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Pain.
Everything hurts.
There's pain everywhere.
What's that sound? Why is it so annoying? Why is it so close?
What are these swirls?
I think… I think I'm just going to sleep now.
Yeah. Yeah, sleep sounds good.
The next time he comes to, he's still in pain. The sirens are blaring much closer to his ears. He sees red and blue blurs swerve in and out of his vision. He tries to shake them off, but it instantly proves to be a bad idea when stars shoot through his head, making him want to drop his head into his hands.
Except that he can't. Drop his head into his hands. His hands aren't next to his chest. He doesn't know where they are, but they aren't anywhere next to his torso. He tries to bend his head to look down, but it's too much effort, and he feels like he's fighting against gravity.
Relax, his training screams at him. Relax, and assess.
He closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath, but then a sting shoots through him. His chest feels… Trapped? Constricted? He isn't sure, but it's painful. He decides to go slow and shallow with the breathing.
He opens his eyes. The blurs and black spots have regressed just a tad, and he's starting to regain his vision. Okay, okay, good. Chest hurts, eyes okay, bad headache.
He starts to look around, trying to find anything that could somehow explain what's going on. The sky is dark, black and wet, and it's close, much closer than it should be. There are spots of red and blue alternating in front of him, and the blaring of sirens still crashes his senses.
He looks to the ground, finding that it's light, a faint colouring of dark blue expanding everywhere he looks. There's water on the ground, it's… Falling from the ground? Water is falling from the ground? How is there water going upwards to the sky? He shakes his head, blinking rapidly as he tries to shake the fuzziness and decides to ignore it for the moment, there are more pressing issues at hand. Hands, where are my hands?
He tries to lift them up again, he feels them, but they're hitting something, something hard, and spiky, and hot, it's so hot.
Okay, pull them to your torso, he decides. And he does, and his arms shoot from somewhere and hit his chest. But they're wet, and they hurt, and they're covered in a liquid that's thick, it smells like metal. It's blood, he realises with a start.
And then, it's like his brain finally boots up and connects with his body, and he realises, upside down, I'm upside down, I was in a chase, a hit-and-run, and now I'm upside down. It's raining, and I crashed, I must have crashed. Okay, okay, relax. Relax and assess.
He reaches out to the dashboard, the flickering of the clock pulling his attention, the faint blue "01/22/2021" acts as a guide. He hits a few buttons until the sirens turn off, and then he's left in the dark and the quiet.
He tries to remember the rundown of accidents, what APD does until AFD and EMS gets there. He recalls, far away but close enough to his confused mind, vitals, conscious, legs! Sir, can you move your legs? A sentence he’s asked to dozens of road traffic accidents victims.
He tries to look down, or up, or at whatever direction his legs are, his eyes flickering across the windshield. He tries to reach forward, to touch the glass. He only gets five inches forward before a burn runs through his abdomen, a fire so hot it has him flinching back into himself, trying to crawl into his own skin.
He takes a breath, making sure to keep it short and shallow, before he tries to touch his stomach. He's met with sticky wetness. He isn't sure if it's from his hands or his abdomen. Probably both, he thinks.
Oh, okay. That's okay. Hurt chest, bleeding hands. Okay… Legs, how are the legs?
He tries to flex his right foot, and from whatever twisted and angled view he has, he can see it moving. Okay, good. Left one now. It takes a few more twists to get it into his visual field, but eventually, through a wince, he sees his left foot move. Okay, it's moving. Go higher. He flexes his right thigh, he doesn't have much space to move, but it moves alright. He goes to try to move the left, but a stabbing pain shoots through his abdomen and stops him immediately. Okay, left leg moves, but it hurts. Okay, that's fine, ok-okay.
He gives up on moving his legs, he feels pain, not feeling anything is worse. So this is good, it's good enough, it has to be, and he focuses on the next step: call for help. Radio. 911. Radio this in.
He’s still looking around the car, trying to think of a solution, when a question manifests itself in his mind; who am I?
He freezes in place, the answer unattainable to him. He blinks, trying to clear the fog that looms across his mind and dig through for an answer, but he comes up empty. The violent shudder rips through his entire body, he finds himself breathing harshly. For the first time since coming to consciousness, he feels the beginning of despair set in. He’s sure he had some recollection of who he is a while ago, but not anymore.
