FIC: Run (Emergency, Gen, PG 5/10)

[mrwubbles]

Title: Run
Pairing: non, gen, friendship fic
Summary: A call that turned out not to be a call after all, but someone still needed help…
Spoilers: Set just after first season.
Notes: We saw on many episodes that Johnny Gage really didn't like guns. I thought it might be fun to figure out why.



Previous Parts: 1/10, 2/10, 3/10, 4/10

"Huh?" Maybe ole Doug hit him harder than he thought. John blinked at Jake, the bulb to his pressure cuff forgotten in his hand.

"Thought you wanted to take another BP," Jake reminded him mildly. "Before Doug comes back in here."

John winced. Oh, right. He checked over his shoulder. "Yeah, hold on." He slipped the hearing bell back inside the cuff. After a few squeezes of the valve, John studied the gauge.

"Not good?" Jake guessed when John took another reading.

"Try to rest," John muttered. The shack shuddered noisily around them from the fan to the deep whooshing of the BP cuff. He squeezed the bulb to get another reading. "Now, what are you sorry about?" John asked as he mentally calculated the two numbers. He bit back a groan at what he came up with.

"I told them how to get the morphine." Jake dropped his head deeper into the stack of thin, stained pillows tucked under him. "I figured Stevie would just grab it and go. I didn't think Doug would give him a gun and…" Jake shrugged one shoulder then grimaced.

"Hurt?" John guessed. He pulled the stethoscope out from under the cuff and listened to Jake's lungs again.

"Rales?" Jake wheezed.

"No talking," John shushed him, partially to hear, mostly because he didn't know what to say at this point. He closed his eyes briefly at the hollow sound thrumming through the instrument.

"We really need to get you to a hospital." John offered the stethoscope to Jake for a listen, but strangely, Jake refused. Jake wore a strange, sad kind of smile that made John feel funny inside. It was like the ex-Marine knew something he didn't.

"No hospitals," Jake rasped. "Nothing there my brothers can't do here." The pale face twisted. "I go in, they're not letting me out again. Too messed up."

John made a noise through his teeth. "I can't do anything for you here."

"You can give my brothers the morphine."

"That won't help you." John opened the drug box and fisted one of the vials. "This," John shook it at Jake, "is just substituting one thing for another."

Unmoved, Jake stared at John's fist. "You don't give that to them, my brothers won't let you go."

John swallowed. He lowered the vial from Jake's sight. "Who says they will even if I do?"

"I say so." Jake gestured weakly towards himself. "Doug will do it if I ask."

"I won't though." John's chin stuck out. "I won't give them the morphine."

"I tried, you know," Jake murmured, more to himself than John. "The VA, the clinics, but the heroin was the only thing that helped quiet things in my head. Then one day, the money ran out. The morphine helped, when there was nothing else." Jake offered him a broken sort of laugh. "My brother. Doug? He tried, you know? He don't look it, but he really does care about me and Stevie."

"I can't give you the morphine," John said bluntly. He gestured towards the IV line, at the cuff still around Jake's arm. "Your vitals…" John breathed out sharply through his teeth. "Even if the morphine could help, and it won't," John added, "I can't give it to you. It could kill you."

There was a serene curve to Jake's bleeding mouth when he sighed, "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Stevie said you were a medic. Surely you know that—" John stopped. The air deflated prematurely in the valve. His eyes widened.

"You do know that," John whispered. He could feel his mouth drop open as he gaped at Jake.

The former Marine's eyes were hooded, his face blotchy and gray.

"I'm tired," Jake rasped. His eyes slid shut then opened with some effort. "I can't lick this. The stuff in my head, the itch under my skin. Won't let me lick this. And I can't keep having my brothers try to find ways to help me lick this. I'm done."

"No." John shook his head. He leaned forward and peered at Jake. "Now you listen. We can get you to a hospital. Rampart. It's a good hospital, we can help you there." John's mind spun as he thought of what else he could say. He thought of the jumper last year. Roy had talked to the guy for hours until his voice gave out but John's memory failed him on what Roy had said. At the time, he was a little too busy holding onto Roy's lifebelt because the reckless fool was one big toe away from plunging ten stories down.

"What about your brothers?" John added desperately. His mouth soured when Jake shook his head. "How you think Stevie would feel if you just up and quit?"

John could see Jake hesitating at that. His heart sank when his patient shook his head again.

"Doug—"

"Doug," John grated out, "was the one who gave your little brother a gun." John raised his arm and tugged up his sleeve edge to reveal the thin gash that was looking redder and more swollen by the minute.

