A/N: I know that if I'm writing any fan fiction at all, I should be working on the serialized stuff. But after hearing this song again I just could not get this fic out of my head. Also, since is not necessary, it's easier to just work on one-shots during study/homework breaks. Apparently, I took too many breaks, as this story was suppped to be around 3,000 words. Oops. Whatever, I just finished with a huge paper!
The song is "Tell Me" by the Uggos (ten points to the first person who knows where it's from). I changed some lyrics and omitted others, but kept about 90 percent of it. This is why I shouldn't listen to music with words.
Warning: Contains references to drugs, implied violence and is very dramatic.
Wilbur was in his last semester of his senior year of college at MIT. He was traveling home for the weekend for Tallulah's birthday. He was taking the train, because for some weird reason, he loved the train. It took twice the time as traveling by car (two hours), but it was just so much fun. Plus, he met some interesting people on the train. He loved his single-serving friends.
Only, he never made it to the train station where his father waited to pick him up. In the next three hours, there would be a total of 119 missed calls made to his phone from sixteen different numbers, including his family, friends, girlfriend and neighbors. Never had Cornelius been more thankful that he had asked for Soleil's phone number (which was supposed to be so he could enlist her help in planning a surprise party when Wilbur graduated). They stopped calling when Art found the phone though the GPS tracking device along Wilbur's train route, sans Wilbur.
Franny and Cornelius filed a missing person's report. Technically, he was supposed to have been missing for at least 24 hours, and Soleil had dropped him off at the train station less than six hours before. But because he was the son of someone very well known, and could easily be a target for kidnapping and blackmail, the cops let it slide.
Carl and Laszlo, who had very sharp eyes, went to Cambridge to search for him, there. They went to his apartment and searched through his stuff to see if there was any clue as to his whereabouts. The most remarkable thing they found was a bottle of antibiotics he had been taking for an ear infection he got when he swam in a lake, which he had apparently left behind. Could it have been on purpose? Was he planning on returning? None of his friends seemed to know anything about it. After gaining some more info from them, Laszlo and Carl searched for him around town and campus. But there was no sign of him.
Another four hours later, someone called the Robinson's home phone. It seemed Wilbur had been found. He was in the small town of Robinsville, North Carolina. He was hundreds of miles away from home, in a town none of his family or friends had ever heard of, in a state that his train did not reach, without any of his things (including wallet and ID) and completely unconscious. His family flew over, immediately.
There's something that's the matter
With you I really just can't explain
He was only allowed two visitors at once. Despite the fact that he was in a coma, the doctors did not want him bothered. In fact, they were giving him sedatives. Even in his unconscious state, he had tried to extubate himself, which would have been bad. He needed that tube protecting his airway, and was, in fact, on a ventilator, even though he was breathing himself about a third of the time. That was a good sign, right? Trying to remove something uncomfortable and breathing on his own, a little couldn't be bad, could they?
Franny and Cornelius stood on either side of their son, positively heartbroken. Maybe even more intense than their pain, though, was their need for answers. They were incapable of comprehending what could possibly have happened. The doctors were baffled, too. There was no sign of blunt trauma to his head, though there were a few bruises and scrapes on other parts of his body, and he had a fractured wrist. It was not, as far as they could tell, drug induced, either. His tox screen came back negative for everything. Then again, there was no being sure. The hospitals were having trouble keeping up with the drug designers. It seemed every few months there was something new they had figured out to test for.
There were just so many questions. Wilbur's parents spoke to him, though neither was sure they could hear him. They never said anything, negative, though. It was all how much they loved and missed him. They told him how much they wanted him back, and what a celebration they'd throw for him when it happened. They promised him a new car, computer and a vacation to Hawaii. Anything to "bribe" him into waking up, or even just responding to a needle prick. Not that he needed material incentive for waking up. If he could hear them, and had he the ability, he'd have woken up the moment they arrived.
You're quiet to my questions,
And I'm always asking who's to blame
While they had yet to figure out a cause for Wilbur's slumber, Cornelius already felt extremely guilty. Somehow, he was to blame. There was a possibility that it was a suicide attempt. For some terrible, unknown reason, Cornelius thought this one of the most likely explanations. What had he done to Wilbur? He hadn't been a perfect father. He tried to be there, but that wasn't always possible. He had yelled at his son too much, especially when he was a teenager. He never quite knew what he was doing.
After one particularly bad fight with the boy at age sixteen, Cornelius was at wits end. His son had just stayed out past curfew on a school night, with no mention of where he was, and with his phone off. He and Franny worried something bad had happened. He'd had his driver's license only two months, and they both knew that new drivers are often more dangerous than drunk drivers. The moment he walked in the door, instead of the usual attempt to explain or apology, he actually yelled at them as though they had done something wrong by staying up waiting for him. He wouldn't even tell them where he had been or what he had been doing. Something was clearly wrong. They took away his license for a month. He was positively livid. After the shouting match Cornelius wondered if things might turn out differently if he'd kept his cool.
Bud told him, "Every parent feels like the blind leading the blind, sometimes. You just have to use your best judgment and try really hard. I cannot tell you how many times I felt completely lost with you. And you grew up to be, well, I couldn't be prouder to call you my son. I know this is probably falling on deaf ears, but don't worry so much."