The drip of water against the tar splashes back into his face, and he’s coaxed back to the current situation. He realises, with another shudder, that even if he doesn’t remember his name, he still needs to get out of here. What’s the use of a name if I don’t get help.
Just as he's making up his mind, a loud, static sound pierces through his ears, and he recoils in pain, bringing his hands down, or up, whatever, to cover his ears. Even as it blares away at him, he's still able to catch small parts of phrases, mixes of Reye-, com-, -rder, and ru-, and -o you cop- as they assault his senses.
Some part of him knows that he should listen, but it's so loud, too loud, so he reaches down with practised ease, patting along the seam of his shirt until he gets to the device clipped onto his chest. He turns the dial left - or is it right - until the volume dies down, until he's back in silence.
When his ears don't ring anymore, he turns the dial again, increasing the volume a single click at a time, just so it's a faint murmur in the background of his mind. He isn't sure why, he can't hear the words said, but at least someone's there.
His fingers move, searching along the small surface of the radio, until he gets to a button. Okay, press the button, and he pushes down.
He realises too late that he needs to speak now.
He opens his mouth, and a croak leaves his lips instead of words, and then a coughing fit wracks through him, his chest and ribs protesting the action. He brings both hands down and presses on his torso, trying to calm his ragged breath down.
The silence stretches, and he can feel himself starting to panic. The lights are gone, all the noises are gone, and it's just him, hurt, stuck upside down in a car, and alone.
Relax, just… say a word, relax and talk.
He takes a calm, slow breath, stopping once the pinching starts, letting it out slowly and repeating it again. Three trials later, his breath doesn't catch in his throat, and he tries again.
"Hel-hello?" he somehow groans, and has enough sense to let go of the pressed button, letting the channel switch over. He hears the familiar, soft, calm voice of… someone, talking back, but he can't register it, it doesn't make sense. He closes his eyes.
Breathe, relax, listen.
"Reyes, are you hurt?" The feminine voice says, the familiarity promoting his eyes to open. "Reyes, please come in, are you hurt?"
He lets out a small giggle. He's not sure why, he knows there's nothing funny about the current situation, but it feels like laughter is the appropriate reaction. He realises he doesn’t know who Reyes is.
Are you hurt? Are am I?
He takes another breath, willing the cough away, and trying to speak as clearly as he can.
"Chest hurt, hands hurt, bad- bad headache, legs are stuck, " he stops for a moment, taking another slow breath. "I'm all stuck," he ends with a giggle.
The voice speaks again, telling him to remain calm, telling him help is on the way, telling him they're almost there, telling him to keep talking.
He doesn't respond. He's tired. The voice is the only thing keeping him company. He picks up on the fear in the voice, not responding is freaking them out, he realises. But he's a little afraid that if he talks back, they'll leave. And he doesn't want to be alone.
The longer he waits, the more alarmed the voice gets, and the lonelier he gets. It's telling him they're coming, but he can't hear any cars. It's telling him they're on the way, but he doesn't see them. It's telling him they'll help him, but he's still scared.
Please, don't be lying, please, don't be lying.
He takes a short, ragged breath, trying to hold an abrupt flood of emotions back. He doesn't know where he is, how much time has passed, or who he is, as a matter of fact. All he knows is the voice that sounds familiar asking him to reply, and that someone is coming to help him, or so he hopes.
He clutches onto the radio, suddenly feeling straps around his torso. He looks at his chest and sees two black lines holding him to the seat, keeping him hanging off the ground. It looks to be attached to a corner.
That's a rope... I think…
He's about to reach over and fumble with the holding object when he hears it. A faint wheeze in the distant cool air. The smashed glass, of a mirror he thinks, sparkles with red and blue twinkles.
And then it's suddenly much louder, ear-shattering enough for him to try and hide his ears behind his palms while grunting in pain. They don't do much to decrease the pain of the loud sound, but they give him a feeling of security, so he keeps them covered anyway.
