It was proving difficult to open his eyes with the intense light above blinding him every time he attempted to take a peek at what kind of hellhole he had been thrown into. The effort he put forth in trying to do something so simple was so draining that Merlin couldn't even bring himself to consider how in all that was holy he was going to find the strength to sit up and make his great escape.

He was becoming increasingly frustrated with his own ineptitude, so much so that he almost began thrashing around wildly. After one last painful struggle, he fell heavily back onto the stiffness behind him and listened, simply because that was something he could actually do.

There was a monotonous beep coming from somewhere beside him, and he vaguely registered that he might be in bed. It was uncomfortable. There was also the scuffling of feet on the other side of the room and a distant buzz of voices, almost drowned out completely by the machines. None of it was quite recognisable, his mind foggy and not quite belonging to him.

He was in the middle of trying to allow his aggravation overshadow his growing panic when somebody said, "Welcome back, Mr. Emrys. How are you feeling?"

The voice was too cheerful. It made him want to hit something. He squinted through an eye and saw a blurry nurse at the foot of the bed. A gurney. Great. Hospital. "What—"

"You're in the hospital," she said, coming to the side of his bed and laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He winced at the touch and snapped his eye shut again. "Oops, sorry. Do you remember anything?" she asked, but then said for him, "You were in an accident."

"No shit," he croaked as he tried to shake her away so that he might lean forwards and sit up. The light was making his headache worse.

"No, don't get up," she said as she pushed him back down, this time with very little regard to his aches and pains, "you won't be able to manage it, and those tubes need to stay on you."

"Lemme try," he said. His voice was rough and made his throat feel as if it were pierced with needles. He tried opening his eyes again. "I want to get up and—"

"No, Mr. Emrys. Just stay there, alright? You can't walk, anyway."

"Why ever not?" he demanded viciously, his throat burning with the effort. He tried to pull himself up again and caught a glimpse of his leg bandaged tightly from the knee, all the way to his ankle and with an extra brace for support. "What happened?" he cried hoarsely.

"You can't go through a windshield, across a car bonnet and land in glass without so much as drawing blood, Merlin. You have a lot of stitches, and you were rushed for emergency surgery. Now please sit back."

Merlin grunted unhappily and obliged, muttering something about hurting too much, anyway. There was pain everywhere, filling every crook of his body. There was also an IV needle in his hand which was further restraining his movements.

"Good boy. I'll let the doctor know you are finally awake, and maybe we can get you out of ITU."

ITU? Finally?

She bustled out of the room, leaving him to listen to the monitors that were recording his every breath and heartbeat. He tried to ignore the overwhelming smell of whatever hospitals smelled like. It was familiar, now—he'd been in a hospital bed too many times before.

He tried to remember what had called for a bed this time. An accident, the nurse had said, but what type of accident?

Lights. Ice. The car. Oh, Lord, the car. Will's car.

Will.

Merlin threw his head back and groaned.

"Mr. Emrys," said an old man as he swept into the white room, his head bent over a clipboard. The too-cheerful woman was trailing behind him with a smile that should have illegal. "How are you feeling?"

"Are you seriously asking that question?"

"It's polite to ask," the doctor replied, smiling. "My name is Doctor Wilson, but you can call me Gaius, if you want. The nurse here is Elena."

"Sure."

"What do you remember?" Wilson-what's-his-face asked as he set the clipboard down at Merlin's feet on the mattress and came closer. He began tilting Merlin's head this way and that, apparently searching for something, and he looked so contemplative that Merlin didn't want to answer for a minute so as to not disturb him.

"Er," he rasped stupidly when Wilson stared down at him with expectant eyes. He was checking the IV on Merlin's arm now. "The car. I was in the car. The roads were icy, and the traffic lights were broken..." he said slowly, trailing off. He frowned. "I wasn't speeding."

"You were, a little," Wilson injected.

"Okay, so I was speeding a little," Merlin said. "But what I mean is that I know it wasn't my fault."

"It's alright, Mr. Emrys, I'm not the police."

"You're acting like it," Merlin grumbled, pointedly staring out of the window. It was dark, cloudy, and completely gloomy, more so than usual around this time of the year. It reflected his mood entirely. "I suppose they'll want to talk to me?"

