Well….this is interesting. A new fanfic for a new fandom! I've recently started watching this show (I'd seen a few episodes in the past but never watched it faithfully) and I love it! And, as with every new fandom I become obsessed with, I decided to try writing a fanfic for it! And an angst one nonetheless. Why? Well….anyone who's seen my past fanfics knows I'm somewhat of an angst addict….

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! I think it's somewhat different from the other MitM fanfics on here—at least a little—but please read it! As always, I really want to see what you readers think!


It was a simple decision. One that didn't require much comprehension and involved every day, one worded answers. Yes or no. That's all he had to say. He could do that, couldn't he? It was only one answer. One word. How hard could it be? Yes….or no.

"Mr. Wilkerson?"

Forget the numerous consequences involved; Eternal guilt wasn't that unbearable was it? If they hated him for it, he'd be able to handle it….right?

"Mr. Wilkerson, did you hear me?"

It'd be their own fault; they gave him the power, after all. If they wanted a different outcome, they should have been the ones in here. The ones to choose between those simple, simple words. Yes….or no….

"Sir, we really need you to make this decision. We're running a pretty tight shift and—"

"Dammit!" Hal cried, furiously slamming his fists slamming at his sides, "I can't even decide what to eat for breakfast, let alone whether or not to pull the plug on my son's life support system!" His voice was fierce, irritation stinging each word as it fell from his mouth. This wasn't fair. Of all the damn things in the world, why did this have to happen to him? "I mean….that's my kid lying over there!" he continued, making a swooping gesture at the bed up against the wall, "You can't expect me to rush this!"

"Sir….Mr. Wilkonson, sir…." A voice—the same one from earlier and belonging to a middle-aged doctor—said slowly, "I…."—she looked at her colleague, a slightly younger man, standing behind her—"….we know this is hard for you, but you really have to give us an—"

"I know, I know!" Hal snapped back, frustration melting away into a weary desperation, "but…." He sighed, his shoulder sagging beneath his beige coat. "I just wish there were some way to confirm which route I should take."

The medical personnel exchanged glances once again, and had the situation been different, Hal would have laughed at the bitter irony of it all. Of all the odd jobs he'd done in the past, deciding the fate of a coma patient—the last one having been a complete stranger—had been his least favorite. Half the family wanted him to live, half the family wanted him to die. Hal took a third option, one that required neither decision and involved birds. Sure, maybe he dueled with karma, but he never really believed in that kind of thing, so it didn't matter.

That's what he told himself, anyway, before karma came back and bit him in the ass.

"Is…." He squeaked, causing the doctors to look his way, "….is there anything left you can do for him?" His stomach twisted in a painful knot upon uttering those words and he bit his lip.

The male doctor's expression flattened, while the woman sighed. "Mr. Wilkerson….Hal….I'm sorry—I really am—but we've performed every test we could. The truth of the matter is that the accident left your son with severe damage to his occipital lobe and spinal cord. Even if he did wake up, it would be far from a pleasant reunion." At the flicker of pain in Hal's eyes, she added, "on his part."

More verbal bullets to his already aching heart: eyes widening as dread spread throughout his body.

"You…." He said weakly, his knees close to buckling "….you said 'if.' What can you….how can you…."

This shouldn't be happening; it couldn't be. Any moment now, he'd realize this was all just some horrible, horrible nightmare. He wasn't being forced to play 'grim reaper.' Wasn't being forced to choose whether his son lived or….

"Are you….are you saying there's no chance….he'll wake up….at all?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"My son…." Hal repeated hoarsely, pretending he didn't see the pallid, still form lying only a few feet away, "are you saying if….if I leave him like….like that…. he'll stay comatose? For….forever?"

"No." The female doctor stated, hand clutched around a chart tucked under her arm.

No. Right there. That was his….

"But that doesn't mean you should keep your hopes up."


"It's been almost six months, Mr. Wilkerson. That's more than enough time for comatose car crash patients to retain permanent brain damage."

His heart stopped. "P-permanent…"

This time around, the younger doctor spoke. "He'll be blind, sir. Almost if not completely. And…." He paused, risking a nervous glance at the subject of conversation, "partially paralyzed."

If the bomb hadn't dropped before, with the younger man's words echoing in his ears, Hal felt himself die a little inside. "P….Pa….Paralyzed?" He reiterated; voice shaky with panic and disbelief. "He….He'll be…." Hal shook his head frantically. "No! No that's not fair!" he shrieked, eyes prickling with tears, "After all these years, he finally makes something of himself and now this happens?!" This was too much to handle. Too much to take into account. "I can't…." he sputtered, all but collapsing, "I can't do this."

"Mr. Wilkerson, you don't have a choice."

His head fell into his hands. "You don't understand. I can't. You'll have to….to get someone else."

"There is no one else. Both his mother and his wife are incapable of making this decision—you know that."

He nodded, feebly, his heartbeat slowing to a dull, painful thud. It was true. He did know. The doctors knew. It all came down to him. Him and him alone. This time around, he couldn't rely on Lois to back him up, as she'd offered to do the last time. He couldn't rely on unfamiliar family members; this was his son. His family. But….

"What…." Hal whispered finally, raising his head to meet the doctor's eyes, "what do you think I should do?"

....a professional opinion never hurt.

The female doctor took a step forward, her tight-lipped expression melting into a look of sympathy. "I think….you should do what's best" she told him, putting a hand on his trembling shoulder, "for your son."

'For your son….'

Something in Hal's mind seemed to clear upon hearing those words. He knew what he had to do.