The smell of burning tires convinces him to slightly uncrunch his eyes just a tad, and when the sirens stop, he eases them open slightly more. The lights are still bright, flaring up the ache that’s pounding across his head, so he shields his vision with a hand. Through his fingers, he sees the lower edge of doors opening, and feet, multiple pairs of feet, making their way to him.
They're here.
He smiles at the sight of the first pair of legs that drop to their knees, and when they bend, he meets a pair of eyes that belong to a man he faintly recognizes. His face splits into a grin, even as his body cries in pain.
"Hi," he croaks.
The man is older than he is, wrinkles framing his forehead as it creases into a frown. He's in a weird, shiny suit, it's so oversized, and has a helmet with numbers on it. Everything about him screams I'm here for business. His eyes are soft, though, full of concern.
"Hey there, how are you feeling?" he asks.
"It hurts," comes the quick reply.
"I can imagine. Do you mind if I touch your hands? I'm just going to ask you a few questions, okay?"
"Yeah, okay."
"Okay, full name?" the man asks as he moves his hands into the car, holding onto the wrist closest to him as he looks down at his own watch.
Full… name… Full name???
He doesn't reply. He knows his face is scrunching in confusion. But he remembers something.
"The nice vo-voice, she called me Re-Reyes?"
It doesn't carry much confidence, coming out as a question rather than an answer. He looks back at the man, noticing a Captain’s badge that says some words, he picks up "Strand", like a strand of hair, strapped to his chest. He doesn't linger on it much. He looks up to his face, and he still has the same soft, concerned look in his eyes.
He can see more people behind him, and he hears the crush of glass as it's being stepped on all around, but he doesn't look at them. This man is comforting some terrified part of his soul.
Focus on the kind eyes. Just, stay with the kin-
"Okay, that's good. What about today’s date?" the man interrupts his train of thought.
He takes a moment to think. He doesn't remember the date, but he does remember something.
"Jan- January. It's January."
He wants to smile in celebration, he got it right, but the man doesn't seem to think it's as big of a deal as he thinks. He doesn't smile, he keeps the same neutral face.
For the first time, their eye contact is broken, the man looking away from him, across the space to the other side of the car. He slowly turns around, trying to see what's got his attention all of a sudden.
He finds two others, wearing the same clothing as the kind-eyed man, but they aren't looking at him. They're looking at Kind-Eyes. They have the same expression though. Worry, concern, fear.
"Okay, Reyes, we’re gonna put a mask on you, okay?" Kind-Eyes says, pausing until he turns around in his caged space and they lock eyes. “It’ll help you breathe better."
He freezes, he doesn't know why, but everything in him screams gas means no pain, no pain means sleeping, sleeping is bad, don't sleep, don't go to sleep. He attempts to say as much. He doesn't think he got many words out, but Kind-Eyes seems to understand him.
"No, no, you won't sleep. It's only to help you breathe," Kind-Eyes rushes in explanation. "We're here. You'll be okay, we'll help you, it's okay."
He doesn't know how to tell him that he was given sleeping gas before, and that it’s not even sleeping that he's scared of. It's the darkness. It's being alone.
I don't want to be alone. But kind eyes don't lie. His brain says with such conviction he can't find it in him to argue, even if he doesn't agree. He ends up nodding anyway.
Kind-Eyes turns around then, going out of his visual field. He's about to turn around to the other two when he hears a small, soft "Dad" cried out. But it hits his soul like it's the loudest howl of pain he's ever heard.
Kind-Eyes gets to his feet then, and he sees another pair of the same boots stand right in front of Kind-Eyes. There's a hushed conversation happening, he doesn't pick up much of it, but he manages to hear and understand that whoever is out there, they're begging Kind-Eyes, a plethora of "please, please, please" reaching his jumbled mind.
He's so focused on the conversation happening outside, he barely notices the people talking to him and the hand that touches his shoulder. He jerks away from them, but pain splits through his entire body and he finds himself gasping for air, which hurts his chest even more, and then he's coughing.
He hears soft voices calming him down, telling him to breathe. He tries, closing his eyes and bracing his torso. He tries to stop the coughs, taking slow, deep breaths whenever a fit tries to fight out of him.
The coughs stop, and he opens to eyes to meet the prettiest, softest, saddest green eyes looking right into him.
