I'll Protect You (Re-Edit #2, 2016)

Introducing Archer Sparrow, the lost prince of Cimeria

Park

The first thought I had when my mind regained consciousness was: Man, Sophia was one psychotic child. 

My second thought was that I was going to punch Logan in the face for not telling me that Sophia was the psychotic child in my memories.

My third thought was that there was someone in the hospital room with me. 

Should patients automatically know they're in a hospital room? I'd been in one so many times that the glare of bright lighting and stale sheets had become a third home to me. The sound of the heart monitor beeped softly besides me, and in between the pulses, I heard rain pattering against the window and steady breathing. 

Lazily, my eyes flickered open, and I groaned from the intensity of the brightness. 

"I told them they should just turn the light off, but they didn't," a voice from beside me drawled. I had no recognition of the deep tone. It didn't belong to anyone I knew, but the accent was definitely Cimerian. 

I sat up, my knees bunching together, and I casted a look besides me. I categorized him as a stranger at first. Alarm coursed through my muscles and I automatically inched away from whoever it was sitting by my bedside.

However, a second look at the dark messy hair the same exact shade as mine and the warmth in his sharp eyes told me that I knew this stranger. 

Eight years. It had been eight years since the last time I set my eyes on him. He wasn't as pale as I remembered. The baby fat in his cheeks and jaws had been chiseled into strong angles, creating a closer resemblance to my father. His hair, though still unruly, had been cropped much shorter than the neck-length it had reached eight years ago. 

His smile hadn't changed a bit. 

"Hey there, little Sparrow," he greeted, the corners of his lips refusing to fall. 

I could feel tears in the back of my eyes and a numbing sensation spread all over me. There was no way he was sitting here, in front of me. I'm in a coma, I thought. I'm close to death. And my last dying wish is to see my older brother one last time, so here he is, smiling at me like he never left. 

"This...this is a dream, isn't it?" I asked. Everything was so sharp, though. The details were too vivid to be a dream, but there was no other way my brother would be here. "I'm dying. I've got to be."

Archer rolled his eyes and the grin became crooked. He wound his fingers together as he propped his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward. The black cuffs on his wrists fell down and the family ring gleamed underneath the lighting. 

Archer Sparrow, there's no way you can be here.

"You can't die from a scratch on the head, little Sparrow."

Had I hit something when I fell? Gingerly, I touched my head and felt stitches along the roots of my hair. Where did my wig go? How bad was my condition? Was I really dying? 

As I eyed Archer with suspicion, an idea lit my mind--can't rough physical contact disrupt a dream or a vision?

Oh, well, here goes nothing.

I lifted my hand and slapped my palm across his face. Red began to bloom on his cheekbones, but my brother remained in his seat. He didn't disappear. I didn't jerk awake. Nothing happened. 

"Did you just slap me?" he asked, his mouth wide open. 

"Oh, shit, you're actually here." 

"Of course I'm here!" he bursted. "Gods, Park, do you go around slapping your older brother whenever you feel like it? What, did you actually think you were dreaming?"