FIC: Bus Stop (SPN x Grey's Anatomy), 1/1
Oct. 21st, 2010 03:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ddayspringTitle: Bus Stop
Author: Dayspring
Pairing: None
Characters: Meredith Grey, Dean & Sam Winchester, Castiel
Rating: Soda (PG equivalency)-Language
Word Count: ~2275
Spoilers: Season 5 (SPN)/ I have no idea (GA).
Notes: Thanks, K, for being a beta and a nag (in the best of ways).
Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers of ownership apply, because although it'd be really cool, no show writers, producers, or creative entities will be here writing fanfic.
Summary: Most of the time life is like a bus stop--you're at the same place, at the same time, with the same people day after day after day.
Bus Stop by Dayspring
Most of the time life is like a bus stop--you're at the same place, at the same time, with the same people day after day after day. Sometimes the schedule's rocked by traffic, detours, maybe the occasional accident, but really, it's just the same thing as the minutes tick by.
Take today for instance. I got up, spent a little quality time with Derek, bitched with Cristina about how long it takes men, especially doctor men, to get ready, then hauled ass to the hospital. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until...
"Air ambo is coming in. Patient is a white male, thirty years old. Took a header off of Rattlesnake Ridge."
I know Rattlesnake Ridge. It's east of the city and people love to hike its trails. People who are not me, that is. The great outdoors is not my thing. But Derek likes nature--hiking, fresh air, that bright thing that occasionally appears in the sky--so I'm familiar with where these people who are not me like to hang out. When Derek lived in that mobile home--no, I need to be honest about these things--when he lived in that crappy trailer, he'd often go out for morning hikes to see the sunrise or something. Personally I prefer the word sunrise paired with tequila, but it's good that we're different, right? It's enough that he loves me. For me. Right? Oops, here comes the insecurities again. I'm getting better. I am. So, back to the patient. "Suicide attempt?"
I tried it once. Or maybe not. It wasn't an attempt. Because "attempt" implies that I tried, and the problem was that I didn't. I just went under the nice, dark water and I didn't try. To surface. Or anything...proactive. Derek doesn't agree that it wasn't an attempt. I think he's still slightly resentful about my "not attempt."
But he loves me. He chose me.
"Nah. According to witnesses, Dean McAllister was pushed, shoved ass over kettle right off the side of the mountain, or whatever the hell it is. Took air rescue two hours to extract him from the hillside. Massive injuries. Biggest concern is a broken rib pressing against his heart. He's been stabilized, but there's been no attempt to move the rib in case it has penetrated the pericardium."
I nod. Emergency cardiac care is mine today--Cristina is so going to be all whiny tonight. Next time Bailey tells her she's not too good to fill a water pitcher for a patient maybe she'll listen. "Sounds like surgery. His family been notified?"
"His brother was with him."
"Get the portable x-ray ready, see which OR is open, and let the attending know. Has he been typed yet? We'll need massive replacements if he starts bleeding out. Is the brother still with him? That'll be the fastest way to get his history."
Forty-five minutes later, I'm staring in consternation at a set of films that make no sense. I mean, the broken rib makes sense and I'm pretty sure its jagged end is imbedded in the pericardium, keeping the blood in until we can remove the bone in the OR. What doesn't make sense are the...etchings? on the bone. Actually, on all the ribs. What the-- Why? How? Okay, Mer, take a deep breath and focus on the heart repair. The other shit is not your concern. Really.
The nurse tells me the brother is in the waiting area. She says, "Walk into the room and look up. You can't miss him."
I do what she says and sees what she means. Sam McAllister is tall. Basketball tall. Treetop tall. Mt. Rainier tall. "Mr. McAllister?" He startles and looks down. Yeah, we're gonna have to sit before I get a complex. "Mr. McAllister, I'm Meredith Grey, your brother's doctor. Let's have a seat."
He runs his hands through long, limp hair and I can see torn nails and pink scrapes. Damaged during the rescue, no doubt. "Dean. How is he?" he asks abruptly.
