Because Sam had no idea what he would encounter any time he leaped into a new situation, he'd set for himself two simple rules: don't make too much of a fool of himself, and try not to die. Oftentimes, one of these rules was immediately put to the test; on very special leaps, he was confronted with both. Like now, for instance. Once his vision cleared and his hold on his body solidified, he found himself violently thrust upward and his body yanked back in reaction. Holding on for dear life, he yelped and frantically tried to stay upright.
He was on a horse. A wild horse! The furious creature thrashed left, right, up, down, and several directions all at once. Once again, God, Time, Fate, or Whatever decided to leap him in during the most inopportune and potentially dangerous moment, because apparently GTFW needed a good laugh at his expense every once in a while. The horse bucked again, yanking his torso and legs in opposite directions. If Sam were to be thrown, he realized how easily he'd be trampled to death. But as the movements became more frenzied, he found it increasingly difficult to hold on. His grip finally giving out, he was tossed to the ground. Hoping he wasn't about to have a hoof embedded into his face, he rolled out of the way, shielded his head, and let out a shriek.
And was met with uproarious laughter.
He peeked between his arms. A crowd was watching him, not from a ranch fence like he was expecting, but from inside a building. A restaurant? What was he doing horse riding in a restaurant? Pink and yellow lights lit laughing faces from the ceiling. And next to Sam, the horrible beast that had thrown him towered silently above: a mechanical bull.
Sighing with annoyance, he fell back onto the mat underneath him. "Oh boy."
-
"That was some riding, Dorothy!" a voice called to Sam as he stumbled off of the stage amidst the hoots and hollers of the crowd. Dorothy? Great, another humiliation. He was a woman again! Though he'd never guess from the clothing. In fact, it was the most comfortable he could recall being dressed as a woman: a white button-up shirt with small details in blue thread, jeans, and-the cherry on top-a pair of comfortable boots. No heels. He supposed he should thank GTFW for giving him a break on that front. There would be no pinching of his toes or twisting of his ankles in those horrible torture devices this leap.
A hand clapped gently onto his shoulder and he saw the girl who had spoken to him. She couldn't be older than 18. Dressed in a similar getup of jeans and a checkered shirt, the Native American girl wore her hair in big, teased curls. Her cheeks dimpled as her face lit up with amusement. "I can't believe you did that!"
Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, Sam glanced behind him as the next rider flailed and shouted with enthusiasm. "Heh...me neither."
"Hey. I'm proud of you." She received a sheepish, lopsided grin in response, and she jerked her head toward the tables. "Now let's eat!"
Sam managed not to trip up during dinner, although finding common ground with a teenage girl was a little bit out of his element. Like countless leaps before this, however, he found that if he let the other person carry most of the conversation, he was able to look less conspicuous. Not that it was easy to carry on much of a conversation over the loud music, dancing, and the raucous crowd gathered around the mechanical bull.
From the way the other patrons dressed and the music playing over the speakers, Sam guessed he'd landed in the late 70s or early 80s. And judging from the hats and belt buckles, it was somewhere in the southwest. Or maybe that was just the theme of this restaurant. The girl he was eating with appeared to be a close friend, which meant that (much to his disappointment) Sam was most certainly a teenager as well. Fantastic. As far as he was concerned, teenage girls were unpredictable, emotional rollercoasters. It was not a world he cared to be immersed in.
"I just wanna thank you for coming out here, girl," his companion beamed over the noise, "You never go anywhere." Sam nodded over his drink, carefully neutral. She crinkled her forehead anxiously. "I mean that in a good way. I just...I know it was a big deal for you. Especially getting your mom to let you borrow her car." Her cheeks dimpled happily. "I'm just glad I get to spend my birthday with my best friend!"
"Oh, happy birthday," Sam congratulated, surprised, without thinking. The girl seemed to take it as a joke and snorted. Nervously, Sam retreated into his glass of soda again.
So Dorothy was shy, which worked out for him since he didn't need to be a huge conversationalist. Maybe he was here to boost her confidence? Nah, it was never that simple. Perhaps the leap had to do with his new best friend. He hadn't picked up on anything worrying in the conversation so far. Right now, he needed some guidance from...
His eyes glided toward the dance floor, and he hid a smirk behind his hand. Unseen by the crowd, a colorfully dressed hologram was dancing to the honkytonk music and having a grand old time. There was no mistaking who it was; his neon vest and light-up green tie made him stick out like a sore thumb. Good lord, his shoes had LED lights in them. As he bopped to the tune, he fell into step with a woman in cut-off shorts and shamelessly let his eyes drop downward.
