FIC: Collisions

[valeriev84]

Title: Collisions
Author: Valerie Vancollie (valeriev84 [at] hotmail.com)
Characters: Alan, Don
Rating: PG-13
Excerpt: Giving Don a lift home while his car is being checked turns into a nightmare for Alan.
Spoilers: Man Hunt, Protest, Trust Metric, The Decoy Effect, The Fifth Man
Note: This fic was written as a birthday present for the wonderful corine57. She asked for something angsty with Don, Alan and the prompt words guilt, snow & rope.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Numb3rs characters, items or situations. I only lay claim to the original aspects of the fic.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Don asked.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Alan snapped, crossly. "I'm not so old that I can't drive anymore!"

"Okay, okay, just checking."

Alan scowled and glared out of the window at the small white flakes that were one of the sources of his frustration. For the first time in decades, it was snowing in LA. The tiny white flakes weren't sticking on the ground, in fact they melted almost before they touched the ground, but it was more than enough to cause chaos. Angelinos weren't used to snow, it just didn't normally happen. The last time Alan could recall driving in any snow was back before Don had been born, in the late fifties. It figured that it had to choose today of all days to snow, just when Don's Suburban was in for a tune up.

"Besides, it's not like you've got a lot of experience driving in the snow either," Alan continued.

"Sure I have, Dad, first at Quantico, then Detroit and finally during Fugitive Recovery."

Alan bit his tongue, not wanting to increase the already tense atmosphere in the car. Since he'd had a late appointment downtown anyway, he'd offered to give Don a lift home tonight, which would have been fine if it hadn't been for what he'd overheard at the FBI office. Although he hadn't heard all of the conversation, he'd overheard enough to be both furious and disgusted by his son's order. The case had somehow come around to a civil protest group and, naturally, they had become the Bureau's number one suspect right away. Don's order to get warrants for wiretaps on the group's phones still rung clearly in his ears and his fingers tightened on the wheel in response. How could Don, his own son, do that?

Yes, he knew the Bureau still acted like that despite all their claims of having changed, but he'd always assumed he'd raised Don better than that. Apparently not, given what he'd witnessed. He just didn't understand how it was possible, especially after how Don had seen first hand how wrong the Bureau had been in the case of Mattie and how they'd acted in that instance. But then, he thought viciously, perhaps he was expecting too much from the son who'd already shown his stubborn streak and ease with blatantly going against everything his parents believed in when he'd joined the FBI in the first place.

Despite his intention not to increase the tension in the car, the thought must have somehow shown on his face or Don was just that good at reading him because his son stiffened beside him and sighed in resignation.

"Look, Dad, you don't know what this case is about and you haven't seen all of the evidence. Don't you think it a little unfair of you to make judgments based on what little you overheard out of context?"

"Oh, I heard enough," Alan snapped, hands gripping the wheel impossible tighter. "More than enough, in fact, and I can't believe that you'd do something like that, order something like that! I guess you're more like those damn Feds I used to know than I realized."

"Hey! That's not fair, you don't know anything about this case."

"I know how the Bureau operates, how its agents act."

"We're not in the seventies anymore, Dad, the FBI has changed."

Alan snorted in disbelief, unable to believe his son could still be so naïve or blind about the organization he worked for, especially after all that he'd seen. "Maybe it's polished it's image a little, made itself more palatable to those not willing to dig too deeply, but below the surface it's the same beast it's always been."

"Oh, what, so I'm part of the new window dressing, then? Just something to make the Bureau's image more, what word did you use, oh, right, palatable?"

The hurt Alan could detect in his son's voice at the start of that sentence cut him somewhere deep inside, but then it was gone, masked by a sarcastic and hard edge that reminded him far too much of that one agent he'd known back when he was seeking to get more people registered to vote so that they could try and end that blasted, illegal war. The memory only served to fuel his anger and his disbelief that his son, his son!, the little Donny he'd taken to sit-ins and protests as a child, the happy little flower child, could even faintly remind him of that man.

