(Rob) 

When we got back to the ER, I wasted absolutely zero milliseconds. I jumped out of the cab, leaving Chance and Adam to deal with cab fares. I'd pay them back later. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, which isn't extraordinarily fast, but very little gets me up and running anyway. I nearly collided with Kevin, who had come running over to me.

"They won't let us back in the ER," he told me. "They won't tell us anything."

"Next of kin only," Scott grumped.

"You try, you go back there," Kirstie begged me. "Y'all are the closest to next of kin he's got right here, right now. "

"Where's Adam and Chance?" Avi asked.

"Cab," I gasped out. "I left them to sort out fares. I'll pay 'em back later."

"Go back there," Mitch ordered "And make them let us back there."

"I'll try," I promised, then ran up to the triage nurse.

"Yes?" she asked me, looking down her very long, very pointy nose at me. "Can I help you?"

"My friend is back there. Tim Foust. Can I please go back there with him?"

"Next of kin only. Family only," she said and pointed me back to the direction I came from.

Chance came sprinting up next to me. "Tim Foust, need to see Tim Foust."

"Family only," she repeated.

"We're as close to family as you can get here in New York!" I snapped. "His wife is in Tennessee. His parents are in Texas. And we are his best friends and we're here so let us see him!"

"Thanks, Scott!" Adam yelled, jogging up over to us. "He wouldn't take my credit card, so Scott threw a fifty at him and he stopped his foreign belly-aching and let us go."

The nurse glared at him. "You supposed to be family of Tim Foust too?"

"Yes," Adam lied. "He's my cousin."

She eyed his long blonde hair and light blue eyes. "Yeah, right."

"Just let us back there," I ordered her. "You can ask Tim. We're a group. A band. Best friends. Please." I felt my eyes start to water again Oh my God. Ugh. I hadn't cried this much in months but tonight I was a regular little geyser, spraying tears everywhere. I yanked my glasses off and rubbed my eyes. By tomorrow morning I may not have eyes anymore— I'd just have two hazel pools for eyeballs.

She watched me for a minute and I did my best to look pitiful. I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes again for good measure. Pentatonix wandered over to us and the lady looked at Avi for a minute. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking sad. Finally, with a great sigh, she muttered about going to ask him if it was all right for us to come back.

"I will storm the ER if I have to," Adam said determinedly.

"Ditto that," I agreed, trying to peer past the nurses' desk. There was a whiteboard back there and I poked Mr. Perfect Vision net to me. "Hey, can you read that?' I pointed back to it.

Adam saw it and moved closer to me to get a better view. "Err, let's see...." He leaded over the desk a little. "Um.. oh, Room 4, TF, WM, CC- CP, SOB, R/U AMI. Dr. Matthews." He looked at me. "That mean anything to you?"

I shook my head. "Alphabet soup to me."

"WTF?" Mitch agreed. "IDEK that."

"Blah blah blah, Dr. Matthews," Kirstie grumbled, trying to look at it herself.

Unfortunately, it meant something to Kevin, who leaned into the wall, looking pained. Seeing that made my heart fall.

"Kevin?" Scott looked to him. "Translation?"

He shook his head. "I got to pray."

I grabbed Kevin's arm. "Pray all you want, but translate first."

He pressed a finger to the inside corner of his right eye. "TF, Tim Foust. WM—"

"No shit," Mitch remarked. "That much we could figure out."

"Mitch, be quiet," Chance said politely.

"WM, white male. CC, chief complaint. CP, chest pain. SOB, short of breath. R/U, rule out. AMI, acute myo—" Kevin's voice cracked and he rubbed his face. "Acute myocardial infarction."

Kirstie stared at him. "OK, now translate your translation."

"A heart attack, Kirstie, they want to rule out—exclude—a heart attack," he moaned, then added a couple of whispered words in prayer.

"A heart attack?" Mitch shrieked, only to be rewarded with a slap by Scott, who was also crying.

All right, that did it. "Screw that nurse," I decided, then swung open the door by the nurses' station. "Scott, follow after me. Then Avi. Look like you belong here. Chance, Kevin, you all next. Adam, then Mitch and Kirstie. Do not take no for an answer. Anybody tries to prevent you from getting to him, get past them. I don't care if they call security on me. I honestly don't give a shit." I swallowed, orchestrating our plan of attack.

"We're right behind you, Rob," I heard Scott say. He was ready for action too. I pushed through the door and paraded right past four nurses that just seemed to gape at us. We marched past two orderlies and one doctor, who approached Scott. He ignored him and walked past him.

"Dr. Gerhardt!" she insisted.

Scott gave her a weird look. "I am not Dr. Gerhardt. Now get out of my way.

"Do you think we ought to admit Mr. Hollingsworth?"

"Sure, whatever," Scott grunted. I snorted as we barreled past and turned a corner.

"Room four, did you say, Kevin?" I asked, eyeing the room numbers.

"Four," Kevin confirmed as we stood aside to let a stretcher with a large woman on it roll past.

"Rob!" someone in a wheelchair called from down the hall. "Rob!"

My head whipped around and squealed. I'd recognize that halo of red hair anywhere. "Austiiin!!!!" I threw myself at him and he grasped me tightly in a hug.

"I know about Tim," he told me, then gestured to the young nurse that was pushing him along. "I talked Stacie into letting me come down here."

She eyed us bemusedly. "He sold your souls for it."

"You can have it," I assured her. "Just take us to Tim."

"Room four," Kevin added.

Stacie nodded. "When do I get my tickets?"

"After we see and talk to Tim," Austin promised.

"Room four is to the left." She pushed Austin along and we trotted alongside them. She poked her head around a corner. "Excuse me—oh, Dr. Matthews. I'm so sorry, we will wait."

"Who are you?" asked a voice nearly as deep as Tim's.

"I'm Stacie Fitzpatrick, RN, from the third floor. I have a Mr. Austin Brown here who is claiming relation to your patient," she introduced herself, then as an afterthought, added, "And the rest of his band. And, err, Pentatonix."

"A—what?" he asked.

"Pentatonix," Scott explained to the curtain. "We're a band too. Also Tim's friends."

"Come in." Tim sounded so weak. "Let them in. They're practically brothers."

I grinned. Practically brothers. Hearing Tim say that made my heart happy.

The doctor pulled the curtain back and my eyes fell on my almost-brother laying there bare-chested, with a gazillion wires stuck all over his chest and stomach, feeding into a machine that was bleep-bleeping out a steady rhythm, presumably his heart rate. Kevin's eyes were peeled on it. I wondered what he saw. It just looked like a connect-the-dots puzzle to me. Mitch squeaked again, and oddly enough, so did Chance—who is not a very squeaky person. I eyed Chance, who caught me looking at him, and gave him a small smile. I knew he held a lot inside and kept his stronger emotions close to himself. That particular squeak was very telling. Seeing Tim so frail was killing him. Seeing Austin so out of it was hurting his heart. I put a hand on his shoulder to let him know I was there for him—for all of us. Friends. Bandmates. Brothers. Always. I would do anything for these four men.

"Thanks, man," he murmured and I pulled him into a hug.