A concussion was the injury of the brain. It took at least ninety times the force of gravity acting on the head to cause one. They caused headache, blurred vision, nausea, dizziness, confusion, light sensitivity, and potential memory loss. At a higher severity, there was a risk of drastic memory alteration, function-impacting brain injury, and personality shift. Repeated concussions could lead to mood disorders, memory trouble, aggression, and unpredictable behavior.

What Saguru was experiencing, based on his slowed thoughts, tilting vision, and a pain that seemed to come like a knife through his eyes, was likely a concussion. A thing he had observed in others, but had been fortunate enough to avoid occurring in himself until this point.

He could say with full conviction that he did not recommend the experience.

Well. That, and everything else that went with it.

He was on a case, or he must have been, though the details refused to come unlike how his thoughts normally functioned.

Saguru blinked slowly, eyelids heavy. Wherever this was, it was dark. Minus the light in the corner, like a nightlight, but it felt like the small thing was stabbing him in the eyes if he tried looking in its direction. It wasn't bright enough to do more than make everything a shadowy suggestion of objects. The ground was…cold? Hard? Saguru blinked again. The edges of his vision were black.

What was he forgetting?

One hand twitched. Move. He needed to—didn't he need to?—get up. It was very important for some reason that he move, but for the life of him, Saguru didn't know why.

A sound, muffled, like it came from very far away or like a blanket had been thrown over his perception. Another blink, ringing in his ears, Saguru needed to…

The smell of something sweet, nauseatingly so, cheap vanilla perfume over body odor, and a hand on his shoulder.

Blink.

Saguru was on his back, someone over him, didn't recognize the face, female, shadows blocking her features and a blur where her edges doubled.

"…dead, is he?"

"…ourse we di…monumentally stupid."

Blink.

Pain in his head, Saguru flinched. Touching, someone was touching—he flailed an arm weakly. It hit something soft, too light to harm. Someone's hand parted his hair and it was wet, sticky, tacky, hurt, and there was suddenly light.

Saguru groaned, eyes slamming shut.

He was going to throw up.

No. No, he wasn't but he wanted to. Instead, he gagged and tried to curl away from the probing hand touching the place that hurt worst.

A concussion was an injury of the brain. Saguru probably had a—

A concussion was an injury. An injury. Brain injury, head hurting, vision wrong.

Saguru was on a case, he'd followed someone? Where, why? Where was this? Who was touching—?

A concussion—

No more hands, just cold, rough cement under his forehead as he panted against waves of nausea. The nightlight stabbed like needles. Like knives. Like—
A splintered board, makeshift defense, caught off guard as the culprit turned out to be two.

Theft. Mugging? Mugging Saguru, no. A board to the head and splinters in his cheek, blood on his tongue. Headache and the spinning world and darkness. A nightlight. A concussion.

Saguru struggled to open his eyes again. He needed to move. To call for help. Did he still have his phone?

There were two people, two, he had thought there was one, but there were two, a board with splintered edges.

He tasted blood on his lips.

Saguru coughed softly, turned and the world spun, blacked. There was a hollow, pained sound and oh, that was his voice.

"Shit," someone said out of view. It was dark except where it wasn't and it was a struggle to try and look for where the voice came from.

The pained sound kept coming from Saguru's throat without his control. Like his body was a separate thing and his mind was a jagged tangle of sensation and pain.

"…leave him," a male voice said, and time must have skipped. "Someone will find him."

"I agreed to steal, not potentially murder someone," the female voice hissed. "…That's a lot of blood."

"We can't exactly call an ambulance."

"You should have fucking thought about that before you fucking hit him over the head."

"He was going to catch you Ru—"

"No names!"

This was important. Saguru knew it was important, as important as knowing—a concussion was an injury of the brain, over ninety times the force of gravity, headaches and nausea and confusion—a theft of something. Following… someone. A woman? Saguru thought it had been a woman, a woman whose face he couldn't remember, but whose hair was long and loose. Short. She'd been short compared to him, but people were often short since he got his growth spurt. European blood. He'd be taller than his father when he finished growing.

"—'s basement. It's too suspicious."

"A back alley?"

"…Just put him where we found him…"

"That's too close to the crime scene. There's probably police crawling—"

"He needs medical attention. I love you, but not enough to go to prison for—"

Saguru knew he was losing time. It was all the more apparent when the voices blinked and there were hands on him again, his head lolling painfully against someone's body, something rough scraping at his face. Zipper, metal teeth, dark blue.

Saguru was late for something. It was dark. It had been light out when he'd followed… followed… A woman, long dark hair, quick fingers, pickpocket so fast he'd almost missed…

A weight wasn't in his chest pocket, pocket watch, a woman. He'd followed… A board to the head, two people, not one. He needed to call… Saguru had a concussion. He was moving, someone was holding him and moving and his head hurt so bad.

His eyes scrunched tight against the bright stabs of street lights. The glimpse of a male chin, five o'clock shadow, healing razor nick on the edge of the jaw.

"Shut up," the male voice growled. "Shut the hell up."

