I. Hate. Homework. Nuff said.

Breakdown

Chapter 32: Memory

Carlos hummed to himself as he gazed around his boring hospital room. He was so bored. Bored of the boring white walls, bored of the boring white sheets, bored of the crappy shows on daytime TV, bored, bored, bored of being bored. That was it. Boredom was taking over.

So he entertained himself by humming all of their songs. He'd already hummed his way through Big Time Rush, Famous, City Is Ours, Shot in the Dark, Stuck, Any Kind of Guy, and now he was halfway through the chorus of This is Our Someday. Next he would go on to Boyfriend, their newest song that they hadn't finished working on because of...of everything that had gone down.

'Hmm, hmm, hmm, hm-hm-hm, hm-hm-hm...'

Carlos sighed. Humming by yourself is no fun. Especially when you're busy being bored in a boring hospital room.

Carlos really just wanted to see his friends. The nurse that had come in when he woke up half an hour ago said she would go get them, but she had yet to return. Carlos was a little annoyed; what right did she have to lie to him? Here he was, crippled and suffering from an extreme case of boredom, and she thought it was alright to tell innocent little him that she would be back momentarily with his friends and then just not bring them? Not even reappear herself to explain? She was probably off in the nurse's lounge or something laughing at the thought of him continuing to be bored right now. Classy.

Carlos flopped his head back against his fluffy white pillow- probably the only good thing about the hospital, the soft, warm fluffiness of the pillows- and inspected his sling.

The doctor had come in and explained to Carlos about the bullet wound and the broken collar bone and the sling and the medicine he'd need to take. Then Carlos had asked about James, and Dr. Anderson had hurriedly muttered something about a suited coma and had run off.

And now Carlos was worried. He'd heard the word coma. It bothered him to think that comas were now something he related to James. Of course, maybe he'd heard wrong. Dr. Anderson hadn't exactly been enthusiastic to tell Carlos about his friend; he'd spoken softly and swiftly. Then again, the lack of enthusiasm was probably a sign. Not that Carlos wanted to think that anything bad had happened to James, like another coma for instance, but he'd become accustomed to worrying a lot lately. He practically felt obligated to take precaution for the worst case scenario when it came to anything now.

Carlos sighed again, loudly, and it wasn't until then that he noticed the pain. The nurse had warned him earlier that his shoulder would feel really sore, but that the pain wouldn't be as bad as it could have been because of the morphine dripping from the IV into his bloodstream. Carlos hadn't felt it before; he'd been too preoccupied with the agony of sheer and utter boredom, but now he was beginning to take notice of the burning sensation.

The nurse had told him he'd fractured his collar more- more precisely, the bullet that Dr. Clark had put through his shoulder had.

Carlos shuddered as the pain swept fresh, unwanted memory into his mind.

The door literally cracked right off its hinges and crashed to the floor. Carlos didn't hear it smash to the ground, splintered and busted. His ears were filled with a pounding that was a result of the fear flooding his body.

He was now staring at several uniformed men. Carlos knew immediately what they represented. The LAPD. Safe. They were saved.

But even then, standing in the presence of the men he knew were going to save him and James, Carlos' fear did not disintegrate. For Dr. Clark was still hovering near him with that menacing glint in his cruel, laughing eyes. His hand was still wrapped around the gun, and his finger was still boring down on the trigger, and he still looked hungry for death.

And then his dark eyes, seeming to mock Carlos in his terror, changed. They took on an expression of determination; he knew he was about to be shot, but he first needed to kill.

Carlos didn't know why he expected it to go in slow motion; this wasn't a movie. He didn't have time to react, to avert the bullet.

He didn't see it coming. Of course he didn't, it was a bullet. One second it was sitting snugly in the barrel of the gun, the next it was lodged in his searing shoulder.

Carlos screamed. He screamed so loudly that he didn't even hear the second gun shot. He felt the life drain from him, and he fell to the ground, Dr. Clark falling right beside him.

