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James stood over Parker's bed, not even attempting to hold back his tears as they dripped onto his hand, where his fingers were intertwined with Parker’s.
He was so pale, so grey, so… dead.
Parker had been in a coma for two days now, and they had been two of the worst days of either of James’ lives. He hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t slept, he barely drank, he practically lived in the worn chair next to the hospital bed.
He held one of Parker’s hands, and Ms. Jones held the other. Parker’s mom had long since stopped crying and now simply sat, staring at her son as the monitors and machines around them broke the looming silence with a steady beeping.
The girls sat against the wall, sleeping. Alice and Annabelle each had their heads on Charlie’s shoulders, a blanket wrapped around the three of them. Tear stained tracks cut across their cheeks.
James closed his eyes, tried to block out the dismal scene surrounding him, trying to ignore the sense of helpless dread in the pit of his stomach.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The heart monitor shook James from his thoughts. The heart monitor was something like a gift and a curse wrapped into one. As long as it was beeping, Parker was alive, and he could get better; alas, its constant beeping also meant that they were still here, that Parker was hooked up to about fifteen machines trying to keep him alive.
James pressed a kiss to the back of Parker’s hand.
“Tell me about him.”
The words were ragged and unexpected, and James looked up at Ms. Jones quizzically. “Tell you about Parker?” he asked slowly, trying to make sure that he understood her right.
“No,” Ms. Jones replied, “Or, yes, I suppose. He doesn’t ever talk about the past. Tell me about him.”
“You want me to talk about Thomas Jefferson?” James asked skeptically.
“Yes,” Ms. Jones said seriously, “Whatever else he was, he’s my baby now, and I should know about him. I need to know about him.”
James nodded. He understood. “Thomas,” he began, “Was… Brilliant. He wasn’t good, not by any means, but he was brilliant. Brilliant and passionate and arrogant and cruel and idealistic and ruthless…”
OoOoO
James was sitting in his chair, gently combing his fingers through what was left of Parker’s hair after his surgery when Peggy arrived.
James was expecting some sort of whirlwind of activity, expecting to have to tell his friend to be quiet and calm down, expecting to have the room crowded with balloons and flowers when Peggy left.
Those expectations weren't met, to say the least.
Peggy did come bearing flowers, but instead of the sickly sweet, neon coloured monstrosities James was anticipating, it was a bouquet of lilac and lavender and violets.
Purple flowers.
James felt himself tear up all over again.
“Where would you like these?” Peggy whispered, although it almost sounded like a shout against the quiet of the hospital room. Ms. Jones pointed to the table by the window.
Peggy placed the flowers in a tall styrofoam cup of water and sat down in the remaining chair, right next to James.
“How’re you doing?” she asked quietly. She was wearing the small beaded bracelet that her sisters had gotten her that meant ‘female pronouns today’ and a large, soft looking grey sweater.
“He’s doing alright. Stable. They say--” James began.
“No, James. How are you doing?”
James wrinkled up his nose. How was he doing? He wasn’t the one lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a machine that allowed him to breathe. He told Peggy as much. She scrunched up her nose. “There’s more than one way of not being okay,” she told him. “The way you look, you might as well be lying there.”
James rubbed at his eyes. “I’m fine, I guess. A bit tired,” he muttered, “but fine.”
“You guess?” Peggy repeated incredulously. “When was the last time you slept?”
James shrugged. “Dunno. Two days ago?” he estimated.
“Dear God, you’re worse than Alexander,” Peggy scowled.
“I also have more cause not to sleep than Alexander has,” James snapped. His eyes went automatically to Parker’s still form.
Peggy sighed. “You can’t just stop taking care of yourself because Parker is hurt, James. You’re still a human.”
“Right now, it doesn’t feel like I’m much of anything,” James admitted.
Peggy glared at him for a moment. “That’s it,” she said, grabbing his arm, “You’re coming home with me, and you’re going to sleep for at least five hours, and then you’re going to eat some tomato soup and then you can come back.”
“What? No!” James hissed, “I can’t leave! What if--what if he wakes up? I need to be here.”