"That's what I thought you were," Alan replied, a quick glance to the right showing him a flash of hurt and betrayal before that damnable FBI mask fell into place across his son's features and he was left looking at a cool and emotionless face. "But now... now I don't know anymore, not after what you told Nikki to do."

"I see."

Don's voice was cold, clipped, like that of an unfeeling robot or the generic, cookie cutter FBI agents Alan remembered from when Mattie had first vanished. The ones who'd come around and hounded the whole lot of them, determined to see them as guilty and to find some way of proving it, truth be damned.

"Just look at what the Bureau did to Mattie Stirling," Alan declared when the silence became oppressive.

"Oh, you really don't want to go there, Dad. Besides, I already told you, the FBI has changed since the seventies."

Alan snorted at the last statement. "Not from what I can see."

"Well, maybe that's because you're only seeing what you want to see."

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you're not exactly being an impartial observer here. I mean, just look at this current case, you overhear a small bit of dialogue and you already think you know what's going on, regardless of the fact that you aren't aware of all the evidence, all the facts. Your prejudice is blinding you."

"Oh, like the Bureau has never gone after innocent protest groups before."

"I never said they hadn't, but sometimes the groups we go after aren't so innocent," Don shot back. "Take the Stirling case for instance."

"Mattie was innocent!" Alan roared.

"Yes, he was. But have you forgotten that the real perpetrator, the one who planted those bombs in the seventies and killed those two boys, was in fact Sarah Kemple, a member of Californians for Peace? Or had that particular bit of information conveniently slipped your mind?"

"Yeah, because Lawson convinced her to do it."

"Oh, come on, Dad, you don't really believe that. What Lawson did was wrong and shouldn't have happened and yes, he may have provided Kemple with the original idea and some of the information necessary to create those bombs, but he didn't force her to do what she did. She made that decision all on her own; she made those bombs all on her own."

Alan opened his mouth to reply when the car in front of them swerved suddenly, without any warning. Partially distracted by the argument, it took him a few precious seconds longer than it otherwise would have to slam on the brakes, not that he was sure it would have made a difference either way. The snow flakes were making everyone tense and making them pull stupid stunts they otherwise wouldn't. The sudden change in momentum sent both of them surging forwards into their seatbelts even as he jerked the steering wheel sideways in a last, desperate, attempt to avoid the two cars already wrapped around each other just ahead of them.

The impact of the crash jolted them about again and Alan cried out just before his face and upper body connected with the exploding airbag and pain seared its way across his mind. He must have blacked out a little as he couldn't remember the rest of the impact, but the adrenaline of the crash and the fear had him clawing at the airbag, desperate to push it aside and check on his son. Oh God, Don!

The airbag was just out of his way when Alan heard the terrible sound of screeching breaks and looked up, past his son's slumped figure, in horror to see another car, a red Honda, coming right at them. Right at the passenger side of his car. At Don's side of the car.

"No!" the scream erupted from Alan's mouth a split-second before the collision sent him back into the inky darkness of unconsciousness.

The last thing he saw was the way Don's body jerked and twisted like a broken doll.

/

The itching, stinging sensation crawling across his face was the first thing to breach the comforting darkness shrouding Alan's mind and he moaned. He wished he could just ignore it and stay wrapped safely within his warm cocoon of blissful oblivion as he had the niggling thought that he wouldn't like what he found when he surfaced. He wasn't sure why, wasn't aware of anything really, other than that he wouldn't like it. At all.

The realization did nothing to stop the growing awareness within him of the feeling or the uncomfortable kink in his neck. Alan tried to move his head enough to take care of both problems without fully waking up, but the slight movement sent a wave of pain washing through him and he was completely jarred from his cocoon in a fraction of a second.

