Young and Doomed | Frerard

Chapter Four

The first thing Mikey saw when he opened his eyes was brightness.

Lights, to be precise. Blinding lights blaring into his vision and making him want to shut his eyes again and fade back into darkness all over again, which he seemed to be doing against his will anyway.

"Mikey!" Or maybe not.

"Michael, squeeze my hand." The voice commanded, so Mikey did.

"Michael, please squeeze my hand."

I am! Mikey wanted to shout in frustration. He was squeezing, it was just hard to do so when he couldn't feel his own hand.

"Nervous system still unresponsive, but pupils are looking fine." The bright light suddenly faded, and Mikey blinked several times to clear his vision. Around his bed (or whoever's bed it was, it wasn't his) four people were crowded, all of them staring at him expectantly.

Oh God, was he supposed to be doing something? He didn't know what to do; he'd already opened his eyes. Now what?

Mikey tried to shrink away from the faces, but was having an exceedingly hard time doing so as he legs weren't functioning the way he'd expected them to. But maybe they'd always done that, Mikey wasn't sure. He also wasn't sure what was attached to his face, but it didn't seem to be going anywhere and Mikey wasn't about to make it.

"Michael, I am going to ask you a series of questions. Blink once for yes, twice for no." A woman suddenly instructed; her jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Uh, okay. It seemed pretty self-explanatory to Mikey.

"Is the date September 10th familiar to you?"

No. Two blinks.

A murmur went up from the surrounding people, and panic rose in Mikey's chest. What was the right answer? Was yes wrong? Maybe he should say no from now on. Would lying be worse?

Mikey's worries were cut off by another question. "Do you know why you're here?"

No. Two blinks. He didn't know, and that was the truth. The voices rose up again, but they were speaking too quickly for Mikey to understand them. He was asked a few more strange questions, before the black ponytail lady turned to another woman - this one with blonde hair. "It's too early to tell, but it's possible Michael has retrograde amnesia due to the stress and neurological damage his brain endured."

Retro-what? Mikey hadn't heard that word before and didn't know what it meant. Was something wrong? Was something wrong with him?

"Michael is young and incredibly able to make a full recovery, but at this point in time our focus with him is going to be working on his physical recovery." The voice continued to drone on, and Mikey tuned it out as his eyes began to close.

He was tired. No, he was more than that; he was exhausted. And he really wanted to take a nap right now.

✰✰✰

When Mikey awoke for the second time that day, he didn't open his eyes immediately. Instead, he waited, listening to the voices in the room. They were new voices – different from the ones before – and they seemed more emotional, and angrier.

"This is so dumb! I'm fine!"

"You are not fine." A second voice argued. "You can't just wish all your problems away, Bob. You need to listen to me and do what's right for your body. It's not hard!"

"I bet you hear that one from your girlfriend a lot."

"Bob!" The outraged voice replied.

"Sorry." Came a muttered apology, grumbled out unenthusiastically. "I just don't see why I have to stay in this dump. Especially with some dude in a coma."

Mikey opened his eyes at this, looking over at the boy as best he could. Were they talking about him? Was he the dude in the coma? Wait, had he been in a coma?

The room was much darker now, with the only light coming from the lamp beside the other boy's bed. The window's shades were now down, and Mikey presumed a few hours must have passed.

"Shit, were his eyes open before?" The guy remarked as he spotted Mikey's changed appearance. He was a boy - around Mikey's age - lying in the hospital bed across from him. There was a man too, who Mikey presumed to be the boy's father.

"Language, Bob." The man corrected, and Bob scoffed. "Oh boy."

There were a few moments of silence, before the man spoke again. "I have to go now. I'll be back tomorrow to speak with the your doctors about your treatment."

"You're leaving me?" Bob gasped, his eyes widening. "What the fuck? You just can't do that! You can't leave me in this place!"

"It's late, Bob, and it's not like I can sleep here." Bob's father argued as he grabbed his bag. "Goodnight."

"Yeah, whatever." Bob sighed, glancing over at Mikey once his father had left. "I guess it's not like you have much to worry about, coma kid."

Not much to worry about? What did he mean?

"I heard your mom say your old man kicked it." Bob continued, tiredly rubbing his eyes. "Must be nice."

Dead? Mikey's father was dead?

"Fuck, you probably can't even hear me, either." Bob flailed his arm a couple times in Mikey's direction, as if looking for a response.

Yes, I can! Mikey blinked rapidly, hoping the other boy could see it. He did. "Damn," Bob sucked in his breath. "That must suck; being able to hear everything but not be able to talk. Hope that changes soon, coma kid." The boy turned off the lamp, casting the room into darkness. Mikey would have preferred it to be left on, but it's not like he could do anything about it now.

Or could he?

Mikey stopped suddenly, thinking. He could talk, couldn't he? Nothing was stopping him, right? Quietly, Mikey hummed, too softly for Bob to hear. It worked; Mikey wasn't mute. But no one needed to know.

"Talk to you tomorrow, weirdo." Bob called out from the dark, and Mikey smiled.

Same goes for you, Bob.

broooo this fic is now 76 pages long on the word document for it. it took me so long to get to 76 pages on my last fic haha

sorry that it took like a million years to post another chapter, i have a ton already written out so hopefully i'll post them soon.