"There's been some damage to his heart," I begin cautiously. This guy is too big to have him flipping out.
And I'm too small.
"Again," he mumbles, flopping into the chair made from grade-A Seattle lumber--nothing but the best for Seattle Grace Hospital. It groans like a Walmart reject.
I try not to think about imminent destruction of the chair and concentrate on what's important. "'Again'? Has Dean had cardiac problems before?" I'd seen no scar tissue on the x-ray, but then again, this is the same x-ray that has the strange markings.
"Yeah, he was electrocuted a while back..." The man seems to drift away. "No, I'm wrong. That wasn't this heart, was it?"
Huh? "Your brother has had a transplant?" For God's sake, why wasn't he wearing a bracelet? And why hadn't his name been flagged when it was put into the system?
"A trans--" His whole body shakes in denial. He stands and begins to pace "Nah. Sorry about that. I'm a little tired."
"Sir, I'm about to operate on Dean. I need to know--"
"Operate? That's not necessary."
"I'm the doctor. I say it is. Do you and Dean have the same blood type? I can arrange for you to donate--"
"No!"
I'm up on my feet and backpedaling towards the door and the safety of the corridor before I realize it.
Sam takes a deep breath and moves away from me, as if he senses my fear. Predators usually do. "Sorry. I can't--My blood's...tainted. It's no good. No good at all."
"That's fine," I answer quickly. "I'm sure we have enough on hand." If not, I'll just delay the surgery until we can get some. As long as the rib remains in place, Dean would remain stable. "Mr. McAllister--"
"Sam. Call me Sam."
"Sam, Dean has a broken rib that's penetrated his heart and--"
"Broken rib? Shit!" Sam reaches in his pocket and pulls out a cell phone.
Seriously? This man is going to phone someone right now? "Sir," I begin. He holds up his hand to shush me.
"Cas? Seattle Grace Hospital right now!" He shoves the phone back into his pocket. "Sorry. Cas is Dean's, um, special friend."
"Partner?" Is that why Sam is on edge? Because he and his brother are gay? Is HIV the "taint" in his blood?
"More like defrocked guardian angel," Sam says with a spastic laugh.
"I am perfectly clothed," a dark-haired man says as he enters through the door. He is wearing a trenchcoat, which is pretty ordinary here in Seattle, and an askew tie. He must be very worried about his guy. His first words confirm that. "Where is your brother?"
"I'll explain the defrocked part later, Cas, and can't you tell? He has a broken rib."
"Enochian sigils are not anti-possession tattoos or devil's traps, Sam. A break does not necessarily mean it has been compromised. I can't sense him."
Anti-possession? Devil's traps? Fuck. They aren't gay; they're religious. And nuts.
"Um, does that really mean anything? Considering...."
"No matter what I am, what I become, Dean will always be a part of me."
Maybe they are gay religious nuts?
Sam flushes and looks away. "Dean got knocked off the side of a mountain. The doc here says he needs surgery or he'll die."
I hadn't added the "he'll die" part. Or, maybe, I sorta did. Without actually saying it.
Cas shrugs. "He is too important to remain dead."
What? I really wish Cristina was here. She'd just straight out ask what the hell they were talking about. And she's Jewish. She knows this religious crap. Except it was Jesus who didn't stay dead, right? And Jews and Jesus aren't, like, compatible. Bailey had her son christened, didn't she? Maybe she would know what was going on.
"Jesus, I don't want Michael anywhere near my brother. Or that douchebag, Zachariah, either."
Yes! He mentioned Jesus. I'm right. Go me! But that's irrelevant to the situation. I have a patient who needs me. "Gentlemen, please. Dean needs surgery."
"He does not," Cas says firmly.
Who the hell was this guy? He was just a tall, not a venti like Sam. He doesn't scare me. "So, what medical school did you go to?" I ask sharply.
He frowns and looks over at Sam, who shrugs. "None." His voice is gravely, but his blue eyes are intense.
"Then I'm the doctor, and I'm the one who determines if Dean needs surgery. Guess what, guys? He needs surgery."