“It’s a medically induced coma, it’s highly unlikely that he wakes up now,” Peggy retorted, then winced as she realized what she said. “Sorry. But you won’t be of much help to him even if he does wake up now. You look three minutes away from joining him in that bed. If he wakes up, I’m sure Ms. Jones will call us. Right?” she glanced briefly at Parker’s mother, who nodded.
“I want to stay,” James argued.
“And I want you thinking rationally enough to understand why you can’t,” Peggy snapped, “Neither of us are getting what we want today. Don’t make me call security on you. You know I will.”
James glowered at his friend for a moment before he slumped down in his seat. “Fine,” he mumbled.
OoOoO
James would never admit it, but he did feel better after sleeping and eating and taking a quick shower. He arrived back at the hospital with a slightly more positive outlook and another bundle of purple flowers.
He quickly checked on Alexander, who was still in bed and surrounded by cards and balloons.
“Someone let it slip that I was in the hospital, and people decided that they wanted to send their sympathies,” Alex grumbled. James knew Alexander had achieved a certain level of celebrity after he’d outed himself, but looking around at the stuffed animals and candy baskets, he couldn’t help but think it was extremely excessive.
“Apparently,” Jon said, “People think it’s clever to put ten dollar bills in their cards. I think Alex has brought in about $300 just lying there.”
“Speaking of,” Alexander said, “Aaron? Don’t you have all that in your wallet?” Daniel nodded. “Give it to James.”
“Wait, what?” James and Daniel asked at the same time.
“Give it to James. He can give it to Ms. Jones,” Alex explained. Daniel furrowed his eyebrows but pulled out the money anyway and passed it to James.
“Are you serious, Alexander?” James asked, thumbing through the money.
“Yeah. Give it to Ms. Jones, and tell her I’m sorry,” Alex muttered. James nodded and left the room as Jon leaned over to kiss his boyfriend’s temple.
OoOoO
James gave the money and flowers to Ms. Jones before retaking his seat next to Parker’s bed. Charlie, Alice, and Annabelle seemed to have left, probably with one of Ms. Jones’ co-workers, leaving James alone in the room with Parker and his mother when the doctor came in.
“Ms. Jones, due to the steady progress and stable signs your son is showing, we’ve chosen to take him off of pentobarbital, so he should wake up in a few hours,” the doctor said.
“What?” James asked.
“We’re taking him off of pentobarbital--”
James rolled his eyes and huffed. “In English, if you please,” he said.
“We’re taking him off of the drug that’s keeping him in his comatose state. He should wake up in a couple of hours,” the doctor repeated.
“He-he’s going to wake up?” James asked, trying not to get his hopes up. He could see a similar look on Ms. Jones’ face.
“Yes,” the doctor said, “But I must warn you, there’s a high chance that he… won’t be exactly the same, at least for the time being. There’s a high probability he’s going to experience some form of memory loss, and from what we’ve seen, the impact also damaged his primary motor cortex, meaning he might very well be paralyzed.”
“You’ve said all that before, and I don’t care,” Ms. Jones said, “Will I have my son back?”
The doctor paused. “In at least some capacity, yes.”
“Then I don’t care.”
OoOoO
There were voices, all seeming to blur together.
“--you hear me, Parker?” said one of the voices. “Parker?”
He blinked his eyes open. There were blurry figures. He focused his eyes on the dark-haired boy at the front.
“Parker?” the boy said with, his voice wavering with uncertainty, leaning quite a bit over him as he did so.
At first, he was confused as to whom the boy was talking to, before realizing that it was him. He was Parker.
“Y-yeah?” he mumbled, his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton balls.
The boy seemed to be crying as he squeezed his hand.
Parker--because that's who he was, apparently--racked his brain trying to figure out the identity of the black haired boy. He seemed familiar, but try as he might, Parker couldn't figure out why.
The woman on his other side seemed familiar, too. She was crying, too, and holding his hand to her cheek.
“Oh thank God, thank God, I thought--” she babbled.
Parker just wanted to know what was going on. The last thing he remembered--
Oh.
There was nothing.
Well, not nothing-nothing. He knew how to talk. How to walk. He knew what chicken nuggets were, he knew what an iPhone was and how to work it. He knew he was in America and that it'd been founded by some lame old guys a million years ago.
