Hello, readers! I am so excited to be starting off this new story it has been plotting itself in my head for so long! :) I have been missing writing an only Jasper story. But I still had fun with the last one (If you want to check that out if you haven't already, it's called Going to Take Care of You).

Anyways, I am going to stop talking and let you read.

I do not own PJO.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE—THE WORST BEST DAY OF HIS LIFE

JASON

He looks up from the passenger's seat beside him, suddenly having a tugging feeling in his gut.

It wouldn't have been a problem if he didn't see the dark, shadowed outline of a person in the middle of the light.

On instinct—and he punishes himself for not thinking firstly—he jerks the wheel so sharply that the car immediately turns sideways. The left-hand side turns toward the outline and he sees the ashen face of that person as they appear right in front of his window. And both of their heads crash against it, cracks split across where the impact hit, the car is still twirling.

All he hears is the loud screeching sounds from the skidding, rubber tires against the asphalt of the road.

The only thing he saw, before blackness consumes him, was a sea of different colors.

That was how the worst best day of his life started.

Jason had a strange dream the night before that. It's almost ironic, because, in that moment of his life, his studies are focusing more on dreams and how they connect to the events of a human brain.

Ever since his own incident earlier in life, that's all he's been working on. Not just dreams, but the human brain itself. At first, he had hated that it had happened to him. Making everything in his life confusing, but then he realizes that maybe God was sending him a gift—showing him that it was his destiny to research the human brain. And so he did and it opens up marvels and wonders to him. He thinks it's the most fascinating thing on earth.

But dreams, he refuses to believe. He knows they're not real. He knows it's only a figment of the imagination—it's only something a person wants to believe and would like to see happen one day.

Jason knows that dreams are not real.

He doesn't want to believe it because when he woke up—when anyone wakes up—all your hopes smash back into reality and you realize how much it hurts. How much you'd rather want to never wake up again. Dreams mess up your thoughts.

Jason doesn't like to have dreams. He wishes there was a way to stop them from entering his mind. It almost worked, until that night…

He was walking across the road, and the sun was out. He was talking on the phone, but he doesn't know to whom he was talking to. What was weird is that he didn't feel like he was in his own body; like he was seeing it from another person's eyes.

Suddenly, he felt bright lights on him. He looked over and there was the front of a car.

He swore he saw his face in the driver's seat.

The car swerved. He felt his blood rush through his ears and his heart was galloping in his chest, about to burst through his skin. He dropped the phone, and the window of the driver's seat was coming closer to his face. He couldn't move—it was like his feet were glued to the road.

He could've looked to see who the driver was. But, instead, he screwed his eyes shut and suddenly, it felt like he had been standing in front of the path of the fastest roller coaster ever and the front of its car had slammed into him.

Then he wakes up, his back straight as he sits up in his bed.

His chest rapidly moves up and down, up and down like someone had attached a string to it and is tugging as fast as they could.

Jason tries to relax and he hunches his shoulders over a little. Then he remembers that that was bad posture and would only make him feel more claustrophobic.

He draws his knees up and lazily rests his forearms down his shins, which are hidden underneath his pajama pants. He puts his head in between his knees.

He can feel the ice cold sweat on the back of his neck and bare back, and it feels like pinpricking needles are pushing into it.

Jason breathes in deeply, and then exhales softly. He calms his heart rate and his breathing. Finally, he is back under control as he keeps telling himself: None of it is real. Dreams aren't real. There's no reason you should be acting this way. Yeah…what's the matter with you?! It was a stupid dream! You're never going to get hit by a car! None of it makes sense…none of it makes sense…none of it's real…

Jason knows he is right.

And he sits back up.

Some people rethink their dreams. But for him, he doesn't give another thought about it and he starts through his everyday normal routine.

He stands and does his stretches, cracking several bones at once, and awakening his muscles that had been so numb and lazy while he was asleep. He raises his hands high above his head and then he put them down. Jason rolls his shoulders and then his neck and he cracks his knuckles.

Then he turns and makes his bed, tucking the sheets nice and tight underneath his pillow. Then he fluffs his pillow, and he was about to turn away but a detail caught him: there were too many wrinkles on his pillow from where he fluffed it.

Something clutched his heart and he immediately turned back to it and fixed it. There; now it didn't look so untidy.

Then he leaves to the bathroom, bringing his selected clothes—a green t-shirt and pants—and closes the door behind him. He sets them on the counter beside the sink and he leans against the edge of the counter, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

His bright blue eyes shine back at him. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to the side as he runs a hand through his hair. Jason likes his blonde military haircut because it is easier and cleaner to deal with. And he likes how it didn't touch his ears because that would be a distraction.

