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 Posted: Sat May 26, 2018 2:34 pm
total wc: 1,072
They told him when he first woke up, he had sat up and asked the nurse if she needed some help staying warm, since his cot was spacious and he a gracious host. Then he learned it wasn't January anymore, or even the same year. They fed it in bits and pieces, of course, and Brendan had to hand it to the staff: they knew how to make waking up from a two year coma feel more like he had accidentally overslept through a class.
It almost was, in that one moment he remembered being on the road, his motorcycle purring, and in the next he was simply off his ride and on the ground. And then he was waking up here to some lovely faces and an alien sensation in his limbs, like he had sat on them until pins and needles took over. Time didn't mean anything all of a sudden. It was frightening, and not in a good way. Brendan didn't like missing out. And, as his body was quick to point out, this wasn't a dream either. He was disoriented for what could have been hours or days, and he felt like a man displaced from a different era entirely.
(Wait, Captain America had that happen, right? He tried that angle, and the nurses laughed with him. He didn't realize what he had said was complete gibberish.)
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2018 2:46 pm
The best way he could describe it was like sleep paralysis.
Brendan found sometimes that he "woke up" in his own head, but he couldn't move or speak. He could feel his heart rate rise from the frustration, imagine his fists and toes trying to curl, but nothing happened.
He remembered his family visiting, sometimes. His mother prayed, mostly, and held back tears, touched his hand and fixed his hair. His father, ever stoic, rumbled in the background like thunder. Uncles and aunts, cousins, vaguely aware of their warmth. Abuela. God, his abuela came whenever she could, reading him stories, telling gossip, like he wasn't in an almost vegetative state.
Afghanistan. Half a dream, half a memory. The faces of his unit, drunk, eager, annoyed, all too sober.
The real nightmare was being locked seemingly forever in that state. Brendan was master of his own fate, not this...this shitty whatever it was. He railed against it, but he might as well have been trying to tame the wind. In spite of this futility, he fought.
(They said before he woke up, he had balled his fists. Frowned. Opened his eyes briefly to glare at some unseen enemy.)
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2018 3:01 pm
The question Brendan never asked was whether or not his family had considered taking him off life support. However, it still haunted him as he went through physical therapy.
Nothing hurts pride quite like having the flesh too weak to carry out the will of the mind. He never considered how hard friggen walking was before, or other incredibly minute actions: filling and drinking from a glass, squeezing his hands, talking coherently, stretching anything whatsoever...Even staying awake for more than a few hours at a time was infuriatingly difficult. His therapist was sympathetic, but he had to endure outbursts of anger that surprised even Brendan himself. This is normal, he said, you're getting better.
But my beach bod, Brendan had countered with a playful whine.
(Looking at himself in the mirror gave real meaning to the phrase "a shadow of his former self." It couldn't be him. This wasn't who he was.)
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2018 3:17 pm
The question Brendan never would ask was whether or not his family had considered--
Family visits were...interesting. His relationship with his parents was somewhat strained, or at least had been when he had taken off for the Navy. The accident seemed to have shaken it up some, forced his mother and father to put aside the pettiness from yesteryear in the wake of his recovery. Brendan didn't know how to feel, other than happy someone was coming to visit. He was so ******** bored all the time, he wanted to crawl up the walls and tear at the wall paper. Then again, it was hard to keep his thoughts straight, or remember the date, and other insignificantly significant things. But they loved him and, past tension or not, they were família.
And considering he had no close friends, well...That was for the best, anyway. It was enough to go through the wailing his mother gave him as she hugged him tight that first time, and then the series of uncles and aunts grasping at him, all speaking at once. He couldn't imagine causing extra worry to non-family members. It was all just...overwhelming.
(He couldn't remember why abuela wasn't there either. His thoughts broke apart at simple topic transitions.)
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2018 3:36 pm
To say Brendan's time at the hospital had been all pleasant would be a lie. He pushed himself despite recommendations and even orders from the doctor, and he unwittingly delayed his discharge on multiple occasions. On his part, he felt like he was being persecuted sometimes. Damn it, this was his body, and he knew its limits better than anyone in scrubs.
He eventually backed off. Barely.
Therefore, Brendan was eager as could be and couldn't dress fast enough when that day came. (See, look, he can handle the buttons on his shirt with only a little bit of an issue!) It wasn't January, he had learned quickly, but that didn't matter. What mattered most was that he was just in time for the summer season. Surfing. He itched to smell the sea salt and feel the sand between his toes again. God, if wading into the waves wouldn't heal his soul right about now.
It would be a bittersweet reunion, however. He couldn't physically handle catching a wave just yet, and even the bullheaded guy himself knew it. But he'd get there. Soon. He'd train all day every day to get back into the water. And speaking of training...
Brendan scrunched his face in concentration and held his palm up. It took a moment, but after a small burst of light, the wind chime appeared in his hands. There was still this matter to attend to as well. He dangled the chimes and let the summer breeze sing through them for a few moments before letting the item return to whatever hammerspace it sat in normally. That wasn't a dream after all, then.
He sighed. "I guess I'll wear a helmet next time."
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