He didn't know his birthday. He didn't know his parents’ birthdays. Hell, he didn’t even know if he had parents. Did he have siblings? Friends? Did he play sports? Instruments? Did he sing? Was he smart--he hoped so, but how was he to know?
Parker’s head hurt. In fact, most of him hurt. What had happened?
“Parker? Sunshine, are you alright?” the black haired boy asked.
Sunshine?
“Hurts,” Parker muttered, closing his eyes again.
“I know, baby, I know,” the woman said, kissing his forehead.
Parker closed his eyes and let himself slip into the black.
OoOoO
The next time Parker woke up, the boy was still there, but the woman--his mother?--wasn't.
The boy still had Parker’s hand in his own as he dozed in the chair next to Parker’s bed. Again, Parker tried to figure out who this kid was.
The boy seemed kind, and there was something endearing about his massive circular glasses and fluffy looking hair. He looked nothing like the woman, who Parker was pretty sure was his mother, so this kid probably wasn’t his brother.
Meaning, so far Parker had a maybe-mom and a maybe-friend. He hated not knowing for sure, but this was the best he could figure out with what he had.
Parker continued to look over the boy for what felt like ages until finally he slowly opened his eyes. “Wha--Parker?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes on his shoulder. Parker had noticed his right arm was wrapped in a dark green cast, and now he felt bad for not sparing it another thought.
“Yeah?” Parker said, his voice raspy and raw.
The boy’s face lit up. “Parker, thank God. Don’t try to sit up quite yet.” Parker hadn’t been planning on it, but the boy didn’t need to know that. He nodded. The boy went on. “Shit, are you alright? What’s the last thing you remember?”
Nothing, Parker wanted to answer. He remembered nothing. Where was he? How had he found himself here? What had happened? He didn't even know how old he was! It was basic knowledge, stuff he should know about himself, but he didn't. He resolved to find out later, but for now, he had more pressing matters to attend to.
“I-- Nothing,” Parker admitted.
“Nothing?” the boy echoed in surprise. “Well, I guess that’s one way of describing it. I don't really know why I expected you to really remember after you hit your head... I blacked out, too. I wouldn’t say it was nothing but--”
“No, it's not that I don't remember that,” Parker cut him off. “It's that... it's that I don’t remember anything. I don’t know you.”
It just about broke Parker’s heart to see the boy’s face fall. “You--Parker, that’s not funny. That's really, really, not funny.” The boy was no longer smiling.
Parker bit his lip. He wanted to tell him that it was all just a joke, wanted to say anything to put the smile back on the boy’s face, but he couldn’t find it in himself to lie, not even -- especially not -- when he saw that the boy would happily accept his lie as truth and defend it to his last dying breath.
“I'm sorry,” Parker whispered, unable to meet the boy’s eyes. “I-I wish it was a joke, really.”
The boy--God, he wished he remembered this kid’s name --squeezed his hand tighter. “You… you really don't remember anything? Nothing at all?” he asked.
“Nothing at all,” Parker repeated again, focussing on the feeling of the boy’s hand in his. It would be gone, soon enough.
There was a moment of quiet before the boy questioned, “And Thomas?”
“Thomas who?” Parker asked, finally looking the boy in the eye.
Parker was sure he imagined the flash of relief that crossed the boy's face, only to quickly be replaced again by sadness.
“Well,” the boy said, taking a deep breath, “My name’s James. James Matthews.”
Parker pretended not to notice the tears in James’-- James, why did that name feel even more familiar--eyes. He simply smiled. “I'm Parker, I guess. I… I don't know my last name.”
“Jones,” James supplied. “Parker Jones.”
OoOoO
James felt as if the someone had stolen his very soul.
Parker didn’t remember. It wasn't as if he didn’t remember a few weeks or months before the accident, no, he didn't remember anything.
James had been relieved when Parker said he didn't remember Jefferson, but deep down, he almost wished Parker did. He hated that he wished it, but God. He just wanted any piece of his Parker back.
He squashed that thought as fast as it appeared in his mind. He still had Parker, damn it. It was still him. He just… didn’t remember anything.