But what if his dad was wrong? What if Cornelius had destroyed his son to the point of him wanting to end his own life? Could that one incident have been instrumental in his son ending up in this hospital bed? It wasn't until a few days later that he found out what had happened, and he did apologize to the boy for yelling, then. But what if the damage was already done? He did have a time machine. He could go back fix some things. But what? He couldn't go back and fix every little mistake. So what could he do to stop this?
There was the obvious answer of not letting him get on the train. He could stop at his son's apartment, and drive him home, himself. He could watch him like a hawk to make sure whatever caused this didn't happen. He hated messing with the timeline, though. He could feel it, in a way, and it always scared him. Some things were lost, and others changed a little too much. This was the precise reason he never mass-produced or sold a time machine. If he, say, went back and stopped the Holocaust, on top of any number of things being changed, the event would only happen in the future because people would not have it to learn from.
He and Franny decided that they'd go back if this lasted a month (which was when the neural regeneration therapy often stopped working so well and brain damage might occur) or, heaven forbid, he died. Cornelius had made a promise to himself not to go back in time to save someone's life because it could have all sorts of crazy repercussions. Not to mention, death is a part of life that everyone experiences; constantly avoiding it only helps to perpetuate fear of it. But he could not keep that promise when it was his son on the line.
More than anything else, he gave them the month delay out of the fear that nothing could be done about it. If he had to go through this, he wanted to be able to maintain that hope that it could be different. If he was going to inevitably lose his son, he would need at least a month to prepare to keep from going utterly and ridiculously insane. Also, it gave them a month to gather clues as to how to possibly prevent it.
Your silence is off-balance,
And I'm looking for a clue
And I'm wondering if I'm asking
What it takes to get through to you
Three days later, he still hadn't woken up. He was transferred to Todayland General Hospital. Cornelius and Franny slept at the hospital. They alternated sleeping in the chair in his hospital room and on a cot in a very small waiting room that was always empty after visiting hours. Cornelius was sure they would not have let he and Franny do this if he had not donated a wing to the hospital a few years earlier. He was very thankful he'd done that, now. They never left the hospital at the same time. They each went home once a day to shower, get clothes for the next day, give the family an update (though there was never anything new) and eat a meal that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. They were never home for longer than an hour, though.
Cornelius was surprised by just how physical his reaction to the whole thing was. He found that he was literally in physical pain, especially in his chest, just looking at or thinking about his son. He'd never lost anyone very close to him, before, so he wasn't used to grief. True, he had not lost his son, at least not yet, but he still felt as though his heart had been rent in two. It just wasn't right to see your child like that. Franny actually had morning sickness, again. At separate times, each had insisted the other see a doctor, as well. The idea of losing one's only child and spouse at the same time was too much to even think about. But there was nothing physically wrong with either of them. This was just what grief did to parents. And they still had their child, technically.
Cornelius was alone with his son for the first time in 24 hours. He'd decided to ask his son a few questions. First, just simple ones. They had been asking if Wilbur could hear them, this whole time, but maybe he'd respond to something else.
"Wilbur, do you know who I am? Squeeze my hand if you do." Nothing. "Son, please, your mother and I are so worried. Can you here me? Just give some indication." The same. Cornelius stood silently for a moment. He was getting tired of the silence. Finally, he yelled, "What the hell happened to you? Can't you just blink and tell me you're there?!" No response. A nurse entered the room and Cornelius was suddenly very embarrassed. He had just lost his temper with his comatose son.
He watched as she changed an IV bag and checked some numbers on some machines. "He's breathing more on his own, today. The vent is only causing six breaths per minute, but he's taking fourteen." She pointed to the number fourteen on one of the displays. "The other eight are his doing."
"Good. Maybe he's starting to come out of this."
Tell me are you scared?
Tell me are you lonely?
It had been six days and Cornelius was almost starting to get used to the whole thing. Every once in a while Wilbur would twitch, slightly. Cornelius and Franny no longer scrambled to get a doctor or talk to him every time it happened. They had been here too long. The movement was usually coupled with a slight rise in his heart rate for a minute or so, then it went back down. Cornelius wondered what his son was feeling that made him do that. He also had petite mal seizures sometimes, so it could be something like that. Just a physiological cause, nothing conscious.
Cornelius did wonder, though, if the trembles were out of fear. What did his son see? What was going on in there? There was indication of brain activity, a good sign. But was it good brain activity? Was he scared? Did he know he could die? What if none of anyone's interactions were getting through to him? Could he possibly think he was all alone in this? By now they were allowing more than two in the room at once as getting too excited was clearly not an issue. There were times when there were six or seven people (the room couldn't hold any more) with him. Every member of his family visited at least every other day (most of them, daily), his girlfriend visited on the weekends and nights when she didn't have class and she always brought a few of his friends. Eighteen people had visited him at least twice, each. But he might not have known. He could easily be alone and scared in there, with no one to help.
He had no proof that Wilbur felt anything at all, but he still wished he could comfort his son. He remembered when the boy was three years old and, like many other times, came into his parents' room in the middle of the night because of a nightmare. Tonight, he was wearing his cowboy pajamas and he dragged a stuffed dinosaur that he took with him just about everywhere. "Mommy? Daddy?"
Cornelius sat up. "What the matter, son?" he answered groggily. He reached for his glasses on his nightstand and hoped that the boy had not wet the bed, but he hadn't done that in over year, so it was unlikely.
Wilbur responded, "I had a bad dream."