His mouth is pressed into a firm line, not frowning but not smiling either. He has pale freckles, barely even noticeable, that dots his cheeks. His sister has them, too.

Jason turns away from the mirror and takes off his clothes and steps into the shower. He never took long showers. They take up more of his time and it is a stupid and wasted way to do that. He had more important things to do—like writing theories on the brain and catching up in his studies. Not standing in stale water and thinking about every other thing.

Just wash and get out, was his rule. No thinking—just do.

So that's why almost fifteen minutes later, he steps back out and proceeds to dry off with his blue-and-white striped towel. He dresses in the clothes set out next to the sink.

An emerald green shirt and pants, which he wraps a belt around his firm waist because it would be another distraction if he has loose pants. During his studies, he could never have any distraction.

He brushes back his hair and walks out of the bathroom and to the kitchen where he eats his Frosted Flakes cereal.

Jason's studies are at a University, where he studies the works of the human brain. He stays there practically all day, working and taking notes and leading classes every now and then. His favorite, though, is writing equations down. But if he gets really emotional, and has an episode where a flashback will hit him so hard he falls backwards in his chair, he'll start thinking about his own incident.

He shakes his head while rubbing his forehead. He would rather not like to have one of those episodes now.

Jason hurries over to his desk, where papers are stacked neatly and in order. He wipes his knuckle at his nose before picking up the papers and sliding them into folders and placing them in his bag along with his laptop.

A strand of his hair tumbles onto his forehead and he can feel it tickle his eyebrow so he reaches up and brushes it out of the way. Just as he zips up his bag, his phone buzzes repeatedly in his pocket and he takes it out to see his friend's face plastered on the screen: wide brown eyes and insanely curly hair.

Jason sighs and rolls his eyes but he still unlocks his phone to answer the call. He puts it to his ear and answers as he grips his bag and takes it off the chair, "Leo, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me while I'm at work?"

"You're not at work yet," his friend responds.

Jason narrows his eyes at the ground, stopping, and then blinks. "How do you know that?" He questions as if making his friend, Leo, second-guess himself.

"Because it's not seven-thirty in the morning yet," Leo says as if it's obvious. "You literally walk through the door then."

"So? You don't get to the office until hours later because you're that lazy," Jason continues out the door, carrying his bag and light jacket with him. "How would you still know that I—"

"Because I know you, Jason," Leo says, but Jason wasn't done.

"—am there? Only if you were at the office to specifically confirm it—"

"Jason!" Leo yells into the phone. "Come back down to earth,"

He rolls his eyes as he shuts his door behind him, the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder. "I am on earth, Leo. It's called gravity."

He hears Leo give a small sigh on the other line. "It's an expression,"

Jason chuckles, "Well I know that, Leo." He shakes his head and walks up to the elevator in his apartment building. "Why are you calling me anyways?"

"I'm calling to tell you that your cat is annoying me."

Jason blinks. "Um…say that again?"

"You heard me,"

"Where are you?"

"Dude, just get out here," Leo says bluntly and then he hangs up.

Jason is confused, but guesses that Leo's waiting for him outside, so he turns off his phone and puts it into his pocket. As he waits patiently in the elevator, he readjusts the strap that was digging into his neck. The bizarre music plays throughout the chrome silver of the elevator. There's a new song every day, and him and his always-thinking brain always connect dots to figure out what the song is and wonder if it may be not be a coincidence it's on. But then the part of him that was wounded by his incident—the one that had forgotten almost all of who he was—told himself that it's always a coincidence. There's no such thing as fate.

He clears his throat even though it's dry and he shakes his head. He has to rid the thoughts out of him, or else he'll have another "episode". He didn't like those, even if it's just a flicker of who he once was.

Jason was scared to bring the memories. He wasn't sure of what they would bring.

Before his thoughts could travel any further, the elevator made a beeping noise as the doors slide open.

He steps out and dips his head, looking both ways and scanning the lobby for Leo. Jason finally spots him outside the building behind the double doors. He was wearing his usual attire: a white button-down shirt tucked underneath suspenders and into beige trousers that slightly hug his legs. Leo is leaning forward, gesturing out his hands to something very small. Jason figures it's the cat he was talking about. Leo's mouth is moving like he's talking to this animal, but Jason can't hear it since he's outside.

He makes his way to those doors, but then a voice halts him:

"You have to sign out," says a morose voice.

Jason straightens and looks over at the person sitting at the lobby desk. Though he can't see his face because there is a book in the way; a book with a boy with black hair standing in water and holding a sword.

