Taking shifts had become the norm after four weeks. And as much as it sucked that Sam was still in a coma, Jimmy had come to appreciate his turn to watch him. It was the chance for hours of piece and quiet in which he got to think about a lot of things.

Like where this entire Agency thing was going, or what he planned to do with the rest of his life, if he had any. How he felt about his parents, about Snitch Gravel, about Billy's disappearance.

They weren't mostly good feelings. It had taken him about a week to be completely off meds and process what had happened to them, how close they'd cut it. That Sam was in a freaking coma which could leave him with permanent brain damage.

It had been a swirling spiral seeing everyone crash and burn after the adrenaline faded and they finally came to terms with the fact that they were still alive. Just barely.

Billy had hurt the most. He hadn't called, hadn't been found. His body hadn't washed ashore somewhere. Jimmy still secretly hoped he was out there somewhere, that he'd just had the sense to climb out of that river and walk away from all the madness.

His parents on the other hand turned out to be a huge disappointment. Freider had made good on his threat and disappeared from home for long periods of time, sometimes days on end. He refused to mention what he was doing, where he was going, what his plans were. They hadn't insisted because Jerry didn't want more fighting and the rest of them couldn't be in the same room as Freider for five minutes without shouting. 

And it broke their mother. Maxi resembled a moping ghost lately, her frame much skinnier, her eyes red and devoid of any light. Jimmy sort of understood, since her child was in a coma and everything, but he wished she'd do something. Everyone insisted on protecting her, but Jimmy felt like shaking some sense into her head.

Everything could've been avoided if they'd just been smarter. Tragically, they hadn't, which led to nothing by pain for everyone involved.

After two weeks, Sam had been deemed safe enough to travel, so they'd moved him to a hospital in Chicago. Which was just great since they were supposed to return to school. After much thinking, they decided to do it. It would provide a welcomed distraction, and maybe then the stupid rumors that Sam was dead would stop.

It didn't help that random goons sometimes made pathetic attempts to finish Sam off. So pathetic that even Jerry could thwart them, which made it not enough of a challenge to plunge them into mission mode.

Jimmy had college work to do anyway. His portfolio was growing every single day, fueled by his need to lose himself in something he could understand. Even now as he headed for Sam's room, replacing Jerry for the afternoon, his mind was focused on a few improvements he could bring to his new watch prototype. He still couldn't believe he'd been sabotaged by water.

He pushed the door open and froze. There was a doctor in Sam's room, injecting something into his IV, which wouldn't have been strange, except Jimmy had never seen him before. After two whole weeks, he'd gotten to learn what everyone looked like.

This man was tall and broad shouldered, his hair completely hidden by a surgical cap, but what was most strange was the large robe he wore over his scrubs. The hunched posture made it a little hard to tell exactly what he looked like.

"Who are you?" Jimmy asked.

He jumped and half turned. In that moment, Jimmy took out his gun and pointed it at him. He wore a surgical mask and sunglasses, so he was obviously not supposed to be there.

"Step away from him." Jimmy entered the room, inching towards the bed.

There was a sneering chuckle, then the fake doctor pushed in the rest of the substance from his syringe before stepping away, his hands half raised.

"What was that?"

"I'd give you the scientific name for it, but it would be lost on you," the man answered, his tone low and muffled by the mask. He took a few steps towards the door.

"Don't. Move."

"Well, make up your mind then. Step away or don't move?" Even if his hands were up, he seemed a little too cheerful for someone being threatened with a lethal weapon.

"Mask off."

"You sure like your orders." He nodded towards the bed. "All your answers are there."

Jimmy's eyes shifted towards Sam's feet for the fraction of a second it took to see the note there. "What's on that?"

"I'm pretty sure you can read."

"I'm also pretty sure I can shoot you in the head."

"Not in a hospital. Not with people who could have a heart attack around. Not when you'd actually get arrested." The man lowered his hands. "You might be capable of killing, but you still have an ounce of remorse inside you."

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The man just nodded towards the note. His eyes still on his target, Jimmy moved next to the bed, crouched and picked up the note. The stranger had enough sense not to move. Jimmy really wished he'd put a silencer on the gun, but he'd never thought he'd actually need it.

The not-doctor watched as Jimmy shook the note open. A fleeting glance proved the writing on it was tiny and cluttered. There seemed to be a list on it. He couldn't read it like that. He had to focus.

"Just take your mask off."

"Just read the note," the man retorted, sounding exasperated. "Honestly, I save your life and this is the thanks I get?"

Jimmy's eyes widened as it suddenly became clear who he was facing. Then his gaze moved to the empty syringe. "Is that...?"

"No. I used the last sample I had on you. This was just something that would help him wake up."

The gun trembled for a second as Jimmy considered lowering it, but he couldn't. Even if the weirdo had saved his life and Kyle's, there was no guarantee that he wasn't dangerous. Why else would he hide?

"Just read the note," he said again, and this time Jimmy listened.

He focused on the tiny writing and realized the list was their names: Kyle, Jimmy, Tom, Sam. Jerry was missing.

