no different despite what seemed to be taking place. This time, she'd been hoping against the inexorable with all her might. While Lennon's temperature still seemed to be holding steady at a reading much too high for most human beings, he'd somewhat consistently managed a level of consciousness that signified the norm for someone trapped in such a state. This time, something was unshakably different. There was no fluttering of eyes. No twitching of limbs. No reaction at all whatsoever. It was like he was dead… only he clearly wasn't…

There was another conclusion she could draw from what she was now faced with. But before she'd dare think such a thing, there was a known series of tests she would first need to perform. She would most definitely have to work quickly to provide the necessary medical data that would in turn maintain the brunt of her mysterious feelings.

Mechanically, the nurse performed test after test, making mental and charted notes of all outcomes. It wasn't until she'd finished several long minutes later, that an unwanted yet resulting feeling of absolute dread worked its way into the confines of her mind. She'd been hoping she was wrong. If what she was concluding to be true actually fit the criterion then…this was a definite sign of deterioration without a doubt… And as a direct result of this turn of events, it would all officially be out of their hands. There'd be nothing to do but make him comfortable. Nothing to do but wait.

"…Something's very wrong…" the older nurse tentatively relayed to Lennon's doctor as she finished assessing the vitals of the Beatles' one and only rhythm guitarist. He'd only just entered and, therefore, was completely unaware of everything that had recently transpired over a mere matter of minutes ago.

Approaching a nearby counter, traces of discontentment stiffening her stride, the woman hastily set down the sphygmomanometer she'd been carefully using to take his blood pressure and turned to gaze cautiously at her medical companion. Her ragged mind was in overdrive, trying to figure out how she'd begin her explanation.

"Something's wrong, how so?" the doctor on the receiving end of the unforeseen news asked, his brown eyes narrowing warily as eye contact was made.

It had been exactly twenty-four hours since John had 'died' so to speak and while the musician spent all his time of late drifting between heavy sleep and fever dreams, any changes in consciousness from there on out was to be highly documented.

"It… it started with another seizure…" the nurse began, her tone clearly portraying the unease that reflected from her sad eyes, "What I perceived to be a grand mal seizure by medical standards to be exact…" She frowned, heaving a brief, anxious sigh, "Doctor, it came on so slowly at first, I really wasn't expecting it to progress so rapidly."

"He had another seizure?" The doctor was noticeably floored, his stunned face conveying every bit how shocking this was. The fact that his patients presently seemed to be falling victim to what was shaping up to be seizures of recurring nature was a terribly hard to miss sign that his condition was worsening yet still. This alone was a terrible revelation… And to think there was more that needed to be said. 'What more could possibly need to be said?' the man's mountingnerves forced him to contemplate. Was the news not dreadful enough? Were things not dreadful enough? He'd soon find out… Though he was almost certain that there was nothing in the world that he wanted less.

Nothing had been going right from the start of Lennon's admission. And judging by the currently overwhelming demeanor of the frantic woman that stood in front of him, it only seemed it would get worse… "Go on," the doctor impatiently prodded; hastily seeking out the rest of the story, despite the fact that a part of him, a steadily increasing part wasn't sure that he truly wanted to hear it.

Appearing to be gathering her thoughts, the nurse nodded, receptive to the command. "Since…" she went on, swallowing back a lump in her throat, "Since the seizure, he won't respond to any form of external stimuli; touch… light… sound… It's like he's shut down… I'm—"

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm almost confid—"

The doctor was well into testing the nurse's disclosures long before she'd even had the chance to finish talking. Bending over slightly, he spoke into the younger man's ear to see if he could gauge from him any type of reaction. "John!" he called out, his clear verbalization presenting itself with a professional amount of firmness, "John, if you can hear me, move something. Anything."

As the guitarist continued to lie still, motionless, the middle-aged man hovering over him desperately began the act of tapping gently but forcefully against the side of his face, hoping to bring about any form of feedback. A twitch, a flinch of pain, a fluttering of eyes…

As before, nothing happened. And the doctor swore, his overwrought mind racing a mile a minute.

John's death was still fresh within his head. Not once but twice, he'd lost the patient following several unforeseen violent seizures only to somehow in the aftermath, have him make a miraculous albeit spontaneous return to the land of the living. Such a thing would take an extensive toll on even the most resilient of bodies, let alone someone who was already terribly frail and hanging on to life by what appeared to be nothing more than a thread. There was only so much the human body was equipped to handle. And in situations where it was already pushed to its limits, there was no telling what would be destined to follow. Things certainly weren't looking good.