"Excuse me?" Jason asks.

The man puts down the book, his thumbs still wedged in between the pages to hold open where he stopped at, and he looks at Jason with tired eyes like he hadn't gotten sleep the night before. "It's a new policy," he explains in the same monotone voice, "So we can keep track of those in the building."

Jason nods and then steps up to the desk where there is a clipboard with a roster pinned to it. He takes a nearby pen and prints his name that is scribbly and messy, due to late nights when furiously writing equations and theories.

The man watches him for a few seconds and then when Jason sets the pen down, he puts up his book and continues reading.

Jason falters, wondering if he will say anything else to him, but he doesn't, so he just walks off, leaving the desk clerk to his book.

When he exits the building, the nature air surrounds him with a light morning breeze. The sky is a calm blue and the sun is slowly rising behind the other buildings. He approaches Leo, and is about to greet him, but then he catches something in the corner of his eye. He looks down to find that there is, indeed, a cat sitting on the sidewalk.

"See?" Leo asked as he pointed to it. "I told you,"

"Hey, buddy," Jason says under his breath as he leans down in front of the gray cat. It's skinny and you can see the ridges underneath its thin skin where its ribs are at. Jason can't help but stare at it with pity.

It meows and purrs as it steps forward and stretches upward to rub its forehead against his palm.

He sighs and then twists his bag around and rummages through it. It reaches forward and sniffs it, but he lightly pushes its face away from it. He takes out a bag of Lucky Charms and he gives a couple of the pieces to the cat, who thinks it looks like cat food and gladly obliges to eating.

"Seriously," Leo said, "Lucky Charms?"

Jason looks up at him over his shoulder.

Leo puts his hands up in defense. "Totally normal; I get it,"

Jason turns back to the cat and realizes that its face is buried into the bag and eating some of the cereal on its own. He finds that the quantity has reached half of the bag already, so he lightly nudges the cat away. "I'm sorry; I'll come back with more later."

It looks up at him with big eyes, pouting, and gives a soft Mew.

He presses his lips together. "No," then he stands up and the cat bumps its head against his shin.

"Looks like you've got a new friend," Leo snickers.

"More like a new beggar,"

"Aw, don't be so harsh. You know, I've never seen you with a pet before," Leo claps a hand on Jason's shoulder. "You know, what is up with you and cereal…?" Leo's voice trails off, as if its traveling down a dark tunnel further and further away from Jason.

Jason blinks. Pets? Has he ever had a pet before? He thought about all kinds of animals and all his mind could set on was two large dogs, like Great Danes. One with fur like silver-gray and the other was golden blonde. He can imagine not petting them, as if they were only guards, not something you can love on like the cat.

He looks down at it, but it's gone, where its shabby tail has disappeared in the bushes. Did he used to have pets—before his incident? And if so, why didn't he love on them as much as he treated that cat?

"Hey, man," Leo's voice was now loud and clear, bringing him back. "You okay?"

Jason looks down at Leo whose brown eyes are narrowed in concern. He knows that a new door of his old past was opened up to him.

"Listen—" Leo tries to start.

"No," Jason shakes his head numbly. "It's okay; what were you saying?"

"What did you remember?"

Jason sighs. If Leo wants something, he wouldn't quit until he got it. "Just…two great big dogs,"

"Oh, so you did have pets," Leo remarks in astonishment.

"No," He shakes his head again as if trying to bring the memory back. When he realizes what he's doing, he stops. He doesn't want his past back, even if they were just dogs. "They weren't pets. They were trained to be something more; listen, I don't want to talk about it—" before he could continue on, the tip of his nose starts to tickle and he can feel his sinuses flare up. He takes a deep breath, whips his head in the other direction, and sneezes into his elbow.

Leo takes a step back and shrugs. "Hey, on the bright side, maybe you're allergic,"

Jason wipes his face with a Kleenex he pulled from a neatly folded pile in his pocket and shoots Leo a look.

"I'm just sayin',"

"Why are you really here?" Jason asks as he throws away the used tissue.

"Well, my car broke down," Leo says and he shrugs an arm towards a truck with smoke coming out of its back end. "'Ole Argo broke down on me again,"

"I still don't understand why you call your car the Argo II," Jason says as they step off the sidewalk and approach his beaten-up truck.

"Because it's like a war machine, duh," Leo replies.

"Oh, yeah? Then explain your working table you named Buford."

"Hey," Leo points a finger at him. "Don't make fun of Buford."

Jason gives him a look. "He's just a table, not a personification."

