Is a Dream Just a Dream?

An Unreal Life

***A/N this is set in the Fritz/Buckingham Nicks universe but follows the adventures of Alt-Lindsey aka Spirit Lindsey. When we last left him he was in a coma following a near life ending car accident, he's started breathing on his own. We pick up from the end of the Buckingham Nicks chapter entitled "Crystal Visions". Usual disclaimers apply I own nothing but the idea and all original characters. This is harmless fun and I'm making no money off it. No infringement or offense is intended. Also since this is an A/U somethings are slightly tweaked from how they happened in RL 😉. I should also say these are fictionalized versions of people, so again don't sue me!***

"Dad, you're going to be okay" Will, that's my son's name. My oldest boy. I have three, so reminiscent of the Buckingham boys it's eerie. Of course William isn't anything like my brother Greg. For starters he's not an Olympic medalist, or an egg head. He's not even a music junkie like I was. He's into art, and poetry, and graphic design. I have no clue where he gets that from. I paint a little when I have free time, but the things he can do with a computer and a design program blow my mind. I think he wants to be a cartoonist or an animator. He has the grades and the aptitude, we just have to find the right school once he graduates.

My other two boys Derrick and Bryce are twins. Fraternal, not identical which runs in Kristen's family. I don't think I have any twins in my family. None that I can recall. Derrick is the brains of the duo, and of my three boys he reminds me the most of Greg. He's practical, straight-laced, logical, and studious to a fault. Bryce...he's my problem child. He's in fights every other week, he's been expelled from two schools and caught with pot three times. He got drunk and took a swing at a cop on Halloween, that was a rare treat. I had to pick him up from juvenile detention because Kristen was in Aspen with her riding group.

He sat in the car silently the whole ride home and when I finally tried to sit him down man to man he flipped me off and ran to his room the door slamming behind him. Charming kid. But he's still my son and I'd still walk over hot coals and broken glass if he was in trouble. Well, if I could I would. As of right now I'm not walking anywhere. I'm not even moving. I'm awake but not awake, conscious but not conscious.

I hear people, and I understand when they talk to me. I know my name my birthday, my social security number and all the presidents up to and including our current one. But beyond simple motor reflex I have no way of talking to anyone. No way of telling people what I want, how I feel if I'm hungry or in pain or annoyed or if I want the television on another channel. My eyes are open and they move left and right, left for yes right for no. I can squeeze people's hands, that's a more advanced system. Two squeezes means I'm thirsty, three means I'm hungry. One means fuck off and leave me alone.

I'm the only person who understands that signal. Everyone else has interpreted it to mean I'm tired.

My entire body is one aching mass of contusions broken bones, bruises and deep tissue tears. I'm lucky to be alive, I'm lucky I'm not brain dead. I'm ready to get the hell out of this damn place. The sooner the better. "Check out my new app pops, it's for people who are like you and can't talk...well it will be when I finish it. I've just got the interface down" Will gets as excited about his projects as I do which is one of the better traits I've passed on to my children. I try to let him know I think it's a neat idea. But my rapid eye movement freaks him out and I stop.

Bryce looks up from his phone, flipping his over long curly bangs from his face. He's got black nail polish on his right hand and purple on his left. Well, who am I to talk I went through a "Goth" phase in the seventies and early eighties. Tusk was a bad time for me personally, professionally, wardrobly...is that a word? Nope, well it is now. Carol Ann was in my life...talk about hell on earth. But she served a purpose for me then, she was a decent lay. And she pissed off Stevie. The only two reasons I was ever with her to be honest. But if you read her book we had some grand love affair and I was gushing about her every twenty seconds...when I wasn't choking and beating the shit out of her. Thirty pieces of silver, I want to ask her if that horror fiction was her own imagination or the borrowed pages of some rejected movie of the week script.