Lowering his chin, Sam gave Al a scolding look. When their eyes met, Al grinned cheekily and motioned toward the exit with his cigar.
"I'm gonna get some fresh air for a bit," Sam told the girl across from him, gathering up his purse, "Do you mind?" She shook her head. "Thanks. Be right back."
-
Even though night had fallen, the heat still hung in the air outside. When Sam exited the establishment, he was surprised at how small the area seemed. A few smatterings of buildings dotted the desert around him, but most of the life seemed to be happening at this restaurant. He'd expected to be in a busier city from the crowd; now he just assumed this was the only place in town.
After a short wait, Al phased through the wall behind him. He kept his gaze cheerily toward the wall, as if he had x-ray vision and could see right through it. "Hoohoo, that's some party in there, Sam. Did you ride the mechanical bull yet?"
Sam's eyes rolled skyward.
"Urban Cowboy!" Al shouted enthusiastically, either ignoring or not noticing his reaction, "Those things were all the rage after that movie came out, they got real popular around this time. It's a wild ride, Sam, you gotta try it."
"I'm familiar with it," Sam grumbled, subconsciously rubbing his sore back end.
Al sniffed and wiped his nose, shoving his hand into his pants to fetch the handlink. "I would've gotten here sooner, but we had a little difficulty finding you. Whoever you leaped into, she completely shut down when she arrived in the Waiting Room. We managed to get the time and place out of her, but after that she curled into a ball and clammed up on us."
Sam frowned and took a concerned step forward. "Is she okay?"
"Oh yeah, this happens all the time," Al shrugged off casually, "People react to the leaping process differently. Sometimes they close up; sometimes they're real chatterboxes. Point is, we don't know who you are, so we can't exactly tell you why you're here." He quirked an eyebrow and waited.
"Oh. Yeah." Sam saw what he was getting at and opened up his purse, taking out his wallet and locating Dorothy's ID. Until just now, it didn't occur to him that he had no idea what he looked like, so he inspected the small picture of his host. Dorothy had thin lips and a face dotted with freckles; she wore her blonde hair long and straight, pinned back out of her face. "Her name is Dorothy..." He brought the card closer to read the small print. "...Roland. Born February 10th, 1964." He squinted thoughtfully. "That'd make this what, 1982?"
Al finished relaying the information to Ziggy via the handlink and shook his head. "Uh, no, but close. It's 1981. August 8th, to be exact." He grinned. "Happy birthday, Sam." Happy birthday to Sam and...whoever his friend was.
"1981, that means I'm 17," Sam concluded, running his hand through his hair. Then he took on a fatherly tone. "What are two teenage girls doing out on their own so late?"
"Aren't we Miles Davis? It's 8 o'clock, Sam." Al gave a chagrined Sam a look telling him he was hopeless. Maybe he was being a little overprotective, he admitted privately to himself. Al waved his concerns away as he surveyed the desert. "Besides, I bet their parents aren't too worried since everybody knows everybody here. This is the kind of town that keeps their doors unlocked; little place called Terrell County in Texas." He sucked on his cigar nostalgically. "Did I ever tell you I had thing with a girl from the Lone Star State once?"
"Al..."
"And, Sam, it's true what they say: everything's bigger in Texas." He lowered his eyelids and smirked. Sam simply gave him an annoyed look. The handlink chirped and the hologram lifted it to read Ziggy's message.
As usual, Sam was in no mood for Al's stories. He threw his head back and shot his irritation to the stars. "Al, the only girls I want you to tell me about right now are Dorothy Roland and her friend inside. I don't wanna hear about whoever you dated, or had a fling with, or played poker with, or whatever euphemism you're-" He noticed the Italian throttling the handlink and frowned. "What is it?"
Tightening his face with frustration, Al gave the rainbow block a good smack. "What is this you're givin' me, Ziggy?" he asked the computer in confusion. His head perked up for the response, unheard by Sam's ears. "Obviously you have something mixed up in your microprocessors, because we have her sittin' in the Waiting Room." The handlink shrieked and his face twisted in disgust. "Don't you use that language with me, you piece a'-"
"Al, what is she saying?"
Al took a calming breath. "She's saying Dorothy Roland doesn't exist."
"How can she say she doesn't exist when I am Dorothy Roland?"