Finally opening his eyes, he was met with a sea of rumpled, dirty white. Frowning, Alan tried to make out what he was looking at, but it was no use as whatever it was, it was simply too close to his face for him to properly focus on it. Wary of the pain his earlier attempt to move his head and neck had caused, he brought his hands up instead to discover what he was leaning his head against as it was hard and circular in shape. The moment his hands touched it, he realized that it was a steering wheel and the memories of what had happened suddenly rushed back to him.

Alan pushed himself upright before he even really thought about it and looked towards Don, the memory of how he'd been tossed about by the second collision sending spikes of fear coursing through him and completely overriding his own pain which now seemed miniscule in comparison to the terror and horror that currently choked him. The breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of his son. Don lay in an awkward pile, leaning partially against the back of his seat, partially against the twisted wreckage that was all that remained of the right side of the car, sharp metal shards stabbing into the car.

"Donny," Alan whispered, eyes wide.

His son's face was covered in blood from a large gash on his right temple where he must have either hit it against the dashboard in the first crash or the window in the second one. The left side of his pale blue shirt was covered in blood from the wound at his shoulder where a jagged piece of sharpened metal protruded, having pierced both the seat and Don's shoulder, pinning him in place. His right hip, the one farthest from Alan and closest to what had once been the car's door, was jutting out at an odd angle, like something was pressing up against it from behind, forcing it into an unusual angle. And, finally, Don's legs seemed to be encased in a sea of metal where the bottom of the car had buckled inwards, obliterating the area where the passenger's legs and feet normally were.

Not wanting to contemplate what that could mean, he wretched his thoughts away from his son's injuries. Or, at least, he tried to. No matter how hard he tried, however, Alan found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the blood and the contorted angles Don's body was lying in. The desperate desire he had to reach out and see if Don was still alive was being blocked by the fear that he wouldn't be able to find a pulse. The two emotions clashed within him and it took a while for him to realize that he was most likely in shock himself, which probably explained the surreal tinge tainting the whole situation.

The thought was enough to rouse Alan sufficiently to reach across to his son, though his hand shook uncontrollably as he did so. He knew that if Don was still alive that he'd need help, quickly, which also helped him overcome his paralysis. A profound relief swept through his as his clammy hand finally managed to find a pulse after several failed attempts. It was weak and erratic, but it was most definitely still there. With the relief came pain and Alan groaned as he suddenly became aware of his own injuries. His chest felt like it was on fire, a feeling which only increased every time his movement caused the seatbelt to shift against his chest and he suddenly remembered being jerked backwards by the belt when he'd first slammed on the breaks and his body had wanted to continue its forward momentum all on its own.

A quick inventory of the rest of his body led Alan to conclude that, aside from a few cuts and bruises, he'd escaped the double collision relatively unscratched, so to speak. The thought caused maniac laughter to spill out of him as he glanced at Don again, fear building within him as he noted how pale and still his son was. Logic finally kicked in again and Alan scrabbled at his pockets for his cell phone, realizing that he probably needed to call 911 and make sure they were already aware of the situation. A cry of denial was ripped from his throat as he found that the damned thing wouldn't turn on. What was wrong with it? He'd escaped this crash in one piece, how the hell could his phone not have?

It was with a sinking sensation that Alan recalled his intention to charge his cell last night, something he'd never actually gotten around to doing in the end. A quick glance at Don's belt revealed only the empty cell phone holder, the phone itself obviously having been jarred free during the crash. Tears suddenly spilled from his eyes as he realized that there was nothing he could do for his son. His forgetfulness last night had cut off his only means of aiding his boy. The thought was swiftly followed by a wave of guilt, not only at not having his phone working when he needed it, but for allowing himself to get so angry with Don that he hadn't been paying as much attention to the road as he knew he should have.

Oh God, the argument.