Franny gave Cornelius a 'you get this one' look as she had stayed up with him all night three days earlier when he had a fever. Cornelius got out of bed, scooped his son up and took him over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Wilbur nodded, "I was all alone at preschool, and it was nighttime and nobody picked me up yet," his voice gradually became more urgent, "and then Carl came, but it wasn't really Carl, it was an evil robot disguised as Carl and he had a funny hat and sharp teeth and I tried to run away but I couldn't move and he got me took me away and the sky was green."
"It's okay. Don't worry. It was just a dream," he embraced his son who was sitting in his lap, while he gently rocked back and forth, "You're fine, now. Nothing can hurt you. I'm right here to protect you." After a few minutes of that, Wilbur calmed down and started getting sleepy again.
"Daddy, can I sleep with you and Mommy, tonight?"
"Sure thing, kiddo." He lifted his son, once again, carried the boy to the bed, and climbed in after him. "Goodnight, Wilbur."
"Goodnight, Daddy. I love you."
"I love you, too, Wilbur."
What Cornelius wouldn't give to have those days back. Even when it was complicated and difficult, it was so much simpler.
Were you hypnotized by
Someone's little game?
Cornelius wondered, briefly, if Soleil had anything to do with this. Was there something she wasn't telling them? She was the last person to see him. Could she have had some motive to hurt him? Wilbur trusted her, fully. Could she have been undeserving of that trust?
He doubted she had a hand in this, though. If she did, she had to be a damn good actress. Wilbur had been in the hospital for ten days, now, and she had visited seven times. Cornelius usually left the room when she came, to let her be alone with him, but he did see a little when she surprised him. She always grabbed his hand the moment she got in the room, and kissed his forehead. She spoke to him, very sweetly, "Wilbur, honey? I don't know if you can hear me, but I want you to know I'm here and I love you." She was always crying by the time she left, usually to the point of not being able to speak.
He felt a little sick for it, but he found a strangely positive emotion that he could not quite place when he saw her like that. Not because she was crying, but because she cared so much about his son. The idea that someone outside of the family, someone who didn't have to love him so much did, made Cornelius happy. He would always recognize what was so great about his child, but it was nice to know someone else, who didn't have to, also saw it.
Tell me are you bored?
Tell how you got there
It would have been like Wilbur to get bored in a situation like this. He was never one to just sit around and watch the world as it happened around him. He always had to be right in the middle of the action, everything else was just boring. Actually, usually he was not only participating, but causing the action, and causing trouble.
At twelve years old, Wilbur sat in the living room, reading a book for school. He'd actually already finished it, but was reading it again simply to have something to do. He was not only grounded, but forbidden to speak to Carl for a week, as he didn't seem to mind being grounded much when they could still hang out together. His father sat in another chair in the same room, working out some ridiculously complicated equation he needed to solve for a new invention. After staring blankly at the page for a few moments, he decided he needed a break. He stood up and walked by his son.
"Daaad," Wilbur whined, "I'm bored."
"You should have thought of that last week, before the incident with the senator."
"Can't I help you in the lab, or some other fun chore like that? I'll still be doing work." Wilbur really admired his father and his work, plus, most of that stuff looked really cool. Or gross, which was still cool.
"Sorry, son. If you enjoy it it's not a punishment, and then where's the fun for me?" Wilbur glared. Cornelius pretended to correct himself, "I mean, then you'll never learn."
"I promise I will never make a politician puke, or superglue anyone's hot daughter to a table ever again." Cornelius gave his son a dissatisfied look. "Fine, I won't superglue anyone's daughter to anything, even if she's old and her parents are dead." Well, at least half of the population would be safe from that one little trick. "Now can I help you in the lab? I can mop the floor, or-"
Franny walked in and interrupted her son. "I can give you something to do, if you're bored. Here, come with me, we have laundry to fold!" she said with mock excitement. Wilbur groaned, but followed his mother as she had grabbed his wrist.
You've been living in a place
That I only know by name
You're pixelated perfect,
But your silence burns the same
Once you got past the intubation tube sticking out of his mouth (which Franny and Cornelius had) Wilbur looked very peaceful. Cornelius and Franny knew he'd love that if he were conscious to know it. Yeah, he's injured, but his face and hair looked fine. He looked so perfect, like such an angel. Which was so not him, at all. He had straightened out a lot over the last five years, but he was still no angel. It was strange to see him like this. Franny and Cornelius used to rejoice when he slept. He remembered jokingly wishing the boy would sleep for a week once, when he was two and Cornelius was both sick and had a ton of work to get done. Well, he had gotten his wish twice over, now, nineteen years later. He would give anything to take it back.
Somehow, when he looked so sweet and innocent, his silence was louder. It mocked them. Here he was, looking immaculate. Not making a single sound. Not thinking a single thought. Not being Wilbur.
All I need is a clue
And I'm wondering if I'm asking
What it takes to get through to you
Cornelius had gone back to giving his insensate son the third degree. They hade been there sixteen days. As far as Cornelius was concerned, time was running out. "What happened, Son? Did someone do this to you? What did you do? What did I miss? How can I fix this?" Cornelius gave up and retreated to the silence of the room, though he kept thinking. Did someone beat him up and mug him? He was missing his wallet. How could they render him unconscious without causing any apparent external or internal head injuries? Was he drugged? Maybe it was some new designer drug. Or maybe it had already left his body by the time he got to the hospital but the damage had already been done. Then there was the possibility that he did this to himself either accidentally or on purpose.