"Hi, baby, you're gonna be okay, it's all going to be okay," Green-Eyes is saying, "we're going to help you out, you'll be okay."
Green eyes don't lie.
"It hurts."
"I know, I know, baby, we'll help you, I promise."
He blinks a few times, he isn't sure why Green-Eyes is calling him baby, but he finds that he doesn't mind much. He ends up nodding just as the man's eyes fill with tears. He tries to reach out, to wipe the fallen droplets running down his face but he doesn’t get to him, he can’t reach that far.
Green-Eyes seems to understand, he wipes his own tears and then reaches forward. He breaks their eye-contact for a moment, looking to the other side of the car and exchanging a few words with them before he looks back and intertwines their fingers.
He doesn't pay them much mind. He wants to talk to this man instead. This man feels safe. This man won't leave him alone.
The next few moments, or maybe months, pass in a blur. He hears people talking faintly in the background, he sees things passing in front of him, he feels hands touching him.
He only focuses on the sultry, pained voice of Green-Eyes, on the beautiful, ethereal emeralds, on the soft hand stroking his hair.
He's sure he doesn't know this man. It isn't possible for him to forget those eyes or that soft soul. But he gives him comfort, so he isn't going to complain.
Eventually, Green-Eyes is telling him that they're now going to help him with the pain. He just nods this time. He doesn't want any more pain, I wouldn't even mind if I sleep, he's tired anyway. Green-Eyes holds one hand, and he feels something sharp prick the other one.
Nothing changes for a beat, until, suddenly, he's really sleepy, again. He's trying to fight the sleep, even though Green-Eyes is telling him it's okay, the same that Kind-Eyes said earlier.
He squeezes the hand holding his, which makes Green-Eyes turn to him immediately.
"Will you be here? Holding my hand? Always?" He asks. He just has to know. He needs to know.
"Yes!" comes a too-enthusiastic reply - so much that it sounds fake to his ears - but before he can point that out, Green-Eyes is already talking again, as though he's trying to convince himself rather than anyone else. "I'll be here, I promise. Always. Just hold on. You'll be okay."
Why doesn't it sound convincing, he can't really know, because darkness claims him once again, but this time, when he lets go of his consciousness, it's to the uneasy feeling that Green-Eyes didn't sound so positive that there would be an always afterwards.
I'd like an always with Green-Eyes though-
Pain.
Everything hurts.
There's pain everywhere.
That's that sound? Why is it so annoying? Why is it so close?
What are these swirls?
I think… I think I'm just going to sleep now.
No. No, I don't think I should.
Carlos slowly opens his eyes, trying to make sense of everything around him. The beeping hasn't stopped, but it's somewhere behind him. He doesn't think he has the energy to turn around.
So he looks ahead instead. There's a white wall, a small TV hung somewhere roughly in the middle. It's got some old black-and-white movie playing.
Carlos frowns, the smell of antiseptic assaulting his senses in an instant. He inhales, small, short breaths, and realises he knows this smell. He recognises this wall.
Hospital.
He's in a hospital, he realises. But why? Since when? How? Why?
He moves his head, looking around, looking for clues when he notices the wires and drip-lines that run from the side of the bed to where he is on it. He follows a saline line, finding it wedged in his arm, others running down the gown he’s wearing, attaching to his chest. His hand is wrapped, several thick layers by the looks of it. He tries to sit up in haste but the quick movement sends a bolt of pain to his head and behind his eyes, forcing him to lift his hand and press down on them. It’s only then that he realises that his head is wrapped too.
Dread and fear start to fill him up slowly, the fact that he can’t remember anything prior that could have ended with him here accelerating the process. It’s then that he feels something move next to his hand on the bed. He looks towards it, and there's another hand resting there. He follows the wrist up to a body.
TK.
He reaches to a side, shifting their fingers, finding the wedges to hold onto TK when the man moves. It's a small subtle thing at first, just a deep breath that expands through his entire body. And then it's another one. And then his eyes open, fleeting from one object in the room to another before they end on Carlos.
Carlos can see the moment TK registers what he's looking at. The sleepy eyes widen, his mouth opens and he's on his feet in an instant. The hand holding Carlos' rips out, coming up to hold Carlos' face.