Oh. The feeling in his chest was Saguru's own groans. His tongue felt wrong in his mouth. His teeth clicked together as he clenched his jaw. He tasted blood.

"Where do we put him?" the woman asked, by his feet, carrying his feet.

"Just… just put him wherever. Toss him in a dumpster for all I care. We're leaving. It's not safe to stay here after—"

Time blinked. Something smelled horrible and Saguru gagged, thankfully not throwing up. Everything hurt. The people were gone. There was a shadowed kind of light, like it filtered through something. Saguru had a concussion and needed to call…

He was late to meet Kuroba and Aoko. He didn't even have his watch to check by how late. Saguru's grandfather gave him that watch.

Everything hurt and Saguru wanted to cry. His eyes slid shut again. Moving was too much effort so he'd sleep instead. He was so tired. If time was going to blink anyway, he might as well let it pass and hope for less pain when it came back…

You shouldn't sleep with a concussion.

He had a concussion.

He should… Saguru should…

Saguru's hand slid against something sticky and plastic. Trash bag? Oh, he was in a dumpster. He'd been thrown in the trash. How was this better than being left in a basement? Softer than concrete, but much smellier. His fingers fumbled with his pocket, head swimming. Get the phone. Get the phone. There was a lump there, so he still had it, though the other pocket with his wallet was empty. Too thick, too heavy, too blunt fingers caught on a pocket opening, in the pocket. Phone. Phone. He had to…

Saguru grunted in frustration as his vision swam and nausea churned and he had to pause, breathing through his mouth. His fingers closed around the slick plastic cover of his phone, body-warm, and tugged it free.

There was no way to get his hands to bring it to his face, the task as impossible at the moment as trying to sit up. How mortifying. Yet he should be able to… Saguru had a phone in hand, it should call, could call, he just needed to press the right buttons.

For once, he was glad he didn't have the latest phone. Saguru almost had gotten a newer one, but it had felt a bit silly when there was nothing wrong with the one he had. This one wasn't locked by facial recognition or any complicated pattern of lines or numbers. Just a press of his thumb and slide to open. Muscle memory.

A fumble of touch, the phone button, he needed to call, needed someone, ambulance, Baaya? Saguru tilted his head down, tried not to throw up as he squinted at the bright glow of the screen. Pressed. Fingers slipping, wrong icon, try again, phone, yes. He had to close his eyes and breathe a moment until the dizziness passed before trying to tap again.

The sound was muted, tinny and too far for him to hear words if he connected, but Saguru could tell that his phone was calling someone.

They were supposed to go shopping, the three of them, as friends and Saguru never got invited to this sort of thing unless he invited himself along, but Aoko had smiled and Kuroba didn't turn him away and— The hum of the phone ringing changed. A voice? Saguru tried to say something but ended up choking on the sour smell of something rotten, coughed, and groaned at the way coughing made the pain spike.

Dimly, there were more sounds on the phone. Saguru couldn't make heads or tails though, eyes shut tight again.

Time blinked. The light from the phone was out, but the light from the street lights was brighter. Why failed to connect for a long moment until hands touched him. Saguru flinched, breath hitching in his chest, but instead of the callous male voice from earlier, there was a soft hushing sound.

"Shh, it's okay. I found you, you're going to be okay now."

Saguru tilted his head, waiting for the world to stop tilting, before looking out at the person holding up the dumpster lid. It took a moment to focus, but when he did, it was like all the tension from the last…however long… drained from him. "Kuroba."

Thank god.

"Hakuba," Kuroba said, still abnormally gentle. "You have everyone worried you know. Vanishing like that."

"Didn't mean to," Saguru mumbled, letting his eyes drift shut again. It was Kuroba. He could trust Kuroba. Kuroba wasn't cruel.

"Hey, can you stay awake for me?" Kuroba asked. Clever fingers brushed against Saguru's cheek. He let his head be tilted. There was a hiss of sympathetic pain. "Yeah, you need a hospital."

In another situation, Saguru would have snorted. As it was, he didn't have energy to do more than lean into Kuroba's touch.

"Can you sit up?" Kuroba asked. Saguru blinked at him slowly. "Yeah, dumb question. Okay…"

Saguru groaned as Kuroba shifted him, careful of his head and neck. Everything hurt. Saguru was so glad Kuroba was there. He had a concussion. His hair currently smelled like rotting fruit and one of his feet was wet and there was still blood on his face.

The gentle way Kuroba used his full strength to pull Saguru out of the dumpster would have been impressive if Saguru was in any state to appreciate it.

"I called an ambulance, but I don't know how long it'll take to get here," Kuroba said quietly.

Saguru hummed and closed his eyes again. The light hurt.

"Do you remember what happened?" Kuroba pressed, still gentle but insistent.

What happened? Oh, how he got in the dumpster. "They didn't want me in the basement," Saguru said.

"…Not quite what I meant, but okay. They? More than one person?"

"Mm. Man and woman." Kuroba was warm. Saguru hadn't realized he was cold until then. He could curl up against Kuroba and sleep like that, right in his lap and arms. Kuroba smelled nicer than a dumpster too.

