Once Upon A Wonderland~ Killian Jones

Paramedics and Problems

Word Count: 1464

I was working the night shift, which should have been a warning in the first place. Nothing good ever happens on the night shift.

It was also supposedly multiple traumas instead of a single one, so that should've been a second warning to me. Multiple traumas are not a good sign.

Lastly, the patient was a pirate.

The last factor shouldn't have been surprising, given there are all sorts of people in Storybrooke from all sorts of stories, but this particular pirate could have been (and was on multiple occasions) dangerous.

I didn't realize that until I was standing in the freezing Maine air, in full trauma garb, watching the paramedics haul a gurney out of an ambulance as a woman relayed his stats to me.

"Male, roughly 32 years old, multiple lacerations on his face, arms and chest. Three bones in his rib cage are suspected broken." The woman relayed.

"Any internal bleeding?" I asked, taking hold of the side of the gurney.

"We haven't checked!" The woman called, running back to the ambulance as soon as the injured man was in my care. I looked down at the patient. His face, which was rugged and angular, was covered in blood and scratches. He was groaning, scrunching up his eyes against the light and trying to get up.

"Sir, sir, we need you to relax. You can't get up, you have broken ribs." I had to yell this information over the other sounds of the hospital: wheels squeaking, people shouting, shoes slapping on tile floors. Speakers constantly blaring information that went through one ear and out the other.

I lifted my head and looked around. "Does anyone know this man?!" One woman came sprinting through the automatic trauma doors. She had blonde hair and a frantic expression on her face. I knew her from the times she'd brought her son and various other family members to the hospital. It was Emma Swan.

"I know him!" She cried, running up to the other side of the gurney. She looked down on the man with a mixture of worry and dislike.

"Alright, Mrs. Swan, I need you to tell me this man's name." I told her, not wasting time with formalities.

"Killian," she replied. "Killian Jones. And hide him, hide him quickly!"

I motioned for the paramedics and nurses to push the gurney into a trauma room and lock the door, close the blinds. As soon as he was settled the nurses attached the heart monitor to his chest and I got to work.

I pulled out a miniature flashlight and forced his eyes open with my opposite hand. "Mr. Jones, I'm Dr. Grace Hartfords, the attending trauma surgeon here at Storybrooke Hospital. I need you to stay relaxed; all we're doing is running some tests to make sure you're alright." I spoke to Killian in the calmest voice I could muster. Quietly so Emma and the patient wouldn't hear, I asked a nurse standing next to me what his heart rate was.

"140." She replied, and moved on to get some supplies.

"He's tachycardic, but I think it might go down once he regains full consciousness." I relayed to no one in particular. I was still waving the light over Killian's eyes, checking his pupil's response to light.

"Get that bloody light out of my face!" Killian groaned, swatting my hand away.

"Be careful, he has a-" Emma was about to say, but I cut her off.

"Mr. Jones, please stay calm, we need to check your brain function-" my breath hitched in my throat as the patient lifted his other hand. In place of his left hand, he had a gleaming, razor-sharp hook.