Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show so please don't sue.
A/N: I know a few people have read this story, but no ones reviewed it, so please, do drop a line. Tell me if it's any good, but please do be polite!
The throbbing hit him as he began to awaken. It wasn't as bad as it had been, but even so, it felt as though he'd been put through the wringer a couple of times.
Squinting into the far too bright light, he closed his eyes again realising it was only making his head hurt more. A beeping noise came from beside his head, where was he?
This certainly wasn't home, he was sure of that, last he remembered…he was riding the bike home…then…then…a grey car…a siren maybe and voices all around. What the hell was going on?
Opening his eyes full, he groped to the side of him with the arm that hurt less and found his glasses. Slipping them onto his nose, he found he was no better off figuring out where he was. The room was small with a number of machines in it; his bed was set to one side but there was another, although empty next to the window. The room was bright white, the only colour being the beige duvet and the pale green curtains that could be pulled around to screen the bed.
Only a few seconds had passed before a large woman bustled into the room wearing a deep blue dress. 'How are you feeling kid?' She asked briskly, checking over some monitors and a clipboard that had been attached to the bottom of the bed.
'Umm sore, confused.' He croaked, his mouth felt like parchment; grabbing a paper cup, she poured some water from a nearby jug and helped him take a couple of sips before replacing it on the side.
'What do you remember?' fired the next question.
'Not a lot, where am I? What happened?' he forced out the questions, thankful for the drink he'd just had.
'You were in a motorcycle accident Mr Potter and you've been taken to Westport General Hospital.' Came the direct answer from the Nurse. 'Now, what exactly hurts?'
'Everything,' James groaned as he closed his eyes, hoping when he opened them again he'd find out it was only a dream, scrap that, nightmare.
'Well, you've been very lucky Mr Potter; you're alive.' She told him as she forced him to swallow some tablets. 'We've tried to find a contact number for your parents, but there doesn't seem to be one, we were lucky finding your driving licence on you.'
James let her voice drift over him as a wave of drowsiness came over him, what the hell were in those tablets? Distantly listening to what his injuries were, he realised he probably should be more worried, but he mused it was probably whatever they'd given him making him this calm about everything. A broken arm, 32 stitches, something very technical with his knee that would require crutches for a while, a sprained wrist and a few broken ribs as well as more bruises than he could count; he was fortunate not to have more broken bones or internal bleeding, thank Merlin he listened to his mothers advice about wearing protective clothing and helmet, they probably saved his life.
The bike! Sirius was going to kill him if he'd written off his Motorcycle. 'My bike?' he asked drowsily, interrupting her mid rant about teenagers and motorbikes. She gave a small huff but answered anyway.
'It's at the garage, you were lucky it wasn't written off, but there is a lot of damage.'
Sirius was going to kill him was the last though James had before drifting off again.
Coming to again, he realised the pain medication must have kicked in as it was only his muscles that really groaned, but for the first time he felt wide awake. A new nurse barged into the room, still wearing the same type of uniform only this lady was a lot smaller with charcoal black hair and a posture that suggested no one messed with her.
'How long have I been here?' James asked as he managed to sit up, trying to keep his body from jarring his ribs as they protested at the movement.
'Three days. You're lucky you know.' The nurse answered somewhat distractedly as once again she made notes on his chart.
'So I've heard.' James told her ruefully. He'd been here three days! It felt like only yesterday he'd been going home, though with his frequent waking up periods, it had distorted his perception of time quite significantly. Hang on, that meant his parents and Sirius were coming home on two days! The bike… 'When can I get out of here?' he asked, if it was possible he could go then he'd at least finish most of it before his friend came home.
'Not for a couple of days yet, but you seem to be healing well.'
'What if I want to leave now?' The nurse looked startled at this demand.
'Well I wouldn't recommend it.'
'I want to leave now.' James told her firmly, his posture equally determined. She blinked before giving a small sigh.
'I'll get the Doctor.' She replied before heading out of the room, muttering under her breath probably something not very pleasant about un-co-operative patients.
The doctor as well as the nurse returned a few moments later, and after a small debate, he was finally allowed to sign the release papers as well as being given a walking stick for his leg, his pain medication as well as the doses he was to take with strict instructions to return in a few days to have his stitches removed and the rest of him checked out.
Maybe this was a little too soon to be out of hospital James thought to himself as he limped his way out of the hospital. He'd outright refused a wheelchair saying he could manage just fine with a crutch, allowing him to put minimal weight on his right leg. He must look like a herd of Hippogriffs had stampeded over him, James mused, what with his left arm in plaster, bruises everywhere and a walking stick; if only they could see the true depth of his injuries, but fortunately the stitches and the state of his ribs that were well covered by his shirt. The hospital had given him some old clothing they had on hand to him as the clothes he'd come in wearing had been beyond repair.
Stepping out to near the main road, he saw a taxi coming towards him, calling it over, he thanked Merlin profusely for only carrying muggle money with him that day, aiming to pass as a muggle for the day. It also meant his wand was safe at home and he could avoid any awkward questions about why he had a stick in his pocket, but it did also have the downside of meaning he couldn't call the Knight Bus home.
Getting, carefully, into the taxi, he gave the next best address he could think of, 'Fairfield Close please.'