The doctors had started talking about a possible undiagnosed seizure disorder. He had been had had a couple grand mal seizures, over the last few days (and he did have a few febrile seizures as a child, but he grew out of that before kindergarten). The time first time it happened, Gaston and Art had just left and Franny was alone with him. She nearly had a heart attack. Cornelius regretted not being there for her. However much this was hurting him, it seemed to be devastating Franny even more. Eventually, they put him on an anticonvulsant, and the seizures stopped. But if the seizure disorder was correct, and he did pass away, was there anything Cornelius could do? They wouldn't put him on an anticonvulsant until he actually had a non-febrile seizure, but if his first one was going to kill him, could anything be done?
Tell me are you there?
Tell me can you hear me?
Tell me are you faking?
Are you even real?
It would have been like Wilbur to fake something like this. He might lie pretending to be unconscious for a few minutes. But never this long. He'd never put his family through this on purpose. And he couldn't fool the machines. That didn't stop Franny and Cornelius from hoping. Maybe they'd see their son sit up and laugh. It's all a joke.
Wilbur was quite the prankster. He did all the classics:
-Setting the clocks hours ahead
-Replacing the sugar with salt and vice versa (grossest coffee ever)
-Taking and hiding one of each shoe in the entire house so no one had an actual pair
-Using his watch with the remote on it to change the television channel or mute it at the best parts (that watch was confiscated rather quickly)
-Cutting the ends off of all Cornelius' socks
-Answering the phone with "Stonybrook funeral home, how my I direct your call?" or "Yeah, I'd like a medium, deep dish, pepperoni, and an order of breadsticks, please," which didn't make any sense as he was the one answering the phone (Cornelius' mother-in-law was not amused)
-Moving all of the furniture in the house that wasn't bolted down and didn't have people sleeping in it into the dining room, overnight, including other furniture in bedrooms- and a bed containing a still-sleeping Tallulah (Laszlo probably loaned him his antigravity device for that one)
-And making ironic (and lewd) fortune cookies.
He also got a bit creative in his teens with the campaign for "Thor Luther" running for city council (and winning 8 percent of the vote despite his not existing). And then there was the personal ad he took out one April Fool's Day. They received calls for "Ophelia Wood" about "You know what," for the next month, though sometimes people asked if peanut butter was really necessary. He hated that last one at the time, but now that he had seen the ad because Wilbur just had to keep a copy, and knew it nothing to do with sex, he found it pretty funny.
Then there was the one Cornelius actually liked, and helped with sometimes: they went to the parking lot of various local bars and put little blocks that stopped the landing and takeoff gear from working, so the cars couldn't move. There was a simple trick to getting the blocks removed, so the sober people could always do it right away. But the potential drunk drivers never figured it out, or lacked the coordination for it. Wilbur always found it hilarious to watch them struggle or try to run the car and not move anywhere. Cornelius liked the fact that it took a few drunk drivers out of the air. And it was funny.
But this was not a prank. He didn't just sit up and laugh. This was real life.
Tell me are you dead?
Tell me were you murdered?
It was day eighteen, and Cornelius was starting to give up hope. Was his son, for all intents and purposes, dead? Was that someone's goal? If so, why? Did he get on someone's bad side? Could he have taken a prank too far? Was it to get at Cornelius? He was well known, and many people admired him, but not everyone loved him. He had to admit, there were plenty of reasons to resent him. Many of his advancements had rendered other products and services obsolete. Tons of people had lost jobs because of him. Many were able to adapt to the new technology or find some other new product or service to sell or work on, but not everyone was so adaptable.
He hated the idea, but he wondered if they should start a murder investigation. The earlier they started looking, the better their chance of figuring out what happened, right? Once they knew what happened they could just go back and stop it. Carl and Laszlo had gone back to Cambridge and searched through his apartment, at the insistence of a new intern who had just started at the hospital. She didn't like this "mystery coma". Cornelius asked them to look for other, non-medical clues (notes, mail, etc.) that might indicate a suspect, but they turned up empty-handed on both fronts.
"They found a bottle of antibiotics, right?" the new doctor asked.
"Yes," Franny answered, "Could that do anything? He has no drug allergies that we know of. They said he had no sign of anaphylaxis."
"I know. Can you bring that bottle to me?"
"Sure," Franny was a little confused, as was Cornelius, "Right away." By the time she had finished talking. Cornelius was already on the phone to Art, who had the fastest mode of transportation. In under half an hour, the bottle was at the hospital.
The doctor came back into the room. She opened the bottle and looked inside. "Just as I suspected. This isn't Amoxicillin." What? His son had some other pills hidden in a bottle of antibiotics. What the hell was going on? Was it some illegal drug? What else would he be taking and why would he bother hiding it? He asked Soleil if she knew anything about this, but she was just as stunned as they were. None of Wilbur's other friends seemed to know anything about it, either. So whatever it was, it seemed Wilbur had told no one.
Tell me were you bad?
Were you just misguided?
Tell me were you sleeping?
Tell me were you stoned?
The intern didn't know exactly what was in the bottle, but she was pretty sure it was a commonly used antidepressant. They sent the pills to the lab, to make sure they were what they appeared to be.
Even though they now had a clue, it brought up more questions than it answered. He was taking something secretly. Probably an antidepressant. Was it legal? Was he really depressed? Was his current state the result of a suicide attempt? If he was taking antidepressants, why didn't he tell anyone? Why would he hide them in a bottle of antibiotics, and who was he hiding them from? Was he abusing the drug? Did all that even have anything to do with this? If he was using an antidepressant and it was illegal, could he have been using some other drug, too? They hadn't found anything, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything in his system that had done this to him.