Cas looks as if he wants to argue. Then those beautiful (Derek will forgive me) eyes close and he stiffens as if he's been shocked. I scan the room for the emergency call button. Before I can make a move, Cas's eyes are open again and he's looking at Sam. "I am correct. Michael cannot find Dean, but he knows he is in distress. I have been granted a temporary 'boost'."
"Why the hell didn't that happen after he got his ass kicked by Alastair? Dean's right; you're all a bunch of dicks." Cas' head drops a little and Sam clears his throat. "Well, maybe not all of you. Now what?"
"Back to my original request--where is Dean?"
Two pair of eyes find and skewer me to the wall. Really.
"Dr. Grey, we need to see Dean." Sam blinks and I feel like I can move.
"Of course. Do either of you have power of attorney to sign for the surgery? I will have the papers brought to Dean's room." This is normal. I can do normal.
"Just show us to his room and you can do whatever you like," Sam says graciously.
I walk them to the cubicle-like room just off the ER where critical patients are kept from the eyes of the curious. Dean is just like I left him--unconscious, but the EKG is steady and his oxygen levels are still good-ish. His chest is bare, revealing the severe bruising that hides the real damage underneath. He has long lashes, probably covering a set of gorgeous eyes, and although his features are slack, I can tell he's a good-looking man. Cas is a lucky guy.
Speaking of Cas, Sam hangs back but Cas marches forward and places one hand on Dean's forehead, while the other rests lightly on his chest. From the tenderness of the gesture, I figure it's something that has meaning for the two of them, so I step out to give them a minute of privacy. I don't go far, so when they speak I hear them clearly.
"What's the difference this time, Cas? Why isn't Michael just letting him die, then bringing him back like usual?"
"Michael has tired of Zachariah's games."
"Zach? A ghost--Wait a minute. Are you saying Josiah Williford's ghost didn't do this? That it was that asshole Zach who shoved my brother over the guardrail! That sonovabitch!"
I reach for the security button because I think Mount St. McAllister's about to blow. But before my finger can press down, there is this flash of light and suddenly all the machines around Dean are going off. In the few seconds it takes me to re-enter the room, the machines are all quiet and Dean is sitting up. His chest is bruise-free, the various cuts and scrapes missing. And I was right about the eyes; two gorgeous green orbs widen when he sees me.
"Discretion, Cas," he chides dryly, but I hear the fondness beneath the tone. Because at the moment, I'm trusting my hearing more than my sight. Because what I'm seeing, it can't be real. "C'mon, there's a spook that needs to be taught about keeping his hands to himself. Where's my stuff? My Zippo didn't fall out, did it? Doesn't matter. Got several in the car. The car! Tell me you didn't leave her up there by herself? I swear, Sammy--"
"It wasn't the ghost. It was our old friend Zach."
"Sonovabitch!"
I look around frantically for the security button again. Damn. You'd think with everything's that's gone on at Seattle Grace, I'd have the locations etched into my brain.
Dean catches my eye movement and gives me a small smile that seems to say, "I'm sorry." So he's the saner of the three. That might come in handy to know.
As if saner is a word I should be considering at the moment.
Dean pokes Cas in the side and Cas says, "Sam," in his gravelly voice. On second thought, maybe Dean isn't the only lucky one.
Sam hastens over at Cas's call and Cas is placing a couple of fingers on Sam's forehead as well as Dean's. I want to smirk because Sam has to bend over so Cas doesn't have to stretch as much. But the smirk disappears...when they do.
"Dr. Grey?"
I turn to find the nurse with the surgical consent forms. She stares at the room in stunned silence. Her jaw is working, as if she wants to say something, but can't figure out what. I know the feeling and only have a vague hope that I don't quite resemble a fish the way she does.
I take the papers and toss them in the trash. Then I leave to find Derek. Hopefully, he's in his office, and we can lock the door and create our own kind of flashing lights. At least they sparkle in my head, you know, when Derek does that little...Well, you get the picture.
As I step into the elevator, I still believe life is like a bus stop. It's just that sometimes, without notification, warnings or detour signs, you end up...
out where the buses don't run.
