electricalgwen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
electricalgwen) wrote2009-02-28 04:48 pm
electricalgwen) wrote2009-02-28 04:48 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Untitled SPN J2 AU for Erin (chapter 1/?)
It counts as a tradition if you've done it once before, right? Maybe? So, uh, yeah. I don't post Erin's birthday fic on her birthday because it's tradition. *cough*
This was actually written back in January, when I really did envision finishing it in time (ha!) and then life fell on me (entirely my fault) and I wasn't about to put it up when I still had stuff outstanding.
I haven't seen SPN, but![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
madame_meretrix, who kindly beta'd this for me, assures me that in J2 AU it's tough to go wrong. Here's hoping. I still like Jensen Ackles, Formula One Driver, but he's now joined by Jared Padalecki, Orthopedic Surgeon.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This means, among other things: 1) the accuracy of information acquired from such sources as Wikipedia and TV is by no means guaranteed; 2) no implication, imputation, insult or anything else starting with 'i' is intended to persons who may bear the same names as persons in this story; 3) it is really really not okay for doctors to have relationships with patients, ever, and any eventual twisty arguments used to justify any relationship which may or may not eventually occur in this story is not to be taken as having any relevance in the real world.
Jared’s had a week from hell and it’s just typical that his pager goes off while he’s in the bathroom. By the time he gets down to the ER, the rest of the team are already doing their thing in resuscitation bay two. Gina’s getting handover from the paramedic; she acknowledges his presence with a quick jerk of the head. There seem to be more police around the ER than usual.
He heads for the patient. It’s Friday night, the guy crashed his car, probably some fucking idiot driving drunk. Gina can fill him in on the nonessentials later.
White male, looks late 20s, maybe early 30s. Collared and taped to a spine board, tube between bruised and split lips, eyes like a raccoon’s, minor lacerations over his face. Jared pulls on the gloves someone hands him and moves to the head of the stretcher, eyeballing the monitor as he passes. Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen all fine.
He runs his fingers through the guy’s hair, checking for skull and scalp injuries. The brown hair is matted in places with blood. Jared sniffs and revises his opinion of the guy: it doesn’t have the particular smell of alcohol-laced blood.
There’s bruising behind the left ear. Could be a skull fracture. Needs neuro. He tries to check pupils, but the eyelids are swollen shut and he can’t open them. The facial lacerations are mostly minor and have stopped oozing. One on the forehead, though, is messy. Probably needs Plastics to suture that one. Shame to spoil this face. Jared’s seen a lot of beat-up faces and is pretty good by now at assessing what they look like without the damage.
He moves down. More bruising, over the sternum. Jared again ups his opinion of the guy: he had a seatbelt on. Little bit of crunching on the right side of the chest, probably a couple of broken ribs. Belly soft though, probably no internal bleeding. Also, chiseled. This guy takes good care of himself. Apart from the whole hitting-something-at-90-mph thing.
He runs his hands down each arm, checking for breaks, as Hayley finishes cutting the guy’s jeans off. The right lower leg is badly swollen and bruised. The other limbs are – well, in great shape. Really great shape, actually...
Gina finishes signing off on the ambulance paperwork and waves the clipboard at him. “Fearless Leader! Need your John Hancock.”
“Xray chest, pelvis, C-spine and right tib,” Jared tells Hayley, and scrawls something illegible in the “Trauma Team Leader” box.
X-ray hasn’t arrived yet, and Dan’s finished suturing the arterial line. “Time to turn,” Jared says, and the team move into position on the opposite side of the stretcher. Hayley stands at the head to count; she’s been exempt from turning duty since her pregnancy started to show.
“Okay, slowly over on three… One, two, three!”
Jared winces at the pressure marks already forming on the guy’s lower back and shoulders. He feels down along the spine – “No steps, no instability,” – lubes one finger and briefly slides it up the guy’s ass. “No blood, rectal tone normal. Taking the spine board out, hold steady.”