"Exactly! But she says there are no records of a Dorothy Roland living in Terrell County in 1981." Al sighed in exasperation and hit the handlink again. "Lemme get this straightened out." A few button punches, and the Imaging Chamber door slid up. "Ziggy!" He disappeared and the door clunked shut.
-
In a stroke of luck that made things a little easier, someone had stopped to wish Sam's friend a happy birthday and he'd learned her name was Francine. He still had no idea what he was here for and Ziggy was apparently under the impression he didn't exist, but it was a start.
Francine was worried about a boy she liked in their class; Sam took note in case the leap had to do with him. Personally, he thought she should be focused on school more than the boy, but he didn't want to influence the leap until Al came back with his objective. Things had gone sideways on more than one leap thanks to him jumping to premature conclusions, not the least of which was killing Al on one occasion.
By the time 9:30 rolled around, Francine was sliding out of the booth. "Sorry, Dorothy, I gotta get going. I promised Mom I'd be home by 10."
Quickly and a bit awkwardly, Sam got to his feet too. "You want me to walk you back?"
She snorted. "I'm just down the block."
"It wouldn't be too much trouble. You can never be too careful, you know."
"Uh-huh," Francine responded with a laugh, "Hey, you'd better be heading back too; you've got an hour-long drive." Wow. Did Dorothy really live that far away? "You don't want your mom freaking out, do you?"
"Yeah, I guess not. Are you sure you don't want me to walk with you?" Sam tried again. She was awfully young.
"I'm sure. Don't worry so much all the time!" She was already headed for the door. "See you soon!" With a wave, she was gone.
She was probably going to be fine, Sam assured himself. A block wasn't so far away. An hour, however, was, so he figured he'd better get gone too. Finding a map stowed away in the glove compartment, Sam took Dorothy's mother's car out onto the road.
-
The night was empty and quiet. As Sam took in the blanket of stars up above, he found a certain peace in the drive. Window rolled down, arm propped halfway out, he allowed the desert air to dance across his skin. It felt...familiar. He was reminded of late drives home from charity dinners, his suit smelling of cigars mixed with perfume. Driving to a hole in the ground filled with people he loved, in a luminescent blue mountain. Home.
The radio played softly. His patchwork brain brought him more fuzzy memories, and he tried to pull them to the surface and sharpen them. He smiled with each new victory.
"There's nothing like a long desert drive." Sam glanced beside him. Al was standing through the roof, swaying to the tune on the radio with his eyes contentedly closed. "Nothing but you and the road, feelin' the breeze in your hair..."
"You can't feel the breeze; you're a hologram," Sam teased good-naturedly. Disregarding Sam's comment, Al made a show of taking in a deep breath, really getting a good whiff. "Did you figure out what was wrong with Ziggy?"
"Nope. Nada, zip, zero, zilch." Plinking his index finger onto the handlink, Al's image sunk down to the passenger's seat. "We're workin' on it. In the meantime, you should go to class, talk to Dorothy's friends, keep goin' as normal. Y'know," he leaned forward with a grin and sang (badly), "keep them doggies rollin'..."
"Rawhide!" Sam finished enthusiastically, indulging his friend. There was a comforting familiarity to this too.
Al chuckled and blew out a stream of smoke, considering the landscape for a moment. Sam could feel another story coming on before the words left his lips. "You know, there was a bar in Texas I visited once; it was called Hopscotch Willy's."
"Hopscotch Willy's?"
"Yep, because that was what they called the owner. He, uh, had a peg leg."
Sam chuckled deeply and shook his head. "You're such a liar, Al."
"No, this is true!" Al loudly insisted, waving his cigar, "Wanna know how he lost it?"
"Oh, do tell."
"He lost it," Al talked over him, "after he got blitzed and decided to go cow tipping."
"Cow tipping."
"And he had the misfortune of picking out a cow named Bessie-she was massive-" He spread his arms out widely to demonstrate. "-and when she went down-SPLAT!" He clapped his hands together and left Sam to connect the dots.
"Al, that's terrible," Sam said, laughing despite himself.
"I thought so too," his friend was really getting into the story now, "so I asked him, I said, 'Hey Willy, don't you feel bad losin' your leg like that?' And he says to me, 'Well there's no use cryin' over spilled milk!'"
By now, Sam was laughing so hard he almost lost his grip on the wheel. "You know, Al, one of these days-"
BANG!
Suddenly, one side of his body made violent contact with metal, and for a moment everything was hot white. Not that he had time to even comprehend the impact, as immediately afterward everything was noise and motion. The world tumbled wildly out of control, smashing soft flesh against unforgiving solid, tossing him around at a dizzying speed. His head cracked into something hard, and the world clicked off like a remote.