Everything he'd said to Don just a short while ago suddenly came flooding back to Alan. What had he been thinking, saying those things to Donny? What if his son never woke up again? What if those words would be the last ones he ever heard, both from his father and from anyone else? What if Donny died thinking he hated him? That his father couldn't stand him and what he did for a living? What if-

Alan squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the wheel violently, the guilt all but choking him. The sudden blaring of the horn as he dropped his head against the wheel startled him and he jumped in his seat. The sudden sound, however, was enough to remind him that there was a world outside of the ruined car in which they were currently trapped. He could just make out movement through the cracked windshield and felt hope surge through him at the knowledge that while he couldn't call the authorities, there were people out there who most definitely could get them help. Chancing a glance back towards his son, he forced himself to look beyond his boy's broken body to the car that had slammed into theirs.

He couldn't make out much, the collision having warped the metal frame of the car so he was left looking at what had probably been the hood of the Honda and he couldn't see much beyond it. Turning to look out of his own window, Alan felt the breath catch in his throat as he caught sight of the corpse in the next car. The car that he'd crashed into, unable to break and swerve enough in time to avoid doing so. This time there was no doubt in his mind about the condition of the person he looked at as he knew no living person's neck could bend at that angle. He could only hope that it was the first crash that had killed the poor man and not the second.

The bile rose so suddenly in his throat that he hardly had time to lean forwards and spew it into the space at his feet instead of all over himself. Alan had hardly started wishing for some water to clean his mouth with when a low moan filled the eerie silence of the car. Immediately, he jerked upright and turned his attention towards his son, the vomit and nausea instantly forgotten.

"Donny?" Alan questioned, hardly daring to do so in case he got no response. "Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

The only reply he got was another low moan, though Don's eyes fluttered behind his eyelids even as his head moved slightly.

"No, Donny, you can't move, you have to stay still. You've been hurt, son, and I don't want you aggravating your injuries. Okay?"

"'ad?"

The weak whisper of sound, nearly lost in the groan that instantly followed the word out of Don's mouth was the sweetest thing Alan had ever heard and he nearly cried with joy.

"Yes, I'm here son, just please don't move as you'll only injure yourself even further."

"What... happened?"

"We were in a car crash, a pileup from the looks of it."

Donny's eye fluttered some more before the eyelids finally started to lift and Alan could see his son's dark eyes looking back at him. They were slightly unfocused and clouded with pain, but were clearly looking in his direction nonetheless. Carefully, he leaned closer to his son and started whispering soothing words into his ear, gently reaching up to run a hand through his hair, noting with surprise that it was starting to break out into curls.

"It hurts, Dad," Don whispered plaintively a short while later.

Panic instantly flooded Alan at those words. Don never complained of pain, not unless it was really, really bad. The last time he could remember his son doing so was as a teenager, after he'd been out all day playing baseball with his friends. In the end they'd discovered that he'd fractured several of his fingers. The doctors had been amazed that Don hadn't complained right away, much less continued playing as if everything were okay. His son's pain tolerance and inability to share his feelings had only increased since then, so he could only imagine what those words meant now.

Unfortunately for Alan, his imagination was more than willing to give it a go. The copious amounts of blood and the twisted metal ruin of the car provided him with more than enough material to work with, even before his son's confession.

"I know, Donny, I know, but help is on the way, so you just need to hold on, okay? Can you do that for me, Donny?"

"How... long?"

"I don't know," Alan replied, unable to lie as he knew the paramedics wouldn't simply be able to lift his boy out of the car. "But soon."

"'kay... try."

The words tore at Alan's heart and he wished that there was something he could do for his son. The fact remained, however, that he was helpless to do anything but try and sooth Donny's worries and help him cope with the pain. When, an eternity later, he finally heard the approach of sirens, he sighed in relief before he realized something which he'd been desperately trying to avoid. Even if the ambulances and paramedics were already on the scene, how the hell were they going to get to them? They were essentially boxed in, all doors effectively blocked by the two cars that they had either slammed into or which had slammed into them. And that was assuming there were only four cars involved in the pileup. Given the weather conditions and the traffic that had been on the road, this could well have resulted in a massive pileup involving many, many cars.