"Why didn't you call for back up when he was starting to seize?" The doctor brusquely asked, briefly lifting his eyes to the nurse, mid-assessment, "Didn't you think I should've been here as a regulator?"

"And what could you have done?" the nurse indignantly challenged, her normally bright blue eyes graying with exasperation, "He was having a one of the worst seizures I've seen in ages! It took everything in me just to restrain him. To find you, I would've had to leave the room. I would've had to leave him alone!"

The doctor didn't respond, knowing deep inside that the nurse was right. Had she not been there to restrain him, chances were anything could've happened. John could've fallen from his cot, in turn brutally striking his already assaulted head against the hard linoleum floor… and who knew what sort of irreversible complication would arise from it. His head, fragile as it was, would most likely lack the durability needed to overcome the blow. As a result, he'd probably die instantly or within hours…

Hurriedly reaching now for the penlight in the upper right pocket of his traditional, white lab coat, he zeroed in on Lennon's face with increased haste. Skillfully prying open the young musician's left eye located nearer to him, he flashed the light into it, checking vigilantly for any forms of dilation and contraction within the presenting golden brown iris. He knew from schooling and experience that both would occur as a natural, automatic reflex in a fully conscious, a somnolent, or a briefly unconscious individual. If the individual was officially unresponsive, complete with un-reactive pupils and nonexistent reflexes… it was almost practical to lean towards the idea that he may have entered… a coma… or something worse and more final. Death.

The doctor knew for a fact this time that his patient wasn't dead. The steady beeping of his heart monitor unquestionably assured it along with the cherished fact that he was still breathing and unaided at that. That alone was cause for relief. The physician had seen coma patients slip so far out of reach, that they no longer had the ability to breathe on their own. Such a vegetative state was hard to come out from. Many victims didn't make it.

Finishing his brief assessment of the left eye, the doctor quickly moved on to the right before stepping back, his unreadable features indicating deep thought. "You say you've tested his motor responses on your own?" he tersely asked, seeking out the confirmation he would need to make an official diagnosis.

The nurse nodded.

"How'd you go about it?"

"Pinprick to the foot. He failed to respond."

"Allow me." Moving swiftly about the room, the man achieved a sterilized needle from a drawer of a cabinet and uncapping it, approached the lower half of the guitarist lying prone in his cot, exposing a foot. In one quick jerk, he went on to test the nurse's conclusion, watching carefully for any reflexive qualities whether from the foot itself, the corresponding leg, and the face even.

Just as expected, not even the tiniest twitch could be detected anywhere in the aftermath. The doctor's heart sank at this. "I was afraid of this…" he sighed, his tone now heavy and world-weary, "Pupils unresponsive… mislaid reflexes…"

"What do you believe has happened?" the nurse asked, in spite of the fact that her solemn demeanor did everything to give away as well as confirm her immediate suspicions on the developing topic.

There was a pained sigh from the slumped man she tensely stood beside. "…It looks to me like John Lennon of the Beatles has officially slipped into a coma," He briefly closed his eyes in a mix of silent frustration and distress, "There's one for the newspapers…"

He hadn't meant for his words to sound so bitter… But resultant discouragement was strong. Unshakable. This was everything he'd been trying so hard to avoid. This, being the second worst of all things that could've taken place, was everything he hadn't wanted to come to be. It was only a step above death. One measly step above such finality. And the doctor was certain such a fatal outcome wouldn't be far behind if treatment didn't hurry up and take effect as soon as possible.

"The seizure somehow must've locked him into it," the man tersely theorized just to give any source of possible explanation. He looked up suddenly in hopes of collecting any additional amount of necessary data that may lead to a properly formulated educated conclusion. "What were his temperature readings this time?" he tiredly asked, turning briefly to his companion while struggling to maintain logical professionalism for the sake of the situation.

The pleasantly plump, curly-headed middle-aged woman glanced down at a chart in her hands. Using an elegant pointer finger, she guided herself through it in quick search of the sought-after answers, "103.9…" she revealed after a while, "Bordering on 104… as has been the case all of today."

The doctor frowned. John's fever more or less had caused his seizure… His seizure caused the coma… and the coma would certainly bring about something morbidly permanent if one of these things didn't change for the better. It was like some sort of deranged 'House that Jack Built' nursery rhyme…

This is the illness that caused the fever that caused the seizure that caused the coma that…

"It's still much too high…" the nurse unwittingly interrupted his ragged thoughts gone astray, "It doesn't seem to be showing any signs of dropping either."