"He finds that offensive,"

Jason rolls his eyes and then they stop when they're standing a few feet away from Argo II. Jason shrugs. "You're a major in mechanics. Why can't you fix it yourself?"

"Well, I have a free day today—no classes to teach, so I was wondering if we could hook her up to your truck and then I could fix her at the university," Leo explains.

Leo is like Jason, a professor at the university. While Jason teaches psychology, Leo is in mechanics, which isn't the most popular class ever, but it seems to fit him. Because there aren't that many students, most of his days are free periods, where he spends his free time working on his newest projects.

"And maybe Beckendorf could come by and help me," Leo adds on as he rummages through his toolboxes in the backseat, searching for a chain.

"I thought you said Beckendorf was in the hospital," Jason stares at him.

The mechanic shakes his head. "He just got out a couple days ago." He latches the connecter to the back of Jason's blue truck and to the front of Leo's. "He said that the doctors had kept his hands away from any type of explosive machinery, and he's been dying to hang out with me because of it," he laughs.

Jason laughs too, but then his thoughts blurt out of his mouth. "But how could they keep him away from machinery? He's around his own heart monitor, right?"

"Yeah, but that's not necessarily explosive," Leo then straightens after he double checks that the chain isn't loose. He looks at Jason. "Ready?"

"Ready as you are," Jason replies and he hops into the driver's seat of his truck. The door on the other side opens and Leo climbs in. Jason turns the key into the ignition and the engine rumbles but then purrs.

"Ah, I see someone has their car in great shape," Leo hangs his arm out the window and pats the door of the blue truck.

Jason sighs and smiles proudly. "Well, I am healthy person, which means I keep Tempest healthy,"

Leo blinks and narrows his eyes, mumbling softly, "Tempest?" And then the thought comes to him and he throws his pointer finger and yells at Jason, "Aha!"

Jason laughs out loud as he pulls out of the parking space of his apartment building.

His pencil taps repeatedly on his desk, like a rhythm that is the only thing that can keep his mind on track.

His hypothesis stares right back at him, making his brain thump in thought, equations and possibilities and tests searching through his mind.

Jason sighs and rubs his lips with the palm of his hand.

If a person can dream…he writes…then it—

He immediately scribbles it out. Ridiculous.

But Jason can't help it. He feels the beginning of that sentence repeat and echo through his head.

"If a person can dream…."

A person can't dream.

"You did."

Shut up.

He slams his palms against the desk, silencing the air around him. Yes, he did have a dream, and that dream ruined his life—his old life. There is an inner battle gnawing inside of him. It is hard to keep the thoughts intact when they are always coming free and roaming to new ideas, new memories.

He stands from his wooden chair and walks to one of his bookshelves of his large classroom, the auditorium of seats surrounding him, and slips out a giant textbook. He flips through it, to the page he had marked with a sticky note because he had looked at these exact words possibly thousands of times.

"The brain can turn your reality into a dream." It read.

So that means that he had a reality before his crash, before his incident. This means that he had a life, but it was taken away from him. This means that his dream repeated that life while he was out, injured in a hospital.

"Dreams can also relate to your memories, which are stored in the hippocampus region. If that region is damaged, you won't be able to form new memories."

Was that part of his brain damaged? Was it affecting him now? No, because he could remember what he did yesterday. He could remember the things he liked; he could remember things from before. So what was wrong with him? Why is this only a problem for him?

"The brain dreams and thinks from recent memories,"

What was recent for him? He wanted to believe that these were good memories, but he knows that they're not. He knows because they were taken away from him.

He blinks hard. He has to stop thinking like this. It hurts his brain all the time because he doesn't know where he belongs. He doesn't know if he has people that actually care about him from his other life.

He closes the book with his shaking hands. He straightens and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Jason knows that if he gets too deep in thought about this, somehow a memory will come up. He's been trying to restrain that, as if he doesn't want to see them. As if he's waiting for something new to happen to him.

But an image flickers behind his eyelids. Before his brain could decipher and focus on the concept of it, his eyes fly open and his chest is rising and falling quickly and he glances his glowing blue eyes around the classroom.

He only has a couple light switches on, so shadows hang in the corners, and all the desks are empty. Except for one. There's a girl sitting in one of them, her dark brown hair travels down her shoulders and her brown eyes are stern. She wears a light purple dress, her back straight as it touches her chair.

Jason could've sworn that seat was unoccupied a couple seconds ago.

He could've sworn he was alone just a couple seconds ago.

She sees him looking at her. "Well?" she says, though her voice sounds lost in the background of his mind. "Are you ready?"

"What?" he asks.

"You heard me," she said. "You know what I'm talking about,"

He narrows his eyes at her. "What—who are you?"