Jake stared at John's arm, his glassy eyes wider and riveted to the wound. His thin mouth parted, but no sound came out.

"Listen," John leaned forward, his voice urgent. "Stevie? He's just a kid. And he's scared and I know he's your brother, but Doug? He's not really helping you here. And when you're gone, how do you know he's gonna be helping your little brother? What if your brother just gives Stevie another gun?" John's hand shook as he squeezed his stethoscope.

"I know it's rough. You saw a lot of bad things but it doesn't have to be that way forever." Come on, Gage. Think. Think!

Jake waved weakly at the vial John had left by his hip. John pressed it into his palm and helped Jake raise it up to eyelevel.

"You see?" John stressed. He shook the loose fist he supported. "This stuff in the bottle? It's not going to help you. It's not going to help Stevie."

The ex-Marine closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged and he shrank into the cot.

"We could call for a hospital," John murmured, "I won't say anything to the police about your brothers. We'll get you the help you need."

The fist John held tightened around the vial.

"It doesn't have to be this way," John whispered, letting go. He watched Jake open his palm to stare blearily at the bottle. Blue-tipped fingers trembled as they closed around the morphine again.

"Get my brothers in here," Jake whispered. He smiled weakly at John. "Let me talk to them."

John gave Jake a pat on the shoulder before rising to his feet. He tentatively pushed the corrugated door, letting the bottom edge scrape noisily on the ground to alert the two outside.

"Your brother wants to talk to—"

The twisted scowl that appeared the moment the door opened caused John to rear back. Before John could take another step, a beefy arm shot through the door and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Doug entered the shack, Stevie one step behind and John found himself trying to walk backwards until they stopped by the cot.

John gave Doug a glower that faded when he saw Stevie peering around the broad man.

"Jake?" Stevie found just enough courage to veer around Doug and rejoin Jake's side.

"H-hey." Jake smiled up at the younger man as Stevie tentatively brushed sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

"What we gotta do to help?" Stevie said real low.

Jake studied Stevie for a moment. His eyes slid over to John, held them a beat before moving them to Doug.

"Well?" Doug asked gruffly. He still had John's shirt twisted in his grip, tightening it around John like a noose.

Come on, John urged silently. He watched Jake take Stevie's hand, turned it palm up…

And dropped the vial in Stevie's hand.

"Get the bottles that look like this in his box," Jake whispered.

"No!" John wrenched free from Doug, who was too startled by John's sudden outburst to react. John practically threw himself bodily towards the cot, one hand capturing Stevie's hand before the teen could move.

"Don't do this!" John pleaded to Jake, but Jake looked away.

"Don't listen to him," John said to Stevie now. John's grip was firm over the boy's wrist. "The morphine won't help him!"

"I-it helped before." Stevie gave Jake an uneasy look. He tugged at his arm John captured. "Jake?"

Jake had his eyes closed, like he was sleeping, but he heaved a sigh at Stevie's tremulous voice.

"He's lying," Jake whispered.

"No!" John yanked hard at Stevie. The boy yelped. Doug recovered and wrapped his arms around John's shoulders from behind. John suddenly found himself hauled up, his feet dangling.

"Shut up," Doug growled. He grunted when John shoved an elbow back. A swat from his hand sent John reeling and his head rocked forward.

John strained against Doug pulling him back.

"I won't help you put that in him," John declared. He grimaced when Doug's grip wrapped tighter around him.

Stevie hesitated over the drug box, his cupped hands filled with vials. He looked over to his brother.

Jake gave the teen a weak smile. "I'll show you. Don't worry, Stevie—"

"Don't worry?" John cried. "Your brother is trying to kill himself! The morphine's just going to make things wor—" John yelped when Doug bodily slammed him to the wall besides the cot. The hard tip of Doug's gun dug into the base of his neck.

"Doug!" Stevie squeaked. The bottles in his hold rattled.

"What are you trying to pull, fireman?" Doug hissed. "Our brother needs your drugs, he's getting them."

"Your brother…" John bit out with effort because his cheek and eye were squashed into the rippled metal. The shack shuddered under his jaw. "Don't listen to him. In his condition, with those vitals, morphine is going to make things worse!" John gritted his teeth and positioned his hands between the metal sheet and his chest. He tried to push back but Doug's elbow was jabbing the small of his back.

"Listen to me!" John directed it to Stevie instead. "Your brother told me he was tired; said he had enough! He knows what the morphine will do to him with the way his lungs and blood pressure is. He…He wants to di—Ouch!"

