Day 27 - Left for Dead
A/N: Needles' hatred for Marty goes one step too far. Set prior to Part I.

The asphalt beneath his cheek was uncomfortable.

Wait, why was he on asphalt? That's a road, isn't it?

Why am I on a road? I'm not a car. I'm not even a skateboard. I am a skater boy...

He flexed his hands, feeling the corrugated surface slide beneath his fingertips.

There was something odd about the road that he couldn't understand. Last time he checked, roads weren't meant to be slippery. Or sticky, for that matter.

Maybe I'm in a pile of oil?

Or a water puddle. A puddle sounds nicer, I think.

He experimented with the substance beneath his fingertips. Not only was it sticky, but it felt suspiciously warm against his delicate skin. Maybe it is oil after all…

His body was being turned over, and a gurgle of pain bubbled in his throat as he landed on his back. Something was pouring copiously out of his mouth and he involuntarily gagged. Am I dying?

A breath entered his lungs, yet nothing happened. That got his attention. Air air air I need air oh my God-

He felt his head being turned to the side, the mystery liquid slowing down as it dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. A wet series of coughs was quickly followed by an uncontrollable urge to vomit. The smell was enough to bring him an inch closer to lucidity, though he knew he was still missing pieces of the puzzle.

He was now conscious enough to register the series of voices whizzing around his head. It sounded like a couple of men, though he didn't trust anything his brain was trying to process at that moment.

"Did you call an ambulance, Steve?"

"Yeah, I got the Burger King kids to do it. Told them the kid looked dead so they should be here any minute."

"Christ, what do you reckon happened to him? Hit and run?"

"Nah, I think he's been targeted. Look at how misshapen his nose is; a car couldn't do that."

"But he's just a kid, Steve! Who the hell leaves someone this bad?"

"Young people, apparently."

"Poor kid. Reckon he can hear us?"

"Doubt it. He's prob…"

He decided that floating in the void was nice.

There was no pain, no noise, no foul tastes in his mouth. It was a pretty nice place to chill.

If anything, he was thoroughly pissed off when he heard the voice again. "Marty?"

For God's sake, people, let me sleep! This is a damn good nap I'm having…

"I know you can hear me, Marty. Hearing is the last sense to go, and usually the first to return."

Wait a minute…who is that? You sound oddly familiar.

"If anything, Marty, you need to wake up so you can tell us which bastards did this to you."

It was as though a switch in the depths of his brain had been flicked. Images and sounds came flooding into his mind's eye, even though most of them were still a bit foggy. His emotions came to life; a combination of guilt, rage, exasperation and fear, all flaring to life at the same time.

Doc! Oh my God, Doc! How'd I forget your voice?!

Damn, I must've hit my head really hard this time-

Needles!

It was Needles, that son of a bitch!

Wait, why was I talking to Needles in the first place? I don't remember being at school today. Is it a weekend?

Why can't they just leave me alone? I don't do anything to them!

The throbbing inside his skull was getting worse.

He felt nauseous.

Someone was ranting about a high heart rate.

Doc, you better go get that dickhead for me.

Wait.

He didn't hear any of this, did he?

Dammit…

Every time he opened his eyes and saw the pristine white ceiling, he kept having to remind himself that this wasn't the afterlife.

Though it wasn't hard to believe he was on the verge with the damn tube down his throat.

He'd found out from one of the nurses that he'd been in a coma for three days, and that he'd surprised everyone when he regained consciousness earlier than expected. Whether that meant they didn't expect him to wake up, he didn't want to know.

The specialists had come around that morning and explained they'd be trialling him off the ventilator tomorrow. It was the most uncomfortable sensation he could possibly think of; all he could taste was disinfected plastic, and he gagged violently if he forgot to relax and allow the machine to do its work.

He gazed at the doorway, disappointed to see it was once again empty. He'd seen more of the medical staff than his own family. Whether he was supposed to be disappointed or grateful for this, he wasn't sure, but he would've liked to have at least seen his mom.

I'll pretend they came by while I was out.

All he knew was that every time he shifted his gaze, he would see Doc perched in the visitor's chair. Sometimes he had fallen asleep in an awkward position, others he was buried in a fancy-looking journal. But he never failed to squeeze Marty's hand and distract him from the pain with updates and prattling on his latest projects.

There was so much he needed to tell people, yet that information would remain trapped in his throat as long as the ventilator was in place.

How Needles and his gang had ambushed him on the way to Doc's lab.

How they'd stomped on his neck and squashed his traces while stabbing him with broken glass.

The mini-blackouts he'd experienced as the brass knuckles made contact with his face and crushed his jawbone.

The whoops and cheers that had filled his ears while he was drowning in his own blood.

For now, he settled into the warm comforts of the hospital blankets and slightly-understuffed pillow. Gives me more time to choose my words, I suppose.