Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N:  Thanks for all the great reviews.  They really encourage me to write for the story, even though I've been experiencing some writer's block.  More reviews are greatly encouraged and I would be endlessly grateful for your constructive criticism.  Hey—I'd do it for you.

I'M NO SUPERMAN:  JD

I haven't felt this relaxed since…well, since before I was self-aware.  This is great!  I should be in a coma more often.  I wonder how long they'll let me stay like this.

They'd probably appreciate it if you woke up.

I don't want to.  And who are you?

Y'know how you're always stopping and looking off to space, then daydreaming some crazy situation?

Yeah.

That'd be me.  Hi.

Hi.

You were saying something about staying in the coma.  That's not a good idea.  Somebody—and I'm not naming names but it'll either be Turk, Carla, Eliot, or Dr. Cox—will beat you into consciousness.  That could get pretty ugly.  Especially if it's Carla.  Dude, that girl could kick your ass.

No kidding.  Most girls can kick my ass.  But why do I have to get up?  Do you know how difficult it is out there?  There's a reason I'm here.  I can't do anything right.  I blow it with every woman out there—I even blew it with Eliot.  I couldn't please Dr. Cox if I raised a patient from the dead.  He'd still find some way to make me feel stupid and insignificant.  I'm getting awfully tired of being good-natured.  And Turk and Carla?  Did you see the way I betrayed my best friend?  I'm so lucky he forgave me.  He shouldn't have.  I didn't deserve it.  Man, I am such an ass!  So what do I have to get up for?  My girlfriend?  The esteem of my colleagues?  My best friend?  Just…just let me enjoy this.  Let me stay wrapped up in my happy little morphined cocoon.  Which really begs the question:  Why do we keep giving this stuff to the patients?

While you make an excellent argument for the abuse of morphine by medical personnel, cut the crap.  This pansy-assed pity party is beneath you.  Those people are your friends.  And I hate to break it to you, but they're the only friends you've got.  Geez!  You get hit by one little car and all you can do is bitch and moan.  Get over yourself.  You know those people care about you.  JD, you know they do.  No matter how much you screw up or how much Dr. Cox rags on you, they care.  Even Dr. Cox.  I think.  Well, he probably does.

But it's been so hard lately.  So much going on.  It's calm in here and it's…crazy out there.  You have to admit—this is the best vacation we've ever had.  I've ever had.  You?  Okay, they should probably start feeding me an anti-psychotic now.  This goes way beyond talking to yourself.

What do you want to hear from me?  You want me to tell you it's okay to give up?  You want me to suddenly say, "Sure, just lie there and let your whole future go to hell."  Well, no!  I'm not gonna say that!  There will always be rough spots in your life.  They'll pass. 

What if they don't?

They will.

But what if they don't?

Listen.  To.  Me.  They will.  You gotta believe me, man.  If you're gonna believe anybody, you gotta believe me.  Would I steer you wrong?  Me?  Us?  Maybe they should start a drip of some anti-psychotic.

Told you so.

It's time to get up, JD.

But—

No.  It's time to get up.  Get.  Up.

Wish me luck.

There's no such thing as luck.  But I'm gonna guess that if there were, you'd need a lot more than I could wish for you.

Thanks for the moral support.

You're welcome.

JD woke up.