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Flying wasn't painless, contrary to what his eight-year-old self believed, obsessed with the mechanics of birds' wings and asking his father questions a mile a minute whether humans could fly too.
Flying in an airplane he could do.
Flying down the side of a rocky cliff due to a malfunction in his rope? Not so much.
Johnny’s stomach lurched up his esophagus as the tension on his rope continued to be nonexistent, and he regretted the hot dogs he and Roy had stopped for earlier. Their spice deja vu on his tongue.
“Johnny!” Marcos’ voice echoed from above him along with Roy’s, the panicked ache in it hitting Johnny between the eyes. Roy was a good guy. The best, actually. Johnny used to work at 8’s before transferring to 51’s when Roy asked him to be his partner, and while he got along with a lot of them, none of them were guys he’d call family or hangout doing house chores with.
He was going to miss him, memories of the past few years together spinning in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and sensations. Pain blossomed over his body as he continued his descent, his vision clearing to find the stretcher tied to the stokes Roy was accompanying, their patient in critical condition and needing emergency care… yesterday.
They didn’t have time for his nonsense, and frankly, Johnny was irritated with himself for causing it in the first place. Although, could you count your rope snapping because of friction against a rock as his fault? Logically, he knew he wasn’t going to die. Once the guys got hold of his emergency line, his fall would stop. Still, he almost dreaded that more because the jolt of the stop interrupting his sudden inertia would be the small equivalent of slamming into a bucket of liquid cement.
Hard.
“Johnny!”
Pain ripped through his body as he continued to fall, sharp rocks and the rough sticks from dying brush along the cliffside scraping across his skin. Just when he thought he was going to be sick from the dizziness of the fall, he came to an abrupt and violent halt.
The rope around his waist pulled taut, and his body jerked with the force. The belt digging into his waist pushed the oxygen out of his lungs as the rope swung his body into the outer cropping of harsh, jagged rock.
Shit.
Well, this was going to be fun.
Closing his eyes against the inevitable, he prayed for the smallest of mercies as his back made contact and the world blotted out into a wave of darkness, pain following its cresting wave.
~
Roy paced the hallway of Rampart, fiddling with the radio’s antenna as he walked; guilt a tsunami threatening to drown him. Logically, he knew he couldn’t have done anything. It was a freak accident, a small risk you don’t think will apply to you until it does, and that’s what the emergency line was for. But still, it sucked.
The ride in with the patient had been excruciating, because he’d seen Johnny fall. He’d heard Marco’s screams, and turned in time to see Johnny’s rope snap! and the white-hot terror that filled his eyes before hurtling down the cliffside, arms and legs akimbo as he fought to grab onto something, anything to slow his fall.
Waiting for his emergency line to pick up the tension was excruciating, and it felt longer than a second and a half. The Chet, Mike, and Marco on his line to get the line as taut as possible. Then he watched his body as it was yanked violently to a stop, the rope jerking him up before swinging him out and toward the rough face of the cliff. Roy watched in horrified silence, his lips parted, as his friend hit the rock and went limp, his helmet falling the rest of the drop. The distant sound of plastic hitting the ground seconds later was enough to make him want to puke, because if there hadn’t been an emergency line, it would have been Johnny.
It could have been me, too.
He’d almost taken that rope, but Johnny’d switched with him at the last minute, muttering something about not feeling right. Why didn’t I just keep it?
He’d been forced to turn away from the sight of his friend swaying in the breeze, limbs limp, and continue the climb up with the stokes, because instead of being able to rappel down to him, he had a patient he had an obligation to. In their field, if one of them got hurt, the other had to leave them behind because once they had contact with a patient, they were their patient, and protocol meant that Roy had to stay with them.
Not to mention he was the only one qualified enough to keep them stable until they got to the hospital.
He’d heard, through a haze of panic and controlled calm he didn’t feel, Cap call for another paramedic unit and ambulance for a Code I, as he and Mike administered the medication Dr. Brackett had authorized.
“10-4, Rampart,” he popped the cap off a syringe and injected it intravenously. “Rampart, stand by for a Code I at our location. Patient is a 28 years old Paramedic.”
The moment of silence before he confirmed told Roy everything he needed to know.
Not Johnny. Not again. Pull his blood type. Set up his charts. How bad is it? Alert OR on standby.
With Johnny and the nature of their job, it could truly be anything, but more than anything, Roy wished it had been him. He’d met Brice and Bellingham in the ambulance bay, and the sight of Johnny’s face, not even his tan could hide how pale his skin was, littered with cuts and clotting contusions, felt surreal.
Brice had been bagging him with oxygen, his face hard to read, but Bellingham kept it real with him once the flood of transfer settled and they’d been ushered into the hall to make space in the treatment room.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Roy. He looks rough, and has a lot going on. Broken ribs, most likely a concussion of some sort. He seized on the way in.” —Roy’s heart nearly stopped at that, and it must have shown on his face, because Bob moved closer and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we got it under control, and his vitals are much better than they were, okay? He may also have a broken arm, but considering what it could have been? He’s a damn lucky man.”
Roy didn’t know if luck was the right word, but he’d believe anything in order to stop spiraling over the idea of the world conspiring to take him away from them—from him.
He’d lost his father when he was a teenager, and for someone who hadn’t been around death before then to have it happen to someone you idolized and adored, it was a sharp blow. He’d be lying if he said the shock of that didn’t shape his relationships or worries that somehow God would find a way to take away what he’d given him.