"You already know who I am." she stands, her spine still straight.

"How do you know that?" he counters, his voice hoarse and terrified.

"Because you remember," she says. "You just won't allow yourself to." Then she turns and walks swiftly out of the classroom.

Jason is left standing there lost in thought, dumbstruck, in awe. What had just happened? Where had she come from? He stares at the ground, breathing heavily to catch his breath.

Suddenly his feet are moving and now he's running out the door and searches down the hallways frantically. But there's no one there. She couldn't have possibly walked that fast.

He walks down both ends of the hallway, looking down the other corridor it's connected to, but still finds no one. He rubs his head as he walks back into his room and then sinks into his chair, his eyes are screwed shut.

Jason hopes—that on top of losing his memory and fighting with his own thoughts—he really hopes that he isn't diagnosed with schizophrenia.

After he finishes up grading essays, he stands from his desk, stretching. He had told himself that the girl wasn't real, but he knows that he can't keep that excuse up for long. He just needs to be calm, and maybe she was real, but just only mysterious.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out the rest of the bag of Lucky Charms. He slips some into his mouth and is glad he had pulled out a marshmellow piece, because they are his favorite.

He wanders over to the large window on the other side of the room and pulls open the blinds. He expects blinding sunlight to pour in, but that's not the case. It's dark outside and the only light coming in is the washing silver of the full moon. Is it already the nighttime? That can't be right, because it's only felt like a few hours.

He checks the time on his computer and it is, indeed, six at night. It's time to go home. He searches out the window again to find that Leo's truck is gone, so he must've fixed it and already went home. He clarifies this when he checks his phone and finds that Leo texted him: Going home, weirdo. C u 2morrow.

Jason isn't offended by the "weirdo" remark; he actually chuckles before he locks his phone and puts it away. He figures now is a good time to leave, since his work is done for the day and he's all prepared for the class tomorrow.

He turns off his computer and straightens the essays and papers as it's shutting down. He slips the laptop into his bag and throws the empty bag that used to contain Lucky Charms away in his waste bin.

Before Jason steps out the door, he looks back into the room. His eyes search it, but they always go back to that one seat. It's as if he's making sure she won't show up again. She doesn't, and that makes him pleased when he turns the lights off and continues home in his blue truck.

PIPER

She lets her door slam behind her as she walks into her morose apartment, dark and silent in the night. Her braids swing around her face as she lets her bag drop to the floor, not caring if it spills open and now her phone was on the floor. She doesn't want any contact with anyone tonight; she just wants to be alone.

She wants to wallow in her own sadness, she wants to cry and bawl until she has no water left in her body and she can die already. She wants to hole herself up in her room and wither in the shadowed corners.

Although she's strong, so she can fight it. If she could fight through boyfriends and jobs and life, then she sure as hell can fight through this.

But just one night is all she needs. She may be strong, but that can't stop the tears or the wanting to cry.

So she steps around her couch, her fingers sliding against its back, and she goes to her room in the short hallway. She doesn't bother turning on the light, because there is no hope in her life right now. She instead immediately slips off her shirt and puts on a bigger one that used to be her dad's. Then she changes into warm sweatpants that make her feel warm and cozy. She bends her knee as if about to climb into her nice bed, but then a braid gets in her face, the hardness of the wristband bumping against her nose.

She sighs, blowing it out of her face, before turning back and going into the bathroom. This time, she does flip on the light switch. She has to see what she's doing.

She scoffs. "See what's she's doing"—ha. She has no clue what she's doing, and has no idea what in the world she's going to do now that she knows. Now that she knows her life is limited.

Her fingers weave as she untangles one braid, the band setting on the edge of the sink. She moves onto the next one.

But she can't move on. There is no way she could ever move on from this. It's a disease, and the cure is hard to get. And the only thing she or it could ever do was continue to grow and grow until there's nowhere else for it to go and her entire brain is consumed with it.

She takes out another braid.

And then, eventually, it will give out. The disease will have won, and her brain and body will be too tired to function properly.

Another braid is out.

What did she do to deserve this?

The last braid.

Her last days on earth. She didn't even get to do everything she has always wanted to do. She hasn't met the right man; she hasn't lived her entire life.

A sharp pain stabs at her head and she blinks hard, a jolt being sent right through her body, and she halts. The air around her is silent. It was almost as if she could feel it inside of her.

She realizes it wasn't because of the cancer. But because she had yanked on her hair too hard without even realizing it.

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and when she opens them, her sight is still blurry and swims a little bit. Her hand jerks out and clutches the side of the sink to make her stand straight and so that she doesn't throw up.

