*Lichtenstein's POV*

No more than twenty minutes after I call the ambulance, the white vehicle comes rushing down the street, and park at the bottom of the hill. Although I don't see it at first, I hear the blaring sirens, when my eye catches a blazing glimpse of ruby and azure lights.

"Don't worry, Big Brudder," I whisper to Vash, who is still screaming, as my voice shakes violently. "Help is here right now."

Two paramedics come up the hill with a stretcher, and kneel down beside Vash and I. The one with the mousy brown hair looks to me. "This your brother, miss?," he asks me.

"Y-y-y-yes, h-he is," I answer, feeling really shy, and very nervous still. The man nods, and turns to look down at Vash.

The second one with black hair unbuttons Vash's jacket and begins to use the stethoscope on his chest.

"What's his name?"

"H-his name?"

"Yes ma'am. His name."

"V-Vash."

"Vash. Very interesting. His last name?"

"Zwingli."

"Vash Zwingli. Very well. How old is he?"

"E-e-eighteen, mister."

"Alright. Thank you, miss."

The black-haired one takes off the stethoscope, and places two fingers upon Vash's neck. I remember his ex-friend Roderich, who is a doctor, telling me that it's how you take one's "pulse." So I guess they're taking Vash's pulse.

The man touches his wrists, a spot right in front of his ear, and the insides of his ankles. "Heart and pulse are racing at the speed of light," he says more to his partner than to anyone else.

The light brown haired one leans down to Vash's ear. "Shh...calm down. We'll get you to the hospital," he reminds him. "Just relax. Relaxation is key here. We'll look at your eyes in the ambulance."

Both men lift Vash onto the stretcher, and stand up. I do too, and follow them down the hill and into the ambulance. In the vehicle, there are two other men, one with golden blonde hair and the other with chocolate brown. Light brown and blackie place the stretcher with Vash, continuing to yowl and cry, on the bed.

"Alright, son, alright," the golden blonde haired one says, pushing me to sit down beside him as he stands up to look at Vash. "Just try to calm down. It's time to calm down."

The brown-haired one pulls Vash's arm from his sleeve, wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm, places the stethoscope on the inside of his arm, and pumps air into the cuff. At the same time, black-hair pulls down Vash's lower lids, shines a small flashlight into his eyes, and tries to calm him down. "Son, I'm going to have you tell me if you can see this light," he says.

"I-I can't!," Vash bawls. "I'M BLIND! I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!" The paramedic nods, and looks closely at his waterline for anything unusual. It makes me nervous in a sense.

As he looks, the brown-haired one releases the air from the blood pressure from the cuff, and unwraps the cuff from Vash's arm. "He's got a very high blood pressure," he tells his colleagues. "This screaming and crying isn't helping him very much. He needs to relax."

The one with light brown hair turns to me. "Miss, do you know any ways to calm him down?," he asks. "He's nothing but stressed right now and needs comfort."

I nod nervously. "Y-yes, I-I-I...I do," I respond timidly. Golden blonde gets up, and motions for me to sit where he was sitting. "Go right ahead," he says.

Swallowing heavily, and my heart pounding, I hold Vash's hand in mine, and run a fingertip inside of his palm. "Vash," I whisper to my Swiss brother. "It's going to be okay. I know it burns, but you need to relax now. Th-these nice paramedics are getting you to the hospital so you can get your eyes fixed. It's time to relax...just relax..."

I hush Vash a bit longer, using a lax voice and a compassionate tone. And within minutes, he finally calms down. The tears of mucus still run down his cheeks, but he stops screaming so much, and it is reduced to quiet weeps and snivels.

The one with the brown hair pats me on the back with his rather large hand. "That was perfect, dear," he says, beginning to take Vash's blood pressure again. "It's still quite high, but it's a bit better than before."

Once we make it to the hospital, three of the paramedics push the stretcher down the hallways of the emergency room. The light brown-haired man takes my hand, and leads me down a different hall of the emergency room.

"Wh-wh-where are we going mister?," I ask him, looking around the cold hallways in shock.

"To the waiting room. So you can wait for the doctor to finish checking your brother in a safe place," he reassures me. "He'll tell you what's going on as soon as he can, not to worry."

We walk down the hall, and he takes me up a very short flight of stairs, and into another room. The halls are painted a nice color of cream, and there are a few chairs and benches in the area, with a desk up front. The paramedic leads me to a couch, and places a pillow in my arms.

"Just wait here, 'kay?," he says softly. "Lie down if you need to. The doctor will be done with your brother soon."

We say our farewells, as the paramedic goes out the door, and back down to find his colleagues. I sit on the bench, looking around the room at the other patients sitting there, as I think worriedly about what's going to happen to Vash.