Journey | Yogscast Lewis x Reader

24 - Wake Up.

For a brief second, everything you dreamed about runs through your mind, and then it's all gone, just like that, and you can't for the life of you remember what all of it was about.

"Please, just give her another few days," someone's begging. A man's voice.

"We can't. It's medical procedure."

"I'll do anything..."

"Mr. Brindley, we're sorry, but we've already extended her period of time way past what it should have been. She hasn't shown any signs of movement or progress at all. We've got to let her go."

You're dimly aware of an alien sensation all over your body; focusing more, you register it's centered on your stomach, your throat and hands.

Tubes, you realize; tubes, potentially to sustain you while you were asleep.

Asleep?

Something deep in your memory from a biology class years ago thinks, naso-gastric tubes. Tubes which feed you while you're in a...

Coma.

You try your hardest to open your eyes, but they're sealed shut. And it takes you a few seconds to realize that that's never happened before, that that's not normal...

Which must mean you're out of the white room.

And it takes you a few more seconds to register exactly what's happening - you're coming out of a coma.

"Please," you try to say, but your throat is dry, and your mouth refuses to open.

"I'll let you say your goodbyes," a female voice says.

"I'm not saying goodbye," the guy replies. "She's not going anywhere."

"Mr. Brindley, it's now or never..."

You've got to move. Now.

You try to move your arm, try to turn your head, wiggle your toe - anything, to tell the doctors that you're still alive, that you've woken up, but you're completely paralyzed.

This is the end, you realize. After all this, after all this time spent battling on through - this is it. They're going to kill you, shut off your support, just like that.

You struggle internally against the bonds holding you still, but more weakly now - you're giving up. You know there's no hope.

"Please. Just one more chance, and if she doesn't respond, then I'll accept it."

Silence for a moment. And then, "Okay. Do what you have to."

You hear footsteps, and then heavy breathing from above you. "(Y/N), this is our last chance. I don't care what you do, I just want you to respond in some way, or otherwise..." He swallows, and you feel something warm and wet touch your face - a tear, you realize.

And then you feel warm fingers enveloping yours, a thumb stroking against your palm - and then in a final attempt, you try to move it.

Something about the movement against your fingers, something about how warm and soft his own hand had obviously worked somehow, because you felt the bonds holding you still begin to soften around your palm.

You inhale internally, and concentrate every scrap of your energy into moving that hand.

And it closes over his.

He stops dead, stops breathing.

"Mr. Brindley," the doctor says. "Mr. Brindley -"

"Look," Lewis whispers shakily. "Look, can you see... her hand. It moved."