The End
Author: Dayspring
Pairing: None
Characters: Meredith Grey, Dean & Sam Winchester, Castiel
Rating: Soda (PG equivalency)-Language
Word Count: ~2275
Spoilers: Season 5 (SPN)/ I have no idea (GA).
Notes: Thanks, K, for being a beta and a nag (in the best of ways).
Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers of ownership apply, because although it'd be really cool, no show writers, producers, or creative entities will be here writing fanfic.
Summary: Most of the time life is like a bus stop--you're at the same place, at the same time, with the same people day after day after day.
Bus Stop by Dayspring
Most of the time life is like a bus stop--you're at the same place, at the same time, with the same people day after day after day. Sometimes the schedule's rocked by traffic, detours, maybe the occasional accident, but really, it's just the same thing as the minutes tick by.
Take today for instance. I got up, spent a little quality time with Derek, bitched with Cristina about how long it takes men, especially doctor men, to get ready, then hauled ass to the hospital. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until...
"Air ambo is coming in. Patient is a white male, thirty years old. Took a header off of Rattlesnake Ridge."
I know Rattlesnake Ridge. It's east of the city and people love to hike its trails. People who are not me, that is. The great outdoors is not my thing. But Derek likes nature--hiking, fresh air, that bright thing that occasionally appears in the sky--so I'm familiar with where these people who are not me like to hang out. When Derek lived in that mobile home--no, I need to be honest about these things--when he lived in that crappy trailer, he'd often go out for morning hikes to see the sunrise or something. Personally I prefer the word sunrise paired with tequila, but it's good that we're different, right? It's enough that he loves me. For me. Right? Oops, here comes the insecurities again. I'm getting better. I am. So, back to the patient. "Suicide attempt?"
I tried it once. Or maybe not. It wasn't an attempt. Because "attempt" implies that I tried, and the problem was that I didn't. I just went under the nice, dark water and I didn't try. To surface. Or anything...proactive. Derek doesn't agree that it wasn't an attempt. I think he's still slightly resentful about my "not attempt."
But he loves me. He chose me.
"Nah. According to witnesses, Dean McAllister was pushed, shoved ass over kettle right off the side of the mountain, or whatever the hell it is. Took air rescue two hours to extract him from the hillside. Massive injuries. Biggest concern is a broken rib pressing against his heart. He's been stabilized, but there's been no attempt to move the rib in case it has penetrated the pericardium."
I nod. Emergency cardiac care is mine today--Cristina is so going to be all whiny tonight. Next time Bailey tells her she's not too good to fill a water pitcher for a patient maybe she'll listen. "Sounds like surgery. His family been notified?"
"His brother was with him."
"Get the portable x-ray ready, see which OR is open, and let the attending know. Has he been typed yet? We'll need massive replacements if he starts bleeding out. Is the brother still with him? That'll be the fastest way to get his history."
Forty-five minutes later, I'm staring in consternation at a set of films that make no sense. I mean, the broken rib makes sense and I'm pretty sure its jagged end is imbedded in the pericardium, keeping the blood in until we can remove the bone in the OR. What doesn't make sense are the...etchings? on the bone. Actually, on all the ribs. What the-- Why? How? Okay, Mer, take a deep breath and focus on the heart repair. The other shit is not your concern. Really.
The nurse tells me the brother is in the waiting area. She says, "Walk into the room and look up. You can't miss him."
I do what she says and sees what she means. Sam McAllister is tall. Basketball tall. Treetop tall. Mt. Rainier tall. "Mr. McAllister?" He startles and looks down. Yeah, we're gonna have to sit before I get a complex. "Mr. McAllister, I'm Meredith Grey, your brother's doctor. Let's have a seat."
He runs his hands through long, limp hair and I can see torn nails and pink scrapes. Damaged during the rescue, no doubt. "Dean. How is he?" he asks abruptly.
"There's been some damage to his heart," I begin cautiously. This guy is too big to have him flipping out.
And I'm too small.
