God, he hated having to apartment hunt again.

No-one mentions this crap when you watch a movie or read a comic and someone comes back from a coma, or the dead, or a different dimension, or from being brainwashed into evil. Usually it happens to extraordinary people, so of course it's all handwaved in the name of the story. Or in books, you don't read about how people go to the bathroom after they eat unless it's something important. Or gross. Or Both.

Well, wasn't he too extraordinary now? So Brendan called bullshit on the whole affair as he thumbed through listing after listing, leg restlessly bouncing. He couldn't focus for s**t, and it was only through sheer force of will that he was bothering to begin with. Well that, and his mother's threat to come over and help him if he didn't loomed over him like an ominous cloud. Wasn't he due a "time skip" where all of this was already figured out and he was good? Brendan knew why he couldn't just go back to his old apartment--new tenants had already paid and all--but that didn't make him any less frustrated about the ordeal.

Ten minutes felt like an hour. Talking to landlords felt like sitting in an echo chamber that never stopped repeating itself: this is how much this is, this is the space, these are the rooms, we have these commodities, no pets, yes pets but only if, security deposits are...He wanted to bang his head against the wall. Bad enough that he would have to wait a little bit before even moving into a new place. Worse was remembering why: money.

His old job had taken him back, thank the lord baby Jesus. Someone still had a sense of loyalty. But even so, it was a little rough at first. Brendan's knowledge hadn't faded while he was in his coma, but his muscle memory was rusty, and his fine motor skills (which had been iffy even during physical therapy) were proving to be a thorn in his side still. And even with his income back, he knew he had to save up. Apparently shortly before the accident, he had spent a reckless amount of money chasing his high at a casino. There was an implication that he had been drunk driving as well, though he chose to ignore it. What's past was past, right?

This was what mattered: he was back at his parents' place until he had the money and a place in mind. And while both were happy to take him in (with his mother getting to the point of being called smother instead), it drove Brendan up the wall in the same way being constrained to the hospital did. They wanted to keep treating him like he was a child! To set his sleeping schedule, to judge what he ate, to text when he stayed out late. So when his mind wandered again, he just played back that idea and was spurred to try another listing.

In the end, however, even the mundane could have a sense of movie-like dramatic timing. In the late evening, during the middle of a raid no less, just as they clenched their victory after numerous wipes, his mother came in. Quiet, tear stricken. He knew already what she was going to say, but even when she broke the news he couldn't help himself. He blurted it out as only a child could.

"What do you mean she's dead?"