Maybe he took something and was high while he was on the train. He could have missed his stop if he was intoxicated. If it was really obvious, he might not have wanted to answer his phone in case people could tell. Or maybe it caused him to fall asleep or even go into the coma on the train. Someone could have taken advantage his either stoned or comatose state, leaving him to die wherever they happened to be when they were done with him. Cornelius threw up, so he stopped thinking along those lines.
He had spent more than half of his life in various universities either as a student, studying every science under the sun, or teaching. Cornelius knew how readily available certain drugs were. He was astonished when he was first offered marijuana when he was fourteen, and by another physics student on the Dean's list, no less. Two years later, while working on his first Master's degree, he found out that a surprising number of his fellows abused amphetamines (three or four- but that was a big leap from the zero he expected) to help them study. They acted like it was no big deal, and it was only helping them as long as they didn't let it control them. Even when he was studying physiology, he ran into good students with drug problems. Then again, he knew the percentage of smokers was higher among doctors than among the general population. The very people who knew exactly what damage these things did to them used them even more than the average Joe.
Cornelius never fully understood why such smart people would turn to drugs. Logically, it was just a bad idea. Yeah, you might benefit from the boost now, but was it really worth what it did to your body and mind in the long run? Couldn't you just repeat a class if you had trouble? Cornelius wasn't perfect. He needed help plenty of times in school. So he visited teacher's office hours, spent countless hours in labs and even more pouring over books. The people at the coffee shop got to know him very well (for some reason, he could build a time machine but was never quite able to grasp potable coffee). Nothing harmful or illegal was necessary.
He had spoken to his son about drugs a few times. Wilbur always acted like it was so unnecessary. He wouldn't even consider that stuff. Cornelius trusted his son, but he also knew how difficult it could be to say "no" when people were trying so hard to convince you, and you really felt like you were struggling. Really, he was just trying to reinforce his son's confidence about what to do in those situations. Had Cornelius completely failed, there? Wilbur wasn't a bad person, but everyone was prone to mistakes.
The lab results came back and it was a commonly used antidepressant. After contacting Student Support Services, the doctors found out that he did have a prescription for the drug, (they also discovered a glitch in the system, because his medical records in the student health center contained no mention of it).
So he was depressed. Cornelius, once again, felt like he was to blame. His son was depressed, to the point of needing medication. But he never told anyone. Had Cornelius expected too much of the boy? He tried not to pressure him, but he did have high expectations. It was pretty clear, from his fields of study, that Wilbur at least expected a lot of himself. He was double-majoring in Nuclear Engineering and Biology, with a minor in Chemistry. That wasn't easy. And yet, he still managed to maintain a good grade point average. He had been on the Dean's list every semester. Maybe it was just too much for him. For some strange reason, Soleil apologized to the Robinsons when she heard this. Was she putting a lot of pressure on him?
This, of course, brought up more questions about a possible suicide attempt. His son had sounded a little stressed-out lately. He didn't call very often, anymore. Maybe he was trying to push them away, as depressed people frequently did. Or maybe he just couldn't get everything done, and didn't have the time to call. The last semester before graduation is often the most difficult. What if he decided he just couldn't do it? Would he choose to end it all, rather than face failure? Of course, he grew up in a household that embraced failure, but Wilbur didn't always seem to hold to that belief. Cornelius couldn't think about it anymore. He just held his wife and concentrated on the patterns in the floor tiles.
"Psychotropic drugs can lower seizure threshold for people with epilepsy and do cause seizures in some people without. That could be what happened, here," the intern told them. "In fact, I think that's very likely. A severe one could put someone in a coma, or even kill them."
So they had a probable cause. But what did that mean in terms of waking their son up? "Unfortunately, knowing how it happened doesn't help us wake him up, in this case. We'll just have to wait and see what happens." No one ever liked that answer. "The good news is the neural regeneration therapy appears to be working well. In the last few days, there's been consistent improvement in his brain activity." That was good, but not good enough for the family. They wanted their son back.
A few days later, Franny was coming her son's hair, as she often did. He would hate to have permanent bed-head. Also, it gave her something to do while she waited, seemingly endlessly, for him to wake up. They were one day short of three weeks and they were both getting very nervous. The only thing they could think of that might actually prevent this from happening would be not letting him take the antidepressants. Only, that would leave him suffering and depressed for who knows how long, and might cause him to take his own life, anyway. They were at a loss for what to do. They had ten days before they would use the time machine, and in that time they had to think of some solution. Unless they didn't.
Wilbur blinked. It happened a lot, so the motion went ignored by his parents who were the only ones in the room at the time. Then, there was a disruption in his breathing and a slight strained noise, like he was trying to talk despite the tube in his throat and scrunched his eyes again, only for longer this time, and then opened them, slightly.
Franny's eyes popped out of her head. She held his hand. "Wilbur, honey, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can." There was a weak constriction, but he had definitely done it. "Cornelius! He did it! He squeezed my hand!" she cried enthusiastically. Tears already began streaming down her face and she was beginning to hyperventilate. Before she had even finished saying his name, Cornelius had stood up and rushed to where his wife stood next to their son. "Wilbur, do you know who I am?" she felt the same faint pressure and Cornelius could actually see it! He pressed the call button so the doctor would join them. Franny wanted to hug her son, but with all the tubes, wires and lines all over, she decided it was probably a bad idea; so she hugged her husband instead and he kissed the top of her head. They were both positively overjoyed that their son was waking up.
