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Jesse was on Wade's heels as he rushed through the kitchen/living room area and down the hall. The doctor was at the end of the corridor, in the doorway of his office, gowned and masked.

"They're here?" Paul asked looking around Jesse for the others.

"Jesse's here," Wade answered him. "With the medicine."

"Good. That's very good." Paul shouted Bre's name.

The girl raced down the stairs, from the loft, jumping down two at a time. Reaching them, she asked, "Dad?"

"They have the antibiotic. We want to put it in an IV so we get the maximum in Dylan in the shortest time. I'm going to need you to do that."

Bre hurried in and out of the medical supply closet getting everything she needed, then she lined it up on a tray beside Dylan's bed. Paul stood in the hallway, away from Dylan's door, overseeing everything she did.

Jesse was in front of him leaning against the door jam. A pressure had started in his chest the moment he had turned the corner into the room. When Wade had gone to Dylan's side, Jesse had stopped here.

His eyes went from the floor to Dylan to the floor again. Dylan was meant to be upright, breathing in the pure mountain air and scouting the forest floor, not lingering half-dead in a sick room. Jesse cleared his throat and quickly wiped at his eyes.

"It'll be okay, boy," Wade said. "My brother is as strong as they come."

Jesse nodded his head but continued to look at the floor.

It only took Bre a few minutes and the medicine was flowing through Dylan's veins. He'd hardly stirred during the whole procedure.

"Okay," Paul sighed, "now we hope for the best."

Jesse threw him a suspicious look. Hoping for the best didn't seem very professional. Surely they could do more than hope.

But when Wade didn't contradict him, Jesse's heart sank. He turned and made his way to the living room, his feet scraping at the shiny wood floor along the way. Reaching the couch, he fell into it, sinking deep into its comfortable cushions.

Jesse let it soothe him as best as it could, but found it lacking. He sighed and turned, exhausted and restless at the same time. No matter how tired he was, he knew there would be no sleep until he knew Dylan's fate.

Bre came into the kitchen and looked over at Jesse. "You want something to eat or drink?"

"No," Jesse mumbled.

Bre raised an eyebrow at him taking in his dirty, disheveled appearance. It was clear he'd had a rough day. She opened up the refrigerator and pulled out ingredients for a sandwich. She plated it and added some of the seemingly neverending supply of chips left in this world, along with a couple cookies she had baked earlier. After pouring a tall glass of tea, she brought it over to him and sat it on the coffee table in front of the couch where Jesse laid.

Jesse looked at it with disdain. "I ain't eatin that."

"Don't get all growly and rude because you're worried," Bre said sternly.

"Don't act like your a mom. You ain't but a couple years older than me."


"Who stinkin cares?"

Bre rolled her eyes. "I'm not momming you. You're a mess, and I reckoned you haven't eaten. Eat it, don't eat it. It's up to you." She waved her hand at him and sat back in a chair.

Jesse scoffed, and rolled over, turning his back to her. But the deep aroma of roast beef wafted over to him, and his stomach, knowing it was near, let him know it wanted it. Now.

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