"John...If you can hear me, please...please wake up."
When you open your eyes, your chest seizes up. Tears prickle in your eyes almost instantly at the sight of your father. He's there, right there, leaning over you. Your head feels funny, foggy, and your mouth feels like it's full of cotton.
His eyes are filled of tears as well, and when he sees you they stream down his face freely. It is quite apparent that he's let himself go. His hair is streaked with grey, his hat gone. There are thick likes in his forehead, by his eyes; deep frown lines framing his face. His skin is ashen, the color drained out. He has aged tremendously, but you don't know why.
"Did we..." you choke out, your throat hoarse and cracked, "did we win the game?"
He looks puzzled. "Son...what game?" He shakes his head, smiling as more tears fall down onto your shirt. "It must've been a dream, son. They told me most coma patients dream quite rapidly..."
Coma? It is then you realize where you are. The flourecent lights buzzing above you, the smell of antibacterial soap and bleach, the itchy thin sheets over your body. You are in a hospital. The tubes coming out of your arms are connected to bags of clear and slightly milky fluids. You are in a hospital. There is a throbbing in your head, a shudder in your chest, your eyes do not focus on a single thing for any longer than a minute without going fuzzy. You, John Egbert, are in a hospital.
"What..." you croak, eyebrows furrowed together.
The door swings open, and you hear the people bustling about in the hall. "Oh." The nurse stops, blinking. "Oh my. Well...Goodmorning, !" A blonde woman in a labcoat walks in, carrying a clipboard and dressed in bright pink hospital scrubs. Her hair is cut right at her shoulders, curling up at the ends, her bangs held back in a little swirl with a hairclip. She wears a thin line of black eyeliner, 'cateyeing' in the corners. Her lips are pursed as she scrolls over the paper on the clipboard, and you notice the contrast between their black color and her pale skin.
"I'm your doctor, ." She says, walking up to you and giving you a bright, sweet smile. She grabs your wrist, delicately placing two fingers on the vein while she watches the clock, her lips just barely moving as she counts. After a minute or so, she gives you your hand back. "Your pulse checks out fine. How are you feeling, John? Do you remember what happened...?"
Both her and your father look at you, the worry obvious on his face, and hers very cool and collected. You think, your brain rattling over the events from the past 3 years.
"Water..." you whisper. She nods, understanding, and waves a nurse in. "We'll talk to you later, John. Just rest."
Your father sits by your side for hours as you drift in and out of sleep. There are many nurses that come and go, checking your vitals and giving you strange concoctions of liquid nutrients. Their faces are...strange, familiar almost. One woman, a jade scarf tied fashionably around her neck, brings you another blanket. Your father informs you that every night she brings one in to keep you warm, and takes it off the next day so you don't overheat. She introduced herself as Myriam Kanleigh.
She was very nice.
You sipped on a straw poking out of a glass of water, wearing your glasses which your dad had kept stored away in his pocket. A nurse with long, thick black hair was pushing a boy in a wheelchair. She was plump, slightly pear shaped, and smiling at the boy's explanation of a card game. He rambled on and on about monsters fighting each other. She had on maroon lipstick, he wore a hospital gown. At first glance, you thought he had a real mohawk, but looking again, you noticed that his hair was falling out. What was left had been combed towards the center to make a false mohawk. He flew action figures in the sky, the nurse giggled. He had cancer.
Beside you, your dad is sleeping softly. He looked very peaceful, serene. , who he called 'Roxy' with a little smirk (ew), checked in on the both of you every 20 minutes or so.
"He barely slept, all that time..."
You look up at her watching from the doorway. " ..." you say, the voice strange and new in your throat, "how old am I?"
She blinks, a bit taken aback. "How old are you? What do you mean?" You roll your eyes, thinking the question was quite obvious. "I mean...how long have I been out?" the words spill out of your mouth, floating around and ringing in your ears. She purses her lips again, squishing her eyebrows together. You can swear that you've seen that face before. "Just shy of 3 years..." she looks at the clock, her face melting back into a motherly smile. "Happy early birthday, John."
A girl stands in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers in a vase. She reminds you of , and is very obviously related to her. A name, her name, pops into your mind. Before you can determine if it's real or not, it breaks the silence. "Rose." like a bullet into glass.
She looks up at you, smiling. A few years older than you, she comes across as a quiet, shy girl. "How do you know my name?" she asks, smiling and walking up to your bedside. She placed the flowers on the table, turning and ruffling your hair. "It doesn't matter, just nice to see that you've woken up."
"I know you," you catch yourself saying. But you do know her, she's one of your best friends. "Rose Lalonde. I know you."
Dr. Lalonde chuckles to herself, "My daughter comes in once a week and stops by all my patients. Some of them don't get company, so she helps..." Rose blushes, waving it off. Your father stirs in his sleep.
"Seer of Light..." you whisper, the words bitter on your tongue. She's Rose Lalonde, your good friend, your server player in the game. Time slows for you as 3 years worth of memories fall into place. She's Dave's sister, in love with that Troll girl. When you saw them in Skaia they were insuperable. She's Rose, Seer of Light. But right now, she's talking to her mother. They laugh, and walk out the door together.
You look at your father. He and Rose's mom are dead. You saw it. He snorts in his sleep, his eyes fluttering rapidly in REM.
"Dad."
He shifts, "Dad."
His eyes open, and he smiles at you. "Yeah, John?" He's been all smiles since you've woken up. For 3 years, it was frowns and tears, now he just smiles.
"What happened to me?"
_
His smile melts, his eyes go cold and solid. "Day before your birthday, I believe. Yeah, that night. I was in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. You said that you were going to take a shower..." You can very plainly see the pain on his face, it's etched in there. Each line another month of worry. He runs a hand through his hair, the silver glinting in the buzzing lights. His hands, they're trembling. "I heard something heavy fall. I didn't...I wasn't fast enough..." His shoulders are shaking, he won't look at you. "You fell, John. Pretty badly..."
You bite your lip; it's cracked and dry. No words come to mind, nothing is said as your father sobs silently. Both of you sit there in the silence, the sun is starting to set. You don't know when the last time you saw the moon was. Time ticks by, the clock suddenly obnoxiously loud. You think of Dave, Knight of Time. Who was he, really?
The moon is high in the sky before your dad speaks again. You don't know whether he fell asleep or not, the hours going by as you watched the clock intently. He pats your hand, his eyes red and puffy. "Did you dream, son?" You nod, your mouth is dry. "Tell me about it."
You exhale slowly, clicking your tongue.
"I was standing in my room"