"Again," he mumbles, flopping into the chair made from grade-A Seattle lumber--nothing but the best for Seattle Grace Hospital. It groans like a Walmart reject.
I try not to think about imminent destruction of the chair and concentrate on what's important. "'Again'? Has Dean had cardiac problems before?" I'd seen no scar tissue on the x-ray, but then again, this is the same x-ray that has the strange markings.
"Yeah, he was electrocuted a while back..." The man seems to drift away. "No, I'm wrong. That wasn't this heart, was it?"
Huh? "Your brother has had a transplant?" For God's sake, why wasn't he wearing a bracelet? And why hadn't his name been flagged when it was put into the system?
"A trans--" His whole body shakes in denial. He stands and begins to pace "Nah. Sorry about that. I'm a little tired."
"Sir, I'm about to operate on Dean. I need to know--"
"Operate? That's not necessary."
"I'm the doctor. I say it is. Do you and Dean have the same blood type? I can arrange for you to donate--"
"No!"
I'm up on my feet and backpedaling towards the door and the safety of the corridor before I realize it.
Sam takes a deep breath and moves away from me, as if he senses my fear. Predators usually do. "Sorry. I can't--My blood's...tainted. It's no good. No good at all."
"That's fine," I answer quickly. "I'm sure we have enough on hand." If not, I'll just delay the surgery until we can get some. As long as the rib remains in place, Dean would remain stable. "Mr. McAllister--"
"Sam. Call me Sam."
"Sam, Dean has a broken rib that's penetrated his heart and--"
"Broken rib? Shit!" Sam reaches in his pocket and pulls out a cell phone.
Seriously? This man is going to phone someone right now? "Sir," I begin. He holds up his hand to shush me.
"Cas? Seattle Grace Hospital right now!" He shoves the phone back into his pocket. "Sorry. Cas is Dean's, um, special friend."
"Partner?" Is that why Sam is on edge? Because he and his brother are gay? Is HIV the "taint" in his blood?
"More like defrocked guardian angel," Sam says with a spastic laugh.
"I am perfectly clothed," a dark-haired man says as he enters through the door. He is wearing a trenchcoat, which is pretty ordinary here in Seattle, and an askew tie. He must be very worried about his guy. His first words confirm that. "Where is your brother?"
"I'll explain the defrocked part later, Cas, and can't you tell? He has a broken rib."
"Enochian sigils are not anti-possession tattoos or devil's traps, Sam. A break does not necessarily mean it has been compromised. I can't sense him."
Anti-possession? Devil's traps? Fuck. They aren't gay; they're religious. And nuts.
"Um, does that really mean anything? Considering...."
"No matter what I am, what I become, Dean will always be a part of me."
Maybe they are gay religious nuts?
Sam flushes and looks away. "Dean got knocked off the side of a mountain. The doc here says he needs surgery or he'll die."
I hadn't added the "he'll die" part. Or, maybe, I sorta did. Without actually saying it.
Cas shrugs. "He is too important to remain dead."
What? I really wish Cristina was here. She'd just straight out ask what the hell they were talking about. And she's Jewish. She knows this religious crap. Except it was Jesus who didn't stay dead, right? And Jews and Jesus aren't, like, compatible. Bailey had her son christened, didn't she? Maybe she would know what was going on.
"Jesus, I don't want Michael anywhere near my brother. Or that douchebag, Zachariah, either."
Yes! He mentioned Jesus. I'm right. Go me! But that's irrelevant to the situation. I have a patient who needs me. "Gentlemen, please. Dean needs surgery."
"He does not," Cas says firmly.
Who the hell was this guy? He was just a tall, not a venti like Sam. He doesn't scare me. "So, what medical school did you go to?" I ask sharply.
He frowns and looks over at Sam, who shrugs. "None." His voice is gravely, but his blue eyes are intense.
"Then I'm the doctor, and I'm the one who determines if Dean needs surgery. Guess what, guys? He needs surgery."