He didn't remember anything, but he'd smiled when James introduced himself-- he had to introduce himself to his boyfriend --and he hadn't let go of James’ hand.
“Parker Jones,” he muttered, rolling the name around in his mouth. “My name is Parker Jones.”
James smiled. He knew it was probably the least convincing, saddest smile to ever grace anyone's features, but he tried. “Parker Jones,” he repeated. “You, uh, you turned sixteen a few months ago. We go to school together. You love biology and hate American history. You play cello in the school orchestra and trumpet in the marching band.”
Parker snorted, and James felt his smile become a little more genuine. “So I'm a nerd?” Parker asked.
“Yeah, yeah you are,” James confirmed.
“And here I was, dreaming of being prom king,” Parker joked, and James felt his chest constrict. How was he supposed to do this? How was supposed to sit here, to talk to Parker, and know that he had no clue who he was?
James forced himself to laugh. “Not to crush your fantasies, but most of your friends--our friends, really--don't even go to our school,” he said.
Parker furrowed his eyebrows. “They don't? Do we, like, work together or something?” he asked.
James shook his head. “It's… complicated, but most of them go to NYU. Everyone except Ange, she works at a law firm downtown, and Peggy, who’s in school with us.”
“We're friends with college kids?” Parker asked incredulously, “I thought you said we weren't cool!”
“Trust me, we’re not. Once you meet them, you’ll know what I’m talking about,” James winced.
Parker didn't seem to believe him. “Whatever you say, man,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “That whole thing seems pretty great.”
James couldn’t help but think back to all the nights he’d spent holding the taller boy against his chest as he was torn through flashback and nightmare after flashback and nightmare. There was no way he was bringing that up. He’d damn well let Parker believe everything was ‘pretty great’.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” James said with a dismal smile.
Parker hummed his agreement. “Although,” he began, “I feel like I'm at a bit of a disadvantage. You know more about me than I know about you. I know your name is James and you go to school with me. That's about it.”
James blushed. “So?” he asked quietly.
“Tell me about yourself, James Matthews. I'm all yours.”
OoOoO
Parker fell back asleep 45 minutes later, and James realized he should probably call Ms. Jones, who was at home with the girls. He felt guilty for having forgotten to do that in the chaos of Parker waking up. He knew how he would have felt, had the situation been reversed and Ms. Jones had forgotten to call him.
He didn’t tell her about Parker’s… condition over the phone. He probably should’ve, but he couldn’t find the words. How were you supposed to tell a mother that her own child didn’t know her? How were supposed to tell three little girls that their older brother didn’t remember them?
For not the first time since this whole ordeal began, James felt sick in his stomach.
He had done a lot of things across his 101 years of life. He’d been a member of the Continental Congress, he’d drafted the Constitution and made major contributions to its ratification, he’d held office during the War of 1812. He’d lived, he’d died, and he’d changed, and he’d adapted, and he’d grown. And yet, there were few things that made him feel as sick and hopeless as the memory of Parker’s words.
“I don’t remember anything. I don’t know you.”
His oldest friend, his dearest companion, the person he loved with all his heart, had looked him in the eyes and hadn’t recognized what he saw.
Ms. Jones arrived that very moment, the girls trailing behind her. Charlie was, as usual, holding her sisters’ hands, all three of them practically vibrating in excitement.
It was like James’ heart was on an elevator, and every time he thought he’d reached the bottom floor, there was another basement he plummeted into.
“He fell asleep about twenty minutes ago,” James said monotonously, “The doctor should be in in about five more to check on his vitals and whatnot.”
“‘S wrong, Jemmy?” Annabelle asked. “Parker’s woke up, so why’re you sad?”
“He doesn’t--” James began, then stopped. He still hadn’t found the right words. He doubted even Alexander could find the right words to describe this. For all his loquaciousness, Alexander always seemed to grasp for words when it came to the truly important matters.
“Doesn’t what?” Alice asked, tilting her head to the side innocently. James envied her that look. He hated knowing that, with a few words, he would soon be forced to take that innocent look away.
James bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “He doesn’t…” James trailed off again. “The doctor will come to wake your brother up in a few minutes, alright? I’ll, uh, let him explain.”