The nausea subsides and she's finally able to stand upright, but she still clutches the sink.

She takes another deep breath.

"Calm yourself, Piper," she tells herself.

She stays there for a couple seconds, taking it in. But soon, the more she thinks about the situation she's in, the more she wants to curl up in a ball and fall asleep. With this new thought, she feels her eyelids grow heavy and her shoulders sigh with exhaustion.

Piper turns and leaves her bathroom with slightly curly hair and turns off the light, her entire apartment a shade of midnight blue with only the silver stars. She keeps walking in the direction she's always known until her palms press against her soft mattress. Piper collapses onto her own bed and pulls up her warm and thick blanket, her body curling into a ball, closing tightly around, and her head resting on her soft blue pillow. She has done something different, she realizes and she looks up to find that she had positioned herself upside-down than normal: where her head usually is, is where her feet are—vice versa.

Piper sighs and doesn't think this really matters. She's comfortable, anyway, and that's all she wants right now. So she lays her head back on the pillow, shrugging the blanket closer up to her face.

Behind her closed eyelids, a memory from earlier that day flickers and plays through her head:

Stunned silence overwhelmed her. What was she supposed to say? How could someone react to that? Her hands wrung together in her lap, and her mouth is cold because it was hanging open, the cold air of the hospital entering.

Piper had only gone for one day, and she got the worst news. She had thrown up and then passed out when eating lunch with her friend, and the next thing she knew, she was laying in a hospital bed. A few days later, she was promised she could go home soon.

But she's not home. She's sitting in bed, being told that there's something bad inside of her. Something not normal.

She has cancer—in the one place that will take away all of her memories.

What? No, she thinks. No!

Her memories are too special. Sure, she doesn't have that many pleasures and joys in her life, but there are those moments where she feels special. She'd like to keep those in mind. Like the time her father and she had that picnic because she had gotten her first real job. Or the time when she first met her best friend, Hazel. Or even that one time she had her first kiss.

Piper felt confusion puzzle her. What did she do to deserve this? How did she get this? What could have possibly happened?

But then she felt so much anger, she felt as though she could explode. Exactly—why her?! Why? Why did she have to be stuck with this?

And then she felt futile; hopeless. She had gotten this, she couldn't change that, but was there a cure for it? Could she erase it?

The doctor in front of her seemed to know what she was thinking when she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"We could run some tests," he explained, unclasping his hands to gesture. "There is a cure. It's called chemotherapy and it uses a surgery called radiation therapy."

Piper had no idea what those words meant. As long as he knew that it could help her.

She nodded.

He tilted his head down to her, looking over his glasses. "You are okay with doing this?" he asked her.

She nodded again.

He nodded once. "I will sign you in for it, Ms. McLean," He was about to turn and leave, but then she shot out and clamped her hand on his arm to stop him.

"Will it—will it hurt?" she asked, her breath coming out quickly.

"No necessarily. It depends on what kind you have,"

"What kind do I have?"

"We will take more tests tomorrow." He said. "But for now you should stay here and have some bed rest—"

"No," she said, "I don't want to stay here. Let me go home. Just for one night, before I have to be here every day."

He sighed, staring at her as if trying to decide if he could let her do this or not. But then he blinked and nodded. "Okay. But we have to start soon before the cancer spreads. I will schedule an appointment for tomorrow at noon."

She took in a deep breath. "Thank you," she said.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said, "we will get you through this."

Piper stared at him in his green eyes. She hoped she could, but she wasn't sure if she could believe it.

The memory went away as she felt tears slip out from underneath her screwed eyelids and she reaches up to wipe them away. She licks her lips, her chin puckering from her trying to stop it from wobbling because of the lump in her throat. She will not cry. There was no reason to cry.

Piper tries to shake off the feeling in her head. She tries to make the headache subside from her brain, and as she thinks of that, a shiver goes down her spine. She tries closing her eyes, but the cancer in her head is like a monster under her bed. She knows it was lingering there, hiding, waiting for her to step out from the shadows so it can catch her.

The only difference is that her cancer has already caught her. It's already taken a hold on her memories. But those are not for sale. They are hers, and no disease will ever take that away from her. She will not allow that.

She closes her eyes, letting the darkness in her room ease into her, and as she falls asleep, she dreams about that memory with her dad.

Piper's eyes blink open that next day. She instinctively thinks about her dad, Tristan McLean, just to check and see if she still has her memories. Thankfully, nothing seems to be missing, if that's even something she can tell, and she sits up in bed. She wipes at her mouth, blinking her eyes open even more to try and focus past the blurriness.

