Insomniac

Chapter 1: Disoriented

AN: Sorry for how long this took! I had a really hard time rewriting chapter 1 because it was just so different from the original. I even rewrote the rewrite a couple times and there are several scenes I wrote for this that just got axed because they didn't work. Rip Dr. Iplier. Your cameo will be missed immensely.

Anyways, like always I hope you like it! And again, this fic is unbeta'd so if you catch any spelling or grammar mistakes please tell me so I can fix them!

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Pain is the first thing Sean registers when he jolts awake. It permeates his skull as an ever-present ache, like a migraine. Residual fear clings to the back of his mind – fear that usually only accompanies him after a nightmare. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to recall a thing. "What the hell?"

He pushes up against soft cotton to sit up, flinching as the pain in his head flares, and looks around (slowly, slowly, as to not aggravate his head more). The world is a fuzzy white and all too sterile; foreign but not quite empty. Curtains and beds and people surround him, along with regular (and sometimes irregular) beeping and hum of machines. The strong smell of bleach burns his nostril, only a hint of lemon to mask it. Like LaCroix, if LaCroix made cleaning products instead of sparkling water.

Opening his mouth to speak, Sean finds the words strangled in his throat. It's sudden and violent and he's unsure as to why, when he could speak only just a moment ago. His heart pounds in his chest and the sound of it echoes in his ears. A thumping rhythm that is only drowned out by the machines around him.

His instincts scream at him; escape escape escape escape escape escape- He couldn't get it out of his head. His brain feels fuzzy, filled with a high-pitch ringing and static.

He forces himself to ignore it as he slips out of bed.

Warmth drips down one arm as he walks - he's not sure why, but can't stop to look, can't stop for anything. Everything was so white, he couldn't be sure of where the exit was, where to go, where he had been, where he had come from. He exits one room, only to find an exact copy; more beds, except emptier and emptier and emptier. It's cold and devoid of life and unsettles him to the core.

Where? Where did he go?

Footsteps echo - his own? Or behind him? He speeds up. The footsteps do as well.

Something cold slithers it's away around his wrist. With an undignified scream, Sean whips around. He pushes against whatever had grabbed him.

"Whoa whoa, Sean, Sean, it's okay! It's me."

He stops.

"Robin?"

And then he realizes - he's not standing.

He's not in that endless loop of beds.

The beeping of monitors and the chatter of nurses and the bustling of doctors as they attend patients surrounds him. His hand brushes against the soft cotton of a blanket. That vaguely-lemon-and-bleach scent is still there, but it's not as overpowering, not as sickening.

"What...?"

It's not hard to hear the confusion in his voice, but it doesn't last long. Not at all. It never really did, he had years of experience with it after all; being in one place, and then blinking to find that he was somewhere else entirely. But even still, disorientation clings to him like vertigo as he can't precisely place where he was despite how obvious it had to be. As if the word were stuck just out of his mental reach.

"You okay? You zoned out on me while we were talking so I tried get you out, but then you started freaking out." Robin stands next to his bedside, frowning with his arms crossed over his chest.

There's a moment where he's not sure what to do, torn between telling the truth and keeping his friend from worrying more - Robin knew of his memory problems, most of his friends did, but would describing his experience worry him more regardless? But it's just that, a moment. "Yeah, I'm alright. Don't worry dude, it was just a memory lapse again." Jack smiles and it's bright and carefree and disarming, the sort of smile he would use when meeting fans or in some of his selfies. Open and friendly, but not quite right here. "You wouldn't happen to know where we are, would ya?"

He can see it - the way Robin opens his mouth before closing it, the furrow of his brow as he takes in the words, and all the little tells in between - the question and disbelief hanging over his friend's head. It's there, almost palpable, and for a second Jack doubts his own efforts. But only for a second as Robin finally replies, "ICU. You were in an accident or something?"

"Accident?" A furrowed brow and a disbelieving smile, Jack takes a moment to really think about it, let the dread settle before brushing it away with a shake of his head. "No way. What kind of 'accident'?"

"Well I don't know the specifics, but something like a car accident? Hit and run? They wouldn't really say."

An accident. Hit and run. The words reverberate in his head over and over and over. Accident. Accident.

"No." Jack shakes his head again. "There's no way—" It's probably desperation that makes him hold onto that denial, or maybe it was fear? Fear of....what? He couldn't place it. There was a part of him that wanted it to be false, an elaborate prank regardless of how cruel it would be. But when he looks up at Robin again there is no hint of deception; no snicker or crinkle of his eyes or a mischievous glint. There was nothing but a worried expression of a friend whose seen his highs and lows and everything in between.

And so, for the first time since he woke up here, he really looks around and takes in what he sees. Finally notices his right arm, bound in bandaging and secured tightly against his chest, or the way IVs tug at his left as he reaches to touch his right. Notices the violet bruises slinked across his skin or the strange tightness around his chest and abdomen similar to that of his bandaged arm. Feels the chilly cold of the oxygen line hooked under his nose and the rough cotton of the hospital gown against his skin.

"Sean?"

Two watery stains blossom on the blanket covering his legs. Two more blossom soon after, dripping dripping dripping, creating warm trails down Sean's cheeks. He sniffles, sucks in a breath, and pulls up one hand to wipe away the tears but only creates more of a mess as they smear everywhere. "Fuck." It's not eloquent. It's not pretty. But not everything was pretty, and not everything could be summed up in a Shakespearean way. Especially emotions too messy to express with more than a simple swear.

Later, later, after Robin has gone back to his hotel and Sean is left in the care of his doctors, he's escorted to the bathroom one last time before bed. It's peculiar, the feeling of deja vu, as he steps in alone. Maybe it's the emptiness in his chest, the emotions having leaked out with his tears. Or maybe it's that familiar buzzing in his head as he stares into the mirror, stares at his worse-for-wear reflection. A reflection that still miraculously looks like him, despite the injuries (well on their way to healing), despite the lack of his usual smile or cheerful demeanor.

But worse-for-wear is better than dead, and it's that sort of thought that finally brings back the smile to his face. He'll recover. He'll heal. He'll be okay. And that's all that matters now.

So he shakes off that impending sense of deja vu and the tendrils of negativity that had clung to him and goes about his business. Soon enough he'd be back to his life. Soon enough he'd be out of here.

Finishing up by washing his hands, Jack leaves his reflection behind as he steps out of that bathroom and back to the ward.

With that reflection, a word lingers there. Decaying, decaying, rotten in its totality. Li̵a͘r.

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I should also say as a warning that, because of the nature of Jack's memory plot that disorientating scene shifts like the one in this chapter won't be super uncommon. They won't be every chapter, but they're intrinsic to this plot by nature. So if they need to be warned for tell me (comment or PM) and I'll start warning for them.