"What--" He raised his eyes, but the man was gone. "Unsurprisingly," Jimmy mumbled, holstering his gun and rushing out into the hall.

There was no sign of him, even if the corridors weren't crowded. He'd been such an idiot, softened by curiosity and the hope he'd help Sam as well. Trying to fight the disappointment, he read the rest of the note.

Four out of five. I'd say you owe me big time. Work on your impulse control. There's still some good in there, but it's going to become increasingly harder to find.

Oh, yes, that made a lot of sense. The guy should be a life coach. Pocketing the note, he only hoped the weirdo had been right and he was up to four out of five. Not just three. Four.

⏳

Waking up after a long time was confusing, and the fact that the first thing he saw when opening his eyes was Jimmy rushing out a door made it even weirder.

Sam blinked, but the light seemed to burn his retinas, so he closed his eyes again. Jimmy was alive. His head felt like it was filled with wet wool, but logical connections were starting to form. He'd been alive when he'd last seen him as well. Him and Angie. The rest were a mystery. He needed to focus and open his damn eyes.

But his body was very unresponsive and he couldn't even feel all of it. Even if that was slightly problematic, it was the slowness of his thoughts that scared him most.

How long has it been? Because he knew he hadn't just been knocked out. He knew it had been a while. Days, weeks... Months? Years?

He groaned. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't he just open his eyes and get out of bed? Why was he there in the first place? Where was he? He drew a blank.

"No way! No freaking way!"

Sam's eyes shot open at Jimmy's words. The light assaulted them again and he hissed, but kept them open. Jimmy's ecstatic face came into view.

"You're awake," he declared.

Then he faltered, a worry crease settling between his eyes. Sam analyzed him. He looked fine, but somehow older, as if he'd seen so much more since the last time they'd spoken. There was a generalized wariness behind his eyes and a roughness to him that hadn't been there before.

"Do you know who I am?"

Sam opened his mouth, but found his throat too dry to speak, so he closed it and nodded. Jimmy rushed to the side of his bed and returned with a glass of water and a straw. Sam was beyond grateful for the straw and sipped some water.

The moment the liquid went down his throat, it felt like he was finally alive again. He drained the glass while he watched Jimmy picking up a watch off his bedside table and pushing a few buttons on its sides. The dial started blinking red and Jimmy's own watch did the same a fraction of a second later.

After pushing another few buttons, the red light became green.

"What's that?" Sam asked. The words hurt his throat and he sounded like a bullfrog with a cold, but he'd produced intelligible speech.

The moment he did, his head started spinning as random images came to the forefront of his mind. The jewel, Snitch Gravel's enraged face, Tom buried under debris, unmoving, Jessie bleeding away. Kyle.

"It's a watch I've developed with color codes to help us... No, Sam, relax, it's alright."

Sam shook his head so hard, his brain seemed to dislodge from his skull. Was it alright? The beeping of the machine monitoring his heartbeat increased in frequency with every passing second.

"Hey..." Jimmy grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "You were the worst off. We're okay." He hesitated, biting his lip, and Sam understood.

"Who?" he croaked.

"Billy," Jimmy answered with a twitch. "But we're not sure. He's technically just missing."

Technically. Breathing was hard anyway, but it just became harder. Panic bubbled inside him, amplified by his lack of knowledge, by memories that were still clouded, by a mind that was still too unresponsive.

"Sam, don't freak out on me," Jimmy said, his tone laced with worry.

"Kyle?" he asked.

"He's fine. I know it looked bad, but he's fully recovered. All of us are. Christine's fine too. Just please calm down."

And just like that, Sam could finally breathe again. He reached out the cup and Jimmy understood at once that he wanted more water. As he sipped out of the straw, he tried to gather his thoughts a little.

"Me?"

"Snitch Gravel. You've been in a comma for a while now."

Jimmy sure had a way to calm him down. No wonder he felt so numb, that everything seemed to be rebooting and he was stuck in Bios mode.

"How long?" Two words decidedly hurt a lot more than one.

"Four weeks."

No warning, no sugar coating it, no nothing. Jerry was so much better at this stuff. But Sam appreciated he could hear this and not have his head instantly explode. The fear inside him dimmed as the pieces came together.

"Sucks," Sam mumbled.

Jimmy laughed. "No kidding. Sucked for us, too. We missed you a lot, Sam. And we need you more than ever."

The thought warmed him up. Yes, he could still think, function, be useful. And he was curious what had happened while he'd been out.

"Where am I?" Three words. Progress. And it didn't hurt as much as his body adjusted to speech.

"Chicago. Obviously hospital." Jimmy checked his watch. "Want to place bets who will get here first?"

"Shouldn't a doctor get here first?" So many words.

"Look at you, talking away like nothing happened." Jimmy grinned. "We'll get to that. I just think  a doctor would kick us out and the others would be so disappointed."

"They're on their way?"

"Yup." Jimmy gave him the watch. "I just let them know. Technically the red light is for danger, but it's the only one that zaps you, except the one for death. But I cleared it immediately so they'll know you're not in danger, that you actually woke up."

"Um, what?" He stared a little as the words sank through. "How many color codes does this watch have?"