-
The side of his face felt warm and wet. That was the first sensation. Then came the body-wide fire, more pronounced in his left shoulder, which seemed to pool up into a mounting compression inside his skull. Attempting to move his arms to feel his throbbing cranium, he confusedly found his left arm didn't seem to function. It simply hung limp above him. Above him? Bizarrely, some invisible force was holding both limbs in the air.
"Sam? Sam, can you hear me? Come on, buddy, say something!"
"Mmmmmmmm..."
"Sam!"
The voice was coming in muddy. Wrapped in cellophane. Sam's eyes stubbornly fought not to be open. The voice became clearer.
"...were they doin' drivin' crazy like that? He coulda been killed!"
Sam grunted in frustration. Damn it, he was going to open his eyes!
"Sam? You're scarin' me, kid, come on."
At last, a sliver of light. Green lights. They blinked off and on as the blurry image of his friend waved in and out of view. Only...he was upside down. Was something wrong with the Imaging Chamber? Al had better check it out. He opened his mouth to tell his friend that, but he couldn't think of any words to say.
"That's it, Sam," Al encouraged him, "come on back." Something seemed to buzz in the hologram's ear, and he looked upward-downward?-in anger. "Damn it, Ziggy, I don't care if there's a problem in the Waiting Room! I'm not leaving Sam!" That's when he noticed something to his left and he breathed a sigh of simultaneous relief and disgust. "Oh good, the other driver's walkin' around. The nozzle." Then to Sam, assuringly, "Don't worry, buddy, help is on the way."
Turning his neck ever so slightly, Sam's head swam as he still struggled to focus his eyes. Outside the mangled driver's side of the vehicle, dirt hung in the air and balanced on the sky. A pair of soft white shoes crossed the desert ceiling and came to a stop, a Vaseline-smeared figure crouching into view.
"Wait a minute, what's that?" Al spoke to the figure suspiciously, "Hey! You keep that away from him!"
Just barely, Sam found his voice. "Wh-What...?"
He wheezed a surprised gasp as he felt the prick of a needle in his neck. Then warmth, then his eyelids won their battle and everything faded away.
-
The immense pressure in Sam's head pulled him unwillingly back to consciousness, where feeling existed again and his body screamed. Where he was or what was happening, he had no earthly idea. He moaned.
A gasp. "Sam? Hey, you awake?"
"Al...?" Sam managed to question through disused vocal cords.
"Yeah, it's me," Al sighed with relief. Sam still couldn't see him.
"Why's my head feel big...?" His words were slurring. He felt distant again.
"You've got a concussion, kid."
"A wha...?"
"A con-never mind. I hate to tell you this, but we're in deep trouble!"
"Stop shouting..." Sam grumbled and closed his eyes. He just wanted to fall asleep again.
"Don't go back to sleep, Sam! Sam! Hey, you leave him alone!"
"Susan?" It was a new voice. A female voice. A gentle hand caressed his cheek, and he cracked open his eyes just enough to see who it was. Blonde hair, pale skin, a fairytale face with tiny cracks from age. She smiled softly with powder pink lips. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be okay. I'm taking care of you."
Good, then he could rest. Al didn't need to worry. He shut his eyes again and drifted off.
-
It was a long time before Sam finally came back, his mind more aware but his body in no better shape. He was lying on something soft. Was he in a hospital? That would explain why he felt so wrecked.
His itchy eyes opened again to take in his surroundings, first falling on a rotten wood ceiling. His brows knitted in confusion. He'd never visited a hospital with a ceiling like that. So where was he? He moaned and tried to sit up, only to be rewarded with an agonizing pain in his shoulder and another dizzy spell that sent him right back down.
Al leaned in over him, concern etched into his tired features. "Hey, kid. You with me?"
"I think so..." Sam answered (almost assuredly), leaning back onto his pillow.
"Jeez louise," Al breathed with relief, "We've been really worried about you, Sam! Don't frighten us like that."
Like what? "What happened...?"
A pause. His friend cocked his head and rubbed at his ear nervously. "Uh, well, you were in an accident. Someone rammed into you goin' god knows how fast, set your car to spin cycle."
A car accident? Sam couldn't remember. The pounding in his head slammed back any attempt to recall it. "Ugh...how bad is it...?"