Initially, Carlos had screamed because of the pain, the fiery throbbing that invaded his shoulder and instantly spread throughout his entire body. But already he felt numb, and the pain was evaporating quickly. Or maybe it was just being pushed down, squashed beneath the icy chill that settled over him when he saw the dead, unblinking eyes of Dr. Clark staring right at him. This time when Carlos screamed, it was in terror. A dead body, the lifeless form of a torturer was laying practically atop him.

And then it was gone. The body was moved, probably by the police, but Carlos couldn't be sure. He wasn't fully aware of anything right then, not even the pain that would have been there had he not been going into shock.

Carlos was drained. His energy didn't exist anymore. He felt numb. But one thing, and one thing only, was keeping him clinging to consciousness. James.

The singer was lying beside the desk amidst a pool of his own crimson blood, and still bleeding, profusely, from his mouth, his nose, his head. Bruises and swelling distorted his features, and even though he was unconscious, Carlos could see the pain on his face.

The sight left Carlos gasping and flailing weakly; he had never seen James so broken, and he wanted absolutely nothing but to go to his side and wake him up and make him okay.

But that wasn't possible. James was so clearly not okay, and a little wishful thinking on Carlos' part wasn't going to change that. Besides, one of the cops was kneeling by James and at this point the pain had caught back up with Carlos, and he was having an exceedingly hard time breathing. A whimper escaped his throat. It hurt more than anything he'd ever felt.

He heard very vaguely one or a couple of the cops murmuring, maybe calling out to him; he wasn't sure. He was seeing everything through a whitish haze.

The last thing Carlos heard, and the only thing he was certain he heard correctly since he'd been shot, was the cop by James saying "Pulse is too weak."

Then Carlos' sense of hearing was gone.

The last thing he saw was the one-toned painting on the wall. It didn't make sense. It looked as though someone has simply dipped a large paint brush in red paint and flung it at the wall. Random splotches of red dripped down the wall, and right before Carlos's vision blurred and disappeared, he realized the wall was smeared with his own blood.

"Hey Carlos."

Logan spoke softly, but he'd expected Carlos to hear him; the boy was obviously awake, but maybe he wasn't alert. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and the way they were glazed over with what looked to be tears told Logan that Carlos wasn't acting distant because of the medicine, but because he was remembering something.

"Carlos?" Kendall tried this time, speaking louder than Logan had. Now Carlos jumped a little in his bed, and his face twisted into a mask of pain when the jerky movement jarred his injured shoulder.

His friends moved forward, hesitating, wanting to reach out to him but at the same time not wanting to touch him, to make him hurt even more.

Logan settled for a warning of "Take it easy, buddy."

Carlos calmed down as the pain faded, and he looked up at his friends. Instantly his heart and stomach dropped alike; Logan and Kendall were visibly distressed.

"Sorry we startled you bud, you were a million miles away-"

"What happened?"

Logan stopped talking, not because he was interrupted by Carlos, but because he was taken aback by the injured boy's sharp, abrupt question.

"What...nothing happened, Carlos-"

"Don't lie to me! I can tell something's wrong. It's James, isn't it?" Carlos' angry tone dropped to a worried whisper. "I haven't even heard about him yet. But I- I remember. When I got shot, I was laying there about to pass out and I saw him. He wasn't moving. And all the blood- there was more of his blood than mine. So I know something happened. And I'm counting on you guys to tell me what."

Logan shared a nervous look with Kendall. Neither of them wanted to tell Carlos. Hell, they didn't even know how to start.

Finally Logan spoke up. "Maybe we should get a doct-"

"No. No doctors. You guys tell me. I don't want to hear it from a stranger. I want- I need to hear it from you."

Kendall opened his mouth to argue, but Logan raised a hand. He placed it on Kendall's shoulder and nodded at him. Carlos was right. He deserved to hear this from them.