He pulls the board out. The team roll the patient back on Hayley’s count. His wrecked clothes have been removed and Jared again registers how fit the guy is, before Gina throws a johnny shirt over him. “Keep the collar on.”
X-ray peeks in around the door. He gives her a warm smile and waves her in; he can never remember her name.
She maneuvers her machine in and starts setting up. Hayley gives her instructions and flees; the rest of the team back off several feet. Jared tosses his gloves in the trash and steps outside the door.
Sandy is standing there, holding two coffees and a bakery bag.
“I could kiss you,” Jared says, and takes the coffee she holds out.
“Come sit,” she says, and without waiting for his protest, starts walking to the ER lounge. “It’ll take them at least 10 minutes and then he’ll go to scan. You have time to sit.”
Jared shuts his mouth and follows because she’s right. He’s just afraid that if he sits, he won’t get up again.
The lounge is by the back door of the ER. There are more police standing around it. One of them eyeballs Sandy appreciatively as she passes. She apparently fails to notice, but Jared’s seen that little hip shimmy before; she knows, and is enjoying it.
“Shameless, McCoy,” he says, when they’re ensconced in the lounge’s crappy chairs. The hospital replaces the stuff that visitors can see; the staff end up with the pink-and-grey late-eighties monstrosities.
She looks at him archly. “You’re the one who threw me out with the trash. I’m just sitting here on the curb, ready for pick-up.”
He opens his mouth to remonstrate: it’s not like that, he values her, he loves her, it just wasn’t going to be right for them in the long run… but she knows it all, she’s smiling and there’s no sting in her tone, and she’s holding out a blueberry streusel muffin. He fills his mouth with it instead of words. They eat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes.
“So,” she says, “spill. What happened to him?”
Jared squints, trying to remember what was on the paper Gina held out to him. “Belted driver, went off the road at high speed. Was braking and weaving pretty hard, hit the guardrail, and went through into the ditch.”
“Drunk,” Sandy says and Jared shakes his head. She scrunches her eyebrows in disbelief. “Must have been.”
“Didn’t smell like it,” Jared says.
“Huh. Crazy. I wonder what happened? No way he just lost control.”
Jared watches her nibble the edges of her muffin paper clean. “I dunno. Easy to get distracted for a second. People drive like fucking idiots on that stretch of road.”
Sandy laughs. “You think he couldn’t cope with that?’
“What are you talking about?”
Sandy narrows her eyes. “You’re kidding me.”
“What?” Jared shrugs, tipping up his cup to get the last swig of coffee. He never stirs in the sugar. He likes the way it gets sweeter at the end; it makes up for being colder.
Sandy gapes at him. “You didn’t recognize him? Jared, that was Jensen Ackles. The Formula One driver?”
Jared chokes on his drink. Sandy whacks him on the back, spilling the last remaining coffee down the front of his scrubs. He glares at her and pulls away as she tries to mop his chest with paper napkins. “Shit. No way!”
She’s giving him her charge nurse look. “You didn’t check the patient’s name?”
“I dunno, I – Gina never said.”
Sandy snorts. “Well, I’m not surprised Gina wouldn’t recognize the name – I don’t think she knows what Formula One is – but I can’t believe you didn’t even check your patient’s name.”
He’s suddenly really pissed – partly at her for being all nurse-ish about it; partly at himself for upholding the asshole-doctor stereotype; partly at something he can’t put his finger on, something that’s shifted in the world and makes him feel too big and awkward and like he doesn’t fit. “He was all beat up and covered in blood and…”
Jesus Christ. He stuck his finger up Jensen Ackles’ ass.
He lets out a strangled laugh. Sandy is giving him a funny look.
“I, uh. Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That would explain the police.”
tbc god knows when
This was actually written back in January, when I really did envision finishing it in time (ha!) and then life fell on me (entirely my fault) and I wasn't about to put it up when I still had stuff outstanding.