"Uhhh, well, not as bad as you'd think!" Al said upliftingly, a little too loudly for Sam, "According to Ziggy, you've got a serious concussion and a dislocated shoulder, and I can see there you've got a pretty nasty gash on your noggin," he waggled his finger toward Sam's temple, "but, uh, that's the major stuff. Considering the damage to that car, it's a miracle you're alive! You shoulda seen it from the outside; it looked like crumpled up tinfoil! But this," he waved toward him dismissively, "it's nothing really. Heh, a day or two in the hospital and you should be good to go!"
"Yeah, I feel swell..." Sam said sarcastically as he blinked to make the room stay still. He frowned. "Wait a minute, why am I not at the hospital? Where am I...?" He managed to lower his chin and get a better look at his location. The walls were in the same condition as the ceiling, the wood old, worn, and dotted with scuff marks. But the room was strikingly bare. Other than the small bed he was lying on, all he could see was a chair and a tiny bedside table. The only light came from the moon and the stars as they shone through the small, barred window next to him. Definitely not a hospital.
Al was evasive. He shifted his weight. "Uhhh, you're about 40 miles out from where you had the accident. Give or take a few."
"Where?" Sam repeated.
"In, uh...in the middle of the desert."
"What?" Sam lifted his head in surprise, only to wince and lay down again. "Why?"
"It was the other driver, Sam," Al informed him, glancing with anxious suspicion toward the door, "After she hit you, she gave you somethin' and took you to this shack in the middle of nowheresville. Why, we dunno. Ziggy's tryin' to figure out who this woman is. Not to mention, we've still got zippo on the girl you leaped into. We're flying blind at this point."
"The woman..." Sam had a vague recollection of seeing her after he had been brought here. He squinted as he tried to remember. "She, um, she acted like she knew me..."
Pressing a couple fingers to his lips, Al peered at the wall thoughtfully. "Maybe she does. Next time she comes in, try to get her talking; we can narrow things down if we get a name." He tapped his temple. "Don't be afraid to play up your head injury."
"That won't be a problem..." Sam said dizzily.
"The way you are, and way out here in the desert, you're not gonna make it very far on your own. Somehow you gotta convince her to get you to a hospital." Al turned his eyes away and rubbed the back of his head. Nervously, he glanced at the bed. "Before things, you know...get worse." He was oddly soft-spoken, slightly distracted. Just then the handlink shrieked, causing Sam to shut his eyes tightly. The awful noise was just one more aggravation to his headache. Even his eyeballs hurt right now.
When he looked out again, Al was shoving the handlink into his pocket and squirming antsily. He seemed to be debating sharing information, which meant something potentially tricky had gunked up this already messy leap. Sam silently asked the question with an inquisitive look.
Al craned his neck. "Sam, uh...I'd be careful what you do on this leap. Not just for your sake, I mean."
Oh yeah, because he was planning on making things worse for himself. Good advice, Al. "Why?"
"Because for some reason, you and Dorothy are physically linked. We can't figure it out." Al shrugged and slanted his mouth, mystified.
"I've bonded with people I've leaped into before," Sam pointed out, perplexed, "Remember Billie Jean?"
"No, Sam." Al shook his head and pointed at him. "I don't mean you're bonded with Dorothy; I mean she's bonded with you. Whatever's happening to you here is affecting her in the Waiting Room. The shoulder, the concussion, she's got all of it too."
Now Sam's concussion-addled brain was even more confused. He could recall many instances where he'd picked up physical traits from the leapee, but never vice versa. His head hurt too much to be dealing with this kind of new development. He tried to push through it anyway. "Why would what's happening to me be happening to the person in the Waiting Room?"
"Beats the hell outta me, pal, but here's where it gets weird." Now it gets weird? Al shifted to the other foot. "Nothing we've done to treat her has worked. They gave her loads of painkillers, didn't do a damn thing. But she did conk out when you did." The bewildered crease in Sam's forehead deepened. Al looked down at him uneasily. "She's only affected by you. So until you can get some help, Dorothy is in just as much trouble as you are."
The weight of responsibility fell heavy on Sam's already overburdened shoulders. He wasn't really sure how to take care of himself this leap; now he held another person's well-being in his hands? It would be difficult to deal with under ideal circumstances, but in addition to his injuries, the leap was already handicapped due to lack of information on his apparently nonexistent host. But, then again, he probably wouldn't be in this situation if they had had the information they needed.
