𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 • Wish You Were Here

Have a Cigar

A/N: I'm so sorry that this chapter is two days late. I had it all ready to post and everything, but time got away from me while packing to go back for college. Hopefully it won't happen again, but unfortunately I won't be able to promise it. Life's gonna be a little hectic for a while.

The title of the chapter is the title of the third track on Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" album called "Have a Cigar." Lyrics from Guns N' Roses "Don't Cry" and Nirvana's "Come As You Are" are also featured in this chapter as well.

One Year, Nine Months, and 17 Days Ago

His head hurt. That was the first thing he noticed. It felt like it was exploding. He could feel his brain throbbing and trying to push its way through his skull. The second thing he noticed was that the radio was on playing Under the Bridge by the Red-Hot Chili Peppers. After that, he noticed was that it hurt to move. It hurt like a bitch. He winced immediately and instinctually whimpered from the pain. He felt like hell right now.

"Hey, he's waking up" He heard a voice say. They seemed relieved and nervous all at once. The voice sounded familiar, but his head hurt to think too much of who it could be.

"I'll go grab him some water," a second voice spoke. "He'll probably be thirsty when he wakes."

"Thanks, Kurt."

He could hear the footsteps slowly fade away.

Peter tried prying his eyes open but as soon as he did, he was hit with bright white light forcing him to close his eyelids once more. Slowly he opened them this time squinting and adjusting to the light. His vision is all spotty and his head seems to hate him right now as he continued moving it to see where he was.

"Peter, you're in the Medbay. You had a nasty fall it seemed," the voice said. Oh, well guess that answers that. He turned towards its direction to see it belonged to Hank. Peter tried to sit up only to be immediately pushed back down. "You need to rest," he told him in a way that was soothing but firm. Peter tried to nod in understanding but ended up grabbing for his forehead as soon as he felt the pain rushing to his cranium once more because it hurt so badly to move.

"Yea, rest sounds good right now," Peter spoke all lethargic. He noticed that his throat felt dry. He went to reach toward it only to bump into a tube of some sort. He traced it to see the path went into his nose. The speedster looked down in confusion.

"It's a nasogastric tube. It's for feeding. You were out long enough, and we needed to make sure you were getting enough nutrients to survive while you were unconscious."

Was he out for that long? Well, guess he has to eat a whole lot more calories than anyone else, so perhaps it hasn't been long by normal people's standards. There was no way to know without asking.

"How long was I out?" He caved in asking.

"Two and a half months. A total of 74 days. We weren't sure if you'd ever wake up again or remember anything. We weren't sure you'd even live. Pete –" Hank's voice broke and he was out of doctor mode and speaking with emotion. "It was bad. You should have died. Your injuries were quite extensive: you cracked your head open, your spine was fractured in three different places, you broke four ribs, an arm, and a leg. If it weren't for your increased healing factor, you would have died."

And Peter was still mostly out of it, but the thought sure scared him. Peter has had several near-death experiences under his belt, but if what Hank was telling him was true, then this might be the closest he's ever come.