I haven't seen SPN, but
madame_meretrix, who kindly beta'd this for me, assures me that in J2 AU it's tough to go wrong. Here's hoping. I still like Jensen Ackles, Formula One Driver, but he's now joined by Jared Padalecki, Orthopedic Surgeon.Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This means, among other things: 1) the accuracy of information acquired from such sources as Wikipedia and TV is by no means guaranteed; 2) no implication, imputation, insult or anything else starting with 'i' is intended to persons who may bear the same names as persons in this story; 3) it is really really not okay for doctors to have relationships with patients, ever, and any eventual twisty arguments used to justify any relationship which may or may not eventually occur in this story is not to be taken as having any relevance in the real world.
Jared’s had a week from hell and it’s just typical that his pager goes off while he’s in the bathroom. By the time he gets down to the ER, the rest of the team are already doing their thing in resuscitation bay two. Gina’s getting handover from the paramedic; she acknowledges his presence with a quick jerk of the head. There seem to be more police around the ER than usual.
He heads for the patient. It’s Friday night, the guy crashed his car, probably some fucking idiot driving drunk. Gina can fill him in on the nonessentials later.
White male, looks late 20s, maybe early 30s. Collared and taped to a spine board, tube between bruised and split lips, eyes like a raccoon’s, minor lacerations over his face. Jared pulls on the gloves someone hands him and moves to the head of the stretcher, eyeballing the monitor as he passes. Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen all fine.
He runs his fingers through the guy’s hair, checking for skull and scalp injuries. The brown hair is matted in places with blood. Jared sniffs and revises his opinion of the guy: it doesn’t have the particular smell of alcohol-laced blood.
There’s bruising behind the left ear. Could be a skull fracture. Needs neuro. He tries to check pupils, but the eyelids are swollen shut and he can’t open them. The facial lacerations are mostly minor and have stopped oozing. One on the forehead, though, is messy. Probably needs Plastics to suture that one. Shame to spoil this face. Jared’s seen a lot of beat-up faces and is pretty good by now at assessing what they look like without the damage.
He moves down. More bruising, over the sternum. Jared again ups his opinion of the guy: he had a seatbelt on. Little bit of crunching on the right side of the chest, probably a couple of broken ribs. Belly soft though, probably no internal bleeding. Also, chiseled. This guy takes good care of himself. Apart from the whole hitting-something-at-90-mph thing.
He runs his hands down each arm, checking for breaks, as Hayley finishes cutting the guy’s jeans off. The right lower leg is badly swollen and bruised. The other limbs are – well, in great shape. Really great shape, actually...
Gina finishes signing off on the ambulance paperwork and waves the clipboard at him. “Fearless Leader! Need your John Hancock.”
“Xray chest, pelvis, C-spine and right tib,” Jared tells Hayley, and scrawls something illegible in the “Trauma Team Leader” box.
X-ray hasn’t arrived yet, and Dan’s finished suturing the arterial line. “Time to turn,” Jared says, and the team move into position on the opposite side of the stretcher. Hayley stands at the head to count; she’s been exempt from turning duty since her pregnancy started to show.
“Okay, slowly over on three… One, two, three!”
Jared winces at the pressure marks already forming on the guy’s lower back and shoulders. He feels down along the spine – “No steps, no instability,” – lubes one finger and briefly slides it up the guy’s ass. “No blood, rectal tone normal. Taking the spine board out, hold steady.”
He pulls the board out. The team roll the patient back on Hayley’s count. His wrecked clothes have been removed and Jared again registers how fit the guy is, before Gina throws a johnny shirt over him. “Keep the collar on.”
X-ray peeks in around the door. He gives her a warm smile and waves her in; he can never remember her name.
She maneuvers her machine in and starts setting up. Hayley gives her instructions and flees; the rest of the team back off several feet. Jared tosses his gloves in the trash and steps outside the door.
Sandy is standing there, holding two coffees and a bakery bag.
“I could kiss you,” Jared says, and takes the coffee she holds out.