The bile was suddenly back in his throat and Alan had to force it down through sheer will power, not wanting to waste more time on his own needs than absolutely necessary. What else could possibly still go wrong today? Hadn't they already been through enough? He wasn't sure he could handle any more surprises or revelations, he was at the end of his rope as it was. No, not even that, he was well beyond it, in free fall, hoping the impact with the ground wouldn't kill him.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Donny?"

"S'rry."

"What? What are you sorry about?"

"Arg'ment."

"Oh, no, no, Donny, that wasn't your fault," Alan said, his heart breaking. "It was mine, my fault. I... I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, I shouldn't have judged you like that and for that I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"'ourse."

The whispered word made Alan close his eyes in pain, both due to the agony he could so easily hear in his son's voice but also at the word choice itself. Course, short for of course. If there was one thing that could be said about Donny, it was that he forgave far too easily most of the time. Yes, he could be angry and hold a grudge along with the rest of them, but if you managed to ask for forgiveness, if you had the courage to do so, it was always granted. At least to his family, he wasn't so sure about anyone else, but he figured it must also hold true there as Don had reconciled with Colby despite how hurt he'd clearly been about the whole triple spy ordeal.

Panic spiked through Alan once more as he opened his eyes and found Don's closed. "Donny?" he demanded urgently. "Donny, are you still awake? Come on, open your eyes for me, son."

The lack of acknowledgement sent the fear spiraling even higher and it didn't abate until he'd reached out and checked Don's pulse. It was the same as before and Alan could only assume that he'd passed out from the pain or trauma inflicted upon his body. He could only hope it was that and not something more serious.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he became aware of movement through the cracked windshield, but when Alan squinted through the white webbing, he saw several cops skirting the wreckage. Hope flared in his chest and he honked the horn, wanting to make sure that they realized he was there and alive with Don instead of dead like the poor man in the next car. The plan seemed to work as the two officers came closer, inspecting the situation and seeing how the cars were wedged together. One of them tried to convey something with motions, but Alan couldn't make them out clearly, the cracks in the glass obscuring everything just a bit too much. He jumped shortly afterwards as something knocked against the glass of the rear windshield.

Head snapping back, Alan turned to look and found another police officer looking in the back. Although this window was also cracked, it had received far less damage than the front one, allowing the woman to look inside clearly. Her hand gestures seemed to be asking if he was okay and he nodded back at her before pointing towards the passenger seat and shaking his head frantically. She seemed to understand and turned to shout something over her shoulder before turning back to him. He was just about to climb between the seats to get closer to her when she motioned him back. Confused, he merely looked at her as she indicated he should cover his eyes. When another officer joined her holding something in his hands and mimicked smashing it into the glass, he realized what they were about to do and turned forwards once more.

The shattering of glass followed shortly afterwards and it sounded like music to Alan's ears, as did the voice that followed it.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but my son, he-" Alan found his throat closing off as he tried to explain how badly injured Donny was.

He couldn't do it. Somehow saying it aloud was like making it even more real than it already was, not that looking at Donny's broken body wasn't already enough proof. Especially when it looked like he'd already lost more blood that he'd thought possible, but he found himself unable to say them anyway. It was as if acknowledging just how bad things were to someone else would adversely affect Don. Like if he put it into words, fate would realize just how amazing it was that his son was still alive and make it change it's mind about that.

"Sir, are you still with me?" the woman asked. "Sir?"

"Yes, yes, sorry."

"What's your name, Sir?"

"My name?" Alan repeated dumbly, wondering what that had to do with anything. "Alan, Alan Eppes."

"Alright Mr. Eppes, how badly injured is your son?"

"Bad, really bad."

"Okay, does that metal shrapnel embedded into the back of his seat reach him?"

"Yeah, it... it's gone straight through his shoulder. I think- I think there may be another one at his hip, it's tilted strangely and his legs are trapped as well," Alan stated, as if the original words had broken the dam, the rest all came spilling out suddenly.

"Okay, Mr. Eppes, what about you? Are you trapped?"

"No."