"I should think so," Gaius said humorously as Merlin met his eyes again. "What else do you remember?"

"Why are you smiling? What's the joke?" Merlin demanded.

"What else do you remember?" the doctor asked again.

"Uh... icy roads... the bridge... Chelsea, I think, with the other car. The other car... The paramedic... Oh, shit. Shit."

"I think we can rule out any possible amnesia," Gaius said to Elena as he picked up the clipboard from the bottom of the bed.

"I'm glad," she replied happily.

"Oh my God," Merlin said. "Oh bloody hell. Shit. He's not dead, is he?"

"Prince Arthur?"

Merlin groaned at the name.

"No, he's not," Gaius affirmed. His eyes were dancing with amusement, flickering between Merlin and the nurse. "He was extremely fortunate. He had barely a scratch on him."

"So he was hurt? At least a little? How bad was it? Oh, I'm dead. I should have just died. I'm going to be killed. I was in a car collision with the Prince of Wales. Oh. My. God."

"Well, Merlin," the doctor said, ripping some sheets off his clipboard and slipping them into a folder which hung off the compartment at the end of the bed. "I'll allow you to rest now. I dare say you will have some visitors, soon. You have caused quite an uproar."

"Oh my God," Merlin was still saying, "I'm dead. It's treason."

"I'll leave you to it, Nurse Elena. His vitals are nothing short of a miracle, so I will arrange from him to be removed from the Intensive Care Unit now that he's awake."

"Right-o, Doctor."

"I'll see you soon, Merlin," Gaius said carefully.

"They'll string me up and I'll never see the light of day again. They'll put my head on the Tower of London as an example."

The doctor and the nurse shared an amused look before he left the room and she began fussing with the pillows by Merlin's head.

"We'll get you some food, huh, Merlin? Breakfast isn't usually here until about half past eight, but I think we can manage an earlier time for you."

"What's the time now?" he asked. His voice was still raw and painful, and he felt as if he'd used his quota for the day already.

"Too early," she replied. "It's too cold, and it's too early. There, I think I'm done here. Do you need anything?"

Merlin shook his head curtly, not feeling particularly in the mood for anymore conversation. He was angry, now, but he wasn't sure what or who he should have been directing his anger at: himself, the damn Prince of Wales, the ice, or Will?

Oh, Will.

Memories hit him: the car keys on the coffee table, the screaming, the crying, and the sound of the tyres as Merlin had sped out of the drive and up the road. Will banging on the side of the car, trying to get him to stay. Will shouting. Christmas Eve. The bright lights of London. People celebrating.

The nurse watched him out of the corner of her eye as she checked his monitors, but Merlin paid her no mind as he shifted through his thoughts. Eventually, she left the room with a promise to return with his breakfast.

It had been Christmas Eve, but for the life of him, Merlin couldn't remember what he and Will had been arguing so mercilessly about. He could remember swerving and the sensation of spinning, almost as if it was still happening, as he pounded the breaks, but trying to control the car had been pointless over the roads that hadn't been lain with grit. He could remember tipping, and then... darkness. When he'd come to, a paramedic—Alice—was working over him frantically and trying to get him to breath and talk to her to stay awake. There had been others...

"Breakfast!" the nurse cheered when she came back into the room a while later, balancing a plastic cup, a bowl, a plate and cutlery on an ugly plastic blue tray. She rolled the bed's table forward and set it down. "I managed to sneak it off the trolley for you. It was only outside."

"I don't want it," Merlin grumbled childishly, pushing the tray away from him with his good arm.

"It's good for you."

"S'not. Just a reason for me to get sick and stay in this bed some more so you lot stay in business."

Elena laughed and shook her head as she needlessly adjusted the blinds in the room. "Hospitals don't stay in business, Merlin."

"I'm your best customer," he continued, regardless. "The best you're going to get. The amount of statements you're going to be releasing and all that money for interviews you'll be offered will serve as proof. Now, can you get these bloody tubes out of my nose?"

"Stop being such a grouch and eat your food. You will feel better."