"I'm glad I smell better than a pile of trash," Kuroba said with wry amusement. Oh. Was Saguru saying some of his thoughts out loud? "What did the people look like, Hakuba?"

"Short. Long black hair. A woman. Man with razor stubble…" Normally Saguru would have a long list of traits. Normally his head didn't feel like it had been split in two with his brains leaking from his ears. Normally he could see without everything doubling or blurring. Today was not normal. "I have a concussion," he said.

"I can tell," Kuroba said. He shifted and careful fingers peeled bloody hair from his forehead. Itchy.

Saguru wrinkled his nose. "There was a board."

"Oh?"

"Knocked me out." At least Saguru thought it had. Everything was a bit confusing. "The woman took my watch." He managed a curl of anger then through all the throbbing ache. He still didn't have his watch. He tried to sit up because he needed to get that back, but Kuroba tightened his hold, shushing him.

"Hey, it's okay, we'll get it back—Hakuba, stop, you're too hurt to go anywhere right now."

"I need my watch," Saguru said, squinting at Kuroba. It was very important to get his watch. Very. If their places were reversed, Kuroba probably could have pick-pocketed the woman even with a concussion.

"We'll get it ba—"

An awful, loud noise covered up Kuroba's voice and Saguru hunched with pain as the noise reverberated through his skull. Dimly, he felt Kuroba pressing Saguru's head against his chest to muffle the sound, but it only got louder so it wasn't very successful.

Then suddenly there were paramedics, and Saguru was being shifted over to their care. Truly, Saguru would have preferred to stay with Kuroba. He at least was familiar after a very stressful, painful day. Saguru wasn't given much choice though. Clinical hands checked his head and pupils and got him onto a gurney whether he wanted them to or not.

He thought he might have said something, asked Kuroba to stay, but then the paramedics did something that had everything spinning again and time blinked again.

Everything was too bright.

Saguru kept his eyes closed and let the world happen around him. When it stopped being painful to exist, he might try to engage with it again, but for now he could at least be content that he was safe, having medical care, and not in a dumpster anymore.

Saguru let himself drift.

Later, with his injuries bandaged, his pain managed, and half a dozen tests out of the way, Saguru reflected that having a concussion, once the awful part of what caused it was out of the way, was terribly boring. He was tired, yes, and still having a bit of trouble with his vision and nausea, but there was so little he was allowed to do. Limited use of phone, reading, or television watching. No vigorous exercise. Nothing that required a lot of concentration or brain power to do at all.

This left Saguru stuck in a hospital bed—only for a day at least—with nothing to entertain himself with. What was he supposed to do? Nap and alternately stare at a wall?

It was lucky, then, that Kuroba showed up with Aoko along, a small pot of flowers in one hand—living flowers, not cut ones like they were avoiding anything that quickly died with how close Saguru came to dying. Aoko brought apples. Saguru looked at them both as Kuroba acted like it was completely normal to be there in the hospital and no stranger than a day at class.

Saguru cut his inane babble about—actually, Saguru hadn't been focusing on what Kuroba was talking about, something about weather and school?—to catch Kuroba's eye. "Thank you," he said firmly, "for finding me."

Kuroba blinked. "Of course. Did you think we wouldn't worry?"

"Honestly, I wasn't able to think well at all," Saguru said wryly. He sighed. "It's still…"

"Foggy?" Kuroba finished. He smiled slightly, sympathetic. "It'll clear up eventually. Concussions are pretty awful though."

"Mm."

"Kaito's had one twice," Aoko said. "Sometimes his tricks go wrong."

"One of those times you made it worse," Kuroba said, nudging her in the ribs.

"You're the one who pretended to be fine!" Aoko said, shoving him back. "How am I supposed to know you're too injured to dodge if you don't tell me you're hurt in the first place?"

"Maybe you should reign in your violent impulses a bit! I would have been fine if you hadn't swung a mop at me!"

"You were still already injured and you flipped my skirt! Of course I was going to try and smack you!"

Saguru laughed softly at their bickering. Two pairs of eyes turned his way. Kuroba smiled and Aoko rolled her eyes before producing a knife that she probably should not have had inside a hospital. Thankfully, the knife was used on the apples.

When Aoko held out a slice his way, Saguru took it gratefully.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Aoko said. She sliced more.

Kuroba stole a slice and leaned away from Aoko's menacing hand twitch with her knife. "We missed eating together so now she's making up for it by feeding you," Kuroba explained.

"He's in the hospital. You bring fruit and flowers to people in the hospital," Aoko said like it was a universal truth.

Saguru had been in the hospital several times in his life, and none of those times had anyone brought him more than a change of clothing and some warm socks before now. He was fortunate to have such thoughtful friends. He took slices of apple as they were offered and let himself relax by inches, finally feeling safe enough to truly relax. Here, he could be safe and drift, knowing that no one would be offended if he couldn't follow the thread of conversation. It was nice, Saguru thought, to have friends.

(Kaito of course gets the watch back later ^_~ )