"Good. I want you to tilt your seat back for me, can you do that?"

"Why?"

"So that you can climb out of it into the backseat. From there, we can get you out of the car."

"And what about Donny? I'm not leaving him!"

"Mr. Eppes, Alan, please, you need to get out of the car."

"No! I'm not leaving him. What if he wakes up again and needs me?"

"Your son's been awake?"

"Yes, just briefly, but he was complaining of the pain. Donny never complains of the pain, not even when he got stabbed and was recuperating at home."

"I see, but Alan you need to come out so that we can help him."

"What?"

"If we are to help Donny, we need to get inside the car and have enough room to move about. We can't do that with you inside."

"Oh," Alan replied, seeing the logic but not wanting to leave Don.

With a supreme effort, he forced himself to do what the cop said, lowering the back of his seat so he could carefully climb into the back of the car. By the time he got there, the cops had broken off the remaining shards of glass and helped him climb out the window. Alan was instantly handed over to a paramedic and he nearly protested, wanting the man to tend to Don instead, when he saw two more waiting just off to the side for him to clear the area. Not wanting to cause any kind of delay, he allowed his paramedic to pull him aside and watched as the other two approached the car and the cops.

From the outside, the crash looked even worse than from within and Alan could see that, altogether, five cars had been involved in the main pileup with three more scattered about, having crashed into the concrete dividers, probably in a desperate attempt to avoid the other cars. He swallowed deeply as he could see more than one body bag already lying filled on the ground. Dread and horror spread within him as he knew that Don could still end up like those poor people. It was all that he could do to not rush back to the car and check and see that his son was still alive.

Time seemed to slow as the paramedic checked him over and he could do nothing but watch the activity around the ruined remains of his car. He took the rushed but organized movements as a good sign, as it clearly indicated that Donny was still alive, unlike the complete lack of activity around the car he'd hit or the one at the end of the pileup and one of the ones that had hit the divider. This was a rescue operation first, the trapped dead could wait until the living had been tended to and were on their way to the hospitals.

When the first of the hydraulic tools was activated, Alan jumped, the new sound catching him off-guard and making him look in the direction of the noise. He quickly realized that they were using the Jaws of Life to cut someone out of one of the cars. Why weren't they doing the same for Donny? Wouldn't that make it easier to get him out? He was about to ask when he caught sight of a similar but smaller tool being passed into the back of his car. As he watched, several firemen also started inspecting what remained of the side of his car and the front of the Honda that had slammed into it.

It seemed to take forever, but the firemen finally did start cutting at the side of the car, but only after the tools that had been passed into the car had come back out again. Alan frowned at that before he figured that they must have wanted to cut off the shrapnel that was impaling Don's shoulder before starting to hack their way into the twisted metal wreckage between the two cars. After what felt like centuries, they seemed to have created enough of a space to start thinking about getting Donny out.

When the gurney was wheeled towards the area, Alan was unable to remain where he was any longer and moved closer to watch, his heart in his throat. Most of what was being said washed over him unheard and unprocessed as he watched them work on slowly getting Don out of the car. It wasn't until his son was halfway out and he heard a sharp intake of breath that he started paying attention to what was being said, although his eyes were still glued to Donny.

"What?" someone demanded.

"There's another shard of metal projecting inwards here and its covered with blood."

"Where?"

"Just above waist level."

"Was it impaling him there as well?"

"I must have been, but I saw no indications of trauma to that area."

"Then what?"

"I don't know."

Alan gasped as he suddenly started to breathe again, unaware that he'd stopped doing so as the implications of what he'd heard set in. Oh God, had Donny been stabbed yet again somewhere? Wasn't it enough that he already had a piece of metal protruding from his shoulder, it having gone straight through from one side to the other? Not to mention what had happened nearly a year ago. Exactly how much more trauma was Donny supposed to go through? The knowledge that this time the injuries hadn't been the result of Don's job, but rather his carelessness and the damned weather was like a punch to the gut and he staggered back slightly.