"His temperature seems to be holding steady for the time-being, at least…" the doctor finally interpreted, taking a moment to remember the earlier readings of the day, "However; I'd rather see it drop. I have a feeling it's all but helping his altered state of consciousness. The swelling around his brain is the main cause, of course… but that high fever of his most definitely isn't helping his case any…"

He brought a hand up to his face and raked it across his forehead. He was tired. So very tired. But again, it looked as if sleep would be unattainable for yet another night. His patient was deteriorating with impossible speed, and honestly he was running out of options. "I'll want to change up his course of antibiotics," he painstakingly planned out, "Perhaps, try something new and hopefully more effective. I'll want to speak with Harrison's doctor and see what regimen he's been using…"

The nurse nodded and even smiled having officially regained control of her emotions. She had a nasty habit of letting them get the better of her.

"I'll want to do something about his temperature too in the meantime …" the older man eyed his nurse briefly, as he spoke. "It might be beneficial of you to give him a quick cool-down with ice water."

"I'll sponge him down," the nurse intelligently offered.

The doctor nodded appreciatively. He'd need all the help he could get tonight especially with his haggard mind slowing him down. "And in an hour or so, I'd also like for you to retest his levels of responsiveness and notify me right away if you happen to notice even the slightest bit of change in him."

His nurse yieldingly nodded, hoping that everything would be different the second time around. That the coma diagnosis was somehow a false alarm and they wouldn't have to give such terrible news. No one ever wanted to hear that their loved ones were in a coma. Even the medically-induced ones, used for extensive healing purposes in life-threatening situations; caused feelings of unease. There was always a small existing part of the human mind that believed they'd never wake up. Concerns of the like had been expressed to her time and time again by worried friends and families.

"Thank you, Nancy," the doctor politely articulated, unwittingly interrupted her thoughts, "As I plan the next step, I'll need the time to call his proxy. Notify him of these unfortunate changes."

"The battle's not over, you know," Nurse Nancy pointed out as though sensing his waning confidence, "This is the witty Beatle we have under our wing… the smart one. I've a feeling he isn't going anywhere without a fight."

"He'd better not," the doctor gravely responded, "My oldest daughter loves those guys and the one under my care just so happens to be her favorite of all of them. I don't think she'd take too kindly to me killing him off. Neither would the rest of the America." There was a very good chance that every girl in the country would show up to the hospital with torches and pitchforks, outraged by the distressing news and eager to burn the place down. Leaving nothing behind but ashes…

"The battle's not over," Nancy repeated, desperate to get that aspect of her message across if nothing else.

Solemnly, the doctor nodded. "I know." She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know.

But this case was different from any other case he'd ever dared to take on. That much was terribly obvious. The pressure, always elevated no matter who he was dealing with, had taken on a life of its own this time around. The heaviness of it all was immense to say the very least. And for the first time in his medical career, he was beside himself. He knew not how to deal or how to fix this. From there on out, it was simply a guessing game. Fix John Lennon. Or else.

First and foremost, he'd need to consult with Dr. Jamison, George Harrison's doctor. A new approach and some insight would be highly refreshing and equally appreciated. After all, it would provide the only existing path that would hopefully lead to the improvement that would in turn put a positive spin on his patient's outlook. An outlook that otherwise looked grim. Bleak. And generally unpromising.

Opening the door, he silently let himself out of the room and made his way down the hall with a full sense of urgency driving him. He was determined to turn things around. Determined to make a difference. While George Harrison's case lacked similarity due to the fact that his illness had been caught in somewhat of a timely fashion, there had to be some kind of answer that could be applied to Lennon's regimen. Something that would in turn give the musician the fighting chance he deserved. He had to at least try. If he tried and ended up failing, then…at least he would've given his all… He'd do anything not to see it come down to such circumstances, however. Such circumstances only existed by the chance that all options and attempts had been exhausted. That there was nothing else to be done. That John Lennon had simply given up.

But no one was going down without a fight.

Not on his watch.

By all he was capable of, he'd make sure of it. Whether he knew yet of not, John Lennon was about to put forth the biggest fight of his young life.

In one way or another, he'd make it through.

They all would.

The battle wasn't over.

Not even close.

A/N: Tried to tell the story from a different point of view for this chapter just to give insight on the ongoing struggles. Hope you liked it! Let me know in a review :)