“Come sit,” she says, and without waiting for his protest, starts walking to the ER lounge. “It’ll take them at least 10 minutes and then he’ll go to scan. You have time to sit.”
Jared shuts his mouth and follows because she’s right. He’s just afraid that if he sits, he won’t get up again.
The lounge is by the back door of the ER. There are more police standing around it. One of them eyeballs Sandy appreciatively as she passes. She apparently fails to notice, but Jared’s seen that little hip shimmy before; she knows, and is enjoying it.
“Shameless, McCoy,” he says, when they’re ensconced in the lounge’s crappy chairs. The hospital replaces the stuff that visitors can see; the staff end up with the pink-and-grey late-eighties monstrosities.
She looks at him archly. “You’re the one who threw me out with the trash. I’m just sitting here on the curb, ready for pick-up.”
He opens his mouth to remonstrate: it’s not like that, he values her, he loves her, it just wasn’t going to be right for them in the long run… but she knows it all, she’s smiling and there’s no sting in her tone, and she’s holding out a blueberry streusel muffin. He fills his mouth with it instead of words. They eat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes.
“So,” she says, “spill. What happened to him?”
Jared squints, trying to remember what was on the paper Gina held out to him. “Belted driver, went off the road at high speed. Was braking and weaving pretty hard, hit the guardrail, and went through into the ditch.”
“Drunk,” Sandy says and Jared shakes his head. She scrunches her eyebrows in disbelief. “Must have been.”
“Didn’t smell like it,” Jared says.
“Huh. Crazy. I wonder what happened? No way he just lost control.”
Jared watches her nibble the edges of her muffin paper clean. “I dunno. Easy to get distracted for a second. People drive like fucking idiots on that stretch of road.”
Sandy laughs. “You think he couldn’t cope with that?’
“What are you talking about?”
Sandy narrows her eyes. “You’re kidding me.”
“What?” Jared shrugs, tipping up his cup to get the last swig of coffee. He never stirs in the sugar. He likes the way it gets sweeter at the end; it makes up for being colder.
Sandy gapes at him. “You didn’t recognize him? Jared, that was Jensen Ackles. The Formula One driver?”
Jared chokes on his drink. Sandy whacks him on the back, spilling the last remaining coffee down the front of his scrubs. He glares at her and pulls away as she tries to mop his chest with paper napkins. “Shit. No way!”
She’s giving him her charge nurse look. “You didn’t check the patient’s name?”
“I dunno, I – Gina never said.”
Sandy snorts. “Well, I’m not surprised Gina wouldn’t recognize the name – I don’t think she knows what Formula One is – but I can’t believe you didn’t even check your patient’s name.”
He’s suddenly really pissed – partly at her for being all nurse-ish about it; partly at himself for upholding the asshole-doctor stereotype; partly at something he can’t put his finger on, something that’s shifted in the world and makes him feel too big and awkward and like he doesn’t fit. “He was all beat up and covered in blood and…”
Jesus Christ. He stuck his finger up Jensen Ackles’ ass.
He lets out a strangled laugh. Sandy is giving him a funny look.
“I, uh. Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That would explain the police.”
tbc god knows when
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Oh, man. I *love* already. I rilly rilly do. I love medical shows/fic anyway. Awesome!
:)
*bounce*
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Also: I am completely infatuated by the awesomeness that is your disclaimer. *g*
Thank you! *hugs*
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Yayayay!! I'm so glad you like it - though you are too kind. *blush* There is more, it's just in little clumps right now with large gaps. But I have hope!
Also, possibly one of these days I will watch the Show (and find out for myself what colour Sam's eyes are... *whistles*)
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Thanks for reading and commenting.
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I really love your writing style and love your SPN stories - Green Means Go was a thrill a minute... :D
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It does not currently have any more chapters but there is a bit more hiding on my computer and I actually opened it up last month. I do plan to finish it eventually.
(Thank you! Right now, I am working on something in the Green Means Go 'verse, actually! *g*)
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