Kendall uttered a defeated sigh and reluctantly nodded back. The two dread-filled boys turned back to the anxious Carlos, wide-eyed and squirming in anticipation.

"First of all, Clark is dead."

Carlos only nodded gravely at that statement. Yes, he was relieved, happy even, but he knew that already. That wasn't where his concerns lied.

"What about James?"

"Well, you were there. You saw...what happened to James," Kendall began, speaking softly. He didn't look Carlos in the eye. Though he was known for being bold, Kendall had his moments of weakness, where he was actually hesitant to not hold his tongue. This was unquestionably one of those times.

Carlos nodded, not wanting to remember, but unable to keep the vivid images of James laying motionless on the floor, soaked with his own blood...

"He was hurt pretty badly. Actually, no, that's a huge understatement. He had a severe concussion, extreme blood loss, and he broke some ribs, and one of them punctured his lung, his right one, I think. They brought him into surgery and almost five hours later the doctor comes out and tells us that the surgery went well. James was fine, and we could see him. So we got to his room, me and Logan and Katie, and Logan was- he was holding James' hand, and we thought he was waking up- his eyelids fluttered, damn it, he was waking up! But then-" Kendall emitted a groan of frustration, frustration with the world. James should have been awake! When was he ever going to catch a freaking break? !

Logan noted that Kendall was unable to finish, so he took up the grueling task. The words that came out of his mouth felt heavy on his tongue, like lead, and they tasted just as acrid.

"James, he- he had some sort of panic attack or something. Like a mini-seizure."

He paused to let Carlos gasp before he continued.

"So the doctors come in there and kick us out. Half an hour later Dr. Anderson comes back out to the waiting room and he tells us that-"

Logan paused again, but this time was so that he could take a deep breath, not Carlos.

"That James is in a pseudocoma."

Carlos tensed. He didn't know what that meant, but anything with the word coma in it couldn'tbe good.

He didn't need to tell Logan to elaborate; Logan figured Carlos wouldn't have known what it meant and went on: "It means that James is awake, at least, his brain is. He can hear and think, but...his body isn't awake. He can't move or speak...and Dr. Anderson said there was no way to tell if he'll ever wake up from this thing."

Tears pricked at Logan's eyes, and he let them flow freely down his face. The thought of his best friend being trapped forever, always knowing what was going on around him but never being able to respond...Logan couldn't handle the possibility. So he cried.

Carlos sat there in his bed with his mouth hanging open slightly, and his eyes wide and damp with a horrified glaze. That...what Logan had just said, it wasn't true, was it?

"Is he- I mean..." Carlos struggled first to form the words in his head, then to force them from his tightening throat. "You guys were in his room already...he heard you, but he couldn't- he was frozen- Oh, god..."

Carlos lowered his head so he wouldn't have to look at Logan and Kendall. He didn't want to see them, see the heartbreak they were feeling. But he could hear Logan crying, and it made painful, salty tears pour down his own face. They rolled over his lips and he licked them. They tasted bitter. Anguished. Carlos knew you couldn't taste anguish, but that was how they tasted.

Kendall, the only one composed, decided to add more, hoping it would reassure the two silently sobbing boys.

"Dr. Anderson said that there was brain activity though, that's a good sign."

Logan shook his head, choking on a sob. "No, it isn't Kendall. That means James is suffering. He knows he's paralyzed; that's why he freaked out like that. None of this is good."

Kendall winced. Damn. He'd only been trying to say the right thing, the one thing from all of this that he'd thought was at least not terrible. He for one thought that brain activity was a good thing; maybe the more there was meant the sooner James would wake up. But now that Kendall took into consideration what Logan had just pointed out, he realized with a horrible sinking feeling that Logan was right. James was obviously scared out of his mind right about now.

"Th-they said the head trauma he endured caused swelling in the brain," Logan wept on, and Kendall wondered why he kept mentioning all the bad things. At least Kendall had tried to look for a silver lining.