Wilbur made another funny breathing noise. "You can't talk, Hun," Franny explained to him, "There's a tube in your throat." He slowly opened his eyes fully and made a face indicating that he didn't appreciate his inability ability to speak. The doctor came in.
The next day, he was breathing on his own, beginning to talk and was even well enough to start physical therapy. When you haven't moved your body in three weeks, it needs a lot of work. Because of medical advancements, he was ready to come home after being awake only three days, though he still needed a lot of physical therapy. He took the rest of the semester off from school (not that he had much of a choice) and decided he'd graduate next fall. For the time being, he was going to live at home while he recovered.
Tell me is there something
More that I should know?
After he had woken up, everything the doctor said was confidential. So there were still a lot of pieces missing for the family. Wilbur spent a few hours in the living room saying "hello," to everyone and assuring them he was fine, even though he was still a little confused and tired easily. He'd recover fully, eventually. They determined there were no signs of brain damage on the MRI. It was backed by the fact that he completed a few complicated physics problems while waiting to be discharged and that they took him only three minutes longer than they took his father.
It was a weekday and she had class, but Soleil came over, anyway. "I can miss one stupid biochem lecture. I know most of that stuff, anyway" she explained after Wilbur told her he didn't want her missing something important on his account. He did look happier when she was there. Eventually, though, she had to go back to school. She did have an important lab later in the evening.
Wilbur was getting tired, and the family could easily over-stimulate him, so he decided to retire to his room. His father and a cane helped him walk to his room (he could walk, though). Cornelius also mentioned that he would like to talk to his son alone for a moment. Wilbur sat on his bed and his father took his desk chair and sat in it backwards.
"Is there anything you want to tell me?"
Wilbur took a deep breath, but did not meet his father in the eye. "I'm sorry."
Cornelius was hoping for some sort of explanation, he was not expecting an apology. "That's not what I was going for, son. As far as I know, you have nothing to apologize for," he paused, "unless this was an attempt at taking your own life."
"What? No," he looked Cornelius in the eye for the first time, he wanted his father to know he was telling the truth, "It was a complete accident. I had a seizure and went unconscious. I'm sorry for causing so much trouble and anxiety. I didn't mean for it to happen." He conveniently forgot to mention that the reason he got help in the first place was that dangerously suicidal ideas had infiltrated his thought processes and were gumming up the works. But he never had any intention of following through on any of them, and was doing much better with treatment.
"Do you care to tell me what was going on? Why did Carl find antidepressants in a bottle of supposed antibiotics?"
He briefly cradled his head in his hand. This was not going to be easy. He had thought it was too humiliating even to tell his parents about his depression. Now, not only did everyone know, they probably all thought he had tried to kill himself. He was going to have go through about a dozen other conversations like this one. Hopefully, they'd get easier. "Oh, right. That. First, I want you to know that I actually had a prescription from one of the school psychiatrists. I took them precisely as directed. I wasn't breaking any rules, there." Cornelius just nodded. He comprehended and was very glad for this fact.
"I should have realized something was wrong. I had been having these weird tremors lately, but I thought it was just stress or something. I didn't realize it was caused by the medication, so I kept taking it because it really was helping. They might have caused a few actual seizures before, but they were when I was alone and I always fell asleep afterward so I just thought I'd fallen asleep, studying. I wasn't getting much actual sleep, so it made a little sense. I had also been consuming a lot of caffeine. It turns out lack of sleep and caffeine made the seizures more likely, and probably more severe. I remember getting on the train and feeling one of those stupid tremors coming on, and that's it. That's what caused this whole thing." Cornelius now understood why his son had apologized, but it definitely was not as bad as it could have been. It really was an accident, and might have been inevitable.
"As for them being in the wrong bottle, I didn't want anyone to know. I hated that I had to talk to a therapist twice a month and take those stupid pills every day just to function like a normal person. I felt like I had failed at life, or something. I used to keep them in a bottle of aspirin, before, but Soleil almost took one once. Once I finished with the antibiotics, I kept the bottle and changed the dates."
Cornelius looked hurt. His son had been struggling with this problem for a while it seemed, and hadn't said a word about it to him. "Why didn't you tell us? We would have understood. We could have been helping you all this time. And by the way, needing help does not equate failure."
"I know, but I was embarrassed. Wilbur Robinson does not get depressed."
"Oh, how could I forget? You're supposed to be eternally and paranormally happy, just like you're infallible and have superhuman strength." Wilbur appreciated the humor.
"It wasn't just that. I didn't want disappoint you and mom."
"Where would ever get the idea that that would disappoint us?"
"It wasn't anything you said or did. It was just, well, I don't even know. I felt like college should be easy. Mom had her PhD in genetic engineering when she was 23, and at my age you won the Nobel Prize. I wasn't doing anything nearly as spectacular as you guys and I was still struggling. I couldn't even do something simple on my own."
"We could never feel that way. You're our son and we love you no matter what. Just because what you're doing academically right now might not sound as impressive to an outsider as what we were doing when we were your age doesn't make it easy or any less important. There is more to life than academics. And double-majoring in two different sciences isn't simple."
"I know, Dad," he said apologetically. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I know should have told you and I shouldn't have been embarrassed, but I was."
"So that was it. You didn't say anything because you were just embarrassed about what your family would think. Have you met us?"