"Could you…." He asked, eyes trailing back to the figure on the bed, "could you give us some privacy?"

The male doctor opened his mouth in protest, but the older one cut him off. "Of course." She said, nudging her colleague towards the door.

As she slipped out of the room, the younger doctor hung back, aggravation shining behind his eyes. "Five minutes." He said, before shutting the door behind him.

Finally alone, a high pitched, strangled gasp of air escaped Hal's lungs. Five minutes. That didn't give him much time.

Running a sweaty palm through his hair, the grief-stricken man made his way over to his son, falling into a chair placed at his bedside. Heart beat escalating, he bit his lip, forcing his eyes off the floor, and into the ashen face of his eldest child. Apart from the stitches lining his cheek bone and upper lip, and the wire-esque devices—Hal wasn't sure what they were—connecting him to the machine that was currently breathing for him, he looked very much the same. Even his hair had begun to grow back; dirty-blond strands peeking out from the bandage wound around his head. He looked a tad stiffer than normal—almost statue-like—but that could have been due to the heavy brace encasing his fragile neck.

Hal sniffled, the sight tugging at his heartstrings.

This was going to be painful.

"Hey….uh….Francis…." he began, leaning forward slightly, "it's been a while, huh? Not that I'm, you know, it's your fault or anything—that'd be ridiculous—but still….I haven't seen you in a long—"

Realizing he'd begun to ramble, Hal immediately switched topics.

"L-look….I….I've been given a decision to make—and I'm not happy with it—but the doctors are adamant about an answer and I really don't….what I mean is…." His voice cracked. "I don't want to lose you, Francis; I know we haven't always gotten along, but you're my son. I'm gonna love you no matter what you do…." Laughing bitterly, Hal blinked away his blurring vision. "And getting into some damn accident won't change that…."

He swallowed, the saliva thick down his throat.

"But….well….I don't want to see you like this! No one does! Your mother….Piama….they didn't even make it past the waiting room before bursting into tears, on our way up here. It was rather terrifying, actually. Two strong women undergoing a breakdown—what are the odds?" He shook his head, "Francis if you knew what you were doing to those two….ah who am I kidding? Not even you could pull off a prank like that…."

Though don't I wish you could. His thoughts finished sadly. It sounded cruel, but if it meant he'd see his son open his eyes, get out of bed with that smug expression of his then dammit, he'd go right along wishing it. At this point, Hal would give anything to look his son straight in his sky blue eyes, instead of the sickly purplish eyelids covering them.

Even his own life.

Not that that would really help, what was left of his rationality argued, One of us would still end up….His stomach churned….dead.


Was that….was that his final answer?

To just….give up? Pull the plug….literally? Rob his son from any slim chance of survival?

What kind of father was he?

Only half-caring about his manliness, Hal grabbed his son's hand; flinching at how frail it felt in his own hand….and how cold it was.


The truth of the matter is that the accident left your son with severe damage to his occipital lobe and spinal cord. Even if he did wake up, it would be far from a pleasant reunion."

"It's been almost six months, Mr. Wilkerson. That's more than enough time for comatose car crash patients to retain permanent brain damage."

"I think….you should do what's best….for your son."


He gasped, grip tightening on his son's hand.

That was it, wasn't it?

That's what the doctor had been trying to tell him.

No matter what route he chose, what decision he made, the outcome would be the same.

He'd finally read between the lines.

Hal let out a sob, and the tears broke free, rolling down his cheeks as he cursed karma in vain…..never once releasing Francis' still hand from his own. Hell knows how many times he'd begged and protested against having to decide….how often he'd hoped someone else would take charge, and he'd be spared any and all consequence.

He never thought the decision would make itself.

Nor did he think that, ultimately, it would be a no win situation.

After another moment or two, Hal straightened, wiping his still leaking eyes with his sleeve. After a few staggered breaths, he squeezed his son's hand, before pulling away, and rising to his feet. "I love you, Francis." He whispered, though it sounded more like a choke, "We all do. And….we'll never forget you, son."


Hal turned, and startled to see the remorseful eyes of the doctor observing him from the now opened door. "I didn't see you come in." He said.

"Don't worry about it." She replied, her voice etched in sympathy. "That's completely understandable."


He watched as her gaze shifted behind him—The ache in his heart increasing profoundly as he waited for her inevitable question.

"Mr. Wilkerson." Here it comes. "Have you made your decision?"

It was one word. One small, three letter word. Yet it was one word Hal could not bring himself to say. Instead, his head lowered, and he exhaled slowly, trying to ease the growing pain in his chest. "Just…." He squeaked, thoughts focused on the remainder of his family—waiting anxiously—down the hall "just give them a chance to say goodbye."

The doctor nodded, once again touching his shoulder in attempts to empathize with him. "Of course." She said, "I'll go get them now."

She promptly exited; leaving Hal alone with his son for what he knew would be the last time.

The last time any of them would ever see their eldest son, husband or brother again.

The last time he'd be able to seriously make a decision.

And the last time he'd ever use those two, everyday words so nonchalantly.

Hm….not sure I like the very end, but for the most part, I'm relatively satisfied with this. I love Francis, especially during the time he worked on Otto's ranch, and it bothered me slightly that most angst fics for this fandom were about Reese. Don't get me wrong, I love Reese as a character, but he's not someone I'd read angst fics for....So, with barely any Francis angst fics to read (I think I've found like, two) I decided to write one myself!

I hope none of you were disappointed. But hey, let me know!