User blog:-EverybodyKnows-/Catalyst

Heyo wikia! So, recently I got a new idea for [another] story that I might be starting on FFN. This one mainly revolves around Jack/Kim, but I also wanted to highlight A.L.L. (acute lymphoblastic leukemia); a form of cancer, in which, luckily, the survival and remission rates are relatively high. I also wanted to show the more friendship side of Jack and Kim's relationship.

Happy reading!

CATALYST

Drowsiness and driving did not go well together.

Lying in his temporary hospital bed, Jack Brewer looked up at the stark white ceiling dispassionately as the monitor by his bedside beeped loudly, the I.V. in his arm steadily pumping morphine into his system to dull the pounding in his skull and the ache in his chest. He watched the lines of his heartbeat peak and then fall once again in a continuous pattern, and glanced quickly at the digital clock set near his bed. It wasn't exactly where he'd imagined spending his Saturday evening at.

The walls were painted a soft baby blue; the colour of sunny summer days, baby showers, and new teddy bears. The air, pungent and crisp, smelled strongly of rubbing alcohol and the Febreeze air freshener that the nurse had sprayed profusely in the room. Buried in a corner, the small brown ligneous faux-oak bureau artfully accented the rather small, rectangular space. The lace trims and whimsical colours kept the room from being too sterile, and gave it a more comfortable and approachable atmosphere. His own personal space– half bursting with useless junk, besmirched and dirtied by his hopeless friend, Jerry– was a far cry from the organized little chamber. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have minded spending a few days there.

Under normal circumstances.

Rolling to his other side, the callous youth muttered a quick oath as a searing pain spread up his body, sharp as a knife, and make black spots dance in front of his vision. The pain radiating from his ribs made him gasp for a breath and his eyes widen in shock and delirium. Streams of painkillers and morphine battled uselessly against the waves of ache spreading like a wildfire through his body, and the energy it took for him to regain his composure made him dizzy. But he made no movement to ask for help; he was too busy listening to the conversation his parents were currently having right outside of the door.

"What are we going to do?"

There was no hesitation at the other end of his mother's hurried answer. "I don't know. But I know for a fact that Ms. Greenbaum will press charges!" She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice held more strain and less lucidity. "God knows how long she's grown and taken care of that weeping willow tree in her front yard," his mom muttered under her breath frantically. The voice was subdued and urgent, as if she didn't want anyone passing to hear. Too late, Jack thought to himself bitterly.

He heard his dad utter something in reply quickly, but couldn't quite catch the beginning. The brunet strained his ears to listen, and just barely caught the end, "-Service instead of jail time." Jack grimaced slightly at the thought of rehabilitation center, but the punishment wasn't entirely out of the question.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Jack barely noticed that the murmurs outside of his room had ceased until the gold knob twisted carefully and soundlessly, followed by the patter of footsteps and a gentle knock. The door opened slowly, and in reflex, Jack's eyes snapped shut and feigned sleep as his parents entered the room quietly, struggling to calm his breathing and praying that his racing heartbeat didn't give him away at first glance. Although he couldn't see a thing, his sharp ears picked up the soft sounds of his parents as they moved closer towards the bed where he rested.

Gingerly, his mother brushed the bangs away from his sleeping face, and Jack fought not to laugh at the tickling sensation. He heard her quiet murmurs as she bent down close, and her lips moved against his forehead, "Oh, what did we do wrong? How could he have just taken the car in the middle of the night and just crash it like that?"

He listened intently, but heard no response from his silent father until a few minutes later. "It doesn't matter why, if matters what we do after. We have to make sure that he understands this behavior is unacceptable. He cannot simply go around being bumptious, crashing our car, and expecting to get away with it." He said the words slowly, punctuating every point and period. The harshness of the words was nothing that he was not used to hearing. "Who knows? Maybe a day or two in the community rehab center would do him good. Teach him the difference between right and wrong." Jack almost smiled; it wasn't as if he had told them a false equivocation to make them think differently— no, that would require actually speaking to them. Such was his arrogance.

Jack heard his mother's sharp intake of breath at his suggestion. "We can't do that!" His mother wailed, "Have mercy, he's just a teenager! If anything, we should at least try to lessen the consequences instead of making him seem irresponsible; you know how harshly they prosecute teenagers for things like this. He probably was just going to a friend's house to stay the night because-"

"Because of what?" The other challenged quickly, his words increasing in volume as he continued to speak. "Whose house would he be going to see in the middle of the night? Face it, our son was going off to meet with some girl or go to a party while he was grounded. And when he wakes up, we have to make sure that he understands the consequences. That we will not tolerate this." The sleeping brunet winced at his words.