As soon as Donny was clear of the car and lowered onto the waiting gurney, the female paramedic kneeled at his side and started checking his lower back for injuries.

"I'm not finding any blood here," she said, confused.

"It must have caught on something else then," the male paramedic stated, pushing back Don's coat to see what it was.

From where he stood, Alan could clearly see the twisted and seriously dented remains of Don's service weapon and he sucked in a sharp breath as he realized that it was what had saved his son from being further impaled by the wreckage. If it wasn't for the gun that he'd always so hated seeing at his son's hip, Don would almost certainly be dead now. The knowledge made him faint and only the hands of the people standing close to him prevented him from falling to the ground as his knees gave way beneath him. Absently he noted how the cops standing around stiffened as the gun game into view only to relax when the paramedic pushed aside the other side of Don's jacket, revealing his FBI badge clipped to his belt.

At least Alan assumed they relaxed, but when one of the cops looked over at him, he could detect something else in her eyes. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was there. When she looked back to his son, he finally understood what it was. She, and he thought the other cops as well, felt some kind of kinship with Don. They were all law enforcement officers and though he'd heard Don and his team complain about the LAPD on occasion, when it came right down to it, they all backed each other up. To see his son stricken like this here was probably to see one of their own down. A pointed reminder that no one was safe from the arbitrary nature of things like car crashes and snow induced madness.

"Excuse me, Sir, but we need to get you to the hospital."

It took Alan a moment to realize the speaker was addressing him, crouched down on the ground next to him. It took him another moment to tear his gaze away from the limp form of his son and the two paramedics buzzing around him, trying desperately to get him ready for transport. When he finally did, he was only vaguely aware of the person he was looking at, not registering any details other than the words coming out of the person's mouth. Not hair color, not eye color, not even gender. Donny was all that mattered right now.

"No," Alan said firmly. "I'm staying until my son is ready to go."

"Sir, they'll bring him along as soon as he's ready to be moved. Until then we need to concentrate on you."

"No."

"Sir, I-"

"I said no. I'm not leaving him and I want to ride in the ambulance with him."

"Sir, you're in no condition for that."

"What? You have so many ambulances to spare that you're looking for people to put in them?"

"No, but-"

"Then give it to someone else who needs it, I'm staying here until Donny's ready to go and then I'm going with him."

Something about his words or the tone of his voice much have clued the speaker in to his determination as they didn't speak again. When he glanced back towards where they'd been, all Alan found was empty space. He had the desperate urge to laugh hysterically, not sure why it was all so funny when things clearly weren't, but it was all he could do to keep the laughter in.

Don was in really bad shape, he could tell from the paramedics' frantic movements and from what he'd seen and heard for himself while in the car, and the last thing they'd been doing was arguing. And arguing about the same damn thing they were always arguing about, well at least when they really got going. How often had this particular rift come between them now? How often had his stupid ideals and naïve notions put him and Don at odds with each other? It seemed almost fitting that it could color what could quite possibly be their last real conversation together. Well, if you looked at it in a dark and twisted way at least.

It seemed like an eternity before the two paramedics slowed their movements and lifted Don's gurney up and began wheeling it away. Somebody must have let them know about his decision to accompany them because when Alan climbed into the back of the ambulance once Don had been loaded into it, neither of them complained or questioned him. He took a seat near Don's head and reached out to slowly stroke his son's forehead and hair, being careful to avoid the gauze that had been applied to the wound at his temple.

"Come on, Donny, don't you dare give up on me, you hear?" Alan said brokenly, the desperation clear even to himself. "Not now. You're finally in an ambulance, on the way to the hospital, all you need to do is hold on a little longer and the doctors will be able to take care of you."

The words went completely unacknowledged and Alan watched silently as the female paramedic worked steadily, concentrating on Don's legs. Finally, unable to take the silence any longer and needing to tell his son the truth that, despite the angry words and accusations from earlier, he still loved him, he leaned close once more and whispered into his son's ear.