"Eight," Jimmy answered undelayed. "And I'm betting Tom. He probably knew you were up before I gave the signal."

Sam was still focused on the death warning on the watch, trying the figure out how it might work, so it took him a while to process what Jimmy had said. "Oh, yes, that's right." Tom. He got a knot in his stomach thinking about his twin.

Had all that stuff inside his head been real? Had he really hurt his twin, or was that just part of the madness? And the Angie issue... He now understood where it had stemmed from, but he still wasn't sure what it translated to in terms of feelings.

Then there was Christine... His doubts regarding her, and the last thing she said to him. Always critical, making sure he knew he wasn't good enough, wasn't what she wanted. Was bad at kissing. It stung unusually bad. Just add that to the evergrowing list of things he sucked at. But it felt different this time as a wave of rebellion rose inside him together with the desire to prove her wrong.

"Hey, you okay?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, sure." He needed a distraction from anger and dark thoughts, so she decided to focus on something else. "How can a watch tell you're dead?"

"It reads your pulse, genius," Jimmy answered with a laugh. "So it activates the signal once it can feel no pulse."

"So, every time you take it off?"

"Aha, but I thought of that." Jimmy grinned and Sam could tell how excited he was to present his invention. "So it has two sensors. To send the death signal, there has to be no pulse, and the strap has to be closed."

"Huh. Smart."

"Why thank you."

The watch wasn't really doing it. "So what else is new? Still training?"

"Of course. More than ever actually." Jimmy didn't seem as excited anymore, so Sam guessed something was up. "We've had a bit of a... Let's call it disagreement with the Agency. Which is another reason I'm really happy you're back. I can't with them."

Sam frowned. "What happened?"

"Gee, I don't know." There was so much bitterness in Jimmy's voice, it was a little frightening. "First, they show up like two minutes after you lost consciousness, then they fail to find Billy and they rewarded us by plastering our faces across every possible newspaper."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. Ta da! We're fucking famous. Don't you just love it?"

Nope. Sam hated the pressure sudden fame brought with it. He'd had enough of it over the course of the school year. And just when things had started to calm down, it happened again.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore," he mumbled.

"Let me tell you a fun story then. We got a new machine in training meant to monitor our progress. It's not really that useful since it only measures the force of our hits, but punching at it is fun either way."

Sam could already see where this was going and it brought a smile to his face. He pushed the button on his bed to lift himself a little, and immediately felt much better. He still knew how stuff worked.

"Give me numbers." Because he knew there would be numbers. Scary, intimidating, but fun numbers.

Jimmy grinned, obviously preparing a good story. "Herrison was so proud of that useless machinery. He punched first to demonstrate and managed a whooping score of 323. Which, according to the manual, is a decent number, given that the average Joe hits at around 310. It was confirmed when Christine next took a stab at it and managed and impressive 251."

Sam made a mental note to make sure Christine never punched him and nodded for Jimmy to continue.

"Herrison's performance seemed less impressive once the rest of the girls had a go."

Sam bit his lip not to laugh, sure his body couldn't handle that yet. "How bad?"

"Angie got a 325, Kay a 330 and Jessie a 345."

The desire to laugh was smothered by a bout of panic as he already imagined himself falling under those numbers. "What about you guys?"

"Well, Jerry scored a 365 which was rather unexpected. He then refused to hit anything else, intimidated by his own strength." Jimmy smirked. "Which is silly, really, since he comes closer to Jessie than to any of us."

The panic inside Sam intensified even as he tried to keep a straight face. "Which means what?"

"Tom, Kyle and I had more than one turn. We first hit how we normally do in a fight after which we put all we had in it. Tom's impressive at 395 in his normal state and shooting up to 415 when he really means it. He was unjustly disappointed."

Sam swallowed heavily. Yeah, he was probably going to embarrass himself terribly when the time came to face the machine. But he still smiled and nodded. "He hits like a truck."

"Yes, he does," Jimmy said with a fond smile. "He's just upset that I normally hit at 505."

"What?" Sam had to push his jaw closed with his hand.

"Yeah. Went right up to 550 when pissed."

"But that's... That's incredible."

"Not really." Jimmy heaved a sigh. "But this falls into the not-fun-stuff we need to talk about later. And I'm nowhere near as impressive as Kyle anyway. His normal punch is at 550. He skyrocketed to 650 when he meant it. Then he tried putting his full strength into it."

"Oh, God. How much?"

Jimmy shrugged. "No idea. He broke the machine."

Sam just stared, trying to process all this, then he couldn't help it. He laughed. As expected, it tore his throat open, but at the same time it was freeing. He could picture poor Herrison panicking over his broken machine so well.

"Great to hear you laughing," Jimmy said, smiling as well. "And don't worry. I'm sure you're somewhere between Jerry and Tom. I've trained with you and you hit harder than Jerry, that's for sure."

Sam felt a little better hearing that, and actually felt excited about going back to training. If he were completely honest, he couldn't wait to get out of that bed, even if he wasn't sure if he could. He opened his mouth to ask Jimmy if he had any broken limbs, but froze once the door opened.

Tom stood in the doorway a huge grin on his face.