There are tears on the brink of his eyes, and Carlos can't help but reach out to wipe them. It doesn't have the comforting effect he was hoping for; on the contrary, it sends TK into more tears.
Carlos frowns, bending forward to rest his forehead against TK's, and TK meets him halfway, thank god.
They stay in silence for a few moments, basking in each other, arms wrapped loosely around each other the best they can with all the wires and lines from the machines.
A rough cough breaks them out of the moment, TK jumping off the bed and turning around to confront the offender, back and shoulders set taut. Most of Carlos' vision is blocked by TK, but he can tell it's a doctor by the sliver of white coat that appears behind his frame.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, I'm making my night rounds, but I see that our patient has regained consciousness?" a soft voice carries through.
"Yeah, yeah, he just woke up," TK apologises and moves out of the way. "I was about to call a nurse."
He reveals a short woman, clad in navy blue scrubs and surgical crocs, with a stethoscope hung around her neck. She moves towards him till she gets to the right side of the bed, a friendly smile never leaving her face. Carlos can't resist smiling back.
"Hello, sir, my name is Dr. Shana Khan, I'm your primary physician. How are you feeling?" she asks.
"I'm okay. In pain, but, I feel like I've felt worse before."
The doctor nods, bending away to pull the chart hung on the end of his bed, before she pulls a pen from her many, many pockets, and jots notes down.
"Okay," she turns to him a few moments later, "I need to ask you a few questions if that's alright with you."
He nods, relaxing back on the bed, as she delves into questions about his name, date of birth, today's date, last place he remembers, and a myriad of symptoms he recognises are classic concussion follow-up questions. He steals a glance at TK between every other question, noticing how he seems to hold his breath with every question only to sigh in relief with every answer.
The doctor turns the chart onto a different page once she's done with the questions. "Well, Mr. Reyes, I'm glad to report that given your list of admission injuries, you're improving at a faster rate than we were expecting," she pauses and glances back at TK. "Which I'm sure everyone waiting for you downstairs will be happy to hear."
TK turns a slight shade of pink, but she just smiles at him, before turning her gaze back to Carlos.
"So, what happened to me exactly?" Carlos asks.
“You were in a car accident, Carlos!” TK explains. “You were in a car accident and your car flipped! Don’t you remember?!” TK asks.
Carlos realises that no, he doesn’t remember. He’s shaking his head, about to speak when the doctor beats him to it.
“Mr. Reyes, it’s normal that you don’t. Allow me to run you through your case?” She pauses, turning the pages on the chart once Carlos gives her a nod.
“As Mr. Strand said, you were involved in a high-speed accident that, as far as we know, was caused by the rain hindering control of the car. There might have been fifteen minutes between the crash and EMS getting there. You were disoriented at the scene, and unconscious upon arrival to the hospital. You’ve been determined to have a severe concussion and some brain swelling due to trauma. The force of the crash sent you crashing against the seatbelt. It caused some bruising across your chest and abdomen. They’re part of what’s known as SeatBelt Syndrome. We're keeping an eye on them in case there are any internal injuries," she pauses to flip the page. "You also have what we suspect is a twisted right ankle; there's some swelling around it, but nothing has appeared on imaging. We do need to perform a physical exam while you're awake though to determine if you require further testing. And, of course, a number of smaller cuts and bruises almost all over."
Carlos stares at her, unable to understand anything she's just said.
"I… I don't remember any of that," he says after a few moments. His memory ends at Grace telling them that there's been a hit and run. He accompanied another squad car to the scene of the accident, then took off to chase the culprit.
"That's to be expected,” the doctor says. He looks at her to find that she truly doesn’t seem worried, an easy smle and soft eyes accompany her words. “It's part of what we call Pre-traumatic Amnesia and Post-traumatic Amnesia. Not remembering a few minutes to hours before and after the accident is completely normal. It usually resolves itself in a few days to a couple of weeks. "
"I- okay. I'm, I'm still going to be here?"
"Yes, you will," she says, eyes hardening a tad when Carlos opens his mouth to complain. "You have a severe concussion. Even if we ignore the other injuries, you're still at risk for a myriad of complications from that alone. I cannot, in good consciousness, discharge you in this condition."