James hated himself for making Parker explain it. He’d just thrown his amnesiac, unconscious, traumatized boyfriend under the bus.
“Is… is Bubba okay?” Annabelle whispered, the look in her eyes showing that she had already guessed the answer.
Damn kids for being so perceptive.
“Your Bubba, he’s, well, he’s having some trouble remembering a few things,” James muttered, unable to meet the undoubtedly sorrowful look in the eyes of the girl.
“Like what things?” Charlie asked at length, narrowing her eyes.
James sighed and rubbed his face. “I-I’ll let the doctor explain it, alright? He’ll do better than me, Squirt,” he mumbled. Charlie scowled at him.
“Only Bubba can call me Squirt,” she snapped.
James choked out a laugh. “Okay,” he agreed, feeling a few stray tears slip down his face as he forced himself to grin at the little girls.
Annabelle placed her little hand on James’ cast, and in her quietest voice asked, “Jemmy, are you one of the things Bubba’s havin’ trouble rememberin’?”
James looked away. His eyes fell on the white wall, and he fought down an urge to scream, because this wasn’t fair, dammit. “Yes,” he admitted at last.
“But he’s known you forever!” Alice whined, before running and clinging to James’ legs. “How’d he forget you if he’s known you since always?”
James shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, kiddo,” he said.
Charlie stomped her foot. “That’s the stupidest thing ever! That-that is a load of bullshit!” she shouted.
“Charlotte Lily Jones!” Ms. Jones reprimanded, at the same time as James mumbled, “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Well, it is. Bubba and Jemmy are in love, he shouldn’t be allowed to just forget,” Charlie stated with all the infinite wisdom of a nine-year-old.
There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Ms. Jones said. James noticed the wetness on her cheeks. She opened the door, and the doctor strolled in.
“So far our scans have not been conclusive,” the doctor began, “but they’re showing possible indications of retrograde amnesia. As of yet, we haven’t seen any definitive signs--”
“What’s retrograde?” James interrupted, “I know what amnesia is, obviously, but what the hell do you mean by retrograde?” How bad was it? What did that mean? Would Parker never remember?
“Retrograde means he may not remember things that happened before the accident, but he should remember things that happened after it,” the doctor explained, and James bit his already raw lip.
“How long would it last?” he asked quietly.
“Could last a week. Could last indefinitely. It varies from case to case.”
“Jemmy says Parker’s forgettin’ some things, ‘s that what you're talkin’ bout?” Annabelle asked, peering up at the doctor with wide eyes. The doctor frowned.
“I’d have to see for myself to be sure, but possibly.”
James chanced a glance in Ms. Jones’ direction. Her expression was steely and strong, but James could see the telltale glint of tears in her eyes.
“Do you need to wake him up now?” she asked.
“If at all possible, Ms. Jones,” the doctor said with a polite, tight-lipped smile. James decided he didn’t like her.
There was a moment where the room itself seemed to hold its breath as the doctor gently woke Parker up, and then;
“Huh? Wha-who-huh? Wha’s goin’--James?” Parker stammered after a few minutes of struggling to stay awake.
“I thought you said he didn't remember you, Jemmy!” Annabelle said, “He's rememberin’ you right now!”
There was another moment of quiet. “I…” Parker started, and James could see it in his eyes. He knew Ms. Jones could, too. That uncertain look, the one that said someone was trying their damnedest to remember something, but just couldn't.
“Sir,” the doctor said, “If you could tell me your name.”
“Parker. Parker… Jones?”
There was a considerable pause as Parker struggled to remember his last name, and the whole thing was phrased more as a question than an answer. He kept glancing at James, looking for confirmation or reassurance.
James minutely nodded.
“Good,” the doctor replied, unaware that James had just responded for her, “And your age?”
“Sixteen,” Parker said, more steadily, “But I only know that because--”
“Your birthday, Mr. Jones?”
Parker slumped a little and furrowed his eyebrows together. “A few months ago?” he asked, sounding unconvinced. “Look, I don't--”
“Which was when?” the doctor interrupted again. Parker seemed more annoyed but didn’t mention it, an act so incredibly un-Parker it had James’ stomach rolling.