The sun-heated metal surface bowed then popped back into shape when Doug slapped his hand over the top of his head, grabbed a fist of hair and drew back John's head before smacking it hard into the wall. The corrugated material made an odd gong sound that rippled up the walls.

"Jake?" Stevie whispered. He held the bottles to his chest, his eyes huge. "J-jake? W-what's he saying…is that true?"

"Course it isn't," Doug spoke up as he dragged John away from the wall. He looked unperturbed even though John was twisting, struggling in his grip: an arm wrapped around his throat, just two squeezes away from being a chokehold.

"Jake's our brother. Carsons don't quit even when everyone around us expects us to." Doug rubbed his gun's muzzle point against John's ribs. John froze at the tiny clicking sound. He wasn't sure what that was, but it couldn't be good.

"Bet that morphine would look pretty good to you if I put a hole in your gut, fireman," Doug whispered in his ear.

"Doug," Jake rasped. "Don't kill him. Just…keep him away until Stevie's finished."

"Fine," Doug grunted. He backtracked to the door, easily dragging John with him.

"Don't do this! You can't put this on Stevie," John shouted. He threw both hands up around the muscular arm and tugged, but it felt like even the crowbar in his squad wouldn't have been able to pry him free.

"At least get him out of this oven," John kept trying. "This heat? Keep the IVs on him." He dug his heels in. Doug snarled and a fist grazed the side of John's head. His ears rung. Someone was shouting. Doug's arm around his throat eased. John wrenched free. He ignored the roar behind him as he stumbled back to the cot. He gripped Stevie by the shoulders.

The teen started and gaped at John.

"Don't do this. Don't let your brother do this! That stuff will kill him. You won't be saving him," John rattled as fast as he could. Stevie didn't look convinced. In fact, the kid just looked scared. John grabbed his stethoscope and slapped it to Stevie's chest.

"Take my stethoscope at least. Listen to his heart. Every few minutes. If it starts to sound different, a lot faster and quieter than yours, call 911, get him help."

"Leave him alone," Doug growled. He grabbed the back of John's shirt. John shook him off, bumping into Stevie. Little glass vials tumbled out of Stevie's arms and rolled like scared mice under their feet.

It only enraged Doug more.

"That's it!"

A hand clawed his throat, just above his Adam's apple. John felt himself flailing, choking as he was hauled to his feet to meet Doug's bloodshot eyes.

"Doug," Stevie whined.

John pawed at the thick arm stretched out in front of him. He coughed.

"Doug," Jake whispered. "Don't."

The iron vise around his throat eased a fraction. Doug sucked in his breath. There was a rumble deep in his throat and he twisted around, yanking John to him. John threw Stevie a look, but his insides knotted when Stevie only stared back with huge eyes.

Doug never slowed down; he kicked the door open and John's hip stopped it from closing on him. He had to run—stumble—after Doug, through the mazes of stacked wreckage until they stopped in front of the car John was in before.

A gun jabbed him on his temple. "Get in." Doug yanked the trunk lid open and John recoiled at the waves of heat that escaped.

Dread lumped in his throat like ice. "Wait. You can't—"

"Lost your hearing, fireman? I said get in."

John gestured towards the sky and the sun slowly climbing to its zenith. "Are you nuts? That thing's going to be an oven in about an hour!"

Doug gave the car a passing glance. "Don't worry. It's under some shade," he grunted, nodding to the stacks around him. He herded John to the trunk with his gun.

"Shade? Even if it was night, with this heat—"

"I said get in!"

John swallowed, as he looked almost cross-eyed at the gun shoved to his cheek. He raised his hands as he slowly walked backwards to the green car until the back of his knees hit its bumper.

"Look," John said shakily. "You could tie me up, leave me by the car, all right? If you lock me in there…"

"My brother said not to kill you, but he never said anything about not hurting you," Doug interrupted. His face went expressionless, his eyes empty and that made John more nervous than watching that scar of his twist into a scowl. "Once Stevie's done with our brother, we'll let you go. Maybe on the PCH. You could hitchhike back."

John spared a look over his shoulder at the shallow compartment. He swallowed. "You put me in there, I might not come out."

"Well, that would be too bad now, wouldn't it?"

John's head whipped forward. Doug's eyes went flat.

"Get in. Now."


Part 6-->


Author's Acknowledgment:This never would have been finished without my beta ldyanne, who's has to endure grammar tenses, rewrites, major delays and "what if" questions from me. Thank you, babe!

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