Merlin huffed. "There's no point. I'll be dead soon."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," the middle-aged blonde declared. "Doctor Wilson will not allow it, either."

Merlin thought of persisting with the argument, but he settled for another unhappy grunt and crossed his arms. It hurt, but he refused to acknowledge the pain.

"I'll leave your food there for a while. I'll get your poor mother to make you eat it instead."

"No," Merlin gasped, his eyes becoming wide. "You would never."

"I would, and I will," Elena said determinedly as she smoothed his bed sheets. "I'm going to tell her that visiting hours start soon. In fact, I'm going to let her in a little early."

"That's not fair."

"Should have thought about that before you decided to have a crash with Prince Arthur," Elena said smugly, her lips twitching playfully. "I'll be back in a tick."

She left him again, and in her absence Merlin drifted, trying to ignore the unrelenting pain in every single limb and every single crook of his body as he thought of how to get out of the mess that was now, and quite frankly, had always been, his life.

"He's definitely awake?"

"He woke about half an hour ago, but Doctor Wilson had to talk to him first. Now, Mrs. Emrys, visiting hours don't start until nine, but if anybody comes in and asks, just say I let you in, okay? It is Christmas, after all. Well, sort of."

Hunith looked distraught as she was led into the room. She had heavy bags under her eyes, which had bigger red rims around them from crying. The sight of her made Merlin want to melt into the bed, an incredible feeling of guilt washing over him.

"Oh, my boy," she cried as she threw herself over him. "What were you thinking?"

"I'll tell you when I remember," came his muffled voice from underneath her.

"I thought I'd lost you. Don't you ever do that to me again, Merlin!"

"Sorry, mum," Merlin mumbled, thoroughly chastised. "I didn't mean to," he consoled lamely.

Hunith straightened, her eyes full with fresh tears which were falling freely and unashamedly. She placed a hand on his bruised, cut cheek. "I know, cariad, but really. I thought I'd never see you again. Why weren't you wearing your seat belt?"

"What happened?" he asked. "Tell me the truth. I can't remember."

She sniffled and tried to compose herself. "Will said you had an argument about... I don't know really, about some boy who kept texting you, I think."

"Mordred," Merlin supplied, the pieces flying together in his head, and he found he no longer wanted to remember the details.

"Yes. Will said it was his fault. He said he tried to stop you leaving, but frankly, I don't think he tried hard enough."

"I think I nearly ran him over trying to get away. It's okay, mum. Don't blame Will. I was the one not wearing a seat belt."

"I'm afraid I'm going to," she replied stubbornly, suppressing an angry sob. "He's been grovelling for days."

"Days? Mum, what?"

"Didn't the doctor say?" she asked, sounding as genuinely surprised as she could be through her tears. "It's December 27. You've been out for nearly three days. You had big surgery. Doctor said... said there was a hole. The ventricle, he said." Her voice broke half-way through and her hands flew to her face.

He sighed. Merlin had learnt enough Biology to know what she meant, and he wanted desperately to reach up and hug his mum to stop her crying over it, but he still couldn't even sit up without help. "Oh, mum, don't cry, please. I can't bear it."

"I can't help it. You nearly died! I've been here for days!"

"I didn't die, though."

"No, you didn't."

"I should have."

Hunith swatted her son on the arm. "Don't say such things!" she scolded.

"Ow, mum! Watch it! I just meant—oh, forget it."

"Do you mean the hoards of journalists which are outside of the hospital right at this minute, taking a picture of everybody who leaves and enters just in case they are a relative of the mysterious driver who got into an accident with the Prince of Wales? You should see the papers."

"Not you, too," he grumbled as he shifted awkwardly on the noisy fabric of the sheets. "That slap-happy nurse has already given me what's for over it."

"Well maybe next time you will be more careful, cariad."

Merlin scoffed, and even that caused him pain.

"Now. Eat."

"There's no—"

"If you tell me there's no point, Merlin, so help me God I will hold your nose and force feed you. You're going to be in here for a while, so you may as well get used to it."

"I'm so glad to be back," he mumbled to himself, and he begrudgingly began to eat the gruel in silence under his mother's stern glare.