Any argument Carlos' heavy brain was thinking of flees at the moment, and he's left with an empty buzzing instead. He nods, smiling when the doctor visibly relaxes. She smiles and nods back at him, turning towards TK to inform him that he won't be asked to leave, but visitors are still prohibited for the next four hours until they're sure that Carlos is out of the danger zone, after which they'll re-evaluate and see if he can start seeing others. Once TK nods back, she wishes them all and bids her goodbye, leaving Carlos and TK alone.
A sigh pulls Carlos' attention to the side, where TK pulls the chair closer to the bed, undoubtedly pushed away in his haste to stand when Carlos first woke up. He sits down, reaching out until he's able to hold Carlos' hand and rest his chin in the bed rail.
Carlos' hand acts on its own, folding in and pressing until it's got a death grip on TK's. He attempts to take a deep breath, trying to calm the weird buzz that has been in his brain for a few moments as he feels it move into his heart and dig into his soul. He moves his other hand to his chest. He doesn't remember being told that he's injured his hand. He looks to TK in an attempt to ask about it, but the words get stuck in his throat instead
"Carlos?" TK asks, eyes wide as he stares at him. "What's going on?"
"I- I don't, I don't know," he manages to stutter, the sentence getting mixed with a sob.
The panic stretches around him, forcing sharp gasps out of his system. He feels a hand join his over his heart, TK pressing over until his fingers force themselves between Carlos'. TK's face soon appears over his head. Carlos watches as TK's eyes rack over him, before understanding shows itself in raised eyebrows.
"Baby, it's okay," he whispers. "It's just the concussion, take a breath, come on."
Carlos closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, exhales, and then follows it with four fast-paced breaths. It's a tactic he's adopted from TK himself, a quick way to calm himself down. It works just a tad, the buzz is still there, but it's slower now, not as impending as it started minutes ago.
He slowly opens his eyes, blinking multiple times as he tries to shake the blurriness caused by his tears. A hand leaves his chest and he soon feels it on his face, wiping at the wetness he didn't even realise was on his cheek.
He recognises that TK is still talking in some deep part of his brain, though he only registers words and phrases here and there. A plethora of calm down, you’re okay, it’s emotional lability, you’re okay, I got you hits and bounces off his consciousness. He takes another deep breath, trying to run over TK's words, as his face finally clears above Carlos, green eyes boring into brown. He can’t say he knows what they all mean, but they calm him down all the same
TK doesn't move his hand from his face, even as Carlos smiles and turns his head to press a kiss on the caressing palm. It soothes him, feeling TK's warm skin run over his cheek, the slightly calloused fingers and palm scratching at the beginning of his stubble. It drives his own hand up, lifting until it lands on TKs shoulder. He manages to loop it around TK’s neck and pull slightly, reducing the distance between them to a couple of inches.
"Lay with me?" Carlos whispers, quickly continuing when TK frowns and opens his mouth in what must be a protest. "Please?"
TK closes his eyes, letting out a sigh before a fond smile takes over and he moves away, bending to remove his shoes. He reappears moments later, bending over Carlos this time as he moves the wires and drip lines around. He helps Carlos inch over to a side of the bed and then double-checks that the lines are all still working properly.
It takes a few tries, but eventually, Carlos has freed enough space for TK to lay sideways in. He reaches down and flicks the blanket off to a side, waiting for TK to get in.
TK, however, moves to the other side of the bed, running his gaze across the drips and line, double-checking that they're all working properly first. He then walks back to his original spot and slowly begins the process of getting himself into the bed without jostling Carlos too much.
A few minutes later TK is in bed and Carlos can finally turn into him, tucking his face into the crook of TK's neck and taking a deep breath. He feels TK moves his hands up, and he guesses he must be caressing his forehead, but Carlos can't really feel it well with the gauze that wraps around his head. It still brings him comfort though.
"Sleep, baby," TK whispers. "You need the rest."
"Will you be here when I wake up?" Carlos asks around a yawn.
"Yes. Always," TK replies. Carlos thinks he hears the beginning of a sniffle and a sob from the man, but he doesn't have the energy to open his eyes, let alone lift his head to confirm if TK is crying.
He'll ask him later on. After all, TK did promise he'd always be there.