"There was more to it than that. I didn't want everyone to worry so much, especially since I was so far away. I was trying not to cause trouble." Cornelius appreciated the irony, here. "Also, I didn't want everyone to think they had to treat me differently and that they could never say anything negative to me. Just watch, for the next few months, everyone's going to be walking on eggshells around me. Every word will be carefully chosen, and nobody will tell me what they're actually thinking."
"That may be. You can always tell people if you don't like how they're treating you. I still think it's better that people know. You may hear more 'I love you'-s and praise than usual, but that's never killed anyone, as far as I know."
"You make a good point." He could just tell them when they got on his nerves or made him feel weird.
Cornelius was glad his son was starting to see things in a better light. "Even though you did it secretly, I want you to know that I am proud of you for getting professional help. That takes a lot of courage. While it's often the best thing to do, a lot of people don't get help when they need it and end up far worse off for it, or even dead."
Wilbur just nodded as a slight smile crept onto his face. He could be proud of himself for recognizing when he couldn't handle things on his own and for doing something about it. Seeing that his son was doing a little better, Cornelius moved onto his next concern, "I just want to know, how long this has been going on?"
This was going to sting, but he had to do it. "A year and a half." Cornelius was shocked. He had seen his son how many times in the last year and a half? They had worked together most of the last summer! How did he not recognize that something was wrong? How did he miss that his son was taking "aspirin" every day? That should definitely have raised a red flag.
"I know what you're thinking, Dad. Don't feel bad about missing it. I was just really good at covering it up. It's easy to feign satisfaction and self-importance. Soleil practically lived with me and she didn't catch it either." Wilbur was a pretty good actor.
"Yes, but Soleil is not your parent, and hasn't known you that long, so that's different. I wasn't paying close enough attention, I'm sorry."
Now Wilbur felt bad because his father obviously felt guilty and he could have prevented it by just telling him when it started. This was, of course, on top of everything else he already felt bad for and all the other things he was depressed about, including the ordeal his family had just gone through. "Don't feel bad about it, Dad. Please. I was doing much better by the summer, anyway, so there wasn't much to cover up." Of course his words were to no avail. His father would always feel at least partially responsible for this.
"One more thing. Why did you leave your medicine in your apartment?"
"I took enough for the weekend with me in my backpack. Once again, in the aspirin bottle. I couldn't take the whole thing because the antibiotics have to be refrigerated."
"Yes, but they weren't actually antibiotics."
"But if I didn't pretend they were and keep them refrigerated, someone might figure out they weren't really antibiotics." While it sounded a little paranoid, it was true. Cornelius decided that keeping a secret like that for so long would logically breed a little paranoia. "I have a question for you. Did they ever figure out why I was found in some random small town hundreds of miles away from here?" He was very surprised to hear where he was found. Especially considering he'd never heard of the place.
"No. We have a million theories, mostly involving someone stealing your stuff while you were unconscious, and then getting worried you'd ID them, or something, so they left you in a random place." This was a little disconcerting to Wilbur, and apparently it showed. "There's a chance someone tried to help you. If you were semi-lucid and mumbling they may have thought you were telling them where you were you needed to go, when you were just saying your name. Robinsville sounds like Robinson," Cornelius offered, grasping at straws. He failed to convince his son. "But, like I said it's just a theory. It could have been an alien abduction or wormhole or something."
Wilbur laughed at his last addition. An alien abduction was supposed to be less scary than a simple robbery. "I think I should get some rest, now."
Cornelius nodded, stood up, and walked halfway to the door before turning around. "Do you want me to tell your mother any of this? Or should I just wait for you to tell her yourself?"
"Just tell her that it wasn't a suicide attempt and that I didn't do anything illegal, so she doesn't worry too much. I need to talk to her about the rest."
Cornelius nodded "I think that's a good idea. I'll let you rest, now."
Tell me how you feel
Now that you are back home
A month after he'd gotten home, Wilbur was doing much better. He could walk and was nearly as strong as he was before. He was taking a different mood elevator, and an anticonvulsant. Now he needed to take two stupid pills everyday just to function. But he could laugh about it. He was still in therapy, both psychological and physical, but he wasn't ashamed anymore, at least not where his family and Soleil were concerned. He realized life was much easier when had his family's support. Not that he didn't have it before, but there was only so much they could do to help him when they didn't even know he had a problem.
He spent a lot of time working in the lab with his dad. They both appreciated their new father-son time. Even though previously, Wilbur had felt a little suffocated by his family constantly butting in, he realized maybe it was only because he was trying to hide something. Not that he didn't need any time to himself or time socializing with peers, he did. He just found that he wasn't as bothered when they interfered.
He visited Cambridge most weekends to see his friends and girlfriend. It was nice. He really enjoyed not having tests, papers, homework and deadlines to worry about for a while. He still studied so didn't forget everything and working with his dad definitely helped on that front.
It was Saturday, but instead of going to Cambridge, Soleil was visiting him. Wilbur got dressed after his shower and went downstairs for breakfast. Soleil was sitting at the breakfast table, already. She must have woken up very early, Wilbur decided. He didn't expect to see her for another two hours, at least. Maybe she was just eager to see him.
"Good Morning, Babe," she greeted him cheerfully.
Wilbur had never been a morning person, but was even worse since he switched antidepressants. Even though he'd been awake nearly an hour and taken a shower, he was still was not ready for that energy level. "Morning, Sunny," he replied drowsily and unenthusiastically.
"Oh, come on. It's not that early. You used to have a lecture that started fifteen minutes ago."