Through her lacey-white curtains, sunshine pours in and she stretches her back, feeling and hearing multiple places in her spine pop and crack. She pulls back her blanket and gets out of bed, feeling more rested than she ever has. It's odd because with her illness, she thought she would've had an antsy sleep.

Then she sees what time it is: ten-thirty!

A gasp and a curse flies from her mouth and she runs to the bathroom, turning on the water, and then sprinting back to her room to get a random pair of jeans and a shirt.

Her first step to her cure, and she's almost late! She can't believe it as she hurries to get ready.

Jason looked over at the passenger's seat next to him. That little cat was in his truck for some reason. It clawed at the window, as if trying to get out. It made white marks on the glass and screeching sounds that made him cringe.

"Hey—!" He cried out.

The cat meowed in a growl. He pounded his fist against the controls next to him and the passenger's seat window dropped downwards and the cat jumped out.

Before he could finish a threat, he looked up and found that he hadn't been watching where he was driving. There was a person in the middle of the street.

He jerked at the wheel.

The sound of his tires screeched beneath him, making his body shiver.

BAM!

Jason screams as he sits up in bed.

He pants with his scream beginning to die in distraught. His nerves are flaring, and he glances around, the nightmare still haunting him. It is the same one from the night before, he realizes.

He shakes his head. He will not let a stupid dream haunt him like that. He just needs a shower.

Unfortunately, the dream is haunting him. Jason realizes that the dream kept him asleep longer and it is almost noon.

He is way past late, and so he ignores the missed phone calls from Leo and hurries into the bathroom.

Piper sits in her hospital room, her hair wet around her shoulders that are covered with a light sweater jacket. Her hands wring together in her lap, just like they did the day before. She had just taken a scan of her brain, she can't remember what they had called it, but she doesn't care. She just wants results.

The doctor finally comes in and he has slick black papers in his hands. Piper straightens as he clips them up to a white box on the wall and he flips on a light that shows her it is some sort of X-Ray of her brain.

"Well, Piper," he says as he studies the X-Ray.

"What is it?" she asks.

He points to a spot on the picture of her brain, and something in her own head tingles. "That's where the cancer is at. It's right next to your hippocampus."

Piper makes a strangled noise. "You mean a Greek mythology seahorse is in my head?"

He can't help it when the laugh escapes his mouth. "Well, no, but that's where the name comes from because that part of your brain is shaped like a seahorse."

"Oh," she draws in a deep breath. "For a second there, I thought there was another abnormal thing in my head,"

He also can't help the grin. "You know, you're taking this lighter than I thought you would."

She shrugs. "I guess it's better than going at it hopelessly,"

He nods and then turns back to the X-Ray. "It looks like, for now, it's Grade Two."

"What does that mean?" Piper asks.

"It means that the cells in your brain are starting to not look normal." He points to a couple of black dots clouding one side of the X-Ray. "And, in this condition, it looks like it's getting worse than I had thought."

Piper winces. That doesn't sound good.

"When do I start the…uh," she blinks, trying to remember the word.

"The chemotherapy?" The doctor finishes for her.

She nods. "Yes, that,"

"Well, to stop it from growing further, I would like to start the diagnosis in a couple days at the most." He says, "I would like to keep you here so that I can keep a close eye on it. I am not confidently sure on whether or not it is spreading yet."

"Um, I'm sorry to stop you again," Piper says nervously, "but do you think I can come back again then? I would like to talk to my dad, first. Spend a while with him before then."

He purses his lips, but nods. "Of course,"

She nods again, her hands shaking at the thought of telling her father that she is sick. It makes her feel even sicker.

The doctor pats her shoulder and then walks out of the room.

Piper sits there for a while, letting it sink in. This is actually happening to her. Never, in her life, would she think that she would be in this situation. She never imagined it would end like this. She takes a deep breath and stands, her heart pounding so hard her sternum hurts. Her nerves are shaking like they just can't handle moving, and her hands are shaking like crazy.

"Stop it!" She hisses to herself as she clenches her fingers and stuffs them into her pockets.

She walks out of the room, the weight of her phone making her pocket warm and heavier. Piper doesn't want to do it, but at the same time, she feels like a little girl again and wants to spend the day with her daddy, where he was the only hero—not like the Greek movies he's in—and can scare away the monsters. But she knows that there is no way possible he can scare away the monsters in her head.

"No," Jason tells the cat as it jumps into his truck when he opens the door. He points a finger at it and then jerks it the other way, motioning for it to get out of the truck. "You get out. I am agitated enough—I don't need you to make it worse."