The Lord gives and He taketh away.
He hated that verse with every muscle in his body.
Cap and the rest of the engine crew stopped by for an update, their brows furrowed and their energy dulled, even as they tried to stay upbeat and positive.
“He’s going to pull through, Roy.” Chet nodded, refusing to meet his eye. His gaze directed toward treatment room 4. “He’s just going to. He always is all right.”
“Chet’s right, Roy.” Marco chimed in, crossing himself in muffled Spanish. “I said a rosary for him on the way over, and before he left I—” he cleared his throat. “I gave him my Cristo medallion.”
Emotion throbbed in Roy’s throat, stinging the backs of his eyes. He knew how much Marco’s Cristo meant to him, and to have him give it to Johnny for the journey…
“You’re right,” He’d choked out. “Knowing Johnny’s uncanny ability to skirt major disaster, I think you’re right. He’ll be okay.”
Roy said it firmly, his tone leaving no room for answers. It was an anchor for the guys and for himself because if he didn’t keep that hope alive, he was going to lose it, and Johnny needed him. He couldn’t fail him right now.
He didn’t know how much time had passed; the rest of the crew was forced to return to the station and remain available, although Cap had managed to stand Roy down until they knew for sure what was happening with Johnny. Roy was thankful for it, because while he knew he'd do his job with the same care, dedication, and attention to detail he normally did, it would be harder, and he couldn’t ensure he wouldn’t make a mistake.
They’d wheeled Johnny off for a CT and MRI a while ago, and while they’d wheeled him back, the orderlies barely allowed Roy a second look at him; it had been a while since he’d received an update.
“Roy?”
Spinning on his heel, Roy gripped the radio tighter and met Dixie’s exhausted smile. She stood pressed to the doorway, her palms flat to the door. Her hair, usually tied back so neatly in her bun, hung in loose strands around her face. Roy couldn’t help but notice the blood on her uniform, but didn’t dare lead with that question, terrified of where it would lead.
“Dixie,” he breathed, heart pounding in his chest. “Is he?”
He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, his heart stuck somewhere between his chest and mouth.
Dixie closed her eyes, inhaling softly, before opening them again. There was a tenderness around them reserved only for her friends. “He’s going to pull through, Roy. The black cat lands on his feet again.”
Roy’s knees almost gave out, and he ducked his head, a strangled ‘Thank God’ floating towards the rafters if the guy was listening.
“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Dixie warned, gripping his shoulder and guiding him back to several chairs in the hallway set out for family. “Doctor Brackett is concerned about a shadow on his brain scan, but the location is not dire, and he’ll be in ICU until he’s happy with his stability.”
Brain scan. Shadow.
The words tumble around his head like a washing machine on a frenetic spin cycle. Worst-case scenarios and devastating outcomes threatened to choke him.
“Hey, Roy. Listen to me,” Dixie said sternly. “Do not let your mind go there. You wanted me to be honest with you, and I am. I’m not sugarcoating anything, because I think that’s cruel, but these are just precautions. Dr. Brackett is doing everything by the book to make sure he has the best outcome possible, and I believe he will.”
Roy nodded numbly. “What—” his voice cracked. “What else? I saw… his arm… he hit the cliffs hard.”
“Broken,” Dixie tsked. “But a stable, clean break. He’ll be in a cast for a bit, but it won’t affect his career any.”
At the end of the day, Johnny suffered a TBI; they had yet to know its severity and how, if, it affected him. He had a broken arm, 5 broken ribs, a broken rib fragment had pierced his liver, which was being watched to see if he needed surgery, and several cuts that needed stitches on his arms.
Otherwise, he was a very lucky man.
It would take time, Roy knew, as he stood over Johnny’s bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as the ventilator kept his body from having to do the hard work of making his body function and putting unnecessary strain and energy that could go to areas that needed healing. But he was alive.
Placing his hand over Johnny’s, he ran his thumb over the back of Johnny’s cold hand. Small cuts littered its surface, scabs and still-fresh scrapes needing the tenderest care.
“You better get over this quick, you hear me, Johnny?” Roy whispered, aware of the ICU nurse in the corner, adjusting Johnny’s pain medication. “I don’t want to be stuck pulling overtime with Brice the Rulebook then I have to.”
Silence and the hum of the ventilator, and Johnny, part human, part machine, lying still on the bed.
Turning to leave, his designated 5 minutes of visiting time used up for the time being, he froze. He swore he’d felt Johnny’s fingers twitch against his own, imperceptibly, as faint as a butterfly landing on his son’s cheek last July.
Swiveling to face the bed, he stared at his friend, hoping against logic and reason Johnny would be watching him when he did. But he was the same as when he’d started to leave, or…
Roy squinted. He swore Johnny’s face moved in some way, but he knew if he told the nurse she would say it’s impossible because of all the drugs, and he knew that as a paramedic, but still…
He felt Johnny; he was aware. He knew.
And really, that’s all that mattered.
“I’ll be back with Joanne before visiting hours are over,” he said. “I promise.”
With one last look, he slipped into the ICU’s main floor and steadied himself against the edge of the nurse’s desk in the center of it all. Shock, adrenaline, and emotion hit and crashed all at once, leaving his stomach sour and his equilibrium turning.
It would pass, he knew that, and while it killed him to leave, he knew Johnny was in the best of hands. All they could do was wait, and when—not if—he woke up, he would be there.
Just like all the times Johnny had been there for him.