Jack nearly groaned; wasn't having a six-inch black bruise on his chest enough of a punishment? Drained far from deliberation, Jack let his mind slip in and out of the dark and slippery abyss that sang to him like a siren's call— the arguments between his parents about his ramifications nothing but an incessant drone.

With his eyes shut and his breath now steady, he succumbed to the beckoning heavy blanket of sleep.

:.:.:.:.:

"Do you know when he'll wake up? Is he going to be alright?"

"We did a few brain scans, just normal procedure for anyone who's been in an accident, and everything appears to be normal. There's no trauma or swelling, just a mild concussion. He's young, he's healthy, he's stable; and the only injuries he sustained were some minor nicks and bruises." The urge to laugh bubbled in Jack's throat. Minor was not the wording he would have chosen. "For now, sleep is just the body's natural response in order to heal himself. He'll wake up when he's ready," an unfamiliar voice answered soothingly.

He wanted to listen to the rest of the conversation in faked unconsciousness, but Jack's eyes fluttered open against his will, and was greeted by three very close faces. He suppressed his groan and quickly glanced at them; two of the faces were his parents, and the other was who he assumed was his doctor.

The doctor, in his early thirties, had a thicket of dark blonde and chestnut hair neatly combed back from a structured face with tranquil brown eyes. A pair of round spectacles sat perched on a straight and prominent nose that cast shadows onto the gaunt face. Jack caught the flash of metal on his lapel, and the shiny silver name-tag on his white surgical scrubs read Dr. Fontino. "Ah, good, the patient is awake," he commented mildly. "How do you feel?"

Jack paused for a moment before responding. He would have smiled if it wasn't for the situation, and instead put on a guileless beam. "Like I've crashed a car."

The doctor chuckled quietly at the clever nuance behind his words, but Jack caught the angered looks of his mother and father standing at the other side of his bed out of the corner of his eye. Yet at that moment, he didn't care if he was acting like a petulant child, or if he was not behaving responsibly. They had to remember that it was their fault in the first place, not his.

Taking out a clipboard from behind him, the doctor scanned over his medical records quickly before making a few unseen notes in the pristine white margins of the papers. "Well, Jack, it looks like it wasn't anything major this time. You bruised a few ribs and got a mild concussion, but other than that, I'd say you were lucky." He glanced up from the clipboard to smile briefly at him, but Jack didn't return to gesture.

Yeah, lucky. Lucky was the guy who found one-hundred dollars on the street and won the Powerball lottery twice in a row. Lucky was the person who always aced every test and was good in every sport except curling. Lucky was the person that somehow managed to get every iPhone before it sold out on its first week of release. Lucky was not a sixteen year old lying on a hospital bed with bruised ribs, a concussion, the possibility of rehab, and two very angry parents. Jack wasn't sure which one of the latter he feared the most.

"Alright then," the posh doctor's voice broke into his thoughts. "I'll leave you alone to recuperate. If you need any help, just press the red button on the bed. A nurse will come and get you." He tucked the blue pen into his pocket, set the clipboard down, and exited the room; the door swinging behind him ominously. With a deep breath, Jack gulped and shifted to face his parents, who were currently standing on the left side of the bed, their arms crossed in an expression of accusation and anger. He smiled weakly.

"So. How was work?"

His father's eyes narrowed at the attempt to lighten the situation, and his outlook grew grim. The injured teen braced himself for the onslaught of yells that were sure to come from the latter. "How was work?" the man repeated in disbelief. "Do you think that this is some kind of joke, Jack, because I'm not laughing. You just crashed four-thousand dollars worth of a car, destroyed our neighbour's property, and landed yourself in the hospital. Do you think it's funny? Do you know how much work we had to put in to make sure that Mrs. Greenbaum wouldn't go straight to the district and get you a few days in a crack home? Our reputation around here is ruined. The hospital fees are taking an enormous dent in a budget that's already starting to tighten, not to mention a new car." Jack frowned at his words. So, he wasn't going to be ripped away from home to be put in a center for a few days?

Everything was already starting to look up.

Of course, seeing the situation, he had spoken too soon. His mother; usually soft, polite, forgiving, piped up loudly. "And don't you dare think that we'll bail you out of this one, Jack. We went through hell and back after we heard about the news," Jack grimaced, and started to feel the beginnings of guilt seeping through.

Just a little portion of the first chapter; but I hope you guys enjoyed it. As you can see, Jack is not the one that is diagnosed with A.L.L. (I'm pretty sure you can guess who it is since it isn't Jack). I'm contemplating continuing this, just to see where it goes.

Thanks for taking your time to read this! I appreciate it!

- Alexi :)