But Carlos needed to hear this; he'd find out eventually, and they had told him they'd tell him. Everything. It wasn't fair to Carlos to leave anything out. James was his best friend, too; he deserved to know exactly what was going on with him, no matter how much pain it caused him inside.

Carlos wiped at his wet face with his good hand, hiccuping uncontrollably. His shoulders heaved with each sob that wracked his body, and now most of the tears fell from the pain this action caused.

Kendall sighed and made his way closer to the bed. He hated seeing his friends like this. Kendall would have been crying, too, had he not cried enough already. Nobody knew about his conversation earlier with Jo; they didn't know how much he'd cried already. He was done crying. For now.

Kendall wrapped one arms around Logan's shoulder and held the sobbing boy close. With his other arm he reached and and grabbed Carlos' hand, holding on tight.

They stayed that way for several minutes, Logan and Carlos crying while Kendall comforted them without words. He held onto the friends he could and decided right then that he would never let them go.

James Diamond was in pain. A lot of it. His head felt like it had been split open- multiple times- with a sledgehammer, or maybe an ax. Maybe a sledgehammer one time, and an ax another time.

His face felt like it was on fire, and he swore it felt puffy. Swollen.

His chest felt tight and constricted, as if something was wrapped around it, squeezing his torso painfully.

But the worst was the way his body felt heavy, like a dead weight; he couldn't move. Why the hell couldn't he move?

James was getting ready to start screaming, when he remembered. He couldn't scream. And he couldn't move. He already knew that; he just forgot. He'd been awake already. He was frozen, in full body paralysis. He wasn't sure why, but he was. It was the worst thing he'd ever experienced. He'd never been so scared in his life. Being completely and utterly immobilized, literally, was more than downright terrifying. He could find no words to describe the sensation, or more so, the lack of.

Being unable to move was one thing, but in addition to that torture, he couldn't even speak. Couldn't utter a single sound to save his life. Couldn't let everyone know that he could hear them.

Psuedocoma.

Where had he heard that word before? It sounded vaguely familiar, a distant memory, like he'd heard someone say it a while ago, but not directly to him. What did it mean?

James remembered that word.

He remembered voices and a shrieking heart monitor and...

And then, suddenly, it dawned on him. There was something else...but he was suddenly so tired, too exhausted to recall what it was he was trying to uncover from the back of his mind...

He fell asleep.

One week. Seven days. 168 hours. It took 168 hours.

Carlos was out of the hospital by then, had been for five days. His mother had come, and she was still with them, for one more day. Brooke was back, too, a mess, unhesitatingly putting her job on hold, having vowed to stay until James woke up.

Already Carlos was annoyed with his sling. He couldn't swim, supposedly simple, everyday tasks like showering, making a sandwich, and going down swirly (actually, that one was forbidden by Mrs. Knight until the sling was off, with the strong agreement of his own mother) were transformed into challenges, and pain accompanied him everyday. Some days it would hardly hurt at all; just a sharp, shooting pain if he accidentally twisted his arm the wrong way, but other days his shoulder would ache to the bone, a fiery sensation that made his entire left arm throb. The pain medication prescribed by Dr. Anderson only helped so much.

So now Carlos was bored. And mad because he was bored. He'd been bored the entire time he'd been at the hospital- three days, two nights. And now even back in the comfort of his home- yes, home, that was what the Palm Woods was and had been for a over a year now- he was still bored out of his mind.

Every time Carlos opened his mouth to whine to Logan or Kendall, his mom, Mrs. Knight or even Katie, who always rolled her eyes and left the room, Carlos thought of how poor James must be a thousand time more bored, being able to lay around on a bed all day and nothing else, and Carlos would snap his mouth shut like a mouse trap. Then he would start to feel guilty, and then sad about the condition of his best friend, and so he would sit in his room by himself, staring at James' empty bed, and he would cry and grieve and pray.