The door unlocked, and he lifted his head slightly. Even minimizing his movement, his injuries suffered for it. Inside came the blonde woman from before, very petite, almost fragile. Her smile was nervous, but oddly warm. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
Was she apologizing to him? Maybe she felt guilty about the accident...if it was an accident at all. "I was, um...I was up," Sam told her warily, "What happened?"
"Oh honey..." The woman pursed her lips sympathetically, as if she didn't want to break the news. "You crashed your car and got hurt."
"Yeah, thanks to you," Al shot at her, narrowing one dubious eye.
Crossing the room, she sat next to Sam and lifted a wet rag to clean the dried blood from side of his face. Her touch was gentle but firm. "But I'm going to make sure you get better. Don't you worry about that."
Sam winced when the rag touched his open wound, reflexively grabbing her wrist to stop her. "I'm sorry, but...who are you?"
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Susan Juniper Wade, don't tell me you don't recognize your own mother!"
There was that Susan name again. Sam's eyes shifted to signal Al, who took the cue and entered the name into Ziggy's handlink. "I thought my name was Dorothy?"
With a piteous sigh, the woman gently moved Sam's hand and shook her head. "No, sweetie. You hit your head. Just be patient; it'll come back to you." She dabbed at his temple again, and he gasped at the sting. She tutted. "Oh, poor baby..."
The strange tenderness was off-putting, to say the least. Sam might've known next to nothing this leap, but he was certain this woman was not Dorothy's mother. But regardless of whether she had purposefully caused the accident or not, she did seem concerned for his health. He licked his lips and hoped that would benefit him. "Listen, uh...Mom. I really need to go to a hospital."
Smirking knowingly, she continued to clean his wound. "You'll be fine here, Susan. Mothers know how to take care of their daughters."
"Are you kidding?" Al asked incredulously, "Look at him!"
Sam frowned. Did she really think everything was okay? "But I need medical attention," he tried to explain, "I mean...someone needs to reset my shoulder, and-AH!" The woman's hands had immediately found their way to his shoulder, causing a shooting pain that made him go rigid.
"Hey! Watch it!" Al barked.
Moving Sam's blood-stained shirt aside, she inspected his already-bruising shoulder. Blues and purples highlighted the misshapen skin where the bone jutted awkwardly out of place underneath. She nodded confidently. "I can fix that."
Sam tensed up with alarm, "No," he said hurriedly, "Th-That's okay. I'd really rather have a doctor look at it. So if we could just-AH!" Without warning, she'd taken hold of his wrist and lifted up the arm, and spots danced in front of his eyes.
"I'm sorry, baby. This'll only hurt for a moment." She tightened her grip on his arm and prepared to push up.
"No!" Sam shouted urgently, eyes wide, "No, not that way!" Luckily, she stopped. She knit her brows in confusion. "I, uhh...read about it in health class," he quickly covered, gritting his teeth.
"Oh. Then how...?" She began to twist his arm curiously, and he threw his head back and sucked in a breath.
"Let him go! What're you, crazy?!"
"Okay okay, STOP!" Sam commanded. She did, and Sam gasped in relief. If she insisted on doing this, he was going to make sure she did it correctly. She could do permanent damage to his shoulder. "Okay...okay...um...hold my arm away at a...at a 90 degree angle." Listening intently, she moved his arm, and he fought off a wave of nausea. "Ah...Alright, now...now slowly pull it down." She pulled, a little too quickly, and he yelled again.
"Sam!"
As rough as it was, Sam felt a satisfactory pop as his shoulder fell back into place. The pain immediately began to lessen and he blew out a deep breath. He didn't prefer the method, but he'd be lying if he said the reset wasn't a relief.
"Sam, are you okay?"
Eyes closed, Sam gave a small nod. The woman brushed his forehead. "See? I told you. I'm the only care that you need. And right now, you need to rest. It's way past your bedtime."
Frustrated and impatient with pain, Sam inhaled deeply before opening his eyes. "I really need to-hey!" Too late, he felt her stick the needle in his arm. "What did you give me?"
Providing no real answers, she stroked her hand through his hair affectionately. "Shh, it'll help you sleep."
"Don't wanna sleep..." he argued, but he knew it was pointless. Already, his eyelids were starting to droop.
"You rest now. You'll feel better in the morning." With that, she kissed him on the forehead and exited. He tried to watch her leave, but his eyes began to blur. The room was swimming again.
"Aaaal...?"
His friend waved into view. "Just hang in there. We'll figure out how to get you out of here. I promise!"
Soon, Sam hoped sleepily. Very soon. With Al's last word, the drug pulled him under.