Cas looks as if he wants to argue. Then those beautiful (Derek will forgive me) eyes close and he stiffens as if he's been shocked. I scan the room for the emergency call button. Before I can make a move, Cas's eyes are open again and he's looking at Sam. "I am correct. Michael cannot find Dean, but he knows he is in distress. I have been granted a temporary 'boost'."
"Why the hell didn't that happen after he got his ass kicked by Alastair? Dean's right; you're all a bunch of dicks." Cas' head drops a little and Sam clears his throat. "Well, maybe not all of you. Now what?"
"Back to my original request--where is Dean?"
Two pair of eyes find and skewer me to the wall. Really.
"Dr. Grey, we need to see Dean." Sam blinks and I feel like I can move.
"Of course. Do either of you have power of attorney to sign for the surgery? I will have the papers brought to Dean's room." This is normal. I can do normal.
"Just show us to his room and you can do whatever you like," Sam says graciously.
I walk them to the cubicle-like room just off the ER where critical patients are kept from the eyes of the curious. Dean is just like I left him--unconscious, but the EKG is steady and his oxygen levels are still good-ish. His chest is bare, revealing the severe bruising that hides the real damage underneath. He has long lashes, probably covering a set of gorgeous eyes, and although his features are slack, I can tell he's a good-looking man. Cas is a lucky guy.
Speaking of Cas, Sam hangs back but Cas marches forward and places one hand on Dean's forehead, while the other rests lightly on his chest. From the tenderness of the gesture, I figure it's something that has meaning for the two of them, so I step out to give them a minute of privacy. I don't go far, so when they speak I hear them clearly.
"What's the difference this time, Cas? Why isn't Michael just letting him die, then bringing him back like usual?"
"Michael has tired of Zachariah's games."
"Zach? A ghost--Wait a minute. Are you saying Josiah Williford's ghost didn't do this? That it was that asshole Zach who shoved my brother over the guardrail! That sonovabitch!"
I reach for the security button because I think Mount St. McAllister's about to blow. But before my finger can press down, there is this flash of light and suddenly all the machines around Dean are going off. In the few seconds it takes me to re-enter the room, the machines are all quiet and Dean is sitting up. His chest is bruise-free, the various cuts and scrapes missing. And I was right about the eyes; two gorgeous green orbs widen when he sees me.
"Discretion, Cas," he chides dryly, but I hear the fondness beneath the tone. Because at the moment, I'm trusting my hearing more than my sight. Because what I'm seeing, it can't be real. "C'mon, there's a spook that needs to be taught about keeping his hands to himself. Where's my stuff? My Zippo didn't fall out, did it? Doesn't matter. Got several in the car. The car! Tell me you didn't leave her up there by herself? I swear, Sammy--"
"It wasn't the ghost. It was our old friend Zach."
"Sonovabitch!"
I look around frantically for the security button again. Damn. You'd think with everything's that's gone on at Seattle Grace, I'd have the locations etched into my brain.
Dean catches my eye movement and gives me a small smile that seems to say, "I'm sorry." So he's the saner of the three. That might come in handy to know.
As if saner is a word I should be considering at the moment.
Dean pokes Cas in the side and Cas says, "Sam," in his gravelly voice. On second thought, maybe Dean isn't the only lucky one.
Sam hastens over at Cas's call and Cas is placing a couple of fingers on Sam's forehead as well as Dean's. I want to smirk because Sam has to bend over so Cas doesn't have to stretch as much. But the smirk disappears...when they do.
"Dr. Grey?"
I turn to find the nurse with the surgical consent forms. She stares at the room in stunned silence. Her jaw is working, as if she wants to say something, but can't figure out what. I know the feeling and only have a vague hope that I don't quite resemble a fish the way she does.
I take the papers and toss them in the trash. Then I leave to find Derek. Hopefully, he's in his office, and we can lock the door and create our own kind of flashing lights. At least they sparkle in my head, you know, when Derek does that little...Well, you get the picture.
As I step into the elevator, I still believe life is like a bus stop. It's just that sometimes, without notification, warnings or detour signs, you end up...
out where the buses don't run.
The End
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Date: 2010-10-26 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-28 11:05 pm (UTC)