Then when night would fall, he would remain sitting up, would keep his eyes trained upon the sad, vacant bed, and stay awake as long as he could. But he'd never last. He always succumbed to sleep. And, inevitably, to the nightmares.

He would dream far too vividly of blood. His, spattered over once white walls. James', so bright red, so thick, so much, everywhere, soaking everything. The only thing that separated these nightmares from memories was the eyes. While the rest of Carlos' nightmares would be the exact scene in the office after he'd been shot, James' eyes would be different. When it had really happened, James' hadn't been conscious; his eyes were closed. But in the nightmare, his eyes were Dr. Clark's eyes. Wide open in a cold, dead stare.

That was what got Carlos every time. The eyes were what sent him bolting upright, screaming at the top of his lungs, even though he knew to expect the nightmare. Then the routine would repeat, just like it had every night for the past five; they would all come running in, his mom, Mrs. Knight, Mrs. Diamond, Kendall, Logan, and Katie. But no James. They wouldn't ask him what was wrong; it was irrelevant, they hadn't even needed to ask the first night.

Brooke would make sure he was okay- as 'okay' as he could have been given what he had gone through- and would head back to bed, not because she lacked concern, but because she knew Carlos didn't want to be surrounded, suffocating every single night.

Mrs. Knight would leave shortly after, followed by Katie. The remaining half of the suffering Big Time Rush would stay along with Sylvia. The mother would coddle her son endlessly, running her hands over his hair, kissing him repeatedly on the forehead, massaging the tense muscles of his shoulders, and whisper soothing words in his ear. Carlos would always calm down after a while. His tears would dry and his shaking would cease. Only then would Sylvia leave, however reluctantly.

Then Kendall and Logan would get their turn with the boy. They wouldn't say anything to him; reassurances were dull statements, no longer promises. They'd been broken too many times in the recent past to be comforting anymore. Logan and Kendall would just sit up with Carlos for the rest of the night, because the only way he could fall asleep without waking up in a cold sweat, screeching his throat raw was if Kendall and Logan were huddled up right next to him.

The first night Carlos had been back at the Palm Woods, and the night of his first nightmare, he'd been so disturbed that Kendall and Logan had sat with him in the bathroom all night because the image of James' lifeless eyes loitering in Carlos' mind even when his eyes were open had literally made him sick. Now Logan and Kendall just stayed in the room with Carlos every night.

But then something changed. On Carlos' fifth day back, the hospital called. They'd been halfway out the door to go there anyway, but Kendall decided to pick up- just in case, he'd said.

Everyone watched on anxiously, trying their best to win over the pessimist part of their brains. When Kendall's eyes lit up and his lips curled slightly, the first trace of a smile from any of the seven in a week, the room was awash with relief.

Kendall hung up the phone and turned to them, smiling even broader. "James, he's awake. Like, awake awake. He made it!"

Brooke burst into happy tears and shoved the other six through the door. It was time to see her baby boy!

Logan nearly fainted with relief. Carlos wondered idly if seeing James awake and alive for the first time since...since the nightmare-inducing event would put a rest to his nightmares. All he had to was look into James' bright, sparkling hazel eyes and maybe reassurances would mean something again.

They were in such an excited rush to get to the hospital to see James that Carlos didn't even take the time to wonder if James' eyes even would be bright and sparkly. After all, he was different. Not as happy or carefree as the old James.

And for good reason.

Seven panting, shouting people burst into the hospital. Dr. Anderson looked up from where he was chatting briefly with another doctor near the receptionist desk and smiled. He had good news to deliver. Finally.

Dr. Anderson took a few brisk steps to meet the family and friends of James Diamond.

"Good morning, everyone," he greeted pleasantly. "I am very pleased to tell you that James has woken fully from the pseudocoma. His body is weak and he is still quite tired, but you may see him right away. Follow me."