Meanwhile, Parker sighed and gnawed in his cheek. “I-I don't know. I only know the other stuff because James told me,” he finally admitted, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just--I don't--”
“Do you have personal memories of any kind?” the doctor plowed on. Parker flinched.
“Look, ma'am, he's obviously uncomfortable with this level of questioning,” James butted in, “If you could please--”
“Sir, with all due respect, which one of us here is the medical professional?” the doctor asked somewhat harshly. “Let me do my job.”
“With all due respect,” James mimicked, his eyes narrowing, “I do believe that I know Parker and what he can handle much better than you do.”
“It is not your place,” the doctor retorted, “You are not his guardian, and you are not the expert.”
“I, on the other hand,” Ms. Jones cut in, “ am his guardian, and I think this interrogation has been quite enough for today.”
James couldn’t help but notice the relief on Parker’s face.
“Well then,” the doctor huffed, “I’ll be back in an hour for another check in. Have a nice day.”
James smiled as she left. His grin didn’t last long.
The moment the doctor shut the door behind her, the two littlest Jones girls swarmed their brother.
“Bubba!” Alice said, gently hugging his arm as to not upset the tubes and drips he was hooked up to. “We missed you! You were asleep for a long time.”
Annabelle nodded. “And then Jemmy said you couldn’t remember some stuff, but it’s alright, ‘cause you seem to be rememberin’ okay now,” she said, holding Parker’s hand.
Charlie didn’t move.
“You forgot,” she whispered instead, her face falling. “You-you said you only knew that stuff ‘cause-’cause Jemmy told you. You forgot. You-you don’t even know who we are.”
Parker seemed to shrink as Charlie’s sadness melted into anger.
“You’re not Parker! You’re not my brother! You’re just-just pretending!” she cried, her voice growing louder and louder as she went.
“Charlotte!” her mom said, tears that had laid in her eyes finally slipping down her face, “Stop! Apologise to your brother, right this instant!”
“ NO!” Charlie shouted, “I’m not gonna apologise to him, he’s not Parker!”
“Yes, he is, Charlie!” Alice argued, “He is! Look!”
“No! He’s just pretendin’! He’s trickin you!” Charlie cried, “He’s trickin’ you, and he’s not Parker!”
The little girl spun on her heel and ran from the room, shutting the door with as much force as a nine-year-old could muster. James watched the door slam into its hinges, a feeling of helplessness settling over him. It wasn’t his fault, per se -- he had been told that enough times already -- but he knew that Charlie would try to blame the first person she could latch on to.
“Charlotte!” Ms. Jones yelled after the girl, “Char--James, watch these two, I’ve got to--”
She was gone, too.
“Bubba?” Alice asked quietly after a moment, “Is… is Charlie tellin’ the truth? Did you forget us?”
James watched as Parker looked like he’d just been rammed in the gut. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, watching the little girl.
Annabelle dropped his hand and Alice slowly let go of his arm.
James watched in horror as Parker began to cry. “No, no, please,” he begged.
The girls looked just as scared as James felt. Annabelle slowly backed towards the door her sister had just fled from before grabbing Alice’s hand and bolting.
“Parker, I’m sorry,” James apologised quickly, “Really, I am, I just--I have to go.”
And then he, too, ran out of the room.
OoOoO
Parker couldn’t do anything but sit as everyone raced from the room--from him.
The girl--his sister, the girls were his sisters--had been right. He was nothing more than an imposter, pretending to be their real brother.
Suddenly, Parker couldn’t bear to lie in that bed for another moment. He had to move, had to do something, even if it was just sitting up.
He tried to pull himself into a sitting position but something stopped him. He couldn’t get his knees to bend. Try as he might, they wouldn’t budge.
A pool of dread settled in Parker’s stomach as he tried to merely move his left leg. There was barely a twitch, and his whole leg felt as if it had been electrocuted. He tried his right, with the same results.
His vision blurred with tears as he tried to wiggle his toes. There was hardly a shudder of movement, and the pain returned.
He couldn't move his legs.
He couldn’t move his legs.
He had no memory of who he was, and he couldn’t move.
He was helpless in every sense of the word, and it terrified him.
Parker couldn’t choke down the sob that wretched itself from his throat. He was completely and utterly alone.