“Fuck your data!” River scooped Finn into his arms, surprised by how light he felt, how fragile. “He's not breathing right, and you're worried about your goddamn research?”
Dr. Voss finally looked up, seeming to register for the first time that Finn was unconscious and possibly in serious medical danger.
River held Finn against his chest while they waited for the paramedics, whispering every prayer and promise he could think of. The basement laboratory felt like a crime scene now, filled with the wreckage of equipment that had been designed to help but had nearly killed the person River loved most.
“I'm sorry,” River whispered against Finn's hair. “I'm so fucking sorry I let her do this to you.”
The ambulance ride felt like drowning in slow motion. River sat beside Finn's gurney while paramedics worked with quick, professional movements, checking vital signs and asking questions River couldn't answer.
“He has some kind of neurological condition,” River said, his voice barely steady. “Temporal displacement episodes.”
The paramedic's expression shifted to something between confusion and concern. “What kind of doctor was performing this treatment?”
“I don't know anymore,” River admitted, watching Finn's face for any sign of consciousness returning. “I thought she was trying to help him, but now...”
Now River wasn't sure about anything except that he'd let someone he barely knew perform experimental procedures on the person who mattered most, and Finn might pay the price for River's desperation to find solutions.
Maya was waiting at the hospital entrance like a storm about to break, her scrubs wrinkled from rushing over from her own job, her face a mask of fury and terror that made River's stomach drop. She took one look at Finn being wheeled into the emergency room and turned on River with the kind of rage that came from months of accumulated fear.
“What the hell happened?” Maya's voice carried across the waiting room, drawing attention from other families dealing with their own crises. “You said you were getting a second opinion, not letting some quack experiment on him with electrical equipment.”
“Maya, I can explain?—”
“Explain what? How you let someone torture my brother because you couldn't accept that his condition might not have a cure?” Maya stepped closer, her voice dropping to something more dangerous than shouting. “How you convinced him to risk his life for experimental treatment that nearly killed him?”
River felt every word like a knife between his ribs because Maya was right. He had pushed for the experimental treatment. He had convinced Finn to trust Dr. Voss despite warning signs that something wasn't right about her approach.
“I thought it would help,” River said, his voice breaking on the admission. “I thought if we could just find the right treatment, the right approach...”
“You thought you could fix him.” Maya's expression was a mixture of heartbreak and disgust. “You thought love meant solving his medical problems instead of accepting them.”
Before River could respond, a doctor in scrubs appeared with the carefully neutral expression that hospital staff learned for delivering news that might destroy people's lives. River felt his heart stop as he waited for words that would either give him hope or take away everything that mattered.
“Mr. Torres is stable,” the doctor said, and River felt like he could breathe again for the first time in hours. “The electromagnetic exposure caused some neurological stress, but his vital signs are strong and I don't see any signs of permanent damage.”
“Thank God,” River whispered, his legs going weak with relief.
“However,” the doctor continued, “he's still unconscious, and his brain activity suggests he's experiencing some kind of extended neurological event. His EEG readings show patterns consistent with REM sleep, but much more intense. As if he's dreaming with unusual vividness while unconscious.”
Maya's face went pale. “How long could this last?”
“We're not sure. Has he experienced anything like this before?”
River and Maya exchanged glances, both thinking about Finn's episodes and the way they seemed to transport him to experiences that felt more real than actual life.
“He has a condition,” River said carefully. “Memory displacement episodes. They've been getting more severe lately.”
“I see. Well, we'll continue monitoring his brain activity. But right now, all we can do is wait.”
Waiting turned out to be the hardest thing River had ever done. He sat beside Finn's hospital bed while machines beeped their steady rhythm, monitoring vital signs that stayed frustratingly stable while Finn remained somewhere else entirely. His face was peaceful, like he was having pleasant dreams, but River knew better.
“I'm here,” River said quietly, holding Finn's hand and trying not to think about how still it was. “Wherever you are, whatever you're experiencing, I'm right here waiting for you to come back.”
Jake appeared sometime after midnight, moving through the hospital room with the careful quiet of someone who'd dealt with medical crises before. He took one look at River's red-rimmed eyes and exhausted posture, then settled into the chair beside him without saying anything.
“How long has he been out?” Jake asked finally.
“Eight hours. The doctors say his brain activity is off the charts, like he's experiencing something incredibly intense, but he won't wake up.” River rubbed his face with hands that shookfrom too much coffee and not enough sleep. “What if I broke him? What if that treatment damaged his brain permanently?”