Dr. Anderson asked Carlos how he was feeling, then walked a bit ahead with Sylvia to ask her how he was really doing on the way to James' room. She explained to him about the nightmares, and that she was worried and was considering getting Carlos some help, but she knew she couldn't expect Carlos to want to go see a counselor. That would surely only make him worse, the fear of having what happened to James happen to him.

Dr. Anderson said he would talk to the doctors down at the psychiatric department about it. He suggested that if an adult went with Carlos during the sessions, he might feel safer. Sylvia liked the idea.

They made it to James' room and outside the doorway Dr. Anderson decided he would allow all of them in as long as he was in the room as well, and as long as they didn't all crowd around James. Then he opened the door and allowed them to enter before him.

James was half sitting half laying, propped up by his pillows. The first thing they noticed was the bruises splotched across his face. Over a week, they'd faded to a dull yellowish colour, almost gone, but they were still noticeable, discolouring his jaw and cheek.

Next they saw the butterfly bandage over James' left eyebrow, where his temple had been split open from the force of Dr. Clark's fist slamming repeatedly into the boy's head.

James was frowning. But nobody noticed. Despite his injuries, they were all far too excited to see him awake, and it took all they had not to run over and smother him like Dr. Anderson had specifically instructed them not to do.

"James!" Kendall, Logan, and Carlos cried excitedly. Katie and Mrs. Knight's eyes lit up, Sylvia smiled warmly, and Brooke burst into quiet tears. James looked at them and frowned harder.

"Oh, James, you really need to stop going into comas!" Carlos exclaimed, rushing over to dive on his friend.

"Carlos, stop!" Kendall and Logan shouted. Normally they would have grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back, but they were mindful of his injured shoulder.

Carlos froze where he stood, in a half crouched position, and slowly uprighted himself.

Dr. Anderson chuckled and advanced closer to the still frowning James. The doctor smiled at him. "James, don't you want to say anything to your family and friends?"

James glanced up at all of them, and frowned even harder. Why did Carlos have his arm in a sling, why was Sylvia here, and why was his mother crying?

"M-mom?" James croaked, and he winced; not only was his throat exceedingly dry, but he felt as though his brain was about to crack right through his skull when he spoke.

Brooke took a step forward and nodded at her son. "May I?" she questioned Dr. Anderson.

"Go ahead." He knew he didn't have to warn her to be gentle; she was his mother, after all.

Brooke strode closer to her son, reaching out as she approached the bed to smooth down his hair. "Hey, baby," she whispered, her voice thick as she struggled to get the words out around the lump in her throat. "How are you feeling?"

How was he feeling? He was in pain, that was how he was feeling. He felt funny, floaty, and more than a bit weirded out after having had been frozen inside his own freaking body for the past week.

But more than that, he felt confused.

James stared up at his mother, his frown as deep as ever. Then he looked past her to Dr. Anderson and asked the question that nobody had expected, the one that chilled everybody to the bone with icy dread.

"Why the hell am I in the hospital?"

Whoa. Halfway through I started typing this in present tense. I...don't know why. So please ignore any incorrect time clauses. I think that's the word. Excuse my trying to sound smart. Or maybe it's tenses. Time tenses...hmm. Clauses reminds me of Santa Claus which makes me think of Christmas, so I'm gonna stick with that. I feel dumb. :p Ha, ironic, cause I was trying to sound smart like two seconds ago...Okay, I'm done.

No I'm not. So I look back on my fic and I laugh because I wanted to end it at chapter 20 (yes, another increment of 5 obsession thing) and now it's like, I could never imagine leaving it there and not continuing with all this. Idk, just a random thought for ya. I really feel dumb. :O

Okay, so you guys should know that I hate writing the mom's, if you couldn't tell. The only reason I'm including Brooke and Sylvia is because I want it to be realistic. So I'm sorry if you wanted to see more of the moms, instead of me just skipping a week. I suppose you could call that lack of creativity. I feel like the dumbest person alive. *_*