It meows at him and then collapses onto the leather passenger seat and rubs its face all over it.

"Aw, come on!" he groans, letting his hand down. "You're getting fur everywhere!"

It just purrs in response.

He groans again and curses. He reaches under the backseat and pats the ground for a while until his hands land on a towel. He brings it out, shakes it, and then moves the cat to put the towel under it so it doesn't leave behind fur on the once-clean seat. He reminds himself he'll have to clean it off later.

He then sits behind the wheel and drives off. He doesn't really care, for once, if he's going over the speed limit because he's late to the university. He may not have a class today, but it means less time on his studies, and that is probably the most precious part of him every day.

Jason's hair was a mess. Honestly, it was so unruly and sticking up in such wild places, it looks as if he had just gotten out of bed instead of the shower. And his shower took not even five minutes. The water was cold. He didn't even feel it because the shower was so quick. And he was out of Lucky Charms. He had to settle for Cheerios, which aren't nearly as great and delicious as marshmallows.

Jason presses his foot farther down on the pedal. The truck eases faster, and he is nervous that he will miss something important. His hands tap against the wheel.

The cat beside him sits up and its purr is gone. It lifts its nose in the air, sniffing it.

"What?" Jason demands.

The cat doesn't respond. It suddenly
looks around, its ears perked up.

Jason doesn't notice as he leans forward in his seat, looking back to see if anyone is in the next lane before he puts on his turn signal. They are passing through the city where the buildings looming above them are slowly approaching and then leaving his truck.

The cat senses something wrong. It knows that danger is lurking around this man. It turns to the window and scratches at it, wanting to get out.

"Seriously?!" Jason explodes at it. "You demand to stay in my truck, and now you want out?!"

It meows in a growl and continues scratching.

Jason curses as white scratch marks appear on the glass. He growls and then pounds his fist on the door beside him, letting the window down. "That's it," he says, "I should've never fed you."

The cat responds by rearing up its haunches and leaping out the window.

"Yeah, nice to meet you, too!" he calls after it.

Jason finally looks up and realizes too late. With a jolt, he sees a girl walking out in front of the car. He exclaims out to move, and on instinct, he jerks the wheel to the right. And then his dream became reality.

The phone shakes against Piper's ear. After multiple tries, she was finally able to dial the right number, her trembling finger having pressed the wrong number in those failed times. It now rings, and as she waits for the light to change so she can cross the road, she plans on what to say to him. She wonders what he will think, what he will say.

"Hey," her father's voice says.

She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by him.

"You've reached Tristan McLean's phone," his machine that imitates his voice now says to her. "Sorry I couldn't answer, I'm probably very busy, but please leave a message at the beep and I will try to get back to you."

She groans softly and her heart weighed down in her chest. She hated that machine, because it just didn't feel like him. Its voice was too monotone-like.

But now what was worse was that Piper wasn't able to tell it to his face. She only had about ten or twenty seconds to explain to her dad something was wrong. And he was probably so busy with his next big film, he may not answer back. She had to say what was most important.

There was a long beep, telling her to speak now or forever hold her peace.

Piper took in another deep breath.

"Hey, dad," she started off. "It's me, Piper. Um, sorry to interrupt you or whatever you're doing," she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and glances around her. Everything around her looks so normal: the buildings are still tall, the cars still move, the lights still turn green, the sky is still blue. She feels as though she's the only thing that has something wrong with her.

"Listen, there's something really important I have to tell you." She croaks through the lump in her throat. "I know you're busy, and I haven't talked to you in years, but this time…I really need you, dad. I'm scared." Piper chokes out a sob.

The light turns red and allows the pedestrians to cross the road. But she is the only one there, so she quickly walks along the painted-white path of the road.

"Dad, I have brain cancer," she finally tells him.

Before she can continue on, though, there is a loud screeching noise, like the rubber of tires trying to halt too quickly. Her mouth is open, and she thinks that maybe she even screamed along with the terrifying noise.

She gasps so sharply that it catches in her throat and she looks over to find a blue truck speeding toward her. It swerves and jerks to the side, the driver's seat coming up to meet her. She could keep her eyes open and see who the person in the truck is, but she doesn't. She squeezes her eyes shut and the phone slips from her hand.

Her feet won't move. She doesn't know why.

Before her thoughts could continue rushing with intensity, something hard cracks against her head, and all blackness consumes her.

To make sure she will remember him, her last thought is her dad.

Thank you for reading our very first chapter! I would like to add on that this story will be a very long, nice, and plot-twisting journey. I hope you are up for it and excited to follow, because if you are, please do! And please review if you enjoyed this! :)