"Yeah, but it was just math, and I wasn't on a stupid medicine that made me drowsy and dizzy all the time."
"Your attempt to elicit pity has failed on the basis of hyperbole." Wilbur stuck his tongue out at her. His mother saw and gave him a stern look. He was too old for that and people were eating, here. Wilbur ignored said stern look; he was too sleepy to act his age. "Anyway, I guarantee you'll be feeling better by the end of the day." Wilbur had no clue what she meant, but he decided just to go with it. With Soleil, resistance was often futile. Also, it might mean something very fun.
Wilbur sat down next to her and she gave him a peck on the lips. He was still very sleepy so he just sat there for a minute. "Wilbur, are you going to eat anything?" Franny asked him. It was only then that he realized there was food on the table and it smelled good. He helped himself to some hash browns and eggs and started eating.
After breakfast, Soleil dragged him out to her car. He looked in the back seat, briefly, and saw a backpack, some water bottles and the dreaded first-aid kit. He contemplated escaping while he could, but decided whatever was going on might actually be fun, so once again, he just decided to go with it.
They took off. He watched her driving for a moment. "Again, no pity," she told him, "Today is for being happy not sulking."
Wilbur had not been trying to elicit pity, this time. He just missed driving. He couldn't get behind the wheel until he'd been seizure-free for a year. Since they were still tweaking his medications and dosages, he had only accomplished ten days, so far.
She took them far away from the city to the base of a tree-covered hill. "We're going hiking!" How did Wilbur ever live with someone so perky? She wasn't always this animated, though. It was special for today. She had some trick up her sleeve. Whatever, hiking might be fun. "We don't get out into nature, enough. Being in the city, and worse yet, labs, too much makes you forget that the whole world isn't man-made. This is what's real."
"Man-made things are still real."
"You know what I mean, Mr. Smartypants. Now come on."
As they started up the trail, Wilbur mock-whined, "Aw, I'm Mr. Smartypants, now? Last week I was Mr. Sexypants. What happened?"
"You still are Mr. Sexypants. Just not when you're being Mr. Smartypants."
"So the key to being sexy is shutting up?"
"For some people. I, however, am much hotter when I'm speaking." Wilbur laughed. Hard. She laughed with him, luckily. Not that he hated talking with her, or anything. It was just that there were many times when he was trying to initiate physical contact, but she just wanted to talk. It was not so sexy, then.
It wasn't a long hike. They made it to the top in just over two hours even with a fifteen-minute break. Secretly, Wilbur was elated that the upward portion of their journey was over. There was a little clearing, where Soleil spread a blanket and they sat down next to each other. "It's beautiful, out here. Thanks for taking me."
"I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to talk to you away from your family and our friends."
"Is something wrong?" This worried Wilbur.
She rolled her eyes, "No, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I wanted you to be honest without fearing that other people might hear."
"What if other people came up here?" Not that he cared much what complete strangers thought about him.
"Maybe you didn't notice the 'No Trespassing' signs. My uncle owns this area. He told me I could have the place to myself for the day. No one else should come by here."
"Okay. That's good, I guess."
"So, how are you doing at home? Be honest and spare me no details, okay?" The honest concern in her voice touched Wilbur. Not that he hadn't heard it before, but it seemed like she went through a lot of trouble, here.
"Honestly, I'm fine."
This did not satisfy her in the least. "Come on, you can do better than that."
"Fine, whatever. I still get dizzy from the meds sometimes, especially if I stand up too fast. It made me throw up the other day. And, as you know, I have even more trouble waking up than before." Suddenly, it was like a floodgate opened inside of Wilbur and every little thing needed to get out. Why couldn't this happen when he was with the therapist? There were always so many awkward silences in that room. "I like working with my dad, but sometimes it just makes me feel worse because I mess up and he just knows so much more than I do, a lot of which, he knew before he was out of his teens. Carl is driving me crazy, completely babying me like having depression has suddenly rendered me completely incapable of doing anything myself. He took all my belts, shoelaces and my pocketknife out of my room, along with who knows what else, and I'm only now starting to get that stuff back. I get it. He cares about me. But I am an adult and responsible for my own actions. If he's so worried about someone being crazy, maybe he should have a look at Fritz. He's been talking to a puppet that he thinks is his dead wife for about thirty years, now. Laszlo and Billy only talk to me when they have something funny to say. Gaston is scared I'm going to do something and it'll be his fault. He's very careful to lock up all his cannons, now, and constantly praises me even for doing simple things like getting the mail. Even Spike and Dmitri are afraid of putting any pressure on me, so they never tell me to ring their doorbells, though I'm not sure that's a bad thing. Our friends seem to think I'm contagious. They never return my calls, so I use you as a messenger, which isn't right. And I know I could have run this trail in under half an hour a month ago, but today I was totally winded just walking slowly, even with a stupid break." He was speaking very fast by the end, and had to catch his breath. It was baffling to him that even though these were just minor annoyances, Wilbur found himself fighting tears.
"I had been wondering why you always wore slip-ons." Wilbur had to laugh. That's what she picked up from the whole thing. Then she hugged him. "I know it's tough. But it'll get better." They shared a tender kiss.
"I know," he told her. "It already is."
A/N: I took a ton of liberties with the medical stuff. I know I do the seizure thing, a lot, sorry. That isn't even how my sister died.
Anyway, tell me what you think (that was bad, I know). Review, s'il vous plaît.